Author's Notes:
Yes, at long last, the long-awaited Chapter 4! Sorry it took so long, got distracted playing Fallout 3 all over again...
Undercity operated as it always had; men and women scurried through the floors, running up and down corridors and flights of stairs, packing the elevators and lining up in queues just like ants moving through their tunnels. Engineers ran this way and that, fixing mechanical problems and working on new technological advances while teachers stumbled their way to the classrooms, preparing themselves for another day full of disappointment. The Council posted the previous day's Worker of the Day award; Malcolm O'Laighin, a mechanic who supposedly single-handedly stopped a reactor going critical during breakfast, but the technicians and mechanics knew the truth; that there was no reactor problems the day before. O'Laighin likely had done some great service for the Council, such as fixing the Representative of Builder's spa jets.
However, there were those who definitely were not engaging in Council-approved activities.
Dropping down onto the cold metal floor like a cat, the woman flung herself forward behind a stack of crates, head turning ever so slightly as she allowed the interfaced visor she wore to pick up her surroundings and categorize them accordingly. It identified the long, metal corridor with several lights hanging low from the ceiling and occasionally shorting out as being an environmental factor to her safety, but the night-vision lens picked up movement almost forty yards down the corridor, patrolling through a light-less area, and a further cross-scan by the biological scanner pulled up the reference sheet of an Undercity guard, rated as a medium-level threat factor.
That means he's carrying a firearm.
Once more Adrienne marveled at the newest creation her team had produced after months of trials and tribulations, and tweaked the lead that connected several of the lenses together. She and Jorge had been working on the cross-scan module for the past month since he and Aimee had arrived at Adrienne's headquarters on Floor Six. As she had explained the two on their arrival, Floor Six was absolutely perfect to ensure that they were never found.
"But won't this be the first floor the Council search?" Jorge had asked, slipping in a pool of oil as they had trekked across the abandoned floor towards Adrienne's hideout, but Aimee had explained how often it was that the people searching for something never looked right under their own noses; the Council would most likely conclude that it would be pointless for the fugitives to hide so close by, and would likely never think to check this floor. With the amount of security available to them and the area each floor covered, it would take the Council months to search the entire complex for the fugitives, and with that kind of speed it would be easy to jump from floor to floor, hiding in different positions whenever the guards got close.
But even after a few days of staying there, both Jorge and Aimee had grown comfortable in their new home. They already had accepted the fact that they couldn't go home, and any contact with their parents or friends could lead in their capture and subsequent torture. Their immediate reaction to the hide-out was one of amazement; after spending a good hour picking through the ruined support columns and collapsed ceilings that heralded the entrance of the hide-out, which Adrienne had caused herself in some cases, the trio had found themselves in a warehouse almost as big as the one the Department of Forced Will had been located in, filled from corner to corner with discarded clothes, supplies and tech. Old computers cluttered the rows and rows of workbenches, while the remains of what appeared to be a water-powered turbine collected dust in the corner. Several of Adrienne's accomplices had been there; Zohharrah and Timothy had been working on the interfaced visor's night-vision capabilities while Jeremiah, Nicolas and Havian had been cobbling together some sort of man-shaped robot, occasionally swearing or grunting in anger when a socket on a computer chip broke, or the fine filaments that connected the various parts snapped from the strain. Jorge's opinion of their project dropped further when one of the technicians dropped a wrench on another's head, and had said as much to Adrienne. But there was no time for such idle thoughts.
Crouching as low to the floor as she could without impending movement completely, Adrienne snuck forwards, towards the shadows that hid the guard as he walked slowly away. If the guard turned around at any point, it was unlikely he would notice her silhouette on the ocean grey-painted metal walls unless he was alerted to her presence first. But Adrienne would make sure he wouldn't have the chance. She rose higher as she began running on silent feet, inflicting a quiet death on the guard; his throat slit and gurgling sounds exiting his mouth as he bled out.
The Resistance, as Adrienne's team liked to be called, relied on sowing fear among the guard's ranks in order to combat the Council's military forces effectively by causing as much death and destruction as they could without creating too much trouble. The war on the lower floors consisted mainly of stealing and sabotage, and only the occasional murder was sanctioned by Adrienne if the situation warranted it. Too much attention would lead the Council to order a complete search and destroy mission, forsaking security in order to completely scour the Undercity of the Resistance.
