Mark drove out of S9 HQ inside a black Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 with automatic transmission and black color finish. By 3000-based standards, the vehicle should either be in a museum, someone's car collection or be recycled since there are other models out there worth using. But thanks to the money he accumulated from both the trust fund made by his immediate family while he was studying and the huge salary he makes working with the multinational public security outfit in the city, the ex-SAF operator was able to buy the car from a reputable dealer that specializes in getting high-end models such as the ZL1, which also doubles out as a parts replicator company to individuals and companies alike to recreate parts that are badly needed for vehicles when the manufacturers no longer has time or resources to maintain the creation of aftermarket parts.
When he turned on the car's MyLink to activate the radio, he received a news update that the police have been notified of several police officers and public security detectives being attacked.
"Who has the guts to attack public security?" Mark murmured when the news update continued, informing the listeners that Public Security Section 1 has been informed of the incident.
He began to push the accelerator pedal hard. After all, he had to go to the outskirts of the city and head to the upper-class neighborhoods. The detective did wonder what was so urgent that Section 9's presence was needed.
Butch looked again from behind the wall, only to see the mysterious figure was gone. Looking up, he could see what appeared to person levitate and disappear in the winds.
"Well that's just great." Butch thought as he carefully got up, with his gun and knife at the ready. He slowly walked upon the scene, looking down as he saw the dead bodies on the ground, all looking unnatural and mutilated.
Butch was almost scared from the scene but kept his calm as he kept walking, trying to avoid stepping on the bodies. "What the hell is this? What could've even caused this? Some kind of cybernetic? Nanomachines? I've got no clue."
Butch went towards Falco's house and sat on its steps, patiently waiting for more officers to arrive on the scene. They're probably gonna find it hard to believe when he tells him what he saw, then again things just seem to be getting worse.
"First a politician dies, then a slew of cops and PSS officers. People dies everyday in this city but this is different. Still once the rebellion groups get word of this, they're gonna believe they can fight the system. Of all the cases, of all the situations to get stuck in...Ah f*ck it. I'll think about all of this when more people arrive."
Butch grabbed a bar of chocolate from his jacket pocket and took a bite into it. He was not amused by any of this, but he was sure as hell curious.
The Blinder
THE RABID DOG
Winter leaned back in his seat. Theatrical bastard, though the vanishing worried him, eh, probably cloaking. All he had to do and intimidate the list of names, and leave a few of them alive. No problem, he looked around the bare room. "Hey, Screws," he chuckled, "if it's all the same to you, I'll be living here for a while." The headless corpse, was unresponsive. Well, silence means consent, he got up from the chair, heading towards the window.
Good to be back
Xander and Misha, meanwhile, watched the news about the "mysterious assailant" who had attacked the Public Security Service and several police officers otherwise, and slaughtered them in a very "disturbing" way. Apparently, he had somehow made them into part of biomechanical plant-life. By the time more of the agents arrived, the plant-life had grown into the surface beneath them, and was almost impossible to extricate.
Xander leaned forward, his blue eyes twinkling with an emotion Misha recognized as intrigue as the news-critters tried to describe what was going on.
Vulpine News said it was a conspiracy by "far left" Anti-Cyberneticists...because people against cybernetics would totally turn their agent into something that used biotechnology, easily more "invasive" than simple cybernetics. And of course Dr. Ablau made a diagnosis of the killer as a psychopath.
It also came up that the biotechnology used was like nothing that had ever been developed before, on a different network. As Xander flipped between their reports, recorded by Misha, he grinned a little. The decoy had worked swimmingly. Apparently, Father was unable to tell the difference, which amused Xander to no end. And he had gotten a lot done today, releasing his insects into the City, not to mention recruiting a Hand in the Underworld.
For now, the PSS and police looked like they were going to be investigating the people of the Gutter and the Anti-Cybernetic Human Purist crowds, which was only what was expected. It was either them, or Organized Crime trying to strike back against the authorities or something similar. After that courtesy message, it only expectedly cut back to the earlier "entertainment TV".
Including, ironically enough for Xander and Misha, that some gossip was that the two of them were dating. More little details to keep attention.
Of course they did not want people talking for very long about the killer who went through PSS like a hot knife through butter - it might give them ideas that the unstoppable cybernetic police were not quite so unstoppable after all. It might give hope to those who did not want to remain under the dictatorship of the rulers of this city.
Xander looked over at Misha, "Time for the second phase?" He lightly kissed her lips, being rewarded with a short, but intense kiss between the two of them, and when they separated, Misha took him near the bed.
"Yes, my dear Xander...I think its time my Raiders got to play," Misha said in a mischievous, some would dare say malicious tone, "And then we can move forward. Phase 3." She would not be left behind by him, and this was the time to show she was just as deadly as the male, if not more so.
The Blinder
Winters paused, taking a step back from the window, he looked at Screws' corpse. Come to think of it, he knew a group that was trying to rebel...Maybe it would further his purpose to plant the seeds of rebellion, he walked over, grabbing Screws. "Congratulations," He growled. "You're the new martyr." As he slung his body over his shoulder, making his way to the out of the way bar. He knocked on the door, focusing on making his tears up, the door slid open. "Hey, who is it?"
