BZRK: Apocalypse (BZRK 3)

“One of mine is down! I’m—he’s fast!”

The alien biot had raced up a vertical surface then pushed off, somersaulted, and dropped down behind Billy’s remaining mobile biot.

The foe was vertical and swimming downward. Billy made the mistake of believing he was safe until the biot landed, but the biot spun in midfall and fastened two pincers onto Billy’s eyes.

“I’m blinded!”

In the macro he instinctively rubbed his eyes, shook his head. In Billy’s brain the second window was blank, showing no picture. Like a TV tuned to a dead channel.

“I see him!” Keats yelled. “Come on, Wilkes!” He grabbed her hand in excitement.

Now three biots raced to catch the intruder. But the intruder was no longer fleeing. It had taken up a position on what seemed like a vertical surface and now waited.

Keats pulled to a halt. Wilkes’s two biots did the same.

“Three to one,” Wilkes said. Then, “Why does that thing look familiar?” And then, “Fuck!”

Keats was already on his feet. He raced up the stairs, and without bothering to knock, opened the door to Anya and Vincent’s room.

Anya was asleep.

Vincent was not.

Down in the meat Wilkes stood beside Keats. Now she and Billy both joined him in the macro, staring at Vincent, who looked at them calmly.

“You,” Keats said.

Vincent didn’t answer. Anya rolled over and opened her eyes.

“Billy,” Keats said. “Go get Plath.”

A message lit up Burnofsky’s phone, but he had muted it so there was no chime.

It’s Bug. Bad shit happening. Crazy bitch I think is Lear. Going to kill me and the whole damn world.

Ninety seconds later, a second message.

Are u there? Talk to me! I’m not playing.

Sixty seconds later:

Fuck! Do NOT call back. I’m using her phone. Can’t wait. I’ll try again later.

Bug Man had barely erased the messages and slid the phone back onto Lystra’s nightstand when the alarm on that phone went off. Zeeet! Zeeet! Zeeet!

Bug Man leapt for the door, eased himself out even as Lystra stirred and reached blindly for the phone.

By the time she emerged he was wrapped in a blanket on the couch doing a very poor job of faking sleep.

“Get up,” Lystra said, and pushed his foot. “It’s time.”

He pretended to yawn. “Wha—? Time for what?”

She grabbed a piece of glass fruit from a bowl on the nearby table. She hefted it in her hand, judging the weight. Then she swung it hard and fast, smashing it into Bug Man’s left eye.

“AHHH!”

Her free hand was on his throat, he could feel the pressure tightening. He squirmed but did not lash out at her, did not try to hit her. She took the glass fruit—it may have been a peach—and stuffed it brutally into his mouth.