Paranoia

[langwiz7]

It was always the same dream...always...

It was Katelin, wreathed in flame, the destroyer. It was incomprehendable, yet revealed a certain quality of truth, of a deep seated anger at everything. 'It couldn't be her. She wouldn't do this.' he thought, and yet the image was clear. The more he thought of it the more he realized the frustration tore at him as well. Peace was taking forever. The aliens had not driven them together, but fractured the leaders of the planet even further. Their objectives became even further apart. One thing was sure, many of them believed they could and should rule Rubi-Ka.

He hadn't known what to make of the news of her disappearance for quite a long time except that it was troubling. She could come back that destroyer. And he knew that he would not stop her if she did. This knowledge scared him.

His head rolled off the computer console where he had fallen asleep in the pre-dawn glow of computer monitors and he woke up just after the chair rolled out from under him, his chest smacking against the floor. The fixer's security system had automatically engaged itself five minutes after he fell asleep, scanning everything from differences in temperature to foreign DNA sequences and now began a timed disarm procedure. Last rubbed his eyes and looked over the computers, but the fire gleamed in Fali's eyes.

She wasn't the only one who had disappeared...the list was longer than he would have liked. It was too hard to tell what really happened to people on this turbulent dustball. He remembered when he had been trapped in a storm for over a month waiting for the climate control system to kick in. It was possible that they were hiding from enemies, or that they had grown tired of the pain of reviving to the same flawed reality and simply decided not to return.

The missing people made his loneliness more acute. He wondered just how long he could labor at the dream before he too would succumb. "No." He thought out loud. "There's got to be a way to make this work."

One of the monitors had a strange line of text and he wondered about it. There were only a few reasons something unplanned could enter his sanctuary, and all of them were very important. The message, however, was so startling that he fully awoke at the thought.

"Katelin Phare. Nanomage Female. Last seen in Omni-1 Entertainment District."

"Strange place for her to come back to," he mumbled. "And no signature." He checked the logs, but this communicae was absent. "And no logs....that leaves 10 people on this rock who can get into this system. Well, I can't think about that yet. First, I need to see if she really is there. Then I can worry about who sent the message."

He flipped the switch to re-arm the security system, then grimaced as his core information was digitized. If digits could shiver, he was sure they'd be doing it tonight. He paused for a moment, then re-emerged into Omni Ent.

[langwiz7]

The coordinates came in almost instantly after he gridded into Omni-1. He found himself squinting at the data pad as if it could not be possible. His friends in the 'net were fast...but not this fast. Something he couldn't put his finger on was very wrong about this transmission.

Then he realized he was holding his breath and let it out slowly, then breathed again. Sometimes when he stepped out of the oxygen free gridstream, he forgot he needed to breathe. He felt eyes on him and turned to confront them, but instead was looking at an atrox full in the chest. The black armor identified the person more quickly than any introduction or information program.

"Uhh...pardon me..." the small fixer said absently.

The guard, his attention already elsewhere, said nothing. Last knew that these guys obeyed the letter of the treaties with the ICC, but if he were to cross any number of social barriers, they wouldn't hesitate to shoot on sight. 'Omni-1 is becoming as hostile as Tir,' he thought. Then, the fixer bolted. The guard did not follow. 'Apparently running isn't against the law yet,' he thought.

He slowed as he came to a bar and tapped the map button, then nodded to himself. "Yep," he said. "Slums. I should have known." He also knew Katelin wouldn't be in that part of the city unless she was being held there against her will. Again, he felt that sense that all was not as it seemed. "She's been gone for months and she shows up here?" His brain tried to interdict thousands of reasons why she would be here, abduction, secret peace treaties, possibly even confronting a hidden Dusk Brigade cell or Unicorn hide-out. He sighed. 'A little too cryptic,' he thought as he looked at the pad. Again he wondered who might have sent the signal, but he couldn't be sure. It was entirely possible that one of his "contacts" had sold him out and this was a ruse to capture the wily fixer.

"I better think this through..." He mumbled. "I think I'll start with a tracer program. May not be able to find out who this person is, but I can find out where the message was sent."

His fingers flew across the screen of the datapad, activating minor bounceback programs that would find the signal broadcast. One way or another, he would get to the bottom of this.

[langwiz7]

The fixer wandered into a nightclub. The strobe and the thumping music should protect him from prying eyes and ears. He found himself sitting in a booth not far from the bar, then tapped his comm active.

Lastsecond2 mumbled into his comm. "Ofoz?"
"Reading you." was the quiet reply.
"Have you sent me a message recently?"
"Not for a few days, why?"
"I got one....you know me..."
"Yeah...still haven't forgot the lazer burn when I accidentally snooped in."
"I warned you about that." Last said.
Ofoz grunted.
"Know anyone in the club who could have sent it?"
The comm was silent for a minute. "He could do it."
"Anyone else?"
"The dancer. The kid. What's so special about this message anyway?"
"One of my old bosses was spotted in Entertainment."
"So?"
"She's been gone for months."
"That boss? We've been keeping tabs on her...thanks for the update."
"Well it could be a trap."
"I'll keep my eyes and ears open."
"Out."
"Out."

