-Ghostly Reflections-
-Prologue-
International Free News
BLOOD IN THE STREETS OF THE BIG APPLE!
September 13th, 2010
by Edom Sunip
At approximately 9:00 PM last night, violence broke out across New York City as reported gang members turned upon one another. In a rash of violence that at last count has caused nearly one hundred casualties, of both bystanders and involved parties. As yet the reason for this surge of wanton violence is unconfirmed, however we at International Free News managed to learn from an inside source that the PRT suspects a Tinker type Parahuman designated DOLLHOUSE.
For the past several months, rumors and reports have been circulating around the local net about un-powered gang members in New York receiving advanced cybernetics that act as force multipliers. And in addition to those, rumors were leaked reports of a new Tinker specializing in cybernetics and mechanical body modifications. In these reports the Tinker was at the time tentatively designated as DOCTOR, a name drawn from the testimony of augmented gang members that were arrested.
As yet, unfortunately there is little more information available due to a strict information lockdown that has been put into effect. For past articles regarding the suspect see articles 04/09/10-105 and 07/17/10-96. As always, if you have have any credible and confirmable information please contact 928-2….
Marshal Hall, or, as he was publicly known as, Legend, closed out of the link Keith had sent him from school and sagged back into his desk chair. Honestly, it was at times like this that he just wanted to just let all his responsibilities go and just say to hell with it all. Resign his post, take his family, settle the debts and go on an extended vacation until the end of the world.
"Just what about this city is it that draws the crazies, ever since Behemoth..." He mused aloud. The crows feet around his eyes deepened when he narrowed his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "No… it's always been like this, I just didn't want to ever admit it to myself. Well David, what do you think about this whole mess," he asked aloud, turning his eyes back down and toward his long time longtime friend next to the door frame.
Hidden within his deep hood, Eidolon just shrugged and leaned heavily against the wall, "About the city? I couldn't really say. But I stopped by that Tinker's lab on my way here, see if I could pick up anything the on site guys hadn't... I didn't get much that hadn't already been found except for some hidden documents in a wall safe, but I can tell you this. This guy is one real sick bastard, a real grade A psycho. And considering our usual fare..."
"That bad?"
He shook his hooded head warily, "Marshal, I honestly haven't seen that much gore in one place since the last time I was at the Madison Quarantine zone. From the looks of it this sick bastard didn't even try to clean up his surgery over the last few days; probably the only reason hazmat wasn't needed to clear the place was because of the fire he used to try and destroy any evidence. Thank god he didn't know jack about the fire sprinklers though." He let out a short, bitter laugh, "The sick fuck forgot to turn off the damn fire suppression system."
Leaning forward Marshal raised an eyebrow at his longtime team member.
Sighing heavily he swept back his hood and removed his mask to expose his thinning hair and the tired expression that was becoming more and more the norm for him, "Yeah, yeah. Language, I know. The PR part of the PRT and all that. I just-" his voice caught and he coughed for a moment, "I just hate incidents like this. It's like I'm wading through an endless sea of shit."
"And sometimes," he cast his gaze down to the floor and was silent for a moment, "sometimes it's just all I can do to keep my head above the surface." He looked up and his eyes hardened, "I'll tell you this though Marshal, this guy needs to be caught soon. Otherwise? Well, otherwise I'm afraid Mannequin or Bonesaw will have a contender for either of their spots on the Nine. Damn the Doctor if need be."
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The threat of Endbringers and city economies really didn't mesh well. Any school kid could tell you this, any street thug could tell you this. All across the country there were places that were simply left to decay and rot away when their companies went under or moved on to greener pastures.
There was however one warehouse in Brockton Bay's former industrial district though that wasn't quite so abandoned. It was within this warehouse's office that a slim girl sat before an illuminated computer monitor. Framed by the light coming out of of the old CRT monitor before her.
The old warehouse was silent for the most part, barring the girl as she tapped and clicked away at the computer's old keyboard and mouse. Then there were of course the rats. She still could remember that first time she woke up in the middle of the night to see them; scampering all about on the floor beside her as they ate through her food supplied and stared at her in the dark. And they had nothing on the insects.
Still, she was willing to put up with the rats and the insects, for the warehouse was secure. It had an intact landline, after a manner pulling it from the wall of course, that she could attach her internet splicer onto, and it was warm.
