Chapter Three
The figure bulleted across the grid landscape, frantically scanning the horizons in all directions. His cycle had been damaged in the last attack, but only barely. However, he knew full well that others were coming for him, and these others would not stop until he was dead.
The cycle started humming, and the rider began to get a little panicked. A streak of light flashed along his peripheral vision, but when he jerked to see it, it was gone. “They’re onto us, MCP,” he spoke into his helmet, turning around the corner of a red grid-lined wall. “Your orders?”
A mechanical voice filled his ears. “Keep going. You are doing well. Only one more rogue program to go.
“Dan?”
The rider cocked his head quizzically and looked up at the black sky above. “Yes, MCP?” How did it know his name? Why wasn’t he just a program number?
“Dan!”
The man in the red suit began getting a little paranoid. What was going on here? “Program Archmage to MCP, please respond!”
“DAN!”
That didn’t sound like MCP. In fact, that sounded more like-
“DANIEL BLEDSAW!! GET OUT OF THAT DAMNED SUIT!!”
By the time Dan looked up again, the wall was only a tile away from his vehicle. The last thing heard across the landscape was the scream of a program as its lightcycle exploded.
“Dan, what was so damned important you kept me waiting?”
“Honey, I was just about to stop the last rogues inside the computer!”
The redhead blinked. “Playing TRON again?”
“Yes, and this is the hardest mission of all! No save points and the hardest AI I’ve ever seen. I’m beginning to think the computer even cheats ...”
She held up her hand. “Look, I don’t care, okay? I like the fact that you’re enjoying the life of the idle rich, but when I call you for dinner, I expect you to be there. The first time.”
Dan started to open his mouth to argue the point, especially considering how many times he’d tried to take enough time out of his schedule to actually attempt the mission and failed, but from years of living with this woman, he knew she wasn’t going to take it. So, what was the point in starting an argument he wasn’t going to be allowed to finish? “Okay. Sorry.”
As she left the room to re-light the candles on the dinner table, Dan looked over at the box Rachael had seen many, many times in the computer room, and Dan had given her much grief about in the past few weeks. And beg, plead, or coerce as she might, he had managed to remain tight-lipped about the whole affair. Luckily, tonight would be the grand unveiling of the best anniversary present he’d ever given to her. And, perhaps, he could get an actual night’s sleep instead of being constantly pestered by his wife about what her anniversary present might be.
He shuffled out of the red Ebbing Feedback Suit and grabbed the package with a smile on his face. He was getting booty tonight.
After dinner, Dan handed over the package he’d had sitting underneath him all dinner, causing no end of irritation to Rachael, as he wouldn’t let her see what was inside. When she opened it, she was a little confused at first. It was gold and red, but it wasn’t a dress. “What is it?” she asked at long last.
Dan grinned. “It’s a suit, like mine.” He pulled it out of the box to show her. “In fact, I pretty much copied my suit exactly. I figured you’d like it.”
Rachael smiled noncommittally. “Thank you, Dan.” She appreciated the time and effort, clearly, but the concerns that creased her brow were monetary. “But, how can we afford-?”
Dan cut her off quickly. “I’ve just had some more consulting work offered to me. Just a little, but the price is right. So, don’t worry. I’m not digging us any deeper.”
Rachael seemed partially satisfied with this answer before Dan spoke again. “Check inside the belt.”
She popped open the buckle and saw “Exalted 2.0” on the disc label, written in CJ’s hand. She almost started crying.
“It was the last program he got to finish before ... well, before it happened,” Dan said, tearing up a little. “He was working on it for you, based on all the games we’ve ever played together. It’s a neat game. There are a few bugs, but it runs really well.”
Rachael’s face turned from a grimace to a crying smile as they sobbed on each other’s shoulders, holding one another into the long hours of the night.
Rachael had already gone to bed when the phone rang. “Bledsaw residence,” Dan answered.
“You’re ready for the job?” the familiar voice spoke on the other end.
“Well, yes. More than ever. That bastard deserves it, now. He killed my best friend. I didn’t think he could do that ...”
“Good,” the voice on the phone said. “Glad to see you’re back with us now. There was a time I thought you were going to have cold feet. I don’t like cold feet.”
“Yeah. My feet are pretty toasty, now,” Dan said confidently.
