12-02-2009, 10:05 AM
Chapter 3: Ancient Forbidden Techniques
Introducing Dexter, a reconnaissance officer working for a high-floor G-SIDE division codenamed Shinobi. Ask him about his job and he'll tell you – as he tells everyone else – that he's not a ninja.
“Ninjas are nothing but a decades-old concept made up by self-hating westerners to make the mystique of the Far East all that more appealing. Nothing but a figment of imagination made up by yesteryear's media.”
Lack of history lessons aside, because his job requires very little but running across rooftops and in and out of shadow, his uniform is a tight-fitting camouflage suit, and he has a personal preference for thrown knives over guns or stun batons; he's yet to convince anyone of the misconception over his profession.
Quite possibly the only things that don't give off the vibe of honour-bound shadow warriors is his brash, overly vocal personality; and that his camouflage suit. When Stealth Mode on his suit is deactivated, it shows up electric blue. A side effect of G-SIDE's research and development on stealth technology, the test equipment that was more effective at blending in to its surroundings was exponentially less effective at blending in when turned off. But since that meant that the technology was hard to lose, the defect remained.
Presently we find the hero of this chapter heading up from the Elevator to the 63rd floor; the headquarters, mission briefing hall and private sauna for the Shinobi Unit. Today was a Thursday, and for Dexter, Thursdays were mission days. He was never sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing – the work was interesting, and the pay was even better, but his favourite television drama aired on a Thursday; and it was always less exciting to watch a recorded episode if he ended up working overtime and missed it.
“Today, I will get home on time,” he muttered to himself as the elevator reached the 59th floor and kept going. “By hook or by crook. Whoever I'm going after today had better come quietly.” The elevator slowed down and a synthesised voice came in over the intercom.
“63rd floor reached; Shinobi Unit offices. Have a nice day.”
The offices were well furnished. The managers of departments had full control of their jurisdiction's décor, and even if you were a first-time visitor, you could tell the manager here was a gigantic fan of Asian interior decoration. The area was floored in what was a very good synthetic representation of tatami matting, and the walls looked just like silk screens; though upon touching one, you could feel the drywall or concrete behind it. In the waiting room beyond the elevator doors was a large koi pond and what could have been a large garden's worth of bamboo strung together to make mildly uncomfortable-looking chairs, benches, and coffee tables. Dexter sighed heavily. This was always an eyesore. Not all of the rooms on this floor were this bad, but his boss loves to make a heavy first impression.
Since today's mission day, Dexter headed to the briefing room; passing through rooms packed to the nines in Indian, Thai, Korean, Japanese and Chinese trinkets, chests, fans, rugs and statuettes. It was pretty clear to see what G-SIDE was paying the manager in. The briefing room – requiring some semblance of modern technology was considerably tamer than the other rooms, actually using a degree of metal and reinforced plastic to make up a large speaking podium with a Terminal attached. A large projection screen stretched across the wall beyond the podium, but the manager had clearly put his foot down in regards to the minimum level of Asian culture manifest in the room; as the projector itself was lodged inside what looked like (and quite possibly was) a large statue of Buddha made entirely of Jade.
The room being completely empty aside from himself, Dexter took a seat and waited patiently for the meeting to start. He was exactly on time, but the boss man was a punctual sort - he should have been here already. A screen door off to the side slid open, and out stepped the Shinobi Unit's manager. He was wearing nothing but a large bath towel, and was still dripping wet, steaming slightly. He seemed completely unphased by his extremely casual attire, and walked over to the podium, beginning to boot up the terminal. Dexter noted how horribly homoerotic this situation would look out of context, permitted himself another heavy sigh, and broke the now rather humid silence with conversation.
“Enjoy your sauna, Mr. Whitfield?”
“It's an onsen, Agent Myers. You keep forgetting.”
“Sorry. So what's the job for today? No one else seems to be around, so it's clearly something you want done solo.”
“Right you are,” He took a second to adjust his towel. “So shall we get to it?”
For someone who was a die-hard fan of Asian culture, Mr. Whitfield didn't demonstrate much of it from appearance alone. He was as American as they come, with sandy blond hair and a lightly tanned complexion. He had worked for the FBI in past years, and as part of their armed forced before that; and it manifested itself physically, especially in his half-naked state. His back and arms were pockmarked with small scars and wounds that hadn't healed completely. Whatever hell he went through overseas had obviously given him the resolve to take a more relaxed role in life, but his tenacious nature prevented him from completely giving up the world of law enforcement and public safety. To that end, he'd scored a pretty good deal here. No wonder there are so many applicants.
From the Buddha Projector a map of the city was splashed upon the screen. It was peppered with a series of red marks, clustering in odd formations.
“We've been receiving sightings of strange robots all over the Literary Quarter, from both the police force posted in this area and assorted residents. They're not making any effort to hide themselves, but at the same time, they don't seem to be doing anything too dangerous.”
“That sounds extremely familiar. The guy behind it, is he-” The Buddha Projector clicked to the next image, it showed a close up of a face; a rather manic middle aged man with frizzy hair dyed purple, and large leather pilot goggles. It was an extreme close up, and with the Ultra High Definition most screens these days came equipped with, every pore and imperfection was shown in excruciating detail.
“Yes, it's the Musical Machinist, Izzet Fortissimo. He's done this kind of thing before, but usually it doesn't end up this huge. All you need to do is find our guy and arrest him. We'll be able to put a stop to the robots before you know it once you manage that.”
“It's still a pretty big area to search for one man, but I'm sure I can handle it. Purple hair like that is easy to spot.”
“You wouldn't say that had he chosen the Fashion Quarter to terrorise. Now get to it, I want to soak some more.”
