Nine hundred years from now the world is just similar enough to what it’s like now, you’d think you could handle it. Sure looks similar doesn’t it? Those sprawling metropoli of gleaming steel and electric lights. Advancements in technology constantly punching holes in our crumbling conceptions of what’s possible, blurring the line between what we can do and what we should. Newly discovered ecologies groaning under the weight and demand of fast yield farms and rising toxicity levels. Increased isolation between kids and parents, neither being able to understand what the hell makes the other tick. Lack of understanding leading to resentment, resentment leading to hate and fear and so on and so on. The government becoming increasingly unable to look after it’s own backyard while still pouring money it doesn’t have into headline grabbing interplanetary campaigns, hoping to blind voters to how fucked up their planet was becoming. Lurking in the background, the ever evolving multigalactic corporation, SLA Industries, props up failing economies, taking debts and promises and souls and recording them all in PPP contracts, unassailable as Slayers own pyramid. Then you’ve got mushrooming illiteracy, crime, drug-related crime, gangers, random no-motive no-sense violent serial killers.
You year 1 people could probably handle all this because all you’ve seen is the world from way back and you think, well not greatly different from how things are now. Then you’d start seeing the details, and as they say, the Dark Night’s always in the details.
Isn’t he fucking just?
You’ll start seeing how the police are now all Monarchs or Shivers and bear corporate logos instead of civil service badges. You’ll notice how they happily open fire on shoplifters and mass-murderers. No discrimination in the multigalactic owned enforcers of truth, justice and progress. A few innocent bystanders might get cut down in the crossfire of black market ordnance but innocence is such a subjective term, isn’t it? And while you’re picking through the blood and bodybags you’ll notice how young the perps all look. The Raile- McMurdoch Survey of 900 showed the average offender to be 12 years old. As a result to try to overcome this horrifc statistic, Shiver patrols in educational institutions has been increased for the forseeable future. Truancy is now a shoot-on-sight offence.
Deciding that maybe you need to shop somewhere a little more upmarket, you head into the glittering halls of your own little Uptown. Here, finance card scanners bathe shoppers in soothing blue laserlight. If you have insufficent funds to shop in this holiest of holy places, you’re gently escorted out. Heaven has no place for those who cannot spend.
A little miffed you head home, probably to a high security condo with a hired Monarch Oversight Patrol Squad waiting to blow away the first sign of trouble. Just a hint, don’t get behind in the rent. Locking yourself up in your little fortress, far from the fenced in neighbourhoods of Downtown, you pat your Konny the DAC who looks exactly the same as everyone else’s Konny the DAC because you couldn’t be bothered paying a fortune for the colour variations or speech chips.
You eat a multigalactic-made TV dinner, you drink multigalactic mixed coffee, sit on your multigalactic-made sofa and watch a little TeeVee. Porn? You got it. Violence? You got that too. For a little extra you can have them both together if you know what I mean.
News? Sure, check your favourite celeb Contract Killer honey or hunk.Who are they fucking and shooting today? Listen to Head Offices current speech about how Cannibal Sector reclamation and your children’s futures will be a priority in the next budget. Or maybe you want sports? Hell yeah, you can have it all. Get blown away by your favourite overpaid badass as they drop their whack, Nuke Tendon powered moves. If you’re lucky you’ll see a couple of those old fuckers from the Sportman’s League trying to keep up with your boys. In the words of Painmaster Z "Kid Gloves matching is for bitches."
Or if you’ve had a bad day, tune into the ‘softhead’ station and have people just like you (only better looking and better dressed) tell you that everything’s going to be okay. To trust the people in power and just keep on keepin’ on for the sake of progress. All this to nice relaxing music that’ll drop you into a nice, dead, dreamless sleep. In the morning you can start it all again, corporate breakfast, claustraphobic Gauss ride to your workstation, zombie out as you run through your repetitve work routine and then maybe dodge bullets while shopping on the way home. You don’t need lunch, each multigalactic made meal has just the right balance of uppers and suppressants to keep you going on just two meals a day. The fact that you’re probably hooked through the bag and will eat the shit till the day you die is a small price to pay and not worth mentioning in advertisements.
You’ll go home, eat your fix, pat the DAC, watch TeeVee and jack off or finger yourself or cram some multigalactic-made fucktoy into whatever orifice lights your dim bulb the most. And you’ll do it again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again…
Aren’t you glad you lived to see the future of progress?