The guard Adrienne had killed was named Blake, and she poked his still-bleeding head with the tip of her boot. She had read his dossier beforehand, and had known he would be on duty outside the medic unit on Floor Twelve today.
"Well you bastard, I guess that ends your fun-filled days of torture in the Department, eh?" Adrienne had gotten revenge of just one of the many men who had made her time in the Department hell, now there was only a small battalion's worth to cut through. Adrienne let out a quick whistle and crouched down again. Behind her, Havian dropped down the ventilation, his stocky-frame thudding onto the floor before sprinting up to the shadows where Adrienne lay. Sweating in his black jumpsuit and blowing his long, blonde hair out of his eyes, Havian chuckled as he took in Adrienne's handiwork, and then gulped as he took in her choice of clothes today. A black balaclava and skin-tight leather outfit and with the cleavage completely revealed was not Havian's idea of an assassin's garb.
"Ever consider painting a red stripe down your back with the blood of your victims?" Asked Havian, wrapping the dead guard's neck with a towel.
"Why would I do that?"
"You remind me of the Black Widow spider, snaring a man into your clutches before dipping your fangs into him." Satisfied with his work, Havian went through the guard's pockets, finding the man's key pass, schedule, several rations and spare clips of ammunition for the AR-15 that lay next to the body, a spray of blood adorning its barrel. "Maybe I should," smiled Adrienne dangerously, an evil look in her eyes. "I certainly have the reputation for it. Want to be my next victim?"
Havian grinned and shook his head. "I don't think so; maybe Timothy might be stupid enough to fall for that, or that new kid, Jorge." Havian chucked the gun to Adrienne, who caught it expertly and hefted it in her hands, waving once to Havian and stalking the corridor further. Havian would make sure the body would never be found; most likely incinerating the body in one of the common trash-incinerators that dotted the floors while Adrienne snuck further down the corridor, passing each home's entrance until she came upon the floor's medical unit. It was the middle of the work-cycle, and as Adrienne planned there was no one coming in or out of their homes, giving a direct route to the medical unit without having to dodge any residents.
Slinging the AR-15 over her shoulder, Adrienne patted her own firearm at her waist with admiration, before drawing it out of its holster.
Opening the stark white door to the medical unit with her Beretta 90-Two poised. The room was as white as the door, with long plastic benches lining the sides of the walls, where a nurse sat at a desk, typing away while filling out a prescription for an old lady, who fainted the moment Adrienne walked in, brandishing her ergonomic handgun. The nurse screamed and jumped under her desk, arms over her head while the doctor in the other room poked his head through the door behind the desk, hearing the old woman's body hitting the ground.
Adrienne wasn't an idiot; she knew the nurse had hit the silent alarm that would currently be ringing in the guard post on the other side of the floor, and she had precious few minutes before the guard post had radioed the dead guard who was supposed to be on duty and realized he was dead. Gesturing the blubbering young nurse into the doctor's office with her gun, Adrienne grabbed the manifest of medical supplies and scanned the list quickly found what she was looking for.
"Take all the military-issue supplies you have and bring them to the front door," ordered Adrienne, before walking back into the waiting room, her gun pointed towards the door while she watched the doctor and nurse scramble from room to room, carrying light-weight polymer cartons. Adrienne didn't like stealing supplies from the civilian-run medics and threatening them with a bullet in the head, but she kept telling herself it was a means to an end.
If the Resistance managed to demoralize the guards and revoke any protection the Council could offer to its main supporters, then the masses would see how they crumble and rally behind the strongest of the pair; the party that didn't enforce slavery upon its people or compromise everyone's privacy, and instead support the Resistance that would treat everyone equally and create a governing body that was voted by the people, for the people. Democracy was the golden word.
Adrienne was distracted by a beep from her pager. Taking it out, she read the short message displayed on the tiny screen while keeping her handgun trained on the frightened medics.
