-1-

She was officially one of theirs now.

I run the back of my finger across the still warm red tattoo carved elegantly on Sage’s bare back. She bristles at the cold metal on the back of my hand meeting her skin and loses her focus on her game.

“Cheater,” she huffs as her orange motorcycle on the holoscreen  tumbles off screen in a fiery crash.

“Sorry.”

She shuts the holoscreen off and puts her head on my chest. We were lying  on the plush carpeted floor of a private room of Dream. The Mjollner recruits from the hostel, who I came with, assumed we were  fucking—which was weird since I’d been claiming to be her cousin, but I wasn’t about to participate in the Mjollner’s disgusting prostitution ring.

I came here because  I  needed someone to bullshit around with. Someone who knew the truth about me. Someone who I wasn’t performing for. Sage was still partially loyal to the Mjollner, but she’d agreed to keep my secret.

In some ways we’d both gotten promotions in the two months I’d been undercover; she was now an official Mjollner call girl and I (for all intents and purposes) was a Mjollner Street Samauri.

Sage runs her burgundy painted talon like fingernails across my knuckles and up my forearms slowly.

“Careful,” I remind her.

 “You don’t look like a freak,” she tells me. Her tone is reassuring.

I felt like one.

I’d had no choice but to let the Mjollner hack me. It was going to get me one step closer to gaining Bishop’s trust and hopefully finding Rias. It was a long con, but I’d intended to finish it soon and have the bodyhacks reversed by Blackbird.

I’d gone into surgery a month ago and just came out last week. I’d had nightmares about that hooks for hands shit Minnow talked about, but apparently the real crazy hacks are by request only.

Instead long, sharp blades had been embedded into the back of my arms. The blades could fold in on themselves and become a thin, flat metal plane, but they were still sharp as fuck. Brass plates had been applies to every other knuckle of my fingers so that any punch I threw would draw blood. Even more adrenaline was placed into my brain to make me more amped and less bothered by pain.

They’d put a lot of time and money into me. My initiation into the Mjollner was all but guaranteed. Which meant my betrayal had to be soon.

“I’m tired…Walk me home ?,” Sage asked.

I nodded as she picked up her maroon heels and adjusted her sparkly gold slash of a dress.  Whatever they had done to her had made her face more severe;  her lips were always deep red, her cheeks hollow and her eyes darkened on the edges. She was beautiful and I’m sure well worth the 2,000 dollars an hour they now charged for her.

We leave out the backdoor of Dream and walk down The Strip. It’s well past 6AM and some of the shops are opening up for the day. As we walk streets the  wandering drug addicts, residents and homeless  move out of our way and avoid eye contact.

The Mjollner own these streets and we look like brass Mjollner.  It’s a powerful feeling.

When we arrive at the Excalibur II I say my goodbyes to Sage. I’d taken up Bishop’s offer and moved into one of his suites. Apparently Sage had moved into a similar suite in the building with a few other call girls while I was under.

“You’re not going home ?,” she says.

“I have to be on duty with Dr.Markov in about an hour,” I tell her.

“When do you sleep ?,” she laughs.

“I don’t have to.” I tell her.  “Client list ?”

She nods her head and flicks through the screen on her syndicate until I get a beep that a message had been received in my inbox.

When she disappears inside I head  to the basement garage and use my chip to unlock one of the crimson Mustangs with the Mjollner Scythe and Stars in gold on the side.

 I knew I needed to get out of the Mjollner before I agreed to do anything else crazy. I’d started busting my ass the best I could since I came out of the surgery. I’d been recording every conversation and taking Sage’s client lists. I’d transcribe them by hand on paper and then left the paper somewhere in the Sprawl. Then I’d send an encrypted file to Jean with the location of the transcripted names.

I hoped there was something that would help Sara figure this out.

So far nothing had.

 I transcribe the last of Sage’s client list as the sun comes up. I put the Mustang into drive and navigate it through the downtown streets to the affluent residential part of the Sprawl. I pull into the garage of a glass skyscraper and the vehicle elevator carries me the top floor.

 I drive through a maze of tunnels and pull up to an unmarked door to wait for Dr. Markov.

He comes out the door 20 minutes later in his usual three piece suit and white coat. He waves to someone on the other side of the door before getting into the  car.

 Sometimes Dr. Markov’s wife comes out with him on her way to her job at a retail store. Sometimes I see her taking their two daughters to school. She never acknowledges me. I’m not even sure she knows what her husband is doing for the Mjollner. Hell, sometimes I don’t even know what he is doing and why Bishop felt he needed so much protection.

  I’d put together that he’d been working for the Mjollner for a year on the M44 drug—yet he’d never been a target for Rayne or Sara.

Dr. Markov lived  a cush life at the hands of the Mjollner.  They provided him with his huge penthouse, the expensive suits he wore under his white coat and his very own bodyguard. Even though he just spent hours in his expensive sterile lab adjusting formulas and answering to no one.  

