Tag: sheepdog

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Aftermath (part three)

Sheep didn’t care as he picked out a spot on the couch and curled up to catch a little shut-eye, but he was still too amped up from this evening’s events to really sleep. Dec disappeared briefly into another room and came back equipped with a compact SMG, slung over one shoulder, snugged between his arm and his ribs. “Feels good to have some teeth,” he said, as he worked the action on the gun and checked the magazine for ammo, before shoving it back into the receiver. Sheep heard the mechanical sounds and looked towards Dec briefly, and chimed in. “If you want to test it, we got a test dummy right here.”, he said, motioning towards Jackson. Res chuckled. “I don’t know how you do it,” Dec said, “after all you’ve been through tonight, and you can still laugh.” Res replied, “I guess I’m not your normal damsel in distress, huh Jackson?”, as she looked towards the hostage. Jackson grunted. There wasn’t much more he could say with duct tape wrapped around his face.

Dec was feeling a little sorry for Jackson at this point, being banged up, gagged, and hooded; he probably wasn’t prepared for this chain of events. He went to the kitchen to get a couple glasses of water, and as he was returning, he heard the outside door open with a rusty groan. His team lead had arrived, a little early. “Dec, you in here?”, the lead called out before entering. Dec shouted, “yep, in the living room”. “I brought a plus one,” the lead said, “picked him up from a local watering hole. He’s drunk but he’s steady.” The lead came in and was followed shortly by Sharp, closing the door behind them. “I don’t know how I got roped into this shit,” Sharp said, “guess I’m just lucky.”. It was Dec’s turn to laugh. He knew Sharp hated cleanup and debrief phases of missions. He was just there for the violence, the personal kind, with short, sharp knives. He earned his nickname.

“Everyone ready to move?”, the lead asked, and surveyed the room. Everyone that could was nodding yes, and Res tapped Sheep on the legs a few times to suggest it was time to stand up. “Here we go,” the lead said, after removing a painting from the wall and pressing a hidden switch. The entire living room shook briefly, then began descending into a hidden elevator shaft under the floor. There were lights embedded in the concrete box walls they were passing on the way down. It looked like a traffic tunnel carved into the side of a mountain, only vertical. A few seconds later, looking up, they saw a floor slide into place way up above, closing off the tunnel, then another one directly overhead, sealing them in. “What is this place?”, Res wondered aloud. The team lead answered her with, “only the finest cold-war waterfront bomb shelter money could buy. We can actually walk under the harbor in this place. They could burn the place upstairs down to the nails and never imagine that anyone is down here. We know; they did it before, during the war.” Sharp chimed in next. “Those commie bastards didn’t even bother breaking the foundation. They just torched anything facing the harbor. Good old 242, she runs silent and deep. We have an entire west wing that goes even deeper, loaded with supplies.” The team lead elbowed Sharp in the ribs and pointed at Jackson, as if to say, shut the hell up, this guy doesn’t need to know all this. Sharp just shrugged; not his fault they pulled him out of the bar to deal with Dec’s mess. He was drunk and didn’t give a shit, but he knew his team lead was the boss here.

“Stavros, you have some medical training. Can you check out Res and our new pal Jackson over there?”, Dec asked the team lead. Stavros nodded yes and went into another room to retrieve a basic medical kit. He returned and started with Res, shining a light in her eyes to check for signs of a concussion. Someone butt stroked her pretty good in the middle of her face. He gently touched the bridge of her nose, feeling the joint where the nose cartilage meets the skull. “Not broken, you’re pretty tough for a lady,” Stavros said quietly as he continued examining her. “Let me help you with this, I’ll be gentle,” he said, as he slowly pulled the bloody tampon out of her nose by the string. He noticed it wasn’t absolutely soaked, suggesting that the bleeding had stopped already. “Any dizziness, nausea, blurry vision?”, he asked. Res replied, “Nope. Minus the nosebleed and my cheek, I feel alright.” “Good, good. Well, if you start feeling any symptoms like that, just speak up. I’ll see what we can do.” Res nodded and reached for a glass of water, not realizing how thirsty she was at first.

Stavros moved over to Jackson and he felt everyone staring at him as he removed the hood and started examining him. “If I remove this tape, you promise to get along with your new friends?”, he asked, “no spitting or screaming?”. Jackson squinted and nodded yes. He really was lucky to be alive, and the last thing he wanted to do now is piss these people off. From what he heard, he assumed Sharp was there to interrogate him, and to dispose of him, if necessary. Glancing past Stavros, there was only one other person that could have been Sharp, and he looked like a guy that would be named Sharp. Stocky, muscular, bald-headed, Hispanic, and permanently scowling. He looked like he hated anyone he made eye contact with, and was working out just exactly why he hated Jackson.

Stavros ripped the duct tape off like a Band-Aid, and Jackson choked back a grunt. “Looks like you caught some shrapnel in the right shoulder. Dec did a decent job of cleaning you up, but I think I can help a little.”, Stav said, as he cut away part of Jackson’s shirt to reveal the bloody bandage covering the wound. He peeled the bandage back and looked at the wound with the flashlight. “Twist around a little, let me see the other side,” he said, looking for the exit wound. There wasn’t one. The ‘shrapnel’ came in the front and never escaped, still stuck in the shoulder bone and tissue. “Dec, you need some range time. This turd is fragged; his shoulder must look like dog food on an MRI.”, Stavros joked. “Yeah, I guess I need more range time with my government-issued railgun arm. They failed to include that little detail in the instruction manual. The first shot was on target though. He’s alive because I missed.” Dec replied grimly.

