Know Thy Enemy Page 2

  Commander Styx pulled Haal to one side, even though the whole room could still hear. “You’re sure you want to take an unknown entity into this?”

  Haal didn’t hesitate, while he held Drayk’s gaze. “Yes, sir. I believe we’re allowed a mascot. It locks in a protection bonus for us. It will be more than worth it for the team.”

  Styx gave a curt nod. “Correct. I’ll see to it the bonus points are added to your manifest.” Commander Styx clicked his heals, turned abruptly and exited, almost gliding out the room.

  The five Maxol turned on Drayk. “What the hell, Haal!” a slightly shorter guy to Drayk’s left spat at him. “Who is this guy? Why’s he here?”

  Drayk felt like shrinking into nothing. He tried backing up a step. The wall behind him stopped his escape.

  “Team, I’d like you to meet Drayk Vellis. Cale’s older brother. Hands all in.”

  There were some murmurs as the team formed a circle around Drayk. He wasn’t sure who to look at first. Or what he should do. As they each put their hand inside, in the traditional greeting method, he understood and reciprocated.

  They would be Maxol no more, now known to him only as friends.

  From Haal’s left, the man who called him out offered his name with a friendly intonation. His pale green skin shimmered in the light of the room. “Torin Frao, son of Boyze and Jai Frao.”

  A tall, very well-built woman to Torin’s side smiled at Drayk. Her bright, white teeth glimmered against her darkened skin. “I’m Drei Frao, daughter of Boyze and Jai Frao.”

  Drayk returned her smile, noting the difference in colour between them. So, they were brother and sister. Not twins though—they had so many different characteristics. It looked like Torin might be the older one. When he had the time, he hoped he could study their more intricate details. The curve of their family insignia inside their scales crept up their arms. Natural to all their species, it was customary only to note their lineage with their names, if you were accepted by them.

  Stai, shorter, much thinner than the others, introduced herself next. If she stood next to Drayk, he thought he’d be taller. This gave him some confidence—he wouldn’t be Sprout anymore. Vic and Callo introduced themselves next. They were vastly different in nature and stature as well. With their humorous banter, even though they were the last two guys in the group, they left a deep impression on Drayk.

  “We’ll go in quick. Kill anything that fires at us. Don’t hesitate. We’ve enough equipment for you, Drayk, but you’ll have to pull the trigger if someone gets through our lines,” Callo said. “You good with that?”

  It was a game by their talk. Taking someone’s life didn’t mean much. They knew they’d be reincarnated, or, if it was part of their trials, get kicked out of the guild.

  “Yes.” Drayk nodded, trying not to betray his rising excitement. “I can.”

  Even if he hadn’t prepared for this mission, he had played lots of VR games with Cale. He was good with small weapons. Of course, he preferred a data system or a fresh set of codes to break, something to bend to his will, to create. But he had seen enough games to know he had to fight to win.

  “Then we’re decided. The back door”—Haal pointed behind him—“takes us through to the chambers. We’ll get you sorted, then enter in thirty minutes. Those humans won’t know what hit them. Mascot or not, we’ll take the base back with no losses.”

  Drayk wet his lips as the team shouted, “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Chapter Two

  Pierce

  The titanium brackets holding Pierce’s legs clinked against each other as he grabbed the arms of the wheelchair to lift his body into its seat. The pain felt intense but not unbearable. For three years, pain had been an integral part of Pierce’s life; the only way he could defeat it was to embrace it.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead, large drops; it followed the canals of the many scars covering his once-beautiful face. His rough, olive skin was marked by them; the three biggest stretching across his left cheek like he had been clawed. Viciously. Those vast, green eyes were still beautiful, though incredibly tired. They were still human, which, in this age, meant everything to him.

  Pierce bent to grab his legs one at a time, placing them into the wheelchair braces. After taking a couple of seconds to breathe, he pushed the wheels, crossing the empty gym, through the hallway, then into the elevator. In less than a minute, he placed his palm on the scanner to unlock his front door.