Ever since I came out of surgery Dr. Markov had been trusting me more. He gave me tasks to complete and  started acknowledging me instead of working in silence. He’d even invited me inside his home for a drink a few days ago, but I’d made excuses.

When we arrived at Dr. Markov’s lab, Bishop was waiting for us at the door.  He was a rare sight to me these days.

Bishop greeted Dr. Markov with a kiss on each of his cheeks and all but ignored me.

“I have a delivery that I think you’ll find some use for,” Bishop tells him with a smile.

“Live bodies ?,” Dr. Markov asks.

This was Dr. Markov’s thing—he liked to test his drugs on people who were still alive.  I’d seen him go through two people in the time I’d been guarding him.

Bishop opened the door to the lab and we stepped through.  A pair of young Mjollner tagalongs was arranging several dead bodies on a table.

The corpses were Mjollner and while I noticed some had head trauma there was no outward sign of death. Several of the corpses had kill counts tattooed on their hands—some of them in fresh ink. These weren’t just kids from the streets, they’d been loyal members.

“What the fuck happened ?,” I asked.

“Not sure,” Bishop shrugs. “They were driving from downtown and the driver just passed out. He hit a wall and we assume the impact took out the rest of them.”

It didn’t seem likely; they should have more bruises if the impact killed them but I didn’t want to argue.

“I don’t have a use for dead bodies,” Dr. Markov says as I predicted.

“Excise their organs then.” Bishop says.  “I can find a buyer--”

“The organs are useless to anyone. They’ve been dead too long--,” Dr. Markov starts.

“Try anyway,” Bishop counters.  “If not we can sell the tissue DNA.”

This is what terrified me the most about the Mjollner. If you suddenly have no purpose for you; you become parts. I’d never seen them call families or bury bodies when someone died. They were always rolled into the lab for later use or burned.

“I need a live body, Gideon,” Dr. Markov said sharply. “I can’t continue on with the M44 development without them.”

“I don’t have one for you. I need all my men on the street right now.” Bishop said.

 “What about a joygirl?,” Dr. Markov argues. “At this stage of development she may not even die--”

“No. Those women belong to me and they are not for experimentation.”

They have a short stare off as Dr. Markov pulls on his gloves.

“I want to add my needs to the docket,” Dr. Markov says bluntly.

“Don’t be petty,” Bishop balks.  “The Board doesn’t have time--”

“This drug won’t be any good if everyone who uses it dies. I want the Board to know that. Then maybe you’ll be able to bring me something I can work with,” Dr. Markov says sternly.

“I’ll have it added,” Bishop says and briskly walks out, the two Mjollner following him

“You know  anatomy, right ?,” Dr. Markov says to me as he boots up his machines.

“Um, barely. I mean--”

“I’m only going to do this once.” He says, walking over to the table of corpses.

He picks up a blade and makes a cut down one of the cadavers chest. Switching the blade for a speculum his pries the chest open with a violent pop.

“Cut the tendons—those black strings on the heart, liver, kidneys and lungs. Put them in fluid and pack them on ice. Use the UV saw to remove the brain from the skull and take a sliver of tissue for DNA.”

“Are you sure you want me to do it ?,” I ask.

“I sure as hell don’t have time to." he says bluntly. "You seem to know a little bit about bodyhacking. May as well make yourself useful."

 

***

-2-

The first attack happened that week.

I was driving Dr. Markov back to his penthouse at the end of the day. I noticed a couple of  midnight blue motorcycles on the street corners, but I didn’t think anything of it.

We’d started doing small talk about evening plans—I said I’d be going to Dream even though the truth was I’d planned to meet up with Sara. He made a remark that he missed those days.

“How long have you been married ?,” I asked as I pull into his street.

“A decade,” he says and his face breaks into an unfamiliar smile.

“Does your wife know what you do ?”

“She knows enough,” he says. “Things were rough when I got laid off from Corporis.  When the Mjollner offered me this we couldn’t say no to the money and I couldn’t resist the freedom. I’m only synthesizing one drug and then I’m done. I don't want to be complicit in what they do.”

“...Is it true you were experimenting on kids ?,” I ask.

“Who told you that ?,” he asks, his voice going quiet.

“I looked you up in the news,” I lied. Sara had told me.

He frowned.

“The world of commercial Bioengineering firms is very competitive. It’s biggest blindspot is pediatric enhancement because no one wants to experiment on prepubescent children. I believed if their families were compensated  it would be for the greater good. I got carried away…I can’t talk about this anyway, I signed a nondisclosure in a law suit.”

One of the dark blue motorcycles revved up and sped ahead of us into the garage elevator.

“Assholes,” Dr. Markov says under his breath as the doors close.

I start to feel on edge, but the motorcylist go to the 12th floor and when the elevator descends back down it is empty.

When I finally pull up to the door of Dr. Markov's penthouse I notice Mrs. Markov’s car is also in her space.

“Good night,” Dr. Markov says to me.

I nod my head as he scans his wrist over the door and it glides open with a hum.  As the door shuts I can hear excited squeals from his daughters inside

I feel unsettled. I sit in the car for five minutes and watch his door just to make sure nothing is wrong. I have to  reason with myself about why I'm actually protecting him.

