Yet CRAY and Seanet had been defeated. And with their downfall had come the downfall of this place. Now it was nothing more than a rotting shell - lab equipment, computer monitors and cabling left to decompose like a whale's beached corpse, with not even any warning lights illuminating it.
But even this would have consequences.
-------
Somewhere, a computer monitor flared to life once more.
WARNING: Unable to connect to power supply. Check power cable connection and reconnect again.
The cyndrical capsule stood at the very end of a row of the things. They were identical in all respects - uniform grey, polished metal, like oversized drinks cans with a hinge at one end. Their only defining features were the numbers and names printed in black at the foot of each. No indication of their contents within. And each one was connected to a massive series of pumps that had, long ago, stopped pumping whatever it was into them, now rusted and still.
Whatever had been in those tanks, whatever project the scientists of the Curse had been tinkering on, had probably long died. Never to be unleashed against the Kobbers.
At least, that was the assumption.
WARNING: Critical power supply failure detected. Connecting to backup power systems...
ALERT: Unable to connect to backup power systems.
WARNING: Internal life support battery at 0.04%.
The tank marked "KK-010 LILITH" began to flash a warning light at the top. A loud beeping noise came from somewhere inside, probably an automated system. But that was quickly drowned out by the muted but furious thumping from within, like fists were bashing against the interior.
Something clicked.
WARNING: Potential danger to subject's life functions: 99.8%.
Disengaging subject from life support... Complete.
Commencing automatic ejection of subject.
Like some perverse clam, a parody of that famous painting, the tank cracked open. Pale blue, viscous fluid drooled stickily from the sides. A light shone from within, almost etherial, filtered to blue by the fluid. Something inside writhed like a newborn shark inside the egg-case.
DANGER: Power supply-
The monitor flicked off. The lights and sounds ceased. The door ground to a final, almost disappointed halt.
It had, however, opened far enough. The thing inside bucked and writhed, seeking an opening. It found one, and got a foot over the lip of the tank, then another. The legs followed, the hips pivoting to help pull the rest of the body along for the ride. One foot touched the ground, then gave way almost immediately, the concept of "standing up" too new to it. With a decisive thump and a gasp, the thing that lived in Tank KK-010 slid out and hit the floor in a heap.
But darkness had turned to light, silence had turned to noise. And it was too much all at once.
She gagged and spluttered. She writhed on the sticky floor in the manner of all newborns thrown suddenly into the world. She clawed at her eyes and ears, everything too bright and too loud. She tried to speak and instead puked more amnotic gel onto the floor. Her first breath was ragged, and then she clutched at her own throat as she tried to stop it, terrified by the sensation of air in her lungs.
Thoughts flashed through her head, and they terrified her more. They were fast, too fast, and she couldn't catch any single one. She tried to stop them by bashing her head against the edge of the tank. But the pain made her collapse again, wheezing. She scratched at her skin - which scraped, why did it scrape? - and clawed at the thing that revolved and hummed where her abdomen should be - why was that there, why, what for?
"Fuuuuuck," was her first word. She didn't know what a fuck was, or how she knew about it. But it seemed like the best word to use at the moment. Harsh and sharp. It described her entry to the world perfectly.
A single thought suddenly struck her. She didn't even know if it was hers. But this one stuck like stubborn wasp on a window.
Get outside.
Outside? What was outside? She felt cool air on her skin, and wondered if that was where outside was. Her eyes still stung, but she could make out shapes and colours now. She could feel the floor beneath her, hear the hum of some great machine far off beneath her own hyperventilating and spitting. And speaking of, she could taste - and smell - the nutrient fluid. Ugh, like ammonia and mustard in an abusive relationship. Whatever those were.
Somehow, she managed to roll onto her stomach. This made her puke another quantity of fluid from her lungs. Once that was out of the way, she braced her arms against the floor and pushed. They were still very weak, and all she could do was lift her chest off the floor. But it was enough.
She reached out and grasped the ground ahead of her, then pulled. Then she did it again. And when it proved too slow, her legs got in on the act, feet pushing where arms pulled.
There was a light ahead of her.
She crawled towards it.
