Thursday 21 October 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 17 (Final)

Domino's meeting with Yamada continues...

Yamada's slightly smug greeting galvanised her will to succeed and Domino suddenly found she had stopped shaking. She was back in control again. She reached into a small fold in the bag she carried across her wrist and, with great care, pulled out a traditional business card that was both anachronistic and exquisitely crafted.

Domino bowed low and offered the card to Yamada, who accepted it with surprising reverence.
His first mistake.
He paused for a moment to examine the card, taking in the quality of the calligraphy, the intricate artwork depicting the hint of a face amid sakura blossoms, designed to leave a lasting impression on the client.

His approval of her gesture was obvious, yet a certain arrogance prevented him from demonstrating it too openly in her presence. So Yamada nodded what might have been a hint at a bow before leading the way over to the low table set into the centre of the room. Domino's eyes scanned the feast arrayed there, spotted the fugu and almost laughed at the perfect coincidence of it all.

The synthetic neurotoxin currently coursing through Yamada's blood was a carefully engineered variant of tetrodotoxin, the deadly venom found in the puffer-fish from which fugu was prepared. In handling her business card, Yamada had come into contact with the poison and would soon feel its effects. Or maybe he wouldn't; Domino wasn't too sure on that point. It did cause paralysis, after all.

Domino meanwhile, would be completely unaffected. The custom skin barrier coating her palms and fingertips made sure of that. Now all she had to do was maintain her composure until the toxin she had bought from Roland's bizarre little lab completed its task.

She blinked as hundreds of sakura blossoms suddenly whirled in the air in front of her, as if carried by some strange breeze along a flat plane, forming a vivid, almost fractal curtain. Domino realised Yamada had reprogrammed the suite's aural/visual defence curtains in order to produce this illusion.

High-intensity projectors built into the floor and ceiling at specific intervals produced fields of 'white noise', operating on a massive range of frequencies and designed with security in mind. Intended to defeat remote surveillance and sniper scopes, they could also be simultaneously programmed to project an accompanying image sympathetic to the owner's décor. Domino had seen people set them up as washi paper screens before, but this level of animation was something new. These defensive screens were one of the reasons she had decided against just taking Yamada out from across the bay, a well placed shot from a high-powered, neural linked rifle wiping his particular stain from her past.

Another reason was that she wanted to see his face. She needed to be in the same room, the same space, when Yamada realised what was happening to him.

Yamada was seated at the table now, and gestured for Domino to join him. She stepped slowly through the repeating curtains of petals, watching for the first flicker of panic in Yamada's eyes.

Any second now...

His fingers went first. The hands and arms weren't far behind, locked into a freeze-frame as the neurotoxin began wreaking havoc on his system. Yamada's eyes widened in shock and completely unfettered fear as, within three beats of his ageing, blackened heart, his muscles completely ceased responding to his commands.

“W-what's happening to me?” Yamada managed, his voice little more than a parched whisper as his airway rebelled against him.

Domino stalked closer, the light from Yamada's neon-Ueno construct reflected in her dark irises as she leant in close to him.

“I imagine you're trying to figure out if it's a heart attack. Or a stroke, maybe,” she said softly. “You might also be wondering why I'm not more concerned, why I'm not in a blind panic, that sort of thing.”

“What!? Who are you? I -”
“Save your breath. You're about to find it increasingly difficult to breathe, much less talk. That's one of the problems with badly prepared fugu: paralysis, followed by eventual asphyxiation. Now...” she paused, lifting a pair of chopsticks from an ornate ceramic cup. “Do you really have no idea who I am? I would have thought some small part of you had been expecting me.”

As Domino lifted an impossibly thin slice of fugu with the chopsticks, she saw Yamada's eyes register sudden comprehension.

“Sh-shinigami?” Yamada croaked.
Domino frowned and sighed at the sound of that word. The code-name they had given her. Death-god or, as they had intended it, bringer of death.
“Yes. And no. Nobody calls me that now. I left that name behind when I escaped your 'Ryu-gumi' organisation.” She almost spat the name of the Yakuza syndicate, the group of wealthy parasites who had fractured a little girl's life.
She stared hard at Yamada, her eyes unblinking accusations, irises morphing from inky black through to molten red as a maelstrom of emotions surged within her. Domino took a deep breath, trying to choose her next words, not wanting her message to be diminished by the confusion she was feeling. Now that she was here, it felt... unexpected, unpredictable.
It was in that moment that there came a discreet knock at the door.

Shit! Domino cursed to herself as she swiftly kicked off her geta sandals and moved silently towards the door. She halted as it opened and adopted what she hoped was a convincingly demure pose as the pseudo-ninja from outside walked in.

“Please forgive the intrusion, Yamada-sama. I notice your heart rate is unusually elevated. Is everything all right?”

Domino had never considered the possibility that Yamada might be fitted with a remote heart monitor. Stupid, stupid mistake. The pseudo-ninja was waiting for Yamada's response. To his credit, the bodyguard worked out that something was wrong quite quickly. As he turned towards Domino, his hand was already reaching for his gun.

“You there! What is – uurk!”

Domino closed the gap between them before he had chance to even consider lining up a shot. Her hands moved fast, sending his gun spinning away as she locked and snapped his wrist in a simple disarm. She then reversed momentum and pivoted, her small movement causing him to tumble head over heels. He landed awkwardly and she used the opportunity to quickly pull off his odd egg-shaped helmet.
Domino immediately pulled him into a sleeper hold, her arm forming a 'v' under his chin, applying pressure to both the carotid and jugular arteries, restricting blood flow to the man's brain. Unconsciousness found him within seconds, and as she felt his body grow limp, she released him to the floor. He would not be out for long, she knew, and so she retrieved one of her acupuncture needles from her hair and applied it as she had done with Koralev. At least when he came to, he would be unable to interfere further with her plans for Yamada.

Padding back over to where Yamada sat immobile, a living statue, she crouched at his side once more.

