Amped Up

by Merrell Michael

  The rest of the room, however, seemed to be designed to challenge that erection. There were between four or five corpses scattered on the floor around her. It was difficult to say exactly how many, due to the corpses missing limbs, or being reduced to what looked like piles of flesh. It was quite a scene. The floor in the room had originally been composed of white tiles, and the blood had been spilled in impressionistic waves, that reminded Sev of Jackson Pollock.

  "Jesus Christ." The lieutenant said.

  "We don’t know that she did that." The suit said.

  "What theory do you have?" Sev asked.

  "I don’t have a theory." The suit said. "But we don’t know she did that. It might have been an- an accident."

  "What's your name?" Sev asked.

  "I really don’t want- I mean, you don’t need to know that. What I'm saying is, at this time, I want you to pursue the path of least force possible. In dealing with the situation."

  No one said anything for a minute. To his credit, the lieutenant appeared to be steaming. Then Sev asked "What are your plans if the least force doesn’t work?"

  "In dealing with the situation." The suit said. "We plan on shutting the door behind you."

  "That's bullshit." Sev said.

  The suit shrugged. "You get paid, like everyone else. To do a job."

  "So you get in there."

  "That's not my job."

  The lieutenant leaned in close until he was an inch away from the suits face. "Get on the phone." He said. "And tell whoever you need to tell, what the situation is here. And then tell him that I said were not going in unless we can shoot if we need to. I'm not putting my men in their with whatever crazy shit you've got, without being prepared. And then, like I said, if you don’t like it, go in yourself. I don’t think you'll be able to get another react team in here, anytime soon."

  The suit got on the phone and spoke low words for some time. There was more standing around doing nothing. Eventually the suit pulled the lieutenant off by himself, nodded, and left. The lieutenant grinned.

  "Were going in hot." He said. "Contain-kill. Shotguns, shoot the first round Taser, and after that lethal. Lethal force on any sign of hostile intent."

  "That was good work." Sev said.

  "I know how to deal with the type." The lieutenant said. "All he was worried about was culpability. He didn’t want to be the one stuck with the blame. I transferred it on to me, and got him in the clear. I'll probably get fired.

  "That sucks." Sev said.

  The lieutenant shrugged. "I don’t care." He said. "I've done this PMC bit long enough to stash up some money. I'm tired of humping a ruck and a rifle. I'm going to lay low for a little bit, somewhere tropical." He stuck out his hand. "My names Myers, by the way."

  "Sev."

  They stacked up on the door. "On my count." Myers told the technician. "Open the lock, and then shut it. "Flash bangs and gas are going in."

  "What are those?" The tech asked.

  "Types of grenades." Myers said. "Those go first, and then we go. On my count, three, two...

  ****

  The door lock opened smoothly.

  Sev was on point, with both grenades in his hand, the flash bang and the OC smoke. There was an art to throwing a grenade. The pin was usually stuck in there good and tight, with a clip besides, holding the spoon on. It required a good yank, and the use of both hands, to work properly. This was hampered by the fact that Sev's left hand was grasping an MP5 submachine gun, aimed straight ahead. In order to work the grenades with one hand, Sev had to bend the pins straight slightly. This could lead to all sorts of dangerous accidents in the worst circumstances, mostly the grenade going off in your pouch. Sev justified it by reasoning that he was careful enough, and he had never had an accident before.

  Both grenades consisted of smooth cylinders, one black and one silver. As soon as the door was opened a crack, Sev hefted them underhand, like a pair of softballs. Before he saw them land he closed the door, and the technician activated the lock. That was the end of things going according to plan.

  The door flew open in front of him. There was a loud crack as the lock gave way, breaking the frame. Two objects smacked into Sev's ballistic vest, with enough velocity to sting. They rolled behind him, and he realized their nature only when one of the men started to say incoming but only got to "Inc-" The light went white and Sev's ears started to ring. Sev realized that he had never been flash banged before.

