A/N-Songs for this chapter
a)='Smack My B*tch UP' by Prodigy
b)='Antidote' by Swedish House Mafia vs. Knife Party
c)='Galloway Reel' a traditional Irish melody
d)='Animals' by Martin Garrix
"How much longer, do you think?" Feral asked, leaning forward to rest her loosely-folded arms across the handlebars of her lightcycle. Just under her ribs, there was a muffled 'no' that came from a bubble coded into the lightcycle's frame. Feral made a shushing sound and looked back up to the figure that waited on the beach.
At the edge of the water the Rinzler's tall, lean form crouched as he ran another set of scans.
"One—possibly one and a half more cycles until it is completely safe for programs," he called back to her. "There are fewer copies of the virus appearing on scans each time. The viruses that do appear haven't changed; they actually seem weaker...as though the code for it is becoming damaged and prone to fragmenting."
"How did this happen, anyhow?" she questioned.
"How did what happen?" Rinzler seemed slightly distracted as he answered.
"The virus—this is a closed system, right? There shouldn't have been a virus—so how did it infect the Sea?"
Rinzler's shoulders slumped—just a little—for a fraction of a picocycle before straightening again.
"It was manufactured," he told her. "Originally, it only affected the ISOs; so it was called the ISO virus. It still is...even though the ISOs never created it. After several decacycles, we learned that the virus was capable of infecting Basics; it had evolved during its time in the Sea."
Feral drew herself a bit more upright on the lightcycle, horrified by what she had just heard.
"Someone made the virus? Why would anyone want to do that?!"
"They did it because they hated the ISOs. With the virus poisoning the Sea, there were no more ISOs emerging from it." There was a bitter, scraping sound that might have been a small laugh as Rinzler continued, "I wonder if the fact that ISOs would also derezz if exposed to it was originally intended, or just a much appreciated side-effect?"
"Did—did you ever learn who infected the Sea?"
"Yes," came the answer, Rinzler's voice flat with no inflection to it. "I learned who."
In the bubble on the lightcycle's frame there was a small flicker of light, another indignant, muffled 'no,' and the sound of something bumping itself against the bubble; as if the bubble's occupant was trying to find a way out.
Without looking down, Feral stroked her fingers over the bubble and murmured, "Sshhush, Spike. Not now. I'll let you out when we are back home."
Rinzler looked over at where Feral waited, rising to stand as he did so.
'Why didn't you let him out when we first arrived?' he asked, signing.
Feral shook her head.
"He throws a tantrum about getting back in the bubble when we're out here," she said. "We don't have time to chase him around the beach until he either gets tired or bored enough to ride back in the bubble."
Rinzler could still hear Feral muttering under her breath that "chasing Spike was harder than chasing Travis...and elderly, three-legged beagles can move very fast when they want to..." It was one more piece to the puzzle of Feral—and once again it matched up with nothing that he knew about.
There was an even louder, more indignant—if possible-'No!' from the bubble as Spike disagreed with Feral's decision.
Rinzler reached for his lightcycle baton. He began rezzing his lightcycle up as he told her, "Let's go. The sooner we can let him out, the happier all of us will be."
"Yes!" squealed Spike happily.
a)
'Again,' came the signed order.
Behind the blank, black visor of her helmet, Feral scowled at the command. She was tired, and her muscles ached painfully. After all this time training with Rinzler; however, she had learned not to show any of it. He had warned her time and time again that showing any sign of weariness or weakness would be the same as handing a disc to an opponent and telling them where to strike.
Even so, it was hard not to let a little of her annoyance and exhaustion show. They had run over fifteen games simulations—most of them the physically demanding disc wars simulations—and Feral wanted nothing more that to flop down on a bed and pant for breath until her heart stopped pounding so hard and her muscles no longer twitched from over-use.
Feral took a deep breath, judged the position and readiness of her opponent, and let her disc fly. She was getting better—there was no doubt about that—at every aspect of the Games; after the last several mylacycles, her usage of Rinzler's trademark acrobatic and aerial maneuvers had increased dramatically.
'Again.'
