Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Want me to help?”

  “No, stay down. You’re a civilian.”

  Dorian flew backwards, tackled by the wispy shadow. Keening wails echoed into the distance as they sailed through one destroyed vehicle after another. Glass froze and shattered seconds after they passed. Kirsten crawled up to the side of the van, getting her feet under her. When the shooting ceased, she popped up and fired twice. Neither scored, but now she had a feeling of where they were. In typical Diablo fashion, none had bothered to take cover behind the cars.

  She yowled as a fleck of shrapnel scratched her cheek the second time she ducked. Fragments rained around them. Skittles swatted some glass out of her hair and examined her fingernails.

  “Want me to help now?”

  “What are you, nineteen? Stay down, don’t get hurt.”

  “Thank you, but I’m twenty-six.”

  “Why hello, sir!” cheered a male voice, its electronic origin obvious. “You appear to be running low on ammunition. Minos Corporation is running a special on Class 4 M55 PDW ammunition. The 11.5 mm penetrators are precision milled from the finest high-density metals and would be a perfect complement to your compact personal defense weapon. We even have a discount on M40 PDW for your friends with the 10mm firearms. Act now, and you can get 100 rounds for the price of 70. Only seventy-six credits.”

  Kirsten’s fingers laced over the crumpled hood of the van. She pulled herself up, ignoring the sting in her cheek, and gawked at the ballsy advert bot hovering among the Diablos. Fortunately, it had their attention for the moment. Somewhere behind her, Dorian growled and cursed. From the sound of it, he was frustrated, but neither scared nor sounding much in danger.

  “Hey, bot!” she screamed. “You can’t sell them ammo.”

  The large floating sphere pivoted to face her. “Of course we can, they are almost out. They have credits; we have bullets. It’s a match made in heaven.”

  “They’re shooting at me.”

  If the orb had arms, it would have shrugged. “I am sorry, miss. What our customers do with their ammunition is not our concern. It is a (mostly) free country.”

  “I’m a goddamned police officer! Your company will get shut the hell down if I report this.”

  The Diablos seemed amused enough to watch this unfold. One tapped the metal ball with his gun. “Only if the bitch lives.”

  “ Do you have identification?” The bot wobbled, simulating nervousness.

  Kirsten held up her armband as the orb zipped over. It chirped as it read her Police ID codes. “I am terribly sorry, Agent Wren.” It pivoted toward the gangers for a second and spun back. “Can I interest you in any E-mags for that E-90?”

  “Get the hell out of here!” she snarled.

  It recoiled from her and glided back among the gangers. “I am sorry, gentlemen. By law, since you are engaging in a violence event with an employee of the police services, I am unable to―”

  “We’ll pay double.”

  The orb hesitated. “I…”

  “Hey, ball… we ain’t shooting at anyone right now, we’re just standing here with our cocks in our hands,” yelled one.

  “Good point. I shall process your order straight away. How many boxes would you like?”

  Kirsten fired, skimming a burn over the side of the orb. It careened into the night, trailing sparks and emitting a digitized scream of “eeeeeeeeee.”

  Dorian’s head came out of the wall. “Nice shot.” A black hand wrapped over his face and pulled him back in.

  “I was trying to hit it.” She dove for cover again as the hail of bullets resumed. “I hate orbs.”

  “Break’s over!” yelled one.

  “Want me to help?” asked Skittles.

  Kirsten ducked low, looking for a shot at a boot under the van; however, other cars had collapsed to the point where no gap remained between them and the road surface. A meaty smack came from the right seconds before the wispy shadow slid out from the same patch of tarnished plastisteel wall where Dorian appeared a second before.

  The shadow spun over in midair, hissing at Kirsten. Dorian stomped into view, catching the wisp as it reared and fled from her. He spun with it, holding it in place and punching while it clawed at his side and back. Kirsten sprang up as the Diablos paused to reload, winging one in the arm. With his coat on fire, he dove for cover. Her second shot went through the mangled vehicle in his direction; she estimated where he landed. The look on the other gangers’ faces confirmed a kill.

