by Mike Doom
~Noseta
Last arrives at the outside of Toro’s main world office. His wo is vast, even for a virtual location, as even virtual real estate is still worth actual rico. Stretching at least a mile in each direction, from the central door Last’s wps dropped her at. Last steps out of her car, the vehicle dissolving like smoke into the air leaving a floating icon for Last to attach to her wrist interface. Last’s interface is a small gold chain with a round bangle on it, everyone must have some sort of physical interface object in the World. Otherwise, there would be nothing to ‘swim back’ using. People need some sort of anchor to reality or there would be thousands of people a day stranded in the World because they can’t remember how to ‘feel’ woken up. That and the interface acts as a sort of physical firewall to your personal data, allowing you to hide it, block it, etc. In addition to the encryption programs everyone gets from their service provider.
As such, a world without mass requires people to do things that in all actual logic should occur. Why does Last’s fake car have to dissolve into or out of anything at all? All beyond what Last, herself, would ever consider or comprehend. She is someone who is going to a meeting with an intergalactically renowned criminal. Renowned for stupendously flagrant violence, murdering people for reasons almost arbitrarily low on a scale of offense. Last straightens her gown, tugs her fingers through the hair of her right temple, and still forgets that she has been recording on live ansible her kidnapping and trip to Toro’s doorstep.
“Wow.” Last mutters, craning her head all the way back. The wo is built of glass set in a straight grid, overlaid unto a grid at a thirty degree angle which holds a more murky blue glass with gold liquid flowing over it. The liquid runs languidly, shimmering in the bluish sunlight of Bellatrix, falling at a considerably lower speed than Orion’s gravity would lead someone to believe possible. It takes Last about ten seconds of thought to realize.
“Liquid gold.”
“Yes, Miss, it is. Will you follow me?” A man, who must have been standing directly in front of Last for a least a moment now, extends his hand to Last for a handshake.
“Oh! Last Chance.” Last places her hand into the man’s hand, who takes that more as a request for assistance up the short staircase to the door. The man guides her through the giant metal meshed door, which has a more intricate version of the buildings structure repeated over and over, giving an extreme depth to the thick doors. Last doesn’t get time to be mesmerized, but does succeed on tripping over her own feet.
“I could say the same to you. Mezra Orinth, we eS’d about thirty seconds ago, ever heard of it?” Mezra shakes her hand, while placing his other hand on the square of her back. Adjusting her center of gravity while pushing her onward. Mezra mutters something under his breath, and Last hears a strange metallic murmur in her ears.
“Hey, I-“
“Upstairs, giant door at the end of the hall. Even someone…” Mezra mutters under his breath again. “Whom hasn’t been here before, should be able to find it. No problem.” Last can smell something off, ozone or something, like she is standing too close to a mobile generator. People’s wos can be bizarre sometimes, reflecting the strange tastes of their owner.
The foyer is huge. Two spiral staircases with gold running over them in rivulets down to pools shaped like opposing paisley. A giant metal desk sits in the center, six people talking while typing, one space empty (presumably for Mezra). The room is made of metal, seeming to be almost submerged in oozing gold and conflicting glass lattice. The second floor has several doors visible from the main atrium; many people are walking briskly along the corridor. Apparently Toro doesn’t allow his workers to move quicker than Actual while inside his office.
Last takes that as a queue and makes her way to the staircase at the left after Mezra gestures with his left arm before taking his post back at the large reception desk. The stairs seem slick, but Last knows that slipping isn’t possible in the World, for most people anyway. Move over, she has to continue to remind herself of that, as globs of the liquid flow and cling up to her ankles as she grabs the banister for dear life. The bottom of her dress is thoroughly gilded by the time she makes it up the staircase. A woman almost knocks Last back down the staircase as she turns to descend.
“Jeezus.” The woman grunts, clenching her paperwork to her chest and dashing down the stairs. Last turns her head after her, glaring in an attempt to will the woman to plummet the remainder of the way down. Farther along the hall, Last sees what Mezra was speaking of. A huge crystal door is dead ahead, something she would literally have to her eyes removed to lose herself on the way to. That said, Last is distracted almost instantly by a flashing light on the third door on the left.
