Elliot looked at her, straightening form the table where he was leaning and moved closer.
"This is one big, staged game?" he repeated. Here fishy, fishy.
"Sort of. You really didn't expect this to be real did you, officer? I know you were at the briefing...." Claudia's tone held mocking contempt.
Elliot shrugged. "I didn't expect civilians, weapons or the majority of the worst offenders from Darkness. I was told that it wasn't going to be the worst offenders for this run, and that it didn't matter that we were letting them go." His brain locked down, and he swallowed the thought about Naire, before shaking his head, "I'm not a fan and I DON'T watch your channel." She smiled thinly.
"We have one trillion viewers Mr Peters. We're paying you extraordinarily well to watch some of the men you detest get killed. There is no WAY a prisoner will get out alive - does it really matter if you don't approve?"
Beth was one of the 'one Trillian'. She was at home, right now, glued to the teasers interspersed between the reruns of 'Big Brother', 'Best of Big Brother' and 'Ten years of International Space Station Big Brother', where voting off meant a space walk. ‘I’m a celebrity…’ eat your heart out. He could imagine how wide her eyes were, how excited she was. Elliot half wished he was at home with her, he could lie on the sofa holding her, feeling the baby move beneath his hand, mirroring it's mother's excitement and feeding into the longing he felt for her daily.
"Mr Peters?" Claudia said, one foot tapping. Elliot looked over at her, his dark eyes unclouding rapidly.
"Sorry, my mind was elsewhere..."
"Mr Peters, we've hired you to help us keep this under control, your mind being elsewhere will not HELP."
Elliot smiled, the tight pulling not spreading to his eyes. Claudia sighed and said, "We are on air in, "she glanced at the clock behind her and back at the group, "T minus three hours. Grab a coffee, acquaint yourselves with the systems and the techs, and I'll see you back here at T minus thirty minutes," she said, walking from the room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cerys joined them after a time. She seemed human - periodically, she'd wipe sweat away from her face, or sip something from a cup. Elliot doubted it was coffee, but he was sure that she'd have most people fooled.
His head was spinning. Mk5's were the closest thing they got to completely sentient. Banned in Darkness and the 200 mile jurisdiction-bubble where the officers operated. Trade links with other cities were curtailed and sanctioned if there was even a hint of Mk5 involvement. He'd heard that there was a whole city of them somewhere, though he wasn't sure if it was another ghost from Cyberia...
What he did know was that he couldn't stop the games – he'd tried to radio back and received a recorded message saying that the communications were in partial lockdown, and that the Chief of Dees didn't want to hear from him. He'd reached his secretary and been told the same thing – that there was no way that the UCPS had sanctioned a MK5 owning corporation to run this and that the techs were playing an elaborate joke on him. And that sat with him for a little while, before he got annoyed again and try and look into it. Every time his anger washed him a little bit further up onto the shores of understanding, before pulling him back out to sea and towards blissful confusion. He knew it was the injections – the same way you know that last cup of coffee is a bad idea.
She warned me, he thought, a whisper in his mind, everything else under glass.
Elliot spent the rest of the time he had looking at the monitors and trying not to stare at her, but he couldn't help it. The floor was still 'erected' for now, and Elliot could see more people milling in and out. People being led to different cells, and areas reconfigured. Claudia paced back and forward, barking directions and swapping people from room to room. She wanted four of the survival experts swapped at the last minute and snarled instructions in harsh nasal tones demanding that they were told exactly how to play up to the cameras. Elliot recognized some of the things she was describing as the 'secret footage' he'd seen, but her inept, barked orders needed to be repeated so often that eventually, exasperated, she threw up her hands - tossed the walkie-talkie at Justin then stalked out of the door.
"She's got a temper, hasn't she?" Elliot said after Claudia left. Justin snorted, putting down his coffee cup, coffee and drool flooding from his mouth in rolling waterfalls at either edge. He wiped his mouth mock angrily, and then smiled.