The tracer had been bouncing all over the place, Bor to NL to Stret back to NL back to Bor to Stret to Hope...Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble to make a tracer take this long. Then he realized that wasn't the reason at all. He started typing frantically on his datapad but it was too late.

TRACER PROGRAM ERROR: MEMORY BUFFER OVERLOADED...

He slammed his fist down on the table.

"Old fashioned it is..." he muttered as he left the bar.

[langwiz7]

The small girl smoothed her white dress as she sat down in a small chair. A table was set up, and four chairs were set out on the concrete in one of the many parks in the Entertainment district. "More tea, Mr. Leet?" She asked a leet sitting to her left. Then she poured nothing into a teacup. She smiled, then laughed. "I think you've had more than enough sugar, Mrs. Bear." she said to the plush bear on her right. Her eyes looked up at the newcomer. "Would you like some tea?" She asked.

He sighed. 'She always does this,' he thought. "That would be lovely dear." He said with as much false-honesty as he could muster. He sat down in the low chair, his knees up against his chest.

The girl poured him some imaginary tea. "Would you like some sugar or cream?" she asked, politely.

"No thanks."

Her eyes brightened when she saw the datapad. "Is that a letter?" she asked, her voice going up an octave. "Let me see!" She reached for it, but he pulled it away, unconsciously. "It's a love letter, isn't it! Is it from a secret admirer?" She reached for it again, forgetting her manners and knocking over the tea kettle. "Pleeeaaase." He shrugged and gave her the datapad. She looked at it and her excitement vanished. "Oh. Just some boring notice that some girl was found. Do you loooove her?" The girl asked. The question hit him with a lot of force. He was never really quite sure how he felt about Kate. Now that she had been gone, he was even more uncertain. 'Just what is this feeling?' he thought. His throat felt tight.

"I..." the fixer shook the feelings from his head. He had to know. "I was wondering if you sent this." He felt almost foolish for asking the question of the sickeningly sweet girl. He knew if she had sent it it would probably be covered in flowers and hearts, with a "You owe me one" written in other terms somewhere in the message.

"Of course I didn't write this! I know you looooove her, so I would have said that I found your loooover. Why else would you be so interested?" The girl pouted, suddenly realizing the fixer was not all that interested in her. A slight hint of jealousy crossed her face, and then it scrunched into sadness. "Why doesn't anyone look for meeeee?"

"Uhh..." He immediately felt like he had overstayed his welcome.

Tears began to form in her eyes. She clutched the datapad to her chest as if it was something precious and awful at the same time. "Why?" She asked the flustered fixer.

"I'm sure....uhh...I'm sure someone will, eventually..." he stammered.

"Eventually?!" Tears flooded from the child's eyes. The fixer wasn't even sure anyone COULD cry that much. Some were dripping on the datapad.

"Well...someone has to know to be looking for you..." He blurted out, unsure if it was going to get him out of the uncomfortable mess he had gotten himself into or not. The trail seemed to be slipping away as he sank further and further into this adolescent power trap.

"So no one notices meeeee?"

'How do girls always manage to get the worst idea out of something not quite positive?' he thought to himself. "I'm sure that's not true."

"Yes it *sniff* it is...."

The fixer thought about buying her another leet doll, then dismissed the idea. He tried a different approach. "How do you know if you're not out looking?"

She stopped crying as much. "I always come to the park. Every day."

"Well what if someone who would notice you isn't here? Don't you think that maybe you should look for him in other places besides the park?"

She sniffed and actually thought about it for a few seconds. "No."

"What if he doesn't like the park?"

"But everyone likes the park. It's so nice and the trees are so lovely." The tears had started to clear up.

"What if he's allergic to the trees?"

"Then he should see a doctor. Everyone should love these trees. They're my favorite."

"Now I need my data pad back so that I can go find Katelin."

"Okay." She handed it to him. Aside from the tear splotches on the screen, it seemed to be working.

After what seemed like an eternity, he was almost released from the girl's clutches. "You should ask the doctors if anyone is allergic to these trees," he said, trying to give the girl something positive to think about.

[langwiz7]

The dancer was easy to spot. He was a huge hulking atrox who seemed to be unable to stop moving. "Never seen that before, little man." He said while his head was turned towards me, then it whipped away as his dance move spun him in a slow gyrating circle.

"Know anyone who might have?" the fixer was starting to lose hope. If none of the crew had sent it, it was probably a fake.

"There's a bartender who knows a few outsiders. He's here in the city. Also, have you checked with Him yet?"

"No...I was hoping one of you had sent it. He'll be insulted that I even have to ask him."

"You got that right...he's very touchy about being bothered. Seems like that tree and the billion lines of code he's always delving into are his only friends."

