Arachna

“We came here to ask if you could keep an eye on Landreau Corp,” Kaela said.

The chief’s eyes flashed, and she shifted her weight. Kaela didn’t seem to notice, but she seemed more focused on keeping her own act up.

Lance recognized that look. The first man that mugged him in his early years in the slums had that same look—one of guilt, then resolve. It disappeared from the chief’s face as quickly as it appeared.

Maybe he was just seeing things.

Lance kept his eyes on Rotoya, completely still, afraid that any small movement would draw her attention. Kaela was the chief’s primary focus. It was for the best if it stayed that way.

“You’re asking me to assist in your information racket?” Rotoya asked, incredulous. “Don’t I already do enough?”

“I know it’s not the usual deal, but I’m sure Eric would be willing to pull some strings and help you find the culprit of your officers’ murders.”

“Which you seem to think is Landreau Corp. I still find it odd that Eric would send you and this new guy over here to make me an offer. In my experience, Eric has always handled those things himself.” She leaned forward. “If I find out that Eric was responsible for murdering my officers, I will have the entirety of my police force cracking down on you.” Her voice rose, and she pointed a finger at Kaela. “So you’d better hope—argh!”

The chief grasped her head with one hand, leaning on her desk with the other.

Lance exchanged a look with Kaela, and she stood.

“Rotoya?” Kaela said.

Kaela gasped when the chief looked at them. Her eyes were glowing purple, and so were her veins, throbbing and pulsing beneath her skin.

“Kaela…” Lance said, his stomach twisting and his body yelling at him to run. “Please tell me this is normal for her.”

“Don’t know how to break it to you, Lance,” she responded, backing toward the door. Lance did the same. “This is anything but normal.”

The chief screamed, her voice suddenly deeper.

“Derek!” Kaela screamed as they ran out of the office, only to stop at the door. Every officer in the precinct stared at them, their eyes and veins glowing purple. “DEREK!”

A fire extinguisher flew from the balcony and landed on an officer’s head. He crumpled to the ground. Two shots were fired from the balcony, and the extinguisher exploded in a cloud of thick gas. Gunshots rang out from within it.

Lance grabbed Kaela’s hand. “Hold your breath.”

They sprinted through the cloud of smoke. Lance flinched with every gunshot. His eyes stung and watered, and he could barely see where he was going. An energy electrified the room, and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight. The silhouette of an officer appeared, his gun raised toward the second floor. Lance shoved him aside, and as he fell, a bullet found the cop’s chest.

They reached the edge of the cloud as Derek rained down gunfire from the balcony. He leapt down and landed next to Lance.

“What happened in there?” Derek asked.

“We do not have time to answer questions right now, Derek!” Kaela yelled.

They reached the exit. Reggie stood in front of the doors, a pistol in his hand. He raised the gun, but Derek fired first, three shots into the chest.

Lance tackled him through the door.

Over the sound of shattering glass, Kaela yelled, “Sorry, Reggie!”

“They’ve reached the exit. After them!” an officer yelled.

Derek helped Lance to his feet. Lance hissed at his bloodied hands. Before they could run, an officer rushed out of the building and tackled Lance to the ground. His face scraped against the concrete. That familiar calm settled over him as steel pressed against the back of his head. He twisted just in time, and a bullet hit the ground next to him. His ears rang, and heat ran along his cheek. He freed an elbow and sank it into the officer’s face. Blood shot from his nose, and before he could retaliate, a silver knife plunged into the officer’s neck. Kaela yelled as she pulled him off Lance, purple blood staining her face as she helped him back up.

An empty pistol lay beside Derek’s feet, a loaded one in his hand as he shot toward the door. The smoke was clearing.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Derek called. “I can’t cover us forever!”

“We need to split up!” Lance yelled. “You both know where to regroup.”

Kaela and Derek nodded, and they all ran in separate directions. Lance didn’t know where he would go, but as long as he was alive when he got there, it didn’t matter.