“You have a loyal man there,” she commented. To her surprise, Yamada opened his mouth to respond. The man had considerable will power, she had to give him that, at least.
“W-why did you not kill him?” he rasped slowly.
“He was just doing his job. Besides, it's you I came to kill.”
Yamada's eyes somehow managed to widen further still, more out of panic than shock. 
 
“The funny thing is,” Domino continued, “I'm not going to.”

She waited for that to sink in before continuing, “you see, to do so would be to continue on as 'Shinigami'. It'd be almost as if I never left the Ryu-gumi. I came here with two options: the festival treat in my bag, which contains enough synthetic neurotoxin to fell a sumo – utterly lethal within seconds of ingestion, and the calling card, dosed with a little contact poison. Just enough to render you immobile and, I imagine, quite uncomfortable.
“Somehow, in getting to you via your nasty little subordinates, I started to realise that the whole point of hunting you down was not only to avenge my parents, but to free myself of the Ryu-gumi. Rather than kill you all, one by one – which is still an option, by the way – it seems more effective now to issue a warning. Guess who's going to be my advocate?”

As she was talking to Yamada, Domino realised that she had started babbling, almost a stream of consciousness outpouring of all that seemed to matter at that point in time. The man no doubt thought she was crazy. Truth be told, she thought, I am. A little.

Since her escape from the Ryu-gumi criminal syndicate-cum-mega-corporation which had spawned her, she had tried to rebuild memories of her past from a shattered, amnesiac psyche. All she had now were little more than snapshots, the information she needed about who she was being randomly drip-fed to her as she searched for clues.

All the while, the yakuza oyabun had been looking for her, keen to reclaim their most precious 'asset'. After all, they had gone to the trouble of killing her family, taking her as their own and shaping her into a precision instrument of their wrath. They had spared no expense, employing bleeding edge cybernetics, viral skill learning and nanotechnology in order to craft their perfect little warrior. To this day, she had no idea as to why she was 'chosen'.

Perhaps more to the point, she had no idea what she was doing here now. It was only recently that she had recalled Yamada's face, his name, his involvement in her past. So much of her still wanted him dead, his passing preferably prefaced by immeasurable suffering. Certainly, he belonged in one of the many hells. And yet, to kill him would be to somehow dishonour her parents' memory. At least, that's how it felt to her now.
And what she had said to Yamada was true: if she was ever to distance herself from her dark past, she needed to stem the bloodshed. To say she was conflicted was an understatement. But Yamada didn't need to know that. Fuck him. He could stay scared. So long as he got the rest of the Ryu-gumi to leave her the hell alone. Give her space and time to figure out who she really was on her own terms.

If Yamada had noticed Domino drifting off into a reverie, he didn't show it. Tetrodotoxin will do that to a man. The singular brilliance of Roland's creation was that, in controlled doses, the muscular paralysis would not prove fatal and would only hint at gradual asphyxia. Yamada's silence and laboured breathing indicated that the neurotoxin was now in full effect. Domino shrugged slightly. She had never liked the sound of his voice, anyway.

“So... you're going to get the elder Ryu-gumi to call off the dogs. I'm bored now. Consider how easily I reached you. Then consider how messy things will get if I am given reason to become... aggravated. It's time for the Ryu-gumi to find themselves a new asset, a new Shinigami. It'll be much cheaper and considerably safer. Just nod if you understand.”

Domino angled her head, as if waiting for a response, regarding Yamada with mock-childlike curiosity.

“Sorry, my little joke. I'm leaving now. I hope you do as I asked. For both our sakes,” she said as she stood, retrieving her geta in the process. She walked slowly towards the door, through Yamada's private hanami festival, petals of pink and white swirling around her.
Almost as an afterthought, she paused, and over her shoulder, said to Yamada, “the neurotoxin should wear off in time. At least, that's what I was told.”

Domino placed a call through to her Hou-ou Skyline pilot as she made her way back through the Ebisu and, five minutes later, she was climbing into the back of the slightly bulbous, phoenix-branded air-car. She eased back into the plush seat, her whole body trembling.

“Sorry,” she said, to no-one in particular, and promptly threw up.




Countless pinpricks of light, made blurry through her tears, twinkled above Domino. Angel's 'digital constellations'. The over-large towel wrapped around her felt comforting and brought a tingle of deja-vu, like maybe she had felt this way as a child. That was perhaps why she was crying: she just didn't know. But killing Yamada wouldn't change that.

The sounds of Angel emerging from her shower filtered through over percolating coffee and the hum of myriad cooling fans, working hard to keep their respective parent devices in good working order.

Angel slumped onto the bed next to Domino and immediately wrapped her in a bear-hug.

“Proud of you,” Angel said, sealing the declaration with a soft peck on Domino's cheek. “I thought you'd kill him.”
“So did I.”
Angel didn't need to ask why Domino hadn't ended the man's life. Her friend's compassion, her conscience, her humanity even – all these things had been slowly returning, demonstrated with increasing frequency, since the day they had met.

Angel rolled onto her back, lying parallel to Domino, and joined her in staring up at nothing in particular. Just thousands of LEDs, winking in the dark.

“What if they ignore the warning, still come after us?” Angel suddenly asked, her voice edged with worry.

Domino smiled a strange smile then, her gaze fixed on some distant point in Angel's artificial galaxy, almost as if she were seeing the future there, among those constellations.

“They made me what I am. They will find they made me too well.”

They fell into silence then, Angel's complete faith in Domino unspoken but reassuring to her nonetheless. Domino meanwhile, felt content simply because Angel was at her side.
Their fingertips touching, the pair fell asleep, their coffee un-poured, their minds untroubled for the first time in weeks, their bodies relaxed in a shared warmth.


THE END. 

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 16

Domino comes face to face with Yamada...


