作者 主题: 【SG】短篇故事:死刑名单BUTCHER’S BILL P160~163  (阅读 6029 次)

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【SG】短篇故事:死刑名单BUTCHER’S BILL P160~163
« 于: 2018-11-09, 周五 12:06:05 »
死刑名单BUTCHER’S BILL



“疯狂之人”酒吧
加勒比联邦,基韦斯特
2075年10月21日
1325 祖鲁


“滚,你这孬种!”

里基·夏普(Ricky Sharpe)只是对着那粗壮的兽人微笑了一下。他很清楚在这条街上的武士们试图让他精神崩溃,强迫他犯错误。但是里基可不是吓大的。很多人都打算用这样或那样的办法把他赶出去;但是他们都失败了。

外表平静的里基内在已经点燃了随时引爆的的火花。他的魔咒已经蓄势待发,等待着释放的最佳时机。他的胳膊随意地垂在身体两侧,没人注意到他的右手距离绑在大腿上的那把战斗匕首只有两厘米之近。相比之下,兽人则显得焦躁不安,紧张情绪四溢;他的手指不由自主地弯曲。让里基惊讶的是兽人居然迟迟没有上前。是他的增强反应调整的太高了,还是对方在虚张声势只是为了掩饰自己的恐惧?里基不知道也不在乎。没有人能在他的宫廷里不尊重国王,里基心想。给这个长牙种上一节课也许会很有趣。

酒吧之外,飓风“史蒂文”(Hurricane Steven)的残留不断地袭来。一时间电闪雷鸣狂风大作。室内寂静无声,人群几乎没有了呼吸声,他们为两个战士留出了一个宽阔的场地。这一刻即将到来。

一道分外刺眼的闪电一闪而过,随之发出震耳欲聋的雷声。里基动了。他的左手以普通泛人无法目视的速度抓起面前桌子上的一只酒杯。酒吧内的人群顿时欢呼了起来,而战斗还在继续。兽人吃了一惊,他赶忙抓起他自己的酒杯,但是当他将第一杯龙舌兰酒顺入肚子里时,里基已经喝到第三杯了。

里基已经进入了超限状态,他的动作简直就像是“修士异能”最好的典范,而兽人廉价的殖装让他与之相比看起来越发的笨拙急躁。当四次心跳之时,里基已经灌下了他的第六杯也是最后一杯,而兽人还只是堪堪进入到第五轮。里基把最后一只酒杯摔在桌子上,他灵巧转身,抬手迅捷如电般射出。在酒吧的另一边,他的刀片没入在被击中的标靶最中心。结束最后一轮的兽人完全凭本能反应转身丢出自己的匕首……刀柄击中了位于标靶右侧两米左右的自动点唱机。刀刃被弹开,点唱机被激活,约翰尼·邦格(Johnny Banger)的最新单曲《我想干啥就干啥》(I Do What I Want)。

“胜者!“精灵酒保指着里基喊道。里基得意地振臂,,沐浴在酒吧的奉承中。那街头武士一动不动地站在那里,眼睛呆滞,表情茫然。随后他瘫到在地。在此前他们约定,输家向胜利者交出信用棒或一叠本地代币。

“没有人在国王的城堡里和他捣乱!”里基一边说着,一边拔起他的匕首。当他用他的右手轻轻抚摸这把“武装法器”时,里基意识到他的左手也渴望做同样的事情。但这把“武装法器”的姐妹剑已经不见了,就在几个月前,在南美的一次糟糕的生意中丢失了。它就像条失去的胳膊——他仍能感觉到它就在那儿,有时还能感觉到它就在他身上一样。

酒吧那头的老式船钟叮当声打断了他的思绪。“好了,各位,付钱打烊了!”酒保说道。

里基无视命令,从最上面的架子上抓起一瓶龙舌兰酒。他想待多久就待多久,就像过去几个月那样。见鬼,我太爱这个小破窖子了,里基想。

在整个酒吧里,顾客们都在忙着付账单或喝完剩下的饮料,这时保镖们轻轻地鼓励他们把垃圾一起带出去。几分钟后,店里就只剩下位于左侧的里基,工作人员——还有一个孤零零,坐在后面的桌子旁,手里拿着一支马克波本威士忌,还有两只酒杯的人。

其中的一名浑身替换了肌肉殖装的人类男性保镖对这位波本先生(Mr. B)不按照指示行事感到生气。“嘿,你这家伙,你是忘了带耳朵还是怎么?或者你只是太傻逼了以至于无法理解‘付钱打烊’是什么意思?”

戴着一顶黑色球帽,一副黑色智能眼镜,脸上表情被遮的严严实实的波本先生,又抿了一口酒。肌肉男怒气冲冲地咆哮着,双手砸在桌上,身体前倾,唾沫星子溅在波本先生的长外套上。

“听着马屁精,我说……”

“听你说的够清楚了。”波本先生平静地打断了他,“就是还不能走。就这样。”

肌肉男嗤笑道,“然后呢?”

