Primeval fic: The Levels Beneath - Part 1
Title: The Levels Beneath - Part 1
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~4530 words out of 7858
Characters: Danny Quinn, Connor Temple, Abby Maitland, James Lester, Tom Ryan, OCs.
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N: For my Primeval Bingo round 8 card prompt: Film Noir. Thanks go to Fififolle for the beta, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Warnings: OC Death and slavery.
Part 2
Glossary
ARCs - Artificials, Replicants and Chimeras
Artificials - Genetically-altered and lab-created humans.
Biopunk - A sub genre of cyberpunk, but rather than cybernetics uses biological enhancements.
Bio-synth - Biological Synthesised. Any biological organisms bred and/or modified to perform a variety of technological functions, e.g. communicators, pistols, the tubes or ARCs, and 'programmed' to function for a single or limited number of owners.
Chimeras - Lab-created human-animal hybrids.
Coracrete - Material used in buildings. It is genetically-modified coral, which once grown to requirements, dies and becomes harder. Living Coracrete is red, orange, yellow or green. Dead Coracrete is white to start with, greying and crumbling with age.
CRA - Corporate Regulatory Authority - corporate watchdog.
Crazies - Nickname for the CRA by those who consider them crazy for thinking they can regulate the corporations.
Frank - Short for Frankenstein - semi-derogatory term for an Artificial.
Fringer - People who minimise their involvement with government/corporations. Socially marginalised and often involved in informal (grey and black) markets.
Organ-leggers - Criminals who kill others for spare parts.
Replicants - Clones.
Snout - (Police) Informant
SOCA - Serious and Organised Crime Agency
Part 2
Whoever you are, you bloody crazies, this is my story and how I came to be involved in things which changed my world forever. Not that I realised it would when I took the job on. Do I regret what happened? Would I change anything? Some, as you'll find out, but on the whole, I wouldn't change a thing. Anyway, listen to my story and judge for yourself.
Before I start my tale, I better introduce myself. My name is Quinn, Danny Quinn, and I'm a private eye hanging my shingle out in the London conurbation, the monster which swallowed all in its path without caring about who it hurt. All in the name of progress. Anyway, you're not interested in a history lesson, you want to know about what happened and why you're listening to this recording.
But first, a bit of background, you can fast forward if you want, but I'd listen so you know where I'm coming from. I live and work out of a dingy apartment in the level of the city known as 'The Shadowlands', I'm sure you know it is the lowest level of the city which still receives any natural light. Not that I was in my cramped apartment when my story starts, no, I was living in an even shittier place in 'The Gloom'. Not of my own free will but, well, to cut a long story short - and to preserve my client confidentiality - just know that I'd crossed paths with our great city's upstanding police department and they hadn't liked it. I agreed to go undercover for the Serious and Organised Crime Agency aka SOCA. Not my favourite people but it was that or face time in the cubes. Apparently, I look just like a Fringer and they figured I wouldn't look suspicious in 'The Gloom'. I know the real reason though, they weren't willing to risk a copper's life down here. Mine, on the other hand... still they had promised to wipe my slate clean and the pay wasn't shit.
For those who don't know - and since I don't know if you do, I'll tell you anyway - there are differences between 'The Shadowlands' and 'The Gloom', but they aren't the ones the authorities claim. Well, apart from the lack of tubes and cleaners and most importantly, the sun. I might only see it a handful of times a year in 'The Shadowlands' but that was more than a Gloomer would see it in their entire lives. Down in 'The Gloom', the only light comes from a variety of bio-synth mosses and fungi which cling to every crack and angle on the moisture-slick crumbling bases of the Coracrete towers.
