CHAPTER 293: CHAPTER - 293

Chapter - 293

Rick stood on the metal catwalk, drenched in sweat, his new Rolex gleaming with the blood of the man he’d just butchered. The mangled, broken body of Sparrow One lay at his feet, a whimpering, agonizing mess.

His knees were bags of wet gravel, his arms twisted at angles that made them useless. Below, in the gravel, Sharon was a pale, shaking silhouette, covered in the cooling, sticky blood of Sparrow Two. The entire warehouse stank of ozone, cordite, and iron.

He was holding the laptop. The asset. The entire reason this clusterfuck had started. The System Quest timer in his head was still ticking. 5 Days, 20 Hours...

Rick turned his cold, calculating gaze back to the ruined man on the floor. He still needed a location.

"Okay. Round two," Rick said, his voice a low growl as he hefted the bloody 9-iron. "The 2-hour location feed on you two just ran out. But the one on Nadia... that’s a whole new quest. And I’m guessing it’s gonna be just as... ’intimate’. So, to save me a lot of embarrassment, and to save what’s left of your legs... where are they keeping her?"

The man, Sparrow One, just gurgled, his eyes rolling back in shock. "I... I don’t... Raven... she’ll kill me..."

Rick raised the 9-iron, ready to begin the process of disassembly.

And then, of course, the System chimed in.

[Ding!]

A translucent blue screen popped into his vision, its cheerful, sterile text a horrific contrast to the bloody carnage around him.

[System Notification: New Quest Issued!]

[Quest: The Final Word]

[Objective: The target is broken, but his loyalty remains. Extract the location of the hostage, ’Nadia Ahmed’, from ’Sparrow One’.]

[Requirement: Standard interrogation will not suffice. The System requires a... ’Permanent Statement’. You must utilize extreme, disfiguring methods to ensure his compliance and terror. No killing... yet.]

[Reward: 50,000 XP, $100,000, New Skill: ’Voice of Command’ (Lower-level enemies will be stunned by your verbal orders.)]

[Penalty for Failure: ’Nadia Ahmed’ will be executed by ’Raven’ in 2 hours.]

Rick stared at the prompt, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated annoyance. He actually sighed, a sound of deep exasperation.

"Seriously?" he muttered aloud.

Sharon, who was just starting to climb the metal stairs, froze. "Seriously what? What are you talking to?"

"The System," Rick snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose, his bloody golf club dangling from his other hand. "It’s giving me another quest. Right now. Can’t it just zip it? Can’t I just have five minutes? I was handling this. I was literally in the middle of handling it."

Sharon just stared at him, her mind completely unable to process the words. "The... System? Are you... are you having a psychotic break, Rick? You’re covered in blood and you’re talking to yourself."

"It’s a binding contract," Rick said, his voice one of a man being forced to do overtime on a Friday. "It says I have to be ’convincing’." He looked down at the mangled Sparrow One, who had just passed out from blood loss and terror. "And he’s unconscious. This is just... inefficient."

Rick let the 9-iron clatter to the catwalk. He looked around. His eyes landed on the bloody, jagged piece of rebar that Sharon had used to turn Sparrow Two into a human pincushion. It was still lying in the gravel.

"Sharon," he said, his voice suddenly all-business. "Toss me that. The rebar."

"What? Why?"

"This bloody thing in my head... It was specific about ’extreme methods’. I’m going to... improvise. Toss it up."

Horrified, but moving on a strange, numb autopilot, she picked up the heavy, bloody piece of steel and tossed it. Rick caught it. He walked back to Sparrow One’s unconscious body and stood over him.

"Rick, what are you doing?" Sharon said, her voice a horrified whisper. "He’s out! He can’t talk!"

"He will," Rick said. He looked at the wreckage of the sedan, at the burning, sparking battery cable. He walked over, touched the hot rebar to the sparking cable, and then pressed the sizzling, bloody, red-hot metal tip to the open wound on Sparrow One’s shattered kneecap.

TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

The smell of cooking flesh and burning blood filled the warehouse. Sparrow One’s body didn’t just wake up; it convulsed, arcing off the catwalk with a scream that was not human. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, a shriek that ripped through the night.

"AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"

"He’s awake," Rick stated calmly to Sharon, who was now vomiting quietly over the side of the catwalk.

He tossed the rebar aside and knelt, grabbing the screaming, sobbing man by the hair. "I know. It hurts," he said, his voice almost sympathetic.

"But the quest requires a ’Permanent Statement’. So, here’s the deal. I’m going to take this pistol..." He picked up Sparrow One’s broken-wrist pistol from the floor. "...and I am going to shoot you in your remaining good kneecap. Then, after you’ve processed that, you’re going to tell me where she is."

"NO! NO! I’LL TALK! I’LL TALK!" Sparrow One shrieked, his mind completely broken. "WARNER TOWER! THE PENTHOUSE! SHE’S IN THE PENTHOUSE! DOWNTOWN!"

"Warner Tower?" Sharon choked out, wiping her mouth. "Marnus Warner? The guy who runs the whole city?"