“What did you shoot him with, some kind of flechette gun? This is like a tiny shotgun wound.”, Stav asked. Dec said, “hard to believe, but just a few rare earth magnets. Get that shoulder close enough to some steel and they’ll probably come right out, but it won’t be pleasant.” Stav turned and stared at Dec to see if he was joking, but Dec was just wearing a crooked grin. Some new tech he’d never heard of, at least. “Your call Jackson. Do you want that shit extracted or is it fine where it is?”, Stav asked. Jackson pondered the question for a few seconds. It hurt pretty bad, but it could hurt worse. Powerful magnets don’t have a good track record inside the human body. “If you have any strong liquor on hand, I’d prefer some wild west surgery. Never thought I’d ever get shot with magnets…”, Jackson replied, grimacing as Stav prodded at the back of his shoulder, checking for lumps to see how deep the projectiles were embedded. “Sharp, get a bottle of something strong out of the kitchen. Not sure where, but we’re fully stocked here.”, Stav said. Sharp hesitated for a second. He didn’t like the look of Jackson at all, and he suspected he got shot for a reason. Eventually, he relented, and went searching the kitchen for any kind of liquor. He returned with a quart of Jim Beam, and announced, “medicinal purposes only. Disinfects wounds and numbs what is gonna be a pretty gnarly procedure.” Sharp took the first swig, for good luck, and handed the bottle to Jackson.

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Aftermath (part two)

The evac arrived after Dec had fished the van’s keys out of the crew’s pockets and made sure they fit the one in the parking lot. It was theirs all right. One of the evac crew volunteered to drive it to a disposal facility not far from Sheep’s house. That made room for one more person on the big evac quad and freed up the tow line to take Dec’s quad somewhere else. The storm was letting up now, and petering out with just some distant thunder and cloud to cloud lightning. Res was beginning to come around and was not too thrilled with having a tampon shoved up her nose. “I guess it’s practical but a little embarrassing,” she quipped. “Aw, plenty of boxers have dealt with it. Better than bleeding and hey, I even left the string on for ya so you don’t have to touch it to remove it.”, Dec replied wryly. Res poked at her cheek, which was starting to warm up, and pressed the bag of half melted dumplings to her face. Sheep had changed into some fresh clothes for the journey and loaded the crew’s duffle bag with some belongings. Nobody was sure how long he’d have to be away from home, so he took a little bit of everything with him. Clean socks, underwear, a toothbrush, deodorant, and a little bottle of soy sauce, just in case. “You guys go ahead and board the quad. I’m gonna check in with Mr. Clean real quick.”, Dec said, as he motioned towards the door.

He unmasked the other two men and took pictures of their faces with his comms, for identification. The cleaning crew was already busy, looking for anything unusual and cleaning up blood splatter wherever it had landed. Dec noticed a flat, dime-sized disc on the floor near the couch, and picked it up to get a better look. It was a 9mm pistol round, with a polymer jacket; self-defense ammo. It had obviously been fired from a gun and hit something hard and flat, deforming on impact, then falling to the ground. “Damn, Res, remind me to never piss you off”, Dec thought, as he realized what must have happened.
 
“Mr. Clean, there’s gunshot residue in this area. Be sure and get that too,” he said to the cleaning crew. Dec called his team lead again, tapping the comms to send him the photos of the ‘snatch and grab’ guys for identification, and letting him know that one of the Splicer analysts got a shot off on them before Dec was on scene. “Didn’t do much good, all of the guys were armored up, level 3. Probably just upset whoever got hit, which… well, we’ll debrief soon.”, Dec said. His lead instructed him to evac to location 242 immediately and bring his captive with him. Jackson was still taped to the kitchen chair and still unconscious, so Dec cut him out of the chair, fastened his wrists with the nylon handcuffs, and threw him over his shoulder. Back to the elevator then outside to the quad, where Res and Sheep were waiting, looking like they were half-dead from this ordeal. Sheep protested bringing Jackson aboard. “Dec, do you really have to bring that guy? Why not just ‘have an accident’ and leave him with the disposal team?”, Sheep whined. Dec stopped dead in his tracks, and stared Sheep directly in the face. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”, Dec growled. “This poor bastard probably knows everything we want to know, and he’s lucky to be alive.”, Dec said. Res scoffed, “Well, I wouldn’t miss the guy.”

The quad pilot lifted off after confirming the destination, 242. He found Dec’s toasted quad nearby and maneuvered the tow line onto the vehicle. With Dec’s damaged quad in tow, the pilot hit a button for autonomous flight which told Dec’s quad to power up and maintain altitude. The pilot’s tow quad would do all the maneuvering but it limited their speed.

They were headed towards 242 at a steady pace. It was a safehouse, about 30 miles out, close to the harbor. Everyone sat quietly during the trip, until they heard a “hmmpf mmmpf” from Jackson, who was just waking up and probably in some pain from his shoulder. Nobody even bothered to look in his direction except for Dec, who glanced at him just to make sure he was still immobilized and strapped in. It was a short flight to the harbor, and the pilot tapped a few buttons to bring Dec’s quad to rest so they could land and disembark. “On your feet, now.” Dec commanded Jackson, after unstrapping him from his seat. Jackson complied, and Res kicked him in the shin as she started to exit the quad. “Oops, sorry.”, she said, walking out toward the harbor house. The pilot stayed seated and hit a switch to close the gullwing doors on the tow quad after everyone was out and Dec slapped the roof twice. Dec made a motion with his arms, like turning a huge wrench, and pointed at his quad. The pilot nodded, and both quads ascended together, as he left the site and towed Dec’s quad to the service hangar.