Last makes her way there, quickly, trying her best not to be run over by various aides and runners, secretaries and administrative assistants, all working to make Toro more money through whatever avenue his fingers point at for the moment. Judging from the stress on people’s faces, his whims must switch rather frequently.
Inside the door, is an extremely underembellished room, at least by this building’s standards. A dark room with white granite walls and plush ivory carpeting; a single table is in the dead center of the room, barely the size of a card table. Last steps into the room, her eyes almost demanding that she investigate, if only to stop being assaulted by molten gold. In a room large enough to house a small sound stage, is one table. Last walks towards the table, determined to know what could possibly be sitting on the table. A small box is there, wooden, perhaps maple or some other analog. Stained red with a bronze buckle for a lock.
“Why are you here, woman?”
“What?” Last spins on her heel. Toro is standing in the doorway. Toro Abobo is about six foot six, built with muscle but not the thick type. Toro has the muscles of a wild cat, long and capable of fast movement. Even in the simple black suit and red shirt with a dull blue tie that he is clad in, Toro looks like the kind of person that could and would attack you at any moment. He is sizing Last up, which causes her to back up until she bumps into the table.
“Why did you think you could come here and make demands of me?” Toro smiles, moving slowly towards Last. His smile isn’t friendly; there is no warmth in it at all. His hair is sleek, messy but in a controlled way, very black. Last resists the urge to jump over the table.
“I- well…”
“I will ask you once more. Why are you here?”
“Cirrhosis is in trouble.”
“Obviously.”
“I was kidnapped.”
“Why do you think I would care about these things?”
“Isn’t Cirrhosis one of your employees?”
“As much as anyone is I suppose. He is someone I hired to complete a job. Something he is not doing very well right now. He would probably be fired if I were his employer.”
“By fired you mean…”
Toro chuckles slightly, his eyes glinting. He is imagining the exact mode of ‘firing’ he was intending to use, Last is sure of it. May still be intending to use. Last is worried that Cirrhosis might be dead now, in fact. She honestly thought that Cirrhosis meant something to Toro. Was worth something, in some way that she could use to escape her captor.
“So you want me to save you?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Who has you? I am honestly curious at this point.” Toro sits on the table, stretching his arm out slowly and grabbing the box, putting it in his lap. Last follows the box with her eyes, half expecting him to bludgeon her with it.
“Baby… uh… Baby… Baby…” Last attempts to recall. She can picture her face, beautiful but obviously sociopathic. The kind of person that Toro would probably marry and destroy a few planets with. Last is pretty sure that they would know each other, in the way that people assume all homosexuals know each other. They have to be in the same club or something, met at one of the functions, exchanged pl
easantries whilst eating canapés near an ice sculpture of a gun or something.
“Stardust?” Toro clenches the box in his hands. Lasts eyebrows raise.
“Yes! That is what she said.” Last smiles, pleased with herself. Toro throws the box against the nearest wall, shattering it everywhere. Last closes her mouth. Toro’s eyes burn with a fury that Last can tell is filled with murderous intent. She was right, they do know each other. Although the club meeting probably didn’t go very well.
“Where is she taking you?” Toro says, his voice only rises slightly, but Last feels like she was scolded.
“Hess. I don’t know why. She wants Cirrhosis to follow me, but I don’t think that is good idea.” Last murmurs apologetically. Toro stands from the table and heads for the door.
“You have no right to decide what is and what is not a good idea for him. The both of you will do exactly as I say, or I will kill you. Kill you both, for sport, for fun, or because it feels convenient at the time.” Toro turns. Last is ejected from the session before she has a chance to plead for assistance. She awakens in the fuel ship with a start, dumped off of the World entirely. The ship has taken a LaGrange, putting her one step closer to death. Last’s eyes well up as she slinks under the desk, better to hide than to just allow Stardust to kill her. Not that she could do anything to stop it even if she tried.
