12-05-2009, 10:13 AM
Is anyone else reading this? D= I wonder if it would be mod abuse if I stickied the thread...
Chapter 5: It's an Outbreak, Innit?
“Your mission today will be both on a larger scale than you're used to, and a little unorthodox. In order to ensure the mission's success (and your survival), the management team have decided to have Operative Groups Three and Four work alongside Mr. Wendell, who has been drafted from PIT.” A young man with bright red hair and an indignant scowl rose from his chair suddenly.
“So you're dumping a member of the Creep Brigade on us? How on Earth do you think that'd be useful?” The young secretary merely blinked at the sudden outburst, and retorted without faltering.
“The Paranormal Investigation Team are more than just scouts for things that go bump in the night. They look into a lot of issues that most other departments are too afraid to touch – you should be honoured to work with such brave and dedicated people.”
“More like working with berserk and undead people...” The redhead grumbled and sat back down. The display coming from the room's terminal showed a slide show of photographs, taken from the Fashion Quarter, taken over the last 24 hours or so. The secretary pulled out a laser pointer and indicated to the scrolling pictures.
“These are CCTV photographs of areas in San Sarai's Fashion Quarter, taken over the last 24 hours. We can see in these pictures large crowds of people storming the streets in an organised – yet haphazard – fashion.” The slide show moved to a new picture, a teenager dressed in clothing that was as baggy as it was black and spiky, shoving a heavy platform shoe through a shop window. Expertly, the secretary waggled the laser pointer at the picture and kept talking. “Take note of his pale – almost grey – complexion and the lack of visible pupils. Couple with the wanton destruction and flash-mobbing of like minded individuals, these are some of the classic symptoms of-”
“-Classic symptoms of a zombie outbreak.”
Everyone in the briefing room turned to the doorway, where a tall, broad-shouldered man leant lazily in the doorway. A black leather trenchcoat hugged his frame, covered in pockets filled with... things. His eyes were obscured by a very large, wide-brimmed cowboy hat. Its brim was stitched in a very complex pattern in black leather string. His confident – and rather condescending – smile was framed by a thick moustache and beard. In short, he looked both badass and completely ridiculous in equal measures.
“Arthur Wendell at your service, but feel free to call me Artie. As for you,” he gestured towards the secretary. “A pretty young thing like you can call me whatever and whenever you like.” The lady blushed and looked away.
“Kindly sit down with your four team mates, and we'll continue our briefing. Operatives, please introduce yourselves to Mr. Wendell.”
“Corinne, Corrine Madison.” An athletic woman with an open expression and a rather reserved sense of clothing smiled and offered Arthur a handshake. He took the handshake, but didn't return the smile. For all the things Corrine had going for her, the paranormal investigator seemed only interested in the secretary.
“The name's Cyrano Lestat. Pleasure to meet you.” The slightly scruffy-looking black man, swept a loose dreadlock away from his eyes, put down the Console he was toying with, and waved politely. “I guess you'd call me the tech expert of this team. I look forward to working with ya.” He was met with a short grunt of acknowledgement.
“Another hardened expert, huh? I'm Rafael Berker. I normally lead, so -” He followed up with a dramatic gesture towards Mr. Wendell, “We might end up butting heads. A bit of rivalry never hurt anyone, right-”
“Kieron Cain, and I dislike you already,” said the angry young man with red hair, interrupting Rafael, as if his introduction couldn't wait any longer. “Don't let your silly getup and smug grin jeopardise our mission, got it?”
“There's no need to be so aggressive and defensive, I assure you,” said Arthur, still maintaining his smile. “I was drafted in to this Riot Control department to give you the upper hand you need, and give you the upper hand I shall.”
“So you're saying the riot in the Fashion Quarter is likely a Zombie outbreak, right Mr. Wendell?” Corrine mused, scribbling in a notepad she pulled from her jacket.
“I said you could call me Artie. Well, having all the targets as teenagers is a bit unorthodox, but apart from that all signs point to Zombie. Reports show that kids from outside the district are starting to riot too, so they have that whole 'infection' angle going for them too.”
“So we have a zombie riot, and an outsider who's telling us he can stop the spread,” said Rafael. “Ten to one he makes a critical oversight and gets one of us killed.”
“Bet it's me,” said Cyrano, not even looking up from his Console. Arthur gave a surprised and slightly worried look towards the secretary.
“Are they always this... this pessimistic?”
“Many of the riot control operatives are what we like to call 'genre savvy'. It helps to be prepared for the worst in this line of work; especially when you realise just how... how...” she faltered for the right word.
“How downright nuts the people of this city can be,” Kieron offered.
“Thank you, Mr. Cain. Not the turn of phrase I'd use, but you're right – while you may deal exclusively with the supernatural Mr. Wendell – you should not underestimate the potential of the mundane.” Arthur coughed loudly in an attempt to clear the air, and to cover up how off-guard he felt. “Right, now you're all introduced and briefed on the mission, I suggest you all suit up and head out before the riot spreads any further. Dismissed.”
As districts in San Sarai go, the Fashion Quarter was very much divided in its ideals. With so many subcultures and preferences to cater for, and tastes in the industry changing as often as day to day during some parts of the year, the entire area was a mash up of old and new, flashy and reserved, bourgeois and burly. A set of buildings would be under construction or renovation at any given time, and if you had the money for it, there's always something fresh and trendy to splurge your salary on.
But for tonight, there was no shopping; and the construction sites were abandoned. For the teenagers were out in full force. Hungry for chaos. Hungry for blood. Hungry for sales. The streets were completely free of non-infected punters now; the area well and truly belonged to teenagers of the night. Windows were smashed, cars were upturned, and even the odd lamppost was bent over, apparently by sheer force. It was a swathe of destruction a marvel to behold.
Down an alleyway a bright flash and a strong rush of air forced its way out into the street and faded away. Following it, the four Riot Control operatives and a very dazed-looking Arthur Wendell stepped out into the street.
“How could you possibly be unphased by that? In my day we had to get to our missions on foot.”
“We signed up for an experimental Teleportation program with the R&D,” said Cyrano, affixing a black metallic buckler to his arm. “The entire department has been using it non-stop all week. Once you work out how to avoid getting trapped inside walls or left hanging in empty air, it's a pretty efficient system.” Kieron sneered, and pulled out his own buckler.
“If that kind of thing scares you, go home right now. We don't need you.” He gestured towards the main street and looked at his comrades. “Riot Shields ready? Let's move out, people.”
From the bucklers, a large translucent screen formed in the shape of a large hexagon. It glowed an eerie shade of green, piercing the cold night air. The edges of the hexagon were fuzzy, but the rest of it looked as strong and as shiny as polished steel.
“Riot Shields operational, running at 85% strength, estimated length of use two hours,” Corrine reeled off the statistics from her Console.
“Do a resilience test for me, will ya?” Cyrano was scanning the readout on his Console too. Clearly this technology wasn't entirely perfect. Acknowledging the request, Corrine pulled the arm with the buckler to her chest, then will all her strength swung it into a wall of the alleyway. There was a loud crushing sound as the brick wall fractured around the point of impact, sending loose rubble everywhere. A good amount landed in the brim of Arthur's hat. Stunned to silence, he removed his hat, brushed off the debris, and with it clasped still in one hand, began to walk slowly onwards to the main street. The teenage zombies no longer seemed like the scariest threat. The poor things didn't have a chance.
They didn't have to travel far before coming across one of the infected. She tottered about aimlessly in a sort of daze, dressed in an elegant, frilly, and just a bit Gothic dress, which had now been soiled and torn from the riots. Completely separated from the group she seemed without direction, and before long she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily.
“Is she really one of the Infected?” Enquired Rafael. “She looks more lost and scared, rather than scary. Since you're the expert Artie, go and take a look, won't you?”
“Are you sure? An expert I may be, but my expert instincts are telling me that we really shouldn't approach-”
“That's an order, Arthur.”
If there was any doubt in Arthur's mind that Rafael was a leader, it had been smashed to pieces now. Gingerly the paranormal expert approached the kneeling girl as she began to gently sob, still sitting in the middle of the road. The girl gave no response, even when he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.
“Are... are you ok? Were you caught in the riot?”
“How about asking a question that isn't obvious?” called out Kieron from a very safe distance away. Arthur ignored him. The girl slowly looked up towards the hulking stranger in the leather coat. Past the grime and smeared make up, the girl had a pretty face; or so Arthur thought. Weakly, the girl's lips trembled.
“Please... please help me,” the riot survivor uttered in a soft voice “I feel so weak, my purse has gone, and I think I lost a contact lens...” Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, Arthur stood up, hoisting the dainty girl to her feet by her waist. Still feeble, she slumped against him, and the man's heart couldn't help but flutter. He waved to the others with his free hand.
“She's clean! Come over here guys, and help me with her.”
As the Riot Team moved over, they took careful note of the surroundings. Detectives they weren't; but if clues to the nature of the mob could be gleaned, then it may just save their necks later on.
The damage here was surprisingly light. While most of the buildings here were residential or restaurants, they were almost entirely untouched; where the few retail outlets that were on the road were completely wrecked. Display windows had been smashed, signs had been torn, manikins, now naked and dirty, were snapped into pieces and thrown around the store. And in all of these targeted venues, there wasn't a single item left. Not a scrap of cloth or a shoelace remained. Whatever shop staff or management that the venues employed had long since fled the scene. Upon looking at the last shop on the street, a bohemian-looking one called Shoestrings 'n' Things, Corrine noticed something.
“Hey, there's still stock in this one.”
While not exactly the most dramatic revelation, everyone shuffled over too look. The Gothically dressed teenager still clung – almost a little desperately – to Arthur, head pressed against his chest; Arthur began to blush as he tried to keep her upright. Girls as young as this weren't really his type.
They all peered into the gloom. On a shelf near the back, among the crushed shoe boxes and smashed displays remained a solitary shoe. The fact that it had been left behind wasn't particularly surprising; it wasn't particularly attractive as far as footwear went. The designers had clearly thought that amalgamating lots of different designs together would produce an item of all the positives, but none of the drawbacks. Looking upon this sorry mash-up of a platform sole, a stiletto heel, zips instead of laces, a bright pink and chocolate brown colour scheme, and a small strip of lights embedded into the sole that lit up as you walked; their plan was a complete and utter failure.