No, the real differences were a surprise to me, I believed the propaganda the authorities churned out about 'The Gloom', that it was a lawless place where the strong preyed on the weak, that the only food they had was stolen from Shadowlanders or things no sane person would eat. It was all a lie. Up in 'The Shadowlands' I lived - as I expect you still do - on a diet of vat-bred algae shaped and flavoured, according to the advertising, to resemble real food. The adverts actually claimed it was better than the real thing, but, as I said, it was a lie. Admittedly I felt rough the first week I was in 'The Gloom', but that was from the additives the corps put into their slop to make everyone who eats it crave more of it, not that us poor saps realise that. After that first week though, my eyes were opened to a whole new world of real food. I love the food down here, my favourite is a recipe from an old guy by the name of Gideon - Golden Fungus steak served with red-eye moss and potatoes, all washed down with Matthew's Delight Ale - you should try it.
The other difference which surprised me was that the Gloomers are a community. My fellow Shadowlanders wouldn't lift a hand to help anyone else, even their neighbours, being too busy trying to survive, to make the next rent payment and buy enough food to fill their bellies. Gloomers, on the whole, not only know their neighbours' names but they look out for them. Fuck, if not for that, I doubt I would have got through my first week in 'The Gloom', chucking up my guts as the additives purged from my body.
Yep, you heard right. Gloomers aka Fringers, actually care about each other. That is the other lie the authorities tell about 'The Gloom'. SOCA might have sent me undercover in one of the Fringer communities which claim 'The Gloom' as their own, but they are nothing like I was led to believe and what I expect you believe. Despite all the propaganda, Fringers are not all criminals, although many wish to avoid the attention of the authorities in their lives - which makes them criminals in the eyes of the authorities, including you crazies. Others are just those who have fallen through the gaping cracks in an inadequate social system that the corporates won't pay for and which the government can't afford. 'The Gloom' is the home to the rebels, the poor, the jobless and the ill, as well as to the actual criminals the authorities claim are its only inhabitants. It is home to the forgotten and to those who wish to be forgotten and... I think, to me. After living here, I believe I understand why people live down here and I wonder if I will stay once this job is completed.
Anyway, I'm probably boring you crazies by now, so I'll continue with my story. I had slipped and slid my way down the disused tunnels and layers of slime into 'The Gloom', finding myself only a short distance - although a long walk - from the Fringer community that SOCA suspected of harbouring their target. I was cautious as I reached the edge of the community of, according to the sign, 'Gallow's Drop', having heard how suspicions the Fringers were of outsiders - never knowing if strangers were thieves after their scant possessions, killers or even cops. No, it was a shock when I walked in and was cautiously welcomed, offered a bowl of mushroom soup and directed to a bunk I could call my own. Oh, I'm not saying they welcomed me with open arms, after all, I could have been a thief, killer or cop, but they didn't turn me away or try to kill me in my sleep, which is what the authorities would have you believe.
What did take me several months was earning the trust of the shadowy, criminal elements of Gallow's Deep, obviously a more suspicious lot than the typical Fringers. No, the criminally-inclined don't trust easily but after almost four months I finally felt I had made some headway, even if I had almost given up hope of finding anything of interest for SOCA. You might be wondering why I was still working for them considering I had decided to stay in Gallow's Drop, but I haven't told you what they'd sent me here for yet and then you'll understand... although since you're part of the authorities, you probably won't care, after all, what's one less Fringer, right?
OK, OK, I'll tell them, assuming I haven't pissed them off and they're still listening. Ouch. I'm telling them, OK?
Right, where was I? Oh, yeah. It took time, but I had finally heard a whisper. One which spoke of healthy Fringers turning up dead and missing a number of vital organs. A whisper which spoke of organ-leggers killing humans and harvesting their organs for profit. Yep, that is why I stayed, scum like that needs to be put down and if it means working for the bloody SOCA - or even you crazies - I'll do it.
I will admit the mere thought of organ-legging made me shiver, why would anyone want a human organ? Bio-synth organs were easier to obtain - even for Gloomers, on the black market, natch - and were far safer... except I knew why. Some people hated the thought of having anything 'unnatural' inside them, believing it would make them less human, that it would make them little better than one of their hated ARCs. As if being party to the murder and theft of another human's organs made them anything but monsters.