Furore
In the gleaming, Arcadian heart of the city, a blight has descended. Where the pristine walkways and squares should be silently rainswept until the dawning of another productive day, now they ring with discordant chants. Where the only light should be the pure white of eternal neon, now there is primal, oily fire held aloft in a hundred hands. It stains the air and pollutes the nose, as much as a sensesore as those who bear them.
"FREE LUKIN WATTS!" A figure dressed as best as suburbia scum could, jeans and a button down shirt, screamed into a megaphone. A chant that was picked up by the torch-wielding mob that swirled about her.
A chant that was addressed to the nonchalant glass tower, to the executives who watched impassively from the sixtieth storey. Oberexecutive Wilhem Steiner gazed down at the rabble with a sneer on his perfectly sculptured face. He could only hear what the protesters were saying because his Scoutron earpiece was tuned into the square’s parabolics. He heard the tinkle of ice against glass and saw his sister’s reflection shimmer into existence next to his on the perfectly cut glass.
"The rabble really know how to spoil a good torture party, don’t they Willy?"
His sneer almost twitched into a snarl before his face smoothed over completely, a carnivorous pig slipping into the depths. Hildegarde was his life’s bane, knowing exactly which buttons to push to get a reaction from him. It was probably why she was so good in bed.
He could smell the blood on her and hear the soft crinkle of her plastic gloves and apron as she shifted position. Further back, he could hear the polite applause of the other guests and a soft gurgle as Doctor Muir continued his performance.
"I’m quite surprised they persisted in this manner," he replied. "Remind me to have Kriezler killed."
As if summoned by name, the Shiver Chief Inspector arrived at his other elbow. His large sweating reflection damaged the symmetry of brother and sister in the glass. This annoyed Wilhelm on some distant level and he amended his desire to have his Chief Inspector killed. He decided to him tortured and then killed.
"Oberexecutives," Kriezler said as he bowed. "I cannot apologise enough for this spectacle. Those responsible will be dealt with."
"I’m sure they will be, Otto," Hildegarde crooned soothingly. Wilhelm hid a smile and felt a vicious love for his sister. His crotch echoed the sentiment.
"You assured me that Mister Lukin Watts was a single subversive in our employ, Inspector. Correct me if I am wrong but unless things have changed since I was educated, single meant one."
Hildegarde chuckled and Kriezler’s reflection bowed lower, shadowing his sockets.
"My sources were faulty, Oberexecutive. I will…"
"Enough." Wilhelm snarled and Kriezler silenced immediately. "Who is leading this…demonstration?"
"Security cameras have pinpointed the ringleader as a Mrs. Tamara Slate. She is Lukin Watts’ surrogate mother. It would explain why she was missed on our standard next of kin scan. It appears that the two of them kept in close contact. The rest of the rabble are low-grade scum from the E.D.Z. Part time mechanics, factory workers, school teachers, health care professionals. Scans indicate no armament amongst them."
"And they’re related to Watts as well, I suppose?"
"Uh, no sir. It appears that Tamara Slate has a history of subversive activities that stretches back to the late 880s. Galacticpeace, YOU, various Religic fronts working offworld to combat progress."
Kriezler would be reeling all of this off his files piped through his own earpiece, trying to sound as though he had memorised it to impress the Oberexecs. Not that it mattered anyway. It was just background to what was to come. He barely listened as Kriezler babbled on to save his life.
"So when we incarcerated Watts for contract violations and privacy infringements, it appears Slate roused her fellow low classers and brought them here."
Kriezler trailed off into silence as Wilhelm drained his glass. When the oberexecutive turned around, his crystal blue eyes gleamed. Kriezler found it rather hard to meet that gaze.
"What do you want me to do, Ober…"
"Hold this and shut up," Wilhelm grunted and shoved his glass into Kriezler’s sweating hands.
Hildegarde crooned in anticipation as Wilhelm shoved his way through the guests that clustered about the plastic tiling where Doctor Muir and his instruments gleamed. The old man looked puzzled but backed away quickly as Wilhelm stepped into his ‘theatre’.
"Do pardon me ladies and gentlemen but I’m afraid this subversive has to leave."
There were some sounds of disappointment but they were outweighed by gleaming looks of vulpine interest as Wilhelm Steiner unstrapped the evening’s entertainment from the gleaming metal chair. Unmindful of the blood splattering his Cenque suit or the dead weight of his guest, Wilhelm hauled him over to the window, trailing amused hangers-on.
