Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction ❯ Bubblegum Avatar #2 – "Born to be Killed" ❯ Chapter 9 - “Your Mission, Should You Decide to Accept It....” ( Chapter 9 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Trboturtle 
Craig and Priss have to go get Jeremy, but things don't go according to plan.....
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 03.25.2006 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 908 | Status: Completed
Craig and Priss have to go get Jeremy, but things don't go according to plan.....
Anime/Manga: Bubblegum Crisis Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Cyberpunk / Action | Type: Self Insertion | Uploaded On: 03.25.2006 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 908 | Status: Completed
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Chapter 9 - “Your Mission, Should You Decide to Accept It....”
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What stars could be seen in the night sky were hazy mostly from the smog that sat over the city like a blanket. Even this late at night, there city wasn’t quiet asleep, as GENOM was always doing business somewhere in the world.
The residential area was quiet though as the dark colored sedan rolled to a stop at the curb of a tall apartment building. The engine died and two people got out.
Priss glared at Craig. She was dressed in dark business style suit with a knee length skirt and low heel shoes. Her hair was now a fiery red in color and pulled back in a tight ponytail. Green eyes instead of her normal red ones combined with a pair of spectacles and different makeup went far to blur Priss’s well-known features. The scowl was still the same though.
Craig returned the stare. “What?” he asked. He looked as he had when he infiltrated USSD – dark hair combed differently, deeply tanned skin, pencil-thin mustache, face aged so he looked like a man in his thirties, and clear-lensed glasses. His dark suit was the same color as Priss’.
“These contacts itch!”
“Just suffer. You don’t have to put up with them too much longer.”
“All right. But I still don’t like it.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yea.”
Craig touched a small button located on the inside of his coat lapels as they walked towards the apartment building. “Black to White,” he said in a soft voice. “Me and Blue are moving in to take the King.”
“Understood Black. Green and Pink are going after the Queen right now.”
“Any signs of Rooks?”
“Negative, Black.”
“That doesn’t make feel any better.”
“Don’t go looking for trouble.”
“I don’t go looking,” Craig replied. “It usually comes looking for me.”
“Shut up and get going. White out.”
“She told you off,” Priss said with a smirk.
“So what else is new?” Craig replied.
They continued walking up to the entrance of the apartment building. The building was a mass of steel and glass, fifty stories tall and geared to the young professional. According to the information Sylia had given them, there was a clerk on duty at all times in the lobby.
Before they entered the lobby, Craig stopped and held up a hand to halt Priss. “Let me do the talking. Just stand there and keep your eyes open for anything.” Priss bristled, but Craig continued on.
He strode into the lobby, scowling fiercely, Priss following a step behind, also scowling. The clerk, a short, fat man with a balding head and watery eyes, looked up in alarm at the sudden intrusion. “C-can I help you?” he stammered.
Craig pulled out a small billfold out of his pocket and flipped it open, showing a N-Police identification card and badge. “I’m Detective Sangnoir,” he said in a flat voice. He snapped the billfold shut and motioned to Priss. “This is Detective Van Vliet. We are here for a Mister Jeremy Kwan.”
The clerk’s eyes goggled. “At this time of night?”
“It’s important.”
“W-what for?”
“That is a police matter. He’s still in apartment fifteen twenty-seven?”
“H-he is.”
“Good. Come with us.”
Sweat began to bead on the clerk’s high forehead. “W-w-why?”
“Because we might need you to get into the apartment.” Craig reached across the desk to take the unresisting man by the arm. “Pr -- Yumeko, get the elevator.”
It took Priss a couple of seconds to remember her cover name, but she finally walked over to the elevators and punched the call button hard. She glared at Craig, who ignored her and guided the clerk over to the elevator. One set of elevator doors opened and the three of them entered the empty car.
As the doors closed, Craig asked, “Is Mr. Kwan alone?”
“I-I don’t know,” the clerk answered weakly.
“I guess we have to find out for ourselves,” Priss muttered.
The ride was short, and the three of them exited the car. The clerk lead them down a dimly lit corridor and to a door marked ‘1527'.
Craig looked at Priss and motioned to the clerk. “Hold him,” he directed, then knocked on the apartment door. The was no answer. Craig knocked again, harder this time. Again no answer.
This time, Craig pounded on the door, the sounds loud in the stillness of the hallway. And this time, he got a reaction.
The door was flung open, and Jeremy Kwan was there, dressed in a pair of blue pajamas and a red bath robe, looking half asleep and very irritated. “What?’ he snapped, running his hand through his disarrayed hair.
“Jeremy Kwan?” Craig asked, trying to make his voice sound slightly deeper then normal.
Something clicked in Jeremy’s mind, and he tried to slam the door in Craig’s face. Craig stepped forward as he angled his body to take the door with his shoulder. The door smashed into his shoulder before it bounced back, staggering Jeremy slightly. Grimacing from the explosion of pain coming from his abused shoulder, Craig staggered back, then surged forward, slamming his abused shoulder into the door again.
With nearly one hundred kilograms hitting the door, it slammed opened, sending both Jeremy and Craig stumbling into the apartment. Craig recovered just in time to see Jeremy reach for a baseball bat in a nearby chair. “Hold it!” he shouted.
Jeremy wasn’t listening as he grabbed the bat and held it over his head. “Get out!” he shouted. “Leave me alone!”
“Wait a minute! I –“
Jeremy screamed and came at Craig, swinging the bat at Craig’s head. Craig ducked the wild swing and hit Jeremy with a sharp punch in the stomach. Jeremy wheezed in pain, but swung the bat at Craig’s head again. As the bat came down at his head, Craig sprang forward, tackling Jeremy and sending them both to the floor. The bat bounced off the male Knight Saber’s back before Jeremy lost his grip and went ricocheting away.
Craig landed on top of Jeremy. “Will you stop it?” he shouted, as he pushed himself off of the struggling technician. “I am a pol–“
Jeremy hit him with a right cross to the side of the head. Pain blossomed across the left side of Craig’s face, blurring his vision for a second, and the glasses went flying. In retaliation, Craig smashed another punch into Jeremy’s stomach. This time, Jeremy gasped for the sudden loss of air from his lungs and stopped struggling. Moving as quick as he could, Craig rolled Jeremy over and handcuffed the technician, then stood slowly.
“Finished?” Priss asked from the doorway.
Craig turned to glared at her. “I could have used some help.”
The disguised singer shrugged and help up her pistol. “I was backup. Besides, it looked like you were having fun.”
Craig gingerly touched the side of his face. “Lady, your definition of ‘fun’ needs to be revised.”
“It works for me.”
The clerk looked over Priss’ shoulder. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
“No everything is not all right,” Craig spat out. He nudged the groaning Jeremy with a toe. “He’s under arrest for assault on a police officer.” He looked around for his glasses, found them, then put them back on. “Not to mention assault with a deadly weapon.”
There was a murmur of voices coming from the hall. Priss looked out into the hall and when she turned to look at Craig, She smirked. “We have an audience.”
“Shit,” Craig spat. He reached down and helped Jeremy get to his feet. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said as he guided the still wheezing technician to the door. “Anything you say can be used in a court of Law. You have the right to an attorney.”
There were about a dozen people in the hall, most wearing bathrobes and looking curious and angry at the disruption to their sleep. Craig took out his billfold and opened it. “I am a police officer,” he said in a loud voice, holding the open billfold over his head. “This man is being arrested for assaulting a police officer, namely me. Please clear this hallway – now.” he turned his head to look at the clerk. “Close that door and lock it,” he said, motioning towards the door to Jeremy’s apartment. “There will be a evidence collection team here in the morning.”
