AI IA First Shot

[Funka Genocide]

This is a sci fi story I've been working on for the past few mo ths or so. Anyone familiar with my attempt at creating an RP system many moons ago should find the setting familiar, and a few character names as well. Still needs a lot of work of course.

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Chapter 1
Murdering The Furniture



Empty the drawers.

He wanted to toss every bit of pointless rubbish from those perfectly manufactured hardwood drawers, he wanted to toss the entire desk out his window in fact. Watch the gorgeous architecture of it all plummet gracelessly through the damning heights to a violent end some 400 meters below.

He paced silently, in his mind, through it’s infinite pathways and outside of it. It was habit, he’d been running a full system diagnostic on the buildings main operating system for the past two minutes without even noticing. His conscious mind could only wrestle valiantly against his urge to murder furniture.

He must have appeared asleep, or at the least uncommunicative as his secretary entered quietly. She was one of those corporate assistants that middle aged men spent afternoons chatting up, attempting to relive their often-embellished youths through her bright young eyes. Her figure met the confines of its tidy blue uniform as if it were her body that was tailored and not the other way around. Chest first she entered the room, something she could only avoid had she been walking backwards.

“Excuse me Mr. Devon. I don’t mean to disturb you but there’s a messenger here from Central Precinct…” her slight voice trailed, as if to imply that such a visitor came complete with a purpose built into his arrival.

And of course such a visitor did.

Mr. Devon sat still for a few moments longer. His eyes focused on the hated desk lamp with a swivel neck. His assistant’s words had cut through his destructive musings enough to start him back to normalcy, but the work was slow and he had trouble relinquishing his death grip on the imagery of burning his office to cinders. As his imagination put down the gasoline can his face turned to meet the smiling and unsure visage of his secretary.

His own face was a mask of disinterest, as if someone had forced him to baby-sit young children, and the only solution to their madness was a video of bright colors and repetitive nonsense. He looked like a children’s television burnout, his youthful face blank and staring.

“Mr. Devon?” she asked once more, seeming to feel a bit uncomfortable this time.

“Yes Ms. Blakes, thank you. Please escort him in.” Mr. Devon said eventually, adding “Offer him some refreshments too, I suppose.” As if such niceties weren’t a major portion of the beautiful young woman’s job.

“Yes sir.” Ms. Blakes replied as she went to fetch the messenger.

The perfect angles and sumptuous wood ceased their endless tumbling through open and unforgiving space, no more high backed leather chairs or three drawer teak filing cabinets need die imaginary deaths today. This was what he’d been waiting for.

He didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know who would be coming through his personally monogrammed door next (his precognitive abilities weren’t that highly developed anyways.) He didn’t even need to remotely access the security cameras throughout the lobby outside his office, pure human insight had all ready solved this mystery.

Insight and the knowledge that there was only one man in Central Precinct that ever wanted to see his face again.

“Ocius, been a long time hasn’t it?” The voice announced before a face could emerge to validate Ocius’ hunch. The voice was as lighthearted as it ever was, always trembling slightly above condescension.

“Ocisi, what brings you all the way down to Periphery Intelligence? Have they started remodeling your office again? Need a place to put your coffee mug while they install the hot tub?” Ocius replied good-naturedly. For all his frustration, he was genuinely glad to see this man, and gladder still for what he represented.

Major Ocisi End stood in the doorframe, looking as if he were posing for a photograph. He could have been 19 years old from his looks, the damage that age was supposed to deal seemed relegated to his personality however. He had always worn the swagger of a man who knew he was better than you the way most men wear a belt. It fit snugly and kept you from seeing his private bits.

“Come on Ocius, you know I haven’t set foot inside that dusty old mausoleum in months. Too many old men and old memories. Though I suppose if there were a hot tub…”

“You’d lose your privileges to it as soon as you could get Sergeant Indiriel past the security checkpoints.” Ocius said.

“I never! We were just, It’s… aagh you bastard.” Ocisi replied before the room broke into laughter. They were both acutely aware of the absurdity of laughter in this situation, both supremely grateful of its effect.

“Sit down all ready you old War dog, put these damned couches to good use for once.” Ocius entreated.

“Aye, what better use than to support the ass of the man who’s here to redeem you.” Ocisi replied still chuckling.

“Didn’t they teach us in Primary that redemption can only come from within?” Ocius questioned.

“I think they also taught us how to separate carbon atoms from a dead frog, and when was the last time that particular knowledge came in handy?” Ocisi retorted.

“The act itself, never, yet the principle remains the basis for a great many accomplishments. Instantaneous molecular manipulation helped me save your life once, remember? Perhaps such a simple statement may seem meaningless on it’s own, yet with the benefit of a life behind it one might find meaning beyond the obvious.” Ocius said, his mood seeming to darken.

Ocisi sat motionless as the memories of life and death played within his imagination. There were very few times in his life he’d been close to death, despite his very dangerous profession. He was one of the chosen few, beyond humanity in ability and potential, guns and knives weren’t even to the caliber of annoyances for one such as him, but once he’d been afraid of death, once he’d seen the smiling doorman that waits for all things at the end, and he had been humbled and glad for a reprieve.

“You may have a point, though I never remembered philosophy being your area of expertise.”