“It's just a goddamn shoe!” exclaimed Kieron. “Why did you drag us all the way over here for that?”
“Shoe...” Arthur's frilly-dressed hanger on suddenly twitched, and looked a lot more alert. He looked down in surprise.
“What's that, little lady?”
“Shoes... Shoes! I gotta have the shoes! I GOTTA HAVE THE SHOES!” Getting more and more worked up by the second, she began to drool out the side of her mouth slightly as her pupils began to dilate and slowly roll backwards. She made a lunge for the inside of the store, but fearing her injury on the jagged glass left in the broken window frame, Arthur held her back. Bad move.
Shrieking in rage, the once weak and frail girl made a sudden and wicked swipe at Arthur, hands like claws, delicate lips twisted up into a feral snarl. Her eyes were now completely white, and her spittle began to froth as she raged.
“Graaah! Shoes, shoes, shoes! I'll take them all! You can't have them, they're all mi- mi- mi-” Losing even the ability to speak, she tried to take another slash at Arthur, but in a panic he pushed her away from him in a rather unchivalrous manner. In less dire circumstances such an action would get the authorities called; or at least met with a heavy bag or a can of pepper spray. She reeled backwards several steps before regaining her balance. Even her posture was now wild and beast-like. She poised herself for a second pounce -
“Ok, enough of that.”
Stepping in between the psychopathic teen and the shop front, Cyrano pulled his arm back, and activated the Riot Shield. The girl's pounce was quickly met by the Shield's rapidly expanding force field slammed in the other direction. She crashed into it face first and was flung clear, like a tennis racket hitting a ball. She skidded to a stop two meters away and lay motionless, still muttering “Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes...” to herself, now through the whistle of a broken nose and dislodged teeth.
“Holy crap dude, that was brutal!” Kieron stared at the scene slack-jawed, his expression a mixture of horrified shock and a twisted sense of satisfied blood lust. His sadist side won over, and he caught Cyrano with a silent, awed high-five. Corinne was nowhere near as impressed.
“Why on earth did you go and to that for? It's clear that she's a civilian and that something is horribly wrong here. She may have been are only bit of info into finding out what the hell is going on here and-”
“Corinne? Corinne!” Cyrano was trying to get her attention mid-rant. She stopped, breathing heavily.
“What?”
“Have you ever seen a normal non-crazy teenage girl go so far as mauling a stranger over a solitary, ugly shoe before?”
“Well... no.”
“Then don't fault me for trying to knock some sense into her.”
Immediate danger over, Rafael took charge once again.
“I think it'll be easier if we just leave the lass where she is, and we try and see if this riot has a source. Best bet would be to keep heading towards the main square. There's a far larger density of clothing shops there, and if only the clothing venues are being attacked...”
“I see what you're getting at, but since when was running head first into the Eye of the Storm a good idea?” Recovering from his brief and clingy encounter with one of the Infected, Arthur felt it was time to lodge his foot in. Sure he didn't get off to a strong start, but now he knew what he was up against, his confidence was on the rise. That, and he didn't want Rafael to hog all the leadership limelight. “Backhanding one of them is all well and good, but just how many do you expect to be able to contend with?”
“Not to interject,” now even Corinne was getting involved. “But shouldn't you be more concerned about yourself? The equipment given to us by the R&D guys have gotten us this far, but you seem anything but well-equipped.”
Arthur was taken aback. No girl had ever insulted the competence of his equipment before. He blushed furiously.
“I'll have you know that my personal arsenal is one of the largest and strongest in my department!” He cast a lazy hand over the other men present. “Much better than any of these jokers you're working with.” Now it was their turn to look indignant.
“Y-you're bluffing! Put your money where your mouth is; whip it out and show us!” Keiron was getting a little too caught up in the moment.
“Well okay then! Brace yourselves, people.” Feeding on the moment of suspense, Arthur slowly reached inside his jacket.
He pulled out a handgun, and what a gun it was. The barrel seemed to extend forever as he slid the piece out from inside his coat. The expertly polished chrome finish caught the moonlight, making it positively sparkle. The end of the barrel – in contrast to the elegant sleekness of the rest of the weapon – was shorter and chunkier, making the gun feel both graceful and weighty. Easing his fingers around the exquisite wooden grip and over the perfectly crafted trigger, he softly span the gun's revolving cylinder. The air was filled with harmonic metallic clicks and pings, like summer rain on a glockenspiel.
A solitary tear ran down the side of Rafael's face, and dripped of his stubble covered chin.
“It's beautiful...” Arthur grinned wider than what should be physically possible.
“Oh, isn't it just? And it fires like a dream!” And as if he needed to prove it, he pointed down the road towards the main square, and without even so much as hesitating – or aiming – he fired 4 rounds into the night. The gun spat out thick, dangerous slugs with a satisfying 'BLAM', as the cylinder moved on to the next bullet chamber with a hefty 'THUNK'. Demonstration over, Arthur put on the safety, gave the gun a deft twirl, and blew away the smoke from the freshly-used barrel, lips millimetres away from its red hot surface.
It took a few seconds before anyone said anything, letting the moment sink in. Corinne looked far more worried than impressed.
“Did you just fire multiple rounds in the direction that we assume a large riot mob will be?”
No response. Arthur still had the gun to his lips.
“And what's more, you fired rounds into what may very well be lucid civilians?”
The gun slowly lowered to the investigator's side as the weight of his actions hit him like a holographic Riot Shield to the jaw. Today just wasn't his day.
In the distance, the party of 5 could hear voices. Fierce, howling voices; mixed in with the sound of breaking glass and strained and bucking metal. The rioters must have found a new target. The team could only hope it wasn't them.
Any sane man would have run for the hills then and there, but these upstanding individuals were G-SIDE employees; hand-picked from the masses to excel in helping others, saving the day, and being all-around heroes. Of course this meant throwing common sense to the wind, and pressing onwards to greet a crowd of savage fashion victims. As they left Shoestrings ‘n’ Things, Corinne turned back. Heading over to the girl, she deftly handcuffed her, wiped off some of the blood from her nose, and propped her up against the wall.
“Civilian or not, we can’t have you trying to attack us from behind.”
They didn’t have to go far before reaching Style Square, the Fashion Quarter’s largest traffic crossing and pedestrian plaza. They were greeted with largely what they were expecting; although the sheer number of Infected rioters was still a pressing matter. The plaza was packed to the nines with people, from every culture, gender, and fashion taste. Aside from all the crazed shoppers being teenage, whatever it was that drove them to such madness sure didn’t discriminate.
Like watching high school students from afar, it was easy to see that the crowd had split into smaller niches, each group having a similar - yet extremely narrow – taste in fashion. Even within the cliques themselves, they fought. Two large and burly men dressed in tracksuits and exercise gear were pulling a sports jacket between them, yelling and grunting at each other. Elsewhere, a boy and a girl dressed in baggy jeans and faux fur hoodies were squaring up over a large baseball cap. The boy made the first move, but the girl was quicker; a savage left hook sent the boy sprawling. Taking her prize, she clutched it to her chest, cackling with euphoria.
Noticing that one of them had fallen, other rioters descended on the defeated boy, tearing the clothes of his body like a bunch of fashion vultures. They left him bruised and in his underwear, as they melded back into the throng of people.
Arthur let out a low whistle behind gritted teeth.
“Damn, this is complete and utter chaos. I’m starting to think the whole ‘zombie’ diagnosis isn’t so accurate anymore.”
“Well, I dunno about that,” chimed in Rafael. “I recall there being a point a few decades ago where nearly all instances of zombies were fast running and ultra violent. Seemed to be the only kind around. We were very busy during those years.”
“Bah, a total misdiagnosis on the media’s part. There’s a pretty big divide between your garden variety zombie and a small army of angry, bad smelling ordinary guys. I’d say these guys were no better; but then again look how well-dressed they are.” As if to demonstrate, a man in a sharp violet suit (now with the left leg torn away) slammed the large jewelled cane he was carrying over another rioter’s head, snatched the frilly black lingerie they were carrying, and rushed back into the crowd.
Beyond the crowd was a shop unlike the others seen so far. It was a much smaller build than most of the other, older buildings in the Square, and it seemed to have been constructed in quite a hurry, using materials that wouldn’t be out of place for a temporary construction building. The walls were made of corrugated iron, and the windows at the shop front seemed to be made of a thick plastic. As the Infected hammered on the windows and walls they became scratched and dented, the metal creaking in protest; but everything still held firm. What was more surprising was that it still seemed to be open! There were clothes displayed in the windows, and the lights were on. It seemed like the only reasonable safe house in the area – or would be if all the rioters weren’t crowded outside of it. Arthur stretched, cracked his knuckles, and gave his patented smug smile.
“I’ve decided. We’re gonna go inside that shop.”
Rafael balked in horror.
“I’ve decided. You’re completely insane and you’re going to get us killed. I’m pulling rank here, there’s little we can do against this many people. G-SIDE screwed up in only posting 5 of us to something this huge.” Cyrano put his hand on Rafael’s shoulder and gave what he hoped was a re-assuring smile.
“We can’t leave just yet. There’s one last piece of R&D tech that we need to try out.”
He pulled out his last technological trump card. It looked exactly like a large foam bat. It was even coloured in blue and red. The response from the others was rather tepid.
“I’m not sure what to say,” Corinne sighed. “Is this the Department’s idea of a joke?”
“Quite the contrary,” said Cyrano, tossing the bat to Kieron, who caught it effortlessly by the handle and gave it a mock swing as if he were playing baseball. “Hey, be careful with it! I want you to get one of the rioters of here and bonk him with it. Think you can manage that?”
“With a children’s toy? Are you trying to get my throat torn out by rabid Scenester?”
“Trust me.”
Though aggressive and contrary, Kieron had a professional trust of his team mates, and followed through. He edged up to the perimeter of the crowd; but everyone was too busy fighting among themselves to even notice him. He hesitated in thought for a moment, and then suddenly had a wave of inspiration.
“Hey look! I found a peacoat! It’s even in tweed!”
