Bitstream

12.2

The next morning, Rhea headed out into the centre of the camp, and Cierus told her to take a shower and get dressed into something more appealing. She handed her a pair of apple-bottom trousers and a bulletproof army vest and told her the showers were just around the back, inside a repurposed shack behind the bartruck. When she got there, washed off, and dressed in her new gear, she felt like an entirely new woman.

There were more gang members around now (at least twenty, probably more) and a lot of them had questions. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why wasn't she working for her father, the infamous Viren Steele? She didn't want to answer most of them, but being the newbie, she felt like she had to. So she spent the morning sipping a can of Chromanticore and giving the short version of the last six months, all while trying to tune out the awful guitar music coming from that wiry guy with the white braids. Turned out his name was Omari Lune, and he had a dream of owning a music company one day, trading under the name Rhythm of Rhythm.

What a stupid name, thought Rhea, though she wasn't brave enough to say it out loud, just in case the man heard her say it.

Eventually, Cierus asked her how she'd gotten fired from her old job as an enforcer, and she told her about what she'd seen in the warehouse office: Priest hooked up to a mysterious machine, getting pumped with an even more mysterious green chemical, with horrific videos playing on the monitors. She told her about the e-mail that came from [Redacted], the mayor, explaining the neural trials and 'trauma response metrics'.

She'd never told her father. Not about the machine, not about the green fluid, not about any of it. At first, it was to protect him. Then it was to protect herself from the look he'd give her, the one that said he'd take on the whole city for her, even if it killed him. Maybe especially then.

"Trauma response metrics?" Omari suddenly put a halt to his guitar.

Rhea nodded, sitting around the dead campfire. She finished off the last drops of the energy drink and crushed the can in her fist. "Yeah," she said, tossing the can into the campfire garbage. "I'm not sure what it was about."

"I have an idea," Cierus said, and the other people looked over at her. She was standing with her arms folded and her obsidian visor pulled back, revealing a pair of eyes that bore bloodshot whites around flashing green irises. "Neural trials, you said?"

Another nod, but Rhea didn't say anything this time.

"I heard about [Redacted] running neural trials, alright," she continued, taking a seat at the campfire. "Truth is, she doesn't want to stay in The Scrubs. This place is already as good as dead. She has her eyes on a city further south from here: Paxson."

Rhea leaned in now, really listening.

"A netrunner told me about a secret project to steal memories and manipulate minds in what's known as 'cognitive stacking.'" Cierus rubbed her thumb and forefinger together as if trying to remember the details. "Where you overwrite a subject's memory loops with engineered trauma cycles. Repeat them enough times, layer them just right, and you can make a man loyal to anyone. Fight for anything."

Omari plucked at his guitar. "You're sayin' they're not just messin' with the body. They're rewriting souls?"

Cierus said, "Souls? I dunno about all that. But I've seen what happens when that sort of tech goes sideways. Blank slates. People who forget their own names but still follow orders."

Rhea's stomach turned a little. "That's what they did to Priest," she said. "That's why he didn't scream. There was nothing left in there. Just instructions and violence."

Cierus hummed in agreement. "They call the chemical 'Ghostfire,'" she added.

"Ghostfire?"

Cierus nodded and tilted her head. "Because when a ghost gets into your machine, it starts to burn."

That line struck Rhea with an almost physical amount of force. From what she understood, even based off these details, [Redacted] was looking to control minds, create an army, and then take over Paxson. Or maybe she would pitch the idea to Paxson's investors and get a seat at a much more profitable table. What a monster. A disgusting, ruthless monster. If she really intended to go ahead with this plan, then The Scrubs would be left in ruin as a result of her 'fake war' with the Syndicate. Add to it the point that she planned to get this chemical out and potentially manipulate the commonfolk's mind, too, and it wasn't just a simple politician's con she was dealing with here; it was a full-blown act of psychological warfare. Rhea's stomach churned once again as the weight of it all pressed down on her: if this plan went through, there'd be no fire left in the people. No will. No choice. Just a glazy-eyed army of consumers and pawns, marching to the beat of a corporate god.

"She has to be stopped." It took a moment for Rhea to realise that she'd said that out loud.

Cierus chuckled, grabbed a bottle of Spitz from a cooler, and popped the cap. "Oh, I do agree."

Her eyes flew wide. "You do?"

A slow nod, an even slower tilt of the head. "I've had my eyes on this [Redacted] for sometime now. You see, I'm not merely a lost stray who ended up in a gang against my will, unlike you, of course. Many years ago I used to work for [Redacted] as a developmental computer scientist, believing the same delusions as you, and back then, she was focused on creating a completely self-sustaining algorithm-fed economy run by AI.