Briefly checking to see that he'd kept his modesty, big boss Whitfield made his way back through the screen door and back to his happy place. Dexter downloaded the mission info from the Terminal into his Console, a sexy black number that wrapped around his wrist and could hook up to his work clothes, and made his way to the equipment room.
Instead of metal lockers and ugly plastic benches, the equipment and changing rooms were lavishly furnished in lacquered wood. This room was one of the few that Dexter liked; ordinary changing rooms gave him bad flashbacks to high school. His locker/wardrobe was emblazoned with an ornate engraving of a fox, surrounded with a pattern of flowers and grim-looking katanas. It looked like something you'd see tattooed on a member of the Yakuza, and it reminded Dexter of that awful N-word.
He pulled the Camouflage Suit and a metal box from his compartment and changed. The suit fit well, hugging the skin and allowing for maximum mobility; but it kept in the warmth, and without making him look like a Lycra fetishist. Shame it had to be such a bright blue, he was more of a purple kind of guy. Inside the metal box were a set of throwing knives, all a range of different sizes and shapes, all perfectly crafted by the development teams to be extremely aerodynamic and extremely, EXTREMELY sharp. The handles of a few had a few electronic functions installed; a GPS tracer, a tazer, an Electromagnetic Pulse emitter. Sure they were a bit expensive to replace if he lost one, but they were his babies; he always went to retrieve them after his mission was over, and he hardly ever missed his targets.
Suited and prepared, he worked his way to the edge of floor 63. All rooms on the perimeter of the building had floor to ceiling windows, giving great views on the city below. For those not used to it, it could be rather vertigo-inducing. Most windows were made of extremely thick glass and couldn't be moved, the windows on this side of the building opened just enough to let someone through; like a door to thin air. Pushing a button to release the catches on the window, Dexter was caught by a cool, refreshing blast of evening air. The latent pollution of the city begins to peter out once you get this high; much to the chagrin of those trying to leave the building via the windows on floors 20 to 30.
Expertly, Dexter slid himself out of the window, gripping to the frame by his right hand. At first this was one of the most unnerving things related to this job, but after dozens of Rail Drops, it felt like nothing worse than a theme park ride. He slammed his left hand and foot into the framing of the window. The grooves in the palms and soles of the suit lined up perfectly with crevices in the framework, and the moment the connection was made, unseen locks behind the frame clamped to his hand and foot, locking him in.
Connection made, body secure, brakes active. Preparing for descent.
Dexter suddenly plummeted at dizzying rate, as the windows of the floors beneath passed as a high speed blur.
“Too fast! Too fast!” Tensing the muscles in his hand, the sensors inside the Rail Drop noted the change in pressure, and slammed on the brakes, harshly yet safely slowing the descent to an effortless stop. “Dear god, the Rails don't usually drop you like that right off the bat. Gotta have the tech guys check that out.” Loosening his grip slightly, the Rail slowly was put into motion again. Now slightly paranoid about the condition of the machine, Dexter kept the descent under constant pressure control, feeling a bit sheepish about the whole deal. Once at ordinary building height, he kicked in the Stealth mode on the suit, rendering him nothing more than a faint, distorted ripple to the naked eye. The suit even had infra-red deflectors installed, so even most cameras and robots would have a hard time tracking him down.
The Literary Quarter was West of the Tower, designed to mimic 19th Century Venice, close to the coast, a large channel had been dug inland, to which the buildings and walkways were firmly fixed to the bottom of. A hydraulic system had been set up to raise or lower the area, should a flood or drought suddenly occur. To some, artificially creating an approximation of a historic solution created out of necessity undermines the original intent somewhat, but those people are prudes, sticks in the mud, or otherwise rather dull people. The Literary Quarter was both a marvel of architecture and modern engineering; bringing in Literati and easily amused tourists from all over the world.
Getting to the Literary Quarter on ground level could be a bit of a hassle at this time of the evening; the Automotive Quarter was only a stone's throw away from it, and the rush hour traffic generated from it was rather overwhelming. Driving to his target could take hours, and going on foot would be just plain dangerous, especially since any reckless or wayward drivers wouldn't be able to even see him. Dexter looked towards the skies, not so much for a sign or divine intervention; but a route up to the roof tops. The 'Sky Road' as some of the G-SIDErs doing reconnaissance work often jokingly called it, was one of the faster routes around the city without using a vehicle. The inter-city buildings are packed like sardines, meaning jumping from roof to roof could be done with relative ease, even more so if you're athletic and doubly even more so if you're running around in a fluorescent super suit.
Dexter smiled; this part was one of the better aspects to Recon, more so than the Rail Drop. The breeze this evening was warm, but refreshing. A string of reasonably even rooftops stretched out like giant stone lily pads from the City Central to the West side. It'd be an easy run, no problem.
Taking a deep breath and a few little stretches, Dexter got into the motions at surprising speed; sprinting across the first rooftop, and springing gracefully at the edge to the next building, taunting gravity and the gaping urban abyss below. He took careful note of the state of his camouflage; the last thing G-SIDE needs is a report of a strange blue figure leaping around; and it had happened before – with employees more careless than him, of course.
The run to the West side went as perfectly as he would have hoped, but on the last jump something went awry. On his landing, his footing gave way, leading to a rather graceless skidding face plant across the top of a corporate building selling electronic bookmarks that remembered how much you read in between sessions, and nagged you if you slacked off. It was a Literary Quarter invention no doubt, but what was with the lame landing?
