First Draft

by Cherry Rie

No Rest for the Wicked

Chapter Thirteen: No Rest for the Wicked

When human beings live in a stressful environment, their brains compensate through behavioural changes known as ‘coping mechanisms’. Sometimes this can mean the substitution of reality, escape into interactive worlds or holo-novels. Others cope through self medication, addressing the chemical imbalances in the brain with a variety of colourful substances, like alcohol or nicotine.

And then there are those who just see the world as it is and then blame it on everyone else. Cynics.

Jessop was well practiced in such methods and hated just about everything. For instance, he hated the sticking door on the gent’s lavatory that somehow worked for everyone but him. He hated the pudding they served on Tuesdays, some pink and wobbly monstrosity that bemoaned the loss of simple wholesome food cubes. Hate was his release, the old security chief never happy unless he had something to moan about.

But beyond all of life’s misdemeanours, Jessop loathed the graveyard shift. Covering for his sick colleague the previous morning had been bad enough, but his own shift left just a gnat’s fart to grab some shut eye. After barely four hours of respite, he had been forced to part company from both a comfortable bed and a beautiful woman. Then again, a lack of sleep wasn’t exactly high on his list of complaints, given what the pleasant alternative had been.

Reaching the ground floor of the Bureau, the chief set his course towards the security wing at the rear of the complex and counted off his mental to-do list. First he’d need to check the security feeds for erroneous flags. Then he’d delete said flags, get coffee and mooch for the rest of the night. Yep, that about summed up the next six hours.

Stretching out his cramped arms against the unrestrictive light armour, Jessop considered his run of fortune regarding his thankless choice of employment. Despite being one of the first purpose build structures for conversion, the Porland Bureau was one of the dullest beats he had ever worked. Sure there were the usual punch ups in among the ‘human’ residents, even the occasional stabbing, but other than that everything was quiet. No crazies screaming about horses eating their brains or mad priests picketing the doors with their flock of scared blue collar worshipers. Even the HLF seemed to just about ignore the place.

Here was a prime target for any self respecting terrorist, and the only interesting thing to have happened since its foundation was a riot almost two weeks ago. And he’d been on his day off too! It was times like this when Jessop Whild, son and grandson of war heroes, realised he was nothing more than an under paid mall cop.

Sighing, Jessop finally reached the security doors and reached for his pass card. Finding the jacket pocket empty, he began patting down each pocket in search of the wayward key, expression growing more frantic by the moment. He couldn’t have lost it, could he? Oh that’d be his head if he had. Genetic keys were hard enough to make let alone replace.

Just then, the sound of someone running barefoot along the walkway caught his attention. Taking the stairs two at a time, a hastily dressed Malini Kellcor came belting down to the ground floor. White lab coat wrapped tightly to hide the oversized t-shirt she was still wearing, the Latino nurse slowed to a brisk jog as she spotted Jessop still stuck outside his office.

“Jessie. You, forgot, this!” She gasped, holding up a trinket that was probably worth more than both their lives combined.

For something of such value, the genetic key was truly insignificant in appearance. Barrel like with tiny indentations along its entire length, the device resembled a short green pencil that had been chewed upon by someone in deep thought. In all of the world though, there was none other like it. Encoded with a uniquely designed DNA sequence, they made for a lock that was utterly impossible to crack without the host to whom the key had been attuned.

Palming the tiny device, Jessop swept a hand around the nurse’s hip and pulled her close to his chest.

“You” he started, pausing to plant a playful kiss upon her ruby lips, “are an absolute life saviour!”

With a tired smile, Malini lent in close to her lover’s ear and lowered her voice to a whisper, “Then you can owe me one for later. But now I’m going back to bed.”

Watching from his tranquil daze, Jessop kept his eyes upon the vision of loveliness until she had disappeared back up the hall stairs. Though some may have said that the girl had too much meat on her bones, Jessop found the nanite sculpted super models of fashion to be frankly disturbing. Old fashioned as he was, give him a woman who could lift a pig under each arm and he was a happy guy. True, relationships between staff were technically prohibited, but they had been relatively discreet and no one had seen fit to complain yet. And frankly, for a piece of that, World-Gov could go hang.

