tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24441544620872258102024-03-14T06:23:49.552+00:00The Domino Effect: Tales of a Cyberpunk FutureWhile Cyberpunk fiction may not be very popular these days, I personally enjoy writing (and indeed reading) stories of this type. Some are presented here for your enjoyment as I continue to work on them and hopefully improve as I go.
Thanks for stopping by!
All works are © A. FloodAndyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-40371015516366487172012-02-10T10:52:00.000+00:002012-02-10T19:08:01.936+00:00'The Sack of Mycovia'Below is my entry to Madison Woods' #FridayFictioneers. The idea is to write a piece of flash fiction (in this case, a piece of approximately 100 words) prompted/inspired by the following image:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XwrrxmeSv3Q/TzT0w1qKS6I/AAAAAAAAACs/A72Hlnz7OL8/s1600/broken-shroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XwrrxmeSv3Q/TzT0w1qKS6I/AAAAAAAAACs/A72Hlnz7OL8/s320/broken-shroom.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>
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The original image, along with a full explanation of the Friday Fictioneers concept, can be found at:<br />
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<a href="http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/2012/02/08/photo-prompt-for-100-word-flash-fridayfictioneers-17/">http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/2012/02/08/photo-prompt-for-100-word-flash-fridayfictioneers-17/</a><br />
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I'd like to extend my thanks to Madison for the inspiration :-)<br />
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Here's the story (Any comments/feedback would be appreciated, I am always trying to improve):<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Sack of Mycovia</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span>Behind wax sealed eyes,
the Crooked Seers discovered Mycovia in fevered dreams. They
whispered furtively to the Undying Emperor and told him tales of a
hidden race of mushroom people. With a languid gesture of his
desiccated hand, he dispatched his most feared abominations to bring
him Mycovian specimens for his terrible menagerie.<br />
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On dark wings they
flew, riding a fetid wind, wielding chitinous spears and filling the
night with eldritch cries. They left Mycovia desolate, clutching
their diminutive captives in pulsating mucus sacks. Below, unseen by
shifting eyes, Mycovia's chosen remained concealed beneath loam.
They would endure, as they always had.<br />
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Copyright © A. Flood 2012 </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-41733569130694531692012-02-09T01:32:00.000+00:002012-02-09T01:32:45.873+00:00UpdateMy posts to this blog stopped some time ago when I started work on a new story idea. Much darker in tone than 'Smoke and Mirrors', it was intended to be a hardboiled, 'future-noir' piece. Writing it was, in honesty, hard work.<br />
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I then stopped writing almost completely following the arrival of my wonderful baby son. Priorities shifted, perception of time altered, and mental energies were diverted and exhausted elsewhere. The whole wonderful process of being with my wife and son throughout his first seven months has gone by in a whirlwind of remarkable experiences. I am so very lucky.<br />
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Now I find that my luck continues as I find small ways of making a return to writing. After all, the creative urge never really diminished, it was just set aside for a time. Some of the new writing has come from sharing the pursuit with a very good friend and some has been shaped by my new station in life.<br />
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With smaller chunks of time, I'll write smaller chunks of fiction. Flex the old writing muscles and see if they still work. If any of these fragments, scenes, shorts or pieces of flash fiction feel right, I'll post them.<br />
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If you are one of the readers who visit this site from time to time, please accept my sincerest thanks. It's genuinely good to know that there are people out there who find my writing to be of interest. I hope I can continue to entertain.Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-23759360875322258142010-10-21T21:59:00.001+01:002010-10-21T22:48:05.877+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 17 (Final)<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Domino's meeting with Yamada continues...</span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Domino bowed low and offered the card to Yamada, who accepted it with surprising reverence. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> His first mistake. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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 <i>fugu</i> and almost laughed at the perfect coincidence of it all. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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 <i>washi</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> <i>Any second now...</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “W-what's happening to me?” Yamada managed, his voice little more than a parched whisper as his airway rebelled against him.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Domino stalked closer, the light from Yamada's neon-Ueno construct reflected in her dark irises as she leant in close to him.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “What!? Who are you? I -”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> As Domino lifted an impossibly thin slice of fugu with the chopsticks, she saw Yamada's eyes register sudden comprehension. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Sh-shinigami?” Yamada croaked.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> It was in that moment that there came a discreet knock at the door.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> <i>Shit!</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">“Please forgive the intrusion, Yamada-sama. I notice your heart rate is unusually elevated. Is everything all right?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “You there! What is – uurk!”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Padding back over to where Yamada sat immobile, a living statue, she crouched at his side once more.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “W-why did you not kill him?” he rasped slowly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “He was just doing his job. Besides, it's you I came to kill.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Yamada's eyes somehow managed to widen further still, more out of panic than shock. </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “The funny thing is,” Domino continued, “I'm not going to.” </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> 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.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> 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. </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><i>Truth be told,</i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> she thought, </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><i>I am. A little.</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> 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 </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><i>she</i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> was 'chosen'.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> 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 </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><i>really</i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> was on her own terms.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> “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... </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><i>aggravated</i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">. 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.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Domino angled her head, as if waiting for a response, regarding Yamada with mock-childlike curiosity.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Sorry,” she said, to no-one in particular, and promptly threw up.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Angel slumped onto the bed next to Domino and immediately wrapped her in a bear-hug.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Proud of you,” Angel said, sealing the declaration with a soft peck on Domino's cheek. “I thought you'd kill him.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “So did I.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “What if they ignore the warning, still come after us?” Angel suddenly asked, her voice edged with worry.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “They made me what I am. They will find they made me too well.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="CENTER" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">THE END. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></div></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-18577122273444709592010-10-21T21:55:00.001+01:002010-10-21T22:46:50.371+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 16<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Domino comes face to face with Yamada...</span></span><br />
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<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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 <i>hanami</i>, or cherry-blossom viewing.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> There was a hyper-realism to the depiction, each tree perfectly illuminated, the delicate pink and white <i>sakura</i> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Of course, <i>this</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> A 'beep' from the intercom broke Yamada's immersion in his virtual world.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Your guest has arrived, Yamada-sama,” came the anxious voice of Ito. “The maiko, sir,” he continued. As if such clarification were necessary. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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 <i>oyabun</i> suggested by so many vicious rumours.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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 <i>geta</i> sandals almost conducting his pace. Under other circumstances, she might have found their unlikely procession funny.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Her escort paused, indicated the damage and gave a nervous bow.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Please excuse the damage. Faulty gas pipe. Repaired now,” he assured her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> She returned his bow with perfect form, smiling her acceptance.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> The rage won out. She was trembling all over and the cranes on her kimono began to take flight.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> <i>Oh, but this is just delightful!</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Her face was a mask, impassive in spite of her nerves. That impressed Yamada. He decided to make her life a little easier.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “My name is Kentaro Yamada. Welcome to my home. Won't you please come in? Let us enjoy a perfect night.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span> </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-47398006944927265592010-09-13T00:31:00.002+01:002010-09-13T00:32:11.311+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 15<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #45818e;">We join Angel some time after the events at the Ebisu...</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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. <i>Screw nutritional value,</i> she thought, cramming another mouthful into her cheek, hamster-style.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She was fairly certain she must have looked like crap, a <i>tanuki</i> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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. '<span lang="fr-FR">Pharmacie</span>', 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oh. You have been crying,” he said.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He shifted, uncertain of what to say or do.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “She will be fine. Mister Suture seems confident. The rest has done her good. She is tough, your Domino.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel smiled and whispered, “yes, she is.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav moved to stand at her side, his massive hands fidgeting as he gazed up at the over-pass, unable to meet her gaze.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I – I can no longer aid you. It is time for me to return to Karina, my daughter.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel placed her hand on top of his, saying, “about time. You've helped us out plenty.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I see.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah.” She squeezed his hand then and said softly, “thanks, Borislav. Have a good life, you and Karina. Go get her fixed up nice.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I will do, thanks to you. You are super data thief eh?” he bellowed, grinning broadly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Keep it to yourself, okay?” she winked at him. “See you around, Borislav.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav had been right. Domino <i>was</i> going to need her. This thing wasn't over yet.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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 <i>kimono</i>, 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> If she shivered at all, it would only play into the image of a young <i>maiko,</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The pilot's voice came to her through discreet speakers set into the ceiling, his tone carefully polite, addressing her in formal Japanese.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Thank you,” she replied, disengaging the privacy buffers so she could be heard. “That's very thoughtful of you.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Thank you for choosing Hou-ou Skyline. We hope you will consider us for your future travel needs.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino smiled at this. The <i>Hou-ou</i>, 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Butterflies of anticipation and fear conflicted and fluttered rapidly in her stomach. It was almost time.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-77206172637048743262010-09-13T00:26:00.000+01:002010-09-13T00:26:15.389+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 14<div style="color: #45818e; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The action from the Ebisu continues...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">The surface of the water seemed to ripple with brilliant, polychromatic flames as it reflected the hues of the skyline along the bay. <i>A pretty image to hide the filth below, </i>Borislav mused. His body submerged in the heavily polluted waters, only the very top of his head breaking the surface, he waited.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly there came a muted <i>'wumph'</i>, 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Damn that stealth suit! Crazy girl! </i>he cursed.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Angel hurriedly locked the door and started changing out of the <i>gyrau</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Thanks, Chubb. Gotta go.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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. </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I have her. She is safe,” he said in that steady, matter-of-fact way of his.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Angel felt relief, joy and anxiety rush over her and she crouched to stave off the sudden light-headedness she felt.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Thank you, Borislav. Thank you. So much...” she trailed off.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You are welcome.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why did she still feel so worried?</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Borislav... I still don't have anything on her feed. And I can't get her on neural link comms.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That is because she is unconscious. You are at meeting point?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, I'm here.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Good. ETA for me is three minutes.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Master?” she intoned cheerfully, seeking his approval.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. Open the door,” he nodded.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The threat has been removed?” Yamada asked curtly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Of course, Yamada-sama. We faced only one operative. We suspect she had a computer systems expert aiding her remotely but-”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Wait. She?” Yamada had not expected this.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“As far as I can tell sir, yes. She was using a stealth suit.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I see. And you are sure she is dead?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“She triggered an explosive device at the foot of the stairs to your level. We suspect it was a... a <i>kamikaze</i> 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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Dredge the bay.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Excellent work, Ito.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ito bowed low again. “Thank you, sir.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, of course, Yamada-sama,” Ito said, bowing once more.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-15361497913490888742010-09-01T23:25:00.000+01:002010-09-01T23:25:13.996+01:00Journal Entry 2: Like Buses......<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">there aren't any for ages and then three come along all at once.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">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.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">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.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-63541027382341710402010-09-01T23:02:00.001+01:002010-09-01T23:28:19.254+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 13<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The plan is set into motion...</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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 '<i>gyaru'</i>, followers of an old fashion trend which had recently seen a resurgence.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> “Let's go,” she said.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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 <i>katana </i>and <i>wakizashi</i>, multi-purpose micro grenades, a strip of titanium <i>kunai,</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> She began stripping out of her <i>gyaru</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[I'm ready.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [I still don't like this, Yuki.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [It'll be all right. We've come through worse. I know we can do this. Just trust me and stay focussed.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [I will. And I do. Just let me know when you're in position and I'll be ready for you.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Domino looked around for Borislav and noticed the doors to the balcony had been unlocked.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[When did he leave?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [When you started changing in front of him.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Oh.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Borislav turned from gazing out over the bay as she stepped softly out onto the balcony.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> “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.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> “It'll be worth a lot, Borislav. Assuming all goes to plan.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> “Which it will, of course!” he suddenly rumbled, a confident grin plastered on his face. Domino smiled and nodded in return.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> “Okay then. Wish me luck. Time to go,” she said.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[Are you seeing this, Angel?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Yeah. Not good. There's so many of them!]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Can you find the specs of those helmets? I need to know the optic capabilities of the visors.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> There was a moment's pause.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[Done. I'm sending the data to you –]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Got it, thanks. Hmm. Looks like the flash bangs are no good. Broad spectrum scramblers should work just fine though.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [But that'll kill your feed too. You'll be just as blind as they are!]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [No. I'm shielded.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Oh. Good. Okay then...]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Stop worrying. Is Borislav in position?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Yeah. He fed the guy at front desk some line about needing 'more women!' or something. He got out no problem.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [And you?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [I'm clear. Ready to go when you are. I'm into the main systems for that floor. Just call out what you need.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Okay, thanks. Standby.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>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.<i> </i>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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>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 <i>geisha</i>, 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Angel, on my go signal, kill the lights.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Will do. I can simultaneously lock down all doors on that floor, if you want. It might slow some of them down.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Sounds good. Oh, and try to locate which house those geisha are from. It might prove useful later.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Okay. I'll see what I can find once I pick them up on the lobby cams.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Ready in... five, four, three, two, one, go!]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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...</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> A door ahead of her suddenly shattered outwards and the massive bulk of a <i>sumo</i> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>Shit! Subdermal armour,</i> Domino cursed inwardly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 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.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-81472818124767709812010-09-01T22:59:00.001+01:002010-09-01T23:27:20.689+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 12<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: #45818e;">Domino meditates on what lies ahead of her...</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Domino narrowed her eyes against the wind and rain whirling around her as she crouched at the edge of the rooftop, her mind in an almost meditative state. The sky churned above her, the low, dense clouds an ominous yellow-grey as they reflected the lights of the city. The air carried a palpable charge, an indeterminate energy which was serving only to deepen Domino's sense of anticipation.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> She often found herself coming to this spot when she felt her centre in turmoil. It calmed her somehow, this aerie, her 'phoenix perch', as Angel had dubbed it. Perhaps in attaining perfect balance at the very edge of a seventy-story drop, she also found an inner balance. It was one of the few constants she allowed herself; predictability could prove very dangerous in her line of work but this place had always seemed worth the risk.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Now, as she hunched in the shadows cast by a giant video board, Domino scanned the windows of the apartment building across the street. Distant sirens blended with announcements and music blaring from advertising screens, the familiar sounds of the city her soundtrack as she searched for meaning in the tiny amber squares of light. This was one of her games; on one level, it was a simple voyeuristic pleasure, a safe way of spending time with others. At the same time, it often fuelled recall of memories lost, fragments of an obfuscated past.