Decay
Chapter #3: Conditions of Arrangement.
As with every job, I set up in a local house. Also, like every job, it was a house I bought with my own money under a different alias with an ID fabricator in my paK. While I could make identities and passports, I could never launder my own money, or credits, as these humans now called them. Gone were the dollars of old, now little green credit chips contained all the money you poured into it from your BOD-CCOM, or the Body OverDriver CompensationComputer. It enhanced your faculties and monitored your vitals, kept you connected to the vast world network and managed the money gained from credit chips.
A complicated system, by human standards.
I'm off the subject, I fear. I set up in a small house and loaded it up with equipment that I would need leading up to and on the night of the operation. Computers, small arms, glue, full body night gear, all my standard equipment.
My information stated that there would be a four guard patrol on the inside perimeter, and two men at the guardhouse at the front gates. Now, the best way to find out if this was a real operation, or if the intel was up to date was to survey the guards themselves for a couple days. I noted down common habits and idiosyncrasies of the guards on patrol and in their posts. I gleaned all the information I could from the observation, writing down notes and checking every single piece of equipment I may have used.
For the next few days I gathered firsthand data on their computer systems. From the outside I couldn't do much other than probe their systems until the night of the operation, unless I wanted to reveal my position through frequent off-site logins.
Of course, it still may have been a setup, but most, if not all, of the information was correct, and there was nothing more I could do. It was then that I decided to finally get to work, after two weeks of observation. I decided to do the job at night, as the guards were lax after hours. You'd imagine they would be punished for their laziness.
Friday: The night of the game.
By the game, I mean it it was a football game. The door guards would be inside the guardhouse, watching their game of feetball. Er, football, forgive me. I knew this was a highly religious death-sport of sorts, but could not understand the concept. What I also knew was that these men would be glued to the screen, making it even easier for me to breach the security.
I left the safehouse, walking down the streets, past the downtown area and into the economics district. Neither my employer or my studies could explain to me what the building used to be. The floor plans seemed to make it out as a factory, but the size made it unlikely, and the presence of an underground complex beneath the factory would seem an inconvenient cover, should someone want to demolish the building. As I neared the operation area, I stepped to the eastern edge of the high guard walls and put down the duffel bag I had brought with me and switched into my night gear and strapped on the holsters and accompanying guns to their normal places. One at the hip, one at my right boot, and the last one strapped to my back.
"Showtime." I muttered. It was time for me to break in. I willed my paK to work, and it creaked loudly as the legs slid out and embedded themselves into the wall. Then they slowly and erratically pulled me onto the wall. Then I spotted one of the two security cameras, cautiously walked along the wall, and disabled it.
Jumping down, I noticed that my timing was spot on, the guards were just now rounding the western corner of the building. I had five minutes before they would be behind me. Plenty of time. I stealthily walked to the front double-doors of the building. "Here we go." I muttered to myself. As I figured, the door was locked tight. "Let's do this." I checked my watch. "Two minutes." First, I tried forcing the lock with a claw. No dice. "C'mon." Then I had an idea. "Of course!" Another slight creak of protest from my paK and I was in, a tiny superheated laser beam obliterated the lock and the door swung open just in time, for the four guards rounded the corner just as I ducked into the building, closing the door tight behind me. I was right. It wasn't a factory, but a lab. I was upstairs, on a catwalk that went all around the room, making it possible to survey the lab tables below from every angle. Below there was a no longer sterile lab floor with four lab tables.
But what was intriguing was the red. From wall to wall the what I had assumed was pristine whitewashed walls and floor was now splattered with a dark red paint. Or rather, I had my own assumptions. Before I jumped to conclusions, I did a more physical form of jumping, leaping over the balcony railing and landing upon my feet on the floor. I got my answer.
It was blood.