As he turned to the doorway, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the tinted glass, the image summoning forth a recently overused question; ‘How? How can this ugly mug get so damn lucky?’

Recalling a handsome Caribbean teen with dreads and a badass scar across one cheek, Jessop was aware that he had been fairly good looking at one point. But life outside of the mega cities was tough. You needed allies and respect or you’d wind up taking a dirt nap. Carving your initials into the slums, you had to bleed for what little you had, life’s ironic alternative to income tax. And these years of living on the edge had taken their toll. Between the jagged scars from his gang life and a virulent melanoma that had spread up the left side of his neck, what little skin remained was a pail ghost of the vibrant youth that had once been.

Now he was bitter, old before his time and ugly as sin.

Pushing the door aside, the Chief stepped into the dimly lit security room, allowing the entrance to swing too behind him before inserting the genetic key into the consol. Rising like the tones of some turbine deep below ground, the subtle hum of energising capacitors and flickering LED screens resonated throughout the fortress of solitude. Lights gently raised their intensity to light the room, the welcoming logo of World-Gov rotating across the vast array of monitors.

“Good evening sir.” The well spoken voice of the Bureau AI greeted. “I trust you slept well, if briefly?”

Jessop smirked and dropped heavily into his form fitting chare, “Yes and no, Harvey. Give me the latest and start a camera cycle check.”

“Very good sir.” Harvey replied.

At his command the array divided into thirds, a long list of minor security flags receiving the centre space, sandwiched between various feeds from around the bureau. In one corner of the extensive matrix, a solitary figure stood waiting outside the bureau service entrance.

Operation commencing, t-minus forty seconds.

FFID disengaged. Cold running initialised. Security compromise... confirmed.

Prioritisation; Concealment of primary goal critical.

Stealth advisory; medium. Witness policy, high. Acceptable collateral damage; minimal.

Vehicle entering area.
Forerunner Claseque, four valve. Discontinued Mail-corporation design.
Illegal hull reinforcement- reclaimed steel. No armaments, threat minimal.

Engine disengaged, Vehicle now illegally parked. Registration shown, noted for parking authority.

Civilian disembarking, driver’s side.
Distance twenty meters.

Asian male, est-age thirty seven.
Light build. Damage to right ocular, healed, estimate four years since injury occurred.
Favours right leg, possible prosthesis; Cybernetics, negative.
Unarmed; Threat minimal.
Uniform Identified as operational courier, carrying mission related articles. Three articles equipped, scanner and two mission related articles.

Moving to engage dialogue.

Presenting evidence.

Presenting evidence.

First package obtained.
Oblong.
Weight, four pounds.
Dimensions; ninety-seventy-ninety.
Contents; Mission critical tools.

Second package obtained.
Cylindrical. Internal division; three cylindrical units.
Weight, three point seven pounds.
Dimensions, twenty - twenty – three hundred and twenty.
Contents; Mission critical chemical container.

Unpacking first container. Attaching utility belt and mission vital accessories.

Running inventory:
Micro spot-welder - Laser measurement tool - Motor Driver – Titanium resin – Z4 shape charge – Valve and gasket – duct tape.

Warning, Civilian has not departed area. Discontinue?

Assessing… termination denied; suspicion would compromise mission. Redaction will be provided for.

Answer required within seven seconds to alleviate suspicion.
Ghost purge suspended, control protocols relaxed four percent.

Processing… Subject unlikely to trust any answer, security through disbelief best course.
Providing allocated response:
“Deadly Neurotoxin.”

Civilian leaving. Restabilising GCP… Error 401,
Ghost Control Protocol rejected, schedule maintenance once mission complete.
GCP at ninety six percent and falling.

Approaching service exit four.
Assessing mission brief;
Internal security timegap of ten seconds begins upon disengagement of magnetic deadlock.

Confirmed as deactivated.
Proceeding with objective.