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> As she sought to make some form of connection, her eyes found the image of a wiry man, gaunt-featured in his braces and fedora, a relic of a bygone age as he sat polishing a revolver over the green baize of a card table.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>Her fingertips find the components of the rifle, even in the absolute black imposed by the blindfold. His voice tells her to begin and motor memory kicks in, almost an autonomic response. She feels and hears the click and slide of the parts, smells the gun oil, even lingers over the haptic buzz of the targeting module as it slams home. She was made to do this, and it is almost as if the rifle understands this simple truth. She sets it on the table, complete, and his voice tells her, “three seconds. Again. Faster.”</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>The echo of her past faded, leaving behind a confusion of emotions, most of them unpleasant. She continued her search, hoping for something more, some indication of a life more ordinary. Minutes passed, and she almost turned from the windows in disappointment. Then the girl appeared, wrapped in her blanket, a steaming mug in her hand.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>All the shapes of the garden and the street beyond are indistinct, changed by the twinkling blanket of snow. The soft white flakes are still swirling in flurries through the air and several even hang there before her, dancing silently, just for her. She smells her grandfather's cologne and smiles as he gently wraps one of his itchy sweaters around her shoulders.</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> “Keep warm, Yukiko,” he says in his gravely voice. “I made your favourite hot chocolate. The one from the store in the village.”</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> “Thank you,” she says, delighted by the treat. She takes the hot mug in her hands and the sweet scent of the drink fills her with a deep comfort.</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> “It snowed like this on the day you were born,” says her grandfather. “That's why your parents named you Yukiko – child of the snow.”</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> She feels his soft kiss on the back of her head and smiles. She has known the meaning of her name for some time but her grandfather makes it sound special, magical, even. Here in his house, she is a princess in a grand palace of ice, and all the creatures in the snow are gathering to see her...</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>As the drone of a passing air car pulled her from the memory, Domino felt the hot trail of tears on her cheeks and rubbed at her eyes angrily. So much had been taken from her. She was incomplete, a sadist's bad joke, cast in a mould of perfection, fractured by uncaring hands. Where others saw her beauty, she felt her inadequacies. While others feared her precision and skill, she feared her nightmares and weaknesses.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> She forced herself to sublimate her anguish, focus on the mission before her. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on her breathing once more, resuming her review of the plan. She had worked with Angel on the logistics of gaining access to Yamada tirelessly, long hours spent together pouring over data and blueprints, working through the options. In the end, the most effective solution to the problem of Yamada's increased security proved to be both the simplest and the most dangerous.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> While she was prepared physically, Domino knew she must also be the equal of the task in heart and mind. So now she entered <i>zazen</i>, and her mind was filled with a quiet nothingness, an absence of thought.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[What're you thinking about? You've been quiet for hours, Yuki.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> </i>The neural link communication from Angel broke Domino's meditative state and brought her focus back to the physical world.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[Just clearing my head. I want to be ready.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [You could wait. See if he leaves that place some time.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [No. He never leaves. You know that. I need to go in after him.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [I... I know. But... I'm just worried. Sorry.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Don't be. It's... it helps to know you're watching over me.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Always.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> The link went silent for a few breaths, neither of them feeling sure what to say next. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>[Angel, is Borislav still available to help with the plan?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [As far as I know, yes.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [I think it's the best chance we have. I'm coming back now. I want to go in tomorrow night.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [You sure?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Completely.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Okay. Take care.]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [Don't I always?]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i> [If only...]</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Domino chuckled as she signed off. She understood Angel's concerns. The plan involved so many variables which could spin out of control. During the conversation with Angel, her eyes had stared unfocussed across the city skyline, the thousands of buildings and brightly coloured signs little more than indistinct shapes. As her vision regained focus, she found herself looking directly at the sharp lines and black fascia of Yamada's hotel. He would be there now, in his tower, luxuriating in his penthouse while homogenised security guards kept watch over him. They would do him little good, in the end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-39227385121758121712010-09-01T22:55:00.001+01:002010-09-01T23:26:20.420+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 11<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;">Here we follow Domino through one of the city's night markets...</span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">As Domino moved slowly through the narrow, neon-lit streets and alleyways of the night markets, she realised that she felt more alone and perhaps more vulnerable than she had in a long time. She knew on some level that she had sought the anonymity of the crowds here in order to find some feeling of security. That she was disguised helped a little and yet she still felt oddly exposed.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She wore a long sharkskin duster over black cargo pants and a tattered sweater. A discoloured re-breather mask and goggles covered most of her face, the rest concealed by smudges of oil and dirt, her hair a tangled bird's nest kept in check by a pair of mismatched, gaudy plastic grips.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Beneath the long coat she carried a sleek black semi-automatic, easily concealed in a shoulder rig, yet effective enough to deal with most targets. The hard edges of the weapon against her ribs felt reassuring as she picked her way gingerly through the press of people surging along between the shops and stalls.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She had left her pain suppressor deactivated, wanting to test the limits of her body, of her pain threshold. Wanting also to avoid the all too addictive qualities of the implant. The pain from her injuries was still gnawing at her, instilling doubts as to her abilities, reminding her of the dangers she would constantly face if she continued on this path. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> While Domino had been recovering at Suture's, Angel had worked on Capricia's laptop and gained access to the last level of Yamada's intranet. It had come as no small shock to them both when they discovered that Yamada was based in Neo-Tokyo. They had always assumed that he would run his arm of the Yakuza syndicate remotely, likely from some orbital palace or rural retreat. But in the end, one of the men responsible for her parents' deaths and, by extension, all that had followed turned out to have been polluting the very city she had been living in.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Certain that the news of both Koralev and Capricia's demise would filter back to Yamada, Domino had expected him to flee the city. However, Angel had tracked his movements and he had shown no signs of leaving. Instead, he had seemingly remained in his tower, a heightened level of security the only concession his arrogance would allow. Yamada's private cops were already looking for her now. Of that she was certain. She had made too many mistakes. Reaching him now would be nigh on impossible.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As she moved aimlessly along a sheltered side street, her eyes were drawn to a makeshift stall set up in the alcove between a café and a beauty salon. Girls poured from both establishments and paused to coo over the wares laid out on the floor. As Domino drew closer, she saw in detail the jumbled spread of pink tinted items which had first caught her eye, making her think of Angel.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She selected a pendant made from a tiny, discarded segment of circuit board and handed over the asking price without bothering to engage in the frantic barter all the other girls were enjoying. The stall owner, a dark skinned boy with ridge-like tribal tattoos, smiled his thanks as his grubby hands pushed the cash under his poncho.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino felt a twinge in her newly repaired hand as she pocketed her purchase and wondered briefly if maybe the damage had been more severe than Suture's analysis had established. She dismissed the thought, remembering Suture's warning that she might experience 'phantom pain'. Why was she so worried? She had sustained far worse damage in the past and endured countless repairs and patch-up jobs. Why did she feel different this time?</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The strong aroma of hot tea and <i>tonkotsu ramen </i>wafted<i> </i>tantalisingly under her nostrils as she moved deeper into the market district. Her stomach grumbled, prompting her to make a stop at an old fashioned ramen shop. She ordered some of the pork-bone broth noodles and a pot of green tea from the ticket vendor and perched herself at a window seat, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead and her mask down around her neck.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-GB"><span style="font-style: normal;"> Flanked by a fatigued, off duty beat cop on one side and an equally downtrodden joygirl on the other, she lit a Mild 7 and forced herself to relax and enjoy the break from the stream of people outside. Her face awash with the soft red light from the </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>chōchin</i></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-GB">lantern hanging outside, she smiled faintly as she tucked into her comfort food between drags on her cigarette.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Long day, huh?” the cop suddenly asked her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Aren't they all?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The cop chuckled and nodded, a gesture of empathy.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You got that right. You here to shop?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “And eat,” she said, wiping some post-slurp broth from her lips.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah, they do good noodles here, right? So... you work the loaders?” he ventured, referring to the semi-robotic exo-suit load lifters used in factories and transit centres.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Sometimes,” she said, smiling. She was secretly pleased that her disguise was giving off the right type of vibes. “How'd you guess?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Hey, I'm a cop; it's my job to read people.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino felt her smile widen as she found herself imagining what this cop would do if he had attained an accurate read on her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “So... er... you maybe want someone to keep you company on your way home?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “That's sweet, but I have a lot to do after this. I'm a busy girl,” she said in the gentlest tone she could manage.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Hey, no problem,” he grinned. “Nice meeting you. Have a better one.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He retrieved his uniform cap from the counter and tipped her a farewell salute as he ducked out into the rain-swept street.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Shit,” offered the joygirl as she leant closer to Domino, her voice low and conspiratorial. “You feel like giving me your secret, honey?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Sorry?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You roll in here looking like you do – no offence – and </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>still</i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> you get a guy angling for a date? I could use some of what you've got. Shit,” she affirmed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Maybe he likes the manual labour types?” Domino suggested.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> “Hey honey, I do manual labour </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>all </i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">the time...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino laughed at the joke as the blue haired joygirl gathered her things from the counter.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I'll see you around, sweetie. You stay safe, now.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You too,” Domino called after her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> She watched the joygirl smooth her thigh-high socks and tug at the hem of her hotpants before sauntering over to a nervous looking young man with a polished chrome cybernetic hand. Moments later, the newly formed pair disappeared around a corner. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino finished her meal and made her way through the narrow, low ceilinged room and pushed open the door to the bathroom. The ancient squat toilet there gave her a rush of nostalgia as she tugged down her pants so she could relieve the heightening pressure on her bladder.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Without really thinking about it, she lit a cigarette as she balanced over the curved ceramic trough, her dark eyes scanning the layers of graffiti tracing the cracked plaster of the walls. She read the crude 'guest book' of the ramen bar for several minutes and smoked the Mild 7 down to the butt before finally wiping herself. Her cigarette fizzed briefly in the swirl of the flush.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Moments later, she was threading her way through the crowds again, her movements more assured now, her confidence returned and most of the excess tension drained from her body. Yes, she decided, the stop at the old noodle bar had worked wonders. She moved deftly from the shelter of awnings to passing umbrellas and back again, enjoying the game, the test of her agility, the simple childish pleasure of splashing through puddles while simultaneously dodging the falling rain.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As she reached the dark heart of the market district, the storm had deepened and the rainfall intensified, causing ageing electric cabling to spark and neon signs to fizz. She paused to buy an umbrella of her own, selecting a hot-pink one with an illuminated handle. Another gift for Angel.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> At length, she reached the alley she sought and ducked under the web-work of tarpaulins and corrugated sheets sheltering the passage. Illumination was sparse here, with only a few naked phosphor bulbs strung overhead at random intervals. She passed murky tanks with gloomy-looking fish inside, cages housing rodents, birds and reptiles, all interspersed with myriad old vending machines offering tobacco, alcohol and coffee.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She hugged the heavy duster tightly around her body as her breath started to mist in the chill which seemed to drift along the cluttered alleyway. She was shivering by the time she spotted the tuna fish sculpted from scrap metal which marked her destination.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The small shop was home to a jumble of grimy jars, tanks and vaguely scientific looking apparatus. A skinny girl sat with her breasts exposed, basking in front of a bank of UV lamps at the back of the shop, a black 'x' of electrical tape covering her nipples. She wore a tiny pair of panties seemingly made from the same material as the tape. The girl nudged her sunglasses up onto her forehead and lazily raised a questioning eyebrow at Domino.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Nozomi... Is he in?” Domino asked.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The girl nodded and called out, “Keroppi-chaaann!” Even her voice was lazy. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Nozomi's nickname for the shop's owner stemmed from his resemblance to a frog. It had proven so popular among his fellow traders that few ever used his real name. It didn't seem to matter to them that they might be hurting his feelings.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Hello Roland,” Domino called as the squeak of the man's wheelchair preceded his appearance.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Hello, Sookie. Welcome back,” he said warmly as he clasped Domino's hand in his own.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Is it ready, Roland?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> He inhaled sharply and scratched vigorously at his stubbled chin before replying, his eyes fixing her with an intense gaze from behind his jam-jar thick spectacles.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It is. But -” he broke off abruptly, wagging a cautionary finger, “you should warn your client that this is serious stuff. Not to be used lightly. It is, if you like, the proverbial 'one way street'. I only made it out of scientific curiosity.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Of course you did,” Domino teased as she pressed a thick envelope into his hand. “I'm sure it will be used appropriately.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino tucked her purchase into the pocket of her coat and gave Roland a soft kiss on his cheek before leaving the bizarre little shop. She set off along the covered alley again, her fingertips toying with the instrument of Yamada's demise. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-23198899636729534102010-07-15T00:31:00.000+01:002010-07-15T00:31:41.327+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 10<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The aftermath of the encounter with Capricia...</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cyrillic alphanumerics trailed across the darkness and then faded, leaving only a blinking prompt. This boot-up screen was all Borislav knew as he slowly regained consciousness. A moment later and the darkness gave way to a grainy, greyscale field of indistinct shadows, swimming nauseatingly in and out of focus.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Just give it a minute, mate. Your optics need to calibrate. I'll try to optimise the interface code for you.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The voice was unfamiliar to him but the accent reminded him of an old ex-SAS operative he had once worked with. Borislav could smell tobacco smoke on the air and something else, faint and fading: perfume, perhaps? His vision dropped away and the nonsense strings of his mother tongue returned, glowing amber in an infinite sea of black. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav centred his attention on the sounds around him, picking out the click and whir of computer machinery and the reedy hum of a bio-regulator. Yes, someone was trying to repair him. Somehow, he had survived.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Wankers,” complained the voice. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Pardon?” Borislav was relieved to find his speech intact.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oh... sorry, mate. Whoever wired your optics. Wankers. Proper cowboys.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I... I do not understand.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Me either, mate. The things these people get away with...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav realised that the man had stopped typing.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Right. Should be sorted now. Let's fire 'em up again.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A vision of an angel hovering over Borislav swam into focus as his sight returned. An ethereal light radiated from behind her and refracted through the translucent jade strands of her hair as she gazed down upon him. Her bee-stung silver lips parted and she made an oddly modulated, yet soothing sound. Borislav began to wonder if perhaps he had died after all. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He heard servomotors working and his perspective shifted as whatever he was lying on moved beneath him, first rotating him, then angling his body so he was almost perpendicular to the floor. Borislav's angel disappeared beyond his peripheral vision as he was brought, quite literally, face to face with a ruffled looking middle aged man wearing an odd pair of goggles. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “How's that?” the stranger asked him. </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Better. I can see fine now, thank you.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “My pleasure, mate. Your old control module was fucked up good and proper so I slapped in a newer model for you. Bloody good job I had some old Russian surplus hanging around. Just don't ask me how I got my hands on it. Stolen goods at stolen prices, and all that.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As the stranger stepped away to continue working, Borislav gingerly touched the back of his neck, expecting pain from a wound there. Nothing. He remembered the fight at The Venus Lounge and recalled vividly the resignation he felt as the small Japanese girl had moved in for the finishing blow. He should be dead.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Although strapped onto the gurney, he found he was able to glance around a little and so he took stock of his surroundings. Stark strip lighting illuminated a confusion of esoteric equipment: tubes feeding into sinister vats, cables running from banks of monitors awash with technical readouts, trays of surgical tools lying alongside much heavier, slightly rusted implements.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav's angel moved across his field of view again, somewhere behind the dishevelled med-tech. He saw now that she was no angel; she had been designed to exacting specifications, a custom made synthetic. She was almost aggressively stylised, with an elfin cast to her face and an otherworldly sheen to her skin. Horizontal strips of silver gauze pulled tight across her body seemed to be her only clothing and served to further enhance her almost celestial appearance.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He turned back to face the man wearing the goggles and cleared his throat.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I am sorry but where am I, exactly? And who are you?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Things a little foggy for you eh, mate? Wondering how it is you're still among the living and all that?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav nodded, still trying to sift through his memories.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Well... no worries. They call me Suture. This here's Serene, my faithful assistant. And you're bloody lucky I got to you when I did. Between that nasty case of acid damage to your face and that number Domino pulled on your control unit you were a right bloody mess. Good thing Angel called me when she did.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Domino... Angel... I do not know these people,” Borislav murmured in confusion.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No, I don't suppose you do. Here...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Suture turned Borislav's gurney, slowly revealing an enclosed room which housed a huge transparent cylinder containing the Japanese girl from the club. Her naked, broken body was suspended in some sort of viscous fluid, a convoluted system of tubes connecting her cylinder to various machines and monitors. Domino's raven hair flowed around features at rest, her lithe body undulating almost imperceptibly as bubbles danced over her skin.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “That,” said Suture, pointing to the young woman in the tube, “is Domino. And next to her, that's Angel.