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Post by LordofSyn on Sept 17, 2011 19:08:47 GMT -5
Chapter One
As soon as he walked into the room, anyone could tell that Berkowitz was about to pull a stupid move. The man entered the Inn-Hale Bar and Grill wearing a full pin striped khaki suit, with a gypsy Kings red armband on his right bicep, over the suit. His spiked hair was wild, and unkempt, dyed in a psychedelic flourish of colors. He grinned madly, like there was a joke that only he knew, the punch line continuing to amuse him. His smile was as weathered and as cracked as the beaten combat boots on his feet.
Doctors Roland Hutchence and David Gecko were enjoying the night after a long weekend of ambulatory patients needing cosmetic enhancements. Roland turned to Gecko pointing to the corner, and muttered something under his breath, as Gecko looked to his left. There a pack of bikers where playing pool and socializing loudly. They seemed transfixed in their games and conversations, and Berkowitz would live longer, as long as they did not notice him. They were of the Gypsy's rival gang in the area. Roland moved his hand to his right side, his gun side and popped the safety cap on his holster. Gecko was too busy transfixed in the actions of the room.
Gecko had known of Berkowitz for a couple of years. Berk was a petty little bastard and a master at being an antagonist. He was a Ratt by all definitions, someone who stole for a living and dealt with Weasels, or fences. Berk stole what he could when he could, feeling it necessary as no one was walking around giving handouts anyway. Working his way up from petty theft to cat burglary, Berk had a reputation for being one lucky S.O.B. Nevertheless, he also has a horrible rep for making bad entrances.
"How are all you slags, tonight?" he growled in a loud voice.
That was when the bikers noticed him, and for a moment, the room became very uneasy. No one muttered a word… and it seemed, not even a breath. Then the bikers all broke out in simultaneous laughter, and continued their activities.
"That was too easy," Roland said quietly to Gecko. In addition, Gecko nodded. It had been too easy, and that was only part of what bothered Gecko.
The bartender, big bear of a man smoking a huge stinking brownish-black cigar, asked Berk what he wanted. Berk winked at him and looked around the room smiling, as he puffed his chest out.
"A round for the house!" he said loud enough for all to hear.
Gecko heard three distinct sounds then. One was the sound of Berk's laughter overshadowed by his knee banging against the underbelly of the aged bar. This led Berk's laughter to melt into a painful scream. Gecko looked over and saw that half of the man's left calf was splattered all across the faux wood-grain and chrome stool legs. Berk buckled under the weight of his body, desperately clawing for some handhold on the bar.
The bikers found this highly amusing, guffawing loudly form their corner, while everyone else in the bar decided not to notice.
"Well, are we going to do something, or what?" Roland whispered urgently.
Gecko realized that as doctors, they should, but something kept him in his seat. Doctors in the field tend to gain a sixth sense of things. Gecko felt that this thing was far from over, and knew it would only get worse before getting better.
There was a faint whistling sound, and Berk's right shoulder exploded in a spray of crimson pyrotechnics, separating his arm from his body. A couple of women screamed and the bikers all stood at attention. Berkowitz was now in bad shape, and losing blood fast. No matter the cost, Gecko knew he had to act, or lose the man. He got up from his seat, as people began to crowd around Berk on the floor. Two men in sleek blue suits looked outside for a gunman, as the bartender dialed his vid-phone.
Just as Gecko reached out to begin pushing patrons away and mention that he was a doctor, another bullet whistled through one of the crowd members, and sheared Berk's left ear off. Someone had it out for him bad. The lady wearing the now blood-stained yellow business dress, took it in the lung, and fell to the floor with a solid thud; gasping for air through bubbles of bright red blood.
The entire bar erupted at this, and people began to panic. Some ran and pushed their way through to exits, as others pulled weapons. The bikers looked ready for anything. Gecko maneuvered his way to Berk in time to hear him muttering something.
"I guess this always happens when you hit pay dirt," he said through painfully clenched teeth.
Gecko knew he was right. He had seen some sly chummers hit their targets and walk away with enough money and bravado to brag about it. Berk was the type who would not, and tonight would prove it. Gecko pulled some of the people who were still in shock to apply pressure to the man's gushing wounds, as he pulled a hypo-spray from his jacket pocket and with three fast hissing punctures; administered enough sedative to keep Berk conscious.
