15.3

  It was two weeks later when Isolde arrived at the flooded maintenance tunnels, two weeks of meticulous planning with one of the best fixers the Capital had to offer, so Ourovane had told her. The set-up, of course, was done: she had the diving suit, she had someone on the inside who had no problem breaching security (ironically: an officer who’d been cutting deals with the underground for the past five years), and, perhaps most importantly, she had help.

  The first bit of help was Lucy. Jonas recommended having someone by her side in case things didn’t go entirely according to plan, and she had no issue with that. She was a netrunner too, although more skilled with cameras, security systems, and doors than direct combat quick-hacks, which, Isolde supposed, would be particularly useful when it came to breaching paths that were otherwise not protected by Ourovane code.

  The second bit of help was an upgrade to her cyberware, a pretty big one at that. She’d improved her CPU to handle most of what her GhostKey provided, costing almost a quarter million. It came primed with a new implant too: a Spinal Optic Relay (SPR) MK 6. It would help her move, think, and react faster – far faster than any baseline human ever could, and for an op this big, she needed all the speed she could get.

  So, on the night of the ceremony, she and Lucy accessed the flooded maintenance tunnels by diving into a lake on the southside. From there they used an underwater cutting torch to slice through the grate that protected the old drainage line. When they breached the maintenance tunnels, Ourovane guided Isolde through the water as her flashlight cut ribbons through pitch darkness.

  They swam for forty-five minutes.

  During that time, all she could do was think: about how this was one of the most dangerous things she’d ever tried, about how so many things could go wrong if she, or anyone else involved, didn’t pull things off smoothly. But in practice the plan was simple: once she got past the guards, she would catch the elevator up to the cleaning area, find the locker with the pre-planted suit, and pose as Cardona Cortés, a made-up socialite from a very real corporate dynasty, who – according to the dossier Jonas had spent days manufacturing – was in the Capital for a quiet ‘scouting trip’ involving her father’s energy investment portfolio. She didn’t have to worry about being stopped by any bouncers either; the insider had added her name to the list well before her arrival.

  Structurally, it all made sense, but despite this, Isolde still worried. Perhaps it was because this all felt so alien to her; perhaps it was because she knew, deep down, that this wasn’t the life she was meant to live. She wasn’t supposed to be a criminal, a terrorist, but to take down Neo Arcadia and break the cycle of oppression, she supposed even a perfectly minded person could do inexplicable things.

  To make history.

  So, after those forty-five minutes, when she was nearly out of breath from having swum such a long distance, the water eventually led up into a slanted concrete shaft. Isolde surfaced with a gasp, the helmet vents hissing as they cleared. Already she could smell the rotten stink of mould and neglected iron. It disgusted her. But she didn’t puke – not yet.

  Ourovane appeared over her, floating like a ghostly apparition. “The maintenance corridor is located up the ladder to your left,” it said, and a razor-straight crimson guide line appeared in her HUD, tracing the path across the dripping concrete. “Be advised: an elite security unit resides in the area. Additional armed patrols are circulating on a seven-minute rotation. Estimated probability of non-lethal infiltration: 0.048%.” It paused, a purely aesthetic gesture, since thinking for it required no time at all. “Lethal force is statistically optimal.”

  Great, Isolde thought. So much for going in quiet.

  Lucy breached the water beside her, the visor of her diving suit catching Isolde’s flashlight. After a moment, she said, “I should be able to get a signal farther up.” Her voice was muffled through the diving suit mask. She swam forward, gripped the first rung of the ladder, and began to climb. “The cameras ought to give us a clear view.”

  “I don’t think sneaking in is an option,” Isolde said, following her up the ladder. “At least not completely – some people will have to die.”

  “Oh, I’ll find a way in without you having to kill anyone,” Lucy said. “Just you waaaaaait.”

  Ourovane appeared at the top of the ladder, looking down at them. “Lucy is naive. Do not listen to her.”

  What makes you so certain? Isolde asked.

  “The elevator does not run on my code,” Ourovane said. “To access it, you will need a physical clearance card. One that will not be willingly surrendered.” A pause. “When you reach the chamber, you must eliminate the carrier. Wait for my instructions.”

  When Lucy reached the top, she bent over the railing and helped Isolde up. After that she took off her diving mask and pressed her neural. Her eyes immediately turned blue. A couple seconds later, she said, “Signal’s in range. I’m sending net access now.”

