Chapter 23
Good Intentions
[Friday, March 30th, 2040. 2:55 PM. Torque.]
My heart began to pound. It looked so harmless sitting on the table, like any other laptop.
"Go for it." Kelly gestured toward the black slab.
I hesitated with my thumb under the closed screen. Patchwork startled me. "So you do want her to take a look?"
Kelly groaned. "Yeah, I've changed my mind."
She changed her mind. I tried to forget the frustration so I could focus on the computer. My tail curled underneath the table as I sat in the office chair, thumb still under the screen. I flipped it open to reveal the keyboard, realizing I had four other eager fingers.
"Your arm…"
"Terminal said it was fine." I removed the harness and stared at the open screen. My eyes flicked across the keyboard, the icons, imagining the other pair of eyes that viewed the screen in the past.
Let's narrow it down. "So, how much info have you got so far?"
"Lots of black money accounting. But Ophinasa likes to be brief. There isn't a lot of useful intelligence on there."
If it's on this computer, she needs it on this computer. I clicked open the storage to see two folders, one label long the other short. If the script was in English, the short label would be uncapitalized as well.
I swallowed down emotion and double tapped the short labeled file. I'm looking for Ophinasa.
I shot another question. "Where's the squad going?"
"Some address Ophinasa forgot to omit."
"Don't you think the Coil vacated the area by now? Since, you know, we have Ophie's computer?"
"They're going to ask the neighbors for information."
What should have been a decisive blow to Sacred Coil was just us picking up the scraps. If I hadn't fucked up she would probably be rotting in a cell by now.
Maybe she let me go to the ground on purpose. Why would she leave this computer behind at the distillery, anyways? She's always one step ahead.
One step ahead.
What is she planning?
I turned my head toward Jane. "Have you guys found the pheromone tanker truck yet? The one that I jumped out of?"
Those memories assaulted Kelly as she stood there, but she had an answer. "Not yet. Feel free to find it, though."
I looked back toward the screen. She's still got her favorite tool in the world by the truckload.
"What's Ophinasa's endgame?" Kelly asked.
"You think I'd know?"
"You're the expert."
I stared at the collection of folders, pondering which one to dive into next.
"Ophinasa is efficient. She'd find the easiest path to power and use that."
I opened up the folder labeled "Schematics." Various architectural drawings greeted my eyes. I tapped through a couple. Department store, random warehouse, skyscraper. City Hall.
I felt claustrophobic as various terror plots formed in my mind, for every single place. Hostages. Bombs. Messy, destructive situations even with her calculating nature.
"You're not worried about Ophinasa's hit list?" I asked.
"I am. She's got a nice collection of targets. Apparently she likes to keep her options open. There's over a hundred."
My two fingers scrolled to the end of the folder. Wow. But somewhere in the middle a round shape caught my eye. I traced back to that building and stared at its form.
"Smart. A little cliche, though, don't you think?" Jane acknowledged over my shoulder.
"What are you guys on?" Patchwork reminded us both that she was in the room.
"Highland Stadium." I said, still staring at the schematic.
Patchwork took time to respond. My ear grew impatient.
"The CSBL finals are playing this Saturday."
My hood perked up. "Who's playing on Saturday?"
The small woman sighed. "The Renova Rattlers."
[Saturday, March 31st, 2040. 6:03 PM. Anthony Ramirez.]
"Ketchup me."
Smith's hand extended a ketchup packet onto my corn dog, dressing it for my next bite.
"You know, I haven't seen the rifle I gave you."
I stopped mid chew. "Right. Yeah, the snake took it."
"Hm." There was some disappointment but I wasn't worried. The squad car reveals all secrets, and the full peril of my journey was one of them. Losing the rifle was a better alternative.
The crowd erupted with cheers as a resounding bang echoed around the stadium. Thousands of people of all sizes watched as the Renova Rattlers faced off against the Stackers. Five on five basketball, each position occupied by one race. Viper, muton, sectoid, human and hybrid.
