Mercham 2.0

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Despite the society’s loathing toward his heritage, Popeye was grateful for many talents his father had passed on him: uncanny intelligence, wondrous spatial orientation. The dependance on AM’s drugs was the only downside, though one thing Pop certainly lacked. Predatory instinct. One reason he preferred to hide behind a wall of network anonymity. Deep down Pop was a coward with fondness to many psychoactive substances. He had inner, instinctive aversion toward killing and physical abuse of another creature. So when the building was attacked, the hacker simply ran for his life toward a person which had an armoured car and an armed driver.

The lift doors opened and only Pop’s inhumane reflexes stopped him from slamming into his boss. Magdalena looked cold and stoic, as if she was leaving the party out of boredom. The jokey took pride in his ability to read people, their intentions and expressions. He read between lines as good as he read the lines of codes. Magdalena was different - she possessed ability to hide behind a mask of deceitful smiles. A viper dressed in a human skin. The woman scared Pop on a very primal level, like his father always had. The young hacker wouldn’t be surprised if Magdalena had a vamp ancestor.

She stoically stepped into the elevator, her movements elegant and effortless. In many ways Magdalena and Anita were similar despite lack of blood relation. Pop had seen the heiress only on few occasions. The young woman had vivacious, youthful beauty but Magdalena possessed mature appeal of a confident cougar. After a short decision making process, Pop came to a conclusion he would bang them both. They had no time for such trivial thing when fighting for their lives. Popeye took a long, sharp breath to calm himself down as the woman moved next to him. His hands trembled and muscles tensed beneath the ghostly pale skin. “What?” Pop snapped, his features grew even more worried. Shots echoed from downstairs, loud enough to make the man coil. “I didn’t invite them.” He snapped, fear mixed with anger was tangible on his words.

Magdalena could hide many things, but Pop sensed the loathing disdain beneath the indifferently polite exterior. He knew it too well. Those well fed fish from the upper echelons, those stuck up rich assholes needed him more than they wanted to admit. Yet Pop felt judged every time they gazed at him with the aloof sense of superiority. If not for the free anti-Eucly’s, he would have dropped this job in no time. “Whatever, we need to get out alive.” Popeye was ready to add ‘pay me for the report, bitch’ but bit himself in the tongue before anything rude escaped it. “I got a message through a secured channel, friendly jockey warned me.” The young man turned to look at the woman. To think one of those had owned his grandfather as if he was cattle. In a way, she owned him as well, the leash was the same, only with human rights thrown in. To work he needed more anti-Euclys, which ate away money he had earned. Not to mention Magdalena wasn’t an employer you just ditched. Pop knew her secrets, enough of them to get rid of if stirring troubles. Promises of respecting Magdalena’s dirts wouldn’t matter, only a bullet to the head and a shallow grave somewhere in the outskirts.

They hurried to the car that drove over with a burning screech of tires. Not a minute too late as the garage filled with gunfire. The attackers were approaching fast, those who had stayed in the building soon would be trapped with no way out. Few bullets hit the car, took down a large, bold guard. Others rushed to protect their boss. In consequence Pop as well, albeit most of them would use him as a meat shield if they only could. The jockey pushed Magda into the car and closed the bullet proof doors. “GO!” He rushed the driver who was already turning the car around.



[-]


A danger from both sides. Roy knew how risky it was, to arm a predator. Most were terrified at the thought of AM standing next to them even with a shock collar on. The vamp hunter knew this danger well, he had fought armed AM’s before and one myth he personally busted: AM’s bled like everything else. They died, they could be crippled and maimed. You just needed to conquer the instinctive fear….Just. Roy remembered well all those boys who pissed their pants at the sight of an angry AM charging at them. Not everyone had a nervous system able to handle high stimulants dosages. Officially they were called a Control Unit, but behind the curtains of flattering PR his unit existed as ‘berserkers’, ‘frenzied’, ‘psychos’. Even worse than the monsters they hunted, because no one officially watched over them. An AM was killed, a deed was done. Nothing else mattered. Roy hoped this reputation would keep Zion from being short sighted and stupid. Low chances for that, AM’s of this personality structure were quickly killed off.

