Bitstream

11.3

It didn't take long for their mantisblades to connect. When they did, the impact launched Rhea through the office doorway with so much force that she knocked a couple of men back. She struck the railing and fell to the bottom with a loud thud. She was dazed – definitely – but luckily her suit's invisibility was still intact. When she looked up at the warehouse, the bulbs flashed red, armed guards ran along the walkway, shouting orders to one another, and there was another sound, louder than the rest.

Was that...?

Yes, it was.

At first, she thought it was her own ears ringing, but no – it was the hum of the aerodyne's thrusters.

The east wall of the warehouse shook when the aerodyne's shadow crawled across its surface. Overhead, the light mounted to its undercarriage burned through the grime-streaked glass roof, cutting a pale circle directly over her.

There was no callout, no voice, only the eerie wail of the aerodyne's siren: a rising howl threaded with static distortion. It wasn't loud, but it was the kind of sound that crawled under your skin and told everyone in the building that something unstoppable had arrived.

At the same time, the Syndicate rebels pointed their weapons up at the warehouse roof and opened fire. Bullets sparked off the reinforced panels, but it didn't matter; the aerodyne's bellyhatch slammed open with a hydraulic snap, and ropes dropped like metal vipers. Strannik's squad slid down fast, boots slamming onto the catwalks, plasma rifles already up.

"Breach, breach, breach!" someone barked over comms. Grenades (non-lethal shockers) clattered against the rails, detonating with blinding arcs of white light. Rebels on the upper walkway screamed and went down twitching.

When Rhea picked herself up completely, the suit's invisibility began to flicker. On her neural display, a warning flashed red: LOW BATTERY.

"Shit." She slapped the control plate on her chest, powering down the Chroma-Skin entirely. The shimmer peeled away, and she yanked the head-zip down so the squad would see her face. The last thing she needed was Strannik's people mistaking her for a target.

The squad spread out across the bottom floor, carrying electric baton poles and striking rebels down. The rebels kept firing, even through the shock, even through the pain, but the bullets sparked right off their heavy armour.

One of the officers hurried over to Rhea, and she could tell by the run that it was Lucian Strider. He was holding an enormous, two-handed electric baton, and for the briefest moment she was reminded of the time he'd charged Scrapboy with that old, splintered broomstick when they were kids.

"Rhea," he shouted. When he closed the distance, he reached behind her neck and pulled her closer. His yellow eyes scanned her like a field medic on a bad day. "You still in one piece?"

"Barely," she managed, wincing as her ribs flared. "Priest's loose. Vev—"

"I know," Lucian cut in, his voice tight but steady. "We'll talk later. Right now, we get you the hell out." He grabbed her arm.

"No!" Rhea said. "Priest – he's not just another target, Luce. He's… wrong. Something's in him. Something bad."

Lucian's jaw tightened. Plasma cracked over him, painting his face in quick flashes of blue. He looked up at the upper walkway of the warehouse, and Rhea followed his gaze. Priest was still up there, and to her shock – horror, even – he wasn't going directly for the squad. No, he was tearing into his own, ripping the other rebels limb from limb; they tried to fire at him, but he dodged each bullet with inhumane speed, his mantisblades dripping with fresh guts.

"Jesus," was all Lucian could say. He took a step back, eyes wide; he was trying to piece together whether this thing on the catwalk was even human anymore, and yeah, so was she.

"What the hell did they do to him?" Rhea's voice cracked.

Lucian gripped his baton tighter. "Doesn't matter," he said, though it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. "We take him down. Or we don't leave this place alive."

Priest, with one quick chop to the head, finished off the last of the rebels on the upper walkway. Then he turned – no hesitation – and locked eyes with Rhea. He vaulted the railing in one smooth motion and landed hard on the bottom floor, the impact shaking dust loose from the ceiling girders. He still didn't say a word.

"No use firing," Rhea said, priming her mantisblades with a metallic shhhk. Her voice was tight, breathless. "He's too fast."

Lucian gave her a sharp nod and raised his baton, its core humming with stored current. "We flank him," he said, voice low, focused. "But don't kill him. We need to get him on the ground."