Yamada hated indecision. He found himself growing increasingly agitated as he prowled his walk-in wardrobe, seeking the perfect item to complete his ensemble for the evening. He knew the aesthetics for that night's appointment would be just so: everything from the décor to the food would be complementary. His vanity insisted that he not detract from that carefully cultivated ambience.
At last, he found it: a long, hand stitched cashmere coat, tailored for him in Hong Kong, when reliable craftsmen still operated out of small shops near the harbour. The charcoal of the fabric was conservative, the fit immaculate. Yes, it would do nicely.

He moved through into the reception room, his eyes scanning the rich spread of food and drink set out on a low table. He had made careful choices there, too. Something for every palette. Yamada turned to his control console and set about preparing the rest of the room. The picture windows morphed into forced-perspective renderings of Ueno Park. The panorama was a night view, set during the optimal period for hanami, or cherry-blossom viewing.

There was a hyper-realism to the depiction, each tree perfectly illuminated, the delicate pink and white sakura blossoms almost neon-like in their reflected intensity, contrasting with the inky night sky. Yamada paused, added a hint of Shinobazu Pond beyond the trees, the Benten temple in the middle. The small red lanterns hanging from tree branches over the pathways came last.

Of course, this Ueno Park was devoid of people, its pleasures reserved exclusively for Yamada and his guest. For anyone else, this ghost-town surrealism would have been unsettling. Hanami festivals were crowded, social affairs. Yamada however, found pleasure in the idea that this place was his and his alone, an expression of his power.

A 'beep' from the intercom broke Yamada's immersion in his virtual world.
“Your guest has arrived, Yamada-sama,” came the anxious voice of Ito. “The maiko, sir,” he continued. As if such clarification were necessary.
Yamada tutted softly before responding, “excellent. Please escort her to my suite.” He had tried to sound eager, but not too eager. Friendly too. A generous, benevolent boss. Not at all like the Yakuza oyabun suggested by so many vicious rumours.

Moments later, the doors to his penthouse sanctuary opened slowly, admitting his guest. As she took her first tentative steps into the room, Yamada felt a surge of exhilaration. The maiko seemed to have stepped straight out of his vision of Ueno, her fragile beauty enhanced by his painstaking creation. He made a mental note to commend the house-mother on her choice and stepped forward to receive his visitor.




The plush carpeted hallways of the Ebisu seemed as if they belonged to a different building now; fewer guards could be seen patrolling, all evidence of her previous assault wiped away like some inconvenient spill. Domino moved slowly, following demurely behind one of the pseudo-ninjas. His gait was awkward as he was forced to adjust to her minimalist figure-of-eight footsteps, the clip-clop of her tall geta sandals almost conducting his pace. Under other circumstances, she might have found their unlikely procession funny.

They arrived at the foot of the stairs, the only spot which hadn't been completely restored yet. Deep gouges in the plaster-work and nearby door frame remained as mute testament to the ferocity of the blast she had engineered to throw her from the Ebisu. Domino wondered briefly if she would encounter the sumo here again. She hoped not.

Her escort paused, indicated the damage and gave a nervous bow.
“Please excuse the damage. Faulty gas pipe. Repaired now,” he assured her.
She returned his bow with perfect form, smiling her acceptance.
“This way, please. You must climb the stairs. Apologies,” he said, offering two more dips of his head for good measure. “Please,” he said, gesturing for her to continue alone. He then stood to one side, looking for all the world like some bizarre hotel concierge. Domino offered a final polite bow to the man before daintily ascending the indicated steps.

The imposing façade of hand carved oak doors awaited her at the top of the dimly lit stairway. She knew from her review of the blueprints Angel had obtained that the doors would, in fact, stop anything short of anti-tank weaponry. They also provided complete soundproofing, which may yet prove useful.

The doors opened automatically on her approach, revealing hundreds of vivid cherry blossom trees against a perfect night sky. Red festival lanterns swung gently in an imaginary breeze. Walking towards her, among all that beauty, was the man she had come to kill.

His face bore the lines of the intervening years since Domino had seen him last and his hair was now more salt than pepper but it was most definitely, unmistakably him. Kentaro Yamada. Yakuza oyabun, respected businessman, supplier of weaponry, destroyer of innocence.

Domino felt unbridled fury and anguish welling from deep within her as she confronted this spectre of her past. She fought urgently to sublimate it, hide it away. He couldn't see. Couldn't know. Not yet.

The rage won out. She was trembling all over and the cranes on her kimono began to take flight.




Oh, but this is just delightful! Yamada thought to himself as the maiko stood before him, her nerves all too evident as she flushed and trembled like a leaf in an autumn breeze.

She was truly magnificent, the epitome of Japanese beauty. Her appeal was enhanced by a faint sense of familiarity, almost as if she reminded him of a high-school sweetheart. He watched with ill-concealed amusement as the smart-silk kimono reacted to her anxiety, the brush-stroke cranes fluttering briefly into the air as if disturbed by a predator.

Her face was a mask, impassive in spite of her nerves. That impressed Yamada. He decided to make her life a little easier.

“My name is Kentaro Yamada. Welcome to my home. Won't you please come in? Let us enjoy a perfect night.”

His greeting seemed to relax her and she bowed deeply before taking her first steps closer to him. Her perfume reached him then, subtle floral tones tantalising him, carrying with them a hint of a promise. She reached slowly into the elegant drawstring purse at her wrist, her eyes still not meeting his. 

Copyright © A. Flood 2010 

Monday 13 September 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 15

We join Angel some time after the events at the Ebisu...

A sub-sonic hum, randomly oscillating, permeated the air as Angel walked back from the Peruvian's fast food stand, some odd hotdog variant clutched in her hand. The sound was felt more than heard, produced by unseen machinery of obscure purpose. It comforted her on some basic, primal level. Made her feel at home.

She munched on the hotdog, hot chilli sauce disguising the uncertain juiciness of the mystery meat sausage. Her lips tingled with the accumulation of the sauce as the food warmed her. Screw nutritional value, she thought, cramming another mouthful into her cheek, hamster-style.

