Freedom TM

of Spell Storing—Level Twenty-One
hovering above it.
    Holy shit.
“Is this the object you were transporting?”
    She obviously didn’t want to say.
    “Siren. Is this what you were bringing north?”
    She had wrapped a towel around herself and nodded.
    “This is powerful. Whose is it?”
    “It belonged to a sorcerer killed near Denver. How it got to Oklahoma, I don’t know. Our faction found it, and we’re contributing it to the fight in the Midwest.”
    Loki took off his armored gauntlet. “Consider it contributed.”
    He slipped it on his finger. As he did he felt a sharp pain. “Ah!” He pulled it off and could see blood dripping off a needlelike protrusion.
    And then it hit him—even as he was already staggering toward the doorway.
    She looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
    Loki was meandering like a drunken person, cursing and now nearly on his knees.
    “You little bitch!”
    “What is it?”
    “A needle! You fucking cunt!” Loki raised his one gloved hand and suddenly a blinding flash of bolt-straight electricity leapt from his fingertip into Siren’s eye. Her hair stood on end briefly before her head caught flame and she dropped like a rag doll onto the floor—her entire body smoking and sizzling.
    Loki slammed down onto the bloody, littered carpet and felt his mind losing connection with his body. Paralyzed, he stared at the bottom of a dead mercenary’s boot. Beyond that he could see the open doorway of the motel room—and a razorback standingguard. He tried to summon it. To control it. But he couldn’t move. He felt saliva flowing out of his open mouth.
    In the distance somewhere he heard several deep booms—one after the other. With a final boom, the headlight assembly of the razorback in the doorway blasted apart. It fell out of sight.
    Moments later, through a syrupy haze, he saw men walking through the motel room doorway. One of them leaned his face down next to his.
    It was The Major. “You helped me win a bet, Loki.” He gestured to unseen witnesses. “They said you wouldn’t kill the girl. But I knew better.”
    As Loki’s vision began to fade, The Major moved closer. “She was innocent, by the way.…”

Chapter 22: // Identity Theft
    Loki hung by his wrists from a hook on the ceiling of a concrete cell. He was naked and had been from the moment he awoke. He’d spent most of the last day with a hood over his head, bags on his hands, chained into confinement positions. No one spoke to him. No one said a word. It was only in the past hour that they’d brought him here.
    As Loki looked around, the doors and walls of this place indicated it was a stable. There were thick, wooden doors, split into two parts—like a Dutch door. That’s where the horse would stick his head out and feed. That’s how it worked, wasn’t it?
    There were cameras and lights all around him in the room, creating a harsh glare. He was having difficulty breathing in this position, and the pain in his shoulders was almost unbearable. They’d also strapped some sort of muzzle over his mouth that had an almost stirrup-like piece of metal forced between his teeth. Sleep was impossible.
    He felt the loss of the darknet like the death of a close friend. No, that wasn’t right because he’d never really had a close friend. He felt the loss of his connection to the darknet like the amputation of a limb. As though someone had castrated him. His electronic contact lenses were gone. His haptic vest was gone. His gloves, his bone mic—everything. Everything except the implant near his aorta—that remained. However, it was just a locator—he couldn’tinteract with the darknet through it. But it was his only hope. The question was: how much time had elapsed?
    After what seemed like an eternity of pain, he heard the slap of heavy bolts and looked up to see the big wooden door open on squealing hinges.
    There before him was the devil himself—The Major—followed by several other men, some of whom were wheeling metal carts on rubberized wheels. The Major stood in the doorway for a moment to regard Loki.
    Fuck you, too, motherfucker.
    “So you thought your fanboy toys would destroy us, is that it? Do you think you’re the first group to come at us with novel tactics? It’s not about how many people you can kill—it’s about who runs out of people first. And I promise you, it will be you.”
    The Major moved into the room. His entourage began to set up equipment and workspace behind him. The Major was