  “Now you did it, bitch,” growled one. “Now we ain’t just gonna kill you.”

  “Like they were going to be cordial before,” she muttered.

  “Can you get a shot on this damn thing?” grunted Dorian.

  Kirsten huddled low as the gunfire resumed. The cold metal she leaned on seeped through the thin cloth on her back, a reminder of her lack of armor. She concentrated on the lash, drawing a curious gasp from Skittles as six feet of scintillating white energy stretched out from her grasp. The woman crumpled her hands to her mouth, cat-eyes flicked left and right as she locked on to the tip of the wavering light, tail thrashing with anticipatory waves.

  Dorian flung the shadow at Kirsten, distancing himself from it as she brought her arm up and snapped the psionic whip through the center of the mass of darkness. The patch split in two and broke apart into shreds of vaporous black ether. It fell in clumps to the ground, forming jellying blobs which exuded smoke. Kirsten blinked.

  That thing was either weak or I’m scared out of my mind and don’t realize it.

  Skittles emitted a frustrated noise that sounded like “ myarp” and leapt at the lash. She swiped her hands through the air four times, at a speed turning them to a flesh-toned blur. She wound up kneeling on Kirsten’s lap with two fistfuls of uniform, nose to nose with a manic smile.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Does she chase yarn too?” Dorian snickered.

  Cat ears flattened. “Your no-see person is very funny. I think it’s from the DNA surgery. Fast small things are”―she shivered― “unable to resist.” She climbed off Kirsten, whining in a demure tone. “Especially shiny ones.”

  Dorian stepped up to the van, right by Kirsten. She looked up at him, brushing bits of glass and paint flakes off her sleeves. His eyes glowed as he raised his arm. Soon after, tiny threads of wispy white energy trailed into him. Some of the scratch marks on his arm and face faded away.

  The Diablos started bitching about their guns.

  “Thanks.” Kirsten smiled, and leapt up with her weapon trained. “Okay, shitheads. You caught me when I’m crunched for time. A spirit just made you want to kill me, so I won’t hold it against you. You have four seconds to disperse.”

  “You bein’ a cop makes us wanna kill you. Spirit ain’t got shit to do with it.” The largest of them pulled the trigger of his dead pistol, and growled.

  “I am so glad we shifted over to electronic firing circuits,” said Dorian.

  “Dorian, that happened before you were born.”

  “Want me to help yet?” asked Skittles.

  Kirsten grumbled. “Stay down. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  The Diablos tossed their firearms to the side. Kirsten’s forming smile dropped to a look of abject horror as eight men drew swords, axes, and other nasty weapons and charged at her. At least two of the blades emitted the high-pitched whine of vibro inducers. Dorian sapped the power from them as well, allowing Kirsten’s heart to resume beating.

  “Run.” Kirsten waved at Skittles. “They’re charging.”

  They swarmed over the smashed van, oblivious to the Neko-Chan sitting in perfect calm behind them. Backpedaling, Kirsten fired six times, killing two and wounding one before the other five backed her against a dead car. The lead man roared, hauling a two-handed sword overhead. Kirsten dove out of the way; the blade stopped six inches deep in the vehicle. The horrendous screech of it sliding loose drew a scream from Skittles as she covered her ears.

  Another leapt at he
r with a smaller sword, knocking the E-90 out of her hand as he chased her against the side of a building. She got a grip around his forearm, diverting the blade into the wall just left of her head. With a grunt, she drove her boot into his groin. His eyes half-closed, his mouth agape, he sucked air in through his nose. Dorian dove on him from behind; the spectral assault did little other than cause his coat to flutter.

  “He’s on Zerk,” yelled Dorian. “Pain causes euphoria and increased adrenaline. Don’t hurt him, just kill him.”

  “Again. That was beautiful. Do it again.” Eyebrows flared up as he leaned his weight into her. He dropped the sword and forced his hands through her grip until he had her by the throat. His other hand pawed at her chest.

  “Want me to help now?” asked Skittles, as the other four Diablos at last noticed her.