Unz Unz Unzt, not anything spectacular, even by Olm-tok standards. A typical location on a typical street on a planet known for being lackadaisical in every regard. The clientele averages at about the mid two hundreds, mostly men due to the high number of televisions. Even with sensivise technology, men still prefer to watch sports events in the crowded stench of smoke and spilled liquor. Half the sets are still showing a tavis game on Earth. Even the preseason events aren’t preempted for local news, although the ticker at the bottom of the screens is alerting people to the death toll two cities over.
The back room is reserved for a bachelor party, although the waitstaff has been instructed to ‘stay the fuck out’. The general manager is thoroughly on the take, so the day of event people just think that some sort of orgy is happening in the darkened room. Most places with oppressive regimes, even dull ones, tend to have a rather robust sexual underground. Checktiza is most certainly that type of place.
“So…” A man with an eye-patch mutters, his intonation inferring a question. The man next to him squirms in his seat, knowing that even mildly worded questions are not recommended from junior members of lower house gangs. Vii looks to the eye-patch owner and blinks slowly at him, continuing onward.
“You are all here for a purpose. I have a certain object that is worth quite a bit of rico.” Vii begins again, giving a stern look to the eye-patch for good measure.
“Screen.” Vii blurts, apparently commanding someone not sitting at the table.
“Isn’t Vii in a completely different city right now?” Cannata says dangling from a rafter above the conversation. Getting in wasn’t terribly difficult, using third parties for security is never wise. They almost always leave holes in their defense the exact size of the amount of money they think they were shorted.
“As far as I can tell.” Cirrhosis says, hanging from a vent on the other side of the room. Cirrhosis activates some more complicated programs, turning the room into a blur of red and orange. A remarkable amount within Vii, fluctuating and flowing with his breathing pattern, which like his continence, is highly erratic.
“Well, who the fuck is that then?” Cirrhosis eSes.
“Judging from his heat signature, this is the real deal.” Cannata uses her ocular wetwiring to get a good look at Vii’s inner workings. Everything appears normal, down to the lunch in his lower intestine. Be a hassle to kill him, dealing with postmortem bowel movements is the worst part of the job. Blood washes off, but shit smell is forever.
“So the one out east is some android or something?”
“Set to cause a massive distraction, so that the GovNet force on Checktiza is looking at KC when the dancing is happening over here.”
“Disguise the cash transaction as people fleeing a local bank or some governmental assistance, and you might actually be able to pull off this shit.”
“It is perfect. Running all possible scenarios for this event, that is the only logical way to transfer the amount of rico necessary to heist the Jewel. I would have actually recommended doing this somewhere a bit more crowded, like an asteroid colony. Venting a habitat can really turn some heads.”
“Seriously?”
“In theory. In theory. I would never intentionally harm non-combatants. Where do you think you learned that from, eh?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Well, this is all assuming there is anything to pull off. I still don’t think this is right. Vii was there that night, but he wanted me to get it. Why tip his hand if his boys already had the fucker on lock?”
The big screen in the center of the room is showing a picture of the Jewel of the Ancients. Actually, it appears to be a live feed with nothing happening in it. The Jewel is in a sturdy looking wooden box on a plank near a river. The subtle movement of water infers that the water is either deep or artificial in some way. Most likely either in a compound of some sort (if on Checktiza) or on some sort of space colony. In the front corner of the frame is a small black box with a blinking green light, presumably some sort of safety measure that will explode the stone should someone not say the secret word or something.
“That it?”
“Far as I can tell. Box doesn’t look right though.”
“Sorry?”
“The box that Truckee kept it in. That isn’t it.” Cirrhosis has a firm recollection of the box in Code’s hand. Darker wood, gold etching, extremely gaudy actually. Exactly what you would think something that expensive would be in, but would never actually be something you’d keep that in. Very Truckee in that way.
“So they either changed boxes…” Cannata starts, after double-checking the video that Cirrhosis did have of seeing the box, at an early press event about sixteen weeks ago. There is a lot of light pollution from various cameras and other rigs, but she can easily see that the box is exactly what she sees in the video. With Cirrhosis being an eye witness, she takes it as a natural thing, that the box used in the press conference is some sort of temporary. Hell, that one was likely a fake as well. She tries to run a tap on the video transfer, but can’t quite seem to connect to it. Very fancy security is being used on this stream. To be expected.
