RED DOLL: A Reaction and a gunfight [Original Story]
First Chapter: https://steemit.com/steemit/@tsudohnimh/red-doll-old-school-cyberpunk
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AN: Back on time.
“ The idea that the existence of Cyborgs somehow made the prospect of Nuclear war more palatable to the powers that be, is, quite frankly, ridiculous. The war was inevitable; what was not was our survival. And make no mistake, with out cyborgs building our dome cities, we would all be dead.”
-Prof. Lucas Hemmings, Newspaper Interview, 1990.
9
The meet up point was an ANP depot just outside the outer NewPee domes. Zlata was surprised to see a small convoy was forming: three armoured vans, flanked by two patrol cars.
A masked officer directed them into the garage, where the car underwent a quick decom spray. In the passenger seat, Wyatt fidgeted.
“I was just here today,” he said excitedly. “I was just here, and so was he! How close is that!”
Zlata didn't reply, but deep down she was concerned. She hadn’t expected their inquires to bear fruit so soon; worse, it meant the murderer was killing in the camps. His body-count could be an order of magnitude bigger.
But, deep down, a small part of her was more apprehensive about going into New Pittsburgh; for all her defiance, she knew the Screaming Eagles were a threat, and that she was in danger for coming here.
McNally met them in a hall. “We only have a body and an organ.,” he said without a greeting. “The actual crime scene hasn’t been determined yet. Apparently the body was picked up in a sweep during the riots. The yanks are checking with their officers now, trying to determine where they found him.”
“Cause of death?” Zlata asked.
“Prelim says crushed throat. The huge hole in his chest didn't help; that’s what tipped of the coroner staff. That and the heart.”
The trio emerged into some kind of canteen, a large open room filled with tables. The rest of the D.A.C. And a large group of armoured riot cops were congregated around at table. Constable Thomas, Zlata saw, was once again wearing a large pack.
In her mind, Zlata raised an eyebrow. “This is quite an escort your putting together. Are the riot still going?”
“Their mostly contained,” McNally replied. “But the nature of the victim means we aren’t taking any chances.”
“The nature of the victim?”
“He was a Screaming Eagle,” Hogue answered, walking over. “Armband, tattoos, he was even known to intel.” he handed her a file. “Name was Frank Petrelli. Ring any bells?”
An unfamiliar face looked up from the page. “No,” Zlata replied, “ Never seen him before.”
“It certainly adds an unwanted dimension to the whole thing,” McNally said. “The riot boys are going to seal off the hospital. We're to go in and take all the evidence we require. If necessary, we're to secure the body for transport back to Melbourne.” He straightened up slightly. “We have orders to not let anything get in our way.”
As they approached the group, Eun broke off, walking straight up to Wyatt. “Where have you been?”
Wyatt looked innocent. “Out.”
“Out?” Eun repeated, unconvinced. She looked at Zlata, and back again. “I told you not to pester her!” she said in a hushed, but angry, tone.
Zlata turned away, not really interested in involving herself in their little tiff. Flynn whistled.
“Here for only a day, and already having late night liaisons.” he gave her a sleazy smile. “You work quick.”
Zlata ignored him, the face in her mind look annoyed, and a little red in the cheeks. Hogue walked up to her.
“How are you?” he asked.
In her mind, Zlata let out a sigh. “Fine, I guess,” she replied.
“You sure?” Hogue asked. “You seem a little down.”
Zlata was not sure how Hogue could tell she was a “little down”, what with her emotionless body, but he was right. He was a good detective, she figured.
“Wyatt paid me a visit,” she explained. “Raised up a few memories I’d rather had forgotten.” She didn't mention the dream.
“Sorry about him,” Hogue said apologetically. “He's a good, kid, but a little to curious for his own good.”
“He told me quite the story,” Zlata said. “Told me he was five.”
Hogue didn't react for a moment, his face neutral. “Yeah, we'll talk about that latter.” He quickly changed the subject. “So I heard you did a good job with the Russians. Wanted to congratulate you for that; not sure we would have gotten that level of cooperation if it weren’t for you.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Zlata replied, wondering what else their was to say about Wyatt's tale. “ I heard you had similar luck with the American's.”
Hogue snorted. “Took some arm-bending. And even after agreeing, i'm still not sure their cooperating fully. The call about this? Came straight from the coroner, not administration. They apparently didn't think we needed to know straight away.”
“Are they interested in the case?”
“I think one of them is,” Hogue replied, a slight edge in his voice.
Zlata didn't know who Hogue was talking about. "Even then, how did McNally manage to wrangle up all this fire-power?”
