Chapter 6: Ham Quiddam
"Ready?"
"Huh?" Kirika blinked, disorientated.
Where was she?
She looked.
In...a tree? A park?
There was a gun in her hand; a HK G11 assault rifle, by the looks of it, with optional optical scope. But where did it come from?
"Kirika?" said a voice in her ear.
"Mireille?" she whispered into her lapel mike. "What's going on?"
"Come on, Kirika, focus! We're on a hit, remember?"
"What hit?"
Mireille sighed. "Look, Kirika, I know there's a lot on your mind right now. It's the same with me. But if you don't get it together, you're going to get us both killed! Keep your eyes and ears open and watch for the target, okay?"
The target, thought Kirika, nodding. Of course.
"Huh. A government job. We're moving up in the world, I guess."
Kirika peeped over her shoulder at the monitor. "The JDF?"
"In cooperation with the CIA," nodded Mireille. "Apparently, they've recently discovered a sort of mind-control cult in operation somewhere in northern Japan."
"Through a campaign of subtle intimidation, emotional manipulation, and mass marketing, the cultists have obtained direct control over all social, political, and economic interaction amongst the townsfolk. Many are now their willing slaves, tending to their every need; some even transport them around town on their shoulders and feed them by hand."
"JDF forces sent in a commando team to liberate the town several years ago. Unfortunately for them, the cultists turned out to be experts at urban warfare and sabotage. According to the team's sole survivor, the cultists used squad tactics and a complicated system of underground tunnels to outflank the commandoes and strike from close range. The cultists would swarm their targets, dismantle their weapons, and then gnaw the poor souls to death. There's a lot in his report about 'sharp teeth' and 'the lending of little paws,' but that's not important. What's important is that this effectively halted all further JDF efforts to retake the town."
"The mission wasn't a total loss; the team discovered that the cultists had created a powerful new narcotic. Using selective breeding, the cultists had created a type of flower whose seeds contained a sort of natural PCP; this appeared to be the source of their extraordinary speed. Moreover, they had dedicated large portions of the city to its cultivation, and looked ready to export it."
"At this point, the CIA got involved. Already concerned with the drug situations in Colombia and Afghanistan, the last thing they needed was another one in Asia. They sent in three agents; two were captured and killed within days, the third is our current source of information."
"Is the agent reliable?" asked Kirika.
"One of their best," said Mireille. "Known only by his serial number, SN ZR, he managed to infiltrate the upper echelons of the cult's theocracy as a sleeper agent. What he discovered worried the CIA enough to call us in."
She pulled up another file. "Project Zwei Hahm. The cultists have bought out a major snack food company, and plan to use it to distribute their seed drugs to schoolchildren world wide. Coupled with a massive subliminal marketing and indoctrination campaign, the cultists hope to achieve nothing less than total world domination within three years."
"Ambitious," noted Kirika.
"Our objective is to take out the leader of the cult, shown here," continued Mireille. She punched up a picture.
Kirika blinked. "Um, isn't that a..."
"Religious fanatic, charismatic leader, and brilliant military tactician? Yes. Code named HM 1. The CIA believes he's the lynchpin to the entire Project: his lieutenant, known only as Le Patron, is coordinating the logistics, but without his leadership, the cultists would fall into disarray." Mireille stretched. "Well, can't say I've ever saved the world before, but if the pay's always this good..."
"I see him," said the voice over the earpiece. "Coming from your left, fifty meters."
Kirika shook herself from her recollection and listened. Heartbeat, wind, traffic, rustling leaves... Recalling the target's profile, she focused, and filtered out each sound one by one until...
There. That was it. A sound, like the world's smallest machine gun, was approaching from the east. Thirty meters. She flicked the safety on her rifle. Twenty. She raised it. Ten. She aimed at the base of a large tree next to where the target would emerge. Five meters. She steadied her breathing, slowed her heart rate, tightened her grip...
A barely audible rustle of leaves, and two tiny, rat-like creatures leapt from the bush. One was grey with black patches, and wore a ceremonial yellow iron cap. The other was considerably smaller, but had a sort of manic energy about it, bouncing about and chanting some sort of religious mantra ("Bhadda-bhadda bhadda-bhadda").
She squeezed the trigger.
The small one screamed, and dodged at speeds impossible. Momentarily surprised, Kirika fired again. And again. And again. The crackÂ-a-crack of three round bursts echoed throughout the parkland as countless bullets, fired with uncanny accuracy, pulverized every inch of earth around her target, who was somehow managing to avoid them all. The larger cultist pulled his leader behind a large rock. Moments later, both emerged, firing very small Kalashnikov rifles wildly into the air, shouting obscenities in an unknown language ("Koosh koosh! Peekaah Peekaaaaaah!"). Kirika kept firing.
"Kirika?" came the voice in her ear.
"Can't hit him," she replied, still shooting. "Too fast."
"Suppression fire," replied the voice. "Lock him down." There was a metallic rasping noise over the earpiece. "Let's see him dodge this."
