Mistrunner - Chapter 56 - Avenger (Patreon)

Revenge is pointless. I would know because, in my life, I’ve let it dictate my life far more often than I care to admit. But even after I got what I thought I wanted, it was never fulfilling. I never came out the other side better than I was before. I just had a higher body count.

Jeremiah Braddock III

The night wore on, and still, I couldn’t move from where I’d taken cover. Instead, I stared ahead at what was left of my uncle. So many memories flitted through my mind, each more impactful than the last. But one, above all, stuck with me longer than the rest. It was a day after my mother’s funeral, and Jeremiah had found me sitting on the edge of his building’s roof, just staring out at the city. At the time, I didn’t have any tears left, but my grief had pressed down on me with palpable weight. Jeremiah sat beside me, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. Like that, we sat for hours. Neither of us spoke. There were no stories of my mother’s wasted life. Nor did he offer any meaningless platitudes. He just held me, comforting me the only way he knew how.

But even then, I knew that his actions came from experience. There was a connection between us. He’d lost so much in his life, so he knew – better than anybody else, probably – exactly what I was feeling.

Kneeling there behind a pile of rubble and looking up at what was left of him, I needed my uncle’s comfort more than ever before. But he wasn’t there, and he never would be again. I was all alone.

Finally, my grief gave way to anger. In turn, that anger became action as I slipped from behind that mound of rubble and confidently approached the building. In some ways, it was much the same as it ever was, a concrete behemoth of a structure with four levels of tapered walls. However, in other ways, it was wholly different – chiefly, that it was swarming with Enforcers, many of which felt extremely powerful. It was a reminder that the sniper’s nests I’d encountered before were poor representations of the danger involved. I couldn’t let myself care, though. Not with my uncle’s death so fresh in my mind.

The other key difference was that the Enforcers had mounted a series of automated cannons along the roof. Anyone who led an assault on that position would be subjected to an incredible amount of firepower. It was good, then, that I had [Spycraft]on my side, concealing my identity and letting me blend into the crowd. Still, I knew that, regardless of whether or not I looked like I belonged, I had to act the part as well, lest I draw too much of the wrong kind of attention. If they could kill my uncle, then I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance.

Striding forward, I passed Jeremiah’s corpse – or what was left of it – without a second glance. I didn’t need to look at it again. The image was burned into my mind, and it was one I wouldn’t soon forget. I mounted the steps, pushing past a pair of Enforcers. For a second, one of them – a woman – looked as if she was going to question me, but then the other reached out and grabbed her arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. It seemed that the Banshee’s uniform put me into a position of some power; I intended to use that to my advantage.

As I stepped inside the building, I was once again surprised by how much things had changed. There were Enforcers everywhere. Some were clumped into groups, conversing about one thing or another, while others were clustered around various screens, obviously monitoring the area. A brief glance told me that they were taking the loss of the sniper teams seriously, and that they were watching their replacements. Clearly, they hoped to catch me in the act; it was a good thing, then, that I had no intention of going back for them anytime soon. Eventually, sure. But not yet. I had other things to accomplish first.

Channeling my training, I fully sank into the persona I’d stolen. Acting like I belonged was not an easy task, especially considering that my every instinct was screaming at me to pull out my rifle, switch to fully automatic, and open up on the crowd of Enforcers. Complicating matters was the reality that, with every passing second, I fully expected someone to see through the ruse comprised of my various abilities. Surprisingly, though, that didn’t happen, and I was able to reach the stairs unhindered.

So began my search through the building. I went floor by floor, never stopping for long enough for anyone to grow suspicious until, at last, I found what I needed. The terminal was on the fourth floor, and it wasn’t the first I had seen. However, sequestered in a seemingly forgotten corner, it was curiously unattended. The entire floor seemed deserted, in fact. Which suited me just fine. After checking the area once more, I approached the security terminal and dragged the cord from my wrist, connecting without hesitation.

A sudden spike of pain lanced through my mind, and my body went completely limp. Even as I collapsed, I heard footsteps approaching from nearby. I couldn’t move, so all I saw was feet, but I heard the Enforcers’ voices.

“How did she get in?” asked one.

Another answered, “I have no idea. Are we sure she’s not one of ours? Looks like a Banshee.”

“Look closer, Edie. It’s a skill,” said the first.

“Oh. Oh!” the second one exclaimed. “It’s almost seamless…”

I stopped listening. Instead, I shunted the pain into the back of my mind and concentrated on my connection to the terminal. Clearly, I had underestimated their defenses, and I’d paid the price when they proved too much for me to handle. However, only a small portion of the backlash had managed to get past my Mistwall, which meant that I still had some degree of control. I intended to use it to my advantage.

