Necrotech by K. C. Alexander

Author:K. C. Alexander [Alexander, K. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857666253
Publisher: Watkins Publishing
Published: 2016-09-05T23:00:00+00:00

16

The computer-controlled windows darkened, filtering the sunlight enough that the map Malik called up on his computer shone stark green on the wide, wired glass behind him.

I circled the desk, studying the layout of the Vid Zone. “Each block is about six miles in diameter, right?”

“Correct.”

A thick red border outlined a four-block radius, a sharp contrast to the shimmering green outlining the rest of the zone. What the map didn’t show was the rat runs – the alleys and walkways that made for prime hunting ground top to bottom.

Not ideal. But not insurmountable.

Scary as hell, fucked six ways to sideways, but definitely not insurmountable.

Repeating it to myself didn’t help. I was so not zenning it.

“According to this information,” Malik said, tapping in a few commands to a handheld, “the site you want is here.” A blue dot appeared almost in the exact center of the red square. “Middle of the quarantine.”

“Easy,” I said, shrugging. I lied. “Get me the right team and I’ll be in and out.”

His gaze was cool as it flicked to me. “Have you ever seen a necro blackout?” When I shook my head, the dark line of his lashes narrowed a fraction.

“Chunk off.” I folded my arms. “Necros aren’t my specialty.”

Necros weren’t anyone’s specialty.

As aware of conversion as we all were, necro infestation was rare as hell. I’d only ever heard of three in my lifetime and each one was burned out before it spread farther than the faulty chopshop failsafe it came from.

Malik’s hip angled against the desk, a casual perch that still somehow failed at nonchalant. He was too neat for it. Too smooth. “You seem very confident.”

Indigo snorted.

I shot him a sidelong glare. “I know what I’m doing.”

Malik seemed less than convinced. “How knowledgeable are you on the subject of conversion sciences?”

That was a fancy way of asking how much I knew about the process. Fucking educated people.

I eyed him, briefly considering calling him on the aggravatingly obvious command in the question. I didn’t answer to him. Malik Reed seemed to have a bad habit of assuming everyone around him did.

Instead, I opted for professional courtesy. “No more or less than what’s usually out there,” I said, tipping my head. “If you’re unlucky enough to hit your tech threshold, the tech infiltrates the human nervous system, scrapes out anything that isn’t its own signal, and converts the brain. When it turns on autopilot, it does what it does best.” Problem is, for a lot of SINless, what tech does best is kill.

That doesn’t mean that Susie Housewife with her cosmetic enhancements can’t convert. It’s a lot rarer, and her brand of going apeshit is a lot less initially lethal than mine or Boone’s would be. Tech is a tool. You can kill someone with a showerhead, given enough time and effort, but someone with a chainsaw would kill faster.

It’s a numbers game. Most SINless are illegal because we choose to be. That kind of life comes with strings. Saints tend to be mercs, and runner tech tends to be deadly.

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