“我有一些生意要谈。和这位里基先生。”

里基循声转头看向叫出自己名字的方向。他没有认出那个声音,对方的声音有着UCAS中西部和CAS 卡津(Cajun,译注:移居美国路易斯安纳州的法人后裔)的奇妙组合,但这件事引起了他的注意。

波本先生轻轻地放下杯子,在座位上稍稍直了直身子,斟满了第二杯。“不,不是我。而是我的一个同事。”他拔出一把破损的冲锋手枪放在桌上。
里基认出了这把武器,他瞬间冷静了下来。

“那么,现在你还有一笔未完成的名单。我们怎么解决这个问题?“波本先生说。越过整个酒吧,他们的目光第一次相遇。“我认识你吗?

里基保持冷淡。“我不知道你在玩什么把戏,所以你还是顺溜麻利地滚出去吧。没人会让你……”他把手按在刀刃上时,思绪摇摆不定。

“哦,正好相反。”波本打断了他的话,“我想如果他们知道你在南美的工作,他们会第一时间剥了你的皮。”




波哥大自由城
离心区
2074年9月29日
1531祖鲁


“零二呼叫零六;少校,你的派对有个不速之客闯入,预计不到两分钟。你得马上撤离!”

“仍在抢救伤员,需要至少三分钟。你能拖延他们吗?“

瑞娜·沃特金斯中士(Sergeant Major Raina Watkins)从她那“沙漠打击”的视野后舔着她的长牙,就像老虎嗅到猎物一样。“呵,我会让他们对目前的行动感到后悔。”

“收到。保持你的通讯畅通,准备开始脱出撤退。”

“准备就绪随时离开,长官。”

在一个废弃的公寓楼顶上,瑞娜重新调整了她的射击姿势,以便从更好角度地瞄准敌人。他们至少有一个排的力量,配备有轻型军规护甲(没有识别标记)和标准小型武器。但是他们有两名机枪手和一名配备弩炮导弹发射器的士兵。瑞娜皱着眉头。当救援队打算和伤员们一起移动时,他们就会变成活靶子。

这是一个基本的营救任务,偷偷潜入离心区营救原本在护送一位VIP到安全屋时遭到伏击的第五小队。瑞娜被派去进行侦察并设立掩护哨位。到目前为止,这个任务还是教科书式的。但在战斗中,墨菲(Murphy)从未远离。

透过她的视野,她看到地方秩序井然、纪律严明。火力小组交替前进以提供掩护火力。他们一定是被告知了第五小队的位置,因为他们正朝着这个方向马不停蹄。

“对不起,伙计们,今天不行。”瑞娜自言自语。她摸了摸背心上的一个小袋子,里面装着一块破烂不堪的臂章,念道:“我乃牧羊人,我乃猎狼者,无人能伤到我的羊群。”

魔法在她全身迅速蔓延,洗涤了几乎一整天坐在同一位置上的所有挥之不去的酸涩和疼痛。她的感官变得敏锐,她感觉自己手中的狙击步枪就像是自己身体的延伸。透过她的星界侦查,她没有看到任何魔法 师。太糟糕了。他们本来可能还会有机会。

敌人在一百多米远的地方,但是沙漠打击的瞄准器很容易就能对准火箭骑兵的头部,然后又顺着他的背部向下滑。扣动扳机后,瑞娜的步枪发出了刺耳的噪音。半秒后,机车装有高爆子弹的弹药库就像炸弹一样爆了开来。四名被困在地狱般爆炸范围内的敌人倒在了地上。再也没有站起来。

其余的敌人向四面八方散开,拼命地开枪想要利用压制火力压制瑞娜。但是瑞娜没有遭到真正的危险。她顺利地瞄准了机枪手之一;他的头在鲜血和闪光中爆裂开来。雷娜又扣动了三次扳机,又有三名敌人阵亡。随着他们的纪律开始转变为恐慌,他们的指挥官下达了撤退命令。残存的敌人丢出热烟弹掩护他们撤退,但瑞娜仍然能看到他们中的一些人。她本可以至少再干掉两个,但她的任务已经完成了。她是个军人,是个专业人士,而不是杀人犯。

“零二呼叫零六,超额完成预定任务, 敌方正在撤离。现在是把‘包裹’搬出去的好时机。”

“收到,零二。所有包裹都已包装好,准备发货。4分钟后在阿尔法集结点会合。不要错过公交车!”