And right on cue, a hipster burst from the crowd, slavering at the concept of owning something so twee. He sprinted towards Kieron as fast as his skinny jeans-covered legs could carry him; his ‘ironic’ graphic t-shirt torn in the struggle, exposing his chest. Readying himself, Kieron squared up to his advancing target, raised his bat into the air, and brought it down as hard as he could, getting the min in the face and chest. The bat bounced off, hardly even phasing the target, as the Infected man advanced on Kieron, furious about the lack of peacoat proffered. Keiron was about to swing at the man again, but –
The hipster froze in his tracks, as his feet had been glued to the floor. He struggled to keep advancing to no avail, and then he had to struggle to even stay upright, as his entire body gave in like a collapsing house of cards, as he collapsed ineffectually to the ground. Demonstration over – with an outcome no one seemed to suspect – Kieron walked back to the group while the scavengers returned to claim the clothes of the fallen.
“The foam on the bat is meant to contain an extremely strong muscle paralysis toxin,” Cyrano explained. “The R&D called it the Stun Baton. I have no idea how the toxin’s administered – part of me doesn’t want to know – but it’s only supposed to affect exposed skin.” Arthur smiled again.
“Meaning we have to take these rioters out, we need to... aim for the head”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Suddenly these guys feel an awful lot like Zombies again...”
Corinne pulled out her notebook again.
“There’s also something I’ve noticed about the rioters’ behaviour,” she said. “While they seem perfectly capable of attacking each other to steal clothing – any clothing – they’ve not attacked us unless we’ve provoked them.”
“That’s a good point!” said Rafael, surprised. “So why do you think that is?”
“Well, considering that these guys will rabidly go for anything fashionable, and we’re dressed in Riot uniforms designed for function – not fashion – I suppose we don’t show up on their radar.”
“But what about me?” interjected Arthur, looking confused. “My fetching leather coat and excellent hat are my own clothes, not G-SIDE issue.”
“Then that only means one thing, Artie.” Corinne tried hard to hide her smile, and wasn’t succeeding.
“Meaning what?”
“You’re just not fashionable enough, I’m afraid!”
The Riot Control team laughed, to the chagrin of Arthur.
“Okay then, if this means you’re going to go along with my plan, let’s get to it!” He gestured towards Cyrano. “Since it’s your new toy, I want you to go in with the Stun Bat first. We’ll follow behind you with the Riot Shields.” Cyrano coughed and looked away.
“I uh, don’t know if I want to be in the front position, given the circumstances. Besides, you don’t have a Riot Shield.”
Arthur pulled out his awe-inspiring beauty of a gun and smiled once more.
“If things get bad, I have this little number. Let’s go already!”
Steeling their courage, the group dove head-first into the crowd of Infected. Cyrano lead the way with the Stun Baton, landing clean hits left and right. Bodies collapsed and were dragged away at a steady rate, clearing the path ahead. Immediately behind the others followed; Kieron, Corinne and Rafael keeping the sides and rear well protected with their Riot Shields, with Arthur in the middle, keeping a look out for any potential problems.
The plan proceeded slowly, but without a hitch. They were less than 100 meters from the shop front now, and everyone was starting to breathe easy once more – Arthur’s plan had actually succeeded. A lithe and seemingly well-fought Punk rioter emerged from the crowd. At this point it was hard to tell if the tears in his clothing were gained from the brawl or intentional. Cyrano wound up another swing, but this time the rioter saw it coming and dodged. Sent off-balance by the unexpected miss, Cyrano was a sitting duck for a counter attack. Seeing this, Arthur whirled round to the pair and pulled his gun.
“Corinne! The guy in the red Mohawk!”
Not prepared for the sudden instruction, Corrine reacted more in shock to the drawn weapon than the advancing rioter. She quickly pulled round her shield just as Arthur fired a warning shot. Firing a weapon at such a close range would be a recipe for disaster. The shield was perfectly placed – the shot ricocheted harmlessly off the green barrier into the night air; but the position was awkward, and she lost her balance. She stumbled into Kieron, supporting herself on his shoulder.
Not knowing what was going on behind him, Kieron turned round to see what the ruckus was. Losing sight of controlling his Shield, his arm moved round and bumped gently into Cyrano. That bump was all that was needed – the force feedback of the barrier kicked in, and before Cyrano knew what happened, he was face down on the floor.
And then the rioters attacked. Without a moment of respite, 4 rioters were upon him, grabbing and tearing at his clothes, the Stun Baton knocked from his hand. It was all he could do to prevent himself from being trampled, let alone retrieve his weapon. Fortunately Kieron was quick to assist. Forgoing the Baton for his own strength, he kicked the rioters off Cyrano, and pulled him – now dazed and topless – to his feet. The Stun Baton was still close by, and upon grabbing it decided to take control of the moment and issue his own orders.
“Guys! Knock your Shields to max output – we’re going to rush the store!”
Rafael pushed away a Preppy teenager and pulled an expression of annoyance.
“What is it with everyone making up stupid orders today? We’ve not tested the Shields at full strength yet!”
“Just goddamn do it!”
With the limit on power consumption released, the Riot Shields literally exploded into life. A gigantic wall of green stretched up and around, the separate barriers meeting together to form a large dome around the team. The raw force of the barrier’s growth knocked the rioters over like bowling pins, and swept them away like leaves in the wind. Even inside the barrier, the G-SIDErs could feel an immense pressure bearing down on them, like they were being squashed from all sides.
Rafael felt all his joints click at once, and he winced from the pain. He shouted to the others.
“You heard Kieron! Rush the store!”
The sprinted for the shop front as though their lives depended on it – and in a way it did. They could see two of the shop assistants – one tall and of solid frame, one more average in height with lengthy auburn hair – were staring incredulously through the plastic doors.
“Open the doors, or we’ll bust right through ‘em!” Yelled Kieron, not even slowing down.
They opened the doors.
The Shields began to blur and fade as they became overexerted, before eventually vanishing entirely. The team collapsed through the shop doors breathing heavily as the shop assistants moved behind them and locked the doors – the rioters resumed pounding on the shop windows and doors, demanding access to the precious garments.
The inside of the boutique wasn’t dissimilar to its exterior; that is to say sparse and made from industrial scrap metal. Everything, from the shelves to the clothes racks seemed to be made from recycled junk, making the establishment resemble more of a warehouse than an expensive emporium of stylish goods. That said, the clothing they had on sale wasn’t too offensive. In need of something to cover his exposed torso, Cyrano browed through the aisles. He ended up in a pinpoint oxford shirt and a brown argyle sweater, looking far more like the technologically-inclined professor he identified as, rather than the rough and official Riot Squad member he’d been employed as. One of these days he’d have to ask for a promotion.
Doors locked and secured, the shop assistants went back to staring incredulously at the strange intruders. Quietly fuming, Rafael couldn’t take it anymore.
“God damn it, Wendell!” He grabbed Arthur by his coat lapel, and pulled him in close. “I knew this was going to happen. If it wasn’t for those shields – and thank the high heavens that they work – out asses would have been beaten to a pulp. And stripped bare afterwards!”
“Not to mention I knew I’d end up getting the short end of the stick,” Added in Cyrano, now trying on a tweed jacket. Maybe he could persuade G-SIDE to give his salary this month in clothes...
Arthur put his hands up in apology.
“Hey, hey, calm down. I can see you guys aren’t used to the gung-ho approach; and to be honest neither am I. Where the rest of the Paranormal Investigators are all too willing to see what’s inside that cryogenic tank, or to see what happens when they pull that lever marked ‘Danger’; I’m usually the one hanging back and hoping we don’t end up as monster chow; but you must admit it’s worked here. None of you are even hurt – apart from maybe Cyrano, but he seems fine to me – so I’d say this plan was a success. Maybe I’m getting a little ‘genre savvy’ myself; because I swear you’re just trying to find faults to exclude me from your group.”
This accusation was met with silence. Rafael let go and looked away.
“It’s nothing personal, there’s just more dramatic tension that way...”
Arthur sighed and shook his head, then turned to the shop assistants.
“In that case, I think I’ll call the shots for now. You two have a rather nice establishment here,” he said while gesturing at the bare, metal walls. “The only clothes shop in the Quarter that isn’t a wrecked husk? And has all the rioters clustered outside it? How... peculiar.”
He drew his elegant revolver and levelled it at the tall, well-built shop assistant. She reeled back in surprise, her well-manicured hand covering her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“I think I have a complaint to take up with the manager. The opening hours are nice, but this customer service stinks. Care to take me to his office?”
The two shop assistants looked at each other, and conferred quietly. After about thirty seconds the shorter assistant with the long flowing hair rubbed the designer stubble on his chin in thought, and then nodded.
“Of course you can see our manager, sir. If you could just follow me,” at which point he glanced at the rest of the G-SIDE agents “In fact, all of you follow me. Tara, keep an eye on the doors, please. Send out another box of clothes in about half an hour.”
The female assistant nodded, and the other started to move to the back of the shop. The team followed him past the sales counter, then into a back room and hallway. The inside of the building felt much, much larger than the outside. It must have been a constructed by the Architects Quarter, no doubt.
At the very end of the corridor was a plain white door with a sign that simply read ‘Manager’ screwed to its surface. The shop assistant opened it and gestured into the room as the G-SIDE members entered. This room wasn’t much different tin style from any of the others – minimalist and industrial. Even the manager’s desk was featureless and bulky. He’d tried to liven it up with photographs, a stack of fashion literature and a small flower vase containing a solitary pink orchid; but it just made the rest of the room look even more drab by comparison. The manager himself was sitting in his chair, slumped on the desk, and holding a very large glass of scotch in his hand. He was sighing heavily, and looked generally miserable.
It took him a minute or two to actually acknowledge that he had visitors (prompted by polite coughs of the shopping assistant), but when he did his mood brightened slightly; he went from sheer despair to desperation.
“Thank the stars! We have G-SIDErs! I thought we were just going to end up dying in this metal coffin with nary a sane person to keep us company.”
Arthur put on his best Brave Dynamic Saviour voice.
“Do not fear! The ever present and ever protective force of G-SIDE is here to save you from your troubles and your fears!”
“Oh goodness me no,” the manager replied. “You’re just as likely to die in here as the rest of us. There’s no saving us from our customers now, they’ll shop and shop until there’s nothing left.”
Corinne’s jaw dropped.
“Your customers? Are you telling me that you’re responsible for the gigantic riot going on outside? Just what on earth did you do to drive them into such a state?”
