2005-01-03 - 11:31 p.m.

Ch. 10: Best Laid Plans

Actionhero walked into the GOP office with a smile. This was going to be the perfect burn. He’d worked out all the details.

One: walk up to Fat Bob the redneck guard and give him the trainer trash backyard wrestling and porno tape he’d spent far too much time up in Dixie County running down. That should keep him occupied for a while.

Two: walk down to J.W.’s office where J.W. would be having another “executive stress management session” with Mistress Yannah, the City’s most famous and expensive dominatrix…who was a close personal friend of a certain Irishman and one he’d bribed to slip a nice strong skin contact tranquilizer in J.W.’s collar.

Three: Ever so causally disabling the alarms that would call in the mercenary security force contracted to protect this place from their base in City Center 10 minutes away, erase all files on J.C. from the GOP mainframe, bypassing the firewalls and other Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics with Missy’s retinal pattern, conveniently uploaded into his smart frames. What did she think: he actually liked her and wasn’t just trying to get close enough for a high rez scan of her eye?

Four: take the secret elevator in J.W.’s office (access granted by J.W.’s retina, conveniently scanned while he was trussed up by Mistress Yannah) to the subbasement where the mainframe was.

Five: use J.W.’s retinal code again to access the mainframe, conveniently bypassing all the ICE Padraig was so worried about, and upload Jack’s program.

Six: Uplink with Ves’s people and shift all the money in the accounts.

Seven: Calmly waltz out of the building, waving to Fat Bob as he jerked off to trailer park sluts getting “rock bottomed.”

Eight: Meet Mona at the Baal Towers for a victory celebration, stopping before hand to buy the fuckers at the Ghost a round just to rub it in that he pulled off a burn with no gunplay. He was even carrying only one gun, and that was out of habit.

And of course, none of this happened.

Actionhero froze as Fat Bob smiled at him. And then began to grow, his skin splitting and tearing, something like a giant half man half mosquito ripping through the sagging flesh. In a flash, Actionhero had his single Glock 9mm in his hand and unloaded a clip of high explosive into Fat Bob The Bug Man’s face (or general region), each shot causing puss and blood to spurt from the entrance wounds. Finally Bob fell to the ground. For good measure, Actionhero grabbed a termite grenade and threw it on the body.

“Fuck,” Actionhero said as the body began to burn. “Time for Plan B.” He reached into his coat and hit a trigger. Body armor fairly bristling with weapons ‘ported in and all but grafted themselves onto his body. He pulled out a snub nosed grenade launcher and walked down to the opening of the central hallway. It looked empty which ofcourse meant it was a killzone. He didn’t need the thermo and sonar feed in the goggles to know that it was a gauntlet, gunmen hidden behind the closed office doors waiting for him to walk though to the end, to J.W.’s office, in order to turn the hallway into shooting gallery. Well armed, behind cover, it was a loser’s gambit to walk though that corridor. So he did what any sane man would: he fired off some grenades.

They were the nasty kind bio-weaponry out of Vancouver and everyone knew what kind of shit you could buy up there. This particular model was State-of-the-art: shellfish toxin genetically blended with a particularly voracious flesh-eating bacteria all to the tune of an aerosol vector. Of course, Actionhero was immune to the shit, his armor emitting a low-level entropy field that killed the shit on contact. But he waited anyway until the mercenaries started to crash though the doors. Taking a run, Actionhero rushed through the halls, his hand blades—the nasty kind that started life as Indians katars and had been subsequently set on by Egyptian blade fetishes hooked on too much animé and West German soft-core fantasy porn—out. He bladed the stumbling mercs without stopping, just reaching out his arms and running past. By the time he got to the end of the hallway, they were all on the ground, arteries spewing blood like Italian fountains, the bodies still quivering as the toxin burned away their nerves. Some of the mercs had bulle doff their hoods and you could see the bacteria eat away their faces, plane after plane, like some cursor deleting lines on a computer screen. With a flip of his coat, he walked into J.W.’s office.

