Amina stared at the charred corpse sprawled in the smoking ruins, the sight of Timi's unrecognizable remains freezing the air in her lungs. Tears streamed down her face, the heat of them quickly cooling on her ash-smeared cheeks.
The Agent, the one in the charcoal suit, shifted. "Any last words?"
Amina did not pull the trigger. Instead, she activated her Psychic-Implant. The power surged, a familiar, painful buzz radiating from the back of her neck, through her forehead, and into the Agent's arm, invading his nerve endings. She was hollowed out, empty of everything but overwhelming exhaustion and grief.
"I'm waiting," the Agent's voice came, impatient.
Amina opened her eyes, focusing all her raw, frantic energy into the three-letter word she wished she could erase from her own life.
"DIE!"
The Agent's eyes went wide with shock. His hand slowly moved, rising on its own, and stopped at his temple.
"M-my body… it's moving on its own," he whimpered, his will fighting her invasion, a pathetic, futile struggle. "Brawnlers, don't just st—"
BAM!
The self-inflicted gunshot was deafening. The Agent's body crumpled, hitting the rubble with a sickening thud that sent dust and ash billowing into the air.
Amina looked at the body. This was the first time she had killed. The hollow emptiness was immediate, sharp, and quickly replaced by the memory of Timi's smile.
She was surrounded. She broke free from the Agent's command range, scrambling back and rolling to a safe distance. Her switchblades snapped into her hand. She was running out of energy, forced to conserve what little she had left.
The remaining assassins—the Brawnlers—did not attack. They just stood there, massive, silent statues.
Amina waved her hand at one. Its eyes responded, tracking the movement, but it did nothing else. She realized with chilling clarity that they were brainless puppets, incapable of action unless given a direct command.
She looked around at the destruction, the waste, the loss. But the fight was not over. Her Passive Feel buzzed lightly at the back of her neck—a different presence.
She looked up. And there he was.
The man with the fly mask, the same avatar that had smiled at her through the digital breach, the man who had killed her father and was responsible for the death of her best friend.
He wore a simple coat and jeans, the only ominous thing about him being the mask and the hover disk gliding beneath his loafers.
"Black Sparrow," his voice was cold, mechanical, and amplified. "You are proving to be more problematic, as opposed to your code name. Sparrows are supposed to be kind and curious."
"Who are you?" Amina demanded.
"You can call me Botfly, though I don't see why my name will be important to you. You won't need it when you're dead, will you?"
"You're the man that killed my father," she stated, the truth a rock in her chest.
"Yes, yes, I did. Michael Osunsola. He was… a brilliant mind, shame I had to end him when he chose to become a snitch. It's not so different from the fate you will experience," he said, spreading his arms wide with arrogant confidence.
Amina's heart hammered against her ribs. Her jaw clenched. This man, this… demon, killed her father for trying to help people.
The heat moved from the back of her neck, through her head, and into her eyes. She poured all her rage, her pain, her hatred—the overwhelming, crippling grief for Timi—into the Implant. She may have been clumsy with most things, but she was a master at wielding this terrible device.
All twelve switchblades orbiting her body. Power surged through her, whipping dust and debris into tiny cyclones. Sparks started crackling around the metal, as if the air itself was charged with her fury.
Botfly started clapping slowly, condescendingly. His next words were the match that ignited her last thread of control. "Psychic-Implants are worth millions. If you think controlling a few objects is something to commend, then I'm not impressed. I'm so sorry."
Amina roared with anger and grief, shooting the blades at him at blinding speed.
Botfly didn't flinch. He put his hands in his pockets and sighed. "I'll say it again: NOT IMPRESSIVE."
The blades came to an abrupt, impossible halt inches from his chest. The impact with an invisible force created a massive, silent shockwave that mushroomed the ash behind him.
When the dust settled, Botfly was unharmed, casually picking at his ear. He lifted a free hand and touched the air, confirming the integrity of his shield.
"Pathetic. What a waste," he scoffed.
A powerful telekinetic burst blew all the blades back. Amina instinctively shielded her face with her arms, grit her teeth against the wind, and staggered backward with frustration.
"You want to know the full power of a Psychic-Implant?" Botfly inquired, his voice dripping with superiority.
Botfly started to levitate higher, dust particles lifting into the air around him. "I'll show you."
