Chapter 9
Feb 12, 2100 Washington D.C . Megatower 3
Jon opened the door to his new home, unsure of what to expect. Everything he thought represented him in his life disappeared in the blink of an eye. Well, an eight month long blink. He pushed the door open, trying to ignore the smell of trash and urine in the hall, and stepped in through the threshold. The small units’ arrangement looked different, and yet similar. The hallmark of mass fabrication technology. His things sat piled into the corner to his right. Most of his stuff unpacked, though some stuff remained in boxes.
“Good thing I lived lightly, I guess,” he said.
He moved into the main living room area. The small floor plan contained just enough square footage to live comfortably. The carpeting showed its age through several cleanings. A curved L shaped couch with a black leather finish hugged the back wall and sat beneath a squad screen tv suite. He found the setup a little dated if amusing. Tracing a finger along an opened box top, he glanced towards the bathroom. The suite struck him as cozy and small. Sure beat living in the streets, though.
Living in a tower meant having a good visual smoke screen. Blending in with the crowd is easier when you look like them. Still, being one of them left a bitter bite in his mouth. He wanted nothing to do with being around other augs, even though he is one now. Try as he might to forget or ignore the fact, his life now revolved around existing as an aug.
He opened the fridge and spotted a case of beer waiting for him. His expression turned into a curious one as he noticed something taped to the box. He reached in and plucked the item, a note left on paper that read “Sorry - R.” He sighed, flicking the yellow sticky note on the kitchen counter. The note was a pleasant touch. He fished a bottle out of the box with startling ease as the tough cardboard packaging gave way to the prying of his hand like tissue paper. He shut the fridge door and leaned against the counter, examining the bottle. Twist top. The first good thing to happen since he got here since he had no clue where his bottle opener was hiding.
Dropping his small bag in front of the small closet space, he took in the open area. The bed and the bathroom were all connected to the main living space. The unit comprised just one large studio. That made the housing more space efficient during construction. The living space reminded him more of an enormous coffin, with extra room for the dead to mill about in. The apartment had only one door on the right side, just after the closet. He drifted over; the door whisking open. Inside, someone lined the walls with foam padding and racks to hang weapons and gear. A sticky note sat on a workbench.
“It’s not much, but this should get you started. - R.”
He set the note down next to a few empty ammo cans. Drifting out of the room he just dubbed the Gear Room, he made his way back to the long rectangular window by the bed with smooth edges. He toggled off the mirrored surface so revealing the world outside his room. A sea of neon and commercials assailed his eyes and mood. Floating holographic’s and virtual intelligence driven ad campaigns all warring for attention. He sighed, not missing the city at all. To be back here again only reminded him of what he’d lost. The life he had, and everything he accomplished. Meaningless now, in the absent void of his past. Lost in a sea of corporate detritus colorfully called “Collateral Damage”.
Something occurred to him, though. The commercials were all external. Not implant/lens centric. His brow furrowed, and he rubbed his head, the cold metal finger tips teasing his skin and causing the small fine hairs on his neck to rise. He opened his implant settings and checked them, and sure enough, the AdBlocker Step 1 package listed as part of his augmentations. He blinked, looking around again and realizing that despite the chaos of the city, all the ads displayed to outside of his implant. No more ads popping up in his face anymore. Small victories.
He drifted to the couch that rimmed the opposite wall, dropping with a huff. He built himself up a considerable nest egg he intended to use for retirement. Nomad charged him a small fraction of the retirement funds before he left for Iraq. But now he needed money for housing and food, nevermind weapons, ammo, and gear. Starting over from scratch is less than ideal, but there was nothing for it. What added insult to injury is the fact that he couldn’t even go back into the espionage line of work since the Agency effectively burned him, listing him as KIA. He glanced back to the Gear Room, grimacing. He needed to become a contractor. The only solace taken from this is at least he’s not a corpo merc.
He stood up, frustrated, and fighting back the pressing crush of despair. Unable to tamp down the arc of electricity racing through his body, causing his restlessness. Raven had asked him to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble, but he had things he needed to do. If he wanted to tear down Haltech he needed to do the opposite of keeping his head down. He needed to make waves with the Fixers to earn the scratch to finance a gig like that. But that was a long-term goal.
