CHAPTER 23 — AN EYE FOR AN EYE

EARTH – WEEK 3 DAY 3

GIBBS RESIDENCY

The 9mm bullets traversing in parallel motion to each other not only left a wide crack on the RollerBlade's mask but also on his spotless track record of 30 derezzes in 0.002mTC, 5 laps in Game Arena in 0.0002mTC and 200-mile relay in 0.069mTC. For any meritorious and talented killing machine like him, the thought of getting shot at or beaten by an opponent way too inferior to his kind is an unerasable blot on the respect and combat history that his whole clan had earned and yearned to maintain that way. Failure is not an option for such a highly regarded clan in the Grid, especially when they're bred for the sole purpose of annihilating hordes of opponents in the blink of an eye. But when the assassin blinks his eyes, he pays a huge price for it: inevitable death or inescapable humiliation. Moreover, this one is the best of the best in his business; hence the bigger stakes at hand.

The dead, expressionless eyes peeping from the broken hull of the RollerBlade conceal the inner turmoil of the humiliation its host has faced in a matter of seconds. The second crack on the hull has nothing to display anything inside the host's face, except for the minor curved skin lining from its upper boundary, probably indicating the shellshocked assassin's nose poorly hiding its presence. As the eerily lifeless face tilted its head a little right toward the assailants who aimed their SMGs at him, one that he wasn't ever briefed on or trained in the academy, the assailants were shocked at the horror inside the black mask that has been hiding. Adding to the lifeless eyes and mouthless second half of the shadowy face, the pale skin and unblinking eyes eerily resemble Michael Myers, albeit a little less dreadfully.

In a matter of microseconds, the revengeful hunter slung his Disc towards the wall beside the basement door at a precise angle that would slice through one of the attacker's faces in half. The mercs though, being at their peak physical ability, were luckily fast enough to fall sideways as the Disc grazed lightly through the Sicilian's left cheek, spoiling the handsome hunk's face mercilessly. Retorting the damage done to his spotless face back to the black-masked Myers', the Italian turned his Mac-11 into a true SMG and sprayed the 9mm bullet rain all over the intruder, which the RollerBlade escaped with his water-like maneuvers, bleeding some voxel-blood hybrid liquid drops on the floor behind. The bullets which passed right through the deep black assassin's body didn't help the fact that his hybrid blood oozed slower yet uninterrupted, hinting at its detrimental effect on the host. Ohio followed suit with the Italian, by spraying his auto-mode Mac-11 towards the injured intruder, with the stock rail seated on his right shoulder and the 9mm rain blocking the RollerBlade from recovery and reaction, buying time for the duo to rush towards the living room, where their ammo stash waited with fervor.

In the meanwhile, the hot-headed RollerBlade, although fast in his reflexes, is too slow to come back to his senses, especially when his partner, the elite Blade of the Clan, got overpowered by some random Users, much to his shock. If such is the case with his partner, he could only imagine what the stakes would be for him personally. But these second thoughts are for the cowards in the Grid, the Basics, not for these digital carnivores who preyed on the enemies their masters programmed as such, and disobeying their masters is not an option encoded in their directives. Torn between avenging his partner's injury and derezzing the old and weak User Body inside the room, the former pulled him in, owing to the directives and training he's been installed with. Not before running to his partner's rescue, the hot head pointed the Disc's sharp end towards the User's neck, which greeted itself to the User's neck by gifting a little yet fresh cut on the contact area, an unforgivable one, causing the poor scientist to fold himself into a corner of the room and shield himself from the atrocities happening within and outside of his eyesight. Anticipating the enemy Users or ISOs have set the trap for him in advance or are guarding the door with full force, the hot-head jumped outside the room through the door instead and in a span of few seconds, his head and upper half of his body tilted a little bit to the User backing off to their safety, as his right hand slung forward in the same uppercut fashion as his comrade, albeit straight towards the Ohio merc's face. The Black Merc stood his ground on his left front foot and tilted his head a little away from the Disc's slash, losing his balance and falling on the wooden floor with full force, with his back making a big thud on the slightly creaking vinyl flooring.

