Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe

by Campbell, D. Andrew

"It's a flexible, full-body armor that should protect you from most small arms fire and explosions. Although you'll need to be wary of blades. A well-made knife could still puncture it if it hits a seam just right. But I'm not super worri..."

  "Wait," I say, stopping his explanation. "You're telling me I can get shot in this, but if some bozo comes at me with a pocketknife then I have to dodge? That doesn't make any sense. If it can stop a bullet, then I'm sure it can stop a knife."

  "Actually, no, it can't," he continues patiently. "It's all about impact points and science. Knives have a very small impact point, the tip, and that can be enough to get between the fibers and separate them. And once that happens, then the armor has been compromised, and you'll be in trouble. Bullets hit hard and fast, but they are mostly blunt and that makes them easier to stop.

  “Think of this armor like a tightly-wound soccer net around your body. Bullets are the soccer balls coming at you, and the net is made to stop those and prevent them from getting past. But a knife is too small. It's like putting your arm through the net. The net just isn't designed to stop something that small, so it can pass through much more easily. Keep that in mind while you're out there."

  "Ok," I sigh. "Soccer balls and nets. Gotcha. So I have to avoid the small things, but the big things shouldn't be as scary. Seems counter-intuitive, but I'll trust you. But why's it so heavy, if it's just a fancy net?"

  "Because that net is made out of both Kevlar fibers and a synthetic spider silk in order to protect you. And that stuff isn't cheap or light, but it should keep you from getting punctured by anything deadly. You'll get some bruises that'll certainly get your attention if you get shot, but I'm figuring a bruise will beat a hole every time, right?"

  I smile at him and nod and then try to pinch some of the fabric between my fingers, but it doesn't pull away easily. "Spider silk?" I ask and look down at the black, shadowy material covering my body. "That's real? It kinda sounds made up."

  "Nope, it's real. And it's awesome. And it is ridiculously expensive. And it's also not even the best stuff out there. But I figured this would be a good starting point for a prototype. Plus, I didn't want to commit too much money to the project until we knew whether or not you liked it. That's also why I combined the spider silk with KEVLAR threads. Made it a quite a bit cheaper and significantly heavier, but I didn't think the weight would hinder you too much. Let me know what you think, and I can make adjustments later."

  "Will do, little buddy, but I'll save my full assessment for the field and if it actually saves me from getting killed. If it does, then it will have earned its price in my eyes. Especially as we should be getting more cash tonight if things go as I have planned.”

  Ren grimaces at my nickname for him, and I can see he's getting ready to reprimand me for it, so I quickly continue with my next question before he can.

  "And is this a mask?" I ask him and hold out what appears to be a dark ski mask with a visor sewn into it. "I've never covered my face before, why start tonight?"

  Ren's pride in his creation battles with his irritation at my comment, and I watch as the pride eventually wins. Just as I hoped it would. Ren may be the only friend I have left in the world, but that doesn't prevent me from enjoying the occasional verbal jab. This girl hasn’t completely abandoned the idea of fun.

  "True," he concedes, "you haven't. But that's only because you didn't have one like this to wear." He reaches over to me and gently pulls it from my hands and adjusts it so that I can see how it is supposed to look once it is worn.

  It most definitely is some kind of fancy ski mask, or a ninja-mask as I always would have thought them to be called, but it's one with some serious modifications. There are dark, reflective plastic visors over where the eye slits should be that makes it look like the wearer has oversized sunglasses on. Below that is something that looks like the mask painter's wear to keep the fumes from getting to them while they work. Although it is darker and much smaller than any painter's mask I've ever seen. And on the sides of the mask behind the weird eye-bubbles are little, hard plastic discs a bit smaller than drink coasters.

  Ren spins the thing back and forth on his extended hand so that I can see it from all angles while he talks. "This little contraption cost almost as much as the entire rest of your outfit did, and I think it was well worth it.