“That was the commissioners doing. Apparently he's given David a blank check; he isn't taking any chances. He wants this guy taken down now.”
Zlata remembered McNally's word's: he might still be in there. “So the R.S.S. Is here to take him down?”
“The R.S.S. Is here to protect us from the fine people of NewPee,” He said, then lowered his tone. “But, if we find the guy, they’ll certainly come in handy.”
McNally gestured for everyone to gather round.
“Ok people, we know why were here, but I want to go over it one more time. Sergeant Killian, your men are to seal off the block surrounding the hospital. Riot suppression is authorised, but lethal force is to be used only if life is threatened.”
“Got it sir,” said a squat, no nonsense looking man in riot armour.
“Our point of contact is Sergeant Naylor,” McNally continued. “He's head of security at the hospital. On arrival, I will liaise with him on the ongoing search. Ok, D.A.C. were going into a hot zone here; the riots are still going, although their a few blocks away. Our main goal is twofold: gather as much evidence from the body as possible, and locate a secure the crime scene. This guy was a Screaming Eagle, and his friends might be looking for him. I want everyone armed and armoured appropriately.”
Thomas stepped forward and took of his pack, Zlata nothing he was wearing body armour and carrying a compact assault rifle. He began to hand out weapons and ammo from the pack.
One of the riot cops offered Zlata a set of armour; she declined. “trust me, anything my shell can't stop would go right through a jacket.”
Hogue gladly accepted. “I have subdermals, but more protection never hurts.”
Zlata watched as Thomas passed out a seemingly unending stream of ammunition to Wyatt, who proceeded to load the dizzying array of weapons that lay within his body. Hollow point rounds, gas grenades, shot shells, even AP mini missiles; the variety was impressive.
“I'm still not sure you should go,” She heard Wyatt say.
“I'm a member of this team, Wyatt,” Eun replied, strapping on a set of body armour a least a size to big. “I go where you go.”
“Could be dangerous.”
Eun took a deep breath. 'I've faced danger multiple times. There aren't even any vampires this time.” She held out her hand to Thomas. “What have you got for me?”
Thomas reached into the pack and pulled out a small pistol, handing it to her. Eun looked at the pistol distastefully, then clipped it to her belt.
“Besides, i'm sure nothing will happen,” she said, uncertainty in her voice.
In her mind, Zlata frowned. “Eun doesn’t strike me as someone suitable for a combat zone,” she said, inspecting her pistol.
“She's tougher than she looks”, Hogue said, inspecting a sub machine gun.
“Even so, taking a teenager into a hot zone like this seems a recipe for disaster.”
Hogue didn't respond, instead chuckling to himself and shaking his head. Zlata wasn’t certain what she said was so funny.
Thomas walked over, his body language changing as he approached her. “W-Wyatt mentioned to me yo-you have an artgun; I mean, armgun.” he held out two cylinders. “9x21mm Vulkan. 50 rounds each.”
Zlata realised the cylinders were magazines, the same type that fitted her armgun.
“These are rare,” she said, taking one of the offered mags, Thomas flinching from the movement. “She inspected the magazine; almost factory fresh. “Where did you get these?”
“I-It took some-some digging,” Thomas stuttered. “The Ammunition it-itself was easier.”
Zlata clicked the mag into the slot under her right forearm. She had not used the armgun since her defection, but she had always kept it well maintained and knew it was in working order.
“Thank you constable. This is a little above and beyond what I was expecting.”
Thomas nodded, a sharp, jerking motion. Zlata could sense that, underneath his barely contained terror, Thomas was pleased with the reaction.
Hogue whistled. “Good find, Rob.” He smiled, and patted Thomas on the back. Zlata noted, with interest, that Thomas did not flinch back from Hogue; he was not afraid of him.
Sufficiently prepared, the team rolled out, their van tucking in neatly between the R.S.S. Trucks.
Moving out of the depot, they passed more armoured trucks heading the opposite way, including one carrying a large gorilla like cyborg.
Zlata watched them pass. “Jason Holmes; so you finally became a beast.”
Wyatt looked over. “Who's Jason Holmes?”
“That large riot cyborg,” Zlata explained. “Although he was a little smaller the last time I saw him. Jason “Gorilla” Holmes. Took the name to heart.”
Wyatt looked excited. “Wait! You know him? I saw him in action today! Such sladkiy tek! How do you know him?”
“We were squad mates in the R.S.S; I'd heard he'd upgraded but not to that size. Suits him; he's a nice enough guy but an animal in combat.”
Wyatt looked ready to explode with questions when McNally interrupted. “ The man who called in the body is one Dr Mycot, one of the doctors on duty; he's been running the autopsy. Once we get there , I want Zlata and Vince to liaise with Mycot; find out what he knows, and collect any samples he's taken. Hogue, Eun, I want you to question the ambulance staff, see if any of them remember where the body came from.
