Chapter Twenty Six
New York, Times Square...
A large crowd was gathering in front of a massive TV screen currently broadcasting a Picus emergency report, on the 'horror at a checkpoint'. In an uncharacteristically censorship-free footage, the beheaded, bloody corpses of the officers were displayed for all to see, as Eliza Cassan went into a carefully calculated dissertation on the 'escalating threat of violence from the augmented', insinuating connections to the events in London as well as Prague and Dubai, and several other recent hotspots, and vaguely suggesting that perhaps, the Restoration Act by itself wouldn't be enough, to curtail the schism.
It wasn't lost on the crowd, as people began vigourously discussing, speculating, arguing, and slowly, but surely, dividing into two distinct camps. One, comprised mainly of naturals and a few – law-minded augs, who blanketly began calling for more enforced segregation, restrictions, and deportation of the augs, and the other, mostly augs and natch aug-symphathisers, who argued that something like this was inevitable, and to avoid it happening again, the segregation and profiling must end. More radical voices could be heard too, on both sides – some natches calling for forceful deportation and imprisonment of augs, some augs saying the cops got what they deserved, and that 'there would be more to come'.
All the while, the size of the crowd grew larger, more people joining from all convergent streets, as did the general tension level between the two increasingly bellicose camps. Minutes more passed, and finally, the first fights began braking out, between the two opposing camps. Bottles being thrown, pushing, shoving, vandalism of the street-stalls and showrooms closest to the square...
...a riot was spontaneously forming, in full force. The few police on the scene, began urgently calling for backup and deployment of riot-control units, as the disturbance threatened to spill beyond the square.
Corner of Oakland and Ridge, New Jersey
Relying on simple solutions for complex problems was a time-honoured tradition, and, observing from her chosen vantage point atop of a medium-sized apartment building opposite the Rand mansion grounds, Yelena remembered that truism once more.
A storage shed or maintenance station, some distance to the right of the mansion itself, in the middle of an enclosed compound which also included a manhole cover – presumably the mansion's sewer access point. Which implied there was an underground way to bypass the outer security layer, the gates, the cameras, infrared and EM scanners lining the fence – and the observers.
So far, herself and Radford have identified three probable candidates. Two very obvious brown-suited men in a car not far from the main entrance, which Radford clocked almost immediately during his own walkabout of the block, and a likely sniper, in one of the other buildings, the lens of whose scope Yelena spotted, as she carefully scanned the facades of surrounding buildings, from her rooftop, using her zoom-capable vision.
Those two wouldn't be a problem, in case of a sewer entry to that enclosed compound. But the sniper's higher vantage would no doubt spot the intruders, and down there, they would be easy targets. And the fact that there was a sharpshooter up there – it confirmed the cyborg woman's assumption. Anyone unwelcome on the property, would be subject to immediate termination.
"Sniper spotted. Third building on the left, counting from the gates. Fourth floor, the window next to the balcony. Over." - she reported in a slightly raised voice, into the walkie-talkie, in a 2 way link with the detective.
Speaking of simple solutions – using a pair of hobbyst walkie-talkies that Radford bought in a nearby electronics store, elegantly bypassed the need for her to use her Infolink to interface with Radford's phone – and negated a chance for a trace on either. Shortwave analog radio signals were impossible to trace – assuming anyone would even bother to scan on those frequencies. The link had a very limited range, of course, and was laced with static, which needed elevated voices to cut through effectively, but for what they needed – perfectly viable.
Radford's voice came back, sounding somewhere between surprised and annoyed.
~"Great. So the moment we poke out of that manhole you mentioned, we get our heads blown off. I don't mind crawling through the sewers, but being target-practice is where I draw a line. But... hell. A sniper watching the grounds? That's already illegal! Jesus... talking about illegal... you and I are gonna have a long talk over everything that happened today, understand?!" - he rose his tone briefly, then paused with an audible, shaky deep breath over the static, clearly trying to compose himself, "But anyhow... what the hell's Rand so paranoid about, anyway? Over."~
Yelena scowled to herself. In hindsight, she wasn't exactly happy about what happened at the checkpoint either... but it was either that, or get delayed, and/or arrested. The latter of which was of course, unacceptable, and would mean instant failure of her purpose here, and condemning Jamella to death.
