Insurgency, page 5
part #2 of V-War Series
“You’re making a huge mistake,” said Moreno.
“Yeah? It wouldn’t be my first.”
She started the engine and spun the truck around, rolling back towards the site of the Porsche wreck. As she drew near, she was relieved to see both Victor and Juan standing at the side of the road. They looked battered and bloody, but at least they were on their feet. She hit the brakes and slid to a halt beside them. She looked over to the car wreck. It was barely recognisable anymore.
“That wasn’t your smartest move, Victor.”
“It worked, though, didn’t it?”
“Kinda, come on, jump in.”
Chapter 4
“You looking to play?” a friendly voice asked.
Rex was enthralled with the fights being replayed in the window of a Terminal shop. One was even being broadcast live.
“Pretty exciting, aren’t they?”
“You kidding me? Nothing comes close.”
Rex turned to face the man. He was a Terminal employee that had come out to tout for trade. He wore a nametag inscribed ‘Chas.’
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were…”
“Were what?”
“A little older,” he replied and scurried off into the shop. But Rex chased on after him.
“Wait!”
Chas stopped briefly and turned, but with a sigh as if he was wasting his time.
“Look, kid, I hope you enjoy the fights, but I can’t let you play or actively encourage you to even support or view Terminal games.”
“You know how many years I have been training for this? You think I’m not ready.”
“I have no idea. Maybe you have what it takes, but we have a strict law on age. This isn’t like selling liquor to a teenager. Terminal can be life and death. You have to be eighteen or over to play. I am sorry. Come back in a few years.”
“I didn’t come here to be turned away. I came here to compete.”
“I am sorry, but I already explained. That is not your decision to make.”
Rex fell silent as he pressed a few keys and slid his hand across the screen, pushing his new fake ID onto the tabletop between them. Chas sighed as if expecting to once again be wasting his time, but he looked at the date of birth and photo very carefully. He studied every element of the ID, looking for some reason to decline him. But the ID was perfect, and the employee began to look sheepish for treating him like a child.
“I may look younger than my years, but I don’t expect to be treated like it,” said Rex to cement the idea in the man’s head.
“I am so sorry, Mr Hyland. It is my job to challenge everyone who comes through those doors, especially if there is any chance they are underage. I am sure you understand that this is a game for adults to play responsibility. It is certainly not for kids.”
“That’s okay, Chas.”
He tried to hide his smile, but he was bursting with excitement. He hadn’t expected for a moment for his scheme to work, and in the end it had been so easy.
“When are you looking to compete?”
“Now would be good for me.”
“Okay, and what kind of fight are you looking for?”
“Unarmoured and dismounted, aside from that, anything is fine.”
He knew he couldn’t compete in an armoured fight. He was agile and skilled, but he didn’t have the size or strength for such a contest. In that regard he followed after Luna, and he wanted to be just like her. He still didn’t understand why she had turned her back on the games. He remembered all of the glorious victories she had won as if he had been right there beside her. He also didn’t know how to ride, something she did really well. It was a luxury only a privileged few got in this time, although he could have learned to do it in V. It wasn’t the same. Training a skill for real was always better, but it would have to do.
“Please, if you will carefully read through our terms and conditions, and finally sign to say that you accept and agree to them.”
Rex quickly flipped through several screens. Slow enough to pretend he was reading them, but he didn't care. Nobody was under any illusion here. They all knew the risks being taken. It was to absolve the company of any responsibility beyond what they agreed to publicly. Rex didn't care for it, anyway. He wasn't thinking about his death or his future. He couldn't see past the game he was about to play. He had been waiting his entire life for an opportunity like this.
"Please, follow me, Mr Hyland."
He was led behind the desk and through a small corridor. They arrived at a small room where a Terminal chair and a nurse awaited them.
"Take a seat, please."
He did so, but he could feel his pulse racing.
"Is this your first time to play Terminal?" Chas asked.
"Yes."
"But you've played Duel Reality, right?" Chas sounded a little concerned at his reply.
"More times than you can imagine."
"Are you any good, then?"
Rex smiled.
"When you enter this game it might feel a bit like any other game you have played before, but you will soon find out that it is not. Hopefully, you will live long enough to learn that lesson. But don't worry. Most walk right out of their game without anything more than aches and pains. Are you ready?"
"Yes," he said and took a deep breath.
He was scared but also excited. It was like Christmas for him, but better than any Christmas he could remember. Restraints and clamps were placed over his body. Finally, the V set was placed on his head. Everything went dark for a moment.
"Welcome back, Rex Hyland," said Ziva.
The computer’s voice was always a welcome sound. It was the sign of great things to come, like the smell of fresh toast cooking in the morning. He loved it, although this was different. His name. Ziva was calling him by his new fake ID. She'd only call him Rex under his own ID. But Ziva had defaulted to the full name for a new user, and as the software booted up, he could see that none of his defaults were there. The pre-set equipment and game data, none of it; he felt like a piece of him was missing. That game data was his life. Something he had worked hard to build and achieve.