As if the razor-sharp Discs weren't enough for the retreating gunners, the boomerang nature of these rings gave them no room to breathe, as if their problem isn't big enough to sympathize. These Discs possessed a unique boomerang mechanism, in a way that they retrace themselves to their owners in a bouncing manner rather than an oval or semi-circle-like arc trajectory. One of the Discs even surprised the gunners by trying to slice at least one of them from the rear, but This led to the Disc destroying each and everything that messed with it and obstructed its force, living or non-living is not its concern. The whole simple and decent appeal of the dining room and the kitchen got spoilt only because the warring factions wanted to prove their metal and annihilate each other. What is survival for the mercenaries is a matter of pride, glory, and directives for the RollerBlades. Dragging their reluctant bodies controlled by their tense minds out of the havoc unfolding in front of them, the merc duo finally trawled their way into the living room with their bodies intact, while the Blades of Grid never ceased to show mercy in their relentless pushback to the instinctive gunshots fired at them.

The athletic instinct and martial art techniques of the assassins-for-hire came on full display as they sprinted towards the teapoy of the living room in unison along with each other, and slid over the empty tablecloth of the large wooden teapoy, replicating the iconic superman jump from the classic John Woo flicks, and thereon performing a table flip with all the curling biceps running through their arms, converting the unassuming teak table into a necessary war shield as the decorations of the teapoy fall in unison along with the tablecloth, like a waterfall from a mountain. Pulling the stash towards them, the mercs got ready for the big showdown: armed to the teeth, clothed with bulletproof vests, and faces hidden by gas masks. Making sure the invaders made their entry noticed in the hall, the duo then began firing shots at the silent carnivores rushing towards them, forcing them to halt and retreat to a corner for cover. What followed then is a period of creepy silence throughout the yet-to-be-scarred warzone of a room, as the merc bros scratched their heads in confusion. Despite zero reaction from the mercenaries, the RollerBlades used the situation to their advantage as they studied the geography of the clean hall and laid out an effective strategy to rid of their foes once and for all. Despite the accuracy and calculations involved in their plan, underestimation of the creative acumen of Users, a precursor to the freedom of choice once displayed by ISOs, could prove to be a disaster on the assassins' part.

Putting their plan into action, the stoic RollerBlade threw a steel vase he got his hands on in the open, tempting the Users to step out of the protective shield. Although Ohio tempted himself to land the first strike, the Italian advised him restraint and succeeded in doing so, foiling the naïve attempt from their otherwise sharp counterparts. Despite no visible reaction from the opposing faction, the RollerBlades continued throwing every possible object toward the other side of the table, in the hopes of grabbing their attention sooner or later. A few seconds of random attacks dragged on for about another 5-10 minutes, testing the patience of the otherwise calm shooters. Despite the futile attempt at their User foes, the RollerBlades never ceased to get tired of their throwing game and instead maintained the same level of consistency in their attempts, until they could lure the rats out from their hiding. The sharpshooters, on the other hand, had zero tolerance towards the child's game played by the cannibalistic brutes, and someone has to take a stand against this foolishness, so why not them?

The catch though, is that those miscreants would stop at nothing to pounce on their prey the minute they let down their guard and come out naked, and what better prey for a hungry lion than a naïve deer roaming open in the jungle? Keeping this thought in their minds, the gunmen executed their simple plan in mind. This plan required a body full of ammo, putting in other words, a living and moving ammo stash with SMGs in hand, which they have already become during the irritating 5 min throwing game. Putting their plan in motion, a red carpet was laid using a pair of smoke grenades laying base for the perfect entry, engulfing the whole living space and acting as the perfect camouflage for the sharpshooters to show who's the boss over here. Even the RollerBlades, with eyes sharper than eagles and legs faster than a leopard, had their vision clouded and unable to discern anything from the pitch-black smoke emanating from the muted explosive, as obviously the material used in weaponry and any other machinery in the Grid are starkly in contrast from that of the User World, no matter what the parallels and inspirations are drawn. Striking when the iron is hot, the mercenaries jumped into the battlefield and raided the portion of the hall beyond their table shield, the one which the Blades have been trapped in, and spotting them is as easy as searching for fireflies in the dark forest, as their radium ribbons emit light with greater intensity equal to that of an LED bulb. Their presence could be noticed even at the horizon of the brightest places on the earth.

