Badge of the Death Game

Chapter 029

[Career Instance complete.]

[Mission settlement finished.]

[Congratulations — two achievements unlocked: Sharpshooter, Undying.]

[Three Career Points awarded.]

[Incomplete achievement: Total Wipeout.]

I'm... back?

Soren stood motionless in the ship's hold, unable to process it. He'd expected another restart. Instead, he was here — same dim space, same diesel smell, same rolling motion of a vessel at sea. The sound of gunfire was still in his ears. The weight of a rifle was still in his hands, except there was no rifle.

"Hey." One of the four armed crew members had noticed him. The man sauntered over with the easy contempt of someone who had never once been surprised in his life. "You stand up like you've got something to say. You need to raise your hand first, didn't your teacher tell you that?"

Laughter from the other three.

Beside Soren, Evan's right hand had already closed around a thermos. On his other side, Howard was quietly reaching toward the box at his feet.

The lead crew member was still smiling as he closed the distance, lifting his Beretta 92F toward Soren's forehead. The barrel never got there.

A blur of movement, and the Beretta 92F changed hands. Two shots dropped the crew member where he stood. Soren shifted and fired twice more before the next two men had time to register what was happening. The fourth found a pistol aimed between his eyes, his own weapon already on the floor, his hands already up.

Soren patted him down, grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him toward the stairs.

On the deck above, three crew members were passing a cigarette and trading jokes. The gunshots from below hadn't moved them — in their experience, that kind of noise just meant someone downstairs was having a little fun. When they saw one of their own come up through the hatch, disheveled and sweating, one of them grinned. "What happened, forget to bring protection?"

Then a pistol barrel appeared from under the man's arm. Three shots. The three crew members dropped where they stood. The man Soren had used as a shield turned back with a crumbling expression. "Please don't kill me. I can still be—"

One shot. The man crumpled.

Soren dropped the spent pistol magazine, checked the chamber, and drew a slow breath. "System. Upgrade Marksmanship."

The change was immediate. The world sharpened — not metaphorically, but literally. He could distinguish individual grains of grit on the deck planking. He dry-aimed at a distant point on the railing and felt the geometry of it click into place with a precision that hadn't existed a moment ago. Level four was a different order of magnitude entirely.

Seven kills since waking up. He hadn't hesitated on a single one, and he was aware of what that meant. The Career Instance had left its mark in ways that weren't listed on any HUD panel — the decisiveness, the economy of motion, the complete absence of the half-second delay that used to exist between intention and action. None of that had been there before Tullane Township. He filed the question of how he felt about it away for later.

Back in the ship's hold, Evan and Howard had already armed themselves from the dead crew members. A third figure was picking up the last remaining pistol — lean, dark, with the unhurried movements of someone who had been in difficult situations before. He tilted the muzzle toward the ceiling, dropped the pistol magazine, checked the chamber, and seated it again. Then he spoke in accented Mandarin. "I can help you."

Evan leveled his weapon. "Why would you?"

"Because that man hurt my mother." He nodded toward an elderly woman huddled behind him. She said something rapid in the Frontier tongue, her voice low and urgent. Howard listened, then translated: the man's name was Cody. With the crew members dead, Ronan wouldn't distinguish between the guilty and the innocent — everyone in the hold was already a liability.

Evan looked at Howard. Howard gave a small nod. "Alright," Evan said, and lowered the pistol.

Cody turned to Soren. "The man you're looking for is in the wheelhouse. He already knows something is wrong."

"He'll know more in a few minutes," Soren said. "You know CQB?"

"A little. From my service."

"Stay here. Cover Evan and Howard."

"Back from where?" Evan asked.

Soren glanced at the ceiling. The sound had been growing for the past two minutes — low, rhythmic, the unmistakable percussion of rotor blades. "The people I called should be here by now."

Evan looked up, then back at him. "Your people have a helicopter?"

"More or less." He went up through the hatch.

Outside, it was full dark. The sky above the stern was split by the running lights of a SUBARU BELL 412EPX helicopter bearing the markings of the HPD, closing fast from the northeast. The side door slid open. Two operators in full kit — dual-tube night vision goggles, AR-15 carbines fitted with suppressors and IR laser designators — leaned out and began working through the deck crew with quiet efficiency. Within seconds, the deck was clear.

One of the operators raised a hand. Soren checked the man's shoulder patch. D-5.

The helicopter dropped a black duffel bag at his feet: black tactical coveralls, tactical vest, ballistic helmet, radio, noise-canceling comms headset, dual-tube night vision goggles, an AR-15 carbine, a Glock 17, and four spare magazines for each. The tactical vest had a D-4 patch on the shoulder. He was suited up before the helicopter had finished its approach.

"Delta Four, this is Delta One. Delta Team on station. Clear the deck and stand by."

"Delta Four copies. Moving." He racked the AR-15 carbine, activated the IR laser designator, and stepped out. The night vision goggles painted everything in sharp green. Three crew members were sheltering behind a hatch coaming twenty meters ahead, AKM rifles up, scanning for a threat they couldn't see. Three trigger pulls. Three headshots. Under two seconds.

Delta One set down with five operators and swept the deck in seconds. "Objective: take the ship."

"Confirmed. Neutralize armed crew, bring remaining personnel topside, secure the wheelhouse."

What followed was efficient and one-sided. D-3 put out the corridor lighting with two shots into the overhead fixtures, and the ship's interior became exclusively Delta Team's domain. The crew members who tried to resist lasted seconds. D-5 tossed a flashbang through a half-open set of double doors; the three of them went in fast and cleared the crew mess before anyone inside had recovered enough to be a problem.

The ship-wide intercom crackled. "Officers, if you could hold off a moment. Most of my people are already dead. Can we talk about this like reasonable adults? I'll cooperate fully, I promise."

"Delta Four, your call," Delta One said through the earpiece.

"Finish the sweep. Bring everyone topside."

By the time both elements were done, eleven crew members remained alive and were kneeling on the deck with their hands on their heads. Soren, Delta One, and D-6 took the wheelhouse. Ronan had watched them coming through the monitor feeds. By the time the door came off its hinges, he and his men were already on their knees, hands laced behind their heads, weapons on the floor.

D-6 dropped a fistful of zip ties on the deck. "Help yourselves." Ronan worked his way down the line without being told twice, binding his own men's wrists. D-6 secured Ronan last.

Delta One glanced at Soren. "Need us for the interrogation?"

"No. Thank you, sir."

Soren crouched in front of Ronan and patted the man's cheek twice, not hard. "Recognize me?"

Ronan frowned, something familiar in the face but the tactical gear throwing him off. The thin man beside him got there first. "You're the one from the mainland — the one with the g*n—"

D-6's boot connected with the man's ribs. The thin man folded without a sound. "Nobody asked you."

Ronan had worked it out by then. The composure he'd been maintaining developed a c***k. "Brother, I had no idea you were with the department. If I'd known — if I'd had any idea at all — I would never have let you set foot on this ship in the first place—"

Soren raised an eyebrow.

Ronan caught himself. "I mean — I would never have charged you for the ticket."

Soren looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Better."