Principia Discordia

I made my way through the darkened streets to the Open Bar, clutching at the roll of money in my pocket tightly.  I hated the City at this time of evening, just as the sun was setting.  The street lights shone their awful orange light over the odd, mind-defying angles and corners, illuminating the semi-darkness that was around me in a way that was far worse then had it been just pitch black.  Shapes stumbled around in the darkness as I gripped my roll of cash even harder.  It had been a tough job, but worth it.  The Presbyterian Church  had paid well for their security upgrade in their headquarters and anything that upset the Lord's Brigades was well worth doing.  It was strange, you'd think those two groups would get along, but the Presbyterians work among the City slums, plus their denunciations of the evils of capitalism, toned down lately of course, had made them enemies in very high places.

Ah, here I was.  I looked up to the narrow door of the Open Bar.  The taller buildings either side of the squat bar threw deeper shadows in the relative darkness, but here, a step away from the Bar, I could be more or less assured of safety.  I swung the door inwards, savouring the bright, cheery light within, a stark comparison to the architects nightmare that lay outside.

Dying for a scotch, I moved my way up to the bar itself.  It wasn't that busy this time of evening.  Most of the people who came here didn't work ,Äúnormal,Äù office hours anyway, me among them, so the busy times were often random and unpredictable.  Grabbing a stool and peeling a note from the roll, I said to Mangrove ,Äúsome Glenlivet thanks.  Actually, make it a double, with ice.,Äù  He came back swiftly with the drink, saying ,Äúits funny you should be in today.  LMNO was asking about where you were.,Äù
,ÄúOh?,Äù I replied, before taking a sip.  ,ÄúWhat was it about?,Äù
,ÄúHe said he may have a job for you, something that suited your particular skills, he said.,Äù
,ÄúOh dear, that never sounds good.  He's pretty competent on his own, I can't see why he'd need me for anything.,Äù
,ÄúWell, he has got this new client whose case is taking up a lot of his time...,Äù
,ÄúHmm, maybe I'll contact him and see whats happening.  Thanks for the tip-off.,Äù
,ÄúNo problem,Äù Mangrove replied as he went to serve another customer.

So, another job, I thought to myself as I sipped on the scotch.  That could be useful.  Ever since the ,Äúincident,Äù 9 months ago, I had been more or less without steady employment.  I mean, sure, it wasn't like there weren't jobs available.  But working in a factory 11 hours a day until I was 70 just didn't have the appeal, nor did drug running for the Matarese or the Cosa Nostra or whoever had control of the trade, for that matter.  

Finishing the drink, I grabbed my cell and made a call to LMNO's office.  One ring...two rings..3...just as my thumb started to move to the hang up button, someone answered.  ,ÄúHello?,Äù LMNO's voice came, crystal clear down the line.
,ÄúHi, its Cain here,,Äù I answered, ,ÄúI heard you had a job offer for me?,Äù
,ÄúYeah.  Well, kind of.  Its complicated.,Äù
,ÄúWe'll need to talk then.  You name a time you're free.,Äù
,ÄúWe'll, I can be at the bar in, say 10 minutes?  It'll have to be brief, as I've got a client to meet straight afterwards.
,ÄúThat'll be fine,Äù, I replied.  ,ÄúSee you in ten.,Äù The line went dead.

I enjoyed the rest of my drink, idly waiting.  It wasn't like I had any pressing engagements, plus the Open Bar was very welcoming which was a nice change in the City.  I had just finished the scotch and was about to go for another, when LMNO walked in and took a seat besides me.
,ÄúHi, good to see you're here.  You wanna know what this is about then?,Äù
,ÄúIts a good place to start,Äù I replied, turning on my stool to face him.
,ÄúOK, I'm going to have to be brief but I do have some additional information written down here.  Basically, do you remember my business partner, the Shadow?,Äù

It's nice that we all have a collaberative illusiory universe we can escape to whenever The Man gets us down.

Speaking of which, I still need to finish that Hemmingway thing....

Cain, you rock for starting this up again.

Just remember to watch out for the word filters.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v711/Marburger/wORDFILTER.jpg)

:P  Cool.

Quote from: eroticCain, you rock for starting this up again.

Just remember to watch out for the lexicographic alternatives.

Do we know which words are still filtered?  I know Fnord is, as well as Bella and Hugh, but any words other than names?

Not that I'm aware of - other than word filter.

Yeah, my name.

LMNO
-is filtered.

Righto.  I suppose thats what the preview function is for.

,ÄúOf course, he's a pretty hard person to forget.,Äù  His ,Äúshadow,Äù as his nickname had been, was another private investigator, of sorts.  He had the kind of skills you normally didn't see in most people, such as knowing how to pick locks, move very quietly and how to scale walls and bypass security systems with relative ease.  He also had contacts everywhere, even in Government Inc.  Chances were he was ex-DHS or something similar, though if you were really that ,Äúex,Äù, chances were you wouldn't be walking around or breathing.  He wasn't exactly the sort of individual who you wouldn't turn your back on either.
,ÄúYeah, I know of him,Äù I replied.  ,ÄúWhy, what has happened?,Äù
,ÄúWell, its a rather long story.  I heard from someone who worked at one of the labs in the city about a new drug that is being worked on.  I'd come across its name before, in another of my cases, so I sent my Shadow to go find out what was going on.  It made sense, what with his contacts.  But a week or so later, I got this sent to me,Äù he finished as he grabbed a slightly tattered sheet of paper which was folded inside his jacket pocket.
I looked at the picture in front of me, showing a grainy image of the Shadow coming out of a laboratory, with the date and time stamped in the corner.  It was 10 days ago.  ,ÄúSo you think he's sold out or turned and gone into the business for himself then?,Äù
,ÄúBasically.  He's had plenty of time to come forth with whatever he has, even if its nothing, and still hasn't.  I tried to get a trace on who sent that, but unsurprisingly I was denied access to the post system.  Someone there will know where its from, it got tagged so they have the reference number.  I included that with the rest of the information.,Äù  With that he took a large envelope out of a pocket and handed it over.  ,ÄúThats everything I have.  Do you want the job or not?,Äù
Well, it certainly had my interest, but there was one more criteria to fulfill.  ,ÄúHow much can I expect to be paid?,Äù
,ÄúStandard rates.  I also know for a fact that the Shadow doesn't trust the banks and keeps his money as cash.  I'm sure that extra incentive has its value to you.,Äù
,ÄúDeal,Äù I replied.

My first thoughts were to try and bribe, cajole or otherwise threaten some workers at the Post Office to find out who sent the picture.  It would be nice to know who the unknown ally was and if they knew anything else.  But it wasn't simply a matter of walking in and saying it was sent to the wrong address, could I have the return address please?  They'd take it from me and process it, sending it back through the use of the reference number.  That had been a nice little addition on the latest round of anti-terrorist legislation.  Failing that, there were a few favours I could still call in.  It'd probably be wise to do that, quite soon.

My first port of call had been my flat, where I picked up a few items and made a couple of calls.  I didn't want to go to the Post Office until tomorrow, when I would be assured of large crowds.  If someone from Government Inc and its various research labs had sent that picture, there would be questions asked and a crowd would make escape easier.  I grabbed the old style Beretta pistol I kept in my safe and a couple of clips.  I had meant to get one of the new neuro-disruptors, but the cost of those things was abominable.  Plus they were apparently illegal or something, which probably explained the price.  Nah, it would have to bit good old fashioned bits of fast moving metal, if diplomacy or cash failed.  And since it was night time now, that possibility existed.

I made my way into the heartland of the City, the awful inner city that acted like a vortex for all the detritus of the surrounding area.  Beggars and prostitutes mixed freely with thugs and drug runners here, the entrance to the slums of the City.  Shacks were stacked precariously on top of each other, looking like they could crash down at any moment, taking large areas around with them.  It was one giant festering rat hole, more tunnels than walkways which people traveled along in search of the next dollar, sexual conquest or high.  In the small rooms the hastily constructed buildings here held, the widest ranges of narcotics, sex and valuable goods were sold.  This chaotic nature was of course reflected in the Psychotecture, bringing it to a nightmarish fruition.  I had found my destination.  Walking to the nearest bar, I opened the door, hesitated for a moment, then dove into the darkness.

The bar was even darker then I had remembered.  The only real light came from above the flickering neon tube behind the bar, which was little more then a slab of wood with some stools and drinks on top of it.  I moved past the crowded tables to reach it, cutting through the curls of smoke that hung in the air.
Elbowing my way past the regulars probably wasn't the best idea, but I was in a hurry and didn't give a damn about them.  Its not like anyone here would really want to kill me.  Unless I knocked over a pint or something, but thats practically understandable.  Anyway, I made it to the bar and managed to get the barmaid's attention.  Taking a $20 note out of my wallet, I ordered a drink, then asked if the boss-man was available.  She smiled briefly as I was given my drink and told me he'd be free in 5 minutes, in the first room on the left upstairs.

My time was up, I drained the last of my drink and ducked under the bar, heading for the stairs behind.  Upstairs was pretty dark, as befitted the establishment.  Rumour had it those shadows had hidden more than one assassin's knife or bullet, but I had no fear, as the boss was in, the meagre light coming from his office.  I walked in, noting he was hunched over a bunch of papers, calculating figures on a small hand held device.  Taking the seat opposite his desk, I spun it so the back faced him, then sat in it, arms crossed.

The silence continued for several seconds, his bald head hunched while I stared at an object several inches behind his left ear.  I broke first.  ,ÄúListen, I need The Hacker.,Äù
Without even looking at me, he replied ,Äúgo talk to Aini then Cain, I'm sure she'd be happy to help.  Please close the door on the way out.,Äù
,ÄúYou know, I'm pretty sure I just spoke then, I recall my lips moving and everything.  I didn't ask for Aini.  She's good, a maths whiz for certain, but I don't need her skills.  I want The Hacker.  I need someone who was good enough to get into the Government Inc quantum databases first time around.,Äù
,ÄúAlright then.,Äù He opened a drawer and removed a piece of paper, putting it at the edge of the desk.  ,ÄúI'll assume this is Discordian-related business, shall I?,Äù
I took the paper.  ,ÄúBut of course.  And thanks.,Äù
,ÄúIt'd better be.  I pay my dues to you people, but if I find any of you abusing it, I wont hesitate to have you dragged out back and your knees broken.  Don't forget that.  Now get lost, its hard enough trying to cook the books 3 ways without you trying to read it upside down as well.,Äù

The address was for a bar in an upscale part of town.  The East Quadrant, to be exact.  Nice sea views and uphill, both a plus for the landowners, bankers, record executives and other sorts of criminals.  It must be something genetic in any ruling class, to flee away from the plebs to uphill, easily defended areas.  Oh well.  I ducked under the bar, before shoving through the crowd again to get out.  Distracted, I was humming the tune in background and singing under my breath ,Äúback in the city again, I hope that you have been.  The kind of poison, that you really oughta know...oh feels so good, I wish I could get this message over to you, now...,Äù

I considered my options out on the street.  No taxi was going to come in here, so I could either walk out and hope to find one, or go home for the evening.  To hell with it, the night was still young and I had my legs.  Making sure I had the piece of paper secure in my pocket, I started the hopefully not long walk.  I didn't want to be exposed to the psychotecture for too long, insanity was an all too possible outcome.

20 minutes later, to my profound relief, I got my ride.  Another 20 minutes passed and I was now a block away from the bar I needed to be at.  I liked it around here.  The streets were clean and the houses were well spaced and pleasing to the eye, the ones that could be seen at all, beyond the vast spaces and high hedges employed.  This was an entertainment, not accommodation district, however.  Expensive sounding and looking bars, restaurants and cinemas were the order of the day.

