Twenty-Two #2
Uchi had this all planned out. Motherfucker.
The two remaining shadowcons hesitate; the odds are now even.
Still, both their targets are wounded, and retreat isn’t an option.
Isako locks eyes with one of them, shifts her weapon to meet him.
The other goes after Kob with a storm of longknife slashes and thrusts.
In seconds, Kob’s amassed new wounds across both his arms and shoulders, but as soon as their blades lock, he headbutts the other man in the face, drops him to the ground, and kicks his loose longknife away.
In the periphery of Isako’s vision, Kob pounds the shit out of the shadowcon with his massive fists, each blow landing with the thud of a mallet on meat.
She doesn’t turn to watch the beating; she stays in balanced readiness, keeps her eyes on the other assassin, waits for him to make a move.
The man’s eyes flick between Isako’s bloody longknife and Kob’s grunting hammer blows on the man who’s curled into a ball with his arms over his head. After a minute, Kob stops and the only sound left is his heavy breathing and the piteous groaning of the man on the ground.
“Well?” Isako slides forward half a step toward the remaining shadowcon, seeing the trembling tip of his longknife, calculating which way he’ll go, where she’ll step, and how she’ll cut.
One cut. She’s feeling light-headed from blood loss, but one-on-one, no one has ever beaten Quickblade. “Come on. I’ll make it fast.”
The shadowcon’s eyes twitch. He turns and runs.
Isako’s too surprised to give chase.
Shadowcons don’t run. But this one does. He sprints for his life. She takes several uncertain steps after him before he disappears behind one of the huge clarifier tanks.
“Let him go.” Kob sounds angry and weary. She turns to see him leaning heavily against the truck, catching his breath. He bends over and picks up his fallen longknife, wipes it down carefully, and sheathes it against his thigh.
The shadowcon on the ground watches his companion flee and shakes his head in disgust. “Where the fuck does he think he’s going?” he slurs, crawling weakly to hands and knees.
Isako strides up to the man and places her longknife against his chin.
She yanks off his mask and stares down into a face that’s lined and stubbled.
Even in the dark she can see his hair is graying.
She shouldn’t be surprised by his age; many shadowcons are former black badges, disgraced, washed up, and unable to find new contracts.
Some of them were atiers who broke the Code by shamefully walking away from Exclusive contracts instead of resigning.
They exist in the gray area between contractor and freelancer, trading away respectability for the possibility of one last gigantic payday.
Isako takes a step back, discomfited. She could end up like this man. So could Kob.
Like Condor Anand said, Might as well sink to becoming a shadowcon.
“Who hired you?” she demands. “And when?”
The shadowcon raises his eyes skeptically. “You must be kidding me. I’ve fallen a long way, but I still abide by the Code.”
Kob comes to Isako’s side and the man cowers in fresh remembrance of the big man’s fists. But Kob says, with unexpected gentleness, “Your buddy chose to live. You can, too. We won’t kill you.”
Isako wouldn’t have made the same promise.
“Look at me,” Kob goes on. “I’m a freelancer, but I’m still alive. Being a freelancer isn’t the worst thing in the world. No one has to know if you talk to us.”
He sounds eminently reasonable. Firm but compassionate. Strikebreaker’s talented. Good cop and bad cop. You always want to cooperate with his considerate side so he doesn’t have to start using his other skills.
She can see the struggle on the shadowcon’s face.
He wants to believe what Kob’s saying. The hollows of his eyes seem to deepen as his face sags and he hunches forward in the cold, his breath mingling with the surrounding steam.
He puts a hand up to his face, then slips the hidden pill from his palm into his mouth and bites down.
Kob rushes over and bends over the man, but the suicide pill works fast. The shadowcon’s eyes roll back as he slumps to the side. His body twitches, boots beating on the ground for a few violent seconds, and then he’s limp.
“Mother in Chains, vastblast it all to hell!”
Isako stays where she is. Her pulse is thudding, but she’s not surprised. Shadowcons sign the most extreme contracts in exchange for the highest one-time fees. If they fail to kill their targets, they must take their own lives so as to never incriminate their clients.
Kob rises slowly to his feet. “I didn’t want this to happen.” Regret thickens his voice. “When I gave up my badge, I thought I’d never have to do this again.”
“The fuckers tried to kill us,” she reminds him. Looking down at the shadowcon’s body, though, she’s got to respect the commitment.
“They were doing their jobs,” Kob mutters.
“Same as any contractor. Same as us.” He raises his eyes to the empty water-recovery plant, hissing and gurgling in the night, and his expression is so morose that Isako feels sick with guilt.
It’s her fault Kob’s here, cut up and bleeding, instead of enjoying his eggs and strawberries back home.
No, that’s bullshit. It’s not her fault, at least not entirely.
“I’m going to… to t-take down that fu-fucker Uchi.
” She means for it to land with convincing strength, but her teeth start chattering as the combination of blood loss, cold, and exhaustion hits her like a truck.
She’s starting to feel worrisomely light-headed, and the pain in her injured left arm is getting so bad that she can barely move it.
Kob’s eyebrows draw together in concern as he takes her in. He looks down at himself, as if noticing his own wounds for the first time. “First, let’s not bleed to death.”