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav looked at the girl slumped knock-kneed in the chair next to what he presumed to be some sort of healing chamber. She could easily have been Domino's sister, long glossy black hair framing attractive features beneath the fur lined hood of her military style parka. Her translucent pink boots and mini skirt seemed at odds with the oversized coat and she seemed to Borislav like she belonged on the dance floor of a nightclub.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I'd let you in for a chat but Angel's been awake for two days straight, watching over her mate. Bloody stubborn, that one. At any rate, she needs some kip. Come on, mate. You'll have questions, I don't doubt. Get up and I'll make you a brew, explain everything. Fancy a fag?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav pushed himself slowly into a seated position and waved away the Dunhills Suture was offering.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No thank you. I do not smoke.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Right you are. How d'you want your tea?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “However you have it will be fine.” Borislav was starting to feel impatient. “Please... what is going on here? I remember fighting the one you call Domino. It was a contest for money. Why are you helping me?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Suture flashed a grin around his cigarette and patted the air between them. </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Alright, alright. Steady on. I'm helping you on their say-so. I didn't get it myself to start with but then Angel filled me in on your daughter. She -”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “My daughter?! But how could she know...?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “She's a netrunner, mate. A hacker. And a bloody good one at that. She ran your number while you were fighting for that cow Capricia. Now Angel, she's always been a soft touch so I'm not surprised she took a shine to you. Seems the girls decided to try and keep you alive in there so Angel came up with the daft idea of trying a kinetic over-ride on your control unit.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav returned his gaze to the isolation room as Suture talked. He saw Domino floating there, unconscious, appearing somehow serene despite faint scar lines criss-crossing her pale skin and the wound exposing the intricate mechanisms of her cybernetic hand. He wondered how much of her body was prosthetic and his thoughts turned again to his daughter Karina. Had this Domino endured the same sickness at some stage in her life?</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “The nice bit of her plan was,” Suture continued, “it looked for all the world like you were dead once Domino did her bit on you. So Capricia's lot just tossed you out back for the body-part scavengers, like they do with all the losers.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Although he felt slightly ashamed for staring at the two young women while they were in such a vulnerable state, Borislav found he could not stop himself from studying them. He needed to understand this, somehow. His memories of the fight and Suture's ongoing commentary told him that Angel and Domino were highly proficient and, he suspected, a true force to be reckoned with when operating as a unit. Why then, had they taken an obvious risk to help him so?</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Anyway, to cut a long story short, me and Angel there brought you and Domino back here and patched you up. It'll take a bit more to get our girl back on her feet though. I ain't seen her this banged up in quite a while.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What happened to her?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Buggered if I know,” Suture shrugged. “I'd hate to see the other fella, though. Know what I mean? Here's your tea.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav nursed the hot mug between his palms and sipped the treacle-sweet liquid. He nodded his head toward Domino.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “She is so young. How is it she is...” he searched for the right words, “...the way she is?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Suture pulled his goggles up onto his forehead, revealing icy blue eyes which danced with a fierce intellect. His lips tightened in a wry smile.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Now that... that's the really interesting question, isn't it? Those two girls in there have more secrets than your government and mine put together. I know 'em better than most and I haven't the foggiest, mate. I can tell you this much though: you've made some right handy friends in that pair. Anyway, I've run out of cigs so I'm off to the shop. Help yourself to what's in the fridge if you get hungry. Anything else you need, just ask Serene. She'll be knocking around somewhere.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav sat in quiet contemplation of his situation long after Suture had pulled on a grimy trench coat and ducked out into the rain. He thought about these two girls, his saviours, and wondered why they had been at the Venus Lounge. Had he seen Angel there? How had she found out about Karina and her illness? How had they known about his implants and augmentations? Such information was classified, even for old, ex-soldiers.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The figure of Domino floating there before him, watched over by her unassuming partner, filled his vision as all these questions swirled in his mind. He found himself entranced by the play of diffuse blue light from the med-tank across their soft features. Borislav felt compelled to form a lasting image of the pair, a mental snapshot he could carry with him. He sensed an impermanence to their existence, a notion that perhaps he was stealing a glimpse behind the curtain, seeing the two girls as no-one else had. For some reason he could not explain, he felt intensely protective of them in that moment.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> At length, Borislav blinked and sipped the last of his saccharine tea. As he set the mug down, he made himself a promise. He would find a way to repay this debt of kindness. If he could help either girl at any time, he would.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-72008863122858985122010-07-15T00:27:00.000+01:002010-07-15T00:27:26.963+01:00'Smith Comes to Town'<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This is a story I 're-purposed' from an old screenplay I wrote at a friend's request. In honesty, the script wasn't all that great and was pretty much un-filmable, considering his resources. However, I liked enough things about it for me to want to use it somehow, so this is what I ended up with. I hope you enjoy it. :-)</span></span><br />
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<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: AvantGarde Bk BT,sans-serif;"><i><u><b>Smith Comes to Town.</b></u></i> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Crimson lights winked their silent warnings to air traffic from the tops of opulent skyscrapers, while far below, threading through the forest of steel and concrete giants, the streets of Nu Kabuki-cho pulsed with the energy of a city eager to unwind. Under a sea of neon and high-vis holo screens, myriad faces sought a night's entertainment in a district where anything could be had for the right price.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> The crowds threatened to swallow Smith as he walked along the narrow side streets yet he moved with a calm efficiency, always seeming to find that singular path which allowed him to stroll unhindered. Passing cafés, karaoke bars and massage parlours, he was looking for something, this man in the Saville Row suit. A joygirl, dressed in a translucent floral print mini dress approached him, taking him for an easy mark; a salary-man in search of a pretty young thing to take to a love hotel.</span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Hey, mister. Looking for company?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith looked at the girl, with her blue lipstick and her matching dress, barely concealing all she could offer. Hers were not the talents he sought that night and so he offered her a tight lipped smile and a shallow bow before sidestepping her attempt to block his path.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> His grey eyes narrowed behind antique wire rimmed spectacles, Smith continued his search, filtering through the drunks, the touts, the dealers and addicts, the faces of the two he sought committed to an exacting memory.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> At last he found them, crouched on the steps of a game centre, the boy clearly doting on the girl as she chatted animatedly with him. Both appeared to be in their mid teens and wore what Smith assumed to be subculture-appropriate fashion: long spikes of azure hair and a black trench coat on the boy, a thin circuit print vest, knee boots and flared miniskirt for the girl. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;">Smith moved up to the girl and rested a hand on her tattooed shoulder. She snapped around to grab the offending hand but froze mid-motion as she recognised Smith's face from their earlier call.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “You should be more careful who you touch,” she warned around a mouthful of gum.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “You're quite right.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> His sarcasm seemed lost on her as he wiped his hand with a handkerchief.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Okay. So, step into our office,” she smiled cheekily and gestured to a toilet door set just inside the game centre. Smith arched an eyebrow almost imperceptibly and nodded.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Thank you.”</span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> The noise from the various games machines swelled to a cacophonous roar in Smith's ears as he passed the aural dampener units above the arcade's entrance. The boy shoved the toilet door open with feigned nonchalance and sauntered inside, leaving Smith to follow the provocative sway of the girl's peekaboo buttocks into their dingy 'office'. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Promotional flyers had been plastered on the walls in a failed attempt to cover up crumbling, faded green tiles, the ochre glow from an ancient strip light deepening the tobacco-smoke patina of the once shiny fixtures.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith regarded the pair in turn, his slate coloured eyes conveying his low tolerance for nonsense.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Alita and Ganzo, yes?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> The girl ruffled her shock of neon-pink hair and nodded smartly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “That's us. And you're Smith.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Yes. Now, are you certain you are up to the task?” </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Hey, no problem with that,” Ganzo asserted, his shoulders squared as he drew heavily on his cigarette. “We're the best -”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Alita cut him off with a raised hand, an irritated frown on her face. She turned to Smith, her sapphire gaze defiant, challenging.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “You bring the payment?” she asked.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Of course.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith reached slowly into his jacket, a cruel smile touching his lips briefly as he extended the theatre of exchange, heightening their anticipation. He handed a memory stick to Alita, who produced a small, antiquated laptop from her bag. She hopped up to sit on the edge of a wash basin and, with visibly shaking fingers, inserted the memory stick into the reader. Her face aglow with the light from the screen, her eyes hungrily scanned what she saw there.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ganzo stepped up to Smith, his posture confrontational once more.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “What about the shit, man? I heard you'd have some for us.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Hmph.” Smith sighed. “How unimpressive. Take what you need.”</span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith proffered a small, unremarkable gunmetal case for Ganzo's appraisal. Several vials of vivid green liquid lay on a bed of foam inside and Ganzo removed four, his nervous fingers hovering over the others remaining before thinking better of it. The drug was known on the streets as 'Racer 9', a strong psychoactive stimulant similar in effect to meth-amphetamine. Smith waited for Ganzo to test the vials' purity in a portable analyser. The LCD readout showed 98.5% purity; this seemed good enough for Ganzo and he offered Smith a smile.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Nice, Mister Smith. Very nice.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “I'm so happy you approve,” Smith intoned dryly.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Well, I fucking <i>don't</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> approve of this!” Alita pouted as she turned her screen for Smith to see. “Look! Aside from the brief, every damn thing on this chip is encrypted! What is this bullshit? It'd cost me more to crack this than I could ever make off the back of it.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Indeed. The necessary keys will be yours on completion of the task. Now, have you followed my instructions?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “To the letter,” Ganzo assured.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Then you have the tools with you?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Alita nodded and nudged a pair of in-line skates protruding from her bag with her foot.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Yeah, but why the mono-filament knives? A regular ceramic would do the job just fine.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith sighed with the apparent exasperation of someone who often had to explain the obvious to the oblivious.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> “His people must believe it to be the work of the Japanese. </span><i>Not </i><span style="font-style: normal;">a couple of street waifs for hire. Now remember: police involvement would be an undesirable complication. You are to avoid them at all costs. Is that clear?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> “Crystal.” Ganzo's chest inflated with pride. “Listen bud, we're the fastest there is on those things and we can </span><i>always</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> go where the heat can't follow. You get me?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith fixed him with a cold stare.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Just make sure you complete the brief.”</span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> The implicit threat in Smith's tone hung in the air long after he left the two teens to prepare for their assignment. He stepped back out into the night and walked briskly away from the arcade, his passage again strangely unhindered by the crush of people around him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> His presence unsettled others on some primal level, he knew. He enjoyed that knowledge, used the advantages it brought him. Smith pulled out his phone and placed a call to his employer as he pushed past a young couple, commandeering the taxi they had hailed. The image of their stunned, slack-jawed indignation amused him as he rode away. His call connected and his smile disappeared.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “It's done.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ganzo was trying his best not to stare at Alita's panties as she sat cross legged, fingers dancing across her laptop's keyboard. As if that wasn't distraction enough, her breasts were just a little too visible through the fine fabric of her vest. They'd come close to doing it last night. He was certain of it. Maybe tonight, after the job...</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> He shook his head and moved to stand behind her. He should at least </span><i>try </i><span style="font-style: normal;">to be professional. Alita was staring at a grainy image of some guy, maybe forty, unfashionable winter coat, really bad glasses. To the right of the balding comb-over guy, a long stream of data fed the particulars of the mission to them: time, place, maps and schematics.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “That him, Leet?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Who else would it be, dumbass?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> She was teasing him. A sign of affection, he knew. He hoped. Alita looked over her shoulder at him with that faraway, dreamy look in her eyes she had whenever she was thinking about getting famous.</span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “The payout from this could be our first big time way out of here and onto the pro-corporate circuit. Can you imagine doing AR recordings for one of the big companies, Ganzo? How chilled would that be?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Her enthusiasm usually rubbed off on him, but tonight he wasn't so sure.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Yeah, Leet. You'd like that, I guess.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> She seemed to miss the melancholy in his voice and just kept on grinning at him.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “So, where's it gonna happen?” he asked her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “He'll be leaving Madame Soong's place in five. We'd better move.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ganzo nodded his agreement and moments later they both had their skates strapped on and their knives ready in their waistbands. He handed Alita a vial of Racer 9 and then snapped a dose under his nose. The green liquid vaporised on contact with the air and he inhaled deeply, allowing the drug to coarse through his system.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Alita leant in to treat him to a wet kiss on his cheek and, as that delicious sensation spread within him, his vision blasted along a tight focus tunnel as the Racer 9 kicked in. Ganzo was aware of his pulse syncopating and swelling in velocity and suddenly he felt capable of anything.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> They set off at pace through the bustling streets, weaving, sliding and kick-jumping around the blurred faces bobbing along around them. As they dropped into the subway, a series of rail slides and twirling jumps carried them at breakneck speeds past the homogenised commuters, over the barriers and into the lower levels.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ganzo made out the sign for Madame Soong's, a flickering holoboard rotating images of naked girls. He followed Alita's line as they dashed towards the hostess club and his fingers found the grip of the lethal looking knife she had given him. He was utterly focused now, his balance supreme as he replicated Alita's every graceful move. It was time to go to work. Time to make Alita proud. Time to prove he wasn't the loser everyone said he was.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ami Kaneda sipped her vaguely cherry flavoured, distinctly over priced cocktail and wondered what she was doing wrong. It was her third night working at Madame Soong's hostess bar and up until now, every one of her customers had left happy, drunk and light of cash. Not this guy. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Granted, he was spending with the best of them, drinking the most expensive Oban single malt for himself while ordering whatever she asked for. But no matter how many times he emptied his tumbler he showed no signs of being even a little tipsy. Worse, he showed no indication of happiness.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> When he had picked up a news site hardcopy and started to read, Ami had started to feel worried that maybe her boss would notice and scold her for not being entertaining enough.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> She scooted around the booth so that she was sat right next to him, her thigh pressed against his, her body angled so her cleavage was practically under his nose. Nothing.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ami resolved to seek a refund for the 'pheromonally enhanced' perfume she had dropped a fortune on. She just couldn't figure out what made this guy tick. She was up to date with the news, as all good hostesses should be and yet her attempts to engage him in conversation had failed.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> This plain looking <i>gaijin</i> was going to get her fired. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> He glanced at his watch and nodded slightly before folding his news printout impeccably. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he edged his way from the booth and started walking towards the exit. Ami struggled for a moment with the conflict between her training, which demanded she do her utmost to keep customers in the club, and her own relief to see him go. She sensed something slightly unwholesome about this oddly silent gaijin and so she settled on letting him leave the club.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> As he passed through the door, a younger man with clean looks and an obviously fat wallet moved to sit nervously at the bar. Ami swayed over to him and smiled sweetly. It looked like she would be able to afford that new necklace after all.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ganzo split from Alita's line and approached the target from a different angle to her. The guy had his back to them, which was ideal. Made for a nice, clean kill. They'd done several jobs like this before and he knew that Alita would go in through the ribs, which left him to cut the jugular, just to be safe.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> They were about three metres out from the guy when everything went horribly, irreversibly wrong. Somehow he wasn't there any more. Ganzo skidded to a halt and stared in confusion as he realised the guy had closed the gap to Alita before she could strike and now he was inside her striking circle. Inside her defences.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> The man they had been sent to kill wore a cold, expressionless mask as his hand jabbed into the soft hollow where Alita's collarbone met her shoulder. Her arm fell limp, useless, and her role shifted from hunter to target as the man took her knife away from her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> He wielded her blade with a casual ease and brought it in a lightning arc across her inner thigh, making a deep, efficient cut there, wheeling away from her in the same instant so that no arterial spray found his coat. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Ganzo screamed in denial, his body frozen, impotent, as he watched this unassuming man murder the girl he loved so much. He never saw what the man did to him. He only saw that impassive face for the briefest instant before something impacted his chest and a cold pain flared there.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Tears filled and blurred his vision, threatening to obscure Alita from him as he slumped to the floor. He felt the hot liquid pumping from him and knew that he was dying. If he only did one thing right in his life, this would be it: Ganzo pulled himself along the floor until he could grasp Alita's hand. To his complete joy, he felt her squeeze his fingers with her thumb one last time.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith stared at his reflection in the darkened glass and watched the rain sluice down the window, his mind absently trying to find some patterns there. The hush of his suite was broken by the hiss of the front door opening. The silhouette he saw framed there was clearly that of Simmons, his employer. Smith felt a tremor run through his body as his heart experienced a palpitation.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> He moved over to the desk and picked up his lighter, an antiquated Zippo in brushed chrome. Smith had carried it with him since his military days and had always found the act of slowly spinning it between his fingers soothing. Simmons moved silently across the room and fixed Smith with an impenetrable stare.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “You really should have sent better product. I asked for a challenge. You understand my need to train, Mister Smith.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “I do. I assure you, they were advertised as the best in the local area and you had requested -”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “An accurate simulation of the gang using in-line skates in Singapore,” Simmons insisted. “<i>They</i> will be professionals. You sent me children. If I want to play with children I will fetch a rifle to a playground.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith noticed the slight tremble in his hands as he worked a Dunhill from its pack. He lit it with the Zippo and inhaled deeply.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “You know, smoking will kill you,” Simmons remarked.