A. S. Field: The Courier

Phil double-lace his boots, then put on his bulletproof vest, and only then turn and nod to his partner, with whom he has been working for a few weeks. Tom nod back, then they leave the dressing room at the same time, then along the corridor to the barred door, through the window of which, after signing, they are given the guns and clips.

Out of habit he raise his hand, then remember that he no longer has an earpiece, they are communicating with each other through the implanted interface. He run through the code number in his mind, and immediately hear the other grumbling that it is another damn Monday. He just smile, Tom is just like that. If he wasn't grumbling about something, you would think he was sick.

With serious faces they walk to the car, where they are waiting for the customer with their loaded gun. They arrive on time. They and the customer reach the curb almost at the same time. The five of them stand in a slight semicircle as the client's car pulls up and the middle-aged man in a suit gets into their bulletproof van with a briefcase strapped to his wrist.

Two get into the cab, the driver and the one who covering him, and the three of them into the cargo hold with the client, who is strapped into a bulletproof safety seat with a back. He sits across from Tom, as usual, and next to him is a new guy, whose name he doesn't even know and who looks nervous. Don't worry, it'll be fine, he tells him, and gives the order to leave.

They don't know who they're transporting, nor they know what's in the bag. They're just given an arrival address each time, where the client and his load must be delivered, even if it means risking their lives. Phil is happy with this job. At first, he felt like he was destined for more, that he seemed out of place, but over time he got used to it and even loved it. Nothing fancy, just a simple transport company, where there are never any complications. Everyone is professional, everyone knows their job, and no one asks anything.

They didn't even ask him why or how he got here. They weren't interested in each other's families or how they spent the weekend. He didn't have to talk about the divorce, he didn't have to explain himself, or pretend to be sorry that it happened that way. His past is completely uninteresting to the others, and it makes his whole life easier.

Lately, he almost doesn't even remember it, although sometimes in his dreams he flashes one or the other, which in the morning only disappears like a light mist over water, which evaporates during the day, leaving nothing behind except a dull bitterness, with some dreamy wonder that he was once a different person. After the morning coffee and the ten-kilometer run in the shower, however, this vigilant bodyguard, armed to the chin, is back, flashing his brief smile with convincing seriousness at the client with eyes sparkling with panic.

Someone is following us, the driver's voice in his head jolts him, and he straightens up in his seat. He sees that Tom reacts the same way, but the newcomer, on the contrary, bends slightly and reaches for his gun. He signals. Only one car? Yes, there are four people in it. The thermal camera sees everything. Even the fact that the pursuer in the passenger seat is more nervous than the other three.

Make sure he's really following us, he says in his mind as he backs up to look through the peephole in the van's door. They make sharp turns down several streets, but the sedan stays put, keeping its distance. He's already screwing the muffler on. He doesn't like to make noise unless he has to. People's tolerance has been maxed out in recent years anyway. There's enough violence on the streets.

The walls built around continents, and then cities, didn't protect anyone. After a while, even within cities, walls separated certain quarters, which could only be crossed with valid papers. No one trusted anyone, most people could only count on themselves. Unemployment was skyrocketing, and the empire of the enforcers flourished, which had formed a sprawling cartel and was in perpetual war with the opposing group of guards.

It was all about the money. They attack someone, others defend them. Sometimes the lines were blurred, it was hard to tell who was on which side of a case. Phil, who is the best in his profession was also surrounded by people, and he had a hard time proving his loyalty in court. He would never go over to the wrong side. He will fight against the bad guys to the last drop of his blood and protect the good, or rather, those whom his company consider good and who are entrusted with his life. Customer first, that is their motto, unless the customer say otherwise. He is proud to be a courier. He believe wholeheartedly that he is doing the right thing, and he will do anything to protect the customer. The company doesn't even have to ask for it.

He shot twice into the car. The first one into the left front wheel, the second into the driver's chest, and he was satisfied to see the car hit a garbage container, then overturned, wheels spinning lying on the side of the road. He could still see the locals standing around it, ripping open its door to finish off the occupants and search the passenger compartment before the whole vehicle exploded. Done, he said in his mind, when a deafening explosion shook the van, which tipped dangerously to the side to roll over and slide on its side for meters.

