Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

A clear, unfamiliar voice broke out of the earpiece.

“I’m aiming my lights right at you. Come on, you’ve got to follow me.”

The lights caught his eye first and then he made out a hockey puck-sized object humming six feet in front of him. It was swaying eagerly back and forth to get his attention. The voice erupted again.

“Move to the right until the green blinking light lines up with the steady green. Keep them in line and your exposure to bullets will be at the absolute minimum. Red means stop, green go, and yellow caution. Don’t worry if you lose sight of me from time to time, that’s normal. I’m looking around a corner or scanning a suspect and I’ll be right back. Don’t fixate. I’m here to assist your situational awareness not replace it. Questions?” 

“Yeah. Who are you?” Hank asked.

“I’m Faisal. Located in a nondescript, underground bunker somewhere near Seattle. But, hey, man, I’m very good at what I do. You’ll be slapping hands and saying, ‘Mission accomplished’ in no time. BTW, sweet gun. I saw a demo on Rumble. You’ve got nothing to worry about. How many rounds in that thing? How much spare ammo do you have and how good a shot are you?”

“Six and six. I earned Distinguished Pistol Shot in the Marines. That was about eight years ago.”

“I scanned you. Where’s your backup in case you have to go lethal force?”

“Faisal, story of my life—people don’t trust me with real bullets.” 

“Okay. Shouldn’t be a problem tonight, but what type of security agent are you? I’ve never seen one expected to bring a knife to a gunfight.”

“I’m just the sailing instructor.”

“Oh, a ride-along. Let’s hope you’re as good a shot as you remember. I’d suggest you double tap to your heart’s content. If everybody else does their job, you shouldn’t see any action. So far there’s only a ten percent chance you’ll fire that thing. Pay attention, I’m on the move.”

Word came down that the Java Cat coffee shop had cleared out before they left the theatre grounds. Willy walked right by it without a glance, so Hank did the same. Hamilton Street had a steady flow of cars traveling on it, some expensive sedans, but most were robocars. Blockades at most of the through streets helped concentrate the traffic flow away from the venue. The party-bus heading down the road behind them flashed its running lights once, confirming to the ground team that it was the decoy.

Faisal called into his earpiece, “Looks like they’re setting up to take the bait. Stay sharp.” 

The drone’s lights held red. Hank shifted to the left. He could think of other times he wished he had one of these. An omniscient situational over-watch this sophisticated almost seemed like an unfair advantage. He knew that was a stupid thought and didn’t believe in fairness when it came to battles. Asymmetrical warfare made it so the good guys go home at the end—most of them. He breathed out, “Rah.” His first reaction was to cringe at the reflex but then realized reflex wasn’t all bad. With each stride, his mind became more alert, his body moved with greater purpose, and every tactical habit he had abandoned was making a comeback tonight.

“Hit the shadows,” Willy said, glancing back at his tiny team spread out at twenty-foot intervals. 

The west side of Hamilton Street provided no shadows, but Hank sensed he had decent cover, and his placement would be a perfect firing position if the party bus was attacked at the most likely intersection on West Pender. There was nothing happening along the side street, no cars, no people, only concrete Jersey barriers to choke down travel to one car at a time. Not an unusual way to control movement by local law enforcement, but he saw no police. 

The party bus passed Hank. He could see the driver gripping both hands on the wheel. Half a dozen cars were within close fire distance, but he could not distinguish which cars might also be part of the security force. Flashing blue lights caught his attention. A police cruiser hit the front driver’s side of the party bus hard enough to push the rolling nightclub into the barrier on the opposite side of the street. 

“Move!” 

Willy went to the police cruiser and hit the dazed driver with the butt of his shotgun and moved to the front of the bus. Hank could see another man on their team moving around the rear of the party bus, with his shotgun in high ready position. Hank tapped his glasses through the view cycle and passed the image he was looking for. Not knowing how to go back, he tapped the glasses through the cycle again until the information he wanted returned. He couldn’t see actual people through the bus’s solid mass, but the glasses allowed him to make out what was going on. Two green dots, like beach balls, spilled out of the door of the bus and two more rolled out of a car. Green blinking dots rounded either end of the bus, representing Willy and the man who had been watching their flank. They brought the fight and shots rang out. Thud! Thud, thud!

With pistol drawn, Hank moved around the rear, grazing the bus with his left shoulder. He wanted to get a better look, but he paused when he noticed his point-drone with red lights lined up. “Hey, Faisal. What should I do?”

“Sit back and enjoy the show.” 

“I can’t see anything from here. I’m moving closer to the action.”

“Okay, you’re good to proceed, but be careful of flying beanbags.”

Hank’s drone flashed yellow lights, but he didn’t need the warning. In a low crouch, he moved into a kneeling position, close into the back corner of the party bus with the pistol leveled against the darkness. He tapped his temple and half a dozen red dots with a single black line across them vanished, replaced by six bodies lying in a fetal position on the ground. A couple were writhing, the rest lay there, accepting their fate. The sign in front of him said it all. Victory Square Park. Hank smiled at the flawless operation and cycled through the view again until the dots appeared with the distances recorded. Two red dots left, covering ground with their tails between their legs, running away.