Sheep, Res, Dec, and Jackson all formed an informal single-file line and headed into the safehouse. The door was already unlocked, and it was solid steel, opening inward with a shove. Sheep noticed the thickness and weight of the door, and Dec glanced over his shoulder and said, “you won’t open this door for anybody, for sure. It’s the kind that keeps the bad guys out.”. They wandered into the drab and dusty living room and all picked out a place to sit. Res just wanted to sleep for about a day. “Don’t get too comfortable,” Dec announced, “because when my team lead gets here, we’re moving.”.

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Aftermath (part one)

Dec knew the job wasn’t done. Like any good rescue mission, after the hostages were freed, the next phase began. He checked the snatch team’s bodies for knives to free Sheep and Res from their nylon handcuffs. He removed Sheep’s head covering and told him, “This is gonna hurt. Your beard may suffer a little. Just curl your toes for a second.”, as he ripped the duct tape off in one quick motion. “OOOOWWWwww, jeez,” Sheep yelled after spitting out the gag, “is that your idea of a warning?”

Dec replied, curtly, “yeah, you’re welcome. I roasted a quad to get here. I should still be at the bar throwing back tall boys. So pardon me if I’m rushing things. I’ve been rushing for the past ten minutes. You clowns almost got yourselves killed. We’ll go over the details later. Got a few more tasks.” Dec went to the bathroom and retrieved a cool, wet washcloth, and began cleaning Res up, as best he could. “I warned you Res…I warned you”, Dec murmured as he wiped the blood off her face. “Sheep, make yourself useful. You got any frozen peas or whatever in the fridge?”, he asked. Sheep walked over to the freezer and surveyed the situation. No peas, but a bag of frozen dumplings would have to work. “Here, use this”, Sheep said, tossing the bag to Dec, still on the floor with Res. Dec applied the frozen dumpling bag to Res’s bruised cheek, hoping to bring the swelling down. Nasty hits she must have taken, real tough guys to beat up a girl. “Sheep, close that door and don’t open it for anyone. I don’t care if Jesus Christ himself knocks, you tell him you’re going to hell.”, Dec barked, and Sheep complied. “C’mere, hold this on her cheek. Roll it around a little… if it’s freezing your hand, it’s freezing her face. I need to make sure these guys were alone, and mop up this mess.”, Dec said.

Dec secured Jackson and taped him to a kitchen chair with the crew’s own duct tape. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The magnets that nailed his shoulder did a lot of muscle damage, but he wasn’t bleeding profusely. Dec found a first aid kit in the bathroom, and made an effort to bandage the shoulder. He was lucky Dec didn’t have time to aim better, it could have been much worse than this. He got off lightly and was still passed out from the tackle. Dec wasn’t taking any liberties though, and placed one of the hostage hoods over his head. Done and done. While Jackson and Res were knocked out and Sheep was busy, it was time to check in.

He opened his comms and hit the dialer button three times. A direct call to his team lead. After a few seconds, the lead picked up. “Hello? Dec, what did you do now?”, the Lead said. Dec had a habit of calling only when things had gone sideways, so the Lead always expected the worst. “It’s half of what I did, and half of what some snatch and grab crew was about to do to some of our Splicer analysts. I need a disposal unit and a Mr. Clean sent over to an address. You ready?”, Dec asked, waiting for confirmation before giving his lead the address and coordinates. “Send a heavy quad tow also. I burnt mine on the way over, and this crew’s van needs to relocate. Anything on the wire about this yet?”
“Nope, looks clear so far. Sounds like you stumbled into something not very public. Are the Splicer assets secure?”, the Lead asked. “Yes sir. Probably seen better days but they’re alive and as safe as they can be with me here. We might be on a short leash though… someone is going to expect this crew to check in soon, and I got one left breathing. The other two chose poorly. I got no way to exfil at this point so we’ll need a lift out of here soon. Three of us plus one of this crew.”, Dec said.
 
It felt like wartime, and he was talking like wartime, asking for an evac after the mission was complete. It had been a mission, and a successful one, thanks to 15, Dec’s terminator arm, and a handful of magnets from the Moderns. He knew what the other outcomes would have been. He was more impressed that the Archer unit arrived on schedule and nailed the last target. Their organization was very effective, if it had enough info. Mr. Clean was their code word for a forensic cleanup crew that would show up and make it look like nothing ever happened. They’d even replace the glass in the window. Although, Sheepdog wouldn’t be able to come home for a while, and if anyone captured video of Res at this address, neither could she. “One last request,” Dec added, “we’ll need a secure third-party location for the Splicer assets. They can’t stay here and one of them can’t come back here until we’ve done some homework.”

“Copy that. When evac gets there, tell them you’re going to 242 as the destination. I’ll meet you there. We’ll debrief in an hour”, the Lead replied. Now the wheels were set in motion. Splicer was well equipped for situations like this; it was part and parcel of the security service it sold.

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Cheapdog (part seven)

As the door opened, Dec saw the second man standing in the background, weapon aimed directly at the door. Armed men. Armor. The stakes just went up. Dec thought back to the white van in the parking lot. This was a snatch and grab crew. Their weapons might not even have bullets. At least, not their big guns. Too much noise for a job like this.

 “I dunno, like, 50 credits for the pizza, and then, like, uhmmm, maybe 10 credits for the tip, or like, more if you’re feeling generous,” Dec said. “Hang on,” replied the gruff man, before closing the door and fishing through his pockets for the credits. He came up short, and turned to the other two, showing 40 credits in his outstretched hand for them to chip in. The second man made up the difference, and gruff returned to the door. He unchained the lock, and opened the door further.