Dr. Markov isn’t one of them. He clearly knows nothing about the Mjollner's operation. He’s taught me more about biotech in one week than Blackbird did in a year. There’s no reason I shouldn’t protect him.

Sure, he kills other Mjollner for his own fucked up experiments But technically so do Rayne and Sara.

I start the Mustang back up and hack into the autopilot program. I disable the safety programming that requires a passenger to use autopilot. I then set a predetermined route in autopilot that will make the car drive itself out of the garage. I tint the windows and roll out the passenger door as the empty car slowly descends back down the tunnels to the elevator.

As my car drives itself away I crouch behind Mrs. Markov’s BMW and wait.

And wait.

Within seconds I hear an explosion and a hail of machine gun bullets from a few feet below me. I smell burning rubber.

Shit.

So, someone was coming after us.

Before I can think of what to do next I hear the loud zip of an engine as three sleek dark blue motorcycles pull up to Dr. Markov’s door. One of the motorcyclist is wielding a handheld hack that could be used to override DNA locks.

I come out from behind the BMW and lunge for them.

My goal is what is always is;  knock them out or injure  until I can get back up.

I grab one of the cyclist by his neck from behind and slam him to the ground. One of his compatriots tries to violently pull me off and I slam my elbow into him. He retreats with no resistance and lets out the most agonized scream I have ever heard.

I turn around to see the man I elbowed is lying in a growing puddle of blood, his right arm was completely severed by the sharp blade in my arm. I must have nicked  a major artery in his neck too  because blood gushes from his wound. I pull out the crimson handled Mjollner glock from my ankle and shoot him in the head just to end his suffering.

I expect his two friends will fall back, but they both come towards me with their guns held high. I keep moving to make myself a harder target. I cross my arm over my chest and the bullet bounces off my blades and into the glass windows of the garage with a crack. I’m not a great shot and I need to end this shoot out. I throw my gun at one of their faces and while he is flinching I run up on him and knock his gun out of his hand and land a brass knuckled punch to his face.

Blood erupts from his nose.

“Don’t make me kill you,” I growl pinning the guy down. “I’ll let you go if you and your  friend just leave this family the fuck alone.”

I sense his friend coming up behind me, so I make a quick grab for one of the fallen guns and put a bullet in his friend’s leg. It doesn’t stop him, so I swipe his side with my bladed arm and he falls back with blood spilling from his abdomen.

“I know you. You…work for Rayne Washington,” the man I have pinned down says. “Is the Shy Cartel getting in the middle of this now ?,”

“Who sent you ?,” I ask.

He makes a pathetic attempt to reach for his gun, I get to it first and empty 12 bullets into his body. I look behind me to see his friends had both bled out.

There is blood in my eyes.

Blood in my hair.

Blood dripping down my arms into my hands.

Soaking my clothes

Staining my shoes.

My first kill,

And it was for the Mjollner.

It’s 8PM and I know Dr. Markov and his family will be coming out  in less than 12 hours to begin their day.

Fuck me.

I jog down the car ramp to where the Blue Motorcycles had blown up the Mustang. The trunk is still in good enough shape that I can yank it open and take out my spare jacket.Wiping the blood off my face with my shirt, I put the clean jacket on and go to the corner market for cleaning supplies. The shop owner doesn't even make me pay--he just adds it to the Mjollner bill.

I spend 10 hours cleaning up the blood. It’s the one thing I know how to do well since it  used to be all Sara let me do.

When I’m done there is barely a sign of the mess from the ambush. I roll the pieces of their bodies in linen and dump them in the trunk of the car. I shove the motorcycles into a corner until I can get help moving them.

With an hour to spare until I need to pick up Dr. Markov I run back to the Excalibur II and knock on Bishop’s suite door.

Ilena swings open the door in heels and red lingerie.A large Mjollner ensign is inked on her side I still didn't know if she was Bishop's joygirl, assistant or girlfriend. She stares at me with mild disgust and I try not to stare.

“Who is it, darling ?,” Bishop calls from inside.

“It’s me, A—Pytor,” I call when it becomes obvious she isn’t going to respond.

I hear his footfalls and he comes to the door in a robe.

“What the hell do--”

“Someone...I don’t know who, tried to attack Dr. Markov---I think. I got carried away and I killed them before I could ask--”

I project an image I took of the kill scene before I cleaned it up.

“They blew up the car so I couldn’t drive it back—

“Enough,” Bishop cuts me off.

He zooms into the image and pans across it slowly. His focus is on the blue motorcycles.

“You did good,” He smiled. “Very fucking good.”

“Who were those guys ?,” I asked.

"Cavalcante," Ilena whispers

"What the hell is that ?," I ask.

“None of your concern,” Bishop says sharply. "But the Rektor will want to know about this."

He closes the image and turns to Ilena.

“Please add Mr. Antonovich  to the docket of the Recktor’s Board meeting  tonight.”

-----