Ironically, now the hunter needed his prey to survive. They rushed into the hallway - Roy with trained, enhanced speed and Zion with elegant, natural swiftness his kind possessed. The hallway was dark, only red alert glow dispersed the shadows. The man’s optics immediately adapted - the world became grey and colourless but sharp. When hunting a nocturnal creature, Roy and his team needed this upgrade more than weapons. He watched AM taking a powerful military grade rifle. ‘Israeli’ The chief thought offhandedly but his focus shifted back toward the empty hallway. Distant gunfight erupted not far from them.

At first Roy wanted to punch Antoni for having around a veteran AM soldier who should have been terminated years ago. Now the chief praised the former boss’ stupidity. Nothing was more deadly than a trained AM…Maybe aside from him. Roy pointed forward, then touched the AM’s arm and wordlessly ordered the creature to keep close. He didn’t want Zion to get shot by their own security. ‘Go.’ Roy mouthed and hunched, stalked toward the noises. He peered from behind the corner of hallway wall and his eyes widened in a rare expression of fear. Prasko security was being massacred by an armed figure. It was an AM. Roy could see by his movement, by his indomitable strength. “Shit.” He whispered but not by the vamp presence. There was an upgraded warrior with them. Roy was sure of it, his optics picked up faint electromagnetic glow. A feature that let enhanced humans to recognise one another in utter darkness. The man had balaclava on, it was hard to recognise him. Unlike common gossip claimed, not all psychos knew each other. This could be a part of Russian team, Israeli team, Polish team, German team or just an illegal merc.

Roy slowly backed away, meaning to vanish behind a cover when the stranger vamp’s head darted upward. He sniffed his prey.
 
There was a little more hurriedness in her movements as Magdalena and her little pet exited the elevator and headed towards the awaiting armoured transport. She did not move perhaps as quickly as she would like, whilst her exquisite evening gown was perfect for sweeping up staircases, it was not built for a swift escape. As soon as they were in the car, the doors slammed shit and the vehicle sped away. With barely a second used to readjust herself, Magdalena was sitting pretty with not a hair out of place, very little betraying the fact she had survived such a close brush with death. No instructions needed to be issued to the driver, Laurie had been in her employ for many years – chauffeur was just another job title. They would be at the secure site soon enough, but until then Magdalene was forced to ride with her little half-breed pet. No doubt the runt would enjoy the luxurious little jaunt.

“I do hope these allies of yours are not a cause for concern. That would be problematic.” Magdalena recognised the need for Popeye to have connections and his own little network, but she despised the lack of control she had over them. A situation that would have to be briefly modified. “I want to know who these people are, and what they seek to gain. You will find this out for me.” She was not even looking at the jockey right now, instead busying herself with her communicator once more. The attack would soon hit the wire, and she wanted to be well informed of any activity as soon as possible. There were plenty of important people still in the building, and any deaths could cause her a terrible headache. She so detested setbacks. “Do help yourself to the mini-bar.” She gestured briefly with her hand without looking up, and it was the last thing she spoke aloud before the transport gently slid to a stop.

Laurie appeared almost immediately at Magdalena’s door, aiding her in leaving the vehicle and swiftly closing the door behind them; Popeye could make his own way out. The three entered another elevator, and this time went up in silence for several moments before stepping out into a spacious apartment. For many, the interior would be described as lavish, expensive or exquisite. For Magdalena, however, it was merely acceptable. She strode into the interior with sense of purpose, placing her communicator on the side and taking a seat on a large couch that was more costly than plenty of family homes. Laurie busied himself in the background for a few moments, before returning with a glass of something and handing it to his mistress. After that, he stepped away and was gone.

The woman crossed her legs and took a sip of the drink, savouring it for a few moments, before looking up at the all but forgotten mutt. “Find out what is happening back at the house. With any luck the security services have dealt with it by now.” Taking another delicate sample of her drink, another thought wormed its way to the forefront of her mind. “Oh, and get in touch with Anita. She should be here, with me.”

