DIRE:SINS (The Dire Saga Book 5) Read online

  DIRE: SINS

  By Andrew Seiple

  Text copyright © Andrew Seiple 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  With thanks to AbsoluteWrite.com and Kboards.com, for their supportive community.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1: DRONING AROUND 5

  CHAPTER 2: DEATH THREATS AND DINNER 13

  CHAPTER 3: LEGWORK 19

  CHAPTER 4: CLUB TECHNICA 28

  CHAPTER 5: ACID TRIP 34

  CHAPTER 6: MANCHESTER MANEUVERING 41

  CHAPTER 7: GREEN-EYED ENVY 49

  CHAPTER 8: HEROES HAPPEN 57

  CHAPTER 9: LUST MAKES FOOLS OF ALL MEN 65

  CHAPTER 10: CATCHING UP WITH OLD FRIENDS 72

  CHAPTER 11: EVERYTHING GOES HORRIBLY WRONG 80

  CHAPTER 12: TAG TEAMS 88

  CHAPTER 13: A MEETING OF THE MINDS 96

  CHAPTER 14: WAKING THE DEAD 103

  CHAPTER 15: GHOSTS, HAUNTS, AND HUNTS 111

  CHAPTER 16: QUEEN’S COURT, QUEENSGUARD 119

  CHAPTER 17: FAMILY AND FOES 129

  CHAPTER 18: PLOTS AND PLANS 139

  CHAPTER 19: BREACHING 150

  CHAPTER 20: CHECKMATE IN 10... 9... 8... 158

  CHAPTER 21: IN WHICH DIRE GIVES NO FUCKS 166

  TO BE CONTINUED... 173

  AUTHOR’S NOTE 174

  CHAPTER 1: DRONING AROUND

  “This just in! A super of some sort is racing down the A13, expect delays of up to five minutes for the next hour...”

  --LBC, British talk radio, traffic announcement shortly before the Brixton incident

  I woke, to pain and confusion. Pixels swirled in my sight, as the cameras that were my eyes flickered to life and powered up. In my peripheral vision an hourglass turned and tumbled, as percentages crept up from red numbers to green numbers and filled out various bars.

  Memory returned, as did sensation. Millions of sensory receptors along my metal frame mimicked tactile sensation, and thermal divots measured the ambient temperature. And bit by bit, my mind adapted to the input, taking stock as I flicked my eyes around. Wood shavings swam into focus, pressing against my eyes. I blinked out of reflex, and metal lids clicked together which meant that my audio receptors were online as well, since I heard that clearly.

  That was most of the senses accounted for. Only taste and smell were left out, but— no, I hadn’t bothered with those. Not for this model. Not for this mission.

  For this job, three of the five senses would suffice.

  My sniffer programs roamed through the local Gridnet, doing their job and ensuring that my remotely-bounced signal remained undetected. They also had one more thing to watch for, but that was passive, very passive. I wouldn’t know how that part of the plan had turned out until I was done with this task.

  Finally, all bars were full; the pain of translation faded to a numb ache. All numbers were green, and I let out a breath in one body that translated to a sigh in this other metal form.

  I focused on my ears, and heard creaking metal that I figured came from the pressure of the bay on the metal hull of the cargo ship. A faint humming from above, that indicated old light bulbs, and their corroded connections to the internal power network. Then footsteps, much muffled by distance and obstacles in between here and there.

  Yes, it was safe to decant from my crude coffin.

  I stretched forth my arms, shifted through the raw ingots of ore and the wooden packing shavings until my hands met resistance on either side. Then I pushed some more, and wood groaned and cracked and fell away as servo-motors drove relentless steel through the packing crate’s boards. Once the primary breaches were done, it was easy enough to crack open the crate lengthwise and roll free. Metal clinked and clattered to the deck around me, and I stood, looking down upon myself as I brushed wooden shavings away.

  Dull gray metal, from head to foot. Almost skeletal, steel bones with no flesh to bind them. Countless wires stretched through the ribcage, down to the pelvis, and out through each limb. Some conductive, others simply there for tension and control. Nerves and muscles, written anew in alloy, connecting my circuitry ‘organs’ and managing the data stream that was my ‘blood’.