She shifted left while he moved right, the two of them circling Priest slowly. Priest stood perfectly still, blades dangling at his sides, head tilted slightly forward as if listening to some voice they couldn't hear.

Then, without warning, he twitched – just a fraction, a subtle shift of his weight – and Rhea's muscles locked in response.

Priest flashed forward.

Rhea was too slow.

Twang!

His mantisblade slammed into something solid and ringing. For a split second, she thought it was her, thought it had cut through her suit, her skin, but no. It was Lucian's two-handed baton. The impact reverberated through the steel shaft with a sharp, metallic clang.

Lucian thumbed a recessed button on the handle, and the baton roared to life. Electricity surged along the spine of the baton and circulated through Priest's blades.

ZzzRRKT!

Stunlocked. Priest's body spasmed uncontrollably. Rhea saw her chance, but she couldn't kill him. No, she had to aim for something that would slow him down, cage the animal without putting him in the ground. She adjusted her stance and drove her mantisblade down. The blade cut deep, through tendon and bone, and the sound it made was wrong: a wet, fibrous crunch that reminded her of snapping chicken bones as a kid, when her father would make soup on a Sunday. His foot came clean off.

For the first time, Priest let out a sound. It wasn't a scream, wasn't even pain; it was a raw, guttural static-choked howl, as though the chemical in him had more to say than the flesh.

To her horror, he didn't fall; he slid back on his stump and hopped. He was at least slower now – no more flashing, at least not as badly – but the look in his eyes hadn't softened one bit.

"Stand down, Priest," shouted Lucian, his voice almost drowned by the gunfire. But Rhea knew Priest could hear him. Knew it by the way those neon-green eyes locked with soulless unblinking.

Priest tilted his head, then drove his remaining foot into the concrete floor with a hard crack. He bent down with both mantisblades, and in one fluid motion—

SHNNNK!

—he chopped off his other foot.

Rhea's stomach lurched. "What the hell is he doing?"

Priest dropped to all fours, the stumps of his legs grinding against the floor, and something in his joints changed: a wet, mechanical POP-POP-POP! He spread his arms wide, mantisblades scraping the concrete with a nails-on-glass hiss.

Then he moved.

Not like a man. Not even like a machine. His stumps dragged him forward at breakneck speed, blades cutting deep gouges in the floor.

"Jesus Christ—!" Lucian backed up fast, baton sparking as he recharged the core.

"Luce," Rhea shouted, heading around a large crate container. "Keep him off me!"

But Priest didn't follow Lucian; he was coming straight for her. He shot across the warehouse floor on all fours, then sprang up the side of a pallet rack. His mantisblades clamped into the steel, and suddenly he was above her, crawling upside-down along the beams. She saw his shadow cross the wall before a blade slashed down.

Whoosh!

Rhea let out a scream and dove through the pallet rack. The steel frame bit into her shoulder, tearing her suit, and splinters from the half-rotted crates raked her arms. She hit the ground hard on the far side of the rack, skidding across the dusty concrete until her back slammed against a low stack of boxes. The catwalk was now above and behind her; Lucian was somewhere off to her right, across the open floor.

Her breath caught. She could hear Priest's blades raking against the metal as he closed in, the sound vibrating through the steel beams. She snatched a spare clip from her Chroma-Skin pocket and jammed it into her pistol.

"Come on, come on," she hissed, racking the slide with shaking hands.

A shadow passed over her. Priest was already climbing. He hauled himself up the rack's side, mantisblades punching through the mesh in rapid, inhuman thrusts. The entire structure rattled above her.

Rhea ducked lower, pressing herself into the narrow gap between the crates and the floor. A blade stabbed through the slats above, missing her by inches and sending shards of concrete into her cheek.

"Get out of there!" Lucian's voice cut across the chaos.

Another blade shot through, this one stabbing her left shoulder. Pain exploded through her chest and she screamed, rolling backward just as the mantisblade carved a deep gouge into the concrete where she'd been.

The mesh overhead sagged under his weight again. Priest was coming down.

Rhea steadied her breath, ignoring the throb in her shoulder. She raised her pistol, sighting between the steel grid until his warped shadow lined up with the barrel.