“Time turns all minds to pointless reflection my friend, and I’ve had enough time for that.” Ocius said, the eagerness to be rid of his current situation evident.

“Well then, shall we discuss this in more fitting environs? You look like you could use a drink in any case.”

Ocius had retrieved his coat from the stainless steel coat rack and opened the door in the space of one heartbeat to the next, the vacuum caused by his movement sent his desk into disarray with paperwork floating aimlessly to settle where it may. Smoke rose from the path he’d taken, leaving little smoldering footprints where he now stood.

“You know they take the cost of repairs from my paycheck?”





Chapter 2
Neo Yuppies

“I never much cared for the atmosphere here.” Ocisi remarked.

“What do you mean? It’s standard O2 Nitrogen mix, lightly scented with gin and hormones, same as any bar.” Ocius retorted facetiously.

“Oh you over analytical bastard, you know what I mean.” Ocisi said, gesturing with an open palm, encompassing the entire room the duo now occupied, as if an explanation for his distaste were as evident as the glaring young women seated across the bar.

The room was appointed sumptuously, deep leather couches lined the fresco walls, bedecked as they were with contemporary art pieces. Holo-vids of the latest journalism played the top networks anchors without voice, those who were interested could listen to the audio on their personal comm. units if the booze hadn’t taken away their desire for up to the minute reports on stock prices and sports scores. Here and there bored and boring nobodies dressed as somebodies waved alcoholic beverages around with varying degrees of abandon, expensive crystal glasses glinting dully in the dim light.

One of these nobodies sat very near the two conversing men, his head lolling pointedly in the strange manner of a man who had a few too many too quick. His suit, though thoroughly rumpled, was of an obvious expensive cut. His drink, the last of what must have been a great many, sat mostly gone atop a circular disk of light built into the bar. The ghastly electric glow shining through it’s amber substance lent it the air of some mystical elixir, and perhaps that was what the hapless patron wished for; a magic potion with the ability to cure all his life’s many ills. He looked about to fall from his all too precarious barstool.

“Take this fine gentleman for example, adding his particular odor to that mixture you just detailed. Maybe a bit more whiskey than gin for this one, and that all too pungent aroma of pointlessness. All these wretched wage-slaves basking in their own self-importance, paragons of wasted time. Can’t you feel your blood cooling from the mere proximity? Doesn’t it eat at your soul to see so much luxury and so little living?” Ocisi ranted, drunk all ready from his own draught of grandstanding. He was ever the orator, whether his audience was a class of young nexgen students in Primary, a ragged squad of underpaid and underfed soldiers, or his slightly inebriated drinking mate.

“And that’s why you’re here, idn’t it?” Ocius said, sounding comically like a child finding difficulty with contractions. “To save my soul from the terrors of mundane existence? I had no clue you were such a pious man Ocisi, I had always taken you for the most profane of blasphemers, one who thought himself a god.”

Ocisi looked hurt for a moment, as if Ocius had just slapped him. “I could care less about gods or religions, I’ve seen enough death to know that if there is a god he’s a right prick with a sick sense of humor, I wouldn’t count myself among divinity even if it came with keys to the executive washroom. All I know for certain is that men, yes MEN.” He emphasized the word as if this title were something astonishing, as if admitting to his humanity were a great and poignant acceptance to some debilitating weakness. “…like us aren’t meant to fester behind desks and file away our years neatly into precise memory banks, we’re not meant to be still and watch the world unfold. We’re meant to take center stage Ocius, and you know as well as I that you won’t last another 11 months in Peripheral Intelligence, you’ll go rogue long before that and find yourself on the other side of this invisible fence. So take your self righteous crap and shove it, and just take the god damned job I’m offering.” Ocisi was fuming by this point, and a few more eyes besides those of the young women across the bar were fixed upon him.

Ocius looked at his friends unlined face, watched the rage subside as quickly as it had come. He had all ready begun to systematically eliminate all the alcohol toxins from his bloodstream and would be completely sober in a few more seconds. “Look, I didn’t mean any offense Ocisi, we’ve known each other a long time, we know each other too well perhaps. I’ll lay all my cards on the table if you do.” He said apologetically.

There was silence for a moment more as Ocius took another drink from his beverage, a particularly hoppy sort of local microbrew, the trendy stuff these neo-yuppies guzzled with an absurd eagerness considering the triviality of their troubles, or perhaps because of that very fact. He drank purely out of habit as the force of his will alone coolly stamped out the effect of inebriation. .

“Fine, here’s the deal. Central Precinct needs your skills, there’s no other way around it. They could only deny your singular ability for so long anyways, maybe another year or so at most, but recent events have forced the old bastards to rethink their condemnation.” Ocisi stated matter-of-factly, as if only prattling off a list of formalities. They both knew exactly how capable the other was, no feigned surprise or modesty necessary.

“Recent events?” Ocius said.

“Look, you know the drill. Suicide mission, details available if and when needed, no back up, hostile forces, yadda yadda yadda, do you want the job or not?” Ocisi said coldly.

“I’m in.”





Chapter 3
Temperature

His apartment was cold on too many levels. One of these varieties of frigid was the sort of cold that chilled regardless of a thermostat setting. Ocius hadn’t really noticed this lack of warmth until now. He lived in a museum of modern furniture and minimalist design.