During the last mylacycle, one of the militarized security programs had congratulated Rinzler on a well-run simulation. Behind her helmet, Feral had smirked to herself as she watched the scene play out in front of her. Rinzler had simply turned is head—his electronic growl an almost inaudible rumble—and stared at the program for a moment before looking away again; leaving a confused, stammering and very nervous program looking for an exit. It was even more amusing to watch because both Feral and Rinzler knew that Rinzler had not run any simulations that mylacycle...the security program had been watching Feral.
'Again.'
None of the simulations that Rinzler was running this microcycle were easy. They were all simulations of final round opponents—the Games combatants that had made it all the way to the end; all the way to facing Rinzler in the final round.
The added cherry on the top, thought Feral, was that he had chosen combat-trained final round combatants. Now, how exactly was that fair? To handpick the hardest possible opponents and then send them against her over and over again. She felt like she had been run through the Games herself—twice—before reaching this point and the only thing that Rinzler had said each time she derezzed an opponent was a signed, 'Again'. It was frustrating, it was maddening, and she really just wanted to—.
"Defeat one more opponent and you can rest."
Oh, thank you, Grid—wait a moment, Feral thought to herself, ...Rinzler just pulled his discs...
"You?"
"Me."
"Fine," Feral said, her voice short. She was tired, she hurt everywhere, and crash it, she wanted that rest break! If she had to beat Rinzler to do it...
Before she finished the thought her disc was streaking through the air.
Less than a heartbeat later, Rinzler's disc was curving through space en route to where Feral was standing. She jumped into the air, twisting as she did so, leaving Rinzler's first disc to slice through the space beneath her and the second to pass harmlessly overhead as she dropped below it. Feral landed in a three-point crouch, then launched herself into a series of front flips—picking up speed as she did so—that brought her close enough to end in a kick to Rinzler's head. He ducked the first kick, then grabbed her ankle and twisted, turning her in the air.
Feral dropped to the ground, then kicked out—spinning on her shoulderblades to gain the range of motion she needed—and leg-swept Rinzler off of his feet. He fell back, turning it into a back-flip and launching one of his discs at her at the same time. She leapt up, clutching her legs as she somersaulted above the disc; aiming herself like a ball at the tall figure beginning to stand. Feral hit Rinzler's chest feet-first, knocking him down onto his back. He retaliated by kicking up, planting his left foot in her mid-section as he simultaneously caught her arms, sending her flying over his head to slam into the ground behind him.
Feral's back hit the ground hard, jarring her disc dock and knocking the breath out of her at the same time. She gritted her teeth, trying to get her breath back and move at the same time when Rinzler's body seemed to fold in upon itself, turning over until he had her pinned. As though in slow motion, Feral could see Rinzler's left hand coming up, a blur of light and color moving closer to her throat.
React! Her mind screamed at herself, do the unexpected—find a way to use his attack to cover one of your own. He's focused on keeping you pinned and positioning himself for a final strike; use that against him—he's close enough to reach with an attack of your own...
Rinzler seemed to roll up and over Feral, ending with his knees to either side of her waist and his active disc just under her chin.
"You lost," he told her, his voice gravel-rough.
Feral retracted her helmet and gave him a pained grin. "So did you..." she said, her voice hoarse as she tried to catch her breath.
Rinzler followed her gaze down to where she held her own disc next to his side—under the edge of his ribs. The slightest twitch of her hand would have resulted in his deresolution if Feral's disc had been active. He nodded shortly in acknowledgment, then stepped back; deactivating his disc as he did so.
Feral blinked at him for a second, then asked, "When did you activate your disc?"
"My discs have been active for the entire match," he told her, giving her a hand up. "You did very well...I would have deactivated them if I thought you were not up to the challenge."
Rinzler stopped for a moment then, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the music playing around them.
"Isn't this the same User music from our first match?" he asked, listening to the hard thumping beat.
"Umm, yeah," Feral replied, giving him a mildly sheepish look and rubbing the back of her neck as she did so. "I think it might be the same..."
Rinzler just looked at Feral for a moment, the blank, black face of his helmet giving away none of his thoughts before saying, "You did much better this time around."