“Why?”
“Exactly.” Cannata retorts.
“Or it’s a fake.” Cirrhosis was sure of that before they got here. To think that Vii would do such a lousy job, imagining that he had never even seen the Jewel is a little much. Although, the only people who could possibly know what the Jewel looked like for sure, that it isn’t in the right case, are Code, Truckee, and Cirrhosis. Vii is probably just guessing what it would look like, assuming that everyone in attendance would never know better.
“Why?” Cannata says, turning her attention to the other patrons. Nobody she recognizes off the bat, which is strange. Criminal element this heavy, at least 3rd or 2nd seat people should be in attendance. She only has a vague recollection of the eye-patch-person, but she has literally no idea where that could possibly be from. The LTZ? She hasn’t been there for over sixty years.
“Fuck if I know.” Cirrhosis is feeling queasy. Covert isn’t his bag. Hanging upside-down for this long is making his head hurt.
“You recognize anyone here?”
“No. Not… maybe that eye-patch guy?” Cirrhosis squints at the man. Unsure and unable to access his eB database because World access would literally be tantamount to asking someone to turn their head up and just tell him. Either way, the answer would be bullets.
“I think I know him too, but where are the heavy guys?”
“I don’t see anyone from the major houses of Dub-X.” Cir
rhosis is pretty sure this is going code white in a really hurry. He is busy going over the exit plans in his mind.
“Neither do I.”
“We should probably—“ Cirrhosis begins, but the feces hits the turbine just then. In the front of the restaurant, someone is yelling. A gun goes off, a couple people in the room make for the back, but something loud happens in the alley. Sounds like someone slammed the dumpster closed or something. Metal on metal with echo. Car crash?
“What the fuck?” Cannata curses aloud as she throws a glowing red ball at the ground. She told Cirrhosis that it is an EMP sort of thing, so he turns off his wetwiring while it strobes three times on the ground. Guns come up to greet Cannata as Cirrhosis jumps to the floor, turning his shit on as he lands.
Cirrhosis shoots two people pointing guns at Cannata, and then turns his attention to guarding his own ass. Vii is coming and he has two shotguns with goddess only knows what type of crazy space ammunition in it. Probably fires flaming bees or some shit. Hopefully the red thing destroyed it enough that he won’t be able to fire. Cirrhosis is badly off his game and this isn’t the time to be learning.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Vii snarls, shooting a small barrage of metal balls at Cirrhosis. One connects with his right leg; it carries a vague electric charge that causes his quad to spasm him into a stumble. Best not to be hit by more than a couple of those.
“How are you here and there?”
“Here and where, dipshit?” Vii is getting too close; he swings the gun in his left hand at Cirrhosis and swoops his right arm up as he spins. Cirrhosis dodges the blow, and lands a right knee into Vii’s side. Vii’s right arm is coming around, going for a shot point-blank with electric ball gun or whatever. Cirrhosis goes for a sweep and manages to at least throw Vii off-balance.
“What?” Cirrhosis mutters, jumping backward from Vii and bumping into Mr. Eye-patch.
“Holy shit, Cirr—“ The man grunts, and is taken out by stray fire from in front. Scratch, Cannata killed him on purpose. All the same really. Cirrhosis places his eyes on Vii, who is half a stagger from shooting another dose.
Cirrhosis activates the blue rod Cannata gave him. Sort of looks like a beam weapon from one of those shitty old movies. Blue rod with a button on its silver handle, pimp-cane from the year 3000 or something. It’s supposed to be able to shoot magnetic waves at someone, which Cirrhosis isn’t entirely sure why that would be a positive or negative (pun intended) thing.
He takes a shot at Vii’s right hand, and the gun forcefully rips itself out of Vii’s hand and flies over to the crystal matrix television, which shatters in electrified balls of light. Cirrhosis barely has time to duck, Vii is thrown forward, and two people closer to the set are set on fire somehow.