'I hope you're feeling better; we can't have our favorite supervisor gone from work too long.'
And of course Adrienne couldn't forget her cover job; Yaleson was doing her a favor by pretending to look the other way all those times she had called in sick. Adrienne had a funny feeling Yaleson knew that she was up to no good, but like the regular civilians of Undercity she doubted he had heard of her alter-ego. While the Council had to deal with her morale-destroying activities, they attributed all of her crimes to random thieves and murderers who they made up on the spot. Until Adrienne had a way to bring the word of the Resistance to the regular population without getting reported to the guards, the Resistance had to remain undercover.
With precious few minutes to spare, Adrienne pressed a button on the side of her visor. Immediately her heads-up display, or HUD, expanded; a direct up-link to the database stored in her headquarters was established, her heart-rate and pulse was displayed in the bottom right corner while a rangefinding reticule connected to the sensor module that Zohharrah, one of her Resistance technicians, had designed and fabricated. If the Council ever got their hands on this technology then there would be no stopping them. The reticule assisted greatly with the firing of her 90-two; allowing her to follow the path the bullet would follow should the gun be fired, essentially making it extremely easy for Adrienne to fire accurately from the hip, or even on the run. It compensated for motion and distance, making Adrienne a marksman of the highest caliber while she utilized the gadget, and was able to shoot an apple sitting on the head of a man over one-hundred yards away with complete ease, and because of her training to be exact and precise when utilizing her equipment as a mechanic, she didn't have to worry about her hands shaking.
Experimentally shaking her 90-two from side-to-side, watching the reticule swing about in turn, Adrienne nodded satisfyingly, and manipulated the controls on the side of her visor to call Havian with the communicator built-in.
"Hey, we're running out of time, Plan A goes ahead."
"Su- I'll be righ- -re," crackled Havian's reply from the static. Within half a minute Havian rushed inside the medic unit, an old M1 Garand in his capable grip. The Garand was an extremely old rifle, stolen from the Council's private treasury in a daring raid made a few months previously. With its accuracy, decent rate-of-fire and formidable firepower, it was a tool of extremely-high usefulness in Havian's hands. Even when wearing a black jumpsuit and balaclava, Adrienne could still see how tense and worried Havian was, despite having been on a fair number of similar raids. While Adrienne had the visor and reticule to aid her in combat situations, Havian didn't, atleast not until Adrienne could requisition another infra-red transmitter and receiver for another visor and sensor module.
"The guards have barricaded both ends of the corridors, fifty yards down each way. Two of the guards are more-or-less decent; they're the ones guarding the left exit, while the three on the right are Jackson, Mickelson and White. Send a quick query back to HQ."
Adrienne spoke each name aloud, one by one, and immediately three different reports popped up on her HUD. Jackson, a short, stocky dwarf of a man was innocent of any wrong-doing according to the quick database search, being a firm believer in justice and human rights, but both Mickelson and White had both done shifts in the Department of Forced Will, and had joint-ownership of an illegal gambling den on Floor Eighteen that traded in the sexual favors of young girls against their wills. Both men had been brought before a farce of a court-martial by the family of the girls, and had been officially sentenced to prison. Unofficially, the officers were just assigned to a different patrol shift and their business moved.
"Both White and Mickelson are viable targets."
Havian nodded. He knew the plan.
Elevator Eleven was one of the few lifts that could still reach the lower floors, provided one wanted to get a face full of radiation should they choose to. Plan A was the escape-plan in order to make it to Elevator Eleven; Adrienne would clear the scum away with her 90-two while Havian pushed the goods on the trolley that they'd take from the medical unit's stockroom. Clearing the barricade, they would then have a few minutes before the other guards would catch up to them, in that time they had to take a right turn several hundred yards down the corridor where it ended, make their way past exactly three four-way intersections, then take the left at the three-way intersection and get into the elevator just down that passage. The entire journey would take a good twenty minutes, passing through several checkpoints they had set up, and while no resident of Undercity would put themselves out in danger to stop the duo, and any patrolling guard would be authorized to use extreme force once the first reports of fire came through.