“We advertised,” said the manager, managing to look morose again. “A new fashion boutique like ourselves had no hope of making a foray into the market in this city. The big companies are just so goddamn big, and the fashions change so often, we’d be drowned out and bankrupt in a month! We had to find a way to advertise our store to make its presence known. Something with far more presence than a leaflet, and most Consoles these days filter out any and all advertising if it’s not from AureliusTech.
“So I did a little research, and found out that in the early 21st century there was something called ‘Viral Marketing’. I couldn’t get much in the way of specifics, but the effects were recorded to have been massive! So I did what anyone desperate and aware of the info would have done; I found a morally loose biological research facility, paid them a lot of money, and had them design my very own ‘Marketing Virus’.”
Cyrano put his head in his hands and moaned.
“You idiot, that’s not what they meant by ‘Viral Marketing’, it’s-, “but the manager raised his hand in interruption and kept talking. At this point, he seemed way beyond caring about correction.
“The virus they came up with was perfect. Affecting only those from 16 to 24, it implanted them with subliminal messages about our store, and pumped them full of dopamine and adrenaline when they saw our products. It was even spreadable by air or contact. An advertising campaign that not only spread itself by more than just word of mouth; it even assisted towards impulse buying!
“But as with all good plans, there was a flaw. The virus was too strong; it mutated to a strain that we couldn’t control. The infected individuals were more than just eager punters – they craved clothes. Soon enough it wasn’t just clothes from us, but any clothes shops. When we saw the customers get too violent, we closed our shop, hoping they’d give up and leave. When other shops refused to sell, they took them over by force until the boutique became an empty, burned-out husk. Now, with all the other shops taken down, the infected rioters are just gathering outside , trying their hardest to get in. This building was built to be cheaply made but strong and sturdy; so we’ve been relatively safe for the time being. But it’s only a matter of time until... until...”
He sobbed, took another large gulp of scotch, and laid his head back down on the desk.
“So the rioters outside really are the Infected?” said Rafael, thinking out loud. “I was only using that title as a filler term, since saying ‘Rioters’ all the time started to get repetitive...” The others nodded in agreement; it did add variety to the description of their target.
The room lapsed into silence as the manager continued to quietly weep into his imposing metal desk. Eventually Corinne broke the heavy feeling of impending doom and forced clothes removal with a glimmer of hope.
“It seems likely that the people you contacted to make your uh, ad campaign, used an existing virus as a base and modified it. If we know what that base is, maybe we can think of a cure...”
The manager was too busy drowning despair to respond, so the shop attendant took up the duty.
“If I recall correctly, our boss keeps all of his business documents in that filing cabinet over there,” He gestured to a small metal stack of drawers in the corner of the room; they blended in so well with the grey metallic surroundings, Corinne couldn’t be entirely sure if the filing cabinet was there at all. “I wouldn’t say he’s especially organised in his filing systems, but he does horde an unnecessary amount of paperwork. If it’s not in there, I don’t know where it is.”
Corrine moved around the manager’s desk – which had now started to collect a small puddle of tears and spilt scotch – and reached for the filing cabinet, giving it a gentle tap just to check it really was there. Opening it, she could see that the shop assistant was completely correct in his assumptions – the files inside were stuffed in a completely random order. Corinne swallowed hard. She did not cope well with untidiness – her almost totalitarian attitude towards filing and organising the minutiae of life had cost her three boyfriends, her hard of hearing Auntie Flo, and a large tank of tropical fish; although thankfully not all at the same time.
She tried her best to look for the file pertaining to the viral marketing advertising campaign, but her eyes kept on being distracted by the sheer randomness and futility of it all ; not to mention how badly kept the filing cabinet was. She was about to resign completely and ask for help when she came across a large, orange envelope. It had a company logo on the front – one of those post-modern designs that couldn’t decide on whether it wanted to inform you of the company it represented, or be an interesting optical illusion. Underneath it was the company name printed in bold, black type.
Memes & Mutagens PLC
Creating unlikely illnesses since the Millennium Bug
“Bingo!” She wiped her brow in relief, and slammed the filing cabinet shut with relish. The manager twitched in response to the noise, and went promptly back to his crying marathon.
“Can I take a look at them?” Offered Cyrano. She happily obliged, and handed the wad of documents over to him. There was another awkward period of silence as Cyrano read the documents through slowly and carefully. In the distance, they could hear the thumps and scrapes of the rioting infected get louder and louder. Soon the other shop assistant came through the door. With so many people inside the none too large office, it brought a rather apt feel of claustrophobia to the proceedings.
“Jeff, we can’t keep this up much longer,” she said, looking rather sombre. “Even if we do keep supplying them with clothes, they’ll just break down the doors anyway. We either need a solution to our client infestation, or to get out of here – now.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,” said Cyrano, having finished reading the case files. “According to all this, the root virus strain they used to create the advertising campaign is called ‘Man Flu’, something that was reported to strike a lot of individuals with heavy work routines before Labour Euphoria Implants were invented.”
“Thanks for the science lesson, but how is that gonna get us out of here?” Kieron looked agitated, almost scared. The honest potential of danger was starting to form cracks in his hardened self image.
“Have some patience, Cain. Anyway, I used my Console to look up this virus on DictionaryExMachina.com and according to them, the original virus had an uncanny knack of vanishing when something important came up.”
“So then where does that leave us?” Asked Arthur. Cyrano permitted himself a smug smile. Spending an evening with the bumbling paranormal investigator had given him one thing of value.
“That’s easy. What day of the week is it, and what time?”
Everyone seemed a little puzzled by the question, and the blond, bearded secretary looked at his watch.
“We’ve been at this for far too long. It’s approaching 6am, Monday morning.”
“Then the timing couldn’t be better. Let’s head back to the shop front, shall we?” With dangerous confidence, Cyrano squeezed past everyone to exit the office, and walked back down the hallway to the main boutique area. Not sharing quite the same enthusiasm, the others followed. Even the manager managed to rouse himself enough to tail along; although not without his booze.
The Infected had finally broken into the shop; and were busy fighting over the contents within. Some had taken the concept of layering to an extreme, and were pulling on as many items they could find; while others were just intent on rolling around in the fabrics, in throes of pleasure. Others still outside were practically climbing over the others to get in.
And then the sun rose. Peeking over the tops of the taller buildings in the Fashion Quarter, a new day had begun to dawn. Once it reached the Glass and Mirror Fashion Emporium (whose wares were extremely beautiful, but the clothing lines were often avoided – especially the underwear range), Style Square was flooded with light. Slivers edged their way through the plastic windows of the store, and on to the rioters.
It was a Mod enthusiast who first noticed. Presently wrapped almost from head to toe in scarves, he wriggled an arm free to take off his sunglasses and rub his eyes.
“Is... is it morning already? Oh crap! I have a midterm exam to do today! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap...”
One by one the other rioters noticed the sun shining down on them, and one by one they realised they had somewhere gravely important to be.
“I have a nine o-clock meeting!”
“It’s my brother’s birthday today!”
“I have a class to teach- wait, where the hell are my clothes? Where am I?”
“I don’t remember a goddamn thing. Last might must have been awesome!”
Staggering to their feet gradually, the newly-refreshed customers shook off the remnants of their flu-induced madness and started their Monday; bruised, tired, and in various states of dress. Soon only one remained. A mousy and casual looking girl who looked entirely surprised to be in the Fashion Quarter; let alone in the middle of a ruined boutique. She tugged at her clothes, and made her way over to one of the few unbroken mirrors in the establishment, and gave a little twirl. Noticing the G-SIDErs and shop staff watching from the counter, she walked over.
“Excuse me; I’m not sure how I got here, and I’m not sure why I’m wearing clothes that aren’t mine, but...” She blushed. “I think they suit me. I’ll buy them. How much?”
The manager took another hard swig from the decanter of spirit and wiped a tear away from his eye.
“Lady, at this point I can honestly say that right now, you’re outfit is on the house. I’d tell you to come back soon...”
A light fixture came loose from the ceiling, and shattered on the floor in a shower of glass and sparks.
“...But I think we’re going to be under maintenance for a while. Have a nice day.”
The girl gave a sympathetic smile and nodded.
“Somehow, I understand. But I still think I should give you at least something.” She patted her jeans to find her wallet, realised that they quite obviously weren’t her jeans, and gave a nervous laugh.
“On second thoughts; I think I’ll just leave. Uh... Sorry for the mess.”
As she walked away into the morning air, Rafael clamped a hand on the manager’s shoulder with a face stonier than granite.
“Now that’s over and done with, there’s the matter of the arrest warrant we have for the person responsible for instigating the riot. Since none of those... customers appeared to be entirely lucid during last night’s little escapade, the only person I can turn to and blame for this right now is-“
He produced a set of handcuffs from a jacket pocket and had his own Arthur-styled smirk.
“-Guess who?”
“Of course we need to do a follow up investigation on the company that sold you that virus in the first place,” Added Corinne.
“But that’s a job for a different department. Let’s just get these three in for questioning at G-SIDE, and get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Arthur fidgeted a little. Now the thrill of a mission was over, he suddenly felt extremely out of place – even more so than normal.
“Guys, I have to apologise for any kind of drama I’ve put you through, I didn’t mean to make the mission more difficult, I swear.”
The apology was met with a cold silence. Cyrano and Corinne looked somewhat more accommodating, but still said nothing. Arthur sighed. He just couldn’t win.
“Can’t we all just ease up a little now the mission’s over? Get a coffee and make inappropriate jokes about the youth of today being fashion obsessed or something? Please?”
The five G-SIDE agents sat around a large table in the Drama Bean Cafe, an intimate, cosy establishment that did amateur theatre and performance art on Thursday evenings. Each had a large mug of coffee, and for the first time since their initial group meeting back at the base, they were actually enjoying each other’s company. Kieron wiped some cappuccino froth from his upper lip and banged a fist on the table.
“Got it! How about this one?
After fighting an army of fashion victims, I’ve become rather stylish myself. I’m especially a big fan of patterned clothing.
Indeed, I go crazy for paisley
Mad for plaid
And gaga for argyle
But I’m totally ‘board’ of checkers, and houndstooth gets me wound up!”
“Dear me,” said Rafael taking a sip of his 3rd cup of mocha. “You have to be the worst comedian poet I’ve ever heard.”
“But we’re still gonna do a set here on Thursday, right?”