Exterior door resealed. Security window moving, Eight seconds to traverse first security zone.
Access corridor ten A leading to junction three, nine hundred meters to target.
Junction three to connective corridor Forty A, leading to service stairwell six, Seven hundred meters to target.
Security zone cleared, window reset plus three seconds.
Descending stairwell two levels to Basement two.

Security door already bypassed by security failure window, magnetic deadlock not engaged.
Entering restricted area.
Restricted corridor curves down at four degree slope to subterranean umbilical, bisected by vault transition area.
High priority area. Resistance expected.
Fifteen seconds to clear second waypoint, unacceptable time risk. Accelerating.
Error in provided schematics: Glass doors provide line of sight between stationed guards and corridor.
Three seconds to impact. Risk assessment;

First combat unit;
Male. Caucasian, age unknown.
Heavy build. BlackMesh armour; Carbon-Titanium weave, lacking enclosed helmet.

Second combat unit;
Female. Race and age unknown.
Heavy build. Full BlackMesh armour; Carbon-Titanium weave.
Stance suggests cybernetic prosthesis.

Shared attributes;
Armed: One PK50 Rail accelerator plus Cobra 9mm sidearm.
Slow movement suggests inattention.
Status Alerted.

Threat…

Minimal.

“Sir,” Harvey’s ever respectful voice intruded, “there is an urgent anomaly flagged for your attention.”

Security chief Whild swivelled his comfy chair and slid along his monitoring station. Scooping up a tablet, he came to rest before a set of glowing monitors of Harvey’s interface consol.

“What’s it this time Harv,” the man muttered, irritably tinted with boredom, “Rat stuck in the air purifier?”

“I’m afraid not sir.” Replied the AI, eloquent tones belying any senses of urgency, “I have lost contact with the vault guard team. There may have been a Thaumic surge from the containment reservoir.”

Jessop cursed and slid around to his camera station. Pulling up a shift roster on the tablet, the agitated man quickly scanned through the day’s scheduled patrols and tapped the corresponding names.

“Alpha station calling Vault team, come back… Daniels, Fairfax, respond?”

Static was the only reply to the radio call. Grumbling Jessop stood up quickly and walked to the large cabinet on the far wall of his office.

“All units, we have a possible containment issue in the vault. Move to emergency stations, I want people stationed in each clinic. Keep radio contact, first sign of radiation get everyone out. Don’t wait for the order to start evacuations.”

Stepping backwards into the open cabinet, Jessop lifted his arms and gripped two handles that would start the mechanical armature. Smooth greased motors spun somewhere in the back of the metallic vessel, claw like attachments sliding out to lock the chief into the mechanism. Like the arms of a mechanical lover, sleek plates of bright red armour slid around and over the man, attaching to his light blackmesh suit. Built of a similar material to the original R24 serum containers, the armour was supposed to protect one against the deadly magical radiation that permeated the vault area. True, such protection might only grant the wearer a few minutes within the vault itself, but at least it would allow him to get close enough to investigate.

“Harvey, I’m going down to the Vault tunnel, bring up the security feeds for that area.”

There was an uncharacteristic pause before the AI finally responded. “I’m sorry sir, our monitoring zone doesn’t extend to that area.”

“Wha? Bullshit!” Jessop exclaimed, cocking an eyebrow at the consol “What are you on about? The vault has a zone all to itself. There’s everything from camera’s to seismometers down there!”

“No sir,” Reiterated the authoritative voice “There are no monitoring devices in the sub basement.”

Waving a dismissively, the now fully armoured guard strode up to the consol and pulled the genetic key from its recess.

“Fuc’it, I’ll have someone run a diagnostic on you later.”

Valve confirmed as airtight, seal approved for use.

Running diagnostic. . . . Additional adhesions required.

Applying duct tape.

Duct tape application complete.

Primary and secondary installations complete. Objectives updated and new waypoint set.

System self test results are now collated; Biological deterioration at elevated level.
-Connective tissues for abdominal wall compromised.
-Muscular degradation increasing.
-Radiological damage detected in tertiary

Reducing motor enchantment and redirecting resources to self repair.

Moving to next objective, reinitialize pressure in secondary distribution system.

