A National Affair
Chapter 3: On Matters Related to Non-Erotic Strangulation, Poor Vehicle Maintenance, and Document Theft
Amongst the number of things he didn't like, Morgan especially didn't appreciate being garroted. Having something coiled around your neck and then yanked with enough force to remove any notions of breathing was a tad discomforting. Worse, it left undeniably ugly marks on one's neck. How exactly did one go about explaining that they did not, in fact, have a strangulation fetish and was merely being choked to death by a dangling appendage from a robotic spider with a seemingly floating body?
Thankfully, it wasn't a conversation Morgan was going to have any time soon. Even if a turtleneck could solve that problem, his skin was a bit tougher and a bit more resistant to trauma than the average person. He didn't even need to moisturize. That being said, the marks of strangulation were gone within twenty minutes of being made by whatever the contraption was.
The technology for drone-like robots seeking out targets and assassinating them existed, as he knew firsthand, but this thing was something else entirely. By some unknown means, its body floated just a little above the legs, which drop-kicked particularly hard.
Morgan rubbed his jaw, trying to work out any kinks it may have had.
The robot was a bland, silvery color without any sort of markings, but a "mouth" of sorts at the bottom that exuded a sickly green light from somewhere within. The same mouth deployed a prehensile appendage against him that, like its legs, hit harder than he thought it would. The legs themselves were equally odd, using a form of locomotion that involved sliding parts. Or maybe he only assumed that. Wrestling it in the dark until he managed to break it didn't leave him much time to get a good look at something as minor as its legs.
He slouched slightly, visibly tired from the lack of sleep.
Morgan couldn't even muster the emotion to be irritated at this point. He was awoken at four, with four hours of sleep, and it was now nearing five in the morning. Wrestling this thing into submission and cracking open its casing had taken the better part of the last hour, unfortunately. He hadn't fired any bullets in the struggle, if only to conserve them. They probably wouldn't have been effective against such a quick-moving target with a deflective shell, especially at close-quarters. However, it was worth noting that said shell was completely hollow, which brought up more questions than answers.
Still, it was now a broken pile of tubes and a ruined sphere. It lied there on the ground with a greenish splatter seeping from somewhere, dead as could be. At least, he hoped that was the case. It was hard to tell. At least his PDA was fine, despite it gaining a hardly visible scratch on it. Considering that it was used to smash open what it did, he considered the minor mark a success.
Morgan leaned down, grabbing the crippled robot by its newly-made gash. There was a faint sound once his fingers curled into its insides to gain a grip.
"What..?"
Though it was likely that he was mistaken, it almost sounded as if whatever insidious thing he was holding was now whimpering in his hand. Curious, Morgan turned it, looking it over closely. Though the outline was hardly noticeable, there appeared to be a compartment embedded into the casing.
Using his free hand, he pushed against the bottom part of it, making sure to keep his other where he assumed it would the compartment would be on the inside. The cover turned, though not without a notable resistance against his increasing pressure. An eye became visible as the cover flipped around. It didn't blink, but that wasn't where Morgan's attention was directed.
He was looking inside. The hollowed sphere's exterior was maybe only an inch or so thick, but the size of the cover as it flipped would need far greater space to reveal the eye.
And yet, it wasn't there. Morgan brought the crack closer and looked in. There was no difference whatsoever from when he first checked.
Whatever the little killer truly was, the technology it used was beyond anything he had seen applied to robots before. He could argue that the floating limbs were some sort of magnetic manipulation, but having an exterior shell separate from an empty interior? It didn't seem possible in the slightest. As absurd as it was, he knew that it could come in handy.
If there was one thing that governmental research consistently excelled at, it was reverse-engineering technology. That was not opinion, but entirely fact. The American government, for what it was worth, absolutely fell in love with dual-use technology roughly around the same time World War I had begun. "What it was worth", however, was somewhere in the trillions, if one really wanted an idea of how lucrative it was to weaponize the mundane and convert armaments into something that cooked hotdogs. After all, research grants were expensive, but tended to pay for themselves anyway. Why not direct a little effort into capitalizing on what you made for the civilian market?
Morgan could only imagine what odd things could be learned and created from his new prisoner. As if sensing his intent, it seemed to shake slightly. The legs lying on the floor attempted to weakly pull themselves up to the raised body, but failed to move an inch off of the white planks of wood.