“Good. It seems that we have new arrivals to the playing field.” He let this tidbit sink in a while. “I’m willing to double my usual salary. Assuming you haven’t squandered much, that should bring you up to just over six hundred-thousand. That’s quite a salary for only ten years of work.”
“Sure beats working at Wal*Mart.”
“Indeed. I’ll give you the information the way I usually do. It’s just a shame you’ll have to do this one alone.”
“Yeah,” Dan said, a bit of rage creeping into his voice. “A real shame.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. X.”
*
Don awoke and performed his daily regimen of exercise: a quick rep of push-ups, followed by some sit-ups, and then jumping jacks, stretches, and a few somersaults. Once he was satisfied, he made his way down to the dining room to see what was going on. A note was on the counter for him next to some scones.
“Sorry, Don. Couldn’t stay to chat. Had to run some errands and see the boys off to school. Couldn’t get a hold of Martin. I’ll try again when I get home. Andy.”
Don happily munched on a scone before deciding to check up on work that day. Since he’d taken to patrolling the night streets of Charleston, he hadn’t gotten around the FordTech facilities much. He was pretty sure people were starting to even miss the glare off his bald head.
“Krysta!” he said as he called up his personal assistant. “What’s the news at the plant today?”
“Have you seen the news?” she exasperatedly replied.
“Yeah. I’ve been all over it,” Don replied, smirking to himself.
“That guy is a maniac!” she practically screamed into the phone.
“You’re right,” the billionaire interjected.
“Stealing your suit, then wearing it out in public to wreck things and start fires? He’s destroying your company's image!”
“What? Ebon Phoenix? I thought you were talking about CJ.”
“Sir? Are you feeling all right? Mr. Coffman’s dead.”
“No, I feel fine, Krysta. Uh, I think.”
“Maybe you’d better talk to Dr. Heumann ...”
“No, that’s not necessary, Krysta. But thank you. I’ve got my own counselor. I’ll be just fine. I guess stress and grief aren’t very good bedfellows.”
“Speaking of ‘bedfellows,’” she began, “when are you actually going to start dating, Don?”
“Enh, you know, I really hadn’t- ”
“I know this girl I used to run around with. You could go visit her. She still lives in Ohio. Let me see if I still have her number ...”
“Krysta, I’ll just get it from you when I get to the company, okay? Calm down. You’re even starting to get me antsy.”
“Well, you know how I am.”
“Do I,” Don replied, glaring at the phone. “Anyway, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Be sure to have some fresh tea for me. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Fine, fine. Collate this, staple that, make me tea!” she ranted.
“Bye, Krysta,” Don said, rolling his eyes and laughing. What a “personal attendant.”
*
Andy had finished running his errands and sat, waiting outside the high school. He’d tried calling Martin all day, but to no avail. He was beginning to wonder if he even had the right number. The last school bell finally rang, and Andy moved to open the door on the other side of the vehicle.
As he moved, so did the sniper in the building across the street. “Where’s the little urchin?” the man asked himself, training the crosshairs on the back of Andy’s head.
The wide blond boy in the letterman’s jacket came out of the building and, after talking with a few friends, maneuvered his way over to the limousine at the side of the curb. Andy dutifully opened the door to let him in, and sensing the crowd would not disperse before he had a better shot, the gunman fired.
Xavior had already ducked behind the bulletproof door before the shot hit, and the boy had turned around in just enough time to see Andy drop to one knee, clutching his shoulder. “ANDY!” Xavior cried out, sliding back across the seat to help him.
“They’re after you!” Andy growled at him.
“Then let me drive you to the hospital,” Xavior said, climbing over the front seat as Andy pulled himself into the back. The boy slammed the accelerator of the still running vehicle and shifted into drive. Andy was thrown backward, one leg still outside the vehicle, barely getting the door closed before Xavior clipped the side of the bus.
“I don’t think that’s part of driving,” Andy quipped, clutching to slow the bleeding of the bullet in his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m taking Driver’s Ed again this year,” Xavior admitted. “Mom always did say I was too destructive.”
As he raced down streets, the sniper attempted to get another bead on the vehicle. His position had already been blown, but if he let them escape, they might be able to get police protection, and that was the last thing that he needed. He got a sight and squeezed the trigger again, blowing out the front tire, just inches under Xavior’s head.
