Jed M Bidwell wrote:
Insert typical disclaimer crapola
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The Omega Project, Part Four
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The bar was a small biker's hangout , with the ambiance to match. A
Extra space. Is it "ambiance" or "ambience"? I can't remember.
thick haze of cigarette smoke hung in the dimly lit watering hole, the heavy
metal music thundering from the jukebox vibrating the floorboards beneath
her feet.
Miko despised the place, the leather-clad bikers who gave her those
lecherous stares, the stench, the insanely loud music, all of that merged to
form an atmosphere of beer-fueled blood-soaked mayhem. On the other hand, it
was the only place where her contact would come meet her.
"This seat taken?" asked a familiar voice as the man slid into the
booth. His close-cropped hair and square features lent him the visage of a
soldier, or a block of granite. He wore a simple black trenchcoat over his
clothing, the disguise scarecely hiding his impressive bulk. He slid into
the seat across the table from Miko, ordering a beer when the waitress, a
barfly in a skintight miniskirt, came to the table.
A "barfly" is a customer, not staff.
"What have you got?" Miko asked.
"Something you'll definitely love." the loud music made conversation
difficult, but also decreased the chances of being overheard.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense! What is it?"
"An MO disk," he replied, his face impassive as the waitress
returned with his beer. She cast a long look at him before leaving to tend
to other patrons. "It contians access codes for Site B."
"contains"
"Site B?"
"That's a Kuno Industries sotrage facility," he said, "they keep
"sotrage"? Sounds like an exotic sexual technique.
weapons *and* ammo there for shipping to foreign markets. Everything your
little heart desires, Miko-chan."
"I'm not Miko-chan," she snapped. She couldn't stand for a man to
call her that, she never could.
"Hey, hey, take it easy," he said, raising his hands in a placating
gesture. "Anyway, it's all here on this disk. Access codes, what's in what
building, the works."
"Security?"
"About what you'd expect for a storage facility. Alarms, motion
sensors, cameras..."
"What about guards?"
"One at the gatehouse. He mans all the surveillance equipment.
Another ten on premesis. No mechs, so that's not a problem."
"premises"
"Good. Your fee," Miko said, sliding a long black credstick across
the table. He took the credstick, slotting it in a wrist-mounted computer.
He gazed at the tiny display for a moment as the machine calculated the
value the stick had been burned with. Finding everything in order, he
reached into his coat and produced a small black square of plastic which he
then slid across the table.
"Pleasure doing business with you." With that, he hastily downed his
beer and left. Miko stayed for a few minutes more, placing the disk in her
jacket and downing the rest of the scotch and bourbon before leaving
herself. Neither Miko nor her contact noticed the man in the booth adjacent
to theirs leave his seat and head for the men's room.
================================
"They took the bait," he said as he admired his reflection in the
filthy mirror. A thick mop of black hair rested above two steely blue eyes.
A long pigtail hung down his back, the leather jacket hiding his muscular
torso. The silver spikes on the shoulders glinted in the light of the bare
bulbs overhead as he held the small phone to his ear.
"Excellent," the voice on the other end replied.
"And the mole?" He knew well what do do about the little traitor,
Mole problems? Call Avogadro...
but still needed authorization first. Damn beuraucrats.
"bureaucrats"
"Dispose of him."
"Yes, sir." R-033-M, code name "Ranma", placed the phone back in his
Geez. What a lame codename. Codenames are supposed to conceal identities,
not advertise them.
coat. It was time to deal with the informant. But first...
"The phone, boy. Give it up!" Ah, he was wondering when that little
shred of wasted skin would try something. Ranma knew he was there, hiding in
the stall and waiting for someone to roll for some cash and a quick fix.
"Fuck off, dickweed," Ranma said, already planning his first, and
last, strike.
"You don't hear real well, do ya," the other snarled. His feet
stomped on the cracked tiles of the bathroom floor, beating the unsteady
cadence of one who has had a few too many. "I said..."
With a feral grin and speed that defied description, Ranma spun and
delivered an expert knife-hand strike to the drunkard's throat. The drunk
fell to his knees, strained gurgling sounds escaping his lips as he choked
on his own blood and ruined windpipe. Ranma considered staying to watch, but
instead turned to complete his assignment. The kill hadn't been anywhere
near satisfying, and he had other business to attend to this night.
==============================================
"Stupid Shampoo!" Ranko's grunted exclamation caused Sean to look up
from the bench, curling barbell still in his hand as Ranko pummelled the
speed bag.
The training room, if one could really call it that, consisted of
outmoded equipment in serious need of repair. A weight bench occupied one
corner, with a few coiles of jumping ropes hanging on a nearby rack. A heavy
What makes the ropes jump? "coils of jump-rope"
bag dangled in the center of the small concrete room, duct tape covering
several patches on the blue canvas material. The bench on which Sean sat was
Delete "material". Redundant.
no more than a plank stretched over two cinderblocks, a small rack of
barbells along side it.
Ranko's fists began to fly in a blur, the speed bag flapping ever
faster as she beat the canvas ball relentlessly.
//Christ almighty!\\ he thought in amazement as her fists seemed to
Comma after "Christ".
vanish. The slapping sounds of skin on canvas became indistinct, mingling
with the rattling of the short chain that held the ball from the ceiling
before the metal links snapped from the stress. The speed bag flew across
the small space, slapping the wall with a loud smack before falling to the
floor.
"Anything you want to talk about, Ranko?" Sean asked nervously.