As he extended his left hand with the credits, he saw Dec standing there, with no pizza. “What the hell? Who the fuck are you, and why are you soaking wet?”, gruff said. Dec replied, “a neighbor, coming to see what all the noise was. I live downstairs.” “Unlikely,” the gruff man said, “get your ass in here. Hands up, slick.”

Dec obeyed, and placed both hands behind his head as he slowly stepped through the doorway. Three men, all armored, looked to be level 3 soft armor. His sidearm wouldn’t have helped anyway, just pissed them off. Sheep was cuffed and hooded, and Res was laying on the floor with a pretty nasty bruise on one cheek and a bleeding nose. He counted in his head, estimating the time before backup showed up, and he planned to be alive after the cavalry arrived. The gruff man motioned to the second man. “Check him out,” he said, as the second man approached him for a pat down. “Easy big fella,” he said, and after patting him down, finding nothing, he said, “now show me your hands.”

Dec set his jaw, and lowered his hands to his sides, both fists clenched tightly. “I don’t like guns, guys. Especially if they’re pointed at me; really makes me nervous.”, Dec said. “Well, that’s too bad, princess. You came to the wrong place at the wrong time. You’d probably be smart to just, I dunno, turn around and leave. Or, you can stay here and add to the body count. Don’t care either way,” gruff said, “your move.”

“I have a better idea,” Dec replied, “how about you guys put down your guns, and I’ll beat all three of you with my bare hands? Or, I can keep stalling, and more friends will show up, then it’ll be a real party.” Jackson chuckled. A three on one fight? No problem. The second man looked at the gruff man for the next step. It was dawning on the gruff man that this guy wasn’t bluffing. He recognized one of the tattoos, snaking its way up his arm, and he knew only the most elite soldiers were allowed to get that design. Still, they had the advantage. “What could one unarmed vet do against three men?”, he thought, “these guys are usually drunk or pilled up to their eyeballs.”

Gruff motioned to the second man to lay down his weapon, as he grinned and got into a fighting stance. Jackson sat his gun on the couch and looked back at gruff. “One more thing,” gruff said to Dec, “show me your palms.”

Dec extended his left fist, palm up, and opened his hand. Nothing. As Dec extended his right fist, palm down, he squeezed. Hard. A brief, electrostatic crackle filled the air around him as three rare-earth magnets, tucked between his fingers, facing gruff, launched at supersonic speed. Before he could even blink, gruff’s body armor had been pierced on both sides by the magnets, leaving three bleeding vertical slits behind. It was a critical wound, and he knew it. “Kill him,” he coughed, as he clutched at his chest and fell to the floor. Dec dove to the right, spit more magnets into his right hand as he fell, and launched a second barrage at Jackson, blasting him in the right shoulder as Jackson was reaching for the gun on the couch, spinning him around violently. Outside the window, somewhere close, an Archer 1500 small drone platform fired its arrow. Glass from the open window shattered as instantly, the second man caught a 2-inch square railgun slug to the chest which punched straight through his back and chest, dropping him like a bag of potatoes. Dec got up and rushed Jackson, tackling him and knocking him out as he was driven into the wall. Res, dazed from the hit to the face, raised her head a little and said “Dec?”, before falling unconscious.

Dec breathed a sigh of relief. They would have killed her.

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Cheapdog (part six)

As Dec approached the dilapidated building, he was honestly surprised that anyone lived there. All those windows, but not many lights on inside. It was halfway abandoned, or looked that way. He slowed his pace to a jog, briefly examining the parking lot for anything suspicious. Nobody was out milling around in this weather, and the most suspicious vehicle he saw was a windowless, white van. It looked new. He checked his comms again and the single-eyed pyramid icon had a number floating above it. 37. The estimated time for backup was 37 more seconds. He couldn’t wait.

He kicked open the lobby doors, and one fell off its hinges and crashed to the floor as he kept moving. “So much for stealth, but this storm is good cover,” Dec thought, checking the coordinates on the comms again to see if anything had changed. He slapped the elevator button, and to his surprise, the doors snapped open. Nobody was inside the waiting car as he charged in and literally punched the number 5. The doors closed just as quickly as they had opened, with a snap, and he was heading up, fast.

The gruff man retrieved two more items from the bag, then turned to Sheep first. “Say ahh,” he said, before shoving a gag into Sheep’s mouth, securing it with duct tape, and pulling the fabric bag over his head. “Comfy? Good.” Next, he approached Res. “Your turn, darlin’,” he said, but Res, stinging from the backhand, spat in his eye instead. “Fuck you. FUCK YOU!”, she yelled at the gruff man, who was grimacing and wiping the spit from his eye. “Jackson, you got any hard feelings left about this one?”, he said, as he turned to face Jackson. Res felt her heart was going to explode now, it was all fight and no flight, and she had no business provoking them further. She just wanted to be out of this whole mess, yet her body seemed to have a mind of its own. “HELP MEEEE!”, she screamed, before Jackson flipped his rifle around and smashed her in the face with the butt stock. She felt her knees buckle from the impact and collapsed to the floor. This was it.