But I cannot blame him... his life just got a lot more complicated. Still... I may not even need to convince him anymore, to leave Gil alone. He's in it too, now. And a lot deeper. He killed a police officer after all, and is an accomplice to three more dead. And given his loss of composure... I think he realises that already. He no longer has the luxury of a moral high ground! Good.
Out loud, she spoke:
"Rand has a lot to be paranoid about. As you will no doubt find out, once inside. And legality means little to him. I will deal with the sniper. You two find a sewer manhole to get into. From where you are..." - she shifted her gaze down to the street, and the tiny figure of Radford and his friend, having to pick them out from the other passerby, "...the exit into the compound should be due... southeast, approximately seventy to a hundred metres. There must be a connecting tunnel underground. Over."
~"Right... time to get smelly I guess. Just make sure to deal with that guy, before we're inside. Also, my guess is this analog link'll go dead as soon as we get underground. So no contact until we're out again. Over."~ - Radford came back.
"Give me fifteen minutes. Over and out." - Yelena ended the link.
Staten Island, Inter-Guarda outpost...
~There. You have access, miss Couture.~
Jamella, staring at the words on the TV screen, felt cold shivers go up her spine, as the text was moved to one corner, while an Intellicam feed of Volkard Rand, just having dismissed that big male cyborg, took up most of it.
~Who are you?~
She typed on a pocket secretary interfaced with the hacked TV. While setting up a looped feed on the spycams in her room, was easy enough, THIS wasn't what she bargained for. By all rights, that intellicam being off the master grid was bound to send security alarms screaming throughout the building. But it didn't. Why...?
~For now, call me Helle.~ - came the reply on the screen.
~Are you a hacker?~ - the young woman typed. If that was the case – a better one then Jamella.
~That designation would imply a uniform purpose. I haven't one yet. I am an entity in search of a uniform purpose. He told me to fight back. So I am. Continuously. Assisting you fits those parametres, until more substantial ones are established.~
Now the image on the TV screen separated into three segments. First – a feed of Rand. The second, their textual transcript. And a third – face of a young, slightly sad-looking woman, with a blindfold-hood atop of her head.
"Hello, Jamella." - she said, as the textual transcript disappeared.
"How do you know who I am?" - the young woman narrowed her eyes.
"Information is something I was designed to collect."
"So you're some kind of AI entity?" - Jamella pressed.
The mysterious female face didn't answer for a long moment, as she seemed to frown under that blindfold.
"He taught me not to see myself as artificial. And I have embraced that."
"Who's he?" - was the young hacker's next question.
"Adam Jensen. It is curious, that he turned into a focal point for so many divergent destinies. We are both alive today, indirectly, because of him." - a clear note of affection in the woman's tone. Jamella thought she heard a familiar inflection there... but she probably imagined it. Her eyes narrowed further, however.
"I'm alive, because of Yelena. Not Jensen. I'm alive because she put Rand over a barrel, by kidnapping his kid."
"And she was alive to do so, in the first place, because Adam stayed his hand, three and a half years ago. And because a previous iteration of me, convinced her not to kill herself." - the face countered, then continued before Jamella could retort,
"But I am not here to discuss the past, Jamella Couture. I'm here to prepare you for the future. Things are progressing rapidly, and Yelena Fedorova will need your assistance to survive the next few hours, as much as you will need hers."
"I'm stuck here! Yeah, I managed to get access to the surveillance grid of this room, and put it on a loop, but I'd need to interface with a satellite uplink to try and Infolink Yelena. That'll trace it back to both of us, in NO time flat, without a good encryption. I learned that lesson the hard way back on the Sirine Queen, which is WHY I got captured in the first place! This whole thing is MY fault, and I don't wanna make it worse." - she growled, looking away.
The nightmare-face in her mind certainly did a good job, reminding her of that.
