Samantha Cole & Ellen Nile
Old Raygate, Prince Ed-Field, An Abandoned WarehouseSam slipped in through the loading docks, carefully replacing the lock on the side door before taking stock of the interior. The lights were still off, which meant no intruders...she hoped. Her camera baffler served in this environment, not to conceal her identity, but to light her way. She shed her hood, arranging the rim around her neck like a mantle, and killed the brightness on her phone. With a penlight, shielded against external view by her messenger bag, she briefly worked to reconnect the camera. She held the phone in landscape orientation, across her field of vision, and let the infrared LEDs in her hood light the way for her. It wasn't as easy as a flashlight, but she wouldn't be detected by eye.
Havenfield market had been attacked. The thought of it plagued her as she picked her way through broken machinery and discarded inventory. Full-fledged, broad-daylight, honest-to-god terrorist attack. On civilians, no less. Naturally, the first reports were confused and failed to let slip any information of substance, but now that they were being allowed to cover the incident, Sam knew enough to come to the conclusion that her base of operations might be compromised. She had come here to collect what little she had, and could carry, knowing the place was burned and that she probably wouldn't be able to come back.
"I hate finding a new place," she grumbled internally. It wasn't just obstinacy and sloth that brought about this feeling; it was scouting locations, searching for surveillance and security which might still be in place, and it was trying to secure the location without drawing attention to her activities. Abandoned warehouses were perfect for that purpose, but Baybridge hadn't been gracious enough to provide many areas in which they were available. It would have to be an abandoned subway tunnel, or an off-the-books basement and some under-the-table cash. Sam shuddered at that last thought.
"Yeah, like I wanna trust some local spare to keep my secrets..."She had just finished her sweep when her phone vibrated. One eyebrow climbed as she flicked on the interior lighting and disconnected the phone's camera again. Who would be sending her messages now? Another would-be terrorist looking to shoot up...what...a bake sale this time? A Bingo hall? Ah, Sam knew what it was; it was a rock concert. That had to be it. Bon Jovi was returning to the stage, after all these years, and they'd picked Baybridge, of all places, to make their comeback. The Hollywood-style miniature explosions of gunfire ripped apart the stands in her mini-fantasy before her conscious mind decided to remind her of more pressing matters.
Got another for you Upgrade, some chick with a locked briefcase, wants it open asap with no questions asked. You good for it?
Sam's brow furrowed. Part of it was confusion. Her services were not exactly on-par with international spies, or the crack team of experts working tirelessly to prevent intrusions into the servers at the Pentagon, but she did a bit more than the occasional smash-and-grab. A locked briefcase was not standard fare. Part of it was annoyance. Here she was, collecting her bugout bag, convinced that the attack on Havenfield Market would be blamed at least in part on her, and she had been comparatively reduced to the importance of a set of lockpicks. But all of that got pushed to the back of her mind, leaving just one thought echoing. If it was important enough to require black market connections, even at her low level, there was more to it than a locked briefcase.
She whispered "fuck it" under her breath and began typing her response.
Acknowledged. DD at delta. Standard fee, plus expenses. Blue and red not invited.
Ellen had lucked out, seriously lucked out, in as much as she deserved some good luck after what had happened. She'd tried to be sparing with the serum Mannequin had given her, but it had been difficult. It gave her a freedom she'd craved for so long. She wasn't totally free of her ability, but even the small semblance of control she had now was enough to turn her view on life around. She'd even fought in the Academy sparring sessions, which she'd usually avoided before meeting him. Then she'd gone and fucked it up. She wasn't even sure what had happened, something about this weeks ability, a timer set in the case, she didn't know, it hadn't let her back in, and then it had announced a fail-safe lock, with only a master code opening it again. She'd tried to break her way in, but her current power wasn't conducive to slicing it open, at least not without breaking the precious vials inside. So she'd gone online, trawled the forums for someone who could open it up for her, and on the dark web, she'd found them. Well, at least someone who said they could find out for her. Now she was sat awkwardly on a bench, the case cradled awkwardly on her lap, waiting for him to come back with an answer. He'd said it would be quick, but it felt like she had already waited a lifetime, and she was ready to cut and run, regardless of the money she had already paid him.
Her phone registered a new message. That had been quick. There must have been at least some form of real-time communication between Ellen's contact and the heretofore un-named third party. It was all very cloak-and-dagger, which was in itself worrisome, but one did what one needed in cases like this. Had it been an insulin syringe, it could have been replaced at a drug store. This was slightly more complicated, and required a light touch.
Green light for Jade Dragon delivery. No crashers. Will reply when finished.