"He should probably meet that domed fellow in the Shadowlands I was telling you about."

"Probably...but then no one would take care of his tree."

Last nodded sadly. "Thanks for your help."

"Anytime....and last...take a spin with me sometime, you're lookin awful down."

"Thanks...maybe after I solve this mystery." The fixer walked out of the club and back onto the streets of Entertainment. The wind, confined between the skyscrapers, picked up some loose papers and blew them down the long street, and slamming them into a service terminal. He began to think he should toss this message into the wind and be done with it.

His comm buzzed. "Yes?" asked the fixer.

"I didn't send it." The voice was unmistakable, the pauses between words drawn out to emphasize the very act of speaking.

Last hesitated before he started to ask about the message. "Do you..." he trailed off.

"Know who did? An outsider."

He wondered if he should continue the conversation. "How?"

"No code....is protected...from some."

"Thank you." He said humbly. The comm went dead.

'Now to find this bar,' he thought.

[Falikos]

(My part of the story is a continuation from here: http://www.shattereddreams.org/forum...?TOPIC_ID=1061
Glad to be back! Anyone's welcome to 'play' )


Falikos rubbed her eyes, encouraging the world to come into focus. Her head ached. Ringing with a 4-alarm hangover, the jazz in the bar assaulted her head. The temptation was there to curl back up on the couch and wait for it to go away. She didn’t remember exactly how she ended up in the bar in the first place; just a fuzzy recollection of a screaming match and laughter.

Vaguely remembering some advice about feeding a hangover she groaned and slid off the bench. As she stood a slip of paper flitted to the floor at her feet. Glancing around quickly looking for who may of left it, she bent and retrieved the paper.

“Welcome Home!” was written across it in a flourish. The signature was absent, but there was no mistaking the author.

Recollection of the previous evening sharped as she looked down at the note. The arguing dissolved as the bottle of Hit The Floor Jack was drained, reducing into simple mindless giggling. Conking out in a bar isn’t something she’d done in years, and the pain of her body reminded her not so subtlety why, but despite it she smiled.

I’m home.

Tucking the note in a pocket she tested out her balance. The floor still felt slick and slopeing but manageable. Making her way to the front she moved at a snails pace past the bartender. He glanced up from the conversation he was having with his two patrons, who then also glanced her direction. They leered at her, no doubt mocking the nanomage woman that couldn’t hold her liquor. There was a conspiratory laughter of men behind her as she reached the door, palming the panel to open it.

The night air of Omni E smelled stale and warm and wonderful. She breathed it in, coughed, and smiled. Down the alley a hooker and her shadow like pimp advertised their wears. She’d forgotten how close to the Red District Rompa bar was. Teetering down the ramp, she began to make her way slowly home.

[langwiz7]

The fixer brushed the dirt from the seat of his pants.

"See if I send any business your way!" he shouted into the bar. One of the atrox bouncers dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand, while the other laughed.

"Yeah, yeah."

'How many bars are in this wretched place?' he thought to himself, then looked up in the direction of the next bar. "Crazy Eight." He mused, looking at the billboard. "That's gotta be something." It was number eight on his list of bars.

As he walked in he knew he was in the right place. The bouncers hadn't kicked him out yet and the music was a quick techno-thump. The strobelights swirled and pulsed crazily and, for a moment, he wished he were back in Newland sitting outside Neuters. A group pumped their arms and shimmied their hips out on a dance floor that could easily accomodate three to four hundred people at a time. A brunette in a sexy get-up winked at him suggestively. He smiled bashfully, then saw the atrox winking at him, too. That knocked the wind out of his sails and he remembered why he was there.

He scanned the room until he found the man he wished to speak with, a rather large solitus man with a heavy scar across his face was rubbing down spilled alcohol with a white cloth. Last took out his earplugs as he watched the man. The barkeep threw the rag away and bent down to get a new one. As he was walking over, he heard a familiar voice.

"Who believes this whole host of s**t anyways? Omni-Tek protects.. HAH! But just as long as you are seen as a valuable asset. It's so obvious to me the assassination attempt on Phillip Ross was schemed and carried out by someone within our own ranks and even authorized by the high ups themselves. I wonder at what time he became an expendable asset.. when the Unicorn Company showed up or... .." The face surprised him.

The barkeep started complaining but LS2 was too shocked by the appearance of that particular fixer and more specifically the disgust evident in her voice to pay attention.

The last time he had seen Mrs. Fingus had been traumatic. "Had she changed?" he thought to himself. "Maybe I shouldn't say anything just yet."

"Hey barkeep!" He shouted over the music. "I'd like a beer."

The solitus snorted. "I don't serve bottom-feeders like you...go find another bar."

Last winced.

Mandi got up from the bar.

"I guess the corporation has more than enough money to pay a good bartender." Last said as he rolled a credit coin along his knuckles. "And plenty of money to keep that bartender loyal." His eye caught Pax slipping out the door with some of the other patrons. Mandi hadn't recognized him. "Damnit," he muttered.