The car bucked, its back end flying past the front and into Lincoln Avenue’s oncoming traffic. The gunman quickly ran out the fire escape of the building and bolted for his car before the increasing crowd around the school could identify him. Lucky for him, Charleston was a big enough town to get lost in, if you knew all the right routes.
The car spun a few more times before coming to rest in front of a large semi, barreling down the street while its driver fiddled with the radio to try and get a station that wasn’t solely geared toward the college set. He looked up in just enough time to slam the brakes. With any luck, he’d only slowly plow through the limousine that had blown out right in front of him.
Xavior stepped on the gas, but the front tire and rim wouldn’t budge more than five miles an hour. As the semi struck the back of the vehicle, both occupants saw their lives flash before the image was shattered with blood and broken glass. Xavior had the breath to scream before the car rolled end over end.
The high school children, their parents, and other cars’ passengers began to pour out into the now-motionless street. “Somebody call 9-1-1!” someone yelled in the confusion, as people began to try and help in any way they could.
Then, the car caught fire.
*
Don walked down the familiar corridors of the main offices of FordTech Enterprises with his personal assistant, Krysta Plank. As they were talking, Gavin Johnson came up to talk to the company owner.
“Mr. Ford?” he asked, stuttering to a halt in the carpeted hallway.
“What did I tell you about calling me that?” Mr. Ford retorted, grinning.
“Sorry. Don,” he corrected, regaining his composure. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve discovered what happened with the last break-in and have made changes to compensate. We won’t have another break-in for a good long while, if I have anything to say about it,” Gavin admitted proudly.
The billionaire quirked a brow. “What did you do?”
“Well, I randomized security shifts to different areas of the compound on different routes,” he explained. “The reason our entrant was able to get in last time was because the gaps in patrols occurred at the same time every night. Now, they don’t. And in some cases, there’s no gap at all!”
Don could tell the young man was proud of his work, and he gave a nod, shaking the younger man’s hand. “Good work. I expect to hear a detailed report on how well your procedure works.” With that, Gavin ran off to the security offices again.
Don looked back to Krysta. “Did you tell him I was coming? You’re the only one who knew.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “He kept nagging me all last week to find out when you’d be coming by. I wanted to tell him just to get him off my back. He’s really annoying.”
He laughed while Krysta shook her head. “Whatever. Your tea’s getting cold.”
“Crap, that’s right!” he said, quickening his pace toward his office.
“No running, mister!” she quipped, following along after him.
Arriving in his office, he found the environment very sterile and quiet, and it frightened him a little. “Am I really little more than the figurehead of this company?” he sighed, sitting in his plush leather rolling office chair.
She poured him a cup of tea and fixed it to his liking before bringing it to the large, empty desk. “Well, that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? ‘Renewable resources’?”
The bald man snorted and smiled at the comment. “Yes, but I never meant to make myself so superfluous. Jesus, Krysta, I haven’t done an honest day’s work in ... well, a long time, to be sure.”
She sat on the corner of the desk. “You feeling left out?”
“Left out,” he started, taking a sip of tea, “left behind, left alone. I always wanted to be a working member of this company. I always wanted to be right on the floor with the other men and women, working alongside them instead of over them. I never wanted to be ‘Mr. Ford will be taking the company plane to the company yacht today, continue working’ guy.
“And I think the worst part of it is there’s nowhere to go from here but down. I’m the head of a multi-billion dollar corporation with holdings in multiple countries. We’re the world’s third-largest producer of technology and entertainment devices, and I’m a god-damned household name. But do I feel any better about it?”
“It doesn’t sound like it,” Krysta said, pouring herself some tea. “But as I said, it’s because you make yourself alone.”
Don rolled his eyes and pushed the chair away from the desk. “Yeah. Here comes the speech again about how I need to find someone and settle down with her. Is that what you’re about ready to launch into, Krysta? Well, you can shove it.”
Krysta slammed the desk and glared through her contacts at the back of Don’s shaven head. He could feel it, even though he was staring out the window. “Dammit, Don, most men your age have been through five marriages by now. The only reason you haven’t found someone is because you haven’t tried.”
“Bullshit,” Don retorted. “It’s because I have high standards. Hell, you know my standards better than anyone.”