As Dec exited the elevator, he heard a scream, then a thump. “Goddamn it, am I too late?”, he thought, as he walked quickly but quietly to the source of the sound. Glancing at the comms, he saw a number 23 over the triangle icon. He would have to act alone, and he would have to stall. As he approached the door, the comms flashed, indicating this was the place. He knocked gently. No response. He knocked a little harder, and the men inside all pivoted to face the door. They looked at each other briefly, silently deciding who would answer, before the gruff man called out, “Who’s there?”. Dec replied flatly, “pizza”. Gruff slowly approached the door, which had no peep hole, and put an ear to the door, before saying, “You got the wrong place. We didn’t order pizza.” Jackson and the second man trained their guns on the door, anticipating the next move. “Uhhm, the box says 5223 Skyline Drive, unit 512? I’m pretty sure this is yours,” Dec said, “because it’s…like…the only address like this.”

The gruff man was starting to get annoyed. If it was a pizza man, he wasn’t going away. At least, not without a tip. He removed his ballistic mask, laid his weapon behind the door, and unlocked the door, except for a little, weak safety chain. He turned to the others, making a shhh motion with one finger over his lips. He cracked the door open a few inches, the length of the chain, and looked through the gap. “Listen, buddy, I’m telling ya, we didn’t order a pizza. What do you want, money? If it’ll make you go away, I’ll give you a few credits. What’s the total?”, he said.

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Cheapdog (part five)

There was plenty of tension in the air, and Sheep had never been so nervous in his life. They were buying the ruse, but for how long? He had to double-down. “I’ll consider disarming it when I can relax again, and I can’t relax with you goons here. Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”, barked Sheepdog. The gruff man spoke up again; he must have been the leader. “Hey, hey… no reason to be nervous here. We’re all disarmed. A client just needed some answers, and it was suggested that you may not want to give those answers so easily to strangers. We have our own questions. Let’s be civilized here. No. Rash. Moves.”.

They were buying the act. Especially the team lead. His voice had the crust of war and Sheep imagined that he had actually seen explosions like the one he was threatening, and didn’t want to repeat that, ever. He replied, “Vague lies. I want a name.” “Let’s just call him, T-Rex. That’s all we know. You see, you don’t exactly hire a team like this with a listed name. The order goes in, the target is loaded, credits transfer, we show up,” said the gruff man, in a matter-of-fact way. “This ain’t personal, man.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” Sheep said, “and I’m getting tired of holding this button down.” A few drops of sweat were forming on his brow, and his hand was getting visibly fatigued, shaking a little while he held the joystick button. The gruff man replied again. “Listen, we’re tired of being here too. We were paid to get some info about some kind of video footage. They said you saw something that you weren’t supposed to see. I guess the guy hiding in that footage didn’t appreciate you snooping around. We weren’t gonna hurt you. Not much. Just enough to extract that information, and discourage you from snooping around.”

Res was still balled up behind the couch, desperately thinking of a way out of this. She could take out one, maybe two of these guys, but only if they were off-guard and slower than her. They had the advantage of seeing the room; she could only imagine who was where; there wasn’t even a mirror she could look at from her location. Sheep couldn’t keep this up all night. The longer this went on, the less they would believe him, even though right now, he had them singing like birds.

Dec believed in himself. He never doubted for a second that he could outrun his own estimate. The device estimated he was 60 seconds from the target, and closing fast. Definitely a setback, but not enough time to think about what he was running into. The target looked like a multi-residential unit, and the coordinates suggested she was on the 5th floor. Elevator or stairs? It was a coin-toss, he would decide on arrival. He was also mostly disarmed, which might be a problem, although how big of a problem would be determined on site. As he chugged along, he only seemed to run faster; he felt exhilarated going all out, despite getting soaked from the relentless downpour. Memories of running towards danger during the war mingled in his head. He was born for situations like this; charging headlong into danger, not knowing the odds. Hang in there, Res. I’m coming.

The sweating wasn’t isolated to Sheep’s brow. His palms and everything else were getting involved. Nervous response, nothing he could do to stop it. The gruff man said, “I think we’ve played fair here. You know who sent us and what we want. How about you relax a little. We can all relax now. Nobody has to die.” As the word DIE hung in the air, suddenly, Sheep lost his grip on the joystick. It plummeted to the floor, along with the rest of the cord attached to it, including the end that plugged in to the Atari. Two of the men immediately squatted and covered their ears, bracing for the massive explosion, convinced that the dead man’s switch was real. The gruff man didn’t move an inch. “I fuckin knew it. You were bluffing the whole time. Boys, arm up!”, he yelled, and you could hear the vengeance in his voice. However this was going to go, things had escalated now. The other two men grabbed their guns by the door and drew a bead on Sheep. “Jackson, check the other rooms,” he ordered, and Jackson began searching the rest of the place. Sheep looked defeated and threw both hands in the air as he was ordered to his knees.

The gruff man stepped around behind him and forcefully grabbed one arm before zipping half of a plastic cuff around his wrist, yanking his other arm down to apply the second. “Now we’re gonna find out how much you know, after we take a little trip together,” he said. Jackson announced the other rooms were clear, but upon returning to the living room, he spotted Res crouched behind the couch. “Well ain’t that sweet, he’s got company. Stand up and identify yourself,” Jackson commanded her. More out of panic than anything else, Res howled, drew her firearm and got one shot off on Jackson as she stood up. It hit him square in the chest, and Jackson let out a quiet oof as the bullet hit his armor, flattened out, and fell to the floor. “She’s a spicy one,” said the second man, “now drop your little toy there, lady.”