For the shorter term, he needed to reach out to Polanco to retrieve his data. Something else bothered him about what Raven said back in Germany, about the world being different. He flicked the news on and swiped the projection to the flat tv surface. He was glad he’s not holding anymore beer, because he would have dropped the bottle too.
The news anchor dressed in a prim yellow blazer, with bright pink earrings, reported on the war in South America with casual disinterest. She spoke with a clinical detachment and a vacancy in her eyes Jon recognized as near boredom. Then she brightened up with the promise of being able to report something a bit more interesting. Something that sounded vaguely more like back office gossip.
“Early today in the dawn hours, Heir apparent to the Toranaga Corporation Takeshi Toranaga declared a corporate war with Haltech under the new Allowing Corporate Competition and Warfare for a Stronger Market act passed by Congress post heavy lobbyist support. CCPD has cordoned off the street in front of Haltech’s main entrance as two drop ships from Toranaga landed and deployed combat mechs engaging Haltech’s defenses seen here in this footage. While Haltech repelled the initial assault, Toranaga corp. has made no further moves against the military industrial giant Haltech. It is unclear how long this conflict will last, but analysts are predicting a long one. Market fluctuations are expected.”
She went on as if reading the sports column of a magazine. Jon zeroed in on the details of the report with a sharp focus. This wasn’t some far off conflict, this was right in the city. Companies engaging in combat with each other.
Toranaga and Haltech. The mega towers are now becoming fortresses. Law enforcement blocking off areas, so corporations had the space to fight with drones and PMC’s. The scenario was every CEO’s wet dream. Carte blanche to do whatever the fuck they wanted now. No one cared about who got caught in the middle. The only concern was for the bottom line.
“Jesus christ....” he muttered.
Before the news clip ended, the anchor mentioned the large number of smaller companies absorbed at gunpoint into the larger ones, and some larger companies destroyed in the chaos that ensued after. The changes hit the military sector the worst, seeing fights break out across the country. At the tail end of the news, the segment mentioned that Senator Joshua Phillips had been the deciding vote securing the passage of the ACCWASM act.
This couldn’t be real. What had happened? He shut the news off and called Polanco. The line rang 4 times before Polanco answered. “Hello?” he said, unsure of who called him.
“P, it’s me.”
“Jon? You went off grid. Reports were that you bought the farm. How do I know it’s you? Tell me something only I’d know?”
“When we just graduated our training and got assigned to our unit, I had the only car in reception. We ran into some new kids who just got their bonuses, and they needed a ride. We took them out to a hotel.”
Polanco cut in, interrupting him, “Alright, I don’t need that whole story, man. Fuck man, so it is you. What happened?”
Jon shook his head. “Not over the phone. We need to meet. Someplace private. Has anyone been tailing you?”
“Nah. Raytheon stepped up their security after the ACCWASM act passed. They don’t want any rival companies like Haltech making moves against us like they did against most of the smaller outfits. Kinda weird now, though. Got these suits always follow me now. Feels like I can’t ever get any privacy anymore. I’m too valuable a company asset now. Make me sound like a damn computer chip or something.”
“Good to hear. About the security, I mean.”
“I got your data ready for the handoff. We can meet up at Site b.”
“Alright. Site b then. Be there in 2 hours. I’ve got a stop to make on the way.”
#
Site B Rendezvous location The Sprawl
The drive to the meetup point had only taken him 18 minutes, so he spent the remaining two scoping the area and ensuring he had a clean six. He texted Raven a quick sitrep; his location, his activity, and why. She asked him to be careful and moved into an assist posture. Better to have and not need than to need and not have.
Site B’s simple outward appearance deceived intentionally. Nestled off a remotely used industrial access street at the foot of the sprawl. The location sat closer to the badlands than to the city proper in the older half of the Industrial district. From the outside, the location appeared little more than a small storage building with fading white paint chipping off of sheet metal siding.
Jon scanned the 3 points of entry, a front and rear vehicle door, and a side door for personnel entry. For more covert egress, the location also held a tunnel access hatch. The interior layout kept things simple, with most of the space empty. A small work station set up on the side facilitated security while the site was in use.
