From: flex@camelot.bradley.edu (James Cook)
Subject: Stimuli Unchained - Chapters 1-11 (revised agian)
Date: 11 May 92 17:41:30 GMT
This story is not yet complete, new chapters and revisions seem to be
popping up daily. It is open for criticism, and any will be greatly
appreciated. Enjoy.
Jim Cook
Flex@camelot.bradley.edu
********************************************************************************
Stimuli Unchained
Preface - In the Beginning...
A quick look around revealed what he already knew. They
were waiting for him, lots of them. He quickly called up one
of his custom programs as they closed. He was hidden, and
they couldn't see him, yet. A mirror appeared as he ran his
program, hovering in the air in front of him. He took a deep
breath and stepped through the plane of the glass, his icon
absorbed into the mirror as he did so. As soon as the last
part of his body was through, the mirror spun halfway around
and out stepped an identical image of the man. The man
calmly snapped his fingers, the mirror shrinking to
nothingness, and turned to face his assailants. He could
already see the Hellbolts flying toward him, orbs of crimson
flame traveling at hyper-velocities. He unleashed all of his
Killer programs in a futile attempt to thwart the fast
approaching onslaught, his personal army of Samurai racing
forward. In a few minutes, it was over, the man's icon
engulfed in the flames of death. More and more of them
approached, examining the body carefully before leaving the
area completely.
Later that night, a business man dressed in a high
fashion suit reported to his superior's office. "Is he
gone," asked the corporate official sitting behind a large,
oak desk, eyes glued on the man standing before him.
"Yes," replied the business man, "he is gone."
"Did you find the body?"
"No, sir," said the business man, "there was nothing
left. Apparently, the deck he was using overloaded and
exploded, resulting in a fire that consumed both the deck and
the operator. Our experts did find burnt flesh and other
organic material around the console. I do not think that we
will be bothered by Shadow any time in the near future," the
man said with a grin.
"Good, very good," replied the corporate as he leaned
back in his chair, a smile transversing his face from ear to
ear. "And you thought you could beat us," he thought as he
began laughing a bellowing laugh that echoed throughout the
floor. People all around turned their heads as the laugh
rumbled past them.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 1 - You Win Some, You Lose Some
Raith was tired. He could feel a bead of sweat slowly
making its way down the past his neck, getting absorbed by
his suit jacket collar. Standing around five feet eight
inches tall, he was dressed in his standard work outfit,
complete suit with matching tie and dress shoes, his brown
hair trimmed and neatly combed. He was an intelligent man in
his late twenties, with an average build and an affinity for
computers. Computers were his life, his work, and his love.
His high school years were spent learning to program and work
with computers. By the time he was a senior, he was already
taking college level courses in programming and electronics.
By the time he was 20, he had joined a large computer-based
corporation, working his way up the corporate ladder quite
efficiently. But with time, he had grown bored with his job,
his adventurous and youthful self taking control of his
emotions, and had discovered the art of hacking, taking it up
as a hobby. As time went on, he became quite skilled at
breaking into computer systems, learning to use the net as
well as most other cowboys, the name the public gave to these
hackers. He spent most of his weekends working on custom
programs for use in the net, all the time keeping his job,
which paid for the apartment he lived in and most of his
computer supplies. He looked forward to those weekends with
earnest.
It had been a long, hard day at work and he wanted to
just to go home and relax, for at his home awaited his love,
Tonya. How he longed just to see her face, to feel her sweet
touch, to kiss her tender lips. The journey home seemed to
take forever as he trudged down the streets he knew too well.
The sun was setting behind the buildings of the city and the
sky was a deep orange now. He could hear the sound of hits
footsteps echoing like the steady pulsing of a clock off of
the buildings around him. As he approached his destination,
his apartment on the other side of town, it was already past
nightfall. Now the streets let loose the vermin that they
held. Scavenger animals scampered about darting from shadow
to shadow. Lone figures slowly walked about the alleyways or
just leaned against the side of a building, waiting for
something Raith didn't want to find out. He put his key into
the keyhole of his apartment door. With a turn and a push,
he left behind this world of darkness and danger to enter the
security of his home. And as he locked the door behind him,
he could hear the soft footsteps of Tonya as she tip-toed up
behind him. He turned around quickly as she attempted to
scare him... he always let her succeed.
"Welcome home, honey," she said. "How was work?"
"It was terrible. Hot, dreary, boring, and long," Raith
replied, his eyes looking her up and down carefully, soaking
in her features. She stood about five feet, ten inches, just
a bit taller than he. Her deep blue eyes stared deeply into
his, seemingly touching his very soul. Her long, blonde hair
hung down around her shoulders, swaying gently back and forth
as she talked. She was wearing a pink silk nightgown with
lace around the edges. It was cut rather low, and his eyes
traveled downward from her face and neck to the exposed flesh
between her breasts. Moving on, his eyes traced their way
along her arms, past her cherry red fingernails and down to
her toes, painted in an identical manner.
She brought her hand to the bottom of his chin, gently
lifting his head until he was looking directly at her.
"Well, I can take care of that for you," she said softly as
she put a finger to his lips. "Just forget about everything
else..."
Raith could already feel himself loosening up. How he
loved her. "She always could make the darkest night light
up," he thought as he held her in his arms and embraced her
with a kiss. A smile of thoughts spread across his face as
they walked to the bedroom and to a peaceful night's sleep.
* * * * * * * *
Raith awakened with sunlight streaming in his face.
Tonya's sleeping form lay still, adjacent to him, and he was
careful not to wake her as he got out of bed. He moved into
the kitchen, quietly shutting the bedroom door behind him.
He set the coffee maker up, turned it on, and walked into the
family room. With a flip of the remote switch, a hologram
appeared before him. Methodically, he flipped through the
channels and, finding nothing of interest, turned the console
off. He could now smell the aroma of coffee brewing from the
kitchen and got up to go make himself a cup. There stood
Tonya, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with a smile. She
moved over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders,
and gave him a kiss. "Good morning, dear," she said, as they
sank back into the chair.
Later in the day, Raith went down to the basement to
work on his project. Tonya did not bother him whenever he
went to work down there. She simply worked around the house
and on her computer terminal compiling data-bases for small
corporations, a job that helped bring in some extra cash when
needed. It was around nine o'clock at night when Raith
climbed out from the depths of the basement. She could see
the exhaustion in his eyes as he walked drearily toward his
reclining chair. Letting his body collapse under him, he
fell into the chair, asleep almost as soon as his head
touched the vinyl backing. Tonya smiled as she covered him
with a blanket and quietly turned off the lights. She tip-
toed into the bedroom and went to sleep soon after. The rest
of the weekend raced by, Raith working in his basement and
Tonya working upstairs. Soon it was Monday again, time for
Raith to go to work. He grumbled as his alarm went off, and
slowly got out of bed. After a quick cup of coffee, most of
his sleep was pushed out of his body and mind, and he grabbed
his equipment for work. He kissed Tonya good-bye and walked
out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. The
street was still sleeping, only the sound of small animals
scurrying about was heard as he traveled the worn path to
work. By the time he got there, the city was coming alive,
people were seen at a greater frequency and the animals had
disappeared like a shadow in the night. He sat down at his
desk, flipping on the computer terminal in front of him, and
methodically tended to his job.
By the end of the day, he was extremely bored, and
longed to be home with Tonya. When quitting time came, he
began the dreary journey home, carefully watching the people
around him, his eyes shifting from side to side, squinting to
locate movement around him. The city at night was no play-
ground. Like the nocturnal animals, predator humans stalked
their territory in the dark hours. Down each alley could be
one of them, waiting with his instruments of death, waiting
for unsuspecting prey to pass by like a spider in the web.
But Raith new of these spots, and had been warned by many
people to avoid them. Not looking for a fight, Raith stuck to
the longer, more lit route home. He was home before he knew
it, the path traveled engraved into his memory. He stepped
up to the door to his apartment and pulled out his keys. As
he tried to slip the keys into the lock, he noticed that the
door was slightly open. "Strange," he thought, "I could have
sworn that I had locked it."
Sliding his keys into his jacket pocket, Raith slowly
pushed the door open. His mind raced with strange thoughts
and questions as he passed the threshold of his apartment.
The lights were on, the furniture still in place, and nothing
seemed out of the ordinary, yet Raith was getting frantic,
for Tonya was no where to be found. His delusive state
caused him to jump at the slightest thought of noise. He
searched the entire apartment for Tonya to no avail. Rubbing
his chin and trying to calm down, Raith paced about the
kitchen wondering what could have happened to Tonya. As the
initial shock passed, he noticed a small piece of paper lying
on the kitchen counter. He slowly picked it up and
examined it. It was a piece of cardstock paper about 3" x 5"
with one word written on it in red marker: Totentanz.
The mere sight of the word made Raith jump. "Why her?
Why now? Did someone find out?" he thought as his mind
raced. Raith ran down to the basement, locking the door
behind him. He flipped on the light switch and moved
straight to the computer terminal on his desk. He pulled the
back panel off of the monitor and took out a small disk.
Holding it in his hand, a glint of power could be seen
glinting in his eyes. "Thank goodness. Not all is lost as
long as you are safe," he thought as he put the disk safely
away in its hiding place. He flicked off the light switch
and went upstairs.
After locking the door, he went into the bedroom and let
his mind loose. His cranium was on overdrive as he thought
of Tonya, the piece of paper, and his pet project on the
computer disk. As he drifted in and out of consciousness,
images raced past him, just out of reach, his body tossing
and turning in mental discomfort. Then he began to dream.
He dreamt of massive swirls of color mixing around in front
of his eyes gradually taking shape into a massive, red demon
who sat in front of Raith exposing a mouthful of fangs as he
smiled quietly. The demon reached out to Raith and grabbed
him by the throat, lifting him off the ground, always
maintaining that hideous smile. Raith tried to resist, but
the monster's grasp was too powerful. He gasped for air as
he was lifted off the ground. The demon, instead of crushing
Raith in its incredible grasp, set him gently on top of its
head. Raith took a deep breath, gathering his composure
while rubbing his throat, and looked at the scene that lay
before him. Out stretched a barren land with a lone building
in the distance. Raith squinted as his eyes strained to
identify the building. It looked familiar, but he couldn't
put his finger on where he had seen it before. His mind
raced as he tried to make out its details. Suddenly, the
whole area in front of him burst into flames reaching up
toward the sky. The heat was so intense that he screamed in
pain. But the pain passed quickly and he ventured to open
his eyes again. A wall of flame as high as the eye could see
stood before him. As he watched, he saw an image approaching
through the mass of plasma. Raith's eyes strained yet again
as he watched the approaching object increase in size. His
eyes grew wide as a black, metallic, skull pushed its way
through the flames and straight toward Raith. He awoke with
a scream, covered in sweat. It was 6:30 on Tuesday morning
and Tonya was still not back.
Raith showered and got ready for work. He locked the
door behind him as he left down the street, the image of that
skull locked in his mind like a brand on cattle. "What the
heck is going on," he thought to himself as he passed down
the dreary streets that weaved their way to the building he
worked in. He sat down at his desk in a fog of wonder and
silently, almost methodically, flipped on the switch for his
computer terminal and went to work.
In another part of the city, a man laughed.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 2 - Everyone's Gotta Die Sometime
Martin DeSoto was a man of power. He could intimidate
the best of them with a massive physique and deadeye aim with
his Armalite 44 handgun. His tattoos and scars excentuated
the aura of foreboding around him. His eyes, Toshiro's with
Infrared and Lowlight vision adaptors, were always scanning
for danger in a slow, methodical manner. With a snap of his
fingers, two of his bodyguards appeared noiselessly to either
side of him. He cracked a semi-grin and took a step toward
Torn's Flower Shop.
David Torn was busy making a new arrangement when he
heard the shop's door bell ring. "I'll be right there," he
said as he finished straightening out the floral design. He
could not see who had entered, his lack of visibility caused
by a large shelving unit in the center of the store. He
finished playing with his creation and walked around the
corner to the front of the shop. That's when all hell broke
loose. He barely had time to react as he saw the two thugs
with Minami submachineguns in each hand start to pump a
maelstrom of lead in his direction. He felt the impact of
every bullet pumping a staccato hammering across his body.