Taking the opportunity presented to him, the bureaucrat started searching around the apartment for anything that could effectively be used for containment. About five minutes later, he returned with a small dog kennel that was apparently left behind by the last person who rented the apartment. There were other items as well, but nothing significant enough that deserved a mention. Their dog must have been one of the shorter breeds, though. And thankfully, there weren't any fecal stains or some other displeasing little surprise lying about for who knows how long.
Morgan rolled the sphere in and dropped the legs alongside it before shutting the hatch and locking it. The legs weren't thin enough to get through the grate of the door, thankfully. He didn't know what it was capable of other than what he had seen so far, but it was best to minimize its mobility in every way possible. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything heavy enough use for a weight on the kennel itself. Seeing as though the thing was just about dead though, it might not be necessary.
The functionary took a few pictures of it with his phone while it was stationary and put them into a folder. They were then sent in an email as a general message to his colleagues, with the actual message being: "Just attacked by this little guy. Anyone seen anything like it before? Thoughts/Comments?"
With that, he sent it. Knowing that it was only five in the morning, Morgan didn't expect any replies back. Yet, surprisingly, one did come. It was from an agent on loan to Moscow, who had apparently shown to the members of the Russian bureaucracy.
In terms of national security, it wasn't uncommon to share information with those from other governments, and if Morgan had known said agent was even there, he would have at the very least expected a reaction by a national from there. Several reactions were apparently condensed into one message as a response.
The American's reply was: "I've never seen anything like that. It doesn't look like a toy either, with that craftsmanship. The boys over here are as – ahem – 'flabbergasted' by it as much as I am. Sorry we couldn't be much help, Morgan."
There was an explanation for this cooperation.
In practice, modern governments were significantly different beyond what their surface would indicate. While each currently existing nation was undoubtedly polluted with those seeking collusion and their own benefit, there was always, guaranteed, those who were utterly loyal to their country before all else.
Even the current administration of whatever example you wished to use had only so much influence on these dutiful citizens. These members of society prioritized a country's safety before personal ambition, whether from themselves or anyone else occupying a federal position. Needless to say, this led to unparalleled degrees of conflict from within these governments, and it wasn't entirely unheard of for there to be "clean-ups" and "housekeeping".
This is what it made it possible for two countries that had a decades-long history of rivalry to cooperate on the level that agents were willingly passed about and offered as help in times of need. It was the ultimate obligation to preserving society's structure that greased the wheels, creating an interesting duality that probably wouldn't make even a bit of sense to the average citizen anywhere.
After all, it seemed absurd that countries would willingly allow possible breaches in national security through such actions. This was the view of the clueless within and outside of the government. Their skepticism only made it easier to capitalize on their blindness to the true horrors that threatened humanity as a whole.
As Morgan ruminated on that, he sat down in a nearby armchair.
So, the small town did have some secrets after all. Either they had some clandestine operations going on, or someone wasn't very keen on him being there. Perhaps something, and not a person. There was no way to know just yet, though whoever sent the robot clearly had the resources to create such an advanced machine.
Most people would likely be reeling from the fact that something deliberately attempted to end their life, but Morgan just sat there, thinking. It was still very early in the day and he doubted anyone would know about what he just captured. If he hadn't seen anything like it before, chances were, no one had. He would need to look into where this thing came from after he had found the location of the facility.
Morgan stood and went over to the dresser. The day was already starting and he had his doubts that sleep would come back to him. Instead, he would look around town some more. Clearly, there was more to it than meets the eye.
Now, it was only a matter of keeping his eyes open, and knowing what to look for.
People never disappear. People do not simply vanish without a trace for no discernable reason. People prefer to remain where they are, amongst their own.
So why, Morgan wondered, was there a very large amount of "missing-persons" reports within Delmarva over the course of the past century? Why did whole towns suddenly become empty during the recent decade? And just as importantly, why didn't he know about this? Or anyone he worked with, for that matter? It made no sense.
Morgan had scoured the archives of the local library for several hours. If it was legal to, he would have been chain-smoking cigars all the while. He settled for downing cup after cup of coffee as each strange coincidence revealed itself. Newspapers dating back to 1902 were the first to bring up cases of people not turning up. There were quite a few surges of townsfolk going missing all over the region, but somehow, the information never left Delmarva. The federal government wasn't able to get involved due to not knowing there was a problem in the first place.