"Who is Raven?" Rick demanded, pressing the barrel of the gun against the man’s good knee.

"She’s his top aide! His fixer!" Sparrow sobbed. "She’s a woman! She runs everything! She’s waiting for us! She... she... oh god, my leg... she’s waiting for us to bring the laptop!"

[Quest Complete! Reward Issued.]

[New Skill: ’Voice of Command’ Unlocked.]

Rick stood up, satisfied. He looked down at the broken man, then at Sharon. "See? Simple."

Just as the words left his mouth, a phone started ringing. It wasn’t his; his was a dead brick. It wasn’t Sharon’s. It was a tinny, annoying electronic chime coming from the bloody jacket of the man on the floor.

Rick knelt, fished the phone out of Sparrow One’s pocket, and looked at the caller ID.

RAVEN.

He smiled. He wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, answered the call, and put it on speaker. His voice was perfectly calm, almost cheerful.

"Sparrow’s office. How can I help you?"

A full ten seconds of absolute silence on the other end. Then, a woman’s voice, as cold and smooth as polished steel, replied. "You’re not Sparrow."

"He’s a little tied up right now," Rick said, nudging the groaning man with his foot. "He asked me to take a message."

"You’re the asset’s boyfriend," the voice, Raven, stated. It wasn’t a question. "You’re efficient. I’m looking at a tracker that puts two of my best men in a warehouse with you. Now they’re not answering their phones, and you are. You’ve just cost my employer a significant amount of money in resources and cleanup."

"They were defective," Rick replied, leaning casually against a girder. "The steering on their car was all wrong, and they kept pointing their guns at people. It’s a miracle they didn’t hurt themselves sooner. I’m just cleaning up your mess. You should be thanking me."

Another beat of silence. Rick could almost hear her calculating.

"My gratitude has its limits, Mr. Smith," Raven said, her voice dropping a degree. "You have something that belongs to my employer. I have someone who... belongs... to you. This seems like a simple, clean transaction."

"I’ve heard this one before," Rick scoffed. "It ended with me in a burning box. Forgive me if I’m not thrilled about a sequel."

"My associates were... over-eager," Raven said, a flicker of what might have been annoyance in her voice. "They were butchers. I prefer a scalpel. You’re good, Mr. Smith. You’re a chaos agent. But you are not that good. You’re an amateur playing in a professional league, and you’ve just pissed off the team owner."

"So what’s the new offer?" Rick asked, tucking the laptop under his arm.

"It’s not an offer. It’s an instruction. You’ve caused enough noise. This ends, quietly. The Grand Central atrium. Noon tomorrow. Come alone. She’ll be there. We’ll make the exchange."

"And how do I know you’ll just let us walk?"

"You don’t," Raven said. "But my employer wants the laptop, not a war. What happens to you after I have it is a matter of professional pride. But... if I see your little cop girlfriend anywhere, or anyone looking like a cop, I will have Nadia’s throat slit on the B-train. Am I clear?"

The line went dead.

Rick tossed the phone back onto the man’s chest. He looked at the laptop, then at Sharon. The adrenaline was fading, leaving both of them shaky and covered in gore.

Sharon, a bloody mess, was already in cop mode, her voice trembling. "Grand Central. Noon. It’s a public space. It’s a tactical nightmare. But we can set up a perimeter. Snipers on the roof. Undercover units in the crowd. We can take her down."

Rick just shook his head. "No. We aren’t doing anything. You’re done."

Sharon’s head snapped up. "What the hell are you talking about? I’m in this. I just... I just killed a man for this! I’m an accessory to... to... this!" She gestured at the mangled Sparrow One.

"And I appreciate that. You did great," Rick said, and he almost sounded sincere. "But this is where you get off. You heard her. You show up, or any cop shows up, Nadia dies. This isn’t a police operation anymore. It’s a trade. And I’m going alone."

"You think I’m just going to let you walk into a meatgrinder alone? After all this?"

"I’m not just thinking it, I’m counting on it," Rick said. "You’re a liability, Sharon. You’re a cop. You broadcast it. I can’t have you there, screwing this up with your ’morals’ and your ’procedures’. You’ll get us both killed."

"I just saved your ass, you ungrateful bastard!"

"And I saved yours! We’re even! Now go back to the shipyard. The cops and the ambulance are there. Tell them your story. Tell them Sparrow Two, the guy you turned into a rebar-kabob, attacked you. Tell them I went for help. I don’t care. But you’re not coming with me."

He turned, the laptop under his arm, and started to walk away, limping slightly from the crash. He was done.

"Rick!"

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

"You walk out that warehouse door without me," she said, her voice quiet, cold, and absolutely resolved, "and I’ll be the one to shoot you in the back. You’re not the only one who can play dirty. You need me. You just don’t know it yet. You’re an arrogant, sociopathic, ’tactical’ kissing bastard, but you’re my partner. And I’m not letting you go."

He stopped. He looked back at her. She was standing there, covered in blood, her gun held loosely at her side, her eyes blazing with a terrifying, stubborn fire. She wasn’t lying.

Rick let out a long, weary sigh. This was going to be so much more complicated than it needed to be.

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