Virion_The Black Cell

by R. L. M. Sanchez

  The protester began pointing at various individuals in the crowd. “You, sir? You, madam? We all do! Genetically superior to us, the Aurorans give us air on otherwise inhospitable planets! They are immune to the virus, the flu, the cold. Yet they refuse and outlaw faster-than-light technology to humans! Why do they say this? Because they won’t risk allowing the infection to the rest of the galaxy?”

  “Do not listen to this! We have been alongside you for centuries, we share your struggles—”

  “Preposterous! We are prisoners in our own home! What says this crowd about the Auroran Conspiracy?” A few people in the crowd began rambling, most agreeing with the rallier, while others shook their heads and walked off. The Auroran shook her head, sad above all, and left as well. “Fight the Auroran Conspiracy, fight for the future! Believe the Cure!”

  McKenna took a bite of the noodles he had ordered at the food stand, which was enclosed in a bio-bubble, a sort of miniature version of the domes on Mars so patrons could get a quick meal without having to go through a building off the main streets. This had allowed him to overhear the entirety of the protestor’s ramble outside as he went through some files regarding the ISTF and its procedures. The ISTF HQ was one level down and a few blocks away, and the detour had been pleasant up until that point.

  The protestor had his freedom of speech and loved to exercise it by the looks of things. This sort of occurrence was apparently common, both regular protests against the Auroran presence and regular protests in favor. Although the speeches rarely invoked violence, they were still something for the police to keep account of. The protestor across the street could be somewhat dangerous if he had more than six people in his following.

  “Every damn day, that guy,” the Auroran behind the counter said. As owner as well as cook, he must have had every nerve twisted and stretched if the protester really was there every day.

  “You ever think about moving shop?” McKenna asked the Auroran.

  “Why the hell should I? I’m feeding people food, both Auroran and humans. He’s just selling bullshit to whoever buys it.”

  “I wouldn’t let it get to you. Nations have always protested foreign occupancy for as long as there’s been man.”

  “Trust me, human, I’m not exactly scared of a crazy old conspiracy theorist. I just wish he wouldn’t view us as foreign dictators, zealots, radicals, or whatever he decides to call us next. I sell noodles for Spirit’s sake. But most importantly, we’re not man.”

  McKenna knew the racism and animosity the Auroran was speaking of. Being an ex-Martian soldier, he too received the blunt of such feelings. No feeling was lower than being spit on and cursed at by anyone who knew where you came from. Councilor Krieg had been his first reminder of that since he arrived on this planet.

  “Good news is that your noodles are why no one listens to that asshole, they were pretty good.” McKenna said after taking his last bite. “The last Auroran I saw was a bartender on this planet. I have to ask, why give it up?”

  “Excuse me?” It wasn’t a strange question, but one the Revente never got used to answering.

  “No offense to your profession, but why leave your homeworld to come to Earth? Seems if you had a choice, this bullshit from us is completely avoidable.”

  The cook took a step back from the counter to look at a small family pendant hidden underneath. “My father was one of the first Redeemers who made landfall here. I could go to Nera’Revente, sure, but I was born here. I’ve never known another home. My brothers on my homeworld say you’re either a servant of the Elders or of the Emperor, but no Revente complains. You’re never forgotten and you always have a sense of worth, but your diligence belongs to the Emperor. Your feelings belong to the Elders. There’s no opportunity for creation. When my people made landfall here, we found your culture beneath the ruins that you created. Many thought it horrifying. But many saw beauty. It opened a new world of diversity and idea. That’s why you have Aurorans selling booze or noodles, human.”

  McKenna wiped his mouth and stood from his stool. He tipped the cook generously as he put on his coat and affixed his breather.

  “Ha, you’re all right, human. Come back anytime.”

  McKenna equipped his breather and stepped out of the food stand to find a light drizzle. He flipped his coat’s collar and sheathed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the busy street.