  After the accident, the insurance company had offered him not only a fully-automated apartment he could control with a simple voice command, but a top-of-the-range wheelchair as well. Pierce refused it all. Having a computer doing everything for him would have made his body soft. Everything in Pierce’s room was activated manually, from the stove to the light switches. The only advanced piece of equipment he allowed was his gaming system.

  Pierce wiped the sweat out of his face and from under his armpits with a towel.

  The will mentioned splitting leftover money with his sister, but like their mum and dad, she hadn’t worn her seatbelt that evening. With the insurance payout, plus what his parents had left solely to him, Pierce lived modestly. This way, he could dedicate his time to prepare for combat.

  With a second towel across his groin, he now pulled his wheelchair to the small bathroom, where a tub of cold water waited. Stripping off his clothes and getting into the tub wasn’t as much of a challenge as getting out of it always was. But Pierce always thought of one thing at a time. It worked in combat. Worked in real life too.

  He breathed in and out, slow, steady. He had almost fully relaxed when he heard the knock on the door; it was just a formality. Aside from Pierce’s, Wayne’s palm was the only one with access. Knocking was his way of saying hello before barging in.

  “I’m in the tub!” Pierce called.

  Wayne came through the open door. “Hello, crazy!” he said. Pierce noted the plastic bag he carried, which Wayne waggled at him. “Brought a treat for you this afternoon.”

  “You’re not spending money on crap again!”

  Wayne gave him a broad smile, showing his sharp, broken teeth. He was a short, stocky guy, with a big face still full of pimples.

  “You won’t believe what I got for you,” he said. “Coffee.”

  Pierce whispered, “I could just do with some coffee.”

  “This is real coffee, from beans!” explained Wayne, sitting on the toilet seat. “It’s nothing like that synthetic caffeine flavoured shit.”

  “And why should we have this coffee today?” asked Pierce, the coolness of the bath finally settling into his bones.

  “You entering this game is a big deal.” Wayne shrugged. “I’m proud of you. I know people who said you were done, you’d never do anything of value again.”

  Pierce stared at the water, not wanting to show any emotion before his friend. “It doesn’t feel like a big deal,” he said. “I want to do it. It feels… natural. Like the logical next thing I should be doing.”

  When he looked up, Wayne smiled. His nose had clearly been broken in the past; it didn’t seem to fit Wayne’s face, standing between two small vivid grey eyes.

  “Would you have said that three years ago?” he asked Pierce. “Would you have even imagined we would be talking right now?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “I don’t think so.” Wayne popped the bag on the tiles; a jar clinked. “Three years ago, I was counting the days before prom because I knew if I survived, you and your guys would never have the chance to give me another wedgie.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t—”

  “This was just for illustration.”

  Pierce tried changing the subject. “I hope you’re not expecting me to go through the week with just coffee.”

  “There’s more in the kitchen.” Wayne indicated with a head tilt. “Anyway, since you’re not staying for the whole week, this time I didn’t bother with the canned apple. It’s the most expensive thing on your list.”


  “But did you get the milk?”

  “Two bottles, as usual,” whispered Wayne. “They used to take this out of cows, did you know? Out of their teats!”

  Pierce opened his mouth to say, I didn’t pay much attention in biology classes but then shut it again. He didn’t want to remind Wayne he was the bully back then. “You can keep the change,” he said, instead. “I won’t need it where I’m going.”

  Wayne shook his head. “I told you a thousand times; I don’t do this for money. If I get even a penny out of you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” He picked up the bag, stood. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished. Please don’t take too long. We have lots to talk about.”

  Wayne left; Pierce started to get out. A long process, involving pulling himself up with arm-strength alone. That was followed by sitting on the tub’s edge, shifting his legs out one after the other. Once that was done, balancing there, Pierce could put his robe on, dry his hair before getting in the chair again. By then, he’d be so covered in sweat he could use another bath. Pierce set his legs in the braces and pushed the wheelchair to the kitchen.

