One Man Movement
- Eddies
- 16,424
Beads of sweat poked up along the back of his neck as he hovered over the grav-train. His body shivered with momentary pulses of anxiety, nerves quivering with each convulsion of his lungs. The air was hot and sticky, like an alcoholic's exhalation had sought to smother the city and had stopped just short of total success. The sweet edge of perfume stabbed through the bouquet of sweat and liquor, a disgustingly intoxicating cocktail of scents that reminded Vex he was home.
This was the twelfth train to come through this section of the line in the last hour. If his information was correct, then it was the mark. The Fixer had made it clear that the circuit board he required would be somewhere in the aft end of the second-to-last cargo compartment.
In and out, quick and quiet.
The muggy air surged with a stream of cold as the train shot silently beneath him. It was a specter of steel and raven black, bathed in the eerie green of floodlights from above and the fading neon of the city half a mile away: a blur of color whose detail evaded the mortal eye. Fortunately Vex was not so impaired.
"One-six-two miles per hour. One-six-four. Climbing. Hold." The AIi's monotone mumbled in his head.
Vex waited. The tail of the train drew near. Soon it would turn the next roundabout and be out of his reach.
"Calculating." Vex intoned. "Three, two, one, mark."
The runner dropped wordlessly. He fell like a stone, the dark leather of his coat splaying out behind him like a falcon's wings. He hit metal before he saw it, felt the sharp bite of steel grinding against steel. The smell of roasting flesh and waxed metal greeted him as he pushed himself up on whirring arms. The roar of wind passing alongside the train was deafening, the flashes of neon and vague shapes flickering along with it equally disorienting.
"Minor damage to left forearm. Friction burn. Manageable. Applying stimulants." Nyx's voice was unpleasantly calm as the AI dumped half a gram of stabilizers into Vex's bloodstream. His pupils, bits of black amidst a sea of artificial gold, dilated in turn. Time seemed to slow, and the vague shapes drew into detail, the roar of the wind growing more tolerable.
The runner wordlessly bear-crawled atop the top of the train. He pulled himself to the nearest hatch, muttered a command code for one of the hundreds of scripts saved by Nyx, and slipped down into the darkness once the hatch clicked open.
…
Wilma had already checked her personnel—The rounds were loaded into her tech shotgun and her smart gun was put away in her pocket rather than a holster, jingling along with some loose ammo and bottlecaps. Thank god she had a zipper, otherwise it would have all spilt while she was hanging on the underside of the grav-train. She had spent half a day cramped into a small electric maintenance compartment just between the rails of a Zetatech depot with rubber bands as the only form of entertainment.
A few trains rumbled overhead, and she had to frequently dissipate the electrical charge amassing in the circuit board beside her to avoid detection and potentially having her brain fried. The train she had her eyes on transported a valuable shipment of surveillance and security robot prototypes, or in Wilma's case—some much-needed parts for B.R.I.C.K.
She had successfully grabbed onto the underside of the train using nifty magnetic gloves and chest straps—once they stuck, there was no letting go without sending the command. She didn't ask Gunner for intel this time around, she was sick of him looming over her and wanted to succeed at least once without him meddling. But that also meant she had no idea what to expect on the convoy—this fixer she used was nowhere near as experienced as Gunner so she had to fill in the gaps herself. Rationally, there should be guards between every compartment and inside too, no? She only knew her cargo was located in the second to last car and to save herself the trouble, she had the full intention of separating it from the main convoy. She snaked up to the edge of the car and peeked from underneath, scouting for the presence of any outside security and was delighted to see none. The proximity to the ground of the shotgun strapped to her back was alarming, so she did her best to avoid looking down for too long.
Wilma spotted the coupler and shifted towards it to study its mechanism. It was different from the cars on the public transport so a single shot from her tech shotgun wouldn't do the trick. She connected to her agent and reestablished the comms with her drone swarm.
"Alright, let's get this thing going, fuckers."
A small, whirring drone flying parallel to the train chirped in response. It had two slim propellers and a stout cylindrical body but its entire body mass was barely bigger than a fist. Three more like it hovered near the train's proximity, barely skimming the ground beneath. All four of them bore a "S.W.A.T." abbreviation across their bodies, but it certainly stood for something else. The first drone responded to Wilma's signal and whizzed to the desired spot. This one in particular was a small, repurposed mining drone with a thick laser beam that could easily cut through a 6-foot-thick wall if it had to. Its only downside was it took time to do so. It landed on its four brittle, little spider legs and positioned itself above the coupler.
---
He slipped from a realm of neon and iron into one of blue-black shadows and hot cloying humidity. The first thing he noticed as his boots hit the bulkhead was the smell - it was a sticky sweetness poisoned by the bitterness of rot. Vex knew that smell all too well, coupled with the unnatural humidity - something in here was decomposing.