Priss disappeared into the apartment and emerged with a suitcase. “It looks like we caught up with him in time,” she said. “This suitcase is full.”
“Bring it along,” Craig growled.
The crowd in the hall melted away as Craig maneuvered Jeremy down the hall to the elevator. Priss followed, carrying the suitcase. The car arrived a few seconds after Craig hit the call button. The three of them entered the car.
“That’s going to be one hell of a bruise,” Priss said motioning to Craig’s face.
“I’m use to them now,” Craig growled.
“Who are you?” Jeremy shouted. “What do you want with me?”
“To save your life, you jackass,” Craig snarled.
“How? By breaking into my home?”
“This isn’t the time for explanations.”
“The hell it isn’t! I want to–“
Craig grabbed Jeremy by the lapels of his robe and shoved him against the wall of the car. He shoved his face so it was less then six inches from Jeremy. “Listen good,” he hissed, “because I am in a very foul mood right now.” He slammed Jeremy into the wall just hard enough to rattle him. “My orders are to bring you in alive.” Jeremy was slammed into the wall again. “There was nothing in my orders that said you have to be whole.” This time, Jeremy’s head bounced off the wall, leaving him looking slightly glassy-eyed. “So unless you want to look like a road accident, you WILL SHUT THE HELL UP!”
Craig felt a hand on his arm, so he focused his attention on Priss. “Ease off,” she said. “We’re trying to keep him alive, not kill him ourselves. Remember?” she smirked. “Besides, I’m suppose to be the hot tempered one.”
Craig released Jeremy and the stunned technician slumped to the floor. The elevator’s doors opened, showing the lobby. Both Priss and Craig half carried, half dragged Jeremy into the lobby and outside.
By the time they left the building, Jeremy had recovered and was not happy. “Did GENOM send you?” he asked, trying to struggle out of his captor’s grasp.
“No they didn’t,” Craig growled.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because Mason would have sent one of his plug-in girlfriends to kill you, not a couple of working stiffs like us.”
“You know Mason?”
“We’ve met. It was loathing at first sight.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You’re becoming a broken record.”
They reached the car. Craig thrust Jeremy at Priss. “I’ll drive, You ride in the back with him. If he tries anything, shoot him.”
Jeremy frowned at Craig. “Haven’t we met?”
Craig ignored him and looked up and down the street. “Get him in the car. I need to make a call.”
“You heard the man,” Priss said as she place the suitcase on the curb, opened the car’s rear door, then pulled Jeremy toward it. “Get in.”
Jeremy pulled away from Priss and tried to make a break for it. The singer reached out and grabbed him by the collar and pulled. The robe gave way as Jeremy struggled to get free, screaming, “Murder! Help! Police!”
“That’s it!” Craig bellowed. He grabbed Jeremy by the shoulders, spun him around and propelled him towards the car. He slammed the struggling technician onto the trunk of the car, shouting, “Tranq patch, now!” as he used a forearm to hold Jeremy’s head down on the hood.
Priss pulled a small foil wrapper from her pocket, ripped open and gave it to Craig. Craig grabbed the wrapper with his free hand, pulled the foil wrapper free of the patch with his teeth, removed the backing then slapped the tranq patch on Jeremy’s neck. After several seconds, Jeremy’s struggles became weaker, then stopped.
“We should have used the patch from the first!” Craig growled. He removed his glasses and leaned on the side of the car next to the unconscious technician. He hung his head. “Damn it,” he muttered. “This was suppose to be easy!”
“It could have been worse,” Priss said.
Craig glared at her. “How?” he asked acidly.
“We could had to fight one of those female boomers.”
“If we stand here too much longer, we may just do that.” Craig grabbed the limp body. “I don’t suppose we can stuff him in the trunk?”
“Tempting, but Linna will give us hell if he’s damaged.”
“Back seat it is. Give me a hand.”
With a little trouble, they managed to get Jeremy in the back seat of the car. Priss slid into the back seat with Jeremy while Craig tossed the suitcase into the trunk, then got behind the steering wheel. He again touched the small button located on the inside of his coat lapels. “Black to White.”
“White here,” Sylia replied. “Everything all right?”
“We have him.”
“How is he?”
“The King was not willing to come quietly, White.”
Craig heard Sylia sigh. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
“He’s in one piece, though he’s making like sleeping beauty at the moment. I’m not a happy camper right now.”
“Your personal opinion is not relevant. Black. Bring him in.”
“Are Green and Pink having any luck with the Queen?” Craig asked
“Negative. They’re still waiting for her. She hasn’t come home yet.”
“Shit.”
“Get back here now. We’ll worry about the Queen later.”
“We’re on our way. Black out.” Craig started the car and pulled away from the curb, muttering something too low for Priss to hear. But considering her teammate’s current mood, she decided to say quiet.
*****
Half a block up the street from the apartment building, a dark sleek-looking sports car sat. It had sat there for several hours, apparently unoccupied. In reality, it was occupied – by one of Mason’s female boomers.
The boomer was a striking redhead who could have easily been mistaken for a model. But this model was a death machine, complete with built in weapons and significant advantages over humans in speed and strength. She was an boomer, the latest in covert killing, surveillance, and protection.
She had also been programed to be patient. She had watched the car arrive and the two people enter her target’s building. They came out a short time later, dragging her target to the car. Her target had tried to escape, only to be subdued by the male of the pair. After throwing a suitcase into the car’s trunk, the three of them drove off into the night.
She waited until the car was halfway down the block before she started her own car and pulled out to follow them. Her orders had been clear; should Jeremy Kwan leave his apartment in middle of the night, she was to kill him and anyone helping him. It didn’t matter to her that it appeared that he was leaving under duress.
Her mission was now active.
*****
There was an uneasy silence in the car. Craig was hunched over the steering wheel, mumbling to himself, while Jeremy was under sedation and unaware, lying sprawled on the back seat. Only Priss was in anything resembling a normal mood.
“How is he?” Craig growled.
“Still out,” the singer replied, removing the contact lenses from her eyes and placed them into a small case. That tranq patch will work for a couple of hours.”
“Good. He was getting on my nerves.”
Priss shrugged. “I noticed. I didn’t realize you had a temper.”
“I usually take it out on inanimate objects.”
“Jeremy isn’t an inanimate object.”
“He just rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Linna won’t like it.”
“He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” Craig slowed the car and turned onto a main road.
“He was scared about something.”
“We can ask him what once we have him and Irene stashed safely away from Mason’s merry mechanical maniacs.” Craig glanced in his rear-view mirror and Priss saw his face harden.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Possible tail,” Craig replied.
Priss glanced back at the car a hundred meters behind them. “Are you sure?”
“No. You’d better break out the artillery, because if it is a tail, it isn’t a human behind that wheel.”
“How are you going to find out if it’s a tail?”
Craig began to speed up. “By trying to lose them.”
Priss reached down and picked up a small case from the floor. She pulled out her pistol, then opened the case. “We have only three grenades,” she said, her voice slightly higher in pitch and volume.
“So don’t waste them.” Craig tapped the comm button again, noticing that he was coming up to an intersection. “Black to White. We may have a Rook in play.”
“Can you confirm?” Sylia asked.
We’re doing that right...NOW!” Craig cut the wheel hard to the left, sending the car into a tight, skidding turn onto a side street. Not waiting for the skid to stop, Craig pressed hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward in a cloud of smoke and burning rubber. Both hands were clenched on the wheel, making his knuckles white. Priss and Jeremy were thrown around in the back seat by the sudden action.