“That’s complete crap, and you know it.” She finished her tea and set it on the desk beside her. “You just don’t want to be happy.”
“WHY THE HELL SHOULD I BE HAPPY?!” he screamed, pushing back from the wall, red-faced. Standing veins throbbed in his bald head as he gritted his teeth.
Krysta simply held up a hand and glowered. “And if you are about to launch into your self-pitying ‘I lost my entire family, even fifth-cousin Dinkus from the Ozarks’ speech, you can shove that, too.”
Don’s face blanched as she hit him right where it hurt. His body somehow managed to put the tea cup from which he’d been drinking in the vicinity of the saucer on his desk without instruction from his brain. His mouth tried to formulate words, but no voice was there to speak them.
“That’s what I thought,” she pronounced triumphantly. “Cheer up, emo kid. If you want to actually talk to me and listen to what I have to say, I’ll be in my office, doing something productive. Like, watching the news. At least their stories change once in a while.” With that, she pushed herself off his desk and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Don was once again alone.
*
Left alone with his thoughts, Don began to mull over what had happened in the last week. Missing billion-dollar suits, police chases, and a back-from-the-dead friend hell-bent on destroying the city ... these weren’t the problems of your average citizen, and certainly not plans Don wanted on his back. True, he wanted to know who had carried out the deaths of every single member of his family, but that wasn’t his job. That was the job of the hired public servants who had been entrusted with the task. His responsibilities should lie in making the most of his life, including continuing the Ford family name now that no one else could. Perhaps the Ebon Phoenix was just a foolish idea of a man approaching his mid-life crisis.
As he approached resolution, he began to head to Krysta’s office to talk things out with her. He wanted someone’s help, because he hadn’t dated anyone in so long, he was sure he’d forget something to do on a first date, or even how to come by a first date. Which is precisely when his office door opened for him, and he saw Krysta standing stock still as though she’d seen a ghost.
“Turn on your TV.”
“... reports say that the shooter escaped through the back alleys of Charleston. Police had difficulty getting to the scene of the crime in time to catch the perpetrator, who is to be considered armed and dangerous. Once again, outside of Charleston Middle School, a lone gunman has caused a major accident involving a freight truck and a limousine belonging to Don Ford ...”
This time, Krysta was alone.
*
“How are they?” Don demanded, only a few steps into the emergency wing of Sarah Bush Lincoln hospital.
“Mr. Ford?” one of the receptionists responded, getting up from the service area.
“The people who were in my car,” he explained, “how are they?”
“I’ll page Dr. Downen.”
Don waited in the emergency waiting room for what felt like an eternity before the good doctor made her appearance into his life again. “Jessica,” he said, tugging his business suit into place as he stood up to meet her, “what’s the prognosis? How are they?”
“Come with me,” she said sullenly, turning away from the man in the suit and heading into the emergency wing.
Not another word was spoken until Don was seeing Xavior and Andy through the plate glass window of the surgery theater. “They’ve both been burned badly by the explosion and fire. Xavior will only need some cosmetic surgery to reduce scarring. That’s the one good thing I can say about teenaged burn victims: their natural recuperative rates make them fast healers.”
“What about Andy?” the billionaire prompted, looking concerned at the fact she didn’t mention his name.
Jessica’s face was a blank mask of official duty. “Andy went into shock due to the excessive blood loss from the bullet wound in his shoulder and the exposure to the fire. He’s in a coma, Don. He may never recover.”
Don’s teeth gnashed as he looked away from his former co-worker’s face. “Then let me see Elisa. Someone needs to tell her about her son.”
Don had been to the room so many times by now he could have probably felt his way there in the dark, but there he found Elisa, lying on the same bed in much the same way he’d seen her for the past few weeks.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, knowing what the answer was already going to be.
“Worried and weak,” she replied, struggling to find voice. “How are my boys doing?”
Apparently, she hadn’t been watching the news, Don thought, nor had anyone from the hospital burdened her with the information about her younger son. Of course, Don also thought, if sleeping took less effort and was less painful than opening my eyes, I’d probably ignore world events, too.
“Pre-occupied with school,” Don began with a chuckle. “Xavior got into a bit of a scrape today, but it’s nothing serious,” he understated. “I made him come to the hospital, anyway. Better safe than sorry.”
