Page 223 of Code Bound
Locke looks around at all the NPCs and realizes it the same time as I do. Most of the players are gone off the street. There is only our group and a few other stragglers looking around in confusion.
Locke waves his hand in front of the nearest NPC’s face, but it does nothing. The NPC continues to stare up at the sky, her eyes open wide and unblinking.
“Uh . . .” I say, backing toward the building. “Maybe we should?—”
The sound of fluttering wings starts, soft at first, and then growing louder. I look up to see a large black mass of creatures moving as one across the sky, so thick, it begins to block out the sunlight.
“Nope,” Locke says, grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the building Stryker had gone inside.
When we reach the door, I grab the handle and pull. It doesn’t move. Locked.
I bang on the door. “Stryker!”
“Perhaps this will teach you to listen to me, Beastie,” he says through the door. “Even if you can’t trust me.”
“Open up the door, you asshole!” I growl. “This definitely isn’t going to earn you any trust.”
He laughs. “I know.”
I turn and press my back to the door. “How far to the other buildings?”
Havoc rubs a hand down his face. “Too far. If we run now, we’ll be exposed. We’re going to have to fight.”
I grimace and pull my Fang from my inventory. “What exactly are we fighting?”
Havoc’s face is solemn as he draws his sword again and plants his feet. He glances at me, his eyes clashing with mine. With the look on his face, I expect it’s something big, something horrible.
“We’re fighting,” he says slowly, looking back the black mass above us, “pigeons.”
I blink. “Pigeons?”
“What the fuck is a pigeon?” Locke growls, shifting his Arctic Smite from one hand to the other.
“They’re tiny cameras with wings,” Havoc replies. “Controlled by Luxe bastards in the comfort of their homes. Every five weeks, they host one. It’s like a little party for them.”
I relax. “Oh, cameras don’t seem so bad.”
After all, we’ve known we’re being recorded since the first safehouse.
“You don’t understand,” Havoc says, shaking his head. “They’re not just cameras. They’re drones.”
“You keep using words we don’t know,” I growl. “Explain!”
“They’re sharp,” Havoc spits back. “They attack as a big group.”
“So, they can kill us?”
He looks at me. “They can strip your bones clean.”
Oh. Well . . . fuck.
“Cipher?” I ask. “Chances?”
“I cannot accurately estimate your survival chances because these creatures are controlled by an outside force.”
“Try,” I command.
“You have a thirty percent chance of surviving a direct attack on your face,” he says. “But only a five percent chance of retaining your eyesight.”