“Hey, watch it!” Priss snapped. “You could kill us!”
“Better me then them,” Craig snarled back. They reached the next intersection just as a dark shape came flying out of the smoke cloud behind them, moving at a high rate of speed in pursuit and closing. “Shit!”
“I think they want to play,“ said Priss, affixing an attachment over her pistol’s muzzle.
“No kidding, Charlie Brown,” Craig muttered, then remember that the link between him and Sylia was still open. “Black to White. Update that Rook from a ‘maybe’ to a ‘probable’.”
“Understood Black. The Queen is still not accounted for.”
“Shit!”
“Curse later. Try and lose your pursuer.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Craig snapped back. “Playing tiddlywinks?”
“Head for the Costal Highway!” Priss shouted.
“And give that wind-up witch room to maneuver?”
“Quit complaining and get going,” Sylia snapped. “Do you know where the Yokohama exit is off the Costal Highway?”
Craig thought for a second. “Yes!” he shouted.
“Get on the Costal Highway and head towards the Yokohama Exit. I’m recalling Green and Pink, and we’re on our way. If you haven’t lost the tail before we rendezvous with you, we’ll take care of them.”
“Gee, What’s the ETA?” Craig asked.
Sylia was silent for a second. “Eight minutes,” she replied.
“Damn it!” Craig drove the car through a red light, barely avoiding a truck, and raced down the street at better then a hundred and twenty kilometers. The dark sedan was still in pursuit and gaining slightly.
Priss, who had been listening on her own radio, opened her mike. “We’ll get there, but don’t you guys be late!”
“We won’t,” Sylia assured her.
“I hope not,” Craig muttered.
That’s when the car pursuing them opened fire.
*****
“I’m bored,” Leon said.
Daley Wong looked at his partner. “What now?” he asked before he glanced up at the traffic light. It was still red.
Leon had put his seat into the full recline position, and lounged in it with his hands behind his head. “I am bored,” he said again.
“Can’t find your girlfriend?”
“She’s been busy the last several days.”
“In other words, she’s turn you down flat.”
Leon looked at Daley. “No, she didn’t turn me down – yet.”
The red-headed Inspector chuckled. “Why do you throw yourself at women, when I’m right here?”
“Sorry, you’re still not my type.”
Daley sighed theatrically. “Sooner or later, you’ll come around.”
“Well, we’d better get going. The light’s green.”
Daley started the car forward into the intersection. “I think you should –“
A car shot through the intersection from the street on the left, missing the police car by less then a meter. Daley slammed on the brakes, sending Leon sliding forward in his seat and halfway into the leg well. “What the Hell?” the tall Inspector yelled, trying to untangle himself.
“I think trouble,” Daley replied.
Another car shot through the interchange, this one had a hand holding a compact machine pistol out the driver’s window, firing a long stream of bullets in the direction of the first car. The sound was muffled by the car’s interior, but Leon recognized it at once. “Trouble?”
“Yep,” Daley said. “Definitely trouble.”
“Let’s get after them!”
“And you had to be bored,” Daley muttered, and he switched on the lights and sirens and started after the car.
Leon was too busy extricating himself and getting his seat upright to respond.
*****
A burst of fire shattered the rear window of faux police vehicle, showering all three occupants with glass. “Everyone all right?” Craig shouted, hunched over the steering wheel. The pursuer was still closing the distance, now less then thirty meters.
“Yes!” Priss shouted back. “But that bitch is pissing me off!”
Craig didn’t respond, but looked in the rear view mirror, only to see that it had been shredded by bullets. He glanced in his side mirror, just as he heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights. “We’ve got more company!”
Priss, who was half on top of the still comatose Jeremy, peeked out the fragmented rear window. “It’s an ADP car!” she shouted.
“With our luck, it’ll be your boyfriend and his partner.”
“Leon’s not my boyfriend!”
“Well, whoever it is, they are not going to believe we’re cops.”
“So what we are going to do?”
“This!” Craig yanked the wheel and threw the car into a hard left turn into a narrow alley, then accelerated, sending a few trash cans flying as the car struck them. The car pursuing them made the turn also and followed, the hand holding the machine pistol visible outside the driver’s window. The ADP car tried to make the same turn, but slid a bit too far, causing the driver to stomp hard on the brake before the car slammed into the wall. Whoever it was, they managed to keep the car intact, though they lost some ground on the other two cars.
Priss snatched a grenade from the case, placed it over the attachment on her pistol, then gave the grenade a half twist to lock it in place. Looking out the back window, she caught the orange of a muzzle flash. “Down!” she shouted, taking her own advice as she did so. Craig was hunched so far over the wheel, all that was above the dashboard was the top of his head as far as the eyes.
This burst finish what little remained of the back window and turned most of the front windshield into fractured glass, white spiderwebs that made vision out of or into the car impossible. Craig’s vision while driving was limited to an area about the size of his fist. “Shoot! Shoot!” he yelled.
Priss popped up just far enough to mark her target before she raise the pistol and grenade and fired. With a ‘whomp!’, the grenade shot from the pistol and headed for the car behind them.
Unfortunately, Priss fired slightly high.
Instead of hitting the pursuing car in the middle of the windshield, it hit the top of the glass near the roof. The result, instead of the explosion engulfing the interior of the car, managed to rip off most of the roof in a bedlam of light and sound. Had the drive been human, it would have been likely she would have been killed by concussion and shrapnel.
But the driver wasn’t human.
The pursuing car wavered slightly as it drifted to the right, then scraped along the brick wall, sending a long stream of sparks cascading out behind it. Then it drifted away from the wall and back into the center of the alley.
Craig drew a large pistol from an armpit holster, and started hammering on the shattered windshield with the pistol’s butt, cursing in both English and Japanese as he did so. Priss grabbed another grenade and attached it to the pistol. She looked out the back window. “She’s still there!” she yelled.
With a couple of hard, panic-backed blows, the windshield fell apart, sending pieces of safety glass flying everywhere. “When did I end up in this bloody remake of ‘The Terminator’?” Craig muttered to himself as he put the pistol away, then louder, “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Shoot the bitch!”
“Shut up and keep driving!” Priss snarled.
Their car shot out of the alley like a cork from a bottle of champaign, and onto another street. Out the passenger’s side window, Craig could see a van bearing down on them. “Hang on!” he shouted, then yanked the wheel hard to the left and stomped on the brake hard. The driver of the van, startled by the sudden appearance of the car, also slammed on the brakes in an attempt to avoid a collision The faux police vehicle sideswiped the van, sending both Craig and Priss crashing into the driver’s side of the car, and slowing their forward momentum almost completely.
Somewhat stunned, and without meaning to, Priss’ finger tightened around the trigger of her pistol. With another ‘whomp’, the unaimed grenade shot out the back window and struck the edge of a building at the mouth of the alley. The area struck exploded in a shower of flame, smoke, brick and steel, sending a cascade of debris into the mouth of the alley....
....Right as the pursuing car shot out of the alleyway. The car was pelted with stone and steel, adding more damage to what already existed. But it didn’t stop the pursuit.
In the meantime, Craig recovered enough to jam his foot down on the accelerator. The car’s wheels squealed as the car launched forward, the sound mixing in with the scraping as it leapt away from the van. The pursuing car, looking more like a junkyard wreck then a functional car, shot off after them.
