One Day Before Round One, Approximately Razorwire City, June 23 2679, 09:15 Perdition District
"And here's the UpYours Medical facility," Zenith said, gesturing at the skyscraper as they passed by. "Here's a tip if you're into the stockmarket; their shares are going to drop like bricks in a few days."
"AAAAIIIEEEEEEEE!!!" Her passenger commented, tugging at his white hair. Aside from his hair, he looked fairly normal in a non-descript suit; at least, as normal as you can be when you're sitting on the back of a hoverbike speeding not only above the legal limits, but also off the legal lanes. He was also screaming at the top of his voice.
"And that building over there is the main opera hall!" Zenith indicated a neo-quasi-post-modern building shaped to look like a sandwich shaped to look like... something. "Tonight's performance is 'A midsummer night's dream'. I can get you tickets if you're interested..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" the passenger responded, hanging onto the bike for dear life as they passed under an elevated road.
"Or maybe you're not into that sort of thing. I can dig that," she said. "Maybe you'd prefer to find some hotel somewhere, a few girls--"
"THEY'RE SHOOTING AT US!!" the passenger screamed.
Zenith nodded, and looked back. Two skimasked thugs on black, unlicensed hoverbikes were tailing them, trying to gun them down. At first she had thought they were just some random criminal, trying to shoot them down for some cash, but it seemed they were more serious than that. Plus, it was starting to get on her nerves. "Point taken. Maybe we should--"
A high-velocity bullet rang out and pierced through a ventilation panel on her bike, ripping through the grav control. The bike died with a whine.
"Oh shiiii--," Zenith exclaimed, before the hoverbike decided to agree with gravity again. It hit the ground at an angle, skidding across the asphalt with a horrible grinding noise until it came to a stop against a wall. Zenith was thrown clear, rolling haphazardly across the street. Her passenger had not fared so well, having ended up under the bike.
"--iit." Zenith shook her head, trying to make the fuzzy images and bells vanish. "My passenger! Is he--?" She got up unsteadily and hurried over to the wreck, checking for life signs. But a human couldn't survive that kind of a mangling. Roaches could, but the man never struck her as being a member of the new race. "Dead. This won't look good on my record... damn. Damn, damn, damn." She quickly frisked the body down, trying to pay no attention to the squishy bits, and pocketed his watch, a few rings, and some other assorted valuables that no one would miss. "Payday! A rolex! Well, what have we here?" She reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small, flat box, about as large as two jewel cases stacked on top of each other and with a relief of a mushroom cloud on the transparent lid. Inside, five small plastic bottles could be seen. "Hmm..." She quickly shoved the box into one of her pockets. "I wonder where I could get this analyzed... and if it's worth anything..."
A bullet slammed against the wall right by her head, snapping her out of her reverie. The two bikers had landed and were now aiming their guns at her. Oddly, they weren't firing.
~Oh, so we have a pair of monkeys, hmm?~ she thought. ~Probably was a warning shot... so they want talk.~ She smirked, and said out loud, "So... anything I can help you two with, hmm?"
The leftmost biker made a come-hither motion with his gun. "Step away from the body. And give us the sample."
"Or else," the second one chimed in.
Zenith fought an urge to roll her eyes. ~Geez, where did these dorks learn their lines?~ Shaking her head, she replied, "No can do. See, boys..." Her smirk vanished. "...you killed my customer. Before he had a chance to pay, even. And that REALLY pisses me off."
In response, the first biker shot her clean in the gut. He turned to his partner. "Okay, let's just--"
He then realized she was still standing.
Zenith looked down at the gaping wound, leaking reddish-black ichor. "NOW you're learning..." She coughed lightly. "...but not fast enough!" She leapt at the first man, landing on her hands as she evaded another bullet, and kicked him across the jaw with her descending feet. Even as she returned to an upright position, she knocked the other man's weapon out of his hand, and then proceeded to knee him in the gut. He crumpled to the ground, along with his partner.
"Aww, you're out already?" Zenith pouted, casually adjusting her hair. "Come ON, I didn't even get sweaty!" She poked curiously at the hole in her side. "So much for cutting down on my cleaning bill. At least they didn't tear my clothes..." She doted a little more about the injury, but didn't make any attempts to treat it. It had already begun to seal up.
A high-pitched whine of sirens suddenly cut through the air. While Zenith was distracted, the two bikers managed to scramble to their feet, and dove into the alley they had come from. Just as a police car emerged from around the corner, two black hoverbikes sped out of the alley and down the street at far above the legal speed limit.
The police car skidded to a halt in front of Zenith. The officer riding shotgun leaned out of the window and aimed his gun at her, simultaneously talking into a communicator. "--suspects proceeding down Angelwing avenue. Intercept at third junction. Ten-ten." He dropped the com and turned the attention to his apprehendee. "Now, you have the right to--" Then he looked more closely at her, and facepalmed. "You again?"
Zenith smiled again. "Hello again, officer."
He shook his head. "You're under arrest, Carcine."
"Sure thing."
Razorwire City, 12:14 Sholo District Police Station
"Yeah, that's him. What about it?"
"You're telling me you don't *know*?!"
Zenith forced down an urge to scream out loud. Being taken in for interrogation was rarely fun. Less so when they kept asking the same questions over and over again, until your patience was worn thinner than a strip dancer's wardrobe.
And she had missed lunch, too. Her stomach growled in protest.
"You want to know what I know?" She held up the picture, which was of a guy identical to her latest passenger, save for the different hair color; apparently he had afforded a dye job. "I know this guy, yeah. He needed passage from the airport, so I was taking him. And that's *all* I know about him. Why should I care about *who* he is?" She slammed the photo against the desk in frustration.
The officer (one Lt. Gabler, according to his nametag) shook his head. "Not good enough. I thought Fixers like you knew everything about everyone?" He smirked, feeling superior in his witty jab.
