Deep Sleep pods surround me. Left and right, above and below, directly opposite the narrow corridor. Spotted with wet grime, dents, and scratches, they house my neighboring hibernators. My community. Twenty-two thousand people who like me chose a virtual life to a physical one. Unlike me, they continue their blissful existence undisturbed. Willfully ignorant, so long as the rental fee gets paid.
I taste copper whenever I take a deep breath, and the air stabs my lungs like daggers. Sweat drips down my face and chest from the unforgiving humidity. The scent of rust and sewage nearly clogs my nostrils, and the violent clanging and hissing never end. It's an assault that's almost unbearable, pushing me to the fringes of a massive panic attack.
I wrap my arms around my head, and like every time I awaken from Immersion, I start to cry.
Chapter 2: 3N16MA
My eyes practically steam with anger. I feel the pulse beating in my veins; blinding hot, burning inside like violence waiting to unleash.
The anger is more at myself than anyone else. Four months of tracking Specter down only to have him slip through my fingers. With him being physically inoperable, it took a lot to lure him from his synthetic wonderland. I should have been able to contain him. But I underestimated the swiftness of his paranoia. His mind is trained to make snap decisions from years of experience. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing with him. In his synoid host, he has no fear of death. He is free to do anything, including leap from one-hundred-and-fifty story buildings.
Android Forensic Units are already on the scene. White jumpsuits over skeleton framework, oval-shaped heads like hardboiled eggs. Emergency lights flash on their backs, painting the vicinity in red and blue. I tap the nearest one on the shoulder. "Any luck?"
Its round eyes flash when it scans my face and processes my authorization. "It's a mess. Air traffic automatically diverted when the body fell, and public safety androids were deployed to corral people away in the few seconds it took for the synoid to go from air to ground. The rest is what you see here." He gestures to the remains.
I kneel, frowning. The impact destroyed the unit, spattering synthetic blood and body parts everywhere. What remains is a ruined, broken wreck that somewhat resembles a human body.
Residents of Haven Angeles stream by the scene in their sleek designer chic outfits like living fashion mannequins, paying the scene no attention. I doubt anyone notices the blood is blue instead of red. Synoid suicide isn't enough to warrant extra attention in a city where not caring has been mastered into an art form.
"Any chance of tracing the synoid?"
"Looks like a standard S1 model. The trace will lead to a stolen synoid report, but that won't get you any closer to the guy who jacked it."
"Run the trace anyway. When we get the locale of the theft, then we can canvas the area with surveillance. Our guy could be a locale. Might get lucky."
"You got it. I'll send you the results."
Agent Rogers approaches me with a scowl that seems permanently etched into his face. Dark-haired, with a neatly-cut hair and goatee, eyes covered by tactical shades: every inch the government agent. He wears the long gray coat of an HSSC squad commander and moves with the restless energy of a caged wolf. "This is on you. My men did their jobs."
I glance up, trying not to let my derision show. "What's with the attitude, Rogers? You've had that sour expression ever since you joined this op."
"Call me crazy, but I don't like rubbing shoulders with ex-cons. You're a Scyther, which means Cyber Corp forced you to work for them. So how can I trust you or your crew, Enigma? What kind of a name is that, anyway? I don't even know who you really are. Top brass lends my unit to you like you're in charge. You should be behind bars, not running point on an AIB joint operation."
I turn my attention back to the synoid remains. The head is nearly unrecognizable, synthetic flesh pulped. One eye stares accusingly from its crumpled face. Sighing, I stand up and signal for the AFUs to continue their work.
"Well, you know what they say, Agent. It takes a crook to catch a crook."
"Yeah. That's what they say. I know the things you did. I'm keeping my eye on you."
"You and everyone else. Now if you excuse me, I have better things to do."
I walk over to Kage, who lurks in the shadows with his pale face and black clothes like a creature of the night. He appears to stare at nothing, but I know he's focused on the things ordinary people can't see. With his cybernetic enhancements, the Sentry's perception is entirely different. The studs on his bald head blink with flashing lights and the visor over his eyes glow crimson, casting his pale face in a blush of red light.