Mine was in fact just several feet away now.  The cue was pretty small, as befitted the earliness of the night.  I prepared to walk in as two mountains of men moved in front of me.
One of them rumbled ,Äúwhat do you think you're doing...sir?,Äù with just the right amount of contempt.  I sighed.  I know I looked like a badly dishevilled detective, like a modern Columbo, but that was the sort of look I liked.  It made deciding what to wear in the mornings so much easier.  
,ÄúI'm trying to get in...but a pair of oafs are blocking me.,Äù  Before he could answer, I took two bills from my roll in my pocket and handed it to him before pushing past.  I didn't stop to check, just assume it worked and keep walking.

They called it social engineering.  The principles of it were simple enough.  People were easier to hack than machines, not to mention they often gave up vital information for far less work.  Even for just a glass of wine.

The Hacker played a smooth game as I kept to the bar, watching the holographic dancers projected into the cages above.  The technology wasn't great, certain angles distorted the views and they tended to flicker, but they were a crowd pleaser and an impressive, if expensive trick.  I turned again slightly to watch the man wining and showering a slightly frumpy, if pleasant looking woman.  He had been one of the best, one of the few who had managed to get into the Government's own databases.  

With the advent of Quantum computing, the amount your average PC could store had increased exponentially.  With the Government supercomputers hidden at places like Fort Meade, that had meant they were able to have near complete information on large amounts of the population.  Not just the normal biometric data and facts, but trends and evaluations based on consumer information, profiling tests (either for Government jobs or ,Äúsupplied,Äù by their own employers, psychiatrists etc), leading up to the sort of files that had only previously been seen on world leaders.  Every man woman and child had a virtual National Intelligence Estimate written on them.  However, the processors were unable to keep up, rendering the storage system mostly useless.  Mostly.

I decided to let him have his fun before speaking to him.  There was no way I was going to interfere in his game, not to mention this place was too well policed to allow for anything other than a nice chat.  Since the police service was practically privatized, the official city cops had just become another gang with its own colours and territory.  Except around here.  Money had bought in private security, because money had always had its privileges.  Hah, there was a word for the post-American century.  Privilege was just another word for private law, rule of the rich.  The ,Äúcops,Äù around here, if you weren't careful, would drag you off and break your fingers, then rob you for what you have.  You'd have it coming, a rough looking individual not from around here.  They'd turn you off the private properties they protected and who would care if they robbed you blind while they were at it?

The hours passed and the drinks flew.  I noticed The Hacker had moved up to buying gin for his ,Äúdate.,Äù  Hopefully he'd make an excuse and push off soon.  Ah, there we are.  The exaggerated yawn, the pat on the hand...he was up and moving and so was I.  Urgh, surveillance is such a bore, but at last there might be some action.

I tapped him on the shoulder as I walked passed, then moved in front of him as he turned to look.  Childish I know, but I had to take small pleasures where I could get them.  ,ÄúYes, I can help you?,Äù he asked pleasantly.
,ÄúI sure hope so.  However, I think we should have this conversation outside, if you don't mind.,Äù  I gestured with my hand to the door.  A brief nod, and he led on.

,ÄúOK, what you ask isn't impossible.  But it is somewhat risky.  Whats in it for me?,Äù  We were outside, the broad outlines of what I wanted to be done spoken, leaving only the prince negotiation to be settled.
,ÄúWhat do you want?,Äù
,ÄúWhat can you offer?,Äù
I thought a moment.  He was a hacker, money was about as much motivation to him as it was to a drunk driver.  Information would be what he wanted.  Something he could use, manipulate, experiment with.
,ÄúWell, since giving you a chance to see how government agencies react when a flag is breached isn't enough, how about this?,Äù  I lifted a roll of paper from in my pocket.  They involved the banking details of the Presbyterians, including headers, logos and numbers that any skilled programmer would find handy.  I had swiped a copy while working there.  I had hoped to use it as leverage with a con-artist who would find such things useful, but this seemed more important.
,ÄúDone and done again.  When do you want this to go down.,Äù
,ÄúTomorrow morning.,Äù

Pretending to do up a shoelace, I dropped the final set of bangers and covered them up with some rubbish. A quick flick with the lighter, and I had exactly 3 and a half minutes to get in. A distraction was always good and I knew I'd need it. The Government didn't actually give away information, they just took notes on who wanted to know what and added it to a file. Given this letter had come from what looked like Government property, a flag would be raised on anyone requesting information on such numbers as was assigned to the letter. Someone would stall me and before I knew it, ,Äúquestions,Äù would be asked. Well no-one took me that easily.

The Hacker had told me all he needed to know was the letter code, the branch and the rough time I was prepared to go in. Everything was going fine. Inside had about 10 people. Some were browsing for cards or changing cash, the rest were at the mostly empty tills, or whatever they were called. I walked straight up to one. Playing for time, I patted my pockets, pretending I couldn't remember what pocket the thing was in, then telling the eager and helpful worker exactly what had happened and why I wanted to trace it, lying that I had an exclusive private address and it could not be a human error and that my address had to be on their records, something to inquire about.

I think I had just timed it right,as because less than 20 seconds after she had entered the code onto the computer, the first of the fireworks went off. A staccato burst ripped through the industrious quiet of the office, as customers threw themselves down and guards drew their guns. Throwing myself down and forwards, I crept towards the door. Two guards were crouched their, weapons raised, the bursts coming distant then closer again. I decided to run for it. Standing up, I sprinted and made it to the door, when a large hand grabbed me and a sickening blow was struck against the side of my head.

My mouth felt dry as I came round. ,ÄúWa..wat'r,Äù I whispered. My limbs felt halfway between pain and numbness, having been held in unnatural positions for hours. I could also still feel the head splitting pain where the blow had knocked me out. A cup was put to my lips. I briefly thought it was stupid to drink something offered to me, but my throat was too far gone, and I drank eagerly. Then I looked up and saw the face of Captain Vasily. Captain Alexander Vasily, supposed head of Section 27 of the DHS for this state. The City, certainly. This was not good.

Vasily had what you might call a bad reputation, not to mention totally inappropriate training for a security officer. Despite his Russian name, he was an American, skilled in Spanish and supposedly a student of the School of the Americas, when the volunteers were sent to Columbia and into Venezuela. Definitely the wrong sort of training for the overglorified copper that he was. The School of Assassins, as it was also know, was not high on teaching civil liberties and correct procedure in arresting a suspect. They were more ,Äúa bullet in the head, and another one for anything still twitching,Äù school of enforcement, if any of the stories out of Caracas were true.

His thin, pale face stood before me. I knew it from the television interviews he had done, pledging to root out conspirators, radicals and terrorists wherever they may be. He was dressed in the drab black that all of Section 27 were rumoured to wear, which was not only good for lurking in, but also hiding bloodstains. Whatever room I was in, it looked like a bunker. One bulb, grey walls and a single table, a few feet away.

,ÄúSeen everything yet, Mr Cain? I assure you, there isn't much here.,Äù The voice was cold, slow, logical. He'd been watching me. The thoughts were coming too slowly, like treacle. I couldn't deal with him in this state. The knock I had taken must have done some serious damage up there.
,ÄúWell,Äù, he said, ,Äúthis is most unfortunate. You were caught at the scene of a serious crime, on federal property no less. You assaulted an employee of the Federal Government. Plus you were armed. As far as the courts and I am concerned, this is a simple case of terrorism. I hope you enjoy your new cell in Diego Garcia, you'll be in it for a very long time.,Äù
The information was coming too fast, there was too much to handle. But one thing stood out. ,ÄúGun?,Äù I asked. ,ÄúI wasn't armed.,Äù
He then walked over to the table, picked up something and came back. Holding it up, I could see it was a sleek looking pistol, with a silencer attached. Only one problem, it wasn't mine.
,ÄúThat doesn't belong to me and you know it. Mine is in my safe at my apartment, where I left it, you bastard,Äù I coughed out.
,ÄúStrange then, that your fingerprints are all over it.,Äù
,ÄúSo thats it then? A friendly chat, another secret trial and then I'm shipped off and out to the Indian Ocean? How long do I have to wait before the long holiday then?,Äù
,ÄúYou wont. Because in 10 minutes, if you're sensible, I'll be setting you free.,Äù

,ÄúWhat? Why?,Äù
,ÄúSomeone has been killed. I don't know how you've done it, but you have stumbled onto our own operation to catch this killer.,Äù
,ÄúWho is he?,Äù
,ÄúA thug, a hitman, an assassin for hire to the highest bidder. He is dangerous, skilled. I want you to help me bring him in.,Äù
,ÄúWho did he kill?,Äù
,ÄúThat, quite frankly, is none of your business. Suffice to say, his paymasters are among our many enemies, intent on creating disorder and destabilizing us. He must be caught, before he kills again. It is imperative.,Äù
,ÄúSo why bother me? You have a whole, deniable department within the Homeland Security to let you deal with this. I'm sure you have people who know how to ask the right sort of questions and deposit payments in order for information.,Äù
,ÄúBecause you are already involved. There are also other factors. Despite how dangerous the assassin is, I cannot...afford...to uncover my informants and endanger infiltrated agents in the hunt for him. Apparently, there are larger issues and concerns that need to be taken into account.,Äù He said the last part with particular venom, as if there were orders from above he resented. ,ÄúYou however, can act as a free agent, as it were. Your actions will be unknown and unlogged. You can use your own sources without oversight.,Äù He paused, as if to catch breath. ,ÄúOne more thing, Cain,Äù, he added, ,Äúyou must bring him in alive. I don't care much beyond that, but he has to be able to think and speak properly. We need to be able to put the needles in him and find out for certain who his clients are and how he contacts them.,Äù
,ÄúAlright,,Äù I replied, ,Äúhowever, I have conditions in return. Firstly, you will transfer money to an account in the Cayman Isles. I want that transfer to happen in minutes, 5 to be exact. I will make one call to confirm capture, one to confirm my account, so don't bother trying to trace me. If I don't get my money, the next telephone call you will receive will be to listen to the gunshot I use to blow your assassin's head off, the one you want alive so badly.,Äù
,ÄúYour condition is understood. How much money are we talking here?,Äù
,ÄúThree quarters of a million dollars. I'll give you the account number down the phone. Remember, thats cheap. Bin Laden still has $25 million on his head. I'm sure you have the authority to release such funds.,Äù
,ÄúIt...will be done. What is your other condition?,Äù
,ÄúWhen you let me out of here, give me that gun. I'm not leaving my fingerprints on anything in your possession, for you to use against me later. Besides, it looks quite a good weapon.,Äù

20 minutes later, I was let out of a black car onto a main street. After my chat with Vasily, I had been blindfolded, then bundled into a car. Whoever had been driving it had helped me out, untied my hands, then sped off before I had taken the blindfold off.

Something had also been shoved into my pocket, too. Picking it out, I opened a sealed envelope, which held a pass card inside, along with a handwritten note. An address, with a postscript beneath saying ,Äúone use card only.,Äù It certainly looked flimsy enough for just that, I thought as I ran a finger along the card strip. I put it back in my pocket, then rearranged the pistol in my waistband.

Whatever they had used on me in there had knocked me about badly. I didn't think it was amytals or anything like that, but I didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know what time it was. My mind's balance had been restored, but not my physical movements. I could feel bile rising in my stomach, making me feel ill, as I fought to keep standing. With some effort, I forced myself back upright and to walk onwards.

It took some time, but I was back. Whatever mental clarity I had regained after the drugs and talk with Vasily had left me again, after the mental torture of walking though the neon haze of the City at night. The weird graffiti of the cults of the Elder Gods, mixing and covering the more normal tags of the City gangs, all bathed in an unnatural yellow light. At the same time, the subhuman animals that roamed the streets on two legs, addicted to things that made meth seem like a responsible hobby and desperate for cash or sex. Or feeling at all. All while the jagged architecture tormented the average mind, its twisted shapes distorting distance and shape, making the eyes water and the brain fray.

Not bothering to change, I collapsed onto the old lounge I had in my apartment, just wanting to sleep. Rest was a weapon and I needed all the help I could get right now.