"No."
"Ah, c'mon, lass! Something's bugging you."
"I said I'm fine!"
"Shampoo rubbing you the wrong way?"
"Will you shut up?" Ranko shouted as she whirled on him, sweat
shining on her arms and face from the workout. Sean replaced the barbell,
rising to his feet and moving toward the door.
"Fine, but talking about it can't hurt. Besides, we can't afford to
replace what equipment we have every time someone gets in a snit!"
"She knows something," Ranko said just as Sean began to turn the
knob. Her voice was, well, not exactly calm, but better than that angry
little banshee from a few seconds before.
"Really?" Sean released the knob, turning to face the red haired
girl. Ranko's head was bowed, fists balled at her sides as she walked over
to an empty chair.
"Shampoo knows more about me than she's letting on," Ranko said as
she flopped down into the tattered chair. Her voice was filled with anger
and frustration, and Sean really couldn't blame her. The odd thing was,
however, how Shampoo could know anything about this mysterious girl. They'd
Delete "The odd thing was, however,". Clumsy.
only just met, right? "I see it when I talk to her, but damnit she won't
tell me what!"
"Maybe it's nothing?"
"Nothing my ass! She knows something, and I wanna find out what!"
"If Shampoo knew something about you, Ranko, she'd have said so."
"All personnel, report to the Briefing Room," announced a voice over
the intercom, "repeat, all personnel report to the Briefing Room on the double!"
"C'mon, Ranko, that means you, too."
"Huh?"
"You're here, girl, that makes you one of us." Ranko just looked at
him, obviously confused over something. "Listen, Ranko, right now we're your
family. From that announcement, I'd say we've a mission coming up right
soon. Who knows, you might get a clue as to who you are." Ranko looked down
again for a few seconds before coming back to her feet.
"Okay, Sean," she said with a curious mix of reluctance and
determination, "let's go."
========================================================
The Briefing Room was a large chamber on the north end of the
compound. Metal chairs lined the floor in neat rows, most of them already
filled with people. A low buzz of quiet conversation permeated the air as
Ranko found an unoccupied seat. A few of the men and women gathered cast
quick glances her way, yet said nothing to her. That suited Ranko just fine,
she had nothing to say to them, either.
Within minutes the entire room was filled to capacity, the noise
growing from a low buzz to a hushed roar as everyone debated amongst
What's the buzz?
Tell me whatsa happenin'
themselves about what was about to happen. Ranko was curious herself, though
a part of her felt that a battle was coming. It relished the thought of
going to fight, the glory of war... Ranko shook herself violently, drawing a
few curious stares from the assembled crowd. She ignored their gazes,
wondering just where those feelings had come from. They had felt...
artificial somehow, as if they weren't her own.
The crowd fell silent, every head facing forward as Shampoo stepped
up on the raised section of floor at the head of the room. A large white
screen was behind her, the material dangling from a long horizontal cylinder
in the ceiling.
"As you all know," Shampoo began, "our stores of weapons and
ammunition have gotten scarce. Likewise, our funds have nearly been depleted
The weapons and ammo have gotten scarce. Not the stores.
as well. At this rate, we will become unable to continue our fight against
Kuno Industries within the month."
"We can't give up!" cried a male voice from the second row.
"And we will not," Shampoo replied, a hard edge in her voice. "Last
night, an informant inside Kuno Industries met with one of our own
operatives and gave us the means to quickly remedy this problem." As if on
cue, the room was plunged into near total darkness. Ranko cast a worried
glance about the room before a shaft of white light streaked from the back
wall, stopping at the white screen at the front. She looked back toward it,
finding an image that looked like a sort of blueprint.
"This is 'Site B', a Kuno Industries storage facility located an
hour's drive north from here." Shampoo went on in a sort of intense
monologue, a long thin shadow darkening the image as she tapped the screen
in places with a pointer. "K.I. uses this place to store weapons,
ammunition, and other equipment that are awaiting shipment and purchase."
"Guess we're going shoppin'!" exclaimed another voice from the audience.
"Yes, we are," Shampoo said as if the comment had been perfectly
normal. "We will divide into two teams. Team A will take the canvas truck up
What was unusual about the comment?
to the gate, while Team B approaches from the north. The two shall meet at
the front gate.
"While the driver is talking with the one manning the guardhouse,
two from Team A will break in and neutralize the guard. Use whatever means
necessary, but make sure that no alarms are raised. Then, Team A will use
the codes on the MO disk to deactivate the security systems."
"And Team B?" asked a voice from the darkness.
"Team B will enter after Team A and sweep the grounds for any roving
guards. There will be only ten on duty, but do not get careless. Eliminate
the other guards quickly and quietly. Team B will then continue to watch for
any other personnel until Team A is finished loading the truck. Then, both
teams will exit Site B and return here via different routes from both each
other and the ones they took before. Any questions?"
"Who will make up the teams?"
"Team lists will be passed out after this breifing," Shampoo
"briefing"
replied. "Team B will be led by Toju Nakamura."
"Hai!" a man, obviously Takamura, shouted.
Too many words. "Hai!" Takamura shouted.
"And Team A will be led by me. Are there any further questions?" The
Can we steal some toilet paper?
room was filled with the silence of men and women who knew well their
responsibilites and had no lingering doubts whatsoever. "Very well. We will
"responsibilities". Delete "whatsoever". Makes you sound like lawyer.
leave at 2200 hours. Dismissed!"