It was like working from a blank slate. That was scary, and yet a little exciting, too. But his two-minute timer was counting down, and he had no idea what to do. Starting fresh he thought maybe but he should do something different. He didn't want to be recognised as his usual self. He looked around for some idea, some theme to take. But the only thing on his profile was his name.
Hyland?
The idea sprung into his mind as if it were fate. He rushed through the controls and options, now knowing exactly what to do. As he finished up, he stopped briefly for a moment, and then hit the ready button.
"Round begins in ten seconds,” said Ziva.
This is it. This is my chance.
He had no idea who or what he was going to face. He'd fought random duels hundreds of times before. None of them had ever felt like this. It was exhilarating. He'd never felt quite so alive. Not since he helped save Luna. His mind wandered back to her for a moment. He knew she would not agree with him participating in Terminal, but he still couldn't understand her motivations. But he remembered her as the champion she really was, and that is what he aspired to be with every fibre in his being.
The screen faded away, and the virtual world materialised before him. He was atop a wet and blustery hilltop. The wind noise was so much he could hear little else, except for the crash of waves to the cliffs nearby. He could see the sea, and taste the salt water, as the wind carried so much moisture. There was no sun to see through the thick cloud cover, but it wasn’t raining. He looked down to marvel at his attire. It was everything he had wished for, the full Highland dress of a Scots warrior. Kilt and sporran and all. The high socks reached his knees, and he could feel the cold breeze whistling in through his kilt. It was a novel sensation.
I wonder how amusing I must look. I must be the smallest Scotsman to ever wield a sword.
He looked down to his left hip at the ornate steel basket hilt guard of the claymore resting in its sheath and the leather bandolier over his shoulder. He reached down to touch the grip and felt the course mottled sharkskin texture. It was wonderful, all of it. This was a load out he would never have dared to try and pull off. However, in Terminal, everything was different. Nobody would ridicule him for it, because this wasn't just a game anymore. Something was at stake. Winning meant more than ever. Losing did, too, but he ignored that part as best he could. As he imagined Luna must have. She was not born to lose, and he was determined to follow in her footsteps.
Someone began to laugh. It was slow, but getting louder. He looked up. His opponent was standing before him, ten metres away. He was wearing what Rex could only describe as a kung fu outfit and was carrying a Jian, the straight, double-edged Chinese sword that was lightning fast and precise. The man looked like a Westerner trying to play the part. Rex smiled, thinking it seemed ridiculous, until he remembered he was dressed as a Scottish Highlander.
“This is going to be quick work,” said the man.
Rex smiled at him with a wicked grin. His opponent’s cockiness and hubris were greatly entertaining to him. He’d encountered it his whole life in the gaming world. People had underestimated him from the beginning.
“You here to fight or just to dress up?” His opponent held out his sword, the point directed towards Rex in a threatening manner. Rex looked back down to the hilt of the sword on his side. It seemed to be singing out to him as he slipped his hand into the basket hilt and grasped the coarse grip. He drew the blade from the leather scabbard. It was near silent. No metal to grate against the double-edged blade.
“You’re going to lose, but you don’t have to die here, kid.”
How little his opponent knew. He was more accurate than he realised. Rex was still a child in the eyes of the law, but not in his mind. And not in his skill, or so he believed. This was finally his chance to prove he was as good as he had always hoped for.
“I didn’t come here to lose,” he replied politely and confidently.
“That’s what they all say.”
His opponent rushed forward with nimble footwork as Rex lowered his sword by his side. He was fast, but it did not catch Rex by surprise. He was presenting the idea that he was unprepared with his body language, but he was far from it. His blade drew up as the Jian came for his face with a quick thrust. Rex’s sword came up instinctively. He parried of the blade with his own robust sword. But before he could strike back a flurry of attacks came in at an alarming array of angles.
The Jian was flexing along its flat, moving at such speed and lashing from one side to another. Rex could do nothing but parry back and forth, and be thankful of the basket guard on his sword as the Jian’s razor-sharp blade flashed across it. It would otherwise be cutting his hand to ribbons. He kept calm, but he was backing off against the flurry of attacks. He couldn’t tell if his opponent was skilled and precise, or merely fast and fanatical.
He defended everything that came at him, but as he continued to back off he didn't take heed of his surroundings. His foot struck a rock buried firmly in the ground. He tumbled over onto his back and rolled unceremoniously. His adversary kept coming, without any decency or honour. He landed on one knee and lifted his sword, but it was too slow. The Jian cut across his right arm just below the shoulder. It slashed through the wool tunic and deeply into his flesh. He cried in pain, but his attacker came forward even further as if to grapple his lead arm. The Jian was coming for his chest point first. With such a brutal plunging thrust, it would end him if it found its target.
There was no time to bring his sword over, and he was still a little stunned from the fall. He knocked the incoming blade away with his left hand, and his attacker came off balance. He had clearly relied on his point finding its target. He fell forward, but Rex rose up angrily, thrusting the steel basket hilt of his guard in his face. It struck him like a truck, and the man went down hard to the ground.