"Someone who wants Arcadia to fall." Winter replied, the Populi were the main source of rebellion...This was not the Populi, rather some upstart little shits. Perfect puppets. people looked at him, clad in rags though they all had a symbol of a broken chain either embroidered, tattooed or otherwise placed on their bodies. he slammed the corpse down on the pool table, a tall man with a goatee and blue eyes.
"The fuck is this?" Winters looked at the man.
"His name is Screws," Winters said simply, "Does anyone know him?" No one in the room did. All the better. "He worked hard every day of his life, trying to help those who came to him. The Piss," Piss was a common nickname for the PSS, Public Security Section, "put a fucking bullet in his brain." Winters replied, feeling the entire room go silent, "And to follow it, I found that the Public Security are going to go over and do a run through of his house, put weapons in it!" Which was half true, he had heard in the news that the PSS were going to try to reduce crime. Of course these dumbasses believed every word, they'd rebel to anything. ''"Are we going to fucking let those shits?" He demanded, The man looked at him.
"We've not got enough fire arms."
"You don't need firepower!" Winters shouted back, stepping onto the table. "All of you! All of your life, what have you been treated as? Shit! Is peaceful protesting going to change anything?!" A general murmur of disagreement seemed to fill the room. "Exactly! What we need to do is to break the glass houses! So, tell me, what are you going to do about this? Are we going to let the Piss just waltz in?" He demanded of them.
"No!"
"We'll show the wolves at the door that the force of people is stronger!" Winter shouted, "Now! Prepare for war!" The blood thirty dozen or so youths cheered, Winters grinned. More Martyrs for the cause.
Good to be back
Mark had parked his ZL1 at the driveway of The Heights, a ritzy apartment complex at the city's Arcadia district, one of the most prestigious areas of Echo City. Now, the area was fully cordoned off by uniformed officers of the Echo City Police Service or EPS for short. One can tell them from the usual private security guards through their light blue dress shirt, black pants and boots, duty holsters and vests with radio microphone clipped on the vest's shoulders (left or right). They are also seen usually without their headgear on until their commanders instruct them to wear them.
When he got out of the American-made car, the Section 9 officer noted that some streets leading to and from The Heights was closed off by both marked squad cars (complete with siren lights turned on) and uniformed officers on the streets to make their presence known. Mark approached the automatic door entrance of The Heights when he encountered two EPS officers guarding the door. One of them was of Arab African origin and the other was of Southeast Asian origin, perhaps of indigenous origin from Malaysia or Indonesia.
"Excuse me, sir." The EPS Arab African officer approached Mark with his left placed on his duty belt. He noted his black softshell tactical jacket, Oakley SF boots and gray tactical pants. "This property is off-limits except for residents..."
"I'm with Section 9. I got an appointment to take care of." Mark showed the officer his "official" Section 9 ID.
The other officer radioed in to EPS control to confirm if the public security section was here on official business. Control radioed back later on the officers' earpieces that S9 presence was requested by the city's Justice Department.
"Understood, sir." The officer told Mark after he verified his ID. "The victim on the 20th floor was almost killed by an assassin. He's shaken up, but he's okay."
"Okay, but why isn't homicide on this?"
"Frankly sir, the victim demanded public security to send someone to speak to him."
"All right. I'll take care of it."
Once Mark got inside, he saw several uniformed officers either helping residents get back to their residences or to the gym/swimming pool/underground mall/etc. or telling visitors that security is heightened up to the point that they need to make their presence known to security at the reception desk first before they can see a resident.
Looks like EPS may soon get their hands full working with the private security hired by management.
He entered an elevator with a glass wall that had a good view of the swimming pool, located at the fifth floor. Although he was able to see it once it started to ascend upward.
Next stop, the 20th floor. This better be worth it.
A few hours went by as Butch finally got out of the station. He had to be kept in for questioning and writing down witness statements. Walking out with his confiscated gun and knife back in his possession, he packed the weapons away and grabbed another chocolate bar from his jacket.
Butch walked back to his apartment, taking bites from the bar every few moments as he gathered his thoughts.
"Bloody police system always takes so long. Of course I didn't join the cops. Sure I could be a clean cop that people might trust but being a private eye is easier. Still those bastards hardly believed me about that figure until the news reports and pictures came in. Thank god for fast moving news. Still I wonder who that figure was..."
"I doubt it was the killer on the Network. It wouldn't pull off such a public display outside the scene of its last victim. This figure killed all those cops and PSS using some sort of nanomachines I think. Must be some advanced tech to grow plantlife on human beings, even if most of them are cybernetically advanced. The Network Killer or Saviour kills its victims while logged in the Network and giving them heart attacks. Nothing's deviated from that so far. Whoever this mysterious figure is, it seems like it found a good opportunity next to Falco's place to make a statement. Whatever that statement is, I got no freaking clue."
"I haven't even got a proper chance to check out Falco's house or his dead body. I guess it can wait till tomorrow. I have my work cut out for me. At least the pay from so many clients could keep me up decently."
Eventually Butch arrived back home as he saw his roommate and lover Cayla, sleeping in her bed. "I can't bother her now. Waking her up after a day of hacking is never pretty."
Butch carefully crept into his bedroom and closed the door, throwing the chocolate bar wrapper into the bin nearby. It's been a long day of witnessing death and dealing with the tiresome system of the police.