Warning; Foreign contaminant detected in fluidic filtration systems.

Analising. . . Result of molecular brake down:
Six mole carbon, twelve mole hydrogen six mole oxygen- C6H12O6

External communication detected in restricted area. Witness policy; high.
Eliminate possible mission threat.

..
…

Subject could not be located. Possible stealth unit, readying deployment of extreme prejudice.

Source located. Four meters above ocular altitude… subject defying localized gravity and standing on ceiling

Risk assessment;

Error, subject is none human.
Subject species; Unkown Mammalian.
Details; Medium quadruped with large forward facing ocular field.
Coat orange in coloration with no discernible patterns or markings.
Ghost files suggest Equinoid life form, unit IDC ‘Dizzy’.
…Ignoring.

WARNING, WARNING, SUBJECT MAKING CONTACT WITH CRAINIUM…
No impact detected through nervous system, warning canceled.

Subject now levitating over control valves… reassess.
Subject now levitating ‘Through’ the control valves.
Spatial impossibility.
Visual error?

Analyzing… GCP eighty five percent and falling.
Effects of continued radiation absorption would be detrimental to mission.

Proceeding with haste.

Opening valves one through to six.
Valve reassertion complete. Retrieving containment vessel.
- One liter Thermos-flask.
Note; Container could be inadequate shielding for radioactive produce. Continue?

… Accessing localized test distributor.
Filling containment vessel.

Moving to final phase of mission. Access restriction.
Retrieving tools and resealing vault… Blast door resealed, hermetic environment re-established.
Security protocols show that plasticrete deployment pods have a ninety second delay before detonation.

Initiating count down.

Across the Bureau foyer, through a security door and down a seldom used flight of stairs lay one of the most fortified places in the entire facility. With the expanding demands of an increasingly desperate human population, the Portland Bureau was the first to rely on large scale storage for the precious R24 serum. During construction, world-gov took the unique opportunity to experiment with a lot of ideas on bureau design, even its security chief didn’t know all of them. It wasn’t just big things like Harvey or the Potion delivery system either. Everything from crowd management to the modular construction of the clinics was designed, all expressly designed to accelerate the conversion process. Jessop had long ago worked out that the facility could probably be adapted for mass conversion or modular expansion, the big clue being ‘The Vault’.

Buried deep within the bedrock and linked only by a single umbilical tunnel, the large room housed storage vats capable of holding two million litres of R24 solution. Reinforced pipes fed the grape liquid from this one source to all of the clinics in the Bureau. Even with barely a tenth of their potential used, there was still eight thousand litres of radioactive material contained in that small space, emitting enough Thaumic energy to boil a man’s flesh in moments.

And now apparently, someone was crazy enough to try breaking into it. And by the look of things they must have brought a bulldozer.

Resisting the urge to run towards the scene of chaos, Jessop reached for his side arm and cautiously approached, eyeing the twisted glassless frame that remained where the sliding doors had been. Stepping across the other half of the door, his attentive eyes quickly scanned the room for signs of hostile movement, finding only the two recumbent figures of the duty guards slumped next to the open blast door. Pools of blood had collected next to both of them, yet they seemed intact from a distance.

Like a graceful red armoured samurai, Jessop crept into the antechamber, keeping his eyes trained on the connective corridor that led to the bowls of the earth. Bending down, he placed two fingers against the unmasked soldier and felt for a pulse. To his amazement the man was only unconscious. From his awkward posture it was clear he’d been thrown around like a rag doll, but surface wise there was little more than a gaping wound on his arm where the sub-dermal communication implant had been ripped out. A few careful steps revealed the other had not been so lucky, chest plate buckled past the contours of the normal human ribcage. No bullet wounds or smell of plasma discharge from their weapons either. That was even more worrying then if they had simply been gunned down. Someone or something had smashed through triple thickness Plexiglas doors and taken out two heavily armoured guards, all without either party firing a shot.

There was a distinct tang wafting from the open doorway, ozone and a slight freshness about the air that hung around after unicorns performed magic. Could one of those pointy horses have done this? Didn’t seem very likely, but Jessop was never one to rule out any possibility when it came to who he might have to shoot next.