First, I embraced Mistwalk, which resulted in the following prompt:

Security Terminal (#7). Presence Detected. Defenses Found. Initiate Mistwalk? [Yes] or [No]

I mentally slammed on the affirmative option, which resulted in the most complex set of defenses I’d ever seen. Before, the most formidable MistwallI’d encountered had been comprised of sixty-four nodes, but this one had nearly four-hundred. But I couldn’t let that dissuade me. If I didn’t get through it, and quickly, I would end up just like my uncle. So, I bent the entirety of my mind to the task, solving one puzzle after the next, all in quick succession. As I did, time felt meaningless. I barely even noticed the two Enforcers searching me. Nor did I pay any attention to their calls for backup. I only had room for one goal – solve the next puzzle.

Like that, I tore through the Mistwall, and the moment I felt that last defense fall, the pain in the back of my mind dissipated, and the security terminal opened up to me. Immediately, I deactivated the auto-turrets before starting the download of the terminal’s memory banks into the partitioned portion of my own mind. As it began, I once again took notice of my surroundings.

And it didn’t look good.

There were a dozen enforcers, two of which were dressed in the skintight suits that I now knew marked them as Banshees. They felt dangerous, too. Lying on the floor, I listened as they discussed what to do with me.

“Restrain her, then put her down with the others,” one suggested. “She might be useful.”

Another said, “I say we put a few bullets in her head while we can. You saw what happened to the sniper teams.”

“She took them by surprise, and…”

I stopped listening. Instead, the moment the download finished, I used Misthack, targeting the most dangerous of the bunch. He was a burly Tier-5 that felt almost as strong as my uncle. But he was also sporting a wide variety of cybernetic parts, which meant that he was extremely vulnerable to me.

After initiating the Misthack and bypassing his defenses, I used Breach before uploading one of my favorite Ghosts. I called it Time Bomb, and it was the Ghost I’d spent the most time developing. The product of almost a year’s worth of work, its purpose was simple in that it was meant to cause cybernetics to glitch out by varying the flow of Mist to said implants. One second, it would overload a person’s optics, blinding them with far too much information, then the next, it would completely cut a cybernetic arm off from the Mist. And it would continue to loop, faster and faster until the victim was incapacitated.

And the best part? It could spread from one victim to the next via ambient Mist exchange. I’d never used it to its fullest extent, mostly because it took hours to spread. But once it reached a critical mass, it was unstoppable – at least in an enclosed space. The only caveat was that it wasn’t lethal, in and of itself. But I had a plan for that, too.

So, I uploaded the Ghost, then repeated the actions on all twelve of my would-be captors. Meanwhile, someone roughly yanked my cord out of the security terminal and bound my wrists behind my back. A moment later, they hauled me to my feet. I feigned semi-consciousness, banking on them believing that I was still under the effects of my Mistwalk’s backlash.

One of the Enforcers threw me over his shoulder, and I did my best not to tense up as I was carried across the room and to the stairs. Eventually, we found our way down to the basement, where I was immediately strapped to a chair. A couple of minutes later, I was left alone, so I opened my eyes to take in my surroundings.

And they were bleak.

Given its size, the room might as well have been a closet. In the corner, water dripped from an exposed pipe, and a single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. It flickered every few seconds, creating a strobing sensation. Otherwise, the room was bare.

I waited there for almost forty-five minutes until, at last, the room’s heavy, rusted door opened, admitting a single figure. I had no idea if they were male or female, because, when I tried to focus on them, my eyes seemed to lose focus, blurring my vision to such an extent that their features were completely obscured. When they spoke, their voice was similarly masked, sounding feminine and masculine in equal measure.

As the door clanged shut, they said, “Interesting. Even now, you maintain your disguise. A high-grade skill, then. What is it?”

I didn’t answer, which they must have expected because they didn’t skip a beat before asking, “Who are you? Who sent you? And why did you kill my people?”

“I’m nobody,” I mumbled, purposefully slurring my words. I hoped that it would cause them to underestimate me. “And I didn’t kill anyone.”

At first, the figure didn’t say anything. Then, they knelt in front of me, and with one outstretched finger, traced a line along my jaw. “I do not believe you,” they said. “Twenty-four dead. You hunted them, likely so that we would concentrate on the outer defenses and allow you to infiltrate this temporary base. Once you did, you immediately found a security terminal. Are you from Atlanta? Did Whitehand send you?”

I had no idea who that was, and even if I had, I had other things on my mind. So, I concentrated on the task at hand.  Using Misthack, I quickly broke through her defenses and uploaded Time Bomb. The more originators I had, the better. Soon, it would spread to everyone in the base. When it did, I intended to make my move.

“I confess,” they said. “I had hoped you would be cooperative. We could use someone like you. With certain restraints, of course. But I’m sure you wouldn’t find a Slave Implant too taxing.”

My heart sped up. “W-what?” I asked, my panic rising. I knew all about Slave Implants. Everyone in Nova City did. Bourbon Street was full of people who’d either sold themselves into slavery or had it forced upon them. And I knew that was only a small sample. There were almost certainly plenty of others who’d fallen under that particular spell.