Zenith shrugged. "If I was that mighty, you'd be out of your job."
Gabler flushed angrily, and brought his hands down hard on the desk, his face mere inches from hers. "Now listen here, you little *bug*..."
Zenith made a mock yawn. "Species harrassment. I'll sue."
The enraged liutenant was about to make a retort when the door opened, admitting another policeman. This one had neat, trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, and the bearings of an experienced officer. Gabler fell silent.
Zenith smiled. "Inspector Hollywood! My savior!" She gushed in an exaggerated fashion.
The inspector looked at Gabler, tilting his head at the door. "I'll take over from here." The liutenant obeyed with some hesitation, but left the room. Seating himself in the vacated chair, the inspector turned his attention to Zenith. "And my name is Atwood, not Hollywood."
"Got it, Honeydog," she replied. "How's the missus?"
"That's none of your business. What do you know about Fidor Karloff?"
Zenith thought for a second. "Other than that his parents must've hated him?"
Atwood hmpf'ed. "Are you going to play games all day?" he growled.
She shrugged again. "Let me tell you something, 'spector. When you're detained for hours and asked the same questions over and over again, there's nothing that allays boredom and tension as much as fun and games." Her stomach growled again. "I'm thoroughly bored, extremely irritable, and hungry enough to eat your patrol car. Why don't you do everyone a favor and tell me what YOU know first? Or even better, feed me before I do something we'll all regret."
Atwood dug into one drawer and thrust an old, half-empty box of donuts across the desk. "Is that good enough for you?"
Zenith shrugged and dug in. "Want not, waste not. Thanks." She rapidly finished off the remaining four stale donuts, and wiped a few crumbs off her lips. "Next time I'd prefer something fancier, though."
"Not on my account," Atwood replied dryly. "So about Karloff..."
"Yeah, my passenger." She thought back. "Business has been slow, so I've resorted to taxi business for the time being. So I pick him - Karloff - up at the airport. Wanted to go to... some café on Sweet Sugar Drive. The 59th. Halfway through, we're attacked by two thugs, get shot down, Karloff ends up under my bike, I have to fight off the thugs, I get arrested, and now I'm here. I've said this a dozen times already."
"I thought you had better check on... certain activities in the town, Carcine." The inspector rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are you slipping?"
"Nonsense!" She stood up abruptly, face flushing and nearly knocking her chair over. "I have perfectly... I mean," she continued in a more careful voice, "as a honest businesswoman I keep track of people and things. But Karloff was never a... prominent player... if you catch my drift. He was never capable of anything beyond small crime."
"Unlike you?"
Zenith frowned. "I don't like your suggestions."
"We can make it better than suggestions, Zenith."
"Unless you have some evidence, you're inviting a harassment lawsuit, inspector." Zenith grinned in her usual superior fashion. "What makes you think Karloff is... was... anything than his usual low-brow crook self?"
The inspector was about to reply, then fell silent for several moments. Just when Zenith was about to ask him again, he spoke up. "I've told you too much already. You can go."
Zenith blinked. "Huh? Come on, I asked you a question."
Inspector Atwood simply shook his head. "It's police business, and you're just a civilian, Carcine. I have no intention of getting you involved." He frowned deeply. "Unless you've lied to me about your involvement in this, I recommend you take a vacation until it's blown over."
"But..." She sighed. It was no use, anyway. And besides curiosity, she had no real reason to interest herself in a criminal affair.
A flat package stashed away in a hidden pocket weighted against her leg. Curiosity was a heavy incentive, after all. And for some reason she had a bad feeling about it...
Zenith made her departure from the interrogation room and hastily hurried off towards the exit. Halfway there, though, she spent a few seconds inspecting one of the decorative paintings in a side corridor. After a few minutes of looking at the painting, she sneaked off in another direction, into the Cybernautical department. The handful of police officers occupying the room were busy filing reports, reading reports, yammering on the phone and drinking coffee - staple police activity. The corpulent officer by the door raised an eyebrow at her entry, but didn't say anything.
At the desk in the far corner sat a petite brunette, busily scrolling through a file on her computer. The attention she poured into her tesk showed evidence of a lot of dedication to her job, unlike her coworkers; she seemed to be too occupied with the job to notice anything around her. A plastic nameboard placed on her desk and turned towards the door read "Catrina DePeche".
Zenith made her way over to the busy officer, and tapped her on the shoulder. The woman practically leapt out of her chair, startled. "Aack!" Noticing who was bothering her, she breathed out. "Huh... you startled me, Zenith. What are you doing here?"
"Tsk. Is that how you greet a friend?" Zenith chided, perching on the edge of the desk. "How are you doing, Cat? And how's Am, by the way?"
"We're... we're doing just fine," Catrina replied, blushing slightly. "Why do you ask? Hey, didn't you get arrested this morning? I read the report on that..."
Zenith sighed. "Nothing goes by you, does it, DePeche? And that's just it. Let's go somewhere private, okay?"
"Private?" She raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but then shrugged and got up. Zenith followed her out.
"Lost a customer... that's going to be bad for your rep, isn't it?" Catrina smiled peevishly. She quickly made sure no one was watching, then pushed open the door to a storage room and snuck inside, dragging Zenith in after her. She locked the door, just to be safe.
Zenith made a dismissive gesture. "Hey, those jerks were shooting at me!" A smile crept over her face. "In fact, I've got a good interest in finding out who's responsible."
Catrina's eyes grew wide. "No. No. Not ever."
"And of course," Zenith continued, ignoring the woman's protests, "I do need some information on what's going on. And who keeps better tabs than my dear friend... DePeche?" Snakes would be envious of her smile.
