Requiem's Run: Chapter Eleven

Reality Bytes

     A snowman sat blissfully unaware of its situation. Dressed in a black top hat, with a carrot nose, coal eyes, and a corncob pipe it was reminiscent of a time past. The snowman brought a mitten covered stick arm to its doughy chin as if pondering a riddle, and leaned forward. The snow around the two coal orbs rustled giving the appearance that it was squinting trying to read some illegible fine print. The snowman glanced over his shoulder as if disturbed by something, but quickly went back to its studying.

     No one paid any mind to the snowman, or the fact that it was standing in a mall, or that it was reading from a bulletin board. Instead the snowman pulled from its body a pair of old reading glasses and put them atop its carrot nose. Leaning back on its lower orb the snowman gave a “humfp” noise. Removing the reading glasses and stowing them back in its body the snowman rubbed his round head.

     A series of books flew by the snowman’s head startling him from a daydream. Looking angrily in the direction of the books, the snowman saw a small Japanese draconic figure with reading glasses similar to its own. The dragon raised a scaly claw to the snowman and spoke in a nasally voice, “Sorry.” The snowman nodded and went back to his bulletin of interest.

     After several more minutes the snowman leaned back and surveyed his surroundings. He hadn’t taken the time to fully survey the landscape of the mall’s network and wanted a break from the bulletin board. Partially hoping to see something that he had missed elsewhere throughout the mall’s brightly lit information corridors.

     At times Black Betty wished her co-workers could see her work in the world of the Matrix. While she didn’t feel completely helpless out there in the meat world, this was her world. From her own “cute” little persona to the joys of using her “black hammer” program, she didn’t mind that this world was only dressed images of data; it was the world that she knew. Judgment was only reserved for the people who couldn’t hack it, and everyone’s identity was their own. Unlike the so-called “real” world.

     Betty shook her thoughts back to the present and the snowman’s head shook in response to Betty. Moving back to the bulletin board she continued her research over Byte’s message he had left here only hours ago. Finally catching a break, Betty’s icon jumped up and down excitedly. She hadn’t seen it before but an insignia near the signature looked to be some sort of hidden code. Just as her twig arm reached out to touch it, a small display screen popped up to her right. It was video footage of the pizzeria and she knew it was time to go.

She lamented at not being able to further investigate something she felt was a possible lead, but took the necessary precautions burning her icon’s snowy trail. Jacking out of the Matrix was always an uncomfortable feeling for Betty. It was a simple enough procedure, but something always nagged at her about leaving the warmth of the cyber world. 

     Her eyes blinked hard and the blur of the Matrix melted back into the real world. The dull lighting of the pizzeria added to her feelings of dread. She was back, and the fleshy faces of the blobbed masses staring back at her. The hour was running late, and despite their recent activities they felt safer hiding amongst the public. Besides the street being quiet, the pizzeria was inexplicably popular. Betty noticed that it was mainly college age people of all shapes, and cliques, but felt that they blended in enough to hide. Their cover wouldn’t last long to close scrutiny, but at quick glance they would go unnoticed.

     Everyone except for The Gate was fidgeting even Shikkon Shin and Falchion were on edge. Betty kept her distance from the group, as everyone sat in different places throughout the restaurant, barely paying attention to one another. Instead their attentions were held by the open windows and door that graced the street face of the pizzeria.

     The group waited for another five minutes when two familiar faces walked through the door quietly. Mr. Popular quickly joined a seat near Shikkon, and Mickey took a seat in the middle of the pizzeria. Mr. Popular was the only oblivious one to the happenings of secrecy everyone else was tacitly observing. After a few seconds of being mainly ignored by Shikkon he began to understand why no one was sitting with anyone else.

     Betty was too far away to hear anything being said, but saw motions and eventually The Gate stood up. He was followed by Mickey, and the look on Mickey’s face told her that he was disgruntled. She watched as each member of the group rose and made their ways out of the pizzeria.

      Betty felt confused by the fact of little being said, and no one had made any indication of a plan to her. Entertainment was almost out the door, when she made the slightest of head motions to Betty signaling that some hidden plan was in motion.

