Morris / The Dangerous Jade: Concl.

"So why are you hiding in the storeroom?"

"Because a bunch of men with guns just broke into the house? Um, I don't know the combo to the safe, you should know."

A-hole rubbed his chin, thinking. He looked at me like I was a maggot.

"Do we kill him boss?" one tattooed merc, maybe Filipino or Indonesian, asked.

"Later. We're here for Slutsky and his sister's research. He has some use as a hostage. Alek has ethics, if not morals. We can use this kid as a shield against whoever's killing my men. You know her name boy?"

"No," I lied, "I just call her The Pilot."

I was making like a scared, clueless teen, not far from the truth.

The five mercs hustled me through Pod Four.

"Desktop's missing," a skinny, rednecky merc said.

"Find Alek Slutsky," A-hole snarled.

We hustled to Pod Three. Alek was by the pool. Jade was at the entry with another merc. His face was bloody.

"Sorry boss, she was on us fast."

Me, skinhead Marine had a gun at my head. The rest were pointed at Jade.

"Ah! Jade Dragon! Of course. Your reputation precedes you, and apparently you exceed it."

"Kurt Sträger, last I heard you were slithering around Thailand. What crawls you here?"

"The contract is for Alek Slutsky and his sister's research. You need not be involved."

"I'm not exactly. I'm just bodyguarding the kid."

"Your resume does not list personnel protection."

"There's a first for everything, and it's easy money. So, you want your men to back off and we can end this standoff?"

Kurt Sträger shot Jade's goon in the head.

"I think not. He's fired."

"Fuck!" Jade said and aimed her rifle.

"It would be better if Alek told us the location of Yelizaveta's files. Unless you want to see this young man's brains splattered across that monstrosity you call a television."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to look in the pool," said Alek.

"I suspected as much. Which means her files are on you... or in you. I know all the tricks Mr. Slutsky. I believe this also means I'll have to kill you, the boy, Ms. Dragon, and use my knife."

It wasn't looking good, and then Jade spoke.

"Alek, I think you should go get the laptop."

"What?"

"Ace-in-the-hole Alek. It should take two minutes."

Alek looked at me thoughtfully. "Right," he said and dove into the pool.

"What, may I ask, is this about? You can't shoot without killing this boy. And we outgun you."

I knew what was coming. I knew I had to do it. I didn't want to but Sträger and his goons were going to kill us.

"Say it kid."

So I gulped and said, "Redbird."

I'll try to describe it as best I can.

Imagine you're a passenger. The vessel is your own body. You don't control it. You're just an observer. You're also passive. You don't feel anything. No emotion, nothing. You just do.

Now imagine that everything around you becomes so colorful, so real. Every detail, where everything is placed, the people near you, detailed to the hairs on their skin, every sound, the splash of water, the air flowing through the room, the cock of the gun, all noted, filed, and factored into your movements.

Finally, imagine time slowing, not to something impossible, like bullet time, but like I'm moving through air while everyone else is moving through molasses.

The first thing I did was drop to the floor, in a crouch. A shot rang out. It was the merc with the gun to my head. He'd pulled the trigger, except my head was no longer in front of the muzzle.

The next thing I did was lash out with my fist. I aimed for his knee. I broke his kneecap.

Then I jumped up again. I grabbed the goon's gun with one hand and broke his nose with the other. He didn't even have time to scream from his shattered kneecap. He was already dead when he hit the floor. I'd driven bone fragments from his nose into his brain.

I took his gun and turned to deal with the other merc next to me. He was dead too. The bullet meant for my head went into his instead.

I continued my turning motion, like a pirouette, to the merc behind me. The rednecky guy. I slammed the barrel of the gun into his head, denting it.

I turned to the fourth goon, the Nigerian, and shot him in the face.

Finally, Kurt Sträger's turn. He was the only one to raise his gun in time.

He fired, I dodged, not the bullet but his aim. The bullet grazed my side but I didn't feel it. I shot him in the hip, and then the head when he bent over.

Time from "Redbird" to elimination of hostiles: eight seconds.

There were two other hostiles. One was in the pool. I shot at him but he dove under the wall separating the indoor/outdoor sections.

The other hostile was in the corridor between the Pods Two and Three so I had to go look for her.

There were dressers, trunks, and storage containers. I checked some, then I heard a sound from Pod Two.