  His vision came back before his hearing did. So he came back to the surreal scene of the woman from the room fighting the lieutenant, with ringing in his ears for a soundtrack. It was not anywhere near a fair fight. The woman was incredibly fast, with a strange ability to somehow be not there when it was convenient. The lieutenant was putting up a remarkable fight, even so, it ended with the woman drawing his own sidearm, and shooting him under the chin. As he fell she picked up his assault rifle, and ran down the hallway. For lack of further orders, or anything better to do, Sev followed her.

  From that point on it reminded Sev of a miniaturized version of the tornadoes that had plagued his hometown in Tulsa as a child. The woman would come up to a doorway, and kick it open. The very fact that she could do this was absurd, given her small frame and barely clothed state of a hospital gown. The action in itself, seemed unnatural. Often she merely seemed to tap the door, and it would blow inward, propelled off its hinges. Using the force, Sev described it to himself.

  Once inside whatever room she had entered, the woman would engage whatever hostile force presented itself to her, with quick, accurate shots. In this manner, following behind her, Sev got a tour of the various unforeseen sections of the building he was supposedly guarding, all manner of strange people with guns lived inside, apparently. At one point they were inside a floor with ordinary looking cubicles, and a large transgender person in a floral print dress and a blond wig screamed "EEEEEEEEEEE!" While firing a small Glock pistol, eventually going down under a hail of gunfire. It was one strange event, that Sev had a hard time understanding. Then, of course, there were the mechs.

  Sev had heard rumors of military grade exoskeletons being used before. What he saw now looked like a cross between that, and some deranged Japanese Otaku- fan boy dream. On this level there was what looked like a hanger. The mechs themselves were about ten feet tall. The woman ran between two of them. The mechs would swoop at her with their appendages, or stomp about on heavy iron feet, causing the floor to shake. They were armed with chain guns, and against better judgment, spraying with them, causing copious amounts of damage to the walls and flooring. At one point, a mech shot an actual missile from its arm, most likely some variant of an RPG. When it detonated an entire section of floor gave way, and the trio fell through. Rather than risk following them thusly, Sev chose the safer route of the stairwell, and went in through the fire exit.

  At this point he decided to take his helmet off, and set his rifle down. There was very little he could do, in his estimation. And it was very satisfying to him, on a deep and worthy level, watching a good looking half naked woman fighting a pair of giant robots amidst a sea of office drones stuck in their cubicles. The pilots of the mechs had lost all semblance of tactics and were now engaged in violence that belonged in a Michael Bay production based on licensed toys. They thrashed about with mechanical limbs and made swift collateral damage of the unlucky office sods whose workspaces happened to be nearest to the giant hole in the ceiling. The woman was having a spectacular go at it, she had lost her rifle somewhere in the fall, and now was actually using a length of metal pipe. She wielded it like a Japanese bo staff, or like a light saber, movements alternating between ugly blows and beautiful pierottes. The culmination of this was when she pulled a mech pilot out of his cockpit, and threw him screaming, into the window.

  Sev knew it was difficult enough to break a window on a high rise commercial building. The glass was manufactured thick, to discourage anyone from jumping, but the woman managed to fling the pilot with enough f
orce to send the entire thing into a brilliant crash of crystal that resonated like a series of wind chimes. She stood there for a moment of triumph. Sev thought of her as a sort of goddess in that moment, the wind from outside lightly tossing her hair, the light illuminating her pale frame. She was smiling serenely.

  Then she was gone.

  He walked to the window, boots crunching on shattered glass. The other mech and the woman had gone out the window together, and were engaged in violent combat vis a vis free-fall. Most of the cubicle residents were poking their heads up. Sev saw a few cell phones present, and realized non-disclosure agreement or no non-disclosure agreement, word of this was going to make its way outside the building. Possibly on a twenty-four hour news cycle. He thought about this as he walked downstairs to the lobby. It was a long walk, and he used the time to shed every vestment of semi-authority his PMC uniforms gave him, until he was left with only his fatigue trousers and a emo band t-shirt he was wearing earlier. Dressed thusly, he smiled at the woman at the reception desk and walked outside. There was no one to stop him. Anyone that would have done so was dead or incapacitated. Sev walked with resolve, thinking of what he would do the next day, when he found whatever tropical beach the lieutenant had been talking about. His next uniform would consist of a bathing suit, and remain so in perpetuity.