He fell backward into the large shelving unit, burying
himself in flowers in the process. DeSoto walked forward,
picked off one of the fake flowers, a white rose, and calmly
pinned the flower to his lapel. With a turn, he was gone,
Torn's body leaking life-blood on the tiled floor. The door
closed with an electronic beep and all was silent.
* * * * * * * *
As Rage walked into the bar, his nostrils filled with
the smell of smoke and sweat. He moved through the heaving
crowd of dancing flesh over to the bar. McDay, the
bartender, smiled and set a drink down by Rage, the servos in
his metallic arm clicking as he did so.
"Anything new," Rage inquired.
"Not since Blazer's team was flatlined down by Arasaka,"
replied McDay.
"Yeah, I heard that it was the biggest fuckin' firefight
since that cyberpsycho team a few months back. Must've been
one hell of a show," said Rage as he shook his head slowly.
"Kinda regret I wasn't there, ya know."
"The cops said there were bodies piled all over the damn
place," McDay said shaking his head. "Took over two stinkin'
hours to get all the blood cleaned up, man. It was a mess.
But I heard that the Blazer really kicked some Arasaka ass
before he went down. Those Arasaka boys will be lickin'
their wounds for a while."
Rage swirled his finger around in his drink and stared
into the glass for a second, raising it, saying, "Here's to
Blazer. The guy who had the balls to take on Arasaka, no
matter what the cost." He raised his drink as McDay nodded.
Silently, he thought, "We'll get 'em for ya, Blazer. Eat
shit and die, Saburo Arasaka."
After a moment of silence, McDay said, "Yeah, uh, well,
things have been pretty quiet around here lately."
"Sure have," said Rage as he sipped his drink,
remembering Blazer's cocky attitude, the thing that got him
killed in the end. His anger and frustration grew as the
picture of Arasaka Tower filled his head. What he would give
to be able to topple that place. He relaxed a bit and set
the empty glass down on the table. "Some day," he thought to
himself.
* * * * * * * *
Raith's mind raced as he thought about Tonya. The
question was not who took her, rather where they took her.
The note was a calling card left by the Blood Roses, a
boostergang that enjoyed spending their nights spreading
violence on the streets and dancing their drugged-up worries
away at the bar/club called The Totentanz, a place famous for
booster activity where a body count of 20 for a night was
considered to be low. Raith gritted his teeth, desperately
trying to think of a way to get revenge. Boosters didn't
normally treat their prisoners with any respect or kindness.
Their quarry, as they called it, was treated as a piece of
flesh, open for violation in any manner possible.
Once again, the vision of the skull coming forward
through the flames entered his head. "What was it," he
thought, but couldn't quite place it. The building behind it
also eluded Raith's memory. He slammed his fist on his desk
in frustration, leaned forward, picked up the phone and
dialed a number.
"McDay's," came the voice from the other end.
"Rage," Raith said.
"Hold on," said the voice just before the receiver was
muffled, preventing Raith from hearing anything on the other
end.
After a short amount of time, Raith heard the receiver
being picked up on the other end. Rage answered, "I'm here.
What is it?"
"It's Raith, your old friend. I have a favor to ask of
you."
"I don't have time for this, man. You know how much
fuckin' trouble I could have got in 'cause of you?"
"Shut the hell up, Rage. You owe me one and you know
it. Now you're gonna listen up and do what I say, or you'll
really be up shit creek without a paddle, you hear me?"
There was a pause on the other end. Rage replied,
"Yeah, I hear you. What's your terms?"
"Meet at my place, ten o'clock. We'll talk there."
Raith hung up the receiver and leaned back in his chair,
remembering when he had pulled Rage out of that car, just
before it blew. Sure, Rage had lost his leg in the process,
but he just bought another one. Rage was one of those people
who believed that metal was better than meat, anyway. After
all, what was more important, a leg or your life? Rage owed
him for that, and it was payback time. Raith rubbed the
interface plugs on his wrist and covered them up with his
shirt sleeve. "Tonight," he thought, "you come alive." The
image of a smile was seen crossing his face for just an
instant, replaced by the solemn mask he usually wore.
* * * * * * * *
The Totentanz was having one major party. Rockerboy
Altus May was working the crowd up into a frenzy with his
techno-dance music and fast-paced lyrics. The place was
packed, the only open areas by the elevators and near some of
the walls. Mathias looked over the crowd, his hand slipping
into his jacket for an instant to feel the cool metal of his
Armalite pistol, his good luck charm. He could see members
of the Blood Roses and Slaughterhouse gangs dancing about and
wondered how long it would be until the shooting started.
Luckly, the Blood Roses and The Slaughterhouse were not
currently at war with each other. After some major losses
were inflicted on both sides, they called a truce. Little
did The Slaughterhouse leaders know, the Blood Roses were
almost wiped out, but the truce saved them and the two gangs
haven't had any contact barring small skirmishes for a while.
But this was Slaughterhouse territory, and the Blood Roses
were definitely aware of the fact. It was only a matter of
time before something went down, and Mathias knew it.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 3 - Just Like the Good Old Days
Raith went home after worked and waited for Rage to
arrive. He had a few hours, so he went into the bedroom and
pulled a chest out from under his bed. He closed the shades
and made sure the door to the apartment was locked before
slowly opening it. It creaked with age and some dust fell
off of it as he lifted the lid. His eyes widened and a smile
appeared on his face, a smile of power. He carefully removed
the contents of the trunk and placed the items on his bed.
His memory flashed as he touched each one. When he was
finished, he looked at the bed and the equipment lying on top
of it. A jet black Kevlar vest, a neatly folded longcoat, a
Militech Arms Avenger handgun, and a ZetaTech Parraline
computer interface deck. He rubbed his hand over the smooth,
black surface of the deck. "It's been a while, friend," he
said softly as he took the deck downstairs, shutting the door
behind him. He spent a while organizing his computer
equipment and programs for the job that lay ahead of him when
he heard a knock on the door.
He closed up the basement and went to greet his visitor.
Rage was waiting as he opened the door, his head turned away
from Raith. Standing about six feet tall, he was dressed in
black leather pants with a matching jacket, his black hair in
a lay-over, quasi-spike style on top, held stiff with plenty
of gel, and long in the back. Raith could barely make out
the shape of a handgun under the side of the jacket. Rage's
boots clicked quietly on the cement of the porch as he moved,
their steel razortips glistening in the dark. His muscles
bulged and rippled underneath his tight clothes, and his face
remained ever calm, eyes hidden behind a pair of
mirrorshades. As Raith opened the door, Rage turned, his
body moving with a fluid grace, his mind in total control of
his body and emotions. Raith motioned for him to enter, Rage
nodding and complying, his boots lightly scraping the
concrete as he moved. Raith closed the door behind him and
locked it. "Let's move into the kitchen," said Raith as Rage
looked around.
"Sure, whatever," replied Rage, the servos in his leg
and arm clicked and hummed as he moved with the grace of a
professional killer.
Raith told Rage everything that related to the
disappearance of Tonya and asked if he had heard anything.
Rage shook his head and Raith continued.
"I need your help to find her and get her back," said
Raith, a tone of concern obvious in his voice.
"What info you got so far," asked Rage, coolly.
"Just this," said Raith as he pulled out the 3x5
notecard with Totentanz written on it in red marker.
Rage shook his head and said, "Shit. This is great,
just great. The Slaughterhouse. Just what I need."
"Would you stop your complaining? Now don't you see why
I need you? Slaughterhouse territory doesn't have a lost and
found, ya know."
Rage nodded, slowly clenching his cyberhand and then
releasing it, tiny motors whirring as he did so. "I would
have to owe you one, wouldn't I," he asked himself silently.
The light reflected off his chrome arm and leg in intricate
patterns, changing as his appendages moved. "What sort of
stuff you got?"
Raith frowned. "I have my deck, a vest, and a gun.
That's it. You know I haven't been active for a while and you
know why. How could I keep a cover if I was out buyin'
gear?"
"Relax, man. I was just curious. I sure hope you've
got some cash, though. 'Cause you ain't gettin' nothin'
without the dough, man. There's no way I'm goin' in
Slaughterhouse turf naked. I wanna be decked out, so you're
gonna need to get me the cash before we go out. Understand?"
"Don't worry, I can get some fast since I most likely
don't have enough right now. That covers the equipment, but
what about manpower. You know of anyone else that can help?"
"I'll check around. See who's doin' what and who can be
trusted enough to help. They'll need to paid, though. Just
remember, I help you get Tonya back and I'm gone. That's it.
And after that, I'll owe you nothing. Understand?"
Raith nodded, "Yeah. That's fine. Do what you have to
do and get back to me tomorrow. I'll see what I can do about
a small cash grant by then. Good day."
"Later," Rage said as he got up to leave. "Let me know
when you get the dough, and I'll go do some shoppin'." Rage
left the apartment, disappearing into the shadows in the
process. Raith locked the door behind him and took the
remaining gear into the basement, where he would be spending
the rest of the night. He locked the basement door behind
him and sat down with his deck in front of him. He slowly
pulled his interface cables out from a drawer, feeling their
smooth, flexible texture in the process, and carefully
plugged himself in. With a flip of a switch, his mind
plunged into the net.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 4 - Money for Nothin'
Raith felt his stomach leap into his throat as he
entered the net. At first there was static, but then the
image of the net grid became clear. He examined the scene
around him, just like the real world, except the scenery was
different - electronically reproduced. He took a deep breath
and moved down the grid toward the corporate sector. Along
the way, he could see several icons of other netrunners
passing by relatively fast. None had bothered him so far,
however. He made his way to the corporate grid and could see
the Pacifica Bank logo in front of him. Calling up his
Invisibility program, his logo disappeared and he moved next
to the logo. Pacifica Bank was a tough place to crack,
filled with Black ICE and all sorts of self defense programs.
This corporation didn't like petty thieves coming and going
as they pleased. Pacifica Bank wasn't overly powerful, like
some of the other, larger banks, but still had some strong
programs hanging around the memory banks. Raith knew this,
but he had brought some help along with him just for this
job. Speaking a command in his mind, Raith called up his
Balrog demon program, complete with code-breaking and anti-
program programs. A huge, male figure dressed in futuristic
black armor appeared before him. It held a flaming sabre in
one hand, the other ending in several glowing tentacles. His
eyes glowed red as it said with a hiss, "Long time no see."
Raith nodded and started looking for a way into the place.
"Code gate," asked the Balrog. "It would be easier to get
into, but most likely heavily guarded," responded Raith.
"We'll try it." Raith wandered around the area until they
found a code gate. He activated his CodeBreaker program and
watched as a glowing key formed in front of him, slowly
moving into the gate's door. Raith ran a Speedtrap program
while he was waiting to see if any hostile programs were
around his area. Sure enough, there was something waiting
behind the gate. Before the CodeBreaker was finished, Raith
moved away from the door, putting the Balrog in front of it
and activating its Killer program. The Balrog transformed
into a massive, metallic samurai armed with a glowing katana.
The gate disappeared as the CodeBreaker finished its job and
the Balrog raised its katana expectantly. Sitting behind the
gate was a stout, steel dog - a Pit Bull. The samurai leapt
on the dog before it could sound an alarm, destroying the
program as it sliced the dog in half. The Balrog transformed
back into its demon form and followed Raith in through the
gate. "Good, we're inside," thought Raith. "He was too
easy," complained the Balrog in his raspy voice. "Don't
worry, I'm sure we'll run into some heavier stuff before we
leave," answered Raith. The Balrog's eyes glowed a little
brighter and a smile crossed its face.
After moving around for a few minutes without any
encounters, Raith found the section marked Transactions. He
set the Balrog to guard him and went to work. Within a few
seconds, he had transferred $100,000 from a corporate
account, found the signature of the bank president, and
signed his name on a transfer check for the total amount
transferred with a flourish. He then moved that check to his
account, completing the transaction. "That should be it," he
thought and the Balrog nodded in acknowledgment. "Easy come,
easy go," hissed the Balrog. Raith grinned as he worked his
way to the gate through which he entered. Around the corner,
just out of sight of the gate, a huge, black, metal wolf with
flames running over its skin jumped out at Raith, its
metallic jaws dripping with saliva. The Hellhound was fast,
but not fast enough as Raith once again activated the
Balrog's Killer routine. With a flash, the samurai struck
the Hellhound, reducing it to a dust of pixels. "Well done.