“你开玩笑吧? 长官,你欠我一瓶好东西!“

魔法仍活跃着,瑞娜从栖息地上站起来,突然感到身后有动静。纯粹凭直觉,她猛地扭到一边,突然感到腿上一阵刺痛。她倒在了地上,一把匕首没入在她左大腿的骨头上。她不假思索地伸手把它拔了出;;但转瞬她就意识到这是多么愚蠢,突然爆发出的剧痛让她狠狠倒吸一口气。她把另一只手按在涌出鲜血的豁口上,扫视了一下周围,寻找攻击她的人,什么也没看见,除了嵌在石膏台阶上的两把匕首。

“该死,你可真厉害,”一个陌生的声音说,“以前从未有人人能躲开它们。而且我还认为自己在这方面走在了前列。”

瑞娜突然回头转向那个声音的来源处,刚好看到一个穿着都市探险者紧身衣的男人跳起来越过公寓的窗台。他猛地一翻滚,蹲在地上,双手交叉放在胸前,怒视着她。“我本以为今天会很无聊。哦,顺便说一下,射的漂亮,非常精准。虽然我有自己喜欢的杀人方法。”他的手臂向外展开,在手掌里转动着一双格斗匕首。瑞娜皱起眉头。即使没有她的星界感知,当她看到那对匕首和那个人时,她也很清楚对方是个修士和那是一对武装法器。操他妈的。

“所以现在,如果你能保持不动,我们可以很快解决这个问题。或者,如果你想挣扎一下,那么你会累得很惨。无论哪种方式,我都需要尽快的完成它,好赶上《阿兹特兰之夜》三维剧。”说着他以惊人的速度向前冲去。

近身格斗不是瑞娜的强项,但她也并非无能为力。当修士的冲锋时,他以交叉的方式挥动刀刃以分散瑞娜的注意力,他低垂的右手向瑞娜的股动脉刺去。预料到这一举动,瑞娜不理会他的动作/把戏,(勉强)用步枪阻挡住了对方进攻;那个修士很快。她迅速将步枪猛地一推,撞向那修士的下巴。他惊怒的同时后退了一步。而瑞娜抓住了这个机会,把枪柄砸在了他的脸上。血从他鼻子里喷出来时,软骨发出令人满意的嘎吱声。

修士踉跄着后退了几步,叫了声——并非痛苦,而是愉悦。他一面擦着脸上的血,一面欣喜若狂地颤抖着。瑞娜以前也见过这种情况,她突然意识到这个修士的可怕之处,惊得浑身发冷。她急忙把步枪举到肩上,不料枪管已被损坏。操他妈的两次!

当瑞娜快拔出十字军冲锋手枪并开火时,修士很快恢复了镇静。三发击中修士重心的子弹迫使他单膝跪地,但紧身衣的护甲依旧作用着。瑞娜已经能感受到失血过多的初期症状了,但她依然用微微颤抖着的手举枪瞄准对方的脑袋。而修士却只是笑了笑。

“不算太坏,”他说着,脸上挂着一幅愉悦的杀意,“你差点杀了我!我很想知道你下一步怎么办。”他一边说着,一边拿出一把匕首,指着瑞娜。瑞娜意识到自己被那把刀当做了标靶时,她开始尽力躲闪。她听到远处传来沉闷的“砰”一声,接着传来一声尖哨。她抬头一看,看见一架侦察无人机就在二十米高的地方。

该走了。她从旁边扑了过去,掉进了下面四层楼的一堆垃圾里——这堆垃圾是她早先为这种情况准备的。上方,第一枚炮弹击中了公寓,冲毁了顶层,碎片四溅。迅速从她隐藏的安全网中挣脱出来,瑞娜向上瞥了一眼,她看到那疯子般的修士以跑酷的姿势跳离了公寓大楼和它们的走道。她只有一个选择:跑。

在魔法和绝望的驱动下,瑞娜以最快的速度冲刺。她绕着炸开的墙跑,绕开撞坏了车辆,还有面目全非的尸体。但修士一直紧跟在她身后。

“哇!等等,甜心长牙佬!我不想伤害你。我只想把你的心掏出来!”他从一堆尸体上跳下来时大叫。瑞娜用她突然爆射的十字军回答,但枪声太大了。

“我开始觉得你不喜欢我了!”他喊道,然后再次丢出三把匕首。瑞娜闪躲不及,感到两把沉入到自己的下背部,一把刺在她受伤的腿上。她跌跌撞撞地把步枪掉在地上,砰地一声撞上了一辆烧坏的“魔鬼鼠APC”载具边。瑞娜倚着它,举起她的十字军。受伤、失血和体力消耗让她付出了代价;晕眩开始向她侵袭。她的视线游动,智能眼镜中的智能枪ARO瞄准镜让她感到恶心。

火炮已经停了下来,但修士仍然在缓慢地向瑞娜靠近,法器在他的手中旋转着。她用尽全身力气,撑着APC站了起来,用双手稳住十字军,把准镜的框怼在他的脸上。“停。”她说。

对面的修士笑了。“所以,准备最后摊牌,呃。你是在打赌——希望——你能在我冲过去把你像鱼一样切成片之前,朝我的脑袋开一枪?”

瑞娜的视线游离着。

“立刻,停下。”

“哦,得了吧,长牙小宝贝,你很快就会死了!为什么就不能让我痛快点呢?“

“不,立刻停下!“

“没有机会了。你真的以为用你那个小玩意儿能打到我?”