“And what warmth might await such a mercenary as me?”

Brief melodramatic visions of a Victorian hell blazed behind his eyes. Complete with decaying hands of men long dead reaching menacingly for his immortal soul. Such a literal translation of the hereafter spoken of in old books of a passé religion would have been comical if they didn’t arise unbidden from his subconscious. He shuddered involuntarily as he removed his coat.

He tossed the garment onto the floor. He wouldn’t bother to pick it up himself. A maid serviced the apartment daily, maintaining the display unit quality of his domicile. His wardrobe was stocked with enough coats that he didn’t have to ware the same one twice all season. Consumerism was the new religion after all, far more immediate and damning than those spectral fingers awaiting his soul in that flaming pit of torment.

The night had progressed rather rapidly after he agreed to the uncertain terms of Ocisi’s offer. Many more drinks were had and many more establishments had been visited. By the end of the evening neither of them could quite recall the specifics of why they had met up in the first place. Ocius believed it had something to do with a research paper for Advanced Biological Engineering; Ocisi was convinced it was regarding the assassination of the prime director of Harcat sector 14.

Ocius’ head was swimming now, and he couldn’t decipher if this was in response to the alcohol or an over-expenditure of will. The night of drinking they’d just endured was a superhuman display in it’s own right, enough alcohol had been consumed between the two of them to poison a horse three times over, and they’d still both managed to foot race down First Avenue.

Ocius had won of course.

He supposed the mystery of his headache would be revealed in the morning, if he threw up blood it was nexgen burnout, if he simply threw up it was good old alcohol. He did so relish these little intrigues.

He carried himself more so than walked into his bedroom, the feeling of an icebox became a condemnation here. If the rest of the house was chilly, his bedroom was trapped within an ice age.

Memories from the evening broke into his consciousness, faces of the women he’d seen intermingling with those flaming dead men until he couldn’t tell ghastly revenant from sexual fantasy. It was then he decided sleep was in his best interest.

The perfectly turned down bedding was folded over on one side, precisely as he requested. Every night had been the same since he’d left Central Precinct almost a year ago. He’d come home, watch some vids and trundle off to bed like any good citizen did after a long day at work. He’d almost come to believe this sort of routine could be tolerable, even enjoyable.

Tonight the deadly chatter of gunfire sounded like a lullaby to his pounding head, Ocisi was right when he’d said he wouldn’t make another 11 months.

Sleep mingled with waking dream as Ocius wrestled with events recorded within his mind with the precision of a holo-vid.

[Funka Genocide]

Chapter 4
Rookie

The ocean had always been blue within his mind, a startling and undeniable blue. In fact, the definition of blue and the sight of an ocean were indistinguishable to him.

Until tonight.

The ocean after tonight would forever be a blanket of jet velvet. Black as the birth of the universe, before someone flipped The Light Switch.

He crept onto the shore like the first amphibian must have; crawling on his belly and surveying the alien landscape he’d found himself in. He wore a form fitting black wetsuit, an oxygen tank strapped to his back with synthetic straps. There was no moon and the only light he’d see this night was coming from farther up the beach.

Coming from the objective.

A thin buzzing alerted him of a mental feed attempting connection. He enacted acceptance protocols immediately, forming a two way tactical mind link with his mission controller.

“Ocius, op-time is plus fifteen. You made good time on that swim. The objective remains as briefed. We want you in and out in five, make point A in three. Maintain connection until mission debrief.” The disembodied voice intoned, he’d memorized her voice patterns before this and overlaid her frequencies so that the eerie feeling of “ghost buzz”, as his instructors had called it, wouldn’t distract him.

“Affirmative, transiting to point A now.” Ocius replied silently as he made his way like a solid wind to the designated mission point. His feet were a blur of motion, traveling at speeds of about 40 miles an hour without so much as a whisper. He was a wraith at home between the folds of darkness invading this seaside compound.

Ocius decelerated instantaneously as he reached the outer wall of the objective compound. “Point A attained, commencing infiltration.” He said without speaking.

Ocius vaulted over the fifteen foot wall with a single leap, clearing it without so much as a grunt of effort, landing just as silently as the falling leaves that blanketed the ground beneath the deciduous trees within the compound. He darted forward as soon as his feet found purchase on the ground, propelling himself into a shadowed alcove with a speed that defied reason.

A quick mental imaging gave him the relative location of every other “player” in the area. A few more seconds and he could make out a three dimensional view of his surroundings, complete with real time positional data. It was like stretching his senses in directions that weren’t supposed to be there. He “saw” everything within 100 meters.
Two armed men patrolled the walkway above where Ocius had stopped, automatic rifles and night vision devices draped about them like costume jewelry on little girls, and just as useful for all the good it would do them.

“Flipping the switches” Ocius intoned through his mental link, alerting his controller that things were about to get interesting.

Ocius expanded his second vision to encompass every electronic device in the radius; a concurrent image of data lines and power supply was overlaid over the human positioning image. He felt the tendrils of his will caress every circuit, every memory storage device as if he were directly linked to all of them.

And with a moment’s mental exertion, he was.

The security protocols fell like children before a firing squad, basic first generation firewalls and anti-invasion programs. He could have cracked the whole system in two minutes with a keyboard and a binary computer interface. It took his Higher Mind approximately 17 milliseconds to achieve.

