You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles
YUMPU automatically turns print PDFs into web optimized ePapers that Google loves.
ERIDAN 157Short storyUnearthing his old military uniform from its resting place at the bottom of the trunk hadbeen easy, but facing the memories it evoked wasn’t. He had quickly gathered the photosscattered across the bed and tossed them back into the yellowing envelope from whichthey had fallen out. It had hurt to look at them: they harkened back to an era of his lifewhen he felt like he could take on the world. Oh how the mighty fall.His place was trashed: signs of struggle were evident in the splintered wood and brokenglass that was scattered around the living room. The door had been forced open with anEMP charge which left the electronic lock and the alarm system in shambles. He rubbedhis chin at the thought of facing the landlord about the damage: ex-special forces weresupposed to be low-risk tenants. He frowned a moment later: it was a very long timesince anyone could positively say that putting trust in him was low-risk. He caught aglance of himself in the mirror: a set of tired brown eyes stared back framed by shortblack unkempt hair, the thirty-year old face showing signs of a life of abuse.A moment of weakness overtook him as he picked up the scattered military decorationsamong the glass: he’d have given everything for a beer. No, not tonight. One was all ittook some nights for things to spiral out of control. His alcohol addiction had broughthim low enough on multiple times in the past two years. Pulling out a photo from theenvelope again, he steeled himself as he took a last glance on the swirling drops patch onit: tonight is the turning point.A scoped rifle and a silencer were waiting for him at the security checkpoint for theBurbank & Co. Law Firm, primed for the job he was assigned: he delighted in the thoughtthe very people providing his armament had no idea of the surprise in store for them. Itwas easy to ignore the two bodyguards that casually inspected his run-down, matte greyhover-vehicle, mumbling between themselves: moments later the auto-piloted vehiclelifted off, carrying off the GPS bug with it onto the preprogrammed destination while hedropped off it onto a darkened landing pad. Despite all his war trauma, the old adageheld true: once a Ronin, always a Ronin.Lowering his mask and patting the combat knife at his thigh, he snuck to the sprawlingcompound, skulking through the shadows that had always been his friends. His head hurtfrom the reactivation of old combat routines on the neurocom, and the strobing lightsof the billboards failed to help the matter.Jared leaned behind the wall to the open garage. Two guards in black suits strode acrossthe parking lot, their guns latched safely to their holsters. He smiled without mirth ashe thumbed the trigger of the rifle with patience. The retinal overlay provided by theneurocom augmentation flickered in and out as his concentration wavered. He ran hisgloved fingers across the synth-metal surface that ran across his temple, covering theinsertion point of his neurocom. The damn thing never integrated seamlessly, and he hadnobody to blame but himself.He double tapped the trigger, and a guard crumpled without a sound near a sleek, sports