The apartment was silent. Brendon was somehow comfortable with it this time.
He glanced at his phone again. His fingers drummed on the armrest. Time had moved too slowly since he left Cody's.
His phone finally buzzed.
He snatched it up quickly and swiped. "Hey," he said as Cody appeared on the screen.
"Okay, I've got everything set up. It wasn't easy," he said. Brendon held the phone tightly, listening intently. "I've created a phantom account for you," Cody said. "It's attached directly to The Sanctuary, so you'll be a full member. You'll wake up right inside the community, in a vacant structure just outside the central hub." Brendon leaned forward in his chair, looking straight down into his phone.
"And they won't detect me?"
"I've increased the rate at which your signature and UUID number changes," Cody continued. "This will reduce the chance of detection but won't eliminate it. You need to stay on the move. Staying still for too long will make it easier for them to pin you down."
"What about transportation? I need to be able to get around without hitting too many obstacles."
"I've boosted your account to the very top tier," Cody explained. "You'll have access to pretty much anything, restricted zones, high-level meetings, whatever you need. Just be careful, there aren't a lot of high-tier accounts so they draw attention."
"OK fine, that sounds good," Brendon offered.
"There's more," Cody added. "I've given you the body and persona of an elite soldier. Your avatar will be able to handle itself better in any physical confrontation. You'll have enhanced reflexes, strength, endurance, weapons, tactics, the works." Cody smiled at that one, clearly pleased with his work. Brendon started to feel his apprehension easing slightly. "Alright," he said finally, "That's it. You ready for this?"
"Yeah," nodded Brendon.
"Okay, good luck man," offered Cody, "I'll try and monitor you from here," and then he hung up. Brendon picked up the headset. He took a look at the interior goggles letting his mind wander to the thought of Riley lying in his ER room with his eyes burnt out. He put the set over his head and initiated the login process with the credentials Cody had sent through.
After the usual sequence had finished, he awoke staring at the ceiling of a luxurious modern villa. He blinked, adjusting to the sudden shift in environment. The air smelled of saltwater and fresh flowers. He was lying down on a large brown velvet sofa. Big, soft and comfortable. He felt the texture as he lay there staring at the wood paneling above him in the roof.
He slowly stood up and scanned the expansive living room. Large floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of a beach outside. The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues across the sand and waves. Plush, low-profile sofas faced a sleek wood fireplace, while a long dining table made of reclaimed timber with brown leather chairs dominated the other side of the room.
Brendon glanced down at himself.
He was back in the black trunks, but his body this time was unfamiliar. He slowly rose to his feet.
His gut was gone, and his arms and legs were leaner and more toned. He could see his abs for the first time in over a decade. In fact, he had never seen his abs like this before. He poked a finger down between two of them.
He looked over his forearms. On his left arm the console flashed on under his skin. It seemed to lay on top of the veins that were now there. He looked around and ran his fingers through his hair, only to feel that there wasn't much hair there now. His shaggy floppy long hair had been replaced with a tight buzz cut.
He moved towards one of the tall windows and caught sight of his reflection in the glass. A lean, muscular figure with a hardened expression stared back at him. He tensed his body like a bodybuilder might.
He had to admit he felt amazing; alert, focused, and mobile. He felt capable to accomplish what he needed to. The transformation was exhilarating and unnerving.
Brendon instinctively moved through the villa, his new body reacting with fluidity and ease. He passed out of the spacious living room, feeling the plushness of the carpet under his feet. The décor, modern and sleek, suggested a life of luxury and privilege. As he walked, memories seemed to surface, almost as if he'd been here before.
He approached the bedroom, pushing open the door to reveal a space bathed in soft, golden light. Large sash windows framed an unobstructed view of the villa's driveway and the avenue it was on. Rich charcoal and navy tones dominated the room's palette. The bed, a king-sized masterpiece with a dark velvet headboard, stood at the centre.
Brendon's eyes were drawn to the built-in wardrobe system that spanned an entire wall. He walked over and touched the sleek, handleless doors. They responded, sliding open by themselves to reveal meticulously organised rows of designer clothing. Suits from Tom Ford, shirts from Canali, and bespoke shoes by John Lobb. All arranged within categories, then styles, then colours.
He was spoilt for choice for once.
He selected a dark navy suit paired with a crisp white shirt, navy tie and black leather shoes. As he dressed, each piece felt tailored to perfection, hugging his body like a lover would.
Now dressed, Brendon's attention turned to a different section of the wardrobe. He pressed a discreet button on the inner side, revealing a hidden compartment behind a false back panel.