"No. NO." Catrina shook her head fervently, her pony tail whipping to and fro. "I'm an honest policewoman! I can't reveal classified information like that!" The woman was without doubt upset, waving her arms about to accentuate her words. "I've endangered myself enough already!"
"And do you want your superiors to find out exactly *what* you've done so far?"
"...that's really low, Zen." Catrina glared at the Fixer girl. "I never thought you'd even consider going so low."
Zenith sighed in exasperation. "Yes, you're right, sorry... but honestly, I need some info. I may need to take some measures for survival, Cat."
The policewoman observed Zenith, scrutinizing her for any signs of deception... she was trying to fool her, wasn't she? But still... she sounded awfully sincere... not that that would be too hard to simulate, but... Finally her resolve broke. "Just this time. But you're owing me a big favor from now on."
"Acceptable. What's the story?"
"Well, it's still just speculations so far, but..." She paused, trying to recall the information. "Outside sources claim that Karloff was a courier for some bigger criminal organisation, operating through shadow fronts. Only he seems to have broken up with his employers, lately..."
"That explains why we were shot at," Zenith interjected.
Catrina nodded. "The Sholo District force was going to apprehend him at the 'port, but you got to him first, so they tailed you."
"Pity they didn't show up *before* my bike got wrecked..." Zenith grumbled. "That's all? Any idea what this organization he worked for is?" She clutched her head. "I *hate* getting messed into private stuff like this..."
"No clear leads..." Catrina counted off her fingers. "Any number of Colombian drug lords. The Blue Velvet ring, though they're considered to be out of business since the Bangkok disaster... Ame says otherwise, though. There's CMC..."
Zenith started. "Church of the Mushroom Cloud?"
Officially, the Church was a collection of excentrics who believed that God was in the uranium. Despite worshipping agents of mass destruction, they hadn't actually used any of them for as long as anyone could remember. *Un*officially, however... it was believed that the church was a clever front for a wide selection of harsh crimes. Unfortunately, no law enforcement agency in existence had so far been able to find any evidence to prove the claim, so they were still able to act without impuny.
Catrina nodded again. "Everyone knows they're guilty of something, and pretty much all of it's nasty stuff... but we have no clear evidence, so..."
The case in Zenith's pocket felt like it was going to burn her leg. She knew what the top depicted. "Cat, you've been of great help. If there's anything you need, just let me know, okay? Gotta go now, seeya!" She stormed out, stopping only for a moment to unlock and open the door first.
"...you're welcome," Catrina said to no one in particular. "Talk about being in a rush... well, all the better to not get me involved." She left the room and returned to her desk, fervently hoping she hadn't gotten too far behind on her work.
The fat officer winked at her as she passed by. "Going for two, DePeche?"
She sighed. "Shut UP, Valdez."
Cyberspace, 12:39 Daemonware Foundation System
Somewhere in Cyberspace, a lone hacker looked up at the building that was her target, and paused momentarily. The Daemonware Foundation firewall, a huge and forbidding tower that stretched towards the virtual sky. Thunderstorms hovered permanently near the far heights above, lightning bolts reflecting in the icy surface. The structure was intimidating. It was designed for the purpose.
It only had a fleeting impression on the hacker, though. Anyone could get a scary design, but it alone wasn't enough to dissuade Amanda "RedWire" Morgenstern.
"Huh... milk run. Hasn't even got anything other than ordinary checks on the ice." The virtual eyes of her completely-cybered avatar glowed red. "Here we go..." She held out her hand. "Boo 2.0."
A small rodent BAMFed into existence in her hand. "Squeek?"
Redwire patted the small program affectionately. "Are you happy, Boo?" Of course, the program was always happy. There had been no point in programming negative emotions for him. "See that big wall of ice there? Now, what do we do with ice?" Boo 2.0 squeaked happily. "Good boy! Go for the ice, Boo!"
She released the rodent-program, which leapt out of her hands and bounded off towards the building as fast as its paws could carry it.
A casual onlooker would have found the scene laughable; a small, pathetic rodent attacking a mighty fortress of black ice, with nothing but its paws and teeth for aid. But that onlooker didn't know what this program was.
Boo 2.0 made a mighty leap against the wall - and transformed. Fangs elongated and claws grew, sharpened; limbs grew from short and stubbly to wiry and flexible. When it made contact with the ice, it had grown into a compact, furry collection of claws, fangs and sharp edges, and proceeded to tear into the ice with a fury many incarnations of the Apocalypse would be envious of.
Once the ice had been broken through thoroughly, Boo terminated its attack functions, reverted to hamster form, and bounced back to its owner. She scooped him up and patted his furry little digitally-represented head. "Good boy." He promptly vanished in a burst of pixels.
Amanda gazed appreciatively at the cracked firewall, and then hurried inside. No time to waste.
Razorwire City, 12:39 Sholo District
Having left the station with no regrets, Zenith now stalked down the streets of the city. She was not happy. She kicked a rock, sending it flying across the street, and sighed. "Perfect. Just perfect. Rep spoiled, no money, and now I'm messed with some big stuff. Just doesn't PAY to be a Fixer some days..." She leaned against a wall, trying to summon her mental faculties. "Question is, how to get out? Lay low?" She shook her head. "Nah, not enough. Get out of town? Now there's the ticket..."
A voice spoke out from beside her. "Maybe I can help you with that, child."
Zenith turned her head. "Oh, it's you, Balba. What's up?"
Balba stepped out of the alley. He was an elderly man, with a long white beard and dressed in rags. He was known to people as Balba the Street Preacher, and he claimed that the gods spoke to him. He had approached Zenith once, asking her if she believed in the gods; she had replied that she believed in any god who could get her out of the red. They had been acquaintances, possibly even friends, ever since. Most people regarded him an amusing but harmless old fool, but he always did have some interesting information for anyone who listened to him. Either he had a great information network that he tapped into... or maybe the gods really did talk to him.
