Soldiers of Misfortune: Parasite Lost

By Kyle Winter

Being a hero isn't easy, unless you're being blackmailed into it.

Dante has the best cybernetic and genetic modifications money can buy. The problem is, he stole them from the owner of the largest bio-enhancement company in the human controlled galaxy, his father. When one of his father's research facilities start turning locals into violent mutants, Dante is coerced to clean up the mess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Winter
• Release date: Nov 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310717208

Kyle Winter

Having failed as an author bio writer, I decided to try my hand at science-fiction. I'm basically just a guy who takes my imaginary friends too seriously.When not running my characters through a gauntlet of misery I run paper & pencil RPG's, get beat up at jiu-jitsu and train my dog not to put his junk on things.

Book preview

Parasite Lost

Published by Kyle Winter at Smashwords.

Editor: Patrick Burdine

Copyright © 2019 by Kyle Winter

All rights reserved.

Cover illustration by Kyle Winter.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Corporations run the universe. The money we earn working for them is spent on their products. That feeling of safety and stability they provide means their marketing campaigns are working. Every aspect of our lives is controlled or manipulated in some way by people at the top of the corporate food chain and we are forced to live in their shadows.

Most companies are willing to conduct clandestine operations to drive their competitors into the ground. Blackmail, vandalism, thievery, kidnapping, and murder are just some of the ways companies knock each other down a peg. No self-respecting businessman would sully his hands with such a project, thus an underground network of civilian operatives fills that need.

Individuals who are brave (or insane) enough to assist in these secret missions are rewarded with either a fat check or a dirt nap. Due to the dangerous and unpredictable nature of these missions, civilian operatives are often called…

Soldiers of Misfortune

Also in this series:

Novels

Parasite Lost

Forerunners Anthology

Short Stories

Trial By Fire (Forerunners)

Cradle to the Grave (Forerunners)

The Black Maw (Forerunners)

Grudge Match (Forerunners)

Prologue

Good evening doctor, to what do I owe the pleasure?

We have a problem, Dr. Malliny said as the holographic image of her face floated above Sirus Opulen’s desk.

How bad? Sirus asked as he swiped through financial data hovering to his left and loosened his tie with a well-manicured finger.

People are dying.

Sirus looked away from his bank accounts and stared into the projection of Dr. Malliny’s eyes. Dr. Malliny took a moment to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Anyone important? Sirus asked.

Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

All right, I’ll set up a CivOp contract right away.

A civilian operative contract? Don’t you think this is a little delicate to hire random mercenaries, sir?

I already have a few people in mind, Sirus admitted as he pulled up some dossiers that floated next to Dr. Malliny‘s head. He stood up and put his hands on the small of his back, using them for support as he leaned back and stretched out his spine.

Is that, um, with all due respect, sir, is that legal?

"This operation, your operation, is too important. I have to pull strings."

Right, she nodded. Well, I trust they are capable and discrete.

Trust me doctor, I have everyone’s best interest in mind.

Right. Well, um, thank you sir, Dr. Malliny replied. A terrified scream pulled her attention from the conversation, shut the doors! Don’t let it- she shouted.

Sirus Opulen waved his hand and the remaining screens floating above his desk disappeared. With his thumb and index finger he pinched the bridge of his nose. His reflection grew clearer as he walked over to a black console embedded in a glossy marble support pillar. He activated it with a swipe of his hand and a panel in the wall opened up. A cool glass of water slid toward him. He picked it up and took a sip, licking his lips for a moment. He placed the water back on the panel and pressed a few buttons hovering in front of him. The water slid back into the wall and the panel shut for only a fraction of a second before it opened once more and slid back out a few degrees cooler. He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped once more before taking a satisfying gulp.

He walked over to his desk and stood behind his massive leather chair with his face to the window. His eyes darted around the bustling city scape before him. Most vehicles were not permitted to fly as high as his penthouse office. He looked down on the few that were high enough for him to see in any detail. He surveyed the flickering advertisements and their products, many of which he had engineered or put into production himself. There was no rooftop he could not see as he looked down on the vast metropolis of hive city Vytal.

