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  Contents

  More From Kenneth James Allen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Don’t forget to check out my other books

  Special Extract

  More From Kenneth James Allen

  FROM MY TWISTED MIND

  The Steal Dossier

  The Humanist

  The Isolationist (A Humanist Prequel)

  Identity Series

  Identity

  Reality

  FROM MY PECULIAR MIND

  Caddius Finch Files

  Machines

  Find out more at https://kennethjamesallen.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  REALITY

  First edition. April 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Kenneth James Allen.

  Written by Kenneth James Allen.

  For those that keep it real

  “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”

  Albert Einstein

  “The worst lies are the ones you tell yourself.”

  Anonymous

  Chapter 1

  Scott Harris gripped the steering wheel tight. His Mustang bounced off the surrounding black SUV’s that boxed him in. The shadowing aggressor constantly nudged the rear bumper. The T-junction was fast approaching and Scott knew that something had to give. He gripped the wheel tight.

  “You’re not planning on surrendering, are you, sir?” Woodward punched while preparing for impact.

  Scott looked over. “Not if I can help it!”

  He jammed his foot down on brakes. The consequences were brutal and sudden.

  The trailing SUV crashed into the back of the Mustang. Glass smashed and carbon fiber tore away, the impact lurching the Mustang forward and to the left and the SUV into the back of the flanking beast.

  The impact jolted Scott and Woodward into their seats from the sudden acceleration, their environment a mash of glass and smoke. Scott yanked down on the steering wheel and careened into the remaining SUV. They hit it dead center, causing the front bumper to crumple and airbags to deploy, shielding their view. The sound of screeching tires and tumbling metal filled the airwaves.

  When their car inched to a halt against the gutter, Scott looked over to the passenger seat.

  “You alright, Woodward?”

  “I’ll be fine, Sir,” he cringed. “Just need a minute to catch my breath.”

  “If only I could give you one,” Scott replied.

  Miroslav, the caretaker head of the Croatian crime family, kicked open his door. The remnant glass still in the frame crashed to the ground in a kaleidoscope of sound. He reached up to the cut above his eye and collected a sample. After investigating the residue, he ran it over his tongue. Revenge coated his features as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

  Looking over the carnage, he viewed his men pulling themselves out of the wreckage. He jammed two fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly to get their attention. When the chirp echoed about them, they immediately turned in his direction, like dogs who had picked up on their master’s call. Miroslav conveyed several hand gestures. However, they needn't have been experts to interpret the instruction.

  They checked their fully automatic machine guns, several of them pulling back on the weapons cocking handle, sending a collective ominous message to their prey. They surrounded and converged on the Rapid red, beat-up Mustang. Miroslav gave the order and all ten machine guns opened fire simultaneously, filling the panels with holes, and breaking any unscathed glass. Tires burst and upholstery exploded as countless bullets tore through the bodywork and into the interior of the wheeled-coffin.

  Happy with the conclusion, Miroslav held up his hand. One of his thugs approached the wreckage carefully, his gun up, sights trained on the front of the vehicle. When he inspected the interior, his head dropped.

  “Nisu ovde,” he shouted out.

  Miroslav bared his teeth in frustration.

  “Well, find him and kill him,” he ordered.

  One of the mercenaries turned in time to see one of his crew’s brain explode through a balaclava, as a pair of leather shoes came baring down onto his face. It was all he could do to let loose a couple of shots as he reactively squeezed the trigger on his machine gun.

  Scott had deftly climbed to the roof of the SUV as the crew of killers encircled his smashed-up ride. He knew their initial attention would be on the debris, allowing him and Woodward time to outflank them. From across the street, he could tell he had pissed Miroslav off, and rightly so. In fact, he would feel the same way. And given Dimitrijevic executed Special Agent Rollinson, he knew exactly how it felt. An eye for an eye.

  After they delivered a deluge of shrapnel into his car and determine his absence from the vehicle, it was the perfect time to strike. He jumped for the nearest thug, firing a round into the head of a nearby soldier. A spurt of brain exploded from the side of his head and the lifeless body fell face-first onto the pavement.

  Continuing with his trajectory, Scott landed on the guard’s face, driving him down. The back of his head impacted with a wet squelch, silencing his itchy trigger figure. Scott rolled away and ran for the nearby cover of his car, firing into the crew of mercenaries as he did so.

  Woodward matched his gunfire as he darted from the street corner, squeezing his trigger repeatedly at every soldier he could find. A trail of sparks on the concrete chased him behind one of the SUVs.

  Mercenaries launched their return attack, alternating a barrage of fire between them. One of them kneeled on one knee to insert a new clip of death, only to receive a bullet to the face, destroying his identifiable features. Another found himself without kneecaps as the death projectiles found their mark. A headshot silenced his agonizing groans.

