Subject: Story: AntiMatter (Day1)
Date: Wed May 24 07:50:14 MET DST 1995

[This is my first posting here, and I was told to post here if I wanted
to get some of my writing up.  This is the first chapter in a series that
I havn't figured out an end too.  I think each chapter will be a single
day durring this adventure.  Please mail me some *constructive* critisism
(no "oh, that sucked" stuff).  Thanx - Peat]

AntiMatter
^^^^^^^^^^

DAY ONE ...

	The sounds and smells of the food court drifted through the air, the
	yelling and whining of small children, the beef patties frying on the
	grill.  Teenagers stood around, making attempts to look cool, making
	passes at each other, or bumming change and cigarettes from friends
	and strangers alike.  The adults wandered around, looking as if in a
	hurry, but with no real destination, all of them ignoring the antics
	of the adolescents, and scolding their children who bitched about not
	getting this or that.  Alex stood above all this on the over pass,
	watching the crowd, and waiting.
		He leaned casually against the railing, hands on the beam in
	a firm grasp, fingers drumming an off beat rhythm against the cold
	metal.  Alex smiled.  His straight black hair cascaded over his
	shoulders in long waves, ending at the base of his shoulder blades.
	His fair face hinted of his mixed blood, the sharp nose and eyes of a
	caucasian, but with the smooth features that depicted some of his
	chinese history.  The tanned skin was not from his asian decent, but
	from long hours spent out on the beaches of southern California.  His
	piercing green eyes roamed over faces and features, taking in the
	details of the crowd below.  Alex's thin frame was no more than a
	shadow among shadows.
		He shrugged and began pacing along the over pass, thick soled
	boots treading lightly on the cement surface.  He slipped his hands
	into the pockets in his trench coat, and glanced down a the seething
	masses below.
		Than he spotted him.  Black leather jacket, brilliant orange
	hair, cropped to half an inch long.  He could even make out the jack at
	the base of the guy's skull.  Definatly a crank junkie, judging on how
	he twitched and reacted to anything around him.  He even had those wrap
	around pimp shades.  Alex smirked.
		This dude was the one.  He was a floater, one of those
	freaks who drifted around, buying top notch gear with credits that
	didn't belong to them.  They skipped the country and changing
	identities, only to blow another hundred thousand on some new
	implants and disappear again.  And again.  And again.  Alex had been
	ripped off hard-core, and he was pissed.
		He turned away from the rail, and drifted into the passing
	crowd.

*       *       *

	Sergeant Hawkins was bored.  Sitting outside of "Burrito Palace,"
	draining his remaining coffee.  His third cup.  He ran his cashcard
	through the slit, punched in for another refill, watched it bite two
	hundred credits out of his account, than resume its "Insert CashCard
	Here .." scrolling.  He looked at the magazine, and  half read the
	article, and half watched "Suspect 1" from his plastic chair.  He
	smiled to himself.  This was too easy.  All they said was to watch
	the guy, and as soon as he started talking to "Suspect 2", to arrest
	them both.  Apparently some minor tech deal, or something like that.
	The Chief had said to be careful, but "Suspect 1" looked like a fruit
	cake.  Fat and pudgy, stuffing doughnuts into his face like there was
	no tomorrow.  Oh well.
		He looked across the floor towards his quarry's table.
	Approximately two hundred feet away, but it seemed closer.  Hawkins
	adjusted the zoom factor in his new eye, and smiled again.  Brand
	spanking new, and three million credits worth of optic miracles at
	work in his right eye socket.  Inferred, ultra-violet, light
	enhancement, resolution enhancement .. everything.  A pretty penny to
	pay, but one hell of a useful device.
		People drifted through his view, but he didn't mind.  Pudgy
	was going nowhere, and he was doing a damned slow job of it too.  He
	sipped his coffee and sighed.
		To his left, someone yelled.  An adult yell, probably some
	lady screaming at her kid.  Than another yell.  And another.  Hawkins
	glanced in the general direction, than caught the word "thief" in the
	hubbub of manic yells.  He shrugged.  Mall cops had their duties, let
	them fix it.   The apparent robber was some punk in a green coat, and
	spiked blonde hair.  And he was running right for Hawkins.  Mall cops
	don't know right from left, he thought to himself.  Might as well
	show 'em how its done ...
		The Sergeant stood up, and faced the escaping teen, who was
	too busy looking over his shoulder to see the cop loom up in front of
	him.  The kid screeched to a halt, and tried to run another
	direction, but he was too slow.  Hawkins' big hand shot forward,
	cuffing the kid upside the head, than reaching down to grab a hold of
	his jacket.  The petty-villain stopped dead in his tracks, and stood,
	looking up at Hawkins.  He looked terrified.  Hawkins smiled.  The
	mall cops trotted up at their leisurely pace, and took the kid from
	him.  They gave Hawkins their smart-shit,-we're-cops-too look.  The
	Sergeant chuckled, and sat down.
		He was about to take another sip of coffee, when he noticed
	that "Suspect 2" was gone.