*****
With sirens screaming, the ADP car came flying out of the alley, sending rubble in every direction and jarring the occupants hard enough to make their teeth rattle. It slid into a turn, barely missing a damaged van and roared off, chasing the two cars that had started a small running war in the middle of the city.
While Daley drove, Leon as on the radio, trying to coordinate a police response to the chase. “I need aerial support and I need it now!” he was shouting.
“It’s going to take at least ten minutes to get a helicopter,” the radio dispatcher, not Nene, replied. “And there’s only three police cars with seven block of your position.”
“Damn!” Leon snarled. “I want all three police cars to vector in on those two cars – now! And I want that helicopter here in five minutes. Now get moving!”
“I wonder what this is all about,” Daley said.
“We can ask them when we have the handcuffs on them,” Leon replied.
*****
“White to Black,” Sylia called over the radio. “What is your status?”
“Up the bloody river without a bloody paddle!” Craig shouted. “Our friend is definitely hostile, the car is damaged, and we’ve got the police along for the fun of it!”
“I know,” Sylia replied cooly. “It’s Leon and Daley in the car pursuing you. He’s trying to head you two off.”
“Oh shit,” Priss muttered. The wig had been knocked askance by the collision with the van, allowing her own natural hair to peek out from under it.
“What’s you ETA?” Craig asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, the white of his knuckles started spreading to the rest of his fingers.
“Three minutes.”
The car propelled though a red light, missing a truck by less then three meters. The pursuing car missed the truck by even less. Again, the hand with the machine pistol appeared, this time through the hole on the roof.
“We may not have three minutes!” Craig shouted. “This boomer is not taking ‘no’ for an answer!”
The machine pistol snarled again, this time finishing what was left of the windshield and showering the occupants with safety glass. Priss frantically grabbed for the last grenade, missed, then managed to snatch it the second time.
“We’re two kilometers away,” Sylia assured him.
Priss fitted the grenade onto her pistol. “Quit talking and get your asses here!” she shouted into her own radio. “I’m down to my last grenade here!”
“We’ll be there,” Sylia assured them. Another bust from the machine pistol seemed to make that a lie.
Priss rose just enough to see out the shattered back window, dropped down, then popped back up, aimed, and fired the last grenade.
This time the grenade was slightly too low. Instead of hitting the pursuing car in the grill, the grenade struck the street right in front of the car, leaving no time for the boomer behind the wheel to adjust the car’s path. The grenade exploded just as the car passed over it.
The resulting explosion would have been in character for a Hollywood movie. Shrapnel from the grenade shredded the undercarriage of the car, including the fuel tank and the flash ignited the fuel, increasing the resulting explosion tenfold. The car was lifted off the ground and sent three meters into the air and flipped forward ten meters. The now-burning car came crashing down to earth on its roof with a sickening crunch.
“Take that, you wind-up bitch!” Priss yelled back at the flaming wreckage.
Craig risked a glance back, but continued driving. “Nice shot,” he said, then looked forward again. “Now all we have to do is lose your boyfriend and his posse.”
“He’s not my boyfriend! He’s a -- SHIT!”
Craig glanced back “What?” Through the rear mirror, he saw something crawl out of the burning vehicle. It was burning and smoke wreathed it, but it was moving with slow preciseness as it got to it feet and stared at them. Even though they were now a block away from the boomer, Craig could feel the malevolence in that stare. He turned back to his driving, shuddering –
– and the car was clipped by a tractor trailer coming from a side street
The rear passenger’s side crumpled as the multi-ton truck struck it, sending the car spinning. The car, and its three occupants, whirled across the intersection like a top before it slammed into a light pole with enough force to snap the pole in half. There the car rested, facing in the direction it had come, the entire passenger’s side of the car nearly wrapped around the lamppost. All the while, the silence hanging in the air like a waiting vulture.
Both Craig’s vision and hearing was dim, and his mind felt like it had been wrapped in cotton, then beaten with several sledgehammers. After a few seconds, his hearing and sight sharpened to the point where he felt all the pain his body was in. He groaned and started moving slowly, his body screaming in pain as he did so.
“Oh....shit!” he heard from somewhere behind him. “Where the fuck did you learn to drive?”
“Are...you all...right?”
“Hell no! I’m bruised all over, you son of a bitch!”
“You... should be...use to...it by now,” Craig muttered.
“What did you say?”
“Never...mind.” Craig hit his door with his shoulder, and grunted in pain while the door remained where it was. “Shut....up and...and let’s...get.... going. How’s our....guest?”
After a second, Priss replied, “He’s alive.”
“So...he’s...missing all the fun.” Craig pulled out his pistol again and slammed the butt against the still-intact door window. After the third blow, the window shattered, sending glass everywhere. He cleared the rest of the glass from around the frame, then after unbuckling his seatbelt, he crawled out.
By the time he managed to stand on his feet, Priss had crawled out the back window. The truck driver was running towards them. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Craig glared at him. “We’re fine,” he said flatly.
“Who the hell are you guys?”
Craig reached for the police ID, but Priss shouted, “The boomer!”
A figure was standing in the middle of the street. The boomer had once been a coldly beautiful woman in appearance, but right now she looked like something from the darkness of a nightmare. Most of the synthetic skin and its clothing had been torn and burned away, leaving a high tech skeletal horror in its place. Two red pin-points of lights marked its eyes, and despite have no visible expression beyond a permeant hideous grin, Craig could feel the menace wash over him like a tidal wave. It held up it’s hands, the fingernails lengthening into knife-like blades. Then, it charged.
Craig snapped his pistol up into a two handed stance as the boomer lunged at them. The pistol was a Desert Eagle, chambered for a fifty caliber round. Sylia had been surprised at the choice, but Craig had insisted on something that would stop a boomer. It had taken hours of target practice over a period of months before Craig could fire the massive weapon without fear of the substantial recoil, but he had learned. He fired as quickly as he could, riding the recoil and aiming again.
The first shot smashed into the charging Boomer’s right shoulder, but the second and third shots missed as the cyberdroid began weaving. Priss also began firing at the boomer, while the truck driver frantically scrambled to get out of the line of fire. With a sudden, swift motion, the boomer leapt high into the air –
– and disappeared in an explosion as a stream of thirty-five millimeter rounds hit it. Craig, Priss, and the truck driver were first knocked down by the blast, then pelted with bits and pieces of boomer. None of the bits were large enough to serious injure anyone, but they were large enough to cause bruising.
All three got to their feet slowly. Craig looked at the truck driver. “Get out of here!” he yelled. “There may be more of those things around!” The driver, his brain too addled to think logically, nodded and ran for his truck. In less then a minute, the tractor trailer roared out of the intersection and out of sight.
Craig leaned against the side of the car and sighed. “Black to White,” he said into the radio. “Please tell me that was you guys who took out that boomer.”
“It was,” Sylia replied.
“I’ve got you covered,” said Linna. “Rooftop, building across the street from where you are, on the same side of the intersection.”
Craig looked up at the ten story building and caught a glimmer of metal in the street lights, too large to be just a hardsuit. “How long have you been there, Green?” he demanded.
“I arrived just as the boomer attacked.” Linna sound amused. “It jumped right into the path of my motorslave’s cannon.”
“Enough chatter,” said Sylia. “The truck will be there in less then a minute.”
“We may not have that minute,” said Priss. The steadily increasing wail of sirens raced through the night air. “We’ve attracted some attention.”
Craig saw the mouth of an alley about ten meters from the car wreck, then glanced up at the street names. “How about if we meet you guys a block west from our present location? I see an alley nearby that might hide us from the cops long enough for you to make the pickup.”