  After Scott bombarded them with indiscriminate firing, he clicked dry. He dropped behind his cover and waited for the return volley to cease. Taking one last look at the gun, he placed it on the ground. It would be no more use to him in the fight. He limbered up his hands and shoulders, as best he could manage given the circumstances, and waited for his moment to pounce.

  The cracking of weapon discharging ended suddenly. Sounds of bodies being dragged over concrete enveloped the area as injured mercenaries, the ones still alive, dragged themselves to the sidelines for treatment. Those still capable of killing closed in on their quarry, weapons at the ready, fingers hovering over the triggers.

  Scott heard the sounds of footfalls edging closer. He knew he would have one chance at a surprise attack. As soon as he caught sight of the barrel, he would grab it, yanking the mercenary down, over-powering the assailant, and use their weapon to take down the remaining attackers. As Scott thought about the ensuing turning of the tables, he smirked. It seemed like child’s play.

  A machine gun barrel came into view and Scott prepared himself. Just as he was about to launch, he felt something hard in the back of his head. He paused, stopped breathing. Turned slowly. Beyond the tip of the killing machine were a pair of cold eyes beaming from the holes of a balaclava. The soldier waved, and Scott knew he was in some deep shit.

  The guard shoved him hard in the back as he presented his prisoner to Miroslav. Woodward was already on his knees in front of the crime family’s new b
oss, sporting a large red patch on his shoulder, courtesy of a successful round.

  Surrounded by the destruction of cars and bodies, Miroslav produced a cigarette, lit it and took a deep breath. He, too, was without harm. However, despite the blood streaking from his arm and leg, he showed no discomfort on his face.

  “Now,” he said between puffs. “Now we settle the score. Now we get our revenge on you.”

  He extracted a nickel-plated revolver from his waistband and pointed it at Scott’s head. Then he shifted the barrel to Woodward’s face.

  “No, you don’t deserve to die first. You deserve to watch your comrade die. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Scott looked down, searching the ground for an answer to the predicament. He thought through every strategy, every potential opportunity, without success.

  “No,” Miroslav grunted. “Look at me.”

  Scott raised his head and into the dead expression.

  “I want you to watch. I want you to watch me execute him. Then it will be your turn.”

  The pair locked eyes as the hammer slowly pulled back.

  “It was a pleasure working with you, sir,” Woodward said gracefully. “May our paths cross again.”

  BLAM!

  But it didn’t originate from Miroslav’s canon. Scott flinched at the boom and saw a puff of red mist erupt from the side of Miroslav’s head. His lifeless body turned over and slumped to the ground.

  Several more shots followed, as every member of the Miroslav clan fell where they stood. The shooter didn’t spare the already prone bodies from the onslaught.

  Woodward and Scott looked at each other, then turned and looked up. A figure on top of the building stood, lugging their sniper rifle onto their shoulder. With the sun directly behind them casting their body in shadow, the silhouette saluted, then disappeared from view.

  Scott stood and surveyed the terror.

  “You okay, Woodward?”

  “I’ll survive just fine, sir. And you?”

  “Alive... thanks to Maxine.”

  “Damn fine handy agent to have around, sir.”

  “You’re telling me. Now, you think we can get one of these shredded SUV’s working?”

  They took in the condition of the wrecks and almost regretted asking the question. It didn’t take a mechanic to figure out the answer to the question. Suddenly, a roar echoed from down the intersection, an engine redlining. A gray Jeep arrived at pace and skidded to a halt. The door flung open and Maxine leaned out.

  “You boys need a lift?”

  “What?” Scott yelled.

  #

  “I said, get the fuck in the car!”

  The outside world slowed to a stop as Scott looked around himself. Night had taken over the late afternoon canvas he was just living in. He slowly removed his headphones as he viewed the carnage. The Identity app had done it again.

  Xavier’s Maserati was mangled against the front of a dark van, both vehicles totaled, and he couldn’t tell where one car ended and the other began. Black-clad bodies littered the street, all in various poses of arms and legs. Semi-automatic machine guns and spent ammunition casings covered the area. He looked down and noted the pistol in his hand. He dropped it like it was a poisonous snake.

  A body lay near his feet and he initially thought it was Woodward, before separating the fantasy from the reality. He bent down to inspect it further. They had been riddled with bullets. He grabbed the balaclava, more out of instinct than conscious thought, and started to reveal the face of one attacker. Whether this would bring any sort of solace to him, he didn’t know.

  A noise in the distance, fighting its way through the fog hanging over Scott’s senses. Then again, louder this time. Shouting. Footsteps on road surface coming towards him. Xavier’s face came into view. Steel eyes through sweat laden chestnut hair. Mouthed words were silent like the television was on mute. Again and again. Xavier shook his shoulders. Scott could make out the words. Get. In. The. Car. Scott shook his head and his senses returned to perfect working order with a fury that almost made his head explode.