Chapter I

The cabin of the transport vessel smelled like old grease and burned oil, probably because it hadn’t been serviced in too long and was designed for light vehicle transport instead of troop sorties like this one. Auxiliary lighting cast a dark red shade over the area and killed most of the shadows, making the already cramped space feel claustrophobic. The straps and crash webbing hanging from the ceiling didn’t help either.

So, Up-eight, what brings you to a backwater like this? Bren asked with his most charming smile. They could all hear his voice clearly through the team’s comm pieces despite the rumble of the transport’s engines.

It’s pronounced Ah-pah-tay, and you can mind your own business, Apate replied.

Armed with a sniper rifle and sass, I like it.

Interesin’ piece you’ve got there. Is that Merder hardware? Alistair asked, pointing to Dante’s shotgun.

Yes sir, designed by Ares Merder himself, Dante replied as he turned over his weapon with pride. It was a custom job with shells like soda cans and shot like marbles.

Bren scoffed next to him.

That old coot is dead, he said.

His body is, yeah, Dante replied.

When I was in th’marines they sometimes gave us those for small ship-to-ship skirmishes. Not as big and fancy as that one, but similar. They were less likely t’pierce th’hull and suck everyone out into space, Alistair said as he made small talk.

Semper vigilo, brother, Dante said with a respectful nod. Alistair nodded back.

Are you some kind of fisherman? Apate asked as she gestured to the harpoons on Bren’s forearms.

Nah, my old man was though. Till he became a felon anyway, Bren replied.

How does a fisherman become a felon? Dante asked.

By hunting endangered kraken and killing the coast guard, Bren said.

How do you hunt a kraken? Do those little batteries actually do anything? Apate asked, eyeing the shocking mechanism bolted next to the winches on his forearms.

You latch on with the harpoons and pull yourself onto the big ugly buttheads and stick explosives into their brain, Bren said, I added the shock batteries for funsies.

Watch your language mate, there are ladies aboard, Alistair said with a smirk.

I’m on probation, no potty talk for me, Bren said as he pointed to the cranial bomb grafted to the back of his skull.

It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Apate said.

The four of them sat in silence as they neared their destination. There were no windows to look out and certainly no in-flight catalog for them to peruse. They hit a pocket of turbulence and everyone double-checked their restraints. Low thumps came from outside and hundreds of tiny objects plinked against the hull as the vessel shuddered once more.

Why d’we do this crazy shite? Alistair asked, more to himself than anyone in particular.

Don’t know why you’re here, but I’m here for the check, Dante responded before he put a penlight in his teeth to look down the ejection port of his massive shotgun. The weapon looked more like a tool for large mining operations than personal protection.

Ok moneybags, I’m sure between your sponsorships, the box office, and your old man you need the cash, Bren said.

A guy’s gotta put food on the table, Dante shrugged.

Yeah, but these high pay and no say missions are always more dangerous than they advertise, hence the ‘no say’ part. I mean, if I die then the money doesn’t mean much, Bren said.

Depends if you have somethin’ worth livin’ for I suppose, Alistair muttered.

If one or more contractors are killed in action, then the money is distributed among the remaining contractors, Apate said into her headset. Her voice stood out against the small, stuffy cargo space like a subtle perfume.

Well, I’m glad somebody read the fine print, Bren said.

You knew the risks when you accepted the contract. At least I hope you did, Apate replied as she pulled her hair back and tied it at the base of her skull so her helmet would fit more comfortably.

Like I had much choice, Bren muttered.

It’s just supposed t’be a bunch of militia down there, right? Alistair asked to change the subject and get everyone focused.