Well relatively warm. The place was still an abandoned warehouse by the bay during an early onset winter season, so needless to say it wasn't exactly the Hilton.
But despite all that though, it was many times better than sleeping on the street. Her little sanctuary kept her away from the druggies, the homeless, the hookers, the gang's and whoever and whatever else was at home on the streets. But quite possibly more importantly to her, it allowed her to keep her mind occupied. Whether it was forum trawling, reading, or just plain old cleaning.
With a few mouse clicks and a flurry of typing, she logged herself into the Protectorates internal database using the default password of an employee that had been fired several years earlier. From there is was simply a matter of finding the correct file she so desired.
"Ah hah," She announced as she found the object of her search. With a mouse click she opened the file and provided the password she had used to login.
Access code: ***********************
Case report 10-11-10-285B2-F(?)
Protectorate-Guild Case Files, Regarding: Tinker designated DOLLHOUSE, AKA Doctor.
DOLLHOUSE incident summary pages 003-006 of DOLLHOUSE investigation report.
By: Investigator Samsal North, PRT PID (PID: Parahuman Investigation Division), Crime Scene Investigation.
For report details see pages 07-032 of DOLLHOUSE investigation report
By: Investigator Thomas Yung, PRT PID, Crime Scene Investigations.
For report details see pages 033-058 of DOLLHOUSE investigation report
By: Dragon, Guild Consultant, Digital and Technological Evidence Analysis.
For report details see pages 059-087 of DOLLHOUSE investigation report
By: Doctor James Lawson, PRT PID, Psychological Analysis.
For report details see pages 088-104 of DOLLHOUSE investigation report
By: Private Eye, Protectorate PID, Special Investigations summary.
For report details see page 105-133 of DOLLHOUSE investigation report
Skimming through the assorted reports she held back her gag reflex and tried not to bring up her dinner when she got a look at the crime scene photographs. Sure, since she had began living on the streets she had witnessed more than her fair share of depravity. She had seen what humans could do to one another when they so chose to or were pushed far enough.
This though, what this tinker had done willingly- purposefully, it went beyond anything that she had seen the most violent gang thug or enforcer perform. It was sick and had an almost palpable taste of sadism.
Human dissection, dismemberments, necropsies, autopsies... vivisections. Numerous corpses practically stuffed full with cybernetics, organs replaced with mechanical counterparts. One body in particular was pinned by it's skin to a butcher's table via nails, splayed open like a frog in biology. Then there were the heads. Human heads, attached to almost comically simple and cleanly built machines, the tops of their skulls removed, wires and electrodes attached directly to or into the grey matter. Some of which could still be classified as technically alive and cognizant.
But despite the horrid nature of the reports one thing stood out to her, one small notation that was buried buried underneath the photographs and forensic reports on dozens of corpses. But then again, it was always the smallest of details that completed part of the puzzle.
She could do little more than grit her teeth as dominoes began falling and another part of the bigger picture fell into place.
She skipped to the next section of the document, disgust seeping into her blood and immediately balked when she saw his theorized classification ratings. "What the hell!" She exclaimed when she saw that he had possible ratings in half the classification listings.
A Tinker seven rating and a Master one sub-rating were there only things that investigators were tentatively certain about based on evidence gathered. But then there came the theoretical sub-ratings that the man could attain. Mover, Brute, Thinker, Changer, Stranger? Almost all but the more esoteric ratings like a Breaker, Striker or Trump rating were applicable to him depending on whether or not he had cut into himself to do any upgrades.
It was almost ridiculous… almost. Thinking on what she'd surmised from the evidence gathered though, she had to doubt that any of the theoretical ratings where applicable. At least not yet, no… most definitely not yet. As his lab had shown he was a perfectionist. His body was his last sanctuary, his last private place. There was no way he would risk damaging it with imperfect equipment.
He would perfect his techniques before risking something permanent. No. That wasn't quite it.
Taking her thumbnail between her teeth she began to absently gnaw at it while trying to see the picture that wasn't there.
Scrolling back, her eyes darted across the reports, photos, details of the gathered evidence and crime scene analysis. Occasionally pausing to re-read a sentence or two, or study a particular photograph as the more an more pieces of the picture fell into place and became clearer.