  Ten

  I was late for our meeting, and waited some time watching Galilee, before making my presence known.

  He was smoking a cigarette underneath the patio umbrella. The patio was designed by the coffee shop to look like some sort of European city scene, and not what it was, discount furniture placed outside a large franchise coffee chain. I waved at him in a flirty way, as if it were a blind date, apologized for my tardiness, and set the bags down by the chair.

  "Why are we outside?" I asked.

  "They won’t let you smoke inside, anymore." Galilee says. "This chain sells a thirty ounce beverage containing sixty grams of sugar and not one single bit of nutritional value, but smoking is verboten."

  "That's good." I say. "German. It fits you."

  "I blend into my surroundings." Galilee sneered. "Here I'm trying to be a hipster of some sort, with failed artistic aspirations. How am I doing?"

  He looked completely out of place, more like a wounded animal than a drinker of coffee, and was drawing nervous stares from the other patrons. He was wearing a stained black t-shirt, equally stained blue jeans, and a layer of unshaven stubble. His hands twitched slightly. I could not think of a simple way to answer his question.

  "You exceeded my expectations." He said quietly. "With the way you got out."

  "Did you order anything?" I ask.

  "I tried asking for cigarettes." He said. "That was a no go."

  I ordered a macchiato for myself and a black coffee for him. When I picked it up the smell filled my nostrils and made me smile a little, despite myself. It was good and strong. Galilee sipped at his coffee, and didn’t grimace, which I assume meant some level of enjoyment.

  "Who did you bring with you?" I ask.

  "No one." He said.

  "Is that bullshit?"

  "Just me."

  "Come on."

  He looked frustrated. "If you’re not going to believe me for the sake of not believing me, then fuck it. I brought thirty men and a tank."

  "Where are they?"

  "Everywhere. If I can’t handle you, the tank will be called in."

  "Come on." I say. "To a Starbucks."

  "Let us assume." He said. "That your presence, and abilities, and actions up until this point, have created a very unstable position for certain people. Let’s assume that certain people would be more than willing to risk a public scene."

  "So I should just get up and leave? Is that what you’re saying? This is a warning?"

  "Possibly. Possibly it’s a line of complete bullshit. It might be that I'm working for no one, that I'm living on the street. It might be that my actuator doesn’t work anymore."

  "How would it not work?"

  "Its electronics. I don’t know. Glen always used to fix it for me."

  "Where is Glen? And Brian."

  "I don’t want to talk about Glen." Galilee said. A waitress approached us, a bubbly expression permanently affixed.

  "Hi there!" She said. "Would you like to try new Starbucks fizzers?"

  "What is that?" Galilee asked.

  "It’s our new drink out, for a limited time!"

  "But what is it?"

  "It’s made from natural energy extract, and contains a daily serving of B-vitamins!"

  "And it is?"

  "It’s called fizzers." She looked puzzled. "Do you want to try it?"

  "I'm not sure." Galilee said drily. "Is the energy extract coal or ethanol?"

  "I'll try it." I said, trying to reassure the girl with a smile. "Thank you."

  When she leaves, I tell Galilee, "You don’t have to be such an asshole."

  "How’s it taste?"

  I take a swig, and grimace. "Ugh." and pass it to him.

  "Like shit." He says. "Nothing should taste that bad, without alcohol."

  "It’s like one of those energy drinks." I say. "But fruity. Terrible."

  "It was a terrible idea from the description." He says.

  "Why would they do that?"

  "Why would they do what?"

  "Make such a terrible drink."