Meanwhile, there was a sudden and disturbing special report by the news, that there was a raid on a warehouse owned by the Hendrick Family, by people who seemed like Populi, but were armed like arms smugglers or high level organized crime agents. While nobody was killed during the raid, due to the guards being locked in their chambers, the thieves instead opted to take newly developed "Empower-Armor", being that such was the specialty of the Hendrick Family.
While Justinian Hendrick and his sister Cassandra were unavailable for comment, it looked like the young daughter of the family stepped forward and decided to be the face of the Family during this time. Mostly because Justinian was a Manchild who was allergic to responsibility and Cassandra was trying to be his minder and get him back on track.
Misha had been visiting her known "crush", Xander Vandeine, when the news came in, and she had immediately addressed reporters and the news that while she did not know who was responsible, she did know that the Powered Armor they took was very dangerous and incorporated a lot of new weapons. She made a show of support for the police and the PSS, and that she would "use any of her resources necessary to find the stolen armour".
After that, she returned to her home, and bid Xander farewell for the night with a public kiss which ended up all over the news and discussed as the diversion after that incident.
Butch woke up the following day and walked into the kitchen, seeing a half dressed Cayla biting into some toast while typing fast into her laptop. Butch gave her a quick kiss as he had himself some cereal.
Butch quickly finished off his breakfast as he got dressed into his private detective attire and armed his gun and knife.
"Alright I'm out to keep doing this investigation, hopefully without some stupid interruption." Butch stated to Cayla as she replied "Alright, don't get yourself killed."
"Oh shut it." Butch stated back playfully as he left the apartment and made his way back to Falco's house. As he walked through the city, he saw thew newsreel on the big screens everywhere. Reporting on the deaths from yesterday, a raid on a warehouse owned by the Hendrick family, mindless fluff about the relationship between Misha Hendrick and Xander Vandeine and other stuff.
"Hmm news these days is always so stupid. You'd think by now in this 'future' that people would stop caring about crap like relationships. Whatever it's none of my business anyway. Still I hope I at least find something at Falco's house for this case, there's enough trouble with the deaths of cops and PSS."
Eventually Butch arrived by the crime scene. After showing his P.I. badge to the officers standing by, Butch was let into the house.
"A big, bright house. Of course a politician would have a place like this. Damn guys are always so privileged."
Butch followed up the stairs as he arrived into the office room where Falco's body was found.
"Huh, they still use the white chalk.." Butch remarked, looking down on the floor where the white outline of Falco's body is.
"Now then, let's see what I can find." Butch stated as he put on some white gloves.
The Fantabulous
It had almost been an hour since June had called for the police and there was still no sign of so much as a parking officer turning up. Bloody typical, get within a mile of the Gutter and the police suddenly were nowhere to be found - June fumed for a time before she tired of being angry. She slumped down on the couch, head in her hands, "I f*cking hate this city." She turned to Zia's body, feeling a little guilty for complaining. With a grimace she closed his eyes and tried to take his hand from his left arm, clear sign of a heart attack. Again, it didn't make sense.
Zia's hand was stiff, a cybernetic prosthesis without power, but she could see a piece of paper clench inside the palm. June carefully unfolded its fingers, "Sorry..." She muttered, carefully putting the arm back before unfolding what appeared to be an annotated flyer:
YOUR SAVIOR HAS COME
The gates of Echo City will be opened wide
And the path to freedom will burn bright
Above The Gutter of this world
YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN
June sighed and shook her head, Zia wasn't generally the type for this kind of bollocks. Probably just more propaganda for local churches. She folded it over and saw Zia had written something on the back - Look Again. She turned the page over and let her eyes take in a broader spectrum, at the edge of the UV spectrum was another message, far more convincing or at least less nutty:
If you are ready to be free and see the truth of this city, you will find it at the Darius street warehouse
Floor 3, 6:30 pm
It gave a date - tomorrow night. Now that was curious... A knock on the door indicated that the police had finally arrived, their tired footsteps approaching, "I was beginning to wonder if I should start digging a hole in the back myself." June muttered, crossing her arms as she saw it was only two officers. They explained there was a terrorist attack of some kind, hence the lack of response and grudgingly apologized. The hour was late, they taking down her details and promising to question her later before escorting her outside.
June was finally back at her apartment, deciding to get incensed about the dismissive attitude of the police later. For know there were too many questions and, she remembered, still those stupid reports. However the description of the cases she had been given... well, they sounded familiar - Heart attacks, no apparent physical evidence and recent Zero Network usage - Zia always had been a bit of a Net-head. Scanning recent headlines gave her a name for the killer - 'The Network Killer' or 'Savior'.
Setting to properly analyzing the biological specimens from the crime series, June committed herself to finding out who or what killed her friend and, if possible, what he was doing with that flyer.
edited 10th Jul '14 7:39:47 PM by Lt.BGob
“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”
When Mark arrived at the 20th floor, a couple of uniformed EPS officers of East Asian origin greeted the public security officer and informed him that the victim is waiting outside his room for his presence.
Mark thanked the officers and walked up to the victim.
What the? It can't be.
"Est-ce vous?" The victim turned to be a French-speaking man in his early 50s. He had short brown hair with Caucasian features, wearing a blue dress shirt, brown pants and white sneakers. A male uniformed officer of African origin had just finished interviewing him when he spoke to the man that he's free to head back to his place.
"I... ne vous ai pas vu depuis que j'ai quitté l'2e Régiment étranger de parachutistes." Mark greeted the man back in French.