Even above the gunshots, Kirika still heard the distant 'click' several meters to her left. There was a rocket's roar, followed by the shredding of leaves and branches. Through the targeting scope, Kirika saw the cult leader freeze, snarl, and raise one defiant fist towards his oncoming doom. Oddly enough, the fist also held a sunflower seed. Then she turned and shielded her face.
The explosion shook both sky and earth with a great, resonant boom. Dirt scattered, wood splintered, and trees bucked and swayed in the shockwave. Steadying herself in her perch, Kirika turned to look.
The great tree was blasted to smithereens, replaced by a sizeable crater. Flaming bits of wood and (presumably) rodent were raining down in a fifty-meter radius. A large cloud of smoke loomed over the carnage.
Something small and colourful flitted by her. She grabbed it.
It was some sort of tiny, severely burnt, yellow cloak.
Her adrenaline-fuelled combat-trance drained away, and the full reality of her situation finally hit her. "No..." she breathed.
She slid to the ground, numb. She leaned against the tree, staring at the rifle in her hand as if seeing it for the first time. Countless questions swirled about her like the ashes on the wind.
"Well, that did it." Kirika jumped. She hadn't even noticed her partner come over. Mireille squinted at the distant crater. "Looks like we got the central command bunker too. Should make for a healthy bonus, I think."
"Mireille..."
"Mm?"
"We just assassinated a hamster."
"Yep."
"With a military-grade automatic weapon."
"Uh-huh."
"And a bazooka."
"A-yup."
"It's...not right," said Kirika.
Mireille looked over her shoulder. "We can worry about the moral issues later. Right now, we better get out of here. Although I doubt anyone will try to stop us," she added, with a nod to the bazooka on her shoulder.
"No, not that. I mean, all of this. It's...wrong, somehow," said Kirika, searching for the words as she went along.
"Huh?"
"I mean, why are we wearing these clothes?"
"To blend in, of course," explained Mireille, wearing a hamster hat, hamster shoes, sunflower-pattered pants and shoes, and a, "I [Heart] Ham-Hams!" shirt.
"And why are we using these weapons?"
"We discussed this already; these guys are fast and vicious in close, right? So we hang back 100 meters and use an accurate automatic with a high ROF. And if you missed, I'd go with this," she said, meaning the rocket launcher. "You can't have forgotten already..."
"No, I didn't."
"Good."
"Because we never had that conversation."
Mireille opened her mouth to reply with, "Well, that's a novel excuse." It came out as, "Guh?"
"Mireille," said Kirika, suddenly determined. "When did we arrive here in town?"
"Uh, yesterday morning. Why --"
"What was the weather?"
"Cloudy, I think."
"What flight did we take?" she said, continuing the barrage.
"Uh, Japan Air Flight 507...or was it 886..."
"What was the in-flight meal?"
"Chicken. No, steak. Fish?"
"Where did we get this equipment from?"
"Now that's easy," said Mireille, clearly relieved. "We picked them up from the Army and...Navy...store?" Her relief vanished as soon as she realized she didn't believe what she was, in fact, saying. "What the hell?"
"Mireille," said Kirika. "Something. Is. Wrong. Here. None of this makes any sense."
"Yeah," she replied, suddenly uncomfortable. "Little hamsters with big ambitions? Mind-control? How could we have possibly believed that?"
"It gets worse," said Kirika. "Think: where were we last April 17?"
She did. "April...that was F-City, wasn't it? The Excel case."
"But weren't we also at home in France at that time?"
Mireille was stunned. "That's right," she said. "That damned tea party..."
"And what about February?"
"Tokyo. Chiyo Mihama. No...wait. Russia. Yuri Nazarov."
"It's the same with me. It, it's like there's two pasts: the one we lived, and the one we remember."
Mireille nodded, deep in thought. "Yeah, you're right. Like, I remember that my very first hit was in London, but I know it was actually Versailles. Although Uncle Claude was wearing that dress," she added to herself.
"And if we didn't live these memories," continued her partner, "where did they come from?"
"You think they were implanted somehow? That someone's manipulating us?" She gave this serious consideration. "It would explain a lot. For example, you're a heck of a lot more talkative than usual."
"And you're more bitchy."
"What!?" she snarled. "You little -- oh. You're right. Excellent observation."
"Mm," replied Kirika, who was, in fact, lying. "But if that's true, then who? And why?"
"Why ask why?" said a familiar voice behind them.
Kirika gasped. Then she gasped again, when she realized she was sitting down. In a wicker chair. In a rose garden. At tea.
"What the -- you?!" said Mireille, seated next to her.
"Yes. Me," said the Soldat with the penchant for grapes.
A click, and Mireille had a gun on her. "Altena," she snarled. "You're dead. Dead! Why are you here? And why the hell are you dressed like a clown!?"
"'Raise the saplings with water, light, and quality entertainment,'" recited Altena, adjusting her red prosthetic nose. She was seated across from them, and was enjoying a cup of tea with lemon.