*       *       *

	Alex closed in on the floater, a hundred feet, fifty feet, twenty
	five feet.  Floater-boy was standing behind a pillar, conversing with
	some fat man who looked like he had had a few too many cheese burgers
	than the FDA recommended for human consumption.  Alex reached into
	his pocket, and grasped the rubber grip of his modified dart
	projector.  Just a little longer, he though .. wait a little longer.
	Fifteen feet.  He could catch chunks of conversation from here.
		"... weird man," the fat man said, "You mean you just found
	it?"
		The orange haired punk held up a device the size of two pop
	cans stuck together.  "Yeah right.  I had to knock off a scientist or
	two to get this thing.  Dunno what it is, but they were trying damned
	hard to keep it from me.  I was curious, so kill me."  The punk
	grinned, revealing a line of razor sharp titanium carbide teeth.  "I
	figured that you're the damned techie expert, that you might know
	what this is ...  we could probably sell it and get a hella load of
	dough."
		The fat man took it from the punk's hands, and make a
	surprised face.  "Damn man, this is warm, if its radioactive, we're
	already dead .. you stu-"
		"No, its not reactive, I checked it out when I got it." The
	punk cut in,  "That was my first thought.  But those sci's weren't
	wearing anything protective, so I figured .."
		"Ok, but I still don't know what the hell it is."
		Alex tired of the conversation, so he put an end to it.  The
	barrel of the dart projector protruded a bit from a hole in his
	pocket, the UV laser scope painted a dot a centimeter wide on the
	side of the punks head, visible only to someone with a 'tronic eye
	with it's UV mode on.
		The fat man's eyes bugged as he saw the dot appear on his
	partner's head, and he opened his mouth to say something.
		Alex pulled the trigger.
		There was a sound, not unlike that of a large pebble stuck
	inside a blender set on 'frappe.'  Seventy three stainless steel
	darts, each weighing fifty grams -- three millimeters wide, and
	twenty long -- erupted from the barrel of the gun at speeds
	approaching mach 3.
		Alex released the trigger after about a second.  The punk's
	head was intact.  Alex blinked in surprise, and was about to let off
	another burst when the punk collapsed to the ground, blood pouring
	out of multiple orifices that really shouldn't have existed in a
	healthy human head.  Alex's mind flashed something about plate
	implants, than shifted to the fat man.
		The mall seemed to have been drained of sound.
		The fat man wasn't there.  Alex pondered the situation for a
	micro-second, and than saw him bolting at unrealistic speeds for the
	nearest exit, the cylinder in his hand.
		There was a scream.  And another.  And a pandemonium of
	screams and shouting broke out.

*       *       *

		Sergeant Hawkins whipped out of his seat at the realization
	that his quarry was gone.  He ran towards the table where "Suspect 1"
	had been sitting, and was half way there when he heard the shots to
	his right.  He immediately changed directions, and sprinted in the
	direction of a massing of people.  Damn the people, he couldn't see a
	thing.  He arrived a few seconds later, and yelled something about
	who did it.  A few fingers pointed eagerly in the direction of the
	nearest exit, where he could see two figures hell bent for leather
	running for freedom.
		"Dead!  He's dead .. gray coat .. gun .. tried to kill the
	fat one .." a few dozen voices rang out.  The body matched the
	description of "Suspect 2" as far as he could see.  No one had
	mentioned a third party.  Shit.
		He charged out of the masses and drew his service semi-auto.
	Nine millimeter, old issue.  Never seen use.  Hawkins shoved people
	aside who got in his way, and noticed the thinning of crowds.  This
	wasn't a movie anymore, people were scared.  People were leaving as
	fast as they could.  They were blocking exits.
		He couldn't get off a shot with out killing a bystander.  So
	he fired into the air.  People screamed, and dove for the already
	congested exits.