"Of course, that was impossible due to heliostrophy. But with your father's promise of remedying that problem, she saw an even greater potential: fear. So, she hired a group of men to start a rebellion, to make the people feel unsafe. That way she could increase the demand for protection. This solidified her pitch to use AI as a means of serving the community in the board room, if not as a means of war."

"A means of war?" Rhea said.

Cierus laughed, and it was the coldest sound she'd ever heard. "Oh yes, Rhea. [Redacted] is going to try to control this entire city one day. It might take ten years, fifty years, or a hundred years, but she thinks she can fix it all if she can control those at the top, and to a lesser extent, those suffering at the bottom."

"Sounds-szz like a psychopath-szz," said the woman with the snakelisp. Rhea didn't even realise she had been standing right behind her. She was holding a camera and taking random pictures of the camp.

"Why did you ever work for her?" Rhea said.

Cierus didn't move this time. Just stared into Rhea's eyes as if she'd asked the one thing no one should ever ask. She placed the bottle on the ground. "I suppose I wasn't exempt from the survival requirements of this world." Then, very coldly indeed: "And neither was my son."

Cierus shot Rhea a look that was almost a warning, daring her to push any further. Rhea took the hint and backed off. "How do you plan to stop her?" she asked instead.

Cierus sat up straight now, and slowly a smile curled up. "With you."

Omari gave a low whistle. "Shit. You ain't even been here two days and you already got a job."

Cierus leaned forward now. "We don't need to march in with guns blazing. We need to get someone on the inside. Someone who can leak what you saw to the right people. Undermine her reputation. Get her rattled. And luckily for you, I know all the routes. With Viren Steele's daughter, it'll become a whole lot easier accessing them."

Rhea swallowed the tightness in her throat. If what she was saying was true, then this could be the only way to expose [Redacted] to the world and stop her from spiraling things further out of control, from damning The Scrubs. She also understood that she would be interfering with her father's career.

But what choice did she have?

Rhea looked down at her hands. The thought of going back, even in disguise, even for a mission, made her skin crawl. But she also remembered the look in Priest's eyes: dead, burned out… Ghostfire.

"All right," Rhea said. "I'll help."

Cierus smiled once more. "Good. Because whether you know it or not, Rhea, you just made yourself very valuable." She stood up and dusted off her pants. "Rest up. I'll be back soon."

Rhea watched her walk off into the sun, placing her visor back over her eyes, as if hiding everything she just said.

Valuable. That word lingered longer than it should've.

She wasn't sure if it was a promise… or a warning.

Hours later, Rhea was sitting on the steps of the bartruck with some of the other gang members. She'd gotten to know many of them, and it turned out some weren't all that bad when you looked past the whole 'breaking the law' thing. Never in a million years would she have imagined herself thinking so positively about criminals, but she supposed this new life came with all sorts of surprises.

It was mid-afternoon when Cierus came back to the camp. Rhea didn't know where she had gone, but one could only assume she'd done some scouting or planning for this upcoming mission. She took a seat next to Rhea on the bartruck steps, holding a beer bottle.

"You still talk to your father?" Cierus said.

The question came out of nowhere. Rhea hadn't even realised Cierus was talking to her until that visor was right there, pressed against her damp forehead like a cop's badge. She flinched.

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"Y-yeah," she said, dragging the word out clumsily. "Why?"

"You're going to give him a call," Cierus said. "Ask him for a favour."

Rhea blinked. "A favour?"

Cierus gave a single nod and placed the beer bottle between them. "We need access. Viren works directly for [Redacted]. If anyone still has clearance to get us inside that building, it's him."

A tight knot curled in Rhea's gut. "I don't like getting my dad involved in this. I'm willing to use my influence as his daughter, sure, but I'm not gonna trick him."

Cierus didn't flinch. "So you'd rather let him keep helping [Redacted] turn The Scrubs into ash?"

"Hey," Rhea snapped. "Don't. My dad's not part of that."

"Then tell him a lie and be done with it," Cierus said, flat as concrete. "If he's really clean, he'll be just as pissed as you if he finds out. Just tell him you want to visit the place, that you're bored off your shit having no job. He'll understand. From what I gather, he doesn't want to be working for [Redacted] either."

Rhea frowned, and her eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?"

"Know what?"

"That he doesn't want to be working for her," Rhea said. "That he didn't have a choice."

