km4j+@andrew.cmu.edu
From: tigrover@uokmax.ecn.uoknor.edu (Thomas I Grover)
Subject: Revenge, Part 1
Summary: Andrael enters, into to the story
Date: 2 Apr 91 22:23:18 GMT
Andrael strode into the Chat, her tight-fitting
synthleather bodysuit clinging to curves that, though
perfectly natural, looked like a mastepiece by the finest
artists of the world. She was drawn in by the allure of the
Chat, the rumors of its stark danger, its unbridled passion.
She walked over to a table, affecting a stimsense star
attitude, and sat down. She looked around, watching everyone
with a feigned indifference, and listened to the music. She
recognized White Crystal from the description floating around
on the street, and was impressed that the one night that she
would drop into the Chat, the famous White Crystal would be
performing.
She strode up to the bar, again looking like she owned
the place, and ordered a Down Side Twist, a drink looked upon
suspiciously by the authorities, what few there were
nowadays. She didn't even stop to think what was in it, more
concerned as she was with how she appeared to everyone else.
She glanced around, and saw that everyone took her for what
she wanted to take her for, a poor little rich girl, out for
a night on the town and a little excitement. She hoped
they'd bite 'cause she was itching to try out some of the new
'ware she had implanted a few weeks before.
She scratched at the back of her hand absentmindedly,
and memories flooded back. She remembered when she was about
eight, and a razorgang decided to cut up the car she and her
parents were riding in, occupants and all. One of them
slashed through the back window, cutting the back of her
hand, and she did the only thing she knew how. She reached
under the seat, and grabbed the antique .45 her father kept
back there, and she shot her assailant between the eyes. She
remembered throwing open the door and running, as fast as she
could, down streets she only vaguely remembered. She
remembered shooting two others, one inthe leg, another in the
chest. She didn't know if she'd killed the one, but she knew
that if they were chasing her, they had already gotten her
parents. She remembered hiding behind a dumpster and crying
herself to sleep, and waking up looking at a strange man. He
asked her what she was doing there, and she told him about
what had happened to her parents. He took her to the only
other relative she knew, an aunt who she visited once or
twice every year. He delivered her to her aunt, and asked
for nothing in return. She told her aunt what had happened,
and told the policemen enough so they could catch the people
who had done this, and put them away. Since her father was a
very influential man, and her mother a middle level manager
for Genedyne, the members of the gang received the harshest
sentence possible for their crimes: death. Unfortunately, an
unknown group came and broke them out, and she vowed revenge.
She was jostled from here reverie by someone enraptured
in White Crystal's song. She glared at him indignantly, and
he hurried off into the crowd. She didn't know him, and
didn't care, but she took careful note of his face. She
flexed the synthetic muscles in her left arm, and dove back
into her daydream, tuning out the strange scents that began
to assail her.
She remembered the Academy, where they put her through
the harshest training she could imagine. When she was done,
she walked out with a certificate to be part of a special
corps of soldiers for the British government. She recieved
top of the line cyberware, and they removed pieces of her,
and she remembered the struggle she went through every time
they put new 'ware in her, to keep hold of her humanity and
her sanity. She remembered watching comrades, people she had
virtually grown up with, succumb to the madness of their
enhancements and become more machine than man, cold killers
without a care for who got in their way. She remembered the
nights when she almost succumbed, and remembered the face of
the man who killed her father, cutting his throat with a
small fingertip razor. It was painful and lingering, she
learned later, and the cold fires of hate were kindled in her
soul, consuming her childhood innocence as she became
immersed in her plan for revenge. She remembered the
missions she was sent on, and seeing in the face of everyone
she had killed a look that marked them as the enemy, and
never once was she wrong.
She was startled awake by the scent of fresh blood, of
someone killed, and rather violently. She looked around, and
saw a man run outside. She got up, put on her poor little
rich girl attitude, and followed.
She walked outside, and was jumped by not one man, but
eight. She had thought that one might have an accomplice or
something, but seven? She cursed herself for falling too far
into character, and reached to her side for the two scimitars
she always carried. Her instructors and trainers had admired
her style with them, and had trained her to use them as an
especially unexpected and deadly close-in combat weapon. She
faced off, and watched as, beyond her control, the group
moved further into the street, and the circle closed in
behind her. She closed her eyes, felt the battle drugs
course into her system, and prayed, just for a second, that
she'd be able to re-emerge from the other side.
Time seemed to slow to a halt, with only her moving at
normal speed. She knew it was a trick of the reflexes and
the drugs, but it was still a unique sensation. She danced
to the deep rhythm of the music that drifted faintly out from
the Chat, and every eighth beat, someone died. It was a
deadly dance, with every swipe with the club met by an
answering parry from monomolecular edged steel. The cold
alloy kissed her victims coldly, stealing their breath and
their lifesblood before they even realized what happened.
Soon there were only four, but they had closed into such a
tight circle that she was finding it difficult, even in her
battle frenzy, to avoid being hit and still be able to hit
anyone else. She took a chance and swung both blades in a
wide arc, catching the two on each side of her, and kicking
foreward. One of the blades found a face, and another found
an arm, while her kick inevitably found a groin. Three of
her assailants were temporarily gone, and the two she had
caught with her blades were most likely doomed to die. The
fourth, however, shot her arm, despite her attempts to avoid
every shot he could make. She screamed in pain and dropped a
scimitar, whirling to meet him. He pulled the trigger again,
and he missed, while her other blade bit through his weapon
and the flesh of his hand. He was halfway through a scream
when the tip ripped through his throat, and his cry was
reduced to a gurgle, then all was silent. Of eight
attackers, seven were dead and one was in serious need of
medical attention, for she knew that she had smashed
testacles and caused massive internal bleeding. She left
them there, and picked up her other scimitar. They were
polished to a polymer sheen, and the blood ran off them as
she held them up. She sheathed them, and felt the battle
fever fall from her, draining her as surely as if she had
been hit by a legendary vampire. She clutched at her arm,
suddenly aware of the main, and applied a trauma patch out of
a small medical kit she carried out of habit. Soon the
snesthetics were working, and she was fully functional again,
since the shot was only a flesh wound. She brushed her hair
back into place, and walked back into the Chat, just as the
song reached its climax and fell down into nothing. She
smiled wryly to herself, and sat back at her table. She was
actually very impressed that she had had a chance to dance to
the famous White Crystal, live.
* * * * * * * *
This is another stab by me at posting. Once again, my
e-mail address is tigrover@uokmax.ecn.uoknor.edu, if my .sig
doesn't show up, and any comments and criticisms are highly
encouraged. If you want to use Andrael in another storyline,
go ahead, but please write me beforehand. As always, thanks!
--
+-------------------------------+---------------------------------------------+
| Tom Grover | "Too many words have been spoken, |
| e-mail: tigrover@uokmax.ecn | "So many people divine, |
| .uoknor.edu | "Too many questions arise in my heart, |
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