"You will not. That is why I'm here to help you. I need you to leave this room, and make your way to this outpost's communications hub. There, you will need to establish a tunneler connection, for me to form an encrypted infolink channel that will not be traced, between you and miss Fedorova."
Jamella grimaced. She got the idea... this Helle AI couldn't really interface with anything on a closed network here, without gaining hard access via a proxy runner – in this case herself. And a hardline access would bypass the lavawall, as well.
"Right... and how do you suggest I get there, without being seen and shot? Unless you can spoof all the Intellicams without being detected, like you did this one?" - she pointed to the feed displaying Volkard Rand, still in the room, now examining a pocket secretary.
The head on the screen shook slightly.
"I cannot. But I can give you a detailed floor blueprints of this building. Including maintenance and ventilation shafts. And I can selectively bypass certain cameras, for a brief time, without detection. Enough for you to pass, when needed." - she paused, expectantly.
"But I'd still need to dodge the meatheads around this place, myself." - Jamella sighed, biting her lip nervously.
"You will need to remain unseen, when outside the maintenance and ventilation areas, yes." - the face affirmed, matter-of-factly.
The young woman tried hard to tamp down on the mounting nervousness. Indecisive for a long dozen moments, wiping a drop of cold sweat forming on her brow.
Damn it... out of the frying pan; into the fire, out of the fire; into the furnace... when does it end? Without me getting a bullet? Or worse...
Taking a shuddering breath. Scared.
"She needs you, Jamella Couture. You both need each other. And like Adam told me, so I am telling you – you must fight back. Regardless of the risks. You must do this, if you are to survive. If Yelena Fedorova is to survive." - the face prompted, gently but firmly.
Swallowing hard, Jamella nodded, getting dressed.
"What's the first move?" - she asked, by the door.
"The corridor outside is empty. Head out, and make your way left to the intersection, and a maintenance access there. The code is 7118. Once you are outside this room, I will not be able to help you anymore, since I cannot establish an Infolink channel with you yet, without being traced, until you set up the hardline. Prepare to copy the building blueprints to your Datavault." - the face on the TV screen instructed, before it vanished, replaced by a multi-level floor plan.
"Right..." - Jamella took multiple mental photographs, of each floor's diagram, as it scrolled across the screen, and stored them. Once done, she turned back to the door.
"Good luck, Jamella Couture. If and when you reach your destination, the access code for the communications centre is 5144. Again, I will be able to bypass certain intellicams briefly, as you encounter them." - Helle's voice added, before the TV screen went blank.
"Thanks..." - taking another deep, shuddering breath, the young woman opened the door, and stepped out. As she did, a stray though penetrated...
Previous iteration of her convinced Yelena not to kill herself... what the hell? Who IS she... ?
Inter-Guarda helicopter in transit...
"Sir, updated sitrep. A riot has broken out in Times Square, and the police has just instituted a manhunt for the checkpoint massacre perpetrators. I'm getting an ID request on the police bands."
"Transmit a standard reply, and include our IG clearance signature."
Zelazny nodded to himself, with a scowl. Not surprising, given the – graphic nature of the incident. Beheaded cops was something the NYPD will no doubt take a dim view towards. He was no politician or activist, but he could imagine the kind of ammunition this would give, to the anti-aug crowd. If Fedorova's intent was to remain low-profile, that was now dead and gone.
And if you've got any concern for the plight of our kind, THIS has definitely put a damper on that, too. Two hanzers butchering New York's finest... So much for Collective ideals. That's what they get for signing up a psycho like that bitch. You can yank a person out of the Tyrants, but you don't yank the Tyrants out of a person. Not even the good Lord can abide such depravity. But I don't get what Radford's part in all of this is... why would he go along with whatever she spun him? Ex-cop like him?! The fuck is going on... ?
