Page 59 of Runaway Magic
Dozens of meters away, he heard the man named Jack make a confusedhuhsound before saying, “Weird. It’s like he’s not even there. I can’t find a single trace of him.” Rather than sounding upset, he sounded curious.
“What’s a norm doing with shielding like that?” The woman also sounded more curious than alarmed, as if safely taking half a dozen bullets at point-blank range was as normal as going to the bank.
Fourteen pulled out his phone and opened the app controlling his security cameras. He was in luck. Out of the entire system of cameras, only four had been damaged in the attack earlier. Pulling up the live feed from the front of the warehouse, he could see three areas of distortion, grouped ten meters from where he was standing, right in front of the main loading door.
Fourteen made his way stealthily back into the warehouse via the hole and got into his heavily modified SUV. While nearly asmall tank, it still had a quiet engine, but he chose not to rely on the witches not being able to hear it.
The second the engine turned over, Fourteen had it in gear, put the pedal to the floor, and aimed straight for the loading door.
The SUV punched through the door like it was made of wet paper, and Fourteen had a brief impression of a blue flash when the whole vehicle bounced off something and spun across the parking lot.
The hood had popped open in the crash, and the airbags were inflated, making it impossible to see.
Fuck a fucking duck.
Fourteen’s injured shoulder leaked and protested loudly as he reached behind himself and pulled out his spare AK-47, trying not to get it tangled up in the airbag as he exited the vehicle.
Fuck. He’d just leaked all over his favorite vehicle.
No.
He bled. Humans bled and machines leaked. Fourteen was fairly certain that enough of him was human to call it bleeding.
Well, whatever it was his shoulder was doing, it was destroying the upholstery. He didn’t know why that bothered him more than the damage to the front of his SUV, and he didn’t bother delving into it. He had magic wielding assholes to kill and/or interrogate.
As low to the ground as he could get, he crept to the edge of the car to survey the scene. A quick glance told him very little. All he could see were three glowing shields, one orange, one blue, and one that reminded him of the night sky in Norway.
Funny. He didn’t remember going to Norway.
The shields were completely opaque, obscuring the witches inside. Another glance told him they were heading straight for him.
They were definitely different than the shields he’d come up against earlier, but he reasoned that if he’d been able to take out Stella and Sterling’s shields so easily, he could defeat these as well.
Fourteen stayed low as he got back into the SUV and dug under his seat for extra magazines. He dragged his loot back out and set himself up next to the hood, bracing himself for what was to come.
The ebb and flow of emotions had now reached a crescendo in his mind. Maim, rend, and destroy was foremost in his mind, but on the edges of the maelstrom, his conditioning said, “Watch and wait. Right action will come.”
As he put round after round into the approaching spheres, the bloodlust eclipsed the calm. All he wanted now was for someone to pay for what had happened to Cym.
The spheres were almost on top of him and showed no signs of faltering under his attack. They nearly had him surrounded, and he tried to retreat. He couldn’t save Cym if he were deactivated.
No.
Killed, not deactivated.
Fourteen’s mind was a cluster-fuck of confusion as unfamiliar emotions and long-time conditioning fought for supremacy, and he was too preoccupied to figure out which side he was rooting for.
The orange shield darted forward impossibly fast and cut off his escape. He pulled out a knife and slashed, but the knife sank into the sphere and was held fast. Under his disbelieving gaze, the blade began to dissolve, so he released it.
Behind him, the other two spheres closed in and began to morph, each one creating a solid-looking wall to pen him in. The orange one followed suit and joined with the other two, trapping Fourteen in a colorful triangular prison.
He still had several weapons tucked in various places on his body, but with the exception of the grenades—which he knew were a bad idea—he had a feeling his entire armory would be absorbed if he tried to use them.
“So, first I just want to say that you’re absolutely terrifying. If we weren’t who we are, I’d need new pants right now.” Jack’s voice came from the shimmering, multicolored sphere.
Fourteen wanted to say Jack was an asshole. If he wanted to talk to him, that is. Fourteen didn’t want to talk. He wanted to hurt someone so he didn’t have to feelthings.
Feeling things was horrible, and he didn’t recommend it at all. It was almost as bad as not feeling anything at all.
