Location: Courier Route 6, outside Checkpoint India, Kyoto, Japan
Tag: @Holy Soldier
"... which is the exact reason I said, 'Forget it, Japan is safer.'"
"Next thing you know, you're on courier duty escorting some truck across Kyoto for NACOM Biosystems."
"No kidding, traded one god damned curse for another."
The idling of the engine, the only other sound that accompanied the rest of the conversation, spun down until the truck itself rolled to a halt with a slight sagging of its springs, burdened by its concealed armor. The four men crammed into the vehicle were certainly foreigners, as much as the truck they were driving; standouts in Japan, especially on these narrow lanes. The real oddity of it all was that the locals paid it no mind - it wasn't the first time they had seen one of the vehicles, certainly not the last. They were busy instead with the morning, opening shop, commuting to wherever it was they had work, preparing for school, not with outsiders.
A second larger truck, some unholy cross between a van and armored car, slowed behind the first. Unlike the urban vehicle in front of it, some plain white thing, this one featured a proudly displayed corporate blazon, not one unfamiliar to the people either. At least with it the driver and passenger looked the part, no less an arm of a now familiar company; after the collapse of the Tylon Corporation and the "great reveal", start up offspring of major corporations became a common sight. Contract after contract saw the rise and fall of many, but Neo Corp proved to rule the roost, at least for now. Competition, such as here in Japan was fierce. Maybe more fierce than the zoanthropes the public regularly feared.
"You know what I really hate?" The first man started again, taking the pause at the light amidst the urgency of the morning rush to look out one of the dark windows.
"Narrow roads?" The driver responded, looking up into the mirror to the back, almost taunting his captive company.
"Narrow roads
and stoplights."
"Hey, they've all got places to be. At least they're in a hurry, not like back home." The passenger responded from the other front seat, now too glancing out the windows and watching the people starting to clear the intersection.
"Still. The damn
zees don't care. They'd be coming out of the woodwork if it wasn't for all the firepower we keep packing. You remember Stall's story - only held off a group of them on Kilo because out here they barely have guns. They didn't expect
'ma putting out the hate."
"Yeah, but the sun's out." The fourth voice finally chimed in from across the backseat, a collapsed rifle seated between his feet.
Like the rest of the men, he wore grey pocked pants and a black vest over a lighter toned shirt. The tail ends of rifle magazines peaked through the velcro pouches and a number of other fixtures on the vest suggested they were almost military, if not quite a bit less formal. They were contractors, through and through, bearing only the Independent Security Agency name in bold white across the backs of their armor. Yet, unlike the rest in the truck, he might have passed for Asian at a distance, certainly not one of the resident Japanese though.
"Right,
that makes it so much better, Mark. Thanks, wiseass."
"Hey, you're the one worried. The locals don't seem worried." The man continued, pointing a finger toward the last few bodies to cross the street.
"Yeah, usually the worst we get is some protesters giving us the eye. Can't understand what half of it is they are saying, but they're mostly harmless. You're just neurotic from being on midshift forever. We haven't had an issue in like... what, two weeks, Gardner?" The forward passenger asked of the driver who simply nodded, then set the truck again rolling.
"Whatever man, we just feel light rolling out here with four trucks and nothing big."
The pair of vehicles, two out of a larger five, continued on their route for a ways, stopped time and time again by the excitement and activity that came with dawn. Light after light, people and cars would cross, all under the watchful eyes of the four men. Until they neared one of the last few checkpoints they had to their destination. All seemed well at first, but then with the dispersing crowds, a single figure stayed still. The men, initially, did not see him among the coming and going, but it was not long before Mark's uncanny vision caught him still in a sea of motion.
"What is that guy doing?" Theron leaned toward the center of the truck, across the console and motioned almost directly in front of them.
As if fate decided then, the man was almost by himself now in the street, holding but a crude sign in front of him. A backpack upon his back, he stared at the truck and its barely visible occupants in front of him. Not a single emotion on his face played out, just calm determination. The occupants inside watched for a moment, looking him over for any sign of threat or distraction; Mark delved further than that, mouthing the characters into words.
We are all still humans.That was all the simple sign said in a near mesmerizing fashion. Mark would have thought more on it, but Gardner already had moved his hand to the horn, giving a pronounced honk from it. The man, apparently dressed for a day in the office, did not seem to react. His one man protest, now holding up the traffic that had almost begun again en route, had the eyes of everyone. As strangely as he had come, he simply lowered the sign and held it in one hand by his side, and walked off into the crowd on the sidewalk, disappearing with no further interruption.
All company present immediately looked around, not to each other, but in an odd reaction of disbelief. This had all the trappings of an ambush, maybe not by the Zoanthrope Liberation Front, but perhaps some other threat. Yet, nothing. Certain now as their eyes moved from building to building to the now moving cars on the road, they rolled forward; several hands firmly set on the grips of their rifles, another's on a radio.
Today was just starting.