"I never said he didn't have a choice," Cierus replied, tone cooling even more. "I said he doesn't want to work for her. Big difference. You can see it on his face every time they trot him out on the broadcasts: him standing there while they refer to him as a terrorist. He looks like he's swallowing glass." She leaned in just a bit. "I'm no fool, Rhea. And neither are you. But do yourself a favour: keep that mouth of yours on a tighter leash when you're talking to me. I gave you a chance once. I don't hand out seconds."

At the words I gave you a chance once, Rhea's dread intensified. "Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. I just don't like people talking about my dad that way. He's a good man. A great man."

"Then prove it. Call him."

Rhea hesitated. "I don't have my phone. Got taken off me last night."

Cierus dug into her pocket and pulled out a slim, scratched-up phone. "Use mine," she said, almost gaily, and tossed it over.

Rhea caught it, staring down at the screen like it might bite her. The silence that followed stretched long. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. This felt wrong. But she understood what Cierus was pushing for – logic was hard to argue with. They weren't gonna waltz into [Redacted]'s tech facility on guts and blind luck. No way in hell.

They needed someone with clearance. That meant one person.

Her father.

She swallowed hard, then typed in his number with trembling thumbs. Hit "Call."

"Speaker," Cierus said quietly.

Rhea nodded, tapped the icon, and held the phone out in front of them.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Four…

Forty-five seconds passed before the line clicked.

A deep, worn voice answered. "Viren Steele speaking."

Rhea looked at Cierus, at her pale and hollowed-out face, before responding: "Hey… Dad."

There was a pause. Static in the line.

"…Rhea?" Viren said. "Whose number is this?"

"I – it's someone I'm with," she replied, glancing again at Cierus. "I didn't have my phone. Long story."

Silence again, and then his voice came through, lower now. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.

"Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?"

"No," Rhea said. "It's not like that… I just need to ask you something."

A pause. Then: "You haven't answered my calls for the past few days. Lucian tried calling you and you haven't picked up. He's worried about you, too. And yes – I know about all the drinking you've been doing, so—"

"Dad," she said, sharper than intended, starting to feel a little emotional. "Please, don't do that right now."

The line went quiet. Not dead, just stunned.

"All right," Viren said eventually. "I'm listening."

Her stomach churned. "I need access to the facility. The one on 87th, near the ridge."

The pause that followed was excruciating.

"... Why? You never want to show up to my job?"

Rhea took a moment. She tried to lie, to come up with some excuse that would result in her getting access to the building – maybe as a visitor with a pass – but she couldn't do it. Rhea Steele could not lie to her father.

Suddenly, tears welled in her eyes, and her throat locked up. She stood and stepped down from the bartruck. Just a few feet, just far enough for Cierus to keep listening.

"Are you crying?" Viren said.

Deep, stuttered breaths. "Dad… that woman you're working for…" Her voice cracked. "She's not who she says she is. I saw—" But the rest caught in her throat. She couldn't say it. Not yet.

"Listen," Viren said, "where are you? I'll come around and pick you up and we can talk about it from there."

More quiet sobbing. "No, Dad. I can't. You just need to listen to me. Please listen to me."

Then, softly, he said, "All right. What is it?"

She took a seat on a stack of crates. "[Redacted]'s doing something inside that facility. Something big. I don't know what it is exactly, but I saw part of it… and it scared the hell out of me."

Viren didn't respond right away.

"I don't mean scared like oh shit, corporate secrets," she went on, voice shaky but steadier now. "She's hurting people, and she's planning to hurt a lot more, Dad."

Another pause. Then:

"I know."

Rhea's heart jumped at that. "You… knew?"

"I'm sorry, Rhea, but I couldn't tell you," Viren said, the guilt in his voice weighing every syllable down. "I didn't want you anywhere near it."

Rhea blinked, wiped snot from her nose. "You knew? This whole time? What she's doing to people, the neural trials, Priest—?"

"I didn't know the details," Viren cut in. "Not all of them. But I suspected. I knew the funding didn't match the reported projects. I knew too many of my colleagues were 'disappearing.' I knew my lab access had been cut to nearly nothing unless she signed off on it personally. I've been boxed in for months."

Rhea stood slowly, the anger blooming behind her ribs like fire. "You still worked for her."

"I had to," he said, nearly pleading now. "They have files on you, Rhea. Threats. Surveillance records. If I pushed back – if I refused anything – I was told my whole family would be investigated under the city's new security directives."

Rhea's throat dried up. "So you did it to protect me."

"Yes."

She stared out towards the scrubland horizon, dry wind blowing past the camp trucks. "You know what they did to me, Dad?" Her voice was low. Bitter. "The force fired me. Called me a liability. Then they left me to rot. And you're still in there. Still helping the people they work for."