How very cryptic of them. A "delivery" could be anything from a bag of drugs to a box of new crab crackers. There could be plausible deniability if anyone discovered what she was doing. At least she could claim somebody had paid her to deliver the case, if the cops got involved. For once, paranoia seemed to protect the client equally well.
The Jade Dragon buffet was a run-down Chinese place a few blocks from the border of New Raygate. Rumors about the kind of thing that went on there were rampant, but no one ever seemed able to prove anything illegal was happening on the premises. The cops would raid it, now and then, but the family-owned business always failed to turn up evidence of any crimes. The occasional customer got caught carrying, or holding an ounce or two, but that couldn't be linked to the owners. It was almost as if somebody were warning them in advance. That, or the place was actually clean. Yeah, right.
The man had insisted on money up front, and she'd paid him without asking questions, she probably could have paid less, but she was too worried about getting back into the case to quibble over cost. It didn't take long to get a response, she'd expected to have to wait a while at least, but obviously whoever this Upgrade was, they were quick on the uptake. He'd come back and given her instructions for what to do, she'd argued briefly.
"I'm not just leaving it there!"
He'd shrugged, "up to you, that's the deal, take it or leave it."
He looked like he couldn't care less about it, and, pocketing his fresh earnings, he wandered off down the street as though nothing had happened. She stayed sat for a moment, then stood and headed off in the opposite direction, towards the Jade Dragon. It wasn't far, perhaps a five minute walk, although her 'contact's' directions had been far from clear. It ended up taking her ten minutes as she got lost multiple times on the way.
A few twists and turns brought Ellen to the correct street, if a bit late. The Jade Dragon sat nestled between a shady-looking tattoo parlor and a marijuana dispensary; not exactly a location which inspired the greatest confidence or respect. A trio of unfriendly-looking Asians loitered near the entrance, clad in suspicious clothing, even if no provable gang affiliation leapt immediately to mind. Aside of the occasional beggar, the rest of the street appeared barren; lined with abandoned shops and disused apartments. As she approached, a particularly nervous-looking man bobbed his head dutifully to the three as he headed for the door. They did not return the gesture, but their eyes followed him in before they returned to their intermittent conversation. Their cautious tone mattered little to anyone who did not speak Chinese, however.
The restaurant itself made incredible economy on the small space it had to work with. It looked to be about a thousand square feet, if that; likely seating less than forty patrons at a time. It was divided down the middle by a cracked, faded wood partition, topped with what must have once been a very nice frosted glass pane. Some of the designs were still visible, even if scratched and abraded beyond positive identification. The walls still bore some of the original decorations; war fans, framed symbols of popular Chinese proverbs, artwork of the homeland, and other curiosities. It looked like they hadn't been dusted in years. The entrance opened into a small welcoming area, featuring uncomfortable benches -which sported plenty of holes, tears and rips- magazines and pamphlets from about a decade ago, and a fish tank completely devoid of any actual living things. The register sat at the back of this area, restricting access to the restaurant to a small point of entry to the left of the counter, above which guests could get a look at the day's specials and some of the standard menu items while waiting to be seated. Past the counter, the partition ended, opening up the floor to modest, round wooden tables and chairs, booths lining the walls. On the opposite side of the partition, the buffet actually made a complete circuit around the wall, creating a u-shaped line of heated and cold stations, drink dispensers, and the like. A few tables had been negotiated into this area, between the two arms of the "u", almost choking the flow of traffic during peak hours...but peak hours seemed like a rare hope. The place was dingy, dimly lit, and had the distinct feeling of the place you'd visit for business, rather than pleasure.
At least the staff were friendly. A little too friendly, actually. The hostess had the sort of saccharine sweetness which begged to be mistaken for two-faced malice, but offered no solid proof of an ulterior motive. She looked like a spider welcoming new flies to her web.
"Welcome! Welcome!" The hostess grinned. That was way too many teeth for this part of town. "How many today?"
Ellen was a little taken aback by the sickly sweetness of the hostess' honeyed tones, and the enthusiasm with which she had been approached in what was, by all accounts, a fairly depressing looking institution. This subterfuge and espionage wasn't quite what she had expected, but this certainly looked like the right kind of place for it, she could imagine super spies from the movies meeting in a place that looked a little like this. She wouldn't have been all that surprised if the Jade Dragon buffet had been the inspiration for half of those scenes. The men outside had glared at her as she entered, but made no hostile movements. Maybe it was the heavy metal briefcase. It hardly seemed the right accessory for a sixteen year old, maybe they thought she worked for a drug dealer or something. This looked like the right kind of place for a shady deal, which she guessed she was involved in now. She was concentrating hard on being noticeable, not conspicuous, simply being visible to anyone who wasn't aware of who they were looking for.