"Dodge this," she hissed.

She squeezed the trigger.

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The shot tore through the mesh, sparking as it clipped metal before finding flesh. Priest let out a snarl that wasn't human. He recoiled, mantisblades raking the steel as he stumbled, a flash of blood spattering the racks.

Rhea fired again, making sure not to aim for the head. He let out another cry. And then he clambered off the rack and fell to the floor on the other side. She slid herself out of the gap between the crates. Across the floor, Priest staggered, one mantisblade trying to keep him upright but failing. The neon-green glow in his eyes began to die out, little by little, second by second.

Rhea, still feeling pain in her shoulder – and pressing it quite dearly – kept the pistol trained on him. "Stay down," she breathed. "Just… Jesus Christ – ho, man."

Boots thundered towards her. When she looked back, she realised that the gunfire had stopped, and Lucian and the rest of the squad were rushing towards them.

"You hit him?" Lucian said, still holding his long baton, though it was a fair deal bloodier than before.

"Twice," she said. "Brought him into the dark. Didn't see it coming. I also need a minute. Maybe two. Fuck, maybe even a whole week."

Lucian's expression softened, and for a moment the soldier melted away. He crouched beside her, his free hand brushing against her shoulder to check the wound. She hissed at his touch but didn't push him away.

"Still alive, though," he said quietly. "Ms. Unkillable. That's twice you've cheated death."

"And counting." Something in her throat tightened. She swallowed it down, because now wasn't the time.

"Fuck me," Strannik said; Rhea didn't even realise he was standing there. "Disarm his blades and move him to the AV. Now. Before more of these bastards show up."

"You got it, Boss," said one officer.

Two of them moved in fast, jamming a higher dose of sleep serum into Priest's neck. His body twitched once, then sagged into a slumber. Another officer crouched down, using a hydraulic tool to crack the mantisblades free from his arms with sharp, metallic pops. A third hauled his body up over his shoulders, carrying him towards the AV waiting just outside. The warehouse shutters had already been forced open, letting in a gust of cold night air that pooled at Rhea's feet.

"Steele," Strannik said sharply.

She turned, still pressing her injured shoulder, the pistol hanging loose in her other hand. His eyes cut over her – not with concern, but the cold, assessing look of someone tallying damage.

"We're gonna have a talk."

Rhea's lips parted, but no words came out. There wasn't much she could say that wouldn't make things worse. Strannik's tone was razor-sharp, not the kind of voice you argued with.

"Not now," he added, voice low but firm. "When we get back. You and me. You're lucky you're still standing, Steele. You go digging in files you're not cleared for, you disobey the instructions given, and the whole place goes up in red. What the hell were you thinking?"

Rhea swallowed hard but stayed quiet. She holstered her pistol, her shoulder still throbbing with each small movement.

"Give her a break," Lucian said. "How was she supposed to expect this fucked-up experiment? Isn't it your job to scout things out in advance? So we know what to expect? Even still, she saved multiple lives by taking Priest down."

"Not the point," Strannik barked. He wasn't yelling. Not yet anyway. "I don't care if she saved me, you, or the goddamn mayor. We have rules for a reason. She disobeyed, and people died. That other girl – what was her name? Vev? Yeah. Dead because Steele got too curious. And I told you before, Steele, your curiosity is a damn liability."

Rhea's jaw clenched. "That's not—" she started, but her voice faltered. It was true, in a way. If she'd just deactivated the machine, maybe none of this would've happened. They could have snuck him out the back before he had a chance to really heat up. Maybe Priest wouldn't have torn through everyone. But… [Redacted]. She couldn't ignore what she'd seen on that screen.

Lucian saw it in her eyes and stepped closer, lowering his baton. He pressed it to the floor as if it was a staff. "Boss. With all due respect, we're not debriefing in the middle of a kill zone. Let's get her arm patched, get Priest into containment, and then we can talk about disciplinary bullshit."

Strannik's eye implants flickered as if he was processing. Finally, he jerked his head towards the AV parked outside. "In my office, Steele. No breaks, no waiting. I mean right away." He scowled. "Now get moving. We'll talk soon."

