Chapter Twelve—Bombshell Bronson

With some intimidation and mild torture—Kyle wasn’t a big fan of torture, so all he had done was press the barrel of his repeater against Bronson’s wound a few times—and they got him to spill his lackey guts all over the place.

They were in a field of grass just outside of the city limits. Landfill Nine in Outer District 103 was still visible from where they were at.

The dumb cops didn’t even show up after what had happened.

Talk about great law enforcement.

They were mostly for show, for the rich and powerful, and to keep the little folk in line. They were the first line of enforcers—traitors and lackeys, ever last one of them.

And that meant they were woefully inadequate at enforcing actual peace and harmony in Life City. Of course, the overlords couldn’t have that. Then the people could rise up against them.

Better to keep them scattered, plagued with crime and corruption.

“So let’s get this straight,” Kyle said. “Just to reiterate the facts…”

John put his hands on his hips.

“Strogaus,” he continued, “in their ‘no berries or limits’ approach to magically enhanced science, have created a monster. That monster is killing people, and they want it to continue, to see the chaos it can unleash?”

“Yes,” Bronson said.

“Why?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” Bronson said with a shrug. “I’m just the hired gun, and what I told you is just the word that goes around. Those assholes in Strogaus are twisted motherfuckers. Who knows why?”

Kyle suspected that he was trying to get on their good side.

It was working.

A little.

“And why did you guys show up at the landfill?” Kyle asked.

“We have some slum rats in the outskirts. We pay them off to keep tabs on what’s going on. We’re very well apprised of independent journalists, thrill seekers and…”

“And us,” John finished.

Bronson nodded. “Yeah.”

“So you were sent in to knock us off—to keep us from investigating.”

Bronson nodded, the look on his face one of nervousness and apprehension. “Listen,” he said. “I’m just a hired gun. We were actually meant to just scare you guys off, but when we scanned you for hardware, we were given the order to take you out.”

“By who?” Kyle asked.

“Our superiors of course.”

“Who are your superiors?”

“Man, I don’t know.”

Kyle lifted his knife to Bronson’s throat.

“There’s a chain of command within the organization. My knowledge only goes up so high. Please—you have to believe me.”

“He’s probably telling the truth,” John said.

“I agree,” Lexa added cheerfully. “It would make sense to structure their force in this manner to maintain a reliable state of plausible deniability for the upper echelons.”

“How the overlords always get away, isn’t it?” Kyle sighed. “The story of Life City.”

“And the world,” Bronson added.

“Hey,” Kyle said. “We didn’t ask you for your input.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay,” John said. “So what’s next?”

“What’s next?” Kyle asked and grinned.

John looked at him with a look of understanding.

“It’s time for some fun, Staxx.”

John nodded. “You got that right, Max.”

“Wait!” Bronson said, glancing between them. “You guys are Max and Staxx? You’re not just yanking my chain, are you?”

“We’re the genuine articles,” Kyle said. Then he connected his line with May.

She answered after just one chime. “Is this line secure?”

Kyle glanced at the network. The line was rerouting through their hacked towers. “Yes,” he said.

“I’m glad to see an appropriate sense of decorum from you, Max.”

As always, May appeared in an attractive illustration that masked what she really looked like. The mystery really bugged him.

As her illustration was designed, she was a black haired, brown-eyed beauty with tanned skin—like she had just gotten back from a vacation at Ela Luna Keys or some such nonsense.

She was wearing a high tech set of VA Glasses, but weather the wearable computer was even real, he didn’t know.

“We need an eraser,” Kyle said.

“What’s your location?”

“We’re just outside of Outer District 103 in sight of Landfill Nine.”

There was a pause. “An eraser will be there shortly.”

“You got it.”

“What’s your status? Did you figure out what was going on?”

“We did,” John said. “I’ll forward you the conversation.”

Bronson looked at them, a note of worry on his face as Kyle held his knife up to the man’s throat. He would have to inform the man that an “eraser” was not a “cleaner” and that only his memory of who they were and this encounter would be removed from his memory.

It wasn’t really a hard operation, with the right tools in the hands of a professional, that is.

“Will contact you again shortly.”

“All right,” John said.

“By the way, good work, boys.”

“Thanks, mom,” Kyle said.

May disconnected.

“Mom?” John asked.

Shrugging, he said, “’Boys’?”

“That’s a pretty normal thing to call a couple of guys that just kicked a whole lot of ass.”

Kyle glanced at their prisoner. “What do you think, Bronson?”

The man had a doubtful, but wanting-to-please look on his face. “Yeah of course!”

“Listen,” Kyle said. “You’ve been helpful and we’re going to let you live. The eraser will make sure you don’t remember who we are. The operation is painless and quick. You won’t remember a thing.”

Bronson swallowed with a nod.

“So what?” John asked. “Time to hit Strogaus?”

“I bet they’re tracking their little monster,” Kyle said. “Unless you want to hunt that thing for the next billion years and leave the overlords responsible free to make some more?”

“Hells no,” John said. “Let’s kick their asses.”

Smiling, Kyle knew he must have been grinning like a maniac.