She realised she hadn't responded to the hostess, the woman had frozen as though paused, clearly waiting for a response, "uh... just me... I'm here for a delivery..."
The woman's smile unfroze and she suddenly animated again, like a cheap toy with the batteries replaced.
"Ah right this way, I have the perfect table for you."
She led Ellen further into the restaurant, sitting the uncomfortable teen at a small table towards the back, out of sight of the front window and placed immediately to the left of a door that appeared to lead to the kitchen. The appearance of a portly man with a steaming tray of food only confirmed this assumption. She placed the case between her feet, wrapping her legs tight about it, and looked around, looking for the mysterious 'Upgrade'. There was a bespectacled Chinese man who glanced curiously in her direction over a cup of tea. She realised that his look was directed at her chest and not the case between her feet however, and immediately looked away, focusing hard on not fading out of visibility.
"Your green tea."
The hostess had reappeared with a small teapot and cup.
"What, I didn't..."
But the woman had already bustled back to the front of the shop, leaving Ellen with the teapot, the cup, and a bill.
The bill was a lot higher than any cup of tea could possibly be worth, and she recalled her instructions, leave the money and the case. She pulled out a thick envelope, containing a sizeable portion of her savings, and slipped it under the teacup, then stood up, moving towards the door of the restaurant. As she did Ellen felt herself begin to fade out of focus, not disappearing from vision, simply from the foreground. The man who was now staring at her butt suddenly lost interest, as though he had been staring into space all along, while the hostess simply ignored her entirely. She moved back into the restaurant, settling into a shadowy booth even more out of sight. She could see the table from here, and the abandoned case.
Sam finished fastening the buckles on her bugout bag, satisfied that everything was still in place, and still good. She had rations, supplies, a little water, but most importantly, she had some of her most often-used tools and equipment, plus the materials for a few more jobs down the road. There were also a few surprises for would-be muggers installed within the framework of the bag itself, like her messenger bag. When that memory touched her thoughts, it forced a smile to her lips which could only be described as malicious joy.
She stood, hoisting the bag over one shoulder, and made one final check of the factory floor before taking the lift down from the balcony. The foreman's office had been her office for the last year or so, and she had definitely made her mark. That mark would have to be erased. It was a bittersweet time for Sam, who wished to stay, but wished even more potently to remain free. She muttered a sequence of words into one of her burn phones, which connected wirelessly to the factory's power control system and began a countdown. She tried to ignore her moistening eyes as the door clanged shut behind her.
As she made her way along the side streets and alleys, a thin piece of highly conductive foil dropped into place, bridging the contacts of the main power transformer. Its conductivity and material composition produced a stable arc, vaporizing the metal, and all evidence of the reason for the electrical fire along with it. She would be long gone by the time emergency crews responded to the blaze, and would have plausible deniability against accusations of arson due to her absence from the scene.
The Jade Dragon slowly crept into Sam's field of vision. She could not figure out whether to smile, smirk, frown or scowl. The place definitely had memories for her, and not all of them positive. She'd been well-compensated for many of her jobs, stiffed for some, outright threatened by some of the locals who decided she was infringing on their turf...it had been a rocky couple of years. But she was established; that was what mattered. The local family had allowed her into their home, which meant that they respected her; at least, on some level.
The three thugs at the entrance acknowledged her as she approached, but it wasn't the same quasi-threatening leer they seemed to give others. It was familiar, yet with a detachment which suggested not subordination, but...some level of caution, perhaps. They were not small men, in terms of physical ability; it wouldn't have been fear. There was something else.
"Hey, guys." Sam grunted, breezing past them. "Miss me?" As the door closed, one of the men muttered something in Chinese. It sounded...impolite.
Inside, the hostess pretended not to know why Sam was there. She acknowledged, instead, a visit from one of their regular customers, and asked if she would like her usual seat. Sam simply nodded and followed the woman into the back, amusing herself yet again with the absurd concept that this woman was not a woman at all, but a sophisticated android made for the food service industry. It had been her favorite internal insult for the fake persona she commonly employed. It was like talking to a character comedian...who never broke character.
"Groucho Marx," Sam thought to herself.
"She's Groucho Marx, but without the mustache. And the cigar."The noise of the kitchen broke her out of it, and her senses returned to her in full force. She smelled fresh orange chicken, which made her wrinkle her nose. It always overpowered everything else, unless you had your nose right over what you wanted to smell, and the flavor was far too intense. Besides...it had been like putting marmalade on chicken, which was just unnatural. Her eyes darted to the buffet and slid down the left bank, around the corner, and along the opposite wall. There were five empty trays, seven which registered about half full, and at least three which needed to be thrown out. They were also out of chopsticks. The staff were clearly busy with metal tools, but there was no sizzling at the moment, which meant a prep cycle.