He reached in and carefully extracted a phone. It recognised him immediately. Then he picked up a sleek smartwatch and strapped it to his wrist. There were dark sunglasses too. He picked them up and pocketed them in his inside jacket pocket. Finally, a compact handgun in a tight, discreet leather holster.
Brendon didn't know much about guns. He'd never even held one before, but he felt confident handling this one. The muscle memory in his hands took over and he quickly went through the standard safety procedure for handling such a firearm.
He checked the safety, removed the magazine, pulled the slide back and checked for an empty chamber. Every movement was precise and exact. No wasted energy.
He examined the magazine. The bullets had blue tips.
Incendiaries.
He reassembled the weapon and holstered it. Did he know what type of pistol it was? He searched his memory bank. A Walther PDP nine-millimetre, fifteen round magazine, three dot iron sight. Small and compact with very little recoil given the stopping power it delivers.
He'd impressed himself, but could he shoot it? No way to test that without drawing attention. He assumed he could and clipped the gun and holster round the back of his suit trousers.
He felt surprisingly ready.
Brendon glanced out of the bedroom window.
He spotted a Sentinel cruising on some kind of motorbike in the street outside the villa. Its body hunched over, almost prone into the bike. The front wheel far smaller than the back wheel. It was moving slowly, its head moving from side to side as if it was scanning for something. Was it here for him?
He pulled out his phone.
Again he knew instinctively how to use it. A few swipes and taps later, Brendon had the coordinates for where he needed to go. The phone displayed a holographic map overlaying his real-world view, guiding him with a pulsing blue line.
Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Brendon moved through the villa. He exited through a side door that led to a private elevator, descending smoothly to the garage below. The doors slid open to reveal a petrolhead's dream.
Rows of luxury supercars gleamed under recessed LED lights. Porsches, Paganis, even a Bugatti Veyron, were neatly lined at an angle towards him on both sides of the garage. It looked as if they were greeting him. All were matte black with black tinted windows.
Brendon's focus zeroed in on the motorbike section at the back right. He wanted to be fast, agile and inconspicuous. He approached a sleek Ducati Panigale V4 R, its black frame and aggressive design standing out even among the other high-end vehicles. He swung his leg over it, feeling the bike's weight balance beneath him.
The garage doors opened automatically as he revved the engine, the powerful roar echoing off the polished concrete walls. He slipped on his sunglasses and let the augmented reality fire up to display his route in a neat little graphic. He sped out into the streets of The Sanctuary.
Navigating through the network of wide avenues and pedestrian-friendly pathways, Brendon felt an adrenaline rush. It wasn't nerves or fear, it was how he felt when he'd been skiing or kite surfing. Was he enjoying this or was it his persona overriding his apprehension? The A.R. display in his sunglasses highlighted turns and potential hazards. Brendon was traveling fast but he felt completely in control and capable.
As he leaned into a turn, Brendon caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision. Two Sentinels on motorbikes had just appeared. He could assess them more thoroughly this time.
Both were riding the same unconventional looking bikes. Red, low to the ground, with handlebars that seemed to extend through the axle of the smaller front wheel. On the back was a thick fat boy style tire. Their posture was low and forward. Their attitude was of speed and aggression.
They seemed to lock onto him almost instantly.
Amazed by how calm he felt, Brendon accelerated. Weaving through traffic with deft movements that came naturally to him. The bots matched his pace. Their illuminated wheels glowing and flashing. Brendon hunched down low on his bike, his face almost next to the Ducati's fuel tank. He shot down a side street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a delivery van. The Sentinels followed suit, their high-tech bikes allowing them to corner with ease.
Brendon's display changed from a calming blue to an intense red, then highlighted an upcoming alleyway. He took the sharp left. The back tire of the Ducati skidded slightly before he managed to bring the beast back under control again. The alleyway was narrow, flanked by high brick walls that echoed the sound of his engine.
He pushed the bike harder.
Emerging from the alley like a bullet, Brendon merged back onto a main road. He darted between cars, shifting his body from one side of the bike to the other, using his impeccable awareness to put as many obstacles between him and his pursuers. A quick glance at his side mirror showed them still on his tail.
His glasses flashed a route option. An elevated pedestrian bridge that connected two sections over a scenic canal to his right. Brendon aimed for it, the narrow width might throw the Sentinels.
As he approached, he slowed and stood up on the bike's foot pegs. Then, pulling a half wheelie, he sped up the stairs. Pedestrians scattered as he powered over the bridge and down the other side onto the toe-path. A glance back returned the Sentinels powering towards the bridge too, only they weren't slowing down, they were gaining speed and pulling to the right of the bridge. Brendon watched as they launched themselves airborne and arced over the canal. When they landed, they'd gained significant ground.