     Feeling like the lost puppy that she had from nearly the beginning of this Run, she followed the lead of Entertainment. Soon the light of the pizzeria became the dimly lit night. Betty saw Entertainment crossing the street into a darkened alley. Everyone else must have gone ahead, her thoughts ahead of her. Betty ran after Entertainment, but found it hard to keep up with her and she quickly lost sight of her companion. Feelings of panic rushed into her senses. Being utterly alone in the darkness of the shadows was choking her breathing, and each breath became shorter.

     “Don’t turn around, Betty,” a hushed voice came from behind her. Betty flickered as she felt her heart thumping inside her throat. A million thoughts raced through her head in the split second of another response, “It’s me, Falchion.” The sigh of relief escaped her before she could catch it and began blushing from feeling utterly foolish. She couldn’t hear any laughter but she could feel Falchion’s smile staring her in the back of the head.

     “I’m going to help you get back to your bike, and we’re going to meet back up at a place Shikkon told me about.” Falchion’s voice was soothing to her, and she felt safer having him around. Betty was about to nod, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to alert anyone that someone else was with her. Just in case she thought, just in case someone was actually following them and observing her in particular.

     Betty saw her beautiful hog parked exactly where she had left it, and felt relief seeing it glisten in the limited light of the street. “Wait here a minute, Betty. I want to check something out.” Falchion’s soft whisper of a voice said. She wondered where he was, but still felt safe knowing that he was nearby. While waiting she fiddled around nervously in her side satchel that never seemed to leave her side. She wasn’t actually nervous, but she couldn’t help but touch something while doing nothing. Cursing herself under her breath, Betty took a deep breath and relaxed a little. Realizing that she had been standing on the corner for several minutes waiting, she started to look around trying to find Falchion.

     “Looking for me,” the friendly voice of Falchion came from in front of her. She still couldn’t see him, but she was comfortable with it. “We’re in the clear at the moment. Just try to keep the engine noise to a minimum and I think you’ll be all set. Let me give you the directions to Shikkon’s, and we can get out of here.” Falchion’s voice was strained, but Betty couldn’t fully tell why. She wasn’t very good at reading people to begin with, and this one was always invisible with his face covered by goggles and other high tech goodies.

     Betty pulled out her pocket secretary, and saw another pocket secretary emerge from the void. “Let’s get to your bike while I give you the directions.” Betty watched as the two pocket secretary’s started floating towards her chopper. Suppressing a chuckle Betty followed the floating devices, with a small grin on her face. Reaching her bike, Betty watched the other pocket secretary vanish into nothingness, and hers floated waiting for her to reclaim it.

     “This is where we part ways. I shall meet up with you at Shikkon’s safe house, but until then please keep your eyes open. I feel that I’ve been too careless with this job, and for that I apologize. We’ll get this thing under wraps soon enough and be on our way.” Falchion’s voice was off.

Betty had always heard two modes with him, either serious and kind, or happy. This new version confused her. Was she the only one to witness this or was this something that he had discussed with the others. He always had his act together any time she saw him, even when unconscious he awoke ready to go. It was his declaration of fault that worried her. She had known that the situation they found themselves in was bad, but having Falchion say it to her seemed to make it more grievous.

Betty gave a small nod to the side of her bike to acknowledge Falchion’s words silently. She tried to keep a serious face, but she couldn’t help but hear his words running through her mind. As she pulled away from the sidewalk, she felt a small ounce of sorrow. Those words had struck a chord in her that until now had been suppressed.

The cool night air lapped at her face as she sped out, and with everything else that had happened to her in one evening tears began to stream down her face. She felt foolish, for crying, but her thoughts turned her crying into anger. If it wasn’t for the others mistakes, and apparently their pasts, the job wouldn’t be drek and she’d still have her apartment. If they could just finish the job she could get compensation for her troubles, and be able to get a new place and move on. She entered Redmond with a small smile on her tear stained face. Betty still had her chance to shine, and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone ruin it.

The Gate sat on his bike only a couple of blocks from an iron barred gate. He had been here a couple of times before, always invited. This time he was making an unannounced visit, and wasn’t happy about the circumstances. He had been hired by an up and coming Mafia head to keep an eye on their mutual friend Mickey the Quail. The details were kept to a minimum, but The Gate had managed to put some pieces together, and it seemed that the Mafia was where Mickey had apparently honed his skills of being useless: by sitting on rooftops spying on people.