“不,只是拖延罢了。”

她点了点头,嘴角淌着鲜血。对面的修士抬头一看,看见了侦察无人机。他睁大了眼睛。随后他听到了尖锐的哨声。




瑞娜不知道她会在那里躺多久。她的耳塞里发出的沙沙声使她恢复了一丝知觉。她太虚弱了,不能动弹,她只能依靠她自己。

“……这里是零六,收到请回答!”

她的下巴开合的数次后,才堪堪发出低声:“零……零……这里是零二。”

“瑞娜,我还能接受那个区域的图像,但你的GPS下线了。”

但随后,一阵纯粹的狂怒之声撕裂了空气。瑞娜歪着头,看到了20米外的修士,他的运动套装被烧得破烂不堪,露出伤痕累累的皮肤和烧焦的身躯,在瓦砾和废墟中移动。他转向她,脸上刻满了杀意。“全是你的错!它因为你而丢失了!“他向前迈步,手里只有一把匕首。

她视线慢慢陷入到黑暗中,而她却无能为力。“零……奈特……你,收到了吗?”她嘶哑着。

“是的,任务完成。现在他妈的给我你的位置或他妈的打开你的GPS!”

“这次不行,长官。恕我辞令。对不起,奈特。我不能参加这次的派对狂欢了。”

“什么?不,瑞娜,不!坚持住,坚持住!”

瑞娜抬起头,把她的耳塞拔了下来,就在这时,对面的修士跨过她的腹部。可能会疼,但她已经麻木了。随后,当他靠得很近的时候,瑞娜直视着他的目光,她会尽可能坚持下去。

“现在,我刚刚说什么来着,刺入你的心脏?是的……”修士把匕首刺入瑞娜的胸膛。




“你知道吗,我受够了。布鲁诺,把他弄出去。”里基说道。

布鲁诺,那个肌肉发达的保镖笑了,他伸手去拉起波本先生让他离开。突然。他瘫倒在地板上,不省人事。波本先生慢慢地缩回手臂。

“还有人想要做傻事吗?这是我和里基之间的事,明白吗?”波本说。

酒吧的工作人员都僵在原地,无法说话。里基也一样。他从没见过如此之快的;这是他第一次不确定自己是否能够对付得了的人。尽管如此,他仍然保持冷静。

那个精灵调酒师首先鼓起勇气说话,“先生,请您走吧!你找错人了!里基不可能做你说的那些事!”

作为回答,波本把手伸进他的长大衣,掏出一把又长又凶狠的匕首。他看了每个人一眼,然后把它拍在桌子上。“看起来熟悉吗?”

看到刀片,店员们都倒抽了一口冷气。这和里基比赛的匕首一模一样。

“里基,你用这些刀刃肢解了多少人?几十个?数百名?”波本的指尖捏住利刃,漫不经心地转动着。里基的眼睛从未离开过它;他的脸色变得通红,平静的外表也在慢慢褪去。

“嘿,瞧,伙计,”另一个调酒师说,“你在任何地方都能买的到。”

“也许吧。问里基?他似乎对此很感兴趣。”

里基只是站在那里,手悬在大腿附近,汗流浃背。

波本先生慢慢地站了起来。“想知道我在哪儿找到的吗?我当时就距离你半英里远。当我到那里的时候,我发现的是这个而不是你。你的行踪很容易追查。我花了两天偷偷穿过一个活跃的战区,而我找到了你的线索。是啊,我看到你对她和其他人做了什么,或者他们剩下的什么。还有一座祭坛。新闻界给你贴了什么标签,波哥大屠夫?“他说。

“仍然没有任何意义,”另一个酒保说。

“并不意味着……他们从未证明……找到了哈!”里基突然咆哮起来,他的脸上带着疯狂和愤怒的表情,他望着另一把刀刃,满怀渴望。“啊,操他妈的!把它给我。”他的声音变得尖细起来。

“里基?”精灵酒保说着,慢慢地后退。

他不理她;他所关心的只是收回他应得的东西,“立刻,把它,给我!“

“你们最好离开这里。”波本说道。店员不假思索就服从了。

他们单独地对视着。里基气得浑身发抖,而波本则是平静而沉稳。

“所以,你是怎么找到我的?”里基问道。

“在她的眼镜中图像链。目睹了整个事件。从那以后就很简单了,只要知道你跟谁说过话,付了多少钱。很多人都想让你死。”

里基轻笑,“没什么新鲜的。只需要再次改变身份就没问题了。所以现在如何?我们就这样对峙着,来一场看看谁更出色的决斗?”

波本只是站在那里。

“什么,突然不说话了?几分钟前不能让你闭嘴,现在你就不会说他妈的事了?为了什么?他妈的没屌用的长牙婊子?!”