“Rob, I want you to dive into their records, see if you can find any similar cases in the last four months. Wyatt, you'll link in with hospital security and the riot boys; patrol the perimeter aqnd watch for threats.” He held up a small personal radio. “Everyone maintain contact at all times. It's a warzone out there, and we ain’t exactly welcome.”
The dome was lit by the orange glow of fires and the red and blue flash of emergency vehicles; the city authorities had switched off most of the street and downlights in an attempt to deter more rioters travelling in from the outer domes.
The East sector hospital, its original name long lost, was unaffected; it shone like a bright beacon in the dark city. Here and there, signs of the violence that had gripped the city smouldered, but it appeared the hospital had avoided any major damage.
Grouped together for safety, the team passed through a line of white shirted security guards. Inside, they were greeted by an older man wearing the same uniform.
McNally stepped forward. “Sergeant Naylor, I assume?”
The man gave a curt nod. “one and only. You must be detective McNally.” they shook hands.
“Quiet night?” McNally asked, looking around the empty emergency room. “Thought you would have been overrun with wounded.”
“Hospital was evacuated due to the riots,” Naylor explained. “We were afraid looters might go after medical supplies. We...” the two men wandered down a corridor, leaving the rest behind. Zlata took that as a sign for them to get on the job.
The only other staff member was a rather scared looking nurse, sitting behind the reception counter. Walking up to her, Zlata picked up on the fact she wasen't just frightened by the riots, or the hevily armed people who had just walked in.
There was something more...primal, in her fear; her body was tense, her eyes wide, teeth on edge. Her breathing was coming short and sharp, and Zlata was sure she could literally see the woman's skin crawl. Her body was kicking into flight of fight, and flight was winning.
The kicker was who the nurse was looking at , her eyes flicking back and forth: Zlata, a walking red statute, with her blank red eyes and expressionless face, and Hogue, metal grafted to the flesh, with his ring of camera eyes.
She was an A.P.I.A.S. Sufferer, no doubt about it. Zlata looked over at Thomas; from the look on his face, she sensed he felt somewhat sorry for the poor girls, and maybe a little understanding.
“I'm Detective Mikhaylov,” she said. “This is Detective Hogue. Where can we find Dr. Mycot and the ambulance staff?”
The nurse almost jumped, probably at how Zlata's voice seemed to manifest without her lips moving. “M-Morgue's down th-there,” she stammered, pointing a shaky hand down the corridor. “T-Take the elevator to t-the basement. T-the am-ambulance crews are a-all in the canteen at the e-end of the hall.” The effort of forcing out those words seemed to have left her drained.
“Thank you” Zlata said, moving away so as to end the poor girls torment.
Thomas strode up. “Excuse me, I’m looking to see the hospital records,” he said.
The relief on the girls face from talking to a “normal” human was obvious. “Records are just out back,” she said, pointing behind her. “I can show you.”
Leaving Thomas behind, thr group stopped before the elevator. “This is where we part, I guess,” Hogue said. He tapped his ear. “Keep in contact at all times. If you get in trouble, call us, and we'll be there to back you up.”
“Got it,” Zlata responded, in her mind giving him a short nod.
Flynn looked ta Hogue, then at Zlata. He smiled, shaking his head.
The elevator pinged. “Into the dungeon, then?” he said.
The morgue was like any other that Zlata had been in; cold (at least according to her sensors) and smelling of antiseptic and death.
Seven bodies lay on metal tables; Zlata guessed they were victims from the riot. Several had been badly beaten; one had been slashed beyond all recognition. But one body stood out; his chest cavity had been torn open, his heart gone.
And next to it, lying in its own small tray, sat an alien looking heart, wrapped in a web of black fibres.
“Oh yeah,” Flynn said, peering into th3 cadavers hole. “This is our guys work.”
“Detectives,” a voice said from behind them; an older black man, dressed in surgeon scrubs, walked in.
“Dr. Mycot, I assume?” Zlata asked.
Mycot chuckled. “I guess so. Sorry, being reminded I pass as a “doctor” here makes me laugh.”
In her mind, Zlata looked confused. The doll's face remained solid. “Are you not a doctor?”
Mycot shrugged. “Twelve years as an army medic is good enough for the dead, I guess.”
Flynn pulled some white sample collection cards from his coat, pressing a sterile tip against various spots on the heart. “Have you done any tests, doctor?” he asked.