[-]
Artificial Man and Augmented Human moved forward together, the security chief issuing silent commands that Zion did not hesitate to follow. He did as was instructed, and right now Hardetsky was the highest ranking Prasko agent available, so his orders were absolute. The gladiator positioned the rifle along his arm, resting in the crook of the shoulder, following the almost human at a hunched run. They followed the sound of gunfire, and soon rounded a corridor to discover the source. They both took cover against the wall, Zion taking a peek out for tactical surveillance. The human security guards were getting butchered. No doubt Hardetsky picked his crew well, but they did not have anywhere near the advantages of the cybernetically enhanced Chief. Nor the natural abilities of an AM war vet. There was an old proverb that Antoni once told him, be wary of an old man in a profession where men usually die young. Zion was very old, and this was far from his first skirmish.

The AM waited in silence for several things to happen. The security were being mopped up now, disarmed and broken, executed one by one. Zion counted the weapons discharges as each guard was killed, reducing the enemy’s ammunition – one by one. Then the next thing happened, and the main threat turned to recognise their arrival. There was no mistaking another of his kind, although it had been some time since he last encountered one in such a setting. Zion was designed a weapon against his own kind, and had spent decades slaughtering his fellow AM. These last few years of domestic bliss had done nothing to soften him, nothing to dull him – he was still as deadly and efficient as always. And the beast longed for combat.

Without waiting for Hardetsky’s order, Zion broke cover and advanced, finger squeezing against the rifle trigger and rocketing off several bursts of fire. By the time he had reached the next available cover – an overturned dining table – several of the human assailants were either dead or clutching gaping wounds. The warrior was not here to take prisoners, merely eliminate the threat to Prasko security. The opposing AM had already responded in kind, several projectiles ripping into the table even as Zion ducked into it. He checked the ammunition chamber before looking back over at Chief Hardetsky. You never quite forgot how to soldier, and Zion was more than ready to get back to what he did best.
 
Pop had seen his grandfather two times before the psychos had terminated him. His father had almost nothing in common personality wise with the cold, composed creature. Pop’s parent was a walking fury who had no means to contain the predatorily fury. Maybe that was why violence scared Pop so much. Sometimes the young hacker wished it wasn’t a soldier turned bodyguard no. F4723 bred in European Union had been killed all those years ago. Unfortunately Alexander’s human placed him among those protected with Geneva Convention. A second class citizen but still a citizen. The fast trial for domestic abuse and assault. He was still in prison as far as Pop knew. Good riddance.

Magdalena reminded him of this tall, calculating and terrifying creature. She lacked strength and neurological topology of an AM but the sociopathic woman wasn’t this far from one. Pop didn’t know how to treat her. Magdalena could be both: cold and charming depending on the situation. Anita was similar but less foreseeing. From what Pop knew Anita made the same mistake as his grandmother. Yes, he read her messages. So did Magdalena. Pop would make other observations (neatly gathered hair, stoic posture, only slight tension of muscles) , he was a perceptive creature but the surrounding gunfire drew his attention more.

He winced at the few bullets that hit the car as it sped out from the underground garage. Pop, as a paranoid hacker, knew something was wrong. Knew that their escape was too clean. Professionals like this don’t leave loose ends unless they want to. “My allies might have saved our lives.” The hacker breathed when the car left the building behind. Behind them the sirens sounded and drilled his sensitive ears. The hacker removed his glasses and wiped thin shin of the sweat formed on his forehead. Fuck that was close.

His employer gestured at the small alcohol bottles neatly arranged in front of him. Pop looked Magdalena with those unsettling reflective eyes that caught the red spectrum of light. They narrowed briefly, expecting a ruse. After making sure that was a genuine offer, Pop put three small wine bottles into his stomach without any thought. Despite many characteristics of his AM grandparent, Pop was anything but threatening. His posture, always hunched, and gaze glued to the ground under him - the hacker was akin more to a frightened animal than a terrifying predator. All in all, Pop was simply a coward who clung to Magdalena because she guaranteed a certain amount of safety, predicability as well as endless supply of anti-Euclideans.

