(Chapter 1, more to come)
There had been a massacre here. Not like the occasional killings out in the Combat zone that we had all come to ignore, this was huge. I couldn't help but think that it was meant to send a message to someone. The stink of blood and hydraulic fluid mixing together radiated throughout the crumbling remains of what used to be known Provo, Utah, but is now only referred to as the 'Zone outside SLC. I pitied the poor bastards that had the unlucky task of littering the street tonight, and I pitied myself even more for finding them.
It had been a slow night for a 'Zone patrol up until I found this mess. Hell, I had even given thought to getting out of the precinct early and hitting a bar on the way home. So much for that idea, I was going to be at my desk typing up a report until the morning crew showed up, and that wouldn't come until after I finished with the fieldwork. First thing's first, try to establish gang relation, if any. A few of the bodies, if you could still call them that, had gang markings, but none of them were from the same gang.
That ruled out gang warfare, now to try and establish weapons used. There were a few casings rolling around in the pools of blood, but I was sure they would match up with the old gun we found with part of a hand still wrapped around it or be cold, old, and from the years of past this place had accumulated. None of the bodies had bullet wounds, though. If I had to guess, I'd have thought they were all hit by a truck, but there were no tire marks, and the dust on the street showed no evidence of being blown around by a hover. My mind wandered to the vid my brother sent me from Detroit of the pneumatic hammers they used in the steel-working factories. I asked myself what a body would look like if it got hit by one of those, and shuddered at the mental image that followed. I opened my eyes and looked at the torso that was left of some girl. I'd have almost been better off with the mental picture.
I turned away from the scene for a moment, to prevent my lunch revisiting me, and then walked over to the only other semi intact body. This guy was big… about 6'7, 350 lbs, and cybered for combat. Both his arms had been broken, and his ribcage was caved in around his spine. Nothing out of the ordinary, any punk with a good cybernetic arm could do that. Then I took a closer look at the left arm. It had all the look of a natural, human arm: Skin, blood, and even a few tattoos. Until you got a quarter inch in, that is. I could see the glimmer of titanium, and could smell that the hydraulic fluid was a little stronger in this area. This guy had one of the best cyberarms in the market and somebody still managed to crush it like it was made out of balsawood. Again I thought back to the pneumatic hammer.
On to body number three: A biker who had hardwired himself into his machine. Apparently even combining yourself with a crotch rocket didn't make you fast enough to stay alive. At least that's what it looked like at first. When I started actually looking I noticed there were no welds or fusion points between the biker's organics and the bike parts. I took a step back to ponder this and then I figured it out. This time the vomit came into my mouth before I forced it back into my stomach. Before tonight, this human/Motorcycle Centaur had been a person and a bike, separately. That explained the head in a helmet whose bike had gone missing we found. And why Bike Man was wearing a tie.
I made a few notes in my datacom, and decided I was done here. I tapped on the metal disc that they'd replaced my right ear with and a microphone slid down from it to my mouth. "This is Officer Deschain. I've got what I need, send the cleaning crew".
I tapped my ear again and the mic slid back into its container as I opened the door to my car. I slid into the driver's seat of the old Ford Falcon. Everybody on the Squad kept telling me to Sell the thing and let the city buy me a new hover like they'd done for everyone else, but I had grown attached to it. That and the fact that it could take every last one of them off the line made me hang onto it. The Engine roared to life as I smartchipped into the dash, and with a grunt from the car and a shrug from me I slipped into first and went roaring across the wastelands. I needed some quality time with the road to think.