StarCraft II: Devils' Due Read Online Free PDF Page B

pressed down on it with his lower arms,
    lifted his legs up, and kicked out as hard as he could.
    His attacker stumbled back a step or two, but the grip
    around Kydd’s throat didn’t loosen.
    “How’s it feel now, Ark? Having trouble getting air
    in? Feeling the blood pressure build up? Do you want
    to swal ow?”
    He couldn’t break the man’s grip, because it wasn’t
    a man’s grip—it was a cyborg’s—and panic surged
    up into Kydd as he struggled. He tried to lift his legs
    for another attack—the only option available to him—
    but he didn’t have much strength left, and they kicked
    ineffectively, swimming in the air until with his other
    arm the assailant almost casual y slammed
    something hard against Kydd’s kneecaps. Distantly
    Kydd realized it was his own rifle.
    Kydd couldn’t even howl in pain, the cry stifled by
    the implacable fingers closing, closing around him.
    “—are honoring those Old Families who have seen
    the need and generously donated to those less
    fortunate than themselves, who might otherwise be
    too proud to ask for the help they so need. Those who
    would harm the Confederacy, such as the terrorist
    Sons of Korhal, who would take food from the mouths
    of—”
    “Good,” the man murmured. He tightened his grip
    slightly. Kydd’s crippled hands flew to the false
    fingers, stupidly, uselessly trying to pry them from the
    slender human throat they were crushing. Blood
    thundered in his ears. His lungs labored to get
    something, anything—the merest puff of air—into
    them. Darkness started to melt in around his vision.
    He kept flailing, though, slapping his crippled hands
    against the metal substance of the human-looking
    arm. His legs moved ever more frantical y, and he felt
    a warm wetness seeping into his crotch area.
    The hand on his throat kept squeezing.
    He felt heavy, too heavy to resist, to move. His eyes
    closed, and he felt himself being shaken, the grip
    loosening
    “Damn it, not yet!” the man cried.
    But it was too late. Kydd didn’t hear it, nor the
    growing passion in the senator’s speech, nor the
    wildly cheering crowd.
    He didn’t hear anything at al .

    * * *
For a long moment, the murderer simply stood in
    the room, alone with the corpse that five minutes ago
    had been a living, breathing human being, and who
    had been so beautiful y, gloriously afraid. Sighing, he
    relaxed his fingers and let the body thump to the floor.
    It hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. He gazed
    rueful y at his artificial hand, flexing and twiddling the
    fingers. “Don’t know my own strength sometimes,” he
    said. He picked up the rifle and took a moment more
    to caress it, thinking about how many times Kydd had
    held it, had fired it, had snuffed out a life in a
    heartbeat. Chances were the victim never knew it was
    coming.
    Where was the fun in that?
    He turned his attention to the body, got what he had
    come for, dropped it in a smal satchel, and rose. He
    went to a corner of the room near the door and picked
    up a smal device he had activated when he first
    entered, before he had revealed his presence to
    Kydd. His metal ic hand closed about it protectively,
    and he smiled.
    His job done, the kil er turned and left.
    “Let us not be dazzled by lies dressed up to look
    like truths. Let us remember that the Confederacy and
    the Old Families always—always—have our best
    interests at heart. Ladies and gentlemen … for
    freedom, for Farm Aid, and for the Confederacy!”
    The bright lights from the ral y spil ed in through the
    window, casting their il umination on the floor and on
    what was left of Ryk Kydd, once known as Ark
    Bennet.

CHAPTER FOUR
    RED MESA, NEW SYDNEY
    WICKED WAYNE’S
    The erratical y blinking sign proclaimed the
    establishment to be Wicked Wayne’s, although the “n”
    and the “e” kept shorting out so that it more often read
    as “Wicked Way’s.” When Raynor was drunk, which
    usual y happened a couple hours into any visit here,
    he