They walked out from the limo. Pop managed to grab two more bottles on his way out. That was a good wine. Laurie opened the door to his boss and looked at Pop with only a faint gleam of disdain. Pop tried to muster a threatening hiss, click of the tongue the ancient predators used to hunt its prey. It turned out awkward. With a silent nod, Laurie vanished from their sight - discreetly.

The interior of the apartment he so frequently visited gave him a headache. Way too bright, way too overwhelming. He sat down, trying not to show any discomfort. Pop’s heart finally stopped racing. The hacker was ready to get his brain fried in the endless stream of data but getting into prison or being shot in the head had something desecrating and degrading. “That was a quick action. From what I saw they were professionals, not some random gangsters.” The hacker offered while finishing the last of the bottles. It didn’t even get him tipsy - not so much because of the good genetics but years of the exercise. “Right away.” Pop said and took out his tools: simple raspberry pie computer and few thin cables. He moved away few strands of shaggy, fair hair to expose a small entry. Pop plugged the tiny computer into the connection. A good hacker didn’t need a personal computer, his head was enough. On the artificial lenses hidden in his eyes danced a faint powder blue glow. The never-ending web of possibilities opened to him. The web was like a live city, full of wondering souls and their concealed languages.

Pop did his magic.

[-]

It was a relief Roy didn’t need to watch over Zion. He might have killed AM’s in the past but that left him with even more trust in the old gladiator’s skill. The chief ducked right next to Zion as the gunfire echoed through the hallways. Most of the guests had been safely evacuated which meant not the party dwellers were the target. Something…someone else. The two of the attackers were left. Those Roy already marked as the biggest threat. An Am and the augment fighting side by side. Like their evil twins. “Fuck.” Roy cursed, already noting newer enhancements on the enemy. The AM was concealed - the chief could only recognise him by graceful movements. Another two attackers appeared from doors near by. All of them augmented psychos. “We are so screwed.” Roy said to Zion. He changed the mag. “I played against worse odds.” He added between sharp breathes, not sure who he wanted to convince. Zion or himself.

The table Zion so forseeingly turned over was slowly turning to a pile of the bent metal. He used the last of the ammunition on grazing the AM who whirled like a dervish and spraying the blood of the augment on the nearest wall. To their luck the other side also lacked weapons. There was no time to lose, the assailants could reach for the discarded rifles. The only thing left Roy had was a flash-bang grenade used for a crowd control. Better this than nothing. “Close your eyes.” He ordered Zion whose eyes would get hit the most. The chief curled behind the table and pressed plans to his ears as the grenade exploded, pushing the enemies into a brief mess.

“Now!” Roy ordered whilst pulling his knife. There was nothing else to do. “Take the AM.” He added. That was a lost cause - two augs and an AM. They would get smeared all over the hallways but a true soldier went big or went home.
 
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The scowl on the woman’s face deepened as she watched the little mongrel greedily reach for the alcohol. Dear little Popeye was such a good representation of exactly what she wanted in a person. An enviable talent and an obvious weakness. This thought allowed the slightest of smirks to trickle into her features, alcohol was such a useful tool. She drank herself of course, although it had been some time since she had been roaring drunk, a state which the young hacker seemed determined to get to very shortly. Whenever she entertained potential business interests, alcohol often played a part – it often suited her purpose for a little bit of dullness to seep into a brilliant brain. Made them much more pliable, and more fun to play with. Of course, suspicions would arise if she merely let her guests get happily sizzled without joining in herself, so of course the woman partook. Not that she wanted any of her own senses to be numbed by the world’s most sought after poison. Her supplies of anti-intoxicants were almost as plentiful as her cache of anti-Euclideans. Oh the marvels of modern medicine.
In the apartment, Magdalena drank from the glass Laurie had brought her, and for a brief moment pure relief shown on her face. It was perhaps the first time since the attack that the mask had slipped, and it was only for the smallest fraction of a fraction. She knew she should be terrified, especially considering how close some of those shots got, she would have to make a note of that. As it was though, things were mostly going according to plan. She was not fond of the mostly part. She set down the clear liquid with slightly more force then intended, droplets of the alcohol splashing onto the obsidian coffee table before her. The woman took a moment to examine her reflection in the polished material, her face slightly warped by the spilt vodka. Almost inhuman. With an irritated noise she turned away and reached for her communicator. Or rather, she extended her hand and made a brief motion – moments later Laurie appearing at her side with exactly what she wanted. Without looking up, she took the device and went about her business; the manservant once again disappearing into nothingness. Very useful, our Laurie.

