'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 17 (Final)

Domino's meeting with Yamada continues...

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

Domino bowed low and offered the card to Yamada, who accepted it with surprising reverence.

His first mistake.

He paused for a moment to examine the card, taking in the quality of the calligraphy, the intricate artwork depicting the hint of a face amid sakura blossoms, designed to leave a lasting impression on the client.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any second now...

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

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

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

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

“What!? Who are you? I -”

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

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

“Sh-shinigami?” Yamada croaked.

Domino frowned and sighed at the sound of that word. The code-name they had given her. Death-god or, as they had intended it, bringer of death.

“Yes. And no. Nobody calls me that now. I left that name behind when I escaped your 'Ryu-gumi' organisation.” She almost spat the name of the Yakuza syndicate, the group of wealthy parasites who had fractured a little girl's life.

She stared hard at Yamada, her eyes unblinking accusations, irises morphing from inky black through to molten red as a maelstrom of emotions surged within her. Domino took a deep breath, trying to choose her next words, not wanting her message to be diminished by the confusion she was feeling. Now that she was here, it felt... unexpected, unpredictable.

It was in that moment that there came a discreet knock at the door.

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

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

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

“You there! What is – uurk!”

Domino closed the gap between them before he had chance to even consider lining up a shot. Her hands moved fast, sending his gun spinning away as she locked and snapped his wrist in a simple disarm. She then reversed momentum and pivoted, her small movement causing him to tumble head over heels. He landed awkwardly and she used the opportunity to quickly pull off his odd egg-shaped helmet.

Domino immediately pulled him into a sleeper hold, her arm forming a 'v' under his chin, applying pressure to both the carotid and jugular arteries, restricting blood flow to the man's brain. Unconsciousness found him within seconds, and as she felt his body grow limp, she released him to the floor. He would not be out for long, she knew, and so she retrieved one of her acupuncture needles from her hair and applied it as she had done with Koralev. At least when he came to, he would be unable to interfere further with her plans for Yamada.

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

“You have a loyal man there,” she commented. To her surprise, Yamada opened his mouth to respond. The man had considerable will power, she had to give him that, at least.

“W-why did you not kill him?” he rasped slowly.

“He was just doing his job. Besides, it's you I came to kill.”

Yamada's eyes somehow managed to widen further still, more out of panic than shock. 

 

“The funny thing is,” Domino continued, “I'm not going to.”

She waited for that to sink in before continuing, “you see, to do so would be to continue on as 'Shinigami'. It'd be almost as if I never left the Ryu-gumi. I came here with two options: the festival treat in my bag, which contains enough synthetic neurotoxin to fell a sumo – utterly lethal within seconds of ingestion, and the calling card, dosed with a little contact poison. Just enough to render you immobile and, I imagine, quite uncomfortable.

“Somehow, in getting to you via your nasty little subordinates, I started to realise that the whole point of hunting you down was not only to avenge my parents, but to free myself of the Ryu-gumi. Rather than kill you all, one by one – which is still an option, by the way – it seems more effective now to issue a warning. Guess who's going to be my advocate?”

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

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

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

Perhaps more to the point, she had no idea what she was doing here now. It was only recently that she had recalled Yamada's face, his name, his involvement in her past. So much of her still wanted him dead, his passing preferably prefaced by immeasurable suffering. Certainly, he belonged in one of the many hells. And yet, to kill him would be to somehow dishonour her parents' memory. At least, that's how it felt to her now.

And what she had said to Yamada was true: if she was ever to distance herself from her dark past, she needed to stem the bloodshed. To say she was conflicted was an understatement. But Yamada didn't need to know that. Fuck him. He could stay scared. So long as he got the rest of the Ryu-gumi to leave her the hell alone. Give her space and time to figure out who she really was on her own terms.

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

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

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

“Sorry, my little joke. I'm leaving now. I hope you do as I asked. For both our sakes,” she said as she stood, retrieving her geta in the process. She walked slowly towards the door, through Yamada's private hanami festival, petals of pink and white swirling around her.

Almost as an afterthought, she paused, and over her shoulder, said to Yamada, “the neurotoxin should wear off in time. At least, that's what I was told.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Proud of you,” Angel said, sealing the declaration with a soft peck on Domino's cheek. “I thought you'd kill him.”

“So did I.”

Angel didn't need to ask why Domino hadn't ended the man's life. Her friend's compassion, her conscience, her humanity even – all these things had been slowly returning, demonstrated with increasing frequency, since the day they had met.

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

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

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

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

They fell into silence then, Angel's complete faith in Domino unspoken but reassuring to her nonetheless. Domino meanwhile, felt content simply because Angel was at her side.