"You're not Altena," said Mireille. "Who are you? Who put you up to this? Answer me!"
"Oi, keep it down," slurred a voice. "I gotta headache." A purple haired girl in exceptionally dirty clothes stumbled up to the table, clearly intoxicated.
"Chloe?" said Kirika, horrified. "No...no..."
"Don't be afraid, my children," counselled Altena. "All is right with the world." A bit of water squirted from the flower on her lapel.
"I'm not scared," said Mireille, shaking. "I don't get scared. I get angry. I'm angry now. I want answers. NOW!"
"Ugh, my head," said Chloe, staggering. "Hair o' the dog, I guesses." She plucked a wine bottle from the recesses of her vomit-stained, pink frilly dress, took a huge swig from it, leaned back too far, and flopped to the ground. "Yeah, that's some daaaaaaamn fine $#$#," she said, from beneath the table.
"Oh, you naughty girl," said Altena, giving her a kick with her big floppy squeaky shoes. "You've been into my 'special spritzer' cabinet again, haven't you?"
"No I haven't," she whined, cradling the wine.
"You are grounded, young lady!"
"I'm a grown woman," whined Chloe. "Won't lemme drink, won't lemme drive...d'ya know what all that walkin' does to my shoes? Stop treatin' me like a li'll kid!"
"I will when you show a little maturity," replied the clown priestess, taking a sip of tea. "And you're far too young to drive."
"How 'm I supposed t' meet curfew when I gotta freakin' WALK back home? From Switzerland?! Huh!?" Chloe staggered to her feet and gave Altena her best (drunken, bloodshot) death-stare. "Not that there's nothin' good here. No cable, no satellite, no ADSL...how'm I supposed to play Splinter Cell over a 28.8, huh?" she shouted, grabbing her mother-figure by the lapels.
"I'm over here, dear?" waved Altena.
Chloe dropped the small shrubbery she was trying to throttle and waved an unsteady hand at Kirika. "She gets to stay up late. She getsh t' pick her own damn clothes. Wha' she got that I dunna, eh?"
Altena shook her head, sadly. "Kids these days. Such a bother, aren't they, Mireille?"
"Uh..." she replied, mildly confused.
"Relax, my child," said the priestess, reaching over to caress Kirika's hair. "Nothing to be afraid of. Look, I've made you a balloon animal, isn't it nice?" She proffered a pink-and-yellow inflatable version of the Scales of Justice. Kirika looked at it, recoiled, and whimpered in fright.
"Get away from her!" Mireille swatted the woman's hand aside and clapped the gun to her head. Kirika was clutching her head, trembling. "Answers. NOW!"
"Heeeeey cutie," said Chloe, slithering up to her.
"Wha -- hey! Back! Back I say!"
She draped an arm over her shoulder and drew herself close. Very close.
"Y'know," she slurred, "I always wanted to try it with an older woman."
"Wh -- get off me!" said Mireille, desperately trying to extricate herself.
The young woman hugged her tight. Things squished. "Ehhhhh?" she said, with a wink.
"A splendid idea," said Altena.
"!!!!" said Mireille , dropping her gun in shock.
"Why don't we join in, little one?" she said to the quivering mass of terror that was Kirika. "It would be...educational?"
"Haw haw haw!" said Chloe.
"(Whimper)," said Mireille.
Chloe leaned in close, lips poised to --
Two shots rang out.
Two women fell to the ground, returned to the dead from whence they came.
Mireille took a few seconds to regain her composure, and then a couple handfuls more when she noticed the blood on her face. "Thanks," she managed to say, eventually. "Kirika?"
The still-smoking Berretta trembled in her hands. She was hyperventilating, breath coming in gasps. Mireille cautiously pried the gun from her partner's fingers, and sat down next to her. "Kirika?" she said, softly. "Are you...?"
"They...they're dead..." she whispered.
"Yes."
"They're dead. Again. I saw them die. I...felt...her die," she whispered, eyes passing over the fallen. "And then, then they were here, again, but they were dead, and they couldn't be, but they were..."
"It, it's all right, Kirika," counselled Mireille. "That wasn't really them. They weren't the real thing."
"Not...real?" She trembled. "But...what is...real? What I see is false; what I remember, fake."
"Get a hold of yourself, Kirika!" said her partner. "You're stronger than this, I know it!"
"Am I?" She looked down at her own hands, those hands that had moved, had killed, before she'd even realized they had. "Am I...real? Are you? Is any of this real? How can we know?"
Her partner swallowed a lump in her throat. "I...I don't know. But we will figure this out," she said. "We're going to find out who's behind all this, and make them pay." She took her hand and squeezed it. "We'll do it together. Okay?" Kirika nodded. "Now, let's get out of here --"
The still-bleeding corpses of Altena and Chloe leapt up from the ground on strings invisible, surrounded by flames. "We'll swallow your souls!" they howled. "We'll swallow your souls!"
Kirika and Mireille grabbed each other, and screamed.
Darkness.
come below
the long sleep ends