That was a rather strong beast there," said Raith. The
Balrog simply grinned, its pride evident. "I like a
challenge now and then," it said. Raith smiled and said,
"Now let's get outta here." Raith left Pacifica Bank,
deactivated his demon, and logged out.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 5 - Silent Death
Del was on a high like never before. He and his fellow
Slaughterhouse gang members were having a blast at the
Totentanz getting wasted on everything they could get their
hands on. Del didn't have a care in the world right now,
until one of the Blood Roses happened to bump into him while
dancing. "Watch it, punk," yelled Del as he shoved the kid
away from him and into a mass of people. The kid turned
around, a glint in his eye, and slowly raised his fists.
"You wanna fight, wimp," yelled Del in a hallucinogenic rage
as he extended his metal rippers. The kid stared at the
metal protruding from Del's hand, felt a pang of fear, and
lowered his hands, turning away from Del. "Didn't yo' momma
ever tell you it's rude to turn your back on someone you're
talkin' to," asked Del. "Somebody should teach you some
manners, shit for brains." The kid turned to face Del, the
glint of bright steel catching his eye before his chest
erupted in blood and intense, white-hot pain. His pupils
shrunk and his face went white as the near lifeless body
slumped down to the ground, blood pouring from a massive
intrusion in its chest cavity. Del grinned the grin of
death, letting the thrill of the kill overtake him, as he
retracted his rippers with an audible schink. The crowd
swelled, consuming the body that lay before it with a total
lack of emotion and ruthless efficiency. Del's mind raced
with adrenaline and the Dorph he was on, causing him to
gyrate like a madman possessed. From across the room,
Mathias turned his attention back to the crowd to watch for
trouble. A quick scan revealed none, just another night on
the job.
* * * * * * * *
DeSoto bowed before the dark, hooded figure sitting at
the desk in front of him. The room was lit by a single bulb
hanging from the ceiling, yet the figure in front of DeSoto
was not illuminated. DeSoto swallowed and licked his lips,
trying to get some moisture on his parched lips. Meetings
with the boss always made him nervous. "It is done, sir,"
DeSoto said.
The figure nodded calmly and pushed a small piece of
paper forward along the desk. DeSoto took the piece of
paper, read it, and set it back on the desk. The figure
pulled out a lighter and burned the paper as DeSoto turned to
leave. Stepping outside, DeSoto put on his mirrorshades and
walked down the alley into the noisy bazaar.
The sounds of activity filled the air as he walked down
the street past vendors selling everything you could think of
and more. Shady characters with hats tipped down, covering
the eyes, lingered in alleyways, smoking or chatting with
contacts. Information was as if not more valuable than money
these days, and DeSoto knew it. Slipping past a stand
selling the latest in designer hair colorings, he entered a
dimly lit alleyway littered with trash. Rats scurried about
from shadow to shadow, trying to find some food for the day.
All was quiet in the alley, in contrast to the excitement of
the bazaar he had just left. After walking down the alley a
ways, DeSoto spotted what he was looking for. Leaning
against the brick wall of a building stood a short man,
dressed in a black longcoat and matching hat. Even in this
dimly lit area, DeSoto could see light flashing off of his
mirrored eyes. That was one of his most chilling aspects,
those metallic eyes. He had given up his human eyes a long
time ago, content that the replacements would pay their way
in due time. He was right.
As DeSoto approached, the figure remained motionless,
leaning against the wall. DeSoto could make out the lines in
his face, caused by the stress of his life. He'd been
through more than most people could imagine, yet somehow
managed to stay in complete control of himself and many
others. "Amazing," thought DeSoto as he nodded in reverence.
"Still controlling, aren't you, Sanchez," said DeSoto.
The figure nodded and slowly raised his head, exposing a
pair of chromed eyes that stared straight at DeSoto. "What
do you think," replied Sanchez, a faint smile crossing his
face.
DeSoto grinned and said, "I thought so. I've got a
question for you."
"Answers come in varying degrees, as I'm sure you know.
The more you pay, the more I say."
"Of course," replied DeSoto as he pulled out a thick
roll of dollar bills out of his jacket and handed them to
Sanchez. Sanchez flipped the roll with his finger,
estimating the number in the process. Satisfied, he slipped
the money into his pocket and returned his attention to
DeSoto.
"What's the question?"
"What do you know about Assassin?
Sanchez remained motionless, and his chrome eyes
prevented DeSoto from seeing an obvious jump in his attention
level. "Assassin," said calmly as he rubbed his chin. "Let
me see, the program, correct?"
DeSoto nodded in approval. "Correct."
"Not much info goin' around about it here."
"I don't have time for this shit! Just tell me what you
know."
Sanchez's featureless face calmly stared into DeSoto's.
"Relax. Here's what I know: Assassin will mess you up big
time. It can trace independently of the user, acting as a
free entity inside the net. It has built in invisibility and
stealth programs that are way advanced compared to anything
I've ever seen or heard of. Assassin is a form of Black ICE,
but rumor has it that it doesn't follow patterns like normal
programs. From what I've heard, it doesn't always kill the
victim right away, but can wait around. Granted these
reports are all very recent, and therefore it is still not
known what its true capabilities are."
"Of course. Thanks for your time. Oh, by the way,"
said DeSoto, remembering another point of interest, "heard
anything new about the Slaughterhouse?" He gave him another
stack of dollar bills, incentive for answering the question
correctly and informatively.
"Why yes, as a matter of fact, I have," replied Sanchez.
"It seems that they have been trying to work out a deal with
Arasaka concerning the capture of some "property" they seem
to have stumbled upon. I know for a fact that they have been
holding negotiations with each other, amazing as it may seem,
about the possibility of a transaction."
DeSoto nodded, using the recorder built into his ear to
make a tape of the conversation for later review.
"And," continued Sanchez, "I just might know some
details about these negotiations."
DeSoto sighed, reaching into his pocket for more money.
Sanchez stopped him, saying, "Not money. I can get enough of
that through other channels."
"Then what's your price," asked DeSoto, raising his
eyebrow.
"Just a hit. Flatline a guy named David Saland; works
for Arasaka."
"You want me to off some guy instead of give you money?
Why is he so important?"
"He fucked one of my informants over big time, and
someone who fucks with one of my people is fucking with me."
"Why not send out some of your people?"
"Look, you want the info or not," asked Sanchez, visibly
irritated at DeSoto's sudden interest in his affairs.
DeSoto held his hands up in front of him, signaling for
an apology. "Sorry, I was just curious as to the importance
of this guy, that's all."
Sanchez breathed deeply, washing the frustration from
his face in the process. "I figured you could do it without
attracting too much attention to yourself. Also, I don't
want it known that I ordered the hit. After looking at your
background, I knew that you would be able to do it, with the
right incentive, of course," he said, grinning. DeSoto
nodded as Sanchez continued, "The guys who meet with the
Slaughterhouse are Arasaka agents, and all of them stop by
the L'Entranger, a bar frequented by corpers, for a few
drinks to relax normally around one o'clock in the afternoon
or so."
DeSoto nodded and said, "Thanks for the tip. Oh, and
consider David Saland flatlined."
Sanchez just leaned his head down, his hat covering his
chrome eyes, and remained motionless against the wall.
DeSoto turned to leave, his longcoat swirling around his
body. He was already planning out his next move before
he got back to the bazaar.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 6 - The Awakening
Even with the phone's electronic ringing device turned
all the way down, Rage's boosted hearing could pick up the
sound. It helped to prevent people from knowing that you had
a call coming in. After all, you never know who might want
to place a little bug on your system. Rage reached over and
grabbed the receiver, picking it up quietly. "Yeah," he
said.
Raith answered on the other end, "I've got what you
need. Meet me, same place, tonight." The line went dead and
Rage hung up the receiver, resuming his previous activity of
lying in bed and thinking about the mission ahead. He had
dealt with the Slaughterhouse before, and still had the
scars. They were a group of crazed animals, packing as many
razors as they could put in or on their body. With no
apparent morals and a total disregard for human life, the
Slaughterhouse was a force to be reckoned with. But
something didn't fit in Raith's story. Why was the apartment
in such good condition, make that perfect condition? That
was not booster style at all. Was there something he was
missing? The idea was there, the tendrils of his mind
reaching out for it like hands in the darkness, but to no
avail. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and
tried to get some sleep.
* * * * * * * *
Raith hung up the phone and went back to his computer.
He saved what he had been working on and turned the terminal
off. Pulling out his interface cables and his cyberdeck, he
could already feel the adrenaline begin to pump throughout
his body. His mouth went a little dry with excitement as he
hooked himself up. With a press of the GO switch, his mind
lurched into the net.
"Now it really gets good," thought Raith, as he mentally
punched in the commands to activate his pet, the construct
wrapping around him in a tempest of cloud-like colors.
Within a few moments, it was ready, ready to be unleashed
upon this world. The thoughts of revenge, combined with the
loss of Tonya, had further fueled his efforts to get this
project done, to inflict retribution upon those who had made
him hide away from the net for so long. No longer would he
hide, for the time had come to once again display his return
into the domain from which he was conceived. For the past
few months, he had been plotting his vengeance on those who
had allied against him. Now, he would irradicate them with a
brute show of force and a brilliant show of intellect.
people from Sendai-Joshoru, Militech, Arasaka, ZetaTech, and
the list went on, all people or corporations who were going
to feel his wrath, his vengeance, his power. As these
thoughts raced through his mind, he ran his program, the
program he called Deathwish.
Before him, a mass of images swarmed together,
congealing into a formless glow. The glow expanded steadily
until it encompassed Raith, temporarily blinding him. As his
senses cleared, he saw his creation sitting before him,
crouched over in a fetal position. Then, it moved. First, a
twitch of an arm, then a leg, until finally, looming before
him, stood a magnificent red demon, standing twenty feet
tall. The demon grabbed Raith by the throat, squeezing his
air passages shut with the barest of strength. But instead
of sending Raith to meet his maker, the demon picked him up
and set him on his shoulders, beside his head. "I have given
you life, Deathwish," said Raith, "now deal your weapon of
death upon those who have allied against us." The demon
nodded slowly, puffs of
smoke and flame shooting out of its nostrils on occasion.
"It shall be done, my creator," replied the demon in a low,
monstrous voice. "Yes," said Raith, "it shall." With that,
the demon set Raith on the ground once again, and wrapped its
arms around itself. Within moments, its body began to change
shape, shrinking down and altering its form to that of
business man of the late 80's. How contrasting this new
image was compared to the enormously powerful demon that had
just been standing in front of Raith. The man smiled a smile
lacking of emotion and slowly walked away. Raith's job was
complete and Deathwish, a complete and operational, yet
obedient, entity of Artificial Intelligence would avenge the
wrongs done to Raith. Watching the man disappear in the
distance, Raith checked his jacket, carefully noting the
presence of a small mirror. "Insurance," he thought to
himself. Satisfied, he jumped out of the net, and back into
the slower world of flesh.
In another part of the city, someone was crying.
* * * * * * * *
It was about 2:00 in the morning, and Del was as awake
as ever. His chemically induced high was still pumping
through his veins, amplifying his senses. His eyes scanned
the area rapidly as he staggered onward to the place
he called home. It was the center of the Slaughterhouse
turf, with a basement set up for quick housing of gang
members. There were many smaller "homes" throughout the
city, but this was the one Del preferred. He moved down the
streets without a care, his body caught in a massive strobe
light effect from the plethora of artificial lights shining
between buildings, billboards, and the like. One look into
his scanning, pale, blue eyes was all that was needed. For
in his eyes lurked that infamous look, the look of death.
When he reached the building, known as The Pit, his
world was swimming before his eyes, and wandered to a corner
in the bar area to sleep. But before he reached his
destination, he thought he saw, through his distorted
perception, a piece of blonde flesh elsewhere in the room.
