4. Shadows
1990
Some things never changed.
The speakers were pumping out the same sort of Euro-techno trash but now that translated to useless background noise. The crowd was still warm and damp, but now she stood above it, looking down on the lights dividing people into patches of colour and darkness. The walls were black with fluorescent graffiti that glowed neon, and on the far wall a VJ projected a violent video game onto a white screen. The dancing still looked like the same frenzied jumping, but that's not what she's scanning for.
She watched, observed, surveyed the swarm of people from above. People still went to these clubs out of desperation, but she's here for a reason and a job. Inside, security was a joke. It's the bouncers that do the real work, but she never got rostered because she didn't look menacing.
Sunlight, she thought suddenly. That's what she remembered most, though she didn't miss it. Sunlight she associated with hangovers and her office job. There was no mystery in the day; it just magnified the bags under her eyes, the cracks in the walls and the garbage on the street.
Mercury was the closest planet to the Sun. Mercury was bathed in sunlight. Ironic.
Yesterday she woke up with the sick feeling of being human. It left a nauseating taste in her throat, the taste of humanity. She hated it. Vessel, shell, corpse. Humanity was like poison.
Irony again.
She leant over the railing and checked her watch. Two hours and she could go home. Opening nights for Deacon Frost's clubs were always filled with hopefuls waiting in a cue outside. It happened every other week, but that didn't mean they had to be happy about it. Once in a while she caught glimpses of black uniform milling uncomfortably at the fringes. It was too easy to overlook someone's familiar, too dark to see their glyph.
Mercury was the Roman god of thieves, trade and travel.
She left her position and patrolled the catwalk for the hundredth time. It spanned the length of the club, and when she stood in the middle, each metal walkway lead into darkness. One hour and forty-five minutes left. A fight had broken out, but nothing serious. Yet.
Her earpiece buzzed. "Sign in."
"Sector A, all clear."
Mercury, also known as quicksilver, was a silver-white element occurring in group 12 or VIII, period 6. It's liquid in room temperature. It's toxic on contact because it can be absorbed through the skin. She liked that. She liked the idea of being a liquid predator.
"B clear. Not that I can tell anyway in this fucking crowd." She smiled when she heard that.
If she was honest, she'd chosen it because the dictionary had fell open, and it had sounded good.
"Sector C, clear sir."
In the corner, she spotted two black shadows that weren't dancers or part of security.
The earpiece crackled.
"Lauren, sign in." Seth.
Static. The shadows were two men moving stealthily along the walls. Both wore long coats despite the heat inside. They were bulky and clung at strange places.
"Lauren, stop fucking around. Sign in."
The bass kept the heavy beat, so loud she heard it in her chest. Or maybe it was her chest. Apparently she still had a beating heart. She moved away from the railing to get a better look at the two men.
"Seth, I think we..."
Suddenly both figures stopped walking. She saw the glint of a gun, and already it was too late.
In the enclosed space, machine gun fire was louder than the music. The first line of people had already burst into dust, like a tidal wave washing away from the corner. Some of the team were already trying to push against the crowd.
"Two black males, right of the hall, heavily armed," she reported. She unholstered the gun. She hadn't fired outside of shooting range. Fuck.
Their ammo ran out and both dropped their guns. The taller one was faster, moving almost like a vampire. A human couldn't follow the blur. The other was a mediocre hunter, the type she could deal with. The fast one took a sword from his back, and the other took another gun. Frantic messages in her ear from the security. No one could get through the crowd. Guys guarding right side had been caught in crossfire.
She sighted down the barrel of her gun to the man's head. "I've got the one short one."
"Try to take him alive."
She switched aim, and shooting into the man's right arm. He clutched it pain, dropping the gun. She fired two more rounds. One missed, but the other hit the man's thigh, and he dropped to the floor with a splatter of blood.
The first of security arrived, their bullets making sparks against the men's torsos.
"He's wearing a vest!" she shouted into the radio, but no one could hear her over gunfire.
On the ground, they were resorting to hand combat. His sword whistled through the air, leaving bodies and limbs in dust. The metal was slick was blood and she couldn't get a clear shot because he was always moving.
"Fuck." He was quick, and the bullets ricocheted off the wall. For millisecond he looked up to the catwalk and saw her. His face etched into her mind. Maybe hers onto his.
She kept firing, but he was always one step ahead, and suddenly she had to reload. When she looked down again, all she saw was an exit door swing. And she swore again. She ran to along the catwalk. She needed to get downstairs.
"Sword-boy's trying to head for the right exit."
A single shot echoed.
"And the other sad fuck just finished himself."