"I thought you were safe."

"Well, I'm not," she snapped. "And I need your help now. Not just to get into the facility. I need you to be on the right side of this."

Cierus was still seated behind her, silent.

"Please, Dad," Rhea said, voice cracking again. "I don't have anyone else I can trust."

There was a long pause. Rhea almost thought he'd hung up. But then:

"There's a backdoor service elevator," Viren said. "Two levels below street, near the air filtration grid. It's not logged on the public directory, but I can generate a single-use access pass through my credentials. It'll expire by midnight."

She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. "You're really gonna do it?"

"Yes. But listen to me," he said, voice hardening. "Once you're in… get the evidence. And get out. Don't try to fight her in there. You won't win."

"Do you not have access?" Rhea said. "Maybe you can send me the evidence? And I can expose this monster to the world. That way… maybe I don't have to fight anyone."

"I wish I could," Viren said. "But I'm boxed in and constantly being monitored. The truth is, [Redacted] already has her suspicions about me blowing this whole thing out of the water. I'm not allowed access to the experiment for that very reason. I only write the code; they use it how they please."

"Where is the experiment being held?"

Viren hesitated. The line crackled faintly. "Sublevel 6. Restricted sector. Bio-neural security only," he said at last. "You won't be able to access it through normal terminals. You'll need to find a way to bypass their cranial scan."

Rhea rubbed her temples. "Of course it's a cranial scan. Because why make this easy?"

"I know a technician who used to run backups during the early phase. He'll still be there – name's Kyo Tanaka. Tell him I sent you. He might help."

"Might," Rhea echoed.

"I can't promise more than that," Viren said. "Just… be careful."

Rhea nodded slowly, then realised he couldn't see her. "I will."

Another long pause.

"I love you," Viren said softly.

"I love you too, Dad," she said, barely audible. "And thank you."

"Yeah… I have to go now. Bye, Little Spark."

The line went dead.

She sat there for a few seconds, phone still in her lap, the weight of what she'd just committed to finally sinking in. Behind her, Cierus stood up and stretched.

"Well," she said, tone unreadable, "I guess that's our in, Little Spark."

"Don't you dare use that name on me," Rhea said, fearless. "Once I help you with this, that's it. I don't expect to stay with this gang any longer than I have to."

"I don't either," Cierus said coldly.

Rhea wiped her hot and ruddy eyes one last time, clearing away the tears. "You better be right about this."

Cierus flashed her a smile. "Oh, I'm always right."

Rhea rose to her feet, brushing the dust off her vest. The wind whipped through the camp again, tugging at her hair.

Midnight. That was the deadline.

Tonight, the whole city might look different. Or it might burn. Either way, there was no turning back now.

"Hey," said Omari (Rhythm of Rhythm, as he would one day be known), running up with his guitar strapped over his back, "why don't we take a picture of the greenhead's first day? Gang tradition."

"You know I hate pictures," Cierus said, taking a seat on the truck steps. "One way or another, they always seem to come back to bite me."

"Don't be a sour sport," said Omari. "Snake Lady's got a new camera, and she's been takin' shitty photos all morning. Let's give her one to remember, or to forget."

Cierus sighed through her nose. "Fine. But if this ends up on a bounty board, I'm coming for your heart, and that music dream will be rather short-lived."

"You'll have to find me first," Omari grinned, tossing a wink at Rhea.

Rhea gave a half-smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes but tried its best. "Fine by me," she said, sitting next to Cierus. "But no weird filters. I don't want to look like some cartoon raccoon."

"That's the spirit." Omari turned and waved to the woman with the snake-hiss voice – Snake Lady, apparently – who was still fiddling with that battered chromecam the size of a shoebox. "Oi! Get over here! We're immortalisin' something!"

Another gang member – a skinny, grimy girl with coded ink – plopped down beside Rhea, offering a nod. She didn't speak. Didn't need to. The way she nudged Rhea with her elbow said enough.

Cierus was sitting to Rhea's right, leaning back on her hands, one boot kicked out, the other planted. Her visor was on, hair catching the dying light. She didn't smile, but she didn't frown either.

Omari took the step above them, squatting with his guitar across his lap like a makeshift throne.

"Everyone ready-szzzzz?" Snake Lady called.

"Do it," Cierus said.

Rhea glanced at the group – this strange, half-mad gang that had taken her in – feeling rather uneasy.

"Say, 'In the sound waves,'" exclaimed Omari.

No one did, but it got a grin out of Rhea.

The camera clicked.

Flash.

And just like that, they were frozen in time.