Intermission #1

The sickly orange glow from the street lights here was sparse, spread far out as they were.  Perhaps thats why no-one had noticed the man in dark grey moving from rooftop and alleyway towards his unknown destination.  His movements were catlike, sharp and precise, but with fluidity that suggested excellent control and strength.  

Making his way up a flight of fire escape steps, he paused just briefly.  Here he was close to a main road, but the time of night meant there was little noise.  Shrugging, he opened the door at the top and went in.  After closing the door, he inspected the room.  Apart from one battered wooden table, on which rested a black dufflebag, it was totally bare.  Moving into the next room, he carefully observed its layout.  Moving towards the window looking out onto the street, a cold smile appeared on his face.  He moved back into the back room and undid the bag.  He hefted out what essentially looked like a long metallic pipe, nearly a metre in length.  Putting it carefully down by his side, he reached into the side pocket and picked out another far smaller metallic item.  It was also shaped oddly, not long when compared to its width or height, but with the distinctive look of something deadly.

Carrying them into the other room, he waited.

15 minutes later, the sound of a car could be heard on the main street.  Coming through the night like some tortured creature of metal, the vehicle turned the corner and moved along the streets with some speed.  Its make was hard to tell in the gloom, but there was no mistaking it was an expensive machine.

Shifting his hand to his cell, the man punched a short sequence of keys, much shorter that would be used for a phone number.  As the car drove past the window, a number of things happened very quickly.

Firstly, the driver swerved and narrowly avoided crashing into a building on the side of the road.  This was because there has been a searing flash of light.  Although he didn't know it, a dustbin which had been placed there earlier and stocked with Semtex had been detonated remotely.  As his sight recovered and he turned the vehicle around, he never even noticed the flash of light from the street window as the assassin fired an RPG round into the vehicle, instantly killing the driver and his two passengers.

As he packed his material up and wiped to remove prints, he did one final thing.  By the window where the shot was fired, he laid down a black piece of material and stuck it to the floor with a highly intricate dagger, whose design had not been seen in the west for 700 years, never before in the Americas.  Working it into the floor, the cold grin came back and he left the building.

I woke up mid-afternoon, though I had slept badly all night and morning.  My back and head ached.  I didn't even want to think about my throat.  It felt like something had crawled into my mouth and died, possibly my tongue.

Making coffee, I switched on the TV and in a time honoured tradition, flicked it onto the nearest news channel.  Nothing, FCNN was reporting some rubbish about some tart off some TV contest.  Another bullshit feature.  I looked at the clock, clearing my eyes.  It was close to the hour, but if something drastic was happening, I would find out soon enough, anyway.  Trying to concentrate, I uncovered a pen and notepad from a pile of debris on my coffee table.  I had to start thinking...

Half an hour later, I made purchases in various stores.  Nylon rope, a lighter, a couple of hunting knives, a spool of 75 pound-test fishing line, a penlight and two other things.  The first was easy.

,ÄúHow many,Äù asked the man behind the counter.  His look put me in mind of the Comic store Guy from The Simpsons.  Overweight, sweating slightly and with an overall grubby demeanour.  I thought a moment, then answered ,Äú4 clips should do the trick.  Just some backup, you never know, with the gangs and cultists around the place, right?,Äù
,ÄúAbsolutely,Äù he replied, his head buried in a box behind the counter.  ,ÄúI heard some of the cultists got hold of a young gal, last week, college student or something.  Well, you can imagine the uproar.  With parents rich enough to get her that sort of education, the merc's were real keen to get ahold of them.  Too late sadly, found her with her cut throat, blood everywhere, the usual mess...Ah, here we are,Äù he proclaimed as he lifted a box with the clips up and onto the counter.  ,ÄúYour papers are in check, I guess?,Äù
,ÄúOf course,Äù I lied.  It didn't matter either way.  Gun control was next to nonexistent.  There was little point anyway.  The new ranges of portable ,Äúnonlethal,Äù weapons and nerve disruptors meant a mere gun was a toy.  Antiquated, in a way.  Still useful, but not the be all and end all of an argument.  
,ÄúAnything else I can do you for?,Äù he asked as I took a bill off my roll and handed it to him.
,ÄúActually, there was one thing I would like, if you can find it.  I'm willing to be generous.,Äù
,ÄúHold on a moment, just while I shut up shop for a moment.  Would you like to come into the back room...?,Äù

20 minutes later, I left with an phone number to call.  What I wanted was a tranquilizer pistol, just in case.  A useful item, often employed by vets, I could load a dart with the drug of my choice on the tip and fire it into an unsuspecting target.  Midazolam would be a good choice, my reading had suggested.  Very fast onset, but didn't last too long.  A little went a long way, too.  That would be something to negotiate with my supplier, however.

I walked out under the grey sky and thought about why I had been asked to go to the facility where the photograph was taken.  Its not like there would be anything that Section 27 couldn't handle for themselves...was there?

I knew that wasn't strictly true.  Where government and business meet, its a storm of corruption.  The employees of Government Inc may be asked to solve a crime, but the employees of the Corporation, in the Senate, would be told in no uncertain terms about where the limits in investigation lay.  You didn't mess with the Corporation.  They weren't likely to take infringement of their sovereignty lightly, whoever was doing it.  I remember seeing the tapes of 'the Accident', the ones which had been watching from a distance, of course.  The ones close up were mangled by an EMP blast from a crowd control weapon, so it was said.  Among those keeping the peace on that day had been the blacksuited soldiers of the ever increasing private military companies.  Ex-special and elite forces, mostly, armed with the best weapons money could buy.  And special forces are of course highly trained at crowd control, everyone knew that.

So I made the call and met the vet in a bar.  I slipped him what he wanted under the table and he got up and left, leaving his briefcase.  Putting my back to the wall, I flipped it open, checked quickly and snapped it shut again.  I was good to go.

It was getting dark as I walked silently, head bowed down, on the way to the address on the scrap of paper I had been given.  It wasn't far, 20 minutes or so now...

The building rose out of the darkness to my left, an oddly shaped place.  As I turned in through the gates, the only entrance, with the rest protected by triple fenced barbed wire, I realized why.  The curve of the L shaped block was turned towards the street, the rest shrouded in darkness.  The parking lot was mostly empty, as befitted the late hour.  I tried to picture in my mind where the picture was taken from as I walked up to the only visible entrance.

Taking the card out, I slid it through the scanner.  As it exited the slot, I heard a slight click and hiss.  I looked at the magnetic strip, it had been destroyed.  Still, the light turned green and I was admitted inside.

The building turned out to be largely unmarked and filled with dark corridors, a light shining down about every 30 metres or so.  No markings on the doors.  Where the hell had I been sent?  I eventually found my way to some sort of lobby, after about 20 minutes or so.  I still hadn't seen a single living soul since entering.  I moved my head left to right, looking for the signs of something living.  Nothing.  There where what looked like elevators though, off to the right.  I walked up to the closest one, pressed a button then stood aside, so that I wasn't in front of the door.  It took about three seconds before I heard the ,Äúding,Äù as the doors opened.

No-one inside.  This was very odd.  I walked in and looked at the buttons.  I thought about the angle of the camera shot and decided it had to be somewhere between 8-10 stories up.  I went for the lowest and waited.  As the machine rumbled up, I drew the hunting knife from my pocket and got a good grip on it.  I nestled into the corner where the control pad was and waited until the destination was reached.  I was just about hidden, certainly enough to engage someone's curiosity to the point of entering.  But no-one did.  I spun out, slashing the blade down in a line in front of me.  

Still nothing!  This had to be either a Government Inc or Corporation building, right?  The security that Section 27 could get hold of, the unmarked corridors, it had all the hallmarks.  And these places never stopped either, night or day made no difference under the pale orange lights.  So where was everyone?  There had to be at least guards, damnit.

I kept the knife out, just in case.  This place was quiet and if I needed to deal with anyone it had to be quietly, though I hoped it wouldn't come to that.  I looked out the window, then took the tattered photo from my inside pocket.  Close, but not quite right.  Perhaps if I went up a little further...

10 minutes later, I had made it to the bend in the building.  Bingo, a precise match.  You could just see how the other half of the building was in the picture, the angle that the wall went down at behind the man in the photo.  Whoever had taken the photo had taken it from this area.  As I had expected, there was nothing there.  I turned my back on the window, I rested my legs a moment and looked about.

There was only one office door here.  Well, I assumed they were offices, though they looked rather large.  They may not have been.  Moving towards it, the door didn't seem to have a lock on it.  Moving aside, I used my elbow to knock it open.  The lights came on, but nothing else happened.  Must've been an automated system.  I walked into what looked like a very messy and large office.  Over in the corner I could see some sort of projector and there were many tables with paper strewn all over them.  I picked one up, seemed to be some pretty heavy physics, until I started to catch words in the text like ,ÄúPlato's cave,Äù, ,ÄúMonadic Plane,Äù and ,ÄúAsiyah,Äù.  Those were metaphysical references.  Why would they be included?  Beneath them was a number of translations from a Sumerian tablet, which apparently had been unearthed and seized by the US military in Iraq.

I continued through several papers on bizarre and arcane subjects until I finally found a folder clipped together with a name on it.  Dr Jane Green.  That would have to do.  From her, perhaps I could find out who was on the team in there and so who took the photo.  It was still the only lead I had.

I was still buzzing from the successful break-in of the...whatever it was I had broken into.  Research Institute, I suppose.  Anyway, I wasn't quite sleepy yet, and being happy with my current progress, I decided to grab a drink.  At this time, it would only be dives that were open, but that was OK.  A couple of scotchs, somewhere to sit and some music would do me fine.  If I was to head north, then skirt around the East Quadrant, then I could cut 15 minutes off...

I was 10 minutes into my walk when I saw some shadows in the distance.  In the otherworldly lighting of the streets and the greyness of the night, their black clothing stood out.  Most people thought black didn't show up in the dark, but they were wrong.  There is always ambient light of some sort, not to mention the synthetic blackness of clothing is too dark, to refined and so picked up by the eyes.  I made a shrugging movement as they came closer, causing the garrote to slip into my palm, as my other hand held the gun in my coat pocket.  Nothing wrong with being safe, after all.

,ÄúWhat are you doing out at this hour?,Äù a martial voice demanded.  My grip on the pistol, if anything, tightened.  Either cops or those bastard mercs who pretend to be them.  I looked to the one who had spoken, a man in his mid-40s in a black ,Äúuniform,Äù, gun slung over his shoulder and a pistol on his waist.
,ÄúNone of your damn business, rent-a-cop,Äù I replied, irritable at this interruption.  ,ÄúIts been a long day and I want to go to bar.  I know thats not a crime, so get the hell out of my way.,Äù I started to step forward as a younger blond man grabbed me by the shoulder and slammed me into the wall.
He spun me around and said ,Äúits been a crime since curfew was declared by the Governor this morning, you cocky Limey bastard.  Because some raghead terrorist whacked Congressman Keating last night!,Äù

Curfew?  There hasn't been a curfew in years, not since the Corporation held the majority stock in Government Inc, at least.  They interfered with business, for starters.  The assassination was not good news either.  Not that I knew who the politician was, but that wasn't the point.  The younger man stood back, grinning at my obvious discomfort at this news.  I decided to put my hands up, slowly.  ,ÄúOK, we know how this goes,,Äù I said slowly.  ,ÄúI'm unarmed and outnumbered and have just had a nasty shock.  So you don't give me time to recover.  You throw me off balance, arrest me and process me for the fine in the morning.  You make it quick and simple and above all you don't stand so close so I can grab your trigger arm like this, and twist it like this until it nearly breaks and grab your machine pistol and put it to your head like this.,Äù  I straightened up, pushing the barrel harder into the blond man's temple.