Elisa half looked concerned and half seemed to be trying to smile. “Thank you for doing everything you’re doing: for me, for the kids. I really do appreciate it, Donnie. I wish I could help you.”
Calling him by the old familiar nickname of his youth brought a fresh smile to his face. “I’m glad you appreciate it, but all I want you to do is rescind this and make a complete recovery. If you keep wishing well on other people, there’s not going to be much wishing left for yourself. Just get better, Elisa. Then, we can all enjoy the good life together from the safety and warmth of home.”
Elisa smiled again, and the pretty sight made Don almost forget his darker side’s emergence for a while. “Just promise me you’ll do everything you can to keep my kids safe until I can get well again.”
The cold snap of reality shot up his spine at those words. “I promise. I’ll do everything I can to keep them safe.”
As she drifted back into sleep, Don’s mind was already locked into the hunt. It was time to track down a sniper.
*
“Excellent job,” MCP announced in his ear. “Your marksmanship has improved greatly, Program 6988. But, I need a program with more than just marksmanship. I need a program that can imbed itself in the system and remain hidden until called for. Can you do this, 6988?”
“Yes, MCP,” Dropoff replied. “Give me location coordinates.”
A series of numbers, directional arrows, flashing beacons, and targets appeared on the grid-screen. Dropoff interpreted these as instructions to run, jump, slide, crawl, and otherwise maneuver himself into a safe hiding position. After taking out a rogue program as powerful at that one had been, more rogue programs were sure to swarm the scene.
When he finally had a chance to rest, Dropoff began to worry about the new program he’d introduced into the system. If MCP took note, the new program might be considered rogue and de-rezzed. But the more time the Golden Dragon program got accustomed to living inside TRON, the more Dropoff got used to her being there. If such a program could be considered “perfect,” the Golden Dragon was perfect for Dropoff.
As he waited with his heart almost beating in his ears, the voice finally returned to him. “Good, 6988. Now, I need you to return to Home. Here are your coordinates and directions.”
Again, the grid filled with various glowing bits directing Dropoff, but this time the commands would lead him to the space which most closely resembled his real-world home before he was absorbed into the MCP. There, he would be joyfully reunited with the Golden Dragon after serving the wishes of MCP for the day.
When he arrived, he basked in the warmth and glow of her golden fires for a time before she noticed him. Her face, a vision from Dropoff’s dreams, twisted into a scowl as she glared down at him from her computer-generated pedestal.
“Oni Magumara!” she hissed, stomping her foot. “I demand to know what you’ve done with my beloved ... my Stratvm!”
Dropoff sighed heavily. “I ... I don’t remember.” The name “Stratvm” sounded very familiar, but the exact placement of it eluded him. Had Stratvm been a rogue program? Had Stratvm been de-rezzed?
“I suggest you start to remember very soon!” the Golden Dragon replied with a huff. “I don’t mind being imprisoned away from my Blessed Isle, but being without Stratvm makes life seem so ... meaningless ...”
Dropoff stopped listening and just stared. Gods, she was beautiful.
*
Don got home from the hospital and had barely made it three feet in from the door when the phone started to ring. He let a heavy sigh escape him before moving to the closest phone. “Hello?”
“Donnie?” a male voice on the other end asked.
“You sound familiar,” the bald man said, collapsing into a chair. “Who is this?”
“It hurts that you don’t remember me,” the voice mockingly retorted, adding an overly dramatic sniffle and sob. “I think I’m going to go kill myself now. Goodbye ...”
Don nearly died laughing. “Bellito?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“So, you do remember!” Bellito exclaimed happily from the phone. “What’s up?”
Don sighed into the phone receiver. “Actually, this is kind of a bad time ...”
“I just re-discover your phone number after all these years, and it’s a bad time?” Bellito asked, seemingly infumed.
“Well, one of my godsons and my ‘butler’ were involved in a shooting/car accident. They’re both in intensive care right now. On top of that, my godson’s mother is in the hospital and her other son is trying to keep it all together and still go to school. I’ve lost two billion-dollar projects, my whole family’s dead, and now my old friends are starting to crop back up into my life in heinous ways,” Don paused for breath. “Present company excluded, that is.”
