Into the Violet Gardens Page 6

  “Vamos. Vamos,” Eva urges almost flatly. “Podría ser un percance a distancia. Es mejor que continuemos el ritmo antes de que sea demasiado tarde.”

  Guzman complies, signaling his guards to follow. Eva’s tag jingles as she advances in celerity.

  “What’s going on?” she questions Rip. Eva takes a shot behind her, observing the politician’s following.

  “Mendoza’s number’s buried into my brain,” Rip says slyly. “So I got access to the calls received. Communications between the two are hijacked to keep him rolling.”

  So you’re his alternate receiver. Brilliant.

  “Well you’re almost there,” the Martial states, “Continuemos hasta que nos acerquemos “a las dos últimas escaleras mecánicas.” ["Let's continue until we get closer to the last two escalators."]

  She points a finger forward, continuing to feign knowledge. “Continuemos hasta que nos acerquemos a las dos últimas escaleras mecánicas.”

  Eva hears the Dissembler echo. She stares down, and her fears could only aggravate as the light on her chest flickers. Feeling her heart race rapidly, Eva gestures to the three behind her, clutching to her chest as the light’s azure hue repeatedly illuminates over her hand.

  Her hair dances as she trudges hurriedly. Just when she comes across a group of travelers blockading her way, the phone at her skirt’s side buzzes.

  Not now.

  “Perdón. Perdón,” she repeatedly says as she gains a way to open space. The red creeps on her face, and she looks away from another quad drone passing by. How flummoxing time can speed by so quickly. Even more vexing is this alarming call. She couldn’t falter and expose herself like this, not when these three men are behind her. However, the fate of that seemed so inevitable for her.

  Her mouth hangs to travelers descending from one of the short escalators. The call continues to ring. A restroom is close by. Nearing the spot, Eva glances above and faces Guzman.

  “They’re coming up,” Eva says. She pants. “My Dissembler’s running out.”

  “Arriba. Conductor en la entrada.” [“Above. Driver at the entrance.”]

  “Arriba. Conductor en la entrada,” she says. Her nerves twist. The phone continues to alarm. “Estare de vuelta.”

  “Así que esto es todo,” Guzman says, stepping foot into the escalator. “Al menos se agradece tu ayuda.” [“So this is it. At least your help’s appreciated.”]

  With no other words said, she brushes her way into the restroom. Whipping out her cell phone, she throws her head back to unexpected contact. How could this be true?

  Her all this time?

  The bead clicks, brightening than ever. Nevertheless, to get rid of the weight, she activates the communication indirectly.

  “Moreci?” Soriana’s voice calls out. “Apologies for the situation. I’ve been undergone--”

  Eva grunts. She turns her head in all directions, shaking to anyone in view.

  “Moreci,” she emphasizes. “I couldn’t hear. What’s going on? Is—”

  “No. No,” she hisses aloud before disconnecting the line urgently. As her chest taps, the veneer over her shivers slightly.

  She bursts her way out, but a hot grasp yanks at the top of her arm. Eva gasps as she locks eyes on Jose dragging her by the wrist.

  “I knew something was strange about you,” Jose says chillingly. “Now we have the answers.”

  Eva wriggles, but his grip retains a stance like stone. Her muscles tighten. Soon they reach the top base of the terminal, and the dissembler cracks as Jose flings her down. Her identity transmutes, and the flesh on her skin gives way to pure steel. Her black armor suit shines dully. Raising her head, Eva gulps to Guzman standing next to Rip. The robot’s wrist remains trapped in his grasp, and the politician raises it. Guzman gazes at her, the amity no longer present in his expression, now replaced with a dull smugness.

  “So this is what the CIA brought forth to carry on my assassination,” he says aloud. “A shame the limit of your gadgets caught up to you two so easily.”

  Eva’s spine crawls to the sharpness in hearing him speak her native tongue. Rip’s pixelated eyes glance sideways, unsure to the situation he’s got himself to. Airport security agents brush aside the perturbed travelers watching from afar. Their weapons were aimed in her direction.

  I can’t believe it.

  “I have to admit,” he continues. Guzman waves his cell phone, smiling gently. “You’re a very intelligent agent. I’m hurt, yet amazed.” He raises an eyebrow toward Rip. “This Martial’s voice alone, however, gave out the cues I needed to crack down on this foul play.”

