Mistrunner 2 - Chapter 38 - Long Overdue (Patreon)

I lost a fight today. First time that’s happened in years. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s like I feel less and less like myself every day. Thankfully, it was just a spar, but I can’t help but wonder what’ll happen next time I get into a real fight.

Nora Lancaster

“We need to get out of here,” Patrick said, pacing back and forth across the compound’s common room. “It’s not safe.”

“This was always the plan,” I pointed out. “Besides, nowhere is safe. Not really. I thought you understood that.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered.

I shook my head. It had been a week since I’d framed Wash, and in that time, the Specters had become further enmeshed in a war on multiple fronts. Not only were they still in a feud with the Cyberdogs, but the Coyotes had joined the fray as well. Neither of those clans were martially specialized – not like the Specters – but they had allies who were. As a result, the Specters had their backs against a wall, and war had truly come to the Garden. Add the Enforcers that had been assigned to the Silos to the mix, and it was only a matter of time before everything truly exploded.

When that happened, it would make the petty battles that had so far embroiled the district look like a series of fistfights. I couldn’t wait.

But in the meantime, that war had spilled over into Algiers, and more than once, battles had been fought practically on our doorstep. The compound that was supposed to be our safe haven had become anything but that, which was why Patrick was begging me to relocate. And even though I’d argued against it, I was beginning to think that he was right. But instead of just moving to a different part of Nova, I was beginning to wonder if we wouldn’t be better off leaving the city altogether.

After all, I had the means. With the map, we could get out anytime we wanted. No one could stop us. The question was what we would do while we waited on the conflict to escalate. It was too early to move on Nora. She needed to suffer more before I finally put her out of her misery. I wanted her whole organization to crumble down around her; only once it had would I even consider killing her.

Otherwise, what was the point of everything else I had done?

No – I needed to let things simmer a bit before I finished her off. But if I left Nova, I didn’t want to waste all that time. That’s when I remembered that I still had one more task to accomplish. Something I had been putting off for quite a while.

I needed to rescue Heather.

I’d been by Heaven and Hell on Bourbon Street more than a few times since I first saw her dancing in that window, so I knew she was still alive. But I’d yet to pull the trigger on rescuing her, partially because I didn’t want to alert Nora that I was back. After all, who else would bother rescuing someone like her? She didn’t have any family. Nor did she have friends. Like me, she’d lived a life sequestered in Jeremiah’s penthouse, cut off from everyone else. I was probably the only connection she had left.

However, that was probably more of a justification than a real reason. Instead, my reticence to rescue her was rooted in my reluctance to confront her enslavement. That kind of thing made me incredibly uncomfortable, and I had no idea what it might have done to her psyche. And if it had destroyed her like it had so many others, there was no escaping the reality that she’d only been enslaved because of her relationship with my uncle. To some, that would be enough to assign blame.

“Fine. We’ll go,” I said. “But there’s something I need to do first.”

“What?” asked Patrick, stopping and turning towards me.

“There’s somebody I need to rescue. Hopefully, I’ll be in and out,” I said. Then, I retrieved the plastic tube containing the Coyotes’ map from my arsenal implant. After handing it to him, I said, “In the meantime, I need you to map a route out of the city. Can you do that?”

“Who are you going to rescue?” he asked.

I told him, adding, “Heather was never my favorite person or anything, but I feel responsible for her. She always tried to be good to me, and truthfully, I should have done this a while back. I’ll go in, get her, and then we’ll get out of the city for a while. I don’t know where we’ll go, but –”

“There’s another town west of here,” he said. “I can’t remember what it’s called, but Remy and me, we stopped there once. Can’t be more than a couple hundred miles away. Probably less.”

I nodded. “Alright, so that’s a plan, then,” I said. But I knew I didn’t want to just lay low in some random town. I needed to work towards accomplishing something. Figuring out what would have to wait, though.

With that, I went into my bedroom and donned an outfit appropriate for a trip into Bourbon Street. It wasn’t quite as risqué as the outfit I’d worn during my first foray into Biloxi nightlife, but it wasn’t that far off, either. Red leather pants, boots with a chunky heel, and a black tank top emblazoned with the Leviathan logo; I let my hair go wild and curly, teased out for maximum size, and adopted an identity with similar ethnicity to my own. It was an effective disguise – nobody would look at the person I was pretending to be and think of Mirabelle Braddock – but it was close enough that I didn’t feel like I was pretending to be someone else.

I’d considered wearing my Infiltration suit, but I’d chosen discretion over protection. Hopefully, I wouldn’t end up regretting it.