Res did as he said, there was no point in resisting any further. She was lucky to be alive at that point, and unlike Sheep, she didn’t plan to gamble anymore. Her comms buzzed again, pointlessly. It was a hopeless situation for her and Sheep. The second man approached her and did a quick pat down, making sure she didn’t have any more surprises for them. Jackson grunted, “I think you might have left a bruise. Here, let’s trade.” He backhanded her across the cheek, the reinforced Kevlar knuckles of his gloves making contact with her cheekbone. She winced in pain. The gruff man strolled over to Res with another set of plastic cuffs. “You know the drill. Let’s go easy.” Res relented and slowly placed her wrists together behind her back. It was over. She and Sheep were leaving with these guys whether they liked it or not. The gruff man retrieved his gun and two head covers from his duffle bag. He was taking them away hostage-style. Jackson and the second man had their weapons aimed at Sheep and Res.

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Cheapdog (part four)

Sheep quickly searched the room for anything that looked even remotely like a dead-man’s switch. He didn’t have any old-fashioned remote controls anywhere; everything was voice command now. But he did have something his grandfather once owned that should fool them. He dashed to his bedroom closet and yanked out his gambit. An artifact from a simpler time. An Atari 2600 joystick, with a cord and a single red button. This could work. He quickly stuffed the excess wire up his sleeve and zipped his jacket shut before shuffling back to the front door.

“Ok, this is it. Nobody shoots. We’re going to talk,” Sheep announced, before unlocking the door and slowly turning the handle. Res ducked down and made herself as small as possible, clasping her mouth with one hand, in case any sound tried to escape. She was armed, but outnumbered, and scared out of her mind. Staying hidden was her best defense.

The men in the hallway trained their guns on the center of the door as the handle turned and it swung open very slowly. The lights were on inside, and before them stood Sheepdog, with the detonator in his right hand. It was black and compact, with an obvious trigger, which his thumb was covering. “Easy now, nobody has to get hurt, Sheep,” said the gruff man, who sounded like he smoked cigars for a living. “Everyone, drop your weapons, and
step in, single-file. If anyone is left in the hall, come in NOW or get merked with all your buddies here,” Sheep ordered. “Holy shit, he just might pull this off,” Res thought, after hearing the situation change. Exchanging glances, the men sat their guns down just inside the doorway and stepped back slowly before forming a line and marching in, closing the door behind them.

“Is that everyone? Don’t fuck with me!“, Sheep said. He could see their eyes darting around behind the black ballistic masks they were wearing to cover their faces. The tough guy act was working, the men were scared shitless. This was supposed to be a snatch and snitch mission, intel-gathering; nobody was prepared to deal with a suicide bomber. “Yep, just
us three,” said the gruff voice. He was a little taller than the other two. “So what’s say you, I dunno, disarm that thing and we can talk? You seem awful tense.”



The quad was losing speed. No amount of pounding on the dash would fix anything right now, but out of frustration, Dec pounded on the dash anyway. Rotor 4 had stopped smoking, and it was nearly white hot now. The rest of the oil must have cooked out of the bearing. At any moment, it was giving up. He did some quick math in his head. At the best velocity, he was ten seconds out. At this velocity, with rotor 4 ready to seize, he’d be on
foot, running full speed through the mud towards the destination. This would cost him a few minutes, although the beer in his gut was telling him he could do better, and his adrenaline agreed.


Ffffffffiiiiizzzzzt. CLONK. Alarms sounded and lights flashed in the quad. “Warning, rotor 4, offline. Emergency landing sequence commencing. Remain seated for your safety,” the onboard computer blared over the sound system. Well, shit. He was about to land, and at this point, he didn’t care if the rest of the quad burst into flames. It could burn behind him as he ran. He had to keep making forward progress. The lasers beneath the quad measured out a safe landing zone, then all 3 rotors froze, forcing an instant descent arc. About 3 meters from the ground, they fired back up at full speed, creating a cushion of air to break the fall, before spinning to a complete stop. The canopy ejected, and Dec was out, sprinting to the destination. “This might be a one-man job,” Dec thought, “but just in case, I’m calling in support”. He pulled out his communicator, tapped the destination, and dragged an icon of an eye floating above a pyramid to the location, without breaking stride. Lightning branched across the clouds overhead, and a hard rain pelted him in the face ceaselessly. He felt the thunder in his chest.

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Cheapdog (part three)

Dec was a few beers deep at the Vets table in Meatspace, across town. He suddenly got a message on his comms. Given the hour, and his present company, there was only maybe one person it could be. He checked it.

Dec, it’s 15. Res is in big trouble. She needs your help, now. I’ve sent her coordinates. Hurry.


What followed were GPS coordinates that were extremely specific. Dec hesitated for a second. Genesis 15 was wild, but he wasn’t a liar. “Gotta go play the hero, boys,” Dec said as he stood up and patted his hip. Nothing was there. Either he went to Res’ place unarmed or he left his weapon at her place. He didn’t like those odds; he didn’t know anything about the situation. “Sharp, you armed?”, he asked one of the other vets. “No sir, at least not in here. You know my temper,” Sharp replied, turning back to his beer. “Guess I’m going to have to improvise, if I’m not too late,” Dec thought, as he made a quick visit to some friends before he sprinted to his quadcopter in the rain, which was blowing slightly sideways as it fell.

He jumped in, got strapped in, and tapped his communicator against the dash to transfer the coordinates to the quad’s navigation. Multiple routes were available, and with a few more taps, an emergency beeline route was chosen and he lifted off. He enabled race/crisis mode. “This is stupid,” Dec muttered as the copter flew about 10% beyond its design parameters, heavy raindrops battering the windshield canopy.