Hildegarde clicked open the window and hauled it open, her blonde hair rippling in the crosswinds. Wilhelm smiled at her then stood at the very edge of the window ledge, lifting the bleeding man easily above his head.
"YOU WANT LUKIN WATTS? THEN YOU SHALL HAVE HIM!" Wilhelm roared, uncaring whether the crowd below heard him or not. Then he threw Watts into the air, catching a glimpse of a brown, pain-clouded eye staring at him, trailing a half-severed eyelid.
This time Wilhelm did not need his earpiece to hear the crowd’s screams.
He turned and ignored the applause from the other party guests. He turned to Krizler, unaware of the splatter of blood that ran down his cheek like Senti’s tears.
"These people are trespassing. We are authorised to use deadly force so please do so, Inspector Kriezler."
Needing no further incentive, Kriezler barked orders into his commset on his wrist.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Wilhelm addressed his guests. "I encourage you all to fill your glasses and watch the show."
Hildegarde snuggled against him, playfully licking the blood on his face as he watched the slaughter begin.
From Kings on High
The Killcopters swept over the plaza, bathing the screaming crowd in white light. Their fan-jets, set in adjustable wings on either side of the armoured chassis, made no sound as they fell on the crowd. Peace Reaper anti-personnel cannon whined into action. Loaded with ball bearing rounds, soft plastic loads that, en mass, would tear apart human flesh but leave the plaza itself undamaged. They tore holes in the crowd. People washed away like dirt under the soft rain.
Screams echoed about the plaza, rebounding and combining with the stutter of the Peace Reaper cannons to form Death’s own orchestra. A megaphone fell amongst running feet, shattered and red.
Otto Kriezler’s Killcopter was the last one in the air. The Chief Inspector had rushed to the roof’s helipad to get in on the action. Partly to make a good impression with the oberexecs but mostly because he liked it. He piloted the Killcopter himself, slaving the main guns to his helmet. His co-pilot and crew didn’t complain, it gave them free hands to use their video cameras. None of them were even aware they had an extra passenger till Kriezler was swinging about for his first strafing run.
"Who the fuck is that?" Kriezler got from his co-pilot. He looked where the man was pointing. His jaw dropped.
Standing on their left rotor-wing, five hundred feet from the ground, was a shadow. Then someone turned an external spot on the wing and the shadow went negative. Black becoming white.
Savage crosswinds ripped at the figure’s white costume. The spotlight reflected off a slim chrome visor and black metal mouthguard. A sword was visible slung across the figure’s back.
"That’s a fucking Itto-Ryu!" someone in the crewbay said in disbelief.
Kriezler frowned, “A what?”
“They’re a cognate from Orienta, they kill Contract Killers!”
"I don’t care if it’s Halloween Jack himself," Kriezler spat. "Shoot the fucker."
"No can do, boss. We can’t bring a cannon to bear on the wing and the squad didn’t load for a landing."
"Then the bitch better hope he can fly!" Kriezler growled and flipped the Killcopter for a few seconds before righting it.
Outside, the Itto-Ryu flattened against the wing, wagged his finger at the cockpit then stood up. He beckoned to the crew door.
"Fucker’s callin’ us out."
"He must have mag-clamps in that suit of his."
"Well so do you!" Kriezler shouted. "Jurgens, go out there and scrape him off."
"You got it, boss," Jurgens replied.
The ex-Death squad close combat specialist stepped out onto the wing. His armoured boots clamped onto the Killcopter’s wing with twin chimes and he grinned, compensating easily for the shifting surface. He drew his Jolt baton from it’s charger on the back of his armour and lit it up. Lethal voltage shone in the visors of both combatants. Jurgens grinned and beckoned to the figure. He wouldn’t be able to kick with his clamps on but neither would the Itto Ryu.
"C’mon, bitch. Got a 20k hardon for you to su…"
The Itto Ryu flew at him, twisting through the air feet first. Jurgens felt something under his chestplate crack and wetness flooded from his mouth. He dimly realised it was blood. He blacked out.
The squad watched from the door in horror as Jurgens’ knees folded the wrong way under the impact of the Itto Ryu’s kicks. His breaking legs covered the sound of his heart bursting. The Itto Ryu landed, rolled and came up with Jurgen’s Jolt baton. He threw it into the squad with careless precision.
Merrik screamed and cooked, falling to the floor of the crewbay, skin crackling and smoking, the Jolt baton fused into the battery pack on his shoulder.
The Itto Ryu knelt on the inclined wing of the Killcopter and gestured to the three remaining soldiers.