I try not to sweat in his presence. Hiding my nervousness, I keep my voice as casual as possible. "Looking into the fifth dimension, Kage?"
His cherry lips curve in a thin smile. "You might say that."
"What do you see?"
"Data. I see the invisible streams that go unnoticed by your eyes. Endless numbers and characters, public and encrypted, personal and irrelevant. Information, Enigma. A neverending flow of information."
"Sounds like a massive headache."
He cocks his head, finally focusing a fraction of his attention on me. "Is there something you want to ask or is this some attempt at small talk?"
"With you? Not likely. I need to know if you're able to traceback to Specter's origin point. He has to be somewhere in the area. We should be canvassing everything within five miles of here."
He gives a tiny, frustrated shake of his head. "Specter didn't get his moniker from being easy to trace. He's a ghost in the system. His unique ability to core-jack synoids with his mind makes him nearly impossible to track. The fact that he can perform the task from cyber-immersion is unheard of."
"You're saying he's a Sleeper core-jacking from the infosphere? That's impossible."
"Just because you haven't seen it before doesn't mean it's not possible."
"How can you be so sure?"
"If he were anywhere in the area, I'd sense the ping when he severed the connection and returned to his body. In this case, there was nothing. No digital fingerprints, nothing to trace. He's a Sleeper, all right. Somehow, he can project his consciousness from the digital world into the real one. It's not that hard to imagine. We link with network connections all the time. In a way, he's doing the same thing."
"Except he somehow does it using nothing but his brain."
"Yes. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to able to hack any system. And he can't replicate the process with human minds, or we'd be in real trouble. No, synoid brain cores are his specialty. Linked remotely, he can control any model he chooses."
"Well, it's highly unlikely I'll ever get an opportunity like this again. Guess it's back to groundwork."
"Yes." He fixes his eerie gaze on me. "You spooked him, you know. When you said his real name, you showed your hand and let him know what we had on him. That was a terrible lapse of judgment."
"I thought it would settle him down. My mistake."
"I hope it was a mistake, Scyther. I would hate for you to have startled him on purpose."
"What? Why would I do that?"
He grins, white teeth flashing from crimson lips. "Deceit is in your nature. That's why your leash is so tight around your neck."
I repress a shudder, hand drifting to the back of my head unconsciously. "Well, I didn't tip him off if that's what you're thinking."
"I don't think anything. I run the data. And there's a forty-eight-point seven percent chance you're lying right now."
I force a tight smile in return. "That only means there's an over fifty percent chance I'm not."
"Yes. That's the only reason you're not in excruciating pain." He turns and walks into the alleyway, blending with the darkness until he's nearly a part of it. "I'll be in touch when I have new orders. You continue your work here and follow up on any leads. I'll be watching."
Of course he'll be watching. He's the perfect warden. Always processing information, tied
into every surveillance feed in the area. He can trace my every movement even without the tracker embedded in my spinal cord. I catch myself reaching up to feel for it and settle for chewing on a fingernail instead.
"That's a disgusting habit, you know."
Zen sidles up beside me, lips twisted in disgust as she makes sure Kage is gone. "Man, bioroids give me the creeps."
"They don't like being called bioroids."
"I don’t care. You can't get all those ugly implants and not expect someone to slap a label on you." Folding her arms, she slumps against the alloyed surface of the Grand Center building.
Short and petite, she compensates by dressing in aggressive cyber-bondage gear complete with a skull-embossed corset, along with endless buckles and straps. Her hair is dyed a loud blue color, shaved on one side, and enhanced with cyber-dreads by a metallic headband. A complicated series of tattoos start at her neck and continue to cover her entire left arm. She completes the look with thick eyeliner and black-widow lip gloss. I can't tell her that her attempt at rebellious fashion makes her look like a cute little cyber-pixie. She'd punch me in the face if I did.