"No special orders for a half hour, then." Sam noted.There were a couple of patrons, but nothing notable about them. Mr. Ogawa was here again, which meant another meal spent trying not to notice him undressing her with his eyes. Sam felt grateful for her small chest size; it meant only the hardcore perverts took the time to notice her that way, which really filtered down the list. She felt her backside touch a hard wooden surface and suddenly came back to reality again.
In her booth, Ellen perked up as someone was led to the table she had previously occupied. It was a slim girl, perhaps a little taller than Ellen, but about the same age. A girl, really?
"Any tea or drinks?" The hostess inquired.
"House tea." Sam replied automatically. She took a menu and buried her face in it. No conversation today.
Her foot bumped something hard, and she surreptitiously traced its outline with the side of her boot. There was no tactile feedback through the thick leather, but she could detect resistance in her leg muscles. That meant it was heavy, hard to tip over. This had to be the drop. Without allowing her balance to shift, she did her best to slide the case between her feet, keeping it secure from theft.
The hostess returned with her tea, and carefully poured for her. Typically, the job would have been done by a waitress, but the place hadn't exactly been bustling. She had the time, and was obviously pulling double duty. Sam wagered they'd even had her doing some kitchen work at some point.
"Probably dishes," she decided.
"Sucks to be her.""Have you decided?"
"Shit," Sam inwardly cursed her wandering attention. "Um...No. 16, I guess. Haven't had it in a while. Bring a go box?"
"As you wish."
The meal was brief. Sam just nibbled at it, really. It had all the appearance of someone trying to
maintain an appearance. It was as if the food had been ordered as a way to throw off suspicion of her true purpose at the restaurant. She picked at it for a few minutes, then boxed it up herself. One of the compartments on her bugout bag had been set aside for hard storage. She flipped open the flap, hinged the lid on the metal box inside, and packed away her leftovers. Before securing the flap, she clicked on the miniature refrigeration device and checked its battery. It would be good for at least six hours.
Ellen was growing impatient, she was sure that the strange teenager had noticed the metal case beneath the table, yet she had done nothing. At least the hostess hadn't noticed her presence in the shadows of the booth. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it seemed as if the girl had ordered food, Ellen was beginning to feel restless, and was wishing she'd developed some ability other than the talent to fade into the background. Did she know she was here? She glanced around, her lazy, hooded eyes scanning the other patrons. Even the man who had been staring at her chest earlier was looking elsewhere, at the girl it seemed. It wasn't as if they were the only two females in here, the pervert obviously just had younger tastes. No, no one was even glancing in her direction. She resisted the urge to move from where she was, and stared at the girl instead.
Was she really 'Upgrade'? Maybe she just worked for him, surely it couldn't just be some kid who looked like they lived out of a subway tunnel. Although, Ellen considered herself and her own saviour, stranger things had happened in the world of metahumans.
As Sam finished packing up, the hostess returned with her "bill". Sam noted a negative amount and nodded, then handed the hostess a card and a slip of faded, worn paper. The hostess smiled brightly (as if there were any other way, for her), and took off to run the card. Sam checked her belongings and got up, making somewhat of a show of searching for something. She eventually "found" what she was looking for and faked a smile, then crouched and reached for the case. When she touched it, all hell broke loose.
"Ah, shi-" Sam could not even finish the words before her eyes rolled back and she slumped over. It wasn't instantaneous; she looked like she was fighting something, as if trying not to succumb to alcohol poisoning. She dragged the case a good foot, then lost her traction and hit her backside. She tried using her palm to brace herself, and dug at the ground with her heels to gain another few inches before she lost the battle.
At first, it seemed like she had just passed out, but then came the convulsions. Her arms and legs began shaking, as if from hypothermic shock, and her mouth began making shapes which almost seemed like words. Her eyes, still refusing to shut, rolled around in her head like dice.
Ellen bolted to her feet as soon as the girl collapsed. Was that the case? Some sort of fail safe security device Mannequin had left in place to ensure no one tampered with it? She swore, this was not how this was supposed to go. She'd expected to follow whoever came for the case until they took it to this 'Upgrade' but either this girl was epileptic or she was a meta, and it didn't look like an epileptic fit.