"Sorry," it growled in a mechanical voice. "He looked like the type who liked a hot rod."
"Kill him! For fuck’s sake! Get out there and kill him!" Kriezler screamed, thinking about what the oberexecs would be thinking.
Van Owen went out first with Rhoder and Gossik flanking him. Light gleamed off the Itto Ryu’s visor as they closed in on him, Jolt batons humming.
"Been a while since I’ve been in a fourway. Hope I can keep it up."
Van Owen feinted as Gossik surged at the Itto Ryu. Instead of backing from the feint, the Itto Ryu snaked in and grabbed Van Owen’s wrist, using his Jolt baton to parry Gossik’s attack. When Rhoder attacked the Itto Ryu’s back he thought he had him. Instead, the Itto Ryu’s free hand whipped back and grabbed his wrist, steering his Jolt baton in Gossik.
Gossik screeched and stumbled awkwardly back, arms flailing. With Rhoder and Van Owen on either side of him, the Itto Ryu slammed each man’s Jolt baton into the other’s groin. As they both doubled, he gave Rhoder and Van Owen their Jolt batons back, through their faceplates. The soldiers screamed and collapsed, wisps of smoke wound from the blackened holes in their faceplates before being torn apart in the wind.
The Itto Ryu crouched between them, taking up their Jolt batons as Gossik recovered and clanked towards him. As Gossik took a step and raised his baton high, the Itto Ryu arced over backwards and planed a Jolt baton onto the bottom of Gossik’s boot. Too late, the soldier brought it down on the wing of the Killcopter. The charge arced through Gossik’suit, unable to earth in the tempest-hardened body of the ship. The voltage shorted out both clamps and the man spun his arms desperately to stay balanced.
The Itto Ryu swung the remaining Jolt baton over his shoulder and wriggled his hips. Gossik’s eyes widened behind his faceplate as he realised what his opponent was about to do.
"Please…" he begged.
"Sure thing, fucktoad," the Itto Ryu replied. He swung, hitting Gossick in the centre of the chest.
Gossik was blown off the wing by the jolt. He fell from view, his screams still audible over the rest of the squad’s headsets.
"See where manners get you," the Itto Ryu said and blocked the slash from Kriezler’s co-pilot who had climbed out onto the wing. The Jolt batons jarred and flew into the slipstream. The Itto Ryu turned easily, blocking a clumsy punch and countering to the man’s faceplate with a flurry of strikes. The co-pilot’s faceplate shattered and he stumbled back again and again as the Itto Ryu kept his arm trapped, smashing into his face again and again.
Seemingly satisfied, the Itto Ryu released the co-pilot’s arm. The man reeled back and bubbled blood through his shredded lips in relief, just before the Itto Ryu drew his sword and sliced him off at the feet in one fluid, turning motion.
He suddenly felt weightless and numb before the Itto Ryu caught him and held him up with one arm.
"Don’t drop me," he managed to mew, blood falling in red streams from his stumps.
"Hey, don’t worry," the Itto Ryu replied. "One of your fans wants to meet you is all."
"One of my fans?" the co-pilot replied, relief and blood loss making him light headed.
"Yep," the Itto Ryu replied and threw him head first into the wing turbine.
Kriezler watched all this with horror, watching his co-pilot disappearing in a red spray before feeling the Killcopter buck and roll. The shredded body of his co-pilot had feathered the turbine. The Inspector struggled to keep the Killcopter under control. He swore and dragged the listing vehicle into line, for the moment forgetting about his unwelcome passenger. He sighed with relief as the Killcopter whined and shook but kept afloat. He started to open channels with his other Killcopters when the Itto Ryu dropped onto the canopy outside the cockpit.
"How the fuck you doing in there, Kriezler?" the Itto Ryu growled.
"YEARGHHH!" Kriezler replied.
"Good to hear. Hope you don’t mind me crashing your little party, but I see stacks of protesters getting gunned down by their ‘protectors’ and I’ve just got to come and play. All that blood gets you kind of horny, doesn’t it?"
Kriezler sobbed, ignoring his second in command babbling on the other channel, focusing on trying to steer the ailing Killcopter.
"Sure it does," the Itto Ryu went on. "I know all about you and your buddies, Otto. Decided I’d come down and say hello."
The Itto Ryu scaled up the canopy a little more, his crotch just level with Kriezler’s face. The Itto Ryu’s hips pumped.
"Hey, Otto," the Itto Ryu hissed, looking away from the Inspector. "Want to give me a blow job?"
