Read Online Superego by Frank J. Fleming - Free Book Online Page B

opposite of civilized). We were in a pretty open area, so I could only find partial cover behind a lamppost.
    I reminded myself not to smile. I tend to smile when I shoot people, because it’s challenging and fun. But that freaks people out—which usually is an advantage, but not in this situation.
    It was odd killing people in a socially acceptable manner; it felt like trying to walk around on my hands. Still, the terrorists’ aim was pathetic, and I probably got a bit cocky. I fired two more close but missing shots before killing a third. And then my luck ran out.
    It felt like a hot poker jammed through my calf muscle. My leg would no longer support my weight, and I fell over. Adrenaline shot through me, and instinct took over. I pulled out my second blaster and unloaded two guns into the head of the thing that shot me until his face caught fire. Or maybe it was just his beard. Whatever it was, it was pretty awesome. There was no time to watch, though, as there was still one terrorist left, and I was unable to get up. He had a bead on me, so I just unloaded on him as he tried to shoot back. I don’t even know how many times I shot him, but the important thing was his not shooting me.
    Anger had probably taken some control over me—not a good thing—but my leg really hurt.
    I looked around the fire of the former café to see if there were any “bad guys” left to shoot, but I saw only panic, the injured crying in pain, and the permanently quiet. Safe for at least a moment, I set down my guns and began bandaging my leg with a cloth napkin from a nearby table.
    â€œYou saved us!” gasped a middle-age woman clutching a child.
    In my condition, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to people—especially in a situation like this where they would be even more irrational and useless than usual. Still, I had to commit to character if I wanted to get through this. I went with false modesty—that seemed to be a societal norm for this sort of thing. “I was just saving myself.” That was completely true; frankly I would have preferred that everyone else had died so they wouldn’t be bothering me at the moment.
    I wondered if I would be in the news for this. That would not be helpful.
    â€œCan I help you with—”
    â€œI’m fine,” I interrupted the woman as I tightened my bandage. “Look after your son.” Others were gathered around me now, as I was apparently the closest thing to an authority figure there. “Look for the wounded so you can help the authorities when they get here,” I commanded calmly. If you act like you’re in charge, most people will just assume you are and do as you say. “Don’t worry about me; I can handle myself.”
    The role-playing required a lot of concentration, but what I really wanted to be contemplating right now was why I had been told to meet my contacts at this café and ended up in the middle of a terrorist attack. I couldn’t even begin to think what that meant.
    â€œI am hearing in police chatter that there was violence at the café you were going to,” Dip said. “And now I detect that you are injured. Do you need me to activate the emergency protocol?”
    I heard sirens as emergency vehicles descended upon us, and reflexively I glanced at the guns lying at my side. I had two options: Shoot my way out of this, or surrender my guns and remove that option. There was nothing worse to me than a situation where shooting my way out wasn’t even a fallback. But giving up my weapons was the smarter choice right now and the only one that might give me an opportunity to complete my job.
    â€œThat would be an overreaction at this juncture. I want you to get in contact with Vito, tell him what happened when I tried to meet my contacts, and get him to find out what the hell is going on.”
    It was good that a normal person would be stressed and angry in this situation,