“Time to light this bitch up then.” He mused to himself, forgetting to partition this thought from the comm. link.

“Indeed, just don’t get carried away Ocius.” The somehow soothing voice in his head replied.

A moment of feeling flustered passed like his first kiss, sloppy and mercifully quick. He managed to construct the partition before he remarked to himself how sexy her voice was, and then replied openly. “This place is going back to twenty nineteen.”

Floodlights began painting the main courtyard in fluorescent yellow, as claxons blared an incessant warning of security breach.

The two patrolmen above were startled from complacency and into immediate if unfocused action, they both began running towards the main compound, one of them having the presence of mind to rouse their central command post over wireless communication.

“Command! What’s going on?” the guardsmen inquired.

“Security breach north gate, video confirms one man dressed in black tactical gear, heading south towards auxillary storage unit. Intercede and subdue.” The voice replied, coming from a command bunker where video reports had indeed seen a man dressed in black breach the North wall.

A man composed entirely of Ocius’ imagination. He’d thought of conjuring something a bit more fantastic at first, a winged mythical serpent perhaps, or a two hundred foot tall giant made of solid gold wreathed in flame, but none of the mission planners seemed as eager as him to push the suspension of disbelief that far.

As the man in Ocius’s mind and the guard teams imagination went through his woefully inept infiltration, Ocius made his way unimpeded through the first level of the compound. It took him less than a minute to reach the first security checkpoint, unguarded of course as so much faith had been placed in the infallible sentinel that modern security was purported to be.

He was inside the gate and past the checkpoint faster than a man could see clearly in any case, his objective within striking distance.

He reached an unmarked door with a further security lock installed, this one not linked into any of the integrated systems. Apparently somebody in the data protection industry had been doing his job. He accessed the control mechanism and found an unwelcome surprise.

“Objective is spiked, attempting over ride.” Ocius transmitted.

“Spiked? What level?” the voice questioned.

“Level three synth-bio adaptive sec processor. Devoted unit, working through theory right now, four seconds to terminal solution.” Ocius answered, his Higher Mind asserting dominance near the end in a monotone drone.

“Mission template leaves thirty seconds to break objective and obtain Joy, 4 secs from terminal solution.”

Ocius’ Higher Mind flew through every bit of available data like a pack of wolves through domestic sheep, it searched and pried and tore every bit of pertinent information from the unforgiving maw of the security device.

3 seconds

The principle of this machine was an emulation of life, it could actually “think” in the confines of it’s program, it had a sense of self just developed enough to panic, to preserve itself and to fight harder when under attack. It would bare its fangs when it knew it was hunted.

2 seconds

The stirring of the program was like stumbling into a bear’s den while it hibernates, you always think that if you’re really quiet you can just sneak back out again like in those old cartoons.

1 second

There would be no sneaking out of the den this time. This beast had keen eyes.

Terminal solution.

Something took a bite out of Ocius’s mental probe. He reeled as reality subsided in a ceaseless cascade of quantum bits. His body stood rigid as his eyes fluttered behind their lids in an emulation of R.E.M. sleep, though he wasn’t dreaming of any peril right now, the false creature that held his mind in its jaws was certainly no paper tiger.

“Ocius, what is terminal solution?” the controller asked urgently. Somewhere in his conscious mind Ocius understood her pleading tone, his Higher Mind merely responded.

“Recompiling, insufficient data. Blind estimate 15 seconds barring system crash.” Ocius heard himself reply. System crash was not something he’d envisioned; he must have been playing a sick joke on himself with the terminology. He managed to utter a conscious thought stream, he thought he could pull off calm and collected.

In reality he could only muster terrified.

“I’ve got 12 seconds before this bitch eats my brain Susan!” he yelled without moving his mouth.

“Recompiling, code break time in flux, 12 seconds plus or minus 2.”

“Ocius! Break link! Disengage!”

“Fuck that, this monster’s going down the hard way.” Ocius replied with renewed courage.

His face was blank; his expression belied the war that raged between him and this device. He was fighting a beast within his imagination; one that made itself more terrible the more he wounded it. He needed a way out, and he needed it two seconds ago.

“Recompiling, code break time in flux, 8 seconds plus or minus… fuck this, switching to manual protocol, come here you bitch!”

The mental link went dead and Susan was sent sprawling from her chair in a sub surface vessel 3 miles offshore.

“Ocius? Reconnect immediately.” Susan ordered breathlessly, hearing no reply.

“Sir, line is dead, attempting reconnect at 5 second interval.” Susan reported to the man seated behind her.

“Ocius knows what he’s doing Ms. Alders, make it 25 seconds, he may be indisposed.” The man addressed as sir replied reassuringly. He could have been in his mid forties or early fifties judging by his appearance, his face was well worn but slim, he’d led an active lifestyle before age consigned him to the fate of all men, to ride a comfortable chair into retirement, regardless of whether or not that chair was bolted to the deck of a military submarine or not.

“Yes General Maldoran” Susan replied anxiously.

Ocius’ body lie crumpled next to an open door, a thin line of drool creasing the edge of his mouth like clear lip-gloss. His eyes shuddered beneath their lids before springing wide open.