Feral's jaw dropped. She stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. It only lasted a moment, and then her raised voice was heard.
"Better?! I won that match!"
"You did not win; you were pinned and under immediate threat of deresolution—"
"And you weren't? My disc could have ended you and you wouldn't have been able to stop it..."
"A draw then...a stalemate."
There was silence for a few picocycles.
"Alright, we'll call it a draw," Feral said, grumpily.
Rinzler's rasping chuckle could be heard. "Cheer up, Feral," he told her. "You didn't do that bad. Even with the code upgrades your User-render frame still isn't as strong as most programs. You're not as fast as some of the militarized security programs—like the BlackGuard—either. You—"
"Not making me feel better about this, just so you know," interrupted Feral, her expression sour.
Rinzler's odd chuckle grew louder.
"Feral," he said, gently, "You just fought the Grid's best combat-trained security program to a standstill."
If you can do that, you can defeat any other program on the Grid. You just have to make certain that you are never in a position to let them overwhelm you with sheer strength. Do your best to keep the matches from going on too long with experienced opponents—you will tire and lose your strength before they do."
She could almost hear the smile in his voice as Rinzler told her, "You did it, Feral. You have learned enough to survive the Games...any and all of them."
Feral blinked at Rinzler for a moment, uncomprehendingly. The smile, when it came, grew slowly and spread across her face, brightening her features.
"I-I did it?" she said. "I did! I did it Rinzler!" Feral let out a wild 'whoop' of excitement; jumping in the air and punching it with her fist as she did so. "I...did...it!"
Her face was flushed as she whirled around to face Rinzler again.
"Now that you know I'll be safe around other programs—not just the guards and soldiers when we patrol—can we go somewhere to celebrate?" She grinned at the tall Grid monitor before adding, "Please? I promise not to get injured..."
Rinzler made a considering sound low in his throat before saying, "I don't see why not. You have earned a chance to enjoy yourself a little." His tilted his head to the side. "Do you have somewhere specific you want to go to?
Feral's smile changed as he watched. It grew more secretive, with a hint of malice hiding in the edges.
"I know just where I want to go," she told Rinzler.
b)
They left the street, clipping the batons to their legs as they entered the elevator to take them up to the top level of the building, where the club was located.
The End Of Line club.
The doors to the elevator had scarcely closed when Feral strode to the wall that joined the building as the elevator moved up and down, carrying passengers up to the various locations in the building—including the club that occupied the top floors.
She spread her fingers as her hand made contact with the wall, a look of concentration on her face as fragments of code began to display themselves in front of her.
"What are you doing?" Rinzler asked her.
Feral didn't even look up from the code before her. "Hacking the club's sound system."
"Why?"
She motioned to the air around them. "The song playing now...?"
"Yes?"
"I want them to hear it in the club. Especially Castor..."
"They'll know something is coming," he told her. "If they know that, they might guess it's you."
Feral still had that strange, secretive smile on her face. As Rinzler watched, the smile sharpened; becoming predatory and vicious.
"Good," she said.
Around them, a song began to play; the beat anticipatory, tension building with each floor that they passed.
The song was throbbing throughout the club when the elevator doors opened. Inside, Rinzler could see Castor questioning the DJs; an unaccustomed look of confusion on his face.
Castor had always prided himself on knowing and having more information pass through his hands than any other program on the Grid. To not know what was happening with his club's sound system—not even his DJs knew what had happened—was maddening to the club manager. Castor glanced up at the sight of the door opening, his eyebrows rising even higher at the programs that were entering the End Of Line.
Rinzler was practically notorious for never interacting with other programs when he was off-duty. He was usually seen either in the Games, with CLU, or on patrol with CLU's pet program by his side.
And yet here Rinzler was, with CLU's pet program striding out into the club before him as the elevator doors closed.
Ah, yes...CLU's little pet. She had been interesting. Pity, Castor thought to himself, that I was not been able to spend the time to...get to know her better. He would have returned her to CLU before too much time would have passed; however, Rinzler had appeared to collect CLU's little runaway pet without Castor learning more about her than the fact that she could handle more energy—even tainted with malware coding—than any other program on the Grid. Well, he couldn't say as to Rinzler's abilities in that regard; the security program would never be so incautious as to risk becoming over-charged around other programs.
