The Dark Edge Chronicles - Hardwire

Retribution

Preacher was just about to return to his work when his phone rang once again. This time, as he stared at the softly beeping device, he felt a cold chill work its way through his body. Something had happened, something bad. And it didn't take clairvoyance to tell him that it was happening to them.

"Preacher," he growled when he finally found the strength to pick the receiver up and lift it to his ear.

Only to hear Braddox's panicked voice on the other end, almost hysterical.

"Holy shit, Preacher!" the normally calm and collected mover practically screamed. "It's the renegade. He's hitting us hard. Lake Wood, Adanac, Silver Heights, . . . shit, man, he's hitting us everywhere!!"

Blinking rapidly in shock, Preacher slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle, Braddox's voice still yammering away from the ear piece. Carefully he pushed himself back from the desk, sending a tendril of psyken to the small motor that raised the blinds. It whined softly as the blinds were slowly pulled up from the massive bank of windows, revealing the stunning view Preacher had of the downtown core and beyond, reaching almost to the prairies and the mountains in the distance.

A cold constriction snaked its way through his insides as the buildings blurred in the face of what captured his attention: columns of smoke, rising lazily into the early morning sky to be caressed with dawn's first breath of gold, scarlet and mauve. Columns of smoke that marked the positions of Brotherhood safe houses and coordination centers: Lake Wood, Silver Heights, Nob Hill, Adanac, . . . he mentally went through the list as he watched another column abruptly appear, a ghostly finger of death marking yet another destroyed Brotherhood holding.

A tendril of psyken activated the intercom.

"Yes, Mr. Preacher?" came Debra's voice. She was substituting for his regular morning secretary, Angela, who was down with a cold. Lucky her.

"Get me Mr. Henry on the line, Debra. I need to talk to him immediately," he husked in a soft voice.

"Of course, sir. Just a moment." The intercom hummed as Debra put Preacher on hold to dial up his assistant. Then: "I have Mr. Henry on the line for you, sir. Go ahead, Mr. Henry."

"Mr. Preacher?" Henry's voice climbed out of the intercom to rasp harshly against Preacher's ears. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Call them in, Henry," Preacher whispered hoarsely.

"Call them, . . in, sir? I don't understand."

"Our people across the city. I want you to call them in. Now! Bring them into the office."

"Uh, all of them, sir?"

"Yes, ALL OF THEM!"  Preacher abruptly shrieked, feeling his hold on Reality slipping. "Bring them all in. NOW, DAMN YOU TO HELL!" Slamming down a fist onto the intercom to disconnect the call, he opened a teleportal, meaning to meet them down at the front entrance to find out exactly what had happened.

Debra, a pretty redhead with strong telepathic and mover abilities, was just turning back to her work after putting Henry's call through when she felt a puff of cold air. Frowning, she started to bring her head up to look around in curiosity when she felt the first EM surge of a teleportal snapping open within the ward webwork, coming out of nowhere.

Before she could react, a figure dressed all in black materialized a mere pace from the front of her desk. Jaw dropping, she began to instinctively snap her shields up for protection. But they were only partially up when a tight blast directed shockwave hammered into her, picking Debra bodily up to slam her into the reinforced wall behind her reception desk, crushing her bones into jelly with the force.