  I glanced to the side, caught my reflection in a mirror. A mask looked back at me, a muse’s mask of pure white, with hollow black eye sockets. She wore a faint smile, a hint that she knew more than she would ever say.

  Ironic given what I was here to do. I needed to expose secrets, not hide them away. And I had roughly thirty minutes to do it.

  I cast the mirror aside, headed to the nearest hatch, and opened it. Metal corridors lined with pipes, and flickering light bulbs, awaited me. Cramped quarters... I had to stoop a bit to get by, but I hadn’t built this body to feel pain. It could duckwalk for days if it had to.

  But in this case, speed was of the essence.

  I ran forward full tilt. I’d mapped out this freighter from bow to stern before I initiated this operation, and my internal map guided me as I sped through corridors, slammed through hatches, and ricocheted off corners, building speed and slamming metal feet against the grating of the floor with increasing ferocity. I caught the occasional glimpse of a frightened face or a shocked crewman turning as I crashed past them, but I cared not for their concern. The clock was running, and I hadn’t spent this many resources to ditch this operation. Not with innocent lives at stake.

  Besides, I wanted them to see me. Like every operation I planned, this one had multiple goals.

  Sadly, I was already failing one of them.

  The unit moved like greased lightning, just as designed. My reflexes, however, couldn’t keep up.

  So instead of a graceful, fast dash through the corridors, I was bouncing off the walls, and tumbling metal head over alloyed feet every time I wiped out. Oh, I was back on my heels in a heartbeat, but it was still annoying. And the crew was getting more of a chance to react than I’d expected. Shouts and echoes of slamming hatches resounded from ahead of me, and I frowned to hear it.

  Well, fine. I’d take a shortcut.

  I kicked open the door to the nearest cabin, crossed to the wall in two steps, and punched out a porthole. It was big enough for my head, if just barely, and the rest of me followed, bone-like structure of the endoskeleton snapping apart in segments where necessary to worm through. I dropped, hit the docks below, rolled past a pair of shouting Arabic longshoremen, and flipped to my feet.

  Concrete piers stretched out to either side of me, with massive metal cranes unloading cargo containers from massive ships. I’d emerged from one of them... the Staraya Karga, according to the Cyrillic letters on the hull.

  No time to sightsee. Seagulls scattered and shrieked at me, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun as I took off full-tilt, darting past dock workers as I really kicked it into gear. I leaped the fence around the harbor area with a bound, pounded concrete under my metal feet with a rapid-fire rattle that could have been mistaken for a machine gun, and took the street, swerving around cars and pedestrians alike with graceful curves. My onboard computer helped me detect and avoid collisions, and I giggled to myself as I pushed past twenty... thirty... fifty miles per hour, leaping over low obstacles and oncoming cars, and drifting around corners without slowing.

  That particular jubilation lasted up until I hit a slick spot on the road.

  When I picked myself up out of the shattered remains of a probably historic blue police call box, I noted sirens in the distance. Good response time! I have nothing but respect for the police, at least those I haven’t met and who weren’t trying to kill unarmed civilians. So I turned and fled, doing my level best to avoid contact with them as I zig-zagged westwards, following the river.
>
  The buildings got larger as I went, and as the streets became more crowded I switched to parkour, testing out the unit’s strength and agility at the same time. Metal fingers dug crevices into crumbling brick as I launched off ledges, my feet dented sheet metal roofs as I hopped across them. Below me people shouted and pointed, and countless phones swung my direction as I passed.

  Good. One of my secondary goals was visibility. So far, the plan was working as intended.

  Maybe a little too well, I thought, as I caught a bright flash of color out of the corner of my eye. Like any major metropolis, this one had superheroes. Superheroes are the wild card, the bane of my existence. No matter what plans I make, or how much preparation I do, there is no way to account for every little factor, power, or personality that I might run into at any given time or place.

