Five minutes later they emerged on the walkway. Joe led Lawrence in shackles from behind with the tranquilizer gun in the small of his back.

“Do you really have to have the gun pointed at me?” Lawrence turned his head back.

“Not really, but we have to keep up appearances don’t we? Keep your head forward. Besides, I’m still mad for what you did to me.” Joe grinned evilly and gave Lawrence a playful jab with the barrel. “Kidding. Remember, you’re the perpetrator scum and we’re one block away from justice.”

The sheer vastness of the sector opening up before them was overwhelming. The corporate bigwigs had added some really impressive finishing touches since Joe joined the company. Then again, it had been three years since he made the trek to the district with a payroll problem.

To the outside observer, it looked like just a bunch of sheer grey walls shaped almost together to form an octagon. Once past the exterior, within these walls was a vast array of architectural façades and sculptures. Together Joe and Lawrence marveled at the ostensible opulence.

Multi-cultural designs from different ages surrounded an area as large as Trafalgar Square. In the center was a helicopter-landing pad that was painted with the VirCorp logo (an iron gauntlet clutching a giant umbrella). Just east of this crouched Pablo Picasso’s “unnamed” vulture-like sculpture, recently purchased from the Mayor of Chicago who needed some quick cash to bury yet another scandal. Behind it stretched the Parliament building, guest suites loosely modeled on the Middlesex Guildhall if it were fifty stories high, crawling with imposing armed figures carved into the edifice.

“Ever been here before?” Joe asked.

Lawrence nodded, gaping. “When I was hired two years ago. They didn’t have all these sculptures then.”

“I reckon a dozen salaries for each one, at least.” Joe shook his head. They probably even laid-off a few VPs to get the Picasso.” He sighed, and nudged Lawrence forward. “Enough gawking. Head down.”

They passed by what looked like a museum with great Corinthian columns. A giant flowing banner dangled from the top that read “Accounts Receivable”. They must need hell of an accounting staff. Next to this was Human Resources, grim and sterile like the Reichstag.

As they approached, Joe saw six armed guards moping about on the sidewalk in front of it. They were on a cigarette break. As they got closer, Joe kept his vision locked on the main doors, nervously jabbing Lawrence in the back with the barrel.

“Hey, quit it will you?”

“Shut up! We’ve got to get past these guys—“

“Hey!” Joe looked away from the doors and saw one of the guards waving him over. He was wearing a do-rag and sunglasses. Could it be Tanzer? “Get over here!”

Joe hesitated, his heart rising in his throat.

“Yes, you. Come here, right now!”

Joe nodded and pushed Lawrence forward. As he came into range, he noticed the man was too scrawny to be Tanzer. Not weak, but not chemically buffed out. He was one of the newer crew, a wannabe. Joe smiled to himself, sighing in relief, as he ordered Lawrence to halt three meters away from the gathered security detail.

“Just where do you think you’re going, son?” Joe smirked. This kid was twenty years old, maybe, and calling him son.

“Sector Chief Richard Miller,” Joe couldn’t help but grin before he added, “sir.” The wannabe looked him up and down as his boys watched, clucking like teenage girls.

“And just where do you think you’re going with that?” He indicated Lawrence and stepped closer to paw Joe’s security badge.

“Special delivery for Captain Tanzer.” Joe cleared his throat nervously. “Found this one on the run near Janitorial Services. Tried to give me the slip.” Joe prodded Lawrence with the barrel. Lawrence groaned.

“That’s funny,” the wannabe looked up at Joe. “We’ve been out searching for this guy for the last hour. What’s even funnier is you don’t look a thing like Miller. I think you better drop the gun and come with me.”

“Right.” Joe huffed, then raised Lawrence’s arm shoving the gun under the wannabe’s throat. It all happened so fast. The wannabe’s crew took out their batons and advanced. Joe pulled the trigger, pegging the wannabe in between the eyes; he swayed, fell to knees and slid gently on his back.

Joe wheeled around, gun at the ready using Lawrence as a human shield. The first guard took a swing, grazing Joe’s ear. He shifted his weight, using Lawrence for leverage, kicked out and dropped him, shooting the guard in the back of the neck with the tranquilizer.