Rhea nodded stiffly, keeping her face blank. "Got it."

But inside, she was burning. Not just from the pain in her shoulder, but from the email file she'd seen, the one that had [Redacted]'s name on it, clear as day. If what she read was true, then everything Strannik thought he was fighting for was already a lie. Regardless, she forced herself to fall into step with the squad as they marched towards the aerodyne.

Back in Precinct 9, Rhea sat waiting to be called, the adrenaline long gone, leaving only the dull ache of exhaustion. She'd swapped the Chroma-Skin for her beat-up jeans and a police vest, her left shoulder wrapped in layers of gauze; it itched quite horribly, but she wasn't one to kick up a fuss. One of the medics had patched her up quick, muttering something about bone bruising and nerve strain before shoving a pain patch on her neck and sending her out with a warning not to push it.

Now, she sat alone in the cold metal chair outside Strannik's office, the hum of the station's servers filling the silence. Every so often, an officer passed by, giving her a glance. Not hostile, not friendly either, but a glance that said you're in trouble.

And trouble arrived when the receptionist eventually called her name.

"Rhea?"

Not Steele. Just Rhea. It was a small detail, but she caught it, and it stung. She got up from her seat and headed into the office, her shoes clicking hollowly. Inside the office, the fluorescents embedded in their long fixtures threw a hard, shadowless light. Sure enough, Cmdr. Strannik was sitting on his swivel chair, hands plastered to his face in some awful prayer, eyes sunken with dark circles. A pistol, an army-issue .45, lay on the desk, as it had for the last four years or so; at this point, Rhea thought it was kept more as an antique than a weapon. She felt a terrible and thankfully transient urge to pick it up and put her own lights out; of course, that was her being dramatic.

She took a seat. "You… uh, you wanted to see me."

"I wanted to see you?" he said into his hands. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and let them drop into a steeple. He let out a sigh. "What happened out there, Rhea? I need to know. And I don't mean the sanitised report I'm gonna get from your friend Strider. I want your version. Right now. From the top."

"Well, for one, Strider wasn't with me when it happened," Rhea said.

"Don't get smart with me," he said.

"I'm not trying to be smart," she said, forcing herself to keep her voice level. "I'm telling you what I saw. Priest wasn't… normal. He wasn't even human by the end of it. They did something to him. Whatever was in that green shit they were pumping into his veins—"

"I don't care about what was in his veins," Strannik snapped, leaning forward, both palms slapping the desk hard enough to make the old .45 rattle. "I care about why the hell my officer was poking around in places she wasn't cleared for."

"... I was getting to that. You're talking about the terminal, right?."

"Yeah, I mean the terminal," he said. "Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing the op? You set off the alarm, Rhea. Not Priest. Not his men. You."

"I found something," she continued, unable to stop herself. "Something big. There was a file on that system – emails, logs, plans – someone high up is feeding these people. You think Priest just woke up one day with corporate-grade mantisblades and a brain full of nightmares? You think they got all that tech from theft? No. Somebody wanted them that way, him that way."

"Jesus Christ," Strannik muttered, sitting back and rubbing his eyes. "You're not listening. I don't care what you found. You were ordered to deactivate the machine and secure the target, not snoop through their data like some half-rate netrunner."

Rhea clenched her jaw. "If I'd ignored that file, I wouldn't be wondering if we're on the right side."

Strannik's gaze snapped up, and there was something lethal in his expression now. "What?"

"The name in that email…. It's the mayor's, [Redacted]. She's been working with the Syndicate all along. She's been running these experiments."

Strannik froze, and the silence impressed itself upon them. It was so heavy that Rhea could feel it physically.

"You're sure about that?" His voice had gone quieter, darker. A warning.

"I saw it with my own eyes." Rhea didn't back down. "I don't care what the official report says, or how many clean, tidy lies they'll put in the news tomorrow. That warehouse was a goddamn lab. And the mayor's name was all over the files."

For a moment, Strannik just stared at her. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about. You think you do, but you don't."