Two days had gone by since the run on Yamada's place, most of that time spent watching over Domino as she slept in some anonymous rent-a-cube hotel on the edge of the airport. Angel had tried to unwind with manga and animé she had pulled off the net, stints of online gaming, BBS lurking... shit, she had even done her nails. Still the tension gnawed at her neck like a throbbing, persistent night-cramp.
She was fairly certain she must have looked like crap, a tanuki raccoon-dog caught wide-eyed in the headlights of a lumbering load-hauler. She was also fairly certain she didn't much give a shit. A soft call for spare change drew her gaze down to a doorway on her left, a transient there, his wiry hair kept in check to the best of his ability, his slightly grimy and mismatched business suit a resilient denial of his circumstances.

Angel stopped, perused the jumble of skin mags and technical journals arrayed in front of him, each and every one recovered from a bus or a subway train. She singled out a dog-eared manual, written in Korean and Chinese, for a force-feedback gaming module, the type that net addicts used for extra immersion. On top of that, she selected a surprisingly pristine copy of 'Menz Hole Pantsu Maniac', mainly for shits and giggles.

The transient accepted her nu-yen, his grateful smile showing through his overly-enthusiastic beard. She returned his smile, handed him the last part of her chilli-dog. Leaving the old man to his meal, she continued on her way back to Suture's place.

Massive support pillars, steel reinforced concrete giants which supported the local elevated express-ways, loomed ahead, a landmark for the back-alley clinic. She came to a halt beneath Suture's archaic green-cross sign, some strange echo of a bygone age. 'Pharmacie', it read, backlit with spastic fluorescents. Her hand didn't quite close on the door handle, almost as if it might give her a jolt. Angel decided she wasn't in the mood for making small talk while she waited for Suture to be done with his exam of Domino.

She turned, walked back to the mouth of the alley, and stood watching the near-silent traffic arcing overhead. Her thoughts drifted back to Domino, to the efforts she was making to free herself of the syndicate, to the questions Angel had at the back of her mind. She felt her anxieties building, swelling and coalescing into some violent emotion she couldn't quite identify. Angel just stood there, in the shadows cast by the over-pass, her shoulders shaking.

The door to Suture's opened behind her and she heard heavy footfalls which could only belong to one man. Borislav cleared his throat and she turned to face him.

“Oh. You have been crying,” he said.
“Yeah.”
He shifted, uncertain of what to say or do.
“She will be fine. Mister Suture seems confident. The rest has done her good. She is tough, your Domino.”
Angel smiled and whispered, “yes, she is.”
Borislav moved to stand at her side, his massive hands fidgeting as he gazed up at the over-pass, unable to meet her gaze.

“I – I can no longer aid you. It is time for me to return to Karina, my daughter.”
Angel placed her hand on top of his, saying, “about time. You've helped us out plenty.”
“Maybe...” he mused. He hesitated over his next words, as if he were choosing how best to say what he wanted to say. “I think you should both stop now. It is too dangerous, what you are doing. Crazy even. Maybe.”
Angel couldn't help but laugh at that. “There's no 'maybe' about it. But, so long as certain things stay the way they are, she'll keep going. Me too.”
“I see.”
“Yeah.” She squeezed his hand then and said softly, “thanks, Borislav. Have a good life, you and Karina. Go get her fixed up nice.”
“I will do, thanks to you. You are super data thief eh?” he bellowed, grinning broadly.
“Keep it to yourself, okay?” she winked at him. “See you around, Borislav.”
“I do not think so, no. But I wish you well. Farewell, Angel. Go. Be with Domino. Suture has her linked to too many strange machines. She will need you.”

Angel smiled as she watched Borislav walk away in that almost mechanical gait he had. As he was about to step behind one of those massive support pillars he paused and turned back, his arm firing off an exaggerated salute. She giggled softly and waved, just as his hulking form was swallowed by shadow.

Borislav had been right. Domino was going to need her. This thing wasn't over yet.


The air conditioning was turned up too high in the back of the luxury air-car, and even beneath the heavy folds of her ornate kimono, Domino felt a deepening chill. She looked at her own distorted reflection, saw her features cast into the rose-white heart of a doll's face, an ebon frame of carefully up-swept hair, adorned with impossibly intricate seasonal decorations.

If she shivered at all, it would only play into the image of a young maiko, assigned an important client for the first time. Indeed, that was the set up, Angel having run an intercept program, flagging any emails exchanged between Yamada and the geisha house he employed. He had sent the house-mother a request for entertainment for that night and had received a response suggesting a new maiko, just embarking on her geisha training.

He had, of course, accepted. The allure of a fresh maiko was difficult to resist for someone like Yamada. Domino remembered enough about the man to know he would enjoy the exclusivity of being among the first to 'encourage' a maiko's development as an artist.

As a child, Domino had received sufficient training in the necessary arts to pass muster as a trainee geisha, or at least enough to get her by the guards without raising suspicion. Angel had monitored proceedings at the Ebisu: in the weeks since her 'death', Yamada's security had seemingly relaxed. She was more than a little amazed that the ruse had worked so well. All she would have to do now is look the part as she made her way to the appointment.

She shifted slightly in her seat as the air-car banked, the smart-silk of her kimono responding with slight adjustments in its faintly luminescent pattern. Stylised cranes moved slowly through exquisitely depicted waters, concentric circles of cobalt brush-strokes radiating from their twig-like legs.
Domino was a melding of the new with the old, a high-tech girl wearing the trappings of an ancient profession. She appreciated these echoes of history which ran deeply through her culture, knew that what had gone before would often inform that which was yet to come. This was a lesson Yamada would learn tonight.

The pilot's voice came to her through discreet speakers set into the ceiling, his tone carefully polite, addressing her in formal Japanese.