Their fingertips touching, the pair fell asleep, their coffee un-poured, their minds untroubled for the first time in weeks, their bodies relaxed in a shared warmth.

THE END. 

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 14

The action from the Ebisu continues...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn that stealth suit! Crazy girl! he cursed.

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

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

“Thanks, Chubb. Gotta go.”

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

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

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

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

“I have her. She is safe,” he said in that steady, matter-of-fact way of his.

Angel felt relief, joy and anxiety rush over her and she crouched to stave off the sudden light-headedness she felt.

“Thank you, Borislav. Thank you. So much...” she trailed off.

“You are welcome.”

Why did she still feel so worried?

“Borislav... I still don't have anything on her feed. And I can't get her on neural link comms.”

“That is because she is unconscious. You are at meeting point?”

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Good. ETA for me is three minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Master?” she intoned cheerfully, seeking his approval.

Yamada pulled up a visual feed which confirmed that it was, in fact, Ito at the door. The rigid posture, the slight favouring of the left leg, the barely perceptible misalignment of his left scapula, caused by its support of his cybernetic arm. All these things reassured Yamada that this was no imposter.

“Yes. Open the door,” he nodded.

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

“The threat has been removed?” Yamada asked curtly.

“Of course, Yamada-sama. We faced only one operative. We suspect she had a computer systems expert aiding her remotely but-”

“Wait. She?” Yamada had not expected this.

“As far as I can tell sir, yes. She was using a stealth suit.”

“I see. And you are sure she is dead?”

“She triggered an explosive device at the foot of the stairs to your level. We suspect it was a... a kamikaze run, if you will. What remained of her body was blown through the window and into the bay. It would seem she grossly underestimated the structural integrity of your building. That, or she experienced a malfunction in her equipment.”

Yamada pondered this new information. He had thought for a moment that perhaps... but no, she would not have made such a blunder. He would already be dead.

“Dredge the bay.”

“I have already taken the liberty of giving that order, Yamada-sama. It seems unlikely we will find anything. The nearby filtration units will have no doubt already pulled the remains away and disposed of them. We search, nonetheless.”

“Excellent work, Ito.”

Ito bowed low again. “Thank you, sir.”

Yamada closed his eyes and slowly massaged his temples, bursts of vague colour flashing and fading behind his eyelids. Stood close-by, his head of security had the good sense not to comment and simply waited in silence. At length, Yamada sat upright and dismissed the reports overlaid on his vast window.

“I have been at work in this room for too long, Ito. I think perhaps it would be a welcome diversion if I were to take a walk, survey the damage done.”

“Yes, of course, Yamada-sama,” Ito said, bowing once more.

Yamada could not have cared less about the damage, the sole purpose of the tour was to keep face with his employees. It would not do to appear as a timid thing, cowering behind the armoured walls of his private sanctuary. No, he would stride out in the wake of this threat, demonstrate beyond doubt that they had not shaken him. That done, he would return here and enjoy the full range of the maid unit's massage programming.

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

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 13

The plan is set into motion...
 

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

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

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

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

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

“Let's go,” she said.

Roving beams of light from a patrolling police air car cut through the stale air of the hotel suite, almost inquisitive as they passed over ubiquitous furniture. Old proximity sensitive lights hummed into life as Domino led the way into the room. The release of tension she felt at having successfully smuggled her assault equipment through the lobby was reflected in her friends' expressions as they glanced around the strangely decorated room.

The clerk had taken their trio at face value and had recommended they check into one of the Ebisu's 'entertainment suites'. Yamada's hotel enjoyed two faces: that of a five star, ultimate luxury business hotel and, somewhere just below the surface, that of a 'red-light' establishment. A massive heart-shaped bed and an over-abundance of mirrors along with a vending machine for erotica left little doubt as to which section of the hotel they were in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[I'm ready.]

[I still don't like this, Yuki.]

[It'll be all right. We've come through worse. I know we can do this. Just trust me and stay focussed.]

[I will. And I do. Just let me know when you're in position and I'll be ready for you.]

Domino looked around for Borislav and noticed the doors to the balcony had been unlocked.

[When did he leave?]

[When you started changing in front of him.]

[Oh.]

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

Borislav turned from gazing out over the bay as she stepped softly out onto the balcony.

“You are ready, I see,” he said quietly. Domino thought she detected a hint of something in his voice, resignation maybe? “I too am ready to do my part. For what it is worth.”

“It'll be worth a lot, Borislav. Assuming all goes to plan.”

“Which it will, of course!” he suddenly rumbled, a confident grin plastered on his face. Domino smiled and nodded in return.