,ÄúYou may want to put your weapons down gentlemen, nice and carefully.  I get nervous if people move fast around me.  Good, and your knives and CS spray too.  I'm not stupid, you know.  Good, now up this street, yeah, up here.  Right, now me and my new bestest buddy here are going to over to this nice dark alleyway here.  By the time you get your weapons, and I really suggest you have a weapon if you intend to follow me, I'll be far away from here.  Any questions?  Excellent."  

I kicked the back of the knee out of the mercenary in my grasp, clubbed his head with the pistol, then ran up the alleyway.  I then zig-zagged through several more until I was a good distance away.  Fortunately, this bought me further away from the Eastern Quadrant and its overzealous attack dogs and closer to alcoholic bliss.  Sure, it was false Slack.  But it would do, for now.

This assassination though, that was troubling news.  Was it the fault of the man I was after?  And who are his backers, his employers, if so?  This was becoming dangerously complicated.  Vasily would pay for it, if that happened to be the case in the near future.  Yes, there was more than one way to skin a cat, especially if casual cruelty was your thing.  Once the mark was in my hands, I held all the cards.  Hell, if I found out the employers names, I could double or triple my price, no problem.  I may even give LMNO a cut, for his putting me on this case.  

Of course, this was all academic, not to mention the fatigue talking.  The show had hardly even begun yet...

After checking ten or so phone booths, I finally found one which was not only working but also had a phone book listing in it.  One that wasn't burnt, destroyed, ripped in half, pissed on or being used to house a colony of cockroaches, that is.

Glancing along the street, I turned to the paper book and quickly turned the pages to E...F...and G.  Green, Green, where was it?  After going past several hundred commercial listings under that name I finally got the residential listings.  

There were three J. Greens in the book.

Damn!  I slammed a hand against the glass, making the booth shake worryingly.  I checked my watch.  4:30 am, early morning. If I was to call, there was hardly a viable cover story I could use.  But then again, why would I need one?  They would only trace the calls here and I could easily confirm the name without giving away my purpose.

The first number was for an address in the East Quadrant...4 rings and an irate man came on the phone shouting.  Misfire one.  The second was in the rundown West Quadrant, a woman but one who didn't respond to the name of Jane.  Misfire two...which left one last number.

I checked the number, then made a call to the operators.  One of the good things about this hell hole was that it never really slept and even with a curfew on you could expect the operators to be still working away.  After all, how else could the NSA get its information 24/7?
,ÄúHello, how may I help you?,Äù came the cheery female voice on the end of the line.  I instantly decided I hated her, for being so upbeat at an appalling time of day.
,ÄúHello, yes, I was wondering if you could help me with something?  I was at a meeting for my company with a certain Dr Jane Green the other day.  The meeting went on quite late and she must have been tired because when she went to leave, her purse was left in the room.  Fortunately, she gave me a home a number, but not an address I can return it to.  Could you provide me with it, please?,Äù
,ÄúCertainly sir, just read the numbers out for me.,Äù

The house number was faintly visible on my hand, even at this hour, as I plodded my steady way through the streets, ducking in and out of alleys at the sound of boots and voices.  They'd have to stop being so keen at 6am, I thought.  Milkmen, postal workers, teachers and other strange things who have to rise early would have to be let out soon.  I walked on.

The good doctor's house had turned out to be in the old part of the western quadrant of the City, a place I didn't go to often.  There were mostly students and others who didn't earn much and had little choice to be anywhere else, but had too much to lose by going into the slums.  Still, I liked it.  The houses were nice, even if the terraces gave a sense of uniformity and there wasn't a green patch in sight.  The house itself was a three story terrace, about 100 years old.  I watched it from across the street, while pacing and holding my cell to my ear.  Reaching the end of the street, I crossed sides, then made my up again.  Just in case anyone was watching, though they'd have to be insane to be up at this hour.

As I was I.  With every step I could feel the mental fatigue from being awake too long, how my head would fall and my eyelids conspire to shut when I wasn't concentrated on them.  Hopefully I could question her quickly and get to a bed somewhere.  Or at least a black coffee.

But I got a rush of adrenaline when I saw the door.  You couldn't tell from a distance, but up close it was clearly open, if only a tiny bit.  There was also a red handprint on the door, just below the handle.  Blood?  I slipped the pistol out of its holster and made sure both the dart gun and my knife where within quick reach.  Moving lowly and slow, I pressed the door open with my elbow, then pulled it open, quickly spinning around, my fist in front of me.  Anyone behind that door would have had a flat nose, but there was nothing but the faint noise of my feet spinning on the carpet.

I was in a hallway, basically, or a reception room, with a flight of stairs ahead of me and some rooms leading off to the left and right.  The only other thing in here was a desk with a phone and lamp on it, the phone off the hook and unplugged.  I slipped into what turned out to be the kitchen, where again there was nothing and no-one.  Same for the living room.  There were more signs of someone having been here though, such as the fridge door being left open.  Milk was fresh too, she must've been here only a day or so ago.

And perhaps still here now.  That blood, or whatever it was, didn't look too dry when I had come in, though I hadn't been too close.  Well, there was one way of checking that.  I looked at the stairs and where they curved to go to the second floor.  It was quite conceivable that someone stood over here, to the left of where I had entered, could see someone coming down the stairs before being spotted themselves.  I decided it was worth testing this theory.  Taking the lamp from its place on the table, I pulled the plug, then lifted and smashed it on the floor as hard as I could.  I then took up my position by the stairs, waiting.

It turned out to be a short one.  Within half a minute, footsteps could be heard and a few seconds later, I could see a pair of legs on the stairs.  That they had stopped, presumably looking for what had caused the lamp to fall, was a bonus.  I took aim and fired a single round through the nearest leg, the muscle on the back.  The shot sounded like a small spit or cough in the silence of the place and the man fell head first down the stairs.

Rushing to the prone figure, I kicked the gun out of his hands and put my own barrel to his temple.  ,ÄúStart talking,ÄùI whispered.  ,ÄúHow many, how well armed and where are they?,Äù
,ÄúI'll shout,Äù he whispered ,Äúand they'll come running for me.,Äù
,ÄúI'll pull my trigger.  Shall we have a race?  Now, how many?,Äù
He sagged.  ,ÄúThree.  Two pistols and a shotgun.  One on the second floor stairs, two on the top floor,Äù
,ÄúThank you,Äù I whispered as I crashed his head hard into the stair.  Grabbing the cord from the broken lamp, I tied him up well.  The phone cord went in as a gag, just as an extra precaution.  I gave my captive an extra look.  He didn't seem your average thug for hire.  Too scrawny, for starters.  Bad teeth and breath, too.  A drug addict?  No, you'd have to be crazy to give a tweaker or junkie a gun.  Oh well, no accounting for bad hiring.

Taking the steps, I climbed quietly.  This fortunately was made very easy by the sturdiness of the wooden beams, which were thick, solid and barely made a noise as I moved along them.  Up on the second floor, the stairs twisted away to the right again, giving me a corner and so some advantage, if I wanted to take the sentry by surprise.  I thought as to what I could use to draw him down here, trap him and incapacitate him so I could take the final two and find out what was happening.  I slipped the slim penlight out, along with the hunting knife by my heel.  Holding it at an angle where it would shine around the corner, I made a quick series of flashes off the blade.  Short short short.  Long, long, long.  Short sort short.  That should get his attention, at least.

I could hear footsteps on the stairs, so I shoved the light into my belt and waited.  He turned the corner, gun first, but I was ready.  I grabbed the wrist and slammed it against the wall, then used it to pin him in place as I slashed him on the bicep, then put the knife to his neck.
,ÄúShut the fuck up or you die here!,ÄùI hissed as he moaned over the cut on his arm.  I then drove my knee into his groin and hit him with my fist on the back of the head as he bent double, grabbing him to stop his large frame from smashing into the floor.  Only two left.

Looking up the staircase, it was probable they were in the closest door at the top.  I needed a distraction, something to flush them out, panic and confuse them so I could remove one in the chaos and take the other.  I checked my pockets, hoping someone had slipped me a grenade or similar earlier.  Nope.  But I did have a lighter...

Going back down, I checked the rooms, looking for all the paper I could find.  Gabbing several sheets, I twisted it into a ball.  By now, the two men upstairs had to be expecting some sort of attack, now their sentry was removed.  But they were very mistaken if they thought I was stupid enough to try and barge through the door.  Back on the stairs, I made a final last effort to be totally silent, testing each inch of floorboard before committing my weight to the move.  It was painful and incredibly slow, but I made it to the door.  Holding the lighter, the paper caught on fire quickly.  Holding it for a few seconds to allow it to grow, I shoved the door open, threw it in and shut it again, before moving back down to the corner.

I didn't even have to wait a second for a reaction.  I could hear scrabbling in the room, a couple of thuds, and then the door opened as the first man emerged.  I already had the dart pistol set up and fired the shot, catching him on the shoulder.  Damn.  I swung round the corner, reloaded the difficult weapon and came back.  This time he was much closer, coming down the stairs.  Yes!  A shot on the neck made him stop to swat at the irritation, but slip, then fall asleep on the floor.  I holstered the item and took out my other pistol, as the second man was most likely the one with the shotgun.

Where was he?  Smoke was billowing out as I made my way up.  Suddenly, without warning, a shape was thrust out of the darkness.  A woman, coughing and weak, falling down as she tried to make her way to the stairs.  Then the first shot rang out.  I ducked right as plaster came off the walls and the woman tried to scrabble to safety.  Thats when he came out, a bandanna across his face and his eyes barely open, but with the weapon in his hands.  He was looking at the woman when I fired my first shot, then charged.  The bullet missed by a fair few inches, I guessed, but it was the distraction I needed as I tackled him, bearing him down and grabbing the shotgun, my own weapon dropped and forgotten.  He savagely kicked me in the stomach and elbowed me, nearly making me lose grip on the firearm.  Lifting it high, I pulled us both back against the wall, the barrel now crushing into his neck, the butt closest to me.  Another elbow, this time a glancing blow, but to the jaw.  I slipped, releasing the pressure on him as he grabbed the barrel firmly and jabbed the gun into me, causing me to fall down.  I had to get rid of the gun, to break the deadlock.  Kicking out at his shins, I twisted onto my front, slipping the weapon out of his hands!  Using the momentum, I threw it down the stairs, while I checked for my knife.  I was bleeding and in pain, but I could take the advantage here!

Thats when I noticed he had picked up my pistol.  He backed up, closing the door and stopping the choking smoke moving out to our own battle.  He was too far away.  A single move and he could and would hit me.  I kept the knife in my hand though, a hollow but present threat.  This was very bad.  He pointed the gun right at me, then suddenly moved and fired!  I didn't need to be an expert to tell the woman on the floor was now dead, not with the giant hole in her head anyway.  And apart from the second shot ringing out, thats all I could remember.

Chapter 2

I woke up, my body in much pain.  I couldn't remember anything.  My head felt like it was filled with lead.  The thoughts came slowly, even if the nerves in the rest of me were working with distressing efficiency.  I tried to move my hand, but found I couldn't.  No, not that I couldn't, I could feel it and move my fingers, but something was stopping it doing any more.  My feet, when I tried, were the same.  I came to a slow realization: I was tied to a chair.  I could also feel a very sharp thin line of pain along my neck.  What had caused that?  A bullet?

Then the memories came back.

After a while, I don't know how long, a felt a presence in the room.  I might have even been asleep, only woken by its presence.  A strong hand grabbed me by the jaw roughly and turned my face to his.  He wore a black ski mask, so I couldn't see who he was.
,ÄúWho sent you?,Äù
,ÄúWhat?,Äù
,ÄúWho sent you?,Äù
,ÄúNo-one.,Äù
A crack, as he hit me hard, nearly making the chair fall on his side.  My face hurting like hell, he then left.