“We are nearing our destination, Miss. If you would like to take a moment to glance out of your window, I'll adjust our final approach so as to provide you with some spectacular views of the bay and marina area.”
“Thank you,” she replied, disengaging the privacy buffers so she could be heard. “That's very thoughtful of you.”
“Thank you for choosing Hou-ou Skyline. We hope you will consider us for your future travel needs.”
Domino smiled at this. The Hou-ou, or Japanese phoenix, formed this air-taxi rental firm's corporate logo. Angel's choice. Her little joke. As it turned out, the company also specialised in low-profile, high-privacy transportation; just the thing for a young maiko.

She traced a finger down the edge of her window and the reactive glass reduced its tint level to allow greater visibility. The dark waters and garishly-lit buildings of the marina streamed steadily by below her. Slowly, almost ominously, the Ebisu came into view, sleek, black and all too familiar.

Butterflies of anticipation and fear conflicted and fluttered rapidly in her stomach. It was almost time.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 14

The action from the Ebisu continues...

The surface of the water seemed to ripple with brilliant, polychromatic flames as it reflected the hues of the skyline along the bay. A pretty image to hide the filth below, Borislav mused. His body submerged in the heavily polluted waters, only the very top of his head breaking the surface, he waited.

A cyborg-grade covert-ops dive rig encapsulated his body, shielding him against not only the intense chill but also the murky by-products of the city's fast-forward consumption.

A cramp twinged just beneath his shoulder, prompting the realisation that he had been carrying considerable tension in his muscles. He didn't like the apparent recklessness of Domino's plan and liked even less the idea that he had so little control over the situation.

It was odd that he should care at all; after all, the two girls were essentially strangers to him. Yes, they were paying him, or rather they had already deposited a ridiculous sum of money previously 'acquired' from the late Capricia's accounts. He knew they intended for him to use those funds to pay for his daughter's operation. Borislav still could not fathom their generosity; his best guess was that maybe the Domino girl empathised somehow. He had the feeling that perhaps she had lived with extensive prosthetics and cybernetics since an early age. At least by helping them now, he would feel a little more like he had earned that much-needed money.

He glanced at the chronograph on his heads-up display. Domino had been in for twenty seven minutes now. Had she been overwhelmed? Perhaps she had underestimated their forces.

Suddenly there came a muted 'wumph', followed a split-second later by the distant sound of shattering glass. Borislav instantly shifted his focus up to the high corner of the Ebisu, where he saw tendrils of fire licking the edge of a ragged breach in the imposing façade of the hotel. His eyes desperately scanned for signs of Domino, with no success.

Damn that stealth suit! Crazy girl! he cursed.

He dropped his gaze to the surface of the water, seeking any sign of her impact. Almost instantly, he was rewarded with a violent splash. He dipped his head and commenced his dive towards her, immediately engaging the dive rig's propulsion units. He could waste no time in reaching her. Without proper equipment, she would not survive long.




Angel hurriedly locked the door and started changing out of the gyrau disguise. Within a few heartbeats, she was down to her underwear and boots. She pulled on the heated raincoat she had stowed in the squat and ducked back into the dilapidated main room. Grabbing the large canvas bag offered by the skinny boy waiting there, she tossed him a roll of cash and a hurried smile.

“Thanks, Chubb. Gotta go.”

She hit the stairwell at breakneck pace, trying not to focus on her live feed of Domino's gunfight. By the time she barrelled into the bustling street, her hair and skin tone were back to normal; no one would associate her with the group from the Ebisu now. She hoped. Her hand dipped into the coat's pocket, finding some sense of security in the hard-edges of her snub-nosed flechette pistol.

Traffic leading to the docks was in full blown gridlock, raised voices and honking horns warning her away from hailing a groundcab. Her eyes found a row of pedal cycles in a nearby alley, each secured with a rudimentary passkey wrap-lock. A simple workaround later, and she was flying along the edges of the nose-to-tail vehicles filling the street.

As she arced around the bay towards the rendezvous point, she struggled to suppress the urge to scream as the feed from Domino blinked to nothingness in her peripheral vision. Her rational brain told her Domino would be okay but her emotions were tugging insistently, inviting panic.

Lactic acid traced pathways of pain through her muscles and her heart was thrumming violently against the inside of her ribcage by the time she skidded to a halt at the water's edge. She glanced across the bay and saw the smouldering hole Domino had left in Yamada's hotel and shuddered. Borislav's comms channel crackled into life in her ear.

“I have her. She is safe,” he said in that steady, matter-of-fact way of his.
Angel felt relief, joy and anxiety rush over her and she crouched to stave off the sudden light-headedness she felt.
“Thank you, Borislav. Thank you. So much...” she trailed off.
“You are welcome.”

Why did she still feel so worried?

“Borislav... I still don't have anything on her feed. And I can't get her on neural link comms.”
“That is because she is unconscious. You are at meeting point?”
“Yes, I'm here.”
“Good. ETA for me is three minutes.”

Angel heard Borislav close the channel. She stared momentarily at the water in a futile attempt to find some sign of them before turning to unlock the storage unit behind her. Only as she stepped into the comparative warmth of the lock-up did she realise she was soaked through and shivering uncontrollably. She dropped the kit-bag on the floor and returned to the water's edge to wait for Domino to arrive.




Yamada stared up at the lavender irises of his custom maid-unit, perfect in form and poise as she lit his cigar for him. He inhaled deeply and smoothed a hand over his carefully groomed silver hair as he savoured the rich, rarefied smoke. The maid unit stood back to attention, awaiting his next command. He regarded her momentarily, considering her fully revealed doll-like proportions, before waving her away.

The commotion from the floor below had died down some time ago now. He wondered if perhaps this had been the attack anticipated by his security or some other, unrelated matter. After all, he was not without his enemies. No, he decided, this had to be the same people who had targeted his subordinates. He leant back in his antique calf-skin recliner and awaited the report which would no doubt come at any moment.