The first checkpoint would be at the end of the corridor, where a member of her team would be waiting, his earpiece tuned into the guard's radio chatter. Adrienne had been asked if she had wanted a similar receiver for the visor, but she had turned down the offer; extra noise would just disorientate her from her objective. The person stationed at the checkpoint, who was code-named 'Listener', would then join their procession, updating the convoy on the guard's positions as they continued to the next checkpoint.
The second checkpoint, positioned at the second four-way intersection, is where code-name 'Runner' was waiting. The Runner's job was to divert attention by any means possible, then escape through a service duct after losing the guards tailing him. Should the plan work, Adrienne and Havian should be able to get to the elevator and make their getaway without trouble.
As the last of the military-grade supplies were brought to the front, Havian ordered the nurse to get the trolley and to load all the supplies on it. Once the white trolley was packed with the various crates and containers, Havian slung his rifle onto his back and took the trolley in both hands, then waiting by the entrance to the medical unit. Adrienne took in a deep breath. No matter how many times she had done this, even before she had been given the prototype interface visor to aid her, she still worried. If she was killed, or captured, then the Resistance would be effectively over. Until she had figured out a way of rescuing mass amounts of prisoners for the Department of Forced Will at a time, or discovered the secret to effectively combating the Council's political command over Undercity, then the Resistance would be doomed. With the new additions of Jorge and Aimee, Adrienne had discovered a secret that should be able to serve her in the long-run.
At first Adrienne was determined that the only real help to the Resistance would come from Jorge; after all, what use is a young girl who has only been trained to read books and play musical instruments to the Resistance, but over the last month's course Aimee had opened up further, and had told the Resistance of her family's deeply-ingrained treachery; that they had stored books and knowledge that were deemed to be blasphemous and passed the knowledge down.
While Jorge had not wanted to reveal himself to Yaleson and potentially threaten the Chief Mechanic should the Council see his presence on any of the CCTV footage, Aimee couldn't resist seeing her family, and dressed up in a technician's jumpsuit as well as a safety helmet to go up and visit, with Havian as her escort. The twenty-three year old had been thoroughly grilled by Aimee's father at first, concerned that her daughter had been kidnapped by some evil group of people, but after sitting them down and explaining the whole situation, Aimee's family broke down and wept in happiness. They had been worried sick by her disappearance, but the Council had ignored all their queries and pleas, even sending a small group of guards to threaten the family should they disturb the peace in any way, and now they were reluctant to let their daughter go once more. Aimee had pleaded with them to let her go and to help the Resistance, explaining how there was no way the Council wouldn't pick up her appearance on their CCTV and send guards to capture her, so her father had seen reason and gave her consent to do as she wished, as long as she stayed safe. Aimee's grandmother had begun to weep with relief at her granddaughter's escape, and had packed several books into a backpack for Aimee to take.
Both Aimee's mother and father had offered to join the Resistance, it was Havian who said no this time, and had explained to them that unless there was a mass-movement of people supporting the Resistance, then the Council would crack down on the few regular civilians who did try and help out. After a tearful farewell, Aimee and Havian took a detour to the Orwell's household, where Aimee left a letter for the twins that Jorge had written.
Those books that Aimee had received from her grandmother had been the greatest gift Adrienne could have ever foreseen; each of those tombs contained thousands of pages documenting the birth of Democracy and its role in history as it took the place of Monarchy as the major political movement. Equality and freedom of speech were enough to make Adrienne's mouth water, and the ability for the general public to elect their own leaders who would only serve a 'term' made her almost wet herself in excitement. Democracy was her new favorite word, a political system to strive ever onwards for.
"Are you alright?" Havian asked as he jittered on the spot, and Adrienne realized she had just been standing there for the last minute, her thoughts in the clouds.
"Yeah, I'm okay, let's move out."