The impact had de-triggered the camouflage, and Dexter got to his knees in all his vivid blue glory, and looked around. On the edge of the building where he had tripped, there was something that resembled a loose cable or rope attached to a door inside the building, trailing all the way across the roof and off the edge. Wandering over to it, Dexter gave the rope an apprehensive prod. It was unpleasant, both sticky and plastic to the touch, but as solid and bulky as metal cable. Whatever it was, it didn't look natural, and definitely raised suspicions.
Following the cable to the edge of the building, Dexter tentatively peered over the stone balustrade to the city below. He was met with his own reflection, mirrored within several wide, tinted lenses; placed above cruel looking steel mandibles. Stunned, he lurched backwards, landing flat on his back. Two clumsy falls in quick succession - the operative was not on his best form. The owner of the lenses and mandibles jerkily clambered over the edge of the building. It was a large, robotic spider.
“Of course! The foreshadowing from Chapter One paid off!”
The spider was a large one; it easily reached up to Dexter's waist. In addition to the many lenses and pincers, it was supported on large, spindly legs, made entirely of pistons and gears, all connected together in an intricate pattern. The thorax was completely covered in spray painted graffiti, in garish neon colours, like a subway car in the Artists Quarter.
As he stared at the strange machination, the spider began to rattle violently as the top of the thorax swung open like the doors of a fancy car, and a large speaker slowly protruded from the innards with a faint whine. The air became tense, charged with electricity as Dexter just stared, completely lost as to how to deal with this musically-inclined robot.
Then came the Techno music. Hard and fast, it burst from the speaker as a veritable torrent of sound, forcibly pushing the very air away in all directions. Forced back down to his knees, there was nothing our hero could do except cover his ears. How the hell could such a small speaker produce such a gigantic amount of noise? Sure, the tune was catchy, and it had the kind of heart-shaking bass line that just wouldn't quit; but the robot had to be stopped – now – before he lost his hearing completely.
Wrenching his right hand off his ear and down to his utility belt – for all technologically powered suits have utility belts – he removed one of his throwing knives and without taking a moment to compose himself or aim, he took a wild guess as to direction and distance, and flung the weapon with full force. There was a loud pop as the knife went straight into the woofer of the speaker, severed some cables, and came cleanly out the other side, skittering to a stop on the shingles on the roof. Sweet silence reigned in the Evening air again.
Although not for long. Enraged by the sudden stop to its jam session, the Robotic Rave Spider swished its pincers in a frustrated manner, retracted the blown, sparking speaker, and haphazardly scuttled off the roof, jumping into the abyss. It seemed to be heading deeper into the Literary Quarter, and at an almost impossible speed, considering its thin, rattling legs. Not having any time to recover before the robot escaped completely, Dexter pulled up another knife; this one with a tracker on the hilt. Moving to the edge of the building again, he caught the spider scuttling down the side of the building, took careful aim, and expertly embedded the knife into the back of it as it fled.
A bad landing and a pre-emptive attack aside, the encounter had gone well; the Literary Quarter was one of the larger districts; and that spider looked like it was going to join its friends.
“Couldn't be any easier if they gave me a VIP invitation to their little spider tea party.”
Confidence and dignity regained, Dexter re-activated stealth mode, and leapt off the roof towards the centre of the Literary Quarter.
The pride and joy of the Literary Quarter was the Ekphrasis Library, a large, imposing structure that was built like a giant cube, plated in chemically-treated purple marble. Timeless, weather-proof, and arguably bomb-proof, it was said by the constructor that the only thing they thought it wasn't going to resist was the heat-death of the universe; but we all know how builders can exaggerate about the quality of their work from time to time. It contained a copy of every book worth noting, and a few that weren't quite so notable. In a desire to be more accessible and to try and master the impossible feat of getting teenage boys to visit libraries and read more; they also stock one of the largest archives of comic books and graphic novels in the world. It was a resounding flop with their target audience – as we all knew it would – but it was a godsend for the older generation with childish guilty pleasures.
And at this moment in time it was crawling with robotic spiders. Neon spray paint jettisoned from steel mandibles, covering the marble work in graffiti so obscene you wouldn't want to show it to your gran. The disgusting sticky cables criss-crossed across the smooth purple surface of the cube, and stretched across power lines and nearby buildings. The metal in the cables occasionally shorted the power grid, and lights in the area flashed on and off. Nearly all of the spiders had their speakers exposed, and were pumping the most extravagant and complex high-speed Happy Hardcore Dexter had ever heard. Coupled with the flashing lights, it was a gargantuan rave that spanned the entire Quarter.
The spiders themselves seemed to be in a strange kind of trance, all performing a complex and jerky swaying dance, legs in all directions, pincers swishing like an army of scissors. One had its dance pattern drift too close to Dexter, who promptly jammed one of his knives into its neck, without even so much as turning to look at it; completely transfixed on the desecration of Ekphrasis Library. There was a fizzing sound and the smell of burned plastic and solder as the head came away and clattered to the ground. The freshly decapitated spider seized up, teetered momentarily and crashed to the ground, its speaker silenced.
“How dare you do such a thing to my beautiful machines?!”
A voice that sounded like it was trying far too hard to menacing rang out from behind Dexter, but it took another 3 tries to get the Shinobi operative to actually turn away from the Library. He still had an expression of abject horror etched into his face.
“Who do you think you are, gate crashing my party of the century, and destroying my decorations!?” This time, Dexter snapped out of his stupor.
“Party? ...What?” Still bemused and dazed, our hero took a look down and spotted the detached spider head, still with his knife jutting out of it. “Er, I did that?”
“Yes you bloody well did! And don't claim you didn't, I can see you, even with that silly suit on.” At this point Dexter realised he still had the stealth mode on his suit engaged. Since the jig was up, he disabled it anyway; the electric blue fitted in well with the paint scheme administered by the spiders.