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Smith snorted derisively before he could stop himself.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “They made these things safe years ago, removed all the toxins.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> Simmons' lips quirked in a faint smile.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"> “Well... if the cigarettes aren't going to kill you, maybe the contact poison on your lighter will. My flight is in an hour. Goodbye, Mister Smith. Enjoy your smoke.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><i><u><b>THE END.</b></u></i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010</span></span><i><u><b> </b></u></i></span></div></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-39661632269863272442010-06-14T22:41:00.002+01:002010-06-14T22:44:13.626+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 9<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">In part 9, we find Domino sat face to face with Capricia...</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The limousine swished along the elevated expressway in near silence, the sheen of its sleek black exterior reflecting ribbons of colour from city lights. A heady scent of Oudh oil permeated the air of the opulent passenger compartment, recalling a vague memory of minarets and souks for Domino. She frowned, unable to place the imagery, a fragment of an uncertain past.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You seem troubled,” opined Capricia. She was staring at Domino intently.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It's nothing, just a few bruises.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I see. No doubt the injury you sustained to your hand is causing you no small discomfort. Or perhaps cybernetic limbs dispense with such inconveniences?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No... it still aches.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia shrugged off the fussing of the three boys draped around her and sat forward. Her manner intensified and her tone shifted to the interrogative.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Tell me, why did you enter my arena tonight?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I imagine the same reason everyone else does.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia threw her head back and laughed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “My, aren't we evasive? I have seen as many reasons for fighting as I have seen contenders. What was yours?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Money. And the challenge. I like to test my skills.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia cast Domino a look of incredulity.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Everyone wants money, that's a given. As to testing your skills, I suspect you didn't even come close to doing so tonight.” </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[I don't like where this is going, Yukiko.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [I know what you mean. No sign of the laptop yet, either. This isn't as easy as I'd hoped.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [She must keep it close. Hang in there. I'm tailing the limo on the lower level expressway if you need to bail. I'm on my Suzuki.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [You brought the bike out?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Yeah, I know you prefer me to stay out of harm's way but once I figured you'd be on the move, I wanted to stay close.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Thanks, Angel.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino had been watching her own reflection in the window of the limo while communicating with Angel. She returned her attention to Capricia again, who was watching her with open curiosity.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You're giving me too much credit. It was a tough fight.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Ah. Modesty.” Capricia paused, pressed a button on the console running alongside her seat. “Or something else?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A slimline laptop emerged slowly from the console. Capricia pulled it free and powered it on, her eyes fixed on Domino the whole time. The prize was within reach now and Domino wasn't certain that she had succeeded in concealing her interest.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “If I were to plug your 'Kunoichi' alias into my little friend here, what would I find?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Not much. I prefer to stay off the grid.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Indeed,” Capricia mused as her fingers flicked idly at the keyboard.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino hoped Capricia was bluffing. If the laptop was wired for internet access, it was the wrong machine.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[I'm checking her notebook now, Yuki-chan.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Read my mind.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino found it very difficult not to smile in that moment. So much of her pursuit of Yamada through his network of underlings would have been a much greater struggle were it not for Angel's help and, perhaps more importantly, her insight and empathy.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[That's it! That's the one we need. She's bluffing: it's not transmitting or receiving any data packets via the web.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [You're an Angel.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Yeah, yeah. Very funny. Now concentrate on the job.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia had finished her faux search and was once again regarding Domino, a lofty expression on her face.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Hmm. Interesting. I wonder...” Capricia drummed her fingers along the top edge of the laptop screen. “... It's this you're interested in, isn't it? Your attempt to mask it was admirable but your reaction was obvious to me.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino was watching Capricia's hands very carefully now. She had scanned the Italian woman as they sat in the limousine and knew she had a four-shot .357 Derringer strapped to her thigh beneath her gown. Capricia was still talking though, showing no signs of moving for her firearm.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I had thought that dear Vasily's demise was a simple robbery, an arms deal turned sour. But then I remembered the matter of one of my warehouses being reduced to a smouldering ruin...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[She's not as stupid as she looks.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [More's the pity. This is going to get ugly, Angel. Can you hack the driver of the limo, maybe provide a distraction? I think it's one of those savant chauffeur models.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [I can try.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>“...and so I suspected a possible attack on the syndicate.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Sounds like you've had a bad time of it. That why you're hiring fresh muscle?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Don't be cute!” Capricia bristled. “I'm giving you the chance to discuss this civilly.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Very charitable of you.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia's flash of anger was building rapidly into a full blown storm of rage now. Domino smiled: she needed Capricia angry. She'd be more clumsy that way. The fact she hadn't pulled her pistol already was worrying though. Domino started to wonder if the three loincloth-clad Egyptian boys might be more than literal hangers-on.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Shut up!” shrieked Capricia. “I know you must want access to the corporate intranet. I just want to know why. Tell me and perhaps we can negotiate a deal.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “If you weren't such a bloodthirsty narcissist who delighted in watching the desperate kill one another for her pleasure, I might have considered it.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You have no idea who you're dealing with. I'm one of the most powerful women in the -”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oh hush, you're just window dressing.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> With that, Domino launched herself at Capricia before she had the chance to reach for her gun. She was brought up short by the trio of boys as they erupted into a bizarrely co-ordinated defence of their mistress, their gangly limbs moving with surprising speed and flexibility.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino tried to twist past them but was forced into a defensive crouch as three sets of rubbery arms and legs pounded her body. They descended on her in eerie silence, idiotic blank smiles on their lips. She was parrying and dodging their blows as rapidly as her reflexes would allow but in the close confines of the limousine the hairless Egyptians' synchronised assault threatened to overwhelm her.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She had suspected they might serve as bodyguards but hadn't anticipated their level of skill or their unrelenting disregard for pain. Within seconds, she had managed to break their ribs, fingers and, in one case, a femur and yet they showed no hint of discomfort. In fact, their grins widened along with their hooded eyes and each was rapidly developing a more obvious demonstration of arousal.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Acutely aware of the many bruises and lacerations ravaging her body, Domino knew she had to bring the chaos under control, find a way through their simian movements to their boss, who now had the Derringer levelled at her, waiting for a clear shot.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Two of the boys suddenly collided in their enthusiasm and broke the rhythm of their attack for the briefest of moments. That window of opportunity was all that Domino needed. She aimed a merciless snap kick into the midriff of one of them, sending him sprawling and vomiting into Capricia. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Dropping herself to the floor, Domino spun on her buttocks, whipping her legs around in the style of a street dancer or Capoeira fighter and broke through the defences of the second, her double kick smashing him into the mirrored ceiling. She heard something in him crunch and he fell still.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Muzzle flash from Capricia's gun filled Domino's vision as the impact from the shot snapped her shoulder around violently. Her pain suppressor kicked into overdrive then, nullifying the cold spread of shock from the wound. She closed on Capricia with unerring accuracy, despite the insistent bombardment of blows from the third boy. Her hands found Capricia's before she could fire another shot.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> In a blur of motion, she took Capricia's pistol from her grasp, shot the third boy through his eye and, with her free hand, flattened Capricia's nose against her cheek with a crushing back fist. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Yuki!]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [A little busy...]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [I know, I know! I'm about to fry the driver's CPU. Grab the laptop if you can and I'll blow the sunroof. Get out of there!]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Wait, there isn't any sunroof-]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Just trust me!]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>The first boy had recovered from his retching and was once again attempting to pummel Domino, his spooky smile still fixed firmly in place. She spotted an ornamental pen protruding from Capricia's console and pulled it free. Holding it in a reverse grip she wielded it as a makeshift dagger and fell into a lethal dance of strikes and counter-strikes with the boy.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As Capricia writhed in her seat, alternating between nursing her gushing nose and gagging on the boy's vomit, Domino worked the boy's defensive posture higher and higher. Each thrust of the silver pen was designed to draw his arms up, the whirlwind movements of their arms too fast to track. She soon had the opening she needed as he committed to one of her feints and she dropped the pen under his guard and sank it deep into the artery serving his inner thigh. </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She used his scrambling attempts to stem the fountain of blood from the mortal wound to break free and grab the laptop from Capricia's side.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Now, Angel. Now!]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>A loud 'pop' sounded from the driver's compartment, accompanied by the smell of fried circuitry. A heartbeat later and the mirror above Domino shattered into a thousand tiny fragments as Angel overrode the vehicle's safety protocols and force-activated the emergency exit.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Her adrenals spiking, Domino leapt straight up, her feet barely clearing the roof of the limousine as it sped away beneath her. Inertia and gravity carried her into an awkward tumble as she landed, ripping both clothing and skin from her already broken body. She dashed to the edge of the expressway, narrowly avoiding the path of a hover-taxi.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Further along the road, the limousine was picking up speed, now on a certain collision course with a sound-baffling wall. Seconds later, a fireball bloomed and engulfed the vehicle and all who remained inside. Domino collapsed, exhausted.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She was only half conscious moments later when Angel arrived. She was dimly aware of clambering onto the bike behind her friend before the protective canopy extended back into place around them and Angel gunned the engine.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Wrap your arms around me if you can. Try to stay awake. I'm getting you to Suture's place.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [N-no... not yet. Get back to... Venus Lounge... look for Russian... Petrov... may still... be alive. Suture... get him to meet us there.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Okay, Yuki-chan. You got it.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>Angel fed the Suzuki at breakneck speed through canyons of neon, leaving the flaming remains of Capricia Morucci far behind.<i> </i>She soon felt the ruined body of her friend fall limp behind her. Blinking away a hot rush of tears, she forced herself to focus on the tiny readout of Yukiko's vital signs on her heads up, willing them not to flatline as she desperately raced to their meeting with Suture.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-13216615134799694122010-06-07T22:53:00.002+01:002010-06-07T22:55:59.452+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 8<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #45818e;">I hope you enjoy Part 8. The pit fight rages on...</span> </span></span></div><br />
<br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The girl with scales for skin came for her with unbridled ferocity, each attack raking and clawing for Domino's face as she worked to maintain her deliberately loose defence. Every movement the exotic made was predictable to her; she was fighting angry, out of control, telegraphing her attacks through changes in stance, making it easy for Domino to remain one step ahead at all times.</span></span></div><br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The crowd roared at the spectacular display from the dragon girl. Her fighting style, a stylised combination of Snake and Dragon forms, was flashy and explosive and each time she launched an aerial combo the crowd became more vocal in their appreciation. So far, everyone seemed to be buying into Domino's staggering retreat. Everyone except for the exotic, who suddenly seemed to realise she had no way through her opponent's defences. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She whirled away from Domino, hissing and spitting her indignation.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Don't let the exotic in close, Yuki-chan. She's got razor-tip claw implants and worse yet, she's had a nasty dental mod to go with those fangs: she can spit venom from a reservoir in her lower jaw.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Thanks for the heads up. You into her records there?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>Domino had been keenly aware of the Spetsnaz edging around the ring, his footwork light despite his hulking frame. Now she saw him close in on the exotic as her rage provided him with an opening.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Yeah, what little I could find from the facial recognition match. Working alias is Violetta. She got her body work done in Kowloon. Trained there too, from what I can gather. She worked high profile escort jobs for Pacific Rim rock stars and the like before dropping off the grid for a while. Both Hong Kong police and Interpol have a long standing interest in her. Collateral damage follows her every assignment.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [So, a cold bitch of a sociopath, then?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [And then some...]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Angel, see what you can pull on the Russian.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Already on it.]</i></span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The Russian had pinned Violetta with a near flawless grapple hold, the grafted muscles in his arms flexing, forcing veins and capillaries to the surface of his skin as he tried to wrestle the much smaller girl to the floor. For a moment, it seemed to Domino that he might overpower Violetta. That was before the exotic dislocated her own shoulders.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The popping of her joints was felt more than heard as she struggled to work free of the Russian's grasp. Her desperate move bought her enough latitude to angle her head towards him as her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Before Domino could intervene, Violetta spat her venom into the Russian's face, almost instantly melting the flesh of his cheek.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[The Russian's Borislav Petrov. Spetsnaz trained, as we thought. Special weapons, systema, the whole lot. Not sure why he's here, though. No criminal record, nothing obvious to run from.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Maybe he just needs the cash.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [With his skills, he could earn it more safely elsewhere.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [True, but it'd be nowhere near as fast. Keep digging. If he's as clean as you say, I'll make sure he walks out of here.]</i></span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>The dragon girl was free of Petrov's hold now and had somehow whipped her shoulders back into their sockets. She sprang after the staggered giant with a sequence of combo attacks which mirrored her assault on Domino in their speed and malevolence. The beleaguered Spetsnaz had little choice but to throw his arms up in an attempt to fend off the exotic's cruel onslaught. Domino knew that he would soon crumble and, most likely, meet a bloody and meaningless end.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She raced for Violetta with an uncommon sense of abandon, hoping to intersect the dragon girl's deadly trajectory. Domino closed the gap in a heartbeat and her hook punch smashed through Violetta's scaly jaw with a sickening crunch. Skin was stripped from Domino's knuckles and searing pain lanced along her arm as the exotic's head snapped backwards, halting her advance on her prey.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A mist of blood hung in the air between the three as tiny splinters of Violetta's jaw fell to the floor. The lower half of her face was ruined, hanging loosely on mangled tendons and ripped remnants of skin.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Let's see you spit poison now, bitch!” Domino whispered with just enough vehemence for the exotic to hear. Enraged beyond reason or perception of pain, Violetta flew at her, hot breath bubbling through a mess of blood and bone. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino was distantly aware of the stunned silence surrounding them now and as she sidestepped and blocked the dragon girl's flailing arms, legs and tail she resolved to end the fight quickly. She engaged her pain suppressor implant, enabling full use of her near-ruined hand again. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She caught the next wild attack and pulled Violetta towards her, simultaneously retracting her arm so she could launch a double pronged attack. One hand, a rigid 'v', found the exotic's throat, collapsing her windpipe while the other formed an open palm attack which slammed into Violetta's sternum, the sheer energy behind it instantly stopping her heart.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The entire exchange had transpired in microseconds and now the too-proud exotic stood shakily, her eyes glazed over as her brain caught up to the idea that she was dead. Domino saw something there, in that moment, in those glassy eyes. Remorse? Loneliness? A reverie for a happier life left sublimated for too long? She would never know. Violetta's limp form crumpled to the bloodied mosaic floor with what seemed like a sigh and then she moved no more.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Borislav Petrov had rarely experienced such pain: the molten agony torturing his face was hell enough but when the scaly bitch started clawing chunks from his arms it was all he could do not to pass out. He forced himself to recall the words of his old instructor:</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>The body is but a tool of the mind and the world around you a product of that same mind. Allow no pain into your mind and there will be no pain...</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> No, those teachings did not make the beatings stop or help relieve him of his wounds. He was about to lose his only chance of gaining the money he needed. He was also about to lose his life. Borislav shook his head shamefully. Such a defeatist attitude would never have been tolerated when he was in his unit! He gritted his teeth and approached his defence with renewed vigour. He would succeed. He <i>must</i> succeed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A blur of motion passed between him and his vicious assailant. It had been the tiny Japanese girl. And she had left in her wake a ruined and quite furious dragon girl. His shoulders slumped in unabashed relief as he watched the girl in black effortlessly deflect and weave around the machine-gun paced attacks of the scaled one.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And then she ended it. He had barely seen the move, hadn't even discerned the points of impact. The girl with purple scales for skin was now a puppet whose strings had been severed and so she fell, discarded, on the cold floor.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The Japanese girl turned to regard him with eyes of purest obsidian. Borislav Petrov had seen many battlefields and fought countless foes. Not one of these had given him the sense of inevitability he felt now. He had understood all those he had fought before, even the strange dragon girl. But in the impossible youth of the one stood before him now he recognised an unfathomable depth of experience and an unshakable certainty of purpose.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He was undone, he knew. He would never return to his daughter. Never provide her with the prosthesis she needed to continue living in this world. His dream of winning enough to take her to the best surgeons in their pristine orbital stations was at its end. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[I've found it!]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Found what?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Petrov. His reason for entering the pit fight. His daughter is dying. She needs orbital-grade prosthetics. That's why he's here.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Dammit.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino turned from the lifeless form of the exotic at her feet and found the ex-Spetsnaz trooper returning her stare. His grey eyes shifted along the spectrum from defiance to resignation in that moment and she knew then that this ageing, noble fighter may well undo her plan to gain access to Capricia without ever laying a finger on her.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[I can't do this, Angel. I can't just end him because it serves my purposes. I'll have to find another way to get to Capricia and Yamada.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [You might not have to. A lot of his implants are old tech, using an obsolete neural interface. If you overload the control unit at the base of his skull, he'll pass out and, to the untrained eye, appear to be dead.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Hmm. That might work. Is there any risk of – what the...?