Pod Two was a wreck. The stove and kitchen table destroyed, dead bodies everywhere. I checked to make sure, then I checked the patio. The sound came from the wrecked door tapping against the wall.

Pod One was less a wreck, but she wasn't there either. I went back to check the storage trunks. One of them was open. I saw a glimpse of the hostile in Pod Three so I started towards it. Then the two minutes timed out.

Everything slammed into me at once. Everything that happened, everything I did. "Oh fuck!" I puked, and then I fainted.

Jade Dragon

I'd never had to duck a teenager turned killing machine. I watch him kill two of Sträger's men before I head off to hide. Tempting as it is to watch the show, for the next two minutes this kid is going to see everyone in this facility as a target.

I could kill this kid but what's happening isn't his fault. I have to stay out of sight for two minutes.

A storage trunk as a hiding place seems too obvious. Sometimes obvious is best though. I pick the one closest to the kitchen. It's damaged by the grenade blast but still intact. He might ignore it.

Full of kitchen towels and table cloth. You think you can camouflage yourself quickly?

I've done more with less, Boss.

You might have to kill him you know.

Two minutes is all I need.

The kid strides past. I peek through the lid. The look on his face... completely, utterly blank. Absolutely no emotion.

A complete and absolute robot.

I get a chill. That doesn't happen often.

I figure: eight seconds to kill Sträger and his crew, seven, from the sound of the gunshots, to kill Alek (maybe, I hope he made it), twenty to search the trunks (very close call there), twenty-five to search the kitchen, five more to get to the living room. I wait another five until he's out of sight, then I get out and run at top speed for the office.

I quietly count, "One-one thousand, two..." In the passage, Glock ready. Thirty secs maybe to search Pod One. Another ten for the passage. That means ten secs to wait. Unless Liz made a mistake and Redbird can't turn off. In which case I'm stuck with a teenage Terminator.

I count to ten. I'm off by a few secs. I hear a retching sound and a thump. I wait another five to be safe, then I come out of the passageway, stepping over the bodies of Sträger and his crew.

The kid is laying at the entrance to Pod Three. He's on his side, unconscious, puke dribbling out of his mouth.

I check to make sure he's out, take his gun, and position him so he doesn't choke on his own vomit.

I take another look at Sträger and his crew.

Bloody fucking hell.

Fucking hell's right.

A trained team of mercenaries, most probably with military and special forces background, led by a ruthless criminal; taken out by an untrained eighteen-year-old boy.

"What in the bloody fucking layno was that?!"

Alek is standing, pissed and dripping wet, near the pool.

"Good to see you made it Alek."

"No fucking shit Jade! What did I just see, and why did that, whatever you call it, try to kill me?!"

"That was Redbird. Your sister's invention."

"Redbird?! My sister was working on some biotech project called Achilles, not this Redb..." He stops as he figures it out. "Holy fuck! That's Achilles?!"

"No," I answer, "Achilles is inside him. Your sis injected him with it when things went south with the Syndicate, and they had to leave the safe house. Redbird is a killer melee program within Achilles. He says the word, he kills everything in the vicinity for two minutes."

Alek gapes at the dead bodies. "Fucking hell."

"Fucking hell."

"Every intelligence agency, military, private contractor, and crime organization is going to want a piece of this thing."

"Yeah, if they know it's here. He did," I nod to Sträger.

"Only by following me. So far as I'm concerned, it's purged from Veta's system, to remove the danger to myself."

"And that flash drive I know you have?"

"On its way to the vault until a safe way is found to release it."

We go to Red.

"This kid is a target if anyone finds out about him," says Alek.

"I know. Is anyone going to find out?"

Alek looks at me meaningfully. "No."

I look at him back. "I don't mean it like that Alek."

"No, but he's still dangerous."

"Only if he says Redbird."

"He'll need training."

"That's up to him."

Alek looks around. "We need to spin these bodies."

"I killed them. That's the spin."

"Plausible. I'm calling a cleaning crew for this, and engineers to fix the place up. It was due for an upgrade anyway."

We clean Morris up, pack our clothes, and carry him to the boat.

"I'll take him to my contact. He'll know what to do."

"Tell him I said hi."

"Will do. I have a job for you if you want it. I'll pay you a million, plus expenses."

"What's the gig?"

"Find my sister. When do you start?"

"I'm on the clock as of now."

I take a look at Red. He's out cold. He looks cute asleep.