“Haha, not even an undead outbreak will tear us away.”
Chapter 5: It's an Outbreak, Innit?
“Your mission today will be both on a larger scale than you're used to, and a little unorthodox. In order to ensure the mission's success (and your survival), the management team have decided to have Operative Groups Three and Four work alongside Mr. Wendell, who has been drafted from PIT.” A young man with bright red hair and an indignant scowl rose from his chair suddenly.
“So you're dumping a member of the Creep Brigade on us? How on Earth do you think that'd be useful?” The young secretary merely blinked at the sudden outburst, and retorted without faltering.
“The Paranormal Investigation Team are more than just scouts for things that go bump in the night. They look into a lot of issues that most other departments are too afraid to touch – you should be honoured to work with such brave and dedicated people.”
“More like working with berserk and undead people...” The redhead grumbled and sat back down. The display coming from the room's terminal showed a slide show of photographs, taken from the Fashion Quarter, taken over the last 24 hours or so. The secretary pulled out a laser pointer and indicated to the scrolling pictures.
“These are CCTV photographs of areas in San Sarai's Fashion Quarter, taken over the last 24 hours. We can see in these pictures large crowds of people storming the streets in an organised – yet haphazard – fashion.” The slide show moved to a new picture, a teenager dressed in clothing that was as baggy as it was black and spiky, shoving a heavy platform shoe through a shop window. Expertly, the secretary waggled the laser pointer at the picture and kept talking. “Take note of his pale – almost grey – complexion and the lack of visible pupils. Couple with the wanton destruction and flash-mobbing of like minded individuals, these are some of the classic symptoms of-”
“-Classic symptoms of a zombie outbreak.”
Everyone in the briefing room turned to the doorway, where a tall, broad-shouldered man leant lazily in the doorway. A black leather trenchcoat hugged his frame, covered in pockets filled with... things. His eyes were obscured by a very large, wide-brimmed cowboy hat. Its brim was stitched in a very complex pattern in black leather string. His confident – and rather condescending – smile was framed by a thick moustache and beard. In short, he looked both badass and completely ridiculous in equal measures.
“Arthur Wendell at your service, but feel free to call me Artie. As for you,” he gestured towards the secretary. “A pretty young thing like you can call me whatever and whenever you like.” The lady blushed and looked away.
“Kindly sit down with your four team mates, and we'll continue our briefing. Operatives, please introduce yourselves to Mr. Wendell.”
“Corinne, Corrine Madison.” An athletic woman with an open expression and a rather reserved sense of clothing smiled and offered Arthur a handshake. He took the handshake, but didn't return the smile. For all the things Corrine had going for her, the paranormal investigator seemed only interested in the secretary.
“The name's Cyrano Lestat. Pleasure to meet you.” The slightly scruffy-looking black man, swept a loose dreadlock away from his eyes, put down the Console he was toying with, and waved politely. “I guess you'd call me the tech expert of this team. I look forward to working with ya.” He was met with a short grunt of acknowledgement.
“Another hardened expert, huh? I'm Rafael Berker. I normally lead, so -” He followed up with a dramatic gesture towards Mr. Wendell, “We might end up butting heads. A bit of rivalry never hurt anyone, right-”
“Kieron Cain, and I dislike you already,” said the angry young man with red hair, interrupting Rafael, as if his introduction couldn't wait any longer. “Don't let your silly getup and smug grin jeopardise our mission, got it?”
“There's no need to be so aggressive and defensive, I assure you,” said Arthur, still maintaining his smile. “I was drafted in to this Riot Control department to give you the upper hand you need, and give you the upper hand I shall.”
“So you're saying the riot in the Fashion Quarter is likely a Zombie outbreak, right Mr. Wendell?” Corrine mused, scribbling in a notepad she pulled from her jacket.
“I said you could call me Artie. Well, having all the targets as teenagers is a bit unorthodox, but apart from that all signs point to Zombie. Reports show that kids from outside the district are starting to riot too, so they have that whole 'infection' angle going for them too.”
“So we have a zombie riot, and an outsider who's telling us he can stop the spread,” said Rafael. “Ten to one he makes a critical oversight and gets one of us killed.”
“Bet it's me,” said Cyrano, not even looking up from his Console. Arthur gave a surprised and slightly worried look towards the secretary.
“Are they always this... this pessimistic?”
“Many of the riot control operatives are what we like to call 'genre savvy'. It helps to be prepared for the worst in this line of work; especially when you realise just how... how...” she faltered for the right word.
“How downright nuts the people of this city can be,” Kieron offered.
“Thank you, Mr. Cain. Not the turn of phrase I'd use, but you're right – while you may deal exclusively with the supernatural Mr. Wendell – you should not underestimate the potential of the mundane.” Arthur coughed loudly in an attempt to clear the air, and to cover up how off-guard he felt. “Right, now you're all introduced and briefed on the mission, I suggest you all suit up and head out before the riot spreads any further. Dismissed.”
As districts in San Sarai go, the Fashion Quarter was very much divided in its ideals. With so many subcultures and preferences to cater for, and tastes in the industry changing as often as day to day during some parts of the year, the entire area was a mash up of old and new, flashy and reserved, bourgeois and burly. A set of buildings would be under construction or renovation at any given time, and if you had the money for it, there's always something fresh and trendy to splurge your salary on.
But for tonight, there was no shopping; and the construction sites were abandoned. For the teenagers were out in full force. Hungry for chaos. Hungry for blood. Hungry for sales. The streets were completely free of non-infected punters now; the area well and truly belonged to teenagers of the night. Windows were smashed, cars were upturned, and even the odd lamppost was bent over, apparently by sheer force. It was a swathe of destruction a marvel to behold.
Down an alleyway a bright flash and a strong rush of air forced its way out into the street and faded away. Following it, the four Riot Control operatives and a very dazed-looking Arthur Wendell stepped out into the street.
“How could you possibly be unphased by that? In my day we had to get to our missions on foot.”
“We signed up for an experimental Teleportation program with the R&D,” said Cyrano, affixing a black metallic buckler to his arm. “The entire department has been using it non-stop all week. Once you work out how to avoid getting trapped inside walls or left hanging in empty air, it's a pretty efficient system.” Kieron sneered, and pulled out his own buckler.
“If that kind of thing scares you, go home right now. We don't need you.” He gestured towards the main street and looked at his comrades. “Riot Shields ready? Let's move out, people.”
From the bucklers, a large translucent screen formed in the shape of a large hexagon. It glowed an eerie shade of green, piercing the cold night air. The edges of the hexagon were fuzzy, but the rest of it looked as strong and as shiny as polished steel.
“Riot Shields operational, running at 85% strength, estimated length of use two hours,” Corrine reeled off the statistics from her Console.
“Do a resilience test for me, will ya?” Cyrano was scanning the readout on his Console too. Clearly this technology wasn't entirely perfect. Acknowledging the request, Corrine pulled the arm with the buckler to her chest, then will all her strength swung it into a wall of the alleyway. There was a loud crushing sound as the brick wall fractured around the point of impact, sending loose rubble everywhere. A good amount landed in the brim of Arthur's hat. Stunned to silence, he removed his hat, brushed off the debris, and with it clasped still in one hand, began to walk slowly onwards to the main street. The teenage zombies no longer seemed like the scariest threat. The poor things didn't have a chance.
They didn't have to travel far before coming across one of the infected. She tottered about aimlessly in a sort of daze, dressed in an elegant, frilly, and just a bit Gothic dress, which had now been soiled and torn from the riots. Completely separated from the group she seemed without direction, and before long she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily.
“Is she really one of the Infected?” Enquired Rafael. “She looks more lost and scared, rather than scary. Since you're the expert Artie, go and take a look, won't you?”
“Are you sure? An expert I may be, but my expert instincts are telling me that we really shouldn't approach-”
“That's an order, Arthur.”
If there was any doubt in Arthur's mind that Rafael was a leader, it had been smashed to pieces now. Gingerly the paranormal expert approached the kneeling girl as she began to gently sob, still sitting in the middle of the road. The girl gave no response, even when he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake.
“Are... are you ok? Were you caught in the riot?”
“How about asking a question that isn't obvious?” called out Kieron from a very safe distance away. Arthur ignored him. The girl slowly looked up towards the hulking stranger in the leather coat. Past the grime and smeared make up, the girl had a pretty face; or so Arthur thought. Weakly, the girl's lips trembled.
“Please... please help me,” the riot survivor uttered in a soft voice “I feel so weak, my purse has gone, and I think I lost a contact lens...” Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, Arthur stood up, hoisting the dainty girl to her feet by her waist. Still feeble, she slumped against him, and the man's heart couldn't help but flutter. He waved to the others with his free hand.
“She's clean! Come over here guys, and help me with her.”
As the Riot Team moved over, they took careful note of the surroundings. Detectives they weren't; but if clues to the nature of the mob could be gleaned, then it may just save their necks later on.
The damage here was surprisingly light. While most of the buildings here were residential or restaurants, they were almost entirely untouched; where the few retail outlets that were on the road were completely wrecked. Display windows had been smashed, signs had been torn, manikins, now naked and dirty, were snapped into pieces and thrown around the store. And in all of these targeted venues, there wasn't a single item left. Not a scrap of cloth or a shoelace remained. Whatever shop staff or management that the venues employed had long since fled the scene. Upon looking at the last shop on the street, a bohemian-looking one called Shoestrings 'n' Things, Corrine noticed something.
“Hey, there's still stock in this one.”
While not exactly the most dramatic revelation, everyone shuffled over too look. The Gothically dressed teenager still clung – almost a little desperately – to Arthur, head pressed against his chest; Arthur began to blush as he tried to keep her upright. Girls as young as this weren't really his type.
They all peered into the gloom. On a shelf near the back, among the crushed shoe boxes and smashed displays remained a solitary shoe. The fact that it had been left behind wasn't particularly surprising; it wasn't particularly attractive as far as footwear went. The designers had clearly thought that amalgamating lots of different designs together would produce an item of all the positives, but none of the drawbacks. Looking upon this sorry mash-up of a platform sole, a stiletto heel, zips instead of laces, a bright pink and chocolate brown colour scheme, and a small strip of lights embedded into the sole that lit up as you walked; their plan was a complete and utter failure.