Anyway, every whisper I heard, every clue I uncovered, led me to one place - a run-down and falling down pub-cum-club situated towards the edge of Gallow's Drop. The entrance was a gaping hole sliced into the grey, crumbling Coracrete wall, above which was a sign etched in acid and filled with luminescence moss. The moss needed a trim and if I hadn't already known the name of the place, I doubt I would have guessed the sign should have read 'The Broken Web'.
I stepped inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the smoky haze within, the gloom barely broken by the few patches of moss which clung to the walls and ceiling. I'd been making myself a regular for the last few months and was on nodding acquaintance with several other Fringers who frequented the place. I headed towards the fake wood bar and ordered beer, not as good as Matthew's Delight but still a damn sight better than what passed for beer up in 'The Shadowlands'. I had just lifted it when I felt a hand on my arm and I spun, ready to defend myself but not willing to start a fight without cause, even if I had earned myself a reputation as reckless and quick with my fists. I quickly recognised my assailant and hissed at him, “Bloody hell, Corby, I could have decked you.”
Corby ignored my comment, instead showing off the gaps in his teeth as he cried, “Danny-boy here can be my second.”
“Second for what?” I asked, wondering if it was for what passed as a duel down here while doing my best not to recoil as his rancid breath battered at my face.
“Baiting.” Corby grinned. “Danny-boy can cover my bet.”
Bloody hell, I wasn't sure what was worse. Baiting was illegal, even in the rather free-wheeling atmosphere of Gallow's Drop it was done behind closed doors and conducted with caution, for not all Gloomers approved of it. I had to wonder exactly how I was going to cover Corby's bet, I - like the Fringer I was pretending to be - didn't have many creds to my name. Although he could be referring to the way I'd taken down those two raged-out-of-their-so-called-minds Rage addicts who'd tried to shake me down for the little I did have. I also couldn't help worry if Corby's offer meant I'd been accepted by the criminally-inclined Fringers or if they'd figured out that I was a snout. Fuck it! I really didn't want to watch the baiting, but I knew this might be my only chance to find out the information I - and SOCA - was looking for.
I'm not going to go into detail about the baiting, you don't need to know about it to understand my story, so let me just say it was as terrible as I'd always imagined and as you've probably heard. Corby had somehow obtained an advertising hoarding-beast as his fighter. It was greying with age and I had no doubt it had been discarded by its original owner when its usefulness had ended, although whether its hide had been scarred in fights for the prime advertising spots or in previous baiting matches, I didn't know and could hardly ask. Its opponent was another similar bio-synth - fuck knows how the baiters came by two such beasts - and with two such well-matched opponents, the betting was fierce. I won't go into detail except to say the fight was vicious and brutal, with the watching crowd baying for blood and urging their favourite on as what passed for currency in Gallow's Drop was bet on which would eventually win. The fight finally ended with a sound which had me swallowing bile and the loser slinking away to nurse its wounds, while the victor - if you could call it that - was apparently happy to munch on the tentacle it had ripped from its opponent.
Only two good things came out of that night. One was that Corby's beast won, good news not so much for my paltry winnings but for the fact I didn't owe anyone anything I probably wouldn't want to pay. The second was the conversation I partly overheard, enough of it, at least, to know it might be a lead to the organ-leggers. I knew my handler would call me impulsive and a maverick - he had every time we'd talked so far - but if I wanted to get SOCA off my back, I needed to check out the information first, to make sure it was a solid lead.
***
Not that I checked out the lead immediately, even I'm not that impulsive... OK, not all the time. No, I returned to my apartment to pick up what I'd need for a quick and hopefully quiet - even though I knew better than that - look at the location I'd heard mentioned, an old abandoned cannery from before the sprawl had taken over this part of the country. I had a quick shower - one good thing about all the moisture down here, there was never a lack of water - and changed my clothes to dark and nondescript. I was heading out when I paused with my hand on the door handle, my gaze flickering towards the concealed section I had made in the bottom of my battered cupboard. Within it lay my SOCA sanctioned comm-unit and my absolutely unsanctioned pistol, Molly. Both would mark me as a non-Fringer, but could I risk encountering the organ-leggers armed with only a blade for protection? Fuck it! I knew I'd never talk my way out if I was caught with the comm-unit, Molly … she might be a DNA-coded bio-synth pistol but she would be easier to explain. Half the clientèle at 'The Broken Web' thought I was some sort of mercenary, down on his luck and hiding from someone. I was sure I could spin that to the organ-leggers if I had too, that I was just a merc for hire, looking for my next pay day and not bothered by what it might involve. That might just work and I knew I'd feel a fucking lot safer with Molly than without her.