		The fat man -- Herbert was his real name -- ran towards the
	exit on his enhanced limbs.  He figured they had saved his life
	earlier, but he was damned if they didn't keep working' like they
	were now.  At the sound of the shot, his cranked up neural system
	threw him towards the closest solid object, in hopes of dodging the
	bullet, and perhaps providing for some cover.
		His mass barreled through a clump of screaming peds, and into
	a small mall store.  A card shop.  Cute.  He ducked behind the
	counter, and drew his compact projector.  He flipped it on, and the
	whining of capacitors warming up rang in his ears like a dozen pissed
	misquitoes.
		Herbert popped up, and spotted his target immediately, his
	overspeed brain locating Alex's form jumping behind a trash barrel.
	Alex was stuck in the middle of the concourse, his exits blocked, and
	a cute little cement bucket for cover.
		There were significantly less people than there had been
	before, and that was good.  He leveled the projector at Alex's cover,
	and let loose twenty rounds.  It was a compact gun though.  Its range
	was only a hundred feet -- enough to reach Alex, but not really
	powerful enough to do serious damage from long range.  The trash
	bucket cracked nicely though, and he saw Alex dart backwards, trying
	to make it to the escalator for cover.  He loosed another ten rounds,
	dead on.

		Alex felt a sharp hammering in his back.  Felt like someone
	had shot him in the ass with an automatic pellet gun.  He dove for
	the escalator wall, and flipped over it, landing hard on the steel
	stairs.  He grunted in pain, more from the landing than from the
	darts.  Thank god for the arachno-weave fabric.  He smiled at the
	irony.  He hated spiders.
		He popped his head up, just in time to see fat man's head
	disappear behind the counter of the Hallmark shop.  To his left, he
	saw the cop.  Damnit.  He leveled his projector at the card shop's
	counter, and let off fourty some rounds.  It punched a hole the size
	of his torso in it.  Didn't hit fat man though.  Damned.  Alex spun
	to his left, and leveled the projector at the cop.  He was standing
	in the open, with no cover.  Alex checked himself.  Killin' a cop was
	bad shit.  All I wanted was revenge.  Out of the corner of his eye,
	he saw the fat man vault over the counter, and lay flat out for the
	exit door, which was now clear of people.  He opened up at the fat
	man, but missed all fifteen rounds.
		Alex ducked down behind the escalator wall just as a nine
	millimeter shell buzzed over his head, embedding itself into a pretty
	sculpture in the middle of the food court.  Damnit, the cop wanted
	him.  Well, go figure, I killed a man.  Alex shrugged, and popped up
	again, and sprayed the cop at leg level.  A few darts hit, and that
	stopped Hawkins like a brick wall.
		He lept out from his cover, and sprinted towards the exit.
	Alex could hear sirens, and he could see the fat man running across
	the street out side of the parking complex.

		Herbert ran straight out into Sunday traffic, dodging a Ford,
	and a Chevy.  A Volkswagon clipped him on the hip, spinning him
	around, to face the grill of a Mac truck doing fourty.  He screamed.

		Hawkins yelped in surprise as he felt his shins shatter, and
	his body plummeting to the ground.  He accidentally dropped the
	semi-auto, which went skidding under a bench.  He yowled in pain as
	soon as he had stopped moving.  He glanced up and

		The truck driver couldn't stop in time.  There was a
	sickening thud as the whole of Herbert rammed itself into the Mac's
	new front end.  He jammed the breaks as he saw the body fly forwards,
	along with

		The canister took off like a bat out of hell, leaving
	Herbert's crushed hands, and flinging to the sidewalk.  Alex ran for
	it.  It seemed like the thing to do.  There were crowds of people out
	side the mall, all of them yelling and shouting about the new
	developments.  He saw Herbert's body fly into a mass of them, and
	become the main attraction.  Cars skidded to a stop, ramming into
	each other.
		Alex picked up the canister, and put it in his pocket, and
	ran.  He didn't stop.  He wasn't stopped.
		Thirteen miles away, in the dregs of the downtown, he
	collapsed in an alley.  He curled up behind a dumpster and waited.
	The sun went down, the stars came out, slightly obscured by the ever
	present smog.  Consciousness came and went like the Titanic, turning
	on end, and slipping beneath the inky black waves of dreamless sleep.
		In his coat pocket, the canister beeped quietly to itself.


*       *       *

COMING SOON ... DAY TWO

[please e-mail me with comments and stuff -- I'd love to get some *good
 criticism* on this piece.]


--

:: Good and evil are defined by your society. ::
:: Society is your God.  - ri@industrial.com  ::