  "There is a market out there, a large market, for terrible tasting drinks with a high quotient of caffeine and sugar. In particular among eighteen to twenty five year old males."

  "But still. They make so many good drinks here. I mean, the coffee, I pay like six dollars for this. Why would I get that?"

  "Just trying to take a bite out of the market for these death-drinks." Galilee says. "Before the regulators get in and turn it into cigarettes."

  I take a drink of my macchiato, to clear the taste from my mouth. "Let’s talk about something else." I say.

  "Fine. Why did you kill Marcus Bachmann?"

  "What?"

  Galilee holds up one finger. "I'll be right back." He says. When he comes back out with a newspaper he tell me, "It’s the New York Times. Why do they have that? Were nowhere near New York."

  "A major newspaper."

  "Things don’t make any sense anymore." He says. "And here." Pointing to the cover. The headline reads. CONGRESSWOMAN'S HUSBAND IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER CAR ACCIDENT. The patient in the picture was unrecognizable, amid a series of tubes.

  "I didn’t hit anyone with a car." I said.

  "No." Galilee said. "But you did shoot a man stone dead with an assault rifle. And that man was this Marcus Bachmann. Right now their keeping the 'critical condition' line- along with the car accident- because that's easier to explain. Especially when you link the car accident to a 'building equipment mishap' which was in fact another incident involving yourself."

  I take another harder look at the picture. "He was dressed as a woman." I say, recognizing him, "And shooting at me."

  Galilee chuckles. "Marcus was queer as a three dollar bill. He ran a 'conversion therapy' center for homosexuals, which he used liberally to troll for potential hookups. One of those hardcore closeted religious types."

  "Well." I said. "He shouldn’t have shot at me."

  "That’s true." Galilee said.

  "Why do you work for Bachmann?" I asked.

  "I don’t work for Bachmann." He said. "It’s true at one point I took her money."

  "After the military."

  "I was never in the military."

  The revelation set me back a little.

  "How did you get the Amp?"

  Galilee lit another cigarette. "Glen and your mother worked together on a project for Activor." He said. "To make a series of high end Actuators. The plan was to sell them to the military at one point. The military didn’t want anything to do with it. It turns out the Army doesn’t need a split second reflexes and fighting skills to pull triggers. Can’t say I disagree with them." />
  "So what happened?"

  "Activor needed publicity. They needed a way to sell this high end product. Imagine if no one knew they were depressed? A whole industry of depression medication would go out of business. Billions of dollars lost. That was what they were facing. So they went to Hollywood."

  "Hollywood."

  "I was a mid-level stuntman and a D list actor." Galilee said. "I was offered more money than I had ever gotten for a role in my life. The drawback was I would need to consent for some minor elective surgery. I agreed like-" He snapped his fingers. "That."

  "A superhero movie called Amp." I said. "That Brian Bendis was writing."

  "That's right." Galilee said. "Only, the Actuator is in my head, we start shooting, and guess what happens? Activor finds a better way to pedal its wares."

  "Who?"

  "Your little buddy Owen Meany." Galilee says. "And some disabled vets. Instead of the hardcore post human approach, they go with the soft sell, smart kids and cripples that can walk again. It’s a big success. I was left with the Amp, a lengthy non-disclosure agreement, a check for days worked, and no more job. It left me plenty pissed off. So I found other ways to adjust."

  "Bachmann."

  "Bachmann's just a face." Galilee said. "The multinational conglomerate she's behind is more than that. EAP was conceived as a way to discredit the very idea of an amplified human being. To paint them as dangerous."

  "And you bought into it." I felt my anger growing. "Just like that, with all these people dead."

  Galilee stares at me intensely. "Two things." He said. "I was flat broke, and I had the Actuator. Why did you do all that at the building?"

  "I had to escape."

  He leers. "I call bullshit. If you had to escape you could have done it with minimal damage. With no loss of life, even, if you wanted. You wanted to see what you could do. Where would you be without the EAP? What would you have done in Haven, if all you could do was sit around in a trailer park?"