He absently called up the haptic interface for his desk console and, with a flick of his fingertips, the picture window to his left transformed into a high resolution display. The tremor in his hand was still evident as he browsed a selection of financial reports. He frowned slightly at this; his station did not allow him to display weakness or fear and his pride demanded his denial of such things.

The door chimed softly and the automated security scanners announced the arrival of Ito, his head of security. The maid unit hurried over to the door, her delicate hand hovering over the release switch.

“Master?” she intoned cheerfully, seeking his approval.
Yamada pulled up a visual feed which confirmed that it was, in fact, Ito at the door. The rigid posture, the slight favouring of the left leg, the barely perceptible misalignment of his left scapula, caused by its support of his cybernetic arm. All these things reassured Yamada that this was no imposter.
“Yes. Open the door,” he nodded.

Ito stepped into the refined hush of Yamada's suite, the images from the massive vid-screen reflected, convex, in the visor of his helmet. He offered a deep bow, extending the proper respect, before removing his boots and proceeding to Yamada's side.

“The threat has been removed?” Yamada asked curtly.
“Of course, Yamada-sama. We faced only one operative. We suspect she had a computer systems expert aiding her remotely but-”
“Wait. She?” Yamada had not expected this.
“As far as I can tell sir, yes. She was using a stealth suit.”
“I see. And you are sure she is dead?”
“She triggered an explosive device at the foot of the stairs to your level. We suspect it was a... a kamikaze run, if you will. What remained of her body was blown through the window and into the bay. It would seem she grossly underestimated the structural integrity of your building. That, or she experienced a malfunction in her equipment.”
Yamada pondered this new information. He had thought for a moment that perhaps... but no, she would not have made such a blunder. He would already be dead.

“Dredge the bay.”
“I have already taken the liberty of giving that order, Yamada-sama. It seems unlikely we will find anything. The nearby filtration units will have no doubt already pulled the remains away and disposed of them. We search, nonetheless.”
“Excellent work, Ito.”
Ito bowed low again. “Thank you, sir.”
Yamada closed his eyes and slowly massaged his temples, bursts of vague colour flashing and fading behind his eyelids. Stood close-by, his head of security had the good sense not to comment and simply waited in silence. At length, Yamada sat upright and dismissed the reports overlaid on his vast window.

“I have been at work in this room for too long, Ito. I think perhaps it would be a welcome diversion if I were to take a walk, survey the damage done.”
“Yes, of course, Yamada-sama,” Ito said, bowing once more.
Yamada could not have cared less about the damage, the sole purpose of the tour was to keep face with his employees. It would not do to appear as a timid thing, cowering behind the armoured walls of his private sanctuary. No, he would stride out in the wake of this threat, demonstrate beyond doubt that they had not shaken him. That done, he would return here and enjoy the full range of the maid unit's massage programming.

Her fingertips brushed the nape of his neck, barely a touch, as she helped him on with his moleskin overcoat. He suppressed a shudder of pleasure, not wanting Ito to notice his growing anticipation of her attentions. Yamada smiled contentedly. This was turning out to be a fine night, after all.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

Wednesday 1 September 2010

Journal Entry 2: Like Buses...

...there aren't any for ages and then three come along all at once.

There's been a break in the frequency of my posting the parts of 'Smoke and Mirrors', a break which doesn't reflect a 'drop-off' in the rate at which I've been writing the story.  Hence the three parts going 'live' all at once.

This was partly down to one or two draft revisions and partly due to my wanting to get a better feel of the story as a whole.  The whole piece pretty much morphed from what was originally intended to be a very short 'one scene' story into something much larger.  I suppose it just got to a point where I started to feel like I needed to take stock of things and make sure the story was still what I wanted it to be.

The whole thing turned into something of an experiment as soon as I started posting the parts, not only here on the blog, but also on Facebook as notes for my friends to read and comment on.

I was lucky enough to receive some very kind and positive feedback, almost instantly getting calls for more of the same.  That was probably the point that the story started to grow.  As more posts went live, people started to react to different characters and scenes in ways I hadn't anticipated.  This was great; I mean, people were actually enjoying this stuff and, better yet, wanted to know more about Domino and co.

Perhaps in trying to keep this small readership happy, I started to ask too many questions of my writing, with little niggling doubts scratching away in my head as I wrote more.  During this process, my wife reminded me that perhaps I should just focus on the original intent: to write stories that I myself would like to read.  This simple, but ever-so-effective, observation crystalised the whole mess for me and I was back on track.  Again, some more good luck for me.

So, after much rambling, I hope this gives some insight into the delay.  My apologies to any who might be reading and have been waiting.  I hope you enjoy following Domino through the latest parts of this story.  Thanks for sticking with me.
 

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 13

The plan is set into motion...
 

They stood together, shrouded by the shadows of a covered walkway. A fine mist-like rain hissed and strafed along the busy street, beading every surface with moisture, overhead neon reflected in the windows of passing vehicles.

Domino checked their disguises, wanting each detail to be perfect. Angel, now a mirror image of Domino, was almost unrecognisable in a pleated mini skirt, platform boots and a layering of garish, skimpy tops. Her skin was several shades darker than usual and her hair had been transformed into long, honey coloured curls. They both wore heavy make-up and nail extensions to complete their transformation into 'gyaru', followers of an old fashion trend which had recently seen a resurgence.

Borislav meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably in a sharply tailored and completely immaculate suit. His shoes, his grooming, even his wallet and pen all suggested a man of extravagant means, a man who could easily fund the voracious shopping habits of two teen-aged girls. Both young women carried a clutch of shopping bags, each from a top-line boutique, each one evidence of his unending generosity.

It was the bags which made Domino most nervous; layers of pastel underwear and glittery clothes concealed the items she would need to stage her assault on Yamada's security later that night. The bags would pass a cursory inspection but little more. They would need to be careful not to raise any suspicions.