The voice on the other end of the phone gulped for air. “Gosh, Donnie, I’m sorry. It really is a bad time.” Bellito searched for words in the uncomfortable silence. “Do you need any help?”
Don smirked. “Actually, Andrew, the position of Ford Butler has become available. Are you interested?”
*
Don greeted Andrew warmly as he arrived at the mansion. “How’s it been?” Don asked, smiling at his old friend.
“I’ve missed your company, Donnie,” he said, looking around the place with a whistle. “Wow. Sweet setup. This all yours?”
“Certainly,” Don said. “But, I’m kind of in a rush. Can you keep a secret?”
“As long as I don’t have too much to drink, yeah,” Andrew chuckled. “Why, what’s going on?”
“I’m the Ebon Phoenix. And there’s a madman on the loose, trying to kill my godsons.”
Andrew’s eyes bugged out as he stood, slack-jawed, in the face of a man he thought he knew well.
“I’m going to be out for a while, so I’d appreciate it if you ordered us something to eat tonight. I hope the two boys will be back with me ...” A sigh escaped his lips for his former butler, Andy. “So, try to make it something big enough for two adults and two teenagers.”
Andrew’s expression remained unchanged.
“Sorry about the bombshell. But I’m glad you decided to come. Help yourself to anything in the house, and I’ll be back before the night’s out.”
As Don suited up and left the house, Andrew finally snapped from his stupor. “You’re Ebon Phoenix??!?”
Don was still shaking his head inside the Ebon Phoenix suit as he took off with the refitted glider from his backyard. Had the murderer of his entire family followed him to Charleston, lying in wait for him to suddenly have more family? Certainly, that would be the work of a deranged individual, and to the best recollections of the billionaire, deranged individuals were hardly a dime a dozen.
The suit’s head snapped rigid and looked up. A giant ball of fire was throwing shards of glass across a rooftop at a man in a TRON costume. “I stand corrected,” he mumbled to himself.
Landing the glider on a safer rooftop, Ebon Phoenix emerged from the glider cage to try and listen to the obscenely unusual fight occurring in front of his eyes.
“HOW DARE YOU!” a female voice screamed, shortly before a flame thrower whip shot out from the fireball, scorching across the rooftop where the man in the TRON outfit hopped madly to avoid being hit. “YOU KILLED MY STRATVM!!”
“Stratum?” Don murmured, trying to shake the rusty memory loose.
In unison, the two figures on the other rooftop looked to Ebon Phoenix. “No. Stratvm, with a ‘v.’”
Don’s eyes widened behind the mask. These were Dan and Rachael Bledsaw.
The bald man blanched under the black helmet, but Ebon Phoenix’s visage remained completely impassive. “I do not know a ‘Stratvm,’” the voice of Ebon Phoenix replied.
“Well,” Dan replied, his helmet looking to face the black-clad vigilante. “I can see you stole his suit, so you probably know him better as ‘CJ Coffman.’”
Before the brain could process his comment, Don had already spoken. “CJ’s dead.”
“WHAT?” It was Dan’s turn to pale as he glanced up cautiously to the flaming sphere in the sky. “You expect me to tell her that?!?”
“What? What is wrong?” the ball of fire seemed to turn to face Ebon Phoenix. “Has something befallen Stratvm, Atropos?”
Ebon Phoenix wisely repositioned his footing on the ledge. “I’m afraid he has fallen.”
“Has he given up his shard?”
Don processed for a moment and brought up the old Exalted books on the digital readout interface of his screen. “He was killed and taken to the Underworld,” the dark bird finally said.
“Then, he is an Abyssal! I must convert him back to the light!”
With that, the fire shot over the rooftops toward Decatur, followed by a red motorcyclist leaving a red trail of light behind him.
“Great. I get to stop Decatur from burning. Again.”
*
Don hopped back into the hoverglider and locked the feedback suit into the glider’s controls when he noticed that the giant fireball and the red light-trail-leaving motorcycle weren’t moving as fast as his imagination predicted they might.
“Not that I know exactly how fast a human fireball or a TRON light cycle should be moving,” Don admitted to himself as the hoverglider slowly shadowed the two of them. Don punched a few buttons on the control panel and his helmet began to broadcast what they were shouting to each other as he followed them.
