Freaks in the City Read Online Free Page A

asset or not, Caine saw no benefit in keeping
Williams around if the man didn’t know when to shut up and follow
orders.
    Williams seemed to realize he’d blotted his
copybook for he abruptly became all business. Caine watched,
evaluating the way the two men divvied up the tasks. Williams
arranged for a cache of martial arts weapons, while Sloane co-opted
volunteers from the available pool of security forces. Both men
barked crisp orders into their mouthpieces. Satisfied, Caine pulled
an eReader device from the inner pocket of his jacket and immersed
himself in the latest edition of The Economist.
    He finished scanning the business pages and
had just skipped to the obituary as the men began filing in. A
glance at his wristwatch showed forty-eight minutes had passed. He
pocketed his eReader, and cast his gaze over the volunteers. They
were ex-military professionals—as were the majority of his security
division. One, he recognized as a member of the extraction team
that had so resoundingly failed in its first attempt to capture
Gamma. The man had been injured by shrapnel in the explosion. Shiny
puckered scars dribbled down his face and neck, vanishing beneath
the form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt he wore tucked into his khaki
pants.
    Caine stood, and made his way to the waiting
men.
    “Select your weapons from the cache,” he
told the volunteers. “The aim, gentlemen, is to take the opponent
down by whatever means possible. Anything goes.”
    Scars narrowed his eyes, assessing the
figure standing in the center of the sparring mats through the
viewing chamber’s window.
    Caine glanced at Six-Point-0, seeing the
cyborg through the other man’s eyes.
    “Sixer” stood feet apart, hands clasped
behind its back, staring straight ahead. The cyborg appeared to be
in its late teens or early twenties. Average build. Average height.
Even, unremarkable features. Lank brown hair, overly long for
Caine’s taste. A kid on the cusp of manhood. Nothing special. The
techs had done an admirable job ensuring Six-Point-0’s physical
form would not stand out in a crowd. Only his unnatural stillness
proclaimed he might not be what he seemed.
    Caine flicked his attention back to Scars,
eager to witness the man’s reaction.
    It did not disappoint. The man’s jaw worked,
and his hands clenched and unclenched, clenched again. When he
caught Caine staring, Scars made a visible effort to relax and his
expression smoothed into a cold, merciless mask.
    Caine acknowledged the man with a brief nod.
Excellent. Scars would not balk at inflicting maximum damage upon
his opponent. He believed he had something to prove.
    “Commence trial, gentlemen,” he told the two
techs.
    Sloane toggled his mic. “Cyborg Unit
Six-Point-0 confirm voiceprint Sloane, Goodkind Employee ID
7-8-3-1-2.”
    “Voiceprint Sloane confirmed. Good afternoon
Mr. Sloane.”
    “Cyborg Unit Six-Point-0, enter standby mode
and await further instructions.” Caine read Sloane’s lips as he
muttered to Williams, “Pays to be careful. God help these poor
bastards if Sixer develops another weird-ass glitch.”
    “Standby mode confirmed.”
    Williams punched in a ten-digit code. The
locks on the door leading into the huge workout area disengaged,
and the door slid open with an agonized hiss.
    Sloane addressed the volunteers. “Thank you
for volunteering your time and expertise. We’ve provided you a
range of weapons. If you have knives on your persons, feel free to
use them. Otherwise, a selection has been provided. Firearms are
not permitted. Those of you carrying firearms are to leave them
here. Once you’ve selected your weapons, please form a circle at
the edge of the mats and await instructions.”
    A couple of the men—pulled from active
security details at a guess—divested themselves of weapons. Caine
noted one man slide a quick sideways glance at Scars.
    Interesting. Caine didn’t push the matter.
It would only make the coming confrontation more authentic.
    The men