The train car was long and narrow. Rows of seats had been replaced with racks lined with storage containers each filled with unmarked metal storage containers. There were no windows, and the only light came from the weak blue lumens overhead that cast the cabin in a deathly blue.
Vex glanced through the din, his cybernetic oculars serving him far better in the darkness than any organic eye. He saw no movement nor did the target requisitioning system drilled into his brain register signs of life.
"Analysis?" Vex's whisper was muted by the rumble of the train.
"Storage compartment in-line with Zetatech standards. Containers marked with datafobs: possibility of slicing into manifest to ascertain location of package. Heavy risk." Nyx's words bubbled in his mind with the same intimacy as his own thoughts.
"Think they'll ping you?" Vex muttered as he wandered the length of the cabin. There were no discernable identifiers on any of the crates. Each was a cold and anonymous slab of unadorned gray metal.
"Likely. Taking alternative route." Nyx's monotone bore the slightest amount of pleasure as she sent a wordless command to the housing unit in Vex's jacket. It clicked open with a tiny hiss, and a small metal drone fashioned to look like a polished silver skull puttered out on tiny micro-jets installed into its base. Its eye sockets shone with blue and green photoreceptors respectively.
The drone turned to stare at Vex with its unblinking gaze, and Nyx's voice crackled through the speakers jammed into its open mouth. "Performing a physical scan. Keep watch," the skull rose and fell on sputtering bouts of micro-fire as it turned and began scanning the datafobs installed in each of the containers.
"Lack of guards is weird." Vex grunted. The floating skull that served as Nyx's body turned back toward him, inclined its head slightly in agreement, and returned to its work.
Vex kept a hand wrapped tight around his sidearm. He checked it repeatedly to make sure the safety was indeed off as his nerves worked to get the better of him. The lack of guards was disconcerting, and it seemed like that smell was getting stronger. His arm was bothering him too. He'd landed as Nyx had instructed, but the damage was still omnipresent. The skin along his right forearm from his wrist to his elbow had been sheared off, revealing the gleaming metal of epidermal armor protecting the tissue beneath. It would function fine, but even with the stims his pain made itself known.
All the while, Wilma's drone had taken note of the runner. They'd seen him dive down through the hatch and would see him as soon as they broke through the door. For his part, he did not hear the whir of the mining laser - his yellow eyes remained glued to the other end of the compartment, where the smell was the strongest and the lights dimmed so much, he could only make out vague shapes amidst the din.
This was the twelfth train to come through this section of the line in the last hour. If his information was correct, then it was the mark. The Fixer had made it clear that the circuit board he required would be somewhere in the aft end of the second-to-last cargo compartment.
In and out, quick and quiet.
The muggy air surged with a stream of cold as the train shot silently beneath him. It was a specter of steel and raven black, bathed in the eerie green of floodlights from above and the fading neon of the city half a mile away: a blur of color whose detail evaded the mortal eye. Fortunately Vex was not so impaired.
"One-six-two miles per hour. One-six-four. Climbing. Hold." The AIi's monotone mumbled in his head.
Vex waited. The tail of the train drew near. Soon it would turn the next roundabout and be out of his reach.
"Calculating." Vex intoned. "Three, two, one, mark."
The runner dropped wordlessly. He fell like a stone, the dark leather of his coat splaying out behind him like a falcon's wings. He hit metal before he saw it, felt the sharp bite of steel grinding against steel. The smell of roasting flesh and waxed metal greeted him as he pushed himself up on whirring arms. The roar of wind passing alongside the train was deafening, the flashes of neon and vague shapes flickering along with it equally disorienting.
"Minor damage to left forearm. Friction burn. Manageable. Applying stimulants." Nyx's voice was unpleasantly calm as the AI dumped half a gram of stabilizers into Vex's bloodstream. His pupils, bits of black amidst a sea of artificial gold, dilated in turn. Time seemed to slow, and the vague shapes drew into detail, the roar of the wind growing more tolerable.
The runner wordlessly bear-crawled atop the top of the train. He pulled himself to the nearest hatch, muttered a command code for one of the hundreds of scripts saved by Nyx, and slipped down into the darkness once the hatch clicked open.
…
Wilma had already checked her personnel—The rounds were loaded into her tech shotgun and her smart gun was put away in her pocket rather than a holster, jingling along with some loose ammo and bottlecaps. Thank god she had a zipper, otherwise it would have all spilt while she was hanging on the underside of the grav-train. She had spent half a day cramped into a small electric maintenance compartment just between the rails of a Zetatech depot with rubber bands as the only form of entertainment.
