Gamma Protocol (070)

[070]

“These clothes are too expensive to be this silly.”

The air of the “under-city” was damp and hot and dark, it reminded me of the factory floor, but ten times worse. There were chemical smells that lingered, making every breath thick and heavy, not a single stray breeze to be had this far down. The world above had been drowned out by roads and the walls, cutting off all natural light save one that came out of the rare entryway… or from our own clothes.

Mainly, my RBG belt-buckle that illuminated the way ahead like some rainbow flashlight.

It was not the only RBG-enabled piece of clothing I was currently wearing.

“Nonsense, you look slick.” Isia replied. “Though a bit too clean.”

“How can I be ‘too clean’?” I asked in annoyance. “Do you want me to throw some mud on my face or something?”

The part that probably annoyed me the most was that the clothes were supremely comfortable. A black dress-up shirt with an open jacket and black pants, the material wicked away heat and humidity from the air, making the lower-levels far more bearable to maneuver. The fit was good, molding to my figure with just enough snugness to make it seem as if it’d been custom fitted. And if it weren’t for the RGB buttons, and how the trims of the jacket and shirt were also RGB, I would’ve maybe even thought I did indeed look slick. Instead, it was more like I’d swallowed a schizophrenic rainbow and puked it all over my clothes.

And Isia was way worse.

“Eh…” She made a ‘so-so’ gesture with her hand. “We can figure it out next time.”

She had an oversized puffy sweater that reached all the way down to her knees, with a fabric that made her look more like a walking ad background. She’d been fiddling with the settings and, currently, was displaying her body as a skeleton, surrounded by an aquarium’s worth of fish. The clack of her heels was accompanied by the gentle hum of internal fans.

I didn’t even want to imagine what was underneath, but I had to guess it was something equally needlessly flashy.

“If we survive.” I grumbled. “I feel like we’re one bucket of water away from getting fried.” I complained. The darkness wasn’t an issue to me, everything beyond the light reduced to a black and white world, but Isia certainly needed it.

The lower-levels of the second district were packed. Hundreds of levels overhead the buildings were distinct and separate from one another, connected by bridges and floating walkways that’d grown into parks. Down here, however, the lines where a building ended and another began were murky at best. Walls had been torn down and replaced, rebuilt elsewhere, roads turned into tunnels, and pipes littered every available surface. In a way, it was like being inside one of the mega-buildings, but both worse and better at the same time. Though there was a lot less trash, with wider and more open spaces, the impression was less of being somewhere meant for living, and more like being inside a factory floor that stretched on endlessly.

“Don’t be stupid, these are waterproof and corrosion-proof.” She grumbled. “Take a left up ahead.” I might be the one with the road-lights, but she was the one with actual serviceable guidance and maps. “Who names a club ‘BlingBling’? A ten-year-old?”

“Same person who calls themselves ‘Banker’.” I replied. “Let’s just hope they’re as open to negotiate as the name implies.”

Clothes-shopping aside, we’d hashed out several proposals, to avoid coming in empty-handed. Isia’s idea to just shoot everyone that got in our way was amongst the first to get thrown out the window. Even if I wanted to go around murdering people (which I didn’t), starting a shoot-out was a quick path towards finding out how well entrenched the enemy’s defenses might be. That… and we risked our severely expensive clothes getting ruined, which would make them ineligible for refund.

As far as Isia was concerned, Vesper’s prospective wrath was far more convincing than the prospect of getting shot at.

“Oh, Vesp wants to meet-up tomorrow.” Isia informed me. “You know, get back on track and all that.”

“After tonight, I’ll definitely be looking forward to some monster killing to vent.” I replied as I spotted our destination.

The ‘BlingBling’ club, from the outside at least, was little more than a neon sign and a door. There was a rather long line of people, all of them sporting the same dumb RGB kind of clothes we were, alongside six heavily armed bouncers. I couldn’t tell this far off, but at least two of them had submachine guns, and all of them were clearly wearing some sort of body armor.

I flinched as Isia slapped the back of my head. “Stop that.”

“What!?” I complained.

“You’re eyeing them like you’re looking for a fight.” She replied.

“I’m not!” I definitely wasn’t!

I might have been thinking about what level of protection the body-armor was, and whether they could stop my Bulstra’s basic bullet. But that was an entirely different thing to actually wanting or even considering a situation where I’d shoot at them.

We were here to scope out the “owner” of the club, to try and fish for information, details, anything that might give us room to negotiate. If he didn’t have it, then they might be able to point us in the right direction. But if he was indeed responsible for what had happened, and had our money, then we’d need to at least confirm he had the goods. Otherwise the guy could just deny ever having even heard of “Jack” and shrug us off.