“Do it,” said Sylia. “We’ll meet you there. Green, cover Blue and Black.”
“Right!”
“Right.” Craig tuned to Priss. “Let’s get Sleeping Beauty out of the car and us out of here.”
Chapter 9 - “Your Mission, Should You Decide to Accept It....”
**************
What stars could be seen in the night sky were hazy mostly from the smog that sat over the city like a blanket. Even this late at night, there city wasn’t quiet asleep, as GENOM was always doing business somewhere in the world.
The residential area was quiet though as the dark colored sedan rolled to a stop at the curb of a tall apartment building. The engine died and two people got out.
Priss glared at Craig. She was dressed in dark business style suit with a knee length skirt and low heel shoes. Her hair was now a fiery red in color and pulled back in a tight ponytail. Green eyes instead of her normal red ones combined with a pair of spectacles and different makeup went far to blur Priss’s well-known features. The scowl was still the same though.
Craig returned the stare. “What?” he asked. He looked as he had when he infiltrated USSD – dark hair combed differently, deeply tanned skin, pencil-thin mustache, face aged so he looked like a man in his thirties, and clear-lensed glasses. His dark suit was the same color as Priss’.
“These contacts itch!”
“Just suffer. You don’t have to put up with them too much longer.”
“All right. But I still don’t like it.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yea.”
Craig touched a small button located on the inside of his coat lapels as they walked towards the apartment building. “Black to White,” he said in a soft voice. “Me and Blue are moving in to take the King.”
“Understood Black. Green and Pink are going after the Queen right now.”
“Any signs of Rooks?”
“Negative, Black.”
“That doesn’t make feel any better.”
“Don’t go looking for trouble.”
“I don’t go looking,” Craig replied. “It usually comes looking for me.”
“Shut up and get going. White out.”
“She told you off,” Priss said with a smirk.
“So what else is new?” Craig replied.
They continued walking up to the entrance of the apartment building. The building was a mass of steel and glass, fifty stories tall and geared to the young professional. According to the information Sylia had given them, there was a clerk on duty at all times in the lobby.
Before they entered the lobby, Craig stopped and held up a hand to halt Priss. “Let me do the talking. Just stand there and keep your eyes open for anything.” Priss bristled, but Craig continued on.
He strode into the lobby, scowling fiercely, Priss following a step behind, also scowling. The clerk, a short, fat man with a balding head and watery eyes, looked up in alarm at the sudden intrusion. “C-can I help you?” he stammered.
Craig pulled out a small billfold out of his pocket and flipped it open, showing a N-Police identification card and badge. “I’m Detective Sangnoir,” he said in a flat voice. He snapped the billfold shut and motioned to Priss. “This is Detective Van Vliet. We are here for a Mister Jeremy Kwan.”
The clerk’s eyes goggled. “At this time of night?”
“It’s important.”
“W-what for?”
“That is a police matter. He’s still in apartment fifteen twenty-seven?”
“H-he is.”
“Good. Come with us.”
Sweat began to bead on the clerk’s high forehead. “W-w-why?”
“Because we might need you to get into the apartment.” Craig reached across the desk to take the unresisting man by the arm. “Pr -- Yumeko, get the elevator.”
It took Priss a couple of seconds to remember her cover name, but she finally walked over to the elevators and punched the call button hard. She glared at Craig, who ignored her and guided the clerk over to the elevator. One set of elevator doors opened and the three of them entered the empty car.
As the doors closed, Craig asked, “Is Mr. Kwan alone?”
“I-I don’t know,” the clerk answered weakly.
“I guess we have to find out for ourselves,” Priss muttered.
The ride was short, and the three of them exited the car. The clerk lead them down a dimly lit corridor and to a door marked ‘1527'.
Craig looked at Priss and motioned to the clerk. “Hold him,” he directed, then knocked on the apartment door. The was no answer. Craig knocked again, harder this time. Again no answer.
This time, Craig pounded on the door, the sounds loud in the stillness of the hallway. And this time, he got a reaction.
The door was flung open, and Jeremy Kwan was there, dressed in a pair of blue pajamas and a red bath robe, looking half asleep and very irritated. “What?’ he snapped, running his hand through his disarrayed hair.
“Jeremy Kwan?” Craig asked, trying to make his voice sound slightly deeper then normal.
Something clicked in Jeremy’s mind, and he tried to slam the door in Craig’s face. Craig stepped forward as he angled his body to take the door with his shoulder. The door smashed into his shoulder before it bounced back, staggering Jeremy slightly. Grimacing from the explosion of pain coming from his abused shoulder, Craig staggered back, then surged forward, slamming his abused shoulder into the door again.
With nearly one hundred kilograms hitting the door, it slammed opened, sending both Jeremy and Craig stumbling into the apartment. Craig recovered just in time to see Jeremy reach for a baseball bat in a nearby chair. “Hold it!” he shouted.
Jeremy wasn’t listening as he grabbed the bat and held it over his head. “Get out!” he shouted. “Leave me alone!”
“Wait a minute! I –“
Jeremy screamed and came at Craig, swinging the bat at Craig’s head. Craig ducked the wild swing and hit Jeremy with a sharp punch in the stomach. Jeremy wheezed in pain, but swung the bat at Craig’s head again. As the bat came down at his head, Craig sprang forward, tackling Jeremy and sending them both to the floor. The bat bounced off the male Knight Saber’s back before Jeremy lost his grip and went ricocheting away.
Craig landed on top of Jeremy. “Will you stop it?” he shouted, as he pushed himself off of the struggling technician. “I am a pol–“
Jeremy hit him with a right cross to the side of the head. Pain blossomed across the left side of Craig’s face, blurring his vision for a second, and the glasses went flying. In retaliation, Craig smashed another punch into Jeremy’s stomach. This time, Jeremy gasped for the sudden loss of air from his lungs and stopped struggling. Moving as quick as he could, Craig rolled Jeremy over and handcuffed the technician, then stood slowly.
“Finished?” Priss asked from the doorway.
Craig turned to glared at her. “I could have used some help.”
The disguised singer shrugged and help up her pistol. “I was backup. Besides, it looked like you were having fun.”
Craig gingerly touched the side of his face. “Lady, your definition of ‘fun’ needs to be revised.”
“It works for me.”
The clerk looked over Priss’ shoulder. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
“No everything is not all right,” Craig spat out. He nudged the groaning Jeremy with a toe. “He’s under arrest for assault on a police officer.” He looked around for his glasses, found them, then put them back on. “Not to mention assault with a deadly weapon.”
There was a murmur of voices coming from the hall. Priss looked out into the hall and when she turned to look at Craig, She smirked. “We have an audience.”
“Shit,” Craig spat. He reached down and helped Jeremy get to his feet. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said as he guided the still wheezing technician to the door. “Anything you say can be used in a court of Law. You have the right to an attorney.”
There were about a dozen people in the hall, most wearing bathrobes and looking curious and angry at the disruption to their sleep. Craig took out his billfold and opened it. “I am a police officer,” he said in a loud voice, holding the open billfold over his head. “This man is being arrested for assaulting a police officer, namely me. Please clear this hallway – now.” he turned his head to look at the clerk. “Close that door and lock it,” he said, motioning towards the door to Jeremy’s apartment. “There will be a evidence collection team here in the morning.”
Priss disappeared into the apartment and emerged with a suitcase. “It looks like we caught up with him in time,” she said. “This suitcase is full.”
“Bring it along,” Craig growled.