It's Colonel Michel Hollande from the 2e REP. Last I heard, he resigned. The public security officer and ex-FFL soldier was about to salute his ex-commanding officer when Michel waved him to drop it.
"I'm retired now." Michel insisted. "After all, it's not bad to retire and have a quiet life in the city."
"Sir, what happened to you and why did you call for someone from public security?"
"Suivez-moi." Michel told his ex-2e REP subordinate. "I shall explain everything inside my apartment."
At least his English is still good after all these years, even though I had to speak French back in the legion.
After Mark and Michel took their seats in the living area by the sofa in front of a large HDTV screen with a coffee table in front, the latter began to explain to him what had happened.
"I was suppose to be checking up on someone who wanted to write a book about your disgrace with the Police nationale des Philippines." Michel began before he presented to him a long brown envelope.
"Okay." Mark looked inside to see documents in French with English translations that detailed his time back in the legion. "I assume that these aren't redacted by the Armée de Terre?"
"No. Most of the operations you were involved in back in 2e REP was public knowledge, although most wouldn't really know of your involvement unless they dig deeper in the net."
"Oui, oui." Mark replied. "I do have documents that correspond to my involvement before and after my discharge with the Special Action Force. My question is why you were targeted."
Michel leaned back on his seat. "It may be True Anonymous. It may be a hired assassin sent to target me by your old commanding officers back in Camp Crame to silence the issue once and for all."
"Merde." The Chinese-Filipino officer cursed while he mumbled. "Now I have to worry about two potential enemies."
"Take the envelope." Michel insisted. "I have several copies made in and out of the city in case something should happen to me."
"Nice work, Colonel." Mark said to his ex-superior before he added. "Toujours prêt avec un plan."
"Bien sûr que je fais." Michel had a smirk on his face. "After all, that part of being prepared is why I never lost a single man since I took command of 2e REP. He then patted Mark on his right shoulder. "It was sad to see you go, but I'm glad to see you in the city working in public security. At least you're someone I can easily trust."
"Merci." Mark said before he stood up. "Will you be here in the city?"
"Yes, I will. As far as I know, the city has strict emigration policies applied to everyone except for very special cases."
"Here's my number." Michel was handed a folded piece of paper. "It's my mobile number, but it's not connected to the public security network. Just in case someone wants to get snoopy."
"I appreciate it."
"I'll see you later, sir." Mark said his goodbyes before he stood at attention and saluted him while he held the envelope underneath his left armpit.
Michel sighed and indulged him by saluting back. Despite his old age, he was still fit to do it.
Later on, Mark departed from The Heights and went back to his ZL1 as he prepared to head back to his place to "store" the envelope before he would go back to S9 HQ and report in.
edited 11th Jul '14 10:10:28 AM by Ominae
The Blinder
Johnathan Vitch sat down, looking over the order, F-876 Tracking Missles, an AREZ Launcher...Jesus, where could he get all of those? It was hard enough with the PSS crawling up his ass and trying to pay them off every time. But now? This was goddamn military grade equipment. "Having trouble Mr. Vitch?" A voice asked, Johnathan Vitch turned around just in time for a hand to seize his neck and slam against the wall of his hovel, the man held up a vibroblade, a 348 RPR. A rather archaic design, he stared at the man.
"Who are you?" He choked out, the figure grinned, a wolish, horrifying grin.
"Your new masters." He growled, "If you want to live, you'll answer to a few people. me included. Deal?"
"Deal! Deal!" The man choked out, the figure threw him to the ground, turned and walked out. He paused, "And remember Johnny, If you even think about the fucking Pissers, I'll slit your worthless throat." With that, he walked out the door, leaving Johnny in urine stained pants, he waited for what felt like an eternity before seizing the phone, dialing up that one P.I,
Winter stood on the roof top, if only his new boss could arrive. Winter had a few things to show him.
edited 11th Jul '14 5:36:58 PM by TroyandHawk
Good to be back
Xander awoke in the morning, and thought of what Misha had planned - it would be a great new day today, and he could only look forward to the Change that would come as a result of this. However, he decided it was also more than time to check in on his Hand in the underworld. He would just need to set things up right to ensure that he wasn't found to be leaving by his father, or discovered for who he was by his Hand.
I think father would be more upset that I've been leaving my study than that I've been dressing up in a white nanomachine armor and slaughtering the PSS.
First, though, he checked the news, and they had a momentary little update on last night's events, and he found that the police and a large number of high class citizens had taken to giving the "mysterious figure" a nickname. They called his persona "Mektavore". However, after checking on the Zero Network, he found that the Lower Class citizens called him Mektavis, a much less hostile sounding name.
It looked like his mission had been a success. He had given them an idea. Change always started with an idea.
As he got dressed for the day, he heard a knock at the door. He gestured at it and the door opened, his father coming in.
Isaiah Vandeine was a large, powerful man with greying hair with splotches of black still left, a well trimmed beard and fierce dark-green eyes that did not match his son's, though there was the obvious issue of his son's albinism. He was, as always, clothed in a suit, and had evidently been straightening his tie again and again, a nervous habit his father always had.
"Son, I hope that you know the time for your first truly public appearance is coming soon. I hope you perform as excellently as you have on your school work."