Once I was dressed, I left my bedroom and headed downstairs to where I could leave the compound unseen via the tunnel that led offsite. As I walked through the common area, I could feel Patrick’s eyes on me, though. He didn’t say anything, but then again, he’d kept his obvious attraction to himself ever since I’d rejected him after our pseudo-date.

Did he resent me? Or had he simply given up? I didn’t know. Nor was I sure if I liked either notion. I didn’t want him to chase me or anything, but I wouldn’t have been upset to find out that he was pining for me, at least a little.

Of course, I didn’t really have time to think about that kind of thing. So, I just gave him a wave and headed out. In a few minutes, I was driving my disguised Cutter through the streets of Algiers.

Normally, I would’ve preferred to take the monorail, but with the two districts so firmly embroiled in unrest, the elevated train had become far less reliable. Once or twice, it had even been the scene of brutal attacks that had to be suppressed by the Enforcers. Of course, their version of law enforcement meant killing everyone in the area, which only served to increase the tension even more.

Either way, I wasn’t going to trust the monorail for transportation. The Cutter might draw a little attention – mostly the wrong kind – but I was far more comfortable using it than relying on anyone else. At least astride it, I was the one in control.

As I traversed the district, I couldn’t help but notice the signs of recent battles. More than one building was crumbling, and those that weren’t falling down had walls marred by cracks and scorch marks. Everywhere I looked, I saw armed civilians. Even the normally withdrawn factory workers were wary, which was expressed in the form of furtive eyes and twitchy movements reminiscent of rats.

Or maybe that was just my imagination making that connection. After all, the people of Algiers had a lot in common with the rodents that infested every corner of Nova City’s poorer districts. They were dirty, often diseased, and more than willing to eat whatever garbage fell in their general direction. But more than anything, they were survivors who’d managed to carve out a place even when everything was set against them. They were also looked upon as a nuisance by those who thought themselves their betters.

Was I one of those people? Sometimes. It was difficult to see some of those homeless wretches as actual people. It was even worse when I had to smell them, and I often found myself cringing away in disgust. Even though I knew it wasn’t really their fault – most of the time, at least – I found myself looking at them with a mixture of disdain, pity, and annoyance. When I thought about it, I managed to shove some compassion in there, but it definitely wasn’t my first instinct.

In a lot of ways, I was ashamed of that. I wanted to be better. I just wasn’t sure if I was up to that task.

I had to make a few detours along the way, mostly because of fighting in the street or fallen buildings blocking the roads. But I knew the area well enough that it didn’t take too much longer than normal for me to reach the spiraling ramp that would lead to the Garden District. I kept a keen eye on my surroundings as I mounted the ramp, but I didn’t run into anything before reaching the next platform. In fact, it went a lot faster than it usually did, probably because traffic was a lot lighter.  I wasn’t sure if that result could be laid at the feet of the increasingly dangerous streets or the continuing exodus from the city, but I appreciated it all the same.

The Garden was even more volatile than Algiers had been, and on a couple of occasions, I had to resist the urge to stir the pot. If I got too caught up in forcing the situation to escalate, I’d run the risk of losing my focus. Still, it was difficult not to pose as a member of one of the tribes and pick off an Operator here or there. I managed to resist the call to battle, though, and eventually, I found my way to Bourbon Street.

Surprisingly, the area seemed completely immune to the chaos in the rest of the city, and it was just as packed as ever. If anything, the patrons seemed even wilder than they had the last time I’d visited, which was quite an accomplishment, given the things I’d seen. Perhaps with death regularly knocking on their door, the Operators had lost the few inhibitions they had once harbored.

Whatever the case, I wasn’t there for a good time, so I had little interest in the crowd, save to make certain that they didn’t pose any threat to me. They didn’t. In fact, even dressed as I was, I barely got a second glance. After all, Bourbon Street didn’t lack for beautiful men and women, and few of them were dressed nearly as conservatively as the outfit I’d chosen for my foray into the den of iniquity.

I took a meandering path toward Heaven and Hell; I didn’t want to alert anyone by looking out of place. But I also didn’t want to linger too much. It was a balancing act, and one I found completely tiresome. It would have been different if I’d been there for the place’s intended purpose, but as it was, I found the entire scene to be tiresome.

Soon enough, I found myself entering the club itself. Immediately, I was confronted by a tall, broad-shouldered doorman dressed in black pants and a black tee-shirt. In a curiously high-pitched voice, he said, “No weapons allowed. If you have any, surrender them now.”