  “You’ve been too lenient Guzman,” Jose states. He draws out a revolver, lowering it to her head. “This cyborg’s been executing our officials for too long.”

  Eva meets Rip’s gaze sternly as if sharing the same grief. She then levels her focus on everyone facing her. The murmurs rattle her nerves. Guards surround the terminal’s entrance to where the pickup’s parked. The tables were in favor of Guzman. Whatever hope she had left in precluding this situation has vanished. She locks her sights at the handle sealed at her waistband, and a shadow creeps over her eyes.

  We’re deadlocked.

  “Moreci?” Rain asks arbitrarily.

  “We’ve been burned, Rain,” she implies imminently. “Get out of there if you can. I’m calling the action in three seconds.”

  “Ok.”

  Her optics consolidates over her marked enemies.

  “Stay ready, Hax.”

  The time hits its mark. Eva gyrates, wielding her foot over Jose. He tumbles, and his back lands on the floor. Before he can rise, Eva presses her fist to his chest. Spikes arch from the tip of her knuckles, nailing into the skin in an instant. Guzman’s glasses tumble upon Eva ripping the spikes from his chest. Blood flings to the marble floor.

  “Go hot, Rip!”

  Commotion breaks as the Martial unleashes a dense whistle. The people stagger. Breaking from Guzman’s grip, Rip swats his arm against the politician’s temple. Guzman slides back over the packages.

  “¡Fuego!”

  Flares snap in her direction. Eva draws a hand into her pocket and tosses the sphere. Claws evolve, reaching toward the gunmen. The shape transitions into its predatory form, buying her a chance to leap. The bullets dart, and gravity delays all motion before her. Whipping her handle, Eva glowers at the firing squad circling her. Her body vanishes like a mirage, and the bullets pierce effortlessly into the vapor. One of the guards gasps.

  “¡Hey! ¿Dónde está —”

  He grunts to a sudden slash over the abdomen. Eva’s form reappears in a heartbeat to the red squirting rapidly behind her. The Oni gleams at the tip of her nose. Her muscles reverberate to the voltaic charge enveloping over her katana’s azure surface.

  Eva eyes several of the guards preparing to fire her way, but she teleports once more. Slashes whoosh over their bodies effortlessly, severing them from their limbs. She looms directly at a yelping officer before wielding her sword clockwise through the officer’s jaw smoothly. Another officer’s shadow lunges for her behind, but she thrusts the blade’s carbon steel edge without a single glance. The victim coughs wildly, and red saliva drips at her prosthetic arm.

  Drawing out her baton, an airport officer rushes angrily until Hax lunges for her. She twitches, and the Prowler bears and gnashes at her face, ending her suffering. Assistants behind the desk counter stand and scram. Armed officers rush in. The Prowler’s jaw illuminates like an inferno, and a scorching star spits into the counter’s space. The first officer leaps, but the blast’s radius snags him from behind. Packages decimate one by one, and officers flail as their bodies disintegrate.

  Travelers from afar scram. Suitcases roll through the stampede. Multiple officers barge from the crowd, and laser dots aim at the intruders.

  “Got this one Hax!”

  Eva shoots a number of kunais out her knuckles before teleporting. Hax evades swiftly from the rapid-fire. The knives cl
ing with the bullets simultaneously. That is, until one of the knives succeeds in imploding, obfuscating the officers in a shroud of dense smoke.

  Rip charges through the enemies like a rhino, flinging the officers in mid-air. A bladed edge pierces behind his steel arm. Unmoved, the Martial hurls the officer by the arm, slamming his back toward the surface. A barrage of fists drills crazily into the guard’s face until a foe tackles him. The android rises, lifting her as she thrashes her legs helplessly.

  “Eva!” he cries. “Fetch!”

  The officer glides toward the operative’s direction, and her Oni slides through her spine like butchered meat. Eva narrows her focus to her right, witnessing a shadow rise and sprint toward the terminal’s entrance. Her hair rises.

  Oh no. It’s over for him.

  “Let’s go!” Rip barks.

  “Leave him to me!”

  The steam snakes its way into the ground, trapping her ankles like sand. Soon she frowns to a number of buzzes picking up behind her. Her back shifts.

  “I will target the quad drones,” Hax assures the cyborg.