J.W.’ was standing there, smiling. Standing next to him, also smiling and pointing a massive pistol at him was Yannah, still dressed in her bondage gear. Actionhero shook his head.

“I should have known better than to trust a Russian.”

“And I should have known better than to trust one of your kind, boy,” J.W. said, his drawl heave as he walked up to Actionhero. “Inscrutable. That’s what they say about your kind, isn’t it?”

“What makes you think I can’t take that gun away from Natasha over there,shove it up your ass and pull the trigger until she gets shot in the face?”

“You might, you yellow bastard, but Yannah’s one of them Russian mobsters you’ve heard so much about. I doubt you’d get within a cunt hair’s width out of your current spot before she put one in your eye.”

“Vory. If this is about those Mummies in Western Siberia then it’s Quentin Holte, the other Asian guy, you want to kill.”

“No,” Yannah said, something like a smile on her lips. “This is about money. Pure and simple.”

J.W. shoved his face close to Actionhero’s. “I trusted you. Hell I all but gave you the keys to the kingdom here. When Yannah told me about your offer and asked if I wanted to double down, I almost didn’t believe her.”

“Out of curiosity,” Actionhero said. “How did you know, Yannah? I only contacted you though blinds and we never met.”

“I noticed you when I came by for an afternoon session. You may have been in disguise, but I know a killer when I see one. It was only a small matter to ask around, match up some specifics, listen to some rumors. You are not a subtle man, Actionhero.”

“I like it when it gets loud. So what now, J.W.? You gloat like a cheap ass Bond villain and then put me into some stupid death trap.”

“Nah, I just figured I’d have Yannah shoot you in the balls and then watch Yannah ass fuck you until you died?” J.W. poked his finger into Actionhero’s chest. “What d’ya say to that?”

“I say “bad idea to pike a guy wearing an entropy field.’” Actionhero said, keying the overload though his neural trigger. At low levels an entropy rig was only good for killing viruses and other small life forms, like a high tech bugzapper. There were bigger rigs, but they were hell on power and definitely not man portable. But Actionhero’s rig had a one shot override that ramped up power and radius for a second or so before the whole thing crapped out permanently. Still, one second was enough for a good ass kicking.

The room blurred or darkened for a split second. When everything returned to normal, Actionhero was on one knee, blood pouting from his nostrils, ears, tearducts. He’d been shielded from the full effects but the death field was still hell on his body. A few feet away, Yannah was on all fours vomiting up blood, digested food, and parts of her stomach. She’d gotten a heavier dose of the death field, her body hit on a cellular level, but she’d been out of the killzone. J.W. wasn’t so lucky. He lay on the ground, the hand he’d laid on Actionhero was withered to the elbow. The rest of his body looked half decayed, like maggots had been feasting on it for a good three days.

With a grunt of pain, Actionhero stood up, grabbing a syringe from a bandolier around his leg and plunged it in to his body. He gritted his teeth as the plug-and-play DNA coded itself into his body, waiting for the regeneration trait to kick in, which would still hurt as hell. He walked over to J.W. and found, luckily, that one eye was still viable. A flick of a small knife and a few seconds fork and the bloody sphere was in a small plastic baggie. No more need for subtlety. He turned to Yannah and pulled out a massive revolver.

“Nothing personal, this is just about money.” He emptied the gun in the back of her head.

Walking over to J.W.’s computer, he activated with the retina scanned into his shades and then pulled out a disk and slotted it, uploading a particularity virus that would wipe all the data of “J.C.” from the legitimate computers up here. No more Well Spoken Asian Boy. Sure some people would remember, but with no data to back it up, they would just be seen as stupid. Besides, one Well Spoken Asian Boy would be the last thing the cops would be worried about after this night. He walked into the special elevator, opening it with J.W.’s eye.