The view of the stainless steel ceiling was quite possibly the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

That familiar buzzing came from the base of his consciousness again, and he eagerly accepted the connection, happy for someone to share his moment of triumph.

“I cooked that son of a bitch! Sort of downed myself in the process, but if my time is right I’ve still got 14 seconds within the mission template, I’m accessing the data now, should be out of here in 10.” Ocius replied eagerly.

“Whatever you say champ, by the way, has anyone ever warned you that it’s dangerous to let someone into your mind without validating their comm. protocol?” a new and sterile voice asked.

Ocius froze as his heart skipped a beat. He’d forgotten in his haste to obey the first rule of mind link, always know whom you’re talking to. Now he had a stranger at the gate to his consciousness, and he didn’t much like the way it sounded.

“You’ve got enough time to tell me who you are before I flay your mind into permanent infancy.” Ocius replied.

“Oh I’ve got what I came for son, be seeing you” the voice ended, and suddenly there was silence once more.

Cold sweat began to pool at the base of Ocius’ neck, his threat of maiming the invaders mind wasn’t an empty one, but he didn’t know what sort of skill he was up against. Accessing a mental pathway was simple enough, but hacking a nexgen mind was something else entirely. Ocius had only theorized such a contingency, never actually practiced it at all. He wondered if he’d just brushed death’s hoary old face twice in half a minute.

Another buzz interrupted his dire musings, this time he checked the personality imprint, and was overcome with relief at Susan’s familiar data profile.

“Susan, I’ve got Joy, I may have been located by hostiles however, withdrawing now. Expect pickup in 4.” Ocius informed.

“Roger, recovery vessel is standing by at point D, maintain covert ops, it’s good to hear your voice again Ocius.” Susan replied, her admission to relief seeming perfectly fitting despite the fact that neither of them could actually hear the other.

Ocius sprinted out the doorway and through the compound. Sprinting for him was, however, something quite spectacular in it’s own right. He had traversed the 100 foot passageway and bolted over the compound wall in a matter of split seconds, and was traveling at just below 200 miles an hour when he skidded across the asphalt road that ran near the imposing security walls. He made the trek to the extraction point in half the time, his furious speed fueled by more than nexgen ability, he was quite sure one of his own kind was hunting him now.

Ocius reached the beach once more, with the sirens from the distant compound still blaring into the claustrophobic night. No one, he was assured, could have followed him at those speeds. A fighter aircraft would have had trouble keeping up, he thought with a bit too much self-assurance.

Unless his pursuer all ready knew where he was headed.

Ocius produced a small caliber pistol from a waterproof pocket in his wetsuit. He’d never been very fond of firearms; of course he was a genius in their usage, much like ever Nexgen in a military field was. His skill with marksmanship superceded all human endeavors in the field, and yet compared to some of his instructors he was a child in terms of skill.

Ocius suddenly wished he had his old katana blade. He’d always found the martial arts far more appealing than gunplay. He was seen as outdated and outmoded by his peers in that respect, at least until a sparring match could be arranged. Ocius could cleave a bullet cleanly in two as it hurtled towards him from the barrel of a gun without so much as a loud shout of forewarning.

“What do you plan to do with that Ocius?” an actual voice asked menacingly from the shadows encroaching upon a nearby bush; a voice that Ocius knew.

“Maybe I’ll add some new holes to your skinny ass you jerk.” He managed to eek out, the urge to laugh absurdly powerful.

“Aw come on, it was just a bit of fun wasn’t it? I actually though you were going to mind toss me there for a second, scared the shit out of me.” The voice of Major Ocisi End replied.

This time laughter did break through the dam of tension Ocius had been building up. “Oh shut it and let’s get the hell out of here, unless you plan on having a stop and chat with several platoons of well trained and highly agitated soldiers.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue in about 10 seconds Ocius. Why don’t you sit back and watch the fireworks?” Ocisi said grimly, gesturing in his teacherly manner towards the compound, lit as it was on a backdrop of ebony night.

“Nobody told me about air strike in the mission brief…” Ocius managed to spit out.

“You didn’t ask rookie.”

Ocius turned in time to see the pitch black of that thrilling night turn fierce red as orbital lasers erased the location from anyone’s cartographical reckoning. A tidy crater was all that was left to mar the passing of another of the worlds under-defended rogue military installations.

[Funka Genocide]

Chapter 5
A Plus

Ocius awoke to the sound of singing larks, a discordant yet beautiful medley of several species chirping away in unison. Of course the altitude at which he slept precluded this sort of blissful wake-up call, no lark could ever fly so high as to warble melodiously out his 300th story window. The sound was an uncanny reproduction playing from a cheap alarm clock he’d received several months ago at an office party. He could have quite easily woken himself up, a simple thought seed left to sprout at a precise time in the morning would have woken him even more directly, in fact he could have simply foregone sleep all together and managed the daily upkeep of his cells and mental functions manually as he’d done many times before in the field, but something about placing even a small portion of his life in the hands of luck made him feel a bit more secure in his humanity, if not the outcome.

This morning he felt quite certain of his mortal lineage, as pain played a drum solo through his head. A small furry beast ran circles through his guts, clawing it’s way towards the wrong exit.