Sectoids make excellent centers with their height, although they would probably be the dominant species if the floor didn't have species limits. Power forwards are usually mutons, having the strongest box-out ability of anyone on the floor to challenge any attackers in the paint. Shooting guards and point guards are usually filled by a human or hybrid thanks to the shape of their hands, allowing for accurate shooting as well as general versatility. And finally the viper, whose niche belongs in the small forward position, their strength deriving from being able to attack the post and draw fouls whenever someone steps on their tail.
And today, the best viper in the league was playing. She was a bolt of lightning on the court, often the team's best shooter. But where she really shined was defense. And her entire following loved it.
The Stacker's sectoid caught a rebound outside the three-point line after a scramble in the paint. He saw an opportunity, lined up, and shot the ball.
The Rattler's viper saw it, lined up her shot, and intercepted the ball pre-apex with her tongue. The crowd roared with excitement as it spun out of bounds. Another point prevented in a tight championship game.
"Psh, they got to remove that." Smith said.
"What? Come on, that's awesome."
"The three-point line might as well disappear if she becomes a trend."
I nodded and took another bite. Enjoying a basketball game was a nice way to end the week, especially when I'm getting paid to watch it.
"Just be glad we're not printing parking tickets anymore." I elbowed Smith.
"This is a mockery of basketball."
"Oh, sure."
He reluctantly took a bite of his own corn dog. I glanced to my left once again, and the same viper who's been staring at me with nervous eyes is staring again.
It's usually a normal thing. When wearing the uniform, people keep their eyes on officers for a couple of seconds as they mentally check if they are doing, carrying, or planning something illegal. And usually they carry on with their day when they answer "no" or "maybe." A few people get hung up on the "maybe" part and continue to glance, worried that I might pounce on them or something.
But this viper was nervous. She kept touching her hood, eyes more on me than not, her tongue flipping a mile a minute.
"You notice this viper Smith?" I said, keeping my eyes on the game.
"There's a thousand vipers in this stadium."
"The one to the left a few rows down."
"What about her?" He paid no visual attention to her.
"She's freaking out."
"Probably just uniform syndrome."
"But she's moving more than usual. I mean look at her."
Only then did Smith direct his focus onto her. And she immediately turned away.
"That is weird. You want to rattle her?"
I crossed my arms at the decision. When we were confident enough the person had answered "yes" to the "am I doing something illegal" question, we'd investigate further, have a chat. And if we were right we'd find something on them.
"I don't know Smith. Lots of eyes, during a game…"
"We're supposed to be on high alert. This could be our alarm."
I nodded. Supposedly there was a risk of attack during the game. Another bridge bomb.
The viper's nervousness was suddenly more threatening. "You're right."
We took the last bites of our dogs and threw the wooden sticks into an adjacent trash can with a tink. Our boots carried us down cement stairs toward our suspect.
"Miss," I stared down the row of spectators. Of course they all looked, being alerted by the jingling of handcuffs on our waist and our distinct blue suits.
"Let's have a chat. Come on." I beckoned to her with a hand.
She rose, wearing a raggedy hoodie. She tried to hide her anxiety as she slithered by the rest of the crowd.
"And your bag." Smith pointed at a black duffle bag I somehow missed.
Her face winced. She reluctantly reached down and picked up the bag from the floor.
No verbal retaliation; she must have done something wrong. The nearby basketball fans had a new spectacle to watch. Smith led and I followed, with the suspect in the middle. She clung tightly to the bag as we stepped our way up. There's something there that the viper didn't want us to see.
I turned on my shoulder radio. "99C, requesting assistance in section A. Flat area at the top, handicap area."
Another unit on the same channel responded, somewhere in section E. We made it back to our observation area, bringing the viper to a secluded corner. Well, as secluded as a stadium could be.
"Did I do something wrong?" Her voice was low. Irritated, but still nervous. She kept her head down with both hands on the bag.
"We saw what you were doing." Smith opened up with a classic.
"Like?" Now the fear set in.
I pointed. "Black duffle bag. Let's see it."
Her hands hesitated on the straps, and one even decided to motion for the zipper.
Then I saw it. The small lean to the left that meant she was about to bolt. I leapt for the bag and got both hands on the fabric and held on.
