Brass Rain

Downtown - Spinn

The Fountainhead office building near the intersection of 55th and Grande in downtown Vargos was unremarkable in almost every way. It looked identical to the other smaller skyscrapers owned by the corporation. It handled the day-to-day business for the world’s largest security firm and firearms manufacturer, and its employees clocked in and clocked out without error each day.

He’d been hired by Robins Co. for this job, a small piece of a larger operation run by the corporation to reduce Fountainhead’s stock value by two points by the end of the fiscal quarter, assuming all went well. His instructions had been simple: slip in undetected, upload his digging software to Fountainhead’s network, and excise a single piece of code from the system.

That missing code would mark every employee in the building as compromised in Fountainhead’s ledgers. The move would force Fountainhead to liquidate the entire staff and burn resources rehiring and transferring personnel to keep the building operational.

So long as no one traced it back to Robins Co., it would be the perfect hit job.

And as far as Spinn could tell, he’d succeeded. One last job. One last payout.

Then? Retirement. Chimera Heights. The good life.

Spinn retracted his data jack cord from the building’s central mainframe back into his temple and settled his hair over the jack. The security system had been shut down by his software but with Fountainhead it was never smart to assume you were out of the woods until you were miles away from where their soldiers could touch you. He was on a ticking clock to get out of the building before the system rebooted.

He made his way down the first flight of stairs before his light started to flicker.

Shit.

He knew he should have charged it before leaving. He was getting sloppy in his old age. Suddenly, he felt even more relieved this job would probably pay enough to catapult him into retirement.

Spinn felt around in the dark again for a door handle against the wall and pushed it open, stepping into another office space a few floors below. He began rummaging through desks, searching for a small light or a spare battery for his own.

Just as he finished searching one desk, a quiet whirring noise came from deeper inside the office space. He froze.

The sound was soft, mechanical, like a machine releasing a held breath.

He followed the sound to a computer terminal, its screen still active, running a series of data-cleaning codes. He was confused as to how the single machine hadn’t been shut down by his software but ignored it in favor of completing his escape. He used the glow from the screen to scan the desk, checking for a spare battery before a tremendous pressure clamped onto his shoulder, launching him backward through the dividing walls of two cubicles, landing hard onto a desk. His vision blurred.

Through the darkness, he saw the glow of multiple body lights crawling up the figure of a dark silhouette, ending in two parallel bright neon-green eyes, locked onto him.

Spinn wanted to shriek, but the impact had knocked the wind out of him. The force was unlike anything he’d ever felt, as if this thing had thrown him as easily as someone would crumple up a sheet of paper and toss it away.

The thing stepped forward, extending a metallic hand that seized him and clamped around his throat. The grip was so tight Spinn felt certain he was going to die, staring into the hollow eyes of whatever security robot this thing was.

Instead, it tossed him hard to the ground again. It towered over him, staring down in silence as it pulled a knife from its belt. Then, its mouth opened, and a monotone, tinny voice groaned:

“Sig J-3-N-N-3-R, executing process.”

The blade plunged down. Spinn rolled out of the way and, running on pure adrenaline, leapt up and bolted for the stairwell door.

The thing was once human, now a Wraith, and it had come for him.

His mind raced, trying to understand how he had ended up on a Wraith list. No one knew who he was. No one had any reason to pay the amount the Wraiths charged for an elimination contract.

Then it clicked.

Robins Co. His contact. The job. His employers had burned him. And now, Vargos’ most elite killers had him in their sights.

He reached the door but felt himself launched backward again as his fingertips barely grazed the handle. He plowed through several more cubicle walls, crashing through layers of drywall and shattered desks before landing hard in a walkway between them.

He moved to push himself up again, thankful that the only thing keeping him alive was the titanium bone lacing he’d splurged on two years ago. Then the creature manifested above him, its once-human feet and fingers clinging to the ceiling like a spider, its body pressed impossibly flat against the panels.

It stared down at him, its head twisted at an unnatural angle. The lights from its cybernetic body were the only illumination in the dark room, each faint glow drawing Spinn’s gaze no matter how much he wanted to look away.

The beast dropped from the ceiling and landed on top of him, its clenched fists smashing into his face with inhuman power.

Spinn felt his cybernetic jaw dislodge, something inside him fracturing under the impact. He reached for its wrist, trying to grab hold of the thing’s hand with his own cybernetic hand, but it simply tore Spinn’s cybernetic arm clean from its socket and flung it aside like trash.

Spinn barely had time to process the loss before the creature reached for its knife, securing it in its hand and pressing it against Spinn’s bare skin. The cold edge of the blade pressed into Spinn’s limp body, its tip digging slowly into his neck.

Spinn felt conflicted, unsure if he was afraid to die or proud to be dying like a street hero in Vargos at the hands of a Wraith. He shut his eyes as the thing leaned down and spoke into his ear.

“You have been designated a discarded asset by Robins Co. Your contract has been terminated.”

Spinn let a defeated smile creep across his bloody face, at least he’d guessed that one right. Then something changed in the room. Even with his eyes closed, he felt it. He opened them and found all of the lights in the room were back on. His software’s clock had expired. The building’s system was back online.

After the lights came the unified whir of the building’s computer systems. A moment later, the soft red glow of the security system activating followed suit.

The Wraith looked around, its expression shifting into something approaching confusion. It stood up from Spinn’s body, tucking the knife back into its belt, its head snapping from side to side, scanning the room.

Then, before it could turn to escape, Spinn heard the ceiling tiles unlatch and descend.

From above, automated turrets deployed from the roof. The two machines locked onto the beast and opened fire.

The air ripped apart with a storm of automatic rounds, spent shell casings cascading onto the carpeted office floor like a brass waterfall. The Wraith sparked brilliantly, its cybernetic body shredding under the hail of bullets.

Spinn took his chance.

He wasn’t sure what the hell he was thinking or if it would work at all. He didn’t even know what floor he was on, but he played his Hail Mary. Spinn lunged forward, seizing the thing’s waist and hoisting its damaged body onto his back. With everything he had left, he charged toward the office’s largest window, the end of the walkway rushing to meet him. The pressure of rounds still slamming into the Wraith’s body made him stumble, his legs burning with exhaustion. Then a hot, searing pain tore through his heel as a stray round ripped clean through flesh and bone. He didn’t stop. He slammed into the glass and felt the window buckle, then shatter. Then he was falling free through the cool night air.

The ground below rushed up at terrifying speed. Spinn swung the limp Wraith downward, using what little control he had left to make sure it hit the ground first. The impact came violently, making his legs buckle with a sickening crack. Pain screamed through his body, but after a few ragged, gasping breaths, he blinked, and knew he had survived.

His legs were broken, he was bleeding from his foot and face, he was missing an arm, and he had been set up by the corpos who sent him there. But he was alive. And now, Leo “Spinn” Tabinson had killed a Wraith.

At least, that’s what he would tell his friends in retirement.