He followed the formless red dots. Nobody pursued them. A single green dot appeared between the two escaping red ones. He heard the report of weapons fire in the distance. The two fleeing red dots stopped moving and a black line crossed through one dot and then the other in quick succession. More shots rang out until a second black line formed an X on each victim. He lifted the glasses off his face and looked into blackness. This part of the city had been blacked out, the light replaced by an eerie quiet. He felt sick. Adrenaline coursed through his body and not a single cell needed it now. His gun went back into his sporran, and he dropped his glasses back onto his nose. 

“You okay, Hank?” Faisal asked.

“Yeah, just getting my bearings.” 

“Okay. Swipe the left arm of your glasses from ear to temple.”

The motion Faisal recommended changed the advanced night vision goggles into a tech which brought back memories—infrared. A couple of armed good guys walked around while bad guys lay prostrate on the ground.

“Hey, Hank. They pay me by the second, so I gotta run. It’s been nice hunting with you. Maybe next time. Faisal out.”

Hank managed a weak “thanks,” but realized Faisal already cut the comm link and took his drone with him. 

Willy approached Hank, his glowing hot shotgun barrel aimed to the ground. “Keep ’em on for now. We’ve blacked out half the city. It gave us a big tactical advantage and now law enforcement’s overwhelmed so the darkness will give us some time to scatter. You must get to the Westin Bayshore. How hard can it be for someone who navigates the oceans?” Willy pointed down the street to the west. “Head that way. Get to the operation center and they’ll take care of your trip back to Victoria. Let me have your vest though. It’s the perfect fit for a girl I know,” Willy said, with a crisp infrared wink. “Keep the glasses and the peashooter. You’ll need them. You did good tonight.”

Hank felt like he should say something, but his mouth was as dry as a desert. He followed Willy’s thermal image as he walked into the park. Another figure in the distance appeared—disembodied hips moving toward them. His eyes were playing tricks. The moving x-ray of a skeleton with two hip replacements came closer until details cleared up Hank’s confusion. It was Megan Ward, and her body was dripping heat above and below the confines of her armored vest, while the illusion of disembodied hips was the thermal image of two long-barreled revolvers holstered low on her waist with barrels aimed down her thighs like a gunslinger in the Old West.

Willy leveled the hot steel of his shotgun at the woman an instant before a blast of fire shot into Megan Ward and she spun to the ground. Willy was on her like a cowboy roping a calf, only he used flex cuffs—hands behind her back and feet bound, crossed at the ankles.

Hank approached hesitantly. Willy had just shot their commanding officer. Point blank—at that distance, even a bean-bag round could have killed her. Megan Ward lay on the cold ground, wheezing like a child with asthma. A wave of pity swept over Hank, but it passed as her lungs began to work. Fitful moaning sped up into an unintelligible gasping bluster of hatred.

“Hey, Mega-War. Don’t worry. Prison will suit you.” Willy pushed past Hank, slapping a multi-tool into his hand. “If you want, cut her loose. I don’t care.” He motioned, pointing his thumb in the opposite direction. “But one way or another, you better get moving.”

Sirens wailed from a distance. It may have been minutes since the stolen police cruiser crashed into the party bus, but it seemed like an eternity since he viewed the fleeing red dots end their cartoon-like existence with a big black X. The operation took just over a minute. Willy’s team bound up the bad guys—none of them dead. But Megan Ward killed the two who were running away. The curious tag, “Mega-War” fit not only the woman, but the situation. He lifted his glasses and walked up to the fallen team leader. No man left behind rattled in his head. Blue flashing lights pulsated off the dark buildings, filtered through the trees and pulsed against her tear-streaked face. 

“Get me out of these things!” 

Hank dropped the glasses back in place and opened the pliers. One snip and the zip ties holding her legs sprang away. Mega-War bounced up, yelling at Hank with her hands secured behind her back. She vibrated like a chihuahua and twisted, holding her cuffed hands out for Hank to finish his task. The revolvers strapped to her were still hot in his infrared view. Justice—it was why Willy shot Megan Ward. Hank had done enough. This woman shot two people as they ran away. No threat to anybody, and instead of following her own orders, she killed them. Everybody else who met Willy’s security team was packaged up for the police to worry about, but not the two lifeless bodies on the other side of the trees.

“You better get moving.” Hank turned his back on her, and walked away.

“This is not a joke. Cut these ties! Now!” she ordered.

Hank’s mind raced with conflicting emotions. His steps were slow, matching the indecision that was raging through him. Her temporary silence pleaded with him to cut her loose. He turned and saw the heat signature of the leg-irons and the ghoulish glow of her head about twenty feet away. The decision to leave her, as is, solidified in his head. She could escape what little law enforcement there was but would have to find another way to get those murderous hands free. Hank had done enough and quickened his pace to exit the park and put this situation behind him. Then her silence ended in a tirade. 

“I’ll remember this, Gunn! You’re going to wish you were dead,” she stuttered, “Hank Gunn… FUCK YOU!”

Hank spun, drawing his pistol, and fired twice. Both projectiles covered the ten yards and squashed square into Megan Ward's armored vest with the impact of a major league fastball. He lost sight of her head behind a cloud of pepper dust as it billowed out from center mass. Satisfied, he turned and ambled away. 

Willy was waiting. The infrared expression on Willy’s face was hard for Hank to read. He could have been smiling or his jaw was dropped in surprise. Either way, Hank knew things between them would never be the same. He brushed past Willy, bumping his shoulder and exhaled, “Women.”