Adrienne hit the switch on the side of the door and ran out, her visor clicking as it swept both sides of the corridors for threats. Immediately five three medium-level and two low-level threats were established, a low-level on each end of the corridor. Darkness obscured the entrance of the medical unit, which shrouded Adrienne as she manipulated the visor's zoom functions. At only fifty yards away, it was a breeze for her to zoom in on the trio of guards barricading her right, and sure enough, both White and Mickelson were there, armed with a pump-action shotgun and pistol respectively while the dwarf-like Jackson was swinging a baton in one hand, twiddling with his long moustache with the other. It was likely that the guards thought this situation was more or less a milk run, just dealing with the odd screwball or psycho who had snapped and needed some drugs. It amused Adrienne to no end that the majority of the guards had no idea about the Resistance, that the Council had suppressed any information about them or their wrong-doings. Each raid was usually attributed to criminals and thieves, which helped Adrienne out immensely.
Disengaging the safety lock on her Beretta, Adrienne began inching forward on her knees, waiting for the moment that the trio would notice her. She made in ten yards before the lights flicked back on and heard Havian exit the medical unit with the trolley.
Jumping up from her position, Adrienne raised her gun, watched the reticule land on White's shocked face and pulled the trigger fully, sending a .40 S&W round at him. Before she could even see if her first shot hit, she aimed to the right slightly and pulled the trigger, sending another two rounds at Mickelson.
Jackson just stood there, completely still as Adrienne and Havian came bounding towards him, and pretended to surrender his baton before pulling back, his baton poised for a blow onto Adrienne's head. But Adrienne was faster, side-stepping out of the way as Havian let go of the trolley and pulled his rifle into his hands. Adrienne ducked under the guard's sweep and grabbed the trolley, and continued to push it as Havian brought the stock of his Garand onto Jackson's arm, an audible crunch ringing out which was quickly joined by his screams.
"Mickelson isn't dead," said Havian, jogging to meet up with Adrienne. "Look's like you hit him in the arm and shoulder, he's just lying there, moaning and whining, and I really wanted to just stamp his face in with my rifle."
"You bloody well better have not, breaking Jackson's arm was already a bad choice of action, and it shows the Council that we're no better then them, hurting the innocent and the guilty alike," replied Adrienne, sternly. It was bad enough that only serious injury or murder could slow down the Council's loyal henchman, even though it would make the Resistance a lot of enemies later on the murders were linked to them.
"Didn't really have much of a choice, being beaten into submission by a dwarf sounds a bit too much like the Department for me." Shouting followed them up the corridor as they ran with the trolley. "Sounds like the other guards found our mess."
Adrienne switched control of the trolley over to Havian and aimed her 90-two down the corridor at the pursuing guards, only squeezing off a quick volley when she was sure the reticule was no where near a target.
The three guards immediately stopped and hid themselves behind some of the columns that protruded from the corridor sides, unwilling to take a stray bullet in the head like White had, his brains blown out on the shiny metal floor etched into their memories. Reaching the end of the corridor where the first checkpoint awaited, Havian turned the trolley sharply and stopped momentarily. At the corner of the corridor was a diner, set up in the old retro décor; Red vinyl-covered diner booths with white Formica bench tops, an old jukebox played happily in the corner while a man wearing a coat and bandana sat at the bar, drinking a strawberry milkshake while the shop attendant leaned over, a gorgeous young woman with curly blonde hair and a bust that any customer would love to stare down. Adrienne put two fingers to her mouth and whistled shrilly.
The man jumped up from his chair, thanked the beautiful lady for her company and flipped her a generous tip. Rushing out of the diner, the man readjusted his red bandana while Adrienne winked. "So that's why you volunteered for this checkpoint, eh?"
"It's not like I could pass up a dame like her," answered Timothy Spielson, his yellow eyes reflecting the ceiling lights.
"Who the hell says dame these days, Tim?" Havian snorted, pushing the trolley again while Adrienne and Timothy followed.
"Don't call me Tim, makes me sound like a little kid, I'm older then the both of you." Adrienne rolled her eyes at this while Timothy raised one side of the bandana exposing the small listening device attached to his ear, and began dialing different frequencies. Ever since he joined it was a running competition amongst the Resistance members to see who could find out how old Timothy was first; while he appeared to be not too much older then the others, Timothy didn't engage in similar activities as them, preferring to spend his time playing chess or talking with the old retirees. He would chat up women from any age from twenty to fifty, and with his chiseled good looks and amused demeanor his bed was rarely empty. Last Adrienne heard, the jackpot for guessing his age had risen to a nice five-thousand credits; enough for a personal computer or a good bribe.