"You've got implants, Zen."
"Yeah, practical ones. Optics, audio, and data port. Who doesn't? I'm talking about going full Frankenstein to become a living computer like your pal Kage there."
I shake my head. "He's not my pal. And you know Frankenstein was the creator, not the monster, right?"
Confusion flashes across her face. "Wait. Frankenstein was a real dude?"
"Never mind." I motion to Agent Rogers, who stands a few yards away practically ready to combust with impatience. "We're done here. Let's assemble at HQ in the morning."
"Fine." He barks orders at his suits, who fall back from their posts and immediately blend with the crowds passing by. Pausing to give me one last suspicious look, he slides into a waiting all-black skimmer. The door hisses shut, and the vehicle silently joins the heavy traffic.
Zen sticks a finger in her mouth and makes a gagging sound. "What a bunch of asshats. Remind me why we're doing this?"
"Because we don't have a choice."
"Right. Like I can forget." She gives me an empathetic look. "Still can't believe they implanted that minder in you."
I shrug it off. "Nothing I can do about it. Just focused on finishing the mission."
"Finishing? It's been close to a year, and we're still no closer to this guy. Now we're back at ground zero."
"No. I sat face-to-face with Specter. Saw firsthand what he can do. That's progress."
"Yeah, he progressed himself out of a skyscraper window. Not exactly the response you were looking for."
"It's something. In fact, it might be everything."
"How's that?"
"He took the meeting. Which means he needs money right now. Which means he'll be working for someone very soon."
"Plenty of ways to make money, Enigma. Too many to track."
"Not for him. He'll go back to jacking synoids. I'm sure of it. I need you to compile a list of every known black-market synoid dealer. Focus on anyone we know he's previously worked with. Cross-reference the search with the locale of the stolen report for the model he just used. At the very least it will give us a starting point for our search."
She nodded. "I'm on it."
"Good. Get back with me when you come up with something. I'll be in my room."
She rolls her eyes. "Your room? How long have we been in Haven Angeles? The City of Angels, baby. A lot of people would gladly saw off their hands and feet for a chance to even visit here, and you still won't go a block outside your hotel unless someone orders you to. C'mon, girl. Take a night off. Do a little exploring. Who knows? You might even accidentally enjoy yourself."
I shake my head. "This isn't a vacation. It's an assignment. I'm a Scyther, Zen. No amount of distraction is going to change that. I'll be in my room."
Her face turns stubborn, eyes defiant. "We'll find a way to change that, Enigma."
I put a finger to my lips. "He's listening."
"Kage? Screw that bioroid."
"Don't push it, Zen. He tolerates you because you help me out, but he can pull the plug on our arrangement like that." I snap my fingers for emphasis.
Zen has sense enough to look chagrined. "I know. Sorry."
"Look, I'll be fine. Just get that search done for me, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I said I’m on it." She waves bye as she heads toward the Skytram depot. I watch her until a towering figure separates from the crowd and follows on her heels. Brutus doesn't talk much, but he's always nearby. I don't have to worry about Zen when he's watching over her.
I turn and head the other direction, walking against the flow of foot traffic. Crowds of people flow past me, most staring into space as their vid-lenses display news, entertainment, and calls from friends and family. They dress in the latest styles: black and white contrasts, intricate silver and stainless enhancements, asymmetrical cuts. My grunge biker jacket, simple tank top and jeans mark me as an obvious standout, worthy of a curious glance or two from the rare resident who doesn't have their vid-lenses activated.
My gunmetal rumble bike remotely drives from the parking garage conveyor. I hop on, zipping into the busy traffic lanes. Sleek, aerodynamic vehicles hum quietly alongside, fusion thrusters keeping them hovering over the surface of the road. My bike's tires squeal as I weave back and forth between the nearly gridlocked lanes as I head toward my beautiful prison in the downtown sector.