Feral stalked out of the elevator, her gaze fixed on only one thing: Castor. The pale, white-clad program had looked up from the DJ booth when she and Rinzler had entered the club and was now making his way towards the front of the club.
"Ah, Rinzler! An unexpected pleasure, to be certain," Castor was saying, the hand holding his cane raised aloft as though in salute. "I see you brought CLU's little pet wit—"
Whatever Castor might have said next was cut off short by Feral's leg sweeping Castor's feet out from under him, her right arm coming around for her hand to grab Castor by the throat and use his own weight to slam him into the floor of the club. Feral followed him down, kneeling with one of her knees on Castor's chest, pinning him in place.
Around them, the random chatter of club-goers fell silent, the only sounds a dropped glass shattering and the music that continued to play—ignoring the efforts of the DJs to silence or change it.
"Hello, Castor," she hissed at him, that secretive smile on her face hinting at the potential for violence.
"I know I haven't forgotten you..." Feral said. "Do you remember me?"
"Of course, I remember CLU's pet—" he began, only to have his head slammed against the floor.
"I'm not CLU's pet," she told him, with a growl that would have done Rinzler proud. "And CLU isn't the one holding my leash; he gave me to someone else." Feral slid her gaze to Rinzler and then back to Castor; smiling to see that the club manager's eyes had also looked at the security program that stood nearby, watching them.
"If I had to guess, I would say that he doesn't care for you much," Feral said, lightly. "I don't think he would be very upset if you were to be damaged...or derezzed."
Now, I think that you owe me a drink to replace the last one you served me. Oh, and Castor," Feral leaned closer, her breath a hot whisper in his ear as she told him, "If I ever think that you have slipped malicious code or anything else like that in another one of my drinks...nothing will keep you safe; not CLU, not even Rinzler. Rinzler might even derezz you himself."
As she finished speaking, Castor gave a furtive glance over to where Rinzler waited, a dark and dangerous figure. The pale hexagons of Castor's pupils spread wider and he nodded his head.
"I—that won't be a problem," he said, trying to recover his usual glib tone of voice.
Feral smiled again, that same secretive smile—that was rapidly becoming one of the most frightening things that Castor had seen in cycles—on her face as she stepped back to let him rise.
"Send my drink to the DJ booth," Feral called over her shoulder as she walked away. Behind her, Castor was rising from the floor, a nervous laugh leaving his lips as he cheered her 'unexpected demonstration' for making the millicycle more exciting for the club-goers.
Rinzler intercepted Feral on her way to the booth that held the club's two DJs.
'What was that?' he signed to her.
'Something that needed to be done,' Feral signed back, her face empty. 'And now I can enjoy a drink without having to worry about Castor's little coding additions.'
'It's going to attract attention...'
Feral shrugged. 'Coming here attracted attention. Now it will be cautious attention.'
c)
Rinzler watched as Feral continued to make her way to the booth that held the club's two DJs. Little as he wanted to admit it, Rinzler knew she was right. It was better for the programs to be wary of her. It would be lonelier...however, it would help keep her safe.
Feral kept walking to the DJ booth. Inside the booth, she could see the DJs making their way around the booth, apparently trying to regain control of the club's sound system.
They looked a little different than the other programs she had seen around the Grid. Both of them wore helmets that completely covered their faces, with visors that were much smaller than the ones found on armored programs. Even the most basic of programs had the option of a full visor for their helmets; however, the two DJs seemed to have the limited visors hard-coded for their helmets.
As she came closer, Feral saw one DJ look up and elbow his smaller partner in the side to get his partner's attention. The smaller program looked at his partner, question marks scrolling across his visor as he did so. The taller of the programs motioned with his chin towards Feral, causing the shorter program to turn until both programs were facing her.
For some reason, Feral felt almost shy as she reached the DJ booth.
"Hello," she said, a small, quick smile flickering across her face as she did so. "I, um, I'm the one that hacked your sound system..."