"It's your lucky day Chief, the snippers you left are too scared to follow, and have requested backup before following us. The big boss is ordering men to Elevator Ten," reported Timothy, having located the right frequency. So far everything was going to plan; Adrienne had hoped the guards would mistake the convoy for heading towards the nearest lift, Elevator Ten that was only two blocks away, and it was gain them an extra few minutes before the guards had realized the supply wagon wasn't heading there after all.
The procession passed the first four-way intersection, getting scared looks from the rare civilian who saw them. They got half-way to the next intersection before Timothy reported again, this time stating that the guards had received their back up, and were now hurtling towards them in their caddies, passing checkpoint one in just a minute, and would reach them in less then five. The news startled Adrienne.
"Where'd they get the caddies from? Didn't Zohharrah say that Floor Twelve's post's caddies were out of commission?" She asked.
Havian picked up the pace. "What's the plan then?"
Adrienne thought it was a good question. If they kept going as it is, it was likely at the caddies would catch them as soon as they passed the second checkpoint unless something really got their attention. Manipulating the visor, she accessed a map on her HUD and began searching for clues on what to do.
The second checkpoint was coming up in less then five minutes, where the Runner would be waiting at the hydrant on the corner. All of the buildings were residential, with no commercial businesses operating on that stretch of land, therefore no place to hide. The trolley could only be transported on a lift, and without bags or backpacks there was no way to scuttle the supplies and escape through service ducts. Plan B had been a backup plan incase the guards had followed them on foot, so that was out of the picture, what was left was Plan C.
"Tim, you and I will stay back at the next checkpoint while Havian makes sure the lift gets to were it needs to go."
Tim reached to his side holster and pulled out a beautiful Dan Wesson PPC; a splendid beast of a revolver that fired .357 Magnum rounds with a nice punch. He fitted a custom-made scope to the rail and loaded the chamber while he continued running. Adrienne had chided him numerous times about the inappropriateness of using the PPC, stating that it would be an ill-choice in a firefight and that a larger clip size would have been better, but Timothy had just brushed aside her concerns, saying that one doesn't need a bigger clip when six bullets are enough.
By the time they reached the next checkpoint they could hear the caddies buzzing down the corridor, each caddy carrying three guards each armed to the teeth. The Council had permitted them to use extreme force, and extreme force they would use. Crossing the intersection, the Runner jumped from out behind the hydrant.
"Change of plan, you and Havian are to run for the lift," shouted Adrienne, and Aimee snapped to, her lithe body filling out the running shorts and sports bra well. Aimee had been chosen as the fastest member of the Resistance, but now she had to fill a different role. Grabbing the handles of the trolley, allowing Havian to hold his rifle once more, the pair ran. Adrienne watched them for a moment, and then signaled Timothy to take position behind the corner opposite from her own position.
The moment the first caddy came past; its passengers holding their firearms at the ready, Adrienne aimed with her 90-two while Timothy did the same with his PPC. As soon as the caddy cleared the intersection they fired twice; Adrienne's first round clipping the driver in the head while the second ricocheted off the shoulder of an assault-rifle toting passenger. The caddy's tires popped, no doubt because of Tim's shooting, and span out of control, tumbling onto its side and blocking the centre of the corridor.
The second caddy smacked right into the wreckage of the first, ramming right into the passengers who were attempting to jump out. Screams echoed down the corridor as the passengers were put out of the fight. All three guards jumped out from the second caddy, while the final caddy parked just before the intersection, out of Adrienne's field of view.
Adrienne jumped out of the way of a shotgun blast and hid behind the hydrant, the sound of metal on metal as assault rifle fire sprayed at her. Opposite, Timothy had kicked in the door of someone's home, and hid inside, popping out to fire at the guards.
A guard fell as Timothy's aim proved true, his knee a mass of blood and gore while his compatriots kept Adrienne under fire, not allowing her any relief. The guards from the last caddy pushed their caddy along the side of the corridor, stopping it as it peeked out from behind the corner Adrienne was nearest to. The guards from the second caddy ran to join the third squad, and planned their assault while covering both Adrienne and Timothy. Each time Timothy popped out to fire, they would return a hailstorm of lead and shells, making him curse and forcing him back into cover.