Gecko heard another hissing noise, and cringed in expectation. He looked back to the front door, and almost jumped. Standing just ahead of the threshold, were three men. The two on each side, dressed in swat combat gear, armed with some kind of high-powered rifles. The third man filled out a double-breasted dark blue suit. He was a slim man, with long dark hair in a braid, and ebony eyes that seemed to sparkle with energy. A deep red scarf hung off his nose, covering the rest of his facial features. The look was obviously Japanese Yakuza or even Chinese Triad. He carried no weapon, and Gecko thought that he didn't need one… he was one.
"Nobody touches that man," the leader announced with a firm voice. "Anyone that does will not like the outcome. He is wanted by the government for illegal actions. So those of you with an ounce of neurons that haven't been eaten away by this foul place or the alcohol here, should know how nasty I can be."
Just as Gecko was getting up to announce his intentions, Berkowitz pushed something into his palm, and without looking David pocketed it.
"This man needs medical attention, and I am a certified doctor," he said in a cracked voice. "I'd like to help if possible."
The next moment was tense as no sound was made until a reply came from one of the grunts chambering a round in the rifle. The Bikers muttered between themselves, and Skittles; the packs current leader stood up and faced the doorway. The uniformed grunt on the suit's left side panicked for a moment, sweat pouring down his face, his facemask fogging up. Skittles, not a particularly large man, filled out his stature of five foot seven, robustly. His hair looked like it was cut by a spastic crack-fiend with a lawnmower, long enough to cover his face in some areas, and shorn to the scalp in others. His tattoos that showed were wondrous creations by laser-tat, and glowed with their own luminescence. These were only showed up the vibrant rainbow that composed of his hair. The most striking feature was his eyes. They were Chromed silver, with no corona or retina. Not subtle, but for synthetic eyes, they didn't have to be. Everyone knew that he had platinum -grade smart gun system, and was a fantastic marksman.
Everyone it seemed… but the group at the door.
Gecko checked Berk and noticed that, not surprisingly, his condition was worsening despite the trauma kit he had administered.
"We'd like to move him now, as we have doctors to take care of him." The scarved one spoke, with annoyance in his voice.
"Pardon me," Gecko interrupted, "but as a physician, you cannot move him now without an M.A.R.T.yr team or a wagon…" The scarved one's eyes went ice cold, as Gecko's voice trailed off.
"I asked you all not to make trouble," he began, "that man is now in our custody and we are taking him. With or without you or your advice."
Roland sighed and bent to help me move Berk, accidentally flashing his firearm at this side. It would be the last thing he ever did, as one of the grunts ventilated his skull with three fast and quiet shots. Ventilated compressors. Those guns had ventilated compressors, Gecko thought. Then he was blind. He had been splashed with blood and brain matter. He began to clear it from his face, the salty blood burning his eyes when he jumped in response to very loud gunfire reports, making him go deaf. Those had to be Skittles' rounds responding to Roland's death.
By the time Gecko had cleaned his face and got Berkowitz to stop screaming like a young schoolgirl, he noticed that there were bodies everywhere. Red soaked sinew and flesh flowed in chunky streams from many parts of the bars inner walls, a deep contrast to the techno-yellow grain. The air was pungent with the sickly smell of cordite, gunpowder and fresh death.
David took notes and astonishingly only Berk, Skittles, the Asian, and he were the only ones breathing. Skittles was wounded, once in the arm, and once in the chest, but for him it was only a mildly hampering. The leader remained in the same position and with the same posture as before the firefight. Skittles had one pistol left and it was leveled directly at the suit.
David looked over at Berkowitz, who was almost gone, and found it odd that neither one of them had taken any rounds. David's ears were ringing, and he could feel cold liquid running down around his neck. He reached up and wiped some to find it was blood, his own, from his ears. The Asian still had a smug look in his eyes, and caught Skittles. Another tense moment happened, and the breaker was the clicking of Skittles thumbing back the hammer on his pistol. The suit bowed to him, and then time seemed to slow down for Gecko. In the literal blink of an eye, the leader crossed the gap of 15 feet separating himself and Skittles. The biker managed to fire off one shot that went astray, but it was all a blur. Gecko thought he saw four punches and a kick. Nevertheless, when Skittles hit the ground, his eyes were missing, and his body looked like raw hamburger. Intuition kicked in for Gecko, as he knew that he had to find someway to defend himself. He quickly patted himself for his gun, but could not find it. He glanced toward the Asian, who looked back at him with searing contempt in his almond eyes. Gecko's hand came across the familiar bulge of a mono-scalpel at the exact same time that he caught sight of one of the rifles peripherally.
