《Newland Tales: Ought to be Free》


 Chapter 1

    Dark and secluded¡ªthat was how Emz thought of the empty industrial unit, an ideal spot to conclude his shady business. So, he wasn¡¯t entirely surprised that others had reached the same conclusion. What did shock him, however, was walking into the damp, cavernous interior and discovering several freshly dead bodies, the aftermath of a brutal close-quarters gunfight.


    Instinctively, Emz reached for his own gun, unlocking the trigger with a light touch on the biometric sensor, which activated a small dim red display showing the number 15 just above his thumb. His brown eyes darted around as adrenaline surged and primed him.


    There were two entrances: the main door he''d come through and a fire escape at the far end, but there was no movement at either. There was no higher level, just a few large stacks of old crates, any of which could conceal someone. Quietly, he stepped towards the nearest stack and cautiously peered behind it, gun at the ready, only to find another blood-soaked body. The man was slumped against the crates, a gun in his limp left hand, his right clutching a gut wound which he looked to have bled out from.


    Emz crouched beside him, his eyes flickering between the body and the other stacks of crates. He touched the man''s neck, probing for a pulse, but found none. Moving on carefully, he rounded the next stack, finding this one empty.


    The final stack revealed two more bodies locked in a grizzly embrace, each man marked by savage cuts from a violent knife fight that had clearly ended in a bloody draw.


    Fairly confident that he was the only one still breathing in the warehouse, Emz replaced his firearm in the holster tucked into his waistband at the small of his back, under his jacket. He stepped over the bodies and picked up a heavy-duty-looking mobile phone that had fallen away from the knife fighters. The grey device, with its black screen, appeared old-fashioned and bulky, with a chunky dongle loosely hanging from a port at the bottom.


    Emz was about to secure the dongle back in when he heard the squeak of the entrance door. He immediately pulled his gun again and aimed at a figure emerging from the gloom of the reception area. He relaxed slightly¡ªthough not completely¡ªwhen he realised that the large man entering, also armed, was as astonished as Emz by the bloody scene and was, in fact, the buyer he had arranged to meet for his momentarily forgotten transaction.


    ¡°Merde,¡± the big man muttered. ¡°What has happened here?¡± he added more loudly, casting a brief glance at Emz.


    ¡°I found it like this when I arrived, just a couple of minutes ago.¡±


    Both men silently acknowledged each other''s drawn weapons and, without comment, lowered their guns slightly.


    ¡°This has nothing to do with us?¡±


    Emz gently shook his head. ¡°Nah, I don¡¯t think so.¡± He pointed his gun at the central mess of bodies. ¡°Looks like two gangs were attacking each other for some other fucking reason.¡±


    The big man''s very dark eyes drifted down to the device in Emz¡¯s left hand. ¡°Is that the reason?¡± His voice was gentle, with a delicate accent, though his tone was less so.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Suddenly feeling vulnerable again, Emz tightened his grip around the grey object. He didn¡¯t know the large, muscular Senegalese man very well, only that his name was Bamba, which meant crocodile in a local dialect. This was reinforced by a white tattoo of the creature on his thick, dark brown neck, and he was a mercenary, a thug for hire. ¡°I don¡¯t know, mate; I just picked it up. It looks like an old slab phone.¡±


    ¡°Well, let us look together, non?¡±


    Considering Emz had only just discovered the device and had no idea what it was, his lizard brain had already claimed ownership, preparing him for a fight or flight. However, his rational mind was calculating the odds and planning an escape from ending up bleeding out like these other bodies on the cold concrete floor. ¡°We should probably get out of here.¡± He gestured with his head towards the entrance. ¡°And we need to sort out our business, right? You still want that clean ID, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Oui,¡± Bamba replied quietly, though he did not move a millimetre. ¡°These men are dead, and therefore we can do both things here, non?¡±


    Confidence was king, Emz mentally reminded himself. With a carefree expression he didn¡¯t truly feel, he holstered his gun, pocketed the grey slab, and swaggered over to Bamba. When he was just out of reach of the mountain of a man, Emz raised his left arm and jostled his wrist, allowing his sleeve to slide down and reveal a wearable screen snug against the inside of his forearm. He tapped at the screen with his free hand until a dull ping echoed from Bamba¡¯s wearable, a square display attached to the back of the mercenary¡¯s left hand.


    Bamba secured his own gun in a side holster behind the flap of his knee-length coat and then accepted the digital transfer. Within a couple of seconds, a cloned set of personally identifiable information was copied over. ¡°Alive or dead?¡± he asked, scanning the information.


    ¡°Alive,¡± Emz replied. ¡°He¡¯s a close physical match, so you¡¯ll pass a casual check, and he¡¯s classified as disabled, living at home on additional welfare, so you won''t bump into him.¡±


    Bamba nodded in acknowledgment.