"If it's a ticket you need, I might just have it." The slum guru smiled at her. "Let's talk shop, shall we?"
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back into the alley, Zenith following him with keen interest. She was curious what the old man had to offer. Reaching an abandoned spot in the alley, Balba sat down on a wooden crate and immediately started digging through a nearby trashcan.
"The ticket's in the trash?" Well, maybe he had it hidden there... as good a hiding place as any, in his position. She spotted something interesting. She quickly snatched up the half-eaten drumstick lying in the waste, and chowed it down. "Mmm... not bad. I'm starved."
Balba looked at her with sad eyes. "I wanted that."
Zenith froze, and gingerly pulled out the chicken bone. It was completely stripped of any nutrition. "Um... sorry?"
"Never mind," he said, somewhat sullen. "I suppose you want to know the deal?"
She nodded. "Yeah. And what it's going to cost me."
"Cost?" He chuckled. "What makes you think it's going to cost you anything?"
"Oh, come on... nothing's free in this city." She sat down, resting her back against a dustbin. She chewed up the bone.
"The air is," Balba said with a shrug. "At least for now. But if it's a price you want..." He thought for a while, and then his elderly face split into a wide grin. "You'll have to pay for lunch."
She gave him a dubious look. "For the one I stole?"
He shrugged again. "Old men need nutrition too. Street preaching burns calories."
"Deal. So what's the info?"
"Well..." He leaned closer, licking his lips slightly. She noted that he seemed a bit excited... what did this info mean? "I've found out about a fighting tournament that would interest you. A big one, with lots of participants."
"Really?" She looked surprised. "Panzer Stadium Sports is setting it up? Someone else? And how come I haven't heard of this before?"
Balba shook his head. "No, no. Quite wrong, child. You see, the tournament isn't held in this city, or any other city either... it's held in *another world*!"
Zenith stood up. "You're full of it, old man. The deal's off."
She was about to leave when the preacher's cheerful voice spoke up. "Ah, ah, ah... deal's settled, no matter what. Info for payment, and you've got info. You owe me."
Zenith froze. True, the deal was settled. No one had said anything about what the information was going to be about, anyway; she had to pay, or completely ruin her reputation... no one ever trusted a Fixer who skimped on a deal. She sighed and sat down again. Better get the full worth of her money, then. "Okay, preacher. Tell me about this tourney. And don't pull any crap on me."
"Ah, I knew you'd be interested," he said, ignoring her angry look. "Yes, it's a big competition, held in another world. The challengers come from countless other worlds, to compete for a grand prize. Oh, don't look at me like that. I've told you about the other worlds that exist beyond ours, haven't I?"
"Yeah, I remember. And I said..."
He smiled, a smile that she always thought reminded her of a father's... not her father, whoever he might be, but a classic father's smile. "You said that you wanted to know how to make money off of them. And you know... you might just have a chance now."
But Zenith had already reached that conclusion. Ideas, plans and calculations shot through her mind. "People from other worlds... they'll want services. They'll want goods. It's an untapped market." She grinned hungrily, then thought of something. "Hey... what did you say about a prize?"
He made a vague gesture. "The big prize. I'm not sure what it is... but anyone putting together something like this surely can affort something valuable beyond your dreams..."
Zenith felt her heart do an excited jig. "'Kay, I'm sold. How do I get there?"
"I'll contact them later. Tonight, at nine, they will create a portal to the Focal Point, which is their aptly named world. You can travel then."
"Nine, huh? That gives me some time to prepare..." She paused. "*Who* will you contact, anyway?"
"The dark gods who told me about this, of course." He smiled smugly.
"I'm... not going to question you on that, Balba." She pulled out her wallet and exacted a few colorful bills. "Here's your lunch money, by the way. Thirty cred." She pushed the bills into his hand.
Balba looked stunned. "Thirty?! That's not enough!"
Zenith grinned. "That'll buy you a nice burger over at the grill, I'm sure. It's more than enough." She giggled and walked away, vanishing around the corner.
"Damn thief... selling me short because I'm an old man..." He pocketed the money. Then he steeled himself for his next task. Reaching into his ragged coat, he withdrew a small, vintage hand computer. He unfolded the crystal-clear screen, and booted it up.
The fuzzy outline of a face appeared on the screen. "Did you find a suitable candidate?"
Balba swallowed, and then gave the face a brief nod.
The face looked pleased. "Good, good. So VERY good."
Balba finally found his tongue. "What do you need her for, anyway?"
"Let's just say... we have a need of someone of her... caliber." The face seemed to wink, and then vanished.
Balba closed his laptop. "Well, child... I hope you can pull this through. Damn dark gods... never up to anything good." He put his 'divine' connection away, and stood up. It was time to get some nutrition.
Razorwire City, 14:10 Valley District
Some time later, Zenith was in the middle of her preparations. She had decided that if she was going to pull this off, she'd need some aid... and what better aid than her own pet goon squad? So it was such that she had directed herself to the dwelling of three soon to be very unlucky individuals.
*KNOCK KNOCK*
The door opened a crack. Zenith smiled cheerfully into it. "Hiiii!"
The door slammed shut. She sighed. Taking aim, she spun around and kicked the door open. It flew apart in a spray of low-quality wood imitation.
Inside was a small, squalid apartment. A thin layer of dust and dirt covered the floor, a sign that the place was only cleaned when absolutely necessary. In one corner was piled a plethora of cans and bottles. A somewhat cracked screen was on in another corner, showing some insipid soap, and there was a couch, an armchair and a table placed in front of it. The table was completely obscured by boxes and food containers of all kinds, as well as a few cans. Located on the couch, in the armchair, and under the table, were the proprietors of the little haven. Aside from their hair, they were all very similar, in that they were muscular, dressed in drab grey throwoffs, and slouched in a manner that suggested you'd need landscaping equipment to move them against their will.