波本的右手飘向桌上的“十字军”。

“哦!我明白了。这是一种荣誉,对吧?你是‘复仇天使’还是什么傻逼玩意儿,嗯?好吧,甘博佬(译注:指的是路易斯安娜州的法国移民后裔),我来会会你这小游戏。然后我会告诉你。我会做‘光荣’的事。我会给你同样的条件。所以让我们看看谁更快,你拿那把破枪,还是拿着我的……”

突然响起一道尖锐的炸裂声。里基的身体剧烈抽搐了一下,而脑浆则从他的后脑勺喷涌而出。波本站在那儿,左手拿着一支冒烟的科尔特2066重手枪。里基又站了几秒钟,然后他的眼睛向后脑勺翻动着。他摔倒在地。

“荣誉不适用于患狂犬病的动物。它们应该被打倒。”




没过多久他就在里基的尸体上找到了他寻找的东西。它就在他的紧身衣的右胸口袋里。他把它和其它几件物品——包括一个结婚戒指,一个耳环,一个旧美国银币,一个小塑料海豚,以及一个小塑料袋里的一绺头发——一起拿出来。所有这些都是来自其他受害者的战利品。他迅速地为他们祈祷,希望自己也为他们伸张了正义。他花了一会儿时间注视着他的目标:一块破旧不堪的臂章,上面描绘的是一个回头张望的冷酷死神,底部有一个“61”的字样。他紧紧地抓着它,泪水在他的智能眼镜后的眼眶中充盈。他深深地吸了一口气,从自己的口袋里掏出了两块类似的臂章:他和他父亲的。他把这三块布片放在一起,一面启动通讯链,一面走出了酒吧。

雨停了。

“杀手零六,呼叫自由鸟……任务完成了。名单已清除。”



剧透 -  “原文”:
Ricky Sharpe just smirked at the burly ork. He knew this street samurai was trying psyche him out, force him to make a mistake. But Ricky didn’t spook easily. Many had tried to take him out in one way or another; all had failed.
Outwardly calm, inside Ricky was a spark ready to ignite. His mojo was primed, on-line, and ready to go, waiting for just the right moment to release. Arms casually at his sides, no one noticed that his right hand had drifted two centimeters closer to the wicked combat knife strapped to his thigh. By contrast, the ork seemed agitated and radiated tension; his fingers flexed involuntarily. Ricky was surprised that the ork hadn’t already popped ’spurs. Were his augmented reflexes dialed-up too high, or was bravado just a cover for his fear? Ricky didn’t know or care. No one disrespects the king in his court, Ricky thought to himself. Teaching this tusker a lesson was going to be fun.
Outside the cantina, the remnants of Hurricane Steven hammered away. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled. Inside was dead quiet, the crowd barely breathing and giving both combatants a wide berth. The moment was almost here.
An extra bright flash of lightning led a deafening blast of thunder. Ricky struck. Too fast for a normal metahuman to see, his left hand seized one of the shot glasses on the table before him. The cantina crowd suddenly went berserk with cheers; the fight was on. Startled, the ork went for his own glass, but by the time his first shot of tequila went down, Ricky was on number three.
Ricky  was in the zone, his movements a prime example of an adept’s power and grace while the ork’s cheap augmentations made him look clumsy and jerky. Within four heartbeats, Ricky had downed his sixth and final shot as the ork reached for number five. Slamming the last glass to the table, Ricky neatly pivoted and his right hand shot out. At the far side of the cantina, his combat blade buried itself dead-center into a battered dartboard. Fumbling his last shot and operating on pure reflex, the ork let his own dagger fly … handle first into the jukebox two meters low and to the right of the dartboard. The blade bounced off and the jukebox came to life, blasting Johnny Banger’s latest hit single “I Do What I Want.”
“Winner!” called out the elven bartender, pointing toward Ricky. Ricky raised his arms in triumph and basked in the cantina’s adulation. The street-sam stood there motionless with his cyber-eyes unfocused, face blank. Then he fell to the floor. In the background, the losers of side-bets surrendered credsticks or wads of local scrip to the victors.
“No one messes with the king in his castle!” Ricky proclaimed as he retrieved his dagger. As he slid the weapon focus home with his right hand, Ricky realized that his left was aching to do the same thing. But the weapon foci’s twin was gone, lost during a bad batch of business in South America just a few months ago. It was like a missing limb—he still felt like it was there, still could feel it on him sometimes.
The clanging of an old-fashioned ship’s bell mounted at the end of the bar interrupted his thoughts. “Okay everyone, last call!” announced the bartender.
Ricky ignored the order and grabbed a bottle of tequila from the top shelf. He’d stay as long as he wanted, just like he’d done for the past few months. Ghost, I love this little drek-hole, Ricky thought.
Throughout the cantina, patrons hurried to pay off tabs or down the remnants of their drinks as the bouncers oh-so-gently encouraged them to get the frag out. Within minutes, the only ones in left was Ricky, the staff—and a lone figure sitting at a back table with a bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon and two glasses.
One of the bouncers, a human male with too many muscle replacements, took offense to Mr. Bourbon’s inability to follow directions. “Hey, omae, you forget to turn on your ears or somethin’? Or you just too fragging stupid to understand what ‘last call’ means?”
Expression partially hidden by a black ball cap and pair of dark smartglasses, Mr. Bourbon took another sip. Snarling, Muscle Man stormed over, slammed his palms onto the table, and leaned forward; spittle splattering on Mr. Bourbon’s longcoat.
“Listen hoop-licker, I said…”
“Heard what you said just fine.” Mr. Bourbon calmly interrupted. “Jus’ ain’t leaving yet, s’all.”
Muscle Man smirked. “And why’s that?”
“I got some business. With Ricky.”
Ricky’s head turned toward the sound of his name. He didn’t recognize the voice, that odd blend of UCAS Midwestern and CAS Cajun, but there was something about it that got his attention. 
Setting his glass down gently, Mr. Bourbon straightened up a bit in his seat and filled the second glass. “No, not me. An associate of mine.” He pulled a battered machine pistol and set it on the table.
Ricky recognized the weapon, and his blood ran cold.
“Now then, you have an outstanding bill with me. How ’bout we settle up on it?” Mr. Bourbon said. From across the cantina, their eyes met for the first time. “Do I know you?”
Ricky kept it frosty. “I don’t know what your game is, so how about you just get your sorry hoop out of here. No one’s gonna let you ...” He let the thought dangle as his hand strayed toward his blade. 
“Oh contraire,” Bourbon interrupted. “I think if dey knew ’bout your work in South America, dey’d be the first ones to skin you.”


