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Wren laughed again. “Old Zack. Always stoic and glib in the face of destruction.”
“Sorry, Wren, but you aren’t the face of destruction.”
“No? How ’bout now?” he said, and Zack cocked his head, confused.
But only for a moment, because soon he heard the sound of steps in the hall around the corner to his left. Passing the armory, getting closer.
They were rhythmic, uniform footfalls, a little heavy, and he was pretty fucking sure he knew what he was about to see.
Four six-foot-tall bipedal humanoid bots rounded the corner and turned towards him, stopping behind Wren and the guards. They carried their sidearms in their holsters, but Zack was certain the weapons had been reloaded and these units would be able to draw and fire at a target incredibly quickly.
Zack’s OODA loop was fast, but he wasn’t a fucking machine.
Wren appeared incredibly confident, almost nonchalant. “They won’t harm you unless they think you pose a threat, so I’m going to need you to remove that big, dumb pistol from your waistband. Use your weak-side hand, two fingers. You know the drill.”
“I do,” Zack said, and he carefully removed the firearm.
“Now, I’ll do you a favor. Normally I would demand that you drop the weapon, but if you don’t want to hurt your precious and expensive-looking firearm, I will allow you to very carefully, and very slowly, lower it down to the floor and—”
Zack dropped the pistol and it clanged to the concrete.
Wren raised an eyebrow. “All right, then. Kick it this way, please.”
He did so.
“Now…I know you carry a backup gun in an ankle holster.”
Zack raised his pants on the right side, revealing the stainless steel slide of the little .380 pistol.
“Same drill. Go down slowly, draw the weapon, and slide it to me.”
Zack knelt. Wren had his hand on his own weapon now, still in its holster on his belt. “Go carefully,” he warned.
Zack slid the little pistol across the concrete to him.
“And a knife?”
Zack pulled out the Gerber folding knife from his front pocket and tossed it underhand to Wren’s feet.
One of the guards picked up all the weapons and put them in a dump pouch on his utility belt.
Wren reached in, pulled out the Staccato, and dropped its magazine, then stuck the mag in his pocket and the gun into the small of his back. Zack noticed he didn’t clear the weapon of the round in the chamber.
To Zack, Wren said, “This is a nice gun. I’ll hang on to it.”
Zack just asked, “What’s the plan now?”
“Now is the time for negotiation. You and I, we’re the same. We need a mission. A master. It’s our job to salute, move out, and draw fire. We both know that.”
Zack said nothing.
“It used to be the queen for me, the Stars and Stripes for you. Now, for me, it’s Anton. He’s the future. You can be part of it, or you can be steamrolled by it. But you’re a lucky bloke, indeed, because you get to make the call yourself. You have control of your future.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Anton wants to speak with you. It’s actually a great honor, whether you know that or not. He’s a little busy right now, so I’m going to have you put in a room under guard till he can make it back over here to La Finca.”
Zack said, “What is Hinton to you? Like a messiah?”