"Don't give me that," she snapped. "You saw what they did to Priest. That thing wasn't human anymore. Whatever they're cooking up, it's bigger than some gang war. And you want me to just sit on it?"

Strannik leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his teeth. He reached into the drawer of his desk, pulled out a package of cigarettes, popped one into his mouth, and lit it up. "Rhea," he said.

"... Yes?" she said.

He puffed out a ring of smoke, took a deep breath, and said, "You're fired."

Rhea stared at him, her mouth parting but no words coming out at first. The room felt suddenly smaller, the humming of the lights louder, like they were mocking her. "You're joking," she said finally, her voice brittle. "After everything I just—"

"Not joking," Strannik said matter-of-factly, leaning forward on his elbows. The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily towards the ceiling. "You went off-script. You accessed files I never told you to. You compromised an operation that was already bleeding from the edges. If I keep you on, you're a liability. So, yeah, you're done here." His eyes fell down as he put the cigarette package back in the drawer.

But she didn't look away. She glared – no, scowled at him, not saying a word. Her fists tightened on her knees.

Strannik looked up at her again. "You're still here? Did you not hear what I said? You're fiiireeed."

Again, silence from her.

He let out a sigh. "Do you want to be forcefully removed?"

"Oh don't mind me," Rhea said. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around how a commander of your rank can listen to what I had to say and give me the finger. But I get it. I'm just a stupid piece of shit."

"Watch your mouth," he said. "You think you're the first hothead to come in here screaming about conspiracies? About the city being rotten? Welcome to Neo Arcadia, Steele. It's been rotten since the day it was built."

Rhea stood up. "You know when I first joined the force I thought I was doing good for the community. I thought, 'Hey, these Syndicate people are awful human beings. They attacked my home, tried to destroy my dad's work, and now they want to take over the city. Hmm, I should stop them.' What I didn't expect was to find out that [Redacted] had orchestrated everything, that she'd played people like pawns and promised to protect us against a threat that never existed. And you?" She chuckled. "You probably know this shit too but you're too much of a coward to admit it."

"Doesn't make a lick of sense," he said. "You think we'd go around trying to get information out of Priest if this was all a set-up? Use your brain."

"Oh yeah? Really? And what information were you looking for exactly? You were pretty short on details. Don't play that 'you're not important enough to know' card either, because we both know you love spewing shit."

"You want details?" he said finally. "Fine. Priest was supposed to be our way in. He had intel on the Syndicate's next move: real intel, not the crap you dig out of half-baked terminals. We needed him alive, conscious, and cooperative. You? You storm in, poke every hornet nest in the damn building, and nearly get yourself gutted because you can't follow a single goddamn order."

"You think I care about your orders?" Rhea shot back, stepping towards his desk. "Priest wasn't intel. He wasn't even human anymore! He was a test subject. You didn't see what I saw in that chair. You didn't see the files with [Redacted]'s name on them. She's not just playing both sides – she is both sides. And we're just tools. Disposable."

Strannik slammed his palm on the desk. The old wood creaked under the force. "Enough!" The single word cracked the air like a whip. He leaned forward once more. "You think I don't know how dirty this city is? I've been here longer than you've been alive, Steele. I know where the bodies are buried, and half of them are under my boots. But you? You're still too green to get that sometimes you swallow the rot just to keep the roof from collapsing on everyone's head. That's what I do. That's what this job is."

Rhea stared at him, her eyes blazing with disbelief and fury. "So that's it? Just look the other way while [Redacted] experiments on people, while she turns men into monsters? That's the line now? Protect the system, no matter how many lives it costs?"

Strannik didn't answer. He just looked at her, a shadow crossing his face, as though he'd already buried his own conscience years ago. He finally gestured to the badge on her chest. "You're done. Hand it over. Now."

Rhea's hand hovered on the badge for a long second. Then she ripped it off, tossed it onto the desk with a clatter that seemed to echo through the entire precinct. "You'll regret this," she said. "Not because of me. Because you're betting on the wrong side."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the unemployment office."

"Fuck you." Rhea was teary-eyed when she headed out the door. "Hope you enjoy your kingdom of ashes when this all burns down."