Chapter 6: Dead Men Don’t Shoot Back
By B.T. Knox · Helstalgia Volume 1
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The door had vanished entirely. A jagged hole of corrupted pixels remained. Metal collided with digital corruption in a chaotic disarray that would likely soon erupt further inside the Bazaar.
Kalen made the first move with one gun still directed at Dante while the other shifted from me to Veyla.
I recognized the opportunity for what it was and didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. Dante wasn’t the target, so I shifted my blaster and locked it onto Kalen—the real problem.
The hexlock was cracking. The next move would shatter it. No one held the advantage.
Veyla remained still. She didn’t reach for a weapon; she didn’t need to. Her mere presence was a loaded gun, and that was what was pushing Kalen over the edge.
The Bazaar’s defence system roared to life as it detected the breach.
Panels in the ceiling slid open with a hiss, and numerous twin-barreled turrets descended into place like the falling blade of a guillotine. The twin barrels lurched down, aligning with a grid to face the door. Targeting lasers snapped into position, scanning for intruders and ready to kill. Initially, the number of turrets seemed excessive, but considering the type of contraband the shop carried, it appeared just right.
Then, the holo-drones arrived.
Small tactical devices adorned with the Flux Jackal insignia filtered into the store one by one through the doorway, methodically assuming positions. Each hovered and moved with mechanical precision, navigating the threshold and slipping through the corrupted entrance like spectres in a flawed system.
Each projected its own holographic image of human figures in front of us, outfitted for speed and survival. Their sleek, tactical gear was optimized for movement. No two appeared the same, nor did they move in identical ways.
The illusion was flawless.
To the defence turrets, it symbolized an army intended to overrun the system. There were far too many fast-moving targets, all moving simultaneously in various directions. That’s all it needed to be. One turret hesitated, recalibrating numerous times and struggling to differentiate between drones and holograms. It cycled through several targets and finally locked onto one of them.
The system decided—and fell for the trap. It snapped to the nearest holographic Flux Jackal and opened fire. Other turrets began firing at blurred movements throughout the store. Bullets tore through the holographic images and empty air, slamming into the floor and walls. Ricochets sparked, shrapnel kicked up, and metal screeched.
The holo-drones kept moving, gliding in slow arcs, and the turrets continued to follow.
The target system reset. The twin-barreled turrets began scanning for new targets as the drones continued their loop through the bazaar. The system was gradually catching on. It recalibrated, processed the distortion, and made the necessary adjustments.
The holographic movements were too jittery and fragmented to be authentic—tricks of light darted between the stalls. The targeting system calculated, locked in and traced the ghosts back to their tethers. Barrels swivelled and fired.
This time, a shot hit home. A holo-drone erupted in sparks, its illusion glitching mid-frame before disappearing. The drone crashed to the floor.
One less decoy. One less distraction.
One by one, each turret adapted. The defence system began picking off the drones—each one another distraction, another sacrifice.
The real Flux Jackals slipped in while the turrets were distracted. These were the Hounds—the fastest the Flux Jackals had to offer. Scouts trained for high-speed infiltration. They wore lightweight, high-dexterity armour, and their skill sets were fine-tuned to overwhelm systems, grab the goods, and get out before anyone could react.
The tactic was straightforward and effective.
They moved like phantoms through the chaos, weaving among the barrage of holo ghosts. One moment, they were a glitch in the crossfire; the next, they slipped behind display cases stacked with black-market cyberware. The crates held unregistered weapons and racks of counterfeit neural mods. To the naked eye, it was impossible to distinguish what was real from what was merely a trick of the light.
The first shots of the hexlock rang out.
Kalen used the distraction to make his decision. In a swift motion, he activated a speed skill. Both his blasters fired. The shots cracked through the air, causing Veyla’s body to jerk back. Her smile vanished in an instant.
Then I saw the blade drop from her hand—a monoblade humming with a static charge. Veyla had been moving, too. She was fast, but not fast enough. The shock pounded through my skull with every pulse of blood from my heart.
Our eyes locked as she dropped to her knees, her hands pressing against the wound in a desperate attempt to hold herself together. It was futile. She coughed, blood beginning to pour from her mouth. Her eyes widened in the realization that she was dying.
Her body gave out, folding to the floor.
Lifeless.
Gone.
Veyla Atris was dead.