“Shit!” Cirrhosis yells at the cane. Across the room, he can hear Cannata laughing like a crazy person. Vii is getting up, the backs of his arms are bloody and his fingers are twitching.
“Motherfucker.”
“No thanks, I already have plans for tonight.” Cirrhosis says through a nervous grin, throwing the rod back into his belt holster, not trusting it for close proximity fighting. Vii lunges up and forward at once, going for sort of a rising left hook. Cirrhosis dodges easily, as this move couldn’t be more telegraphed if Vii had sent him something in the physical mail telling him he was cordially invited to fist.
Cirrhosis kicks Vii in the chest, sending the lithe man into sort of a backward roll. He rights himself on all fours, his right arm down and left up, clenched in a fist. Cirrhosis finds this man completely terrifying, his body movements and facial expressions so completely twisted and foreign. As if he is missing bones in several important places. Vii is grinning, obviously on various uppers and painkillers to allow him continued motion with the backs of his arms hanging bits of meat, but clotting quickly.
Cirrhosis dives feet first at Vii, his left leg sliding on the dull brown carpet and his right leg balanced on top, when his body hits horizontal, his foot swings up to connect violently with Vii’s jaw. A risky move, because it leaves him open to attack by anyone else in the room. Luckily, Vii’s men seem taken aback by Cannata’s laser hands. Her fingers are emitting some sort of burning laser effect, which doesn’t seem to be hurting her like it should. Regardless, it is cutting holes into other people who get within about three paces of her, and burning people a considerable distance more than that. The smell of burning hair is sharp, as well as the subtle tang of ozone. More men are leaving the room through the back than staying to fight.
Vii is up again, ready to play another round. Cirrhosis is pretty sure they should wrap this up, as there is the small matter of whoever provided the distraction earlier. Someone else is invading this club, presumably there for the same thing as Cirrhosis and Cannata.
“You don’t have it do you?”
“Heh. That easy to tell?” Vii rushes quickly, moving much faster than Cirrhosis anticipated would be possible in his condition, Cirrhosis can only roll backward and attempt to punt Vii up and over, which barely works. Vii stumbles but gets a heavy kick into Cirrhosis’ mid section, knocking the breath out of his lungs.
“I was told to come here and fake a sale, solely to draw three people here instead of allowing them to follow the real sale.”
“You… cough… know where that is?” Cirrhosis stumbles to his feet. Got to keep Vii talking until he can gather some strength to counter-attack.
“As if I would ever tell a simpleton like you. I am only to keep the targets busy, you are ancillary at best.” Vii smirks.
“For a secondary lead I sure took you down a lot. You going to have enough energy left for the big boys?”
“Heh. Not a problem.” Vii suddenly bursts into a dash, running directly for Cirrhosis. Cirrhosis hits a fighting stance, his right leg forward and bent slightly. One shot, gotta use that stick again.
“What?” Cirrhosis mumbles, his hand jumbling with the mag-stick.
Vii jumps very high, pushing with his arms off of a low hanging cross beam, coming in for a sort of flying kick. Cirrhosis pulls the stick up and connects with Vii’s foot as he attempts to kick Cirrhosis in the face. The metal connects, at least partially, with the metal tip that serves to conduct his bone-amps to solid objects (mostly used on the ground). A shudder goes through Vii as his foot drives through Cirrhosis’ grip and lands him on one knee on the ground, the stick tossed halfway across the room. Vii’s skin seems to craw, his bodyhair standing on end. Then the wires explode out of him like hyperviolent tapeworms, ribbons of blood spray around the room, and Cirrhosis has to drop to the floor to avoid getting torn apart by the shrapnel that was Vii’s wetwiring. Cannata is grazed slightly by some of the cords emanating from Vii’s legs.
“Fuck!” She grabs a shin.
“You okay?” Cirrhosis goes for his weapon, not that he’d be comfortable using it again.
“Yeah. Just got nicked by some, holy shit.” She actually turns to see Vii. He looks like he was eaten by termites. Long round burrows carve huge core-samples from his flesh, his face more so than any other part of his visible body. His clothing is shredded though, blood and flesh falling in lumps around his limp personage.