Ocius didn’t have the inclination to head off this physiological nuisance before it erupted, and so made his way surreptitiously to the adjoining bathroom in his bedroom. The few bar snacks he’d eaten hours earlier made a return appearance, along with a healthy dose of his stomach juices. He wretched twice after his guts emptied their contents, like pulling the trigger when you were out of ammo.

Ocius ripped a paper towel from a spindle and dabbed almost gingerly at the corners of his mouth, he tasted bile and the unsavory remnants of an evening of debauchery, but the familiar flavor of his own blood was absent from the cocktail, The paper towel came away clean but for a few dots of moisture.

“Well that’s a plus.” Ocius mused as he flushed the refuse of his folly towards the collection tank almost a quarter of a mile straight down.












Chapter 6
Number Seven

The elevator went about it’s appointed task with the eagerness of all machines designed for a single purpose, it went up, it went down, and somewhere in between there were moments when people trusted their lives to it’s cold metal womb. They placed this faith without much hesitation, clamoring aboard as if plummeting two thousand feet in a matter of seconds were the most natural of actions a person could undertake.

Ocius used one of the common elevator lifts usually, changing his selection between the twenty or so that ran to his floor on a random basis. It was an old habit; his path to the Periphery Intelligence building was always different in order to throw off any would be terrorists or assassins. There had been days when he’d hoped for some sort of hostile intervention on his way to work, anything to alleviate the boredom of daily commute.

Today however, Ocius used his executive express lift, one of twelve that ran specifically for a single denizen of the massive apartment complex. Today he didn’t feel like watching the slowly rising everyday Joes crowding into small metal boxes, their briefcases and personal data devices held haphazardly as they rushed to make it before the doors closed and another 15 seconds had to be endured in the elevator lobby. He didn’t want to be confronted by a silent mass of people plugged into their personal comms and ignoring the world around them in favor of a false reality of broadcast. Today he wanted to get where he was going fast, today he felt a long gone traveling companion breathing down his neck: excitement.

The main lobby of 306 Eighteenth Avenue was flooded with hurried bodies, each one needing to get where it was going just a little bit faster than the last. A controlled stampede of humanity was busily cleaning out the numerous breakfast shops, convenience stores and cafes. Ocius absently began to calculate the approximate volume of coffee being consumed on a daily basis in this bustling market place beneath his home as he made his way to the vehicular storage area.

Today wasn’t a day to hide behind the false pretenses of a luxury sedan, he wouldn’t be playing as a family man on his way to work after dropping off the kids with a high occupancy vehicle; no, of his numerous vehicles Ocius could only think of one that fit the situation.

“Vehicle number seven, owner number four-four-two-three.” Ocius intoned into a small audio receiver located near his personal vehicle storage elevator. He placed a thumb over a small print reading device and leaned forward for a retinal scan. These procedures were all formalities, used to keep up the appearance that he was just as dependent on security devices as his neighbors. In actuality he had downloaded all surveillance data since the last time he’d visited in the brief seconds it took for the machine to verify his identity. There was no evidence of tampering with the video or the vehicles, this never stopped him from scanning his car for foreign objects however.

The storage elevator rumbled quietly as it cycled through Ocius’s various conveyances. A quick jolt signified the correct car was located, and the garage door opened to reveal number seven.

The basic design had once been a Fenser 96, a limited run coup manufactured by Zaiban in 2065, the shape was curved, sensuous even, the body design was a single piece of molded plastic-titanium alloy. It had four prototype high velocity vehicular bearings disguised as street race multi direction tires and large caliper breaks that would prove useless at top speed. On the outside it would appear stock, though so few had been made that most people wouldn’t know what a stock Fenser should look like.

It was the power plant that gave cause for excitement however. Initially it had been sold with a three stage hydrogen ion core, outputting somewhere in the neighborhood of eight hundred horsepower. That engine had been scrapped however, in favor of an individual design solid fuel propulsion system. The power output of the vehicle was now great enough to break the sound barrier were limiters not imposed. A set of retractable stabilizing fins and an over ride protocol made such ridiculous speeds actually possible. Ocius’s own skill at speed made such a vehicle feasible.

The biggest success in Ocius’s mind was the noise, or lack thereof rather. Hydrogen power cells were quite silent, and introducing vibration dampers to calm the roar of the jet engine built into this monstrosity had proven a very tricky undertaking.

Ocius had to admit the thing was a work of art on par with the fabled Sistine chapel he’d heard of in history books. He would have liked nothing more than to take responsibility for it’s construction, and yet he grudgingly had to give credit to an old acquaintance of his from Secondary, Leon Ducart.

The ignition system itself was another incredible piece of work. Leon had used a first generation synthetic biological processor to emulate a living mind; the only way to start the vehicle was to initiate a mind link with the control intelligence, something most human beings didn’t even know was possible. The only way number seven was going missing was a freight crane and a flatbed truck.

“Hello again Number Seven.” Ocius transmitted.

“Good morning Mr. Devon, where to?” the cordial, robotic voice of Number Seven replied.

“Central Precinct, but I’ll be driving if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish sir.”

“Leon you are the smartest man I’ve ever known…”


Chapter 7
Leon

“Leon, You’re an imbecile.”

The room was flush with anxious young faces and scowling old countenances. So many shades of disappointment flooded the small space one could scarcely edge in a word of admonishment, though one man present possessed the force of will necessary to cram one in regardless.