Xander fought down a grimace - he despised his father's rigid standards on school work, and wished he could've been allowed to meet with and socialize with other teens in some form of public school. Meeting Misha was the high point of his life, by now.
"Yes, father, I will not disappoint you."
"Good, then I will leave you to your work." With that, his father left his room, and Xander looked over at the things he was supposed to be working on before taking out the Decoy, and bright silver tendrils began to emerge from the boy and bind themselves tight to his form, slowly becoming the Mech Control Suit. As his face was covered, he smiled a little.
By the time it was done, he left through his secret exit from his room, and left his Decoy to its work.
Winter's forces seemed to wait for just a little while, and it looked at first like the strange figure was not going to show...however, then Winter felt a sensation like a strong whistling sound in his ear, and something told him the figure was approaching.
The wind blew through the area, and the elusive silver armored figure appeared before Winter and his forces. Its masked face seemed to scan each person in the force over, almost staring right through them. Assessing their worths, their strengths, their weaknesses.
Butch continued to look around the office for any clues, but hasn't found anything yet.
"The place looked like it was swept clean from yesterday as if no one wanted me or anyone else from finding any evidence. I guess the shady dealings of a politician are something to consider when one dies and their secrets may be found out."
Still searching, Butch sat down in the chair where Falco was sitting when he died. He searched upon the office desk, opening drawers and finding random pens, rubber bands and scraps of staplers everywhere.
Unable to find anything of note, Butch left the office quietly and went to a nearby officer.
"So where's Falco's body?" Butch asked.
"His family and friends took instant custody of it after yesterday's incident. They're holding the funeral today and cremating the body." the officer replied.
Butch slightly annoyed replied "Of course they are." as he left the house.
"Everyone's got a secret to hide these days. I can't even inspect Falco's body now for anything. Just my bloody luck. And I haven't found any clues either. The best I can hope for is for anything new to come up with the previous victims or worse yet wait for the Saviour to take another life. It's cruel but I have very little to go on."
As Butch walked through the city block, he saw the news reels nearby reporting on the mysterious figure who high class citizens were nicknaming it 'Mektavore'.
"Hmm. 'Mektavore' huh? That is an interesting name for that thing. I'll give those elite scumbags that much."
Eventually Butch returned back to his apartment and sat down beside Cayla whose expression looked blank she was hacking away.
Not wanting to bother her, Butch pulled out the cable nearby and attached it into his neck. Connected to the Zero Network, Butch quietly searched around the humongous system, trying to find some show or movie to watch to pass the time.
edited 11th Jul '14 6:13:57 PM by JRPictures
The Blinder
THE GUTTER
Winters observed the motley crew from the roof top; armed with shit weaponry, they'd be fucking massacred, that's when he noticed the figure behind him, clearing his throat, he stood, and circled the figure, speaking in a tone like a teacher talking to a student. ''"March 5th. 1775. The Thirteen Colonies, Boston in particular. A squad of British Soldiers fired upon a mob in self defense. The mob had attacked them, struck at them, and threatened them. They were completely fucking in the right. But, no one gave a shit. It still lead to that goddamn war." Winter finished. "Look at the filth, completely clueless. They call themselves the Followers Of Robspierre; utterly forgettable. They'll die and they'll never be anything more then another rotting corpse in the Gutter." He chuckled, "But, me? I've given them a place in fucking history! All war has their martyrs, and you're looking at twenty of them." He looked at the figure, "I'm giving you your brand new world on a fucking platter." He spread his arms, "Aren't I a nice guy?"
The men hadn't heard this and continued to drink, mingle and be merry in preperation for their boldest move yet.
edited 11th Jul '14 8:01:36 PM by TroyandHawk
Good to be back
The Fantabulous
June spent the whole night researching the Network murders and every piece of evidence she could get her hands on which, being in forensics, was more than your average citizen. Unfortunately the police still weren't releasing much other data aside from the merge scraps fed to the press. There were no toxins in the blood that could cause heart attack, only the natural proteins release by the body from such a shock as well as some kind of fibrillation. She deduced that the 'Savior' must have used the Network to manipulate the victims' nervous systems, triggering arrhythmias of severity enough to starve the heart of oxygen - thus a heart attack by all appearances. As for why, well, the location and nature of murdered people seemingly had no pattern though this is common for organised serial killers.
However, June had been the first to see Zia's untimely end and her keen vision had detected no forced entry or evidence of another person - therefore it was entirely remote and, assuming Contact Trace Theory still applied, if anything was taken or left it would be on the Network. She needed someone who knew it better than she did, searching leading her to a private investigator. He was called Butch Advent, an odd name for an allegedly odd fellow but current hired to look into the murders. June decided it might be more productive to ask him before the police. They were meant to be questioning her today but, given the news reports from yesterday, they had their hands full.
Butch Advent,
It comes to my attention that you have been investigating the Network Killer or 'Savior'. I have recently come in contact with the latest victim and believe we may be able to help each other.
If you would agree to meet me I will be at the Outer Midgard Toxi Co Laboratories at 9am.
June
June packed her backpack with the finished reports and a number of subtly marked vials containing various chemicals. It was a hobby of hers to try synthesizing novel chemicals, legal or otherwise and given she would be heading to The Gutter this evening they could come in handy. With that she departed for the lab.
“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”
As Butch finished off an episode of some comedy show, he suddenly received a message.