The crowd in the hall melted away as Craig maneuvered Jeremy down the hall to the elevator. Priss followed, carrying the suitcase. The car arrived a few seconds after Craig hit the call button. The three of them entered the car.
“That’s going to be one hell of a bruise,” Priss said motioning to Craig’s face.
“I’m use to them now,” Craig growled.
“Who are you?” Jeremy shouted. “What do you want with me?”
“To save your life, you jackass,” Craig snarled.
“How? By breaking into my home?”
“This isn’t the time for explanations.”
“The hell it isn’t! I want to–“
Craig grabbed Jeremy by the lapels of his robe and shoved him against the wall of the car. He shoved his face so it was less then six inches from Jeremy. “Listen good,” he hissed, “because I am in a very foul mood right now.” He slammed Jeremy into the wall just hard enough to rattle him. “My orders are to bring you in alive.” Jeremy was slammed into the wall again. “There was nothing in my orders that said you have to be whole.” This time, Jeremy’s head bounced off the wall, leaving him looking slightly glassy-eyed. “So unless you want to look like a road accident, you WILL SHUT THE HELL UP!”
Craig felt a hand on his arm, so he focused his attention on Priss. “Ease off,” she said. “We’re trying to keep him alive, not kill him ourselves. Remember?” she smirked. “Besides, I’m suppose to be the hot tempered one.”
Craig released Jeremy and the stunned technician slumped to the floor. The elevator’s doors opened, showing the lobby. Both Priss and Craig half carried, half dragged Jeremy into the lobby and outside.
By the time they left the building, Jeremy had recovered and was not happy. “Did GENOM send you?” he asked, trying to struggle out of his captor’s grasp.
“No they didn’t,” Craig growled.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because Mason would have sent one of his plug-in girlfriends to kill you, not a couple of working stiffs like us.”
“You know Mason?”
“We’ve met. It was loathing at first sight.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You’re becoming a broken record.”
They reached the car. Craig thrust Jeremy at Priss. “I’ll drive, You ride in the back with him. If he tries anything, shoot him.”
Jeremy frowned at Craig. “Haven’t we met?”
Craig ignored him and looked up and down the street. “Get him in the car. I need to make a call.”
“You heard the man,” Priss said as she place the suitcase on the curb, opened the car’s rear door, then pulled Jeremy toward it. “Get in.”
Jeremy pulled away from Priss and tried to make a break for it. The singer reached out and grabbed him by the collar and pulled. The robe gave way as Jeremy struggled to get free, screaming, “Murder! Help! Police!”
“That’s it!” Craig bellowed. He grabbed Jeremy by the shoulders, spun him around and propelled him towards the car. He slammed the struggling technician onto the trunk of the car, shouting, “Tranq patch, now!” as he used a forearm to hold Jeremy’s head down on the hood.
Priss pulled a small foil wrapper from her pocket, ripped open and gave it to Craig. Craig grabbed the wrapper with his free hand, pulled the foil wrapper free of the patch with his teeth, removed the backing then slapped the tranq patch on Jeremy’s neck. After several seconds, Jeremy’s struggles became weaker, then stopped.
“We should have used the patch from the first!” Craig growled. He removed his glasses and leaned on the side of the car next to the unconscious technician. He hung his head. “Damn it,” he muttered. “This was suppose to be easy!”
“It could have been worse,” Priss said.
Craig glared at her. “How?” he asked acidly.
“We could had to fight one of those female boomers.”
“If we stand here too much longer, we may just do that.” Craig grabbed the limp body. “I don’t suppose we can stuff him in the trunk?”
“Tempting, but Linna will give us hell if he’s damaged.”
“Back seat it is. Give me a hand.”
With a little trouble, they managed to get Jeremy in the back seat of the car. Priss slid into the back seat with Jeremy while Craig tossed the suitcase into the trunk, then got behind the steering wheel. He again touched the small button located on the inside of his coat lapels. “Black to White.”
“White here,” Sylia replied. “Everything all right?”
“We have him.”
“How is he?”
“The King was not willing to come quietly, White.”
Craig heard Sylia sigh. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
“He’s in one piece, though he’s making like sleeping beauty at the moment. I’m not a happy camper right now.”
“Your personal opinion is not relevant. Black. Bring him in.”
“Are Green and Pink having any luck with the Queen?” Craig asked
“Negative. They’re still waiting for her. She hasn’t come home yet.”
“Shit.”
“Get back here now. We’ll worry about the Queen later.”
“We’re on our way. Black out.” Craig started the car and pulled away from the curb, muttering something too low for Priss to hear. But considering her teammate’s current mood, she decided to say quiet.
*****
Half a block up the street from the apartment building, a dark sleek-looking sports car sat. It had sat there for several hours, apparently unoccupied. In reality, it was occupied – by one of Mason’s female boomers.
The boomer was a striking redhead who could have easily been mistaken for a model. But this model was a death machine, complete with built in weapons and significant advantages over humans in speed and strength. She was an boomer, the latest in covert killing, surveillance, and protection.
She had also been programed to be patient. She had watched the car arrive and the two people enter her target’s building. They came out a short time later, dragging her target to the car. Her target had tried to escape, only to be subdued by the male of the pair. After throwing a suitcase into the car’s trunk, the three of them drove off into the night.
She waited until the car was halfway down the block before she started her own car and pulled out to follow them. Her orders had been clear; should Jeremy Kwan leave his apartment in middle of the night, she was to kill him and anyone helping him. It didn’t matter to her that it appeared that he was leaving under duress.
Her mission was now active.
*****
There was an uneasy silence in the car. Craig was hunched over the steering wheel, mumbling to himself, while Jeremy was under sedation and unaware, lying sprawled on the back seat. Only Priss was in anything resembling a normal mood.
“How is he?” Craig growled.
“Still out,” the singer replied, removing the contact lenses from her eyes and placed them into a small case. That tranq patch will work for a couple of hours.”
“Good. He was getting on my nerves.”
Priss shrugged. “I noticed. I didn’t realize you had a temper.”
“I usually take it out on inanimate objects.”
“Jeremy isn’t an inanimate object.”
“He just rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Linna won’t like it.”
“He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” Craig slowed the car and turned onto a main road.
“He was scared about something.”
“We can ask him what once we have him and Irene stashed safely away from Mason’s merry mechanical maniacs.” Craig glanced in his rear-view mirror and Priss saw his face harden.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Possible tail,” Craig replied.
Priss glanced back at the car a hundred meters behind them. “Are you sure?”
“No. You’d better break out the artillery, because if it is a tail, it isn’t a human behind that wheel.”
“How are you going to find out if it’s a tail?”
Craig began to speed up. “By trying to lose them.”
Priss reached down and picked up a small case from the floor. She pulled out her pistol, then opened the case. “We have only three grenades,” she said, her voice slightly higher in pitch and volume.
“So don’t waste them.” Craig tapped the comm button again, noticing that he was coming up to an intersection. “Black to White. We may have a Rook in play.”
“Can you confirm?” Sylia asked.
We’re doing that right...NOW!” Craig cut the wheel hard to the left, sending the car into a tight, skidding turn onto a side street. Not waiting for the skid to stop, Craig pressed hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward in a cloud of smoke and burning rubber. Both hands were clenched on the wheel, making his knuckles white. Priss and Jeremy were thrown around in the back seat by the sudden action.
“Hey, watch it!” Priss snapped. “You could kill us!”