"Fuck!"
Adrienne heard Tim cry out and knew the worst had probably just happened. Knowing that she now had very little time left, Adrienne unstrapped a small package from her shin. Inside the wrapped brown paper was a little surprise she had cooked up.
"Tim, duck!"
Adrienne loaded a fresh clip into her 90-two and flung the package over the hydrant, into the midst of the group of guards still remaining. Immediately they all jumped for cover, some sprinting down the way the caddies had come while others jumped into or around the caddies themselves. Adrienne's plan had worked; the guards had assumed that Adrienne was throwing some sort of explosive, while in actuality that package just contained a piece of scrap metal. Adrienne calmly stood up, and leveled her handgun at the nearest guard.
Very few people in Undercity knew what a vintage .40 caliber Smith & Wesson round looked like; even fewer knew what it felt like to have your brains blown out by one. This particular guard, for a single nanosecond, knew how it felt. The body fell backwards, sliding against the caddy, leaving a bloody streak. The two guards inside the caddy jolted at the sound, and scrambled for their guns, but the two idiots had thrown them aside when jumping into the caddy, slumping into the seats as Adrienne clocked them both over the head with the butt of her 90-two. Adrienne turned her head to the last guard, the reticule swinging with the motion, but she holstered the weapon as she realized the guard had wet himself, and was sitting against the second caddy, his gun clicking while he stared at the destruction Adrienne had wrought in just a few seconds.
"Tim, you alright?" Adrienne raced across the intersection, hearing no answer. The entranceway where Tim had taken cover was coated by a spray of blood, which led into the dark home. Walking inside, Adrienne flicked on the lights.
"Jeez that's bright," exclaimed Timothy weakly, his handsome features marred by pain while he clutched his shoulder with his left hand. His top was completely stained with blood, and his skin was looking quite pale already.
"Fucking hell, let's get you back down to base; you'll be right as rain in no time man." Adrienne moved forward to help him up, pulling his left arm around her neck. They managed to hobble for a moment, getting to the door, before stumbling and nearly tripping from the effort.
"It's no use," panted Timothy, sucking in air. "It's a bitch of a hit."
"Shut up man, just suck it in. Wait by the door; I'll go get one of the caddies."
"It's not like I can go anywhere," called out Timothy while Adrienne ran and stole one of the caddies. As she sat in the blood-slicked seat, she could hear the guard post on the radio asking for a status update. Ignoring the chatter, Adrienne backed up the caddy around the corner, waited for Timothy to hope into the passenger's seat before gunning the pedal, sending them skidding down the corridor towards Elevator Eleven.
"She's still a bit pissed off about last time," warned Lieutenant Rain Munroe, escorting Wreythe towards the Capitol Building in Shady Sands, the dirt under their shoes bringing up clouds of dust as they trudged through the crowds of migrants and settlers. Wreythe chafed in his grey suit, one of the few pre-war fashions that couldn't be mass-produced anymore. He was used to wearing his traveling gear, being weighed down by his backpack and gadgets, but now the only thing he was carrying was his wallet and M1911, making him feel extremely vulnerable. Even Rain wasn't allowed to carry her AWSM-F sniper rifle, and was only carrying her own Ruger Redhawk revolver and service baton, but unlike Wreythe she was permitted to wear her body armor.
They entered the large clear double doors and stopped while security frisked them over twice, stopping only to tag Wreythe's semi-automatic. Walking through the white-tiled entrance hall, Wreythe admired several of the recovered portraits that were hung up while Rain talked to an acquaintance that had been in attendance of the last government meeting. He stood in front of a painting that hung slightly lopsided, and admired the artist's dedication to using every color of the rainbow. Greens, blues and browns were brushed almost sloppily onto the canvas, while clouds of red and purple dotted the sky. A skyline of black and gold filled the horizon while a lone man in blue with his brown dog walked along a starry road. The picture appealed to Wreythe for some reason; he felt as if his own journey was a thing of night and dreams, and he had the urge to ask Rain if she could somehow acquire a copy. Rain just ignored him.