“You can still see me with the stealth mode on? But not even machines can detect this thing!”
“But your suit doesn't cover your head, does it?” He had a point there. What's more, reports of disembodied heads would be far more concerning to G-SIDE's offices than reports of people in cat suits. Dexter shook his head and tried to regain control of this rapidly deteriorating conversation.
“So then this means you're the punk that's causing all this havoc?”
“You're a slow one, aren't you? Yes it's me; Izzet Fortissimo, in the flesh. Did it really take you that long to deduce what's going on? Look what I'm riding on, for goodness' sake!”
Izzet was riding on one of his other creations, a sizeable robotic lion, strong and fierce-looking. His mane wasn't styled in the wild and ferocious look of the real thing, but resembled a bushy and finely-kept afro, made entirely from fine wire. The armour plating over the lion's feet splayed out in a shape not dissimilar to flared trousers.
“Behold! The Disco Lion!”
“You're clearly on some kind of drug. Someone's spent too much time in the Pleasure Quarter; but now you're gonna come with me, and spend a lot more time in G-SIDE's holding facility.”
“On drugs? Ha! Is that what you young fools mistake genius for these days?”
“Don't lie to me, you're higher than Balloon Boy!”
“Enough of your incessant whinnying! You have damaged my machines, and must pay the penalty!” And with that, he stuck out his right arm. It was enclosed in a large glaive, with a great many buttons and dials embedded in it, along with a screen, and a long, elegant antenna. It was his Console. He brought it to his mouth and said slowly and clearly “Rave Spiders, new target. Attack this pathetic G-SIDE dog, and bring me his head!”
All speakers stopped at once. All spiders stopped moving. There was a terrible and sudden silence that filled the air, as the robot army registered their new instruction, and turned slowly in the direction of Dexter and Izzet. Silence then gave way to vicious clicking and whirring as commands processed, the spiders began to slowly and menacingly advance on their prey.
“One man versus hundreds of robots. I quite fancy my odds.”
“Perish, fool! My beautiful machines will take over district by district, and soon we shall party like it's 1999!”
“Then you're a century too late! Bring it on!”
And 'on' they indeed did bring. A torrent of whirring metal limbs and slicing pincers came at Dexter from all sides, but the non-ninja was prepared. Knives at the ready, he easily took out the first wave, shattering lenses and speaker casings left and right; then using the now motionless husks as a stepping stone to launch himself clear of the amassing mob. He landed clear in the stylish manner he wished he'd achieved on the roof earlier. Izzet remained close by, watching atop the Disco Lion. He seemed rather frustrated that his spider army had been outwitted so quickly.
“Your arachnids are small time, Izzet. Give it up before I put the hurt on that metallic kitten you're riding too!”
In response, the lion reared up and let out a roar that sounded suspiciously like a funky bass groove, and long claws extended out of the front paws. Slowly realising that their prey had escaped, the spiders stopped thrashing about and began to head towards Dexter again. Things seemed a little less rosy, with our hero trapped between a riff and a hard place. And yet, Dexter remained calm. He knew what to do, and how to rock this party.
The Disco Lion lunged with force, the wind riffling through its claws. With no distance to dodge, Dexter had no choice but to block. Grabbing more knives between his fingers, he caught the swipe from the lion against the blades, metal grinding against metal, sparks lighting up the area. The pressure of both lion and rider bearing down on Dexter, there's no way he could parry; and if he tried to hold it any longer, he could end up crushed – or worse. He decided to feint – pushing into the lion with all his strength, then suddenly letting go. The sudden change in force sent the robot off-balance; and in that moment of respite, Dexter slid underneath the lion, out of sight and out of range of those terrible claws.
“Wh-where did you go? Show yourself!”
“I'm afraid this party's over. Time to go home.”
Coming up behind Izzet and his lion, the poor, insane engineer had no time to react. Dexter was upon him, head locking him with one arm, pulling out one last knife with the other.
“No! What are you doing! You G-SIDE dogs can't kill people! I-”
“God, do you ever shut up?”
Dexter plunged the knife into Izzet's console. The destruction wasn't particularly spectacular, the screen fractured and stopped working and the antenna broke away; but the effect it had on the machines was far more impressive.
They went nuts. The spiders began to thrash once again, harder than ever. Speakers jutted in and out like defective jack in the boxes. Fluorescent paint and sticky cable went in all directions. The Disco Lion bucked and jolted, throwing the two men to the ground, Izzet still in a solid head lock. It tottered around on its hind legs, slashing at the air randomly before finally overbalancing and crashing on its back, legs gently twitching. The party was over.
Equipment removed, arms and legs bound, and loudly swearing and protesting, Izzet lay on the pavement struggling – and failing – to get free as Dexter called his superior to tell him of his progress. He extended an earpiece from the collar of his suit, dialled the number on his console, and waited for a response.
“...Moshi moshi!”
“Uh, yeah. Mr. Whitfield? It's Agent Myers.”
“Ah, hello! I've been monitoring your progress. That was a pretty big party you crashed. I almost wish I was invited.” Dexter slowly looked around at the sticky, brightly coloured aftermath of the robot attack.
“No, not if you were on clean up duty afterwards. Permission to head back to the Tower?”
“Permission granted; and a well done on a successful mission.”
Whitfield hung up, and left Dexter with the dial tone. He was just about to re-instate stealth mode and head back home (taking care to keep his head covered this time), when he suddenly remembered something.
“I can't leave without my knives! I had better find them all.”