  The streets below were busier than above and there were shady people about, but there were no gunshots going off every few minutes and the occasional patrol VTOL even flew past, low and slow. This being Yellow Sector, McKenna wasn’t in any danger of walking into a turf war, but he still had his guard up. Muggers were a concern to him at this point.

  He looked ahead to see a crowd hovering around something, but the people obscured his view. As he got closer McKenna heard screaming and raspy coughs. He made it to the crowd and started forcing his way past them.

  “Interpol, clear a hole!” McKenna shouted. “Make way, police!” He had no idea who his backup was, or what the inside of his precinct looked like. Still, he felt he had a job to do. Once through the crowd, McKenna stared out over a grotesque scene. Some pedestrians had their hands over their transparent breathers to hide their expressions while others covered their eyes and looked away.

  McKenna looked down and saw a middle-aged man gasping for air, his breather knocked off, bleeding from anywhere where blood could surface. The Black Cell. This was what happened when you breathed Earth’s air unfiltered. Losing a breather must not be a common sight, given the amount of people gathered. The man continued writhing on the ground, reaching out for help, but everyone only backed away.

  “Stay clear of him!” a man shouted from the crowd. McKenna stepped forward with the ignorant thought that he could help, but was stopped by another bystander.

  “Hold it buddy, there’s nothing you can do,” the bystander said. McKenna felt helpless as he stood and watched. Soon, the man began to spasm so hard that his spine cracked, causing a shiver in everyone who hadn’t already run away scared.

  McKenna wasn’t sure if what he was doing was right or wrong in this situation. He felt it was wrong to watch a man die in such a manner, but soon it didn’t matter. The victim stopped moving, killed by the Black Cell, the mysterious virus that haunted Earth’s atmosphere and killed indiscriminately.

  “Show’s over, disperse!” McKenna said.

  The crowd broke apart, and they all went about their normal routines with a less than pleasant image burned into their everyday thoughts. McKenna took a knee and inspected the victim, where he noticed several gruesome lacerations down his face. Before he could investigate further, he turned around at the sound of running footsteps to see a medic and two Interpol Enforcers approaching him, both wearing the patrol attire of the city. French blue shirts with a checkered stripe down the sleeves, a black tie and a black armored vest made up the torso ensemble. Their low-profile helmets and goggles gave them tactical readouts via an integrated HUD, and the getup was complete with black battle-dress pants, boots and name tags.

  Enforcers Swan and Johns approached McKenna. He stood up to greet them but was met with a less than friendly welcome, seeing their weapons drawn: two ESA-94 Enforcers, the standard issue sidearm for Interpol enforcers.

  “Hands where I can see them!” Johns said. It must have been a confusing sight for the Enforcers: a dead man on the ground with McKenna hovering over it. Confusing if you lacked an eye for detail. As he raised his hands, one of the Enforcers noticed the pistol under his coat.

  “Lose the shooter!” Swan shouted.

  McKenna didn’t know if the Enforcer was green or just not good at his job, considering he was asking McKenna to remove his own weapon.

  “I’m dropping it, but run an ID check. I’m newly instated, ECG Enigma-One-Four-Niner-Fox, ISTF—”

  “We’ll do the police work here, dickhead,” Johns said. McKenna laid his pistol down slowly and kicked it towards them as Johns picked it up. “T
his is quite a cannon here,” Johns said. “This high-powered ordinance is illegal, friend. That will be marked, as well as this potential homicide.”

  The Enforcers moved towards McKenna slowly as the medic accompanying them rushed towards the victim behind. Meanwhile, Swan was running McKenna’s credentials on his OPIaA. McKenna felt flustered to say the least. Being on the other side of the law was odd.

  “It’s Black Cell, Enforcers, stand down,” the medic said, still inspecting the body.

  Johns lowered his weapon but remained cautious of the man with a Martian weapon. “So that rules out a murder. Maybe,” Johns said. “What were you doing here, pal? You enjoy watching that?”