The two programs looked at each other in surprise, then pointed at the MP3 file still playing and then pointing at Feral.
"Yeaahh," she said, "that one..."
The shorter program pushed a little forward to tap a finger on the MP3 file emphatically.
Feral looked down at the file, comprehension coming a moment later.
"Oh! You want to know where the file came from?"
Both programs were nodding now, 'Yes!' scrolling across their visors at the same time.
She blinked for a moment. Even off the Grid, DJs wanted to know about new music; however, they usually just wanted to get more...not learn where it came from. That was a question more like what musicians wanted to know—
Feral felt the smile spread across her face...
"MIDIs!" she said, grinning delightedly. "You two are midi programs, aren't you?"
More nods from the programs in the booth.
She tilted her head a little to the side, getting a better look at them. "Don't talk much, do you?"
The DJs shook their heads. 'Music is better...' scrolled across the visor of the taller of the two.
The laugh burst from Feral's lips unexpectedly, surprising even her with its sound. "Like a true musician," she said, teasingly. "The MP3 file is a User-style one. I have several, if you would like to have some copies."
'YES!' was scrolling in all capital letters across both visors now.
A strange, short conversation began between the three music lovers; some words, many gestures, and a few scrolled words and symbols making up the communication. The DJs were thrilled with every song file that Feral sent copies of in data bursts to the booth, giving her the permissions to hack straight into the DJ booth to speed the process. They began to play with some of the files; changing them slightly and giving them an unmistakable 'Grid' twist. While unexpected, Feral was certain that their version of the 'Galloway Reel' was a new favorite. Feral often found herself shifting or swaying in time with the finished music files.
Finally, several nanocycles later, one of the server programs came by with Feral's drink and a message for the DJs.
"Here's your drink, compliments of the house." A drink was put on the edge of the booth that Feral was leaning against, easily within her reach.
The server—a tall, dark-skinned female program that resembled the armory sirens in many ways—then turned to the DJs, setting her tray down on the edge of the booth. "Castor says that you've spent enough time interacting with only one of the guests. He wants something to get programs either back out on the dance floor, or interested in ordering drinks." The server rolled her eyes as she delivered the message, a sardonic twist to her smile as she did. "I think he's jealous of the fact that this pretty program seems to like you two more than she likes him," the program told them, glancing over at Feral as she spoke. "He's used to being the attention-getter in the club, and YOU..." she said to Feral, "dropped him like lag code, then ignored him for the DJs. I expect Castor to be annoying until someone new pays attention to him." She smiled at Feral as she picked up her tray. "Feel free to find me if you need something," the server said, rocking back on her heels a little. "A drink, a dance partner...I'll be around." The server winked and walked back into the crowd, on her way to take more drink orders.
Feral stared after the server, then turned to the two programs next to her. "I think her visual sensors need adjusting," she told them. "That server just called me pretty."
The taller DJ shrugged. 'Iva has always liked interesting programs...' he scrolled on his visor.
"But I'm not pretty," Feral protested. "I've got a big scar across my face, for Grid's sake!"
'Iva,' the smaller program scrolled, repeating his partner's words, 'has always liked interesting programs.'
Feral stared at them for a moment, then gave a small grin.
"And you know that Iva likes interesting programs...how?"
The two programs looked at each other; then pointing at each other, they scrolled 'Interesting' at the same time.
Letting out a low laugh, Feral said, "I'll just bet she found you interesting. And you? Did the two of you find Iva interesting?"
The smaller program shook his head. 'Music,' he scrolled, 'is interesting.'
His partner nodded in agreement before tapping the console to show that they needed to return to their duties.
Curious as to why two Midi programs would be satisfied merely DJ-ing, Feral asked them, "Why do you work for Castor? Isn't there somewhere else you would rather work? He seems like he works you hard..."
The programs nodded, then the taller of the two scrolled, 'We work harder, but the music is better. When the beats come faster, we can make the music stronger. Worth working with Castor...'
The smaller program waved at her, then tapped his partner on the arm. 'Our work is never over...'
Feral smiled again. "I'll leave you to your work," she told them, "but I will bring more MP3 files the next time I come to the club."