The bartender's eyes were trying to lift the number from the face of the coin. Small beads of sweat had formed on his temples.

"Surely Omni-Tek pays so much that you don't need extra business." He took another coin and now had both hands occupied.

'Great...what do I do now?' he thought. 'This is number eight. Lucky number eight. I could catch her if I went now, but then I'm sure I'll miss something here. Something about this joint is keeping me here.' He pondered.

"I bet an enterprising man such as yourself could bear to make an exception, especially since you won't be breaking your contract. I'm not here for booze." The fixer said calmly.

The barkeep's eyes lit up. "What exactly did you want to purchase, my good sir?"

Last almost smirked at the irony. Walk in a bottom-feeder, walk out a good sir. Sometimes I like the way company men operate. Maybe I'll bump into Mandi again while I search for this signal,' he speculated.

"Alright..." he grumbled, then slammed a 10k coin on the bar but continued rolling the other across his knuckles. "Talk!"

The barkeep looked at the coin worth his yearly salary. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you had such good standing with Omni-Tek." He looked at the coin su****iously. The fixer flashed four more, then the barkeeps eyes widened. He grinned at the small opifex in front of him.

"I'm looking for some people. Someone sent me a message. I only know of seven people who could bypass the protocols to send it to me. I've checked with four of them already and they deny it. I was wondering if you knew any that I might not."

The barkeep put the 10k coin on the bar and his hand next to it. The fixer placed the five new coins next to it. "Yeah, I know a couple. Always lookin around when they enter my bar. Too many people for them now. They come in every day though, so if you wait, you'd be able to see em for yourself."

"Damnit..." he muttered.

The barkeep saw the look on the fixer's face and held up his hand. "Now, there are some other places I've seen them. I'm not always working here, ya know. But if you went barging in, they'd be sure to notice you. This is the only place you stand...*cough*...even a remote chance of blending in."

Lastsecond2 sighed. He would have to wait here. He couldn't chance missing the entrance of whoever was coming.

"Sit down, friend....Have a drink..." The barkeep whispered "on the house" and then continued with "What did you say your name was again?"

[langwiz7]

"Most people call me Last."

"Well, Last, let me show you to a table. I'm sure the spot will be quite right."

"Thank you."

The barkeep knew exactly where the fixer wanted to sit, a booth with tall backed bench seats, with the main door to the club in front of him and the door to the kitchen on his left. It was a noisy spot, with banging of pans against a flat stove and the occasional crash of plates shattering on the floor. 'Most kitchens have a service door,' he thought. His credits bought a lot in this place. Of course he was applying them correctly. The manager wouldn't have seen it his way for such a small sum.

It had been a long day, and Last felt like he had circled the globe already. 'This isn't exhaustion,' he thought, 'it's stress.' The fixer rubbed his eyes, then opened them to see a tall nanomage female walk by the door.

"Was that?" he blurted out, shifting forward. Then he couldn't see into the street as a throng of young men and women hustled through the door. The fixer sank back against the booth.

The music began to fade into the noise of the background. It blended together, the bangs and crashes like cymbals and toms added to the bass drum beat of the techno-thump. Against the background he could feel his heartbeat, his breathing, each breath seeming to take hours. He remembered something he said once, "There are two ways to torture a fixer....take his freedom...or make him wait..."

Time ticked a taciturn tumble through the fixer's tired mind, twisting the seconds to glimpses of tracers trailing the strobelights above. He began to rise from his seat when he saw them, and sank back down. They were unmistakable. The barkeep had only been wrong about one thing. Today, they didn't seem to mind the crowd.

[langwiz7]

The kitchen door began to look much more attractive when they walked in. The music and crashing of pots and pans seemed to fade as they walked up to the bar. The fixer listened intently. He had a sinking feeling as he suspected his instincts were right.

The two were an odd pair, a small opifex with a cap pulled low so only his eyes appeared and a huge atrox with a heart tattoo and under it, coils on thorns around a clenched fist. These two were mobsters. Suddenly everything made sense, seeing Mrs. Fingus here, the unfriendly barkeep, some of the strange dancers. This was a front. Much as he wanted to get out, his desire to know more held him in place.

"Hey Marty," The opifex greeted the barkeep.

"Flick." The barkeep nodded. "Shorty. What can I do for ya?"

"We're here ta ask about da game on Centauri IV."

The barkeep paled a bit. "The Centauri won that game." he said.

"So dey did. Where's da star player?" Flick asked. It was time to go, but for some reason the fixer couldn't move. Then he looked at his datapad. "Warning. Hostile Nanoprogram initiated."

"Over there. With some nice lookers." The barkeep pointed in Last's general direction.

"Come on...Come on..." The fixer worked frantically at an escape program.

"Marty, ya know bedder dan dat...introduce us."

"Yeah, introduce us," said Shorty.

The bartender reached under the counter and pulled out three squat glasses. When he reached for the scotch his hand shook.