The blond guy on the couch looked up. "Told you it wouldn't keep her away."
The guy under the table peeked out. "Whose bright idea was it to open at all?"
"Shut up, Comma." The red-haired guy in the chair kicked at Comma, who just rolled away. "Gotta open the door when people knocks, because..." He paused. "Y'know, I don't see why we should."
"To accept great opportunities in, maybe?" Zenith suggested. She walked over and leaned over the back of the couch, smiling at the three men. "So how are my absolute favorite indentured servants in the whole wide city feeling today?"
"I was feeling fine until you showed up, Zenith," the blond guy said in a bored voice. "You owe us a new door."
"Doors, doors." She waved her hand dismissively. "Like you three have anything worth to steal."
"No, Circuit's got it right," the red-haired one said. "You owe us a new one."
"Okay, okay. I'll draw the cost from your debts. That enough to stop your whining, Pastel?"
"Oh, sweet," Comma muttered from under the table. "One drop less in the ocean."
"Oh, shut up." She sat down on the couch. "Do you want to hear the offer I have or not?"
"Not really," Circuit muttered. "But I suspect we'll be forced to hear it anyway. And get your butt off my chest."
"I thought you'd like it, big boy?" She giggled and took a vacant spot, after having pushed Circuit's legs aside. She quickly explained what she had found out. Well, the basics, at least. Nothing they didn't need to know.
"So," Comma summarised, "You're going away to be in some tournament in another world. Great news. And what does that have to do with *us*?"
"Well..." She tweaked her lips cutely. "It's not Razorwire, it's not. It's a whole new place, and there might be dangerous things there. So, being the delicate and frail girl that I am..."
The trio performed a masterfully synchronized group-snort.
Zenith ignored the barb, and plunged on. "...I'm of course in need of some protection."
"No way," Circuit muttered.
"And of course I couldn't bring anyone I don't trust..." Zenith continued.
"No way," Pastel agreed.
"...or anyone not up for the job..."
"No way," Comma chimed in.
"...so I decided on you three!" she gushed. "Well, what do you think?"
"NO WAY!" they shouted in unison.
Zenith bit her lip. "So... that's how it's going to be, then?" It was time to use her feminine wiles.
A short while later, Circuit crashed through the table, sending boxes and cans flying, and plowed headfirst into Comma. Zenith pounced on both, and grabbed Circuit's neck. "Tell me I'm your uncle!"
"Crazy bitch..." Circuit muttered from the wreckage.
Zenith turned to the as yet unscathed Pastel, still lying sprawled across the chair. "What did he say?"
The red-haired hoodlum threw back his beer. "Thirty percent."
Zenith looked confused. "What?"
"We want thirty percent off of the money you make," Pastel clarified.
She stepped off the two crushed guys. "Who's said anything about money?"
"With you around?" Pastel opened another beer and took a swig. "Don't insult me, I'm not that stupid. Thirty percent."
"So you're agreeing?" she asked, sounding hopeful.
He shrugged. "Will you take no for an answer?"
"No."
"There you have it, then."
Cyberspace, 15:40 Daemonware Foundation Main System
"Well, what do we have here...?" RedWire muttered to herself, quickscanning another file. "Ooh, these experiments look illegal... could make a nice blackmail... or Zirroco Industries would pay plenty for it." She grinned. Yes, Daemonware's greatest rival would definitely want it. The companies had been trying to drive each other out of business for ages. A decent rivalry was good for business... not their business, though, but that of the talented entrepeneurs using it for their own ends. Like her. She quickly copied the file into her system.
A quick browse through the rest of the stored material, however, revealed nothing else of interest, aside from the Department Manager's surprisingly large collection of gay porn. Making a mental note of figuring out a way to blackmail him for it, she was about to nuke a few employee accounts (because she could, of course... why else?) when an alarm went off.
Fortunately it wasn't the Foundation's alarm, but one of her own, connected to intrusion systems in Actual Reality. As Amanda had no wish to have people sneak around in her place and mess with her stuff, or possibly mess with her meat-self, she had the place littered with with motion detectors, heat detectors, cameras and copious amounts of other stuff.
In her line of work, paranoia was a survival trait.
"Huh... someone's by the door. Who?" Issuing a quick command, a luxurious screen appeared before her, showing a live feed from the camera by the door. In front of it stood Zenith, currently biting her nails and tapping her foot impatiently. "C'mon, you metal freak, open the door..." she muttered, pushing the door bell repeatedly.
Amanda laughed to herself; the roach girl likely didn't know she was listening. She wasn't offended; she heard worse on a regular basis.
She did, however, sneak off a worm program to the police register to add a few parking tickets on Zenith's record.
"Yo, Carcine. What do you want?" Her voice crackled from the cheap speaker mounted by the door.
Zenith faced the camera, not attempting to hide her impatience. "It's about time... open up, Amanda. I've got a business proposal for you."
"Sheesh, stressed, are you? You're usually more relaxed than this..." She shook her head in disbelief, though Zenith was unable to see this due to the video connection being only one-way. "I'm online. Give me a few secs to kick off, okay?" RedWire terminated the feed before getting a reply.
She made sure that none of her programs were still in the systems, and took out a small Backdoor macro from her stash. She dropped it, and it vanished, merging into the system. It wasn't too secure, and might be detected, but it was anonymous enough. Satisfied with her work, she disconnected.
The cyberscape vanished to reveal a rather nice and well-kept apartment. This was a surprise to many, as few hackers paid much attention to their AR surroundings. True, there were emptied cans of beer and NRG Soda ("NRG Soda - Sleep Is An Option") here and there, a few dirty cardboard boxes shoved inexpertly into the wastebasket that revealed the main source of nutrition to be flat, cheese-covered and ordered door-to-door, but at the same there were signs that someone, at least more often than once each month, made an attempt to clean the place.