The Itto Ryu leapt over the canopy, out of sight. The glass building loomed like a middle finger gesturing right at Otto Kriezler. The Inspector screamed and struggled with the controls. Tears ran down his cheeks as he realised he couldn’t do a damn thing.
"I don’t want to die a virgin," he sobbed before his Killcopter ploughed into the eightieth storey of the skyscraper and exploded.
The Itto Ryu leapt from the top of the Killcopter as it hit the building and ran. Seemingly unimpeded by gravity, the white clad figure sprinted up the side of the building as glass, steel and flame exploded behind him.
"Thanks for the blowjob," he hissed and kept running.
A New Player
Wilhelm Steiner pulled himself away from the body of his sister who had served as an excellent shield during the explosion. All around him, his guests lay shredded and studded with blackened glass. Lights sparked and hissed in their fittings as he surveyed his destroyed penthouse.
"Someone’s going to pay for this," he growled.
"You take unis or credits?"
He looked towards the shattered window where a white and red figure dropped easily into the room. Chrome gleamed in the spastic neon flicker.
"And who are you, exactly? An assassin from Dark Night? Or are you some kind of vigilante? Out to avenge those poor, poor, poor people down there?"
The figure walked towards him, feet crunching gently on broken glass and fingers.
"No. I’m a terrorist."
Wilhelm laughed. It was black and ugly, just like the Derringer-Duo he had under the torn remnants of his right sleeve.
"Terrorist? There hasn’t been a real terrorist for years. Not since they virus bombed Cross. No one needs them any more. There’s no point in terrorising the company when we are the company."
The Itto Ryu kept walking. He was a few scant metres from Wilhelm now.
"A terrorist doesn’t help you with the war worlds, fuckwad. I’ll tell you what a terrorist does…"
Wilhelm drew the Derringer-Duo in a fraction of a second, his reflexes the best money could buy. He screamed as his trigger finger fell to the floor just before his pistol. He stared at the metal star that was embedded in his hand. He felt strong hands crush his clavicles like straws and barely felt the knee that crushed his genetically engineered balls. He was a study in pain as the Itto Ryu dragged him towards the window.
"A terrorist brings terror. He makes people who are content and safe and blind exactly the opposite. He makes them shit their pants at loud noises and takes the enjoyment out of every single good thing in life because he wakes people up."
The Itto Ryu lifted Wilhelm above his head, as easily as Wilhelm had lifted Lukin Watts mere minutes before.
"I’m here to wake SLA Industries up. To make it fear again. To make it realise that the world it holds in one hand while it jacks off with the other is not wholly it’s own. That it could blow up in their hand at any moment."
"No…no, this isn’t happening," the Oberexec managed.
"Sure it is. The good news is that I guess it won’t be for much longer."
"I can give you whatever you want, money, power…"
"I’ve got all I want right here, Willy," the Itto Ryu chuckled. "Your balls in my hand."
"No…"
"They say you stay conscious all the way down but no-one really knows. When you get there, send me an email and let me know, yeah?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Fine, be that way."
Wilhelm screamed all the way down. When he exploded in Steiner Square, his blood mingled with that of Lukin Watts and Tamara Slate and a hundred other subversives. He would have been quite horrified to discover their blood was the same colour as his own.
Grey light illuminates dull faces who watch the television screens in the store window. The rain hisses but they can still hear what the news reporter says. The window was designed to be a glass speaker.
"Shivers were unable to catch the intruder believed responsible for the Steiner Square Massacre last night. Militant protesters led by twice-convicted subversive Tamara Slate assaulted Steiner Square to rescue their compatriot, Lukin Watts. Watts, convicted by his employers for speaking publicly about SLA work conditions and breaching confidentiality contracts was also believed to be a ring leader in the protest.
Investigators from Cloak Division made a statement regarding a third ringleader, believed to have been the one who started the attack. This person, calling themselves the White Shadow, is still at large. Now back to Fu….krrsshhh."
The dull faces shimmer with equally dull puzzlement. Nothing stops the TeeVee? Now a hazy shape appears through the static. It’s an ace of spades. A mechanical voice crackles through the static.
"Open your fucking eyes! When are you going to realise the hands blinding you are your own? Open your eyes. I’m here, motherfuckers!"
WE APOLOGISE FOR INTERRUPTION OF BROADCAST REGULAR TRANSMISSION WILL BE MADE AVAILABLE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE
In the grey light, dull eyes gleam.