Ellen wasn't the only one in the restaurant who had reacted to the sudden event. Almost all of the customers were looking towards the jerking girl, and one of them began to push his chair out, as though to come over and help, though he looked in no hurry. Ellen swore, this place looked like somewhere you came to do 'business' the kind of business you'd rather the cops weren't involved in. Would anyone here actually give a shit about the girl or the case she had just tried to pick up? Ellen didn't care that much about the girl, but she cared a great deal about that case.
It took some time for the hostess to realize what was happening, but once she did, she barked something sharply in Chinese. It had been the pervert who started toward Sam, and he froze at the hostess' outburst. His expression did not match with a scolded customer. He carefully sat back down and averted his eyes. More barking from the hostess, through the kitchen order window, and two burly Chinese men emerged. They...did not look like cooks.
"I am so sorry," The hostess addressed the customers. "She is allergic to peanuts. We tell the cooks all the time, no peanuts, but they do not listen. We have epinephrine in the back. We will take care of her. No worries! Go back to your meals, please!"
She whispered something to the two men, as they laid hands on Sam, then forced Sam's eyelids open with a forefinger and thumb. She nodded grimly, then sent the men back.
"Like hell she's allergic," Ellen muttered to herself, edging around the side of the restaurant. She didn't have the faith in this ability to simply walk through the middle, it only really seemed to work if there was no real reason for her not to be somewhere, they'd definitely notice. The hostess had taken her money, and the girl had gone to take the case, then this had happened. No one had noticed her yet, and at that point she become overconfident, brushing a little too close to one studiously disinterested diner's table, jarring his elbow and sending his tray tumbling to the floor. She froze, but it was too late, the hostess' eyes had already fixed her in place like a rabbit in headlights. She must have an unusually sharp mind, because she could definitely see her now. The hostess said nothing, but started through the kitchen doors and made deliberate eye contact with Ellen. There was a very subtle "come" gesture as she went through.
Ellen swore, then, as she watched her salvation vanish through the kitchen door, realised she had no option but to follow.
She burst through the door after the hostess, "what the hell was that?"
"First," the hostess replied evenly. She had lost all illusion of fakery and passivity. "I need you to lower your voice. Some of these people aren't 'friends of the family'."
"Shit, shit..."
Worried though she was, Ellen still dropped her voice, although part of that was due to the sudden change in the hostess' demeanour, she seemed a lot more intimidating out of the public eye.
"What's happened to her? You aren't telling me she's really allergic to peanuts?"
"No." The hostess admitted. "That was for the customers. We have seen this happen to our friend before. There's really nothing we can do but wait for it to pass. And it will pass. Don't worry about that."
Ellen snatched the case back, clutching it to her chest like a teddy bear. "And how long does that take?"
The hostess looked back at Sam, wearing an expression of complete helplessness. "It depends."
At that moment, there was an exchange of Chinese between the two men who helped carry Sam back. They looked...not worried, but concerned. One of them took the hostess' ear for a moment, after which she fired off a couple of commands and turned back to Ellen.
"We're having company. You and Upgrade must leave now. Your deal will be honored, but we will deny all knowledge of it if you are still here when they arrive. There are still a few buildings nearby where you can hide, while this passes. One of my men will take you."
"Jesus..."
So the girl was Upgrade.
"OK OK..."
The man who was definitely not a cook slung the lanky teen over his shoulder with only a faint grunt, then led the way out the back of a restaurant into an alleyway that definitely looked like it was the scene of a crime at least twice a week. Every building along the street had been abandoned it seemed, and he didn't even think twice about striding across the road with an unconscious girl over his shoulder. Even if someone had noticed, it was doubtful they'd have said anything. Snitching in this neighborhood was bad for one's health.
Sam was slowly starting to vocalize the words that she had been silently mouthing the whole time. They seemed nonsensical at first, until Ellen picked up a few key words. Words like "failsafe", "secure code lockout", and "intrusion countermeasures". She was reciting the technical specifications of the case...word for word.
The man left, presumably in a hurry to get back to the restaurant before 'company' showed up. Ellen wondered what that was a code word for, she watched him go, then hunkered down to try and divine the meaning of the girl's mutterings.
It meant nothing to her, the case had been a gift, she didn't understand anything about it, and had only the barest of understandings of the vials contained within. She propped it up on her knees, and settled down to wait for her to wake up.
A casual examination of the interior revealed the main lobby of what used to be an apartment building. It had been gutted and stripped of any valuables long ago, presumably by crackheads and common criminals, so even the hope of electricity was a vain one. Extensive damage to the walls revealed that the copper plumbing had been stolen ages ago, and even some of the flooring had been ripped up. The place stunk of mold and the leavings of drug addicts. No sane person would want to stay here. But these were not sane conditions.