On the other hand, it was evident from the piles of computers, discs, printouts, and assorted computer equipment and cables hanging from the walls and littering almost every surface, that the place didn't belong to any other Joe Accountant. The many many boxes marked "cybernetics" stacked in corners and against walls bore silent evidence that the resident was either a freelance cybernetics doctor or a serious cyber-fetishist.
The latter was probably an accurate description of Amanda Morgenstern, though she'd probably deny it if anyone brought up the issue. Cybernetics were used by the everyday man of this age, but rarely to any great extent; the military invested in combat-oriented wares, crippled or seriously injured had use for body replacement parts, most anyone who had any business with computers would invest in some DNC gear, and there were of course any number of noveau riches who wanted pigment modifiers, vampire teeth, monkey tails or whatever else to impress their friends and admirers with. But few people would go as far as Amanda had. From internal networked computers, phone link receivers and DNC jacks, to biosoft adapters and simstim players, to ripper claws and biomonitors, to muscle enhancements, spinal accelerators and artificial eyes, she had the whole deal and more. A lot of it was redundant, but she loved it anyway. Only several veiled threats from her girlfriend had prevented her from installing something too bizarre, like extra arms.
Returning her senses to Actual Reality and opening her eyes (all five of them), she sat up. Her muscles ached from hours of immobility; she quickly sent a command to ignore those signals, and the pain vanished. "*Yawn*... hmm, wonder what Zenith wants..." She made a quick IR check through the door to make sure it really was Zenith, and not someone else. No, looked like her. At her request, the dozen locks on the front door opened in a chorus of metallic clicks. "Okay, come in."
"Took your sweet time there," Zenith muttered as she entered.
"Well, you're in a good mood today," Amanda replied in a droll fashion. "Stressy morning?"
"It's afternoon, Ame."
"Is it? Huh. Time's fun when you have flies." She snatched two cans from the minifridge next to the couch. "Soda?" She flung one of the cans at Zenith before dropping back on the couch with a heavy thud.
"Thanks," Zenith replied, catching the can. "Hey, I met your girlfriend at the station today."
"She does work there, after all." A ripper shot out of the hacker's thumb and neatly lopped off the top of the can. She took a swig before continuing. "She's not still pushing herself too much, is she? She's always getting herself into knots trying to prove herself." Amanda shook her head, then grinned. "I'll just unknot her later, then."
"Do spare me the details of your sordid love life. Isn't there some unwritten rule against hackers having breathing, walking partners?" Zenith dropped down into a lumpy armchair and snagged a stale slice of leftover pizza from the table.
"Hey, you started it." Amanda took another sip. "And I'm betting you haven't gotten any in a while, either. So is this just a social call, or are you hoping for an invitation?"
"In your dreams. No, neither." She rubbed her chin. "Let me explain..."
A few minutes later, she had finished detailing her chance encounter with the strange street guru, and her current plans. "Cool, isn't it?"
"...you seriously believe this?" RedWire asked, amused.
Zenith nibbled thoughtfully on the dry pizza. "Strangely, yes. At least I'm willing to believe the possibility of it." She looked her friend straight in the eye. (Which, incidently, was made all the more difficult as her friend had more eyes than herself.) "After all, is it really so difficult to believe that other worlds exist?"
"Sure, when you put it like that..." She snagged another soda and gutted it. "But why you of all people?"
"Who knows? They probably have some reason. I do have some pretty neat fighting skills, too," she added proudly.
"They'd be even neater with some improvements," Amanda suggested. "And yes, I know you're not interested. Can't blame me for trying. So you're bringing the goon crew?"
"Good guess," Zenith nodded. "I'm bringing someone else too, though."
"Oh? Enslaved muscle isn't enough for you?" Amanda turned her skin a few shades darker and shifted her hair into Bimbo Blonde, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. Her FibroDisplay-shirt switched over to showing a nice sunlit beach, with great rolling waves. "You need more people to do your bidding?"
"I need someone for the tech and surveillance front. And to make some nice video captures of the fights. Someone competent who I can trust." She lifted her soda can to her lips, leaving a silence behind that craved something to fill it up.
"I think I see where this is going, Carc." Amanda shook her head, blue braids whipping back and forth. "Don't count on me."
"Oh, please!" Zenith got up. "You're the perfect person for the job! You're resourceful, I can trust you, and you have all the equipment for the job."
"Nice to see that you consider me a wandering piece of equipment," Amanda deadpanned. "You wondered what Catrina's going to say about me wandering off to another world like that?"
"Wow, are you whipped or what?"
"Standard catchphrase of single people."
Zenith pouted with her lips. "So bring her along, then."
Amanda's hair whipped into a torch of fiery red. "Like that was the problem! No, forget it. I can't leave my business unmaintained, anyway." Her hair dropped into a short practical brown.
"Your final word?" Zenith inquired.
"Yeah. Sorry, but you'll have to find someone else."
"As you wish." Zenith made her way over to the door and opened it a crack, before adding thoughtfully, "It's a pity, though... lots of people from other worlds... just think of what neat tech the organizers might have to pull something like that off. Not to mention the participants... well, bye." She walked out the door, closing it behind her.
Amanda thought about it.
A split second later, she scrambled off the couch. "WAIT!"
The door opened again, and Zenith stuck in her head. "Changed your mind?"
"What sort of tech?"
"Anything's possible..." Zenith inhaled thoughtfully, while stepping back into the room. "Stuff you've never dreamed existed... new cyberware of any sorts."
"I'm in."
"Good girl. What will you do about Catrina?"
"I'll deal with her."
Razorwire City, 17:00 Valley District
"Nope. Nothing I can do."