He lifted his hand, signaling nothing, yet everything. Amina's eyes widened in sheer disbelief, feeling the ridiculous surge of raw power flowing from him—a power that dwarfed her own.
The ground began to tremble, as if the cavern itself was afraid. Suddenly, large amounts of the earth were torn from the ground. Trees, chunks of pavement, and massive boulders—hundreds of tons of debris—were ripped into the air.
"I know, right?" he said, his voice mocking.
Amina didn't wait to find out. She ran.
Botfly hurled object after object at her. Amina executed a few desperate acrobatic dodges, trying to keep her head glued to her shoulders. She barely landed before another boulder came her way.
Using her switchblades and rotating them at high speeds, she carved into the projectile, making it explode into dust.
Botfly waved his hand and the cloud dispersed, but he couldn't find her.
"Ami, you can't hide forever," he called out, the sound echoing through the ruins. "I'm so sorry, but as long as you are alive in the caves, I will hunt you down. Nothing personal."
Then it clicked. As long as I am in the caves.
She had to go to the surface. She might not survive the unforgiving, hostile conditions of the irradiated surface, but she might escape if he thought she would die from exposure alone.
She needed a distraction.
Botfly hovered a distance away. Amina was hidden behind a large stump. She was also a psychic implant used so her powers canceled out his passive feel. He would find her anytime soon.
Amina scanned the debris for objects and spotted a fire extinguisher a few feet behind Botfly. Not only that, she noticed a CORE-issue bike parked a few yards away, likely belonging to the dead Agent. She needed to move faster than he could glide.
She grabbed the fire extinguisher with her mind, launching it at him like an opposing magnet.
Botfly reacted instantly. With a twist of his wrist, his force burst through the material, cloaking the scene in huge white powder.
Amina's chance. She raced toward the bike.
She reached the vehicle. "Access denied," the bike's AI stated. 'The stupid lousy junk needs a specific key. Agh.'
"Running away, are we?" Botfly called out, waving the cloud away.
'Shit.' Amina closed her eyes, pouring her focus into the bike's logic systems. She probed the device, breaching all the security measures as fast as her mind could think. Heavy objects flew towards her, her Passive Feel screaming a final, desperate warning.
"Access granted," the AI stated at the last second.
Amina revved the engine and shot forward, the boulders hitting the space she had just occupied with crushing force. She didn't wear a helmet, but she didn't care.
Using her Psychic-Implant, she searched the local network, looking for the nearest Boomtube—the massive transport pipe leading to the surface. It was roughly a kilometer away.
She couldn't waste a second.
A massive tree narrowly missed her, blasted into the ground beside the road. She swerved violently to avoid the flying debris. She looked over her shoulder; the maniac was still after her, gliding smoothly.
She hurled a few switchblades at him again, but he brushed them off effortlessly, the blades bounding off his shield.
Amina looked forward. At last, she caught sight of the huge pipe, the size of a small ship.
But her celebration was too early.
Botfly raised his hand swiftly. Just then, a huge ramp of concrete and earth tore up from the ground, knocking the bike sideways. Amina braced for impact, slamming into the ground and rolling to a stop.
Ignoring the aches and pains, she limped toward the transport station. The guards pointed their guns at her.
Botfly raised his palm out and the security stood down.
"Hey, Black Sparrow," Botfly called out, hovering one of her own switchblades in his palm. "You forgot this."
Amina cried out when he shot it at her. The blade sliced into her left side. She ignored the pain. All she could think of was forward.
She stumbled aboard the transport. She turned around. Botfly stood amidst the Brawnlers, a wave of cold dismissal on his face. He had let her go. He was sending her to her death.
With a sudden, violent jolt, the huge, elevator-like transport launched her up.
Amina sat down, resting her head against the cold metal wall, watching the lights flash by. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and a frustrated cry escaped her throat. She felt the trickling pain at her side. She reached for it, and her touch was greeted by the sticky warmth of her blood.
She closed her eyes.
"Sir, should we go after her?" one Agent asked.
Botfly finished his canned drink and lowered it. "Nah," he replied. "She won't survive 24 hours on the surface, especially with a wound like hers."
He held out his hand, the empty can in it. He then crashed the can flat with nothing but his mind, not a muscle in his face moving. "And if she comes back? I will find her and finish the job."