They Are Out To Get Me - Chapter 5

 THEY ARE OUT TO GET ME

In the military hospital's patient room that night, Sam's phone vibrated and fell off the night table. She woke, set the phone back on the table, and pressed the ON button. A holograph of Gayle appeared.

"Hi, Sammie. This is a recorded message. Several files have been downloaded onto your phone along with this message. The files will explain everything about you, us, and the truth about your abilities," Gayle began, her voice breaking with emotion. "If you get this message, it can only mean one thing. I can't be with you anymore. But know that your father and I love you with all our hearts. Sammie, don't trust anyone. Don't go home. Don't go to the Rangers or any place familiar-- just run!"

As the 3D image of Gayle blew a kiss and faded away, Sam cocked her ear, hearing something in the distance.

The relentless beat of the helicopter's blades shattered the night, an ominous herald of impending chaos. The sleek, matte-black chopper descended onto the hospital roof with a precision that belied the storm brewing below. Its powerful searchlight sliced through the darkness, casting stark, angular shadows that danced across the rooftop. When its skids touched the concrete, six figures clad in tactical gear and night-vision goggles sprang from its belly, moving with a synchronized grace that spoke of countless hours of training and deadly intent.

The Rangers were imposing; their figures were shrouded in black combat suits that clung to their muscular frames. Each one bore an arsenal of advanced weaponry: assault rifles strapped across their chests, sidearms at their hips, and knives glinting ominously in their sheathes. Their faces, obscured by balaclavas, revealed nothing but the cold, ruthless glint in their eyes as they swept across the roof, forming a disciplined, lethal phalanx.

They communicated through curt, clipped hand signals, their movements fluid and rehearsed. The leader, identifiable by the sleek, customized helmet with a built-in HUD display, led the charge toward the stairwell entrance. The door stood no chance, splintering under the force of a breaching charge that exploded in a blinding flash of light and sound. The Rangers flowed into the stairwell like a black tide, their boots pounding against the metal steps with a rhythmic, relentless cadence.

Meanwhile, the scene was no less dramatic in the hospital lobby far below. The sterile, fluorescent lights glared harshly over the stark white walls and polished linoleum floors, making the shadows appear even more menacing. The tension was palpable, a heavy, oppressive presence that seemed to suck the air from the room. The tranquility of the night shift, with its subdued hustle and murmur of nurses and orderlies, was shattered instantly.

Ten more Rangers burst through the glass entrance doors, their arrival signaled by the ear-splitting wail of shattering glass. They moved with a predatory grace, each deliberate and decisive step echoing through the cavernous lobby. The Rangers were a study in controlled violence, their formation tight and their movements choreographed to perfection. They fanned out, their weapons sweeping in precise arcs, fingers poised on triggers, ready to unleash a storm of lead at the slightest provocation.

The lobby was transformed into a theater of high-stakes tension. Potted plants and plush waiting room chairs became momentary cover. At the same time, the reception desk, with its neat stacks of paperwork and humming computers, stood as an incongruous island of normalcy amid the burgeoning chaos. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a stark, unforgiving light on the unfolding scene.

The Rangers' presence was overwhelming, their dominance unquestionable. Hospital staff, caught in the crossfire of this sudden invasion, froze in terror, eyes wide and breaths held. The Rangers' leader barked orders, his voice a low, commanding growl that brooked no argument. "Stairs and elevator, move out!" he commanded, his words punctuated by the click of disengaged safeties and the metallic slide of weapons being readied.

Two teams broke off, one heading for the stairwell and the other for the elevators. The team at the stairs moved with razor-sharp efficiency, each man covering the other's advance as they stormed upward, their footsteps a thunderous drumbeat of impending doom. The elevator team moved with equal precision, securing the doors and ensuring no one could enter or exit without their permission.

In the chaos of the lobby, an eerie silence fell, broken only by the distant hum of the elevator's ascent and the muffled thud of boots on stairs. Once a sanctuary of healing and peace, the hospital had become a battleground, its sterile halls now echoing with the sounds of an approaching storm. The Rangers, harbingers of a dark and violent fate, closed in on their quarry, their resolve unshakable, their mission clear. The hunt was on, and nothing would stand in their way.

A man waited in the shadows of the Los Angeles Coliseum, his form barely discernible against the sprawling concrete and steel. The sharp, mechanical roar broke the distant hum of the city of a motorcycle engine. The headlight flared, slicing through the darkness and illuminating the General, his face sternly determined. The motorcycle rider, known only as Guru, cut the engine, his features obscured by a helmet.

"Is it done?" Guru's voice was a low, gravelly whisper, carrying a weight of expectation.

"It will be," the General replied, his tone edged with finality. "I’ll be handling it personally."

Guru's head tilted slightly, a silent question in the darkness. "I’m surprised you came to me after an illustrious career with the Civilian Military Party as head of the Rangers."