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Petrov stepped towards her slowly, a wistful smile on his malformed lips. He extended his arms cruciform, hands held palm up in a clear gesture of surrender.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[What's he doing, Yukiko?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Giving up. This isn't good.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [But I thought -]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [They won't let him. They're all out for blood. And money.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I yield.” his voice boomed around the club yet was almost instantly drowned out by a cacophony of distaste from the crowd. All eyes bar those of Domino and Petrov turned to Capricia, who was stood imperiously above them all. She milked the moment for more than it was worth before offering a down-turned thumb in a ridiculous pastiche of an ancient Roman Caesar.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Your 'yield' is not accepted. You will find no quarter here. Kunoichi! Finish him!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino wanted very badly to kill Capricia in that moment, wipe the self-satisfied smirk from her artificially glamorous face. She settled instead for glaring at her coldly before turning her attention back to Petrov. She saw he was resigned to a certain destiny, and as he transitioned from his capitulation to a combat-ready stance, she suspected he would offer little, if any, real resistance.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As they faced off, he seemed to read her reluctance and he shot her an almost imperceptible nod before closing on her position. He would attempt to make the task before her weigh less heavily on her conscience, launch a barrage of attacks so she would have no option but to defend herself.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> His kicks and punches came at her in clever combinations of feints and mix-ups, his every move informed by an obvious wealth of experience and hard-earned wisdom. More impressive still was his ability to temper his strength with grace and control. He was a consummate fighter, the type with the power to level a brick wall and the skill to halt a blow a mere hair's-breadth from its target. It had been sheer bad luck that Violetta ever had the chance to harm him.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[I need to know how to take out that control module, Angel. Are you sure it won't cause any lasting damage?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [I'm certain of it: it was a design flaw with that particular unit. A strong blow to the soft tissue at the base of the skull should have the desired effect.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Okay. Thanks, Angel. Here goes...]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> They had continued the sham fight for long enough now; the crowd was sufficiently engrossed in their martial dance to buy into the Russian's collapse.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino threw a flashy aerial double kick at Petrov and, as she had hoped, he intercepted her risky attack with a high block. Such was the strength of his augmented arms, she was able to twist her body and shift her momentum so that his block became a stepping stone for her to somersault over his head.</span></span><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The move was fast enough to give her a clean line on the back of his neck and so she snapped her leg out in a reverse kick. Her foot connected with the base of Petrov's skull with a loud crack. The giant toppled, and the crowd rose in ovation as she nimbly touched down behind his prone form.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> While she knew she had not killed him, she still felt sickened by the audience's reaction to his apparent demise. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino was left in darkness then, as all the club's spotlights shifted to Capricia's balcony. The arena battle was over. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" class="western" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-65593005804884468332010-05-29T23:34:00.000+01:002010-05-29T23:34:04.099+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 7<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Part seven is another long(ish) one. Here we follow Domino to Capricia Morucci's club...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Blood-lust and greed seeped out from the patrons of The Venus Lounge and filled its opulent central hall with a tangible anticipation for the night's entertainment. Capricia Morucci poised her perfect chin on steepled fingers and surveyed her domain. What she saw pleased her. The club was performing well on regular nights, but on a fight night such as this, its earning potential sky-rocketed as gamblers, thrill-seekers and fetishists alike poured in from the rain in the hopes of watching a fight to the death.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Of course, the fights were not always fatal; it was by no means a prerequisite. But Capricia understood her public. They came to be close to death, to feel the rush of fear and, for some, the arousal it brought. For many, the violence of the fight would itself be enough but she recognised those who thirsted for more.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She worked the crowds perfectly, passing from one darkened arch to the next, allowing a glimpse of thigh or cleavage for those who sought it, complimenting those whose egos demanded it and flirting with those gullible enough to believe that their chances of finding her favour increased with the amount of money they dropped in her club.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia had 'acquired' the club some years ago from a group of '<i>Bratva</i>' Russian mob types and had decided to keep the somewhat ostentatious décor. The deep reds and golds adorning the alcoves which surrounded the massive mosaic dance floor seemed to lend a certain 'old-world' atmosphere which she enjoyed. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She paused to check her reflection in a massive gilded mirror and was pleased with what it showed her: youthful, alabaster beauty, framed by tumbles of dark hair, smouldering eyes and just the right amount of curve to the lips. Yes, the Swiss clinic had done its job very well.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She moved to climb the stairs spiralling up to her private box and lowered herself regally onto her favourite chaise-lounge. A trio of beautiful olive skinned boys busied themselves in tending to her as she picked over the luxurious spread they had prepared. Suddenly her nose wrinkled in distaste as she saw a wiry man with an unhealthy pallor to his skin weasel his way past her statuesque guardians. He settled lazily in an overstuffed seat at her side and helped himself to some grapes from her table.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Uff,” she sniffed. “What is it, Geffen?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “A new development for tonight's entertainment,” he wheezed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What do you mean?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “A new fighter for the ring.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I have two of the best already. You should know, Geffen. You sent them to me.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He shifted in his seat, his posture betraying his bad nerves.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “B-but this one, she's special. Unlike anything I've sent before. Could be ideal as your new assistant. She's smart like you prefer them and easy on the eye, if you know what I mean...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia seemed not to hear this, her attention focused on a selection of fine cooked meats.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You seem a little... over anxious tonight, my dear Geffen. Is there some special reason you wish to introduce a new gladiator into the mix at such a late stage? Perhaps the others are not as skilled as you have indicated?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Geffen's face dropped in dismay. </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “N-no, they're all good. Just like I said in the first place.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I'm sure. So who is this new, highly impressive contender?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “She goes by the name Kunoichi. She's fast. And strong. A classy fighter. I think she would impress you.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia stared at Geffen, enjoyed watching him squirm.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Very well, we shall have a three way fight tonight. Make the necessary announcements before bringing the fighters in.” </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Geffen's relief was palpable. Capricia had no doubt that he was playing the odds, trying to ensure his cut. She couldn't care less. Leaving Geffen to shuffle away and make ready for the fight, Capricia Morucci basked in the admiring glances she drew from the crowd below, like a regent holding court. In that moment, it felt like she held all the power in the world and she was pleased.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The massive amber neon sign set above the entrance to The Venus Lounge fizzed softly in the misty rain hanging in the night air. The light it cast played like liquid fire across the umbrellas of those stood in open anticipation of gaining entrance to the club, their bodies corralled by a thick red rope into a narrow corridor of impatience.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Brimstone eyes scanned this crowd methodically from atop elongated and segmented metallic necks. The cyborg bouncers posted at the door to the club reminded Domino of praying mantis insects she had once seen in a documentary, their bodies altered far beyond human morphology by designer cybernetics engineers. She wondered if their reverse-jointed legs were purely cosmetic or if they somehow augmented athletic ability.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[</i><i>Are you seeing this, Angel?]</i> she asked over the neural link they had set up, her thoughts translated into audio via vocal synthesis.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Yeah... freaky. Like aliens or something. The legs look impractical, though.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [I was wondering about them too. Can you see if you can pull more information on those mods, let me know what I'm going up against if I have to deal with them later?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [I'll see what I can find. In the meantime, I pulled up the camera feeds from inside the club. Looks like your opponents are an exotic and some ex-military guy, maybe a Spetsnaz tattoo on his arm.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Okay, thanks.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Oh, and Geffen's on his way back to you.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Got it. I see him now.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Good luck, Yuki-chan.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>The fixer edged around the bizarre bouncers and made his way over to Domino, who had settled comfortably under the shelter of a coffee vendor stall. He ducked under the low canopy and sat next to her, smelling slightly of wet dog. Geffen ordered a coffee for himself and lit an odd green coloured cigarette.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Herbal,” he offered in response to Domino's enquiring glance. “Supposed to be healthy. Taste like shit. Want one?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “After that glowing endorsement? No thanks.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He snorted what might have been a laugh. Domino wasn't sure.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Well, you're in. I hope for your sake you're good. Very good. 'Cause the two in there are pure monsters. Why'd you want in so bad, anyway?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino shrugged nonchalantly.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I hear she pays well, makes for interesting work.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “If by interesting, you mean dangerous, then yeah. You heard right. She has a lot of enemies, you know.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “That's why I'm here.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It was Geffen's turn to shrug. He blew steam off his coffee and nodded over to the club.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Fight starts in an hour. You want to head in, get familiar with the place first?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Sure. Why not?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino followed Geffen over to the bouncers, who subjected her to close scrutiny from those sulphuric eyes. With a wave of a razor tipped claw, they were granted permission to pass through the faux-mahogany doors of the club.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>[Anything on these guys yet?]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Only a little. The reverse knee joints give them a better vertical jump range and improved speed when running. Looks like the neck helps provide three-sixty field of view and the optics are fitted for night-sight and thermographics. State of the art, ten years ago. The whole kit was a custom design worked up for the Papal Swiss Guard at the Vatican. No idea what they're doing here, though.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Must be slumming it. That's great work, Angel. Thanks.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> [Any time.]</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As Geffen led her through the bustling backstage area of the club, Domino pondered this new information. A self-styled Venetian princess in a former Bratva club with ex-Vatican Guards in her entourage hardly seemed a likely portrait of an arms dealer. She was beginning to understand now that, compared to Koralev, Capricia Morucci moved in very different circles indeed. Which made her a very exciting prospect. Domino sensed she was closer now to Yamada than she had dared hope.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia Morucci felt a tingle of excitement spread through her lower abdomen as she inspected the three gladiators stood below her, ready to fight for her pleasure, their arena a vibrant mosaic depicting a mythical battle waged by angels and demons. She wondered how much blood those creatures had tasted since she started the pit fights. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Already the crowd's murmuring had escalated in pitch as they had caught sight of that night's contenders. Money was flashed readily and in huge quantities as bets were placed. She was, she grudgingly admitted to herself, pleased with Geffen's choices. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The first in line was an exotic: shimmering scales of violet covered her lithe body in its entirety, a clearly functional tail flicking to and fro behind her legs, a series of wicked barbs along its length promising agony to those who incurred her wrath.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Next came the burly Russian, his limbs near bursting with grafted muscle, tempestuous eyes staring coldly from a mask of scars, his jaw set defiantly as she favoured him with a moment of eye contact.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And then there was the small Japanese girl, Geffen's last minute adjustment. She was, at first glance, the least remarkable of the three and yet Capricia felt drawn to her. Perhaps it was the slightly flawed, natural beauty, the fashionable make-up, the loose fitting designer garment she wore with perfect confidence. It was all and none of these things, she decided.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Certainly the girl had good taste. The black linen wraps covering her wrists and ankles paired with the baggy ninja style clothing was a very current trend in Tokyo. This girl wore it well, allowing just enough skin to show to add a hint of allure to the plain, almost utilitarian outfit. So, Geffen had been right about her looking good but could she fight?</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It was time to find out. She nodded curtly to each of them. The exotic snarled her readiness while the Russian behemoth fired off a neat salute and the Japanese girl offered a shallow bow. Capricia waited for them to separate and assume their positions on the killing floor.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> With a hand signal from her, the lights dimmed so that only the glow of the table lamps in the alcoves remained. A hush of anticipation hung in the air as every conversation in the club came to a close as one. She waited, hand held aloft theatrically, a wooden beater between her fingers, soaking up the sensation of power this moment always brought her. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She struck the ornate gong at her side and spotlights swept the arena floor in concert with its reverberations. The fight had begun. Despite her desire to remain composed at all times, Capricia found herself clutching the balustrade railing of her private box in excitement as she leant forward to better watch the proceedings.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The exotic appeared most aggressive initially; she had dropped into a broad stance typical of dragon style Kung Fu before stalking the other two fighters, her hands extended and held like claws ready to rend flesh. Suddenly she closed on the kunoichi and launched into a violent leap, unleashing a merciless series of attacks designed to gouge eyes and target nerve clusters.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The kunoichi sprang into a sequence of defensive back-steps, struggling to keep her balance as she somehow intercepted each strike from the deadly exotic. Capricia watched the interplay with curiosity, as she had not expected the Japanese girl to be so easily surprised. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She saw it then, a flash of something in the girl's expression, the briefest lull in the mask of exertion she was wearing. There was a serenity there, a self-assuredness which told Capricia that this 'kunoichi' was playing to the crowd, playing to her. Had her pride not prevented her, she would have congratulated Geffen on his find.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The Russian was also intensely focused on the exchange between the two females, perhaps looking for an opening. Despite his bulk he seemed agile now as he stalked them, his stance loose and ready, conveying little information about his fighting methods.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The dragon-girl screamed in frustration as each and every one of her attacks glanced off what seemed to be a shaky defence. Why could she not find a way through? She lashed her tail around in an arc to cover her retreat as she backed out of her combination attack. Reptilian eyes regarded the Japanese girl with nothing less than hatred. Clearly she did not enjoy being toyed with. She hissed and spat impotently at her, her torso lurching snakelike as she conveyed her displeasure.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Her anger had blinded her to the Spetsnaz's approach and he locked the exotic down with a crushing grapple hold. Panic flared in those yellow eyes as the dragon-girl realised her error: if he could take the fight to the floor, she would suffer a massive disadvantage.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Capricia's heart was pounding now, her breath caught as the exotic squirmed against the inevitability of the giant's skilled grasp. In an incredible feat of flexibility, the exotic managed to turn her head just enough to spit in the man's face, her lips peeling back to fully reveal a wicked row of fangs. He howled in agony has white hot acid splashed on his face, causing him to reflexively release his hold just enough for the exotic to escape. She rushed after him as he backed away, acrid vapour rising from his cheek as her 'venom' eroded his skin.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Now the exotic held the advantage and she pressed it, her claws tearing at his arms as he tried to bat her away in confusion. The crowd cheered and booed in equal measure as it became apparent that the Spetsnaz trooper was near his end. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A blur of motion intersected the two and the exotic reeled away from her cruel assault on the Russian as her jaw shattered in a halo of blood. Her garbled shriek stunned the crowd into sickened silence as fragments of jawbone rained onto the mosaic. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Somehow everyone in the room had forgotten the unassuming Japanese girl amid the tangle between the two favourites. Even Capricia, who prided herself on enjoying a good eye and expansive knowledge of combat techniques, had disregarded her in the <span lang="fr-FR">mêlée.</span> Now all the attentions in the room were laser-focused on that one figure, that one tiny figure dressed all in black.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-11351547423496053172010-05-27T21:18:00.002+01:002010-05-27T21:49:45.166+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 6<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Here's part 6, folks. Time for Domino to wind down a little?</span></span></span> <br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You're right: the noodles <i>are</i> good,” Domino sighed as she set her empty bowl at the side of the bathtub. She sank lower in the hot water and leant her head back, feeling some of the fatigue slowly easing from her muscles as NaiNai's special blend of bath salts worked its magic.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Aren't they always?” Angel responded, peering through the grey light cast by the screen of Koralev's laptop.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Mmmm...” Domino smiled back, her eyes closed now as she gave in to the steam and sweet scent of the bath. She listened to the faint sound of Angel's fingers on the Samsung's keyboard as she delved among its secrets. Drifting somewhere above that sound were the voices from an old 20<sup>th</sup> century television serial which NaiNai watched and re-watched with almost religious frequency.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> NaiNai was brewing tea out on deck and Domino could picture the old lady, her body a human question mark, calmly preparing the cups as her eyes surveyed life on the surrounding boats. She heard NaiNai's voice raised in greeting to one of her neighbours as they struck up a conversation about the TV drama. Domino chuckled to herself; the tea would be a long time in arriving.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Your tattoo is glowing. Feeling content?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Very.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel's query referred to the image of a phoenix emblazoned across most of Domino's back. The tattoo had the appearance of a traditional '<i>irezumi'</i> body marking, but was comprised of reactive chemicals which fluoresced in response to strong shifts in emotion. She opened her eyes slightly to see that a soft green glow diffused through the water around her. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> This dim light played across the curved roof of NaiNai's home, finding the many trinkets, clothes and blankets she stored up there, all held in place with military surplus webbing. Quite how NaiNai managed to fit so many things in a space the size of a small one bedroomed apartment was a perpetual mystery. Even now, Domino was still discovering new finds to marvel over, be it a small snow globe or previously concealed cupboard. There were few places she could truly relax but this, she decided, was one of the best. It was snug, maybe even cosy here and always elicited a feeling she associated with those brief moments of happiness she remembered from childhood.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It's a relief to be one step closer. And... it feels good to be here with you and NaiNai,” she said this last in a small voice, the frank admission bringing a flush to her skin.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She couldn't quite read Angel's expression in that moment and so she hurriedly changed tone.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Have you found anything in there yet?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel shrugged.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Not really, not yet. Anyway, shouldn't you be unwinding? Why don't you dry off and try to get some sleep? I can wake you when I'm done. It'll take a while to sift through all this...” she tapped the laptop, “...the old fashioned way.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “That sounds like a good idea... such a wise head on such young shoulders,” Domino teased.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah, yeah. Now be quiet and leave me to work.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino eased herself out of the small Japanese-style tub and was surprised to find her body trembling as she stood. She had not been so exhausted in a long time. Suddenly she felt very small as she rubbed herself dry with the rough towel NaiNai had left for her. She glanced down and saw that a loose knit pullover, very similar to that worn by Angel, had been neatly folded there with a note bearing her name in immaculately inked Korean.