Into the Violet Gardens Page 4

  “Doing the best we can,” Troy placates, “Your faith will be appreciated.”

  Before he can go on, Troy’s startled by cold hands rocking over his shoulders. He watches Victor lower down at his pupusa and look up.

  “Si, papi,” Alana calls out. “So how my Troy with you?”

  Mouth hanging as he struggles for the proper response, Victor takes a look at Troy. He nods.

  “Sabes hija,” he says. The Virtual takes a quick bite at his food and follows his gaze above at Alana. “I've been giving him some of my ideas—”

  “Dale una oportunidad, papi. Puedo ver que están muy amargados. La cena no puede seguir así ".

  Troy waves off a hand and smiles. “Oh, it’s alright, Alana.”

  He catches Alana leaning down and discloses to his ear, “Dinner’s starting up. I’d better not waste up on that pupusa if I was you.”

  Chapter 4

  Troy’s back hunches against the truck’s wall as it rode. His rear shifts to a sudden bump. The cyborg glances at his comrades sitting across him, eyes blank and inert in their position. Taylor rubs his knuckles in between his teeth, possibly the best way for him to keep vigilant.

  On the other hand, Rebecca, standing and clutching the railing above, smiles at Troy’s dubious expression before looking away. Her hair is as crimson as a scarlet flower, knotted in a braided tail, and she gazes at the front view of where the supervisory agent, Rivers, drives. A clean-cut in between his gray beard displays, giving a fresh leeway to his lips. The air within the vehicle rang hollow like a dead wind.

  The Virtual looks down at the rifle on his lamp, rummaging through his gear belt and loading a magazine into it. Soon his ears ring to horns honking gradually outside. Troy grimaces to Rivers swearing, and the agent frowns. The cacophony intensifies, and Troy’s expression darkens. Whatever is going on in those streets didn’t sound pleasant, regardless of Troy’s doubts.

  Hope I’m just jinxing this.

  “Darn,” Rivers bemoans grimly, “This is pitiful.”

  Troy’s stomach twists. A moment of pause surfaces before he advises, “V-Squad! Let’s go!”

  The Virtuals comply without question, rising in seconds. The rear door opens like a curtain embracing a new day, forcing light to gleam heavily over the agents as they step down. Troy’s Kevlar helmet remains intact over his head, and its lens glisten to a bright shade of blue to such illumination. Troy hops out in unison and lands on the ground, only to clench his teeth to the sunlight’s immensity. The pressure outside didn’t compare to what he was welcomed with inside that truck. For a cyborg forced to adapt to the snow that dominated the streets of Boston, stepping foot in El Salvador is a whole awakening. The hair on the piece of skin he had left rose to the air’s humidity.

  “Levi!” Jin’s voice calls out from afar.

  Troy turns to see the fellow agent rush over from one of the armored trucks parked alongside Rivers’ own. Several other cyborgs gather themselves, raising a hand over their eyes. The lens shielding Jin’s eyes glisten like a bed of diamonds.

  “Feels like the season changed so suddenly,” Troy says, gazing slightly at the sun blazing above.

  “Nantekotta,” Jin swears lightly. He shakes his head, vulnerable to the sun illuminating against his cheekbones. “If only Osaka was near this—over there, Levi.”

  Turning around, Troy’s eyes crack at what’s witnessed. In front of them, a prolific number of vehicles remain trapped on the road’s bridge, honking irksomely at each other. Many drivers stand close to their vehicles, yapping at thin air to the cumbersome situation. A lady driver motions hastily to a chubby male driver leaning on his SUV, and she claps her hands furiously.

  “¿Qué te pasa?” she censures aloud. Her face is red as an apple. “Nosotras nos tenemos que ir—”

  “¡Oh tú eres la que me mira, pendeja!” the male driver lashes out in reprisal.

  Goddamn. This is madness.

  Troy’s expression sours, being baffled to such a ludicrous scene. The traffic extended way ahead of his reach, and the humid breeze obscured whatever view that had yet to be seen. How are these units going to pass on? The Virtuals couldn’t just ride them over in insouciance.

  Troy curiously looks over his shoulder to the left, spotting a lone soldier observing downward at her vehicle. The tablet’s screen remains black in her hands.