Rex staggered back to get some distance and time to recompose himself. He looked down at the wound on his arm. Blood was soaking into his tunic, and the pain struck him. Now he had time to think about it, and he was not fuelled by adrenaline and the will to survive, he realised it hurt like hell. His sword was hanging by his side, and he had no will to try and lift it, as to do so sent a sharp pain through his body. The sort of pain he had never become accustomed to. He'd been so busy checking his wound he hadn't noticed the man getting back to his feet, but he soon become aware of it.
The man let out a cry and ran at him. His face was covered in blood from the brutal strike Rex had delivered, and there was a frenzy in his eyes. More than ever before, the man's composure had gone as he fought with pure anger. The Jian came for his face, but he beat it aside. His opponent kicked to his stomach, and he was thrown back. But as he regained his balance, something in Rex changed. He thought of the pain he felt, and it was a reminder of what he might face if he lost. Not only that, the man fought with no honour, and that angered him.
Once again his attacker came at him, and once more his sword went out to defend. But he would not be on the back foot this time. He would not keep withdrawing. He was going to stand his ground. His sturdy sword parried with ease, but he drove the sword high as the two blades were bound, and with a quick rotation, he snapped his blade around his opponent's and slashed across his face. The blade narrowly missed his eyes, cutting deeply into his right cheek and nose. He fell back with a cry of pain.
He did not let up. The man had shown him no respect, and now he was going to end him. He ran forward and swung. The Jian came back at him with swings that were wilder than before. He parried each of them off. One came for his leg, but he calmly slipped the leg back, allowing the blade to fly past. He was back in against his opponent with lightning speed, and a powerful cut aiming for his head. He recovered quickly and raised the blade to defend, but barely got the blade up in time, positioning poorly to take the onslaught of the Scot’s broadsword. The blade smashed down the Jian and cut into the man's head. He stumbled back. Bleeding further. His parry had at least saved him from death, for that is what such a brutal blow would have brought.
He was breathing heavily and gazed around, as though desperately looking for some way to get through the fight. His mind had turned from victory to mere survival. It was a look Rex had never seen in anyone's eyes. At least, not in real life.
"Tap out, admit defeat. You are finished!" Rex yelled.
The idea seemed to insult him, and he knew why. He would never have taken such an offer well, no matter the situation.
Rex had been there so many times before, though the stakes had never been this high. As the man continued to bleed before him, and he felt the pain surge through his body, he didn't feel the need to end his adversary. In any other duel he'd try and show off with a finishing move to impress an audience, but this was a very different game. The man came at him once again. He was tired and weak, flailing wildly with big swings that were easy to avoid. Finally, Rex landed a perfectly timed cut between his movements. The broadsword blade slashed the wrist holding the Juan, and the sword fell from the hand wielding it.
The bloodied man stumbled back and fell to one knee, cradling his wounded hand. There was a terrified look on his face, and he was shaking a little.
Is it from the shock of his wounds, or the possibility of defeat?
Rex was standing tall and triumphant over his opponent, who had no words now.
"Tap out, and concede defeat," said Rex calmly.
"You would let me do that?"
"Why wouldn't I? You are beaten."
"This is Terminal."
"It's a blood sport. There are risks, but where did it say the winner has to die, or be beaten into an unconscious state?"
The man nodded in agreement, but he still seemed cautious.
"You know the rules of Duel Reality. Like they used to be in the Roman arena. Raise two fingers, and you will bow out and walk away."
It was an odd concept for them. A rule in the game almost never seen used. There was never a reason to accept defeat when there were no consequences beside a loss of face. A loss was a loss on a gamer’s stats. How they lost meant nothing. In fact, it would be considered a dishonour. But everything had changed now.
"Give the two fingers, and walk away. You can fight another day."
The man still looked at him suspiciously, as if Rex was cheating him to being humiliated before he was finished for good. That was the kind of spectacle that some fighters went for. Fame at any cost. Rex could understand, as he had seen that sort of obnoxious attitude in games before. But his moral compass was different. He had grown up with Luna as his idol, and he always asked himself, what would Luna do? He knew she had honour and decency ingrained at her core. She would let this man live.
He cast his sword away. It landed several metres away from them in the grass. The Jian lay between the two of them.
"Bow out with honour. Don't make me hurt you more. I give you my word. I will accept your concession."
The man put his hand to the ground to try and get up, but could barely find any strength as he winced with pain. Rex wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but stood his ground, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He remained vigilant, his hand ready to draw his dirk at the first sign of a threat. The short dagger with a carved wooden handle was a beautiful fighting knife, but not what he'd want to oppose a sword with. He knew if the man went for the blade, he would have to get the jump on him before he could bring it to bear.
The bloodied man finally managed to use his other hand to get up and staggered forward, blood trailing down his clothing. He reached the Jian and stopped, standing over the weapon. He looked down, before looking back at Rex and deep into his eyes. Rex didn't know what else he could say to make the man trust him. It was a tense standoff for a few seconds. It felt far longer than that. Finally, the man held up his wounded hand with two fingers extended and held together.