"Why don't you fellas have a drink first?" he asked.

'Fifty-kay! I'm an idiot! Fifty-kay. That information was worth so much more. This is the trap. And I've gone and sprung it.' The fixer looked at his computer. He was still locked in place. The program had done nothing.

"Well, I suppose we have time for a drink, whaddya dink, Shordy?"

"Yeah boss." Shorty's eyes lit up.

"I told ya nod to call me dat. Here ya call me Flick!"

Shorty's excitement faded. "Sorry, Flick."

'Great. Not only do I get to meet some mafia goons, one of them is an actual boss over them.' The fixer wondered just what he had done to get their attention.

The barkeeper poured the three of them some scotch and then shakily sat the bottle on the bar.

"To da Centauri victory!" Flick said as he raised his glass.

"Huh huh." The atrox took the tiny glass and slammed the scotch. "Good stuff. Huh huh."

"Now, why doncha introduce us Marty."

Marty finished his last scotch. "Yes sir." The barkeep lead the pair to where the fixer was confined. "Here he is."

"Well now, it's nice ta finally meed my nemesis face to face." Flick said.

"Nemesis?" The fixer was totally confused.

"Of course nemesis. You're da guy who's ruining da family business. Leon wants ta talk ta ya, in person. For dat you will always be my number one." Flick paused, then turned to Marty and shook his head. "Marty, Marty, Marty. Ya knew you were sposed ta help dis guy out. Why'dja take his money?"

"I...I..."

"Hasn't da family done enough for ya? Why do ya insist on doing business with our enemies?"

"But...it wasn't business! I thought I could make a few extra on the side!"

"On the side? So ya want a piece of the action, eh?"

"Yeah. I think I can handle it."

"OK Marty. Here's your first assignment." Out of nowhere a submachine gun appeared in Flick's hands. "Go meet your maker." Marty shuffled backwards in horror. Gun fire echoed in the club, sending the barkeep shuddering to the floor, his blood splattering the carpet and veneer of the booths. Screams from the frightened patrons filled the air as they scrambled to the entrance of the club.

Flick turned back to the fixer, submachine gun leveled at him. "The second reason you are my nemesis, fixer, is dat the boss sees potential in you. He dinks you might work for him. He dinks you can do a better job dan me. So Shordy and me can't have any fun wid ya. Bud dad's only if ya come along nice-like."

Shorty grinned and cracked his knuckles. The sound almost inflicted physical injury.

Last checked his computer, but was still locked down. "I guess I don't have any choice, do I?"

"No, nod really."

"Alright then. Let's go."

"Doan be geddin any ideas now." Flick adjusted something, and Last could move again. He stood slowly, glad he had stored his own firearm in his pack.

The pair allowed him to pass in front of him and they walked slowly out into the street. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sizzling sound of flesh being electrocuted, and wondered if Kate really was in this forsaken place.

[ZiggyGizzy]

Jobe Harbor: Luxury Apartments

“Ah, yes,” Seth sighed, reading over his morning report delivered neatly via his comm. unit.
Zanic pretended not to notice.
Seth laughed, “So, our fair Ms. Phare has returned from the abyss.”

“Yea,” Zanic said, not looking up from sharpening his alien blade.
“Well, you can’t say we didn’t give it a shot, you know,” Seth darkly replied.
Zanic grunted, “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

Seth punched a few keys on his comm. unit and up popped a display. He read it slowly, “Former President, Shattered Dreams, Slevin Zaniel Cyper aka ‘Zanicyper’ net worth…”
“Enough!” Zanic yelled.

To the untrained eye, it would seem as if Jami didn’t move.

“Huh, there is still a warrant out on us, brother.”
Zanic didn’t move.
Jami’s eyes crossed them both.
Seth sighed, “So now that we have the collateral, two hundred million,” he paused to feign fanning himself, “the connections, and a growing army, what now?” He chuckled softly.

Jami put her knives away and looked straight at Zanic, who until now, had not lifted his eyes from his axe. “You know, you started it, you planned it...” he said roughly sharpening the blade of his axe.

“For the liberation,” Seth said, taking another swig of an almost-finished bottle of Omni-Tek wine.
“For the liberation,” Jami said in almost hushed words.
“For… the… liberation,” Zanic said, his hands frozen still.

[langwiz7]

Last hated this city. He wondered if, some day, he could meep all the residents out and blast it from orbit. All the huge buildings crowded over him, seemingly dropped at random from uncaring fingers in the sky. As if he didn't already have enough on his mind.

"Here we are." Flick sang. "Doncha get ta used ta dis place, we won't be here often."

Shorty nodded. "Always moving." He said, sadly.

"Doan stard dat again. Boss doan like it. You sposed ta be tough!"

Shorty's face showed the gleam of remembering and then resolve.

"Go on in...doan keep him waidin."