  A JOA agent. Is she lost?

  Troy exchanges glances with Jin, signaling a hand.

  “Stick close with the rest, Jin,” he advises to Jin’s neural interface. His nerves vibrate. “I got this at hand.”

  Nodding, the agent rushes to the rest scattered, explicating the sight. Removing his helmet, the cyborg trudges to the agent, standing at approximately five-four feet, still inspecting her dark gray armored truck. A striped scarf wraps over her neck.

  “Hey,” he calls, “Everything alright—”

  The soldier rotates, facing him, and Troy freezes. She holds the back of her long brown hair, moving it over her right shoulder, and her dark brownish eyes lock at him, flabbergasted. A giant belt, equipped with two pistol holsters, slings at the waistband of her camouflage pants. She was apparently a foot shorter than him. Not a single augmentation in her bone.

  “Oh hi,” she says, “What’s up there?”

  Troy’s mind circuits, feeling a stream of shock and confusion flood him. The voice echoes, sending him back eleven years ago as a sophomore. Hands locked on the luggage as he was being escorted toward his temporary apartment suite in Mexico City. The badge on the resident assistant’s blue polo glimmered like a golden artifact in his hands. A black pen attached to the pocket of her denim shorts. The broadness in her eyes may have resembled that of a woman inundated in caffeine, but there was a twinkle of pulchritude in them. That gentle smile alone, the nature behind it, delivered a torrid breeze to his blood for months. However, he knew there was more to it about her, and his heart melted.

  Troy’s cheeks crack and a bead of sweat drips from the back of his ear. Judging from her facial features, it wasn’t erroneous to deem her as someone now in her mid-thirties. A slim vest rested underneath her jacket. But could these figments only be a means to swindle him? There are so many women in the world with a face like hers. And worse is when he doesn’t even know her name.

  You are definitely familiar. But I can’t goddamn figure out.

  After a gauche minute passes, Troy says, “I was about to say.” He attempts to put his thoughts in one. His fingers press down at his helmet, but he maintains his composure. He smiles. “Looks like you need some help. Where’s your JOA—”

  “I’m CIA,” she corrects quickly. Her voice was soft as silk. The officer looks down briefly at her tablet, pursing her lips. Her confounding expression lingers as if undergoing the strange wave of disbelief. “My…car system’s down.”

  Unsettled, Troy sighs. To corroborate her point, the officer arches her eyebrows and loans the tablet. The Virtual’s reflection gazes conspicuously on the black screen. She carried the same olive skin as Alana, but way much lighter. The weather’s lighting gave her skin tone a fairer complexion than it seemed.

  Let’s see what I can do.

  Troy sets a palm at the back of the device. The cyborg’s interface zooms into a chain of codes clouding his vision, only to blink to an invisible force balking his steps. His nerves twisted. This can’t be any usual error.

  “FBI?” he hears the operative asks. A smile sets on her lips, somehow recuperating from her shock. Her teeth were pure ivory, almost immaculate.

  “Yeah. V-man,” Troy acknowledges smoothly, handing back the tablet. Nevertheless, his chest pounds rapidly. “That face alone speaks lots of déjà vu.”

  “And?”

  The officer holds off, rolling her eyes in banter. Her cheeks fluster, all the while trying to maintain a straight face.

  “But,” she implies, attempting to go back on point. “It happened so suddenly, just when I was about to give out coordinates. I’d ha
te to see Moreci and the Virtuals stranded like this.”

  The commotion behind them continues. Rebecca can be seen raising her hand upon a couple of drivers swinging at each other, impeding further tension.

  “Perhaps the Cartel may have found some way to tamper it,” Troy says almost grimly. With how minacious and shrewd the syndicate is, this thought alone is perhaps the best explanation that can be corroborated. “Shouldn’t be surprised.”

  The officer glances sideways, squinting to the obstreperous cries. She rubs her eyes. “Then their chances will be slim in achieving their objective. I can’t—”

  “Try calling, if you can,” Troy mentions in reassurance. Soon a bell rings inside his mind. His heart starts to cool as he opens a prosthetic hand. If there was a time to prove his neural interface wasn’t toying around, then this is going to be the opportunity he will ever get.

  Well, this is my chance then.