The workstation itself built to spec didn’t match standard government hardware.
Jon perched himself against the workstation’s desk, waiting patiently as the minutes ticked by. Since the location spent long amounts of time unused, a thin layer of dust accumulated on most of the surfaces. This made determining if someone unknown disturbed the site since last use. Polanco showed up, keying the access code to the front door, and pulled his truck into the building.
Polanco hopped out, and the two did their customary greeting handshake. One of their customs that also served as nonverbal communication. Polanco took a moment to look him over. Jon tried not to wilt under Polanco’s concerned look. They carried each other through some shit before, but neither had a frame of reference for this.
“You look like hell, man. What happened?” Polanco said finally.
“Haltech took out Sam for that Data, then tried to take me out after cleaning up their loose ends.”
“Haltech? But why them? You work for the Agency, you’re not in their orbit.”
“They’ve got their fingers in the government pretty deep. That corporate warfare act that congress passed? That was them, apparently.”
Polanco digested this for a moment, and then gestured to his friend. “How did that happen?”
“Eric Price pinned me down with suppressive fire and then they dropped an air-to-surface missile on me. I was...lucky.”
Polanco bit back a laugh. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll call it.”
“Well, they only blew half my ass to hell,” He said. Self deprecation helped him deflect the creeping dread of his current circumstances. Helped him cope. He knew eventually, though, he’d have to look at himself in the mirror and confront the change. Confront himself. Now wasn’t the time, though.
“Well, you’re still in the fight, so you’ve got that. Speaking of the fight, here.” Polanco fished out the data drive, handing the small black and green sd card over. “Chip’s all cracked.”
“Have you seen what’s on it?”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Just enough to know I didn’t want to be involved. You won’t have issues accessing everything, but do me a favor and be careful ok? That thing is... well, let’s just say you’re poking the scavs nest. By the way, I’m gonna have to bill ya top rate.”
Jon held the chip in his hand for a moment, then moved to stuff the small rectangular piece of silicon into a pocket. As he did so, a large caliber rifle barked from a short distance away at the same time Polanco’s body violently hurled into the floor by the force of the round that struck him, leaving Jon coated in a light spray of blood. A fraction of a second later, combat instincts kicked in and Jon sprawled to the floor immediately as a follow-up shot ripped through the air his head had previously occupied. The force of the round tugged at his hair mid-sprawl.
He checked Polanco’s body and his stomach fall out when he saw how shallow his friend’s vitals were. For a moment, the thought of just standing up into view of the shooter crossed his mind. Of just surrendering to fate. He pressed himself to the wall and rose into a crouch.
He called Raven. The line rang twice, and she answered, “Jon?”
“I’m pinned down at Site B. Single shooter, high-power rifle.”
Raven listened a moment, “Alright. Stand by. Heads up. MedTac is on the way.”
Since the shooter hadn’t fired any shots through the wall, Jon doubted the rounds were of a very large caliber. He debated making a break for the front door. If he reached his car, the vehicle armor would protect him long enough to dig out something to fight back with. He cursed himself for letting someone get the drop on them, and then again, because he let himself be followed. He didn’t need to guess at who took those shots at him.
He did, however, need a guess on how they got wise to him. A beat later, he heard the high-powered whine of quad jet VTOL exhausts. The craft came to a stop, metal skids groaning under sudden weight being supported. Several rifles went off and shouts echoed out as a small fire team chased off the shooter. Jon pushed himself up off the ground and kneeled down next to Polanco’s prone body. Experience had taught him that MedTac shouldn’t be fucked with since they held licensed status. His stomach tightened into knots as he looked at his wounded friend. His lips pressed into a thin line and he gave Polanco a nod.
The garage door on the front of the meetup site rolled up, revealing the fireteam that had saved him. The MedTac team moved in and took formation around him. He glanced down at Polanco’s body in question and then back up at them. “Help him!”