The General's lips curled into a bitter smile. "I’m getting older-- and smarter. Smart enough to pick the winning side. Guru, you are going to win, aren’t you?"

Without a word, Guru revved the motorcycle and sped away, the engine's growl fading into the night. The General’s cell phone rang, slicing through the silence like a knife.

"Go ahead," he answered, his voice clipped and efficient.

"She’s not here, sir," came the voice of a Ranger, laced with tension.

Inside the sterile, dimly lit military hospital room, five armed Rangers stood around an empty bed, their faces shadowed and grim. The sixth Ranger, phone pressed to his ear, relayed the bad news. "Her room is empty."

The General's voice hardened. "Seal off the building, and I want a hard-target search of every rock and crawl space within a three-kilometer radius."

Above, the helicopter lifted from the roof, its powerful rotors kicking up dust and debris. On the gravel-strewn rooftop, bare feet pounded a relentless rhythm. Sam, her hospital gown billowing like a ghostly shroud, sprinted unafraid across the roof’s edge. With a leap of faith, she launched into the void, her hand catching the helicopter’s landing skid. She clung on as the chopper soared above the glittering sprawl of the city.

Meanwhile, the modern dating scene buzzed with energy at the W Hotel, a trendy hipster hangout. Men and women sat at separate computer terminals, their faces lit by the glow of screens as they flirted and chatted through social media apps. Pallid and concerned in her grungy wedding dress, Lenora entered the bar. She slipped onto a stool, pulling out her tablet with a practiced motion. Her fingers danced over the on-screen keyboard, cracking the hotel’s encrypted Wi-Fi network in moments.

Launching a FaceTime video chat, Hacker Boy’s face appeared on the screen, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. "Nora, where the hell are you?"

"I-- I can’t tell you," she replied, her voice trembling with urgency.

"Since when?"

"Just listen, I was looking at the files I took off the CMP network—"

Hacker Boy’s face turned livid. "You kept a copy? Nora, you got a death wish?"

"Shut up, H. I was remodeling a weird DNA strand in one of the files, and someone mirrored my machine."

Hacker Boy’s eyes widened. "Your tablet? Your tablet is the most hacker-free system I know. What did they see?"

"Everything. I think it was Guru."

"Damn it, I shouldn’t even be talking to you! Two words: get gone!"

"I can’t. They can track me if I access my debit account for funds." She paused, thinking quickly. "Can you loan me money? I’ll give you my card, and you can take the money when it’s safe."

"No way. I want to be as far away from this as possible. I’ll tell you what: I have some Euros on a forged IdentiCard. Meet me in Abbott's Park at zero-eight."

"Thanks, H. You’re a good friend. See you in the morning."

The FaceTime call ended, and Lenora took a deep, calming breath. Behind her, the television blared breaking news.

At the Wright home, the Ranger investigation had turned the neighborhood into a fortress. Sam climbed through a hall window upstairs, her movements silent and precise. The house was dark, save for the probing beams of Ranger flashlights. She moved with a cat-like grace, taking clothes and a gun from the hall closet.

Tiptoeing downstairs, she spotted the lifeless bodies of Gayle and Barry. Her breath hitched, emotions welling up, but she quickly stifled them. She covered their faces with her hospital gown and kissed their foreheads, listening intently to the Rangers just outside.

The General's voice was a distant rumble. "Gayle and Barry betrayed us. They transmitted a message to Sam’s phone shortly before their death. Get a search team inside. I need to know what Sam knows."

Sam's hand unconsciously gripped her gun, her mind racing. "Be smart, Sam," she whispered to herself. "You’re not afraid, but it doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid--" Her resolve hardened as she looked at her dead parents. "Yes, it does."

She cocked the gun, moving towards the kitchen with purpose. She snapped the gas tube from the stove, shoving aerosol cans into the microwave oven. Chairs and the kitchen table were swiftly lined up before the window. She plugged the sink, turned on the faucet, and ripped an electrical cord from the back of the refrigerator, dropping the exposed wire on the floor.

Outside, she swung the door open in the front yard, startling a Ranger. He froze, and she shot him without hesitation. Her aim was flawless, and her actions were robotic as she took down seven more Rangers with precision. As she unloaded on him, the General ducked behind a squad car, and the Rangers scrambled for cover. She retreated into the house as the Rangers returned fire.

The Rangers charged forward in assault formation, bursting into the home. They spotted the makeshift microwave bomb just as the timer hit five seconds. The sink overflowed.

"Fire in the hole!" one Ranger shouted as they dove for cover. Another Ranger watched in horror as water rushed towards the exposed wires.

"Oh no," he muttered, leaping up as the microwave exploded, eviscerating him. The flooding water reached the wires, electrocuting the Rangers. Sparks ignited the gas from the stove, and the house erupted in a fiery explosion.

In the backyard, Sam marched away, the inferno reflecting in her steely eyes. She didn't look back as the house exploded, her figure silhouetted against the flames. Behind her, the broken, burning remains of her cell phone lay forgotten on the ground.