As the Ohio gunner crossed paths with the hot Blade to the right corner, Italy had it a little more sophisticated with the calculated Blade on the left. Tiptoeing their way behind the backs of their respective counterparts, the mercenaries pulled out the knives from their socks and slowly took them closer to their opponent's necks. The guns had to take a backseat for a while as an aim at the head is easier to deflect for a pro, and point-blank is out of the question due to the insane level of fire rate, ranging at 1200 rounds per min the Mac-11 boasts of, meaning that accuracy is out of the question, given that the stock rail is closed due to the obvious proximity towards the target and the high recoil ensures that the shooter loses his steady grip the moment shots are fired. Despite their careful steps and controlled breath, what the mercs couldn't estimate properly is the decibel level the RollerBlades are capable of grasping, a cheery on top of their insane fighting and survival skills. It is rumored that the reinforced training model of the RollerBlades demands that the fighters themselves push the limits every Cycle of their life. This meant that the fast-running assassins have a vision ranging up to a 10k mile radius, hearing sounds of up to a 5Gb size, which when converted into analog waves, ranges from 10-30,000 decibels, which was designed specifically to rival that of a user's capability. While the gunners tiptoed towards them, these Blades pretended to be still and unaware, all the while gripping their Disc harder and waiting to unravel their surprise moves.

Confirming the knives were in full contact with their necks, an indication that the Users are right behind them, the RollerBlades wasted no time and turned on their Identity Discs, and by the time the Discs turned into full neon-orange color, the Discs got tossed into the other hand as both the RollerBlades cut the backs of their unassuming captors a little deep taking help of the unusual backward arm curl their hands performed, in unison. Neglecting the loud cries of their captors in pain, the Blades freed themselves from the clutches in no time and started the Disc War. Its Discs versus the small knives, which is comparing swords and spears, unfair competition to begin with. The knives struggled to keep up with the lightning speeds of the Disc, barely able to defend its owner by touching the blunt edges of the Disc. Even though the whole fight went on with parries and near escapes from fatal blows by the Users, proving that they're skilled enough to be the perfect foil for the killing machines i.e., the RollerBlades, only the fighters themselves could empathize with themselves about the insane luck they're still holding with them, a talisman keeping their death near the doorstep as long as it can. The Sicilian possessed a dancer's footwork and boxers' agility, which demented themselves as a natural defense against the microsecond jabs of his RollerBlade foe, whereas the Black fighter, despite not being as fast as his partner due to his bulging triceps and thicker calf muscles, his wrestling past made sure that he could incapacitate or at least grab his opponent and throw him effortlessly anywhere around the room. If compared with the unmatchable speeds and techniques of the RollerBlades, not everyone is David to receive God's blessings and defeat their gargantuan Goliaths each and every time!

Realizing the gravity of their situation and the futility of countless parrying, the hired guns decided to justify their titles by tucking their knives inside their belts and going in with all guns blazing. The Italian pulled out his forgotten and concealed, foldable Glock 19 from his vest coat while for Ohio, the SMG itself felt like an Uzi without stock rail, and thus Glock-19, which is a toy gun in his fingers, is out of the question. The irony is that the foldable and compact pistols, which were just kept as a backup for the hired guns, proved their resourcefulness at this moment. Unfortunately, these effective pocket pistols, which could have ended the majority of the hit jobs in minutes, ended up filling the pockets of their vest coat and hiding under their pillows during the night, forcing the mercenaries to treat these portable pistols as a default clothing in their daily lives. What's surprising is that the survival instinct caused by the doomsday fight led them to pull out the Glock-19s subconsciously.