Attempts at contacting them remotely had merely gotten our calls strung along into an AI-assistant hell. Hence coming in person. Overall this was closer to a desperate move than any actual planned approach. There were just too many unknowns, and only the thinnest of proofs. This “visit” was less of an attempt to enter a negotiation, and more to try and fish for clues, perhaps even, hopefully, get the one responsible to slip up.

“I’ll do the talking,” she said. “Just pretend you’re bored.”

Rolling my eyes, I obliged, shifting my attention to the party goers and trying to blend in, be a part of the crowd. It was somewhat early despite being late, most of the people in line were chatting away while some drank out of cans. The reek of cheap booze and smoke lingered in their wake as we got closer to the nightclub, mingling with the muffled ‘thump-thump-thump’ of music beyond the reinforced doors.

As we approached, the bouncers gave us a once-over, barely paying either of us any attention as Isia paid up the entrance fee. “Leave your weapons in the locker rooms.” One of them pipped up right as we crossed the doors, the severely loud music enveloping us as we stepped inside.

It was like having spikes shoved into my ears.

Without missing a beat, I pulled out the earplugs. I’d suspected this might happen, so I’d come prepared. The wave of relief was immediate, the ambient deafening sound reduced to a dull roar. There was nothing I could do about the smells though, sweat and smoke mingled with cheap booze, that only redoubled once we moved past the entrance lobby and into the nightclub proper. Adrenaline was thick, as were a wide array of other scents I couldn’t make heads or tails of.

Night vision came in handy, turning the darkness into little more than shades of gray with the odd green sparkling laser. There were more light effects than I’d expected, and yet, based on the awe in Isia’s eyes, I had to assume there was some grand show going on for anyone with a neuralink. To my eyes, “BlingBling” was just a large concrete box that was mostly shrouded away and out of sight.

“Over here!” Isia shouted into my ear, pulling me along towards the stairs that had a golden ‘VIP’ plaque overhead. I followed along, more concerned by the number of armed guards littered around the nightclub’s perimeter. Judging by the way they followed various party-goers, I had to assume their eyes were night-vision enhanced in some fashion.

The moment we approached the stairs, the nearest bouncer raised a hand at Isia. “You’re not on the list.” Though as soon as he spoke, his gaze quickly shifted to stare me down, hesitating after a moment. “And… you are?”

“We’re here to talk to the Banker,” I said, not answering. “If this isn’t a good time, then we can come later.”

This was part of the plan. I, being devoid of a neuralink, was unhackable. No scans would ever show what augs I had, because I had none to begin with. But there was another possibility for such a thing: having augs so advanced they could fool scans and go invisible in their entirety. Bringing the Bulstra was meant to lean the odds in favor of the latter interpretation, what sort of unaugmented human would walk around with a .507 caliber firearm?

In short, it was a bluff of how important we were so we’d get our foot in the door.

Merit where it was due, the bouncer didn’t react to my statement, but it was hard to miss how his eyes took a marginally distant edge to them. After a minute or so, he gestured for us to go through. “This way, please.”

“Sweet.” Isia declared as we were allowed through, the bouncer leading the way down the stairs into an entirely separate area. The mood here was calmer, quieter, the music wasn’t as deafening, and the lights weren’t as eye-wateringly intense. There were a lot less people too, but each of them sported bionic augmentations that went far beyond some replaced limb or two. 

The room itself was bathed in a subdued, almost metallic hue, reflecting the sharp gleam of chrome and polished steel that lined the walls. The soft hum of servos and the occasional hiss of pneumatics underscored the atmosphere, a mechanical rhythm that synced with the slow, methodical pulse of the music. Shadows danced in the corners, cast by the dim lights embedded in the ceiling, highlighting the jagged edges of the patrons’ augmented forms. Some had limbs that flickered with faint blue lights, while others had faces half-covered by sleek, reflective visors or intricate neural interfaces weaving across their skulls. The air was thick with the scent of coolant and sterilizing agents, mingling with the faint tang of ionized metal, the subtle clinks and whirs of their bodies were just barely audible, adding a layer to the already detached atmosphere.

“There’s more chrome here than in a damn scrap-heap.” Isia whispered under her breath.

She’d been heard.

Several patrons glanced our way, and I was suddenly left keenly aware of just how hostile this place felt. The cybernetic eyes quickly shifted to me, and though I knew I couldn’t really feel the scans, I could easily imagine them. Dozens of them going over me, poring over every inch of my body, trying to pierce through what wasn’t there. Would any of them be able to tell what was really going on?

I imagined myself fighting Shadow again, in the muddy rain, one inch away from death…

Yeah, compared to facing down a meguca, this was a lot less threatening.

My heart slowed to a gentle beat as we marched on, following the bouncer to the back, to an area that was slightly elevated. There was a velvet stanchion rope and another bouncer who opened it up as we approached, the air wavering around us as we stepped through, the music from outside dying down to barely a whisper in the background.