“Zero-Two to Zero-Six; Major, you got party-crashers inbound, ETA less than two minutes. You need to evac now!”
“Still securing the wounded, need at least three. Can you stall them?”
From behind her Desert Strike’s scope, Sergeant Major Raina Watkins licked her tusks like a tiger when it smelled prey. “Oh, I’ll make them seriously regret their current course of action.”
“Copy that. Keep your ’link open and be ready to move once we start exfil.”
“Assholes and elbows on your mark, sir.”
Within the confines of her perch atop an abandoned apartment building, Raina re-adjusted her shooting position to get a better angle on the hostiles. They were at least platoon strength, sporting light mil-spec armor (with no identifying marks) and standard small-arms. But there were two machine gunners and one trooper packing a Ballista Missile Launcher. Raina scowled. The rescue teams would be sitting ducks when they tried to move with the wounded.
It was a basic rescue mission, skulking into Zona Centrico to get Fifth Team, which had been ambushed attempting to escort a VIP to a safehouse. Raina had been sent ahead to conduct recon and set up overwatch. Until now, the mission had been textbook. But in combat, Murphy was never far away.
Through her scope, she saw the hostiles move with order and discipline. Fire Teams leap-frogged each other to provide covering fire. They must have been tipped off to Fifth Team’s location because they headed right for it.
“Sorry, chummers, not today.” Raina said to herself. She touched a small pouch on her vest that contained a worn, battered unit patch and recited: “I am the Shepherd, the Wolf-hunter, and none shall harm my flock …”
Magic spread throughout her body in a warm rush, washing away any lingering pain or aches from sitting in the same position for almost a day. Her senses sharpened; the sniper rifle in her hands felt like a true extension of her body. Through her astral perception, she didn’t see any magicians. Too bad. They might have stood a chance.
The hostiles were over one hundred meters away, but the Desert Strike’s targeting receptacle easily aligned with the side of the rocket trooper’s head and then drifted down his back. With squeeze of the trigger, Raina’s rifle coughed once. A half-second later, the ammo magazine containing high-explosive rounds exploded like a bomb. Four enemy troops caught in the hellish blast radius fell to the ground. They didn’t get back up.
The rest of the hostiles opened up in all directions, desperately trying to lay down suppression fire. But Raina was in no real danger. She smoothly targeted one of the machine gunners; his head exploded in a flash of gore and kinetic energy. Three more times Raina squeezed the trigger, and three more enemy troops died. Their commander ordered a retreat as their discipline started shifting to panic. The survivors popped thermal smoke to cover their egress, but Raina could still see some of them. She could have taken out at least two more, but her mission was complete. She was a solider and a professional, not a murderer.
“Zero-Two to Zero-Six, call me an overachiever, enemy forces bugging out. Now’s a good time to get the frag out of there.”
“Copy, that Zero-Two. All packages are wrapped and ready to ship. Rendezvous at Rally Point: Alpha in four minutes. Don’t miss the bus!”
“You kidding? You owe me a bottle of the good stuff for this, sir!”
Magic still active, Raina rose from her perch and suddenly felt movement behind her. On pure reflex she jerked to the side and felt a sudden, lancing pain in her leg. Falling back down, she saw a throwing dagger buried to the bone in her left thigh. Without thinking, she reached down and pulled it out; a sharp gasp of pain burst from her lips as she realized how stupid that was. Pressing her free hand to the gushing wound, she scanned the area for her attacker and saw nothing, except two more daggers imbedded in the plascrete ledge.
“Damn, you’re good,” said an unfamiliar voice “No one’s been able to dodge any of them before. But I still think I came out ahead on this one.”
Raina’s head snapped toward the echoing voice just in time to see a human male wearing an Urban Explorer jumpsuit vault himself up and over the building’s ledge. With a tight flip, he landed in a crouch, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at her. “And here I thought today was going to be boring. Oh, great shooting by the way, very accurate. Although I have my own preferred method of killing.” His arms flared outward, spinning a pair of wicked-looking combat knives in his palm. Raina frowned. Even without her astral senses, she knew another adept and a pair of weapon foci when she saw them. Frag me.
“So now, if you’ll just hold still, we can get this over with quickly. Or, struggle a bit if you want, but you’ll just die tired. Either way, I need wrap this soon to catch Aztlan Nights on the trid.” He said surging forward with blinding speed.
Melee combat wasn’t Raina’s forte, but she was far from helpless. As the adept charged, he swiped his blades in a crisscross pattern for distraction just before his right hand struck low toward Raina’s femoral artery. Anticipating the move, Raina ignored the display and (barely) blocked the attack with her rifle; the adept was fast. She whipped her rifle up, catching the adept in the chin. Stunned, he took a step back. Raina seized the moment, driving the butt stock into his face. There was a satisfying crunch of cartilage as blood spurted from his nose.
The adept staggered back and cried out—not in pain, but pleasure. He shook ecstatically while wiping blood all over his face. Raina had seen this before, and the sudden horrible realization of what the adept was chilled her to the core. She quickly raised her rifle to her shoulder, only to see the barrel was damaged. Frag me twice!
The adept quickly regained his composure as Raina quick-drew her Crusader machine pistol and fired. Three rounds struck the adept center-mass and he fell to one knee, but the jumpsuit’s armor held. Already feeling the first effects of blood loss, Rania lined up a head-shot, hand slightly shaking. The adept just laughed.
“Not bad at all” he said with gleeful murder painted on his face. “You almost got me! I’m quite anxious to see what you do next.” As he spoke, he brought forward a knife, point up. Raina started to dodge when she realized the knife was being used as a pointer. She heard the dull “whump” in the distance followed by a tell-tail whistle. Looking up, she saw a spotter drone a mere twenty meters above.
It was time to go. She swan-dove over the side and fell into a pile of garbage four stories below—a pile she’d arranged earlier for just such a circumstance. Above, the first of the artillery shells slammed into the apartment, obliterating the top floor and sending debris flying. Quickly rolling off a safety net she’d hidden, Raina glanced upwards and saw the whack-job adept bounding off the apartment building and its catwalks all parkour-style. She had one option: run.
Fueled by magic and desperation, Raina sprinted as fast as her legs would take her. She ran around blasted walls, destroyed vehicles, and mangled bodies. But the adept stayed right on her heels.
“Whoa! Hold up there, sugar-tusks! I don’t want to hurt ya. I just want to rip your heart out!” he yelled as he leaped off a pile of bodies. Raina replied with a burst from her Crusader, but the shots went wide.
“I’m starting to think you don’t like me!” he yelled, then let three more daggers fly. Unable to dodge, Raina felt two sink into her lower back and one in her injured leg. Stumbling, she dropped her rifle and slammed against the burnt-out hulk of a Devil Rat APC. Leaning heavily against it, Raina raised her Crusader. Injury, blood loss, and exertion had taken their toll; shock was setting in. Her vision swam, and the ARO smartgun receptacle in her smartgoggles made her nauseous.
The artillery had stopped, but the adept was slowly advancing on Raina, focus spinning in his hands. Summoning whatever strength she had left, she stood up against the APC and steadied the Crusader with both hands, putting the targeting receptacle right on his face. “Stop,” she said.
The other adept chuckled. “So, setting up a final showdown, eh. You’re betting—hoping—that you can shoot me in the head before I can sprint over there and gut you like a fish.”
Raina’s vision swam.
“Stop. Now.”
“Oh come on, tusker-babe, you’re gonna die soon anyway! Why not let me make it quick?”
“No. Stop right now!”
“Not a chance. You honestly think you can even hit me with that?”
“No, just stalling.”
A bit of blood dribbled from her mouth as she nodded upward. The other adept looked up and saw the spotter drone. His eyes went wide. Then he heard the whistle.