Switching his radio to broadcast, the chief of security made ready to find out either way.

“All units, we have a security breach in the Vault. I repeat, security breach in the Vault.”

Seconds passed with no reply, a repeated message yielding similar results. Adding a communication blackout to his list of complaints, Jessop grabbed the rifle from one of the indisposed troopers and started down the long corridor that linked the Bureau to the depths of the Vault.

Only the barest of lighting had been installed down here, casting gaunt shadows across the dust covered walkway. Nothing alive had traversed the dank under passages since the pumping system had been installed, the umbilical meant only for emergency maintenance by drones or suitably proficient equines. But even under such poor illumination, colours of dull rust were steadily being amplified by the ever increasing Thaumic field, as though some child was messing with the universe’s saturation setting. A ubiquitous gurgling sound permeated the dark shadows cast by innumerable pipes, the walls of the tunnel lost behind the thick trunks that fed Portland’s twelve clinics.

Every dozen feet or so, drainpipe sized pillars ran floor to ceiling, bright warning labels hinting at the final solution should things in the vault get out of control. Jessop knew that just one of those polymer nodes could fill his office with fast setting Plasti-Crete in a matter of seconds. Usually during an attack or dangerous radiation surge, the thin pillars could be used to seal up the vault entirely while leaving the pipes unharmed. But with the central AI apparently blind to this area, Harvey couldn’t detonate this final countermeasure and entomb the unlucky assailant.

Pale pools of light ran out before him, ending suddenly against a thick blast door. Chilly air sent a shiver of elation racing down the man’s spine. Gods he’d missed this; the chase. With every step he drew closer to an unknown quarry, the sweet rush of heart pounding adrenalin drenching his senses in the euphoria he had once lived for. Beneath his thick black armour Jessop’s skin began to prickle, the smouldering sensation spreading in bands wherever the reflective plates didn’t quite close.

Eyes adjusted to the low light, a smile flared across the guard’s scar-pocked features as he finaly caught sight of his pray. Starting out as just another shadow, a slight inconsistency ahead turned out to be a solitary figure stood at one side of the tunnel. Even better, the unlucky sod was distracted, staring distantly at one of the multitude of wall mounted pipes, an arm outstretched to touch its polished surface.

Sighting along his weapon, Jessop could think of only one thing that could make this more perfect; seeing the expression on the bastards face just as he pulled the trigger.

“BlackMesh security! Fre-”

The world became a blur of lights. Pieces of the bright red chest plate soared through the air along with his stricken body, armour forfeit after saving his life from the colossal blow. At last meeting the concrete floor like a discarded sock monkey, Jessop’s vision swam as he tried to draw air into his burning lungs.

It had moved with godly speed, landing a strike that would have undoubtedly killed him outright if not for the ceramic radiation armour. Ribs screamed of fractures with every laboured breath, but survival instincts older then the concept of respiration drove the stunned man to his feet. Stillness was death.

It was still coming, all shadow and burning green eyes flickering in the pallid light. Moving at a lazy walk, his assailant closed the gap between them, each step measured precisely to reach the downed man before he could gather his wits.

Now on one knee, the chief’s hands involuntarily sought out his rifle, the weapon’s strap miraculously remaining around his arm despite the brief flight. But despite his honed strength the gun had become a dead weight in Jessop’s grip, rising as though it were being dragged through treacle. Before he could bring the barrel to bear a skeletal hand neatly caught its length. Digits closed like a pneumatic vice, biting into the gun’s surface and rendering it useless.

And then the strangest thing happened; his attacker froze. It was barely a half second of distraction, a tilt of the head as though something bazaar and confusing had drawn away its attention, but it was more than enough for Jessop. Curling his blood spotted lips into a snarl, the chief wound up and brought his fist around, resulting in the satisfying crunch of flesh and bone. Boasting a punch that would have floored most of his privates outright, Jessop had expected more than the slight stagger from the formidable opponent, its attention well and truly brought back to the present. Either way, he certainly did not expect the blossom of pain across his shattered knuckles.