The suit walked slowly and gracefully across the room, stepping over remains of fallen patrons, and smoldering chunks of Ferro-concrete from the walls. Gecko realized, as a cyber surgeon that what he had thought earlier to be maxed out wired-reflexes, had to be one of the best and most expensive move-by-wire systems he had ever seen in a person. The movements were almost too fluid, too graceful; making the Asian seem like he was walking on air.
"I will be taking that young man with me now", he said it was still slightly muffled to David's damaged ears, and he looked back towards Berk; who had finally stopped breathing. However, it gave Gecko the opportunity he needed to pull the scalpel from his jacket pocket, keeping it concealed in his palm.
"I'm afraid I have done everything in my abilities for him here," he said with a wavered voice. "I can't say that he would have lived long anyway, so if you needed answers from him, you are out of luck."
'That is fine." The Asian said non-chalantley. "I'll still be taking the body though and I need you to assist us. Plus I have questions for you too." He said as he stepped on front of Gecko, their eyes meeting shortly.
Gecko did not intend to go anywhere. This person meant business, and whatever the reason for him and his crew to follow Berk like that, the need for no witnesses fell easily into the equation. The two men's eyes locked again, and time seemed to slow down again, but a distant siren claxon brought Gecko out of his daze.
"Very well", is all the Asian spoke, as he bent down in front of Berk's body and began frantically, but methodically check his clothing for something. When the suit did not find what he was looking for, he grunted and reached into his jacket. He retrieved a small token shaped object from which he stripped adhesive from the back, and placed it to the breast of Berk's coat; and turned around shaking his head.
He motioned for Gecko to follow as he walked toward the door. David decided to play along until he had a chance to escape. He still had the scalpel concealed in the palm of his left hand, and considered dashing for the rifle he had seen earlier, but wasn't about to make the first move. He wanted to find out what was so important about the item that Berkowitz had stashed on him, and why so many people had to die to keep its secret.
The night greeted them as they stepped out into the lonely street. Gecko was in front, cautiously listening behind him for any signs of action on the Asian's part. The brisk air made Gecko feel that much more alert, so much so that he noticed how dead the street really was. It was still early in the evening. Moreover, there should have been more than a few cars and couples active than there were.
"Stop here", the suit commanded. A moment later, a black non-descript van pulled up to the curb in front of the two men. The suit turned toward Gecko.
"If we can have your cooperation" he muttered, "then you can be on your way soon enough. Non-compliance should not be any kind of an issue, as you are well aware of what I am capable of." There was a sadistic gleam in his eyes as he spoke, and Geckos intuition rang at his nerves. He knew the suit was lying and that it was time for fight or flight. With the van there, and the suit having some back up, Gecko did not stand a chance in hell of a fight… but when you have to gamble; you have to play your odds. The Asian standing to Gecko's left raised his hand in a wave, and the van's sliding door clicked and began to open. That was Geckos cue to swipe with his scalpel, turning it on mid-swing. Mono-scalpels are made to vibrate so fast on a monomolecular level that they cut easily through almost everything. The blade caught the Asian by surprise, cleanly separating most of the scarf from his face. The scalpel bit into his suit, dug into armor and found flesh. Gecko tried to pull back to retain his weapon, but after a slight tug, it would not budge; and the suit did not make a sound. Gecko gasped, and dashed down the street looking for cover.
There was yelling behind Gecko, and he did not recognize any of the voices, but did not care. He pushed himself harder to reach the alleyway, which was about fifteen feet in front of him. Then he faintly heard what appeared to be the sound of a twig snapping and a whistle, all before spinning like a top. What initially felt like a bee sting, Gecko knew better to be what he feared. The lower half of his right thigh and part of his knee looked like a slaughterhouse victim wrapped in jeans. He looked back to the van, its door still open, and a guns muzzle peeking slightly out from its dark confines. Gecko could not see the suit, but continued to crawl his way to the alley. Cold sweat poured off his forehead, and his leg was getting colder by the second. He would bandage himself up as soon as he could get away. The van's motor gunned up loudly, and Gecko looked back in just enough time to see the van speed away. He breathed out deeply, hoping they had lost interest, and turned around needing to get to the alley to the alley to patch himself up…when he ran right into a pair of well-dressed legs. There was a familiar pair of wingtips shoes on those feet, and Gecko felt a huge lump in his throat. He looked up and lost all the wind in his lungs, seeing who he hoped it would not be.
The suit leaned down and looked right into Gecko's eyes. There was a small tattoo of a red stag on his cheek and he was holding a small push-button object in his hand.
"Don't feel like dancing now, do you?" he half whispered. Gecko just shook his head. "You knew what to expect, so why did you run?" the Asian asked.