It was a simple notation that brought everything together, really just a crumpled post-it with a crude wireframe of a human body that brought it all into focus. And, as she struggled to control her stomach as she realized the conclusion DOLLHOUSE had arrived at. The idea would be revolutionary for medical science, to be sure, but it sick.
The amount of trial and error that would be required… Simply visualizing herself strapped to an operating table, numb from anesthetic, about to be cut open and completely remade into something else.
It was an exponential leap for his specialization and, under the circumstances he knew he would soon have been facing, most certainly worth starting over in a new location. Despite the risks from the PRT and costs involved setting up a new lab.
Rocking back with a creak in the ratty old desk chair, the hacker mentally sifted through the accumulated data she'd gathered from the investigation's report. Reaching conclusions and making connections that the initial investigators had failed to realize, or arrive at. Whether it was simply from ignorance or lack of insight she didn't know, but she had managed to deduce what they hadn't and she didn't like it. Not one bit.
"Dammit," she whispered to herself. Worrying her lip between her teeth for a moment, "He's coming here."
Sighing in weariness, she ran her hands through her hair and dragged her palms down her face before slapping her cheeks several times in quick succession to shock herself awake.
"Well," she said sitting up, "nothing to do about it I suppose but get the hell out of dodge." Then a thought occurred to her. After mulling it over for a moment, her lips stretched into a vulpine grin and she sat forward, opened a TXT document and began rapidly tapping away at the keyboard.
"But I suppose since I'm such a nice - person, that there wouldn't be any harm in letting the interested parties know where you'll be. Oh no, none at all."
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It took a fair while, with the computer's clock ticking by for some time. But, she had done it. She'd managed to go into depth on her reasoning and explain the leaps of logic her power gave her. Hopefully enough so that even those imbeciles that the P.R.T. employed could realize that what she had added was sound. It was exhausting though and had spawned what was likely just the seed of what was to be a lovely migraine, but it was done.
Cracking her neck and rubbing at a knot, she dragged the desktop's cursor across the screen and, with another use of her password, added her analysis to the investigations file. Refreshing the page she checked that her addition had been accepted. It had.
A flicker of motion drew her eyes to the screen and she saw someone was already logged into the file and reading her addition. "Damn, must have pinged the security, should have waited till morning," she muttered to herself just as her splicer gave off a decidedly too happy trill as it detected a back-trace. "And they know where I am. That's wonderful, just wonderful."
Letting out a yawn the hacker checked at the clock on her screen and frowned in irritation as she saw the early hour.
"Great, that's even better… well, at least I'll get to see the sun rise."
Sighing in resignation, she shut off the old office computer and forced herself to rise from the office chair and began packing up her meager belongings in the dark of the decrepit office space. Grabbing the splicer, she unclipped it from the stripped ethernet cable she'd torn from the the wall and wrapped it up to deposit into her backpack.
From there she quickly scanned the small office space, tossing in bits and bobs that she had set out before donning her jacket, slipping on her backpack and scooping up her battered lunchbox.
Stopping in the offices doorway she looked over the small office that had been one of her few places of shelter.
She would miss it, she decided as she took it in one last time. Despite how much of a complete dump it had been and, for the most part, still was. But it had been comfortable, and the closest place to a home she had had in far too long a time. And now, she had to leave it to continue its inevitable decay and degeneration.
Shaking away the depressing thoughts she dug a hand into her pocket for her little helpers, popping a few of the extra strength No-Doz. No use crying over spilled milk now.
Leaving the office, she slowly made her way to the other side of the warehouse. Weaving her way through the piles of trash and debris she'd made in her attempts to clean the place up until she was facing a big plywood board with a two by four frame holding it upright.
Taking hold of a pair of handles, and with a practiced heave, she slid the board to the side to expose a hole in the brick wall and the back of an old dumpster that covered the hole from view in the alley. Kneeling down she gave a smooth push and the dumpster rolled away, giving her enough room to slip though. Pack and all.
Standing up, she cracked her back and pushed the dumpster back against the wall for appearance's sake and set off into the chilly early morning. Her jacket shielded her from the worst of the cold and the small revolver she held in its pocket would protect her from rest.
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