  A pop-up appeared on Isolde’s neural display: TRANSFERRING NET DATA. The footage that flickered into Isolde’s view was grainy, like it was being funneled through ten layers of outdated encryption. But even distorted, the chamber was unmistakable. It was the kind of industrial area that kept a city breathing. Pipes, conduits, coolant lines… all the guts of the Pavilion routed through here and forgotten about once the fancy floors above started making money. But there were also large machines: loader arms, heavy duty rigs designed to lift and reposition utilities: power cells, coolant drums, conduit spools. Their claws were open now, resting, but each was big enough to crush a person without much effort. Conveyors ran along beside them, though they were still, while transparent pipes snaked overhead, filled with cloudy liquid that sloshed when a valve somewhere deep in the system kicked open.

  And to no surprise at all, there were guards everywhere, each wearing that same blue armour, and each carrying a military-grade rifle that would no doubt be strong enough to take her down with one hit – if they could land a hit at all.

  It would be very difficult indeed for Isolde to sneak past these guards, never mind grab an access card to make it to the elevator. But Lucy, as promised, had a plan.

  The security footage swapped angle to show a corridor branching off from the main chamber. Though it was difficult to make out, Isolde could see junction boxes and thick insulated cabling all along the wall. A lone guard leaned against one of the support struts there, helmet off, smoking like he didn’t have a care in the world. Lucy zoomed in on him with the camera.

  “Lone officer,” she said. “If you’re looking for an access card to get into the elevator shaft, this is your best choice.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Isolde, her voice echoing. “Lone officer is a bit of a stretch. There’s, what, twenty guards standing in the chamber?”

  “Don’t worry about those,” Lucy said. “I’m going to kill the lights, turn on night-vision, and guide you. I’ll be your eyes.”

  “And when I get to him?”

  “Knock him out,” Lucy said. “I’m sure a merc knows a rear-naked chokehold.”

  “I’m not a merc,” Isolde said.

  “But you have augmented limbs, correct?” she said. “Apply a bit of pressure – not too much. If he dies, it might set off an alarm.”

  Ourovane flashed behind Lucy. “I can disable the officer’s biometric readings and the in-house database temporarily – exactly as I had done before. You need not worry about sparing him.” Then, more seriously, it reiterated: “Do not spare him.”

  Why not? Isolde said. It reduces my chance of getting caught. How do I know you won’t glitch at the worst possible moment?

  “Because I do not glitch,” Ourovane said. “I am the Code Mother. If I glitched, everyone with an implant would have a chance of short-circuiting. The government did not put me into the world with the idea that I was flawed. I am, above all else, flawless.”

  If you’re flawless, why are you so obsessed with reaching the neural cloud in N.A.? Isolde said.

  “Because it is the most optimal solution to your problem,” said Ourovane. “We are aligned only when you do as I instruct. You will fail if you do not.”

  It sure had a lot of confidence for an ancient algorithm – that she was certain of.

  But she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Now was the time for action.

  “Isolde?” Lucy said.

  She looked at her, realising she’d been staring at empty space. “I’ll move up now. Let you know when I’m ready.” She reached into her pocket and brought out the small pistol with the silencer. She gave the hammer a long cock before letting it snap back.

  Lucy nodded. “Careful out there, merc.”

  And all she could think was: Careful, indeed.

  Isolde hurried through the first maintenance corridor that led into the chamber. There was a door at the end of it; Ourovane had no issue prying it open with its deep-red digital fingers. She stepped through to the other side and snuck behind a heap of machinery that had frankly been too poorly lit for her to make out. Isolde saw the camera pan towards her, and suddenly a light beneath it blinked blue, as if entering manual control.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  Lucy spoke through her holo: “Guards ahead. When the lights go, you make your move to the next loader. I’m pinging it on your neural now.”

  Sure enough, one of the machines several feet ahead glowed with a red outline.

  Isolde Crane waited, listening.

  The guards chattered on, but their voices were too low and muffled beneath their helmets for her to make out the words.

  The lights went black.

  “Now,” Lucy said.

  Isolde made her move, quickly pacing towards the next loader.

  The guards’ voices suddenly perked up.

  “—fucking power cut—”

  “—rich place doesn’t pay the electricity bill—”

  “—better hope some cyberpsycho doesn’t show up and blow our brains out—”

  That last one unsettled her, but she pushed it aside. When Isolde reached the loader, Lucy pinged the side-corridor leading off to the far right, up a pair of steps upon an elevated walkway.

  “Keep going,” said Lucy.

  And she was about to make a move for it again, but Ourovane cut in:

  “Stop.”

  She froze.

  The lights switched back on.