-------
Ever since last year, gangs had never been as prevailant as they'd used to be. The joint efforts of the ZFPD and Aiko's crew had seen to it. But fragments still hung around, waiting for a niche to slot themselves into, from your standard punks to upstart new mafias looking to make "business".
At this moment in time, one such fragment was haranguing Bertrand "Bert" Bellincioni at his fruit and vegetable stand in the market.
He was already having a rough week. His greenhouse heater had broken, which meant his tomatoes had died. And pests had gotten into the allotment and ruined his leeks and potatoes. What he could save had barely been enough to fill up his stall and make money. And now, he had to explain why he couldn't pay Don Capitani to the men in suits sent to talk to him. But his flustered explanations weren't satisfying, and they were getting aggressive.
It was fair to say he wasn't in the best of moods. So to see a nude woman made of metal suddenly stagger out of the alleyway wasn't much help.
She had to be seven foot tall, if not eight. Her skin wasn't a uniform chrome - it was segmented by yellow-orange lines, with some segments being darker. Her hair, an almost artificial and inky black, was almost knee-length - the rest was matted to her face and body, all of which dripped some kind of foul-smelling fluid. There was a wild look in her amber eyes, the mad amazement of a kitten crossed with the blank sociopathy of a shark. Every step was wobbly, almost drunken, and she nearly fell over twice.
As Bert and the three men stared in shock, she stumbled over to them. A hand lifted up and pointed a finger at Bert.
"F-food," she croaked, her voice metallic. "G-gimme food."
Bert didn't respond at first. He was starting to recognize the situation - and he was no stranger to homeless people begging for food at his stall. But he'd reckoned without Capitani's men, who were the sort of coddled murderers that thought grime and brutality happened to poor people. One of them whipped around at once, the knife he'd been brandishing glinting.
"Hey, puttana!" he snapped. "Move along! We're trying to do business here!"
The woman's head snapped over to look at him. Her expression twisted to match that of someone who's just stepped in dog mess.
"Fuck off," she snapped.
That, in any other instance, would have been the wrong thing to say. The man gave a yell and, despite one of his comrades reaching out for him, lunged. Bert covered his eyes, expecting to hear the telltale sound of yet another murder in front of his stall.
CLANG.
Something metal bounced to a stop on his counter. Bert lowered his hands and blinked. The other mobsters stared in open-mouthed shock.
The woman stared down at the snapped-off hilt of the knife still grazing her skin. She looked up at the man, who's face had turned white.
Then she backhanded him in the face.
Nobody expected what came next. There was a sickening crack as his entire head turned one hundred and eighty degrees. The skin around his neck tore, and blood flowed. His face showed a momentary expression of comical surprise before his body staggered back, grasped at thin air and collapsed. And the stranger didn't even so much as blink or change expression.
"Porco dio!" The second man whipped out his gun, and Bert yelled as the shots rang out. There was a ping noise, and a spark flew off the woman's forehead as she staggered back. The bullet thumped into the wall behind her, kicking up brick dust. She stared at the man as though he'd simply poked her with a pin.
"Ow," she complained.
The man fired again, and another spark flew from her shoulder. But this time, she lifted up her hand, pointing the index and forefinger like she had a gun of her own. The thing in her stomach began to revolve even faster as a pale orange light shone from it. The third man seemed to take the hint at this point, turning and running off down the street at top speed. The second stayed where he was, trembling, the gun vibrating in his hand.
"I'll shoot again, puttana!" he cried, voice high. "I mean it! I'll-"
INSTALL: Mystic Ray.
"Bang."
A sound like a small cannon rent the air. Bert screamed and dived under the table. Something wet splattered everywhere, and then there was a thump.
When the middle-aged fruit-and-vegetable salesman found the courage to rise again, the man had long since been dead. His head was non-existant. Blood pooled around his neck, mingling with the strangely-coloured sparks his suit and jacket. And, on top of that, some of his oranges and apples were gone.
He wasn't quite able to explain it to himself. Never mind the ZFPD officers that rolled up shortly afterwards.
-------
Introducing
LILITH
Rank: Covert Super-Weapon
Codename: KOBBER KILLER 010
No comments:
Post a Comment