  Once the dark-steel jaguar sprints, Eva dashes for the suspect and slices at the iron entrance. Shards and debris fly around her, sprinkling her cheeks. She spirals her katana at the gunners, deflecting the gunfire coming her way. Salvadoran officers tumble to bullets piercing their limbs. A collision rams her down, and she skids. The Oni knocks from her hand.

  A truck halts and agents get off the seats. She grunts to a stern pain. Nevertheless, she brushes it off, clutching and tearing it into the road’s concrete stance. The officers draw their weapons, and she rolls and snaps out of view. Their bullets ricochet on the road. In three seconds, the Virtual blitz in the eyes of the first officer. Breaking him from his startle, she delivers a jabbing cut to his stomach. Spit belches out his mouth. The officer has no room to process pain as Eva rounds a kick to his face, cracking his collarbone and spinning his body upward.

  The driver recoils, screaming as he flees. Eva flips onto the car’s front and wheels her body in mid-air. She slings her foot at the back of the driver’s neck, crushing his face to the concrete. Pinning his nose to the concrete, she calls a hand outward. The Oni’s handle magnets to her, and she impales the saber twice at the back of the driver’s skull.

  Guzman taps at a passing van. The door opens, and a hand reaches out for the man. Eva jogs, firing a knife at his back. The figure howls as the firecrackers engulf him, snaking its way toward the driver. Guzman falls flat while Eva trails. The sunlight beams on her sword as she drags it smoothly on the street’s ground.

  Smoke hisses from within the airport’s entrance, slithering its way into the afternoon. Pedestrians continue to scatter. Scars swell over Guzman’s skin, and his fabric charred in burns. Crawling, he glances over, glowering at his hunter.

  “You will regret this—”

  Eva plunges her Oni, driving it abruptly into his chest. Guzman glances downward at the voltaic saber penetrated inside him. She thrusts it further, and he clutches a hand to the bladed surface, shivering to the skin sizzling on his palm. Blood slivers down his lips, and the moment she yanks her sword, a fountain of blood gushes from the puncture. His body plummets. Guzman’s eyes roll back. Light gleams over his corpse as if the unknown heavens have finally claimed their victim.

  You’re done running.

  Salvadorans gather hesitantly, surrounding her. She takes a dab at the blood tainted on her blade, sculpting her finger down on the part of the dry pavement. The blood scales in an anomalous pattern, and the kanji vaunts itself on the concrete.

  死.

  Her lips remain sealed as she rises, gazing at everyone equally.

  “Dante Guzman’s dead,” she declares into her hardware. “Team. I repeat. Dead.”

  Hax looms from the tarnished entrance, nearing her side, along with Rip and Rain. Bystanders step back tentatively from the entry as they pass. Rain crumbles the pseudo-ID in his hand, gazing upward to the light. Ironically his orange safety vest remains over his scaly torso. Prowler’s blue eyes spark, illuminating small rays that scan over the cadaver.

  “Such wasted life,” he says lugubriously.

  She rubs the Prowler’s head, knowing that she avenged someone that she never met. Rip trudges, digital eyes narrowed quizzically to the gritty air.

  “So it’s finally done, Moreci?” Rip questions shockingly. His muscles vibrate within his black exoskeleton. The android twists his wounded arm and the gash sizzles.

  Eva returns her comrade’s gaze and steps back a few feet as Rip stares downward at the grisly sight, sealing away the Oni’s blade as she did. Silence lingers around them. She endured a chunk of weight diminishing from her hands.

  Witnesses stand over the airport’s ceiling cover, leaning behind the edifice’s tribal architectures and locking phone cameras her way. She has no words for these humans. This is how far they can witness, and it is a pity how inconspicuous they are to the truth. The truth about Guzman’s machinations behind the shadows; the causalities he surreptitiously sponsored against the Jaguars of Apollo, the only sane guardians these civilians had. Someday the people that watched her so blankly, will find their answer. She did them a favor. Regardless, it had to be done.

  Chapter 6

  The JOA pilot shifts his hands on the control stick as his ship advances in the sky. The bustling clouds slap on the anterior view. A dim ringing vibrates like a leakage inside the VTOL, and Troy examines one of the riot shields hanging on the wall while one hand remains on the phone. He hears Soriana sigh.

