The Children of Zegandaria by Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov (good fiction books to read .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: THE WRATH OF RENTO

Somewhere deep in his heart, an old and seasoned veteran like Rento was freaking out that he had to work with these young and particularly cocky pricks, but Boss' decision was law! Imaya wasn't so much ecstatic either, as she was in a particular huff that she tried to hide, but the cowboy's experienced eyes noticed. Of course, he kept his mouth shut because he was a true gentleman.

Now they could see where these kids born in this surreal ghetto had practically grown up - literally on the streets. Some of them didn't even know the universal language, others couldn't do arithmetic, but all of them were experts at counting money and shooting all sorts of light weapons - that was only of use to the team at least for now, but if more difficult tasks came up, they might give up the front.

Boss walked furthest back - not so much because he was afraid the kids would escape, but because he was aware he had already hit a real trail - he just needed to be a little more assertive and of course nasty! He was good at both - a real old veteran!

This city may have looked romantic with its super-looking surreal skyscrapers and huge beautiful structures of kevlarite, but to the old detective's eye used to anything it remained a nest of crime and hopelessness.

Yes, they had been given a new and uncertain future - but even he himself had little or no memory of his parents, as it had been almost twenty years since the last war - most of these underdogs were now there-not quite that old.

Somewhere in there, he wondered what he was going to do after this last mission was over - it wasn't starting out of idealism, but out of need. And he knew that for a while - at least while the job lasted - he'd be part of a collective of assassins who, in their spare time, were generally-it wasn't clear exactly what they did!

- "Thank the boss for not letting me chop you to pieces," he tried to scare himself, but they'd lost their minds and words anyway.

Only Big John seemed quite sure of himself and paced alongside him. Rento appreciated that fact though:

- "You look brave, you are," he tossed at him. "But have you ever killed anyone outside of this neighbourhood that you consider your own territory?"

Big John kept walking with a scowl and did not answer. His massively muscled body contrasted with his childish face, which was cut with a wrinkle of determination - back when someone had slashed him with a laser cutter in a godforsaken fight.

- "Well, you weren’t that good, apparently," Rento teased him.

The little one kept pretending to be hit, but suddenly squirmed and tried to feint at him.

Rento, with his killer instinct, nipped the blow in the bud and nearly broke his arm - he shouted.

- No, my little brat, you're not on the level of any of us yet - we're trained killers and we've been doing just that all our lives!

The beautiful surrealism might have appealed to some, but now it seemed rather miserable and grotesque - it would all еnd up maybe around, maybe not.

Imaya suspected that some of the new recruits were hungry, as they had spent long enough in the antispell hiding place, but none of them had put a morsel in their mouths either.

- "Now is not the time to eat," Boss sniffed at them. "We need a bit more and then you can eat to your heart's content - but not before we track down the killer." - it's paramount now!"

After a while they stopped - they were almost out of Enzok Ra when they noticed something unusual - somewhere out there was the allegedly narrow and indistinct outline of a small water treatment plant.

- "Let's go check it out," suggested Boss.

They approached and walked around it. Then the detective gave the command to attack - everyone rushed in!

It was empty. But Boss made them look.

- "I'm almost certain they were here," he suggested.

- "And how do you know there were more than one?," interjected Big John. "Well, it's clear that one couldn't have got away so deftly."

- "Your friend and boss, Shame, clearly never intended to share his power with anyone and was simply punished for his arbitrary actions!," snarled Rento.

The others did not respond. They were like bewitched - they wanted to preserve their dignity.

- It seemed that this time we were dealing with a very experienced opponent

- Rento called, "He must be better than even I. He hasn't left any marks on the weapon or anything."