    ¡°And if you care, he¡¯s not really disabled, so screw that guy, right?¡±


    ¡°I do not care; only that it works.¡±


    Emz shrugged at the cold response. ¡°It¡¯ll work. He was recently audited, so you¡¯ll have about a year of public travel and access, and modest coin transactions without raising any flags. But if you¡¯re planning on leveraging his finances big time or going somewhere restricted, then I¡¯d burn the ID straight after, okay?¡±


    Bamba nodded again in acknowledgment and transferred the previously agreed sum of five thousand to Emz using the new ID, matching the five already paid in advance. ¡°Now let us take a look at that object,¡± he said, firmly changing the subject.


    With a hint of reservation, Emz lowered his arm, allowing his sleeve to fall back down over his wearable screen, and pulled out the bulky grey rectangle from his pocket, angling it to face them both. ¡°Well, just before you arrived, I was going to secure this back in,¡± he said as he pushed the dongle firmly into the port. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll do any¡ª¡± Emz cut himself off as the black screen momentarily displayed a closed padlock icon that animated to an open position, revealing a custom interface of a crypto wallet account.


    The wallet¡¯s simple dashboard featured buttons at the bottom for send and receive functions, data connections, and notifications; a central steep graph of value over time that covered most of the dashboard; and at the very top was the balance: 998,907,606.08 €urocoin.


    After a stunned pause, Bamba quietly read the number to himself. ¡°Neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit millions neuf cent sept mille six cent six euros et huit centimes.¡±


    ¡°Mate,¡± Emz said, equally awestruck, ¡°you can just say a billion¡ªin fucking coin!¡±

 Chapter 2

    Without a word Bamba lunged to grab the grey box of digital treasure from the fixer.


    Reacting faster, Emz stepped back out of reach and pulled his gun. "What the fuck!"


    Unrelenting, the giant advanced, clawing out with his large left hand for the old slab phone, while his right reached for his own sidearm.


    Emz backpedalled another step in panic and fired, blam, the gun¡¯s bang echoing in the wide space as the small dim red display changed to 14. The bullet hit Bamba mid-chest, knocking him back, but not down, thanks to some hidden body armour. Emz was about to attempt a headshot, but the crocodile recovered too quickly. Bamba¡¯s left hand snapped around the gun, twisted it free from Emz''s grasp, and hurled it aside.


    In quick response, Emz smashed a corner of the bulky grey rectangle into Bamba¡¯s temple. There was a huge difference in mass between the two men, but Emz put his whole weight behind the strike, focusing the blow into a thumbnail-sized angle of reinforced mobile technology. The African giant was briefly dazed, almost dropping to a knee.


    Emz used that moment to turn and bolt, scanning the ground for his gun. The floor was littered with weapons from the bloody carnage, but in 2051, nearly every modern gun required the owner''s biometrics to fire¡ªa UN gun safety law designed to monitor ownership and supposedly reduce gun violence. It also created a new profitable black market in jailbreaking legally registered weapons.


    Unable to spot his own or an older, potentially analogue gun, Emz darted behind a stack of crates just before Bamba could tag him with a clean shot. Blam. The bullet instead tore through a huge section of composite wood, showering Emz in ragged wood chips on the other side.


    The stack he had reached was the one where the two men had stabbed each other to death. Quickly rummaging through their clothes, Emz found both their guns¡ªbut both were digitally locked and useless. Even with a quick attempt to use their owners'' fingers on the trigger sensors, but it was no use, as dead tissue doesn¡¯t conduct the necessary electrical charge. Left with no better option, Emz grabbed a bloody knife and waited for Bamba to reach him.


    Emz considered his options: crouch low at a corner and thrust up the moment Bamba rounded the stack; climb up the crates and lunge down from above; move in parallel and dash around the other side, attacking from behind; or perhaps use the bodies gruesomely to create a distraction. But before he could decide, in the few seconds he thought he had left, both warehouse doors were smashed open, one after the other, and armed men rushed in, opening fire. Blam, blam-blam, blam.


    The crates around Emz were suddenly hit by stray bullets, sending another spray of wood fragments all about him. The bulk of Bamba suddenly appeared, edging backwards behind the crates, returning fire at the new arrivals. The unexpected turn of events left Emz confused about what to do. Crouched on his haunches, gripping the sticky knife, he stared at Bamba¡¯s profile, who moments ago had been his only enemy, but now the large space was filled with many more threats.


    The big mercenary stole a quick glance at Emz. "Where is your gun?" he asked, his tone critical, as if chastising Emz for not helping fend off the attackers, before turning his focus back to the raucous firefight.