"No, no, no. Distant, those are NOT the words I want to hear."
Zenith rubbed her forehead in a gesture of frustration. She had been happy to find that her wrecked bike had not been scavenged beyond recognition while she was at the station. She had been happy when she dragged the vehicle all the way to Soap Distant's tool shop. She was not happy about his response.
Despite being a monkeyboy, Soap Distant was a surprisingly good acquaintance; easy-going, cheerful and resourceful, the man was an adequate fence and a great mechanic.
Sometimes, though, he just had to be difficult.
The burly man shrugged, and indicated with a wrench a dozen damages across the bike. "Busted, busted, busted. Busted machinery, busted circuitry, busted pipes. It's busted. Can't be repaired." He lit up a cigarette. "Why don't you get a new one? I have a few that might interest you..." He smiled invitingly.
Zenith shook her head. "Not so. I don't need any of your new ones. I need MY bike."
Soap didn't look inspired. As she cast a glance around the shop, something jogged her inspiration. "Say... how goes your little project?"
"Whu?" He blinked, and came to the correct realization. Loudly, he stated, "The very harmless and EXTREMELY legal project is going... well." Lowering his voice, he added, "Actually, no it doesn't. The damn system doesn't work fast enough. Keeps busting and locking up. Plus the circuitry melted a few times, but I got some coolant to fix that. Doesn't fix the speed, though."
"I don't know much about electronics, but... tried more processing power?"
"Hah!" he scoffed, and spat on the floor. "That's probably the key, but I'm using the fastest systems available on the market! But no, they bust immediately. And multilinking them ain't an option, what with extra complications. Damn thing..." He grumbled and spat again. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious..." She cracked her knuckles. "Speaking of which, did you know that Durandal Electronics are making headlines with their new floating-point non-linearity tech? The experts say--"
"--that we may be looking at a new definition of computerised systems," Distant cut in. "I pulled the news off the ether last night. Fat chance, it's all going to end up in the military machines. It'll probably be *years* before the general public gets their hands on something like that." He made a disgusted face. "With that kind of power, my project would..." He trailed off.
Zenith grinned.
"It's probably speed up--" He frowned. "Why are you grinning like that?" Then, slowly, realization crept up on him. "No... you gotta be kidding me..."
Zenith shrugged dismissively. "Let's just say a contact of mine paid Durandal a little visit last night. You wouldn't believe the interesting stuff he found..."
"Trust me, I would," he mumbled.
"Know a buyer for some seriously heavy-duty electronic components?" She grinned despite her efforts to look blase. She took great delight in setting a deal.
"I could think of one..." A smirk crept over his lips too. "Name your price."
"Ten grand and my bike fixed and ready by eight."
"Deal. Don't skimp on it, or you'll regret it," he added.
She narrowed her eyes. "No. Don't skimp on your part, or *you'll* regret it."
One Night Before Round One Razorwire City, 20:39 Sholo District
Night fell over the city. This had little effect on its multitude of activities, as a metropol like Razorwire never slept. It just got a bit darker in some places, cheap halogen lighting attempting to replace the sun's efforts, and street activity shifted into another gear. Clubs started seeing some action as day workers left their jobs and purchased a few hours of reckless abandon for more than a good deal of their earned wages, many of which would sorely regret it in the morning. Night watchmen went on duty to protect the property of others, while criminals went after that very same property. Honest men went to sleep, and not-so-honest counterparts prepared for their own line of work. And some people just carried on doing what they were doing, regardless.
Waiting under the pale light of an overheard street lamp was Zenith. She was half-sitting, half-leaning against her bike, and kept glancing at her watch. Occasionally she had to shoot glares at losers mistaking her for a woman of a different occupation, or petty muggers mistaking her for an easy victim.
Something landed with a soft thud behind her. Instincts kicking in, she lashed out, spinning around as she did so, and nearly punched Amanda through the face.
The cyberjunkie leapt back, her accelerated reflexes being the only thing avoiding the heavy blow. "Hey HEY!" she protested. "What's the big idea, Carc?"
"Oh, it's you," Zenith replied, breathing out in relief. "You startled me. Sorry."
"Just trying to surprise you, is all. Seems like I did well." She snickered and popped some gum into her mouth. "You still stressed out?"
"I'm not stressed!" Zenith lashed out. Redwire looked at her nonplussed. "Okay, so I am. Pastel's gang are late. I swear, if those jerks hold out on me this time, I'll--"
"Oh, I asked them to pick up some stuff for me," Amanda interrupted.
"You what?" Zenith frowned. "My goons, not yours."
"Very funny. I'm running a business here too."
Zenith scratched her forehead lightly. "It's not that I object to it, but you could have told me. It would have saved me some annoyance." She thought for a moment. "And I wouldn't have had to leave several nasty messages in their voicemail."
Amanda pulled at a lock of her hair. Frowning at the color, she changed it into a lighter shade of green. "If I told you, you'd have asked for percentage."
"And you'd have replied..."
"...that you could look for your percentage in the moon."
"And I'd answer that I had sold all my lunar mining shares already," Zenith finished.
"So it's not much point to it." Amanda paused. "You did?"
"Lousy investment. Dropped like stones." She shook her head. "So what are you bringing?"
"Oh, whatever can be used." She shrugged. "A range of cyberware, a few boxes of Biosofts, plus some of my more personal stuff."
"You, ma'am, is a packrat," Zenith commented dryly.
"Hey, I deal in bulky stuff." She looked Zenith over. "And how much stuff do you have filched away on yourself?"
Zenith was, for the occasion, dressed in a purple leather skirt, matching purple top, purple leather boots and her favorite driving glasses. It looked a damn sight more coordinated than Amanda's baggy pants and display t-shirt (Currently showing an episode of "The Young and Bootiful"). Still, she had chosen the ensemble first and foremost because it was easy to move and fight in. That it also went in her favorite color was an added bonus.