Reading it, Butch logged out of the network and came back into real life.
"Another victim of the Saviour? Christ, this guy is working fast now. Hmm June huh? And I gotta meet her at Outer Midgard ToxiCo Laboratories? I might have to do a bit of digging now on this girl, just to stay safe."
Butch turned to Cayla, who was taking a break from her regular hacking schedule.
"Hey Cayla, care to help me do a quick background check?"
"I don't see why not?"
The duo sat next to each other as Cayla started searching for any June associated with ToxiCo.
"Alright here we go." Cayla stated as she got the results down "June Byrne, 26 years old. Is a talented analytical chemist with experience in toxicology. As it appears a friend/co-workers of her's named Zia Hutz was the one apparently killed by the Saviour."
"Interesting. Definitely has a personal investment. Still I wonder why I wasn't informed of this guy's death. My police informant would call me up as soon as a new victim was found. Perhaps those bloody cops think this death has nothing to do with it?" Butch remarked as he got his coat on and packed his gun and knife.
"Perhaps. Either way, you gotta hear this girl out." Cayla noted as she saw Butch leave the apartment and make his way to the lab.
After Mark had gotten up and about, he left his apartment building and arrived at S9 HQ by bus, which was convenient for him since he lived in the Midgard district, which was one of the districts near the downtown core. So far, he had orders to attend the briefing at once.
Once he got in, Mark sat down while the chief began his debriefing once the officers got to their seats. Last count he remembered, the bureau consisted of 10 active agents with a huge number of support personnel alongside androids doing office duty for the most part.
"All right, everyone. I'm sure you were aware of the shootings in the Oakleaf district last night." The chief began his debriefing.
"You mean the one they call The Gutter?" A female S9 agent of African origin asked the chief with a slight South African accent.
"That's right. The Interior Secretary has said that we're to be on standby while Section 1 works with EPS to investigate the deaths that occurred there in the district. You all know that the area's been a hotbed for resentment lately, especially with some of the inhabitants being refugees."
"Does this mean Section 5 will step in?" Mark stepped in to raise a question.
The chief shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. The Mayor and the secretary don't want to raise any alarms with the public. Naturally, the media will eventually put the headlines on those recent killings from the papers and from the net."
This blows, but the public being unsympathetic to the district may allow an investigation from the bureaus to be unhindered, only except with some curious guy who wants a closer look at the investigation and upload the video to the net.
"In addition, you're also made aware of the recent deaths with links to the Zero Network. This time, it appears to be a politician from the city council named Brian Falco."
"So does this mean we're stepping in?" A male S9 of Caucasian origin with brown hair asked the chief, having a bit of an Irish accent. "And has this been confirmed?"
"We will be and it appears to be the case. At the moment, the mayor has requested us to unofficially work on the case as soon as we can. We're going to get the files from our Section 5 colleagues ever since they were assigned to the case." The chief then said. "For now, everyone is dismissed."
Mark noted that the chief was looking at him. "Mark, a word with you in my office."
"Yes, sir."
Falco, as noted, doesn't seem to have a first name.
edited 12th Jul '14 12:28:35 AM by Ominae
The Blinder
THE MONSTER
The PSS had arrived in the gutter, and sure enough, on the roof tops, and on the raised platforms over the ocean of shit were raising their hands, holding guns and waving them at the SID, too scared to fire, but plenty brave enough to boast. and throwings rocks, bricks and anything they could get your hands on at the large flying vehicles, the heavily armed Pissers, were doing admirably trying to resist violence, their intercom was blaring the standard Return to your homes bullshit. Winters looked through the scope, he put down the rectangular case he had, opening it, it turned split open, revealing a long, grey Rifle-The Remington 1K Sniper Rifle. Screws' inventory had proven useful, He grinned looking through the sights.
22 Year old Ethan Mclane's head exploded, the rioters all stared as his body pitched over the side of the railing, falling into the excremement below, there was a moment of silence.
"March 5th. 1775. The Thirteen Colonies, Boston in particular.
"Get the pissers! They shot Ethan!" Screamed 30 old Blake Thomas, eyes filling with tears of rage and sorrow.
A squad of British Soldiers fired upon a mob in self defense. The mob had attacked them, struck at them, and threatened them.
The PSS stared down, the commander looked at the others in shock, "Who gave that order!?" He demanded, "Who gave that fucking order?!" Suddenly, Corporal Corey Clinn recoiled, a shot had pierced through his armor and began to bleed, followed by many more shots, gunfire pouring from the crowd at the Squad. The Commander shook his head, he had no choice, these men were hostiles that were hurting his men. "Return Fire!" He shouted over the comm.
They were completely fucking in the right.
Men screamed at the fire ripped through them like tissue paper, the wounded limped towards safety, returning fire, futile in the attempt.
But, no one gave a shit. It still lead to that goddamn war.
"Fucking run! Guys, get your buddies to sa-" The Leader, Johnny Timms sputtered up blood as his torso was shredded into a fine pink mist.
Look at the filth, completely clueless. They call themselves the Followers Of Robspierre; utterly forgettable.
By now, people were looking at the windows, screaming and crying filled the Gutter, mothers, daughters, sisters and lovers watching as their Brothers, Fathers, Sons, and lovers died.
I've given them a place in fucking history!
Soon, the noise had died down, The PSS turned, and headed back to base, The commander choking back bile, he felt like he was going to throw up.