"Let go!" She yelled and tore away. But the bag had other ideas.
With a rip, the contents clattered across the concrete floor.
There was a frozen moment where all parties involved processed the object: Gun.
A compact rifle, magazine loaded and ready.
I clambered across the floor toward the rifle, stumbling with an adrenaline kickstart. My instincts had defined a new set of futures now, and half of them involved me getting shot. Those futures only disappeared once I had wrapped myself around the gun, now replaced by the imminent threat of fangs sinking into me.
I swiveled on the ground and whipped my pistol out, thanking God it didn't catch in my holster. My finger squeezed metal, but stopped halfway when all I was aiming at was air.
The viper was just a flash of yellow as she headed down the opposite side of section A, ramming and bumping a few alarmed persons in their wheelchairs.
Smith was already calling into his radio when the pain reminded me it existed. Wringing my spine like a wet towel must have undone days of healing in my back. I put the pain away by securing the gun that we just discovered. I sat against the railing, trying to shield the weapon from curious spectators. The last thing we needed was panic. Thankfully the game roared over the commotion we caused.
I looked for the mag release first before identifying the rifle, learning more about it as I searched. It was a magnetic submachine gun with a folded stock, making it easier to hide from security. But how… How could anyone miss this?
The feeling of discomfort took time to seep in. It felt hot inside of my uniform. The crowd was still cheering, roaring.
"What the fuck?" I finally connected with Smith, his hand on his holster and another on his radio. He lent me a hand as I got up, the gun under my armpit.
"This is big Smith, this is…"
"Hold on. Backup is coming, they're going to make an announcement. Follow procedure."
The announcer's booth was high up to the right of us. I stared and waited, getting ready to evacuate the audience as soon as the intercom blared an ominous warning through a voice desperately trying to stay calm.
There was no warning. A flash graced the windows. Another three in rapid succession. I could hear the muffled bangs, but they blended in with the bouncing of the basketball on the court.
The game continued on.
The radio chattered as other units reported the same event and dispatch scrambled to gain information.
Then the lights went out.
Referees reflexively blew their whistles to stop play. The glow of phones and natural light from the atrium entrances prevented the main room from succumbing to complete darkness. The audience was still buzzing with excitement, and the cheering actually increased. It wasn't loud enough to muffle the genuine screams emitted from the commercial areas.
The telltale clicking sound of someone picking up the intercom emanated through loudspeakers.
"Citizens of City 31." The voice paused for effect.
A voice recognizable from anywhere.
The lights switched back on. And in every section, around the entire stadium, a person just as armed as our viper stood tall, brandishing their rifle for the crowd.
"I ask you to remain seated. This building is now under the control of the Sacred Coil."
The crowd's mentality switched from excitement to horror as people tried to leave their seats. The armed personnel yelled at them to stay down, one person standing for each section of seating.
My hands were frozen as the terrorist assigned to Section B bore down on me. A few humans cursed as they tried to get up, causing the viper's attention to split between us and her own voice shouting the humans down.
"Let's go." Smith nabbed my shoulder as we brushed out of the main atrium, the exit only a few steps away. We were on the second floor of the commercial area, a ring of shops stuffed underneath the seating with a wall of glass as the building's exterior. We scanned our slice of stadium with pistols aimed, walking away from the entrance, bisecting the ring.
"What the fuck is going on?" I threw words out as we scanned from our new position, our backs to the glass while we covered each direction of the main hall. Bystander eyes locked onto us.
A woman pointed down one direction of the ringway. "There's a guy with a gun down there!"
Smith gestured her toward one of the stores. "Find shelter. Go!"
The woman with the other bystanders flooded a merchandise store, a man holding the glass door open. Panicked, worried looks betrayed the jovial nature of the jerseys and casual attire that the attendees wore.
"Tell me when to swivel." Smith asked, knowing his job was to keep our backs free of bullets.
"I've got your six."
I looked down the hallway as the crowds thinned out. People ran, slithered, general chaos ensued as I tried to find armed insurgents. The radio chatter didn't fare better.