What followed then is the full-on display of gun kata, their favorite martial art, and their area of expertise as well. Funnily, the mercs handled the guns better than the blades of metal, owing to the size of the Glock and its low recoil adding a cherry on top. The Caucasian hitman excelled in the unconventional and mostly improvised fighting style, landing most of the bullets at the vital parts of the Blade's body, but little did he know that the anatomy is more like a cohesive lego block structure bound by a wet glue rather than a body formed with bones and tissues, and that meant the voxel-blood drops oozed dead slow from the enemy's body, at a snail's pace, but affected the speed sooner or later. On the other hand, Ohio handled the high recoil of the Mac-11 with ease but the hot Blade is too fast, even for the likes of the Caucasian, that hardly 3-4 bullets grazed through the Blade's adhesive body structure. Due to this, the rash RollerBlade performed parkours and circus feats throughout the whole room, taunting the Black Bear even more. Adding fuel to fire, the occasional Disc Cuts by the angry cannibal pierced the Bear's body deeper with every cut that touched him. The Caucasian followed suit, with a few cuts on the shoulder and calf muscles, despite providing great resistance to the otherwise formidable Disc Spinner.

Injured by the cruel twist of fate and role reversal, it is now the hitmen who went into hiding while the RollerBlades attacked in open. Blind firing at the opponents is the only viable strategy left for survival right now, in the minds of both defeated and dejected gunners. The only result they're getting, for now, is nothing more than a futile Ammo Dump, while their predators get a few gun wounds as complimentary gifts. Despite their visible upper hand in the battle, their physical wounds which oozed unending stream of voxel-blood liquid, impacting their agility, speed and strength and threatening their life in a matter of few hours. Slowed down by their physical constraints, the RollerBlades didn't cave in to those distractions and focused solely on eradicating these pestering Users out of existence. In a matter of few hours, the extra ammo decorated as ornaments and filled in the belts of the hitmen started to evaporate rapidly, leaving their arms with a few hours to retire into uselessness, the Mac-11 dominating Glock-19 in this round.

Left with no other option rather than 2-3 magazines at best, the hitmen used one of the two explosive hand grenades left with them onto the animals, as an alternative. Their effort shows little improvement, with the other half of the room blasting into ashes within no time, following a few minutes of silence. This silence tempted the gunmen to consider their victory and elimination of opponents, as they decided to slowly step out of hiding and confirm for themselves. The RollerBlades survived the blast but with half of their bodies intact, and their legs nowhere to be found in a discernible state, struggling to lift their upper bodies using the whole might of their arms. Succeding in their attempt, the half alive bodies of the carnivores rotated vigorously and threw their Discs in a blind rage the moment they even got a glimpse of the User's bodies. Although unsuccessful, this bold move was enough to startle the Users from their perceived success and made them to retreat into their hiding yet again.

As a last ray of hope, the last grenade in the ammo was thrown at the semi-surviving corpses of the RollerBlades, with no result this time. On the contrary, all the survivors had to do was to jump into the opposite corners and survive the impact. As again, post a couple of minutes of silence, the Users had no other option but to come out and check for themselves whether it's a hit or a miss. Poor Users, had they practiced a little restraint on their anxious minds, they wouldn't have had to face the ultimate doom they will in a few minutes. In a dramatic move, the RollerBlades threw their Discs right at the Users with mind-bending accuracy, aiming straight for the heads, while the hitmen's last magazine rushed their way involuntarily into the brains of the RollerBlades, if there was any in the first place inside these animals.

And then, the whole room tuned into a complete silence. The severed heads of the mercenaries rolled directionless on the floor, each head covering opposite corners of the room, while the collapsed upper bodies of the mercenaries lay helpless, as the hybrid liquid oozed straight from their heads and their bodies began crushing without their permission. All they could do is remain mute witness to the bombastic explosion-filled mayhem that took place for almost an hour or more, while the hole on their heads was as clear as a black hole.

Concluding the violent saga of rage and survival is the devastated living space of the unassuming and innocent old Walter, who would've definitely passed out of shock had he witnessed all the insanity by himself.

Perhaps this is the cost of two warring factions, each skilled, well-trained and competent in their fields, who fought each other in vanity.

Yin cancels Yang in Chinese Mythology, Light cancels Dark in Earth, Good cancels evil in all ages….

Killer Programs cancel even militant Users in the User World.