Chapter 237: (The War) (2/2)
”What?” the voice growled.
The figure looked up, letting the eyes see his face.
The slide snapped shut and the heavy locks opened on the door. Thumping music could be heard from within, glimpses of neon light coming from further in, barely held back by the thick cloth covering the inner doorway. The figure on the other side of the door had the heavy, blocky look of industrial-prison strength augs, making the man seem lumpy and deformed.
The blocky man didn't bother patting down the lankier one, just moved aside then shut the door behind the figure in the trenchcoat. The figure pushed through, moving through a hallway lined with other people, wearing much less cloth and a lot more sweat and glitter. Chrome glimmered in the neon, powdered drugs vanished up nostrils, liquid intoxicants vanished into mouths, and hammering acoustics pummled the flesh.
The figure just slouched through the hall, taking a left and pushing through a doorway marked ”EMERGENCY EXIT - NO EXIT”, the door shutting out the sights and sounds of the illegal nightclub as the figure moved down the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs was another heavy door, this one with a guard on either side. The guards said nothing, the left hand one silently opening the door for the newcomer, who moved through as if it was almost an effort to reach through the apathy to bother to go inside.
The music was back, different, a feeling of barely restrained anger and resentment carried through in the chords and tones. The neon came from displays rather than whirling lights, the chrome here didn't glimmer seductively, instead seeming almost threatening in the way it gleamed in the dim lights.
The figure moved to the back, where a round couch squatted around a low table covered with datachits, datacubes, credsticks, drugs, bottles of booze, and scattered glasses in various states of fullness. On the couch were a half dozen figures, male and female, all hairless primate bipeds. Most had colorful tattoos that flashed and sparkled and moved, all with neon colored hair, most of them with piercings in addition to their cyberware, which gleamed with chrome and dripped oil and expense in equal measure.
The newcomer said nothing, just sat down, leaning back against the couch and tugging the hat lower to conceal their features.
The conversation was part bragging, part trash talking, part speculation on what the job could possibly be. Most of them were hoping for a run against various companies, or maybe a snatch and grab, or maybe even security for a high profile VIP.
The newcomer said nothing. He ignored the others and they ignored him. Many of them considered the newcomer to possibly be a n00b to the whole thing. There was some speculative looks, a few questions, but nobody pushed it too far.
The newcomer didn't even seem to breathe, seemed almost as if they had expired after sitting down.
Finally a figure in a suit worth more than the cyberware on any of the individuals pushed through the crowd, guarded by three figures in body armor and making sure the pistols on their hips were obvious to everyone.
The suited figure had a chair brought up, sat down, and unfolded a small microcomp. He twiddled with the keyboard for a moment, bringing up a holodisplay, then looked everyone over.
”I am Mister Johnson,” he said, almost unnecessarily.
The others all nodded.
”This is a multi-spectrum job. There is a research facility performing research that the people I represent are interested in,” he stated.
The newcomer didn't move even though the others leaned forward slightly.
”Your target is a datastore that is removed from the net, which means you will have to penetrate the security of the target facility, access a terminal with connections to the datastore, and download the files my client desires and then extract the data from the facility,” Mr. Johnson said.
The others all nodded.
”Any other data you acquire will either be purchased by my client or can be sold through your own fixers,” Mr. Johnson stated. ”Damage to the facility is acceptable, and collateral damage is expected.”
That got broad smiles from the cybernetically enhanced males and females on the couch.
”Once you extract the data, you will move to the drop-off point. There you will meet with a liaison, who will pay you the remainder of your fee as well as negotiate for any additional data you have acquired,” Mr. Johnson said. ”My client is willing to pay 20% up front.”
That got smiles and exclamations of glee from all but the newcomer, who still hadn't moved.
”To accept this job, simply slot your credstick, accept your payment, and the details will be loaded onto the credstick,” Mr. Johnson said.
All six of the more active slotted their credstick, one by one hurrying out, until only the newcomer, Mr. Johnson, and his guards were at the table.
”Do you intend on taking part in this job?” Mr. Johnson asked the newcomer, who still hadn't moved.
”I like to know more before I accept,” the newcomer said, still not looking up.
”Details are provided upon acceptance of the mission,” Mr. Johnson stated.
”Who is the target? The subsidiary and the primary owning corp?” the newcomer asked.
”Details are only provided upon acceptance,” Mr. Johnson said.
”Then I'm out,” the newcomer said. ”Feel free to enjoy your evening, Mr. Johnson.”
The suited figure cocked an eyebrow. ”The terms were acceptable to your compatriots.”
”They are not my compatriots, my peers, or my friends,” the newcomer said. ”Just as they are merely useful idiots to you.”
The suited figure went still a moment. ”Very well. Enjoy your evening.”
The newcomer didn't move as Mr. Johnson gathered up the microcomp and stood up, his guards pushing an opening into the crowd that the suited figure vanished into.