Joe danced around, jerking Lawrence this way and that. There were just too many for him to take at once, and they were closing in.

In a fit of panic, he shoved Lawrence hard, thrusting him into them like a rogue human bowling ball. They fell backwards and in that precious moment of opportunity Joe fired rapidly, emptying the clip. Three went down in a heap on top of Lawrence, who cried out like a Victorian librarian whose shelves were falling in on top of her.

One man was left standing. He was the wrong man to miss. His ID badge read HUGO in large hostile letters. He was nearly seven feet tall and 400 pounds of teeming destruction. Tribal tattoos covered his face and an unholy fire burned deeply in his eyes. Hugo threw down his nightstick, shattering it on the pavement. He began to charge, screaming an inhuman battle cry.

“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGH!”

Joe cursed, remembering the spare gun was tucked in the back of Lawrence’s pants. He dove to the side, letting the behemoth charge past. So this is how a bullfighter feels, he thought. He scrambled over to the dog pile and frantically searched for the gun. Lawrence moaned, gasping for air. Joe followed the noise and pulled Lawrence out by his collar. Hugo was panting a few meters away, gearing up for another charge. Joe yanked the gun out of the back of Lawrence’s pants and took aim at Hugo. Hugo paused and stared.

“What are you going to do with that?” Hugo smirked.

“If all goes wrong, I’m going to have to shoot you. It’s up to you.”

“Go ahead,” he tilted his head back and laughed heartily. “D’you think you can really stop me with that toy?”

“We’ll see about that!” Joe pulled the trigger once. The dart took flight. Without even blinking, Hugo spun around and caught it in midair. Joe’s jaw dropped. He fired again, rapidly emptying the clip at the giant, and Hugo caught each one in a blur of snatching. He grinned at Joe and flexed his mighty arms.

“Bio-modified. You can’t stop me!”

Joe fell to his knees before the body pile, snaking a hand around one of the fallen guards’ nightsticks. “Oh, God! Please don’t kill me!”

“You’ll be lucky if that’s all I do! First, I think I’ll rip out your voice box and have it serenade you!”

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about that, haven’t you?” Joe tugged the nightstick free, turning his torso to keep his arm tucked out of sight. “Fine. You might as well finish it, dingus!” He flipped Hugo the bird.

“You asked for it!” Huge pawed the ground with his giant boot and charged. “YEAAAAAAAARGH!” Hugo was a blur of speed, but Joe rolled to the side and thrust upward with the nightstick, eyes closed in concentrated prayer to anyone who might be listening. He felt tender flesh give way, heard the sound of ribs cracking. He opened his eyes to see Hugo drop to the ground, spinning, clutching his side. Joe smirked.

“Bio-modified or not, brains beats brawn. Remember that.” He looked up to the stars and mouthed thank you.

Hugo growled; he was already getting to his knees. Joe’s eyes went wide and he nearly dropped the nightstick. “I’m going to fuck you up six ways from Sunday.” He tried to stand, but fell back to his knees trembling with the pain. Joe got up and moved in on the giant.

“I’m sorry about this, but you give me little choice.”

“What…choice?” Hugo bared his teeth at Joe. Joe raised the nightstick high and brought it down hard on Hugo’s head with a loud CRACK.

“Good night!” The gargantuan quickly fell silent. He was still alive, massive chest heaving with every breath. Joe didn’t want to be anywhere near this creature when he woke up.

Joe quickly clambered back to where Lawrence lay and unlocked his cuffs. Lawrence rubbed his wrists.

“Sorry about that,” he looked up at the building, holstering the empty pistol. Faces were watching them from the windows. “This isn’t working. We’ve got to get inside, fast!” Joe tore up the steps. Lawrence watched as Joe reached the entrance, then looked at the fallen wannabe. He leaned over him, removing his sunglasses. He put them on, covering his swollen black eye, then snatched the ID badge. This man was a Deputy Sergeant. That kind of access could come in handy. To complete the look, Lawrence took the do-rag off the unconscious man and slipped it on.