He took a few minutes rest in the elevator, letting the regen trait kick in. He then raised J.W.’s eye to the wall scanner, activating the descent. The smell hit him as soon as the doors opened. Formaldehyde, ozone, and that long chain monomer new car smell. That could mean only one thing: cyborg.

“Christ on a cracker. Why does it have to be cyborgs.”

Actionhero jumped through the door and hit the ground in a roll, just barely missing the hail of bullets that flew into elevator. Rolling up into a crouch he quick scanned the room. It was one large open space, designed to give no cover, with only the stand-alone console in the middle. On the other side of the room, the cyborg moved slowly, an armor plated cadaver loaded with every damn weapon you could think of. More aggressive, adaptive, and down right freaky than a drone, Actionhero hated having to go up against these thing. There was no clear-cut way to kill a cyborg: guns were unreliable since you didn’t know what was replaced and most of the fuckers were unusually armored. The bastards were more metal and human so magic and psi were weak and any magic or psi that did worked had the same problem as using bullets. Hand-to-hand might work, if you could even get in range and were stronger than the fuckers. Actionhero shook his head.

“Fuck it then. Let’s just do this shit old school style.”

Actionhero pulled out a cut down Czech SMG and fired. Bullets either bounced off the armor or just got snared in the dead meat. The cyborg looked over at Actionhero and targeted its shoulder mounted rotary cannon.

“Ah well. It was worth a shot. Let’s see how you like acid mother fucker.”

Actionhero threw three grenades and dived to the side, again dodging another hail of bullets. He waited until her heard a muffled explosion and hissing. He looked up. The cyborg was covered in acid…and still operating. The dead flesh was bubbling and beginning to melt, but it only made the cyborg uglier.

Actionhero shook his head and pulled another syringe, jamming it into his leg. And another. And another.

“Panther, bear, ah hell, let’s go for a whole Marshal Bravestarr cocktail.” He could feel his muscles ripple and tear and reform. He jumped at the cyborg. Fast, closing the gap. The cyborg targeted him and fired a laser. Actionhero ducked, the laser hitting only his shoulder. He got within range of the cyborg and hit it hard in what passed for a head. The whole thing tore off. The rest of the body however was still working and it hit back, crushing part of the body armor. Actionhero grunted but the pain just fed the killing rage. He hit it again somewhere else. And again. And again, armorplating and robotics and preserved vital organs breaking and bursting, the plug-and-play DNA turing him in the killing machine Mother Nature had been too pussy to build. The smell: half-fried pork and half-melted plastics. The speed of his strikes was inhuman and his eyes and hears hunted for weak points or critical areas. But what did the trick was the strength.

The thing that people forgot about superhuman strength was that you could really break shit with it.

The cyborg crashed to the ground. Just to make sure, Actionhero pulled out a sawed off automatic shotgun and unloaded a full clip right into it at near point black range.

***

Ch. 11: Deposit

Mona watched the clock on the corner of her computer nervously. It was well past uplink time. Something must have gone wrong. She wanted to scream, to jump, to grab her wand and a suit of ensorcelled armor and find Actionhero. She wanted a nap and a cookie. Instead, Giles brought her some tea, noting her tension.

“Relax,” he said. “He’ll call when he calls.”

“Don’t pay her any attention, Ripper,” another of Ves’ boys said, this one a young cocky swain with, naturally, a snake pin. “She’s just got the hot for the ‘Hero. You know these Huffelpuffs; give it up for the first bloke who gives them a smile and a nod.”

“Bastian,” Giles said. “Unless you really do want a transfer to the Ghenna office, I suggest you shut your mouth and get back to work. I want a detailed account of the entire transaction through the Nikkei. All eight times it goes through. Hand written, if you please.”

Bastian turned away in a huff. Giles and Mona smiled. Then the phone chirruped. In a flash, Mona had the line active and Giles rushed off to find Vesica.