“Stop!” Dan screamed at the fireball. “Listen to me!”
“Why should I listen to you?” the woman ringed in fire demanded. “I don’t trust you!”
“You should listen to me,” the man in the red TRON suit added, pausing to listen to the voice of the MCP in his helmet, “because whoever the man in the black suit is, he’s the guy who killed Stratvm!”
“WHAT?” That seemed to grab her attention.
“That man,” Dan pointed to the slow hoverglider chasing them, “is wearing Stratvm’s power armor. That was Stratvm’s, until whoever that is killed him!”
The woman he’d known as Rachael Bledsaw turned to face him, and though Don was seated inside a well-armored hoverglider, he could feel as though her green eyes were piercing him directly through the titanium alloy frame.
“This doesn’t look good,” he admitted aloud, before thousands of sharpened gleaming bits of black rock in the shapes of butterflies came hurtling toward the flying craft.
Alarms went off all over the ship as the hoverglider pitched steeply downward and began to plummet. Smoke rose in thick plumes off what remained of the wings, and Don felt the shudder of the remaining bulk as it careened out of control over the city streets of Charleston. Finding a place to land wouldn’t be as tricky as making sure he didn’t kill anyone, much less himself, in so doing.
Eventually, a strip of mostly empty city street presented itself, and Don announced over the address system outside the hoverglider that he’d be making an emergency landing right on Ford Avenue and 29th Street. The glider touched down once and stayed completely still: not rolling, not losing more pieces, and not shaking. The landing felt way too calm to be natural, and Don got out to investigate, after briefly checking the skies for balls of flame or lit-up motorcycles.
“Ebon Phoenix?” an officer asked, running up to meet the landed craft. “What seems to be the problem?”
Inside the helmet, Don raised a quizzical eyebrow to the officer and gestured with his hands. “I’m lucky I landed the damn thing. Just look at it! It’s almost shot to pieces!”
“It is?” The cop sounded more confused than before as he stared around the vehicle. “I don’t see anything wrong with it ...”
The Ebon Phoenix stared impassively at the police officer. “You don’t see the smoke?”
“Smoke?”
Either this cop had been working the beat too long, or else ...
“Turn away,” Ebon Phoenix stated very matter-of-factly in its imposing voice.
Without another word, the officer turned away from Ebon Phoenix and the hovercraft. Don removed his helmet and deactivated the suit, inspecting the craft.
Nothing was wrong. No damage, no smoke. The craft was fine. And yet, when he reactivated the Feedback Suit, great billows of smoke filled his viewscreen, and the hoverglider even appeared to be on fire.
“Thank you, officer. I owe you one.” With that, Ebon Phoenix activated the security system on the hoverglider, and it collapsed back into itself. He picked up the briefcase-sized unit and walked back toward where Dan and Rachael had been.
*
When the mismatched pair of Ebbing Feedback Suit wearers were in sight, Don ducked down an alley. Setting down the briefcase containing his confused hoverglider, he braced himself for the fight.
“Apparently, they can create false sensory inputs to other Feedback devices somehow. As long as I know they’re not real, I should be okay. Right?” Don waited for a reassuring answer he knew would never come. “Right.”
Leaping from wall to wall of the buildings on either side of him, Don scaled to the rooftop, where the Golden Dragon and Program 6988 awaited his arrival.
Without a word, Rachael let loose a wave of fire, sending the surge hurtling toward the Ebon Phoenix.
“It’s not real. It’s not real,” Don chanted to himself, even while his instruments were reading higher and higher outer temperatures and his skin began to hurt. “It’s ... not ... real...”
The heat of the wave started boiling the suit, but the energy of the force struck soon after, and Ebon Phoenix was propelled backward twenty feet, where his body slammed into the brick face of the building behind him. He watched in awe as very realistic-looking flames licked over the area where he had been standing mere moments before, melting the metal of the building’s fire escape and exploding pieces of brick and concrete.
“It’s not real, but the suits are convinced it’s real.” A realization dawned on him. “That’s why my glider thought it was damaged! I had hooked up my suit to the computers inside it, and it was reading information from the suit’s data!”
