TRUEL1F3 (Truelife) by Jay Kristoff

Author:Jay Kristoff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2020-06-29T16:00:00+00:00

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“You better be right about this, Preacher.”

Ezekiel, Faith, Solomon and Preacher stood on the pavement outside the Daedalus Spire, looking up at the tower’s reaches. The walls were covered in solar cells, long stretches of cable, but occasionally, Zeke could see a window up in the heights, pinpricks of light against the nighttime smog. He knew behind one of them, Ana was waiting for him.

The bounty hunter glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “This is the heart of Daedalus’s power in the whole Yousay, Zekey. You ever had someone just walk into your house and punch you in the face?”

“No,” Ezekiel replied.

“And neither has Dani Drakos. Now stay close and follow my lead.”

Preacher marched across the street, and after a wary shared glance, Faith and Ezekiel followed. Solomon hovered on the footpath.

“ARE YOU CERTAIN I SHOULDN’T STAY HERE AND GUARD THE FORT, MY FRIENDS?”

“Are you certain anyone’s coming back to pick you up?” Zeke replied.

Solomon fell quickly into step behind them.

The doors were flanked by Daedalus guards in tactical armor, but Preacher flashed his operative credentials and they nodded him through. The doors opened into a foyer of gleaming marble and shiny chrome, a sculpture of the Daedalus Technologies logo on the wall. Cameras and logika and automata drones, watching through eyes of black glass. There were a dozen security guards in here, all armored and armed. They were alert, but relaxed—this was the heart of the Daedalus CorpState, after all. Nobody would dare start trouble here.

A young blond man was at the security checkpoint, next to a heavyset logika with a SEC designation on its breastplate. The human looked up from his monitors as Preacher entered, a quizzical frown on his face.

“Back again?”

Preacher stopped a meter away. “Here to see Drakos.”

“I told you last time, you’re not cleared for entry, old man,” the kid scowled.

Preacher glanced at Ezekiel over his shoulder, then back to the guard. “And I told you what’d happen if you called me old again, kid.”

The pistol was in Preacher’s hand almost quicker than Zeke could track—even with his shoddy repairs, the bounty hunter was still the business. The gun cracked once, the security guard fell, a neat hole in his forehead, a ragged abyss in the back of his skull. The other guards cried warning, reaching for their weapons. And in a split and burning second, it was on.

Ezekiel moved like silver and moonlight. Like a knife through the dark. The armor these guards wore was just as high-tech as Ezekiel’s and Faith’s—it’d take a heavier weapon than a pistol to breach it. But whether Ezekiel liked it or not, Nicholas Monrova had, at least in part, made him to be a weapon.

Stronger.

Faster.

Better.

The guard beside Ezekiel was down before he knew Zeke was moving, his neck twisted almost 360 degrees. Faith was beside him, days of frustrated rage boiling over into frenzy. The guards scattered, diving for cover behind the pillars and the heavy marble desk, the air filled with the crackcrackcrack of gunfire.

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