The Gate’s secret employer went by the street name The Gardner. He had earned his name because he had a habit of sending various flowers to his victims before they met their demise. It was all over the top and cheesy, but The Gate expected no less from Mickey and his history.

The Gardner’s real name wasn’t nearly as exciting, Francis Anthoney was his given name, and he had hired The Gate to spy on Mickey in exchange for information on The Gate’s sister. So far this chummer hadn’t given him anything. He had told him bits and pieces, but it was stuff that The Gate could have surmised on his own through common sense. He was beginning to feel that this might be a dead end, and the Mafia was just using him to get to Mickey. Which The Gate could care less for, whatever debt they had to sort out was between them. He just wasn’t into being given the run around.

The Gate had done some digging on everyone he was working with, and “The Gardner” was no exception. He had been able to find out that several years back, another Francis Anthoney had been running a little piece of Mafia heaven. This Francis fell into a tragic accident of having his head explode. Now the authorities weren’t really that sad about Francis dying, so not many questions were asked. The interesting note was that Francis had a son, also named Francis. Who immediately took over and began running things efficiently and ruthlessly. Apparently Francis version one wasn’t tough enough for the biz or his son.

So Francis the son begins his tenure of running things for the Mafia in place of daddy. Meanwhile, shortly after daddy’s head explodes, a low-ranked soldier by the name of Thomas Anthoney vanishes in a large explosion. It was said it was a hit made by Yakuza thugs, but the coincidences are common and too many things are based on Yakuza hits. A couple of months later a hit man for hire, Mickey the Quail, begins making appearances in the Shadows. Staying mainly to wet work runs from a distance.

So what Francis the Gardner wanted with Mickey now, The Gate could only surmise, but an upcoming and “possible” bid for power could have something to do with it. Francis obviously couldn’t have “Thomas” coming forward and doing something stupid. Which oddly enough, The Gate knew, was the last thing Mickey would ever have done, but such is the nature of the beast. Not that any of these conclusions were helping The Gate’s suspicions, and he had a job to complete.

The phone rang five times and to The Gate’s surprise Francis answered. “What can I do for you kid?” The Gate didn’t really care for being called a kid. Constantly being judge by his age, and always having to prove himself. “We need to talk, Gardner.” The Gate’s tone was formal, serious, and straightforward. Almost always to the surprise of the adults he had to deal with.

“Where are you?” The Gardner realizing the seriousness in The Gate’s voice and wasn’t going to test his mood. “Outside.” The Gate didn’t like to show up unannounced, but things needed to be addressed. “I see,” the pause in Francis’ voice didn’t sit well with The Gate. “Well, someone will let you in, just buzz the intercom.”

The walk was a short one, but The Gate took his time getting to the gate. His nerves were unusually high, and he kept checking himself to see if he had everything he might need. His main concern was his Manhunter located in his armpit, a staple of security for him.

Like a dream he found himself standing in front of a foreboding iron-gate towering over him like an ominous sentinel. The daze continued as his finger numbly pressed a button on the intercom system. A mumbled and distant voice came through the visual display, telling him something but he couldn’t tell what it was. With a massive creaking lunge the sentinel began to open, and The Gate found himself walking through it. All he wanted to do as he watched the iron doors close slowly behind him was escape back through them, but now there was no turning back. He was inside the compound and had nowhere to go, but forward and face the man within.

 He was let in with little hassle, but was escorted by a large orkish man. It wasn’t usually hard to tell if someone was really an ork, but with all the cosmetic changes someone could go through. The Gate couldn’t fathom why someone would want to look like an ork, but in this line of work it always paid to look tough.

Straight out of a Mafia movie, The Gate found The Gardner sitting at the head of a long dining table complete with flower arrangements. The Gate was brought to a chair to the right of The Gardner. To make matters worse the orkish bodyguard never left The Gate, choosing to stand directly behind him. Apparently security is on high alert, The Gate thought.

“So what seems to be troubling you, my boy. Mickey isn’t being too much of a hassle I hope?” The Gardner’s demeanor was incredibly smug and arrogant. The Gate wondered if it came with the territory of being in organized crime, but knew that it was only a lucky few who were blessed with such a trait.