The streets were sparse with people screaming and staring at him. Lance had no crowd to dash through to lose the officers, and as he rounded the corner of an alleyway, a bullet hit the wall where his head had been seconds ago.

The alleyway was dark enough to hide behind a nearby trash bin. Another wave of that calm, that… killing calm, washed over Lance, his stomach twisting and turning. The face of that man resurfaced. His pleading eyes, empty of a soul, now staring eternally at nothing and everything. He couldn’t allow himself to kill again, not if it meant seeing their faces for the rest of his life.

Lance peeked around the trash can. Two officers eased down the alley, pistols in hand. He swore at the brick wall. His stomach twisted further, and his body readied itself for the coming fight. The whispering became louder, demanding:

Survive.

He tried to muzzle the feeling, but it overwhelmed him, and as one of the officers came close, he kicked the trash bin, sending it wheeling into one of the officers.

Lance slapped the other one’s gun out of his hand and rammed him into the wall, harder than he intended. Lance’s shoulder stung where it scraped against the brick. The officer’s head hit the wall, and purple blood splashed onto the brick. He dropped like a stone.

Lance turned and grabbed the next officer’s wrist as he returned to his feet. The officer fired as they slammed against the wall, the bullet shattering the brick. Heat rose along Lance’s neck. They struggled, but Lance held firm.

Lance’s body moved with ease, barely registering any input from him at all. He struggled and fought for control over it, but it moved without him.

Lance slammed the officer’s wrist against the brick, over and over, gunshots popping off, until finally something cracked, and the gun clattered to the ground. The officer yelled in pain, and Lance slammed the man’s head against the trash bin. Purple blood splattered against it, and a fleck landed on Lance’s cheek. He wiped it off, wondering for a moment if it would infect him.

Lance backed away as the two officers lay groaning on the concrete. Whispers hissed in the back of his mind, and his stomach stirred, as if something were alive within it. It almost seemed angry—angry that he didn’t let it kill. Maybe he did have some control over it, after all.

Lance’s body moved without his input, leaping behind the bin as a gunshot popped off and a bullet grazed his side. He peeked over to see three more officers with guns pointed, marching down the alleyway.

Lance hissed, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound in his side. It stung and burned where the bullet had grazed. Too close.

Shaking himself out of his trance, Lance looked around until he spotted a pistol on the ground. It called to him from only an arm’s reach away. But if I shoot them… He couldn’t afford seeing more faces in his sleep. But as his stomach twisted even more, he knew the men were closing in on him. It was either him or them.

Survive.

Lance moved, and this time, he had full control. Faster than he thought he could, Lance grabbed the gun, nearly losing a finger as a bullet chipped the concrete near his hand.

The calm settled within him once again, and he knew what he had to do, but he hesitated. The gun was heavy, and the grip was warm from its short time in the officer’s hands. The whispering grew even louder, like a breathy scream.

Fire. Fire!

Steeling himself, Lance stuck his arm out, closed his eyes, and shot. The knot in his stomach untangled with every pull of the trigger. His hand moved slightly after every few shots, as if the whispering thing was guiding his aim. He fired until the gunshots turned into clicks, barely audible over the ringing in his own ears. He retracted his hand and dropped the pistol, out of breath. The alleyway was silent. The knot in his stomach was gone. He peeked around the trash can. The officers lay on the ground, bullet wounds in their stomachs and chests. They were still.

Lance stared at the pistol, at the bloody grip, then at his own bleeding hands. He had to get out of here. Those shots were sure to attract more officers.

A sweet smell filled the alley, eerily similar to honey.

Nauseous, Lance dashed from the alley and into the next, hoping and praying a bullet wouldn’t find his back. As the minutes passed, his hands ached and screamed, and blood trickled from his ear and his side. Every step was more painful than the last.

As the adrenaline wore off, he wondered where Kaela and Derek were and if they were okay. Despite everything, he released a quick request to the sky and whoever resided in it.

Please let them be okay.