  “Uhh, sure,” gurgled Kirsten, feeling proud of herself for not succumbing to panic. A contest of strength was not one she could win. “ Stop.” Her eyes glimmered with light.

  The ganger froze in place, keeping her pinned to the wall, but no longer strangling or fondling her. Kirsten started to issue another command, but stopped at the sight of Skittles walking toward the gangers without fear.

  “You boys have ten seconds.” She counted from one to ten. With each spoken number, a single six-inch claw, curved to a wicked point, sprouted from a fingertip.

  The Diablos were not impressed.

  At ten, Skittles blurred into a smear of grey hair, black cloth, and pale skin that weaved among the gangers. She stopped behind them three seconds later. Her cute, once-white tank top was now spattered crimson. Her motion ceased before any of them reacted to it. Three of the four Diablos fell to the side, covered in numerous scratches. The first had his throat sliced into several flaps. The next had four burbling puncture wounds between ribs where a straight four-claw stab found his heart. Number three clutched at a torn abdomen to keep his intestines inside. The Diablo in the middle of the alley had so many claw wounds to his chest he seemed skinless, but only laughed at her.

  “Shit, this one’s got a subderm weave.” Skittles hissed at him, tail flared and circling.

  “That is utterly psychotic,” said Dorian.

  Kirsten locked eyes with the man holding her and snarled, “ Let go.” The psionic suggestion had immediate effect. She dove away, somersaulting over her E-90 and came up aiming at him. “Dorian, I can’t just kill this guy.”

  Skittles blurred again, shredding a hole through the other ganger’s coat. Blood sprayed, but all she did was expose the sheen of dark metallic threads between his skin and muscles.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” he growled, two-handed sword falling woefully short of striking his nimble target. The mass of his weapon pulled him two steps after the miss. “I’m gonna make fur boots out of you.”

  “Bind the pistol, I’ll do it,” said Dorian.

  “He’s not a threat now.”

  Dorian gestured at the dodging cat girl. “What do you think he’s going to do to the next innocent person he runs across? Diablos are probably one of the most dangerous non-aug gangs in the city. They don’t usually kill their victims because they want to savor the psychological damage they cause. They are evil if anything ever was.”

  “I am still not going to shoot a defenseless man.”

  “What about him?” Dorian pointed at the walking wound chasing Skittles. “He’s trying to kill a ‘helpless civilian.’”

  Kirsten sighed. “Helpless…” She squeaked in an attempt to raise her voice, coughed, then yelled. “You, asshat, drop the sword.”

  He ignored her.

  One azure laser seared through his chest, sending bloody steam out of both entry and exit wounds. The sudden release of tension within the strands of his subdermal armor implant caused strips of meat to snap free, flopping as he crashed to the ground. Skittles seemed unaffected by the gore, as if she had seen far worse in her life, and walked over with her hands held up like a surgeon after scrub.

  “Oh, please tell me you’re not going to lick yourself clean.” Kirsten stared.

  Dorian cracked up.

  “Uhh, no. That’s nasty.” She went over to one of the first Diablos killed by a laser blast and used his shirt as a rag.

  Kirsten searched the last man and removed several more weapons before spinning him around and staring into his eyes. “ Walk to Sector 1.”

  “What was the point of that?” asked Dorian as the man trudged off. “That’s hundreds of miles away.”

  “He’ll get found by Division One somewhere between here and the southwest corner of the city.”

  “ The doctor is another block that way.” Skittles pointed with her tail, trotting over while working her improvised rag through her fingers. “Ready?”

  Kirsten smirked at the ghostly Diablos trying to figure out why they could no longer pick up their weapons. “One minute. I need to call some associates.”

  She closed her eyes and beckoned.

  Skittles slid down a metal railing, gliding into a mass of heavy black plastic sheeting. Brightness broke through the seam as she found the entry flap and held it aside for Kirsten. She ducked through, squinting to adjust to the sudden change in light. What had once been the boiler room for an apartment building was now a crude approximation of a medical suite. Two tables occupied the center of the area, flanked by shelves of cybernetic parts―some of which still had blood on them. The more distant table contained the corpse of a filthy dark-skinned man with his chest cut open. A human-shaped outline of green plastic hovered over the body; a doctor covered by a chem suit with an electronic visor. He worked, less than carefully, unwinding threads of neuralware wiring from an exposed spinal cord.