The banging at the door continued. “Sheepdog! Open up! You’re only making this worse for everyone. You open the door now, we can talk!”, said the outsider. Res, still peeking from behind the couch, slowly shook her head no. Sheepdog looked like the kind of guy that would fold under this kind of pressure. He was a no-friction kind of guy, and this was textbook friction. Sheep turned his head and stared at the door with his mouth beginning to open. “No Sheep, don’t!”, Res hissed, just as Sheepdog uttered a single, loud word at the door. “Stop!”. “Stop? Is he fucking crazy? When has that ever worked?”, she thought. The banging stopped, and the doorknob quit moving. From the hall, the voice said, “What did you say?”.

Dec was pushing the quad hard. He could feel a rolling vibration traveling through the quad from the front to the rear, suggesting the airframe was getting fatigued. One of the drawbacks of choosing the hot rod version instead of the luxury model, but right then, he needed more speed. The problem with batteries was always weight. You could run a gasoline engine low and the vehicle got lighter as you approached empty. A near-empty battery weighed the exact same as a fully-charged one; heavy. Looking around the interior, the heaviest thing he could jettison was the passenger seat. “Oh well,” Dec sighed, “guess I never used it anyway.” He jammed his hand under the seat and pulled up until the seat started tearing away from the carbon fiber floorpan. He wrenched it loose, and after pulling the emergency canopy open lever, chucked it out and overboard. He was gaining on the location, 2 minutes out.

Res was panicked. Whoever was outside, they were definitely coming in now. Sheepdog just sealed their fate. He stood up and tiptoed to the door. “I said stop. There are lots of bombs in here, and I’m holding a dead-man’s switch. If I drop it, this whole block goes up in flames.” Sheep sounded dead serious; it was one hell of a bluff.

There was some muffled discussion outside. The strangers were discussing their options. “They didn’t say anything about bombs,” one said. “They don’t pay me enough for this kind of shit”, another said. A gruffer voice added, “ahh he’s bluffing. There’s no intel on this guy that suggests he’s anything more than a garden-variety nerd.” Finally, the leader spoke up. “Bull-fuckin-shit, Sheepdog. We’re calling your bluff. Open this door and show us the device. We don’t want to hurt you, so don’t make us hurt you.” They were dressed head to toe in level 3 soft body armor, so anything out of a handgun would thump, but none of them would die. They could afford to play this out.

Back in the quad, Dec was still en route. Less than a minute to target, and he still didn’t know what he was rushing into. It could just as easily have been a prank by 15. He knew 15 talked to Res though, and that was the only proof he needed to justify this high effort rescue. The quad’s vibration had turned into a violent cowl shake and it wasn’t going away. As Dec surveyed the interior, a glowing red chunk of metal caught his attention. Blade number 4, on the right rear, was overheating. He had been meaning to fix that. Too late now. The quad was doomed. “At least it isn’t smoking,” he thought, before it started smoking. Bearing seizure was imminent, and though the quad was safe enough on 3 engines to land, it sure as hell wouldn’t do anything fast. 30 seconds to target…at the current, unsustainable velocity.

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Cheapdog (part one)

Sheepdog spent a little time cleaning up his place before Res was due to arrive. It wasn’t dirty, per se, but it hadn’t seen female company for quite some time. Sheep was too shy, too introverted, to get serious about pursuing the opposite sex, but he didn’t grow up in a jail cell. He knew a thing or two about what women expected in his place. Toilet seat down, with a clean surface. Replaced the TP roll. Paper facing out or behind? Out. Discarded a few little pieces of trash here and there, and polished the bathroom mirror briefly, which had a few specks of toothpaste scattered near the bottom. Next, he addressed the living room, where he spent a few minutes picking up discarded jackets and t-shirts that he intended to either fold or hang up anyway. What else. The kitchen? A quick once-over and everything was in order. This wasn’t a date, he had to keep reminding himself, he just wanted to make it presentable to company.

Just as the grandfather clock began pounding out the eight chimes for 8pm, there was a knock at the door. “Open up, it’s the police!”, Res yelled from the hallway outside. Sheep chuckled and let her in. “Not so loud Res, you’ll freak out the neighbors,” Sheep scolded her playfully as she plopped down on the couch. Sheep approached her and sat in his favorite recliner opposite of the couch, kicking the lever down so it would recline. “Just getting comfortable,” he said, “because I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

Res stared at Sheep directly for a few moments, working out a witty retort, but nothing was there. She grinned and looked around the room. “You know, I’m not here often, but you seem to be pretty decent at keeping the place tidy. Ugh, I need to use the ladies’ room, be right back.” With that, Res popped up and ducked into the restroom. Sheep knew her all too well, mostly. He mindlessly thumbed the communicator in his pocket for a few minutes until he heard the sink faucet run then turn off. He turned to see Res exit the bathroom, cross the living room, and plop back down on the couch.

“You put the TP roll on backwards. If you had a cat, you’d walk in with a pile of paper on the floor and an empty roll,” Res said with a quick wink, “but I don’t see any cats around here, so you’re good. Funny how life has these little coin tosses that don’t usually make any difference one way or the other.” Sheep wasn’t in any hurry but he was kind of wanting her to get to the point. She was stalling. He said, “you can never guess what your guests will prefer. For me, I usually don’t even snap it into the roller holder. I don’t see the point. But I knew you’d have a preference. Speaking of preferences, have you ever thought about how towels and wash cloths should be folded? It’s an interesting topic, believe it or not. Everyone has their method, and they got it from their parents or siblings, and it’s their way. It seems really trivial, but people are genuinely annoyed when it’s done another way. It’s just a few bits of fabric that just have to fit into a certain space and I figure there are probably… well anyway, maybe it’s not that interesting to anyone else.” Sheep was losing his audience, but he knew when to stop. This was her turn. “Yeah, I’m sure there’s a manual for folding bathroom towels, with US GOVT printed across the top along with a document serial number,” Res said sarcastically. She paused and they both laughed at the absurdity of the topic, which, along with the timing, helped break the tension.