  I kept up the parkour, rattling and slamming the unit from building to building, checking the bars and damage reports as I went. So far, so good... a few components were undergoing more stress than anticipated, but it wouldn’t be more than a two percent reduction of capability, at this rate. Enough to finish the main job, barring unforeseen variables.

  One of those variables caught up to me, just as the river twisted and I had to slow down to change direction.

  “Here, stop!” a young red-headed girl in a blue domino mask shouted, moving to bar my path north while stretching out an orange-gloved hand.

  I considered her, letting my search routines match her costume. Soon enough, I had a match.

  LADY THRUSH

  ACTIVE SUPERHERO, NO KNOWN AFFILIATES

  POWERS: CLASS FIVE PARAGON

  I sucked my teeth, a motion which didn’t translate to the skinless remote unit. Paragons are trouble. They can fly, as evidenced by her hovering in midair before me, and they have varying degrees of super strength. Class five meant she could probably rip me apart with little trouble, if she put her head to it.

  “What are you on about, frightening people like that? You’ve caused no end of property damage, you’re just lucky no one got hurt. Stop all this right now!”

  I nodded, and dove off the building, as she yelled and followed. My sensors shook and the world spun as I hit the road below and rolled, flipping to my feet and pounding the pavement for a good mile, building up speed as I leaped up onto the highway overpass and kept on going.

  Horns blared at me and cars swerved, but I kept tight control, weaving in and out of traffic, even sticking my arms out to signal turns. I was grateful that I’d had about ten minutes of practice prior to this point... it made all the difference. Now I cruised along at sixty, seventy, even eighty where traffic permitted, and little miss orange-and-blue struggled to keep up.

  In the distance, the twin towers of a world-famous bridge loomed, as Big Ben struck the hour. Truly, there is no place like London! Pity I didn’t have time to be more of a gawker, but I had places to go, people to maim, and a hero on my metal butt.

  I debated running up the cables, but... nah. Thrushie was getting irritated, and if I got too far away from people she might try something drastic. Best to keep myself in a location where Lady Thrush couldn’t risk the collateral damage.

  So instead of running up the cables I stuck to street level, running along the tops of slow-moving cars. A convertible gave me pause...

  ...and I nearly lost, right then and there, as my proximity alarm blared and I turned to see Thrush ten feet away from me, arms stretched wide for a grab.

  A tenth of a second. That’s what it came down to. If I hadn’t been an expert pilot, if I hadn’t built the remote unit myself with my own hands, if I hadn’t spent long hours in my lab, refining and further refining the synapse translation carrier...

  But I had done all these things, and more. And so I twisted away as she swept by, grabbed on to her cape, and rode the startled superhero across the bridge, letting go as she glanced back over her shoulder in surprise. I hit the road with feet already pumping, eating up the ground with every stride.

  Thirteen minutes left, now.

  South then, angling west. Brixton, that was the borough I was looking for. And I didn’t have far to go. I abandoned the street, switching back to parkour, and resumed weaving in and up between buildings like a steel spider. Brick dust flew as my metal fingers gouged and caught, metal screamed as I found my stride.

  Sure enough, the flying girl followed after. But now I was off the straightaways, and she had to maneuver, couldn’t try to match her speed to mine. If I wanted to, I could easily gain distance on her. Maybe even lose her.

  But why would I do that? I’d gone fishing for heroes, and caught a bird.

  Close set buildings lined the road, and I took to the rooftops. Couldn’t read the address numbers from up here, but I didn’t need to. With a whispered command, thermal lenses slid over the unit’s ocular sensors, and the world turned red. The bricks of each building glowed faintly in my view, the internal heat of them shining against the cold of the early winter.

  All save for one.

  It was back behind the others, off the main drag, with a fenced-in courtyard and a couple of guards patrolling the grounds. More inside, I knew.

  This building, and this building alone in the cluster didn’t glow with ambient thermal energy. It was insulated on the inside, shielded against high-powered infrared sensors like the ones I was using. Good enough shielding for the fairly-illegal sensors that the law enforcement agencies pretended not to use. But not good enough to fool mine.