He was a good 10 knives down, with a pile of robots to search through. It was to be a long night.
Introducing Dexter, a reconnaissance officer working for a high-floor G-SIDE division codenamed Shinobi. Ask him about his job and he'll tell you – as he tells everyone else – that he's not a ninja.
“Ninjas are nothing but a decades-old concept made up by self-hating westerners to make the mystique of the Far East all that more appealing. Nothing but a figment of imagination made up by yesteryear's media.”
Lack of history lessons aside, because his job requires very little but running across rooftops and in and out of shadow, his uniform is a tight-fitting camouflage suit, and he has a personal preference for thrown knives over guns or stun batons; he's yet to convince anyone of the misconception over his profession.
Quite possibly the only things that don't give off the vibe of honour-bound shadow warriors is his brash, overly vocal personality; and that his camouflage suit. When Stealth Mode on his suit is deactivated, it shows up electric blue. A side effect of G-SIDE's research and development on stealth technology, the test equipment that was more effective at blending in to its surroundings was exponentially less effective at blending in when turned off. But since that meant that the technology was hard to lose, the defect remained.
Presently we find the hero of this chapter heading up from the Elevator to the 63rd floor; the headquarters, mission briefing hall and private sauna for the Shinobi Unit. Today was a Thursday, and for Dexter, Thursdays were mission days. He was never sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing – the work was interesting, and the pay was even better, but his favourite television drama aired on a Thursday; and it was always less exciting to watch a recorded episode if he ended up working overtime and missed it.
“Today, I will get home on time,” he muttered to himself as the elevator reached the 59th floor and kept going. “By hook or by crook. Whoever I'm going after today had better come quietly.” The elevator slowed down and a synthesised voice came in over the intercom.
“63rd floor reached; Shinobi Unit offices. Have a nice day.”
The offices were well furnished. The managers of departments had full control of their jurisdiction's décor, and even if you were a first-time visitor, you could tell the manager here was a gigantic fan of Asian interior decoration. The area was floored in what was a very good synthetic representation of tatami matting, and the walls looked just like silk screens; though upon touching one, you could feel the drywall or concrete behind it. In the waiting room beyond the elevator doors was a large koi pond and what could have been a large garden's worth of bamboo strung together to make mildly uncomfortable-looking chairs, benches, and coffee tables. Dexter sighed heavily. This was always an eyesore. Not all of the rooms on this floor were this bad, but his boss loves to make a heavy first impression.
Since today's mission day, Dexter headed to the briefing room; passing through rooms packed to the nines in Indian, Thai, Korean, Japanese and Chinese trinkets, chests, fans, rugs and statuettes. It was pretty clear to see what G-SIDE was paying the manager in. The briefing room – requiring some semblance of modern technology was considerably tamer than the other rooms, actually using a degree of metal and reinforced plastic to make up a large speaking podium with a Terminal attached. A large projection screen stretched across the wall beyond the podium, but the manager had clearly put his foot down in regards to the minimum level of Asian culture manifest in the room; as the projector itself was lodged inside what looked like (and quite possibly was) a large statue of Buddha made entirely of Jade.
The room being completely empty aside from himself, Dexter took a seat and waited patiently for the meeting to start. He was exactly on time, but the boss man was a punctual sort - he should have been here already. A screen door off to the side slid open, and out stepped the Shinobi Unit's manager. He was wearing nothing but a large bath towel, and was still dripping wet, steaming slightly. He seemed completely unphased by his extremely casual attire, and walked over to the podium, beginning to boot up the terminal. Dexter noted how horribly homoerotic this situation would look out of context, permitted himself another heavy sigh, and broke the now rather humid silence with conversation.
“Enjoy your sauna, Mr. Whitfield?”
“It's an onsen, Agent Myers. You keep forgetting.”
“Sorry. So what's the job for today? No one else seems to be around, so it's clearly something you want done solo.”
“Right you are,” He took a second to adjust his towel. “So shall we get to it?”
For someone who was a die-hard fan of Asian culture, Mr. Whitfield didn't demonstrate much of it from appearance alone. He was as American as they come, with sandy blond hair and a lightly tanned complexion. He had worked for the FBI in past years, and as part of their armed forced before that; and it manifested itself physically, especially in his half-naked state. His back and arms were pockmarked with small scars and wounds that hadn't healed completely. Whatever hell he went through overseas had obviously given him the resolve to take a more relaxed role in life, but his tenacious nature prevented him from completely giving up the world of law enforcement and public safety. To that end, he'd scored a pretty good deal here. No wonder there are so many applicants.
From the Buddha Projector a map of the city was splashed upon the screen. It was peppered with a series of red marks, clustering in odd formations.
“We've been receiving sightings of strange robots all over the Literary Quarter, from both the police force posted in this area and assorted residents. They're not making any effort to hide themselves, but at the same time, they don't seem to be doing anything too dangerous.”
“That sounds extremely familiar. The guy behind it, is he-” The Buddha Projector clicked to the next image, it showed a close up of a face; a rather manic middle aged man with frizzy hair dyed purple, and large leather pilot goggles. It was an extreme close up, and with the Ultra High Definition most screens these days came equipped with, every pore and imperfection was shown in excruciating detail.
“Yes, it's the Musical Machinist, Izzet Fortissimo. He's done this kind of thing before, but usually it doesn't end up this huge. All you need to do is find our guy and arrest him. We'll be able to put a stop to the robots before you know it once you manage that.”
“It's still a pretty big area to search for one man, but I'm sure I can handle it. Purple hair like that is easy to spot.”
“You wouldn't say that had he chosen the Fashion Quarter to terrorise. Now get to it, I want to soak some more.”