Leaping over to the apparently melting fire escape, Don quickly deactivated the suit entirely, pulling off the helmet and rolling back the sensory material of the suit to expose his face. He then reached into his suit’s new belt and pulled out a piece of black pantyhose he’d cut to fit his head. After putting it on, he could feel his nose being shoved into his face, and he knew he probably looked exactly like the rifle-toting criminals he used to watch on television shows.
Climbing up to the rooftop, Don looked around. The roof access door stood open, and his two adversaries stood in their respective Feedback suits. “Of course,” Don said to himself. “They couldn’t really get up here, either. They were just projecting it.”
The two in the suits regarded him strangely. “You look smaller,” Dan finally said.
Rachael made some sort of practiced motion with her hands, and then thrust them out toward Don. He just began advancing toward them, and the two seemed confused when he was unharmed by what she had done.
Don ran over to Dan, throwing a punch. “You don’t look so big, yours-,” just as he connected with the thick plating in the mask of Dan’s suit. Don shook his fist and winced in pain as Dan swung his arm back to match his punch.
Predicting Don’s movements with the aid of the computer in the suit, Dan’s fist met squarely with Don’s exposed jaw, sending him flying twenty feet backward again, this time landing on the cement rooftop of the building, cringing and rolling around in pain.
“Right,” Don managed as he gasped for air, clutching his jaw. “Their suits aren’t turned off. They’ve still got enhanced strength.” Don forced himself to struggle to his feet as he watched the pair start advancing on him.
They could outrun, outfight, and outwit him, so long as their computers in their suits were still active. And it would take too much time to try and manipulate his own suit so that some of the systems were on and some were off.
“Of course! That’s it!” Don realized, limping for the edge of the building.
Turning his suit back on, he could feel the burning sensation of everything they had been throwing at him inside the virtual world, but at least the suit could still propel his body around the rooftop, which was all he really needed.
Collapsing from exhaustion against the lip of the roof, Don fumbled for the commands to link the suits, as he assumed a virtual link was already partially active. Rachael then blasted another wave of flames at him, and Don could feel his skin beginning to crack under the fires to which the suit was automatically responding. He’d have wonderful blisters when this was all over.
Finalizing the link, Don watched as Rachael backed off to give space for Dan to start zooming around the edge of the roof on his light cycle. One hit from its trail, and Don would be “de-rezzed” from existence, terminating both brains inside the suit, mechanical and physical.
Don hit the belt buckle, and the rooftop, the fire, and the light-cycle all disappeared. The soothing voice of a female announced, “Welcome to the Ebbing Feedback Diagnostics Suite.”
While Dan and Rachael were disoriented with their new surroundings, Ebon Phoenix quickly sprinted over the black gridded plain and slammed full-force into Dan’s suit, sending both of them skidding across the horizon. When Rachael saw what was happening, she began to test her powers. A small flicker of flame licked along the edge of her golden suit. She still had her powers.
Dan struggled to push Don back, but Don’s fists kept finding openings in his defenses. A few pounds against the solid-enough artificial ground sent Dan into a delirious state of punch-drunkenness.
Don ignored Rachael long enough to push the buckle of Dan’s suit, exposing the rotating “TRON” disc he had been using the whole time.
Dan awoke enough to see what was happening and screamed, but it was too late. Don plucked the mini-disc out of the suit at the same time he ended his diagnostic disc. Immediately, the entire plane of black turned into the city rooftop again. That was when he heard Rachael’s blood-curdling scream behind him.
Her limp body fell to the ground, her body laying limply on the concrete. Don got off of Dan’s body to run to her, but she was unresponsive.
“You killed her!” Dan screamed hysterically, trying to push himself up on his elbows. “When you ejected my disc, you killed her! Her suit was linked to mine! You killed her!”
Officers burst from the roof access door, having followed the Ebon Phoenix earlier. Don smiled inside the helmet as he recognized the face of the officer who’d helped him before. Rushing to him, Ebon Phoenix explained what had happened, telling the officers to be careful with his former friends, and that Rachael needed medical attention.
“We’ll see to it, Mr. Phoenix. You’ve done your job. Now, we need to do ours.”
Ebon Phoenix nodded, turning to step onto the lip of the rooftop that had been burned away only minutes ago by phantom fire. “What’s your name, officer?” he asked, turning back to look one last time.
“Huddleston, sir,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Good name,” the dark figure said before leaping off his perch to the ground below.