“Better me then them,” Craig snarled back. They reached the next intersection just as a dark shape came flying out of the smoke cloud behind them, moving at a high rate of speed in pursuit and closing. “Shit!”
“I think they want to play,“ said Priss, affixing an attachment over her pistol’s muzzle.
“No kidding, Charlie Brown,” Craig muttered, then remember that the link between him and Sylia was still open. “Black to White. Update that Rook from a ‘maybe’ to a ‘probable’.”
“Understood Black. The Queen is still not accounted for.”
“Shit!”
“Curse later. Try and lose your pursuer.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Craig snapped back. “Playing tiddlywinks?”
“Head for the Costal Highway!” Priss shouted.
“And give that wind-up witch room to maneuver?”
“Quit complaining and get going,” Sylia snapped. “Do you know where the Yokohama exit is off the Costal Highway?”
Craig thought for a second. “Yes!” he shouted.
“Get on the Costal Highway and head towards the Yokohama Exit. I’m recalling Green and Pink, and we’re on our way. If you haven’t lost the tail before we rendezvous with you, we’ll take care of them.”
“Gee, What’s the ETA?” Craig asked.
Sylia was silent for a second. “Eight minutes,” she replied.
“Damn it!” Craig drove the car through a red light, barely avoiding a truck, and raced down the street at better then a hundred and twenty kilometers. The dark sedan was still in pursuit and gaining slightly.
Priss, who had been listening on her own radio, opened her mike. “We’ll get there, but don’t you guys be late!”
“We won’t,” Sylia assured her.
“I hope not,” Craig muttered.
That’s when the car pursuing them opened fire.
*****
“I’m bored,” Leon said.
Daley Wong looked at his partner. “What now?” he asked before he glanced up at the traffic light. It was still red.
Leon had put his seat into the full recline position, and lounged in it with his hands behind his head. “I am bored,” he said again.
“Can’t find your girlfriend?”
“She’s been busy the last several days.”
“In other words, she’s turn you down flat.”
Leon looked at Daley. “No, she didn’t turn me down – yet.”
The red-headed Inspector chuckled. “Why do you throw yourself at women, when I’m right here?”
“Sorry, you’re still not my type.”
Daley sighed theatrically. “Sooner or later, you’ll come around.”
“Well, we’d better get going. The light’s green.”
Daley started the car forward into the intersection. “I think you should –“
A car shot through the intersection from the street on the left, missing the police car by less then a meter. Daley slammed on the brakes, sending Leon sliding forward in his seat and halfway into the leg well. “What the Hell?” the tall Inspector yelled, trying to untangle himself.
“I think trouble,” Daley replied.
Another car shot through the interchange, this one had a hand holding a compact machine pistol out the driver’s window, firing a long stream of bullets in the direction of the first car. The sound was muffled by the car’s interior, but Leon recognized it at once. “Trouble?”
“Yep,” Daley said. “Definitely trouble.”
“Let’s get after them!”
“And you had to be bored,” Daley muttered, and he switched on the lights and sirens and started after the car.
Leon was too busy extricating himself and getting his seat upright to respond.
*****
A burst of fire shattered the rear window of faux police vehicle, showering all three occupants with glass. “Everyone all right?” Craig shouted, hunched over the steering wheel. The pursuer was still closing the distance, now less then thirty meters.
“Yes!” Priss shouted back. “But that bitch is pissing me off!”
Craig didn’t respond, but looked in the rear view mirror, only to see that it had been shredded by bullets. He glanced in his side mirror, just as he heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights. “We’ve got more company!”
Priss, who was half on top of the still comatose Jeremy, peeked out the fragmented rear window. “It’s an ADP car!” she shouted.
“With our luck, it’ll be your boyfriend and his partner.”
“Leon’s not my boyfriend!”
“Well, whoever it is, they are not going to believe we’re cops.”
“So what we are going to do?”
“This!” Craig yanked the wheel and threw the car into a hard left turn into a narrow alley, then accelerated, sending a few trash cans flying as the car struck them. The car pursuing them made the turn also and followed, the hand holding the machine pistol visible outside the driver’s window. The ADP car tried to make the same turn, but slid a bit too far, causing the driver to stomp hard on the brake before the car slammed into the wall. Whoever it was, they managed to keep the car intact, though they lost some ground on the other two cars.
Priss snatched a grenade from the case, placed it over the attachment on her pistol, then gave the grenade a half twist to lock it in place. Looking out the back window, she caught the orange of a muzzle flash. “Down!” she shouted, taking her own advice as she did so. Craig was hunched so far over the wheel, all that was above the dashboard was the top of his head as far as the eyes.
This burst finish what little remained of the back window and turned most of the front windshield into fractured glass, white spiderwebs that made vision out of or into the car impossible. Craig’s vision while driving was limited to an area about the size of his fist. “Shoot! Shoot!” he yelled.
Priss popped up just far enough to mark her target before she raise the pistol and grenade and fired. With a ‘whomp!’, the grenade shot from the pistol and headed for the car behind them.
Unfortunately, Priss fired slightly high.
Instead of hitting the pursuing car in the middle of the windshield, it hit the top of the glass near the roof. The result, instead of the explosion engulfing the interior of the car, managed to rip off most of the roof in a bedlam of light and sound. Had the drive been human, it would have been likely she would have been killed by concussion and shrapnel.
But the driver wasn’t human.
The pursuing car wavered slightly as it drifted to the right, then scraped along the brick wall, sending a long stream of sparks cascading out behind it. Then it drifted away from the wall and back into the center of the alley.
Craig drew a large pistol from an armpit holster, and started hammering on the shattered windshield with the pistol’s butt, cursing in both English and Japanese as he did so. Priss grabbed another grenade and attached it to the pistol. She looked out the back window. “She’s still there!” she yelled.
With a couple of hard, panic-backed blows, the windshield fell apart, sending pieces of safety glass flying everywhere. “When did I end up in this bloody remake of ‘The Terminator’?” Craig muttered to himself as he put the pistol away, then louder, “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Shoot the bitch!”
“Shut up and keep driving!” Priss snarled.
Their car shot out of the alley like a cork from a bottle of champaign, and onto another street. Out the passenger’s side window, Craig could see a van bearing down on them. “Hang on!” he shouted, then yanked the wheel hard to the left and stomped on the brake hard. The driver of the van, startled by the sudden appearance of the car, also slammed on the brakes in an attempt to avoid a collision The faux police vehicle sideswiped the van, sending both Craig and Priss crashing into the driver’s side of the car, and slowing their forward momentum almost completely.
Somewhat stunned, and without meaning to, Priss’ finger tightened around the trigger of her pistol. With another ‘whomp’, the unaimed grenade shot out the back window and struck the edge of a building at the mouth of the alley. The area struck exploded in a shower of flame, smoke, brick and steel, sending a cascade of debris into the mouth of the alley....
....Right as the pursuing car shot out of the alleyway. The car was pelted with stone and steel, adding more damage to what already existed. But it didn’t stop the pursuit.
In the meantime, Craig recovered enough to jam his foot down on the accelerator. The car’s wheels squealed as the car launched forward, the sound mixing in with the scraping as it leapt away from the van. The pursuing car, looking more like a junkyard wreck then a functional car, shot off after them.
*****
With sirens screaming, the ADP car came flying out of the alley, sending rubble in every direction and jarring the occupants hard enough to make their teeth rattle. It slid into a turn, barely missing a damaged van and roared off, chasing the two cars that had started a small running war in the middle of the city.
While Daley drove, Leon as on the radio, trying to coordinate a police response to the chase. “I need aerial support and I need it now!” he was shouting.
