An Assassin Hunter Novella — with the most intense twists so far!
Previously on Mage Hunter … Vaya Sage escapes the Dark Uzzit but Darkmind may yet be taking over his consciousness.
Flirting with Fate is Rarely Wise
THE FURTHER HE TRAVELED, THE MORE DISTURBED he grew at sensations arising from whatever was happening in his brain. It felt unnatural, untamable, and somehow, bizarrely addicting, like one of those things you try for the first time and immediately know your life will never be the same without it. And while every moral fiber within Vaya Sage demanded he end his own life before his consciousness was taken over, something primeval irrefutably forbade him.
Perhaps, that’s part of the coding.
Could it be?
Could the new coding embed resistance to suicide as part of its programming? to stop someone like himself from ending Darkmind’s reign of terror? The possibility was disturbingly poignant because Vaya Sage couldn’t seriously contemplate the possibility despite the fact that it brightly meshed with his personal code of honor.
He couldn’t deny that was what he should do and perhaps, what he wanted to do. It was simply that somehow, he couldn’t. Despite a lifetime of rigorous self discipline, this simple task loomed over him as unachievable, a nonstarter even as he believed it was the first and most important step he could take.
As the hovercraft passed what he estimated was half the journey back the castle, he recognized that he’d already accepted the idea that a digital file was unzipping or running some other protocol in the back of his consciousness and somehow, this realization didn’t bother him. Though it felt wholly unnatural and bizarre, something subconscious welcomed it, eagerly anticipated it.
Soon, he began believing that he could levitate objects, found himself choosing to focus on a small bag housing magma gun rechargeable fuel cells. The bag shivered, clumsily hovered toward him, shaking unsteadily as if it hadn’t fully determined if Vaya Sage was worthy of its obeisance. Then, as if disappointed, it drooped downward, dragged along the hovercraft seating briefly before refusing to cooperate any further.
He could have felt discouraged from the quasi-failure but instead, he felt invigorated, understood there were a few other things he could do now. Still, he wouldn’t dare try anything just yet. Already, it seemed as if that first baby step somehow bruised his brain — perhaps new brain tissue was like new skin: extra delicate and prone to injury for a while.
Unceremoniously, he blacked out.
Vaya Sage awakened from the familiar, gentle bump from the hovercraft landing just outside the Chateau de Chillon and from the abrupt change of white noise as six propellors shut off simultaneously. Uncertain of his environment for a moment, he panicked, shot his gaze in every direction possible, checked and double checked readings on the hovercraft, and then finally, hopped out without bothering to wait for the landing stage to finish unfolding.
The jolt from hitting the ground viciously reminded him of his shoulder injury and pulled him out of whatever grogginess he was experiencing. He’d known there wouldn’t be time for the medi-bot to work on his shoulder on the trip to the castle but he nevertheless regretted not having it at least spray some local anesthesia on it.
He spit, castigated himself for wasting time on such trivial things.
He had one pressing issue, nothing more. Pain, regardless of intensity wouldn’t last. Annoyances wouldn’t last. He needed to focus on getting back on that hovercraft as fast as humanly possible and live another day.
He rehearsed in his mind where he’d hidden each stash of credits as he crossed the courtyard, entered the main hall of the newer wing he’d been staying in, and dashed up the stairs to his room.
The moment he unlocked the door and entered, something felt wrong. He couldn’t discern what it was and couldn’t identify anything out of place as he frantically stuffed duffle bags with his clothing and gear. Although he didn’t bother to ensure he gathered everything, he did make certain that he didn’t miss any of his gear — especially the extra-legal and hard to replace stuff.
He’d have plenty of funds to carry him through the rest of his life but habits of frugality die hard and if he was brutally honest with himself, he hated networking to find what he needed. Back alley meetings weren’t so bad at the end of the day. He just hated wondering if anything would turn south and if he’d have to needlessly add to his ever-growing body count. He didn’t need more notches in his belt.
Retirement never looked so beautiful.
He just needed to survive the next few days and then, everything would be fine, he assured himself. He was finally out of the business.