Clearly these two were not about to let him escape now. He nodded and walked slowly up the stairs to the door. Two rough gentlemen, one unshaven, the other with a nasty scar running across his nose thrust the double doors open, grabbed him, and pulled him inside. "Go on." They said. The walls hadn't been washed in years, and a lightbulb hung from its cord. He was in a hallway. There was some evidence that this place might have been a club once, red carpet that was stained with something. He hoped it wasn't blood. The goons followed behind him.

Last took a chance and glanced down at his datapad. "Grid Nanos unavailable..."

If it came time to run, it would be the old fashioned way.

The goons turned him towards a door. "In here."

They opened the door to a ghost from the past....but who's past?

The man sitting behind a clear desk looked identical to Joey Streller, who most people knew by the nick "Tiedus." "Hello, old friend!" He said with some irony.

Last shook the cobwebs from his head and blinked his eyes. "Tiedie?"

The man smirked. "Not exactly. I know you. I know all about you. But you don't know me. To you, my name is Zatar. That is how you will address me."

"Alright, but you speak as if I should know you."

"In ways you do. But you've blocked off most of your memories of me. The ones you didn't block, I removed."

"Then you...you installed this!" Last rapped a ring against his head. It clinked metallically.

"Yes. You can blame all your problems with RAGE on me. Satisfied?"

"You took years of my life away!" His feet carried him to the edge of the desk.

This newfound anger at him displeased Zatar. "I can take more if you really want."

Last lowered his eyes. He didn't know exactly what Zatar was capable of. He might restart RAGE. "No. I don't want that." He sank in the chair across from Zatar.

"Good boy. Now then. There's a reason you're here. You're here because you care too much. And you're going to pay, dearly, before your life is over. But that's not why I want you here. I have a job for you. It's not in your interest to refuse."

Zatar slid a datapad to the fixer. "There are five more when you're done with this one. After that, we'll negotiate your terms."

"Terms?"

"Whether or not you will stay here, of course. And if not, then how far away."

Last looked at the datapad. Then back at Zatar. The agony of involvement became clear to him. This man was pulling one of the two strings he had control over.

The datapad read "Find Katelin Phare and bring her to me. Zatar."

"So she's really here?"

"Yes. She passed out in one of my casinos. Wherever she is now though is your business."

"Why me?"

"Ms. Phare can be extremely rough when approached by the wrong people. Did you see anyone right around here?"

"No, I guess not."

"You had better move then, before she has too much time to get away."

The fixer nodded. 'I'll have time to prepare something for them. Like hell I'm giving her over to this fool.' he thought. "I'll do it."

"I thought you might."

[langwiz7]

Last was starting to feel the confines of his nickname all too well as he continued searching for Kate. Two days had passed since speaking with the mobster, and it seemed like he was always trailing behind her. Even Zatar found her before he had located her. Zatar simply could not approach her without getting fried.

'Why didn't he just capture her then?' Last thought to himself. 'This must be more delicate than I first thought.' He had run all over Rubi-Ka, even caught the lingering fragrance of her perfume in some places, yet she eluded him. She must be in the wrong profession. Time was not on his side any longer. If he didn't find her soon, he had a feeling Zatar would decide that the contract was broken. If so, there was a very good chance that Last would be seeing the inside of a wood box, or worse, trapped in RAGE, a program initially designed to increase combat capability beyond the limits of human tolerance, now twisted into a mind-control device capable of forcing the user to even hunt down friends, depending on what goals were set for it. He couldn't let that happen.

And yet, Zatar had not captured her. 'Maybe he needs her cooperation in something,' the fixer thought. 'Something big, and illegal.' Last reviewed the contract drawn up between himself and Zatar. 'No mention of what happens if I do some digging,' he thought. 'But is it really safe to use a loophole against a mobster?'

This thought swirled around in his head, reasons why and why not surfaced but sank into the murky depths of the question. He really didn't have a choice. He had to involve her in this muck. Last sighed.

He woke his computer with a few taps. "Is User Falikos active?"
... Affirmative ...
"Activate voice transfer."
... Activation Complete ...

"Kate?"

[langwiz7]

He tried again...

"Kate?"

Something was wrong...but he had no idea what. She had been gone for what seemed like an eternity in an icy Purgatory. And now she was here...but not here...

He grinned at the futility as it mocked his efforts. He would have to face Zatar alone. And he would have to find a way to survive whatever the bastard had planned for him. Last closed the comm link, then reopened it.

"Activate voice transfer to User Zatar."
... Activation Complete ...
"She's disappeared again."
"Damnit. I should have known you'd try to protect her. Well it's you're funeral."
"Funeral? Here? Don't make me laugh."
"Surely you know that there are places on this dustball that reclaim cannot reach."
Last's mouth dropped open. 'So this is it,' he thought.
Zatar's voice had a note of triumph. "All your protection, and you forgot to remove the source of your demise. RAGE. Activate Protocol 45. Authorization: Zatar."
Last felt the familiar and terrifying release of control. RAGE was awake again...

"RAGE Initialized," an emotionless voice claimed. "Objective wipe complete. Awaiting input."