“Only basic ones,” the doctor replied. “Took some blood and tissue samples, but nothing much.” he walked over to the heart. “When I saw the body, I knew it was what the alert was talking about. But it said nothing about this.” he pointed to the heart.
Zlata took a closer look. The heart, like the arm left at the last scene, appeared sickly, almost wasted. A web of black fibres seemed to envelop the organ, thick black veins of some unknown material. She noted that, like the arm, the cuts along the arteries and veins were clean, as if done by a scalpel. Several of the black fibres had been cut cleanly as well.
“I saw those fibres on Paulson's arm,” she said. “Or rather in it. It looked like the fibres were growing through the muscles.”
“As the have here,” the doctor responded. “these black,...veins, for lack of a better term, penetrate all through the walls of the heart. I've never seen anything like it.” he held up a scalpel and held one to the veins. “Their flexible, but try to cut one....” he sliced down on the vein, Only for it to go solid, the blade skipping off. “ I haven't been able to cut any off, even with glass blades.”
Flynn made a thoughtful noise. “If we can't cut any samples from the heart, we'll have to take it with us.”
In her mind, Zlata nodded; the doll tipped its head robotically in agreement. “yes, agreed.” she turned to the doctor. “Do you have something we could transport this in?”
“And you get them through Medicare?”
The nurse (her name was Liz), seemed disbelieving. She shifted another stack of boxes, papers falling to the ground.
“Thomas moved to pick them up. “Yep, although I get extra due to my job.”
“And they work?”
“Better than the old anti-anxietys. The contain a mild hallucinogen that alters your perceptions slightly, so you don't notice them as much.”
Liz paused. “But you still see it, don't you?”
Thomas nodded slowly. “Yeah, you still see it. You just don't care as much.”
Liz nodded, then made a triumphant sound. “Ah, here we are!” she pulled another box off the shelf and plonked it on the desk. She quickly pulled files out and stacked them in two neat piles. “February deaths, natural and unnatural.”
Thomas noted that, once again, the pile of unnatural deaths was three time bigger than natural ones.
Thomas took half the pile, Liz the other. Going through the miles of paperwork, Thomas wished the hospital had digitalised their records, and shuddered at the thought of going through dozens more hospitals with just as much paper as this.
“So, did you see the debate earlier on?” Liz asked, flicking away a file.
“Between Dr. Batta and Human X? Yeah , I watched it.” in fact, he had taped it, the debate about cyborgs and A.P.I.A.S. Being naturally close to his heart.
“I can't believe anyone gives that “Human X” any time,” She said. “I mean, where does he get off calling us all liars and racists in denial! I mean, cyborgs aren't even aren't even their own race, are they?”
Thomas considered the question. There was some suggestions that cyborgs could be considered their own sub species of humanity; “Homo Augmentatus”
It was one explanation as to why A.P.I.A.S., the “uncanny valley syndrome”, existed; it was a primal instinct, left other from the days when humanities ancestors walked the earth with Neanderthals. One in ten people in the world could not help but see rebuilds as something other than human, no, worse: something pretending to be human.
“Either way,” he replied, “The fact the debate is happening at all means people are starting to understand that A.P.I.A.S. Is a problem. Perhaps they'll research a better way to treat it, maybe even a cure!”
“Yeah, “ Liz said light-heartedly. “Ban all cyborgs!”
Thomas felt uneasy about responding to that. He had heard many fellow sufferers espouse the same idea, with varying levels of fanaticism. He felt, however, that there was nothing really wrong with becoming a cyborg; they just had to figure a way of living with it.
A buzzer sounded, indicating the door to emergency had been opened. Liz rushed out. “What's happened?” he heard her say.
“White male, early twenties, heavy bleeding,” he heard a man say in an accent he couldn't quite pick.
Curious, Thomas walked to the door and looked out into reception; sure enough, there was a group of paramedics surrounding a stretcher.
He began to turn away, then stopped. Something wasn’t right. There were six of them; way too many for one patient.
As he watched, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand; his teeth began to rattle, his heart beat a little faster.
It was how they moved, how they shifted. How they breathed.
Or didn't.
Cyborgs; They were all cyborgs.
Liz had realised this too, her body beginning to react involuntarily. She stuttered, shakily trying to do paperwork.
One cyborg caught Thomas eye; standing at the back, he had the same augmentation as Hogue, a ring of cameras for eyes. A former soldier; and Thomas knew, with every fibre in his body, that all those electronic eyes were focused on him.
Thomas began to reach for the rifle, leaning against the door.
The cyborg shifted something under his jacket.
Outside, something crashed. In the darkness just beyond the hospital, something huge loomed. There was a muffled bang, and something smashed through the glass doors.
And then the room exploded with light.