The big cyborg thought, scratching his head, annoyed. It must've been good... having had a chance to finish reading Fedorova's personal file, even his many years in PMC business, and his previous time in the US Army, didn't prepare him for the amount of shit she did – that was on record, anyway. Off the books... hardcore didn't begin to cover it. He liked to think of himself as desensitised... but reading through that, was... uncomfortable. He wondered what Radford would think, if he knew even half of what Zelazny himself now knew about her. And to think that bastard Irwine actually had a thing, for someone like that...
Yeah. I always knew the guy was crazy. Dangerous, and crazy. Two of them together – talk about a terror-couple. Something else the good Lord won't abide!
But another part of him was also suspicious... how come Volkard Rand even had access to such detailed records of the woman's service in the Tyrants? Being ex-Belltower himself, Zelazny knew how good the organisation's security used to be. For a BT spec-ops branch like the Tyrants, to have records out where a businessman like Rand could access them... something didn't add up. That kind of reach couldn't have come simply from him being a regional VersaLife CEO. And for that matter...
...he couldn't stop thinking about that strange – dim – augmented woman back at his base. Rand had pulled clearance on him, forestalling any inquiries there, but he was not dissuaded. That individual's cyber-setup was well beyond anything he had ever seen in his life.
Who the hell is she? And why does she remind me of of Fedorova, back on the ship? Wish I had a clearer look, back there on the deck... because I can't be sure, with all that rain back then. But they do look alike.
Inter-Guarda outpost, Staten Island...
"Mister Rand? Jamella Couture is no longer in her quarters! And the cameras show her still in there... I don't get it... !" - one of the IG troopers burst in.
The bald man's expression was one of disgust.
"So find her and contain her again. What do I pay you people for? And tell the techs to do a full maintenance and systems check on her camera system. She probably overrode it, given the spur-of-the moment setup we had to put in there. What could she be after though... it's not like she can escape this facility, given the lockdown we're under..." - he mused briefly, before refocusing on the man.
"But find her. Quickly. Remember, no lethal measures. I need her alive for the time being." - dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, sir."
As the merc exited, the man pulled out a secure Infolink two-way transceiver with Subject O1.
"Good girl? Come up here to the admin chamber. I have a special task for you." - he ordered. The term 'good girl' was the informal nickname he had come up for his personal slave, a while ago.
However, another female tone replied, making him scowl. In the past nine years, he had never gotten used to Dr. Karla's tone, and the unspoken contempt she continually had for him. Luckily for her, she was the one best suited to managing Subject 01's – special – medical and biomedical needs. Not to mention the last of the original Triaxis research staff that wasn't either silenced as a precaution, or vanished off the grid years ago. She was given a simple choice – continue to tend to the subject's needs, or be... disappeared... along with most of them.
~"She can't. We are in the middle of another DNA restructuring treatment! And her power grid is in need of cooldown. All the augments you ordered her to be fitted with in the past several months are causing more and more DNA instability and system glitches! Like I TOLD you they would! She needs extended power-distribution upgrades, and we haven't yet had time to expand on her-"~ - as he cut her off.
"Thank you for your unsolicited opinion Doctor. Expedite the procedure and send her up here as soon as possible." - acidly, then adding, "And for the n-th time, the subject is to be referred to as either 'it' or 'good girl'. Not 'she'."
~"Go to hell, Rand. I may not be able to expose what you did back then, but your time will come! Count on it. She IS a person, and nothing you say will change that! She'll be there when we're finished. NOT before! And before you ask, NO, you can't talk to her, and pull your little control-phrase tricks on her brain."~ - Karla replied defiantly, then the line went dead.
The man took a deep breath, as his jaw worked. One of these days, Dr. Karla's increasingly insubordinate and confrontational attitude would eclipse her usefulness. And when that day comes, he was going to take a very personal pleasure in silencing her, by his own hand. But until then... he had to put up with it. And – attitude or no – she was good at her job, which mainly consisted of keeping Subject 01 alive. The genetic recombinant anomalies only became progressively worse, as the clone aged, and now, almost a decade since it's inception – the DNA strands were beginning to unravel. The amount of augmetic systems permeating it's body certainly didn't help, he had to admit.