He popped his rippers in excitement and closed in on the
female form that was slumped over in a booth. He reached out
his sharpened steel fingers to touch the flesh that lay
before him just as a boot flew up to meet his face, returning
him to reality with a thud. Del's body flipped backwards,
blood spraying out in an arced stream emminating from his
facial area. He landed on the floor, his back smacking the
wood hard as his flesh made contact with it. His hand
instinctively went to the pain, and he could feel the warm
crimson rivulets running down his face. "Get up you piece of
worthless shit," growled Metagon. "You know da rules: no
touchin' the trophy! If you would get off that shit and get
your ass in gear, you would know what was goin' on! Go crawl
into a corner and get some shut-eye," ordered Metagon, his
chrome body parts shining in the dim light of the bar as he
turned slowly to leave. Del shook his head, blood still
running down his face from his swollen lips and mashed nose.
He groggily obeyed, grumbling as he tromped over to a corner,
collapsing into a comatose state almost as soon as he hit the
ground. Metagon slowly scanned the room, his improved vision
noticing everything. He slowly sat down on a wooden chair,
its legs creaking beneath his immense weight, and resumed his
guard duty. As he sat there silhouetted in the pale light,
he could hear sirens in the distance.
Her eyes were open, but she was not in control of her
actions. Drugged by her captors, Tonya was on an eternal
trip, color swirling fractally in front of her. She could
not move her appendages or turn off the sickening slide show
in her mind. Exhausted in her current state, she tried to
relax and get some sleep, if that was possible with the
myriad of visions racing through her head. She closed her
eyes and prayed that it would end soon.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 7 - The Nice Thing About Money is Spending It
Rage gathered his gear and began the trek over to
Raith's apartment, a journey of about 15 minutes using
various forms of transportation, in this case, a cab. Rage
tipped the driver as he let him out about a block away from
Raith's place. He walked slowly down the street, eyes
scanning for signs of danger, his right hand resting gently
on the butt of his handgun, feeling the cold touch of the
gun. He arrived at his destination without any problems and
knocked on the door, still looking around for trouble. The
door opened silently and Rage proceeded to enter the
building.
Raith locked the door behind Rage and motioned for him
to move to the kitchen. Rage nodded and gracefully walked
through the family room, Raith following him. Raith watched
his smooth actions, his cautious steps. "The trademarks of a
professional killer," thought Raith, "Good thing he's on my
side."
Rage sat down at the kitchen table, Raith taking the
chair opposite his. Raith reached into his shirt pocket and
pulled out an envelope. He set it on the table in front of
Rage and said, "Open it. I'm sure you'll be pleased." Rage
carefully opened the envelope, revealing the mass of bills
stuffed inside. Raith just barely saw his eyes widen for a
split second as the sight of money clicked in his mind. Rage
quickly counted the bills, stuffed them back into the
envelope, and slid the envelope into his inside jacket
pocket.
"Good. This'll help. I'll buy what we need and get
back to you."
"By tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Geez, you're in a hurry," Rage said, shaking
his head. "All right, It'll be done."
"Then meet me at Manhattan's at 8:00."
"Got it," said Rage as he turned to leave.
"Any news about Tonya," said Raith, a genuine tone of
concern in his voice.
Without turning, Rage said, "Nothing new." He could
feel the worry emminating from Raith and he quietly left the
house, Raith still sitting in the kitchen. Rage heard the
barely audible click of the bolt turning as Raith locked the
door. He decided to go straight home and get some sleep.
After all, he would have to get up early tomorrow and get to
work gathering the needed supplies. For a second, he could
feel the pang of fear and anxiety that Raith felt, but it
only stayed for a fleeting moment. His brain was working in
high gear, thinking of what was needed, as he locked his
hotel door behind him, turning on the security system at the
same time.
* * * * * * * *
The next morning, Rage's alarm went off, barely audible
to human ears, and he methodically looked at the digital time
display in the lower corner of his vision. It read 6:00 A.M.
After about half an hour, he was ready for the day and headed
out the door. He decided to stop at the New Harbor Mallplex,
third level, a store called Morgan's. Morgan's was the place
to go if you needed public-access weapons at reasonable
prices. Rage walked in the store nonchalantly, nodding to
the clerk as he did. The clerk returned the nod and went
back to his work as Rage browsed around. He passed racks of
automatic weapons, mostly small caliber guns, and moved to
the special equipment section. Some blocks of C6 plastic
explosive and various grenades caught his eye. He gently
picked up the C6 and grabbed several of the grenades,
carefully choosing the types. He dumped the equipment on the
counter and grabbed some backpacks, carrybags, and other
types of standard equipment, making quite a pile sitting
there before the clerk. The clerk rang up the total and Rage
flipped out his wallet, peeling away several bills from a
stack and sliding them over the counter toward the man. The
clerk motioned for Rage to take his change, but Rage just
smiled and said, "Keep it."
"Will that be all," the clerk said as he packaged Rage's
purchase.
"Well, I was wonderin' if you had any antiques in this
place."
"Well, there's a nice selection in the back room. Just
go through that door there and ask for Dirk," the clerk said
as he pointed through a door behind the counter.
Rage nodded as he slipped the clerk a twenty dollar
bill. The clerk smiled and calmly stuffed the bill in his
pocket as if this sort of occurrence happened everyday. Rage
slung his bag of goodies over his shoulder and walked through
the door.
There were boxes stacked to the ceiling on both sides of
the "corridor" he walked down. At the turn, he ran into a
man holding a FN-RAL assault rifle, the barrel aimed at
Rage's chest. "Whatcha need, chummer," asked the guard.
"I'm lookin' for Dirk. Know where he is," asked Rage.
The guard eyed Rage carefully and lowered the gun, his
finger still on the trigger. Rage calmly stared into the
man's eyes, not showing the slightest bit of fear in the
process. The man rubbed his chin and motioned for Rage to
continue down the hall. "You'll find what you're lookin' for
down there."
Rage nodded and walked around the guard, gritting his
teeth in his mind at the thought of the word "chummer." "If
only that punk of a guard would learn who he is dealing
with," he thought, mentally shaking his head. "He's not
worth my time. No need to let a word, derogatory as it may
be, ruin a deal. Not yet, at least," he rationalized. Rage
walked down the pathway until it came to a open area where
the boxes had been moved away a little. There was a table
and some chairs in the center of the area, but no lights were
on. Using his enhanced vision, Rage scanned the area in
Infrared and noted the two humans standing against the far
wall, weapons apparently drawn. Rage slowly raised his hands
and said, "I'm lookin' for Dirk. You know him?" In a
second, the lights flashed on, bright orbs burning at Rage's
retinas. "Thank goodness for Anti-Dazzle implants," he
thought as his eyes automatically adjusted to the new light
level.
"Dirk isn't here right now, but I believe that I will be
able to help you find what you need," said an older man
dressed in a nice suit as he walked into the room from the
far end. He sat down at the table and motioned for Rage to
do the same. Rage complied, adjusting the chair and scanning
the room at the same time. "You don't have to worry, the
guards won't do anything without my command," said the man in
a comforting tone. "My name is Morgan," he said as he
extended his hand to shake Rage's. Rage returned the shake
and relaxed a bit, his eyes scanning the area for other
people from behind his mirrorshades.
"I was lookin' for some antiques," said Rage.
"What sort of antiques," inquired Morgan as he raised
his eyebrow.
"Well, not really antiques, more like hard to find
stuff, ya know," Rage replied.
"I'll need you to be more specific," Morgan said calmly.
"I need some high quality assault rifles for a heavy
mission."
Morgan grinned, showing a full set of shining white
teeth, and said, "Well, I'm sure you'll find quite a nice
selection in the main shop. Good day, sir," he said as he
began to stand up.
"Not so fast," said Rage as he slapped down a thick
stack of several hundred dollar bills on the table with an
audible thud. Morgan, hearing the mass of bills hit the
table, turned around and sat down slowly. "I take it I have
your attention now," said Rage as Morgan got comfortable.
Rage continued, "Now, I need at least five FN-RAL's, complete
with ten clips each. And don't forget to pitch in an Arasaka
Assault Shot for those close encounters."
Morgan nodded, motioning for one of his bodyguards to
jot down the order on a pad of paper. "Is there anything
else you might require," he asked.
"Not yet, but if I figure somethin' out, I'll let you
know," Rage said with a grin. "And I need the stuff by
tonight, by 4:00. I'll pick it up then."
"We don't do rush orders here," began Morgan, but was
interrupted by the sight of several more large bills being
set on the table.
"Relax, there's more cash on the way. Enough to make it
quite worth your while."
Morgan grinned, flashing his pearly mouthful once more.
"I like to hear that. It'll be ready at 4:00 then."
"Good," replied Rage as he stood to leave.
"Oh," said Morgan, "I might have another item of
interest for you." He snapped his fingers and one of the
bodyguards disappeared behind some crates. He returned
shortly with a metallic crate about a meter or so long. He
set in on the table between Rage and Morgan and went back to
his post. "Go ahead, open it," said Morgan with a smile.
Rage quickly scanned the box for visible signs of heat
or other giveaways that would indicate a trap, but found
none. He carefully slid the lid of the crate off and moved
away the packaging material to examine the equipment inside.
As he began to pull away the wrappings, his face erupted in
a smile like a child on Christmas morning. He gently pulled
the weapon out of its box and let it rest in hist hands,
feeling the weight of it pull his arms down. He looked at
Morgan and grinned, "Militech RPG-A. I like it. How much?"
Morgan smiled and said, "I figured you would. It's
$3000 with 3 shots, IHEAP rounds."
"IHEAP," interrupted Rage questioningly as he raised an
eyebrow.
"Incendiary High Explosive Armor Piercing ammunition.
Good stuff. It's what they used in the Central American
Wars. Figured it might just give you that edge you need."
Rage was active in the Central American Wars,
assassination squad, and didn't ever remember seeing any ammo
like this there. "Just tryin' to jack the price," he thought
to himself. Rage nodded and set the weapon back into its
crate like a mother laying her baby to sleep. "I can play
along," he thought, "time for a little bargaining." "$1500,"
he said without looking up.
"$2500," countered Morgan.
"$2000," said Rage.
"$2250 and that's final," replied Morgan.
"Deal," said Rage, shaking Morgan's hand to finalize it.
"I'll be here at four. And I'll have the money then. Keep
what's here as a "down payment" for your services," Rage said
as he turned to leave.
"Pleasure doin' business with you, sir," said Morgan as
Rage disappeared from view.
Rage left the mall and headed back to his apartment,
unloading his purchases and hiding them in various locked and
trapped safes throughout the room. "Next step... go cash a
big check and hope it doesn't bounce," he thought as he left
for the bank.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 8 - You and What Army
Rage walked to the front of the 1st CityBank Tower
shortly after leaving his home, only a taxi cab and a short
walk away. The building had an exterior consisting of black
granite and glass. Rage didn't even bother to examine the
outside fully, he knew that the largest bank in the city
would have some pretty tight security. He walked through
a revolving glass door into the lavish lobby of the bank, the
sight overwhelming him as it did any other time. The lobby
was furnished with lush carpeting, wall-sized windows, and
comfortable chairs for people waiting to be served. There
were real potted plants in the corners of the room along with
ceiling fans above to help circulate the air. The air was
conditioned at a comfortable temperature of 72 degrees.
Waiting for an open teller window, Raith breathed deeply,
inhaling the pleasant aroma of cleanliness associated with
the building. Within a few minutes, a young woman dressed in
the typical bank uniform, black skirt and white blouse,
called to Rage, "May I help you?" Her words flowed out like
a melodic stream, reaching down into Rage's inner being and
touching his emotions, filling him with a pleasant feeling.