“Yeah. What the hell is this thing?”
“Fuck, Cirrhosis you were supposed to use that to pick locks.”
“Oh.” Cirrhosis looks at the round tube in his hand, and puts it into his belt again. Gotta pay attention in the pregame briefing.
“Holy shit.” Another man says as he enters the room, Cirrhosis remembers him. Not specifically, but more like he’s a monster from a fairy tale. Knows that he is supposed to stay away from him, but cannot remember the specifics, until the second man enters.
“Epic?”
“Hey… you…” Epic shrugs to his friend, the one that Cirrhosis actually remembers.
“Fuck. Looks like he finally got what was coming.” Peppermint White Ninja mutters, pu
lling a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Epic looks at Pepper, then at Cirrhosis, and then decides to light a cigarette as well. For solidarity.
“Peppermint. Why are you here?” Cannata says forcefully. Pepper looks up from his son to Cannata.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Pepper mutters blandly. Epic looks Cannata up and down and raises his eyebrows.
“You son of a fucking bitch!” Cannata screams as she runs at Pepper, pulling some sort of strange spinning stick with a spinning blade sort of hanging at the top. Activating it on her route, it spins near but not on the strange stick. It seems like it should be cutting her hand, burning her hand, or both.
Pepper is not impressed, he pulls a drag from his cigarette and hits a back foot heavy defense stance. Cannata screams and shoves her shiv forward, Pepper flows his hands around her smoothly and quickly, barely moving his general stance, Cannata ends up on her back and the shiv ends up in Epic’s hand, who seems as surprised as anyone else.
“Ack!”
“Seriously? Who the fuck are you?” Pepper says incredulously, taking a puff on his cigarette.
“You killed my cousin.”
“Oh wow, we’re really going to have to be more specific.” Epic laughs down at her, fiddling with the shiv. The swirling blade has the ability to move closer and farther from the rod, but it is unclear as to what exotic force is holding it together.
Pepper goes to one knee to better look Cannata in the eye. “Gang member?”
“Yes.”
“Official hit, or bystander?”
“Bystander.”
“Well, that sucks then. I’m sorry.” Pepper mutters, scratching at his dreadlocks.
“What?” Cannata looks Pepper in the eye, his vision is clear and unflinching. He is completely disinterested by her assault on him, all while completely ignoring the high-technology item his friend is mere moments from accidentally killing himself with.
“Ounna-ah Exalia Torunga.” Epic mutters. The blade stops spinning and then sort of puffs into smoke. A solid state holo-image. Cannata gasps. Epic tosses the stick across the room, and leaves through the door they came through. “Holla at me when you are done here. This party is played out.”
“Why are you two here?” Pepper looks at Cirrhosis when he talks, he looks very tired at this moment. Burned out or something.
“Jewel. It was supposed to be here. It isn’t.” Cannata glares at Cirrhosis, but Cirrhosis knows when he is out classed. This was exactly who Vii was waiting for.
“Who you working for?”
“Myself sort of, Toro mostly.”
“I see. This girl with you?”
“Not really, but yes.”
“Is that so.”
“Vii said that he was here to keep three people busy. He was being paid to hoax someone into this place.”
“Sounds about right. He tell you who?”
“You two are probably the ones.”
“I think you’re in on this too.”
“Vii didn’t seem to think so. He called me a secondary character.”
“He called you ancillary.” Epic yells from the other room.
“That isn’t exactly what that means. He has you here because he wants Toro somewhere. That means one thing. Why do you seem familiar to me?” Pepper stands, offering his hand to Cannata, who refuses and gets up on her own.
“Me. I am Cirrhosis Induction. Famous horse-cross racer, spokesman for chicken and other bullshit.”
“Not that.”
“Ex-member of Destiny?”
“That obviously means nothing to me.” Pepper frowns slightly at Cannata, who attempts to bore a hole in his face with her eyes.
“I don’t know what to say then…”
“How old are you?” Epic says, popping his head in the door. He has a sandwich in one hand.