He flipped the paper around, glancing at the obituaries briefly before skimming around other newspapers in the archive. One or two people no longer existing amongst their fellow citizens was one thing, but an actual population? It was disturbing. More so, it was absolutely unheard of. Thankfully, Morgan wasn't obligated to report his findings until he completed his assignment, which gave him ample time to conduct his investigation undisturbed. Solving the disappearances was definitely important, but his primary objective was sorting out the problem at the outpost. Which, hopefully, would be very soon.
Morgan decided to set aside the newspapers for now. He would be taking all of them without the library's consent, of course, but they could wait. Standing, the man started sorting through the rest of the archives.
A very significant portion of the sections had nothing of interest. He found a few unmarked ones and combed through them until some plastic tubes were dug out from the far back. Hoisting them, Morgan checked them for any indication as to what they were. It was a fair assumption that they were maps given these tubes were almost exclusively used for them, but there was an equal chance of them being blueprints of town buildings.
He hoped that wasn't the case. Those would be just about useless to him.
"Let's see what we have," Morgan muttered, popping off the cap of one of the tubes.
Lo and behold, it was in fact a map. A weather map from decades ago, but still a map. Perhaps Beach City had a dedicated weather station at some point. It didn't really matter, now that he had something to work with.
Right as he was about to search the rest, his phone vibrated.
"I think you're going to like what we got you." It was from Rufus, who was referencing Morgan's need for transportation, apparently. "Not sure how well it'll help you blend in, but it'll drive you around."
Morgan didn't know what to make of that. He realized he never specified a vehicle brand or type, which likely would have been a good idea. The bureaucrat leaned against a table and texted back, asking where the car was and if it was already dropped off.
"We paid some yokel to park it near you. Nothing's pinned on the map yet, so I have no idea what these buildings are. Good luck."
Pocketing his phone, Morgan looked further down the room and spotted an exit. Taking a random encyclopedia with him, he propped the book between the door and wall to make sure it would stay open. With it secure, he headed up to street level and spotted something that seemed particularly out of place.
The man chuckled, shaking his head. While it wasn't what he had in mind, he wasn't going to complain.
It was an old Cadillac, which, given by its state, was thoroughly used by its last owners. Or maybe "owners", considering it had some very noticeable bullet holes in assorted spots around its body. What an odd choice of a car.
Morgan knew it was picked for a reason, if sheer tackiness wasn't already the prime one. Rufus had to get his kicks somewhere, after all.
He headed over to the Cadillac and leaned into the open window. The keys were in the ignition. While the car didn't look that bad at first glance, it only took him about a second to notice a vomit stain in the passenger seat and splatters of dried blood embedded into the ceiling. That was only what he saw within that second, too.
Well, at least it had character. But that was about it. It was even losing the stuffing in the seats. Would there be a bloody clump of someone's scalp nestled between his seat and the divider? Perhaps a used needle that had seen countless veins and overdoses? There was no way to be sure. That was simply a part of the not-so-mysterious lack of charm that this car radiated.
It would still get the job done though, and that was enough.
Getting in, he started it and drove it closer to the library, positioning it near the back entrance so he could minimize the distance of the trips to the archive and back.
It was a tedious process to move all of those documents, but necessary. So, he dutifully got to it.
What Morgan failed to notice, however, was that someone was sneaking near the accumulated items he was "borrowing". By the time he realized that a good number of newspapers and maps were missing, it was already too late.
"So, someone stole half of the stuff you were about to steal? Am I hearing that right?"
That was right, more or less.
Morgan adjusted his shirt's collar, removing a crease, "You're hearing right. Whoever it was, they timed it perfectly. Most of those newspapers are gone now. I still have a few maps, but…"
"Newspapers? What the hell did you need those for?" Rufus questioned, not understanding what Morgan would want with them.
"Rufus, I've found something crazy. Delmarva, as a state, matches some of the biggest states for persons kidnapped."
There was a short silence.
"… Which, in relation to state population, is a noticeable chunk. Are you sure about this?"
Morgan paced his kitchen-living-room, "Positive." His mind was reeling at the possibilities, trying to discern some sort of cause. "It's impossible these are just some regular kidnappings. That never happens to this degree, in a state like this."
"So what are you thinking? They're all connected?"
"Not necessarily connected," Morgan admitted. "But here's the kicker: Entire towns have gone missing."
"Wait, what!? Seriously?"
"Not a single person left in them. The newspapers eventually just stopped mentioning the incidents altogether. It could still be happening, for all we know."