  “Oh, forgot, by the way. Didn’t exchange names. The name’s Troy. Agent Troy Levi.”

  The officer’s mouth hangs. Her pupils shift as if an epiphany has descended before her in human form. She reaches for his palm strangely.

  “Oh,” she utters. Her voice trails. “I…I don’t want to believe it. It’s crazy.”

  Those two words alone had Troy simply scratching his beard.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Soriana,” she blurts out randomly. She reaches for his hand, only to pull it quickly. “It’s Soriana Salazar. No wonder we looked so…strange.”

  Soon the face of the resident assistant reappears like a specter, gradually merging with the armed officer, and a flicker snaps upon the instant synergy. Her name rings, vibrating like a tune into the back of his head. Impossible, but it couldn’t be. She’s just as dumbfounded. The code’s been cracked.

  Goddamn. I’m blown.

  She continues, “My…god.” Soriana brushes her hair, grinning anxiously. “Time DID fly—”

  A loud boom cracks, and Soriana jerks. Troy turns his nose in both directions, perturbed.

  “Twelve o’clock!” a Martial warns. “Pursue target!”

  The second boom echoes, only to be followed by a flood of drivers scurrying and ducking from a thick screen of smoke. Their screams reverberate violently. Troy frowns at a van standing close to a giant truck. However, that quickly is overshadowed when he witnesses a sinister sight peeping visibly behind the steam, appearing from one of the vehicles and beckoning a bladed tip in their direction. Troy swears.

  Goddammit. That’s got to be him!

  The veneer obscures the view quickly, and the agent’s body shakes. A tangerine glow kindles dimly, and a band of shadows looms from the smoke.

  “Contact! Contact!” a Martial warns. “Ambush inbound!”

  Troy sets his helmet on immediately before signaling an unnerved Soriana with his fellow agents following in pursuit. Rapid-fire exchanges and a spray of bullets shatter through vehicle glass. Reaching into his vest kit, Troy throws the first frag before sliding for cover behind a Murano. The ground vibrates upon impact. The throng of people inundates his view.

  One of the Salvadorans stumbles and his car key slips. The cyborg manages to catch the key, scoop the stranger in his grasp, and set the key into the young man’s hand firmly before signaling him to scram.

  “¡Aseguren al capo, vatos!” an enforcer commands. “¡Acaben con estas chatarras perros!” Get rid of these scrapdogs!

  “Push through them!” Rebecca barks aloud.

  Troy rises, hands cradled over the M4’s trigger, and fires. The bullet travels its way into its first victim, penetrating into the bandit’s upper breast. Blood spews from his mouth as he staggers, and the second shot fires.

  “¡Todos!” Soriana admonishes aloud. She loads a clip to her second pistol. “QUÉDATE ABAJO. AHORA. Nadie quiere morir.”

  Soon as that was said, Soriana blinks to a splash of blood on her face as a woman’s body descends to a single shot to the scalp. Despite being almost vulnerable, the operative fires at both sides beside Troy. The cyborg’s eyes sting to crimson flakes gushing through, and before him stood a wall of fire blazing horizontally over the street.

  Well, this fucking sucks.

  “Got you ladies covered!” he hears Taylor placate. The agent stood over a group of women shivering behind their car. “Stay low!”

  “Keep in watch of that fire!” Troy shouts to everyone.

  The shadow of FBI quad drones advances over the Virtuals. Their diminutive chain guns oscillate as they fire downward. An enforcer shields himself with the car debris, but the shells penetrate the surface. He staggers violently to the shots riddling his body. Nevertheless, the enemies remain relentless.

  Just when Soriana fires at the eye of an enemy, an unusual foe rises slowly. Veins protrude visibly over his sturdy skin, which was enamored in satanic horns. A tangerine ooze bubbles from the wounds punctured at his breasts, and Troy’s blood rises. The bandit, whom he knew all too well, lays a minacious gaze toward him, flexing his marked fingers.

  The effects! How couldn’t I know?

  “Aim for the head!” Soriana cries. “Fire!”

  Troy readies aim as the enforcer charges. Suddenly an instant sweep halts him, and the enforcer clutches his neck. It took one gulp for his head to slip from his grasp. Soriana gasps to see a veneer unfold over a red-headed cyborg. She winks hastily.