Deep down the others felt he was right. Everything in his voice spoke of just that.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: THE HUNT

The killer had dispatched Shame with incredible ease and skill-it was not to be overlooked that he had a gorgeous weapon, a Myelite Zetkang 240-a true antique. He had disassembled it quite professionally and quietly, knowing that Boss's group was not made up of random people. He had left absolutely no marks on the weapon. Everything lined up - piece by piece. Such a twisted psyche he had, then laughed out loud. He hadn't expected such a virtuoso performance - it was like taking candy from a baby. He was glad he'd cleared out one of the scariest thugs like Shame Finagues and his pathetic gang. He had done Om Gur Nal's bidding - even flawlessly.

Somewhere in his tormented mind, the assassin was clearly aware that no matter how much he guarded himself, his turn would come - perhaps even too soon.

In the depths of his own soul, he realized clearly that such a precious acquisition could not be for long.

Some voices were heard in the distance, but he paid no attention to them - he felt untouchable. He knew he would succeed. So much hard work and patience!

He turned and walked away with slow steps - experiencing the perverse delight of a sadistic maniac willing to kill even without money.

Come to think of it, he knew absolutely nothing else, either - only this. Om Gur Nal had judged him well!

His lithe body was perfect for sneaking into the darkness of the shadows and killing.

Shame was this time, and who was the previous one? He couldn't think. It was as if a sort of veil had fallen over his eyes and memory.

- "Well, I'll clean them all eventually," the assassin told himself, "I still find meaning in that. There's still a little more to go. Then..."

He ducked into the dark alleys and sank God knows where.

It was strange how slowly time passed - for some a second was ridiculously small, for others an eternity.

He went back to sleep - and for the first time wondered why he was alive at all. He had come too far. "What are you going to do after you run the errands? You only have a few more to go!"

His room was gloomy and sparsely furnished. Far ahead the moon was visible, but even it dared not creep into the loner's gloomy thoughts.

- "Is this life?," he wondered. "To steal from the lives of others in order to be alive!"

Then he tossed about a little and fell asleep. A few hours passed and he heard a slight scratching - perhaps it was Boss or his team. But how had they gotten to him so quickly?

Everything sped up. He jumped up as if stung and just prepared for a fight. Not that there was much chance if they were five or six or even more. He had a plasma revolver handy and well-maintained, and also a bezonium bomb that he would only use if it was getting really hopeless. He felt it was all over. His mind froze for a moment.

He listened - was he kidding himself, or was he falling victim to his own nightmares?

He waited.

And then he realized he was doomed - these really were Detective Boss's men. And they were coming for his head!

He gripped the gun. There was a commotion all around. They had surrounded him, so that he could not slip away in any way.

In his confused thoughts, the only possible salvation emerged - the virtual beta testing portal. According to Zegandarian law, no one was allowed to physically kill a person caught in the virtual reality.

He quickly put on the gear, knowing it was a temporary solution. He couldn't stay there forever.

It took them less than five minutes to break down the door and see him writhing, absorbed in the deep virtual reality.

Boss scolded the others not to shoot.

- "Sneaky son of a bitch - well, you'll get out of there and take that plasma bullet sometime," Boss growled.

The killer couldn't hear him because he was swimming in deep virtual reality, or at least trying to. But even if he had heard him, he probably would have laughed in his face. Boss was right, no one could stay in this place indefinitely because the specific brain waves generated could also cause unwanted secondary physical malformations. But that only applied to new recruits - Apparently this wasn't one. The detective team watched the strange expression on his face - there was no trace of any particular emotion like joy, sadness, or anger - it was like the perfect wax cast to idеntify the face of a criminal when biometrics weren’t enough to do so.

They had to wait, but they tried to make the most of the time to look around.

"I'll live in someone else's life."

Unknown author

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: LEVEL FIVE

The killer knocked on the door in vain, obsessed with the wild idea that he would be able to break into the cherished level - nothing happened. His forehead was swimming in sweat, but the doors did not yield - they were vigilantly guarding their secret.

For a moment, however, the assassin clearly realized that there was no other way out for him

- He could not go back, nor could he go forward. He was screwed, soundly