As Rage approached, he pulled the check out from his
jacket pocket and read the tag on her blouse, noting that her
name was Marci. "Hi, I'd like to cash a check," Rage said as
his eyes examined her from behind mirrorshades. She smiled,
exposing a beautiful set of even teeth, and said,
"Certainly." He set the check on the counter and slid it
over to her, watching her slender fingers grasp the paper and
feed it into a computer input slot. "Just a moment, please,"
she said politely. Rage took the opportunity to further
examine the woman before him. She appeared to be about 20 to
25 years old with black hair halfway down her back, brown
eyes, and beautifully tanned skin. She had long, cherry red
fingernails and wore silver loop earrings. He let his view
travel down her body, soaking in every aspect of her image,
her face, her neck, her breasts, her slim waist and hips,
down to her legs. "Damn, mirrorshades are great," he thought
to himself, as he finished his visual scan. He thought back
to the people he loved in the past, how long ago it had been.
Working as a hired gun made it harder and harder to hold
relationships down. After a while, he turned away from them
all together, not wanting to feel anymore. "Feelings didn't
keep you alive, reflexes did," he reminded himself. It
seemed to be taking a long time, and the last thing Rage
needed was to have trouble here.
"Is there a problem," he asked in the most concerned
voice he could muster. Marci smiled, the light glistening in
her eyes, and said, "Just clearing this transaction with
Pacifica Bank." Rage could feel the heat run down his legs
as his perspiration level began to increase due to anxiety.
"Come on. Clear," he thought. Then he heard the chattering
of the printer typing on the check.
"Okay, sir," Marci said as she handed him a stack of
dollar bills, counting them out with methodic efficiency.
Rage wiped his hands on his pants, pushing his anxiety
into submission, and took the money, putting it in the
envelope and sliding it into his jacket pocket. "Thank you
very much," he said as he smiled.
"Come back again some time," said Marci as he turned to
leave.
Rage left the luxurious bank lobby and returned to the
street, the smell of pollution and the city wafting his way.
He called a cab, ordering the drive to go to McDay's. "Time
to get some friends," he thought as he watched the buildings
race by on either side of him. The car stopped outside of
the bar and Rage threw the driver an extra ten before
leaving. He pushed the door open and walked inside, taking a
seat at his normal spot at the bar. McDay nodded to Rage as
he sat down and walked a drink over to him. Rage looked
around, noticing that the bar was about one third full,
several couples drinking, smoking, and talking. "What's up,
Rage," said McDay as he set the drink down on the counter.
"Lookin' for some friends," said Rage as he carefully
examined the people sitting around him.
"Any in particular," asked McDay as he bent forward so
Rage could whisper the names to him.
"Warchild, Mantis, Shiva, and Shatter," whispered Rage,
his eyes scanning to see if anyone heard him.
McDay straightened back up and nodded. "Well, I haven't
seem them around here today, but if they come in, I'll let
you know."
Rage nodded, "Thanks," and slipped a fifty dollar bill
over the counter to McDay. "As soon as you see them. You
know my number."
McDay slipped the bill under the table and into his
pocket as he nodded. "Sure thing."
Rage grabbed his drink and gulped it down, setting the
glass back on the table before standing to leave. His
longcoat swirled around him as he headed for the door and out
onto the street once again.
* * * * * * * *
Deathwish walked toward the center of the corporate
sector of the city, absorbing in the data presented all
around him. The list of targets always present in his
memory, he examined the area for a possible match. Seemingly
unaware of netrunners racing, he walked toward the Sendai-
Joshuro building, a small computer programming corporation.
He sat himself down right outside the front of the building,
patiently waiting for someone to come out of it.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 9 - A Motley Crew
No sooner did Rage walk in the door to his home, when
he was on the phone with a rental company, securing a vehicle
for the next week or so. The conversation took less than
five minutes, the transaction costing Rage around $10,000 for
the use of a small van for a week. He would pick up the van
around 3:00 or so, giving him plenty of time to get over to
Morgan's and pick up his shipment. Until then, he could
relax a bit and wait for McDay's phone call. After eating
some food he had stored in the refrigerator, he laid down on
his bed, feeling the foam form to his body. One last check
of the time, a glance down to the corner of his vision at the
digital readout showing 12:00, and he closed his eyes to try
to get some sleep.
At 1:38, the phone rang, Rage's hand grabbing the
receiver before it could ring twice. "Yeah," he said, the
sleep prevalent in his voice.
"Your friends are here, all of them, as luck would have
it," came the voice from the other end. "And they are
waiting for you."
"Good," replied Rage, "I'm there." With that, he hung
up the phone, grabbed his longcoat, and headed out the door.
He arrived at McDay's within 15 minutes of the phone call.
Walking into the bar, he could not see his friends anywhere.
Making a mental note of this, he scanned the entire area.
Several of the tables were filled, people drinking and
smoking during their lunch break. Rage examined each of the
people quickly before moving over to the bar. McDay noticed
Rage standing by the end of the bar and made a hand signal
motioning for him to go to the back room. Rage nodded and
headed straight for the back room.
The back room was McDay's meeting room. It had quite a
decent security system on it, the door controlled by a switch
under the bar. As Rage walked into the room, all turned to
look at him. Seated at a table were Warchild, Mantis, Shiva,
and Shatter, all staring at Rage without an expression on
their faces. Rage closed the door behind him, hearing the
metallic bolt slip into the locked position as he did so.
"Nice, McDay," he thought as he moved to the open chair, all
eyes in the room following him. As soon as he was seated,
Warchild said, "So what's the gig?"
Rage crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair,
explaining the situation regarding Raith, Tonya, and the
note. He finished without interruption, the other people's
attention locked on the information being presented. After
he was done, the group of people sat quietly for a moment,
looking around the room. Rage took the time to look at each
person individually, carefully remembering.
Warchild, his facial tattoo of a skull ominous and
foreboding, sat directly to his left, his hands on his lap.
He stood six feet three inches tall and had short, brown hair
cut in a spike. He wore jungle cammo pants, a white T-shirt,
and a jacket. Rage had first worked with Warchild on a
previous mission, about two years ago. Rage was waiting in
the Afterlife to meet with his co-worker, both hired to
flatline a powerful corporate executive. Warchild turned out
to be that co-worker, his bone white skull tattoo shining out
in the darkness like a spotlight. The two became friends and
have worked together on several occasions. One of the
reasons Rage liked Warchild was because of his sneaky and
deceptive manner, along with his knack at weapon alterations.
He could disappear like a shadow if the need arose, and was
one of the most stealthy people that Rage had ever
encountered.
Sitting adjacent to Warchild was Mantis, his face hidden
behind mirrorshades and his black hair, which hung down past
his shoulders. Standing five feet eight inches, he was
dressed in his characteristic leathers, which had actually
become a part of him over the years, never seen off his body.
His arrogance had gotten him in many a fight, but the
footlong blades implanted in the back of his hand seemed to
give him that extra edge and had saved his life quite a few
times. He wore gloves to cover his Wolver implants, making
them more fearful as the blades ripped through the back of
his gloves, their polished metal shining brightly. As far as
weapons, he was an ace of all trades, knowing how to operate
almost every weapon one could find, through black market or
normal connections. Rage had hooked up with Mantis during
the Central American Wars, when they had been assigned to an
assassination squad together. They hit it off well from the
beginning, going on several missions together after the war.
Rage's glance moved over to Shiva, who was seated
between Mantis and Shatter. Shiva was a fairly good Techie,
whose specialty was dealing with security systems, as Rage
had found out through various encounters in the past. Their
first meeting was rather interesting. Rage had caught her in
the process of breaking into his room. She had disarmed the
security he had personally set up, a feat not many had done
in the past, and was in the process of picking the lock on
the door when Rage showed up, lightly sticking a gun into her
back. He could have turned her in to the police, but decided
that it would be better to have her as an ally instead, so he
offered her a job working with him. She accepted, quite
bewildered at the proposal, and has worked with him ever
since. She was dressed in her typical high fashion attire,
complete with her knee-high, spiked boots and bald head,
reaching a height of five feet, five inches. She was a
rather shy person who liked to do things independently of
others. Rage had learned that once she started something to
leave her alone and let her work, something she did quite
well. It was with her help that he had cracked several
fortresses in the past.
Shatter was sitting to the right of Rage, his trusty
black pump shotgun resting on his lap. He stood at six feet
and wore normal clothes, his razorcut jet black hair streaked
with auburn. From his left ear hung several earrings, one of
the things he prided himself upon. He was a nomad, a warrior
without a home, traveling with his family from city to city
doing what they did best, surviving. The clan he was
travelling with had been in the city for about a year now,
their camp located in the northern suburbs. The amount of
work here had been more than any other city, so they decided
to settle in. His pride had slightly angered Arasaka
corporation, causing him to have to go into hiding
occasionally, whenever it seemed that Arasaka remembered
about him and sent out assassins. Nonetheless, he was a good
fighter, and that's what Rage liked. Obsessed with his
weapon, he lived for the thrill of combat. Rage had met
Shatter at McDay's a few months back. McDay mentioned to
Rage Shatter's line of work and situation with Arasaka.
Rage, feeling similarly about Arasaka due to the loss of
several good friends in the past, let Shatter hide out in his
place if needed. Because of this, Shatter offered his
services whenever needed. Now was one of those times.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 10 - Pieces of a Puzzle
"So," said Mantis, breaking the silence, "what kind of
money we talkin'?"
Rage grinned and said, "I was waitin' for you to say
that. $15,000. Each." He watched as the each member of the
group looked around the table, slowly nodding. "Good
enough?" The group nodded in unison, not saying a thing.
Rage knew it was more than most jobs pay, and that no one
would complain. "Good. We pick up some weapons this
afternoon, at four. As always, you're free to bring any
other toys you want, within' reason." He watched as each
member smiled, thinking of what new gear they could bring
with. "And I've got a van for travel. I'm pickin' it up
after this."
"Good thinking," said Shiva, "I was wondering when you
were going to mention our form of transportation."
"I'll trust your taste in vehicles," said Mantis
sarcastically. "It better not be some piece of shit body on
wheels."
Rage grinned, "Relax, it's taken care of. Anything
else?"
Warchild leaned back in his chair and, in his deep
voice, said, "What's the word on this Tonya chick?"
"No word," said Shatter, always a man of information,
"Haven't heard a thing 'bout her, though I haven't been
askin' either."
"Either have I," added Warchild, his dark eyes
protruding from the tattooed eyesockets on his face. "Are
you sure it's the Slaughterhouse that has her?"
"The card said it all, man," replied Rage. "Besides,
maybe the Slaughterhouse is keepin' her real tight for some
special reason."
"What kind of reason," inquired Warchild.
"You got me," said Rage. "I don't run the fuckin'
gang."
"Just wonderin'," Warchild said as he leaned back in his
chair, his hand moving up to his face, rubbing the tattooed
skin.
"I don't know what they did with her," Rage continued,
"but it's our job to find out. Kapish?"
"Sure, we don't even know if this chick is real,"
complained Mantis, jumping into the conversation, "just what
I need."
"If Raith said she's gone, then she's gone," replied
Rage.
"Great," Mantis said, "I'm supposed to believe some guy
I've never heard of before who shows up with a hell of a lot
of cash and tells you some story about his babe bein' grabbed
by the Slaughterhouse but the place is in perfect fuckin'
condition. That sure is typical booster activity," he said,
emphasizing that last sentence. "I love this. We're goin'
on a wild goose chase." He shook his head and crossed his
hands, showing obvious disgust at the situation.
"Chill, man," replied Rage, "Just 'cause no one's heard
anything, doesn't mean that she ain't out there. Our job is
to locate and retrieve, not just go blow the shit out of some
Slaughterhouse shack."
"It's still a fuckin' goose chase, man," complained
Mantis.
"Would you shut up for once," interjected Warchild.
"We got connections. A little talkin' and we find her. No
biggie. I trust Rage. You even worked with him in the Wars,
so give it a rest." Mantis moved his lips as if to say some
smart remark, but decided against it and just sat in his
chair, his arms crossed.
"I'll start lookin' around right away," said Shatter,
"and I'll talk to some of my people."
"Good," Rage replied as he nodded in agreement, "And
don't forget Raith. He's good on the deck, guys. And he
sure helped us out with the cash."
"What time would you like us to meet you," asked Shiva,
changing the subject in her softspoken voice.
"All right," answered Rage, "everyone here at 7:30.