  “I know you enjoy wearing that motorcycle helmet while you're out in the field due to the sensory protection it provides you," he tells me. "But wearing it is also unwieldy and doesn't make it the easiest to..." he pauses for a moment, and I can tell he doesn't like saying what comes next. "…refuel during a fight," he continues with a slight shake of his head. "But this should remedy all of that. It'll give you the sensory protection of the helmet without bringing with it the detriment of blocking your mouth when needed."

  "But Ren," I say slowly and point to the front of the mask. "The mouth is covered. By that painter's mask thing there. How am I supposed to get around that?"

  "Easily," he says. "It detaches. With magnets." He gives the weird filter a pull, but it doesn't budge. He tries again, but has the same luck. "Actually, I had to use some rare earth magnets so it wouldn't fall off mid-fight, and it doesn't look like I can budge them. But you should be able to." With a small smile and a shrug, he tosses the mask back to me and lets me pull it on. I can feel the magnets tug against each other when I apply pressure to them, but they separate fairly easily and expose the open mouth of the mask.

  "Clever," I tell him. "But how is this as good as my helmet?"

  "The filter you removed purifies the air as it is pulled through, so you won't be overwhelmed by scents around you. Pretty much just like the helmet was doing."

  "So if I want to smell the world around me, then I'm going to have to remove the filter every time?" I say and look at the palm-sized device in my hand. "Ok, not bad. A bit cumbersome, but that is better than removing a helmet, I guess."

  "Actually, no. You only have to remove the filter if you want to, you know, use your mouth for something. If you just want to smell the air, there is a slider switch on the side of it to adjust how much filtering it does. You can keep it closed and shut out the world, or open it all the way up to get full access to every scent your surroundings will provide." He stops and smiles at me, and I can see how proud of this he is. "Much better than a helmet."

  Nodding, I look back at the mask with a new-found appreciation. This is better than a helmet.

  "And the funky little discs on the side and the visor?" I ask him. "More than what they appear, too?"

  "Of course," he replies with a small nod. "The visor will adjust to light much like some of the fancier sunglasses do. In pitch darkness, the visor will become almost clear allowing you full visibility around you. And you can even wear this in daylight and it will darken and protect your retinas from being overloaded.

  “And those little discs on the sides work like the air filter on front, except for sound waves. They'll dampen most sounds that are hitting you unless you open up the ports to decrease the filtration. It'll require a bit of handiwork on your part to adjust them, but I think you'll get used to."

  "Ok, I'm impressed," I say and adjust its fit so that it's as comfortable as possible. "Very impressed," I continue in a filter-muffled voice. "Any downsides?"

  "Actually, yes. A small one," he tells me. "Only the cloth part is armored. I couldn't build the tech into the filters and make them bullet proof. If you get shot in the face, then it is going to hurt." He pauses and winces at the thought. "A lot. So, don't."

  "Well, that was pretty much always true,” I say and smile even though he can't see it. "So that isn't a major drawback. Getting shot in the face has always been something I've tried to avoid. I'll just make sure to keep that a high priority on my list.

  “And thanks, man, this is awesome. Really impressive work. I can't wait to break it in tonight.”

  "There's also a wireless mic built into the air filter, so whenever it is removed then I won't be able t
o hear you. Remember that."

  "Is that bad? You not being able to hear me when it's removed? Is it something we need to fix later?" I ask while detaching the mouth filter so that I can get a better view of it and the microphone that's wired into it.

  "Actually, no, Cat," he tells me and looks away so he doesn't have to look into my eyes. "That was on purpose."

  "On purpose?" I ask and let the question hang between us.

  "Um, yeah. That way, when you, you know, have to...refuel...during or after a battle or whenever, I don't have to hear it happening," he says finally bringing his eyes up to meet mine. "And you don't have to worry about forgetting to turn off your microphone any more. I figured this was an easy enough solution that helps both of us."