As he spoke, he pointed to a line of lockers on the other side of the foyer. I wasn’t about to give up the weapons, and I didn’t think I’d need to, either. I couldn’t imagine anyone seeing inside my arsenal implant, after all. So, I just told him I wasn’t armed, which he didn’t believe at all. So, I had to submit to being frisked, which, given that he paid extra special attention to some of my most private parts, made me feel more than a little violated. I wanted nothing more than to pull out my infrequently used tetsubo and break a few bones, but I restrained my violent impulses.

Either way, I wasn’t in the best of moods after he gave me the go ahead to step up to the counter, where I paid a nominal entry fee before stepping past the bored-looking attendant and into the club itself. When I did, I saw that it was exactly what I had expected: alternatingly seedy and gaudy. The prevailing color scheme was red and gold, with the former tending toward a velveteen texture with the latter toward a shimmering façade that clearly went no deeper than the surface.

Throughout the room, there were various tables and booths populated by a multitude of faceless mooks. And then there were the entertainers. In the manipulative illumination of the club, they all looked distractingly perfect. Whatever flaws they had – and with Observation, I could see that there were plenty – were covered up by makeup, clever lighting, or distracting sensuality.

But it was all hollow.

Like the club’s ubiquitous gold-plated trim, it was just a façade. It wasn’t real. The services on offer were nothing more than diluted versions of real connections. Sure, it would feel good for a little while, but it was a poor substitute for a genuine relationship. Not that I would know, of course. I’d had some experiences, but nothing that would make me an expert on human connection.

But as ignorant as I was, I knew that there was no real happiness to be found in a club like Heaven and Hell. Just distraction and a fleeting sense of euphoria.

The theme of the club was obvious. On one side, the entertainers wore angel wings and halos and little else, while on the other, they had black horns, red body paint, and swishing tails. I had no interest in investigating how those tails were attached.

I pushed forward to the bar, where I was greeted by a lithe man with cheekbones that could but glass. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy underwear that did little to hide his assets.

And he was just the bartender.

“What can I get for you, baby?” he asked, his voice sultry and suggestive.

“Information,” I said. Before he could object, I went on, “I’m looking for a woman. She’s blonde, in her early thirties, and named Heather. Sound familiar?”

I knew I’d hit a mark, but judging by his expression, I could tell that it wasn’t the one I’d intended to target.

“I’ll make it worth your while if you can point me in her direction,” I said. Then, I initiated a transfer of a thousand credits, but I didn’t accept it. Neither did the scantily clad bartender. “All yours if you just tell me where to find her.”

His eyes flicked back and forth, but he didn’t say anything. It was only when he focused on something behind me that I realized we had company. I stepped aside just in time to avoid a grasping hand. I took another step, then aimed a jab at a stout man’s ribs. I felt them break beneath my fist before I grabbed his shirt and slammed his face into the bar.

His face shattered in an explosion of blood.

People screamed.

And I leaned forward, dragging his face away from the remnants of the cracked surface of the bar as I hissed, “I think you better tell me what the hell’s going on before I really start breaking things, yeah?”

As I dragged him upright, I noticed that many of the patrons had already scattered. The dancers were the same way, but even then, I didn’t see Heather. I knew better than to think that she was simply off for the day. People with slave implants didn’t get breaks. That was the whole point. To their masters, they weren’t people. Just commodities to be used.

In a lot of ways, it was more straightforward than the roundabout oppression propagated by the city’s aristocratic caste. But it was also far more restrictive and infinitely worse, if for no other reason than that they weren’t afforded even a semblance of free will.

As I looked around, I saw a dozen Operators. Not just thugs like the doorman or the guy whose face I’d just shattered. No – these people were the real deal, with mid-grade cybernetics and weapons that could prove lethal, even to me.

“So, this is how you all want to play it?” I asked, my voice hard. Even as I waited for an answer, I was breaking through whatever defenses their systems featured. It was child’s play, and by the time someone chose to answer, I’d already infiltrated three of the mooks’ systems. A couple more seconds, and it would have been all of them.

“You made a big mistake, little lady,” spat one of the men.

I supposed he’d have to be my first example. I disabled the cybernetics of the three Operators whose systems I’d bypassed. As the effect took hold, I summoned my assault rifle and tossed the man with the broken face aside. I had plans for him after I dealt with his friends.

At the same time, the nine other mooks opened fire, and I dove behind the bar. Bullets tore into the structure, but it was made of higher quality material than I’d originally expected, so none of them made it through.

“Knew I should’ve worn my Infiltration suit,” I muttered to myself. Then, I peeked my head out, took aim, and put one burst through a mook’s head. The superheated plasma erased his skull, leaving only a stump of charred flesh behind.

That’s when they buried me beneath a hail of gunfire.