“It's just a goddamn shoe!” exclaimed Kieron. “Why did you drag us all the way over here for that?”
“Shoe...” Arthur's frilly-dressed hanger on suddenly twitched, and looked a lot more alert. He looked down in surprise.
“What's that, little lady?”
“Shoes... Shoes! I gotta have the shoes! I GOTTA HAVE THE SHOES!” Getting more and more worked up by the second, she began to drool out the side of her mouth slightly as her pupils began to dilate and slowly roll backwards. She made a lunge for the inside of the store, but fearing her injury on the jagged glass left in the broken window frame, Arthur held her back. Bad move.
Shrieking in rage, the once weak and frail girl made a sudden and wicked swipe at Arthur, hands like claws, delicate lips twisted up into a feral snarl. Her eyes were now completely white, and her spittle began to froth as she raged.
“Graaah! Shoes, shoes, shoes! I'll take them all! You can't have them, they're all mi- mi- mi-” Losing even the ability to speak, she tried to take another slash at Arthur, but in a panic he pushed her away from him in a rather unchivalrous manner. In less dire circumstances such an action would get the authorities called; or at least met with a heavy bag or a can of pepper spray. She reeled backwards several steps before regaining her balance. Even her posture was now wild and beast-like. She poised herself for a second pounce -
“Ok, enough of that.”
Stepping in between the psychopathic teen and the shop front, Cyrano pulled his arm back, and activated the Riot Shield. The girl's pounce was quickly met by the Shield's rapidly expanding force field slammed in the other direction. She crashed into it face first and was flung clear, like a tennis racket hitting a ball. She skidded to a stop two meters away and lay motionless, still muttering “Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes...” to herself, now through the whistle of a broken nose and dislodged teeth.
“Holy crap dude, that was brutal!” Kieron stared at the scene slack-jawed, his expression a mixture of horrified shock and a twisted sense of satisfied blood lust. His sadist side won over, and he caught Cyrano with a silent, awed high-five. Corinne was nowhere near as impressed.
“Why on earth did you go and to that for? It's clear that she's a civilian and that something is horribly wrong here. She may have been are only bit of info into finding out what the hell is going on here and-”
“Corinne? Corinne!” Cyrano was trying to get her attention mid-rant. She stopped, breathing heavily.
“What?”
“Have you ever seen a normal non-crazy teenage girl go so far as mauling a stranger over a solitary, ugly shoe before?”
“Well... no.”
“Then don't fault me for trying to knock some sense into her.”
Immediate danger over, Rafael took charge once again.
“I think it'll be easier if we just leave the lass where she is, and we try and see if this riot has a source. Best bet would be to keep heading towards the main square. There's a far larger density of clothing shops there, and if only the clothing venues are being attacked...”
“I see what you're getting at, but since when was running head first into the Eye of the Storm a good idea?” Recovering from his brief and clingy encounter with one of the Infected, Arthur felt it was time to lodge his foot in. Sure he didn't get off to a strong start, but now he knew what he was up against, his confidence was on the rise. That, and he didn't want Rafael to hog all the leadership limelight. “Backhanding one of them is all well and good, but just how many do you expect to be able to contend with?”
“Not to interject,” now even Corinne was getting involved. “But shouldn't you be more concerned about yourself? The equipment given to us by the R&D guys have gotten us this far, but you seem anything but well-equipped.”
Arthur was taken aback. No girl had ever insulted the competence of his equipment before. He blushed furiously.
“I'll have you know that my personal arsenal is one of the largest and strongest in my department!” He cast a lazy hand over the other men present. “Much better than any of these jokers you're working with.” Now it was their turn to look indignant.
“Y-you're bluffing! Put your money where your mouth is; whip it out and show us!” Keiron was getting a little too caught up in the moment.
“Well okay then! Brace yourselves, people.” Feeding on the moment of suspense, Arthur slowly reached inside his jacket.
He pulled out a handgun, and what a gun it was. The barrel seemed to extend forever as he slid the piece out from inside his coat. The expertly polished chrome finish caught the moonlight, making it positively sparkle. The end of the barrel – in contrast to the elegant sleekness of the rest of the weapon – was shorter and chunkier, making the gun feel both graceful and weighty. Easing his fingers around the exquisite wooden grip and over the perfectly crafted trigger, he softly span the gun's revolving cylinder. The air was filled with harmonic metallic clicks and pings, like summer rain on a glockenspiel.
A solitary tear ran down the side of Rafael's face, and dripped of his stubble covered chin.
“It's beautiful...” Arthur grinned wider than what should be physically possible.
“Oh, isn't it just? And it fires like a dream!” And as if he needed to prove it, he pointed down the road towards the main square, and without even so much as hesitating – or aiming – he fired 4 rounds into the night. The gun spat out thick, dangerous slugs with a satisfying 'BLAM', as the cylinder moved on to the next bullet chamber with a hefty 'THUNK'. Demonstration over, Arthur put on the safety, gave the gun a deft twirl, and blew away the smoke from the freshly-used barrel, lips millimetres away from its red hot surface.
It took a few seconds before anyone said anything, letting the moment sink in. Corinne looked far more worried than impressed.
“Did you just fire multiple rounds in the direction that we assume a large riot mob will be?”
No response. Arthur still had the gun to his lips.
“And what's more, you fired rounds into what may very well be lucid civilians?”
The gun slowly lowered to the investigator's side as the weight of his actions hit him like a holographic Riot Shield to the jaw. Today just wasn't his day.
In the distance, the party of 5 could hear voices. Fierce, howling voices; mixed in with the sound of breaking glass and strained and bucking metal. The rioters must have found a new target. The team could only hope it wasn't them.
Any sane man would have run for the hills then and there, but these upstanding individuals were G-SIDE employees; hand-picked from the masses to excel in helping others, saving the day, and being all-around heroes. Of course this meant throwing common sense to the wind, and pressing onwards to greet a crowd of savage fashion victims. As they left Shoestrings ‘n’ Things, Corinne turned back. Heading over to the girl, she deftly handcuffed her, wiped off some of the blood from her nose, and propped her up against the wall.
“Civilian or not, we can’t have you trying to attack us from behind.”
They didn’t have to go far before reaching Style Square, the Fashion Quarter’s largest traffic crossing and pedestrian plaza. They were greeted with largely what they were expecting; although the sheer number of Infected rioters was still a pressing matter. The plaza was packed to the nines with people, from every culture, gender, and fashion taste. Aside from all the crazed shoppers being teenage, whatever it was that drove them to such madness sure didn’t discriminate.
Like watching high school students from afar, it was easy to see that the crowd had split into smaller niches, each group having a similar - yet extremely narrow – taste in fashion. Even within the cliques themselves, they fought. Two large and burly men dressed in tracksuits and exercise gear were pulling a sports jacket between them, yelling and grunting at each other. Elsewhere, a boy and a girl dressed in baggy jeans and faux fur hoodies were squaring up over a large baseball cap. The boy made the first move, but the girl was quicker; a savage left hook sent the boy sprawling. Taking her prize, she clutched it to her chest, cackling with euphoria.
Noticing that one of them had fallen, other rioters descended on the defeated boy, tearing the clothes of his body like a bunch of fashion vultures. They left him bruised and in his underwear, as they melded back into the throng of people.
Arthur let out a low whistle behind gritted teeth.
“Damn, this is complete and utter chaos. I’m starting to think the whole ‘zombie’ diagnosis isn’t so accurate anymore.”
“Well, I dunno about that,” chimed in Rafael. “I recall there being a point a few decades ago where nearly all instances of zombies were fast running and ultra violent. Seemed to be the only kind around. We were very busy during those years.”
“Bah, a total misdiagnosis on the media’s part. There’s a pretty big divide between your garden variety zombie and a small army of angry, bad smelling ordinary guys. I’d say these guys were no better; but then again look how well-dressed they are.” As if to demonstrate, a man in a sharp violet suit (now with the left leg torn away) slammed the large jewelled cane he was carrying over another rioter’s head, snatched the frilly black lingerie they were carrying, and rushed back into the crowd.
Beyond the crowd was a shop unlike the others seen so far. It was a much smaller build than most of the other, older buildings in the Square, and it seemed to have been constructed in quite a hurry, using materials that wouldn’t be out of place for a temporary construction building. The walls were made of corrugated iron, and the windows at the shop front seemed to be made of a thick plastic. As the Infected hammered on the windows and walls they became scratched and dented, the metal creaking in protest; but everything still held firm. What was more surprising was that it still seemed to be open! There were clothes displayed in the windows, and the lights were on. It seemed like the only reasonable safe house in the area – or would be if all the rioters weren’t crowded outside of it. Arthur stretched, cracked his knuckles, and gave his patented smug smile.
“I’ve decided. We’re gonna go inside that shop.”
Rafael balked in horror.
“I’ve decided. You’re completely insane and you’re going to get us killed. I’m pulling rank here, there’s little we can do against this many people. G-SIDE screwed up in only posting 5 of us to something this huge.” Cyrano put his hand on Rafael’s shoulder and gave what he hoped was a re-assuring smile.
“We can’t leave just yet. There’s one last piece of R&D tech that we need to try out.”
He pulled out his last technological trump card. It looked exactly like a large foam bat. It was even coloured in blue and red. The response from the others was rather tepid.
“I’m not sure what to say,” Corinne sighed. “Is this the Department’s idea of a joke?”
“Quite the contrary,” said Cyrano, tossing the bat to Kieron, who caught it effortlessly by the handle and gave it a mock swing as if he were playing baseball. “Hey, be careful with it! I want you to get one of the rioters of here and bonk him with it. Think you can manage that?”
“With a children’s toy? Are you trying to get my throat torn out by rabid Scenester?”
“Trust me.”
Though aggressive and contrary, Kieron had a professional trust of his team mates, and followed through. He edged up to the perimeter of the crowd; but everyone was too busy fighting among themselves to even notice him. He hesitated in thought for a moment, and then suddenly had a wave of inspiration.
“Hey look! I found a peacoat! It’s even in tweed!”