    "You pulled it out of my fucking hand and threw it away somewhere while trying to fucking kill me!" Emz shouted back. More wood chips rained down as more fired ammunition hammered into their cover.


    Bamba fired twice more, blam-blam, before snapping back his reply. "You had shot me, non?"


    Emz shook his head in astonishment. Ignoring his newfound compatriot, he stole a quick look around the large room through the bullet-damaged gaps in the crates. They were in the midst of a three-way battle, between one group by the main entrance, who had made it behind the first crate stack, that hid the dead man with the gut wound, and a second group firing from the fire exit doorway. There was no inner cover close enough for them to make a safe run to.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    There were around four or five people in each group, though maybe more were just outside. None of them spoke, and they wore no uniforms, insignia, or colours to indicate who they were. They didn¡¯t look like undercover cops¡ªtoo disorganised for that. Emz had a gut feeling that the group by the main door was Russian. Something about their clothing, their haircuts, the broad-faces, East Slavic features matching some of the original bodies on the floor. Blam-blam, blam. The other group, who had just taken a casualty that slumped lifeless to the ground, looked more Central European¡ªblonder, perhaps.


    Emz pulled back his cuff to check his wearable screen and spoke quietly to his digital assistant. "Syn, find my gun."


    Blam, blam-blam, blam.


    The contact mic in his discreet in-ear bud easily registered his command despite the explosive cacophony around him, and the bot responded with a gentle beep of acknowledgment. Emz preferred subtle responses from his tech; a verbose bot drove him mad. His wrist screen lit up, displaying a wide map of the surrounding area that quickly zoomed in, offering a detailed building-scale plan. A blinking dot marked the location of the gun, but the signal remained frustratingly vague¡ªlimited to a two-square-metre area.


    Blam-blam, blam-blam.


    He moved around, trying to find a damaged gap in the crates to get a view of the marked location. He was disappointed to see that it appeared to be somewhere among the dead bodies and their scattered guns. Not a realistic option right now.


    Chewing his lip in thought, he assessed both doors before finally turning to Bamba. "We can''t stay here." He pointed towards the main entrance with the knife. "We should try to make it that way¡ªuse the middle stack as cover, take out those Russian guys from behind, and once we''re outside, we¡¯ll be closer to a main street."


    "Non," Bamba replied simply. Blam. He put a bullet in the face of a Russian gang member peeking out from behind their wooden defences, killing him instantly, then quickly snapped another shot, blam, at the blonder gang at the fire exit, exploding someone''s kneecap. The man screamed as he was dragged back outside, replaced by another shooter in the door frame. Bamba then wheeled back behind their cover to reload his gun as a barrage of wooden shrapnel cascaded around them, with both gangs returning fire in retribution. Blam, blam-blam, blam.


    "What do you mean, no?" Emz asked incredulously, brushing fallen wood chips from his head and shoulders. "We¡¯re soon going to run out of cover. We have to move."


    "There are fewer people now at the far door. I will thin them out, and then we leave that way."


    "Mate, that¡¯s a fifty or sixty-metre run with no cover, while everyones taking shots at us!"


    "I am wearing armour," Bamba shrugged dismissively.


    "I¡¯m not!"


    Blam-blam, blam.


    There was a sudden yelp amidst the gunfire as another Russian was hit. Emz immediately reacted, moved to dash towards the middle stack of crates¡ªset further back and roughly midway between his and the Russian position¡ªbut was held back by a meaty hand clamping down on his left hand, which still held the grey slab. Bamba was strong enough that Emz bounced back, as though suddenly shackled to a large boulder.


    Bamba¡¯s gun came around, but before he could fire at such an intimate range, Emz stabbed the knife hard into the exposed mound of palm flesh below Bamba¡¯s right thumb. The African winced, recoiling in pain just enough for Emz to break free. With a quick twist of his body and a scrape of his feet against the concrete for traction, he ran as fast as he could to the midway stack.


    Expecting a fatal bullet at any moment, Emz was shocked to find himself still alive when he reached the middle unmanned stack. He resisted the urge to take relative shelter there, and instead, he kept running, determined to reach the main door.


    Miraculously, the Russians hadn¡¯t noticed him. Besides two bodies, the gut-shot one and another recently killed by Bamba, two men were focused on ducking in and out of cover to fire at the other gang, while another was tying a belt as a tourniquet around the bleeding leg of a final, dying man.


    Emz ducked his head low and pelted diagonally for the entrance, about twenty metres behind the Russian position. He heard a guttural shout and couldn¡¯t help but peek over his right shoulder. One of the Russians had spotted him, raising the alarm and his gun, but before the man could fire, his chest exploded outward from a bullet to the back. Whether Bamba had intentionally saved his life or had simply taken advantage of the open shot for his own survival didn¡¯t matter. Emz made it outside and kept running.