  “I was actually looking into what his original demise would’ve been if not for the virus—”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ll hear it in a bit,” Johns said, and kept his weapon trained on McKenna again.

  “It took about three times but it finally went through,” Swan said looking at his OPIaA. “It’s coming up now… holy shit!” Swan said, immediately throwing up a salute. “Sorry, sir!”

  “What’s wrong, Swan?” Johns asked. Swan showed him McKenna’s credentials, his OPIaA flaring in his eyes.

  “Interpol Inspector, ISTF… Marshal Service? Down here?” Johns said, throwing a salute as well. “Sorry, Inspector McKenna, or Marshal McKenna! Shit! You’ll have to excuse us. We were just being routine!”

  “You called him a dickhead, Johns.” Swan said under his breath.

  McKenna returned a casual salute, still not used to the sudden formalities. “I’ll have my sidearm back, Enforcer,” McKenna said as he reached his hand out.

  “Sir, with all due respect this is an illegal firearm on Earth, sir,” Johns said, almost embarrassed. Reciting Earth law to such a high-ranking servant of the Council seemed pointless. “But I’m sure you knew that and everything, seeing that you’re a Marshal and stuff… Shit.” McKenna thought he was going to have to go through a more formal process to get his weapon back, but rank had its privileges. Johns didn’t hesitate, handing the weapon back over to him. “I’m surprised you got it through security checkpoints.”

  “Council clearance gets you through a lot of red tape, I suppose,” Swan said as he slowly turned to his partner. “And if a Marshal is down here in the lower city with a Council Seal of Action, we shouldn’t hinder his investigations, should we, Johns?”

  “Thank you, Swan,” Johns said sarcastically to his pompous partner. “Is there anything we can help you with, Marshal, sir?”

  “Some directions maybe, but something interesting first.” McKenna walked towards the medic.

  “Evening, Marshal,” the medic said. “Medic Roane, I overheard your conversation with the Enforcers. CMS? Marshal Service?” Roane stood to greet McKenna.

  “Yeah, that’s right, I had actually just grabbed a bite when I saw the commotion.”

  “I could use a good steak right about now,” Roane sighed as he looked down at the body.

  “I had noodles, actually.”

  “Classy.” The medic smirked. City paramedics saw all manner of situations, ranging from gruesome murders to paper cuts, and were rarely fazed by them.

  “Do these deaths usually bring such a crowd?”

  “If this was the undercity, I’d say no, but up here it’s rare anyone gets caught by the Cell. Except—”

  “This man was attacked before the Black Cell,” McKenna said.

  “The lacerations on his face, four of them, from the left temple all the way down to the right jawline,” Roane said as he inspected the body. “His mask was knocked clean off in the process.”

  McKenna crouched down over the body and mimicked the slashing motion across the victim’s face. “Long nails…” he said. Animal attack?

  But it seemed the medic had something else in mind as he suddenly turned pale. “I’ve heard stories, but I didn’t think they were true…”

  “Something to add, doc?” McKenna asked.

  “I can’t offer any credibility. Strange people about. Local chatter says they’re cannibals.”

  “Cannibals?”

  “They’ve started to roam the alleys, sewers, filtration systems, lower levels. Wherever it’s dark and damp, really. Real-life ghouls.” The medic found it hard to get the words from idea to tongue. “I was with the Medical Corps during the war. I’ve seen all kinds of stuff. Loose fingers, inside-out bodies, husks of men, but nothing like these stories I hear about.”

  While he didn’t seem all too scared, Roane clearly found it hard to explain. McKenna looked to his right towards an alley where trash and debris had been knocked over, creating a possible trail as to where the victim came from.

  “Enforcer Johns, can you get a few more units out here? Call it in as an ISTF Containment Code.” Johns acknowledged with a confused but subtle nod and used his OPIaA to call additional Enforcers. “Swan, take the doc here and section off the walkway here at least fifty meters from the body. Block this alley as well.”