According to this, we need to get into a research facility under attack by local militia. Something inside is ticking them off. They probably won’t take kindly to our being there, so we’ll have to fight through them. Once we’re in, we need to find the main server room, snag some data, then get outta dodge, Bren said as he glanced over his holo-pad to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything.

Sounds right, I was just makin’ sure, Alistair said. Dante didn’t want to admit he hadn’t read the latest mission brief.

Red light’s flashin’, we go green in ten, Dante said with an edge of anticipation in his abnormally deep voice. He thumbed the dial on his comm-piece to his personal library of music. Most people, professionals especially, would want clear radio communication with their teammates going into a hot drop zone. Dante was a fashion over function kind of guy. Bren cocked his head back and forth to stretch it a little as he got ready for his favorite part of any drop mission.

The four made sure their equipment was secure. Dante rolled his massive shoulders back and forth, relaxing them for the drop. Because of his size it was difficult for him to find armor that fit properly, and the circulation to his limbs was often lacking. He had spent a considerable amount of money on custom equipment for himself but limbering up had become a ritual from his days in the Human Liberation Army.

Seven seconds left. Apate slapped down her visor to shield her from the wind of the drop. She stood up and stretched her legs while running a quick diagnostic check on her visor to make sure the aim-assist and map display were working properly. A series of glyphs and characters organized into view and gave her their current altitude, oxygen levels and other pertinent information as the helmet calibrated. With her last few seconds before battle she tried to digest as much of the incoming information as possible.

Five seconds. May th’flames of my wrath baptize my enemies so they suffer not in death what they are about t’suffer in life, Alistair muttered before blowing a kiss to the pantheon above. He then opened his jaw wide to stretch his face out so his dry skin wouldn’t peel on the way down. Alistair thought about the children back home that were awaiting his return. If he didn’t make it back, they would be lost without him and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Thinking of their smiling faces steeled him for the impending chaos.

Three seconds. Bren admired his forearm-mounted harpoons and wondered if this mission would be his ticket out of the prison cell awaiting him. With any luck, he’d be absolved of his crimes and have an opportunity to confront his father about their last encounter. Then he’d impale the bastard on his own harpoons and get some much-needed answers out of him. Bren was never much of a cook, but revenge was a dish he’d perfected over the years.

A cargo light went green and a warning buzzer went off. The floor of the cargo ship swallowed them whole. A torrent of wind and shrapnel flew past them as they careened to the surface of the planet. Apart from the roaring sound of air rushing past their heads it was fairly peaceful. Bren relished the feeling of the drop and watched as plumes of smoke floated quickly toward him and filled his lungs with their sweet, sooty blackness.

They plummeted through the smoke and an all-out war revealed itself on the gray, rocky surface of the planet. The roof of a large building dominated the area and appeared to be the center of all the chaos. Civilian militia scurried around the smaller vehicles and buildings surrounding the larger complex that looked almost like an abandoned college campus. They were struggling to gain ground against the automated defenses. Armed drones and sentry turrets mowed down the disorganized forces that tried to penetrate the defenses of the complex. Piles of corpses stacked at natural choke points around the war zone. The unorganized and poorly armed militia’s only tactic appeared to be drowning the automated defenses with bodies hoping to smother the facility with their numbers. Although their efforts destroyed some surrounding turrets, each victory came at great cost.

Did somebody order a keg of kick-ass? Dante said to catch the attention of anyone below who would notice him. He took a few useless potshots at the poor militia below and laughed at the tiny craters his gun left in the ground, although they weren’t causing any real damage. He was channeling one of the testosterone-fueled meatheads he so often played in holo-films.

Alistair closed his eyes and focused. He was confident the ‘auto’ setting on his drop pack would do its job. Apate’s eyes darted around for a good vantage point. Her visor’s display was a mess of symbols, glyphs, and data as her helmet analyzed the battlefield and provided her with tactical information.

I’m going southeast, to that garage with the red loading bays. Everyone copy?

The three men grunted.

We’ll keep ‘em busy! Dante said as he activated his drop pack with a