All war has their martyrs, and you're looking at twenty of them.
In The gutter, pink mist, blood and bodies littered the streets, the young men. The followers of Robspierre. Winter turned, a grin on his face.
His work here was done.
edited 12th Jul '14 12:31:38 AM by TroyandHawk
Good to be back
The Followers of Robespierre were down to seven of their membership - the battle looked like it was more of a massacre than any kind of fight. One of the young men looked just about ready to be shredded by one of the PSS, the massive cybernetic man's Hand Cannon trained for the quivering, fearful form.
And then his arm was severed.
"What the hell?" One PSS member found his legs blasted out from under him by a quick, fast-moving missile.
"...Hendrick Armours!" Another shouted as his shoulder exploded into a fountain of gore and broken cybernetics.
They at first resembled some form of flying trilobites, more prehistoric insect-creature than humanoid, until several of them joined the fight on the ground, transforming, portions of their sides dislodging and forming arms and legs, "feelers" obviously some form of swivelling, tentacle-cannon. All in all, eight Raiders.
And as they flew about in the sky, they demonstrated the power that had ravaged the bodies of the PSS members, bright white beams following the arc of two red spots designated on the ground, cutting through anything in that direct path.
One of them kept flying even as Hand Cannon projectiles flew around, some of them outright being hit, and not even looking like they were affected – the armor was extremely tough, and in the flying mode, they were also very fast, but their weaponry was limited to their directional beam and in some cases, light anti-personnel missiles.
One of the flying Raiders targeted one of the battle vans of the PSS, to test if the directional beam was powerful as The Benefactor said it was. He was not disappointed as the Directional Beam sliced right through the middle of the battle van, creating a large explosion.
The leader of the PSS force sent out there, Commander Ramirez, seeing his force losing morale as their numbers vanished out from under them, struggled to get to a battle van, only to find it explode right in front of him as a Directional Beam scythed right through it.
He managed to get back to his feet, and struggled to get to one of the cars, watching the younger recruits end up backed up against a battle van by the Raiders in Ground Mode, and one of the Flying Raiders then blew it – and the recruits – up in a massive explosion.
“T-They...they didn't...” What had they done to deserve this? Who was behind this attack? The Figure from Yesterday? Mektavore?
The unit commander held back a choked groan of misery, he had seen men who expected to deal with these anarchists slaughtered, and what was worse, two of the Raiders were branching off to deal with any stragglers.
He watched his partner of nine years be grabbed by a Ground Mode Raider, pinned to the ground by its head-mounted tendrils, and then be outright torn in half. Being a resilient cyborg, his partner had to deal with the absolute agony of trying to pull himself forward, even as his arm was blasted off by one of the Raiders. Ramirez kept going as his partner was finally put out of his misery – one of the Raiders' beams happened to incinerate his head. Everything was being destroyed today – his dreams, his lieutenant...
Ramirez had a wife and kids at home, waiting for dad to come home from just another routine mission. His wife was a loving, accepting woman, she wasn't bothered by his ever more advanced cybernetics. He sobbed as he finally reached that car.
He could get out of here.
He could escape these horrible armored psychopaths.
He could inform the government that what was going on was more serious than they knew. He started a Comms Channel, “...Help...please...they killed everyone. Dean, Tom, Eugene...The Raiders...The Raiders from the Hendrick Warehouse...”
He could—-
The car he had climbed into was right between point 1 and point 2 of a Directional Beam. He did not even realize it until the beam ripped right through the centre of the car, half of Commander Ramirez' body incinerated instantly.
And finally, he – the last of the PSS unit sent out there, The Leader, an experienced commander of a unit of 30 men – was dead. Ramirez left behind a grieving widow, a teenage son, and a young daughter who would never see daddy again – not even his body.
Because a second Directional Beam obliterated what was left of him.
Xander watched the battle results as the Raiders scattered from the scene, and the Followers of Robespierre, now down to seven members, watched. Xander descended from the building as if he was some sort of savior. He knew that was rubbish.
He was not a savior. He was not a hero. He was a man who had organized things badly enough he could not rescue all his men in time, whose Raiders were not timed properly.
Even as they celebrated and cheered for him – accepting him as the leader of The Raiders, “Mek—Ta—-Vore! Mek—-Ta—-Vore!” He felt empty, he felt like he had not Changed the World for those who died. Those thirteen people who were brave enough to want to Change the World.
“I have procured a route out of here. More of those Scions of the Last Man will soon arrive. Together we go.” Xander led them out of the area, and then very quickly found his way back to Winter.
He gave no indication of fury, nor of any intention of ill will. By all appearances, the armored, masked figure was walking as he always did, in a slow, deliberate fashion. “You did not inform me of the time of your rally. You did not coordinate with me. For that, thirteen potential soldiers of the New World are dead.”
And I am displeased.
Winter felt the effects of Mektavore's glare more than he saw it, as the nanomachines inside of him now reacted and started to activate pain receptors across his body, even though Winter was not being physically hurt in any way, a bright, white-hot burning pain lanced through him from heel to head.
It seemed to go on for hours, even days, there was no real show that it ended...until it did.
Ten minutes later.
Xander looked back at him, “Do not presume the same again. Martyrs are an old tactic, used by people who deify suffering. I am a New Man.”