  Pedestrians were beginning to form once more, but Swan pushed them back while Roane set up small beacons that projected a holographic police line directing traffic away from the area. Johns came jogging back to McKenna, bringing two more Enforcers from down the street.

  “ISTF procedure acknowledged, friendly units in route,” Johns said. “ISTF, that’s the new unit, right?”

  “It is, Johns.” McKenna said. He then addressed the other two Enforcers with his badge out. “Listen up. This is an ISTF quarantine zone, which means the area is not yet safe. Keep these people back while we investigate.” The other Enforcers nodded and hustled off to contain the crowd and secure the area.

  “‘Investigate’, sir?” Johns asked nervously.

  “Whoever killed this man might still be nearby. The area isn’t safe,” McKenna said. Just then, he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a female reporter scanning and documenting everything she saw.

  “Great, damn vultures Swan said as he set up another police tape beacon. “Lost Tribune News. Where there’s a story, there’s a slimy press cap and a forked tongue.”

  McKenna saw the female reporter get shoved by another Enforcer before his attention was brought back to Swan.

  “We’re going in where, exactly?” Swan asked as he approached McKenna.

  “The alley,” McKenna said as he attached a small light onto his weapon’s accessory rail. “Blood trails and debris coming from it. Weapons ready. Check your highs and lows.” McKenna proceeded towards the alley with Johns and Swan shortly behind him, weapons drawn.

  The trio proceeded down the alley with McKenna on point. The mid-level parts of the city could have alleys as long as the main streets themselves, which could go on for miles without end. Most of the alleys had poor lighting and were not serviced nearly as much as a main city street. This alley was indeed dark, with a flickering streetlight a few meters above providing the only illumination other than the Enforcers’ flashlights. The lack of visibility concerned McKenna, but his two new subordinates were almost petrified and the local horror stories only dampened their courage. Their shaky nature worried McKenna more than anything else.

  “Hey,” McKenna whispered. “Stay focused. And for God’s sake, make sure your safeties are off.”

  The Enforcers continued to scan the alley. Swan was the more startled of the two, which seemed to trigger a defense mechanism of his. “Johns,” Swan whispered loudly. “Hey, Johns, you think it was just an animal?” Johns was too focused on the area ahead to give any sort of answer. “See, I think it was just an animal. It had to have been!”

  McKenna continued cautiously onward, not paying much attention to the chatter behind him. “Then again… It could be like that one movie where the dog mutates into a seven foot, seven-armed killing machine. Muta-Dog would eat people’s livers and toes. Not even a shotgun would phase it…” Johns started shaking his head. “Or maybe some naked guy in a loin cloth and gas mask will come running out at us with m
etal claws and chops our heads off!”

  “Would you shut up?” Johns whispered frantically as he gave Swan a shove to the shoulder. “Why did you have to go and say something like that for, huh?”

  Suddenly, they heard a loud shriek amplified by the close walls of the buildings. McKenna was the first to react as he illuminated the area front of him just in time to see a trashcan and pile of light debris fall just a few meters away.

  “Shit! What the hell was that?” Swan said frantically.

  McKenna stepped lightly into the intersection and heard a wet sloshing noise coming from the right. “Swan, keep this main alley covered,” he said. “Make sure we have a way out.”

  Swan only nodded, his light visibly shaking. McKenna and Johns walked slowly down the right corridor until McKenna’s light hit a pair of legs sticking out from behind a large dumpster. The legs appeared to be twitching as a pool of blood flowed into the alley, connecting with a stream of water on the ground to make a miniature river of blood.

  Unfortunately, his visibility of the victim and possible murderer was impaired by the dumpster. “Come out with your hands up! If you have a weapon, drop it!” McKenna barked. The legs stopped twitching and a man stood up from behind the dumpster. He walked out into the middle of the alley slowly and lethargically.

  He was a tall, gaunt man with stringy, greasy hair and a mess of blood and gore crusted around his mouth. He had been clearly been feeding on his victim. McKenna quickly eyed the knife in his left hand. “Throw down the knife!” He commanded.