It was a fun couple of weeks.

And it was fun watching you both these couple of weeks, but all things end.

That's the life Boss. I have a feeling this isn't the end though.

I get that too.

"Later Red," I give him a peck on the forehead.

I watch Alek speed away in the boat and then head to the plane. I'll take it back to Henny, go to my apartment to chill, and take care of Little Joe.

After that, it's off to Minneapolis and ARF's headquarters. They're my only lead. I've been long overdue for a chat with those fucks anyway.

Morris Micklewhite

I woke up. I didn't know where I was. I'd had a long stream of bad dreams, replays of killing those five men. At least I hadn't turned into a cockroach.

I kind of wished I had. I wasn't used to killing people then.

The room was nice. Uncle Harry was sleeping in a chair beside the bed.

His arm was in a sling. He looked okay; his usual swarthy, five o'clock shadowed self.

I didn't wake him. Actually, I was contemplating sneaking out. I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to him. My head was still getting around what happened.

Also, where was Jade? What happened to Alek? Did I kill him too?

What the fuck did I do? I lay in the bed thinking. One word, just one word and I turned into a killer. I didn't think it was cool, but I couldn't feel sorry for it either. They were bad men. They were going to kill me... us... well me and Alek. Jade could take them I guess. Still, there's knowing the men you killed were bad, and there's... killing them.

"The first kill's the hardest kid."

Uncle Harry was awake. I hadn't noticed. He was staring at me with the same thoughtful intensity as when he watched me dodge the party goers.

"Uncle Harry. Uh, was I talk...?"

"No, I know that look on your face. I had it after I killed my first man."

"I... killed five."

"Yeah, I know. Alek filled me in. Yes, he's okay. Fucking Achilles and Redbird, and she injected it in you. I see Liz again, she and I are going to have a serious chat. How do you feel?"

"I... don't know. I mean, I'm not really sorry I killed them but... uh..."

"Killing's a big thing to get around kid. If you get further into The Life you get used to it. Some enjoy it. Some even crave it."

I didn't like seeing myself as someone who enjoys it, or gets addicted to it. I wished I could talk to Jade.

"Uh, where's Jade?"

"Gone kid. Alek set her on Liz's trail. I don't think you'll be seeing her for a long time."

I didn't know what to think about that either. I was kind of in love with her, I guess. She'd taken my virginity, taught me more about sex than I'd know in several lifetimes. I knew on some level it wouldn't last. Jade, I think, gave me several hints. Someone told me, later on, you always stay in love with your first. I guess that's true.

"So what happens now?"

"Depends. No one knows you have the juice, other than Jade and Alek. He's spreading scuttlebutt he had his sister's files wiped to keep it out of Sträger's hands. Jade's getting credit for the kills. You're still a civilian so far as the community's concerned. I can take you back to Arch, or Barbara (my mother)."

I didn't want either, in spite of these past weeks. I still wanted to go forward. I also thought of the danger if I accidentally said the word in a crowd. Going forward though, meant going in. Uncle Harry read my mind.

"If you chose it, there's no going back."

"I know."

What could I say? I didn't have much of a choice, and I didn't have anything better to do with my life.

"Something told me it would turn out like this the day you showed up at the house. You have some good natural abilities kid. I saw that at the party. That juice will probably enhance them."

Uncle Harry didn't sound happy I made the choice, but he wasn't disappointed either. "I'll let you rest for a few days. Don't call yourself Morris. You're registered as Robert Douglas. Douglas was your paternal great-grandmother's maiden name. I think you look more like a Robby than a Morris anyway. I got some errands to run, preparations to make. Sit tight and relax. Don't let anyone in."

Uncle Harry left, and I lay in bed. Robert Douglas, a nice, professional name, but I wasn't quite satisfied. Robby sort of made sense. Douglas was just... nice. I wanted something cooler. Then I realized I already had a cool name. It went well with Robby, and it made perfect sense.

Epilogue- Five years later- Chicago

Robby Redbird

Shirley Hasslewell appreciated the lessons learned that night, looking back. The important one being, never make judgments based on personal appearance.

Case in point: The National Association of Data Systems Analysts Annual Convention held in McCormick Place, Chicago. It was a boring snore in itself but the real killer was the downtime.

She attended with her best friend Charlene "Charlie" Simpson, and it was Charlie, on the second night, who suggested a double date with her boyfriend, and a former classmate from Stanford, attending the convention.