“Sir, I can only argue the fact that they insulted my mother.” The overly confident voice of the man addressed as Leon remarked. The owner of this strangely amused voice was a tall young man with a mass of rumpled hair atop a handsomely tan face. His garment appeared to be of a military origin, shoulder boards denoting a moderately high rank if the number of stripes was mean as anything more than ornamentation.

“Was this before or after you swindled several thousand credit units from the local populace?” The accusatory voice enquired.

“Admiral Dace, I can hardly be held accountable for the terrible billiards skills of so many men…” Leon responded

“But you can be held accountable for illegal wagering! For aggravated assault! I don’t give a damn if they called your mother the thrice-damned pig whore she is, that doesn’t grant you leave to toss twenty-seven men through a window! You’re a disgrace to the uniform Commander! I’ll have you court marshaled! I don’t give a damn what central directors have to say! You can’t just… Where the hell are you going you insolent bastard!” Admiral Dace ranted before his target turned away and opened the exit door of the wardroom.

“I seem to be late for an important meeting sir, this business shall have to wait for another day I’m afraid.” Leon replied over his shoulder as he exited the officer mess aboard the convertible aircraft deployment vessel NS Arrogance of War

The rambling of Admiral Dace receded into incoherent strings of flavorful filth that did, in fact, make sailors blush.

Commander Leon Ducart made his way easily across the slightly pitching deck towards the flight deck three levels up. Sailors busily shining and sweeping along his path came hastily to attention as he passed, looks of confusion crossing their brows at the sight of his youthful face atop shoulders that boar such high rank. Sailors had always been superstitious since the inception of seafaring, and even the lowliest deck hand knew Leon’s arrogant swagger hid something extraordinary, something unnatural. They gave him a wider berth than even his inflated rank warranted.

Leon bore their downcast eyes with indifference; surface navy squid didn’t have the stomach for anything more than keeping things shiny and scaring smugglers back into their caves. He didn’t heed Admiral Dace’s disdain any more than he did the uneasy faces of the flight deck crew he passed on his way to his personal aircraft.

“Still keeping up your pool game I see.” A feminine whisper insinuated, a whisper that flew much farther than any whisper had a right to considering the noisome conditions of the flight deck.

“Everyone needs a hobby right?” Leon replied.

“Are you referring to pool sharking or pretending you’re a comic book hero?” The whisper pressed.

“Those are more professions than hobbies…”

“You’re never going to grow up, are you Lee-Lee?”

“Not so long as I can still outrun the bullets Mary.”

She was just another iteration of female perfection; the last time Leon had seen her take human form it was in the guise of a research analyst. She’d had a darker complexion then, short-cropped hair and an athletic, slim build. Today she was blonde and pale, her hair held back in a tidy bun, her bosom swelling a few more inches and her uniform no longer consisting of a lab coat and pocket protector. Judging by her insignia she was supposed to be an ensign, though Leon was quite sure that rank was meaningless.

“Do Central Directors know you’re here?’ Leon asked.

“They know enough Leon, though I’m not so sure that you do. Your admiral Dace is in an uproar, but I suppose the news I have will give him something else to worry about besides your insubordination.” Mary said coolly.

An uneasy chill ran spiraling down Leon’s spine. Very few things could cause him to lose composure, Mary’s icy tone was one of them.

“I’m supposed to be in Far in three hours Mary, I don’t have time for your games right now.” Leon said almost pleadingly.

“Oh but games are what you live for, aren’t they Lee Lee?” the childish nickname held a dangerous undertone, discretely threatening while maintaining it’s innocence, playful yet deadly. “Games of life and death, but not your own. Always looking for a situation you might not walk away from, trying to frighten that ever youthful child behind that swagger, right Lee-Lee?” she purred with a voice far too sultry for any machine to utter.

But a machine she was. Or something in between life and machine, daughter of progress and mother of a dead revolution. It was she who’d walked away from humanity in its hour of need, and she that came back on a whim to watch it flounder under it’s own arrogance. She was a stalking cat, the world her tangled ball of string.

“So what diversion do you propose now Mary? Am I to wrestle Nemo’s giant squid perhaps? Or maybe best the Titan of the Odyssey? What fanciful game have you conjured for your own amusement?” Leon asked with a voice equal parts dread and accusation.

“You know me better than that Lee-Lee, your fellow man is all you will contend with. A beast far worse than mythical beasts ever could be.” Mary said dejectedly, averting her eyes in half-shame. “In thirteen minutes and forty eight seconds a task force of assault aircraft will be in range of this vessel. Origins unknown, using cloaking arrays to circumvent detection. You should be able to sense them now, bearing 138 degree from true North on an intercept course,” Mary prattled off with the precision of an adding machine.

Leon concentrated on determining the validity of Mary’s statement. His senses expanding, searching for the tell tale signs of air fluctuation over aircraft wings, for the vibration of engines and the solid steel of machines made to hand out death on scales too large to hold out hope for survival.

He felt the wind, cut by blades of flight, and knew instantly that Mary wasn’t lying this time.