Gecko could not find the words to speak, so he lay there dazed; in shock and pain form his leg. The black van emerged from the alley that had been Gecko's goal and stopped, its engine purring loudly. The door slid open again.
"Give me your hand," the suit said over the van's motor.
Gecko reached out and the suit easily lifted him as though he were nothing more than a stack of papers, placing him on the running board of the old Dodge. Gecko immediately felt hands from inside pull him up from behind and into the van, when the Asian held his hand up. The arms stopped moving the doctor, but still held firmly.
In the leader's hand was David's scalpel. He pressed the button to activate it, and the familiar hum made Gecko even sicker to his stomach. There was the sadistic glean in his eyes as he moved it closer to Geckos hand, and in one clean swipe, he took off the pinkie finger on gecko's right hand. The wound instantly cauterized by the vibrating blade.
Then he did the same thing to Gecko's left pinkie.
The last thing that Gecko remembered after they pulled him into the van that night was a very loud explosion and the object dropping from the Asian's hand, its usefulness fulfilled. The charge planted on Berkowitz during the search, did an adequate job of wiping the bar (and most of the bodies inside) from existence.
Gecko had a very bad feeling, before losing consciousness that he would survive the encounter, but probably would not want to.
Chapter Two
He was thrown into a small steel cell inside the van. He was cramped and trying to find comfort only managed to make his leg throb worse. It was excruciatingly cold and dark. He could hear little form the outside over the engine roar, which seemed amplified by the metal, but guessed that the Asian was up front calling the shots and giving directions.
Gecko regained some consciousness shortly before the van stopped at it s destination, wondering how a simple night turned so sour. He had lost his friend, his pinkies, and possibly his leg. He had lost any chance of a normal life should he live through whatever was to happen. Painfully, he had the words of his father in his ear, telling him to 'always overcome adversity, or it will get the best of you'.
Obviously, these men were not going to kill him, or they would have done so long before now. His body ached, and he could feel his leg going cold against the metal. Unfortunately, the pain was keeping him alert when he really wanted to just rest. Metal slid against metal, and a small slot opened midway on the door of the cell. A shaft of light shot right into his eyes and he squinted.
"Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty. It's time to talk," he heard the Asian's familiar voice say.
"No." Gecko whispered hoarsely.
"What?" the suit asked.
"No! I said no." Gecko managed to say forcefully. "I won't talk until I get some medical attention, and even then I cannot tell you much. Hell, I'm just a damned doctor who was in the wrong place at the wrong time…" he muttered off.
Something rocked his cell, which nudged his leg, sending sparks of white-hot pain all through his body. The van had stopped. Moments later, the door opened, and he was pulled free from the tormenting cell. Blinded all at once by immense light, he blinked spastically to allow his eyes to adjust. He could smell food, real food somewhere in the room, which made his mouth instantly water and his stomach to churn more. He was led, like a mule, to a chair; screaming in pain each time, he applied pressure on his right leg.
Once he sat in the chair, four sets of hands restrained his arms and legs, as they were strapped down, first by Velcro straps; then by metal clasps with locks. A metal contraption was placed on his head with tong-like appendages that kept his eyes open. All he could see, or not see; by virtue, were four extremely bight halogen lights and four (out of focus) silhouettes of people in the room. The odor of the real food was driving him nuts. It had been hours since he had eaten and days since he had eaten real, organic food.
"I feel like running a marathon, how 'bout you?!" an unfamiliar voice croaked at him, breaking into an annoying shrill laughter.
Gecko remained silent, looking up; straight up to dampen the light streaming into his eyes. There was the loud, rushing sound of water behind him, and something like a metal canister bouncing on cement. He heard someone snicker behind him, and he remained still. 'This must be some kind of sick joke,' he thought to himself. He tried to move his head to a more comfortable position, and realized how heavy the contraption on his head really was.
He must have lost some consciousness, not remembering how long he had sat like that before his knee exploded in painful fury of colors and iced razors. The stinging, but lack of weight instantly made Gecko think that someone had sprinkle salt on his wound. All of the people broke into a sadistic laughter at his shuddering and at the obscenities streaming from his mouth. He clenched his teeth at the searing torment but refused to give them more to enjoy.
"Now you can answer questions," the suit from the bar said from in front of him. Gecko bowed his head, and it tipped over from the weight of the eye-dilator mechanism on his head. He remained silent, trying to keep the urge to scream form the pain down. "Who do you work for?" the suit began.
"Roland Hutchence, William Rose, and Joy Takamura," Gecko wheezed out.
"Who are they?" asked one of the other people.
"Doctors. Takamura and Rose own the South-Pal clinic."