Zatar paused, as Last fought to regain his control. There was something. He had put in a failsafe...If only he could find it again.

"Objective 1: Travel to coordinates 81299x12375."
"Objective set."
"Objective 2: Lock out use of submachine weaponry and all nanoprograms at coordinates 81299x12375."
"Objective set."
"Objective 3: Release control to Lastsecond2 after lock out."
"Objective set."
"Carry out your objectives RAGE. If you make it back fixer, be sure to find my new fiance for me before you contact me again."

'Fiance? Kate? Something is terribly wrong with this man. Or this is simply another mystery Ms Phare left vague.'

Last's legs began carrying out RAGE's first objective. The fixer wondered where on Ka that was.

[langwiz7]

The failsafe Lastsecond2 had built into the second version of RAGE had failed. Zatar must have locked it out. As the fixer was running, he thought he recognized Newland City, but it was a flash in the pan, then gone. RAGE was adamant about carrying out the new objectives and Last knew he was only along for the ride. He did have time to think though, and began to wonder just what Zatar was up to.

'What does he want with Fali anyway?' he thought. But then he remembered Zatar had given him RAGE. Perhaps there was more to what happened to him in the facility under Entertainment than he had realized. 'Was Zatar involved then as well?' he asked himself, but could find no answer.

The bomb he had activated had wiped out all the surveillance data, even his own. If Kate hadn't found him afterwards, he wouldn't have made it. Reclaim technology was not capable of dealing with severe mental damage. Did he really activate it? That whole sequence of events was a blur. Maybe RAGE was installed in him far earlier than that and RAGE activated it.

His legs carried him up Mort Crater, then down into it, then back up and out of it. Wherever he was going, it must have been in the Badlands. He wondered if Zatar had even been to the location the fixer's legs were carrying him to.

[langwiz7]

Zatar smiled as he thought about all the pain the fixer would now have to go through. "I must hurry, though, if my revenge is to be complete." He would have to find some way to trick Ms Phare into being with him, and given her documented resilience, it was going to be tricky.

"Flick, get in here." Zatar shouted into the intercom. Always good to keep your employees on their toes. The opifex ran into his office and stood in a pose almost like a military attention. Shorty wasn't with him.

"You called, sah?" Flick asked expectantly.

"Do what Lastsecond2 could not. Bring me Ms. Phare."

"Aight boss." The thin man turned, took two slow steps, then bolted towards the exit. Zatar smiled again. "It's good to be the king," he said to himself.

[langwiz7]

Lastsecond2's body shivered. It was going into shock. He doubted RAGE could do much to keep him going through this burning wasteland. RAGE had slipped on the lava protection boots and skin galvanizer, but it did little to prevent the sun from enervating the energy from his body.

The sweat tangling his hair and dripping from his face glowed with particles of notum, seemingly drawn away by the radiation bouncing from the earth. If anything lived in this wildness, it must be made of stronger stuff than he. RAGE would attempt to defend itself, but Last had never seen RAGE operate without the familiar source of power. RAGE was programmed to operate even when he could not, but what if it failed? What if even RAGE had its limits?

Still RAGE continued to the destination. He was close now. Last would have to take over when the program stopped. He should think of this as something of a grace period, but there was no telling what would happen once RAGE released control. He could instantly pass out from the heat. Would the original RAGE respond? There was no way he could know.

[langwiz7]

"Objective one complete." A raspy voice said. He guessed it was his. 'Not much time now. I have to prepare.' He felt like he was waking from a dream, but he had to remember it. There were no grid coordinates out in this desolate wasteland. Amazingly there didn't seem to be anything alive around him. Perhaps Zatar wasn't as ruthless as he had begun to believe.

Then he heard them shifting amongst the sand, the screeching of actuators bereft of oil. He was amazed the robots could move, but they were coming towards him. He had obviously disturbed whatever protocols were left in these ancient machines. There was something very strange about them, almost as if they were talking to each other.

"Object contains high amounts of unknown particle. Unit58634 must examine."
"Unit42338 will assist. Object contains metallic substances needed for repairs."

'Great,' the fixer thought. 'Robots are going to eat me.'

[langwiz7]

He felt a surge as the rest of his nanobots were released. RAGE must be working on objective two. He felt a sharp pain in his arm as he realized what the program was making him do now. RAGE had taken a Surgery Clinic from his bank before leaving and was proceeding to remove his arm symbiants and implants. 'If he thinks these changes will stop me from coming after him, he has seriously underestimated me,' the fixer thought angrily. RAGE then disassembled the clinic and threw the parts to the grating robots shifting their great bulk from leg to leg. They seemed to pause for quite a while as they examined the pieces of metal and circuitry.

"Objective Two Complete." Now all that was left was the shutdown. Last wondered if the suns had moved very much in the sky. His mortal enemies sent wave after wave of heat towards him.

