RED DOLL: A Hunter

“It ain’t me, It ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son, no.”
-Creedence Clearwater Revival, Fortunate Son, 1969​

11

The cavernous interior of the plane was empty,save for him; by design, he might add. The crew had simple orders: Don't talk to him, don't look at him, don't even acknowledge his existence. As far as they were concerned, their plane was empty.

These were the worst moments, he opined; he had been on so many of these flights, long lonely journeys to god knows where, alone, that he'd thought he might be used to it, that it would become routine, and that the adrenaline that flowed through his body would subside and that he might sleep the long flight away.

And once again, he was disappointed. His body stubbornly refused to rest, his mind racing at a million miles an hour. Instead, he checked his weapons and equipment once, twice, three times; he'd taken apart and reassembled his armgun twice. He went over his orders, mission profiles, psych reports again and again, till he could remember them by heart without using his digital memory. Eventually, he just started pacing up and down the cargo bay, interested to see how many miles he could walk until the little glowing clock in the corner counted down to zero.

It now stood at six minutes. He'd walked at least ten kilometres, and in that time, flown some three thousand kilometres.

He'd done this many times before; at thirty seconds, the rear ramp would open. At zero, he'd jump out. Plus ten seconds, the ramp would close, and the plane would fly on, 140 kilograms lighter. To the crew, nothing had happened; they'd just completed a simple ferry run.

Last checks; he flexed his arms, feeling the servos purr, checking the coverings on its various weapons. He double checked the straps on his chute, ensuring they were tight; he may be tough, but even he wouldn't survive a drop from forty thousand feet.

Lastly, he checked his main weapon. It was a long heavy rod, two vicious spikes at one end, and a rats nest of batteries and cables at the other. It didn't look like much, but it could release enough electrical energy to short out a mack truck; in effect, it was an oversized cattle prod.

Five minutes. He stood at the edge of the ramp, tapping out a tune who's name he couldn't recall. He considered taking another quick stroll, maybe get another hundred meters, but decided against it. He had to focus now; the forces he was about to contend with could destroy whole armies.

And so he stood, tapping his foot. A low tone sounded in his ear; he recognised it immediately. Someone's calling; over the sat line too. That could only mean one thing. He pulled the reciver off his back.

“Send,” he said.

“How far out?” the familiar voice on the other end replied.

He looked up at the clock. “Three minutes. Change in situation?”

“Not on the ground. The Alpha encountered a tank unit, but they withdrew. I'm not calling about that though. There's been a development with our other project.”

Oh, its about him, He thought. “Kind of bad timing,” he replied. Two minutes thirty seconds.

“The rogues changed his behaviour again. His attacks are growing more frequent. We predict he may be approaching the next phase of his programming.”

“So why tell me now?”

“We want you to bring the Alpha straight to the AO.”

He paused, not sure he'd heard him properly. “You want me to bring him to a major city?” he said disbelieving. Two minutes.

“Yes. I know its short notice, but other parties have made their move. We think their drawing him out with the GeneBase.”

“So you want to use the Alpha to draw him back to us?”

“He's the target,” the voice responded. “The endgame's coming. We have to be ready to nab the prize before anyone else. Make it happen.” and with that the voice was gone.

He sighed. One minute. This changed everything; Massively so. He'd hoped he'd have more time, time to plan, to lay out a trap, but now the higher ups wanted to speed thing up. That was going to make things messy.

Thirty seconds. The ramp opened onto darkness. Howling wind swept up into the plane.

Somewhere down there, a powerful force was running rampart, scared, confused, alone. Like a cornered beast, it lashed out at anything that came near. Unlike a wild beast, its potential for destruction was beyond imagination.

It had to be brought down, had to be broken. It had to be brought back in line. And he was the one who did that.

Zero. He dropped into the darkness.