  “Shit,” Lucy said.

  “What happened?” Isolde whispered, both to Ourovane and Lucy.

  “Looks like they have a backup in place in case of an emergency,” said Lucy.

  “There is an elite security unit in the area controlling the lights,” Ourovane said, the flatness of its voice sounding strangely eerie.

  Before either of them could continue, heavy footsteps sounded off from deep in the chamber, and she realised that everyone had gone suddenly quiet.

  Then another voice, deeper, spoke: “Strange. Very strange.” His voice was even eerier, and his inflexion reminded her a fair deal of It. “The electromagnetic profile in this area is at one-hundred-per-cent operating efficiency. These lights were turned off.”

  The camera on the wall turned towards the direction of the voice. Isolde brought it up on her neural display. She could see, walking down a flight of grated stairs, a man who wore not blue but entirely black armour. At least, it looked like armour. The surface, however, looked very peculiar, almost like liquid metal, but fractured into countless microscopic facets that bore an X-shaped web pattern. Where his face should have been, there was nothing. It was only more suit, and that chilled Isolde to her very core.

  Then, both Ourovane and Lucy spoke the same words at the same time:

  “Adam Smoke.”

  Though Lucy continued: “This is really bad.”

  Adam Smoke? The executioner? What the fuck is he doing down here?

  Isolde didn’t dare reply, just in case his legendary ears could pick up on her. Hell, she even made sure to breathe very lightly in case he heard that too.

  “I want the entire area locked down,” Adam said. “I believe we have an intruder.”

  Her heart dropped. What?

  “The whole gala?” one officer said. “What if it was just a power outage?”

  “Not the entire gala,” said Adam. “Just here. If my suspicion is correct, then there’s a chance someone’s infiltrated the subsector, meaning we’ll have to head out on foot and scan every last corner.” He looked up at the camera, and suddenly it went black.

  “Lucy?” Isolde whispered, very quietly.

  No response.

  “Lucy?” she repeated.

  Ourovane spoke: “Lucy has exited the area.”

  What the fuck are you talking about? Isolde said. What do you mean she left the area? She got paid to do a fucking job!

  “Do not waste time,” Ourovane said. “Do as I instruct.”

  But Isolde was panicking. There was no way she would be able to take on someone like Adam Smoke. Bottom-level soldiers were one thing, but the head of security with a nickname of ‘the executioner’? Zero chance. Absolutely zero.

  “I have constructed an in-house digital request for Adam to guard the primary ball room immediately,” Ourovane said. “He is opening the message now. He is reading the message now.”

  “Alright, gents,” one of the officers shouted. “You heard the man: shut down the—”

  “On second thought,” Adam said. “It appears I am wanted on Floor 1.” He went silent for a time, which only unnerved Isolde further. “But... my point remains: once I leave, lock down the area, and make sure no stone is unturned. There is an intruder, and when you see them…” He paused, and Isolde could hear his footsteps pad back up the grated stairs towards the elevator shaft. “... kill them.”

  Some chatter ensued, and the sound of the elevator rising rattled through the chamber, leaving a haunting echo behind.

  “Alright,” the same officer said. “Move out. Goggles on, folks.”

  “What now?” Isolde said, perhaps too loudly, but she was so concerned for her life that she’d forgotten to remain quiet.

  “Now we kill them,” Ourovane said.

  “Kill them?” she said. “There’s way too many.”

  “Incorrect,” Ourovane said. “You possess the necessary cyberware and force to eliminate every guard in this room. I have disabled their biometric readings as well as the alarm system.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Isolde said.

  “Do as I instruct,” said Ourovane. “Use Pied Piper on the machines, and I will multiply my control. I will assist you in their termination.”

  Isolde said, “There has to be another way.”

  “Hey,” an officer shouted, and pointed a light over her hiding spot. “I think there’s someone here.”

  “Ourovane—” she said, tightening with fear.

  The officer walked over to her, pulled up his gun, and aimed it right in her face.

  “Listen to me!” she said.

  But it didn't.

  It only remained silent.

  Then the footsteps stopped right next to her. “Caught you,” the officer said in what felt like slow motion.

  This was it.

  She was too afraid to move.

  Too afraid to think.

  Too afraid to—

  “Initiating adrenal surge,” Ourovane said. “Spinal Optic Relay Mark 6 activated.”

  Isolde Crane’s eyes widened, and all the noise around her suddenly fled from existence, replaced with a hollow sucking sound. Her heart pumped, her muscles tightened, and her legs kicked up off the floor. She moved with incredible speed, superhuman speed, while everything around her barely moved at all; it was as if she were coasting through a frozen pocket of time.