Then we head over to Manhattan's together to meet Raith at
eight. That'll give you some time to talk around and me time
to get the gear. Anything else?" He paused, checking to see
if anyone would say anything. "At seven thirty then," he
said, standing. The chairs scratched against the floor as
the rest of the team got up to leave. Shatter slipped his
shotgun into a carrybag he had brought and Mantis was gently
caressing his gloved hand. Rage nodded and flipped a switch
by the door, unlocking and opening it. He left the bar,
nodding to McDay on his way out, and headed outside, calling
a taxi to take him to the vehicle rental station. He picked
up the van 15 minutes later. The van was a rather modern
vehicle, which surprised Rage, and had room for six people
plus gear. It was painted black and had several dents
located randomly around its body. Rage ran his hand over its
smooth surface, feeling every scratch, pock mark, and bullet
hole patch. "Always nice to have a little armor between you
and the fight," he said to himself as he opened the door.
The digital readout in the corner of his vision read 3:37.
"Time to head over to Morgan's," he thought to himself as he
got situated behind the wheel of the van.
* * * * * * * *
Chapter 11 - Rip Roarin' Ready to Rock and Roll
The van drove quite well, better than he would have
expected. Rage thought about the possibilities that lay
before him regarding the mission. The van would work
perfectly, and he couldn't have realistically asked for a
better method of transportation. It's windowless side panels
helped provide cover for those inside, preventing outside
viewers from knowing exactly what was inside of the vehicle.
This is how they would travel, dumping out the team in the
shadows with Rage parking the van, acting like he was the
only passenger. It was standard procedure, and all of his
friends had done it before. To them, it was just another
routine task that had become an almost everyday occurrence of
their lives.
The trip to Morgan's was rather uneventful, barring the
usual traffic inconveniences. Rage pulled up to the back
side of the mall, near the service doors, where Morgan's men
were waiting, crates close by. He parked the van, climbed
out, and opened the doors in back, walking over to the men to
check the cargo. Finding it satisfactory, he motioned for
them to load it. Within minutes, the equipment was safely
contained within the confines of the van. Rage pulled out a
fat roll of dollar bills, flipping through them faster than
he could count the sum, and handed it over to the worker
closest to him. "Give it to Morgan," he said as he turned to
leave. As he climbed back into the van, he watched in the
mirrors to make sure that the men went in the correct door.
He slid the key into ignition and started the van, listening
to its engine purr before driving out of the parking lot.
He was home by 5:00, the rush hour traffic slowing him
down considerably on his journey home. He parked the van in
the hotel's parking complex. Double checking the locks
before leaving the van, he made his way up the stairs to his
room. He decided to get some rest before meeting the rest of
the team over at McDay's. He activated his security systems,
set his phone's ringer on soft, and flopped down on his foam
bed to get some rest, not before setting his alarm for 7:00,
giving him plenty of time to get ready. The digital time
readout was the only thing that remained in focus as his eyes
closed, sleep overtaking him in a matter of minutes.
* * * * * * * *
Light was streaming in the windows of the bar,
reflecting off the chrome bodyparts of the behemoth Metagon,
his cybereyes scanning the room as he walked over to Del's
unconscious body. With a kick, Metagon woke Del up. His
face covered with dried blood, Del stood up groggily. "Wake
up, already," Metagon said as he loomed over Del's body.
"You gonna sleep your life away?"
Del answered the question with an audible grunt as he
staggered off to the washroom. After relieving himself, he
used some water to wash the blood off. His eyes were
severely bloodshot and had large bags underneath them. He
patted his shirt gently against his still swollen lips to try
to get the blood off. Giving up on his activity and
disgusted with his appearance, he pulled out some Dorph,
slapping the derm on the back of his neck, feeling the energy
flow into and the pain flow out of his body at the same time.
Breathing deeply, he straightened up, ready to kick the
world's ass in a blaze of glory. Del left The Pit a few
minutes later, heading for some local dance clubs, traveling
his usual circuit. Metagon just shook his head as he watched
him stagger out the door, wondering just what, if any,
purpose Del held in the Slaughterhouse gang. After
dismissing this subject from his mind, Metagon took his
normal seat at the bar, waiting for his meeting with some
corp official. The room was devoid of people, barring
Metagon, who sat at the bar patiently, sipping some drink he
had concocted at the bar. "Let's see how tough you think you
are," he thought in his mind as he imagined the deal that
would take place so soon, all the while popping his rippers
in and out of his chrome hand.
* * * * * * * *
Akira Toshimoto was on a break from his job as head of
security. Feeling relaxed, he decided to jack into the net
and do a little exploring. It helped to relax him and keep
him in touch with new happenening in the matrix, another name
for the net. He pulled his interface cables out of the
bottom drawer of his desk and slipped them into the plugs on
the back of his neck. After attaching the other ends to the
cyberdeck waiting on his desk, he pushed the GO button and
was lurched into cyberspace, his mind filling with static.
When his senses cleared, he was inside of the Sendai-
Joshuro building, his knight-shaped icon standing up, ready
to move. Ready for another jaunt in the amazing world of
cyberspace, he headed left the building, looking around,
admiring the scene. He decided to check out the
entertainment section of the city, hoping to find some new
places of interest, but as he found that he could not move.
Frustrated, he turned around, only to find a massive, red
demon standing before him. He tried to jump out of the net,
but the demon grabbed his helmet in one hand. "Must be using
some sort of lock-up program," thought Akira as he struggled
to get free. "Try this on for size, bastard," he yelled as
he activated his Killer program. A metallic samurai appeared
to the side of him, its katana raised, ready to slay the
demon. Deathwish smiled, exposing many sharp fangs, saliva
dripping down from them onto his lips. The samurai attacked,
running straight at the mighty beast, katana weaving a trail
of light in front of him. But the samurai's charge was
stopped dead in its tracks as Deathwish threw a massive
fireball at him, blowing his body into pixel dust, instantly
de-rezzing the program. Akira anxiety level was skyrocketing
as he desperately tried to jump out of the net. He was not
to worry very long, however, Deathwish ripping his head off
his body, the headless corpse fell, armor clanking as it hit
the ground.
Akira Toshimoto's body started to gyrate at a
spectacular rate, as if thousands of tiny electrical shocks
were being run through it. His EKG reading went wild as he
pulled at the interface cables, but to no avail. His
lifeless body slumped over the desk, a trail of blood running
out his mouth.
Deathwish, now in the shape of a business man, slowly
walked on down the street, mentally crossing one Akira
Toshimoto off his list of targets.
* * * * * * * *
When the alarm went off, Rage was out of bed, gathering
his gear and straightening his clothes and hair out. One
quick rubdown with some gel and his lay-over quasi-spike was
set to go. He slipped his longcoat on over his shirt and
holster, flipping the coattails back as he headed out the
door. The van was waiting for him when he stepped into the
garage, its important cargo held snugly in the belly of the
beast. He hopped into the seat, revving the engine to life,
and drove over to McDay's.
When he pulled up to the sidewalk in front of McDay's,
he quickly jumped out, leaving the van running, and opened
the back doors. The gear was covered by various plastic
sheets, as to protect it from being recognized by anyone
walking by. As he got back into the driver's seat, the rest
of the team filed in through the rear of the vehicle.
Warchild was the last to climb in, and he shut the doors
behind him. As soon as Rage heard the slam of the rear
doors, he hit the accelerator, maneuvering the van into the
flow of traffic. Jockeying for his position in a turn lane,
Rage told the team to uncover the crates and open them.
A loud, "All right," was heard from the back as Mantis
opened the crate containing the rocket launcher. Rage could
hear the sounds of rifle bolts and ammunition cartridges
being slapped into place as he drove to Manhattan's, a bar on
the west side of the city. Out of the corner of his eye,
Rage noticed Warchild's tattooed face slip in between the two
seats. "What's up," asked Rage, keeping his eyes on the
road.
"Gear is good, it'll do. Wanted to tell ya about this
Tonya chick. Found out some neat stuff 'bout her," said
Warchild as he repositioned himself in the passenger seat.
"Yeah. Like what?"
"She works for a small computer company, organizing
databases and the like. But there's a catch. Seems Tonya
has been doin' some runnin' on the side of her job. She
managed to steal some information from Arasaka, God only
knows how she did that. Apparently, she nabbed some plans
for some of their new weapons. Well, as you can imagine,
little Saburo Arasaka and the rest of his goons got a little
ticked off when they found out what was gone," said Warchild.
"I can't imagine why," interjected Rage, shaking his
head.
"But that's not it. Here's where it gets twisted. Also
found out that some Slaughterhouse informant caught wind of
this incident, and told his boss. The Slaughterhouse, always
quick to make a buck, decided to nab Tonya before Arasaka
could, and hold her for ransom. From what I know, they are
still dealing."
"You know where she is being held," asked Rage.
"Yeah," answered Warchild, "but you're not gonna like
it. Word has it she's bein' held at The Pit, fuckin' dead
center in Slaughterhouse turf."
Rage nodded, not showing any emotion at that last
statement as he said, "Makes sense, putting her in the safest
place."
"So we have a choice. We can either go up against the
home base of the Slaughterhouse, or wherever Arasaka is
planning on taking her, depending on how fast we move.
Either way, there's gonna be one shitload of bullets flyin'
around."
Rage paused, obviously considering the possibilities.
"Looks like the Slaughterhouse gets it. Lucky them," he said
with a grin.
Warchild nodded, waiting a bit before saying, "Then
there's gonna be a lot of blood gushin' around The Pit,
choomba."
Rage grinned, patted his handgun, and said, "Damn
straight, bro," as he clasped hands with Warchild, their
palms like steel welded together by their grip. They
released each other's hand and Warchild moved to the back,
not saying a word. Within a few minutes, Rage pulled up to
the back of Manhattan's, releasing the van's human cargo
before parking the vehicle in the lot, turning on the
security systems before walking into the building.
* * * * * * * *
********************************************************************************
James M. Cook 1992 - All rights reserved and deserved.
From: flex@camelot.bradley.edu (James Cook)
Subject: Stimuli Unchained - Chapter 12
Date: 12 May 92 07:00:42 GMT
Chapter 12 - I'm Gonna Watch You Die
David Saland walked out of the Arasaka Tower, his
workday completed. Lighting up a cigarette, he walked over
to the parking complex that held his car. The lights were
dim in the building, automobiles parked all over the place.
He pushed the button by the elevator, taking a long drag on
the cigarette while he waited. The elevator reached his
floor, doors opening with an electronic bing, and he stepped
inside. It took less than a minute for the elevator to
arrive at the floor that held his vehicle. Tossing his
cigarette butt off to the side, he walked down the poorly lit
corridor toward his sedan.
DeSoto was crouched behind one of the cars, the
targeting sight in his cybernetic eye tracing back and forth,
waiting for Saland to come into view. He felt the weight of
his silenced Sternmeyer Type 35 smartgun in his hand, gently
trying to pull his arm down to the ground, his muscles
resisting. As Saland's torso came into view, DeSoto's eye
flashed a ready signal, the sight locking on Saland's head.
Compressing the trigger, DeSoto ended Saland's life, the gun
making an audible cough as it fired. Saland's head exploded
as the hollow tipped bullet pierced his skull, covering the
nearby cars with blood and brains. The lifeless body fell to
the ground, spasming in post-mortem shock, blood gushing out
of the massive head wound.
DeSoto walked casually over to the dead man, sliding his
gun into its holster and pulling out a large knife. With a
flash of steel, what was left of the man's head was removed
from the rest of his body. DeSoto wiped the knife on the
man's suit, slipping it into its sheath, before putting the
remains of the man's head into a plastic-lined sack he was
carrying. He left the body lying there in the corridor,
waiting for some poor, unfortunate soul to find it, and drove
down to the L'Entranger bar, the sack resting on the floor by
the front seat.
Once at the bar, he took a seat and looked around. He
spotted the Arasaka agents almost immediately, their
expensive mirrorshades and sharp suits causing them to stick
out. As he waited, he examined the men carefully from across
the bar with the aid of his cybernetic eye. They all were
roughly the same size, except for one large one, his bulky
frame towering over the others. After a short amount of
time, one of them stood up and headed for the bathroom. "Son
of a bitch," thought DeSoto, "I think I gotta go." He waited
until the door closed behind the man before standing up.