With that, he levitated, flew along the wind, and once again, had disappeared.
The Fantabulous
June found herself naturally calm as she stepped inside the lab entrance, she could almost pretend nothing had happened.
"June, what are you doing here?" Dr. Mahon's voice, though with more emotioin in it than she was accustomed from the awkward, grumpy old coot.
She turned smartly and put on her best smile, producing a copy of the reports and passing it to his stubby fingers, "The reports you asked for, as promised. I..."
Mahon cut her off, though not abrasively, "I heard about Zia, and that you, er, saw..." He began, scratching his neck uncomfortably but nodding as he scanning the reports, "I wasn't expecting these, well done. But, maybe you had better take a sick day or seven, hmm?" He added, shuffling off. Not the best communicator but June was thankful for some time to sort things out. She watched him walk off a moment then exited the building, standing by the door and her transportation in wait of Butch Advent. She hoped this would help but there were others roads, she supposed.
And just as well for the investigator was already ten minutes late.
“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”
The Blinder
Winter sat against a chimney, his body was dead. He had no pain receptacles, yet, there he was sweating and out of breath from the pain. He heard the man's comment,
And it pissed him off, he sprung to his feet. "Glass fucking houses!" He roared. The cocksucker had recruited him, Too much of a fucking pussy to get results. But there he was, he had accomplished something, but the fuck was too goddamn pious, He hired Winter for Christ's sakes.'' But, that was not the pressing matter here, he realized as he screamed at the open air.
He had to deal with the fucking nanites first, and that was easily done.
Vitch sat, slumped against the wall, He had heard the noises, but, he just didn't want to know, that's when he heard the door open, Winter walked in. "Vitch, You've got a very special job."
"W-What?" Vitch asked, still terrified, there was the grin again, Winters stood him up,
"You're going to hack the nanites in me. Make it so I can do what I want." Winter replied, fiddling with the RPR. Vitch gulped.
"W-Why do you have Nanites in you?"
"Does it matter?" There was an almost hostile edge to Winter's voice, Vitch quickly backed down. He took a deep breath. "Well...Let's get started."
edited 12th Jul '14 5:06:32 PM by TroyandHawk
Good to be back
At the same time, Vulpine News came on with a new segment, "We apologize for this disruption, but there has been a sudden, horrific news update in the story of the infamous "Mektavore". Approximately an hour ago, the silent, mysterious figure came to the assistance of the Populi, confirming theories of his alignment. But he did not come alone."
Pictures were shown of the Hendrick Family armors- formerly stolen - and now used by these forces for their deadly raid.
"These eight armored figures attacked our brave Public Security Sector membership when a Populi demonstration was in the midst of being driven apart. During this battle, all thirty of the men and women protecting and serving Echo City were slain, including Squad Commander Ramirez."
Pictures were shown of each of the men slain that day, and the commentator stated, "For the honour of these departed, a moment of silence."
At this time, Ramirez' wife hugged her little daughter to her, while the man's teenage son simply looked at the report with wide, blank eyes, tears slowly forcing themselves out. As a call came in about her husband's state, she would have to explain to her children how their father was not coming back even to be buried - they would literally be no seeing their father ever again.
However, in the Gutter and the lower portions of the city, there was a very different reaction – cheers. The Populi, the driven-down, the criminal...all had found their champion.
edited 12th Jul '14 2:17:08 PM by NickTheSwing
Mark was in the private office of the Section 9 section chief, talking about his previous case last night.
"I trust that things went well last night." The chief asked.
"Yes, sir. They did. The victim was all right, but otherwise a bit shaken. But he seemed to be fine."
The chief leaned back on his seat. "Yes, that seems to be the fine according to a report I got from EPS. What I don't get is why either True Anonymous or some rogue officer from your old service would try and kill your old commanding officer from back in the Foreign Legion?"
"I'll be working on that later."
"Sir!" The chief was interrupted when a voice spoke up on his intercom.
"Yes?" The chief answered when he pressed a button on it.
"Your presence is needed at the Justice Department building at once."
"What is this about?"
"There's been a shooting involving Section 1. Apparently, most of the officers sent there were killed in The Gutter area."
"How did that happen?"
"The Secretary will explain things in his office."
"Mark." The chief told the Section 9 officer. "You're with me. Looks like your investigation will have to wait."
"Understood, sir."
The look on the mask resembled some sort of a parody of a grin, and the figure seemed to move over to one of the "arrangements", the butterflies and moths on his form scattering and showing the oddly elegant form, almost like a mechanical take on the human body, but improved and styled like some sort of armor.
For an instant, it almost seemed like he was staring at Butch, the nature of the stare impossible to ascertain. But whatever the deal was with him, it was apparent that he had, by all appearances, turned those people's weapons and cybernetics against them in the most horrible way possible.
Xander decided, with that, to leave these here for all to observe. Let the ruling elite see the ends, the means, and all in between. He fully intended that they realize that Change could no longer be averted, not the least for having advanced cybernetic forces on their side. The world was changing around them, and the forces that be could no longer ignore that.
Eight million people lived here, and with such a cosmos of humanity, it was clear to Xander at least that no realm of nobles could hold that down forever.
He only said one sentence at the scene, distorted beyond recognition by the mask, "The wind..."
With that, the figure started to levitate oddly, and vanished amidst the winds, almost seeming to traverse them.