Briefly checking to see that he'd kept his modesty, big boss Whitfield made his way back through the screen door and back to his happy place. Dexter downloaded the mission info from the Terminal into his Console, a sexy black number that wrapped around his wrist and could hook up to his work clothes, and made his way to the equipment room.
Instead of metal lockers and ugly plastic benches, the equipment and changing rooms were lavishly furnished in lacquered wood. This room was one of the few that Dexter liked; ordinary changing rooms gave him bad flashbacks to high school. His locker/wardrobe was emblazoned with an ornate engraving of a fox, surrounded with a pattern of flowers and grim-looking katanas. It looked like something you'd see tattooed on a member of the Yakuza, and it reminded Dexter of that awful N-word.
He pulled the Camouflage Suit and a metal box from his compartment and changed. The suit fit well, hugging the skin and allowing for maximum mobility; but it kept in the warmth, and without making him look like a Lycra fetishist. Shame it had to be such a bright blue, he was more of a purple kind of guy. Inside the metal box were a set of throwing knives, all a range of different sizes and shapes, all perfectly crafted by the development teams to be extremely aerodynamic and extremely, EXTREMELY sharp. The handles of a few had a few electronic functions installed; a GPS tracer, a tazer, an Electromagnetic Pulse emitter. Sure they were a bit expensive to replace if he lost one, but they were his babies; he always went to retrieve them after his mission was over, and he hardly ever missed his targets.
Suited and prepared, he worked his way to the edge of floor 63. All rooms on the perimeter of the building had floor to ceiling windows, giving great views on the city below. For those not used to it, it could be rather vertigo-inducing. Most windows were made of extremely thick glass and couldn't be moved, the windows on this side of the building opened just enough to let someone through; like a door to thin air. Pushing a button to release the catches on the window, Dexter was caught by a cool, refreshing blast of evening air. The latent pollution of the city begins to peter out once you get this high; much to the chagrin of those trying to leave the building via the windows on floors 20 to 30.
Expertly, Dexter slid himself out of the window, gripping to the frame by his right hand. At first this was one of the most unnerving things related to this job, but after dozens of Rail Drops, it felt like nothing worse than a theme park ride. He slammed his left hand and foot into the framing of the window. The grooves in the palms and soles of the suit lined up perfectly with crevices in the framework, and the moment the connection was made, unseen locks behind the frame clamped to his hand and foot, locking him in.
Connection made, body secure, brakes active. Preparing for descent.
Dexter suddenly plummeted at dizzying rate, as the windows of the floors beneath passed as a high speed blur.
“Too fast! Too fast!” Tensing the muscles in his hand, the sensors inside the Rail Drop noted the change in pressure, and slammed on the brakes, harshly yet safely slowing the descent to an effortless stop. “Dear god, the Rails don't usually drop you like that right off the bat. Gotta have the tech guys check that out.” Loosening his grip slightly, the Rail slowly was put into motion again. Now slightly paranoid about the condition of the machine, Dexter kept the descent under constant pressure control, feeling a bit sheepish about the whole deal. Once at ordinary building height, he kicked in the Stealth mode on the suit, rendering him nothing more than a faint, distorted ripple to the naked eye. The suit even had infra-red deflectors installed, so even most cameras and robots would have a hard time tracking him down.
The Literary Quarter was West of the Tower, designed to mimic 19th Century Venice, close to the coast, a large channel had been dug inland, to which the buildings and walkways were firmly fixed to the bottom of. A hydraulic system had been set up to raise or lower the area, should a flood or drought suddenly occur. To some, artificially creating an approximation of a historic solution created out of necessity undermines the original intent somewhat, but those people are prudes, sticks in the mud, or otherwise rather dull people. The Literary Quarter was both a marvel of architecture and modern engineering; bringing in Literati and easily amused tourists from all over the world.
Getting to the Literary Quarter on ground level could be a bit of a hassle at this time of the evening; the Automotive Quarter was only a stone's throw away from it, and the rush hour traffic generated from it was rather overwhelming. Driving to his target could take hours, and going on foot would be just plain dangerous, especially since any reckless or wayward drivers wouldn't be able to even see him. Dexter looked towards the skies, not so much for a sign or divine intervention; but a route up to the roof tops. The 'Sky Road' as some of the G-SIDErs doing reconnaissance work often jokingly called it, was one of the faster routes around the city without using a vehicle. The inter-city buildings are packed like sardines, meaning jumping from roof to roof could be done with relative ease, even more so if you're athletic and doubly even more so if you're running around in a fluorescent super suit.
Dexter smiled; this part was one of the better aspects to Recon, more so than the Rail Drop. The breeze this evening was warm, but refreshing. A string of reasonably even rooftops stretched out like giant stone lily pads from the City Central to the West side. It'd be an easy run, no problem.
Taking a deep breath and a few little stretches, Dexter got into the motions at surprising speed; sprinting across the first rooftop, and springing gracefully at the edge to the next building, taunting gravity and the gaping urban abyss below. He took careful note of the state of his camouflage; the last thing G-SIDE needs is a report of a strange blue figure leaping around; and it had happened before – with employees more careless than him, of course.
The run to the West side went as perfectly as he would have hoped, but on the last jump something went awry. On his landing, his footing gave way, leading to a rather graceless skidding face plant across the top of a corporate building selling electronic bookmarks that remembered how much you read in between sessions, and nagged you if you slacked off. It was a Literary Quarter invention no doubt, but what was with the lame landing?