"Objective Three....Complete. Shutting down." Immediately Last's arms grew immensely heavy and pulled him to the ground. "Damn," the fixer cursed lightly. RAGE had insulated him from the environmental conditions, but now he felt their full force. The sky became a giant convexion unit, and the earth a raging fire bereft of flame. He gasped, but the air seared his throat. Fighting in this condition was out of the question. He would have to escape. The robots lumbered towards him.

He gathered his strength and willed one leg backwards, his left, then his right, left, right. His head started pounding. 'Not much time,' the fixer thought. Unit58634 seemed to be in the lead as he lifted his head slightly to study his opponents.

'Keep going. Breathe. Breathe. Left. Right. Left. Right. Leftaaaaaaaahhhh!!!'

[langwiz7]

"Unit1214, any improvement?"
"Negative Brigadier General, Sir."
"Continue operating."
"Yes sir!"

Whireeeeezzzzz

Darkness.

------

Flick hated Newland City. All these guards made him extremely nervous. He heard they roughed people up who didn't do exactly what they wanted. 'Not dependable enough to mind their own business,' he thought.

"Boss, dis is personal. You should be doing dis yourself. Den da Boss says: Flick you idiod! I can't go waldzing about Rubi-Ka! I have a business da run. Poor Flick. Always runnin errands for da Boss. Maybe if I find her, I'll keep her for myself! She muss be quite a looker!"

He kept his eyes fixed just above the book he was reading, so that the whompas were inside his peripheral vision without being too su****ious.

"Gonna be here all damn day," he muttered to himself.

[langwiz7]

The boss stood on a block, letting his personal tailor work on a new suit he had acquired. "Beautiful material. Offworld?" He asked the opifex carefully measuring and pinning his pants.

"Yes. The finest quality. Miiir hasn't found a way to reproduce this style. Now please sir, hold still so I can finish pinning and you can have your body back."

Zatar touched the scar, a reminder of how he had inherited the family business, carefully tracing the diagonal slash across his nose and down his cheek. This line convinced him his place was in the shadows, far removed from those who considered his occupation foul. His corporate stipend allowed him to spend some of the family's money on himself, and he knew women enjoyed the company of a well kept man. "I'll sweep her off her feet while that two-bit criminal is out picking sand from between his toes."

"What was that, sir?" The tailor asked, his concentration focused on the cuff of the left pantleg.

"The sound of victory."

"Ah. Very good, sir."

He thought about what he would say to the dangerously beautiful nanomage. "The most extravagant flowers have the most cruel defenses," he mumbled to himself.

"Good evening, Ms. Phare. May I call you Katelin? My name is Leon Zatar. I would be honored if you would join me at The Luck of The Dice."

"Please, call me Leon."

-----

Flick suddenly realised he was slumped sideways on the bench he had been sitting at for hours and straightened up. "Aww. Nod dellin da boss aboud dis. I didn'd miss anyding anyway. Oh bud I hade lyin ta da boss. He gonna find me oud fa sha." He vowed to keep a better watch on the whompas. Just then a wierd looking guy in a black helmet carrying a huge gun stepped out into the city. "Oh boy. Here comes trouble," Flick mumbled. "Act nadjural. Yeah, dats id." He fluffed the book a bit and started reading again.

----

"Brigadier General!"
"Yes Unit1214?"
"Operation was a success."
"Excellent. Power him up."
"Yes sir!"

The non-mechanical bits of the newly constructed cyborg spasmed as electricity flowed through them.

"Unit1214, was there anything unusual about this specimen?"
"Yes sir. His body already had many pathways for cybernetics."
"Did you remove those pathways?"
"No sir. The specimen would have become unsuitable."
The Brigadier general drew his semi-auto pistol.
"Unit1214, your protocol will be adjusted, should you survive this encounter."
"Yes sir."

The body had life of sorts, the electrical charges powering up small nanobot stores which slowly went about the process of building new nanobots.

"RAGE activating. No objectives set. Primary survival mode engaged."

The fully controlled and automated fixer sprung into action, combat training for the RAGE unit had included some brutal martial arts moves designed mainly to avoid damage. Last's modifications also came into play, and RAGE had acquired many unorthodox combat maneuvers from the fixer's fighting style.

Unit1214 still had yet to draw a weapon. RAGE ran straight at the Brigadier General, who raised the pistol to fire a few slugs which dented but ricocheted off the body plates installed directly into the opifex's chest. The small frame drew up all the height it could muster at the last moment and spun his back to slam into the cyborg, wrapping his right arm around the borg's pistol arm. He swiveled it to level at Unit1214 and squeezed. The rounds hit the mark and the specialist slumped to the ground.

RAGE's left hand slammed into the borg's extended arm, destroying the joint with the quick move. The automated fixer sidestepped, stripping the pistol, then extended it and released the rest of the clip into the shocked and wounded general. Many of the bullets did little, but enough sank into the flesh of the cyborg to render it inoperative.

"Assessing combat situation....
No opponents to engage....
Conserve and repair units activated."