The MedTac team wore full, heavy duty gear. Helmets, upper and lower body armor, and exoskeletons were all in white with the standard red cross logo. The works. They were the toughest and sturdiest emergency response crew on this side of MaxTac. The squad leader gave Polanco a nod of his helmet. Two of the men retrieved a stretcher from the ambulatory craft, setting the silver board down next to Polanco, who groaned in pain. Jon exhaled in relief at the first outward sign of life from his friend. While the two medics gently transferred Polanco to the stretcher and strapped him in, they applied a series of devices to his torso to seal the wound for transit. One pointed a rifle at Jon, ordering him to back up. Numbly, Jon complied.
“How did you know to show up here so quick?” Jon asked, confused.
“His corporation has a platinum policy on him. When his bio monitor went weak, we got the alert. This is part of our patrol route. It’s a simple course deviation to retrieve him,” the squad leader said. Three chevrons beneath the large red cross on the white shoulder band.
The MedTac team left Jon sitting there by the pool of blood. Raytheon would likely pay out a sizable sum to his family for the insurance. A minor victory that counted. That would leave Polanco out of the fight to come, though.
He burned in righteous fury at the fact another person close to him had come under fire. Concern grew for the fact he spent his friends like assets as freely as a CEO would heedless of the risk involved. How did he expect to prosecute this war against the companies if he was no better than them?
That last thought threatened to send him spiraling. He forced himself into his car, smearing blood against the handle. He planned to leave before the authorities arrived to clean up the scene. The fewer questions asked, the better.
#
The yellow dash marks on the road flashed by at a steady yet rapid pace. The hum of the engine as his car soared down the highway heading home kept him company with the silence. The strobing street lights helped to mark time with his passage. The city moved around him like water flowing around a stone in the river. Indifferent and ambivalent to his presence. Just another cog in a machine that didn’t care about its parts, only the sum of the whole.
On the drive home, Raven had called again to check on him. She did her best to cheer him up, but found her efforts ineffectual. Sam Noriko, now maybe even Polanco. Everyone around him dropped like bad habits, with him left in the eye of a bloody hurricane.
“Jon. I know you’re in an awful place. But I need some deets. What happened at the meet at Site B?”
“I linked up with Polanco to recover a data dive I asked him for before Wilson burned me.”
She nodded absently, but said nothing else. Like she was putting together pieces of a puzzle he didn’t have access to.
He eyed her suspiciously. “Any word on the shooter?”
She shook her head. “No brass recovered. I traced the shot back to an adjacent rooftop. The roofing on the building looked crushed in slightly.”
“Mech?”
“I think so, that or someone with a lot of heavy mods. Found some scuffing to show as much, so that’s our best probable response.”
“Any idea what make and model?”
“Not completely, but I have a few guesses. Given the legalese involved in conducting attacks on civilians, strong money says a corporation that rivals Raytheon. Best guess is they got word that Polanco was going to do a drop off and pounced on the opportunity to hit your meet up. Did he dismiss his personal security?”
Shit. He had to in order to come to the meeting alone. “Yea. Pretty sure he did.”
“Best window to try, then. All they had to do was six you and Polanco and then just take whatever you were meeting to exchange.”
In some ways, Jon wished the hit had been a merc. Someone to provide him with an active target. A mech was just a puppet, and an easily discarded one at that. The mech pilot could be anywhere in a dump now. Whoever ordered the shot did so to stop or intercept the handoff. That meant someone after him. One more problem with his list.
“Dig into Toranaga. They’re Raytheon’s biggest competitors. Either them or Haltech.”
“Based on?”
“The pile of bodies they leave in my wake trying to take me out or stop me.”
Raven paused a moment to digest what he said. “Ok, that’s gonna need some splainin’.”
It was time to come clean with her, so he told her everything. About his trip back to Iraq to investigate the attack scene, to Noriko Kyoshi’s death, and down to his conversation with Masri. When he finished, a discordant silence settled in the wake of his explanation. Bright Neon’s and ReelMeat ads ensuring him their food is a flavor explosion in your mouth, illuminating his face momentarily as he cruised the outskirts of Capital City.
“Fuck Jon. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should trust you.”
“Well, can’t say I don’t blame ya the way people die around you so fast. That has a way of making you seem like dangerous company to keep.”
He agreed with her wordlessly, so she continued.