Ignoring Popeye whilst he set up his gear, she began cycling through an array of news networks. The attack had reached the uplink now, but reports were still scattered and rarely had double confirmation. There were some confirmed deaths, and Magdalena scrolled through the handful of names with unmasked intrigue. Whilst what she was looking for had yet to appear, what was here she could work with. She would not be herself if not for the ability to spin an apparent travesty into a bountiful opportunity. It had happened more than once in Magdalena’s life, and attributed greatly to her quick advance in lifestyle and class.

Placing the communicator down once more, she flicked an irritated glance over at the mongrel hacker, before waving her hand again with another signal for the unseen Laurie. “You are taking too long. I must know now where Anita has. It worries me terribly that she has been unable to contact her favourite aunt.” There was a movement besides them as a handsome spectre drifted past, placing a case on the table before fading a half second later. “The first part of your payment, I will need you focused. This supply will last you longer than previous. Your money will be withheld for the time being. You will get it when I see fit.” The case contained the anti- Euclidean drugs that the boy needed to survive. The alcohol was the carrot, the happy little lie she fed the boy when she needed him. The AED’s were the stick – or more pointedly the leash – which she used to control him as she saw fit. He had done a good job today, played exactly the part she hoped he would, even if he did go off script in the first act a little. The unwilling puppet deserved something, and so she slacked the leash a little. Just a little. “And you have still yet to tell me who these allies of yours are. Other hackers, yes? Perhaps they could prove useful to me.” In truth, a tiny part of the calculating woman was worried. This was a loose end. It would need trimming.

[-]
Zion stayed quiet while Roy spoke to him, rationalisations and reassurances. The Chief was doing it solely for himself, the Artificial Machine knew. Such sentimentalism was purely a human trait. Following suit with Hardetsky’s action, he checked on the rifle’s ammunition. A little less than he would have liked, and he was picking his shots carefully. It would not be enough to end this, not even combined with the handgun in his waistband. He discarded the secondary weapon without a second thought. At any rate, it would take five of them to take down an AM. Hardetsky and his people got quite skilled at slaying Zion’s kind, and they did so by using advanced tactics and superior weaponry. It had certainly proved an effective method, but far from the only one. Humans often dismissed the simplest of scenarios, instead preferring the shiny and explosive over the sleek and efficient.

Watching as Roy pulled out the concussion grenade, the AM screwed shut his eyes and tucked his head between his knees. He rammed his knees against the side of his head, blocking his ears; he knew what came next. The second he felt the grenade impact, Zion started counting. Once he got past two he launched up and over the table – eyes flying open and rifle flying up to an attack position. He squeezed two shots off – he knew at least one was bang on the money – before the fist smashed into his chest and stole away most all his air from his lungs. The other AM had recognised the tactic as quickly as Zion, probably quicker, and reacted with terrifying proficiency. Zion was flung several feet away and hit the ground heavy, sliding to a stop with nothing more than grunts and wheezes. The rifle was far out of reach, and he had discarded his only other weapon. Maybe the Prasko domestication had made him soft after all. He looked down at his chest, trying to analyse the damage. Each breath was taking more and more effort – a few ribs were broken for sure. Reflective eyes glanced up to a shimmering counterpart as the other AM approached. Zion glanced away for a second, looking in vain hope for a sign of the augmented chief of security. Sometimes, a second is all it takes.
 
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