And right on cue, a hipster burst from the crowd, slavering at the concept of owning something so twee. He sprinted towards Kieron as fast as his skinny jeans-covered legs could carry him; his ‘ironic’ graphic t-shirt torn in the struggle, exposing his chest. Readying himself, Kieron squared up to his advancing target, raised his bat into the air, and brought it down as hard as he could, getting the min in the face and chest. The bat bounced off, hardly even phasing the target, as the Infected man advanced on Kieron, furious about the lack of peacoat proffered. Keiron was about to swing at the man again, but –
The hipster froze in his tracks, as his feet had been glued to the floor. He struggled to keep advancing to no avail, and then he had to struggle to even stay upright, as his entire body gave in like a collapsing house of cards, as he collapsed ineffectually to the ground. Demonstration over – with an outcome no one seemed to suspect – Kieron walked back to the group while the scavengers returned to claim the clothes of the fallen.
“The foam on the bat is meant to contain an extremely strong muscle paralysis toxin,” Cyrano explained. “The R&D called it the Stun Baton. I have no idea how the toxin’s administered – part of me doesn’t want to know – but it’s only supposed to affect exposed skin.” Arthur smiled again.
“Meaning we have to take these rioters out, we need to... aim for the head”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Suddenly these guys feel an awful lot like Zombies again...”
Corinne pulled out her notebook again.
“There’s also something I’ve noticed about the rioters’ behaviour,” she said. “While they seem perfectly capable of attacking each other to steal clothing – any clothing – they’ve not attacked us unless we’ve provoked them.”
“That’s a good point!” said Rafael, surprised. “So why do you think that is?”
“Well, considering that these guys will rabidly go for anything fashionable, and we’re dressed in Riot uniforms designed for function – not fashion – I suppose we don’t show up on their radar.”
“But what about me?” interjected Arthur, looking confused. “My fetching leather coat and excellent hat are my own clothes, not G-SIDE issue.”
“Then that only means one thing, Artie.” Corinne tried hard to hide her smile, and wasn’t succeeding.
“Meaning what?”
“You’re just not fashionable enough, I’m afraid!”
The Riot Control team laughed, to the chagrin of Arthur.
“Okay then, if this means you’re going to go along with my plan, let’s get to it!” He gestured towards Cyrano. “Since it’s your new toy, I want you to go in with the Stun Bat first. We’ll follow behind you with the Riot Shields.” Cyrano coughed and looked away.
“I uh, don’t know if I want to be in the front position, given the circumstances. Besides, you don’t have a Riot Shield.”
Arthur pulled out his awe-inspiring beauty of a gun and smiled once more.
“If things get bad, I have this little number. Let’s go already!”
Steeling their courage, the group dove head-first into the crowd of Infected. Cyrano lead the way with the Stun Baton, landing clean hits left and right. Bodies collapsed and were dragged away at a steady rate, clearing the path ahead. Immediately behind the others followed; Kieron, Corinne and Rafael keeping the sides and rear well protected with their Riot Shields, with Arthur in the middle, keeping a look out for any potential problems.
The plan proceeded slowly, but without a hitch. They were less than 100 meters from the shop front now, and everyone was starting to breathe easy once more – Arthur’s plan had actually succeeded. A lithe and seemingly well-fought Punk rioter emerged from the crowd. At this point it was hard to tell if the tears in his clothing were gained from the brawl or intentional. Cyrano wound up another swing, but this time the rioter saw it coming and dodged. Sent off-balance by the unexpected miss, Cyrano was a sitting duck for a counter attack. Seeing this, Arthur whirled round to the pair and pulled his gun.
“Corinne! The guy in the red Mohawk!”
Not prepared for the sudden instruction, Corrine reacted more in shock to the drawn weapon than the advancing rioter. She quickly pulled round her shield just as Arthur fired a warning shot. Firing a weapon at such a close range would be a recipe for disaster. The shield was perfectly placed – the shot ricocheted harmlessly off the green barrier into the night air; but the position was awkward, and she lost her balance. She stumbled into Kieron, supporting herself on his shoulder.
Not knowing what was going on behind him, Kieron turned round to see what the ruckus was. Losing sight of controlling his Shield, his arm moved round and bumped gently into Cyrano. That bump was all that was needed – the force feedback of the barrier kicked in, and before Cyrano knew what happened, he was face down on the floor.
And then the rioters attacked. Without a moment of respite, 4 rioters were upon him, grabbing and tearing at his clothes, the Stun Baton knocked from his hand. It was all he could do to prevent himself from being trampled, let alone retrieve his weapon. Fortunately Kieron was quick to assist. Forgoing the Baton for his own strength, he kicked the rioters off Cyrano, and pulled him – now dazed and topless – to his feet. The Stun Baton was still close by, and upon grabbing it decided to take control of the moment and issue his own orders.
“Guys! Knock your Shields to max output – we’re going to rush the store!”
Rafael pushed away a Preppy teenager and pulled an expression of annoyance.
“What is it with everyone making up stupid orders today? We’ve not tested the Shields at full strength yet!”
“Just goddamn do it!”
With the limit on power consumption released, the Riot Shields literally exploded into life. A gigantic wall of green stretched up and around, the separate barriers meeting together to form a large dome around the team. The raw force of the barrier’s growth knocked the rioters over like bowling pins, and swept them away like leaves in the wind. Even inside the barrier, the G-SIDErs could feel an immense pressure bearing down on them, like they were being squashed from all sides.
Rafael felt all his joints click at once, and he winced from the pain. He shouted to the others.
“You heard Kieron! Rush the store!”
The sprinted for the shop front as though their lives depended on it – and in a way it did. They could see two of the shop assistants – one tall and of solid frame, one more average in height with lengthy auburn hair – were staring incredulously through the plastic doors.
“Open the doors, or we’ll bust right through ‘em!” Yelled Kieron, not even slowing down.
They opened the doors.
The Shields began to blur and fade as they became overexerted, before eventually vanishing entirely. The team collapsed through the shop doors breathing heavily as the shop assistants moved behind them and locked the doors – the rioters resumed pounding on the shop windows and doors, demanding access to the precious garments.
The inside of the boutique wasn’t dissimilar to its exterior; that is to say sparse and made from industrial scrap metal. Everything, from the shelves to the clothes racks seemed to be made from recycled junk, making the establishment resemble more of a warehouse than an expensive emporium of stylish goods. That said, the clothing they had on sale wasn’t too offensive. In need of something to cover his exposed torso, Cyrano browed through the aisles. He ended up in a pinpoint oxford shirt and a brown argyle sweater, looking far more like the technologically-inclined professor he identified as, rather than the rough and official Riot Squad member he’d been employed as. One of these days he’d have to ask for a promotion.
Doors locked and secured, the shop assistants went back to staring incredulously at the strange intruders. Quietly fuming, Rafael couldn’t take it anymore.
“God damn it, Wendell!” He grabbed Arthur by his coat lapel, and pulled him in close. “I knew this was going to happen. If it wasn’t for those shields – and thank the high heavens that they work – out asses would have been beaten to a pulp. And stripped bare afterwards!”
“Not to mention I knew I’d end up getting the short end of the stick,” Added in Cyrano, now trying on a tweed jacket. Maybe he could persuade G-SIDE to give his salary this month in clothes...
Arthur put his hands up in apology.
“Hey, hey, calm down. I can see you guys aren’t used to the gung-ho approach; and to be honest neither am I. Where the rest of the Paranormal Investigators are all too willing to see what’s inside that cryogenic tank, or to see what happens when they pull that lever marked ‘Danger’; I’m usually the one hanging back and hoping we don’t end up as monster chow; but you must admit it’s worked here. None of you are even hurt – apart from maybe Cyrano, but he seems fine to me – so I’d say this plan was a success. Maybe I’m getting a little ‘genre savvy’ myself; because I swear you’re just trying to find faults to exclude me from your group.”
This accusation was met with silence. Rafael let go and looked away.
“It’s nothing personal, there’s just more dramatic tension that way...”
Arthur sighed and shook his head, then turned to the shop assistants.
“In that case, I think I’ll call the shots for now. You two have a rather nice establishment here,” he said while gesturing at the bare, metal walls. “The only clothes shop in the Quarter that isn’t a wrecked husk? And has all the rioters clustered outside it? How... peculiar.”
He drew his elegant revolver and levelled it at the tall, well-built shop assistant. She reeled back in surprise, her well-manicured hand covering her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“I think I have a complaint to take up with the manager. The opening hours are nice, but this customer service stinks. Care to take me to his office?”
The two shop assistants looked at each other, and conferred quietly. After about thirty seconds the shorter assistant with the long flowing hair rubbed the designer stubble on his chin in thought, and then nodded.
“Of course you can see our manager, sir. If you could just follow me,” at which point he glanced at the rest of the G-SIDE agents “In fact, all of you follow me. Tara, keep an eye on the doors, please. Send out another box of clothes in about half an hour.”
The female assistant nodded, and the other started to move to the back of the shop. The team followed him past the sales counter, then into a back room and hallway. The inside of the building felt much, much larger than the outside. It must have been a constructed by the Architects Quarter, no doubt.
At the very end of the corridor was a plain white door with a sign that simply read ‘Manager’ screwed to its surface. The shop assistant opened it and gestured into the room as the G-SIDE members entered. This room wasn’t much different tin style from any of the others – minimalist and industrial. Even the manager’s desk was featureless and bulky. He’d tried to liven it up with photographs, a stack of fashion literature and a small flower vase containing a solitary pink orchid; but it just made the rest of the room look even more drab by comparison. The manager himself was sitting in his chair, slumped on the desk, and holding a very large glass of scotch in his hand. He was sighing heavily, and looked generally miserable.
It took him a minute or two to actually acknowledge that he had visitors (prompted by polite coughs of the shopping assistant), but when he did his mood brightened slightly; he went from sheer despair to desperation.
“Thank the stars! We have G-SIDErs! I thought we were just going to end up dying in this metal coffin with nary a sane person to keep us company.”
Arthur put on his best Brave Dynamic Saviour voice.
“Do not fear! The ever present and ever protective force of G-SIDE is here to save you from your troubles and your fears!”
“Oh goodness me no,” the manager replied. “You’re just as likely to die in here as the rest of us. There’s no saving us from our customers now, they’ll shop and shop until there’s nothing left.”
Corinne’s jaw dropped.
“Your customers? Are you telling me that you’re responsible for the gigantic riot going on outside? Just what on earth did you do to drive them into such a state?”
