witnessing the murder of a friend and feeling guilt instead of grief.
But it was Six’s first thought that brought him back to reality. Kyntak. It was too late to help Two, but Kyntak was still up there. And if I hang on to this door handle much longer , he thought, staring into the void, Kyntak could die too.
If he isn’t dead already.
Like a flash, Six was on the move. He scrambled back up to the top of the door, took aim at the doorway above, and jumped.
There was a soldier standing in the corridor. His face revealed nothing behind the mask and goggles, but as he saw Six appear through the doorway, he raised his weapon.
This is the one , Six thought. The soldier who killed Two.
Six had no gun, but it didn’t matter. He preferred it that way. He charged silently towards the soldier just as he got his weapon up and opened fire.
Six ran up the wall on his left-hand side, keeping his head at the same altitude but his torso out of the way of the barrage of bullets. The soldier didn’t have time to readjust his aim before Six punched him in the face.
The soldier’s mask cracked and he fell to the floor, dropping his weapon—but he wasn’t too dazed to kick Six in the knee. Six spun his leg, bending with the impact so no bones were broken, then stepped forward and pinned down the soldier’s arm with his other foot as the man reached for the fallen gun.
The soldier aimed a punch at Six’s hip with his free fist. Six blocked it, caught the man’s forearm, and held it against the ground with one hand. He used the other to reach under the man’s mask and grab his throat.
He found the windpipe and squeezed.
The soldier’s legs began kicking wildly, trying to throw Six off. Six squeezed tighter. He could feel his victim’s adrenaline-powered pulse through the jugular vein, racing at 150 beats per minute.
Don’t kill him , Six reminded himself. You’re not a murderer.
The soldier tried to lift his arms up from the floor, in vain. His pulse climbed to 170 as he realized he was at Six’s mercy.
Six squeezed tighter. No , he thought. Killing this man won’t bring Two back. But he didn’t seem to be able to control his hands.
180.
190.
The scrabbling of the soldier’s legs was getting slower, weaker. His arms were resisting Six’s pressure with less and less force. Like a spider sprayed with pesticide, his panicked motions were subsiding. His heart rate began falling fast, slipping back to 150, then 100.
If you kill him , Six thought, you are worse than him. He may have shot Two in self-defense.
Eighty.
Sixty-five.
And every second you spend here , Six told himself, Kyntak is in more danger.
He unclenched his hand. The soldier slumped to the floor, bruised, unconscious—but alive. Six fell backward. He stared at his gloved hands for a moment, flexing the fingers to unstiffen them. Look what I almost did , he thought. The human body could sometimes survive as much as four minutes of strangulation, and Six was confident that he had done no permanent damage. But he was alarmed. His subconscious had taken over. He was a being of reason. He saw the futility of killing the soldier for what he had done to Two, but a deeply buried part of Six’s mind had wanted to do it anyway, a raw aggression which circumstances had activated.
Murder is like a virus , he thought. Infectious. The more you see it, the closer it comes to you, the more likely you are to succumb to it.
Six peered into the fog. The floor was thick with the bodies of soldiers, all out cold. Most were lying where they hadfallen, it seemed—but all had been disarmed. This looked like Kyntak’s work.
Six could hear the thundering of helicopter blades again. He reached towards the unconscious soldier. The Eagle lay beside him. Six picked it up and checked the magazine as the Twin descended out of the fog above him.
There was a whistling noise, and then a tranquilizer dart thudded into Six’s neck. He gasped in pain, which lasted only a
But it was Six’s first thought that brought him back to reality. Kyntak. It was too late to help Two, but Kyntak was still up there. And if I hang on to this door handle much longer , he thought, staring into the void, Kyntak could die too.
If he isn’t dead already.
Like a flash, Six was on the move. He scrambled back up to the top of the door, took aim at the doorway above, and jumped.
There was a soldier standing in the corridor. His face revealed nothing behind the mask and goggles, but as he saw Six appear through the doorway, he raised his weapon.
This is the one , Six thought. The soldier who killed Two.
Six had no gun, but it didn’t matter. He preferred it that way. He charged silently towards the soldier just as he got his weapon up and opened fire.
Six ran up the wall on his left-hand side, keeping his head at the same altitude but his torso out of the way of the barrage of bullets. The soldier didn’t have time to readjust his aim before Six punched him in the face.
The soldier’s mask cracked and he fell to the floor, dropping his weapon—but he wasn’t too dazed to kick Six in the knee. Six spun his leg, bending with the impact so no bones were broken, then stepped forward and pinned down the soldier’s arm with his other foot as the man reached for the fallen gun.
The soldier aimed a punch at Six’s hip with his free fist. Six blocked it, caught the man’s forearm, and held it against the ground with one hand. He used the other to reach under the man’s mask and grab his throat.
He found the windpipe and squeezed.
The soldier’s legs began kicking wildly, trying to throw Six off. Six squeezed tighter. He could feel his victim’s adrenaline-powered pulse through the jugular vein, racing at 150 beats per minute.
Don’t kill him , Six reminded himself. You’re not a murderer.
The soldier tried to lift his arms up from the floor, in vain. His pulse climbed to 170 as he realized he was at Six’s mercy.
Six squeezed tighter. No , he thought. Killing this man won’t bring Two back. But he didn’t seem to be able to control his hands.
180.
190.
The scrabbling of the soldier’s legs was getting slower, weaker. His arms were resisting Six’s pressure with less and less force. Like a spider sprayed with pesticide, his panicked motions were subsiding. His heart rate began falling fast, slipping back to 150, then 100.
If you kill him , Six thought, you are worse than him. He may have shot Two in self-defense.
Eighty.
Sixty-five.
And every second you spend here , Six told himself, Kyntak is in more danger.
He unclenched his hand. The soldier slumped to the floor, bruised, unconscious—but alive. Six fell backward. He stared at his gloved hands for a moment, flexing the fingers to unstiffen them. Look what I almost did , he thought. The human body could sometimes survive as much as four minutes of strangulation, and Six was confident that he had done no permanent damage. But he was alarmed. His subconscious had taken over. He was a being of reason. He saw the futility of killing the soldier for what he had done to Two, but a deeply buried part of Six’s mind had wanted to do it anyway, a raw aggression which circumstances had activated.
Murder is like a virus , he thought. Infectious. The more you see it, the closer it comes to you, the more likely you are to succumb to it.
Six peered into the fog. The floor was thick with the bodies of soldiers, all out cold. Most were lying where they hadfallen, it seemed—but all had been disarmed. This looked like Kyntak’s work.
Six could hear the thundering of helicopter blades again. He reached towards the unconscious soldier. The Eagle lay beside him. Six picked it up and checked the magazine as the Twin descended out of the fog above him.
There was a whistling noise, and then a tranquilizer dart thudded into Six’s neck. He gasped in pain, which lasted only a
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