The impact had de-triggered the camouflage, and Dexter got to his knees in all his vivid blue glory, and looked around. On the edge of the building where he had tripped, there was something that resembled a loose cable or rope attached to a door inside the building, trailing all the way across the roof and off the edge. Wandering over to it, Dexter gave the rope an apprehensive prod. It was unpleasant, both sticky and plastic to the touch, but as solid and bulky as metal cable. Whatever it was, it didn't look natural, and definitely raised suspicions.
Following the cable to the edge of the building, Dexter tentatively peered over the stone balustrade to the city below. He was met with his own reflection, mirrored within several wide, tinted lenses; placed above cruel looking steel mandibles. Stunned, he lurched backwards, landing flat on his back. Two clumsy falls in quick succession - the operative was not on his best form. The owner of the lenses and mandibles jerkily clambered over the edge of the building. It was a large, robotic spider.
“Of course! The foreshadowing from Chapter One paid off!”
The spider was a large one; it easily reached up to Dexter's waist. In addition to the many lenses and pincers, it was supported on large, spindly legs, made entirely of pistons and gears, all connected together in an intricate pattern. The thorax was completely covered in spray painted graffiti, in garish neon colours, like a subway car in the Artists Quarter.
As he stared at the strange machination, the spider began to rattle violently as the top of the thorax swung open like the doors of a fancy car, and a large speaker slowly protruded from the innards with a faint whine. The air became tense, charged with electricity as Dexter just stared, completely lost as to how to deal with this musically-inclined robot.
Then came the Techno music. Hard and fast, it burst from the speaker as a veritable torrent of sound, forcibly pushing the very air away in all directions. Forced back down to his knees, there was nothing our hero could do except cover his ears. How the hell could such a small speaker produce such a gigantic amount of noise? Sure, the tune was catchy, and it had the kind of heart-shaking bass line that just wouldn't quit; but the robot had to be stopped – now – before he lost his hearing completely.
Wrenching his right hand off his ear and down to his utility belt – for all technologically powered suits have utility belts – he removed one of his throwing knives and without taking a moment to compose himself or aim, he took a wild guess as to direction and distance, and flung the weapon with full force. There was a loud pop as the knife went straight into the woofer of the speaker, severed some cables, and came cleanly out the other side, skittering to a stop on the shingles on the roof. Sweet silence reigned in the Evening air again.
Although not for long. Enraged by the sudden stop to its jam session, the Robotic Rave Spider swished its pincers in a frustrated manner, retracted the blown, sparking speaker, and haphazardly scuttled off the roof, jumping into the abyss. It seemed to be heading deeper into the Literary Quarter, and at an almost impossible speed, considering its thin, rattling legs. Not having any time to recover before the robot escaped completely, Dexter pulled up another knife; this one with a tracker on the hilt. Moving to the edge of the building again, he caught the spider scuttling down the side of the building, took careful aim, and expertly embedded the knife into the back of it as it fled.
A bad landing and a pre-emptive attack aside, the encounter had gone well; the Literary Quarter was one of the larger districts; and that spider looked like it was going to join its friends.
“Couldn't be any easier if they gave me a VIP invitation to their little spider tea party.”
Confidence and dignity regained, Dexter re-activated stealth mode, and leapt off the roof towards the centre of the Literary Quarter.
The pride and joy of the Literary Quarter was the Ekphrasis Library, a large, imposing structure that was built like a giant cube, plated in chemically-treated purple marble. Timeless, weather-proof, and arguably bomb-proof, it was said by the constructor that the only thing they thought it wasn't going to resist was the heat-death of the universe; but we all know how builders can exaggerate about the quality of their work from time to time. It contained a copy of every book worth noting, and a few that weren't quite so notable. In a desire to be more accessible and to try and master the impossible feat of getting teenage boys to visit libraries and read more; they also stock one of the largest archives of comic books and graphic novels in the world. It was a resounding flop with their target audience – as we all knew it would – but it was a godsend for the older generation with childish guilty pleasures.
And at this moment in time it was crawling with robotic spiders. Neon spray paint jettisoned from steel mandibles, covering the marble work in graffiti so obscene you wouldn't want to show it to your gran. The disgusting sticky cables criss-crossed across the smooth purple surface of the cube, and stretched across power lines and nearby buildings. The metal in the cables occasionally shorted the power grid, and lights in the area flashed on and off. Nearly all of the spiders had their speakers exposed, and were pumping the most extravagant and complex high-speed Happy Hardcore Dexter had ever heard. Coupled with the flashing lights, it was a gargantuan rave that spanned the entire Quarter.
The spiders themselves seemed to be in a strange kind of trance, all performing a complex and jerky swaying dance, legs in all directions, pincers swishing like an army of scissors. One had its dance pattern drift too close to Dexter, who promptly jammed one of his knives into its neck, without even so much as turning to look at it; completely transfixed on the desecration of Ekphrasis Library. There was a fizzing sound and the smell of burned plastic and solder as the head came away and clattered to the ground. The freshly decapitated spider seized up, teetered momentarily and crashed to the ground, its speaker silenced.
“How dare you do such a thing to my beautiful machines?!”
A voice that sounded like it was trying far too hard to menacing rang out from behind Dexter, but it took another 3 tries to get the Shinobi operative to actually turn away from the Library. He still had an expression of abject horror etched into his face.
“Who do you think you are, gate crashing my party of the century, and destroying my decorations!?” This time, Dexter snapped out of his stupor.
“Party? ...What?” Still bemused and dazed, our hero took a look down and spotted the detached spider head, still with his knife jutting out of it. “Er, I did that?”
“Yes you bloody well did! And don't claim you didn't, I can see you, even with that silly suit on.” At this point Dexter realised he still had the stealth mode on his suit engaged. Since the jig was up, he disabled it anyway; the electric blue fitted in well with the paint scheme administered by the spiders.