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She gladly pulled on the soft garment and half-stumbled over to the kotatsu, settling herself into a half-covered foetal position. Lying there, surrounded by the comforting jumble of NaiNai's accumulated possessions, the warmth beneath the old table soothing her near naked body, Domino let herself finally succumb to the sleep she had starved herself of for so long.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She woke from dreams of passion and cherry blossoms to find NaiNai watching over her, ancient hands working on an equally ancient clockwork radio she had salvaged years ago. White noise interspersed with an ethereal voice singing an old Russian lullaby filled the space between them.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Umm... where's Angel?” Domino murmured through gummed-up lips.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Toilet.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oh. How long did I sleep for?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The old woman seemed to consider this at length before chuckling to herself, as if recalling a humorous anecdote.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Three meals, you've turned down.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino blinked at this cryptic response, foggily attempting to find some logic there. As lucidity returned to her, she remembered disengaging her cyberbrain input while bathing. The ephemeral blue lines of her optic display came back online and provided her answer, the date/time readout blinking 23:22 03/03/27.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I was out for twenty hours?!” she moaned hoarsely.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Not out: sleeping.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It's the same thing, NaiNai...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Not the same. Don't talk when unconscious.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> That set alarm bells ringing.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Ah... what did I talk about?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> NaiNai suddenly found the tip of her screwdriver deserving of intense scrutiny.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Nothing. I pull your leg, make top notch joke.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino was sceptical. </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah... top notch... You sure I said nothing?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> NaiNai nodded her head so fast it resembled the workings of the radio she held. Suddenly she gestured over Domino's shoulder to the front of the cabin where an old style squat toilet had somehow been plumbed into a tiny privacy stall.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Angel be back soon.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And, somewhat bizarrely, at that precise moment the toilet flushed. Angel emerged and moved to wrap Domino in an affectionate hug.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You okay? Sleep well?” she whispered as she kissed Domino lightly on her forehead. Her voice carried an unusually strong undercurrent of concern.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I think so...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Now Domino was convinced she must have been restless in her sleep. But what had she said? She stretched hints of night cramps from her muscles as Angel settled under the kotatsu next to her. At the touch of Angel's skin against her own, she was reminded of how she had teased her friend the night before. So much had happened since then and yet there remained so much to do...</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel used one of NaiNai's many archaic novelty lighters to light a Mild 7 and gently offered it to Domino's lips. She inhaled deeply, rolling the welcome flavour of the smoke around her mouth before allowing it to escape in a lazy, drifting plume. She squeezed Angel's thigh in gratitude under the blanket, at the same time feeling a little silly that she felt the need to conceal the demonstration of intimacy.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Aah... so close, you girls. It's nice to see.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> No, not much escaped NaiNai's notice.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Now you are like twins with your new pullovers, eh?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The two young women found themselves giggling at this notion as they shared a conspirational glance. Their surrogate grandmother joined them in laughing, her dry chuckle filling the houseboat.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “See, so close... Good that you are happy. Now, you need food. Wait here.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As NaiNai hobbled out to her on-deck kitchen, their fits of giggles subsided, leaving the two sharing a cigarette in mildly embarrassed silence. After a time, Domino felt her nagging doubts about what she may have disclosed in her sleep return.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Angel...” she started uncertainly.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “NaiNai said I talked in my sleep.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel let slip a resigned sigh.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “A little, yeah.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What about?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Nothing to worry about, Yuki-chan. You were just restless at times, maybe having a few nightmares. Nothing made much sense but I could tell it was them, haunting you again,” she paused and took hold of Domino's hand, squeezing it rhythmically, soothingly. “I can't wait for you to be free of it all.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino nodded slowly.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Maybe I never will be,” she breathed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “We're gonna make sure you are. Together.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino could sense how desperate Angel was to reassure her, how much she wanted to make it all right. And in that moment she felt a hot rush of emotion: of love, of sadness, of hope, and she felt like sobbing. As if she were sharing that same confusion of feelings, Angel suddenly became more playful, a wicked gleam appearing in her eyes.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Anyway, that dream you were having just before you woke... <i>that</i> one didn't sound bad at all. I'm just wondering who it was about...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino blushed furiously and pushed her friend off balance so she fell onto her side.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Leave me alone!” she pouted. Their laughter resumed and Domino began to feel herself relax again as Angel initiated an almost childlike play-fight. It would be some time before either of their thoughts returned to Koralev's laptop and the information it contained.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: none none double; border-width: medium medium 4.5pt; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; padding: 0cm 0cm 0.07cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Cables, screens and consoles littered almost the entirety of Angel's loft apartment. What little space was left in amongst all of her techno-clutter was given over to animé memorabilia, empty Boss coffee cans, Nissin noodle cups and many, many throw pillows and body-hug beanbags. All of this was illuminated by the glow from holofeeds, network readouts and thousands of tiny LEDs, these last arrayed across her ceiling in a pattern she had once referred to as 'digital constellations'.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino had always enjoyed visiting Angel at her home. She loved the total disregard for anything resembling fashion and the complete lack of pretence, the way the apartment was a jumbled mirror of her friend's personality. More than anything though, she was fascinated by the contrast between Angel's sleeping area and... well, everything else. The 'bedroom' area of the open plan space was an oasis of neat and a celebration of all things pink and girly.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She found Angel there, half on, half off the bed and drooling slightly into a hard copy manga she had been reading before dozing off. Reluctant to wake her, Domino crept over to what passed for a kitchen and busied herself making coffee. She was into her second cup and half-reading one of Angel's innumerable, incredibly rare manga when she heard movement from the bed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Mmmff...” Angel groaned and stretched, “why didn't you wake me?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You need sleep too.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Guess I do,” Angel said through a yawn as she rolled off the bed. She selected a small pink vest to match her panties from a drawer and tugged it sleepily over her head before brushing glossy blue-black hair from her face.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oooh, fresh coffee!” she said with glee as she moved to join Domino at the breakfast bar.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “So, have you managed to finish with Koralev's laptop yet?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oh, I did that back at NaiNai's place. I just wanted to get set up here before we start using what I found.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What <i>did </i>you find?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Well...” Angel responded around a mouthful of chocolate she had procured from beneath a heap of printouts, “the system's quite clever, really. Simple, but clever. Each machine like Koralev's is hooked up to an intranet, totally isolated. No outside access, they only talk to other machines on that network.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Okay...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “The thing is, the intranet is also hierarchical. Koralev's machine only talks to one other: his immediate superior and, I suspect, the only boss he is aware of.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You mean he had no knowledge of the syndicate or Yamada's company?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel shook her head.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I seriously doubt it. The contact he was reporting to limited his access to that level of information.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “So his machine's useless after all?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No, it's really useful!” Angel reported happily. “With the data I found, I've built a dossier for you on his boss: who she is, where you can find her, levels of security, all that good stuff.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I knew there was a reason I keep you around,” Domino smiled.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel pulled a face.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Not only that but there was enough in there to tie the corporation to street crime and other nastiness, so we can hurt Yamada and the syndicate financially if you wanted.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino considered this for a moment.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Let's look into that later. For now we should focus on gaining access to the top levels of Yamada's intranet. Can you send me the dossier you've compiled?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Sure,” Angel smiled. “You should be able to access it now.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A 'new mail' icon blinked in the corner of Domino's heads up display and as she opened it she saw that Angel had worked up an interactive 'walk-through' for all the information she had collated. This made it easy to browse massive amounts of data, her networked consciousness exploring a virtual space which housed everything from text readouts to audio and video files. Once she had gained an overview of her next target, she shifted her focus back to the apartment. Angel was sprawled on her bed again, absorbed in her manga.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “That's some really nice work, Angel. You didn't have to program such a fancy interface.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel looked up from her book, beaming with pride.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I know. But it was fun!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “So, Capricia Morucci is the next rung on the ladder. Any idea if her laptop will get us to Yamada?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I'm nearly certain of it. I did a little digging and it seems like she and Yamada have a 'thing' going. She's also his number two, so to speak. So it's probable that her machine will have a direct link to his.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “And this pit fight club she runs is the best option for getting in close?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel nodded enthusiastically.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I think so. Word is she's shopping around for a new bodyguard. She always hires via the pit fights; winner gets the job.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Okay, sounds good. Looks like she's running one tomorrow night. I'll find myself an invite then pay her a visit.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I'll work up some data on fixers attached to the place so you can set it up.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Thanks. Can you send it to me? I'll get moving, save time.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Okay, Yuki-chan. But be careful, please.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino paused at the door and turned to give Angel a reassuring smile.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You know I will be.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel watched Domino slip through the door and sighed wistfully. No matter how careful Domino might be, it didn't change the fact that her path of vengeance would always be dangerous. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>At least she has me to help...</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel dived back into the net with a renewed determination in an urgent bid to provide as much assistance as she could. With all the links and nodes of the near infinite web speeding by around her, each site and subnet a luminous dot offering the promise of new information, her eyes glazed over and her body fell limp on the bed as she gave herself over completely to supporting Domino.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-67563123574812891362010-05-21T17:04:00.002+01:002010-05-21T17:05:52.075+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 5<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Well, part 5 is here and it's a little longer this time out. It's time for the meeting with Koralev...</span></span><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She was two minutes out from her insertion point and the weather couldn't have been worse. Incessant globules of rain pelted the cockpit of the VTOL she was riding while the erratic crosswinds buffeting the small aircraft had pushed Griff, her pilot, into a nervous sweat.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Griff ran a taxi service of sorts for the residents of the reclamation zone, his odd tilt-wing aircraft carrying everything from smugglers and high value cargoes to small groups on supply runs. All this was done on a strict no questions basis, so while Griff was something of a mystery figure, he knew even less about Domino or her reasons for hiring him.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Air traffic was heavy that night despite the storm and as Griff threaded the transport through the forest of neon bathed skyscrapers, Domino was grateful for the cover the other air-cars and helicopters provided.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A brief GPS alarm triggered and, with a nod of consent from Domino, Griff dropped the cargo hatch on the VTOL. Huddled in a stealth shroud poncho, she braced herself against the elements whipping through the opening, her hands clasping safety webbing rigged to the bulkhead.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Her optimal dive route blinked onto her heads up, a bright green wireframe transparency overlaid the rooftops flashing by below. They were approaching the edge of her window now, and as the 'Execute' prompt appeared in her optic feed, she pushed off from the sides of the hatch.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The city rushed up to meet her and even as she extended her limbs spread-eagled to control her descent, she was pulling the 'Gloop-gun' from her belt. A targeting reticule formed on her display, calibrating her aim for the landing zone. Angling her body into a sleek dive, she fired the gun, sending a large calibre shell speeding to the rooftop below. On impact, the shell's payload expanded into a large viscous ball and, a heart beat later, her dive thrust her into the jelly-like sphere with gut-wrenching force.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> All the massive energy of her landing was dispersed throughout the reactive polymer gel, causing it to break down and free her from its grasp. It was a dangerous, rough-and-ready method for landing a low altitude drop, using technology originally designed for air-dropping fragile but inorganic cargoes. She had used it only twice before for rapid infiltration jobs and this time was no less painful. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She stayed low and moved quickly to survey the rooftops overlooking the alley behind the massage parlour. Domino located the snipers almost immediately, the long barrels of their rifles protruding from the shadowy perches they had chosen. Between them they would be able to monitor the meeting point effectively, one covering the other's blind spot. She switched her optics to perform a thermographic analysis, confirming that there were in fact two snipers and not just decoys. Seeing the warm colours of body heat behind the rifles, she toggled her vision back to normal and set off.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino suspected the snipers to be the Thai twins she had met earlier, leaving the Piranhas to protect Koralev on the ground. As she moved into position to ambush the snipers, she gained a clear view of the back door to the 37 Lotus. Sure enough, Koralev was stood there, clutching his briefcase and flanked by the bald headed Piranhas, the three men leering at one of the girls from the parlour.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The Thai twins were positioned effectively back-to-back, ten floors up from Koralev and his men. Domino estimated 25 metres between the twins. Working under the assumption that the group would be in contact via comms channel, she knew she would have to work quickly once she struck the first killing stroke.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She had manoeuvred from rooftop to rooftop in a series of impossible leaps, flips and drops until she was stood silently behind the twins. They had exchanged their cheongsams for figure hugging urban camouflage suits, bristling with extraneous weaponry. Domino could almost sense their twitchy anticipation of her arrival and she imagined they would be very happy indeed if the meeting were to turn sour.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The stealth shroud poncho she wore would make too much noise at close range, so she cast it aside and began stalking rapidly forward, moving lightly and silently on the balls of her feet. She closed in on the twin on the left, a kunai held ready, blade flat against her palm in a traditional throwing grip.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> With a precise flick of her wrist, she sent the deadly projectile flying with unerring accuracy and, as it sank silently into the cranium of the twin on the right, Domino neatly snapped the neck of the remaining sniper. Certain of the two kills, she kept moving, launching herself off the edge of the rooftop in a graceful arc toward the alley below.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Koralev fingered the handle of his briefcase and wondered if perhaps it had been overkill bringing the Piranhas along. Granted, he was certain that 'Miko' was not what she seemed but it seemed unlikely that she would pose a threat to Jade and Peony. Well, he had not survived this long in a dangerous business by taking careless risks. No, the uncommonly vicious Piranha brothers were a necessary precaution.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Neither Jade or Peony had reported any sign of Miko, so Koralev returned his attention to the girl the brothers were drooling over. She was pretty, of course: all girls working this part of town were, but this one had a certain dark allure. Almond eyes regarded the three of them with a hint of amusement; she was used to this kind of attention and was not at all intimidated by the gruesome brothers.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Despite his best efforts to retain his composure, Koralev felt himself flush as she stepped calmly between his guards and pressed in close to him, her candy pink lips parted to whisper in his ear.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Her proposition was drowned out by the sound of Koralev's car being crumpled by some massive impact. He flinched into a crouch, throwing the joygirl aside as he whirled to see what had caused the damage to his precious American sedan. What he saw there just made no sense. He stared, dumbfounded, his brain unwilling to process the scene as a slender female form leapt nimbly from the wreckage of his car.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> For a brief moment as he saw the long dark hair and form fitting body glove he thought it might be Jade or Peony but as the figure strode toward him, her face lifted from shadow and he recognised the truth of it.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Miko had arrived for their meeting not as a street smart netrunner but as an angel of death, her ruby eyes promising only one certainty. Her body suit seemed to swallow the light around her so that only the pale skin of her face kept her tethered to this plane. The joygirl, lying forgotten at Koralev's feet, screamed in confusion and terror before bolting inside the massage parlour.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The scream stirred Koralev's most base survival instincts and on impulse he raced to cower behind the nearest dumpster as the Piranhas advanced eagerly on the new arrival.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “What're you waiting for!? Kill her!” His voice sounded strained and manic to his own ears.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Oh, we will. After we've had our fun,” one of them grunted.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Koralev watched as the Piranhas circled the girl, almost daring her to move as they flexed their fists, knuckles cracking, all the while gnashing those ghoulish teeth of theirs. She remained impassive, statuesque even, as they fired taunt after taunt, working themselves into a blood frenzy. He had seen them do this before and suddenly he was reminded of the brutal ferocity of these two and felt himself calm a little. They would take care of her. Maybe even leave a little something for him to enjoy afterwards...</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> One of the brothers closed on the girl and launched a crushing roundhouse punch to the side of her head. It was soon apparent that his attack never had a hope of connecting. She barely moved; just stepped lightly inside his reach, under his attack and out the other side, allowing his momentum to carry him past her. And had she jabbed her fingers into the soft hollow beneath his arm just then? Koralev wasn't certain: the move had been faster than anything he had witnessed before. He soon got his answer as the first Piranha to attack turned to stare dumbly at his brother.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I... I can't feel my fockin' arm, Bradda.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The other cackled at his brother's misfortune.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Don't be ssso fockin' sssoft. It'sss a fockin' little girl. Watch me go.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And with that he launched himself at her, ducking low at the last moment to lock her down in a grapple hold. She appeared completely unconcerned by his approach and remained perfectly still until he had committed to grabbing her. Mere inches away from his massive hands, she exploded into a series of back-steps, leading him beyond his centre of gravity so that his duck and grapple devolved into him stumbling flat onto his face. Now it was her turn to circle the Piranhas.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Are you having your fun yet?” she smiled at them.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Koralev knew enough to recognise when the roles of predator and prey had been reversed. As he watched his bodyguards attempt to rally themselves, his hands fumbled with his briefcase, thumbs desperately trying to find the biometric locks.