Raina didn’t know how long she’d lay there. The sound of crackling audio in her earbud brought her back to consciousness. Too weak to move, it was all she could do to roll on her back.
“… is Zero-Six, do you copy!”
Her jaw worked a few times before she croaked a reply “Zero … Zero … Two here.”
“Raina, I’m still in the area and receiving images, but your GPS is out.”
But then a cry of pure rage split the air. Tilting her head, Raina saw the adept about twenty meters away, his jumpsuit burnt and tattered revealing lacerated skin and burnt flesh, shifting through rubble and scrap. He turned toward her, murder etched on his face. “This is your fault! It’s gone because of you!” He stalked forward, only one blade in hand.
Darkness formed at the corners of her vision, and there was not a thing she could do about it. “Zero … Nate … did you get?” she croaked.
“Yeah, mission accomplished. Now give me your damn location or turn on your GPS!”
“Not this time, sir. I’m done. Sorry, Nate. I won’t be able to make the big party.”
“What? No, Raina, no! Hold on, hold on!”
Raina reached up and dislodged her earbud, just as the other adept straddled her abdomen. It might have hurt, but she was already numb. Still, as he leaned in close, Raina met his gaze and decided to hold on for as long as she could.
“Now, what did I say earlier about your heart? Oh yeah …” The adept thrust his dagger into Raina’s chest.