"Well," Morgan could almost hear a smirk, "technically, the people disappeared, not the towns."
The man snorted in amusement but continued the topic, "Semantics aside, this is pretty troubling. Should I look into this too?"
"I'd say so. I won't bring it up to everyone else just yet, though. Better to give you some time to work undercover."
Good, so they were on the same page then.
"But the outpost is your first concern, Morgan. You have a car now, and you'll be getting satellite access within the hour. Those maps will probably be useless at this point, so do what you want with them." Rufus sighed wearily, loudly thrumming his fingers against the desk he was currently occupying. "Morgan, man, you got the means, now make it happen. Can you get there and scope it out today?"
Morgan, standing at the kitchen counter over several of the maps, paused at that. It sounded strained, if anything. The man on the other end of the phone was a dear friend, one who had kept him sane in the most surreal of situations, and one who spared no expense in keeping him alive. There was a special relationship between an operator and their liaison. Morgan knew when something was wrong.
Cautiously, he asked, "Is this something personal, Rufus? Or should I not ask?"
"I… How do I put this… It's nothing personal, per se, but I'm starting to get really anxious. We all are. Security over there was made up of former members of the military. They aren't trained to handle non-human threats. They don't have our experience."
Morgan understood the concern. The U.S. military was strictly reserved for fighting wars against other humans, not the sort of beings that would melt your brain and season it with fine herbs. So, as not only as a friend, but a partner, Morgan obliged.
"Don't worry; I'll try to sort this out as fast as I can. I'm going to get some supplies together and head out soon."
The agent felt a bit off-kilter from that conversation. Eyes wandering now, they spotted the little killer that he had captured earlier. Resoundingly, there was no knowledge of it. Not a single person knew about what it was or who created it, let alone the purpose it served beyond asphyxiation. Though, it was still dead, or mostly dead. The mobile sphere hadn't moved at all since he threw it into the kennel, but that wasn't a tangible reason to let his guard down. If anything, it was an indication to be more alert.
Unfortunately, he wasn't in a position to keep an eye on it. It wasn't as if there was anything valuable that would be at risk with him gone again. Though, he could always take it with him.
Perhaps he would do that.
"Rufus, I'll call you when I get there. I'm going to get ready."
"Got it. Play it safe."
With that, the call ended.
It took a few minutes, but Morgan gathered what he deemed necessary, lifted up the kennel, and left the apartment. The man took out his PDA for a brief moment as he shut the door, and glanced at the now-revealing image of the region. The process of taking so many images, breaking them down into detailed stills, and then seamlessly stringing them all together into a perfect representation of an entire part of the world was time-consuming.
Thankfully, the piece of hardware was advanced enough to do it for him, with the satellite far above him working fast to smooth everything over. Finding the outpost would be much easier with both attempting to locate it rather than him visiting places he would personally designate as good locations for an entire facility. For now, he just needed to drive.
It went without saying that Morgan had a bad feeling about all of this, now that he had uncovered the ignored history of Delmarva. At this point, he felt as though that there was already massive damage done to the outpost, with very few of the staff alive, if any at all.
That was not pessimism. In this world, that was merely a pragmatic assumption. As terrible as it was acknowledge, such a situation was entirely possible.
Morgan was resolute in his obligation, though. He knew what was expected of him and he would fulfill his duty to the best of his ability. A part of him desperately hoped that that wouldn't be necessary, that everyone was safe and the silence was simply a result of a communication malfunction.
But a broken com-array wouldn't prevent reports as long as this had gone on for. Engineers worked quickly. It was something that lasted maybe six to twelve hours, not days on end. He would find out for himself what happened soon enough.
Morgan just wanted there to be something or someone left to save.
A man tires of being too late, too often, after all.
A/N: Man, these titles are getting more ridiculous each time. I don't why I keep doing it.
We're going to be getting into the meatier chapters soon. You know, the ones with actual stuff going on in it. As for the history of the U.S. (and the rest of the world), I'm going to keep historical events the same, with the same outcomes. Kinda like if everything that has happened on Earth so far happened, but there just so happened to be otherworldly beings interspersed here and there.
At least, that's what I'm thinking so far. Who knows, it might change. Depends on whether the story deviates from the original plotline I thought up. We'll see.
That's all I have to say for now, I guess. Though, I should probably mention that coloration of robots is an interesting thing. You never know who they might be working for. Just saying.