I blinked, recognizing there was some sort of sound-suppressing going on, but not recognizing the technology. Or at least not until I spotted a glass podium containing a long silver spine almost as large as my forearm. Each spine was connected to machines through tubes, getting a clear gray liquid pumped through them.

Machines that reminded me of the AK01 Moreau had shown me back in Frontier City, of the pieces that’d been made out of high-class monster-parts, kept alive artificially.

“Bio-weapon.” I muttered, cocking my head slightly as I tried to piece together what I was looking at. “From a mute-type?” Was that how the music had been quietened down? Some sort of monster-based effect? Mute-type monsters could make all sound vanish, even going so far as to being immune to shockwaves in some instances. And with how much was within the podium, this had to be either out of a C or even a B-class monster.

It was a massive waste of potential resources, inefficient, useless here when it could’ve been potentially applied on the field against a sonic monster. There was a mild sense of disgust and disdain, but one I kept from reaching my face, this wasn’t the time.

“It cost a pretty penny to set up, but it’s really just a trinket compared to the tech’s possibilities.” The man sat comfortably in the center of a large empty leather sofa, dressed in an iridescent pearly white suit. The design was flashy for sure, with some kind of passive shimmering effect, and judging by the gasp from Isia, I could only assume the piece was obnoxiously expensive. “I’m the Banker.”

My attention was mostly on the visor covering his eyes, one connected to the back of his own skull with hair-thin fiber-optic cables that glowed in golds and reds. The visor was decked with a dozen camera lenses, and I could only imagine the thing contained a whole suite of sensors. Sensors that, I’m sure, were focused on me exclusively.

“I’m Axel Garica,” I greeted in turn. “And this is my companion-”

“Isabel Victoria Gutierrez,” the man scoffed, a sneer stretching out his lips, revealing rows of silver-coated teeth. “A member of those god-awful filth-rats.”

Isia’s hand moved to her hip, but even without a firearm, her expression drew thin. The young woman looked just about ready to jump the guy and throttle him, but instead gave me a glance, as if to confirm this was my stage and not hers.

Not yet, at least.

I kept my tone even, cold, but polite. “Would you happen to have some grievances with them?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” The Banker scoffed after a moment’s delay.

The momentary pause between question and answer made me hesitate. My nose twitched, and I stepped closer to the man, but stopped as I noticed something else in the air… or rather, the lack of something. The Banker had no sounds, no heartbeat or breathing, no sweat, no spittle, not even the scent of oils or plastics. Quickly turning away from the man, I found what I was looking for, a half-dozen projectors.

“You’re not really here, are you?” I said.

A hologram.

“An expensive trick.” His lip curled into a half-cocked smirk. “For my safety, you understand.”

Isia gripped my arm, eyes wide, a mix of panic and apprehension.

“Is this a trap, Mr Banker?” I asked coldly, glaring at the hologram.

“Not one I’d anticipated, I’ll tell you that much.” He chuckled, arms wide on the sofa as he wriggled in self-satisfaction. “I had a lot riding on Bear’s victory, and for her to have it all snatched up… I feel cheated, you see.”

“So you stole from their betting pool.” I snarled, moving an arm to cover for Isia as my eyes darted around, counting the number of possible hostiles. “And now this?”

The closest bouncer reached out for Isia, but I was faster, grabbing his wrist firmly, feeling unyielding metal underneath the suit. The man’s serious expression took a worried look as he fought to move his limb but failed, creaking metal complaining under my grip.

“Don’t.” I warned him, shoving him back hard enough to make him stumble a step backwards. I gave the Banker a curt nod. “Drop this, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Hm…” The man stared at the bouncer, then at me. “Certainly, why not? Just give me that arm of yours and I’ll let you walk out. Surely your employers can get you a new bioware suit.”

Could I regenerate a lost limb? I was inclined to believe that yes, but wasn’t willing to put it to the test. Doubly so when this Banker clearly just wanted it for the sake of figuring out my biology. But at the same time, there were too many enemies, I wasn’t sure how many of them were armed, and I couldn’t guarantee Isia’s safety.

“Watch-out!” Isia screamed

Faster than I could react, a hand grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.

A metal palm took hold of my skull and in one motion slapped me against the floor, pinning my head in place. There had been just enough force that, under any other circumstance, I might have passed out from the impact.

I snarled, and my attacker froze as I bunched up my legs against my chest and kicked the cyborg with everything I had.

Metal and flesh rocketed backwards, flying off and out of the VIP area, crashing into the dance-floor. The cyborg crashed and rolled across the floor until nearly coming to a stop on the other side of the room.

Then all hell broke loose.