She finished her Mild 7, inhaling a mix of the rich tobacco smoke and the overdone sickly sweetness of her perfume. The monolithic structure of Yamada's Ebisu Palace hotel loomed over her, a sinister presence both on the waterfront and in her thoughts.

“Let's go,” she said.




Roving beams of light from a patrolling police air car cut through the stale air of the hotel suite, almost inquisitive as they passed over ubiquitous furniture. Old proximity sensitive lights hummed into life as Domino led the way into the room. The release of tension she felt at having successfully smuggled her assault equipment through the lobby was reflected in her friends' expressions as they glanced around the strangely decorated room.
The clerk had taken their trio at face value and had recommended they check into one of the Ebisu's 'entertainment suites'. Yamada's hotel enjoyed two faces: that of a five star, ultimate luxury business hotel and, somewhere just below the surface, that of a 'red-light' establishment. A massive heart-shaped bed and an over-abundance of mirrors along with a vending machine for erotica left little doubt as to which section of the hotel they were in.

Angel moved slowly around the room, a discreet scanner in her hand, searching for hidden cameras or other wireless feeds. Satisfied that they were not being surveilled, she gave a nod to Domino and Borislav before moving to the window controls. A moment later, and the glass cycled from clear, through a smoky grey and into a total black tint.

The three then set about unpacking Domino's equipment, setting it out on the bed. She took a mental inventory as they went: armoured shadow suit, black monofilament katana and wakizashi, multi-purpose micro grenades, a strip of titanium kunai, twin 10mm semi-automatics with backup clips and a bullpup configuration SMG. Under most operating conditions, she would use suppressors on the firearms but they felt redundant on this run; it would get messy and loud very quickly.

She began stripping out of her gyaru disguise, unaware of the now flushed Borislav behind her as he hurried to find something to busy himself with on the opposite side of the room. As she pulled on the form-fitting shadow suit, she was aware of her shift into a heightened state of readiness, a paradox of inner calm paired with supreme combat awareness. She set about strapping her armaments in place while simultaneously, almost subconsciously, accessing her cosmetic processor. Her hair changed back to its natural blue-black, while her irises shifted to a burning red, glowing slightly in the low light.

Domino looked over to Angel, sat knock-kneed on a massive yellow beanbag. She trusted her without reservation and knew she was in safe hands when it came to Angel's part in their plan. Borislav was still an unknown quantity to her though. Although he had come this far with them, some distant fraction of her mind still wondered if perhaps she had made a mistake in involving him.

She blinked away her doubts and ran targeting interface checks, hefting first the twin pistols, then the SMG. Advanced systems in the grip of each weapon communicated with her neural processor and allowed her optics to more accurately calibrate aiming vectors, essentially improving her already deadly accuracy to near perfection. The system even allowed for multiple target tracking, which had proven useful on more than one occasion in the past.

Once she was satisfied that everything checked out, she holstered the pistols on her thighs and the SMG at the small of her back. She initiated a cybercomms channel with Angel.

[I'm ready.]
[I still don't like this, Yuki.]
[It'll be all right. We've come through worse. I know we can do this. Just trust me and stay focussed.]
[I will. And I do. Just let me know when you're in position and I'll be ready for you.]
Domino looked around for Borislav and noticed the doors to the balcony had been unlocked.

[When did he leave?]
[When you started changing in front of him.]
[Oh.]

She moved to join Borislav on the balcony and, as she reached to open the door, noticed her reflection in the darkened glass. Her body was barely visible, even in the dim light of the overheads in the suite. The shadow suit was doing its work well, leaving only her pale face visible. She paused and tugged up the retracted face guard until it covered her mouth and nose.

Borislav turned from gazing out over the bay as she stepped softly out onto the balcony.
“You are ready, I see,” he said quietly. Domino thought she detected a hint of something in his voice, resignation maybe? “I too am ready to do my part. For what it is worth.”
“It'll be worth a lot, Borislav. Assuming all goes to plan.”
“Which it will, of course!” he suddenly rumbled, a confident grin plastered on his face. Domino smiled and nodded in return.
“Okay then. Wish me luck. Time to go,” she said.
As Domino started to climb, she heard movement below and looked down to see that Angel had joined Borislav on the balcony. As her fingers and toes found one precarious hold after another, she could almost sense Angel willing her on. Domino suddenly felt a warm swell of emotions as she thought of her.
Hanging there, high above the streets, she experienced an epiphany; this wasn't just about revenge, about freedom. She had another reason to succeed, to make it through alive.
Domino's movements became even more fluid and efficient as she scaled the side of the hotel, as she became an unstoppable force, a dark flicker of inevitability. It was time to end this.




The frigid air in the crawl space cut through even the insulation of Domino's body suit as she lay waiting for the right moment to begin her assault. Above her, his penthouse floor impenetrable aside from a single door, was Yamada. Below, visible through the narrow slats of a vent, countless guards, all armed with compact SMGs and stun sticks, all wearing pseudo ninja-style kevlar suits and ovoid black helmets which covered their faces.
[Are you seeing this, Angel?]
[Yeah. Not good. There's so many of them!]
[Can you find the specs of those helmets? I need to know the optic capabilities of the visors.]
There was a moment's pause.

[Done. I'm sending the data to you –]
[Got it, thanks. Hmm. Looks like the flash bangs are no good. Broad spectrum scramblers should work just fine though.]
[But that'll kill your feed too. You'll be just as blind as they are!]
[No. I'm shielded.]
[Oh. Good. Okay then...]
[Stop worrying. Is Borislav in position?]
[Yeah. He fed the guy at front desk some line about needing 'more women!' or something. He got out no problem.]
[And you?]
[I'm clear. Ready to go when you are. I'm into the main systems for that floor. Just call out what you need.]
[Okay, thanks. Standby.]