  “Hey, Doc,” chirped Skittles.

  The lime suit jumped, taking a step back and grabbing a metal band around his right arm. Two dog-sized tracked security bots rolled around a corner: miniature tanks with assault-rifle mechanisms mounted to their chassis, aimed at the cat.

  “That’s close enough,” he said.

  “Now, Doc…” Kirsten stalked closer. “Why would you assume she wants to use you as a scratching post?”

  The doc screeched; spittle coated the inside of his faceplate. “The police? You brought a goddamn cop here? Are you insane? Now I’m going to have to burn the whole place.”

  “I’m Division Zero, Doc. I’m only looking for information.”

  “Fucking psionic?” He shook his finger at Skittles. “You are fucking nuts. A god damned psionic?”

  Dorian sucked power from the overhead lights as he approached; the approaching dark spot sent shudders through the cyberdoc. Blood dripped from the table as strands of neural wiring, still clenched in his fist, tugged taut. The bots swiveled at Kirsten and died on the spot as Dorian consumed their power.

  Screaming, the doc abandoned the neuralware, letting the bundle of wires paint a bloody spatter on the floor as it swayed over the edge of the table. He ran through several layers of transparent plastic curtains to a door.

  Skittles put her hands on her hips, nodding at Kirsten. “You know how to make an entrance.”

  “That was all Dorian.”

  The cyberdoc returned with an energy rifle, which he aimed at Kirsten.

  “ Drop it.” Her eyes flickered. “Now get over here.”

  The weeping man came to a spasmodic halt a few feet away, casting mournful looks back at his abandoned weapon.

  “Good.” Kirsten put a hand on his shoulder. “Now, despite your opinion psionics should be rounded up and launched into space, I’m not going to get mad at you. In fact, I’m not even going to arrest you for trading in black market cyberware. That is, of course, if you can assure me all of your parts are scavenged from the already dead. You don’t kill and steal parts do you?”

  “No…”

  His surface thoughts agreed with his words. “Good. In exchange for letting you slide on the tax evasion, I want two things.”

  Skittles seemed quite amused at watching the do
c squirm.

  “W-what?”

  “First, I want to know what happened to an Intera Iron Claw cyberarm with this serial number. Give me everything you know about the man who used it to try and kill me, and I won’t consider you a party to the attempted murder of a police officer.”

  The Doc gulped. At this point, the coffee hue of his face vanished behind a thick layer of fog. His breaths wheezed through a respirator not meant for the speed at which he tried to take on air.

  “Secondly, I need you to fix the botched installation you did on her tail before it causes permanent brain or nerve damage.”

  He babbled, waving an arm at Skittles. “You did, didn’t you? You called the damn cops because of a stupid short. We had a deal. You have to pay for additional work.”

  Skittles popped a single claw from her right index finger, shaking it back and forth. “Oh, no, no, no. Not additional work. Fixing the broken feces. Those two bots were all that stopped me from boning you like a fish.” She gestured as if slicing him open. “I could show you what it feels like whenever I use this damn tail. Just stick this right up into the base of your spine and pull…”

  “The only question, Doc, is if you fix her willingly or under compulsion.” Kirsten folded her arms, hoping he believed the attitude she faked.

  “That… you can’t do that! It’s unethical. It’s illegal.”

  “As if what you do isn’t?” Kirsten glared, trying to ignore Dorian’s laughter. “Look, just fix what you screwed up. I’m not asking you to give her free parts. Take a little pride in your work, maybe she sends you more customers instead of plots to cut you open from ass to skull.”

  “Oh, now you’re encouraging the trade of illegal cyberware. How do you think Miss Kitty got military-grade speedware?”

  “I’m more worried about demons right now, Dorian.”

  “Demons?” The doc gawked. “You are nuts.”

  “I mean, if you’d rather go down for attempted murder of a police officer and trafficking illegal ‘ware, keep on talking.”