  Wayne leaned back on the counter, stretching his legs as the water boiled in the kettle.

  “You’re getting fast,” he said. “Is doing it by yourself part of training?”

  “Everything I do is part of training. I thought you knew that by now.”

  “All I know about games I learned by sitting on the couch pushing buttons.” He put the fresh beans into a percolator. Pierce could smell the aroma already. “Never had to endure the kind of thing you put yourself through.” Wayne shrugged. “But then again, I’ve been playing since before I learned to read; whereas, you’ve surpassed me in less than two years.”

  “I’d played some before.”

  “But you weren’t a gamer,” said Wayne. “There’s a difference. And before you mention it, captaining a football team doesn’t count.”

  “I never got to be the captain.” Pierce breathed in deep, finally cooling off from exerting himself.

  “You were getting there.” Wayne picked up the kettle. “So, how is this going to work? Do they have enough space in the limousine for your wheelchair?”

  “Not sure.” Pierce couldn’t wait for the taste of real coffee. His mouth watered at the thought.

  “I’m sure they’ll think of everything,” Wayne said, pouring hot water into the percolator. Finally, setting the pot of steaming coffee on the table. “We should never believe everything the government tells us,” he said, handing Pierce a mug. “That naiveté has gotten mankind a lot of headaches.” He pulled out a chair. “I’d advise you not to put any sweetener or milk in this. Just taste the good, old flavour of something that grew on a tree. Didn’t spend a decade in a container.”

  Wayne poured, and they drank in silence. Pierce didn’t want his friend to realise how much his legs ached today. The pain was getting worse. Pierce hadn’t taken the medicine his doctor had prescribed. It was too risky.

  At last, Pierce spoke; “Do you have any advice? Some final tip on how to defeat the enemy?”

  A stern expression crossed Wayne’s face. “You serious, mate? What makes you think I can teach you something now, something you haven’t learned in the past two years?”

  Pierce put his mug on the table. “This tastes weird.” He smacked his lips. “I feel I’ve been playing with you for a long time. We’ve become a team. When we’re in combat, I can almost read your mind. It’s not going to be like that up there, so rumours say.”

  “Not all games require a partner. You’re in a better shape to fight solo than I’ve ever been. You’ve done so before.” Wayne paused. “Besides, we only kinda tag team off each other for the greater good.”

  Pierce nodded, but Wayne’s words didn’t comfort. “They told me once I’m plugged in, I’ll have an entire body. I’ll be able to walk again.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Wayne glanced at Pierce’s legs.

  “Even with a body, they say the pain won’t go away.” Pierce reached down, touching the braces’ shiny metal. “Not completely, at least. It’s too deep in my nervous system. It’s not going to be in my legs nor any specific part of my body, but it’ll be there.”

  Wayne took a sip of his coffee, hesitating. “How do you feel about it?”

  “Not sure. It’ll be different from now, but it’ll still be pain.”

  “You know, when you broke my nose…” Wayne let out a chuckle. “Please, let me say this. When you broke my nose, the day after, my eyes were so swollen I could barely see. Must’ve looked funny. Everyone in school was making jokes.”

  “I remember.” Pierce felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Donna Pointier pretended she was going to give you a kiss, but then her nose hit yours, and you started crying.”

  Wayne touched the tip of his nose. “You guys had a great laugh, didn’t you?”

  The need to smile faded. “What’s your point?”

  “The mockery afterwards, hurt more than the break.” Wayne finished his drink, poured more. “Knowing people are aware you’re in pain, but still can get a laugh out of it. You’re in a more dignified situation than that, Pierce. You’re on TV right now. People root for you around the world, yet you sit in this lousy apartment, waiting for me to bring you groceries.”

  “You finished?” asked Pierce, not wanting to listen anymore; truth hurt.

  “Pretty much, yeah.” Wayne put his mug down but kept eye contact.