“You can still see me with the stealth mode on? But not even machines can detect this thing!”
“But your suit doesn't cover your head, does it?” He had a point there. What's more, reports of disembodied heads would be far more concerning to G-SIDE's offices than reports of people in cat suits. Dexter shook his head and tried to regain control of this rapidly deteriorating conversation.
“So then this means you're the punk that's causing all this havoc?”
“You're a slow one, aren't you? Yes it's me; Izzet Fortissimo, in the flesh. Did it really take you that long to deduce what's going on? Look what I'm riding on, for goodness' sake!”
Izzet was riding on one of his other creations, a sizeable robotic lion, strong and fierce-looking. His mane wasn't styled in the wild and ferocious look of the real thing, but resembled a bushy and finely-kept afro, made entirely from fine wire. The armour plating over the lion's feet splayed out in a shape not dissimilar to flared trousers.
“Behold! The Disco Lion!”
“You're clearly on some kind of drug. Someone's spent too much time in the Pleasure Quarter; but now you're gonna come with me, and spend a lot more time in G-SIDE's holding facility.”
“On drugs? Ha! Is that what you young fools mistake genius for these days?”
“Don't lie to me, you're higher than Balloon Boy!”
“Enough of your incessant whinnying! You have damaged my machines, and must pay the penalty!” And with that, he stuck out his right arm. It was enclosed in a large glaive, with a great many buttons and dials embedded in it, along with a screen, and a long, elegant antenna. It was his Console. He brought it to his mouth and said slowly and clearly “Rave Spiders, new target. Attack this pathetic G-SIDE dog, and bring me his head!”
All speakers stopped at once. All spiders stopped moving. There was a terrible and sudden silence that filled the air, as the robot army registered their new instruction, and turned slowly in the direction of Dexter and Izzet. Silence then gave way to vicious clicking and whirring as commands processed, the spiders began to slowly and menacingly advance on their prey.
“One man versus hundreds of robots. I quite fancy my odds.”
“Perish, fool! My beautiful machines will take over district by district, and soon we shall party like it's 1999!”
“Then you're a century too late! Bring it on!”
And 'on' they indeed did bring. A torrent of whirring metal limbs and slicing pincers came at Dexter from all sides, but the non-ninja was prepared. Knives at the ready, he easily took out the first wave, shattering lenses and speaker casings left and right; then using the now motionless husks as a stepping stone to launch himself clear of the amassing mob. He landed clear in the stylish manner he wished he'd achieved on the roof earlier. Izzet remained close by, watching atop the Disco Lion. He seemed rather frustrated that his spider army had been outwitted so quickly.
“Your arachnids are small time, Izzet. Give it up before I put the hurt on that metallic kitten you're riding too!”
In response, the lion reared up and let out a roar that sounded suspiciously like a funky bass groove, and long claws extended out of the front paws. Slowly realising that their prey had escaped, the spiders stopped thrashing about and began to head towards Dexter again. Things seemed a little less rosy, with our hero trapped between a riff and a hard place. And yet, Dexter remained calm. He knew what to do, and how to rock this party.
The Disco Lion lunged with force, the wind riffling through its claws. With no distance to dodge, Dexter had no choice but to block. Grabbing more knives between his fingers, he caught the swipe from the lion against the blades, metal grinding against metal, sparks lighting up the area. The pressure of both lion and rider bearing down on Dexter, there's no way he could parry; and if he tried to hold it any longer, he could end up crushed – or worse. He decided to feint – pushing into the lion with all his strength, then suddenly letting go. The sudden change in force sent the robot off-balance; and in that moment of respite, Dexter slid underneath the lion, out of sight and out of range of those terrible claws.
“Wh-where did you go? Show yourself!”
“I'm afraid this party's over. Time to go home.”
Coming up behind Izzet and his lion, the poor, insane engineer had no time to react. Dexter was upon him, head locking him with one arm, pulling out one last knife with the other.
“No! What are you doing! You G-SIDE dogs can't kill people! I-”
“God, do you ever shut up?”
Dexter plunged the knife into Izzet's console. The destruction wasn't particularly spectacular, the screen fractured and stopped working and the antenna broke away; but the effect it had on the machines was far more impressive.
They went nuts. The spiders began to thrash once again, harder than ever. Speakers jutted in and out like defective jack in the boxes. Fluorescent paint and sticky cable went in all directions. The Disco Lion bucked and jolted, throwing the two men to the ground, Izzet still in a solid head lock. It tottered around on its hind legs, slashing at the air randomly before finally overbalancing and crashing on its back, legs gently twitching. The party was over.
Equipment removed, arms and legs bound, and loudly swearing and protesting, Izzet lay on the pavement struggling – and failing – to get free as Dexter called his superior to tell him of his progress. He extended an earpiece from the collar of his suit, dialled the number on his console, and waited for a response.
“...Moshi moshi!”
“Uh, yeah. Mr. Whitfield? It's Agent Myers.”
“Ah, hello! I've been monitoring your progress. That was a pretty big party you crashed. I almost wish I was invited.” Dexter slowly looked around at the sticky, brightly coloured aftermath of the robot attack.
“No, not if you were on clean up duty afterwards. Permission to head back to the Tower?”
“Permission granted; and a well done on a successful mission.”
Whitfield hung up, and left Dexter with the dial tone. He was just about to re-instate stealth mode and head back home (taking care to keep his head covered this time), when he suddenly remembered something.
“I can't leave without my knives! I had better find them all.”
He was a good 10 knives down, with a pile of robots to search through. It was to be a long night.
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