Brendon's mind started to race. He needed to shake them off before reaching The Plaza. The map in front of his right eye was computing a new route. His glasses struggling to keep up with the constant changes of direction.
One of the Sentinels pulled up alongside, the electric motorbike humming softly next to Brendon's petrol fuelled rocket. It matched his speed with ease. Brendon's display finally delivered a route, but he ignored it, focusing instead on this immediate threat.
Steadying the bike, Brendon swung his right arm out, aiming for the Sentinel's head. His fist connected with a solid thunk against the robot's visor. It barely flinched. The Sentinel responded with a quick jab of its own, its metallic hand striking Brendon's shoulder hard, nearly knocking him off balance.
Gritting his teeth, Brendon tightened his grip on the Ducati's handlebars with one hand while using his other to fend off the Sentinel's relentless attack. The bikes wobbled dangerously as they exchanged blows at high speed. Brendon ducked just in time to avoid a powerful swing from the Sentinel's arm. They battled while steering their bikes between bystanders and obstacles.
Seizing the moment, Brendon reached for his handgun. The Sentinel lunged at him again, but this time Brendon absorbed the punch and then aimed carefully and fired a single shot into its visor.
The incendiary round caused the Sentinel's head to explode, leaving a headless rider trying to control a speeding pursuit bike. Its movements quickly became erratic. Sparks flew from the damaged bot as it struggled to regain control. Brendon took full advantage and fired two more shots in quick succession at its centre mass. Each bullet finding its mark, this time exploding the entire upper torso of the Sentinel. Shielding himself from the explosion with his arm, he summoned one final effort, delivering a powerful kick to the now riderless bike.
The force of the blow sent it veering off course and straight into its compatriot's path. Suddenly both machines were in a tangled dance of crashing metal and exploding electronics. What was left tumbled from the bikes and crashed onto the pavement in a shower of sparks. In his mirror Brendon could see the second Sentinel rise from the wreckage. Its left arm was dangling by a few cables and wires. Brendon watched as it slowly examined its injury and then wrenched off the useless appendage, tossing it to the side of the road. Brendon twisted the throttle and sped away.
His mind had remained calm throughout. Lucid, cold and calculating, he could see three steps ahead and knew that for now the advantage was with him. He needed to keep moving and get to the Plaza. Emotionless and without a drop of adrenaline in his system, he navigated the winding streets towards the Plaza.
As he approached, he hit the brakes hard. The bike skidded to a halt with one final high-revved roar. Brendon leapt off the bike in one fluid motion. As he jogged off the excess speed, his bike remained perfectly upright. Without missing a beat, he took out his phone and programmed the Ducati to ride in a high-speed holding pattern around his position. The bike sprang back to life and sped away. Its movements seeming to defy physics as it powered riderless up the road, its tires screeching, marking the clean asphalt with rubber scrapes.
Brendon quickly assessed his new surroundings.
His glasses were telling him he was at the Plaza, and the tint had returned to its original calming shade of blue. He felt like he perhaps had a little time before the world caught up with him again. The Plaza was on a wide boulevard that was lined with huge palm trees and massive mansions. It felt more Beverly Hills than Hamptons now.
Brendon didn't waste any time. He sprinted up the grand drive to the Plaza's entrance. He passed manicured hedges and rounded an elegant fountain. The place was a Renaissance-inspired mansion with tall arched windows and intricate stucco moldings. The entrance was an imposing, mahogany double door with medieval-looking handles and iron edging. He had to heave it open, putting his whole weight into pushing it ajar.
Inside, his footsteps echoed off the marble floor and around the high ceiling. This was where Riley's stream had started. The playback hadn't done the place justice. A grand dome above him depicted celestial scenes. Corinthian columns stood freely around the foyer, and a huge candle-burning chandelier hung from above.
In Riley's footsteps now, he dashed towards the sweeping staircase, its banister a masterpiece of craftsmanship with intricate metalwork and polished wooden handrails. His hand briefly grazed the smooth surface as he ascended, taking two steps at a time.
Reaching the mezzanine level, Brendon didn't pause. He sprinted along the ornate balcony, his shoes thudding softly against the luxurious rugs that covered parts of the marble floor. The wrought-iron railings blurred past him as he navigated statues and potted plants, their classical forms casting long shadows in the ambient light.
All of a sudden, a flash of red as the bike crashed through the doors into the atrium below. It skidded across the polished marble floors, toppling columns and raining wax down from the disturbed light feature. Sparks flew. The tires screamed as they fought for traction, leaving black smears behind on the floor. As he ran along the mezzanine, Brendon paused to assess the scene below.