A female with a black cybernetic arm moved out of the shadows, where she had been standing against the wall with many others, sitting down.
”Didn't like the job?” she asked.
”No.”
”We've had to be careful lately. Still waiting for the fallout?” she asked.
The newcomer nodded. ”There's new players. Not player players, but something moving in the shadows,” the newcomer looked up, his cybernetic eyes glinting in the light. ”I'm getting a bad feeling. Rumor says the old players are back and have new tricks.”
A group of chromed, tattooed, and neon haired individuals suddenly appeared out of thin air on the couch next to the pair. They all sat perfectly still for a moment, then began introducing themselves to one another.
”N00bz,” Trenchcoat said.
”Lots of them. No pain rigs either,” the woman noted.
It was easy to tell, they didn't bother with the drinks, the drugs, the stims, since they got no biofeedback from the system.
”What do we do?” the woman asked. She rubbed her black cyberarm. ”We're the only two left from our guild.”
Trenchcoat stood up, looked around, and motioned at her to follow. They wove between the terminals and the dancers, heading back up to the club. Once up there they pushed their way through the crowd, noting that more and more of them had the dense feeling of reality behind them. They moved to a table, both ordering drinks.
”Sammy Chop Chop and Dangerous Dan are both dead,” the female said. ”Street buzz says it's megacorp or feddy related.”
”No. If it was feddy, their meat woulda been whacked, if it was corp there'd be some kind of notice in the game. They were taken out somehow. Something different,” Trenchcoat said. He waved his hand. ”Look at them all, dancing here. It disgusts me.”
The woman shook her head. ”They just know it was an important place during The War.”
”It was a hospital. The place should still ring with the screams of the dying,” Trenchcoat said. ”The Smaugs got in and killed everyone in here, almost got you. Now they're dancing and stimming and just want to brag to their friends that they partied at The Aid Station.”
The woman sighed. ”You need to relax.”
Trenchcoat shook his head. ”I can't. I'm warning you, warning everyone, there's something out there. It learned, or it's respecting the rules this time, or something. But in the last two months most of the Old Chrome is dead.”
”Or in hiding. Like you,” the woman said. She opened her mouth to say more when Trenchcoat suddenly moved. He was so fast he was a blur, reflexes tweaked so high by cyberware that they surpassed inhuman and went into almost supernatural. He kicked the table up, vat grown tailored muscle powering the table up even as he dropped to the ground and did a sweep kick that knocked her chair to the side.
The figure behind her was tall, dressed in an old War jacket with pins on it, his hair shut, a square jaw, and bulky with slabware. His hand missed grabbing the woman's hair, his other hand coming out of his jacket with a heavy autoloader pistol that shined in the neon.
Trenchcoat rolled on his side as the figure leveled its pistol and started firing, the shots narrowly missing the rolling man, who got his trenchcoat open to reveal a sawed off pump action shotgun.
The crowd was screaming, some surging away, others surging forward with their comlinks out, hoping to get a good shot they could put up on GalNet.
Trenchcoat fired once, the shot taking the big figure in the chest and knocking him down. Trenchcoat got up on one knee, grabbing the woman's jacket and heaving her to her feet.
”We've gotta move,” Trenchcoat said. Half of the crowd was trying to get closer or trying to get away, the rest were dancing like nothing was happening.
The big figure stood up as Trenchcoat and the woman scrambled to their feet. He pulled a short blocky looking black SMG out of his jacket and started shooting a tight burst, the weapon barely moving in his hand as he easily controlled the recoil.
Trenchcoat and the woman ducked low, the woman pulling a smoke grenade from her jacket and dropping it on the ground.
The figure stepped forward, scanning the now screaming crowd, the end of the barrel sweeping around like a snake's head. A dozen had been killed by the short bursts and now the crowd was taking it seriously.
There
The figure fired off another burst, narrowly missing the target, the last of the magazine rattling away. The figure looked at the weapon and started to reload it, not bothering to take cover. Trenchcoat popped back up with the shotgun and shot the figure once, twice, three times in the chest, pumping the action of the shotgun.
The figure didn't go down this time.
The female kicked open the fire door and lunged out into the alley. ”Come on!” she yelled.
The smoke grenade was hissing out, filling the club with even thicker smoke.
Trenchcoat lunged and scrambled for the door, barely getting out into the rain and slamming the door before light SMG rounds plinked into the door with the rattle of hail on a tin roof.
”An Arnie, they're using Arnie's,” the woman gasped as they ran down the alley. ”You were right, Crashrider, they're back.”
”Told you,” he gasped. ”We gotta get to Sal's. We gotta warn everyone.”
In the no-frills apartment, on a world nobody cared about, that produced nothing of real value, hundreds of light years from any front, Eegleet's meat body shivered with how close he'd come to getting killed.