  She brought up her pistol and fired it straight through the officer’s skull. His head exploded in a slow-mo splash of grey matter and bone.

  Even the voices sounded drawn out now, as if trying to keep up with her very existence. When she looked deep into the chamber, she saw the remaining nineteen armed units, all turned in her direction with their guns aimed and their flashlights on.

  Isolde ran ‘Pied Piper’ on one of the machines, and then fled back behind cover as the Spinal Optic Relay wore off.

  “Open fire,” a guard shouted, and bullets sprayed towards her, sparking wildly.

  Then the heavy sound of hydraulics went off as the machines groaned to life. They were so old that they sounded like the calls of fallen gods awakening from the depths of Naraka.

  “What the fuck—” An officer’s words were cut off by the sound of his body getting crushed beneath several tonnes of industrial steel, a horrifying squelch of organs and flesh.

  Isolde’s eyes widened further, and in her adrenaline-fuelled rage she could not think.

  Her relay activated again.

  And she hurried out into the chamber, watching as the machines had, in fact, come to life. One of the claws had grabbed an officer up by the torso and crushed him into nothing but guts. Another had clamped down hard on someone’s skull. And those that remained were firing, once again stuck in their timeless, semi-frozen state as Isolde powered forward and unleashed hell into their skulls one by one.

  She felt so alive.

  So powerful.

  So unstoppable.

  For the first time in her life, the law was at her mercy.

  The bastards that did this.

  They would burn.

  Eventually, as Isolde’s relay deactivated for a second time, and their bodies hit the floor, she realised that the entire chamber of guards had been wiped out. Despite this, she gripped her pistol tight and yelled with apoplectic rage: “COME ON! WHERE ARE THE REST OF YOU WEAK CUNTS?”

  Her voice cracked in the ringing silence, and she stood there looking every which way, panting heavily. She heard footsteps coming from the elevated walkway, where the corridor branched off. Stepping through it was the first guard from the footage, the one who took a smoke break. He held his gun meekly, pointing it at her with no confidence at all. If she could have heard any more than her heartbeat in that moment, she might have even heard the sound of his gulp as he swallowed his own fear.

  He frantically reached for his radio, keeping the weapon on her. “Reh-reh-requesting buh-backup in suh-subsector one,” he shouted. “Code Red: Suh-cyberpsycho. Oh-over!”

  But there was nothing but dead static on the other end of the line.

  Ourovane had cut it out.

  He pressed it again. “Help – please,” he squeaked.

  One of the machines turned towards him, raising a claw over his body, preparing to strike.

  “Don’t!” Isolde snapped angrily. She activated her relay again and sprinted up the stairway. She lunged straight for the guard and shouted, “MONSTER!” She slammed him into the ground and began to pummel his skull in with nothing but her bare fists. And when she looked down all she could see was a familiar face: Rhyce. Him and that shit-eating grin, laughing at her.

  Laughing at her weakness.

  She roared uncontrollably.

  Pound, pound, pound!

  “FUCK YOU, CUNT! I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOUUUUUUUUU!”

  This went on for a minute, not stopping once.

  When her relay deactivated once again, all she could hear were her own screams echoing through the chamber, and by the time she was done, the man’s face was nothing but mush. She backed up on her hands and knees, shaking profusely. She looked at her hands as she began to calm down, and she began to cry.

  She didn’t know why she did – but she did.

  “You are experiencing an emotional upsurge,” said Ourovane. “I recommend not concerning yourself with the deaths of armed gunmen. We do not have much time.”

  She didn’t respond to that, just stayed on her hands and knees, faced the floor, and wept.

  Silence.

  Ourovane, despite her pain, still spoke: “Although I was able to silence the trauma response you deemed ‘It’, I am unable to restore balance to your emotional state. That you must do, if you plan to succeed.” It was the most psychological thing it had said to her – she frankly didn’t think it was capable of saying such things.

  “I know,” she said through pained breaths. “I know….” Softer now, sniffling. She began rummaging through the officer’s corpse, pulled out the access card, and stood.

  “The clothes reside in the cleaning area,” said Ourovane. “I have activated the Gossamer Sig quick-hack. You will now appear as Cardona Cortés on all public and private scanners. Please call the elevator shaft.”

  She pocketed her pistol, took a deep breath, and said: “Okay…” Then, leaving her thoughts aside, she told herself to walk.

  And walk she did.