“No, it’s not that, sir.” The Gate knew it was better to maintain his formality even when he wanted to slap the other person. “I just wanted to check in with you, and update you on Mickey. Also I want to know what else you would like me to do?” The Gate continued without giving The Gardner a chance to answer. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a couple weeks now, and I’m sure he’s got the message by now. Granted he’s a little dense, but I’m positive he’s gotten the message.” The Gate looked directly at The Gardner with direct intent, hoping he would get something out of him.

The Gardner leaned back in his chair, confident in his home and the knowledge that he had. “No need to report, now. Would you like something to eat?” The Gardner had an eerie falsehood in his voice masked by kindness and generosity. The Gate had seen it a couple of times before when dealing with him, but it always made him feel uncomfortable.

“No, thank you. Just, what you want me to do as a next step.” The Gate made an attempt to keep the conversation on the topic he wanted, and not what The Gardner wanted. The Gardner took a moment before responding to look over his hands.

“All I require of you is: to be on the ready for my call, and to keep an eye on Mickey. Don’t let him leave Seattle, that’s all. It’ll all be over soon.” It was those last words that The Gate paid particular attention too. “It’s really simple, and within the next couple of days I’ll be ready for you to make that move.” Francis the Gardner gave him a light smile, and nodded to the bodyguard behind The Gate.

The Gate left the compound with less comfort than when he had walked in. His suspicions were now doubly high, and he felt the walls closing in around him. His one out was through the ineptitudes of the others, and possibly closing the deal with Ares. He still had hope in the inability of the others that they wouldn’t notice his outside dealings. His only concern was Falchion, because The Gate couldn’t figure out what team he was actually playing for. The Gate made a couple more phone calls, apologizing for the late night, but stressing the importance of his call.

His Talismonger, whom he rarely called for information but often for the various foci that adorned his body, had found little on Mad Camel, the final target. He had apparently disappeared from the shadows several years ago, and was rumored to be making different magical devices to the highest bidder. His last known activities were being involved with a small-time go-gang.

     His old mentor was also able to provide small amounts of information, it wasn’t anything new, but it was something about Mad Camel and that made him feel slightly better about the evening. Mad Camel hadn’t been actively doing runs, or any other work, for several years, but had somehow managed to stay alive. On top of his uncanny ability to survive he had also done some runs with a decker by the name of Byte.

     The Gate managed to confirm the details he had received, but no one else was able to provide anything more or new. He was beginning to wonder if there was a connection between all these people, and what it could be. Everything was too neat to be a mere coincidence, and The Gate was getting tired of it all. This information was a dangerous thing as it could put him in a very early grave, or could save his life when the time came. The main priority now was getting out alive, hopefully Mad Camel hadn’t moved too far away from the go-gang. Looking at his pocket secretary and realizing the time. He felt guilty about calling his contacts at such an hour, but his life and reputation were on the line. He decided to check in with the team, and see if they had made any progress on Byte or even Mad Camel.

     To The Gate’s utter surprise and disbelief they were taking it easy, and going to sleep. Falchion had decided that they should get some rest, hiding out in Shikkon’s safe house for the time being. They would get an early start and hit multiple objectives in the morning by breaking the team into groups.

     The Gate began a sigh, but a yawn came out instead. He was too tired to deal with the others, and despite Falchion’s skill he was starting to annoy. He told Falchion that he was going to crash at his own place, and would be ready first thing tomorrow.

“Oh, and one more thing, just out of curiosity, what are we doing first tomorrow?” The Gate asked dryly.

“Well I haven’t completely figured things out, but I think if we break up into three teams we should be able to get this done tomorrow. Team one will be investigating the two addresses we have, and it should be pretty low key. Team two will be checking in on Mad Camel, using the information that you’ve provided us. And Team three will go onto the Matrix and investigate further into the lead on Byte.”

Despite the fatigue in his voice, Falchion was still very optimistic, something The Gate didn’t fully understand but didn’t want to delve into. “Well it should be interesting, at the very least.” The Gate’s dry voice continued, and they hung up with little else to be said.

The Gate climbed into his bed, and brought the soft covers up to his chin. He felt so comfortable here, with the warmth and security of the blankets. As sleep began to overtake him, it was one of the few places he felt he could completely relax and let go. No worries for him here. As his eyelids became too heavy to control, the only thought that drifted him to sleep was his wish to share his luxury condo with his sister. Lifting her from dirt and grime of the gutter, and into a world they could control.