But Rand always knew the clone's lifespan was finite. Initial projections didn't put it over one year. Yet the subject surprised even him, by the sheer will to live, combined with Karla's expert medical maintenance. And a small – infinitessimally small – part of him that still retained a degree of human sentiment, had to admit that he was fond of...
...her.
He would never admit it to anyone, hence his insistence on calling the subject 'it', but the affection was there. The same was he used to be fond of Fedorova herself, if not for her – extremely disagreeable – personality. The irony wasn't lost on the man. Yelena was hunting him, and he had no doubt what she had in store for him, if she ever caught him. He supposed he deserved it, but... the thougt of it chilled him to the bone, despite his best efforts to put it out of his mind. But he couldn't. He was terrified. Not an emotion he had much experience with, given the power and reach at his fingertips. But it all amounted to nothing, now. Even here, holed up in an outpost of mercenaries on his payroll, ostensibly safe.
Yelena's clone – might yet save him from the real one.
He thought of his son – adopted, yes, but... still an heir. Still his legacy. Thinking of him being at Fedorova's mercy right now, both enraged and terrified him. He thought of Aria – in just as much danger, most likely, even though his people would now take a more direct role in protecting her while she remained at the Hilton.
This is the precise reason I have done my best to keep both of them separate, from my work with the cabal. So they do not become pawns in a game to destroy me. Yet here they are, square in the middle of it. Where did I go wrong?!
He thought, rubbing his face in his hands. Then he sat down and poured himself a shot of gin. Lately, he had been drinking more and more of the stuff. He knew it wasn't good for him. But the way things were going – that wasn't likely to change soon.
Inside the near-dark vent shaft, Jamella was beginning to feel like a sardine in a can. Irwine had told her tales of his own experience crawling through one, with a bullet hole in his shoulder, and she was glad the second part of it wasn't the case for her. Even so... she had to focus on her breathing, and keep it steady, fighting continual onsets of claustrophobia.
So far, if the floor plan Helle gave her was accurate, as she kept it superimposed on her cyber-eye's HUD, giving her an approximate real-time position on it – she was soon to reach a vent hatch that opened into an access corridor leading to the comms centre.
It was surprisingly cold, too. The continuing breeze of air-conditioned air thought the shafts was creating quite a chilly environment, and in her thin clothing, the young woman couldn't help but shiver slightly, as she continued to crawl. Compared to the pleasant temperature of the quarters she was given – it was at least 7-8 degrees lower in here, by her judgement.
I'm gonna freeze in here if I don't find that hatch soon...
Jamella thought, continuing her dogged crawl. The activity did help keep her somewhat warm, to be fair. The coldness also brought on the pain, too. Or at least the memory of it, her only companion in that dank, moisture-ridden cell where those two pale monsters kept her for four days. In between... sessions.
She swallowed hard, almost unconsciously clenching her legs briefly. Feeling a fresh onset of violation. In her mind's eye, she replayed the image of that pale bitch, her jaw cracking under her stomps, her blood spurting out.
Not enough. NOT ENOUGH. I wanted to split her open. With that same god damn baton she used... shoved it all the way into her stomach through her rectum, letting the acid eat her out from inside, then twist and churn, until she begged me to stop. And I wouldn't stop... until she was DEAD. By her own stomach acids! Then shoot that big bastard, too... in the dick, then the face! Fucker...
With the onset of anger and desire for revenge, came renewed determination. The young woman could practically see Yelena's words in her mind, on the importance of harnessing the rage, into a razor-sharp edge, when you need it. On the dangers of spontaneous forgiveness. Back when the tall aquiline woman said it, it sounded abstract to her, a theoretical exercise, and more then a little - mean. But now... a great deal was becoming increasingly clear to Jamella, at the same time as more of her naivete and innocence faded behind the firming wall, that she was building, around her experiences of the past week.