"She's stressed. We all are," he said. "There are prisoners down there that would make your hair curl, "he stopped and looked at Elliot then shrugged, continuing," you know that already though."
Elliot inclined his head and Justin shrugged, "If you want to go down onto the floor, you've got five minutes, but to be honest, you don't need to...to get your job done."
Elliot inclined his head towards Cerys. "Her story?"
"That's an Mk 2 android. She's also our surgeon - not that I expect to need one today." Elliot cocked his head and he caught a flicker of movement at his back - saw her hand gesture at Justin, sticking her middle finger up as he continued, "To be honest, she's a piece of crap tech that Claudia brings everywhere with her. Under orders as far as I know."
The finger lowered again. Elliot grinned. Justin didn't even look up; he was too busy moving through scrolling lists of information running past him.
Cerys was busy on her side of the room - moving faster than a blur over the keyboards in front of her, each hand going independently.
"If she's a Mk2, why doesn't she just jack in?" Elliot asked, tilting his head slightly. Justin's head came up sharply. "Or am I misunderstanding your tech?" His shoulders relaxed and his hands unclenched almost reflexively.
"Misunderstanding. Mk2s aren't allowed to interface directly with the systems. We don't feed directly back into CORE, so there's no way to ensure that what she's taking on is pure. Again, policeman, don't you already know this?"
Elliot demurred, looking confused. Slow, plodding copper. I wonder how far he'll push the lie.
"Well, that's not entirely accurate," Better, "But she's practically a machine. The only reason they build clone droids now is to ensure there is a little bit of humanity. Some compassion that can be triggered on a...limbic level, I guess. That there's some level of fear response, or empathy."
Elliot's phone beeped again, and Justin idly said, "I'm amazed that's still communicating with you - mine is offline already. You'll have to offline it before the show starts though - complete contact blackout..." His typing slowed as he looked up, then said, "Look, if you're so curious about her, talk to her. You'll see she's a mindless computer." A few more gestures, and he looked back, before sighing. “Just don’t do it in front of Claudie, she’s NASTY about people that go to her text
He stood up, logged out and waggled his hand over his console in a series of complex, odd gestures, before licking his finger, and placing it against the bed. It beeped and he licked again, this time in a panel along his palm, placing that against the panel. The screen powered down.
"It needs saliva?" Elliot said and Justin laughed.
"No. When I log out, I need to leave a sample to ensure that I'm not becoming sick. Relapsing remitting tyba-neta isn't so bad, but it changes my epithelial, so I need to slave the modified code - which is modified by interaction with tech - with the machine, so my nanites don't try to electrocute me when I connect. Easiest way is by two separate saliva samples. The finger is reference, the palm plots." He smiled and Elliot blinked, before Justin shook his head. "I need more coffee, or I'm going to need a nap, and something tells me she won't spare me."
"Does he really have Tyba-neta?" Elliot said quietly to Cerys. She laughed softly.
"No. But we've managed to convince him that he needs to do that logging in and out. It's so we can track how much of any specific nanites he has in his system. He's a latent," she added with a soft nod. "But you have Naire locked up, so latents are nothing more than a technological nuisance."
"You know he's here..."
"I know the clone you ca
ught is here," she countered. "That was never Nate Naire you caught. Though, without access to his original records...who knows," she added with a hollow smile.
"You're really a clone?" he asked.
"I'm a cyber-clone. I was once human. In making me, they destroyed...her...me...it. I hold the most of her genetic material, but I'm still a clone."
"So you are from..."
"Ghost town. No," she said. Cyberia, he thought, nothing she wouldn't say it. "I'm from Aleph," she said. "Where clones aren't illegal, and Darkness isn't sanctioning them because we serve a function or ten."
"You're an Archivist?" Elliot hissed and she inclined her head.
"Yep. Cloned from Cerys Monroe," she added with a hint of pride. The lifting chin, the serious, half smile - none of that could be programmed appropriately, Elliot knew. She was more human than she knew.