Shirley sighed. She had nothing better to do for the weekend. She could take a risk on Charlie's suggestion. Her handsome, well-behaved boyfriend testified to Charlene's good taste in men.

When the blind date showed at the restaurant though, she couldn't resist a glare at Charlie. This was it?

Shirley was a woman with some high standards. She was pretty in the pixie cute style and had no trouble attracting the good ones. She usually aimed high when on the hunt and landed them.

This one looked the type she used to ignore in high school. Sure he looked cute but he looked... "He looks... young."

His freckles and red hair made him look like something from an old Saturday Evening Post cover. He was even shorter than her.

"What the fuck Charlie," she whispered, "You set me up with Opie Cunningham? I'm dating fucking Archie Andrews."

"He's older than he looks, Shirley. It's just one night and he's at the same hotel."

Dinner went okay. Charlene and her boyfriend were mostly into each other. The date ("Morris fucking Micklewhite. Even the name sounds loser.") was polite and quiet.

"At least he's not a prick," she thought.

The evening wore on; she found herself liking the guy, if not overly impressed.

The group opted to return to the hotel. Charlie and her boyfriend wanted to have some fun obviously. Shirley was feeling a bit antsy herself, but this Morris guy didn't seem like a good prospect.

Charlie and the paramour saw themselves off to their room. Shirley and Morris stood awkward near the elevator.

"Uh, would you like me to escort you to your room?"

Shirley's first impulse was to say no but decided, why not? Let's test him.

Her room was on the fifteenth. She took the chance and invited him in.

"How do you know Charlie?" she asked over drinks.

"We shared some of the same classes at Stanford. Dated a couple of times, but we're mostly friends. We keep in touch."

"Oh. What do you do now?"

"I'm a grad student. Computer design. MIT."

"You look like you just came out of high school."

Morris smiled, "A lot of people say that. I'm twenty-three."

Shirley found it hard to believe, looking at him. He displayed some aspects of a young twenty something, but there was a shy, awkward teen vibe also.

He didn't seem the type to make the first move, so she took the step.

"So, are you busy tonight?"

"Not really. Do you want me to stay?"

"I'm curious. You seem nice."

"I let the women set the rules. I don't like coming off like a prick. After that, I'm usually straightforward."

"So you're a gentleman," Shirley liked that.

"A boy scout, or some people say."

"How much of a boy scout?"

"As much as you want me to be. You set the rules."

Shirley thought, nodded her head and said, "So if I asked you to take off your clothes then?"

"Then I take off my clothes."

"Okay."

Shirley's first lesson in personal appearances: don't assume body type.

The nude body revealed was not the skinny, bony geek she expected, but a slender, cut, supple package, like a dancer.

He was smooth as well. No body hair, not even pubes. No real blemishes except a scattering of freckles on his arms and shoulders.

She liked what she saw, and the way he carried himself. There was no ego or narcissism she'd generally expect from someone with his grooming and body standards. Just a nice, nude boy scout, smiling and waiting.

She was out of her clothes a moment later, and in bed seconds after that. The second lesson in personal appearances: don't assume poor performance. He fucked her silly.

His stamina was remarkable. She'd never bedded anyone like him before.

"Okay Morris. Break it off. I need a rest."

"Okay," he smiled.

She drifted off for an hour, and woke to find Morris up and getting dressed.

"Leaving already?"

"Not quite. I just have an errand to run. Mind if I take your key?"

"Sure," she smiled, "Don't be gone long."

"Back in a few," he gave her a peck on the forehead.

Anton Ago, as Albanian mobsters went, was not high up in the hierarchy, nor well regarded by the Boys in New York. He decided, early on, the best way to compensate for his and his crew's low status was through outdoing his contemporaries in viciousness.

One of his policies was new recruits prove their stones, by killing random people for no apparent reason.

His favorite method, one that amused him greatly, was to lure pizza delivery boys to some isolated derelict building, and have the new prospect make his bones.

This time was special. The new guy was his nephew. The venue, his chop shop. Usually he didn't shit where he ate but his nephew was breaking his cherry. Anton planned a party to celebrate.

He'd made arrangements. People were looking the other way. The cops were paid properly to patrol elsewhere. His associate, Smoky Joe, had a new hire with no relatives as a sacrificial lamb. Just got on shift. It was going to be a good night.