About an hour, maybe two later, a man came back in again.  I don't know if it was the same one or another.  This time he didn't ask questions.  He first punched me in the stomach, nearly winding me.  Then another series of blows to the chest, where it felt like he was breaking the ribs one by one.  He stopped for a moment, to catch his breath.  Then he drew a long, thin bladed knife.  He ran the tip along my jaw, before bringing it away then down on my shoulder.  ,ÄúAaaaaarrgghh!,Äù I cried, unable to keep silent any longer.  He then ran it down my arm, stopping near the elbow and slowly, like a sadist, sinking the weapon into my flesh.  Into my arm.  He then punched me again across the face and went.

Again, some time later, the man was back in.  I knew it was the first one, it was the same voice, low and cold, always even and uncaring.
,ÄúAgain, who sent you?,Äù
Silence.  I knew, no matter how much pain I was in, that the information he wanted was possibly the only thing keeping me alive.  He could know, or think or have guessed.  But he'll want to confirm, to be certain.  It was all a matter of how long I could last.
,ÄúIf you're hoping your silence will buy time for a rescue, don't bother.  Its been nearly a day, I very much doubt you have backup or they know that you're here.  So, tell me who sent you and let this end.,Äù
Again, nothing from me.  He sighed, then left.

But I was more alert now, I could feel it.  I didn't feel sleepy and my thoughts were coming faster.  Backup...backup.  No, there wouldn't be help coming from the NSRA, or the Law Enforcement Forces, or even Vasily and his own secretive unit.  But there was some backup he didn't know about.  I twisted through the nylon rope ,Äì my own rope, the bastards! - feeling for my own backup.  It hadn't been intended for a situation like this.  But there were always times you couldn't carry or had a weapon taken away from you and I had done this with that in mind.  Sewn into the material of my sleeve was a razor blade, nothing fancy, very small and only a minor advantage, when all is said and done.  But it was a weapon they didn't know I had.  One slash in the dark...

After twenty minutes and several cuts, I managed to rip the item from the safety of the sleeve.  Cradling it in my bloody fingers, I started to cut into the rope.  My own blood had already made the rope slippery, but there was no other way I could get it off.  I kept working, one small cut after another...

Half an hour and it was done!  My hands, battered, bruised and bloody as they were, had been freed!  I started on my legs, now able to make cuts far better and with more speed.  In ten minutes, I was totally free.  But now what?   Standing up, it was obvious how weak I was.  Unless I took my torturer by surprise, he/they would kill me easily.  Sitting back down, I looped the rope around me, making it look like I was tied, but leaving my free to attack.  My hands behind me, I looped the rope to make a garrote.  As soon as he lent down to continue his work on me, I would take him.

I didn't have long to wait.  He walked in, again with the thin bladed knife in his belt, ready to torture me further.  I waited until he was near me, then whispered ,Äúno more, I'll talk.,Äù
,ÄúAlright then,Äù said the voice.  A different man.  Not the questioner.  No matter.  I whispered something so low he could barely hear.  He lent closer, as my hands flew up and wrapped the rope around his neck.  I stood up, putting the man in an unusual crouching position as I kicked the chair back.  He tried to grab me, but I reversed my grip and moved behind him.  He tried to crash us both into the wall behind me, but I kicked out his legs before he did so.  As he laid on the floor, I made sure the garrote did its nasty work, until I was certain he wasn't going to be getting up again.  I took the knife and the gun he had hidden by his ankle.

It was the same house, the one where I had carried out my ill fated assault.  It was silent.  Still, I couldn't take the risk.  There was at least two bodies in here, where I had been for about a day.  Maybe longer I though, as I saw a ray of sunlight over a closed curtain.  I limped my way into the kitchen, the gun held in front of me all the way, my other hand holding me up as I tried to block out the pain.  Looking, I saw what I had hoped and prayed for.  Gas cookers and a toaster.  The second wasn't necessary, but it made my life a lot easier.  I checked there were no naked flames already in the room, then turned the gas stoves on full, letting the strange smell of the gas fill the air.  Taking the toaster, I rooted again through the room until I found some paper.  Plugging it in and turning it on full, I took the scrunched up paper and put it in, then hobbled quickly out.

Kicking the door open, without bothering to check if it was locked, I moved out into the street and the sunlight, immediately lurching to the left.  I had to move fast.  Even though it was daylight, I noted something odd in this street, a suspicious lack of people.  A curious amount of cars with full passengers parked on the street, for example.  Then, a single engine.  I was still moving as fast as my injuries would let me as I saw it screech around the corner.  Suddenly, the people in the cars started to get out.  With weapons in hand, rifles and machine guns.  They opened fire on the car without hesitation, just as the house decided to blow.  As the explosion ripped the heart out of the street, the men turned and ran, or made back for their cars.  The black car they had been shooting at reversed at high speed and vanished from sight, with the others following soon.  And me, hiding in the alleyway, the initiator of the chaos that had engulfed the mysterious warring parties, collapsed as the events of the last day took their final toll.

I was getting almost used to waking up in odd places now.  I felt the softness of the bed, while keeping my eyes closed and breath steady.  There was no telling where I was, or what would happen if I opened my eyes.
,ÄúHe's awake.,Äù  A womans voice.
,ÄúHow can you tell?  I realize I may regret asking that.,Äù A man, somewhat old, his voice slow and calm.
,ÄúNever you mind. Come on Cain, you can end this charade, open your eyes.,Äù
I sighed, then did so, bracing myself for the worst of it.  The room was dimly lit and I seemed to have been dragged to a bed.  A good start.  I looked to my right, to see who my rescuers were.

The man was unknown.  But the woman definitely was.  Damn...
,ÄúHow are you feeling?,Äù the man directed at me.  ,ÄúThe bullet went clean through your neck  and its lucky for you it did.  A centimeter either way and you wouldn't be able to speak or move, assuming you would still live.  That penetration on your left forearm was nasty too, but I cleaned it out.  Should take about a week for both to heal enough for any rigorous movement to be allowed.  Apart from that, its mostly bruises and minor cuts, which only time will deal with, I'm afraid.  Try to keep neck movements to a minimum, and make them slow if you have to make them at all.,Äù
,ÄúThank you doctor, that will be all,Äù the woman said, while ushering him to the door.  He looked to her briefly, back at me, then left.
,ÄúA good doctor,Äù she said.  ,ÄúUnfortunately, he made complaints about the side effects of a cancer treatment drug backed by the Corporation labs and so lost his medical license.  Such a shame, really.,Äù  She crossed her arms and looked at me.

Alice Delyrn.  That was it.  The name had been waiting to surface, swishing around the back of my head since I had seen her.
,ÄúWhen did you get back to town?,Äù I asked.  ,ÄúLast I heard, you were involved in a deal that went bad south of the border, arranging something for a Columbian client.,Äù
A shadow fell over her face.  ,ÄúLets just say, to use a tired clich?©, the rumours of my death were greatly exaggerated.  Even so, it cost me a lot to get back here.  But this isn't about my doings, its about yours.  Seems you've been very busy indeed,Äù she finished, getting back on track.
,ÄúGet to the point, please?  I know you didn't bring me here out of the goodness of your heart, mostly because you don't have a heart.,Äù
Her eyes flickered, as if my accusation had hit a point, then she turned the cold blue stare back on.  ,ÄúAs it happens, I know a lot more about the man you are hunting than you do.  In my capacity as a broker, I hear lots of things, from lots of separate people-,Äù
,ÄúBroker?  Don't flatter yourself Delyrn, you're a fence, pure and simple.  You'll sell or buy anything if its got enough value, no matter if its gems, weapons or information.,Äù
,ÄúAnd yet I live in comparative luxury, while you have to scrounge for the scraps the scum are willing to give you in return for their dirty work.  Not so simple, eh?  Now, back to the point.  I've heard things, about your man and his clients.  But, if you want them, its going to cost you.,Äù
I rolled my eyes.  ,ÄúWhat doesn't in this place?  But tell me, how do you know and why are you so interested?  You could forward the information to any party, get what you want to be paid.  Why me?,Äù
,ÄúThere are some things I can't tell you Cain.  I'm only relaying a message myself here.  I found you and they contacted me.  You are the only person to have seen the assassin up close, not to mention the only person to escape that house alive, other than your captor.  My employers can help you, but the help comes with a price tag attached.  Its them or no-one.  Who else can you turn to for help?  Besides, they are rather busy with other matters at the moment.  You were laid out here for several days, you aren't up on current events.  While this killer worries them, they have other priorities and they come first.,Äù
,ÄúYou're treading a thin line here...I dislike being manipulated, by anyone.  And who are these oh so mysterious employers of yours, anyway?,Äù
,ÄúI don't know, thats what worries me.  They contacted me via relays, contacts who are nobodies, hired by other nobodies.  I hear things, but nothing is certain.  However, I am certain that they are behind some of the recent events, from things I have been told by the contacts themselves.,Äù
,ÄúWhat recent events?  You're being far too cryptic here, give me something solid, something I know isn't a scam or hoax.,Äù
,ÄúAlright then.  Congressman Keating's assassination was the start of a wave of organized crime killings across the City.  A prominent Chinese banker was blown up in his car the morning of your assault.  A ship caught on fire in the harbour and was abandoned ,Äì the word is that they were weapons being imported from Iran via South America.  Several gang leaders known to be heavily involved in the synergistic drugs trade were killed within hours of each other, gunned down in the street, their flats blown up, bombs in their cars, knifed, poisoned and one even had his throat ripped out by his own dog, which had been fed a drug making it go into a murderous rage.  A man high up in the Cosa Nostra was found dead with a golden dagger of unusual design next to his slashed throat, while 3 members of the Columbian Consulate were found crucified and hung from lamp posts.  Shall I go on?,Äù
,ÄúNo, no thanks.  I think I get the gist.  But I think you may be wrong in laying the blame with organized crime.,Äù
,ÄúWhy?,Äù
,ÄúWhen killers start blowing each other up, they lose out.  Informants start crawling out of the woodwork, fearing they might be the next corpse.  One of the main players behind this is something else, not a crime network.,Äù
,ÄúIf you say so.  So are, you interested?,Äù
,ÄúDo I have any other choice?,Äù
,ÄúNo.  There is no one else you can turn to and the trail has gone cold.  Its me or nothing.,Äù
,ÄúFine then.  How much?,Äù
,Äú$250,000, in cash.,Äù
,Äú$250,000?  Are you insane?  Just where am I meant to get that sort of money?,Äù
,ÄúI was under the impression you had made a deal whereby you would get three times that amount for capturing your man.  Perhaps you could ask for an advance payment?,Äù
,ÄúSince you know about my deal, then you know that the DHS won't pay in advance for anything.  I have to have him in my hands to get paid.,Äù
,ÄúYou realize they plan to kill you, right?,Äù
,ÄúPlease, I'm not stupid.  I know what Section 27 is.  The best of every other service, supposedly taken under DHS control for cross service training and liaison.  I'm sure they have a few FBI who know only too well how to deal with kidnap situations.  But I have a way of dealing with that.  Offshore accounts are so useful, no wonder so many Americans have them nowadays.  Much safer too, what with the robberies of late.,Äù
,ÄúAnyway, back to the cash.  Once you have it, you will meet with me and I will furnish you with further instructions about what to do.  There is no use in trying to threaten me or break into my current lodgings, because I don't have them on me and wont get them until you give me the money.  Since you seem somewhat strapped for cash, I'll lend a helping hand.  There is a man down in a bar on the Strip, called The Screeching Parrot.  He answers to the name of Ethan Beowulf, ask the barman there to see him, that you have a message.  He could someone of your skills, I think, and will be willing to pay well for it.,Äù
,ÄúThe Strip?  Damn, you have to be a goddamn freak to be able to operate down there.  I assume you have the gun I was carrying downstairs or something?,Äù
,ÄúBetter, I have the weapons you went in with.  At least, I assume its them.  They were dumped in a bin in a plastic bag, by someone in a hurry.  Where did a Limey like you learn to shoot, anyway?,Äù
,ÄúBasra, unfortunately.  I'd rather not talk about it.  I assume I'm free to go?,Äù
,ÄúOf course. You may want to take the doctor's advice and go slowly.  Oh, you,Äôll be glad to hear that whatever happened in that house, the merc,Äôs and police are not interested in investigating.  Too much hard work, so you,Äôre pretty much free to move around as you want.  And don't come back here without the cash.  Quarter of a million or nothing.  Goodbye Cain.,Äù

::raises hand::


Oooh!  I know!  I know!