  Shaking my head slightly at his continued squeamishness concerning how I get nourishment, I smile at him. It hasn't ceased to amaze me how much he dislikes how I have to use the blood of other humans to survive now. I would have thought after all our time together and how much he seems to like me that this issue would have faded away. But it hasn't. Ren supports what I do and my goals, but he has yet to embrace my methods. He knows I can't be the force that I am without sacrificing a few souls along the way, but I guess that doesn't mean he has to like it. And I can accept that as long as he continues to support me and make what I do so much easier. I guess he doesn't have to like it. Just not hate it.

  "That's fine Ren," I tell him. "I'm not bothered by it, and if this makes your life easier, then I'm all for it." I stop for a moment and examine the air filter a bit more closely as a thought creeps up on me.

  "But what happens if I lose this in a battle for some reason? Is this our only microphone? Am I going solo if this goes down?" After having Ren in my ear for the better part of a year, the thought of losing him while I'm out in the field is startling. I may tune him out at times and kill his squawking when it gets irritating, but it is certainly comforting knowing he's always there if I need him. That's not something I'm prepared to lose, yet.

  "No, of course not. Does that sound like me?" He says with a gentle laugh. "That's just the primary mike. There are secondary ones in the earpieces I can activate if you go silent for too long. They'll allow me to hear whatever you're hearing. Whether that be ambient sounds, gun fire or just your own voice. It won't be as clear or as preferred as the one in your filter, but they'll be there if we need them."

  "And if I lose the mask altogether?" I ask considering the worst case scenario.

  "Then you have a backup throat mike and earpiece in the supply belt. We'll just have to go back to our old school ways.

  “And if you lose that one, too," he says anticipating my next question before I can ask it. "Then I'll just track you via GPS on the motorcycle or news reports of whatever destruction you have wrought for the night." He pauses for a moment and shrugs before continuing. "At some point you'll just have to work on trying to not destroy all the toys I send out with you."

  "Ok, that's a deal," I tell him. "I can work on the trying part, at least. No promises on the success rate, but I can at least try to bring most of them back.

  “Now let's work on getting me some clothes to wear over this getup. The last thing I want to do is show up looking like a confused kid at a Halloween costume party dressed in a My Little Ninja outfit. I'll draw more attention to myself than a peacock at a penguin cocktail party."

  Ren shakes his head at me as he pushes himself back from his computer terminal and stands up.

  "Finish putting the armor on," he tells me. "And I'll go and get your clothes. They should fit over it without a problem."

  "Sweet! Thanks,” I holler to his back as he walks away, and I quickly begin to shimmy out of my dirty clothing and into the tightly fitting mesh suit and wonder if the new outfit and I will be coming back in one piece tonight.

  Or at all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Do you think they'll recognize my sweatshirt, Renny?" I ask over the mask's air filter mike as I push the electric motorcycle past seventy miles an hour and relish how well my friend designed this outfit. I can barely feel the air as it rushes past my body and snaps at my clothing. The sounds from the city barely even register through the cups over my ears. It's all so light-weight and comfortable, and I really can't wait to break it in with a fight tonight. I'm a bit excited.

  I wait for Ren's response and hope he gives me an affirmation. I've been wearing the same dark hoodie sweatshirt when I go out at night for the past several weeks in a hope that I will begin to be recognized for it. I want to have a symbol like Superman's "S" or the X-men's big "X", or Batman's flying rodent. Something that the people I'm confronting will start to associate with me.

  With no other great thoughts coming to me, I decided to tap into my old life and embrace the insignia my favorite rock band used: a bright purple capital-letter C smashed into a triangle shape. I know it's not original, and maybe even a bit clichéd, but it was the best I could come up with. And Ren liked it. He thought it represented me pretty well.

  He went ahead and ordered several sweatshirts sporting the design, and I've been wearing them every time I'm out. It's almost like a costume for me. I may not be a superhero, or even a hero at all any more, but at least I can strike some fear into the hearts of men who truly deserve it. They just don't have to know the symbol they are fearing was stolen from an all-girl band based out of Indianapolis. Some things are just better left to the imagination.