"Do you have any family that would look for you?"
"Why do you want to know," Gecko spat; "so you can torture them too?!"
As soon as the words came from his mouth, Gecko knew that they were the wrong ones. He didn't feel that he deserved any of this, and worse yet, had no knowledge that would benefit them, unless they felt it necessary to know everything about him should they choose to blackmail him. Before he knew what hit him, he was kicked once in the right knee, and the other caught him square in the chest; knocking him and the chair into a pit of water behind him. It was salt water.
Gecko didn't have time to breathe in before hitting the water, not that it would have mattered anyway. He screamed from the pain as it erupted from his knee, pinkie fingers and eyes. He thrashed around, trying to free himself. He tried to breathe to relinquish some of the pain, and gagged even more on the water. Two sets of arms pulled him and the chair up. Gecko tried to blink, to clean the extra slat from his eyes, but the eye-dilator helm didn't allow for that.
"Perhaps you didn't understand," a gravely voice announced. "We'll speak slower so you can understand us." It said in a mocking tone.
"Fuck that!" a young voice protested. "Maybe he should think before opening his shit-hole mouth."
Gecko was shivering in the chair, both from the pain and from his wet clothes, which were now catching a good amount of a draft. His eyes burned, but not as much as his leg. The bleeding had stopped, but the throbbing remained persistent. It was a game really, he thought; a game to see how much pain the human body could withstand. Unfortunately, Gecko knew that he could only take so much, and that his body was weakening. All he wanted was to be given a nice healthy dose of painkillers and allowed to sleep. However, his captors and the salt just would not allow that.
"Do you have any family that will look for you?" the question asked again but form the gravely voice.
"No," Gecko rasped out.
"Good, very well then;" a fourth voice countered. This one was a very distinct male voice with a slight British accent. The smell of a clove cigarette hit the air, and its pungent smoke flared into Gecko's nose making him cough. "There will be no more pain, should you decide to cooperate fully with us from now on. As a gesture, I shall do this," and there was the sound of fingers snapping. The floodlights went off abruptly, instantly comforting Gecko's eye, and sending the room into a pitch-black abyss.
"Now," the voice continued. "Tell me what you know of Berkowitz. Mr. Daniel Berkowitz."
Gecko remained silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Berkowitz was a fool, a puppet from Southtown, whose luckiest brakes were that he managed to stay alive for this long, and that he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time… well, except once;" to which Gecko had to chuckle despite himself.
The British man laughed and retorted, "I guess god does love fools."
Gecko continued, ignoring the remark. "Berk was a RATT, and was pretty much as slimy as one could get. Other than being a fool, the only great thing going for him was that he had some nasty dirt on some high-ranking people. He was a mudslinger in every sense of the word, and he practically bathed in fallow. Of course, these are all things that I have heard, as I never really knew the man personally, but you could see it, by the way he carried himself that he felt above his station in life and no one could tell him otherwise. Why were you following him?"
"Lets just say that he had something that belongs to one off our clients." The gravely older voice said.
The British man spoke up. "You mentioned that he had dirt on important people. Who?"
"I honestly don't know," Gecko slurred. "I only know it was high-ranking people. Men and women of power, perhaps in the Corporations, maybe even in the Government." It was a lie, but Gecko knew better than to show his entire hand. In a game like this, you played your bets carefully.
"What did Berkowitz do with the info?" It was the foul-mouthed young one. He spoke calmer, but there was still an edge of anticipation in that voice.
"Berk was always trying to make a fast buck and get ahead. Most of what he got his hands on went to the highest bidder, or whoever would buy. When you were slinging in his deals, it was best to be rid of it as fast as possible. What he didn't sell, people have said, he sat on, or used as leverage in blackmailing schemes. Word went around often, that he was too old-fashioned in some senses. He did most of his own thieving, and was a fairly decent, if amateur cat-burglar."
"Did Berk say anything or pass on any sensitive information to you?" The British man implored. He apparently could see or sense that Gecko was losing consciousness fast and planned to extract all he could for now.
"No." it was all Gecko could say. His pain was increasing and he was growing considerably weaker. He knew that he was losing it. He heard whispering, but could not make anything out. His head dropped, and white-sparkles of pain reminded him of the fact, but he was too weak to pick it back up. The last thing he heard before passing out again was someone loosening his restraints.
He was moved to an operating theatre and placed on the same type of table that he had used countless times operating on other people. In another life, Dr. David Otto Gecko had been a highly esteemed Cybernetic Medical Surgeon. That was about to change.
©2003 Thomas E. Brewer
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