I know who's behind this!



LMNO
-Not telling.




PS - Keep up the good work, Cain.

Thanks.

And I dont know, so how do you?   :lol:

Because it's the same, wherever you go...



IT'S TEH JOOOOOOOOOOWS!

I lost my special Blame teh J00s textfile.  :(

First thing was first, I needed to talk with Vasily. This was going to far too fast, and that was going to cost him.

I rang the office number for the City Branch of the DHS and asked the far too helpful secretary to be put through to Vasily. ,ÄúI'm so sorry, he isn't currently in his office and his appointments schedule shows nothing. He may be overseeing field training, that can happen without warning and take him away from here. Who shall I say is calling, so he can ring you back?,Äù
,ÄúTell him its urgent, a Sixteen Hundred Alert. My name is Charles, State Department.,Äù A simple lie to get his attention. 15 seconds later, the public phone rang again.
,ÄúWho is this?,Äù
,ÄúIts Cain. You remember me, don't you? You sent me out on a little job for you, that ended up with me strapped in a chair being tortured!,Äù
,ÄúWhat...Cain? Whats going on? Why did you say your name was Charles, that this was a White House alert?,Äù
,ÄúBecause I had the feeling you might not want to talk to me. When certain people are out of bounds, they get passed onto a switchboard to be processed. I don't care to be processed by some phone drones. I want to talk to someone I know, and I know you, Vasily.,Äù
,ÄúWell I don't want to talk to you. I'm already massively overworked with the current crisis and quite frankly, if you weren't smart enough to protect yourself, that isn't my concern.,Äù
,ÄúWell then, lets talk instead about a little card used in a recent break in into a scientific research facility that has your fingerprints all over it. How does that sound?,Äù
,ÄúYou...what? Are you threatening me, you lowlife?,Äù
,ÄúYou bet your ass I am. I don't care to be strapped down and have knives shoved in me, or to be beaten within an inch of my life. You also didn't tell me that the Shadow has friends, or what he was up to at said research facility. All thats going to cost you, a lot.,Äù
,ÄúYou found out what he was up to at the research facility? You figured it out?,Äù
,ÄúNope and I don't really care. Why, is it important?
,ÄúNo...no, we just didn't know either.,Äù
He was lying, not to mention using the past tense, indicating he does now know, but I ignored it and pushed on. It could wait. ,ÄúMy costs just went up. I want 1 and a quarter million. I also want a number where I can contact you at any time, plus a get out of jail free card.,Äù
,ÄúI can't promise you the last. Its not in my powers to promise immunity.,Äù
,ÄúNo, but you can furnish me with a code word, a phrase so that in the event of my arrest I won't be sent down for a long time, but released as an agent of the DHS, helping them in the patriotic duty of protecting American security.,Äù
,ÄúAlright then, alright.,Äù He read out a string of numbers, then paused for a moment. ,ÄúTry this...if arrested and questioned, say that you were ,Äúfollowing orders from the Eagle's Nest,Äù. I'll instruct the various stations and companies of the code and to release anyone using it. And hopefully this is the last I'll have to do in my dealings with you, you treacherous scumbag.,Äù
,ÄúI love you too, Vasily. Bye now, I'll be in touch.,Äù I hung up. Now onto the Strip.

It was safe to say the Strip was not my favourite place in the world. In the worrying mix of out of control capitalism and religiously inspired theocracy which America had slipped into, any place that represented one extreme to the detriment of the other was very dangerous. The power sharing truce at the top was fragile and could swing one way or another at the moment. The religious zealots wanted to turn the City into the New Jerusalem and ,Äúpurge,Äù the ,Äúsinning elements,Äù, whereas the Corporation didn't care, so long as those sinning paid their taxes on time and consumed like everyone else. After all, even heretics have to eat.

But the Strip was a cesspool. I looked up at the warning signs as I entered, set up for the benefit of good Puritans, who would foam at the mouth if they saw someone else having a good time. Neon assaulted me from every direction, making promises to fulfill my every desire. Several new movie houses had appeared, as well as the ever changing plethora of ,Äúmassage parlours,Äù. The garish bar's names changed with their owners, on a monthly basis, but they were always known by the same names. I didn't bother to ask for directions. That would mark me immediately as an outsider, a target. Instead I started to walk more unsteadily, like someone who might've been drunk and was having trouble remembering where he was going to meet his friends. On the corner of 11th and 43rd, I found the Screeching Parrot. What an awful name, I thought, as I walked in. Not too busy in there, thankfully. The colour was terrible though, bright and garish, like the streets outside. I ordered a Gin and Tonic with a $20 note and told the barman to keep the change. When I finished and motioned for him to come back over, I pulled him close and said quietly ,ÄúI'm here to see Ethan Beowulf. Where is he? I have an important message.,Äù
,ÄúAll his messages are important. Round the back. He's in the pool room, some of his friends are playing the tables. I hope you bought good news.,Äù I let him go and walked around the back. The room was quiet and dark, I noticed as I approached. I could hear quiet talk and the sound of cues hitting balls, nothing more. And even the talking stopped when I walked in.
,ÄúWho the fuck is this cocksucker?,Äù one of them demanded angrily, flipping his cue up into a menacing position.
,ÄúShut the hell up, kid. I'm here to speak to Ethan, not some punk with ance, so get out of my way.,Äù
,ÄúOh yeah? No-one speaks to Beowulf without going through me, and quite frankly, I don't like your attitude, pal.,Äù He swung the cue, purposefully missing me by millimetres.
,ÄúThats funny, I was thinking the same about you.,Äù I watched as he twirled the cue, then sprung forward, pinning it to the floor with my foot. It snapped it his hand, just as I grabbed his arm and shoved an elbow into the side of his head. As he fell, I grabbed him in a headlock and pulled a knife, putting the edge against his throat, so his silent companion could see. I cringed at the pain that came suddenly to my neck and arm but kept my grip.
,ÄúNow, lead me to the man. Or else I'll cut your fucking head off and chuck it in the harbour, to join the rest of the garbage. Ethan Beowulf! Or else there'll be nothing left but your corpse and a red bandanna across your bleeding neck!,Äù

,ÄúEnough Cain, I am here,Äù a mature voice called from the shadows. I dropped the man in my grip and walked over to the shadows where the sound had come from. ,ÄúLeave him,Äù he called to the two men who had blocked me. ,ÄúSo sorry about that,Äù he said to me, ,Äúbut I had to make sure you had the nerve this job would mean. Now, just a check, who sent you.
,ÄúAlice Delyrn, and quite frankly, I'm not sure I approve of the way you operate, Mr Beowulf.,Äù

He laughed at that. ,ÄúI don't expect you to. However, no real harm done. An interesting choice of threat, by the way. As far as I'm aware, the NSRA hasn't been involved much in the nastiness of late, but they could well come in soon, especially if the National Guard and paramilitary units are deployed in large numbers. I rather expected something more...impressive from the infamous Episkopos Cain, from the tales of your exploits I had heard.,Äù

I looked more closely at the man. I didn't like him on a purely instinctive basis. He knew too much about the New Soviet Red Army, for starters. Then I saw the glint on his left hand. Middle finger, a gold ring, with a very distinctive insignia, a roughly done circle that was filled with purple gems. Now it made slightly more sense...
,ÄúI expected more from the leader of the Matarese, myself.,Äù
,ÄúAh, as perceptive as ever. I am actually not part of the Council, but I lead enough for it to make no difference to you. As I understand it, you need money quickly and, as fortune would have it, I need someone like you for a few specialist jobs.,Äù

I tried to remember everything I knew about the Matarese. They were essentially a Corsican revival of the original Assassin sect, who were absorbed into the CoN during the Cecil Rhodes reforms. They were said to be even older than the Mafia, founded by an insane Corisan baron who had been ruined by the cartels of England and France. His "legacy" was what remained of his fortune, and a warped philosophy. His sucessors offered killers for hire, removing the corrupt for the corrupt, in order to destabalize them and eventually effect an overthrow. An exact reversal of Discordian philosophy, order through chaos, was their plan. But that was a long time ago and the current leaders were meant to be more like the Dons, acting like society lords and philantrophists while making a quick buck on their extensive interests.

Where they figured on the Conspiracy's charts was anyone's guess, but they were involved in drug running, selling influence, the arms trade and had many members within the political elite, often using sleeper agents as both killers and to gather intelligence.

,ÄúI see. And what exactly would I be expected to do?,Äù
,ÄúAh yes, the details. It seems one of our field leaders has gone rogue. The man in charge of the slums, actually, one of our most vital sectors in the current crisis. There have been several rumours that this man, Arthur Congdon has plans, is getting too big and powerful for any of the Council's liking. The problem is of course, getting damning evidence of this. With our resources already overstretched to make sure the Columbians and more criminal elements of the Corporation don't try to usurp us, we don't have the manpower to see what he's up to. So I want you to get the evidence for us.,Äù He then reached into his pocket.
,ÄúThis is a letter from the Council, authorizing your transfer to work with his particular cell. Get his trust, then ransack the place the first chance you get and return with the damning evidence. If he is making overtures to any of our enemies, there will be a paper or electronic trail somewhere. Once you have the evidence, return it to me ASAP. I'll be here, waiting.,Äù
,ÄúAnd then what?,Äù
,ÄúWell, unless you really want to kill him yourself, we'll deal with him. While there is merit in a Discordian taking him out, it serves our purposes just as well in showing the price of treachery against the Matarese.,Äù
,ÄúAnd what will I be paid for this little venture?,Äù
,ÄúOh, say, $50,000? Don't look at me like that, I know the amount you need and I can assure you, working for Congdon will bring rewards of its own. Especially since we lost our control over the big banks since that damnable incident with Scofield in Boston, we tend to keep our cash where we can watch it.,Äù
"Fine then, I'm in."

Intermission #2

She saw the man described to her by the informant in the seaside cafe/dive she had been told to meet at.  He fit the description perfectly, down to the scar on his left cheek that twisted his otherwise handsome features and gave him a chilling grin.
,ÄúHello there, you don't know me, but I believe we have a mutual friend?,Äù
,ÄúA fisherman, per chance?,Äù came the reply, the Arabic accent slight.
,ÄúIndeed.  He told me that you could tell me where to get the best bait in town.,Äù
,ÄúAlright, lets dispense with the theatrics.  If you go down to Warehouse 7 in half an hour, we can discuss specifics of the contract.,Äù
,ÄúYou just blew it, Nizari.  The deal's off.  How do I know this isn't a trap?,Äù  She stood to leave, but the man stood quickly and asked her to be seated.
,ÄúWe have much more to fear than you.  After all, we hardly expect you to have the money with you, and who is to say that agents of the FBI will not come, with their useful chemicals and ,Äúhumiliation techniques,Äù to make our contact talk?,Äù
,ÄúAlright then, I'm listening.,Äù

Half an hour had passed, so she decided to enter.  She had been watching the building where the meeting was to take place for the last 15 minutes, after a fast taxi down to the area.  Not a soul had entered or even gone near the dilapidated building.  Relaxing her mind for a minute, she couldn't even detect a disturbance on the Luck Plane.  It was as good as it was going to get.  She entered.