“Oh, yes,” they said. “Waste not, am I right? I’m certain you understand. Whoever your employer is has doubtless made copious use of those sorts of implants. None of us ever think we’ll find ourselves subject to the whims of another, but alas…that’s the way the world works, isn’t it? I only wish we had them here.”

They stood, then continued, “Perhaps we will work together in the future. I do so love a competent subordinate.”

Then, without another word, they turned and left the room. However, a moment later, they were replaced by a big, burly woman with arms almost as big as Nora’s. I only had a moment to recognize the stun baton in her hand before she jammed it into my side. Immediately, my entire body locked up as wave after wave of electricity coursed through me.

My torturer didn’t ask any questions. Nor did she threaten me. Instead, she just kept jamming that baton into my side, a wicked and cruel grin painted across her face. Perhaps I’d killed someone she held dear. Or maybe she was just a sadistic person who enjoyed torturing people. I had no way of knowing. In fact, I stopped caring after only a few minutes, and by the time those minutes turned into more than an hour, I could barely think at all.

Like that, I spent four hours. All the while, my Ghost kept spreading through the base until, at last, it bore fruit. My torturer had clearly grown tired of doing the same thing over and over again, so she grabbed my jaw and forced my mouth open. Then, she moved to shove the baton inside.

She never got the chance, because, suddenly, her cybernetic arm twitched and flung itself to the side. The baton went flying into the wall, where it shattered into three pieces.

“What the…”

The burly woman never got the chance to say anything else, because as her eyes rolled up into her head, her jaws clamped shut and she started to seize. Apparently, Time Bomb had finally erupted, and it worked a lot faster than I’d expected. Seeing that the woman was out of it, I launched myself backward with enough force that the chair broke apart. Dipping down, I slid my bound hands under my feet. As I stood, I summoned my nano-bladed dagger and, after a little awkwardness, managed to cut through my metallic shackles. Once my hands were free, I approached my prone torturer, then unceremoniously stomped on her head until it became an unrecognizable lump of flesh and bloody hair.

I might have taken some of my frustrations out on her, but in my defense, she deserved it. Either way, it was not the cleanest of kills, and I was completely okay with that.

Once I was finished, I removed a charge from my Arsenal Implant, then stuck it to the wall. It wasn’t the strongest explosive I had at my disposal, but it would get the job done. Then, I stepped up to the door before cracking it open and peeking out. My caution was unnecessary, because even though there was a guard, he was convulsing on the floor. I didn’t bother killing him. The Ghost wouldn’t last forever, but it would keep doing its thing for long enough.

I stepped over his quivering form, then took stock. Despite visiting the building quite often in the past, I’d never been to the basement. Regardless, the layout didn’t seem complicated, and I soon commenced a search of the premises, mostly for the “others” one of the Enforcers who’d captured me had referenced. If there were survivors, I wanted to find them.

Gradually, I explored the basement until, at last, I came to a room containing a trio of bodies. I recognized two of them. Pick and Remy were unmistakable. I stood there for a long moment, just staring at the scene in disgust. I hadn’t known Pick for long, but he had been nice to me. And now, just like everyone else, he was dead.

Suddenly, I noticed movement. It was a simple rise and fall of his chest, but it was a clear sign of life. I raced forward and knelt beside him. My hand found his neck as I checked for a pulse; he was alive, if only barely. So, I retrieved my medical kit from my Arsenal Implant and went to work; after I had administered an adrenaline-laced med-hypo, his eyes flew open.

“Mira?” he said with a sharp intake of air. “W-what? What are you doing here? Please, you have to go…they’re going to come…back…”

“What happened?” I asked.

“It was…it was that woman,” he said. “She…s-she betrayed us all. She told the Enforcers where to find Jeremiah, and once they had…confirmed his presence, they started shelling us with heavy artillery. Everyone…died. They’re all…oh, God…they’re all gone…”

He was babbling – probably because of the synthetic adrenaline I’d used to wake him up. But I needed information almost as much as I needed him conscious. So, I asked, “What woman? Was it a Banshee? Was it Helen?”

I don’t know why I jumped straight to the Mistrunner who’d been my instructor, except that she had always acted as if she was better than all of us. She was easy to hate, and therefore, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that she was the betrayer.

“No,” he said. “It was the big one. The…the one who followed the Wraith around…N-nora…”

“What? No…you…that’s not possible,” I gasped. Nora was completely loyal to my uncle. There was no way she had betrayed him. I was prepared to call Pick a liar until he grabbed my hand and placed a shard on my palm.

“It’s all there,” he said. “I was…I wanted to get out, to show it to you so you would know…slot it and see for yourself.”

I shook my head. I didn’t need to see some shard. I knew Nora. She was my friend. Practically family. I knew she wouldn’t intentionally hurt my uncle. But even as those thoughts raced through my mind, I reached up, flipped the patch of Realskin that covered my port, and slotted the shard into place.