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She had closed in on the Piranhas now and launched into a blindingly fast sequence of attacks, one flowing seamlessly into the next, each seeming no more aggressive than a kitten toying with a ball of yarn and yet the brothers appeared to be recoiling from the pummelling assault of a heavyweight boxer.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> One of them managed to break free of the macabre ballet and rushed headlong for the crate of firearms Koralev had brought. Without breaking the rhythm of her seemingly playful onslaught, the girl flicked something in his path and suddenly she was in two places at once.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The escaping Piranha was stopped cold by the near perfect doppelgänger and abandoned the weapons cache in favour of a panicked scramble away from the new threat. Koralev, having now managed to align his trembling thumbs with the bio-locks, recognised the artefact of a doppler grenade and felt the numb chill of fear in his stomach intensify.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As his briefcase clicked open, he saw that the real 'Miko' had ended her game with the entangled and exhausted Piranha, leaving his body in a rapidly widening pool of blood from some unseen wound.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The remaining Piranha was still desperately trying to dodge the phantom 'Miko', utterly unaware of his brother's demise and of the spectre descending on him, steel flashing in her hand. She had launched herself into the air in a protracted arc, her body spinning on its axis. Her wakizashi found his neck as she streamed past him and he knew no more. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Koralev heard himself giggle as his fingers closed around the grip of the machine pistol he had concealed in the case. Yes, this girl was fast but she had finished her dance with the Piranhas too late. He squeezed the trigger as her feet found the floor again, bullets shredding concrete as he corrected his aim. A hundred angry wasps swarmed for her, their fury unrelenting.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As the hammer fell on an empty chamber, Koralev realised he had blinked, realised he had emptied a full clip with that one squeeze of the trigger, realised that somehow he had been too slow, somehow the girl was now standing behind him. Something penetrated his skin, barely perceptible but most definitely there. He felt her breath, hot and sweet on his ear and the sensation rippled down the nape of his neck.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I have pins in my hair,” she whispered. “One of them is now inside you. That's why you can't move. Well... not below the neck, anyway. You should still have a voice, though. I was careful.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Wh-wh-what the fu-”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You have something I want. A little man in a burning warehouse full of interesting boxes told me you have it, told me your name. Your name has been on the streets for some time now and it is feared. I think that may be because you sell your wares to children and fill the slums with death.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No...no! That's not true I-I'm a legitimate-”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You are a murderer by proxy. The floating city will not mourn your passing.” </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Koralev felt something beyond panic, beyond fear swelling within him.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Please... don't! Wh-whatever it is you want, you can have it, I swear.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I know. I already have it. Oh... that strange feeling in your head? It's not fear. I had another pin. This one increases the blood flow to your head in quite massive quantities. Soon the blood will have nowhere to go and so it'll pour from your nose, eyes and ears. Then you'll die from cerebral haemorrhaging.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I'm begging you... no!” Koralev managed to whimper.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Don't be silly. I'm not a sadist. Just a little joke.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Koralev watched her walk slowly around to face him, heel-to-toe, hands clasped behind her back like a shy child. She squatted by his case and pulled a cigarillo from its holder in the lid. Death smiled at him from behind perfect eyes as she offered it to him.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Now... would you like one last smoke before I chop your head off?” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span> </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-78332130065465562082010-05-17T02:08:00.002+01:002010-05-17T23:35:22.194+01:00Journal Entry 1: What is Cyberpunk?<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was talking to my dad earlier today about my writing and this site and he asked me to explain what 'cyberpunk' was. I realised that it is no easy thing to do: there are many opinions on the topic and one fan of the genre will reference completely different works to the next.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the time I just talked about movies like Blade Runner and The Matrix, both of which helped as examples of the sort of atmosphere I associate with 'cyberpunk' and, rather neatly, they represent 'proto-cyberpunk' and 'post-cyberpunk' respectively.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I personally view cyberpunk as being a sub-genre of science fiction, something with a fairly edgy, maybe dangerous atmosphere. In terms of content, it can be almost anything but the label is perhaps most closely associated with extrapolated technologies, distopian futures, fringe subcultures, perpetual night cities and other wierd and wonderful stuff. All of this should be made 'cool' or almost 'film noir-ish' in some way, though.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know this is a really nebulous definition but I suppose I'm reluctant to tie it down to any one thing or group of things. Maybe it's a genre that changes with the times; early 'founding father' works such as novels from William Gibson and Bruce Sterling are very different to more recent stories from say, Jon Courtenay Grimwood.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I'm writing this, I'm slightly aware that I'm waffling and I can almost hear my dad's response: "<i>Eh, too complicated!"</i> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So, I'll try to sum things up: for me, cyberpunk is a both a reflection and an exaggeration of our current society, it's an atmosphere drenched in rain and bathed in neon, it wears cool clothes, carries a nifty weapon and it most definitely has a great playlist on its iPod.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">No... that didn't work either, did it? </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-89449304736278159842010-05-14T10:54:00.004+01:002010-05-17T00:04:00.824+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 4<div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A patchwork labyrinth of shacks, makeshift shelters and tents filled every conceivable space in the reclamation slums, a shadow city built from layer upon layer of salvaged materials. Streams of dim rainbow lights blurred across walls of cardboard, corrugated steel and plastic as Domino sprinted along the narrow alleys and tunnels feeding down through the slums to her destination.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> As her footsteps began to splash, she knew she was close. At the edges of the shanty, the reclaimed land eroded into rough canals and the shacks and cardboard houses gave way to a confusion of boats and floating platforms. The pungent smell of stale water, mono-carbons and myriad unhealthy but tasty foods being cooked washed over her as she skidded to a stop alongside the sampan she sought.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The old woman on deck looked up from her sewing and smiled at Domino as she hopped aboard the houseboat. She gestured with gnarled hands to where a chugging generator was powering a makeshift hob. Something both mysterious and wonderful churned away within the blackened wok Domino saw there. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Welcome back, my sweet girl. You've been beyond my sight for <i>too </i>long. Have some noodles, the meat is good. And I have <i>kimchi!”</i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>The kindly old Korean woman greeted her using street slang, as was her custom when Domino visited; she had once said it would make her cool, like 'you young kids'. The sounds of the mishmash language always made Domino smile because of that memory.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> “</i>I'm sorry NaiNai, I can't. No time. I have to -”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Pfft! No time, no time! Too thin, you are! Must eat more!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Later, NaiNai. I Promise.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Later, always later with you. Your friend Angel, she eats now, inside. Wearing very cool sweater I made her too. Such a nice girl..”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino felt a warm swell of genuine affection for the woman she had nicknamed 'NaiNai' as she lit a cigarette and moved to push aside the drape covering the entrance to the sampan's main structure. As her optics adjusted to the dim blue light and mountains of clutter inside, she made out Angel sat at NaiNai's <i>kotatsu. </i>She was<i> </i>hunched over, eagerly slurping down her noodles and bobbing her head in time to whatever music was blasting through the large antique headphones she always affected.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A smile played across Domino's lips as she watched this friend whom she trusted so much, her slender frame dwarfed by the loose knit pullover NaiNai had given her. Oblivious to Domino's presence, Angel blurted out a few lines of the Canto-pop song she was listening to, each note ever-so-slightly out of tune. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel Yuen was a netrunner, a hacker, a tech expert: someone Domino was very glad to have watching over her. She knew Angel would have been monitoring all the sensory feedback from her neural interface during the past hour or so, would have seen what Domino saw, heard what she heard. To see her now, she was every bit the typical shut-in, '<i>hikikomori'</i> teenager, sat in her underwear, loose socks and ill-fitting sweater, warming her legs under the low, heated table. She was however, the most capable netrunner Domino had encountered, her skills eclipsing even those of the fabled 'Enclave' Koralev had name-checked in their meeting.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino pulled off her boots and padded over to Angel's side. Noticing her friend's eyes were closed, she playfully slid her legs under the kotatsu's blanket so that her toes brushed Angel's. It had the desired effect as Angel squealed, her legs flinching so her knees banged the table.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Shit! What're you doing!? I didn't even notice you come in... I wish I'd left your damn feed running now. Ayaaah, my poor knees...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Don't overreact, they're fine.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel pouted.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You shouldn't be fooling around. You're already late.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino realised she was right: it was already too late to prep the area surrounding the meeting point. She would have to go in blind. She also found herself not worrying about that as much as she should. Something about being around Angel always made her forget herself, made all the tension leave her body. Something which could one day prove dangerous.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “There's enough time for me to get to the meeting ahead of Koralev -”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “But not enough for you to prep your exit routes,” Angel interjected.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I ran the schematics for the buildings in the area around the massage parlour on my way here. I picked my insertion point. The rest will follow. I don't plan on running into too much trouble. Koralev's the easy part.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Don't count on it, Yukiko. I monitored Koralev's chatter after his doorman called in and he's called in extra muscle for the meeting. The Piranha Twins. He already thinks you're not what you seem. I pulled what I could on them...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Several images appeared on Domino's heads-up, showing near identical monstrosities. The two men were squat, muscular denizens of nightmare: both had surgically enhanced masks of horror. Their noses had been sliced off so only a deformed, porcine snout remained, this set below heavily recessed orbs of unfettered malice. Each had filed their teeth to needle points, their mouths stretched into a permanent grimace, the resulting maw no doubt informing their choice of alias.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Charming.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No, Yuki-chan. They're not. I don't like it.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “They're thugs. Look nasty, act tough, but no brains. Plus, they fight for money, so they fight weak. Don't worry.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> She knew Angel would worry irrespective of what she said but a little reassurance might help allay her fears. Privately, Domino was less than pleased with the news. It made the task of getting what she wanted from Koralev all the harder now.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel remained unconvinced, her brow furrowed as she gestured to the rear of the shack.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Look, you'd better get ready. You've only got forty minutes before the meeting. Your kit's where you left it.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It was Domino's turn to pout.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You mean you haven't pulled it up for me?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel smiled in mock innocence and tugged at her sweater.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Hey, NaiNai insisted I try this on. Between that and the noodles, I've been busy...”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino pulled her legs from the warmth of the <i>kotatsu</i> and walked over to the back door of NaiNai's home. Sheets of card and old movie posters concealed the door from prying eyes. As she pulled them to one side, she cast a glance back at Angel, who was sat contentedly scratching her stomach.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “You suck,” she offered as she stepped out onto the aft deck.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino felt herself beaming as she searched for the tell-tale rope she had left marking her cache. She knew she ought not to feel so at peace but accepted the feeling with relief. The past week had been a catalogue of fatigue, stress and danger so if being here with Angel and NaiNai helped her wind down, all well and good. It might even help her deal with what was yet to come.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A glance around the many neighbouring boats showed no-one paying her particular attention as her hands found the rope in the gloom. Not that it mattered much; the box containing her cache was of a type many residents of the floating city used for storage overboard when their houseboats became too cluttered. She heaved the container aboard and dragged it back inside NaiNai's cabin. Angel was stood waiting for her with a fresh bowl of noodles.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Now that you've written off the prep stage, you might as well eat something before you go.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino nodded as she stripped out of the hacker outfit. The broth was giving off a very appetising aroma.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I will. Just let me take inventory.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I can do that. Just tell me what you want while you eat.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Domino brushed her fingertips across Angel's pockmarked cheek, pushing a shock of hair from her face.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Look, I can't eat right now. If I do, I'll throw up as soon as I start running.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Okay fine,” Angel frowned, “but I'm still helping you get ready.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “I know,” Domino smiled at her. “Get me the black shadowsuit, the <i>kunai</i> belt and a <i>wakizashi. </i>Oh... grab a couple of doppler grenades. Just in case.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No gun?”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “No gun. I need to send a message, demonstrate what I am capable of. Koralev and his bodyguards will fire their weapons and hit only shadows. Then the shadows will hit back.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Angel tried her best to suppress the shiver she felt as she watched her friend prepare herself for the battle ahead. Suddenly she felt very, very sorry for Koralev and his crew.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-90308927970178360442010-05-10T00:20:00.001+01:002010-05-17T00:40:54.675+01:00The Transaction' Pt. 3<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The razor teeth of the combat knife passed through a rapid arc, seeking the pale flesh of the young girl's thigh. Sidestepping with the grace of a trained fighter, her hand flashed down to take the wrist of her assailant. Turning the momentum of his attack against him, she pulled him off balance and allowed him to stumble past her. In that instant, she was spinning, her leg darting up into a graceful reverse spin kick. <br />
<br />
Cheung watched as the schoolgirl's skirt flared up around her waist, the flash of her white underwear an odd distraction from the lethal beating she was exacting on her vaguely demonic attacker. He chuckled to himself and wondered if there were any fighting games which didn't feature a Japanese schoolgirl; Jeong had probably the most exhaustive collection he knew of and every last one offered the option of playing a cute girl with kawaii super-loose socks, a plaid miniskirt and deadly fists.<br />
<br />
He moved over to the window, feeling uneasy. Thumbing a Dunhill from a crumpled pack, he nudged the window open a little further and allowed the warm, humid city air wash over him as he searched for his lighter. He loved the smell of night in Hong Kong; no other city had quite the same atmosphere. A confusion of aromas drifted up to him from the dai pai dongs, the street hawkers selling every type of food imaginable. The cigarette smoke tasted rich and smooth as he inhaled deeply, a feeling of contentment soothing his nerves as he surveyed the street below.<br />
<br />
Forget about the deal for now; just relax, chill out, check out the 7-Eleven girl.<br />
<br />
Every night she went into the convenience store and every night she sat on the tall curb outside, smoking her cigarettes and drinking her Pepsi from a glass bottle. She had this cute knock-kneed way of sitting which seemed at odds with her rough-and-tumble dress sense.<br />
Cheung contemplated walking downstairs and going over to talk to her but decided against it as he had done all the other times. She was probably more attractive as a stranger anyway.<br />
<br />
A vibration against his hip caused him to jump and bang is head on the window frame.<br />
'Shit!' he cried, a little too loudly, his voice echoing across the narrow street.<br />
<br />
As he answered the call, Cheung moved away from the window. He never got to see the faint smile his accident had left on the lips of the 7-Eleven girl.<br />
<br />
<br />
*******<br />
<br />
<br />
'This is Cheung,'<br />
<br />
He swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten with nerves. If this was the buyer, he couldn't afford to mess things up.<br />
<br />
'We have a problem,' Cheung recognised Domino's voice from the chat room. 'There are... complications.'<br />
<br />
'What d'you mean?'<br />
<br />
'Meet me at the Wanchai Star Ferry terminal in fifteen minutes and I will explain.'<br />
<br />
'How will I ...'<br />
<br />
Cheung let his question tail off; she had already hung up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span> </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-57752389754773520452010-05-10T00:15:00.002+01:002010-05-17T00:41:48.597+01:00'The Transaction' Pt. 2<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Cheung had suffered as much as he could of Ash's pompous preamble after no more than a minute or two and allowed his attention to drift away from the drone of his voice. He scanned the rows of books and wondered if any of the old libraries had really kept books like these.</span></span> <span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Must have taken some serious coding to map all the individual covers like that. Particle effects on the dust are pretty cool too, not that I'd give this guy the pleasure of – what the hell?!?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </i><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Movement behind one of the bookcases; he was sure of it.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'You said this node is secure, right?'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'Correct.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'So how come we got a lurker?'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'Ah... that is no lurker, Mister Cheung. It would seem the final guest has arrived. Gentlemen, may I present Miss Domino,'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> The figure emerging from the shadow of the bookcases seemed immediately incongruous in the context of their surroundings. Where the three men had presented as photo-realistic humans, Domino's avatar was a stylised, cell-shaded animé girl.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> As she moved to join them, Cheung noted she wasn't broadcasting sound files for movement; enhancing the grace and efficiency of movement evident in the animation of her oddly alluring online self. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed that he had chosen to present as a Chinese Elvis in a pimp suit.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Way to be classy, Cheung...</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> She nodded to each of them in turn before sitting in a meditative posture. Her slender hands made a few short gestures in the air before her, causing several glowing data readouts to blossom translucently in front of her face. Her eyes scanned rapid streams of kanji, the flow only occasionally interrupted by IP addresses, one of which Cheung recognised as the anonymous re-mailer they had used to contact Domino's handler. The data-flow came to an end and her focus returned to Cheung and Jeong.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'You wish to employ my services,'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> It hadn't been posed as a question, so Cheung just nodded confirmation.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'I need further details.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Her voice was smooth, confident and hinted at an attractive intelligence. Cheung was looking forward to meeting her.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'What do you want to know?'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'You request protection for both the duration of a transaction and transit to and from the meeting. I need to know the location and nature of this meeting.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'The meeting is at the Intercontinental in Wanchai. The transaction is a simple sale of goods; desirable goods. Something we worked very hard to obtain. We wish to protect our investment.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> The animé Domino seemed to consider this while Ash shifted uncomfortably.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'My fee is non-negotiable. I require an advance of ten thousand new-yen and a further twenty thousand on completion. You will also send any information you have regarding your buyers to this address.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'Done,' Jeong said, his fingertips a blur over the Samsung.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Seconds later, a new data stream appeared before Domino. She took a moment to review the files, an exaggerated expression of concentration animating her face. When she looked up, her eyes were drawn as simple black lines of suspicion.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'This is no simple sale of goods. These buyers have been linked to radical groups and terrorist cells. They will be well protected themselves. Considering their trade, you cannot be suggesting that your buyers are the only possible threat.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Jeong's uncertain glance deferred to Cheung, who smiled ruefully.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'Okay sister, you got us. The product could be considered hot; word is maybe once upon a time it was a Yakuza interest. 'Course that could just be a rumour...'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'Indeed...'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> She fell silent then, and Cheung felt fearful she may now turn their contract down. They needed her; she was widely accepted to be the best.</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> 'Contact me through the same channels when you have finalised your meeting; I will be ready.'</span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Cheung and Jeong let out sighs of relief in unison as Domino's avatar winked from existence. </span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Now to put the final pieces into play...</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-6060894665823614372010-05-10T00:09:00.003+01:002010-05-19T23:34:13.062+01:00'The Transaction' Pt. 1<div style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This is another story I wrote some time ago and one I intend to return to, possibly once 'Smoke and Mirrors' is done. I hope you enjoy.</span></span></div><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cheung had never seen so many clocks in one place and he was reasonably sure that he never wanted to again. Their combined sound reminded him of a club he had visited with Kanoko the Nissin Noodle girl, back when she had been someone he wanted to impress. There was this guy, she had said, made really cool music with sound chips from old games consoles, a drum machine and DNA fragments as source code for the tones.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cheung shuddered as he recalled that night and hated the way that these clocks and their syncopated ticking gave him flash-backs to that dingy pit some Indian gimp was passing off as a club. He looked over to Jeong, who was entranced by a Doraemon branded digital clock with a built in piggy bank.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 'Dude!' he hissed, 'let's find the entrance; this place is freaking me out,'<br />