“We advertised,” said the manager, managing to look morose again. “A new fashion boutique like ourselves had no hope of making a foray into the market in this city. The big companies are just so goddamn big, and the fashions change so often, we’d be drowned out and bankrupt in a month! We had to find a way to advertise our store to make its presence known. Something with far more presence than a leaflet, and most Consoles these days filter out any and all advertising if it’s not from AureliusTech.
“So I did a little research, and found out that in the early 21st century there was something called ‘Viral Marketing’. I couldn’t get much in the way of specifics, but the effects were recorded to have been massive! So I did what anyone desperate and aware of the info would have done; I found a morally loose biological research facility, paid them a lot of money, and had them design my very own ‘Marketing Virus’.”
Cyrano put his head in his hands and moaned.
“You idiot, that’s not what they meant by ‘Viral Marketing’, it’s-, “but the manager raised his hand in interruption and kept talking. At this point, he seemed way beyond caring about correction.
“The virus they came up with was perfect. Affecting only those from 16 to 24, it implanted them with subliminal messages about our store, and pumped them full of dopamine and adrenaline when they saw our products. It was even spreadable by air or contact. An advertising campaign that not only spread itself by more than just word of mouth; it even assisted towards impulse buying!
“But as with all good plans, there was a flaw. The virus was too strong; it mutated to a strain that we couldn’t control. The infected individuals were more than just eager punters – they craved clothes. Soon enough it wasn’t just clothes from us, but any clothes shops. When we saw the customers get too violent, we closed our shop, hoping they’d give up and leave. When other shops refused to sell, they took them over by force until the boutique became an empty, burned-out husk. Now, with all the other shops taken down, the infected rioters are just gathering outside , trying their hardest to get in. This building was built to be cheaply made but strong and sturdy; so we’ve been relatively safe for the time being. But it’s only a matter of time until... until...”
He sobbed, took another large gulp of scotch, and laid his head back down on the desk.
“So the rioters outside really are the Infected?” said Rafael, thinking out loud. “I was only using that title as a filler term, since saying ‘Rioters’ all the time started to get repetitive...” The others nodded in agreement; it did add variety to the description of their target.
The room lapsed into silence as the manager continued to quietly weep into his imposing metal desk. Eventually Corinne broke the heavy feeling of impending doom and forced clothes removal with a glimmer of hope.
“It seems likely that the people you contacted to make your uh, ad campaign, used an existing virus as a base and modified it. If we know what that base is, maybe we can think of a cure...”
The manager was too busy drowning despair to respond, so the shop attendant took up the duty.
“If I recall correctly, our boss keeps all of his business documents in that filing cabinet over there,” He gestured to a small metal stack of drawers in the corner of the room; they blended in so well with the grey metallic surroundings, Corinne couldn’t be entirely sure if the filing cabinet was there at all. “I wouldn’t say he’s especially organised in his filing systems, but he does horde an unnecessary amount of paperwork. If it’s not in there, I don’t know where it is.”
Corrine moved around the manager’s desk – which had now started to collect a small puddle of tears and spilt scotch – and reached for the filing cabinet, giving it a gentle tap just to check it really was there. Opening it, she could see that the shop assistant was completely correct in his assumptions – the files inside were stuffed in a completely random order. Corinne swallowed hard. She did not cope well with untidiness – her almost totalitarian attitude towards filing and organising the minutiae of life had cost her three boyfriends, her hard of hearing Auntie Flo, and a large tank of tropical fish; although thankfully not all at the same time.
She tried her best to look for the file pertaining to the viral marketing advertising campaign, but her eyes kept on being distracted by the sheer randomness and futility of it all ; not to mention how badly kept the filing cabinet was. She was about to resign completely and ask for help when she came across a large, orange envelope. It had a company logo on the front – one of those post-modern designs that couldn’t decide on whether it wanted to inform you of the company it represented, or be an interesting optical illusion. Underneath it was the company name printed in bold, black type.
Memes & Mutagens PLC
Creating unlikely illnesses since the Millennium Bug
“Bingo!” She wiped her brow in relief, and slammed the filing cabinet shut with relish. The manager twitched in response to the noise, and went promptly back to his crying marathon.
“Can I take a look at them?” Offered Cyrano. She happily obliged, and handed the wad of documents over to him. There was another awkward period of silence as Cyrano read the documents through slowly and carefully. In the distance, they could hear the thumps and scrapes of the rioting infected get louder and louder. Soon the other shop assistant came through the door. With so many people inside the none too large office, it brought a rather apt feel of claustrophobia to the proceedings.
“Jeff, we can’t keep this up much longer,” she said, looking rather sombre. “Even if we do keep supplying them with clothes, they’ll just break down the doors anyway. We either need a solution to our client infestation, or to get out of here – now.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,” said Cyrano, having finished reading the case files. “According to all this, the root virus strain they used to create the advertising campaign is called ‘Man Flu’, something that was reported to strike a lot of individuals with heavy work routines before Labour Euphoria Implants were invented.”
“Thanks for the science lesson, but how is that gonna get us out of here?” Kieron looked agitated, almost scared. The honest potential of danger was starting to form cracks in his hardened self image.
“Have some patience, Cain. Anyway, I used my Console to look up this virus on DictionaryExMachina.com and according to them, the original virus had an uncanny knack of vanishing when something important came up.”
“So then where does that leave us?” Asked Arthur. Cyrano permitted himself a smug smile. Spending an evening with the bumbling paranormal investigator had given him one thing of value.
“That’s easy. What day of the week is it, and what time?”
Everyone seemed a little puzzled by the question, and the blond, bearded secretary looked at his watch.
“We’ve been at this for far too long. It’s approaching 6am, Monday morning.”
“Then the timing couldn’t be better. Let’s head back to the shop front, shall we?” With dangerous confidence, Cyrano squeezed past everyone to exit the office, and walked back down the hallway to the main boutique area. Not sharing quite the same enthusiasm, the others followed. Even the manager managed to rouse himself enough to tail along; although not without his booze.
The Infected had finally broken into the shop; and were busy fighting over the contents within. Some had taken the concept of layering to an extreme, and were pulling on as many items they could find; while others were just intent on rolling around in the fabrics, in throes of pleasure. Others still outside were practically climbing over the others to get in.
And then the sun rose. Peeking over the tops of the taller buildings in the Fashion Quarter, a new day had begun to dawn. Once it reached the Glass and Mirror Fashion Emporium (whose wares were extremely beautiful, but the clothing lines were often avoided – especially the underwear range), Style Square was flooded with light. Slivers edged their way through the plastic windows of the store, and on to the rioters.
It was a Mod enthusiast who first noticed. Presently wrapped almost from head to toe in scarves, he wriggled an arm free to take off his sunglasses and rub his eyes.
“Is... is it morning already? Oh crap! I have a midterm exam to do today! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap...”
One by one the other rioters noticed the sun shining down on them, and one by one they realised they had somewhere gravely important to be.
“I have a nine o-clock meeting!”
“It’s my brother’s birthday today!”
“I have a class to teach- wait, where the hell are my clothes? Where am I?”
“I don’t remember a goddamn thing. Last might must have been awesome!”
Staggering to their feet gradually, the newly-refreshed customers shook off the remnants of their flu-induced madness and started their Monday; bruised, tired, and in various states of dress. Soon only one remained. A mousy and casual looking girl who looked entirely surprised to be in the Fashion Quarter; let alone in the middle of a ruined boutique. She tugged at her clothes, and made her way over to one of the few unbroken mirrors in the establishment, and gave a little twirl. Noticing the G-SIDErs and shop staff watching from the counter, she walked over.
“Excuse me; I’m not sure how I got here, and I’m not sure why I’m wearing clothes that aren’t mine, but...” She blushed. “I think they suit me. I’ll buy them. How much?”
The manager took another hard swig from the decanter of spirit and wiped a tear away from his eye.
“Lady, at this point I can honestly say that right now, you’re outfit is on the house. I’d tell you to come back soon...”
A light fixture came loose from the ceiling, and shattered on the floor in a shower of glass and sparks.
“...But I think we’re going to be under maintenance for a while. Have a nice day.”
The girl gave a sympathetic smile and nodded.
“Somehow, I understand. But I still think I should give you at least something.” She patted her jeans to find her wallet, realised that they quite obviously weren’t her jeans, and gave a nervous laugh.
“On second thoughts; I think I’ll just leave. Uh... Sorry for the mess.”
As she walked away into the morning air, Rafael clamped a hand on the manager’s shoulder with a face stonier than granite.
“Now that’s over and done with, there’s the matter of the arrest warrant we have for the person responsible for instigating the riot. Since none of those... customers appeared to be entirely lucid during last night’s little escapade, the only person I can turn to and blame for this right now is-“
He produced a set of handcuffs from a jacket pocket and had his own Arthur-styled smirk.
“-Guess who?”
“Of course we need to do a follow up investigation on the company that sold you that virus in the first place,” Added Corinne.
“But that’s a job for a different department. Let’s just get these three in for questioning at G-SIDE, and get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Arthur fidgeted a little. Now the thrill of a mission was over, he suddenly felt extremely out of place – even more so than normal.
“Guys, I have to apologise for any kind of drama I’ve put you through, I didn’t mean to make the mission more difficult, I swear.”
The apology was met with a cold silence. Cyrano and Corinne looked somewhat more accommodating, but still said nothing. Arthur sighed. He just couldn’t win.
“Can’t we all just ease up a little now the mission’s over? Get a coffee and make inappropriate jokes about the youth of today being fashion obsessed or something? Please?”
The five G-SIDE agents sat around a large table in the Drama Bean Cafe, an intimate, cosy establishment that did amateur theatre and performance art on Thursday evenings. Each had a large mug of coffee, and for the first time since their initial group meeting back at the base, they were actually enjoying each other’s company. Kieron wiped some cappuccino froth from his upper lip and banged a fist on the table.
“Got it! How about this one?
After fighting an army of fashion victims, I’ve become rather stylish myself. I’m especially a big fan of patterned clothing.
Indeed, I go crazy for paisley
Mad for plaid
And gaga for argyle
But I’m totally ‘board’ of checkers, and houndstooth gets me wound up!”
“Dear me,” said Rafael taking a sip of his 3rd cup of mocha. “You have to be the worst comedian poet I’ve ever heard.”
“But we’re still gonna do a set here on Thursday, right?”
“Haha, not even an undead outbreak will tear us away.”
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