“Sheep, you and I have known each other for ages. We have usually been back-to-back, splicing narratives together, reviewing footage, solving mysteries and triggering actions. I’d say we’re good at our jobs. But,” and she paused to make bookend shapes with her hands, “I think you’ve locked on to something that is more dangerous than you recognize. You picked up on the scent and, like a bloodhound, you’ve actually made some progress sniffing out the source. Yes, I’m talking about the ghost footage.”

Sheep looked at her bleakly, feeling the mood in the room change. It felt like getting laid off, and she was the manager who, unfortunately, had to deliver the bad news. Yet, not before his curiosity was answered. “Res, this almost sounds practiced. You could go on and give me the warning, but let’s fill in some blanks here first. Number one, what’s driving this on your end?”, Sheep asked.

“Let’s just say,” Res said, “there are layers to the organization that aren’t obvious. We have our manager and he has his manager and all the way up, to infinity. There are also people that don’t get a Splicer paycheck like we do, but they still get paid. Off the books, mostly. Who do you think watches us, our manager? He’s just a necessary rung on the ladder. We don’t even need him, honestly. Due to the nature of our function at the company, Splicer can’t really afford to trust secrets and the level of things we access to simple middle managers. There’s another group for that. One of those group members has met with me, twice, and I don’t think he wants to meet with you.”

Sheep enjoyed the candor, the kind of real talk you can only get from coworkers that aren’t eating corporate soup for lunch and regurgitating talking points and vague hearsay which would be safe during testimony. This was the straight dope. She wasn’t sugar coating the message.

“So, am I to understand that this special team, that we knew nothing about before, whose job it is to watch the ASE’s for anything unusual, sent an agent to contact you in person, deliver a warning, and what…warn you again?”, Sheep queried. “If I didn’t know any better, I would expect these to be the rambling delusions of a psycho. Although, I do know better, so I believe you so far. What about the second meeting, though, if the first was a warning?”

“Well,” Res began, as she shifted on the couch, “yeah. It was another warning.” Res was carefully dancing around the whole ‘Dec came over and made me breakfast’ part. “Same agent. He visited me at home, very politely. We had a few drinks and he delivered the message as clearly as possible. He told me, and you, to stop pursuing this ghost. I don’t know what the big deal is, but it is a big deal, that’s for sure. It was also the last warning,” and Res made the shape of an O with one hand as she said, “we have zero warnings remaining. Next, there will be action. When, where, what type, none of that was explained. You know what Splicer is capable of, mostly. I don’t want to be an enemy of this outfit, if I can avoid it. I suggest you do the same.”

“Does Beat know anything about this?”, Sheep asked hopefully. “No, he hasn’t been mentioned. He’s not nearly as close to this thing as we are. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s as far away as we should be. The less we all know, the better. Whatever is missing from that footage needs to stay missing, and I can’t explain it any better than that, Sheep.” Res was ready to rest her case but she saw the wheels turning behind Sheep’s eyes. He was looking for an angle, he was curious. This had been his pet for a while. Suddenly, he kicked the recliner lever back up, so the chair back sat him straight up, and he leaned forward while staring at Res.

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Optical Camouflage

“Why didn’t I think of this?” Sheepdog thought. It seemed so obvious now. The man in the suit, the Relaxed Man, hiding in plain sight. He was right there, but at the same time, on camera, he wasn’t. Did he really crack the code? Was he the man missing from the footage? He had to be, the evidence was plain, but was it always him? Could there be more people out there, among the billions, sneaking past surveillance without a care in the world? The implications were staggering. Every kind of crime, unrecorded, every devious act, unknown to the global surveillance apparatus that paid Sheepdog’s salary. This was a huge threat to Splicer, and he was face to face with it. Suddenly, his comms buzzed briefly. Checking it, a single message, from Res.


You gotta drop the bone, Sheep. You know which one.

Her tone had changed. She seemed too abrupt, too succinct. Something had her scared. He knew Res wasn’t easily spooked, so something must have happened to really rattle her cage. He needed to know more, much more, about, well… everything. He sent a reply.



Let’s meet up and discuss this bone. I don’t know how close we are to it.



He sent it but instantly regretted it. He should have just said OK and dropped the whole thing, but he pushed his luck. He had too many concerns to just turn it loose and forget it. He stared blankly at the comms screen, waiting for Res to reply with a time, or a place, or anything. After a few minutes, a message arrived.



Too close. I’ll meet you at your place, tonight.



His fears were instantly confirmed. Res was shaken, and it made Sheep even more nervous. Would it even be her, coming to visit tonight? It could be some bogeyman from Splicer who he had never seen before, spoofing her comms. They had the tech. It wasn’t her usual style to set someone up, but he would feel a little better at least confirming it was Res on the other end. He rolled the dice and sent an obvious trap message.

My usual place or my other place?

Once again, his comms buzzed as he received her reply, a few seconds later. Fingers crossed, he glanced at the screen.


I know you only have one place, Cheapdog. 8pm. Don’t need to clean up for me.


With that single nickname, Sheep breathed a sigh of relief. It was only known by a handful of people, and one of those people was definitely Res, because she gave him that name, ages ago. She must have picked up on the trap and knew this was some kind of call-and-response authentication scenario.

“The eagle flies at midnight.” “I’m bringing salmon to the picnic.”