I wiped my brow as sweat threatened to enter my eye. Up until now it was just training. Find cover, analyze the situation, don't do anything stupid. But now that I had time to think I realized I was in the middle of a terrorist attack. The stuff I see on TV or the situations that we contain on the outside. I'm a part of it, not just the response.
The intercom filled the stadium with Ophinasa's voice once again. "Thank you. Today, I arrived under unfortunate circumstances."
A viper troop slithered down the hallway at top speed, turning the corner. They wore plain clothes like the rest of the stadium goers. One even had a Stacker's jersey on.
"Viper. The English name originates from a species of terrestrial serpent capable of delivering a venomous bite. Descriptive enough I suppose."
One of them spotted me behind the planter and readied her aim. I aimed for center mass and pulled the trigger.
"But an unfair name nonetheless. When humans hear the word viper, they do not think of our species. They do not think of our elegant hoods or sapient intellect."
Gunshots mixed with screams of terrified people. The planter in front of me splashed dirt upwards as the Stacker fan sprayed bullets toward our direction. Walls of glass cracked thousands of times, but kept their shape. She sauntered off toward a pillar before succumbing to her wounds.
"They think of us as snakes that grovel in the dirt."
Her friends were quicker, one finding cover and another smashing through glass to enter the merch store.
"There's people in there Smith." I alerted my partner.
"They're more occupied with us right now."
"They just need one hostage to disarm us. I saw a kid run in there!"
The aging man's face was painted with exhaustion, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked me right in the eyes.
"You think you can make it?"
I answered by readying myself, preparing to explode forward.
"Go!" Smith popped up and fired a few shots.
I rose to my feet and bolted. It felt like every system in my body had one purpose, and that was to run. A tingling surge, adrenaline or fear, rippled through my limbs.
The hard tile beneath me smacked against my boots. My pistol gripped tight in my swinging arms. The safety of the store's outer wall was so far away. It surprised me how distant it was, when in another context it'd seem close.
The vision of safety was replaced by tile.
I tripped on something. Of course, my leg hit something and…
I tried to get up. Both of my legs… weren't working. I tilted my head toward my legs as my arms supported me.
My knees were seeping in a pool of slick, red blood.
"You are a viper living in a human's world. They intend to domesticate us. They intend to implant their human principles onto us, when in reality we must face the facts; we are incompatible."
I can't even… Why am I so tired?
"So today I ask you to open your mind. See the possibilities of a world for our kin. Explore our potential without the shackle of humanity binding our wrists. The Sacred Coil represents us. Our people, our fangs, our scales, our future. I ask you, my sisters, to not see my sweeping political statements as an act of martyrdom. I do not ask you to see me as an instrument of chaos hell bent on bringing this city to its knees. I ask you to see me as your liberator. Your future."
I couldn't move. I couldn't see. All I could do was listen.
"I am the only way forward."
[Saturday, March 31st, 2040. 6:13 PM. Torque.]
I played with the bolt of my weapon. Rack it back, eject a needle, eject the magazine, replace the needle, reinsert the mag. Repeat. The hum of road against tire filled the interior.
"She just went live." Kelly noted with a tablet in hand.
"What's she saying?" Blueblood asked.
Kelly turned up the volume. Vipers. Humans. Domestication. Matriarch. More drivel over the hijacked broadcast.
"This wouldn't've happened if they had just called off the damn game." Terminal slammed the metal walls of the APC with her fist before crossing her arms.
"It's our job to clean up the City's mess." Kelly remained deadpan. It was strange seeing her comfortable in an alloy vest again. It's been so long and she looked right at home in it. Her marksman's rifle looked like a cane, her fingers at the foregrip keeping the stock planted on the ground.
"'Janitor Squad.' Sounds catchy. What do you think, Torque?" Terminal said.
I was too busy to reply.
She searched for approval. "Cherub? Blueblood?"
Blueblood extended a flat, swiveling hand. Cherub's words were partially apprehensive. "It has a nice ring to it."
Verge and Patchwork smiled in their corners. It was weird to have the whole squad in the car, even me.