"That name sounds familiar..." he said softly and she smiled again.
"Good. She was...kidnapped, I guess would be the best way to describe it. Brought to Darkness, they think. But she's never been found..."
Elliot frowned. "How...?"
"Don't know," she said frankly, then shrugged. "Aleph doesn't have the same rules as your district. And we mandate people."
Elliot nodded slowly. "Yeah. Mandates. Do you know if they work?"
"From what I remember..." she said with a frown. "Some of us....them....left. I don't know what happened to me...her...it." Her frown deepened, and she shook her head. "Perhaps your Detective Roth can find out." Elliot blinked, then nodded slowly.
"Still - do I have mandates right?" he finally asked, on a soft inhale.
"Depends what you think they are, I guess,"
"Drugged subservience...?"
She laughed - the most human sound he'd ever heard from a clone.
"No. Well. No. Mandates are just...life. The way life should be. Controlled, calm...And...well. Not quite right. The songs are right about them," she said, nodding. Elliot gestured with one hand, rolling the idea forward. "One red, one blue...no me, no you..."
"Ah. Yep. As I thought, drugged subservience,"
She shrugged again. "You could see it that way I guess." They both fell silent.
"So, where does this leave us?"
"You think you have Nate Naire, and I think we don't, Justin will be back from whatever he's doing..." she paused and looked over her shoulder, "in two and a half minutes, and you still have to find out what's actually going on here, because though most people here believe that the show is actually a show, half the techs leave once everything is set up. It's just going to be you, Claudia and Justin. And all of those prisoners. And me. I don't think that's an accident."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Justin padded around the corner, leaving his communicator on one of the shelf at the door. Signs adored the doors that he'd passed through, warning of various elements that could occur.
Phones were banned - a mandatory fine and imprisonment. Areas designated as 'hot' - where the contestant was sealed in, as a suspected nanovirus carrier - were inaccessible from here. You had to enter from the other side. But tech any objects at all.... If it fell into a murder's hand, the sign outlined, in 50's style hysteria, how it could be used as a weapon.
Justin looked them over and snorted. He could think of much better uses for everything. Typing some information into the panel in front of him, he began stalking up the central column. This outer circle had very little on it that was fleximatter enabled. The doors would drop into the floor, and there would be a second set of doors that projected up.
This was the survivalists' area - this one side had more amenities (though not as visible on the cameras) than the other areas, and had much more to offer those stuck in the room waiting.
"Claudia," he called, not too loud. "Claudia…" he said again, in a sing-song voice. She peered around a corner, from a cell - her lipstick smeared, her clothes rumpled.
"What?" she said, her face pulling into a rictus of displeasure. A hand reached around and grabbed her hair. She turned, snarling before returning to face Justin.
"Is everything in place?" she said, wiping a hand across her mouth.
"Yes. I'm just coming down to do the final checks," he said, a look of disgust spreading across his face. "Did you swap for One?"
Another voice answered, "Well, I wouldn't be here if she hadn't." Justin genuflected, automatically, making the sign of Naire.
"Be still my son," he said as Claudia snickered. "How are the plans progressing?"
Justin swallowed hard. "My lord. Everything is ready and perfect for your escape..."
"Ascension," Claudia corrected, and Justin coughed.
"Ascension, my apologies,” He stood patiently, waiting as Claudia froze in the doorway of the cell, one hand carefully covering her mouth.
"Is the bomb rigged?" the male voice said, still not looking around the corner.
"Right underneath where he'll be sitting," Justin looked around, then pointed, "it's the flashing box there, Claudia," he added tilting his head.
"Stupid" she hissed. He shook his head. "Elliot is more interested in your Mk2. Everyone's interested in that stupid..." She yelped, her head hauling back. Justin heard a snicker, then she staggered backwards.
"The MK2 is of no consequence," he said softly. His voice was even, charismatic, almost hypnotic, and Justin could feel his tech hum in harmony, just for a second. It was a thrill that no drug could beat - it triggered something in his brain that instantly bathed every thought in ecstasy. Every gesture in heavenly safety.