With the extra coding that Rinzler had given her along with the combat upgrades, it was a simple matter for Feral to scan the drink for malicious coding. When the scans came back as 'clean', she took a sip.
Whatever the type of energy was in the drink she had been given, it was strong.
During her time doing patrols with Rinzler, Feral had been given several different types of energy to sample,; in increasingly larger amounts. Rinzler had even given her a small amount of raw, unprocessed energy to try once ('Go slow,' he had signed as he gave it to her, 'You don't want to have an energy purge with large amounts in your system if you can't tolerate it...' 'What's an energy purge?' she had asked in sign. Rinzler's reply had been, 'Exactly what it sounds like—unpleasant.'). The few facts they had discovered by doing this were: Feral could safely ingest all of the energy in the system, processed and filtered or not; and, Feral couldn't get over-charged on energy like a program would.
Given too much energy, most programs would either find their mood becoming more mellow with the urge to enter a sleep-cycle; or, they would become manic, belligerent, uncoordinated and loud—resembling many Users in that fashion.
Feral sipped again at her drink; the flavor was unidentifiable to her but the energy made everything seem bright and sharp-edged. It reminded her of the espressos she loved to drink before coming to the Grid. Most energy had the same effect on her, heightening her concentration and making her more alert—it was almost the exact opposite of the effects of alcohol on her system.
Not that she had ever been a heavy drinker before the Grid. The most Feral had on a regular basis was the occasional glass or two of wine with dinner, maybe a celebratory champagne toast. The one and only time she had decided to purposefully become drunk had been when she broke up with Blaine.
She had gone to the liquor store and come back with a bottle of cheap bourbon, before proceeding to stay drunk for a week. It had taken a tearful, late-night call to Alan before she crawled out of the bottle; and only because both Alan and Lora had both showed up at her apartment and insisted on staying until she was sober enough for her to deal with the break-up without them worrying that she would start drinking again. It turned out that it wasn't such a big worry, after all. By the time Feral had survived what she felt like must have been the worst hang-over known to man, she couldn't even tolerate the smell of bourbon without becoming sick. She didn't remember that week, purchasing several other bottles of alcohol, or even the phone call that led to Alan and Lora's visit. Feral didn't like to think or talk about it...she wasn't proud of that week and would have preferred for it to have never occurred.
Energy, though...energy she could drink almost non-stop without ill effects. The worst thing that had happened so far when she drank too much (was there a too much? It didn't seem like it...) was a tendency to either pace or nag Rinzler into extra training sessions. It was a bit like having large amounts of caffeine before bed...you didn't feel like sleeping, even if you were tired. Feral took another large swallow of the drink in her hand, her eyes picking out the shape of a program making his way over to where she was standing.
"Hello," the new program was saying, his eyes flicking up and down her body as he talked. "What are you drinking?"
Castor stood watching as CLU's –or Rinzler's, he really didn't care much either way—little pet (what was her designation again? Ah, yes...Feral) stood at the DJ booth. She was laughing at something the DJs had done.
Laughing...just like the crowd had laughed. It hadn't been much, or loud; just a few chuckles when he told them it was a 'demonstration'.
But they had laughed at him—at Castor. Not at something he had said, some little tidbit of gossip or a witty bon mot; no, they had laughed at the sight of some relatively unknown little program putting him flat on his back on the floor of his own club. A little more anger curled up in him and Castor gritted his teeth at the thought.
It would have been something completely different if it had been Rinzler himself, or even one of the other security programs. Instead, it had been Feral. CLU could say whatever he wanted about how his adaptive program was being readied for the Games, but until she proved herself in a match she was considered to be the same as any other program on the Grid...and no more dangerous than a lone gridbug. Annoying, but easily dealt with or ignored.
No one was ignoring her. Castor glanced around the End of Line, noticing how many of the club's patrons were giving her their attention. Attention that should have been directed in other areas; areas like the bar, or the dance floor. Why did they even bother? Certainly, she was different; however, the sirens were far more fascinating. Even as he thought this, the door opened an one of the armory sirens from the Games entered the club. She smiled at Castor as she neared him.
