|
|
Pulp Fedcom
by Andrew Borelli |
|
24 FEB 3063
SILESIA, BLACKTHORNE DISTRICT
STEINER ZONE, SOLARIS CITY
SOLARIS VII
Dutch emerged from the subway with his nerves on overdrive. Every other passenger who came near him had been an imagined assassin; anyone who looked his way was punished with a withering glare. He started off towards his apartment block. Blackthorne was a fairly nice neighborhood, and quiet at this time of day. To his right was the Solaris River. He reached the park at Siebert Street and turned left. Three blocks down the wide expanse that was the courtyard of his apartment complex took up an entire city block. His apartment was on the second level.
He prowled around the grounds of the courtyard with caution, trying to stick to the atrium on the sides of the courtyard where the entrances to the first floor apartments were. The courtyard offered some cover in
the way of fountains and various bushy foliage. He couldn’t afford to be spotted, even by his former neighbors. A staircase in the center of the atrium led to the second floor balcony. He trotted up the steps,
checked the corners of the balcony before emerging fully, and walked with some speed towards his apartment.
The door to his apartment appeared intact. No scratch marks, no signs of forced entry. No one was peeking at him through the shades that covered his front windows. Hastily he inserted his access key into the digital
lock, which clicked open a bit more loudly than he would have liked.
He hesitated, and then burst open the door, grabbed the handle, and swung it shut behind him in a single motion.
The living room appeared normal. Everything was still. A clock on the wall over his now-abandoned couch quietly hummed. He crept towards the bedroom. Thankfully Veronica had not closed all the doors behind her, and he could clearly see from the short hallway that the room was empty. There on the nightstand next to his bed was his beloved gold watch. He grabbed it, stretched the band around his wrist, and headed for the door. Then something occurred that stopped him in his tracks; his blood ran cold.
From the direction of the bathroom, he heard someone flush the toilet.
The door to the bathroom was across from the bedroom. He crept back into the living room and then to the small kitchenette on the far side of the room. The needler pistol might not be enough if there was more than one guy. He glanced around for anything that would make a good weapon. A frying pan. Carving knives. Anything.
Suddenly he did a double-take. On the kitchen counter sat a General Electric Mk IV Blazer, a weapon capable of inflicting grossly fatal wounds at short range. The dumb SOB left his weapon on the counter
while he hit the head. Dutch smiled evilly and took the weapon into his hands, cradling it, getting a feel for the weight. He hadn’t used one of these things since Basic. He checked the indicators and found it set for full power on both barrels. Whoever had set it had intended to blast him in two and leave the thing behind.
The door to the bathroom opened. Whoever was in the apartment was washing his hands. The water stopped abruptly. A second or two passed, and then… into the doorway of the living room strode an extensively tattooed young man dressed in gang colors Dutch didn’t recognize. He was perhaps twenty
with a shaved head and a nasty scowl. Despite the gangster’s youth there were various scars on his face and exposed arms. The knuckles on his massive fists looked as if they’d been through a meat grinder several times.
The gangster said nothing, raising his hands and nodding his head back, almost daring Dutch to do something. A tense moment passed. The gangster took a step back towards the hallway. Dutch flinched… and then fired.
In a brief instant twin beams of concentrated light reached out from the barrel of the blazer and struck home. The gangster’s skull exploded as the contents literally boiled over. The body fell to the floor in near
silence, almost gracefully.
Stunned, Dutch put the weapon back on the counter and shook his head in disbelief. The needler pistol went back under his shirt. I can’t believe they only sent one hitter, he thought. There’s got to be somebody else with him. I ain’t sticking around to find out.
He bolted for the door and again closed it quietly behind him. Barely ten minutes had passed; the courtyard was still quiet. Following the same routine he had used to get up to his apartment, Dutch made his way to
the street and began walking from the apartment block as quickly as he could.
That’s why we’re gonna beat ‘em, Dutch. They just keep underestimating you. |
|
|
|
|
| Next page >>> |
| Page :
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