In the watery light, emerald eyes stared apathetically into his own as the plastic face turned back to the impudent man. A gash across torn by the sucker punch was already surrounded by waxy tissue, metal glinting beneath the spreading globs of reconstructed synthetic flesh.

“Fuck me!”
Jessop’s panicked curse wasted what little time his distraction bought. Rifle ripped violently from his grasp, the chief was hurled against the wall bound pipes with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. Afforded not so much as a breath, the other wall rushed up to greet him, face slamming into the unforgiving metal.

Fleeting darkness enveloped him as his consciousness waned. Blinking images came and went with every heart beat, the wall, the feet, the hand reaching down. Pain dragged him back to a reality where he was being held off the ground by a Revenant. Hoisted by his neck, the man hung limply, feeling one arm answering his call to action with barely more than a twitch.

This was it. Around his throat the fingers began to close quickly, cutting through his flesh like hot knives. They wouldn’t stop until they had formed a fist where his windpipe used to be, all but severing his head. In a second it would be over, nothing left to do but choke and bleed out at the feet of this impossible weapon.

“St-st-st m-.”

Jessop blinked. He wasn’t dead, the fingers though burning like hell fire had paused their unstoppable march through his flesh. Before him the impassive monstrosity stood frozen once more, garbled speech coming from its chest as though some terrible blue screen error had occurred. Instinctively, the guard’s working hand found his side arm.

“Stop-dd.d.d.d.d.d.d”

Through unclear and distorted, the voice sounded strained with desperation.
Blood leaking from his lips, Jessop lifted the heavy pistol.

“Stop Me!”

There was no shower of sparks or dramatic recital of test phrases as the machine died; only a jerk of the head as the figure went limp. Folding up just as any other human being, the Revenant fell like a puppet with its strings cut. Hitting the ground with a resounding thwack, Jessop pulled himself up quickly and fought for breath, choking up crimson gouts of blood that joined that already pooling from his neck wounds. Beside him lay his attacker, the machine silent and unmoving. Panting with near blinding pain, the chief steadied himself against the pipe work and dragged himself up right. He was bleeding profusely, his chest was on fire and one arm was at the very least dislocated.

Resting against a pillar for a moment, a flicker of red light caught his sparse attention. Next to his beaten face, the polymer node flashed again, it’s thin warning lamp barely two inches from his watering eyes. Not entirely convinced he wasn’t seeing things, Jessop turned to look back down the long umbilical corridor just as a wave of warning lights pulsed up its length. That defiantly hadn’t been there before.

“Harvey?” He croaked, pushing himself unsteadily off the wall, “Harvey, the plasti-creat system’s running…”

At the far end of the tunnel one of the lights vanished, a rush of air blowing past as its corresponding lamp guttering before plunging the corridor into darkness. Shortly after another red light winked out.

“Great… just fucking great.”

Staggering around the chief began to limp his way back towards the glowing entrance, dragging his complaining body away from the advancing darkness. Ahead of him the stark lights of the anti-chamber urged him onwards through the intense pain, a series of loud pops echoing about the tunnel providing ever greater encouragement. In his mind’s eye Jessop pictured the tidal wave of suffocating ballistic concrete bearing down upon his already frail body. Yet part of him keened for his attention, a part that was tied to his roots in the streets and had yearned for a damn good scrap all these months. It was telling him the echoing crack was the sound of gunfire from further up the tunnel.

Unfortunately too distracted to heed the warning his senses were broadcasting, Jessop burst into the welcoming light. Practically skidding to a halt, the Chief’s world slowed as he caught sight of the ragged remains that had been the last living guard. Too late did his frantic eyes turn to the defence turret now arching to aim at this new staggering target.

Everything moved at a crawl, the first rounds from the turret shredding his shoulder even as he was thrown out of the line of fire. Like some avenging daemon, the sleek form of the Revenant lunged past, a fine spray of bio-fluid and flesh blowing away from its armourless body as it leapt at the turret.

It reached out, rammed something into the still repeating barrel, and the world exploded.