Vs Reality by Blake Northcott Read Free Book Online

first.”
    Cole obediently steps away, pressing his back to the wall of the alley. He wants to give her as wide a berth as possible for whatever the hell she’s about to do.
    Dia plunges her hands into what looks like thin air, but she seems to grab hold of the universe’s fabric, fingertips disappearing into a tiny glowing seam. With a tearing motion she pulls open a rift that emits a blinding light; a jagged burst of sunlight torn directly from the darkness. With her hands still pressing on the seams of the tear, Dia looks back at Cole. He’s mesmerized, frozen. If the skin on his face were any paler it would be translucent.
    Dia detects a subtle movement in her peripheral vision, obscured by the light streaming from the portal.
    Goto is staggering, stumbling back to his feet. He straightens his posture and fumbles for something inside of his coat pocket. Or so it seems, until Dia makes out the distinctive leather strap concealed below his armpit.
    A holster.
    She screams out to Cole, her voice trembling.
    He blinks rapidly, jarred out of his trance. He follows Dia’s line of sight.
    Goto draws a silver hand cannon like an expert swordsman extracting his blade from a scabbard. He levels it, cocking the hammer with his thumb.
    Dia leaps headfirst through the opening, swallowed by the burning light. Cole follows her through just as Goto squeezes.
    The glowing rift begins to close as the bullets make their way towards the opening.

Chapter Eight – Dissipate
    New York City
August 26, 2011
2:18 am, Eastern Daylight Time
     
    Heinreich clumsily scrambles back to his feet after being knocked unconscious, leaning on the remains of the pulverized car for support. He gently massages his head as blood trickles from his ears.
    Goto narrows his eyes and peers down the alley, watching intently as the glowing rift fades. It abruptly closes with a twisting jolt of electricity, swallowed back into the nothingness that it had been torn from. “Well that was extremely disappointing.”
    Heinreich gingerly walks towards his partner. He rubs his aching back and hacks out a cough, dotting the street with blood. “Someone must have heard your gunshots. We need to return to the Basement before the police arrive.” The word ‘the’ comes out sounding more like ‘zee’; his accent seems to be more pronounced after being knocked unconscious. He might be concussed.
    Goto remains laser focused on the darkened alley, as if staring at the exit point will somehow cause the rift to reappear. “That’s a brilliant plan. Let’s do that: let’s return without the cargo.” He turns to face Heinreich, and responds with a deadpan that can only be delivered in a dry British accent. “And when we have to explain to Govinda precisely why we’ve returned empty-handed, we can go into great detail about how you were rendered unconscious by a single punch, and how I was disabled by a battery-powered toy that was probably purchased on eBay.”
    Heinreich’s eyes drop to his feet. “When you explain it that way, my idea is sounding…not so good.”
    “I’m in no mood to get liquefied or have my spinal column removed one vertebrae at a time, so we need to consider alternative courses of action. The problem is that Miss Davenport remains nearly impossible to catch, and we have no intelligence about this new arrival.”
    “Or how he did that thing.” Heinreich points to his arm and flexes his bicep. “How he grew? He did it without any pill.”
    Just then, Jens stumbles from the side door of Platinum, half drunk and completely confused. He staggers down the stairs and in to the alley, Bole and Brew in hand, stepping right between Goto and Heinreich.
    “Donovan!” he shouts, slurring his words, “Cole, man, are you back here somewhere? Need the keys? I thought I saw you come out the side door with—”
    Jens is cut off mid-sentence as he’s introduced, once again, to the center of Heinreich’s impressively hairy chest. “Look dude,” he