  “So, let’s play then. I don’t want to get rusty.”

  They went to the game room they’d set up in a spare bedroom. No over-complicated gadgets with wires, or cables spread across the floor, just a neat, almost empty room.

  Apart from two giant TV screens on two opposite wall and two leather couches, there were two big wireless controllers, and earphones resting on a cushion. The walls were painted black, the floor covered with black rubber. The system plugged into spare batteries, and the place was completely soundproof, so even if the power went off, the game wouldn’t be interrupted.

  Wayne shut the door, plonked himself on his couch in front of one screen. With the controller on his lap, he put on his headphones. “Let’s do this.”

  They were playing the latest—a first-person shooter which Pierce had installed the previous week. It was them against a giant enemy army, like all FPS, the mission was to kill every one of them, recover the city. Wayne spent three of his five lives. Pierce hadn’t been hit once.

  Pierce moved to face the other screen, locking his wheels so the chair wouldn’t move. He pushed the green button on the side of his controller. The black screens turned bright, showing each point of view.

  “Where were we?” Pierce stretched. His character stood on a tall building’s rooftop, dressed in a grey camouflage suit. Holding a plasma rifle, it all seemed calm enough, except for gunfire in the distance.

  Quickly, Pierce brought up his stats. Not wanting to flick through everything, he selected ‘ammunitions’, checked off his arsenal.

  ARMOUR—80/100

  PLASMA—40/100

  “I only have a few more shells,” he informed Wayne.

  “Well, too bad for you.” Pierce heard Wayne, loud and clear in his earpiece. He was having trouble with his own enemies on the other side of the city. “I’m a bit busy here. You’re on your own.”

  “Always,” Pierce said.

  The game’s graphics shimmered with crystal clarity; so much better than living in reality. The sky a bright blue, as it had been for them a long time ago. Staring out at the building’s border, Pierce noticed a group of eight soldiers, creeping by its side, all of them heavily armed.

  “How’re things going there?” Wayne came through again.

  “Eight, incoming. You?”

  “Two guys. Wait… just one.”

  Pierce put his gun aside to press his watch’s button. The gadget had cost a lot of in-game credits. But worth every dime for situations like this. The stre
ets came alive in a 3-D hologram. A virtual map inside a virtual world, where Pierce could see through walls made of pixels.

  The streets were narrow, and most buildings showed fire stairs. A quick check had confirmed all that. Pierce smiled, memorizing where fire escapes and fire hydrants lay. As he analysed the structure’s surroundings, the building next to his grabbed his attention. The architecture. “I think I found something interesting,” he whispered.

  “A rocket launcher?” A tinge of excitement edged Wayne’s comeback.

  Pierce didn’t bother answering that one, though he chuckled. He ran across the roof, made a jump to the next building. Up again, he ran as soon as he landed. Down the fire stairs, making as little noise as possible. He crept around the corner to spy on the soldier walking below. The group leader had passed the corner, so Pierce calculated time for them to reach the next corner. And how much time he’d have if he ran around the block, from the other side. He spied the red fire hydrant just as the first soldier moved past it.

  “Whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re recording it!” Wayne shouted in his ear.

  Pierce didn’t answer.

  His first shot went through a soldier’s brain; the soldier fell before his player even knew what had happened. The second shot destroyed the hydrant’s operating nut and weather cap, creating an upside-down water cascade and blocking the enemy’s vision. They fired at him. Blindly. Pierce took the chance to break a window and slipped into a building while they wasted ammo.

  It didn’t last long. Soon, the whole building might be full of enemies. They’d look for him in every corner. Pierce knew if he fired, they’d all hear it. But, according to his wristwatch, this was an old office building. Lots of narrow hallways, cubicles. Perfect place for a hunt.

  “I want two guys searching each floor,” a distant voice ordered. The group leader. Pierce pulled his knife.

  Only one shot was fired, it took him half an hour to cut all their throats. The last took too long to die. The usual pop-ups flickered across his screen,