What few people knew about, however, was the sheer number of hidden pockets, pockets which were now filled discs, jewelry, drugs, and all manner of other stuff that could be sold in small doses. She even had a small bag of shiny glass beads, on the off chance that she met someone really low-tech and gullible.
"Enough for the occasion. I told Comma to pick up the rest at my place." She frowned. "And if he forgets..."
"Whpp-*kshh*!" Amanda mumbled, making a sound dangerously similar to a whiplash. "Don't worry, 'kay? They'll show up. Want me to erase those nasty voicemails you sent, by the way?"
"That might be a good idea."
Amanda nodded, and her eyes went distant for a moment. "Done."
"Thanks." They waited a bit longer. Zenth started pacing. "Where *are* they?"
"Hey, it's only..." Amanda paused, reading her internal clock. "...20.47. Give it a rest." She turned on a relaxing SimStim to pass time.
Zenith sat down again on her bike, sighing. She was still impatient, but decided not to show it. "So how did Catrina take it?"
"Oh, just fine," Amanda replied, not taking her eyes from... whatever she was looking at in the Sim. She didn't object at all."
"No protests?" Zenith raised her eyebrows. "That sounds nothing like the Catrina I know."
Amanda shook her head. "Not a word."
"...you never told her, did you?"
"I left a note explaining everything."
Zenith facepalmed. "Perfect solution, Ame. She'll rip you apart when you get back, you know?" She shook her head ruefully. "Your funeral."
"Cut the melodrama, okay?" She snapped out of the Sim. "It's not that big deal. I've done stuff before and she's been pissed, but it's turned out okay. So cut it."
"If you say so. It's hard to believe you two are together, the way you act..."
Amanda sneered lightly. "Love's tricky business. I WILL miss her, but..." She fell silent.
A small hovertruck with an unpleasant paintjob in grey and black drove down the street, and skidded to a halt next to the two women. The driver's window rolled down, revealing Pastel's visage. "Yo. Late?" Circuit and Comma were in the back seat.
"Not as long as you brought everything," Zenith replied. "Where did you get the truck?"
"Oh, somewhere," he replied offhandedly.
Zenith shook her head. "Whatever. Leave it behind. Did you bring everything?"
"Yeah, sure. It's on the back," Comma spoke up, pointing his thumb at a large number of boxes piled on the back of the truck. "Yours too, wirehead," he added to Amanda. The wirehead in question just nodded. "So where's this magical door to the land of riches?"
"Right here." Everyone turned their heads at this new voice, which turned out to originate from the raggedy man known as Balba. "You're just on time, Zenith." He paused. "I didn't recall any mention of bringing a full party."
"I *always* bring the party, old man," Zenith smirked. "Lead the way." She gestured for the three guys to bring the gear, and followed the old man down the alley, pushing her bike along.
"I guess this is where we know if this is for real or not..." Amanda muttered.
"You don't trust me, girl?" Balba asked, sounding offended. "Hmpf. I have seen far more in my days than one such as you, so you'd do well to restrain your scepticism."
"Sorry if I don't take your word for it, gramps. I want some hard evidence before that'll happen."
Almost as if on cue, a swirling blue portal appeared before them.
"Good timing, old man," Zenith commented. "Did you practice that routine before we got here?"
"You test my patience, child." He turned to the assembled group, now that the three box-laden guys had joined them. "Well? Hurry up and get through already."
Zenith just stared at the circle of blue light before her. Gingerly, she reached out for it, watching in amazement as her fingers vanished into the surface. She pulled it out again, noting with slight relief that her hand was still intact. "Here goes..." She stepped forward and vanished.
Meanwhile, in an apartment somewhere else in the city...
"SHE DID *WHAT*?!?"
One Night Before Round One Focal Point Somewhere In The Sportsplex
"Okay... explain that thing to me again," Zenith said slowly.
Charnel fought off an urge to sigh loudly. Mortals and their countless questions... "We've disbanded the monetary system long ago."
"I... see." Her voice sounded strained, as if she too was forcing herself to sound calm and collected. "And about the tournament?"
"The roster for the official tournament is full, as I just said."
"Guess that's no fun to hear, huh, Zen?" Pastel suggested.
"Real subtle there..." Amanda muttered. She was busy looking around. Aside from the different architecture, she had yet to find any signs of advanced technology. She was not an impressed hacker.
"Thanks," Pastel replied, not paying attention to the sarcasm. "So are we gonna stay or what?" Comma and Circuit shrugged, indicating that they, too, didn't really care either way.
Zenith paused for thought, then nodded. "I'm not turning back at the first obstacle. Gotta be a way to make cash somehow..."
"Well, if you're going to stay..." The white-coated technician handed her a sheet. "Here are your quarters. You know the rules already. If you need anything, don't hesitate to utilise the Duplicators."
Blink blink. "Duplicators?"
"Yes... that's the reason we don't need money for anything; they can easily create whatever we need," Charnel explained. "Don't try to steal one," he added with a stern look.
If Zenith heard the last part, she showed no sign. She only smiled. And smiled. And smiled some more, until there seemed to be a risk of the head splitting apart in the middle. "Iiinteresting..."
"Hoo boy..." Amanda muttered. "I'll go set up shop somewhere. Circuit, help me carry my stuff. Catch ya later, Carcine." The muscular roach grunted what might have been a positive reply, and grabbed a number of boxes.
Zenith suddenly snapped back to normal. "Yeah, later." Turning to her remaining cohorts, she started counting tasks off her fingers. "Comma, you find and set up our rooms. Put my stuff - all of it - in my room. Pastel, you scout the area for facilities and people. It's late, but there should be people around. I..." She smiled. "I'm going to investigate these Duplicators."