“Okay then. Wish me luck. Time to go,” she said.

As Domino started to climb, she heard movement below and looked down to see that Angel had joined Borislav on the balcony. As her fingers and toes found one precarious hold after another, she could almost sense Angel willing her on. Domino suddenly felt a warm swell of emotions as she thought of her.

Hanging there, high above the streets, she experienced an epiphany; this wasn't just about revenge, about freedom. She had another reason to succeed, to make it through alive.

Domino's movements became even more fluid and efficient as she scaled the side of the hotel, as she became an unstoppable force, a dark flicker of inevitability. It was time to end this.

The frigid air in the crawl space cut through even the insulation of Domino's body suit as she lay waiting for the right moment to begin her assault. Above her, his penthouse floor impenetrable aside from a single door, was Yamada. Below, visible through the narrow slats of a vent, countless guards, all armed with compact SMGs and stun sticks, all wearing pseudo ninja-style kevlar suits and ovoid black helmets which covered their faces.

[Are you seeing this, Angel?]

[Yeah. Not good. There's so many of them!]

[Can you find the specs of those helmets? I need to know the optic capabilities of the visors.]

There was a moment's pause.

[Done. I'm sending the data to you –]

[Got it, thanks. Hmm. Looks like the flash bangs are no good. Broad spectrum scramblers should work just fine though.]

[But that'll kill your feed too. You'll be just as blind as they are!]

[No. I'm shielded.]

[Oh. Good. Okay then...]

[Stop worrying. Is Borislav in position?]

[Yeah. He fed the guy at front desk some line about needing 'more women!' or something. He got out no problem.]

[And you?]

[I'm clear. Ready to go when you are. I'm into the main systems for that floor. Just call out what you need.]

[Okay, thanks. Standby.]

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

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

[Angel, on my go signal, kill the lights.]

[Will do. I can simultaneously lock down all doors on that floor, if you want. It might slow some of them down.]

[Sounds good. Oh, and try to locate which house those geisha are from. It might prove useful later.]

[Okay. I'll see what I can find once I pick them up on the lobby cams.]

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

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

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

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

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

Domino palmed a pair of doppler grenades, throwing one left and one right to serve as diversions as she carved a path to the north side of the building. She skittered to a halt at the corner of her turn into the bay-side corridor. Muted comms chatter and, just on the edge of her hearing, the sound of weapons being readied alerted her to the presence of a large group of guards lying in wait ahead.

She flattened herself against the wall and rapidly sheathed her swords. As she glanced at the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the bay-side corridor, she managed to catch a glimpse of movement reflected in the glass. Three of the guards on point had activated mini Maglite under-barrel torches on their weapons and were searching for her. That was all she needed for positional targeting. She pulled her SMG free and darted into the corridor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit! Subdermal armour, Domino cursed inwardly.

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

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

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

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 10

The aftermath of the encounter with Capricia...

 

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.

“Just give it a minute, mate. Your optics need to calibrate. I'll try to optimise the interface code for you.”

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.

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.

“Wankers,” complained the voice.

“Pardon?” Borislav was relieved to find his speech intact.

“Oh... sorry, mate. Whoever wired your optics. Wankers. Proper cowboys.”

“I... I do not understand.”

“Me either, mate. The things these people get away with...”

Borislav realised that the man had stopped typing.

“Right. Should be sorted now. Let's fire 'em up again.”

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.

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.

“How's that?” the stranger asked him.

“Better. I can see fine now, thank you.”

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

He turned back to face the man wearing the goggles and cleared his throat.

“I am sorry but where am I, exactly? And who are you?”

“Things a little foggy for you eh, mate? Wondering how it is you're still among the living and all that?”

Borislav nodded, still trying to sift through his memories.

“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.”

“Domino... Angel... I do not know these people,” Borislav murmured in confusion.

“No, I don't suppose you do. Here...”

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.

“That,” said Suture, pointing to the young woman in the tube, “is Domino. And next to her, that's Angel.”

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.

“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?”

Borislav pushed himself slowly into a seated position and waved away the Dunhills Suture was offering.

“No thank you. I do not smoke.”

“Right you are. How d'you want your tea?”

“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?”

Suture flashed a grin around his cigarette and patted the air between them.

“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 -”

“My daughter?! But how could she know...?”

“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.”

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?

“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.”

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?

“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.”

“What happened to her?”

“Buggered if I know,” Suture shrugged. “I'd hate to see the other fella, though. Know what I mean? Here's your tea.”

Borislav nursed the hot mug between his palms and sipped the treacle-sweet liquid. He nodded his head toward Domino.

“She is so young. How is it she is...” he searched for the right words, “...the way she is?”

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010