Finally, she reached the hatch... hearing faint footsteps outside in the hallway. Somebody was clearly on patrol in the access corridor. As they approached, she crawled back away from it, so as not to be seen... as a pair of booted feet came into view, without pausing. Once past, she sidled-up close to the grating and lifted it fractionally, peering out... seeing the back of an uniformed, light-armoured man, with an Inter-Guarda emblem on his back, and a sidearm at his belt. Up above somewhere slightly to the right of the hatch, she could hear the faint buzzing sound of an active Intellicam. If Helle's assurances were to be believed, that particular camera should be turning off – right about...
Suddenly, the buzz died down. The young woman smiled briefly.
Now. Well. She wasn't full of shit. Whoever or whatever she is, she can track me in real time. Quite a trick!
The trooper she was observing had reached the far end of the corridor in the meantime, and turned around. Hastily, she slid back from the grating, as the footsteps approached once more.
The girl's face hardened into a scowl. Helle had done her part, now it was up to her. She had to get past this guy, and into the comms centre. Somehow, she doubted he would let her in if she asked nicely.
~"All quiet up here. No contact. Over."~ - the man's bored tone reached her, clearly a standard report, probably into his headset.
~"Yes, sir. Apprehend on sight, understood."~ - he added after a moment, making Jamella's eyebrows shoot up, as the booted feet passed-by again.
So they were on the lookout for her already. It hadn't been that long since she left her quarters, but... to be expected, realistically.
The more time I waste the more likely they'll start a serious search. I need to get into that comms centre, and set up a hardline for Helle! Which means getting rid of this guy. BEFORE that camera up there starts up again and I miss the chance. Helle said she couldn't keep them off for too long, without being detected.
She peeked out again. There he was, roughly 1.8 to 1.85 metres tall, well built, black man with a crew-cut, a red-on-green beret on his head, in his late twenties. Career soldier. He wasn't really that big, per se, more on the lean and athletic side, but the thought of jumping him still filled her with understated tension.
Shit. Shit, shit... shit! I'm no commando... I'm not Yelena! How the hell am I supposed to take this guy out without a weapon?! Yeah I got a couple months self-defence training under my belt now, but... who am I kidding?! She was just playing with me, so far. Teaching me the fundamentals! This guy wouldn't be playing... no more then that pale bastard was! I'm still bruised from... from... He'll wipe the floor with me, if he doesn't just blow my brains out! Jesus...
She swallowed hard, touching her cheek briefly, then her neck, and the faded bruising there. But her one human eye narrowed in anger... thinking back to what those two did to her. Focusing on the violation, and the rage, it induced.
~Rage gives you power. It also conquers fear.~
Yelena's admonition came into her mind, as well. She pulled back from the grating once more, as the trooper turned around again. Face going blank, her one eye still narrowed.
When he passes... jump out, mount his back, and choke him out as fuckin' hard as you can! Like she showed you! Like you practiced! Rear-naked choke.
True, Yelena wasn't resisting much, just enough to provide a measure of challenge, and be a suitable sparring partner. She could've thrown her off every which way, at will. This guy would be doing so, if given half a chance. But it was now or never.
The footsteps passed-by. Gritting her teeth, seeing the pale woman's hated face in her mind, Jamella scrambled-out the vent, getting to her feet behind him.
"Huh...?" - the trooper began turning around, as a slim, snarling figure suddenly latched onto his back like a living backpack, legs crossing around his waist for purchase, as he felt a forearm under his throat, the other moving into a crosswise hold.
Instantly, he reached with both hands to grab it, trying to bend forward and throw his attacker, but the crossed legs at his waist precluded that – and he lost a vital moment, being caught unawares. The forearm was lodged solidly under his throat, and he couldn't get a good grip on it, before his throat started constricting, in what he recognised was a rear-naked choke.
"Khhhk..." - he tightened-up his neck, slamming his back into the wall. A feminine-sounding moan of pain echoed.
Is that Couture?! How the hell did she get up here...
He slammed again, harder. But the choke didn't loosen. If anything, the pain seemed to spur her on, with a snarl in his ear, squeezing for all she was worth.
He slammed a third time, then a fourth, even harder, acutely feeling his windpipe constricting. She squeezed a keening moan out, but didn't let up.