  I leaped to its roof, hopping over the tripwires set flush against the shingles and passed the hatch in the roof by without a single backward glance. It was reinforced against entry, obviously, and wired to blow up the building if anyone bashed it in. Every window was likewise reinforced, every exterior-accessible doorway rigged, save for one entrance. The place was a deathtrap by design.

  But it had two weaknesses.

  Firstly, the traps all hooked up to the same, centralized bomb.

  Secondly, the deathtrap’s architect hadn’t bothered to wire the walls or the ceiling.

  Before Thrush could catch up to me, I reached between my ribs, slapped a hockey-puck sized disk down against the shingles, and got clear. I skidded, caught an old chimney-pipe, swung myself around, and stared at Thrush from across the roof.

  The hero stopped, glancing from me to the disk. “I’m not sure I get your meaning.”

  I splayed the fingers of the unit’s right hand, palm held out towards her, and curled my thumb inward.

  “You’re telling me I shall not pass? Sorry, you’re not Gandalf and I don’t think—”

  Shouts from below, and I heard a door slam open. I ignored them, and folded the unit’s index finger down. The middle finger followed, after a second.

  “Wait. Are you counting?”

  I couldn’t help myself. When her eyes darted down to the disk I’d dropped and then widened in shock and horror, I took a picture through the unit’s oculars. That look was so delicious, I had to save it for later.

  She dove for the disk, a second too late, as the unit’s pinky finger snapped down, and the shaped charge blew, taking a five-foot-wide circle out of the roof. When the dust cleared Thrush was on the ground coughing... she’d gotten a lungful from the blast. I ignored her, dove through the hole, and came up with metal fists raised.

  One big room filled this floor, with crates and litter scattered around. I was rather glad I hadn’t given the unit the ability to discern scents, as black mold traced high lines on the water-damaged ceiling, and rats peered out at me from nooks and crannies, showing up like little puffy blobs in my thermal vision. I didn’t even glance at the stairwell. That would be trapped. Instead I turned my gaze to the thin wood of the floor, and marked human silhouettes. Quite a few on the floor below... and all of them had their arms cocked as if they were carrying guns.

  Perfect! Not an innocent in the lot. I moved to a concentration of three of them, and dropped another shaped charge.

  After it blew
I dove into the hole below before the splinters settled.

  My remote unit hit the floor a split-second after the bloody meat that had been three guards did. I felt no guilt for my act, nor shame. I knew what they were guarding. I knew how much they were being paid to do so. And I knew what would happen if I failed here.

  Seven minutes left. And four more guards rushing towards the noise. Brave souls.

  The room around me was some sort of lounge... cigarettes smoked in ashtrays, a television sputtered and flickered in the corner, screen presumably cracked from the explosion. A refrigerator puffed coolant into the air in great gouts, coils ruptured from shrapnel. The door stood open and I hit it, charged the first guard I saw. He raised a shotgun and opened his mouth to yell as I leaped, grabbed his chest with both hands, and rode him to the ground. Three quick punches and his face crunched. The other shapes on the floor were frozen, taking cover behind things my vision couldn’t make out. One was shouting into a phone, I could just hear him now that the explosion was done. Another disappeared from my view, heading downstairs. That was worrisome, for too many reasons.

  So I chased him.

  I took the first few steps on the stairs, before I leaped down the center of the stairwell, metal legs flexing as my shocks absorbed the fall. I straightened up, bringing my hand into a sweeping uppercut as I uncurled right in front of the mook, and his jaw broke as I punched him so hard his head hit the ceiling.

  Before he hit the ground I turned, and triggered my voltaic vision.

  I’d researched this over the last few weeks... in layman’s terms, it’s similar to infrared sight, only it tracks electricity instead of heat. Sensitive enough that I can pick out the nerves of those I examine.

  The wires in the walls and floors lit up like neon worms. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw that I’d been wise to leap from the steps; every fourth one had an active lead running to it.

  I grabbed the falling form of the guard and directed him away from the wired step he was about to fall on, sending him crashing into a half-open crate of beer bottles. Wouldn’t do to blow the place up, after I’d gone to all this trouble to—