"Tandi's been screaming at my supervisor since yesterday apparently. You know when you were banished, that was sort of until she actually let you back into our borders, you know? And she's pissed at me for taking you all the way here to Shady Sands."
"Yeah well, I had a good reason," replied Wreythe sheepishly, a grin crossing his face.
Rain just stared at him. "You stole a passenger plane and crashed it in our borders. A passenger plane that probably hasn't flown for two hundred years and that will now never fly again. You realize not everyone knows how to fly those things? I wouldn't be surprised if Tandi just goes and tortures the living shit outta you."
Wreythe raised an eyebrow and grinned even wider.
Wreythe and Rain were ushered into a large chamber, walking past several aisles of wooden benches before coming to a stop at a pair of lecterns. Facing the lecterns was a raised platform with a podium erected on it, a straight leather-backed chair facing away, towards the giant flag that hung on the wall. The flag depicted a two-headed bear in front of a white and red flag, with a small star in one corner. It was a flag that all the men and women in this room would die for, would knowingly sacrifice their lives if they knew that they could save the great federation that they helped run. A large crowd of people ere seated in the benches, chattering about the day's gossip before noticing the pair of people entering the room.
Men and women alike began to boo derisively at Wreythe, calling him names and insulting his manhood.
"Looks like they still haven't forgiven you," whispered Rain, gesturing to the crowd.
"I saved their damn lives," replied Wreythe angrily. "If it wasn't for me they'd all be dead, food for the fucking crows. Is money really more important then lives to these people?"
Rain didn't have time to answer; the security officer had walked into the court from a side door by the large podium, and announced in a loud, clear voice that all should rise.
A tall woman entered the court behind the officer, dressed in orange robes of state. Her once-black hair was kept long and loose while her deep brown eyes glared straight at Wreythe; the anger seething behind them kept barely in check. Settling into the leather chair, Tandi shuffled some papers sitting in front of her, then placed her hands together in front of her, fingers entwined, before speaking in a firm, cold voice that seemed to echo in the large chamber.
"On the twenty-second day of October an aircraft was spotted by the Rangers heading for our borders. The aircraft, which we believed to be a Boeing 747, was flying rather erratically, and a team was scrambled to meet the plane as it touched down. Rather than landing, the aircraft was abandoned while the pilot jumped to safety, and the plane eventually crash-landed just outside Adytum. Are you the pilot of that aircraft?"
Wreythe answered truthfully. "Yes."
"And is your name Dyson Wreythe, the same Dyson Wreythe who came to this town once before, who 'championed' our cause and took arms against the raiders living in the Ironox Mine, a mine lying within the borders controlled by the New California Republic and the source of much of our gold supply? The same 'champion' who completely destroyed the gold mine, which therefore rendered our gold-backed money useless when the economy span out of control?"
Wreythe could already see the outcome of this line of questioning; Tandi would appear strong and uncompromising in front of her followers, further backing her tough policies when it comes to punishing wrong-doers, while Wreythe's image as a 'bad guy' could be reinforced.
"Yes but-"
Tandi interrupted him, plowing on. "After destroying a key component of our economy, you were banned from returning to any part of the New California Republic under the pain of death, to be carried out by firing squad."
"But you see-"
"I hereby sentence you to be killed by firing squad tomorrow morning. Guards, take him away!"
The mob of angry people began to crowd around him, jeering and screaming at Wreythe while a pair of red-clad guards struggled through the crowd, pushing people away with their batons. Rain was shouting for order, for Wreythe to be heard and allowed to defend himself, but Tandi would hear none of it, and smashed down with her gavel to drown out Rain's pleas. Even the women and children punched and kicked Wreythe as he was led out the doors into the entrance hall, and an elderly old man smacked Wreythe straight on the face with his cane, breaking his nose savagely, blood pouring everywhere, but even then the crowd didn't stop, not even as he was led outside where an even larger group awaited him. The guards let go of Wreythe in the chaos, and bolted, while the mob bore down Wreythe, clubs and stones in hand.