"We're done here," the other voice said, calmly. "Claudia will return soon," he added.
"Redo your makeup," Justin said indolently, over his shoulder.
Claudia returned to what she was doing, the silhouette standing before her dipping her head and thrusting towards her mouth, before murmuring softly to her. And she did as she was asked, obedient, and docile. Justin smiled, searching for the flashing light. His escape, his freedom.
After, she handed him a jumpsuit. "This is yours. It says Luka, but there's a survivalist with the same name." Nathan Naire smiled - predatory and lacking in humor. She cleaned herself up, the small amount of spittle in the corner containing semen and flecks of metal, almost like glitter.
"Where is he?" he said.
Instantly, she answered, "Dead in his cell. "We're feeding a time-lapse of yesterday in - he was our first prisoner in. Your cell is designated as his, and we've told one of the prisoners to go 'deal' with the body for an easy bonus. All he need do is kneel on him - and we've programmed Luka's 'bots' to oblige - and break his neck."
"Nothing can go wrong."
She shook her head, resisting the urge to spit. "It's been planned meticulously. Nothing can go wrong," she echoed.
He pulled her chin towards him, tilting her head up and across so she was looking him directly in the eye. "Tell me," he said softly, "what have you done about my tags?" She quivered, his handsome features tripping through her and giving her the shivers. His beard was neatly trimmed, his deep coffee colored eyes were bottomless pools. To be this close to a God, she thought, and he smirked, waiting for her to catch up. There was no pleasure for her in that smile - instead, there was a rapacious, and almost insane glint that went along with it.
He repeated himself, as she shook lightly in his hands, "What have you done to my tags?"
"Nothing," she said, finally, with a swallow. Her eyes were slightly glazed. "Your tags are as they were," she added quickly, "though, the system doesn't track you differently. You're already tagged as a survivalist. Mr St Clair is good at his job."
"Good," he said, inclining his head. "I'm very pleased," he added. She blushed, ducking her head and genuflecting once more, before leaving the cell.
The room was filled with coarse banter, and giddy laughing. It almost looked like a small university class, that was, until you saw that there were three policemen guarding the main double doors, each prisoner was spaced so they couldn't reach one an
other and then cuffed to a bar between their seats, and that even where the 'lecturer' came from had a policeman - Elliot - on the door.
Still, they almost looked normal.
Elliot looked around at the prisoners - wondering if his overlay would pick up on who and what they were. He recognized three of them - one had killed nine people in a drug-induced rage. Another was a hitman. The third - Elliot had taken down with Morrigan Roth for smuggling clones and killing four of them in the botched hostage situation. The other seven, he wasn't sure about - but what he did know was they were banded together. Which meant they were at least as bad as each other. Elliot straightened slightly, hearing a noise behind him. The scrape slip of the lock undoing.
And that was the last four prisoners arriving.
Three looked as if they were bored and almost drugged - and Elliot knew that these three had just finished a course of treatment for nano-indoctrination. And sometimes it wasn't as gentle as it could be.
The brief of these prisoners was to ensure - according to the people coming in - that the 'viewing public' got their money's worth and that this project wasn't seen as some dull reality TV, fly on the wall, well behaved prisoner deal. They'd had them. They'd had them several times.
They wanted blood, and they were willing to pay for it.
Elliot knew that there were bounties being offered - first blood. MPP and that if the prisoners didn't survive (likely) that it would be donated to the victim support fund that was set up in their name.
One of the major issues Elliot had with all of this was since being posted to this project, three weeks ago, he'd gotten nothing done. He'd found less than nothing of interest, and he was at the point where he could barely hide his disdain. And that didn't help - whenever a prisoner looked over at Elliot, whether he'd collared them or not, they could see the look that said exactly how much they were worth to him. Exactly how much he considered them worth. And that 'less than nothing' in his eyes just made them agitated.
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