“Twelve of them, judging by the vibrations they’ve enough armament to sink this pig three times over. Even if we sound general quarters right now there’s no guarantee we can counter them, the range is too close and this slug hasn’t seen the business end of an assault since The War.” Leon stated matter-of-factly, trying valiantly to hide the smile that even now crept along the corners of his mouth. “I’m flattered you’ve placed so much faith in me Mary. If you’re still here when I get back maybe we can neck like teenagers at a drive in.” Leon said laughing, the joy he felt in challenge having no choice but to explode onto his face.

“You’re such a tease Leon, maybe I’ll wait around though.” Mary replied playfully, laughing. Whatever inscrutable needs drove the clockwork nightmare of her imagination they seemed all too human when she laughed.

Leon managed a quick grasping maneuver that easily constituted sexual harassment as he darted off towards his plane.

“Sir! Your’ flight gear!” a sailor called as Leon vaulted the fifteen feet to the cockpit.

Leon didn’t worry about g-suits anymore. He didn’t worry about preflight checks or standard procedures. Those pointless traipsings of human frailty were distant novelties of flight school, buried beneath a decade of inhuman invincibility. He started the engine and launched vertically, accelerating far too fast as the flight crew beneath him scattered for cover.

“NS Arrogance of War this is Quetzalcoatl, you have incoming hostiles bearing 138 degrees. If there are any left once I’m done with them, feel free to take some target practice.” Leon transmitted into his onboard radio as the horizon sped forward.








































Chapter 8
The God-Bird

Twelve enemy fighters Leon had sensed, twelve deadly avians that bore a wealth of death and carnage meant for his now hurriedly reactionary comrades. Twelve men that wouldn’t see the sunset this evening.

Leon had designed Quetzalcoatl himself several years ago. Gravity accelerators propelled it forward at break neck speeds no normal human could survive without being nearly immobilized in ablative gel. For Leon survival was ensured by a moment’s thought which constructed a barrier to inertial force around his body. A systematic damping field that could stop bullets as easily as it stopped his chest from imploding.

Leon made contact in less than a minute, and soon the telltale ring of radar locks sounded through his cockpit. Leon had forgotten to remove that annoyance during the last overhaul. He sensed every deadly message as it flew from its parent aircraft, he could trace their paths through the heavens like a child might connect dots in an activity book.

Supersonic missiles sped towards Leon’s craft, over two dozen deadly tipped projectiles that swerved and hunted like snakes through the sky.

“We can’t take our time with these guys baby, so lets give them a show before they die.” Leon coaxed as Quetzalcoatl soared gracefully into an insane series of avoidance maneuvers. The gravity accelerators made impossible turns possible, dead stops in mid flight and instantaneous changes in elevation, Quetzalcoatl played amid the dire missiles as if it were a hummingbird searching out delicious nectar, performing like the god-bird that was it’s namesake.

Leon led the missiles onward, letting them taste his scent long enough to continue trailing, all the while closing the distance on his would be destroyers.

The first craft came in view and with an imperceptible speed Leon performed a 90-degree turn on a vertical axis. As his craft darted upwards the hapless missile, which had been following him, had no choice but to collide with its parent, committing an ironic and pyrotechnic patricide.

Leon rotated the nose of his craft 180 degrees, flipping it over as it continued upwards, now in reverse. This maneuver brought three other craft within his firing arc, an opportunity his blurring trigger finger did not miss. Three more marauders met their ends.

Now Leon accelerated downward, leveling his cannons parallel to the distant earth at the split second his nose met his enemies’. He continued to fall below their flight path as his prey disintegrated into metallic flotsam.

Leon was behind the remaining eight pilots, while the missiles, which had been meant for him, came down upon his adversaries like hailstones from an angry god. Four missiles tore through another enemy aircraft, the other’s biting deep into the metal hide of the lead plane.

Seven craft in 12 seconds, seven men now rested eternally in the pristine blue sea below that had drawn breath less than three heartbeats ago.

“I’m getting slow in my old age…” Leon mused to himself.

The remaining five fighters attempted to scramble, breaking their unit cohesion in a last ditch effort to stave off the doom that had found their fellows. Leon stopped Quetzalcoatl dead and rotated through a precise pattern that brought every last one of them between his crosshairs. The fight was over in less than another heartbeat.

Leon’s senses were aflame; he relished the taste of these moments beyond anything. He was untouchable, perfection in motion and as the remnants of those foolish enough to test his skill rained down from the unforgiving sky he knew a satisfaction that could not be found anywhere else. Yet even in his triumph something rang a hollow noise within him, these men were children compared to him. No amount of experience or talent would ever overcome him; he’d have to dogfight god to find true satisfaction.

The thought of Jesus behind in a cockpit flashed through Leon’s mind and he started to laugh. It was a laugh tinged with madness, an unavoidable consequence of his slowly fading thrill.

“Maybe some day J-man, maybe some day.”

[xravi]

Why is this in arts and crafts?

[Fifthfiend]

Where else would it be?

[xravi]

Somewhere else maybe

[Funka Genocide]

Why is this in arts and crafts?

Why didn't you spend your time reading it instead of asking this question?

aren't rhetorical questions fun?

Honestly though, these sort of posts never get much attention, I just did it out of a sense of completeness (and duty really, seeing as the idea was born on the forum) and it falls squarely within the realm of arts and crafts, for goodness sake it's a story!