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-Prologue-
Anamnesis
[an-am-nee-sis] (n): the recollection of the Ideas, which the soul had known in
a previous existence, especially by means of reasoning.
-
Platonism
In its heyday the
Sink had been a bustling metropolis full of life and all that technology could
offer. These days, it was just another scrap city, albeit a large one, made of
trash and reused concrete. Metal was precariously crusted onto the skeletons of
formerly respectable buildings that had been retrofitted with a combination of
modern conveniences and vintage tech. It was ruled by undesirables: crime lords
and drug cartels. The corporations only had tenuous control here, but it was
enough.
The assassin arrived home bleeding, sick, and seeing
double. His front door was ajar. His place, a mess. The city was simultaneously
loud and silent around him: bustling with the hum of traffic but his house
sounded dead. No one was home. He checked every room just to be sure, gingerly
stepping over pieces of broken furniture, garbage, and strewn-about clothing.
But still, no one was home.
Then, it started coming back to him, slowly blinking in
his memory like an ancient film reel. Hot blood ran down his hands.
* * * * *
His next target. A woman. A scientist. A brilliant
scientist working with the XCGen Corporation.
“We have confirmed that this woman is conducting secret
genetic research outside of the company. She has been threatened to desist, yet
she denies involvement. However, we cannot take any chances,” the security commander
told him.
“Okay,” the assassin replied, forcing a calm demeanor,
“Who is this woman?” He had a sinking feeling in his heart. He knew very well
who this woman was, but needed to hear his commander say it.
“Bella Kinney.”
The most beautiful woman in the world. His wife.
“No.”
“You have no choice,” his commander explained, “Your
contract states that you cannot say no.”
“Well I’m saying…no.” The assassin said, punctuating
each word.
The commander gave him an impassive look.
“You will be decommissioned. Someone else will take your
place.”
The assassin glared but continued his even tone, face
impassive. “Then let them.”
The commander just shrugged.
“But first,” the assassin continued with slow
deliberateness, “You will have to catch us.”
He gripped the small metal tube implanted into his left forearm and tugged,
fingernails digging into the dark skin around it. Pain, he thought, but it was
only a shadow in the very back of his mind. His greatest fear was in the
forefront: losing Bella.
The air in the room became thicker, charged. The
commander’s hair began to float away from his head as energy overtook the small
office. Sharp pops echoed just at the edge of hearing. The assassin dug his
fingernails deeper into his arm, howling as he ripped the tube free, tossing it
aside. At the same time, he sank his
consciousness deep into his core, into the very center of his self and pulled
the sparks. It took almost all his breath to force his aura out in an
ever-widening circle, crackling.
The commander sat, half on
his desk, stunned. He stared at the assassin, who had begun to work on removing
the second tube, with watery eyes. More
pain, the assassin thought, feeling his heart flutter. He gasped and
swallowed hard as his forearms were coated in a hot, sticky fluid. Blood. He ignored it. The second time he
reached into himself to grasp at the energy, it came easier. Flowing through
his veins, his muscles, and then his limbs. Bursting outward with visible blue
flashes, electrons flowed freely around him. He could almost see them dancing
and rejoicing at their freedom.
With a definitive, primal
roar, the assassin sent the electrons flying in all directions as he finished
excavating the last bit of metal from his arm. The electro-magnetic pulse
radiated around the room, passing violently through the commander, knocking him
off the desk. He crumpled to the floor like a doll.
The room went dark. The dull
chortle of machinery had been suddenly silenced. The air, so thick and heavy
only moments ago, was still. Almost light.
The assassin fled.
He wasn’t fast enough. That
had never been a problem before so his mind was struggling to wrap itself
around the possibility. He had always been fast. However, something had
changed. He was no longer himself. Or, rather, he was again himself – the self that he was before the mods. Before the
razorwire and fiops cables that had run through his nervous system like
parasites.
The assassin was as he used
to be – human. No longer mech. And not fast enough.
They must have come for her.
For Bella. He knew how it would have all played out: burly mechs with shiny
limbs, clamoring like armored elephants through the house. Taking Bella. Was she alive? He had no reason to
believe that the company would let her live. However…
If they had killed her,
wouldn’t there be blood? A body?
He checked through the house
twice, feeling his heart, his insides, twisted by barbed wire. There was no
blood. No body.
Was she alive? He didn’t know.
She was…just…gone. He raced out the door, hoping to see her
arriving home. Nothing but the cold eyes of the dark skyscrapers greeted him. Gone.
The assassin screamed, face
upturned toward the starless sky: a raving, crazed animal trapped and yet
motivated by fear. “I will find you!”
If anyone heard him, they
didn’t answer. The city bustled around him.
These days, crime was just
another part of life. If you wanted to stay alive, you didn’t get into anyone
else’s business. If you were determined enough to mess with the CORPs, then
you’d best be prepared to defend yourself. The sociopathic citizenry would not even
blink when you disappeared.
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