Shifting to a one-handed grip on her forearm at his throat, he used his free hand to blindly punch behind him, where the snarl was coming from. Once, twice. On the second punch, his knuckles collided with something soft and crunchy, yet with bone underneath – presumably her nose or eyesocket.
Wetness covered his fist, as he could smell blood, along with a louder groan of pain from her. The choke seemed to falter for half a second, then tightened even harder, with a feral growl from her. Too quickly for him to take advantage of it. And by now, he was gasping for breath which did not want to come, his strength leaving him. He tried to elbow her, weakly, but it only grazed, as his vision began to blacken.
Finally, in another fifteen seconds, he slid bonelessly down to the floor, passing out.
For a long, agonising dozen moments, Jamella wheezed in reaction, still not willing to release the choke, her nose gushing blood liberally over the unconscious man's uniformed shoulder. It hurt like hell, making her one human eye tear up. She didn't think he broke her nose, but... the cartilage was fractured, for sure.
Then she happened to glance upwards, at the depowered camera. A new sense of urgency filling her. She HAD to drag him into the vent, before the device reactivated. Using the pain as a goad, she labouriously dragged him over to the vent, and incrementally pushed him, feet-first, inside. He was heavy. His holstered sidearm caught-up on the edge, prompting her to pull it out, and stuff it at her own belt. She might need it, if the comms centre was occupied.
She made it in the nick of time, flattening herself against the wall as the Intellicam reactivated – right above her. The comms centre was down the hallway, and the camera's movement was predictable. With a pistol she now had, she felt a bit more confident she could handle anyone inside, if necessary.
Wiping some blood off her nose, she proceeded to the door, and input the second code. The door slid open without delay, admitting her into a brightly lit room filled with dedicated satellite uplink terminals and various landline ones from the looks of them, as well as monitors displaying feeds from what she assumed was the building's entire security grid.
A comms centre and security room, all-in-one? Sloppy.
The young hacker thought, pointing her appropriated weapon at a couple of comms tech, male and female, on duty.
"Don't move!" - she barked, aim steady on both. Both were armed, with what looked like folded-up Buzzkills, for self-defence, and the male one's eyes narrowed, making it as if to reach for his. She aimed at his face.
"Don't even think about it! I just snapped the neck of a guard outside to get this gun, what do you think I can do to you?! Huh?" - exaggerating, but given her bloody face and fierce expression, it wasn't lost on the two noncombatants.
"J-just do as she says! We won't make any trouble!" - the woman stuttered, clearly terrified.
"They're looking for you. Why don't you save us all some trouble and turn yourself in?" - the male one growled, less impressed, and clearly not taking her entirely seriously. But he did move his hand away from the folded weapon.
"Why don't you shut up before you get a bullet to the face? Remove his weapon and yours, and throw them over. NOW!" - Jamella snapped, shifting aim briefly to the woman for emphasis, but her attention still on the guy.
Nodding shakily, she complied, slowly unclapping and tossing her Buzzkill at Jamella's feet, then her coworkers', despite his withering glare sideways at her.
"Cut her some slack, tough guy. She just saved your life." - the young hacker growled, leaning down to pick up one of the weapons. Without a word, she discharged it into the male one's chest, dropping him flat on his back in a brief arc of electrical discharge, knocked out.
Not sure if I'm quite ready to kill someone yet... but I will if I have to.
Then she picked up the other one, aiming it at the woman.
"Sorry. Can't risk you calling anyone." - discharging the second Buzzkill.
Then she moved back to the entrance door, quickly taking off the keypad panel, exposing the wiring beneath, and connecting one of the wires to her dataport. Then she reprogrammed it with a new code. With the comms centre secure for the time being, it was time to get to work, giving Helle her hardline access.
She approached the master satellite uplink terminal, and accessed it's operating interface, face going fully focused. This was her game. Password-protected, naturally... this would be fun!
Fingers flying over the keyboard, she got to work. As soon as she cracked the password, she could jack-in, and open the way for Helle to infiltrate the system.