I caught Kelly's eyes before she looked back at her tablet. I knew she had expectations for me. I was expecting her to have me sit out, saying that this mission was too close to have me ride along. Shows how dire things are.
"Alright, listen in." Kelly laid the tablet on her knees. Some rudimentary arrows on the Stadium's schematics cast light on the squad's faces as we looked down.
"Highland Stadium is divided into two levels. They're both empty oval rings. There's a few structural columns and concrete planters for cover besides the stores that are placed on the interior of each ring. The exterior is glass as well, so we'll have good intel on what goes on, as well as sniper support. What you need to worry about are the arena entrances and the shops."
"How many are there?" Blueblood perked up.
"There's at least fifty operatives, from what we could get from social media. They're wearing civilian clothing, but we don't have time to secure everyone. Take out active hostiles and keep moving. There are sixty thousand people in attendance today."
"How many vipers?" Terminal asked.
"Ten thousand, give or take."
Everyone shared glances.
"We need to get to the television suite within two minutes. It's safe to assume our HVT imported enough pheromones to turn this stadium into an army. So, you'll be rappelling into the second floor, on the southside where the suite is. Torque."
I raised my head.
"We can get you into the vents, and you should be able to drop right into the booth. All you need to do is keep Ophinasa from pressing the button until the rest arrive."
"The rest?"
"Once she feels any pressure, she's going to pull the trigger, am I correct?"
"Yeah."
"We need to stop her from doing that."
"Woah woah…" Terminal's cautious gaze was intense over the tablet's glow. "Look, I'm not the decision maker, but if the city is on the line why aren't we considering knockout gas?"
Kelly's confident voice was mottled with grimness. "There's helicopters on route with Reclamation's entire supply."
"And?"
"If there's a chance we can pull this off with no deaths, I'm taking it." Kelly looked at me.
We all knew knockout gas was a last resort. It wasn't perfect. The decision to lose a thousand medically unfit attendees instead of the entire city was rightfully the last option to take. It was a choice she would have to take though. If we failed.
"Torque." Kelly grabbed my attention again. I acknowledged her, my hood catching most of the tablet's light.
"Can you do this?"
That's why I'm coming after all. I'm the only person who can fit in the vents. Part of me felt disgusted that Kelly brought me along because of that, not because she trusted me. But I wasn't mad at her. It's her job to make those decisions. It still stung.
Maybe it's not even the vents. I'm the only person Ophinasa wouldn't blow away without a second's hesitation.
"Can you do this?" She repeated.
"Yes, I can." I stared right into her eyes. And hiding behind those brown irises of hers, there was a flicker of sorrow.
She nodded, and began to explain the entry plan to the rest of the team. I sat up, away from the group. Their words mumbled out into nothing as I heard the hum of the vehicle and felt the bumps in the road.
Eventually the bumps smoothed out, the force of gravity seemingly switched from left to right. The APC door opened and we were at our destination.
We were in the far parking lot of Highland Stadium. It was clear the police were still arming up. Cruisers flashed their red and blue lights across the glass. There was a stretch of asphalt between the building and the rest of civilization, whatever the city could muster within ten minutes was already there. White and black surrounded the building, armored vans with kitted out police-soldiers manning mounted machine guns. There were so many observation drones above the stadium it looked like a beehive. The city reverberated with the sound of helicopter blades chopping through air, transports from far away preparing for the worst. Most of the people that could have been evacuated already have, but there was still a steady stream of escapees with their arms in the air as they scampered through the gap. The skyscrapers of surrounding districts punctuated the skyline.
My eyes adjusted to the light as we exited the APC, weapons on our chests. I saw a few black lenses directed our way, along with a few reporters spouting away about the situation despite their viewers having eyes.
Kelly approached a few older men in their police uniforms, along with a few people in suits. She was the main diplomat, but the executive group kept looking at us with nervous glances. We were their brooms.
"Are you guys ready for this?" Verge asked.
"I'd hope you know." Blueblood said.
I could see brief smiles on their faces. Patchwork, Terminal, Cherub. They all needed a good laugh. But I could feel a few questioning eyes on my back.
I breathed in, felt the weight of my gun, and readjusted my bad shoulder.