DeSoto entered the bathroom, checking the area out as he
did. The man was standing at a urinal, his back to DeSoto.
There were no others in the room at the time. "Am I lucky or
what," he thought to himself as he pulled out a taser, firing
it at the man. The man's body jumped at first due to the
shock, and then fell to the ground, convulsing. DeSoto ran
over to the body, sliding the taser into his pocket, and
quickly stripped the body. Pushing the man into a stall, he
folded the clothes up and stuffed them inside his jacket, the
bulge slightly noticeable. Before he left, he removed the
man's mirrorshades, mentally noting their value as he slid
them into his outside jacket pocket, careful not to scratch
the lenses. He walked back into the bar, straightening his
suit slightly as he did.
In order to dismiss anyone's possible suspicions, he sat
back down at the bar and ordered a drink, watching closely
for anyone heading to the bathroom. Satisfied, he gulped the
drink down and headed for the exit. Once in his car, he
changed into the suit he was carrying, noting how well it
seemed to fit him. He flipped out the mirrorshades and
slipped them onto his face, looking in the mirror and
thinking, "That went well," before driving off in the general
direction of Slaughterhouse territory.
* * * * * * * *
"Martin's been gone for a long time," said Jones to the
other people at his table. "I'm gonna go see what's takin'
him so long."
"Do it," said the man sitting next to Jones, the light
reflecting off of his mirrorshades.
Jones nodded, stood up, and headed for the bathroom.
Once inside, he checked the stalls, finding Martin's almost
naked body slumped over on a toilet. "FUCK," he yelled,
running out of the bathroom, throwing the door open as he did
so. Everyone in the bar looked over toward the bathroom as
Jones ran out, the door slamming against the wall it was
attached to. "Big fuckin' problems. Someone did a number on
Martin and stole his clothes." The rest of the group quickly
jumped up from their seats, sending their chairs flying
backwards, and ran to the bathroom, pulling their guns out
once inside. "What the hell is goin' on," asked one of them
as they grabbed Martin's unconscious body. "Let's get outta
here and head over to The Pit." Gathering quite a few
curious stares, the group of Arasaka men left the bar,
carrying Martin's body with them. They jumped into their van
and headed for Slaughterhouse territory.
* * * * * * * *
Raith was sitting at his table, having a drink, when he
saw them come in. He didn't realize who they were until he
saw Rage behind them. There was a bald woman and three men,
one of them with a massive skull tattoo on his face. Rage
took up the rear, directing the group to Raith's table.
There were quite a few people in the bar already, obviously
people who liked to be home when the trouble started crawling
out of the city. The smoke was heavy in the air, forming a
haze that obstructed vision. They came to his table, sitting
down without a word.
Rage spoke first, calling off everyone's names in order.
"Warchild," he said, Warchild nodding in recognition.
"Shatter." At the mention of his name, Shatter leaned back
in his chair, putting his hands behind his head, and nodded.
"Mantis," he said, as Mantis just sat in his chair, eyeing
Raith. "And Shiva," replied Rage as Shiva smiled. "Now,
let's get down to business," he said, scanning the area for
possible listeners.
"What have you found out," asked Raith as he called a
waitress over to the table. "Drinks on me, order what you
want." The waitress took orders from everyone, returning with
the drinks in record time. Rage was the only person that
did not order a drink.
"What's the matter, Rage," inquired Mantis, "not
thirsty?"
"I don't like to lose my edge," he said coolly, without
any show of emotion. Mantis nodded in approval. "I'll drink
to that," he said with a smile as the waitress went over to
another table.
"Your girl is takin' a vacation in a damn weird spot,"
Warchild said, changing the subject. "And we gotta go get
her before she runs out of cash."
Raith nodded and said, "How long?"
"Fuckin' now, man," said Mantis in his usual friendly
tone.
"We go tonight," said Rage, his voice cold and sharp.
"It's the only way."
The group nodded, all silent. After a brief pause,
Mantis said, "Then lets rock and roll," as he stood up,
waiting for the rest to follow his lead. Warchild, Shatter,
and Shiva rose heading for the door. Rage looked over to
Raith before he stood up and said, "We'll get her back."
Raith finished his drink, slamming the empty glass on the
table, and got up to leave, Rage behind him. "I brought some
help," he said over his shoulder quietly, "a full deck."
Rage nodded as they left the bar, understanding fully what
that meant. Within minutes, they were all in the van, Rage
driving, Raith in the passenger seat, and the rest of the
team in the back, readying their weapons.
"Man," Mantis said as he rubbed his gloved hand, "I
can't wait to kick some Slaughterhouse ass."
"In due time," responded Shatter, his shotgun on his
lap, its black finish shining slightly in the pale light.
"Remember that we have to get this chick out alive,"
noted Shiva, "so watch what your shootin'." She pulled out
her electronic lock picking tools, carefully checking to make
sure that everything was there.
"Right on," added Warchild, checking his various
guns, knives, and new FN-RAL automatic rifle. "So that's why
I brought this little baby," he said with a smile, pulling
out his Avante P-1135 Needlegun.
"Where the hell did you find that thing," asked Mantis.
"In a little black market sale," said Warchild,
grinning. "It's loaded with either nerve toxin needles.
Very effective when you want a group of individuals down
quickly and quietly."
"What range," asked Shatter in a very unemotional tone.
"Over 100 feet. Only used it once before, but it
worked."
"Yeah, but what about these babies," said Mantis,
opening his jacket to reveal several grenades. "Dazzle are
quite nice, especially on night missions like these."
"True," said Shiva, "but these little party favors are
nice to have around." She opened her carrybag to reveal a
mass of electrical equipment. "Tracers, sensors, you name
it. It's right here. They haven't built the lock that I
can't pick," she said with a smile, her pride evident.
"Two letters: DE: Do Easy, Do Efficient," Shatter said
as he pulled the Arasaka Assault Shot 12 out of a crate,
caressing its black barrel. "I can handle this," he said,
nodding.
"Slaughterhouse ain't standin' a chance 'gainst us,
man," said Mantis.
"Just remember not to lose your head," Warchild added.
"They get all drugged up on shit. Makes 'em hard to kill."
"That's why we brought our toys," Mantis said, motioning
to all the weapons and gear. "Don't worry, bro. They'll go
down, and in a fuckin' big way, too, 'cause we're the baddest
motherfuckers to hit this city." With that, he held his
weapon in the air, the group letting a cheer out together.
Then, they quietly gathered their gear for the upcoming
battle.
* * * * * * * *
********************************************************************************
James M. Cook 1992 - All rights reserved and deserved.
From: flex@camelot.bradley.edu (James Cook)
Subject: Stimuli Unchained - Chapter 13
Date: 13 May 92 09:52:54 GMT
Here is possibly the last posting I will make before leaving for the
summer. I will post the chapters I write over the summer in the fall, when
I get my net connection back again. Enjoy.
********************************************************************************
Chapter 13 - Perilously Poised
DeSoto parked his car, grabbed a briefcase that was
sitting on the front seat, and started to walk towards the
Pit. He could see people skirting between shadows, light
glinting off their blades. "Slaughterhouse," he thought as
he continued walking. As he rounded a corner, he saw it.
The Pit, sitting next to the Sandorf Hotel and Uptown Mall,
was covered with graffiti, only a few bulbs shedding light
upon its face. DeSoto walked up to the front door, right in
the heart of Slaughterhouse territory. He swallowed, the
saliva going down his dry throat in a knot, and knocked on
the door, his hand moving instinctively toward his
Sternmeyer.
After a pause, a gruff voice answered from the other
side of the heavy, wooden door. "Password," it said.
DeSoto swallowed hard again, hoping that his act would
go over okay. "Fuck the password, you asshole," he said in
his intimidating voice, "you know what I'm here for. Now
let's get this over with."
A pause again. Then the sound of a bolt sliding, the
door opening enough to let a hand through, a razor covered
hand at that. DeSoto saw the flash of metal and turned
quickly to face his adversary. The Slaughterhouse member was
standing with his head barely sticking between the door and
the jamb, his hand grasping the wall, rippers extended.
"Why you alone," he said in his rough voice, exposing a set
of sharp, pointed teeth, their enamel shining in the
darkness.
"'Cause I'm here to settle the deal. There was a
problem somewhere else that required the assistance of some
of our men. The corporation is confident that I would be
able to deal with you. And if I don't return in a few
hours," he said, grinning, "then you're gonna get the shit
blown out of you by Arasaka. Now, can we go inside and get
on with this."
The ganger paused, obviously having a little difficulty
fully understanding what DeSoto was saying, before opening
the door and ushering him inside. "Last door on your right,"
he said as he closed the door, sliding the bolt back in
place. DeSoto nodded and walked down the dimly lit hallway,
his cybernetic eye scanning for any surprises that might be
waiting along the way. The hallway ended with doors on both
sides and one in front of him. Doing as he was instructed,
he walked through the door to the right, closing it behind
him.
The room was rectangle shaped with a bar against one
wall and several crude tables set up in the center, several
light bulbs hanging exposed from the ceiling. Graffiti
covered the walls and floor and an old, inoperable jukebox
leaned against the far wall. Sitting alone at the bar was a
behemoth of a man. His meat body and head were all that
remained, the rest metal attachments and enhancements. His
arms and legs glittered in the light, hallucinogenic patterns
playing over his appendages. The metal man turned slowly,
eyeing DeSoto as he approached.
"Has Arasaka decided to make the smart move," asked the
Metagon, his unblinking eyes carefully watching DeSoto's
every move.
"First I want to see the female," said DeSoto, standing
staunchly in front of Metagon.
Metagon sipped at the drink sitting in front of him and
said without facing DeSoto, "Certainly." He snapped his
fingers and two gangers appeared out of the shadows, the
blades on their bodies glittering. They carried the limp
form of Tonya over to a table, setting her gently down in a
chair, her unconscious body conforming to its shape as it
slumped down. DeSoto looked at Tonya and then back to
Metagon before saying, "The deal was that she's alive."
Metagon grinned, still looking forward, and said, "She
is alive, just a little enlightened right now." The two
gangers chuckled slightly as they stood guard by her limp
body. DeSoto lifted his briefcase and set it on the bar.
With a flip of the side switches, the top popped open. He
lifted it to reveal a mass of dollar bills. Metagon casually
looked over at the pile of money, asking, "How much is
there?"
"One million," replied DeSoto without a pause.
Metagon set the glass on the table, his hand still
wrapped around it, turned toward DeSoto and said, "We said
two."
Sensing the anger in his voice, DeSoto acted quickly,
saying, "This is all that Arasaka will give. You can either
take it and get something out of this deal or I walk. It's
very simple."
Metagon just stared at DeSoto, gritting his teeth. The
glass in his hand exploded under his tremendous grip, sending
shards across the bar. DeSoto's hand started to go toward
his Sternmeyer, but he decided he had better play it cool.
Metagon stood up slowly, the servos in his arms and legs
whirring and humming. He took a step toward DeSoto, who
stood stoically, and outstretched his metallic hand and said,
"Good enough. Now take her and get off our turf."
DeSoto complied, hoisting the unconscious form over his
shoulder and walking out of the bar. His exit was expedient,
though hindered by the weight of her body, and he made it to
his car without any problems. Laying her down in the back
seat, he
* * * * * * * *
Julius Noland was ready to do some serious damage. He
was the commander of an Arasaka assault unit known as the
Black Dragons, a unit that had just been scrambled upon word
of trouble with a negotiations team. It was his job to find
out what the problem was, starting with the Slaughterhouse
gang. His squad did a quick roll call while they checked
weapons, slamming fresh clips into their assault rifles.
Strapping a grenade launcher to his back, Julius said, "Let's
go," and the squad was off, quickly loading into a waiting
AV-4. With a rush of air and sound, the AV-4 launched
vertically into the air, gaining some altitude before racing
northward toward Slaughterhouse territory. He slowly stroked
the barrel of his weapon as he waited to be dropped off.