“Mona here. Go ahead Actionhero.”

“Ready with the uplink. Damn, that hurts….”

“Are you okay?”

“Just a little trouble with the natives. Nothing that won’t heal.” Another cough. “Okay, I’ve used J.W.’s codes and what ICE breakers I’ve got. Pluggin in Jack’s program.”

“I’m sending the account number to send the money to.”

“Received. Punching it in…it’s loading.”

The seconds ticked by, each one a Jupiter year long.

Finally, “Received Actionhero…WHOA. That’s a lot of money.”

“Can your laundry handle it?”

“Sure, only its going to be hell on the bastard who’s got to write up the Nikkei reports.”

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re golden. Platinum even. You should have you deposit in 25 hours. Long enough for a good hundred times though the wash.” She smiled. “We still up for that drink? I daresay you can afford it.”

“Hell, charge it your boss’ account. She’s getting half of this anyway.”

“I heard that,” Vesica said walking up to Mona’s console. “’Hero, I’ve been monitoring my scrying spheres. You’ve got half the damn City police and two companies of mercs incoming. Hell, they’re probably in the parking lot right now!”

“Looks like one of the natives got an alarm off. Looks like I’m going to have to shoot my way out.”

“Stop being an idiot. Giles is getting a Scooby Gang ready to pull you out.”

“Just have him drop off Mona at the Baal. I’ll get out on my own.”

“You’re insane.”

They heard the sound of guns being readied. “I’ve got modified lizard, shark, wolf, hawk, bear and panther DNA in me. If anything, I’m feeling predatory.”

He clicked off the com. Ves and Mona looked at each other.

“Well,” Mona said with a smile. “This should make for an interesting drink.”

***

Chapter 12: Company Man

Actionhero smiled as Ves handed him a glass of Jack and Coke.

“Well,” she beamed back as she sat in the chair across from him. “It’s been an interesting week.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been…preoccupied.”

The smiled held like surface tension for another few seconds and then both started to laugh.

“They’re calling it the blood bath of the year!!!”

“I know. I’ve had the t.v. on all week!!”

“Mona mentioned you wouldn’t turn it off. Even when you were in bed”

“She’s a special girl. I’m thinking about stealing her away from you.”

“Don’t you dare! My offices are run ragged. I need all the best people now!”

“Like you couldn’t hire more with your cut from this burn. Very well then, assign her as my account manager or some such.”

“Mmm, well she probably knows your…assets better than any of my staff. All in all, though, I must say the caper turned out spectacularly. But did you really have to kill all of those guys at the end?”

“It’s not like they were all innocent. They were mercs. And they shot first.”

“You killed 38 men, crippled 15 more, and blew up three choppers, 8 hummers, a light tank….”

“TWO light tanks.”

“Fine. Two light tanks, did property damage in excess of $100 million and crippled the GOP in 36 states. And this was after you got the money.”

“What can I say? I like explosions.”

“Well did you check the accounts I sent you?”

“Yes. Very nice.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Ves shook her head and took a sip of her drink. “I have to ask. What are you going to do with all that money?”

“I was thinking of starting my own business.”

“What? You?”

“Sure. There’s always a market for troubleshooters like me. Plus all those contacts I’ve made. I could diversify: import export, treasure hunting, ninja extermination. That’s growth industry right here in the City. You feel like helping me with the paperwork?”

“I’ll get Mona right on it. So you got a name for this corp?”

“Man of Mystery, Inc.”

“Catchy. Now about the rest of my fee….”

Actionhero put the Jack and Coke down, stood up and gave Ves a peck on the cheek. “I’ve already called Gary and set it up through Giles. As for Sting, he’s in India somewhere. I’ll get him on my way back from Singapore.”

“Singapore?”

“Got promises to keep.”

“And miles to go before you sleep, right?”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

“What about Mona?’

Actionhero thought for a minute and then smiled. “Tell her to come along.”

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