,ÄúWelcome,Äù said a man, sat cross-legged on a large cargo box, half hidden in the darkness.  ,ÄúI am Da'i 'd-Du'at Muhammad Al-Afdal.  Of course, what that means and what my real name is, are immaterial.  Be assured though, it means we are taking your claim very seriously.  You came via a very trustworthy source, with some speed.  So I suggest you tell me what your terms are, then we can negotiate.,Äù
,ÄúVery well.  Imagine a hypothetical situation, one where there is a certain man in a church who has wielded power for far too long and his attitude is becoming detrimental.  His position gives him much control over the Church, as a public face, but his behaviour and attitude are making it increasingly difficult for the rest of the hierarchy to work according to the divine plan.,Äù
,ÄúOf course, such a terrible situation, I would imagine.  Happily not a problem within our group, but I can sympathise.  As to this hypothetical situation, would you care to name one that may correspond to it in reality?,Äù
,ÄúReverend Ivan Stang and the Church of the Subgenius.  I am authorized by one of the inner circle to pay up to $6 million for his removal.  Half in a short while, half after completion.  It need not be made to look like an accident.  A high profile kill linked to state security or fanatical religious groups could work well to our advantage.,Äù
,ÄúHmm...,Äù said the man in the shadows.  ,ÄúThis does not seem to hard, after all fida'is are dispensable and there is no need for skill or stealth.  Your conditions are acceptable.  Now I suggest ,Äì take her!,Äù

Before she could react, the door was slammed shut and two large Arabic men grabbed her arms.  By now, Muhammad had jumped down off of his box.  ,ÄúTsk tsk, Miss Carlyle.  Didn't you know that the Faithful have informants everywhere, even down in Dallas?  We know you were expelled from the Church 3 weeks ago, and nearly the land of the upright and breathing at the same time.  We know that money is from just part of the Church earnings from South American holdings, that you stole before leaving.  And we most certainly know a trap when we smell one.,Äù  He motioned to the two men and said in Arabic ,ÄúKeep a good hold, and prepare her for a journey to Maysaf.,Äù

Intermission #3

He still couldn't believe it, the morons from the state contracted law enforcement teams had  actually caught him!  He had been stupid, he had to admit.  After the nearly drastic attack by the bounty hunter who was dogging his every move and the subsequent ambush by masked Arabs, he had taken risks that someone in his profession never should.  A traced name, a false ID implicated in an earlier crime, and the rent-a-cops from the Corporation had handed him over to the quietly dangerous agents of Consular Operations.  He had only been in this filthy prison for a few days and it already felt like a lifetime.

They said the prison was on an island, those who had been there the longest, a camp built back in the previous decade by what was now a subsidiary of the Corporation.  This was no Guantanamo Bay though.  He had been drugged and so unable to remember his arrival, but since waking up in his filthy, overcrowded cell, he had not seen natural light at all, and only electric light when the frequent power outages did not affect the systems.  It was terribly cold, and filled with the worst human refuge and scum that the recent counter-terrorist sweeps had been able to dig up.

He grinned coldly, thinking of when he had first come in.  Naturally, the inmates wanted to test the new meat, see if they were someone to fuck with or not.  The large southerner who had tried to grab him after dinner had ended up getting his head crushed in the automatic closing prison doors.  That he had been holding his head in there meant his stock had gone up dramatically among the cons.  The guards, of course, didn't ask and probably didn't care how the man had wound up dead in his own cell.

Since then, many had kept a healthy distance.  It obviously didn't pay to fuck with the quiet killer.

But someone would, he was certain of that.  Someone would eventually figure out another of his many identities, even if it took several hours of needlework and a small team of psychologists.  Once someone had those tapes, an emissary would be sent.  It could be a con, sent blind with a basic message.  Or it could be a guard, maybe even a ,Äúspecial interrogator,Äù sent from Langley.

And that would be his ticket out of here.

Until that happy occasion, it was simply a matter of staying alive as long as possible.

Stopping outside of the Open Bar, I tied the soaked neck bandages tighter.  My previous exertions had been greater than I thought and my shirt was drenched in blood.  Pulling my coat further over the red stains, I stepped inside.

'Mang looked up from the glass he was cleaning with an expression of disbelief and fear on his face.  Slumping down on a stool I told him ,Äúdon't worry, the blood looks much worse than it is.  A drink should fix me up.,Äù
,ÄúYou shouldn't be showing your face around here, Cain.  Go take a seat in the corner, I'll bring your drink.,Äù

I shrugged and took the seat.  Another surprise I didn't need, no doubt.  Why not, this rotten place seemed full of them.  It was a regular jack-in-a-box most nights, only with more explosions.  'Mang appeared quickly with a double scotch, ice and everything.  He motioned to the drink, suggesting I might need one to hear this, so I took a mouthful and asked ,Äúwhats up?  Some chick looking for me?  Because I swear, we only saw each other a couple of times and thats hardly what I'd call a serious-,Äù
,ÄúThere's a contract out on your knees.,Äù
,ÄúWhat?,Äù
,ÄúIt was....three nights ago.  Fatty Radder was here.,Äù

Fatty Radder.  There was a name I hadn't heard lately.  ,ÄúThe Comeback King,Äù as he was also known.  A huge tub of a man who had no compunction in killing or maiming anyone he was told to, given the right amount of cash.  He wasn't a hitman, he didn't have the brains or foresight to last in that game.  He was just very good at coming after people and giving them a whole world of pain.  And if he couldn't find you, he'd take it out on loved ones, friends and family until you showed up.  He had a rap sheet as long as the bar, but except for a few charges of arson and assault, the LEA's had never managed to pin anything big on him.

,ÄúWhat happened?,Äù I asked quietly.
,ÄúHe bought his lard arse up to the bar and started asking questions, about if anyone knew where you were or what you were doing.  He had that usual shiteating grin that he normally wears, pretending to be all friendly while threatening me.  Fortunately there were a couple of NSRA boys in that night, but even they didn't look too happy.  You can't just whack someone in the bar, not even in this part of town.  I told him to get lost, that I didn't know a thing and that he wasn't welcome round here.  What the hell's going on Cain?,Äù
,ÄúI think I pissed off some mercs....,Äù I rubbed my temples.  I didn't need this, not now.  Shit, even my apartment probably wasn't safe.
,ÄúWell, when he finally comes to break your knees, if he gets you here, try not to flail around too much.  Its hard enough cleaning up without having to deal with blood and broken glass, you know.,Äù
,ÄúI'll try.,Äù  I finished the rest of the glass in a single gulp.

Another headache, another problem I didn't want.  It was the mercs, no doubt there.  Probably ran my description through a database then handed it out to Fatty to do the dirty work.  Maybe he had a charge they could delete or something.  Or evidence to lose.  Either way, I better watch my back.  With the gang warfare, I'd just be another corpse in the gutters.

Which immediately bought my mind back to the current job at hand.  Not that there was much I could do with this damn neck.  Congdon didn't expect my transfer for a few days yet, so that gave me time to work with.  Shit, working for the Matarese, I'd better be careful.  I didn't trust Beowulf to knock me off instead of pay me, even if Delyrn approached him in the first place.  The war was heating up on the streets and the casualties were getting higher.  The current rumour was that the National Guard and paramilitary arms of the Corporation were going to restore order if things spiralled out of control, which looked pretty likely.  And sooner or later, the NSRA would involve itself.  I could very quickly find myself coordinating barricade building and street hits instead of doing my job.

What had caused this jump in crime?  I didn't know.  But it was linked with my own job, of that I was certain.  My best guess was that the assassin had killed someone very high up in one crime group, collapsing their personal empire.  Maybe subsequent hits had followed too.  So you had one market competitor eliminated and several grudge matches kicking off at once.  Once the killing starts, you have all the excuses in place to do it again....

My apartment was an even bigger mess than usual.  I mean, sure, clothes on the floor, half eaten pizza, bottles of beer etc was par for the course and probably, apart from my unsociable hours and tendency to hate everyone, the reason I hadn't had a woman back here in months.  Even so, the door wasn't usually hanging off of its hinges. 

I just about managed to get it back in to lock without ripping open my neck again, a small miracle I was thankful for.  It wasn't going to hold, but it wasn't going to fall down either.  I decided to do some damage assessment.  One trashed TV, one semi-shattered coffee table, several broken chairs, dented walls and flooded bathroom later, I found the note.  Stabbed into my pillow with a knife.

I MISSED YOU THIS TIME CAIN.  I WONT MISS YOU AGAIN.

RADDER

Hardly surprising.  Someone with more imagination probably would've torched the place, but such intellectual abstractions were beyond Fatty.  No, waiting to whack me as I came out of the burnt out shell of my apartment would've involved forward planning and maybe a brain that could handle three syllable words.

I could have decided to clean up, but there was no real point, so I found the sofa and laid down.  I had to see Congdon tomorrow and present my credentials.  Showing up bleeding may be bad form or something, so rest seemed like a good idea.

My watch said it was 10pm.  I had nearly slept a whole day.  Well, at least my neck felt better.  Thats to say, it was stiff as hell and I couldn't feel it at all.  Blinking, I stood up, realizing I only had another two hours to turn up in the slums before Congdon or Beowulf both started asking questions.  Grabbing my coat and holster I made for the badly beaten door, hoping the night air would clear my head for this vital encounter.

As I walked, my doubts increased.  Sure, I knew how to deal with the minor scumbags the City had to offer, it came with the territory, as they say.  But messing with professional criminals like this...well, that ended so well last time, didn't it?  Its not like the Matarese were any more stable than the man I was meant to be hunting...meant to be, except the trail had gone cold.  All I had were some virtually unintelligible papers from that research facility and a lot of scars.  Which is probably what I'd end up with here.  I wasn't an infiltrator, it wasn't my style.  I knew only too well what they had done to informants in Iraq, ,Äúexamples have to be made,Äù and so on and so forth.  Scare any other informants into loyalty or running. 

Which is why my mood did not improve as I was directed to the backrooms of a ramshackle shop in the slums, once I had presented my letter.  The man had scrutinized it carefully, especially the seal,before greeting me with a large grin and telling me he would ring Congdon and arrange for someone to take me to him.  Apparently the shop backed onto an apartment complex that was more than it seemed, with the whole building filled with gambling machines, whores and the best the black market could afford in drugs, fenced goods and weapons.  A smooth operation, as they say.

I was approached by a large man after a few minutes of waiting.  He had the look about him of your average street thug.  Nose that had been previously broken, not very well shaved, ill fitting dark clothing.  His eyes were something else though.  The Matarese didn't hire fools, although they certainly hired those who could play the part well.
,ÄúYou,Äù he said with a nod in my direction, ,Äúfollow me.,Äù

I shrugged and took his lead.  Instead of taking me upstairs, as I had first expected, I was led to the basement.  The wood was old, nearly rotting in fact, and the room dark, filled with empty boxes, broken furniture and other various objects of little use or value.  I turned left at the bottom, looking at the empty room.  My chaperon kicked a box out of the way of an old bookcase.  Oh god, I thought, not that old trick.  Pushing it aside, he opened a gap just large enough for me to pass through.  He beckoned, wanting me to go through the portal.  I hesitated a split second, wondering if my real mission was already known and I would be stepping into a cell.

But such second guessing was pointless.  I had to hope for the best and go with the flow, for now at least.  I passed through, noting the bolts and mechanisms on the other side of the bookcase, as well as the rather extensive steel placing on the back.

There were some pretty nasty sounds ahead, I also noted.  Maybe not a cell, but a torture chamber? I tensed at that thought, having already suffered through it once and having no desire to go down that route again.  I gripped the butt of the pistol as I inched forwards.

I noticed the corridor opened out at the end, created a fair sized room.  The lighting was still bad, but as I got closer, I could make out several figures.  There was some furniture as well, including several tables. The central figure seemed to notice me, but said nothing as I drew closer.  He was surrounded by several others, heavyset types.  But the man in the middle stood out.  Perhaps because, in so many ways, he didn't.  The others had the looks of thugs and bodyguards, but this man would not look out of place in a bank, boardroom meeting or office anywhere in the country.

Except for the fact he had a pair of pliers in his hand that were clearly covered in blood.  Blood from the man next to him, tied to the table and sobbing in pain.  He was now close enough to recognize.  Congdon, the chief of the Materese for this sector of the town.