The shootout had just started, and the most prominent player was dead. The Hexlock shattered.
In the half-second it took Kalen to activate his speed skill, his guard was down. That was more than enough time for Dante to seize the opportunity and shoot him. It was a miscalculation.
Their shots fired nearly simultaneously, but Kalen was enhanced; his speed skill manipulated reality to his advantage. In a blur of pixels, he moved before Dante’s bullet could reach him. It was as if the system had already decided he wouldn’t die here.
Veyla took a hit, while Kalen didn’t.
Shots rang out above me. I ducked slightly, turning my head to see the faces of two Flux Jackals just feet away.
Holy shit. “Slipstride”.
We really did move fast with those enhancements. No hesitation. No friction. Just momentum.
It’s been a while since I read the description of the Slipstride skill, even though I’ve used it as often as possible. There comes a point when the user understands what the skill does and no longer requires constant briefing, as indicated by having read the description.
Slipstride was one of those—always on the ready with the Flux Jackals.
I turned, my blaster pointed at the approaching Flux Jackals and activated “Dead Men Don’t Shoot Back.”
I mentally selected “No” and muted my notifications. The distribution of points and the selection of skills can be deferred until later.
The first two Hounds dropped. Two clear shots, and they went down like low-level mobs in a tutorial zone. My precision bonuses made all the difference, and every shot landed precisely where it needed to. It wasn’t even a contest against these grunts, but they weren’t alone. More followed.
My skill was still active, so it took mere seconds for me to drop the next two hounds. Quick and clean, it was over before they knew what hit them. I barely had time to process before my HUD pinged again—four more red dots on my minimap, closing in.
No names. No ranks. Just blank designations floating above their heads—placeholders for bodies that hadn’t fallen yet.
That was protocol. Names disappeared when we were in the field and active mode. No identities, ties, or faces were traced back to the real world—just another measure to keep Jackals from existing outside the job and from being more than disposable assets.
If you died in the field, you weren’t a person; you were just another nameless entry in someone else’s HUD, waiting to be wiped.
There were still five seconds remaining in Dead Men Don’t Shoot Back. I did my best to ensure that no one would be shooting back at me.
My blaster kicked against my grip as I unloaded every shot I could before it hit cooldown. Each trigger pull and impact sent a Jackal crashing to the cold, metallic floor. The more I dropped, the sharper my aim became. Each takedown fed into the next, with my accuracy improving and precision solidifying.
The last one had hardly any time to react—a direct headshot. The Jackal hit the ground before he even realized he was dead.
The skill went into cooldown, but my buff would remain for another fifteen seconds, which was the advantage I needed.
I exhaled and turned to find Dante and Kalen locked in a fight.
I didn’t catch how it started, but I saw the fallout.
Kalen’s speed boost must have burned out, and the moment it did, Dante seized the opportunity. He vaulted over the counter and slammed into him, sending them both crashing to the floor. A rack of glowing, unmarked holo-slates fell, scattering light like sparks. They hit the ground in a tangled mess, boots scraping across the metal, each fighting to gain the upper hand.
Dante was undoubtedly the larger man. His arms were twice as thick, shaped by a life demanding more muscle than finesse. He drove a fist into Kalen’s ribs—short, sharp, practiced—no wasted movement. No hesitation.
Kalen grunted, twisting to shift the fight into a more favourable position. But size wasn’t on his side. He was pinned to the floor with Dante on top of him. His hands scrambled and grasped for something to turn the tide, but they found no purchase.
Dante clearly had the upper hand.
During this time, the defence turrets kept pivoting, metal gears grinding, and twin barrels locking on to fire. Drones continued to circle the bazaar, projecting holographic Flux Jackals that followed like dogs on a leash.
The actual Hounds moved swiftly, slipping between rounds with Slipstride, dodging turret fire in sharp, calculated bursts. However, the turrets would not relent.
Their barrels recoiled one at a time, slamming back like the hydraulic arms of an industrial mech designed to tear through crumbling high-rises and rip apart the bones of a city without stopping to ask why. Each shot was pounded out with that same relentless force.
No hesitation. No mercy. Just fire, recoil, and repeat.
A few Flux Jackal bodies littered the bazaar floor. Many more remained to come.
Twenty seconds remaining on my cooldown, and I’m still buffed. It’s showtime.
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