That was the single thought Ilasall had drilled into the minds of its citizens—avoiding the extinction of our species by any means, at any cost whatsoever.
According to them, either of the two paths you could take—becoming black- or green-banded—was worth enduring merely to ensure new souls saw the light of day.
“Then survive a bullet up your ass.” I aimed the barrel lower, squeezed the trigger?—
Thunder knocked on my eardrums as the bullet pierced the man between his legs.
His eyes bugged out, and the shouts and grunts, the screech of tires as the unaffected-by-the-poison military arrived, and the clash of steel all disappeared.
The soldier stared at the stain spreading across his crotch, his black cargo pants soaking in the blood rushing out of where his balls had used to dangle.
Finally, he screamed. Slumped down. Curled into a ball on the sidewalk. Trembled in red pooling underneath him.
All the while I…just watched.
“This is how it feels to have no rights.” My boot smashed into his hands covering his groin, and his choke imbued me with renewed vigor. “No ownership over your body.”
With another kick, I sent him on his back. His neck strained as he howled his pain.
“No value other than your ability to conceive offspring.” I stomped on his wound, but only with a fraction of my fullstrength. Didn’t need him passing out and floating in the heaven of unconsciousness.
“How does it feel, huh?” Crouching down, I shoved his arms away and dipped the muzzle into the mush between his thighs, rejoicing in his second scream. “Do you like it?” I asked, drawing a line of scarlet up his dark green shirt, the fabric turning reddish brown from his blood. “Does it feelright?”
“We,” he ground out, “will eradicate you.” Hatred poured from his hiss, as venomous as a snake’s.
As I exchanged my handgun for one of the knives Zion had gifted me, the wrinkles across the man’s forehead deepened. He thought I was going to shoot him.
Such a cute little boy, a mindless soldier toy.
The city had forgotten to teach him there were ends worse than a quick death. For example, having the backs of his ankles sliced and his abdomen stabbed, both of his kidneys punctured in specific locations.
Zion and Eislyn had taught me a thing or two about human anatomy.
“Have fun living.” Using the soldier’s pants, I wiped my blade clean. Less bacteria would ensure he suffered for longer.
“Behind you!” a familiar voice warned me, and I rolled aside, my shoulders shrieking from abrasion, the concrete sidewalk tiles an unforgiving surface.
In a string, a row of tiny lead cylinders chipped the wall where my head used to be. The roar of bullets accompanied the torrent of dust raining down on the mutilated soldier.
My hands automatically strayed to my weapons, but it was Tarri who shot the military puppet who’d attempted to kill me in cold blood.
One blink, and a hole appeared above his right eye. The next, and crimson dribbled down his blond eyebrow. The third, and the ground welcomed his corpse. The black helmet strappedunder his chin bounced off the asphalt, the hit drowning in the bubble of clangs and roars and cries.
“Are you okay?” The short waitress, who’d befriended me on my first day at Vice, jogged over to me. “I know I’m not supposed to protect you, but my partner…” The crimson streaking her blond strands told me the rest of the story before she did. “Lucia is dead.”
The no-nonsense owner of a shop specializing in leather and steel works. The person who’d crafted my collar, Zion’s chains, his nipple piercing, and my full-body sheaths.
The one Gedeon and Zion had spoken so highly of.
The one I’d put off meeting, telling myself I would do it later.
Another person I didn’t get to know because of my failed promise.
My fist struck the sidewalk. “FUCK.” I saturated my scream with all the rage storming in my muscles. The damage I rained on my throat diverted my attention away from the sting emerging in my split knuckles.
“I know.” As Tarri extended a muscular arm toward me, the wisps of mist parted, revealing a deep gash in her limb. “But we don’t have the time. We can’t afford any breaks.”
Using one of the six knives I still had with me, I tore the hemline off my shirt. “You’ll bleed out.” Refusing to acknowledge her objections, I wrapped the synthetic fabric around the injury to staunch the bleeding.