The bike was missing a rider.
Just then, in the destroyed doorway, the armless Sentinel scanned the room. Finally fixing on Brendon above. It hobbled as it started its chase.
Without a moment's hesitation, Brendon sprinted towards the library. Brendon pushed through the doors. He registered his surroundings only as to how they related to Riley's playback and finding what he needed.
He dashed around comfortable reading chairs and antique desks, making his way to the section where he hoped to find the book. His glasses, now slowly returning to their worrying red hue, flashed a faint outline around one of the shelves. He began pulling books, checking them, then discarding them. His hands moving quickly and methodically.
Finally, he hit the mark.
He found the book with the port inside and set to connecting his phone. The display on his phone flickered to life, and he tapped the icon to begin uploading the worm to the system.
The connection established.
He just had to last long enough for it to complete. Already the progress bar was at five percent.
He could hear the wounded Sentinel hobbling up the stairs, still determined in its pursuit. He placed the book and the phone on the shelf. Angling the phone so he could see the screen and monitor progress. He then pulled his gun and checked the magazine. Ten rounds. He rested the firearm on the shelf and then took off his jacket. He unbuttoned and rolled up his left sleeve, activating his console. He wasn't going to get caught out fumbling for the logout button again. Then, astounded by his own presence of mind, he adjusted his tie clip to keep it from interfering.
The progress bar crept forward, slowly. He moved into position to finish the crippled Sentinel as it was about to emerge in the doorway to the library, but before he could take the shot, chaos erupted.
Shards of glass rained down like a monsoon. The bots landed in exactly the same configuration as they had for Riley, smashing through the windows and skylights. Brendon's first instinct was to protect the upload. Now at twenty percent. He jumped an antique couch and vaulted an ornate coffee table, drawing the bots away from it.
A bot lunged at him from the left. He ducked, narrowly avoiding the outstretched metallic arms. His body moved on instinct, his in-app persona guiding his movements. His responses now in autopilot. A Sentinel approached from the side, its articulated limbs reaching for him. Brendon twisted away, driving his elbow into its head. The impact jarred his arm, but the bot staggered back, momentarily disoriented. He used the opening to put a round square in its chest. The incendiary blowing a hole the size of a fist straight through the machine.
It fell in a slump.
He didn't have time to catch his breath before another advanced, its glowing visor zeroing in on him. He jammed the barrel right under its chin and pulled the trigger. The explosion blew the head clean off. The light and shrapnel momentarily blinding Brendon.
He kicked out, connecting with the midsection. He stumbled but recovered quickly, lunging again with determination.
Sixty percent.
He dodged and weaved. Every move calculated to keep him one step ahead of the advancing bots.
Seventy-nine percent.
The bots were relentless, their mechanical precision overwhelming in close quarters. Brendon fought fiercely, using every ounce of strength and skill to fend them off. He grabbed a nearby chair and swung it, the impact pushing the oncoming Sentinel back only a few paces, but it was enough to make a hole.
Eighty-seven percent.
But there were too many of them. The bots cornered him, pinning him against a bookshelf. Cold metal limbs gripped each arm and leg, holding him in place despite his struggles. No panic, just cold calculation and assessment in Brendon's mind.
Ninety-three percent. He just had to keep in session just a few seconds longer. Armless hobbled into view and faced Brendon. Its head was listing to one side, but it tried to raise it anyway. Its face plate swirling colours wildly as if it was trying to communicate anger or pain. It lifted its one good arm and inched it closer to Brendon's face, looking to take hold of his head.
One hundred percent! The phone beeped loudly.
A small distraction, but it was all Brendon needed. He wrenched one arm free and reached for his console. The bots tightened their grip, metal fingers digging into his flesh. He grimaced in pain but didn't stop fighting.
His fingers barely brushed the button embedded under his skin, but instantly, the world around him began to dissolve. Brendon felt a momentary sensation of weightlessness before he was back in the familiar holding area. He was on the floor. Complete darkness except for a single distant light that approached him at speed, and then ejected him back into reality.
He violently pulled off his headset.
He gasped for breath as if it had been stopping him from breathing. He slumped back in his armchair. There was blood down the front of his scrub top. He felt his lip; he must have bitten it. He let the tranquillity of the room wash over him. In contrast to the cool, calm demeanour of his avatar, he now felt like he'd been through a meat grinder.
His phone buzzed. Cody was video calling. Brendon reached to pick up his phone from the coffee table. He continued wiping blood from his lip.
"Hey man, you OK?" Cody didn't wait for an answer. "We got it," he said proudly. "I know where they are."