“You know what, I’m sick of this. Bruno, get him out of here” Ricky said.
Bruno the over-muscled bouncer smiled as she reached for Mr. Bourbon to show him the door. Abruptly. He collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Mr. Bourbon slowly retracted his arm.
“Anyone else wanna get stupid? This is between me and Ricky, comprendre?” Bourbon said.
The cantina workers were frozen in place, unable to speak. So was Ricky. He’d never seen an unarmed strike that fast before; for the first time, he wasn’t sure he could take someone. Still, he kept his cool.
The elven bartender who found the courage to speak first. “Please, señor, just go! You have the wrong man! Ricky could not have done the things you said!”
In reply, Bourbon reached into his longcoat and pulled out a long, wicked combat dagger. He gave everyone a good look before he thrust it into the table. “Look familiar?”
The staff gasped at the sight of the blade. It was an exact match for Ricky’s.
“How many people did you carve up with these blades, Ricky? Dozens? Hundreds?” Bourbon’s fingertips held the blade and casually turned it. Ricky’s eyes never left it; he was already turning red, his calm veneer fading.
“Hey look, chum,” said one of the other bartenders “You could have gotten that anywhere.”
“Maybe. Ask Ricky? He seems interested in it.”
Ricky just stood there, hand hanging near his thigh, sweating with its tight group on the blade.
Mr. Bourbon slowly stood. “Want to know where I found this? I was only a half-a-click away. When I got dere, I found dis instead of you. Your trail was easy to follow. Took me two days skulking through an active war zone, but I found your doss. Yeah, I seen what you did to her and da others, or what was left of dem. And the altar. What did the press label you, Butcher of Bogotá?” he said.
“Still doesn’t mean anything,” said the other bartender.
“Doesn’t mean … they never proved … found HA!” Ricky suddenly barked, his face a mask of madness and anger as he looked at his other blade with longing. “Ah, fuck it. Give it to me.” His voice took on a high-pitched tone.
“Ricky?” said the elven bartender, slowly backing away.
He ignored her; all he cared about was reclaiming what was rightfully his. “Give it to me. Now”
“Best you all leave,” Bourbon said. The staff quickly complied.
Alone, they stared at each other. Ricky shook with anger, while Bourbon was calm and steady.
“So how’d you find me?” Ricky asked.
“Image link in her goggles. Saw the whole thing. After that it was a simple matter of knowing who to talk to, and how much to pay. A lot of people want you dead.”
Ricky chuckled “Nothing new. Just have to change identities again. So what now? We have our little standoff, a duel to see who’s better?”
Bourbon just stood there.
“What, suddenly can’t speak? Couldn’t get you to shut up a few minutes ago and now you won’t say a fucking thing? And for what? Some fucking worthless tusker bitch?!”
Bourbon’s right hand drifted toward the Crusader on the table.
“Oh! I see. This is some sort of honor thing, right? You’re an ‘Avenging Angel’ or some drek, huh? Okay, Gumbo-man, I’ll play your little game. And tell you what. I’ll do the ‘honorable’ thing. I’ll offer you the same terms I offered her. So let’s see who’s faster, you with that piece of drek gun, or me with my …”
There was a sudden sharp crack. Ricky’s body jerked violently as his brains evacuated the back of his skull. Bourbon stood there, a smoking custom Colt 2066 heavy pistol in his left hand. Ricky stood for a few seconds more, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He fell to the floor. 
“Honor doesn’t apply to rabid animals. They get put down.”   


It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for on Ricky’s body. It was in the right chest pocket of his jumpsuit. He pulled it out, along with several other items, including a wedding ring, an earring, an old USA silver dollar, a small plastic dolphin, and a lock of hair in a tiny plastic bag. All were trophies from other victims. He said a quick prayer for all of them, hoping he’d granted them justice as well. He took a moment to gaze at his objective; a battered and worn patch depicting a grim reaper looking over his shoulder, with a stylized “61” at the bottom. He clutched it tight, eyes watering behind his smartglasses. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out two similar patches from his own pocket; his and his father’s. Placing the three together, he secured them all as he activated his commlink and walked out of the cantina. The rain had stopped.
“Bravo Zero-Six to Freebird. Mission complete. The bill has been paid.” 
« 上次编辑: 2023-08-31, 周四 08:26:06 由 阿飘 »