They were to go in on foot, discover any "threats", and
remove them in as expedient a way as possible. The AV-4
would head back to home base, Arasaka not wanting to attract
too much attention by this move. "God, life is great," he
thought, checking the ETA, showing 4 minutes at cruising
speed.
* * * * * * * *
Rage stopped the van about a block away from the Pit,
dimming the headlights. Warchild's handed Rage a FN-RAL,
fully loaded, from between the seats. Rage nodded, flipping
the safety to full auto. "Okay," he began, the team huddling
toward the front of the van, weapons ready. "You guys get
out here and start to make your way toward the Pit at light
speed. Raith and I wait here until two minutes have passed.
At that point, I drive past the side of the Pit, spraying it
with as many bullets as I can pump outta this thing here.
Hopefully, that'll distract the guards from the front a
little, allowing you guys to make your way into the building.
Shiva, use your sensors and that C6 I brought to set up a
little booby trap. Be sure that it's not armed too early, so
you guys don't blow yourself up comin' back out or something.
Just remember to find Tonya and get her back out here."
"But that's one big fuckin' building, man," complained
Mantis. "We gotta search that whole thing?"
"Hell yes," said Warchild, "that's our job."
"That's why we got this stuff," said Shatter, patting
his auto-shotgun.
"Right," continued Rage, ignoring Mantis's complaint,
"and I'll keep the activity going on the outside, to get as
many of the punks out of the building as possible. Raith
here will be checkin' for any remotes with his deck. He'll
call you on your communicators if he finds anything. Any
questions," Rage asked.
"Yeah," said Mantis, slinging the RPG-A over his
shoulder, "I still wanna know how we're supposed to find this
chick."
"Would you shut up about it," replied Warchild, shaking
his head. "We'll find her."
"All right then," Rage said, "let's do it. Distraction
in 2 minutes. Rock and roll, people," he said as the team
climbed out the back doors. Rage's last sight of them was
Warchild's skull tattooed face between the two closing rear
doors. Checking his watch, Rage said, "Go to it, runner," to
Raith, who was sitting by, his deck hooked up to a modem for
cellular usage. Raith didn't have to enter the net to check
for any remotely controlled equipment, but could stay in the
flesh world, a rather handy technique if things got hot and
he needed to use his gun. As he turned his deck on, the
command menu appeared before him, a mental hologram. He
scrolled through it, searching for the section covering the
Pit's electronics. As he worked, Rage crawled into the back
of the van, gathering up the grenades he had purchased at
Morgan's. Setting them in holders by the driver's seat, he
checked his FN-RAL one more time, making sure the safety was
completely off. His watch read one minute until takeoff.
* * * * * * * *
Warchild's breath was coming out in barely controlled
huffs, the rest of the group following closely behind him,
their weapons ready. Darting from shadow to shadow, he had
almost reached his destination, an alleyway across from the
Pit. So far, there had been no encounters, amazing for this
time of the night and their proximity to the heart of
Slaughterhouse turf. "Maybe their all at home, watchin' TV,"
he thought, waiting for the team to catch up to him. In
thirty more seconds, they were in position, just a street
width's away from the target, waiting for Rage to come by in
a blaze of glory. He checked his watch, using hand signals
to tell the others that Rage should be coming by any second
now. His ears straining, Warchild thought he heard the whine
of an AV-4's engines in the distance.
********************************************************************************
Copyright (c) 1992 James M. Cook - All rights reserved and deserved.
From: flex@camelot.bradley.edu (James Cook)
Subject: Stimuli Unchained - Chapter 13
Date: 13 May 92 11:01:50 GMT
This will most likely be my last posting before heading off for summer
break. Enjoy.
********************************************************************************
Chapter 13 - Perilously Poised
DeSoto parked his car, grabbed a briefcase that was
sitting on the front seat, and started to walk towards the
Pit. He could see people skirting between shadows, light
glinting off their blades. "Slaughterhouse," he thought as
he continued walking. As he rounded a corner, he saw it.
The Pit, sitting next to the Sandorf Hotel and Uptown Mall,
was covered with graffiti, only a few bulbs shedding light
upon its face. DeSoto walked up to the front door, right in
the heart of Slaughterhouse territory. He swallowed, the
saliva going down his dry throat in a knot, and knocked on
the door, his hand moving instinctively toward his
Sternmeyer.
After a pause, a gruff voice answered from the other
side of the heavy, wooden door. "Password," it said.
DeSoto swallowed hard again, hoping that his act would
go over okay. "Fuck the password, you asshole," he said in
his intimidating voice, "you know what I'm here for. Now
let's get this over with."
A pause again. Then the sound of a bolt sliding, the
door opening enough to let a hand through, a razor covered
hand at that. DeSoto saw the flash of metal and turned
quickly to face his adversary. The Slaughterhouse member was
standing with his head barely sticking between the door and
the jamb, his hand grasping the wall, rippers extended.
"Why you alone," he said in his rough voice, exposing a set
of sharp, pointed teeth, their enamel shining in the
darkness.
"'Cause I'm here to settle the deal. There was a
problem somewhere else that required the assistance of some
of our men. The corporation is confident that I would be
able to deal with you. And if I don't return in a few
hours," he said, grinning, "then you're gonna get the shit
blown out of you by Arasaka. Now, can we go inside and get
on with this."
The ganger paused, obviously having a little difficulty
fully understanding what DeSoto was saying, before opening
the door and ushering him inside. "Last door on your right,"
he said as he closed the door, sliding the bolt back in
place. DeSoto nodded and walked down the dimly lit hallway,
his cybernetic eye scanning for any surprises that might be
waiting along the way. The hallway ended with doors on both
sides and one in front of him. Doing as he was instructed,
he walked through the door to the right, closing it behind
him.
The room was rectangle shaped with a bar against one
wall and several crude tables set up in the center, several
light bulbs hanging exposed from the ceiling. Graffiti
covered the walls and floor and an old, inoperable jukebox
leaned against the far wall. Sitting alone at the bar was a
behemoth of a man. His meat body and head were all that
remained, the rest metal attachments and enhancements. His
arms and legs glittered in the light, hallucinogenic patterns
playing over his appendages. The metal man turned slowly,
eyeing DeSoto as he approached.
"Has Arasaka decided to make the smart move," asked the
Metagon, his unblinking eyes carefully watching DeSoto's
every move.
"First I want to see the female," said DeSoto, standing
staunchly in front of Metagon.
Metagon sipped at the drink sitting in front of him and
said without facing DeSoto, "Certainly." He snapped his
fingers and two gangers appeared out of the shadows, the
blades on their bodies glittering. They carried the limp
form of Tonya over to a table, setting her gently down in a
chair, her unconscious body conforming to its shape as it
slumped down. DeSoto looked at Tonya and then back to
Metagon before saying, "The deal was that she's alive."
Metagon grinned, still looking forward, and said, "She
is alive, just a little enlightened right now." The two
gangers chuckled slightly as they stood guard by her limp
body. DeSoto lifted his briefcase and set it on the bar.
With a flip of the side switches, the top popped open. He
lifted it to reveal a mass of dollar bills. Metagon casually
looked over at the pile of money, asking, "How much is
there?"
"One million," replied DeSoto without a pause.
Metagon set the glass on the table, his hand still
wrapped around it, turned toward DeSoto and said, "We said
two."
Sensing the anger in his voice, DeSoto acted quickly,
saying, "This is all that Arasaka will give. You can either
take it and get something out of this deal or I walk. It's
very simple."
Metagon just stared at DeSoto, gritting his teeth. The
glass in his hand exploded under his tremendous grip, sending
shards across the bar. DeSoto's hand started to go toward
his Sternmeyer, but he decided he had better play it cool.
Metagon stood up slowly, the servos in his arms and legs
whirring and humming. He took a step toward DeSoto, who
stood stoically, and outstretched his metallic hand and said,
"Good enough. Now take her and get off our turf."
DeSoto complied, hoisting the unconscious form over his
shoulder and walking out of the bar. His exit was expedient,
though hindered by the weight of her body, and he made it to
his car without any problems. Laying her down in the back
seat, he drove off to the western part of the city.
* * * * * * * *
Julius Noland was ready to do some serious damage. He
was the commander of an Arasaka assault unit known as the
Black Dragons, a unit that had just been scrambled upon word
of trouble with a negotiations team. It was his job to find
out what the problem was, starting with the Slaughterhouse
gang. His squad did a quick roll call while they checked
weapons, slamming fresh clips into their assault rifles.
Strapping a grenade launcher to his back, Julius said, "Let's
go," and the squad was off, quickly loading into a waiting
AV-4. With a rush of air and sound, the AV-4 launched
vertically into the air, gaining some altitude before racing
northward toward Slaughterhouse territory. He slowly stroked
the barrel of his weapon as he waited to be dropped off.
They were to go in on foot, discover any "threats", and
remove them in as expedient a way as possible. The AV-4
would head back to home base, Arasaka not wanting to attract
too much attention by this move. "God, life is great," he
thought, checking the ETA, showing 4 minutes at cruising
speed.
* * * * * * * *
Rage stopped the van about a block away from the Pit,
dimming the headlights. Warchild's handed Rage a FN-RAL,
fully loaded, from between the seats. Rage nodded, flipping
the safety to full auto. "Okay," he began, the team huddling
toward the front of the van, weapons ready. "You guys get
out here and start to make your way toward the Pit at light
speed. Raith and I wait here until two minutes have passed.
At that point, I drive past the side of the Pit, spraying it
with as many bullets as I can pump outta this thing here.
Hopefully, that'll distract the guards from the front a
little, allowing you guys to make your way into the building.
Shiva, use your sensors and that C6 I brought to set up a
little booby trap. Be sure that it's not armed too early, so
you guys don't blow yourself up comin' back out or something.
Just remember to find Tonya and get her back out here."
"But that's one big fuckin' building, man," complained
Mantis. "We gotta search that whole thing?"
"Hell yes," said Warchild, "that's our job."
"That's why we got this stuff," said Shatter, patting
his auto-shotgun.
"Right," continued Rage, ignoring Mantis's complaint,
"and I'll keep the activity going on the outside, to get as
many of the punks out of the building as possible. Raith
here will be checkin' for any remotes with his deck. He'll
call you on your communicators if he finds anything. Any
questions," Rage asked.
"Yeah," said Mantis, slinging the RPG-A over his
shoulder, "I still wanna know how we're supposed to find this
chick."
"Would you shut up about it," replied Warchild, shaking
his head. "We'll find her."
"All right then," Rage said, "let's do it. Distraction
in 2 minutes. Rock and roll, people," he said as the team
climbed out the back doors. Rage's last sight of them was
Warchild's skull tattooed face between the two closing rear
doors. Checking his watch, Rage said, "Go to it, runner," to
Raith, who was sitting by, his deck hooked up to a modem for
cellular usage. Raith didn't have to enter the net to check
for any remotely controlled equipment, but could stay in the
flesh world, a rather handy technique if things got hot and
he needed to use his gun. As he turned his deck on, the
command menu appeared before him, a mental hologram. He
scrolled through it, searching for the section covering the
Pit's electronics. As he worked, Rage crawled into the back
of the van, gathering up the grenades he had purchased at
Morgan's. Setting them in holders by the driver's seat, he
checked his FN-RAL one more time, making sure the safety was
completely off. His watch read one minute until takeoff.
* * * * * * * *
Warchild's breath was coming out in barely controlled
huffs, the rest of the group following closely behind him,
their weapons ready. Darting from shadow to shadow, he had
almost reached his destination, an alleyway across from the
Pit. So far, there had been no encounters, amazing for this
time of the night and their proximity to the heart of
Slaughterhouse turf. "Maybe their all at home, watchin' TV,"
he thought, waiting for the team to catch up to him. In
thirty more seconds, they were in position, just a street
width's away from the target, waiting for Rage to come by in
a blaze of glory. He checked his watch, using hand signals
to tell the others that Rage should be coming by any second
now. His ears straining, Warchild thought he heard the whine
of an AV-4's engines in the distance.
* * * * * * * *
********************************************************************************
Copyright (c) 1992 James M. Cook - All rights reserved and deserved.
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