Castor looked at the siren heading his way, a thin smile on his face as he got an idea of how to handle a certain program.
"Gem, my darling! What a pleasure it is to see you here." Castor offered the siren his arm, adding in a lower tone of voice, "I want a message sent to CLU..."
d)
Feral smiled again at the program next to her. His green eyes twinkled from behind shaggy dark -brown bangs as he danced. She had to look up to meet his eyes, but not as much as when she was trying to look Rinzler in the eyes—or where she hoped Rinzler's eyes were behind his visor—as the data-transfer program was several inches shorter than Rinzler.
Frex, as he told Feral he was called, was a lot of fun and not a bad dancer. After eight years of dancing without a partner, she had thought it would be awkward to dance with someone; however, it had felt as normal as if it had only been a month or two since the last time. She was enjoying herself too much to want to question it or think too hard about just how long she had been in the system.
Thoughts like that could be depressing, and for the first time since Feral came to the Grid she had the chance to relax and have fun—just like everyone else at the End of Line.
Frex, meanwhile kept moving closer as they danced. It hadn't been an issue at first; however, now the program was becoming more insistent. While they had enjoyed a few drinks and a few dances, Feral was not about to make the mistake of believing that she could be friends with the data-transfer program. She knew only too well that no matter how nice a program seemed, CLU could rectify them at any time. Getting too close to a program was simply not an option for her.
Unfortunately, getting much closer seemed to be what Frex was after.
"So," he was saying, crowding closer and leaning down to almost whisper in her ear. "I'm not scheduled for an active function status for another millicycle...why don't we go have some fun? We could use the couches in the back to relax and enjoy some circuit stimulation or interfacing. If you're feeling a little shy, we can also go to my quarters. They're not far from the End of Line..."
Feral shook her head, still smiling as she stepped back.
"No thanks," she told him. "This has been fun; but the dance is all I'm interested in doing."
"Come on...we don't have to stop here," Frex wheedled, "we don't even have to leave the club..."
"No, Frex," Feral said, her voice firm. "If you don't want to dance, I'll leave."
The program's eyes darkened. "I thought we were having a good time," he said, his tone becoming surly. "We've been dancing...that was high-grade energy I bought you..."
"Yes, and it was very nice. I'm still not interested, and now—I don't think I'm interested in that dance, either." She turned to walk away.
"I'm not done yet," Frex was saying as he reached out and grabbed her elbow.
Feral turned and looked up at him. "Let go of my arm." Her voice was hard as she spoke.
"Listen, you little code-tease—" he snapped, reaching with his left hand for her shoulder to pull her closer. Frex didn't have a chance to finish whatever it was he wanted to say before Feral acted.
As soon as Frex's hand touched her shoulder, Feral's right arm was moving; her right hand closing on his upper left arm just above the elbow. At the same time, her left hand was slamming with all of her strength and speed on the area just below the elbow joint on the same arm.
The 'crack' of breaking code was audible even over the music. The music itself was drowned out a moment later by Frex's piercing scream of pain. Feral's right hand reached over her shoulder, freeing her disc and activating it. She pulled it back, ready to strike...
"FERAL! STAND DOWN, NOW!"
The entire club fell silent at the shouted order. On the dance floor, Feral's head shot up; a belligerent look on her face as though she was considering ignoring the order out of sheer defiance.
At the edge of the dance floor, Rinzler was giving a short, sharp 'no' shake of his head. Standing just before him was CLU, gold-circuit edged cloak moving about his ankles as he took a step onto the dance floor.
The system admin program came a little closer, saying as he did so, "Let him go. I think he has learned his lesson."
Feral cast another quick glance over at Rinzler, who made a small movement with one hand. She lowered her disc slowly, then shoved the now-whimpering program to sprawl on the floor further away from her as he clutched his damaged arm.
"Fine," she snarled, "he can go. Next time a program tells him no, he'll listen." With that said, Feral took a step over and past him. "I was ready to leave, anyway," she added, in a lower voice. It only took a few steps before she was standing even with CLU.