In the dimly lit bar of the W Hotel, Lenora sat, her eyes scanning the eclectic crowd. The bartender approached with a tall, peculiar-looking drink, a blend of blue on the bottom and black on top. 

"Okay, we’ve got blended blue Curacao, a splash of Jagermeister, and Absinthe, topped with Black Sambucca. What’s this drink called?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the ambient hum of conversation.

Lenora grinned, a flicker of mischief in her eyes. "C’mon, can’t you tell? Blue jeans, black shirt? It’s Steve Jobs: a god among men."

The bartender chuckled, but his expression turned to surprise as he glanced at her attire. "That’ll be two hundred Euros, please. Are you late for a wedding or something?"

"Married? Why’d you ask that?" Lenora's voice was casual, but there was an edge as she waved her cell phone over a bar-code scanner. An electronic cash register sound dinged, and she took her drink.

Lenora’s attention was then drawn to the television screen above the bar. The flickering images showed a house engulfed in flames, multiple Rangers lying wounded, and six body bags strewn across the street. A familiar face appeared on the screen—Samantha Wright.

Lenora's heart skipped a beat. She snatched the remote control from the bar, cranking up the volume. The TV announcer's voice filled the room. "--fled the scene after setting off an explosion. She’s considered armed and extremely dangerous. Again, Samantha Wright, a rookie with the Civilian Military Rangers who recently ended their careers in the service, went on a killing spree starting with her parents and culminating in a massacre that left four dead and three wounded."

A 3D image of Samantha projected into the middle of the bar, hovering like a ghostly apparition. The TV announcer continued, "Samantha Wright is considered armed and extremely dangerous."

Lenora stared at the image, her shock turning to horror. "She’s alive. She’s going to kill me."

Grabbing her tablet, she bolted from the bar, her heart pounding.

The following day, at Abbott's Park, Hacker Boy hurried through the park, his eyes darting nervously over his shoulder. He reached a broken fountain and sat, his leg bouncing with anxiety. Lenora emerged from the bushes behind him, scanning the park with wary eyes. It was all clear.

"Hey, H," she called softly.

Hacker Boy jumped up, rushing to embrace her. "Lenora! I’m glad you’re okay. I couldn’t sleep; I was so worried."

Lenora pulled him along for a walk, her voice urgent. "H, she’s alive. The Genepunk Ranger smashed with a pipe. She’s alive."

"I saw it on the news. She’s crazy," Hacker Boy replied, his voice tinged with fear.

"No, she didn’t do that stuff. It’s a cover-up. I hacked their firewall and saw secrets about her. Now she’s public enemy number one. It’s all connected."

"Speaking of secrets, did you put the info in a safe place?" Hacker Boy's eyes were shifty, betraying his nervousness.

Lenora eyed him suspiciously. "Last night, you didn’t want anything to do with this."

"I’m just looking out for you. Maybe someone else needs to know where you’re keeping the files-- just in case."

Lenora noticed two men in long gray trench coats stepping out of the bushes. "Just in case what?"

"Damn, Nora. I told you not to look at the files," Hacker Boy muttered, his tone betraying his guilt.

More trench-coat men approached. Lenora's eyes widened in realization. "H, you’re working for Guru?"

"I’m getting paid. Guru offered fifty thousand credits for you and your computer," Hacker Boy confessed, his voice flat.

Lenora turned and sprinted across the fountain pavilion, down a narrow path, and collided with another trench coat man. He snatched her tablet and shoved her to the ground, his weapon out in a flash, aimed at her head.

"Wait. Bring her to Guru. She’ll decide what to do with her," Hacker Boy ordered.

As the trench coat man picked Lenora up, she spat in Hacker Boy’s face. "When the shoe is on the other foot, it will be very personal. Trust me."

Meanwhile, Sam slept fitfully in the backseat of a broken-down minivan parked at the edge of a twelve-story parking garage. The rumble of a passing truck jolted her awake. She reached inside her pockets. Nothing. "Where the hell’s my phone?" she muttered, her frustration mounting.

Her search turned frantic. "Damn!" she screamed, kicking the front seat in a tantrum. Overwhelmed by anguish, she doubled over, wailing a mournful cry of grief.

A knock on the window startled her. Sam sat up, pointing her gun at a bald, portly man standing outside. His expression turned to shock, and he stumbled back, falling on his ass.

Sam kicked open the door and stood over him, gun aimed at his head, tears streaming down her face. "Who are you?"

The bald man stammered, "Huh? I - I was just—"

"What do you want? Are you working for them?" Sam’s voice was a mix of anger and desperation.

"No, no. I saw you crying. I was only checking to see if you need a hand. That’s all," the man replied, his voice trembling.

Sam felt the tears on her face, wiped them away, and lowered her gun. "I-- I need your cell phone."