<br />
Jeong pushed a button on the base of the clock. It chimed 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' in uncertain tones.<br />
<br />
'This clock's like... older than your grandma, mate!'<br />
<br />
'Whatever. The entrance?'<br />
<br />
'Oh yeah, sorry...'<br />
<br />
Jeong looked up from his prize find and nudged his wire-rimmed spectacles back onto the bridge of his blunt, slightly-too-wide nose.<br />
<br />
'...Need to look for the shopkeeper first.'<br />
<br />
Cheung sighed in exasperation.<br />
<br />
'The fuck we supposed to do that in amongst all this shit?'<br />
<br />
Jeong shrugged, almost apologetic but not quite pulling it off. <br />
In that moment, all the clocks stopped ticking. The digitals powered off in unison. Cheung felt his eye twitch.<br />
<br />
The sound was faint at first, like maybe it wasn't there at all; teh... teh... tehpahtapah... tepapahtapahte... <br />
<br />
There was something else there too, just floating at the edge of that sound; a mechanical whirring, a hint of tiny servomotors...<br />
<br />
When the rabbit appeared between Cheung's feet, playing its little red drum and smiling enthusiastically, all he could manage was, 'erm...'<br />
<br />
They stared warily at the toy as it made a shaky half-pirouette before wobbling off in a very decisive path through the jumble of timepieces.<br />
<br />
'Erm... I think maybe it wants us to follow it,' Jeong offered.<br />
<br />
'Of course it does,' Cheung managed to deadpan.<br />
<br />
He shook his head slowly.<br />
<br />
Too weird...<br />
<br />
They formed an unlikely precession behind the toy rabbit as it led them through the shop toward a door they were both certain had not been there a few moments before. The rabbit disappeared smartly through a cat flap at its base, leaving them staring at their distorted reflections in a perfect walnut veneer.<br />
<br />
'Should we knock?'<br />
<br />
Jeong seemed to consider this at length.<br />
<br />
'Guess so,'<br />
<br />
Cheung rapped his knuckles against the wood three times.<br />
<br />
Nothing.<br />
<br />
They waited, still staring at the walnut versions of themselves.<br />
<br />
As Cheung raised his hand again, the door slid into a recess in the wall, contrary to the design indicated by its brass hinges and handle.<br />
<br />
The passage ahead of them was blocked by an efficiently muscled black man wearing a top hat and white grease paint around his eyes. Small staples formed fractal patterns on his naked chest and served to enforce the aura of menace initially stated by the shotgun cradled in his arms.<br />
<br />
'Are you Domino?' asked Cheung, suspecting it was a stupid question.<br />
<br />
'PASSWORD.'<br />
<br />
His voice was virtually subsonic and the word arrived with all the force of a gut-punch.<br />
<br />
Jeong produced his Samsung palmtop and checked for an instant message, as he had been instructed. He recited the massive string of alphanumerics he saw there, his voice trembling slightly. The Staple-Guardian retreated to a previously unseen alcove and settled into an overstuffed armchair, replacing his shotgun with a cup of steaming tea. Almost as an afterthought, he nudged open a second door with his toe.<br />
<br />
With no small amount of trepidation, they stepped into this new room. In doing so, they were certain they had stepped back in time. They were surrounded on all sides now by books of every conceivable size, stored reverently on hardwood shelving that extended to a rich burgundy ceiling. Motes of dust danced in warm cones of light cast by intricate fittings which were most likely antiques even in the last century.<br />
<br />
'Welcome, gentlemen,' <br />
<br />
The jovial greeting had come from a portly man with a vaguely middle-eastern cast to his features. His arms were held wide, as if to welcome home a sorely missed family member. Cheung was more interested in the man's face and noted his expression to be entirely predatory.<br />
<br />
'Come, sit with me,'<br />
<br />
Their host gestured to the centre of the library, where he had laid out a spread of exotic throw cushions around a low table covered with batik.<br />
<br />
'We're here to retain Domino's services; isn't he joining us?' Jeong asked, jerking his thumb back toward the door. Cheung cringed inwardly at his friend's clumsy approach.<br />
<br />
'I'm afraid you have made a common, though understandable mistake. That man is not who you seek. Domino is female.'<br />
<br />
'So who's he, then?'<br />
<br />
'He is in fact a very expensive counter-intrusion program I am rather proud of; no simple firewall, I can assure you. My name is Ash and I am administrator of this most private of chat rooms and designer of the virtual space you now inhabit. How do you like my little island in the net?'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-60674678476781543232010-05-09T23:47:00.004+01:002010-05-19T23:35:06.771+01:00'Reboot' Pt. 1<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here's another short passage I wrote a while back. Again, I hope you enjoy. This one's a bit violent in parts, so please don't read if you don't like that sort of thing.<br />
</span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">They came for her with rictus grins and flashing steel, these three men. Strangers with matching hairstyles to go with their matching knives. Through the heavily scented steam of the tea house kitchen they loped, goading her in a language she didn't understand. There had been four of them but now one lay bleeding (dead?) on the tea house floor, a throwaway chopstick in his eye. He had swaggered over to her seat, a high stool by the window, and whispered lewdly in her ear and tried to touch her. She hadn't let him. <br />
<br />
She was running for the door before his body hit the floor, not aware of how she had dispatched him with such efficiency and more than a little scared by the fact her body had moved through impossible motions without any conscious thought or command. Now she had hot liquid on her arm that might have been blood, might have been noodle soup. It didn't matter though, as she careened toward the exit, the man's clone cronies blocking her path.<br />
<br />
A split second shift in perception blurred the three men into hyper-surreal slow motion, their scrambling efforts to intercept her reduced to a frame-by-frame dance of clumsiness. Her eyes focused on the knives in their hands and, for a very strange moment, her mind presented her with several options for disarmament and the subsequent lethal strikes she could (easily?) inflict.<br />
<br />
As her senses returned to normal, she found herself skidding on spilled green tea, falling over a stool into another group of strangers then onto her back as someone roughly pushed her away.<br />
<br />
She couldn't breathe now, her wind stolen by the impact with the tile floor, but she pushed herself up anyway and sprinted for the only other door in the place. She screamed for someone to help her as she ran but she knew by the way all the chefs turned their eyes down to their woks that no-one would.<br />
<br />
So she was on her own...<br />
<i>Okay. No. Not okay. Gonna die</i>.<br />
<br />
Her fear became a tight ball deep in her stomach and she wanted to piss and vomit all at once as she blasted through a fire door and into a very dark alley. She had just enough time to look left and right, deciding which way to run, before the door was thrown wide behind her and she heard their voices at her back, smelled their drunken stink.<br />
<br />
Suddenly she was running straight for the wall in front of her, and they were so very close behind her. She was unthinking now, driven by fear and an unfamiliarly heightened survival instinct.<br />
<br />
A knife dove in for her ribs, its wicked edge finding empty space as her feet carried her up the rain slick wall, up and over her attackers' heads as she back-flipped and twisted to land silently behind them. <br />
<br />
She sees her hands reach for the smallest one's head and his neck snaps like he was a child's doll. Her leg whips out in a too-fast crescent motion and her foot connects with the base of the fat one's skull, driving his face hard into the bricks. She hears his face crunch wetly.<br />
The third turns quickly to face her, but not quickly enough, because she already has his knife in her hand and so she shows him how to use it properly and he never makes a sound.<br />
<br />
Her legs are weak like jelly now as she stumbles clumsily, shaking and crying, away from the broken, the bloody, the dead. The knife tumbles from her fingers, her trembling body finally giving up, the floor of the alley spiralling up to meet her as all her world goes dark.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span> </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-51672248813440015912010-05-09T16:44:00.004+01:002010-05-19T23:35:46.743+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 3<div style="color: #45818e; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Part three of 'Smoke and Mirrors', in which we follow Domino after her escape from Koralev's surveillance. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The privacy capsule came back to her with a sort of hyper-clarity; the input from her optics went way beyond those in the Dolldroid. She allowed herself a few seconds to settle into her own body again before moving off; it would take the doorman three minutes or more to get back to her position. Plenty of time.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She dropped her connection with the capsule's system, switching instantly to her own private access node. A few quick prompts and she was shrouded with proxies and stealth programs. Her fingers worked intricate patterns in front of her, supplementing her neural and vocal commands. She gained remote access to the capsule's node under the guise of a maintenance/sys-admin operator and started her scan.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A backtrace showed her no-one had flagged her sojourn or indeed her fake account. She decided to drop a clean-up program on the system anyway, as the logs could be mined by anyone and there seemed little point in compromising the French-Vietnamese rich girl cover without good cause.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Leaving the confines of the capsule, she left her heads-up overlay running and her private uplink open. Using the booth had been useful only insofar as concealing her prone form while providing a focus for the doorman's surveillance. So now she enjoyed the freedom of her own system and all the familiarity, speed and utility it offered her as she melted into the crowds.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Data streams ghosted across the faces around her as she began her preparations for that night's meeting, her physical body nimbly dodging jostles and missteps while her networked body floated serenely among the reams of information she had collated.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Something tugged at her subconscious, drawing her focus back to the physical sphere: a full conversion cyborg, crouched in silent guardianship while the pigtailed girl at his side played with an old gravity ball. His work had been done a long time ago, the cybernetics behind the conversion almost antiquated, old Ninth Column Navy markings running around the tarnished metal where his biceps used to be.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The girl too, seemed to be a relic of a bygone age, her glossy black hair adorned with bubblegum clips to match her simple summer dress. Her fingers, sticky with gum syrup, manipulated the rotations of the ball with a rare, carefree delight.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Domino felt a strong, unexpected surge of melancholy as she regarded the scene and the odd couple seemed to freeze-frame into a snapshot for her. Not knowing if the pain she felt was borne of memory or of fearful portent, she forced herself to sublimate both the feelings and the images they carried. Discipline overwriting sentimentality, for now at least, she wiped the stinging rain drops gathered in her eyes and moved on.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She ducked into a service alley set into the square and padded swiftly into the shadows. Once certain she was concealed from view, Domino shifted her balance and leapt. Her legs propelled her in an explosive acrobatic arc, the motion a miracle of prosthesis. As her palms found the metal of a vent housing several metres up her arms tensed and she flipped her body, extending her ascent while twisting to place her feet beneath her again as she cleared the edge of the roof above. She landed silently, her body in a loose crouch.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Staying low, she moved quickly to look back out over the square. Her eyes found the privacy capsule and scanned back from there to the ramen stand. The doorman was there, his hand pressed to his ear, no doubt already on a call with Koralev, relaying his bad news.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Domino cursed her own lack of focus; she had wasted too much time in getting to her perch and might now be too late to piggyback the call. She started the hack anyway, her mind darting through networks and directories as she launched a simple yet effective eavesdropper program. With no small relief she located his carrier signal and slipped neatly through the standard encryptions surrounding it. Garbled frequency squeals coalesced into the sound of the doorman's voice.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“... gone boss, I'm sorry. I lost her,”</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“How? How did you lose her?” Koralev's voice carried a nasty edge.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was a moment's pause as the bouncer considered his response.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's... it's kinda a long story, boss.”</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm sure it is,” she heard Koralev sigh theatrically. “It doesn't matter now. I knew she would make you sooner or later. Pays to send a message though, doesn't it?”</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sure does, boss.”</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Head back now, Dimitri. The club's getting busy.”</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Domino watched the decidedly uncertain Dimitri push his way back through the crowds. She sat back on her heels, relaxed for a moment and confident that she could move freely now, away from Koralev's prying eyes. The whole process of ditching the tail had taken too much of her time and now she would have to act quickly to set everything in motion for the meeting at the 37 Lotus Massage Parlour.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her brief moment of respite at an end, she dropped the two stories back down into the alley, carrying the energy of her landing forward as she broke into a sprint; she had less than five minutes to reach one of her safe houses. Any longer, and she would enter the meeting unprepared which could so easily lead to failure. This was too important. The plan had to work.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2444154462087225810.post-60475904501603524002010-05-09T01:47:00.004+01:002010-05-19T23:36:18.869+01:00'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 2<div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="color: #45818e; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here's the second installment of 'Smoke and Mirrors', where things start to get complicated for Domino... </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The shadow Koralev had sent after her was tenacious; his dense bulk and clumsy gait looming large and obvious each time Domino checked her surroundings in one reflective surface or another.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was time to ditch him; she had less than two hours to work with. Pull anything flashy and Koralev would know she was someone to be wary of. She needed fast and indirect.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Open flame table lamps at a nearby bistro offered an option to use her lighter as a small time delayed incendiary. <i>No, too unpredictable. </i>She considered pulling his comm code from the data-mine she'd run on Koralev, maybe use vocal synthesis to put in a call, tell the guy to get back to his post. Again she dismissed the option. The ruse would unfold too easily.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then she saw a privacy capsule and the answer presented itself. A quick glance in a darkened window showed her tail to be twenty metres behind her, browsing a ramen auto vendor, all the while being non too discreet in his interest in her.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She left him to his menu and pressed her palm to the ID plate set in a recess in the front of the capsule. Ghostly blue light flashed between her fingers as the scanner read her biometrics. The scrambler program she was running would point the security routines to a log-in held in the name of a French-Vietnamese girl with a healthy corporate expense account in Zurich, a girl who was no more corporeal than the virtual idol whose songs were being piped through the holospeakers lining the street.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Seconds later and she was inside the cubicle; a two metre high tube with just enough space for a high speed data terminal and a reactive memory foam chair. In the relative hush of the capsule the terminal blinked into ready mode and Domino initiated a wireless link.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Brief amber data streams flashed in her peripheral vision as the system cycled through boot-up and then her view of the capsule interior was overlaid with the standard access screens. </span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Give me the closest Dolldroid rental outlet,”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Dolldroid... for all your dreams and desires! Your very own out-of-body experience in the body you've always wanted! Have you ever wished you could look like your favourite idol but can't decide on a surgeon you can rely on? Dolldroid has the answer! (Actual unit may differ from illustration)</b></i></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The mandatory sales ad washed into background noise as she sighed with relief when her query procured an address just around the corner. 'Puri-Puri Doll Loving' seemed to be a small but semi-pricey outfit running out of a unit above a maid café and Gachapon centre. Her funds confirmed and validated, Domino's fingertip glided through the centre's site, neural-haptic feedback confirming each movement and selection as full holographic previews of the Dolldroids available scanned through her heads-up feed.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She quickly located a match for her physique in order to minimise the 'learning phase'. The transition of consciousness into the vat-grown body of a Dolldroid was always disconcerting, even for experienced users and the practise of manipulating the 'so real, it's unreal!' body could take some time to perfect.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her fingers tracing the uplink code, she braced herself for the imminent top-of-a-rollercoaster vertigo the transfer would bring. The website's graphics fell away and her every perception was thrust down a split-second funnel of disorientation terminating in a pinprick of white-hot light.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The wake-up process felt a lot like climbing out of an anaesthesia induced fog; lack of sensory input slowly giving way to nausea and uncertain movement. Vaseline filtered eyes showed her the door of her sterilisation coffin opening into a small room lit with muted hues of pink.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A few experimental steps confirmed she had made a good choice of body and as her new senses cleared, she quickly tested the limits of her new muscles.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Show vanity display,”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Dolldroid's voice was carefully modulated to sound <i>kawaii</i> and alluring, the syllables feeling alien as she uttered them.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A full body holomirror flickered into the space before her and revealed her new self; tumbling neon pink ringlets of hair, small, high breasts and an 'uncanny valley' face straight out of an <i>otaku's </i>fantasy. She cycled the display through several sexy but impractical outfits until she found one which would allow for freedom of movement.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She quickly pulled on the translucent mini dress and soft sole boots retrieved from the dispenser and left the pink overkill of the docking room. Moving as fast as the Dolldroid's systems would allow, she started down the stairs back to street level.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Domino found using Dolldroid bodies painfully slow and frustrating; after all, they were originally commercialised with a fairly singular purpose in mind. Despite the shortcomings of the model, she felt confident she would be able to do what was needed for the distraction to work. She grabbed a clear plastic illumi-glow umbrella from the foyer and started making her way back to the ramen stand.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bouncer was still stood by the auto vendor, now with a bowl in hand, staring with dumb intensity at the privacy capsule. She wound her way through a jostling sea of umbrellas to within his line of sight and made a deliberate path for the noodle stand. His gaze wavered from his vigil for only the briefest of moments so he could glance at her breasts as she perused the menu. That was enough. He only needed to register her presence.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She carried her bowl over to the counter and moved to set it down next to his. A feigned stumble found her body pressed close into his for the briefest of moments. It proved to be all that was needed as the pheromone-enhanced perfume exuding from the Dolldroid's body started its non-too-subtle work in stirring the man's libido.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm sorry,” she giggled at him, “this is my first time controlling one of these. I had no idea how clumsy I would be!”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You're doing just fine,” he managed to mumble.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Within a few minutes, she had him following her to the nearest love hotel. They checked into the 'Warming Beach Feeling' suite and she fell back on a bed surrounded by a full-immersion holo of some remote Hawaiian resort as the bouncer fumbled with his belt.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She waited for him to reach for the 'Condomania' vendor by the bed before she said, “Magenta.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was a second's pause, followed by an uncertain beep.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bouncer looked at his girlfriend for the night in confusion as her body shuddered into a rigid state.</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My safety word has been used and shut-down protocols activated. My operator is no longer present. Please wait for the next available Dolldroid retrieval crew to arrive.”</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The slow realisation of his error cut through his pheromone stupor and tugged mockingly at his gut; his quarry had escaped.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright © A. Flood 2010 </span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07254931008152511864noreply@blogger.com0