  A honking horn. Beyond Xavier, someone sitting in the driver’s seat screaming at him. Definitely a she, but with the shadows and shock, he couldn’t make her out entirely. Her silhouette looked so familiar, yet he couldn’t put a finger on it.

  “What the fuck happened here?” Scott managed to get out.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” Xavier said as he waved a gun around. “Now, hurry.”

  He pulled Scott towards the Jeep.

  “We haven’t got much time.”

  Chapter 2

  The Jeep swerved around corners with little regard for road rules and traffic laws. However, given the current situation, all cards were off the table. Scott sat behind the driver and held on to the panic rails as he jostled around in the back seat, his mind still playing catch up to the most recent events. Xavier was in the passenger seat, alternating glances with his phone and the ever-changing view out the front windshield, shouting directions to the driver.

  “We’ve got to get in the air,” he shouted.

  “I thought you said they would have the airports covered,” Scott yelled from the back seat. He needed to interject himself before he threw up all over the leather.

  “We’re not going to the airport,” he replied over his shoulder.

  “Well, then where are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there... if we get there.”

  His tone didn’t offer Scott any assurances he would still be breathing at the end of the night.

  “Is there anything you can tell me? Like, what the hell is going on?!”

  Xavier turned. “Scott, I will tell you everything, as soon as we are safe and away from here.”

  “Was that Division Zero? Is that who you were talking about?”

  “Leave it, Scott.”

  “At least tell me why they are after me.”

  “They’re not after you,” Xavier shouted over the roar of the engine and screeching tires. “They’re after me.”

  “You?”

  “I’m not some snooty entrepreneur, Mr. Harris. I’m not what you think at all.”

  “You just got caught up in the cross-fire,” the driver added.

  “Thank you, mystery person,” Scott fired back. “And just who the hell are you?”

  “The person who just saved your ass!” she said, sass all over her tone like a jalapeno salsa.

  “Scott, meet Maxine. Maxine, meet Scott. There. Introductions done,” Xavier announced.

  “Maxine? Really?” Scott peered around the seat to the driver, taking in as much of her features as he could as the cabin shook, the chassis under immense pressure as it rocketed around corners at breakneck speed. The voice. The messy short blonde hair.

  “Jesus Christ,” Scott said, sitting back firmly in his seat. “You’re Maxine!”

  “No shit,” she quipped. “That’s just what Xavier said.”

  “No! I mean, you’re identical to the Maxine I’ve seen in the app.”

  She negotiated the metal missile around several fast-moving vehicles like they were parked and looked over to Xavier. “You haven’t told him yet, have you?”

  “Told me what?”

  Xavier looked to her, then Scott, then back to his phone.

  “You really should tell him,” she pushed.

  “Tell me what?” Scott repeated.

  “It’s not fair, you know.”

  “For fuck’s sake, someone tell me!”

  “Enough,” Xavier shouted. He turned to Scott. “Listen, it’s complicated. I said I’ll tell you once we’re safe. So just find some bloody patience.” He turned to Maxine. “And you, shit-stirrer, just drive the damn car. I’d prefer to limit my gun-fights to one per night, thank you very much.”

  Scott sank back into his seat and stared down at his stained blue sports coat and blood-streaked pants. His wife’s DNA was on there somewhere, mixed with dirt, grime and results of
a firefight. His life had turned upside down in the space of days. Just as his Identity app experiences had increased in intensity, so too has his real life. It used to be complete with stationery sales calls and monotone reports, but now car chases and urban firefights were the main features. His weapon used to be a five percent discount with orders over two hundred bucks. Now it was a nine-millimeter. And on top of it all, his fantasy girl, Maxine, was real... and a reckless driver. From stationery salesperson to murder suspect to being on the run from a mysterious group of people. How Xavier would thread the story together was beyond him, but based on the shit he had to go through, the shit he had been through, it had better be damn good.

  The industrial landscape transformed into the jungle of multi-tiered motorways, and then into concrete and glass as the city grew around them. Lights got brighter, the population denser, and Maxine’s speed dropped off considerably. Gentle rain spatter hit every window at once, causing steam to rise from the roadway.

  “Another three blocks,” Xavier instructed.

  “Is transportation ready?” Maxine asked.

  “And waiting.” Xavier removed weapons from the glove-box and handed one to Scott in the back seat.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” Scott asked as he avoided taking ownership.

  “The same thing you just did to those people back there.”

  Scott took the weapon and rested it on the seat beside him.

  A squeal of tires from behind made Xavier and Scott turn. Through the raindrop patterned rear window, twin black sports utilities fired from an intersection and turned onto the street.

  “God damn it,” Xavier breathed. “How the hell did they track us so fast?”

  He looked to Scott, who held up the headphones in his hands.

  Xavier narrowed his eyes.

  “Are we gonna make it?” Maxine yelled.

  “There!” Xavier pointed out the windscreen.