“I also understand what keeping secrets from coworkers for their own safety is like. So in light of that, I have something to confess. A gesture of goodwill, I hope.”
He leaned forward with interest, even though her holo had remained static in his hud.
“I work for the President’s Office of Investigations, on assignment with the Agency.”
He leaned back, then ran his prosthetic hand through his hair. He shook his head, trying to process her words, but the impact hit too immensely for him to wrap his mind around.
“For how long?”
“Since I started with the Agency. They assigned me to the Agency with orders to monitor progress and ensure everything adhered to the law.”
“Do they know about what’s happening with Haltech?”
She frowned, “Some. Miltech and Haltech had a huge merger just after you went down. A few months after that, the ACCWASM passed with a huge push from Haltech.”
“And a deciding vote from Josh Phillips?”
“Correct. His bid for re-election came up and in the eleventh hour he pulled out a miraculous underdog win.”
“Let me guess, mysterious donations,” said Jon. Sarcasm stretched across his expression.
“The money filtered and spread out cleverly. At first blush, the cash flow looks to have originated from grassroots supporters, but on closer examination, the true financial sources are hundreds and thousands of shell accounts. Opened just before and closed just after the transaction. The work was spotless and detailed,” Raven said.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were giving them praise.”
She gave him an acknowledging look. “I’m simply noting the enormity and complexity of the task. Moving that large a sum of money and yet spreading it out to avoid suspicion is impossible to most.”
“But aside from that, we had nothing else until you.”
“Do we have enough to nail them?”
She shook her head sourly. “Not with any lasting meaning. Nothing more than a minor fine and a slap on the wrist. The company would be back in stride before lunch. If you’re looking to hit them, we’ll have to hit them hard. Ensure they can’t recover. Take them out permanently and send a message to any who would follow suit.”
“Ok, and we do that how?”
“Legally? We obtain the names of the wonks who ok’d hitting Agency personnel and the evidence linking them to the acts. But since they can buy any judge and jury the odds of this working are infinitesimally small.”
“And illegally?” Jon asked, a brow arched curiously.
“You make them bleed. Since you’re burned, you don’t have the agency’s rules to play by anymore. You can hit them as often and hard as you like with only your own resolve to restrain you.”
“Do as you will, basically?”
She gave him a confirming nod. “You’re on your own now. Which means you’ll need to work through your street contacts to stay solvent. Since they declared you dead, your government pension is being routed to your mother. I’ll see what I can do about skimming some of that back to you, but too much will be noticeable.”
He shook his head, holding a hand up haltingly. “No, don’t. I can manage.”
“You’re sure?” He smiled ruefully. “Yeah. It’ll be alright.” He knew he might regret it, but he could manage without. Actually needing funds would help his credibility in the streets. He needed to look broke, and in this, the truth was his best weapon. Hunger had a way of motivating one to work. And incentivized outside investment. He knew enough about mercs to manage.
Her expression softened. “You going to be ok? You've taken quite a few hits to the chin lately.”
He sat still for a long moment as he chewed on the question. Finally, a numb shrug rolled his shoulders. The subtle gesture was all his body capable of managing.
“For what it’s worth, I think Polanco will be fine. Given what I can access right now, this looks more like a Toranaga hit than a Haltech move. They probably got wind of something when you stayed at their hotel in Baghdad where Ms. Kyoshi died. This feels too sudden for Haltech. I convinced Wilson and the Agency, and by effect, Haltech, you were KIA for months. They couldn’t have detected you this quick.”
She had a point. Jumping at shadows and making connections that didn’t exist would do him no favors. The corporate world is a cesspit of bullshit and death. One can never comprehend the depth of filth until he sets foot on its dark surface. He already wished he had never had. Ignorance sure is bliss when viewed with hindsight.
Raven did her best to end the call on a positive note, but his mind swirled with the chaos of the past year. The Agency and Haltech were hunting him to silence him against whatever they were plotting. His friends were dropping at an alarming rate around him. And worst of all, he’s a fucking aug now and damn near a full reskin. Reality crashed in all around him. A dead man walking, surrounded by dead friends. Notch another down for the City’s tally.