"I see you are ready for the Games," CLU said, his voice mild and even as she moved by him. "You will join the next ones that are scheduled..."
Feral hesitated at his words, trying not to appear startled or surprised by what she had just been told.
"It's time for both of you to return to quarters," CLU told Rinzler, turning to leave the dance floor as he did.
He spoke again, addressing the manager of the End of Line, "I'll have a drink, Castor. You can make it for me in your private lounge. We have business to discuss."
"There has to be something more you can tell me."
Detective Raul Garza leaned forward in his worn desk chair, a creaking sound accompanying the move. He sighed a little as he looked at the business man sitting in an office chair on the other side of his desk. This wasn't the first time he had spoken to the man, and it hadn't become any easier. The veteran detective ran a hand over his broad face, pushing his dark hair up over his forehead as he did so. His wife was always telling him he should just get a buzz-cut so he would stop messing up his hair six times a day.
"Mr. Bradley, I wish I did have more to tell you. We have no new leads in your friend's missing persons case. You told us that she was alone in the arcade when you left. We have footage from the traffic camera at the corner showing the two of you arriving, going into the arcade, and you leaving—alone. We have no footage of her leaving." Around the two of them, other officers and people moved and spoke, busy with their own cases.
Detective Garza reached for the file on top of a stack of several that rested to the side of his desk. Flipping it open, he began speaking again.
"You told us yourself that she had gone through some difficulty in her personal life recently—"
Alan Bradley grimaced a little at those words. He glared at the officer in front of him.
"That has nothing to do with her being missing," he said. His hands tightened where they rested on the chair arms as the detective continued as though having never been interrupted.
"Failed relationship, constant travel—I've seen the photos of her apartment, Mr. Bradley, almost no personal items in it—no pets, the woman didn't even have houseplants..."
Alan's eyes narrowed and he said, tightly, "That would have resulted in a lot of dead plants, considering how much traveling she did for her job."
Detective Garza gave a small nod at that fact. "Granted, that's true; however, when we factor in elderly, disabled parents—"
"The Larssons are not 'disabled' and I recommend that you never suggest such a thing to them or their daughter."
"Mr. Bradley—despite what you may feel, Mr. Larsson has a life-long physical disability. His wife has health problems that have been present for years and are incurable.
This looks less like a missing persons case and more like a case of someone who couldn't handle the stress and potential responsibilities of her life. It wouldn't be the first time someone has just...run away from it all."
You of all people should understand this situation. Didn't your other friend—"
There was a scraping sound as the office chair was pushed back and its occupant stood up. When Detective Garza looked up the fury on the face of the man before him was evident.
"Kevin Flynn did not 'run away'," Alan Bradley was saying, anger hot in his voice. "I don't know what happened to him, or where he is, but he did not run away. He never would have left his family and friends behind to worry about him. Never. Something happened to him, and something has happened to my friend now."
It's been almost two months since she went missing. She never goes this long without contacting someone—family and friends. No one has heard anything from her. She's not hiding, she's missing and that means she needs help."
Detective Garza's voice was quiet and matter of fact when he spoke again.
"Mr. Bradley...There were no signs of forced entry or struggle. Cell phone records show that she did not make or receive any calls or texts that night that would suggest she left due to duress or threats against herself or another person. There is no footage of her leaving the arcade with anyone. There have been no tips, no reports of sightings, nothing since you filed the missing persons report."
Without further leads or a miracle...there simply isn't much else we can do. Her case will remain open until she is found or is declared legally dead."
Alan Bradley raked a hand through his greying hair, frustrated by what he was being told. He looked around the busy squad room, as though if he just looked hard enough, his friend would appear. Finally, he reached down and picked up his briefcase in preparation to leave.
"She didn't run away," he said again, firmly; a trace of sadness and the desperation to have someone believe and agree with him leaking into his voice. "She doesn't run from anything..."
A/N—Hey. Hey, you there.
Yeah, you. That's who I'm talking to.
I've missed you. I hope you like what's been happening with the story so far.
You know me...I don't regret anything I do to the characters.
Now, no binge reading. Get some rest and have a great day tomorrow.
We'll still be here when you come back to the story.