  “I’m in pursuit now,” Troy says in a hushed voice. His lips barely move.

  “I’m at my studio. But I have heard someone serious went down at Saint Oscar,” Alana implies chillingly. “They’re still—”

  “Lower it some,” Troy advises.

  “Yeah. They…they—they’re now saying there was some escalation. Don’t know the rest though, yet.”

  Troy scratches his chin and looks back at Soriana briefly. The air around him turns dark.

  “I’ll get to you, Alana. Now it is basically…not the best. See you.”

  He ends the line indirectly without touching the screen and Troy continues their examination.

  “Still nothing from her,” she says to herself anxiously. Soriana flips the cell phone upside down, rubbing the anterior against her lap.

  The minute Troy rounds the shield’s handle over his arm; a sudden alarm jerks him back.

  “Nearing the target!” the pilot alerts.

  Troy advances, standing behind the pilot’s seat. His bionic fingers tingle upon witnessing a black aircraft floating sluggishly below, philistine to its rival’s existence. Troy looks back, signaling the CIA officer urgently to him. However, her view only lasts for a minute as the Virtual pilot quickly overshadows the sighting of the Cartel’s jet.

  Doubt if he knows we’re on his ass.

  “Open the exit!” Troy commands as he approaches the door. “We got it from here!”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah!”

  The door ascends, and the cyborg clutches to the stand as he blinks to the air, whistling toward his face furiously. The color on his lens fluctuates to the aerial pressure. His heart pounds, and that can only magnify once he spots a suited passenger standing close to the edge of the enemy jet’s edge. He jabs a finger in Troy’s direction, mumbling something so esoteric in the wind below, before fleeing inside. Troy kneels, glancing at Soriana, whose eyes were as widened as what she’s seen. She kneels alongside Troy, holding onto his gaze as the streaks on her hair bloom.

  They’re ready then.

  “You’re set?” Soriana inquires. Ivory plates wrap like a shell around her ankles. A spark ignites underneath her cleats, stemming a melting print on the plane’s ground surface.

  His loaded rifle slings behind him. Troy opens his hands, and plates grow within his palms. Nodding toward the human, Troy dives from the edge. His cybernetic foot whooshes as he d
escends, and his lips flap. His skin turns numb. Meanwhile, Soriana’s feet ignite, and the blue flames whip as gravity drives her down.

  His hands land on one of the jet’s wings. The suited instigator aims a pistol until he jolts to a shot below his feet. He tumbles, losing balance, and his screams beat loudly as he plummets.

  “Follow!” Troy says.

  Biting his lip, Troy crawls underneath the wing hastily, and his grips clap with each motion. The jet’s blades wheel and saliva leach from his clenched teeth, sucking into the whirling sabers. His weight hardens to the pressure inundating him.

  “Watch out!”

  Troy turns around and gasps to an imposing spectator no other than Paolo Mendoza approaching from the shadows. Smirking, the kingpin levels out his arm, injecting a needle at a fresh surface. Troy’s chest pounds to the auric fluid diminishing on the syringe.

  He’s injecting himself with the Fox drug. No!

  He thrusts his body from the wing’s surface like a bullet, feeling his shin collide toward the kingpin’s chest. Troy’s weight crashes with the rogue spearhead inside the VTOL, and he rolls. The syringe shatters upon fall, and the gold liquid sizzles on the ground.

  Troy rises on his knee only to blink to a dark hand snatching him by the face. Ascending from the ground once again, he grunts to his spine, enduring a sharp pain upon instant slam. Opening his eyes, Troy stares up at Mendoza, raising a twin of round-shaped blades. He brings them down, but the shield activates in Troy’s arm in seconds. Unmoved, the kingpin hollers manically as he continues to pound his axes simultaneously like drumsticks. Stars crack into Troy’s shield, and his body reverberates to the rapid impact. That is, until a shot bolts toward his shoulder.

  Fresh stream of golden pus lingers from the wound on his shoulder, but Mendoza snubs the injury. The kingpin looks to his right. He charges and greets home to Soriana dangling from the edge, stung by a string of thunderous boots jabbing at his face like hooves. The final jab hurls the kingpin against the wall of cargo, and the boxes tumble. However, the enemies maintain their persistence. Soon when Soriana hops in, an enforcer tackles her from behind.