His gaze held mine as I made my way to the centre of the room.  He spoke, low but clear, his voice full of menace. ,ÄúWell now, I certainly hope you've got a reason to be bothering me, because as you can see, I'm rather busy.,Äù  He motioned to the tied man, shrugging quizzically when he noticed he had passed out. ,ÄúIt seems I have a minute or two to spare.  Now, tell me who you are and why I shouldn't kill you right now.,Äù

,ÄúThere is no need for that.  I'm Cain.  I was sent by the Council, I'm just the first of several reinforcements, here to help your section.,Äù

,ÄúSo you say. You could well be a spy, a provocateur.  Perhaps I should strap you down on one of these tables and make sure you are who you say you are.,Äù  His threatening pose then suddenly broke to a maniacal smile.  ,ÄúThen again, perhaps not.  Scared you, did I?  Good.  Fear will keep you loyal.,Äù

He paused for a moment, his eyes still trained on me, but his expression vacant.  ,ÄúI really don't have the time to deal with you.  Get upstairs and give your details to Lin, my second in command.  He'll tell you what needs to be done.  Now be gone, I have...business to attend to,Äù he said, turning around, the pliers going into the strapped man's mouth once again.

Oh, shit.  Now I have to re-read the previous stuff.

Brb.

:thanks:

Thats what happens when you leave it for several months and insist on a convoluted plot.

I should do an episode recap, a la 24 or something....

Fuck that.  Make us do the work.

Lin was a rather unpleasant, stick thin man with greased back black hair and a generally unhealthy demeanour.  He also has that feeling of being an unthinking, purely calculating person.  In stark contrast to Congdon, the man downstairs.  I'm not sure which I disliked more.  Either way, he only briefly glanced at my faked transfer papers before assigning me to a job.

My first mission for the Matarese was simple: collect a package from an agent uptown and return it to base without inspecting its contents.  I shrugged on hearing this, it sounded pretty simple.  Until I was warned that I would be going through enemy gang territory in some areas, and may be found.  Still, when all was said and done, it was only courier work.  And once that was done, I would have some free time...which most of my current ,Äúcompatriots,Äù would use to indulge in the pleasures the organization had to offer, but I would use to try and get into Congdon's or Lin's offices. 

Broken glass crunched under my feet as I made my way though the streets.  The violence of the last few days had hit here much harder.  Shops usually had boarded up windows in this area anyway, but I was pretty sure the barricades (half demolished), burnt down buildings and occasional corpse or pool of blood was not usual, even for this lawless place.  It looked like the end of the world, in the horrible yellow light, with the abnormal protrusions extending from the psychotecture that, even alone, weighed unnaturally on the mind, evoking strange emotions.  Curiously, they make me think of lloigor, for a moment, though I immediately regret it afterwards. 

The curious deadness of the night is broken, along with my rather unhelpful train of thought, by the sound of a revving motor.  No end of the world tonight, I thought.  The citizens of the City should be so lucky.  I made my way to the end of the side-street, seeing the motorbike exactly where Lin's instructions said it would be.  The rider had on a helmet, so I couldn't make their face out, and had a backpack on.

,ÄúYo there!,Äù I called.  ,ÄúUm, hang on a second, the code is...uh, damnit ,Äúspider run,Äù.  Yep, thats it.  Can I have the package now?,Äù

The guy on the bike just stared.  He then said, very clearly ,ÄúCain, what the fuck are you doing here?,Äù  As he did, a rumble I had only heard in the distance started to get much closer.  The mystery motorcyclist must have heard it, too, because he whipped his head around and said ,Äúshit!,Äù  He turned back to me and said ,Äúlets go, now!,Äù 

I started to get on behind him and he shouted ,Äúno, on foot you idiot!,Äù  He jumped off as I did, grabbing the bike and pulling it to the edge of an alleyway.  He then ran to the opposite side of the street, beckoning me to do the same.  I dived in just in time, as a car made it around the corner.  It pulled up across from us, on the other side of the street.  I watched as the doors flew open and the bike was filled with bullets, along with the rest of the alley.  The doors slammed shut and the car was gone, gunning it up the street.  The entire incident had taken maybe 10 seconds, from dumping the motorbike there.

,ÄúFuck, that was a brilliant machine.  Bastards, every single one of them,,Äù spat the now ex-rider, next to me.
An idea struck me.  It had to be really, after all he knew my name.  ,ÄúWas it a correct motorcycle,Äù I asked, with a grin on my face.
,ÄúYou bet it fucking was.,Äù Machine Grind Dream answered.
,ÄúWhat were you even doing here,Äù I asked a few moments later, as we looked through the wreckage of the once brilliant and most correct motorcycle.
,ÄúCRSF business of course,Äù he said, somewhat shadily.  The Crucify Rod Stewart Foundation, he must have meant.  Ostensibly a charity organization, it fronted for any number of Discordian affiliated groups who needed a halfway decent cover.  ,ÄúWe were going to trail a Matarese agent, in order to locate their local chapter.  Ran by an evil sonofabitch called Congdon, a real nasty piece of work.  How about you?,Äù
,ÄúUm, yeah, about that.  I have some good news, and some not so good news...,Äù

Dammit, Cain.  You're doing this so I write more LMNO-PI, aren't you?


Still, good stuff.

Just finished and I must say really good work. Nicely written and a pretty intriguing story. I'm looking forward to more.

Finally finished after a few days of reading in between work. Disappointed when I realized I reached the end, but definitely looking forward to more. Nice work.

Lin didn't even look up as I stomped back into his office, throwing the papers he had asked me to retrieve on his desk.

"Ah, I had wondered what was taking you so long" he said, while finishing whatever he was writing.  He picked up the envelope without ever raising his eyes above desk level and slipped it into one of his many drawers.

I had been mulling over my approach while he took his time in showing me how little I mattered to him.  Sarcasm, or straight out hostility?  It was so often a tough choice.  "Yeah, well, dodging bullets takes up precious seconds, I'm afraid."  Sarcasm it was.

"Is that so?"  He looked up briefly, assessing me.  "Well, you don't seem to have been injured, so maybe you have a knack for violent situations.  Funnily enough, one of those has just come up."  He briefly flashed a smile before returning to his usual neutral, slightly disapproving scowl.  Damn, I knew I should have held my tongue.  The Matarese, like any army, had plenty enough dirty work for those who were too disposed to backchat.

"A local businessman is behind on his payments to secure his property.  You will go along and remind him of his obligations to the Matarese."  He put his hand in the desk drawer again briefly, then took out a roughly cut purple circle, about 3 inches across and made of clay.  Throwing it to me, he said "present this to the owner.  You may have to get past his bodyguards first, but I'm sure you can find a reason."

Lin detailed to me more about the business in question.  It was a bar, on the edge of the Slums, well known for the rather dubious crowd it attracted.  As soon as he said the name though, I didn't need to hear any more.  As it turned out, I knew the bar rather well.  For starters, it was the main haunt of Radder.  Which meant no matter what else happened, I was in for a fight tonight.  But if I survived, came out of top, well, I wouldn't need to do anything more than present the Matarese symbol to the owner to convince him to pay up.  Who knew, perhaps the obese psychopath would prove useful for once in his life?

Lin had told me once I was done, I would be finished for the night and could either take advantage of the pleasures the slums based organization made available, or do whatever I wanted, so long as I showed up the next evening.  Just as well, really, since it would give me a chance to sniff around and perhaps even find evidence of Congdon's treachery.

I stopped walking as I came close to the bar in question.  Moving aside into an alley, I checked my equipment, that which I had decided to bring.  The pistol was in my waistband, a knife by my ankle, another in my pocket and a lighter.  The final one wasn't very useful, but you never knew when someone needed a lighter.  Useful icebreaker, at times.  And occasionally good at setting things on fire, too.

I patted myself down, straightened my clothing and made sure there were no unseemly bulges caused by becoming a walking armoury.  Looking good, I made my way in.  Stepping through the door, I went down the steps, past a few wild-eyed and high looking kids, until I made it to the entrance proper.  A bouncer put his hand in front of me as I tried to move in, as if to question me, but I simply glared until he backed off.

Immediately inside, the bar was obvious.  A few chairs and tables were scattered around, pretty much at random.  Not many people were actually in the main bar, they preferred the cellar below, where they had DJ's and a dance floor.   Every now and again you could feel the bass as you walked across the floor.  And off to the right, there was another drinking area set aside, with multiple pool tables, card games and another bar.  I suspected that would be where I would find Radder.

I have to say, I was feeling nervous as hell.  This wasn't how I usually played things, not at all.  Looking for trouble, purposefully escalating to the physical level, especially where there was no option of doing something clever like grabbing a friend as hostage or preparing the field well before my arrival...no, I'd rather not get into a straight, one-on-one physical fight.  I liked survival, it had a nice ring to it.  And survival meant, if you weren't built like a tank, thinking outside the box and playing it smart.

No chance of that tonight.

Slipping through the sparse groups of people, I noticed a much larger than average man at the pool table, playing a game.  So, Radder obviously had friends here, or at least people he was willing to have a game with.  I'd have to isolate them first, so it would be me on him.  Get everyone watching.  Well, it was now or never...

With an almost strained expression on his face, Radder prepared to make his shot.  He wasn't winning, so making this one was kind of important.  He pulled the cue back, breathed and concentrated, before smacking the ball.  The shot was true, but the ball he had been aiming for was no longer there, because I had scooped it up and was grinning on the other end of the table.

"Hey Radder", I said conversationally, "I think we need to have a chat.  I wasn't very happy about what you did to my flat."
"Cain?"  His voice was slow and deep, betraying his surprise.  Then he smiled back, evilly.  "You should worry 'bout your own legs more, I reckon."
"Why, are you going to leave them looking like a student doss house as well?"  That got a couple of laughs.  That's right, its between me and him, you all stay watching.  "Though of course, I doubt you know what a student anything looks like, do you, moron?"

He picked up the cue and rushed me, moving with a speed and grace one would not expect to see in a man of his size.  I grabbed a second billiard ball from the table and ducked under it, just as the cue whistled above my head into the nearby wall.  Spinning out and jumping up, I had to retreat as another vicious slash went through the air, nearly taking my eye out.  Originally, I had hoped he would come in close, allowing me to use the balls to crack his skull.  Big guys like him held some advantages in very close fights, especially against more slightly built opponents. 

I danced away from a third blow, the gathering crowd parting to allow us the space we needed.  There was nothing for it, Radder was taking the advantage and I was too attached to my knees to let him win.  Throwing one ball with a vicious overarm spin at his head, I used the distraction to pull out my pistol and duck under his wild, off-target blow.  Grabbing the remaining billiard ball and the gun , I cracked his nose and jaw, before stamping his foot.  His right foot.  After that, all he needed was a push.

Spun off balance, his face filled with blood, his foot broken, he fell down, breaking the cue as he fell.  He screamed, as the broken wooden weapon pierced his right arm, being forced up through the flesh by his own body weight and awkward fall.  I dropped the second billiard ball, took the safety off the pistol, and kneeled by the crying, bleeding Radder.

"Now, either you can give up now and never fuck with me again, or I can kill you here and now.  No-one will care, you know.  You're expendable scum Radder, just like me and everyone else here.  No-one will say they saw anything.  And no-one will bother to investigate."  I put the gun up against his temple.  "So, I suggest you fuck off, and leave me alone.  Or next time, I'll make sure you die.  Got it?"

Shaking, I put the safety back on and put the gun back out of site.  I had one more thing to do tonight, before I could get on with my real job.  I walked up to the bar, and placed the Matarese symbol there, in front of the barmaid.  "Tell your boss what happened tonight.  And to pay his bills."

I then walked out the door, back into the Slums.

Awesome chapter. As always looking forward to reading more Cain.

Thanks.  Now hopefully that bastard LMNO will keep up.

Oh, you dirty fucker.