  “Hurry, Levi!” Rebecca warns as she dissembles once more like a chameleon into the warzone. Her tactical knife fades with it.

  The Virtual and human exchange glances and advance. Troy turns back to another surviving enforcer, missing an eye, lunge. That is, until a heavy blast devours him, riding him along and colliding with several of his hostile partners. The ivory cannon augmented in Jin’s arm swirls. Stars fly their way into the agent’s cannon’s vent until he summons another fiery comet vertically, cracking the ground’s surface.

  “Maintain the pressure agents!” Troy hears Rivers remark into the neural interface.

  Sweat creeps over Troy’s forehead as he ducks from the rapid-fire. A plethora of corpses scatters the street. The cyborg fires at will as his focus shakes. He staggers on debris and backs to the blaze burgeoning in size.

  Shit.

  “Calling in reinforcements!” an enemy orders in Spanish behind the blaze. “¡Llámalo!"

  Multiple bandits, now heavily armed with body armor, leap from the inferno and on top of the vehicles. Troy’s heart stops as an enemy locks a stinger in his direction.

  Troy takes Soriana by the wrist as he leaps with her over the van’s rear. However, the impact makes its hit, and the car’s eradication hurls the two aside.

  A number of rockets race their way forward, obliterating two of the FBI’s armored trucks simultaneously. Virtual agents take a hit to the explosions, and their scorching bodies glide in mid-air over the bridge. Troy attempts to call out to Rebecca as her knife breaks from the shadows, ready to plunge at her target. It took a second to see her visible body succumb to a rain of grenades making their landing. Troy’s hand shivers.

  Oh no! Oh no!

  “Virtual down!” Troy warns. “Multiple Virtuals down!”

  Troy had little time to process as he scurried frantically from the explosives. He clenches his teeth as his nerves throb, and the world around him turns hazy. The street’s debris erupts like a geyser.

  Soon the perpetrator, cradling the grenade launcher, turns toward Soriana’s direction. A sudden reminiscence takes shape, taking him back to the streets of Honduras. Enemies marched brazenly. Grenades descended, engulfing whatever stood in its way. His limbless body laid stiff, soaked in a pool of blood, panting weakly to the colorless sky. Snapping out of the horror, Troy swears aloud.

  NOT today! Not in years!

  Laughing, the perpetuator spits the explosives, and time slows. The cyborg throws himself over the operative, keenly eyeing the balls radiating. The balls land base at his body armor and a white glow inundates the Virtuals
.

  The abrupt blow kicks him back violently. The explosives set in his gear detonate all at once, sending Troy careening further in a blitz than ever. His body flips, knocking one of the bystander’s faces, and the cyborg crashes against the bridge’s dense railing.

  Troy grunts to the pain aching in his spine. Blaze entrenches over his armor plate and limbs. Voices cry aloud to him like spirits from another dimension. He wobbles his head to the distorted glitches dancing in his eyes. Nevertheless, he takes a kind insouciance to the scorch. The nano-resistants vibrate within his bionic muscles, and the flames diminish gently from his body.

  His vision clears upon witnessing Soriana speed toward his side. She mutters something that he could not decipher. Her face flushes as she removes her scarf, flapping it over him, but Troy waves it off. His armor bubbles, but the flames no longer consume his limbs.

  “Don’t take this lightly—”

  “No,” he dismisses urgently.

  An aerial engine echoes from afar. Soriana clutches tight to Troy’s shoulder. Before proceeding, she covers her head to a shower of fire. A bright red dome veils the two, and shells vaporize upon contact with the voltaic surface. Her band glimmers on her wrist.

  Soriana reaches over to lift the cyborg, leveling his arm around hers.

  “My body’s fireproof, Soriana,” Troy placates. “I’ll be okay—”

  “Don’t say much,” Soriana censures. She gets closer. “I know this because I’ve protected you.”

  Troy’s mouth drops. Reminiscence plays once more, and the cyborg transmutes into a student, losing consciousness from the arching pain. A firm grip lifts him from the ground, escorting him from his tarnished suite and leading into the hallway. The walls crumbled into the blaze. Angry voices and shots boomed in both directions. The pistol remained firm in Soriana’s grasp as she leveled it meticulously in one hand.