“It’s going to take at least ten minutes to get a helicopter,” the radio dispatcher, not Nene, replied. “And there’s only three police cars with seven block of your position.”
“Damn!” Leon snarled. “I want all three police cars to vector in on those two cars – now! And I want that helicopter here in five minutes. Now get moving!”
“I wonder what this is all about,” Daley said.
“We can ask them when we have the handcuffs on them,” Leon replied.
*****
“White to Black,” Sylia called over the radio. “What is your status?”
“Up the bloody river without a bloody paddle!” Craig shouted. “Our friend is definitely hostile, the car is damaged, and we’ve got the police along for the fun of it!”
“I know,” Sylia replied cooly. “It’s Leon and Daley in the car pursuing you. He’s trying to head you two off.”
“Oh shit,” Priss muttered. The wig had been knocked askance by the collision with the van, allowing her own natural hair to peek out from under it.
“What’s you ETA?” Craig asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, the white of his knuckles started spreading to the rest of his fingers.
“Three minutes.”
The car propelled though a red light, missing a truck by less then three meters. The pursuing car missed the truck by even less. Again, the hand with the machine pistol appeared, this time through the hole on the roof.
“We may not have three minutes!” Craig shouted. “This boomer is not taking ‘no’ for an answer!”
The machine pistol snarled again, this time finishing what was left of the windshield and showering the occupants with safety glass. Priss frantically grabbed for the last grenade, missed, then managed to snatch it the second time.
“We’re two kilometers away,” Sylia assured him.
Priss fitted the grenade onto her pistol. “Quit talking and get your asses here!” she shouted into her own radio. “I’m down to my last grenade here!”
“We’ll be there,” Sylia assured them. Another bust from the machine pistol seemed to make that a lie.
Priss rose just enough to see out the shattered back window, dropped down, then popped back up, aimed, and fired the last grenade.
This time the grenade was slightly too low. Instead of hitting the pursuing car in the grill, the grenade struck the street right in front of the car, leaving no time for the boomer behind the wheel to adjust the car’s path. The grenade exploded just as the car passed over it.
The resulting explosion would have been in character for a Hollywood movie. Shrapnel from the grenade shredded the undercarriage of the car, including the fuel tank and the flash ignited the fuel, increasing the resulting explosion tenfold. The car was lifted off the ground and sent three meters into the air and flipped forward ten meters. The now-burning car came crashing down to earth on its roof with a sickening crunch.
“Take that, you wind-up bitch!” Priss yelled back at the flaming wreckage.
Craig risked a glance back, but continued driving. “Nice shot,” he said, then looked forward again. “Now all we have to do is lose your boyfriend and his posse.”
“He’s not my boyfriend! He’s a -- SHIT!”
Craig glanced back “What?” Through the rear mirror, he saw something crawl out of the burning vehicle. It was burning and smoke wreathed it, but it was moving with slow preciseness as it got to it feet and stared at them. Even though they were now a block away from the boomer, Craig could feel the malevolence in that stare. He turned back to his driving, shuddering –
– and the car was clipped by a tractor trailer coming from a side street
The rear passenger’s side crumpled as the multi-ton truck struck it, sending the car spinning. The car, and its three occupants, whirled across the intersection like a top before it slammed into a light pole with enough force to snap the pole in half. There the car rested, facing in the direction it had come, the entire passenger’s side of the car nearly wrapped around the lamppost. All the while, the silence hanging in the air like a waiting vulture.
Both Craig’s vision and hearing was dim, and his mind felt like it had been wrapped in cotton, then beaten with several sledgehammers. After a few seconds, his hearing and sight sharpened to the point where he felt all the pain his body was in. He groaned and started moving slowly, his body screaming in pain as he did so.
“Oh....shit!” he heard from somewhere behind him. “Where the fuck did you learn to drive?”
“Are...you all...right?”
“Hell no! I’m bruised all over, you son of a bitch!”
“You... should be...use to...it by now,” Craig muttered.
“What did you say?”
“Never...mind.” Craig hit his door with his shoulder, and grunted in pain while the door remained where it was. “Shut....up and...and let’s...get.... going. How’s our....guest?”
After a second, Priss replied, “He’s alive.”
“So...he’s...missing all the fun.” Craig pulled out his pistol again and slammed the butt against the still-intact door window. After the third blow, the window shattered, sending glass everywhere. He cleared the rest of the glass from around the frame, then after unbuckling his seatbelt, he crawled out.
By the time he managed to stand on his feet, Priss had crawled out the back window. The truck driver was running towards them. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Craig glared at him. “We’re fine,” he said flatly.
“Who the hell are you guys?”
Craig reached for the police ID, but Priss shouted, “The boomer!”
A figure was standing in the middle of the street. The boomer had once been a coldly beautiful woman in appearance, but right now she looked like something from the darkness of a nightmare. Most of the synthetic skin and its clothing had been torn and burned away, leaving a high tech skeletal horror in its place. Two red pin-points of lights marked its eyes, and despite have no visible expression beyond a permeant hideous grin, Craig could feel the menace wash over him like a tidal wave. It held up it’s hands, the fingernails lengthening into knife-like blades. Then, it charged.
Craig snapped his pistol up into a two handed stance as the boomer lunged at them. The pistol was a Desert Eagle, chambered for a fifty caliber round. Sylia had been surprised at the choice, but Craig had insisted on something that would stop a boomer. It had taken hours of target practice over a period of months before Craig could fire the massive weapon without fear of the substantial recoil, but he had learned. He fired as quickly as he could, riding the recoil and aiming again.
The first shot smashed into the charging Boomer’s right shoulder, but the second and third shots missed as the cyberdroid began weaving. Priss also began firing at the boomer, while the truck driver frantically scrambled to get out of the line of fire. With a sudden, swift motion, the boomer leapt high into the air –
– and disappeared in an explosion as a stream of thirty-five millimeter rounds hit it. Craig, Priss, and the truck driver were first knocked down by the blast, then pelted with bits and pieces of boomer. None of the bits were large enough to serious injure anyone, but they were large enough to cause bruising.
All three got to their feet slowly. Craig looked at the truck driver. “Get out of here!” he yelled. “There may be more of those things around!” The driver, his brain too addled to think logically, nodded and ran for his truck. In less then a minute, the tractor trailer roared out of the intersection and out of sight.
Craig leaned against the side of the car and sighed. “Black to White,” he said into the radio. “Please tell me that was you guys who took out that boomer.”
“It was,” Sylia replied.
“I’ve got you covered,” said Linna. “Rooftop, building across the street from where you are, on the same side of the intersection.”
Craig looked up at the ten story building and caught a glimmer of metal in the street lights, too large to be just a hardsuit. “How long have you been there, Green?” he demanded.
“I arrived just as the boomer attacked.” Linna sound amused. “It jumped right into the path of my motorslave’s cannon.”
“Enough chatter,” said Sylia. “The truck will be there in less then a minute.”
“We may not have that minute,” said Priss. The steadily increasing wail of sirens raced through the night air. “We’ve attracted some attention.”
Craig saw the mouth of an alley about ten meters from the car wreck, then glanced up at the street names. “How about if we meet you guys a block west from our present location? I see an alley nearby that might hide us from the cops long enough for you to make the pickup.”
“Do it,” said Sylia. “We’ll meet you there. Green, cover Blue and Black.”
“Right!”
“Right.” Craig tuned to Priss. “Let’s get Sleeping Beauty out of the car and us out of here.”