Hazy light diffuses through the barrier shield of the Haven as if trying to imitate the pre-Cataclysm smog that used to suffocate the city, turning the silhouettes of structures and towering buildings murky in the distance. Flying traffic cruises back and forth on digitally-controlled airlanes overhead, taking residents to the upper sections of the city, where the wealthier residents live. The shadows of the massive skyscrapers smother the streets, casting the lower sectors in gloom that requires illumination even in daylight. Fortunately, the city is never short of brightly-lit street signs and storefronts, multi-language characters blinking and flashing endlessly. Together with the enormous advertising holograms and billboards plastered on nearly every building, the lower city glows in various shades of electric hues.
I make it to the Bradbury by the time the sun dives into the skyline. As much as I hate to admit it, I love the building. Protected as a historical landmark, it remains untouched in spite of the development around it. A squat five-story building of reddish brick, it sits among a sea of steel and glass like a stranger in a foreign land. I find a small amount of comfort in the loneliness of its existence. In a way, it's like a kindred spirit.
I leave my rumble bike on the conveyor that takes it to the adjacent garage before entering the Bradbury. The interior is like a trip back into time, relieved of all the minimalist, streamlined, irregular glass and steel of the newer buildings. Instead, the look is a cross-culture mix of Parisian windows, polished wood and terra cotta, Mexican and Italian styling along with geometric-patterned cast iron, and vintage elevators. Even more impressive is the massive skylight and cathedral atrium that allows natural light inside and creates a moody shift of shadows across the curved walkways and stairs throughout the day. It's the most beautiful building I've ever seen.
"Buenos noches, senorita," Carlos says with a smile. His face is so warm and friendly that it's easy to forget that from the waist down he's all robotic parts moving on a track that drives him back and forth behind the lobby counter.
"Evening, Carlos."
"Will you require a meal in your room tonight, or will you dine in the restaurant this evening?"
"You can send something to my room in an hour, Carlos. Doesn't matter what it is."
"We will try to be creative, then."
"Thank you."
I enter the cage elevator, which takes me to the top floor. I'm exhausted when I open my room door and step into my room. The only illumination is the rosy light streaming through the vertical blinds. Al
l I want to do is take a shower and crash.
Instead, I nearly jump out of my skin when a pale face looms close to mine.
"I have information for you," Kage says in his velvety soft voice, stepping out of the shadows. The cybernetic implants in his head blink in alternating patterns of blue and red.
"You're in my room now? What the hell, Kage?"
He ignores the question, holding up a slim hand. A holographic projection springs from his palm. It's an image of a coppery-skinned woman in black and red stealth gear, a snug hood fitted over her head and shadowing most of her face. My breath catches in my throat.
"Dabria."
Kage's smile is terrifying. He removes the visor from his eyes, gazing at me with electronic pupils. "Yes. Your mentor has resurfaced." His irises pulse mockingly. "Or former mentor, I should say."
"Former is right. I wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for her. Where is she?"
The hologram disappears when Kage closes his fingers. "At the moment, I don't know. She's always been proficient at eluding surveillance. I suspect she might have wanted to be seen in this instance."
I take a deep breath to keep my voice from trembling. "Why?"
"Because she knows the image would get to you. One way or another. Because she wants you to know she's still alive." Kage studies my face, no doubt looking for signs of emotion.
I look directly into his cybernetic eyes. "It doesn’t matter. All I care about is the mission."
He stares for what seems like an eternity. The room gets warmer, and I feel the pores in my forehead bead with sweat. Finally, he nods in satisfaction.
"That's good to know. Because I've been made aware that she has an agenda which will conflict with ours."
"You mean Specter."
"Yes. She's searching for him. We haven’t deduced her plan yet, but we will. The important thing is that we need to find him first."
"That's why we've been tracking him? Which means you've known Dabria was alive for months now."
"That's right. She's still high on our wanted list. And this is our best chance at finally bringing her down."
Syn City- Reality Bytes Page 2