  "I've seen it mentioned a few times, Cat, but not as many as you'd like," he tells me. "But that might be directly linked to the relatively small number of people you are leaving either conscious or..." he pauses for a moment and sighs heavily. "…still breathing after you leave a scene. It's hard for people to talk about what you're wearing if you wipe their memories before they ever get a chance to speak to anybody."

  "Oh. Good point," I concede. "I'll keep that in mind. I'll try to cut back on the casualties so they can spread the word."

  "Don't get me wrong, I'm all for punishing the evil-doers of the world. But there's a line between punishment and execution. Remember that, dear. It would actually work to our benefit to have them talk about you now and spread the word.

  “It also might help cut back on some of the wild rumors going around about you. Rumors that are leading to innocents getting killed, and you having to be out on the road right now. Just a thought."

  "Understood. Thanks."

  "Speaking of innocents not getting killed," he continues in the same voice. "Are you sure you know how to use those lampreys I built for you? If you don't attach them in the right spot, then they're not only useless to you but they're going to be incredibly painful for whomever you stick them on."

  "Yes, Ren, I paid attention to the demonstration," I tell him. "With my perfect memory now I couldn’t even forget it if I wanted to. Trust me, I'm good."

  I can hear Ren's inhalation through the mask's speakers, and I know he's getting ready to respond with an unneeded lecture. To prevent the onslaught, I give a quick explanation of the device in an attempt to cut him off.

  "To activate the lamprey," I begin in my most artificially peppy voice. "Push the circular 'mouth' of the device against a person's exposed vein or artery. Although it should preferably be an unconscious person to avoid complications. Then pull the 'tail' end taut while holding the open mouth firmly against the skin until the vacuum activates and latches onto the skin." I pause for a moment to marvel at the technological genius of my friend and what he has managed to create for me. Essentially a tiny, self-powered device that will exsanguinate a person by exactly one pint of blood and then store it for me so that I can use it later. It's incredible.

  Shaking my head, I finish the instructions in the same voice. "Once the vacuum has attached the device to the person, release it and allow it to work its magic for the next ten to twenty seconds. Once the vacuum turns off, wait another five seconds for the wound to seal itself and then remove the device and store it safely until it is ready to be emp
tied. Anything I missed?"

  "No," he concedes. "That pretty much covers it. Except for the part where I have never officially field-tested one of these so I have no idea if it will actually work. Theoretically it is a perfect design. But 'theory' and 'application' don't always agree with each other. So," he says a bit quieter. "Don't go depending on one of these to save your life. It should work, but it's better to be safe than starving and dead."

  "Actually, I doubt I’ll have to wait that long. I might get to test it out in just a few moments."

  "What are you talking about? You're still several miles out from their drop off location. You have some time before you'll be getting into a fight."

  "Normally, I'd agree with you, but I'm thinking the pickup truck that's been following me for the past several blocks might disagree."

  "What?" My friend barks over the speaker. "What pickup truck?"

  "The really expensive-looking, bright blue one that accelerated once I passed them on the road and has been working really hard to not let me lose them for several blocks," I say. "I believe they are requesting I stop for a moment and chat. And maybe test out your new toys. Awfully friendly of them, wouldn't you agree?"

  "Good chance they're looking to cash in on the bounty that's out and you qualify as a motorcycle rider. Be careful. They're going to be coming at you with stupidity and greed. That's a formidable combination. Stay alert."

  "Agreed, buddy," I tell him. "I will, and you keep your ears on and let me know if there are any other issues that are screaming for my attention."

  Ren doesn't respond, and I imagine he is monitoring the police radio bands and the internet chatter plus whatever other resources he seems to be able to be able to pull from while I’m out in the field.

  I smile at the thought of what might happen in a few minutes, but I try to not let the Darkness swell up into me too quickly. Although I now crave the deliciousness it brings to me as it floods my system with raw power, I also still fear a bit of what it is doing to my soul when I release it. There's a reason Ren had to warn me about leaving people alive now. And that reason is starting to burble up inside of me and tickle my adrenaline glands.