'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 12

Domino meditates on what lies ahead of her...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

“Keep warm, Yukiko,” he says in his gravely voice. “I made your favourite hot chocolate. The one from the store in the village.”

“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.

“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.”

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...

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.

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.

While she was prepared physically, Domino knew she must also be the equal of the task in heart and mind. So now she entered zazen, and her mind was filled with a quiet nothingness, an absence of thought.

[What're you thinking about? You've been quiet for hours, Yuki.]

The neural link communication from Angel broke Domino's meditative state and brought her focus back to the physical world.

[Just clearing my head. I want to be ready.]

[You could wait. See if he leaves that place some time.]

[No. He never leaves. You know that. I need to go in after him.]

[I... I know. But... I'm just worried. Sorry.]

[Don't be. It's... it helps to know you're watching over me.]

[Always.]

The link went silent for a few breaths, neither of them feeling sure what to say next.

[Angel, is Borislav still available to help with the plan?]

[As far as I know, yes.]

[I think it's the best chance we have. I'm coming back now. I want to go in tomorrow night.]

[You sure?]

[Completely.]

[Okay. Take care.]

[Don't I always?]

[If only...]

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.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010

'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 11

Here we follow Domino through one of the city's night markets...
 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

The strong aroma of hot tea and tonkotsu ramen wafted 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.

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 chōchin lantern hanging outside, she smiled faintly as she tucked into her comfort food between drags on her cigarette.

“Long day, huh?” the cop suddenly asked her.

“Aren't they all?”

The cop chuckled and nodded, a gesture of empathy.

“You got that right. You here to shop?”

“And eat,” she said, wiping some post-slurp broth from her lips.

“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.

“Sometimes,” she said, smiling. She was secretly pleased that her disguise was giving off the right type of vibes. “How'd you guess?”

“Hey, I'm a cop; it's my job to read people.”

Domino felt her smile widen as she found herself imagining what this cop would do if he had attained an accurate read on her.

“So... er... you maybe want someone to keep you company on your way home?”

“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.

“Hey, no problem,” he grinned. “Nice meeting you. Have a better one.”

He retrieved his uniform cap from the counter and tipped her a farewell salute as he ducked out into the rain-swept street.

“Shit,” offered the joygirl as she leant closer to Domino, her voice low and conspiratorial. “You feel like giving me your secret, honey?”

“Sorry?”

“You roll in here looking like you do – no offence – and still you get a guy angling for a date? I could use some of what you've got. Shit,” she affirmed.

“Maybe he likes the manual labour types?” Domino suggested.

“Hey honey, I do manual labour all the time...”

Domino laughed at the joke as the blue haired joygirl gathered her things from the counter.

“I'll see you around, sweetie. You stay safe, now.”

“You too,” Domino called after her.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“Nozomi... Is he in?” Domino asked.

The girl nodded and called out, “Keroppi-chaaann!” Even her voice was lazy.

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.

“Hello Roland,” Domino called as the squeak of the man's wheelchair preceded his appearance.

“Hello, Sookie. Welcome back,” he said warmly as he clasped Domino's hand in his own.

“Is it ready, Roland?”

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.

“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.”

“Of course you did,” Domino teased as she pressed a thick envelope into his hand. “I'm sure it will be used appropriately.”

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. 

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