A few trains rumbled overhead, and she had to frequently dissipate the electrical charge amassing in the circuit board beside her to avoid detection and potentially having her brain fried. The train she had her eyes on transported a valuable shipment of surveillance and security robot prototypes, or in Wilma's case—some much-needed parts for B.R.I.C.K.
She had successfully grabbed onto the underside of the train using nifty magnetic gloves and chest straps—once they stuck, there was no letting go without sending the command. She didn't ask Gunner for intel this time around, she was sick of him looming over her and wanted to succeed at least once without him meddling. But that also meant she had no idea what to expect on the convoy—this fixer she used was nowhere near as experienced as Gunner so she had to fill in the gaps herself. Rationally, there should be guards between every compartment and inside too, no? She only knew her cargo was located in the second to last car and to save herself the trouble, she had the full intention of separating it from the main convoy. She snaked up to the edge of the car and peeked from underneath, scouting for the presence of any outside security and was delighted to see none. The proximity to the ground of the shotgun strapped to her back was alarming, so she did her best to avoid looking down for too long.
Wilma spotted the coupler and shifted towards it to study its mechanism. It was different from the cars on the public transport so a single shot from her tech shotgun wouldn't do the trick. She connected to her agent and reestablished the comms with her drone swarm.
"Alright, let's get this thing going, fuckers."
A small, whirring drone flying parallel to the train chirped in response. It had two slim propellers and a stout cylindrical body but its entire body mass was barely bigger than a fist. Three more like it hovered near the train's proximity, barely skimming the ground beneath. All four of them bore a "S.W.A.T." abbreviation across their bodies, but it certainly stood for something else. The first drone responded to Wilma's signal and whizzed to the desired spot. This one in particular was a small, repurposed mining drone with a thick laser beam that could easily cut through a 6-foot-thick wall if it had to. Its only downside was it took time to do so. It landed on its four brittle, little spider legs and positioned itself above the coupler.
---
He slipped from a realm of neon and iron into one of blue-black shadows and hot cloying humidity. The first thing he noticed as his boots hit the bulkhead was the smell - it was a sticky sweetness poisoned by the bitterness of rot. Vex knew that smell all too well, coupled with the unnatural humidity - something in here was decomposing.
The train car was long and narrow. Rows of seats had been replaced with racks lined with storage containers each filled with unmarked metal storage containers. There were no windows, and the only light came from the weak blue lumens overhead that cast the cabin in a deathly blue.
Vex glanced through the din, his cybernetic oculars serving him far better in the darkness than any organic eye. He saw no movement nor did the target requisitioning system drilled into his brain register signs of life.
"Analysis?" Vex's whisper was muted by the rumble of the train.
"Storage compartment in-line with Zetatech standards. Containers marked with datafobs: possibility of slicing into manifest to ascertain location of package. Heavy risk." Nyx's words bubbled in his mind with the same intimacy as his own thoughts.
"Think they'll ping you?" Vex muttered as he wandered the length of the cabin. There were no discernable identifiers on any of the crates. Each was a cold and anonymous slab of unadorned gray metal.
"Likely. Taking alternative route." Nyx's monotone bore the slightest amount of pleasure as she sent a wordless command to the housing unit in Vex's jacket. It clicked open with a tiny hiss, and a small metal drone fashioned to look like a polished silver skull puttered out on tiny micro-jets installed into its base. Its eye sockets shone with blue and green photoreceptors respectively.
The drone turned to stare at Vex with its unblinking gaze, and Nyx's voice crackled through the speakers jammed into its open mouth. "Performing a physical scan. Keep watch," the skull rose and fell on sputtering bouts of micro-fire as it turned and began scanning the datafobs installed in each of the containers.
"Lack of guards is weird." Vex grunted. The floating skull that served as Nyx's body turned back toward him, inclined its head slightly in agreement, and returned to its work.
Vex kept a hand wrapped tight around his sidearm. He checked it repeatedly to make sure the safety was indeed off as his nerves worked to get the better of him. The lack of guards was disconcerting, and it seemed like that smell was getting stronger. His arm was bothering him too. He'd landed as Nyx had instructed, but the damage was still omnipresent. The skin along his right forearm from his wrist to his elbow had been sheared off, revealing the gleaming metal of epidermal armor protecting the tissue beneath. It would function fine, but even with the stims his pain made itself known.
All the while, Wilma's drone had taken note of the runner. They'd seen him dive down through the hatch and would see him as soon as they broke through the door. For his part, he did not hear the whir of the mining laser - his yellow eyes remained glued to the other end of the compartment, where the smell was the strongest and the lights dimmed so much, he could only make out vague shapes amidst the din.
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