Three seconds of ringing in the ears, dizziness, and then he somehow managed to get to his feet. Everyone is okay, he shouted at the top of his lungs, but only Tom answered. He staggered to the customer first, but he didn't need any help. Then he pulled open the metal plate separating the booth and saw that the two men who had once been his companions had been duly executed. The new boy had done the same. The unfortunate man hadn't worked much for the company, but at least he didn't have to be afraid anymore. There were only two of them left and the bag, which they had to take care of at all costs, because the client had ordered it.

It's just us, he said to Tom, and he had already punched in the code on the handcuffs holding the bag and transferred the precious cargo to his wrist. By then, Tom had dusted himself off and nodded indicating that they could go. They checked with the thermal camera that no one was standing behind the van, then opened the security door. They jumped out, covering each other, Tom first, then him. They ran into the alley that opened a few steps away, while Tom sent the emergency signal to the company. From there, they only had to hold out for five minutes for reinforcements to come.

Five minutes. That's life, he thought, and in response Tom grinned at him from under the ladder. He winked at him, well, now be ballsy, man, while they stood with their backs to each other, taking cover, looking for a way out. The compass attached to his arm indicated a road fork at the end of the street. At least it's not a dead end, he thought, but Tom immediately countered, saying, yes, they could just be waiting for us.

Yes, that's true, but there's no other way but forward. I know, thought his companion, because they both knew, they could only go in one direction, which was never a good sign. If you don't choose the path, you're at a disadvantage, the enemy dictates. We'll cut ourselves off, heard his companion in his mind, and he nodded, hoping he could suppress the waves of his doubt.

A helicopter landed above them, opened fire, and they just managed to duck into a doorway and ran upstairs up the slippery, polished, broken stairs, while their hearts beating in time with the sound of boots clacking behind them.

The door to the roof was locked. Without thinking, he shot the lock apart, kicked the metal, and ran out, ducking out of the helicopter's path. Behind the elevator shaft they found a two-second pause. Are you okay, he asked. They hit me, Tom replied, and he looked at the crouching figure in shock.

Three of them charged after them, he managed to shoot the first, wounded the second but did not incapacitate him. The third had time to jump aside and hide behind a vent. I'm ran out, he yelled to Tom. I'll cover you, came the answer, and the heavy Deagle barked behind him. He jumped out from behind the elevator, ran crouching and getting behind the vent, hit the big guy in the kidney from behind. He didn't even give him time to recover, he lined him up from behind. He stepped on the crook of his knee, then struck him on the temple from the right, but then he heard a soft noise, and barely had time to dodge with a half-turn the blow of the attacking, wounded opponent.

Time slowed down, froze like mist on an icy window. He saw, yet he didn't believe, that he had blocked a machete cut from his left with his bare arm. His opponent's eyes widened in amazement, and he watched in amazement as the sharp object penetrated his flesh and stopped at the bone. No blood, no pain, and he even had his forearm. Adrenaline. That was his first thought. That's why it doesn't hurt. His brain overrode the paralyzed will, continued the practiced, routine movement and swinging forward he charged at the other with all his weight, wrenching the weapon from his hand and already raising it high to aim for the fatal blow with precise precision and cut off his opponent's head, but suddenly he froze, and darkness fell over his mind, like old times when they were anesthetized for a surgery.

*****

–Stop! That's it. Take it back to when he crushed the second attacker with a single punch. Why didn't he notice the third? Where was Tom? Why didn't he cover him?

–He was dead by then.

–I see. Then let's adjust the hearing range! Set the primary auditory cortex's fundamental frequency range and loudness perception to maximum! Reduce the priority effect from thirty-five to twenty seconds! The vibration range should be below twenty and above thirty thousand! Set the volume between twenty and one hundred and fifty decibels!

–But boss, that's too much, it could damage the…

–Is Carla okay?

–What?!

–Well, if she's okay and you want it to stay that way, set it above one hundred and fifty!

–…Okay, boss! Got it.

–Well, then, if everyone's ready, let's restart the delinquent!

–Simulation two hundred and fifty-two is starting!

–Come on Phil, don't let me down. Finish that worm!

*****

Phil double-lace his boots and put on his bulletproof vest…