Domino continued her detailed surveillance of the guards below, looking for patterns, patrol routes, trying to establish a head count. She had expected maybe twenty or so guards in Yamada's detail but so far she had estimated double that amount. The homogeny of their uniforms meant that she could remain in position all night and still have no accurate idea of how many she would face. To further complicate matters, the guards seemed to be following no particular protocols, instead seeming only to amble around at random intervals. They were either quite clever or a crew full of amateurs.

If she had been unlucky in her encounter with Capricia, then karma suddenly saw fit to provide Domino with a shift in fortune. A detachment of six guards appeared, flanking three geisha, evidently escorting them from Yamada's floor to the lift. Domino's hiding place was directly above the only return route that the guards could take. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

[Angel, on my go signal, kill the lights.]
[Will do. I can simultaneously lock down all doors on that floor, if you want. It might slow some of them down.]
[Sounds good. Oh, and try to locate which house those geisha are from. It might prove useful later.]
[Okay. I'll see what I can find once I pick them up on the lobby cams.]

Domino waited for the sound of the lift doors closing and then followed the sound of the guards' footfalls as they returned to her position.

[Ready in... five, four, three, two, one, go!]

Darkness descended on the corridor below and, in the very instant the scrambler grenade went off, Domino dropped through the flimsy vent grating, landing silently in the midst of the six guards.

Two of the six reacted quickly to their sudden blindness, hurriedly casting their malfunctioning helmets aside, only to be greeted with inky darkness. The guards fell almost as one, Domino's blades whirling a bloody vortex among them. Her first and last strike were separated by no more than a single heartbeat.

She moved off in a low sprint, six dismembered bodies littering the floor behind her. The sound of the locked doors being forced open further ahead came to her as she closed on a pair of guards moving cautiously, back to back. Domino carried her speed forward into a slide which took her beneath their immediate line of sight, the shadow suit concealing her approach. As she swept their feet from under them, she flipped up and over, her blades slashing through kevlar as if it were fine cotton, leaving two more dead in her wake.

Domino palmed a pair of doppler grenades, throwing one left and one right to serve as diversions as she carved a path to the north side of the building. She skittered to a halt at the corner of her turn into the bay-side corridor. Muted comms chatter and, just on the edge of her hearing, the sound of weapons being readied alerted her to the presence of a large group of guards lying in wait ahead.
She flattened herself against the wall and rapidly sheathed her swords. As she glanced at the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the bay-side corridor, she managed to catch a glimpse of movement reflected in the glass. Three of the guards on point had activated mini Maglite under-barrel torches on their weapons and were searching for her. That was all she needed for positional targeting. She pulled her SMG free and darted into the corridor.

Dropping into a shooting crouch, she shot the three point-men with controlled, three round bursts. Armour piercing rounds ripped through body armour and, as the men fell, the narrow beams of light from their torches swept erratically around the corridor.

The return fire came both quickly and furiously as panic swept through the remaining guards. They were engaging a target they could not see. Darkness was pierced by the muzzle flash of their weapons as the air was filled with bullets. Domino launched into an evasive series of blindingly fast, random zigzag steps, pausing only to loose off shots of her own. Each time she fired, the guards concentrated their response on that position, using her muzzle flash as a target.

She was able to stay one step ahead of them in this way and had managed to thin their numbers down to two before her SMG registered empty. As it clattered to the floor she whipped the twin 10mm pistols from her thigh holsters and finished the last of the group with shots that shattered the visors of their helmets.

Domino heard more guards closing on her position from corridors perpendicular to her own. Evidently the doppler grenades hadn't bought her as much time as she had hoped. She hurried to the rearmost of the guards she had killed and propped his corpse into a half-seated position. Using his body as a makeshift shield, she crouched and waited for her pursuers to round the corner.

Her heart sank as she saw the riot-shields leading the way. She knew she had no chance of penetration with her pistols; the shields were proof even against AP rounds. Two narrow gaps presented themselves in the wall of armour as the guards established their formation. This was more than enough for target acquisition, and two more guards fell.

Domino then tossed both a scrambler and a smoke grenade along the floor and broke into a headlong dash away from the advancing guards and towards her target. She only had to reach the north-west corner...

A swarm of bullets carved the air around her, the guards using full auto, suppressive fire in an attempt to counteract her smokescreen. She stumbled into a roll as shots found her legs and back. Experience and intuition told her that the armour-weave in her suit had taken the lethal brunt of the shots but that knowledge did little to stem the white hot pain she felt as the breath was blasted from her lungs by the impact.

She engaged her pain suppressor on instinct and continued running, loosing off suppressive shots underarm as she went. The north-west corner was in sight now, the stairway to Yamada's floor a mere twenty-five metres to the right of that point.

A door ahead of her suddenly shattered outwards and the massive bulk of a sumo burst into the corridor. He growled at her, crudely implanted red optics flaring menacingly in the darkness between them. Domino unloaded her pistols at him as she closed the gap between them. Each shot connected with a strange thud, and while blood spurted from the numerous impacts, the sumo seemed only a little staggered from the wounds.

Shit! Subdermal armour, Domino cursed inwardly.

The sumo met her advance with a rush of his own, roaring in rage. Domino knew she had no time to reload the spent pistols and so reached for her kunai. With a smart flick of her wrist, she launched two of the small elongated diamond-shaped blades directly at the sumo's optics. As they found their target in a shower of sparks, she leapt into a dive which would carry her over the sumo, placing him between her and the pursuing guards.

She landed in a full sprint and left the sumo wailing in pain and anger behind her. The corner was only a few metres away now. Gunfire barked all around as the guards clattered along behind her, their movements punctuated by the booming of the sumo's footfalls as he blindly chased after her.

That was when the world around Domino shattered. The impact of the explosion slammed into her back with a force unlike anything else she had felt before. She felt her body being flung through the air towards the plate glass window ahead of her. A thousand crystalline shards spun in the air around her as she burst through the glass. Her mind briefly registered first the heat at her back and then the cold of the night air. Then she was falling and all was black.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010