Which just left one problem, I hadn't spent much time with either bio-synth and knew I'd have to be cautious. Yep, they might have gone feral on me and forgotten I was their master. I don't know if you've ever seen what happens when someone picks up a bio-synth coded for someone else? It isn't pretty, the smell of burnt flesh had stayed with me for days and it had taken over a month before I could even consider eating meat, even if it had just been meat-shaped and flavoured algae.
I smiled as I recalled the packet of bio-synth formula I had stashed in a drawer, that would put my bio-synths in a good mood and a few hours spent bonding with them should be long enough to ensure they'd obey me. I glanced out my grimy window and sighed, leaving now or in a few hours wouldn't make much of a difference to me, I could only hope it wouldn't make a difference to anyone else. I shook my head, it was time to make plans - now that would shock my handler - not to mention eating and I supposed I should inform my handler I had new information, although for that, I needed my comm-unit to like me rather than try to electrocute me.
I cooked - yep, I actually cooked - a quick stew of various fungus and even a little rat meat I'd bartered for. I can see you turning your noses up at the mention of rat, but they were far healthier to eat than... I don't know... maybe 'Beef Stew - as good as the moo thing' used to be my favourite up in 'The Shadowlands' before I realised real food tasted better. When it was ready I took my meal, the feeding formula and my two bio-synths to my ratty sofa. I divided my time between eating my stew and feeding them, petting and stroking them when I felt they were too busy eating to bother shocking me. Once we'd all eaten our fill, I just took the time to sit with them in the gloom and listen to my contented bio-synths purr. I knew I had re-bonded with them when Molly crawled into my lap for a cuddle and the comm-unit wrapped around my arm, just as keen for attention. Assuming I made it back, I vowed to spend more time with them for they had obviously missed the fuss.
Which reminded me, I needed to go over my options and I could see only one - if I spent time asking questions, either they'd shut up and move shop elsewhere or I'd end up dead - so I decided to go in carefully but blind. I scratched the comm-unit before placing a call to my handler, not surprised in the slightest when he called me several names which you really don't need to hear. Once he'd stopped ranting, I told him I'd call him back with any progress and tucked the comm-unit up with a portion of leftover stew. Molly, however, I holstered under my jacket, hearing her purr contentedly as she felt my comforting warmth.
I checked nothing was out of place before firmly closing my door and strolled down the surprisingly tidy hallway - considering no cleaner slithered about collecting rubbish down here in Gallow's Drop. I headed towards the entrance to my block as if I was off to one of the pubs, before I considered for two seconds about slipping into a handy shadow to see if anyone had followed me. Not that it took me that long to dismiss the idea, if anyone noticed they'd know I was up to something.
Instead I set out for the cannery just to the north of Gallow's Drop, not that I took the direct route, even if I had wanted to. The narrow walkways left between the bases of the Coracrete towers disappeared from time to time when the bases merged, although in a few places, someone had hacked through the crumbling walls to form tunnels linking the various areas of Gallow's Drop together.
I took a left when a right would have led me straight to the cannery and looked about for a suitable spot to observed them from while I decided how to search the building. No matter how much my handler might think I was impulsive, I wasn't a fool, besides, checking them out like this was what any mercenary worth his salt would do.
It didn't take me long to find a suitable spot to conceal myself in and made myself comfortable, sharing a sliver of Greenhorn mushroom with Molly as I waited. The area looked suspiciously well-travelled for somewhere this close to the outskirts of a Fringer community and that sent all of my well-honed instincts tingling. Fringer groups tended to keep to themselves, with at least several miles of rubble and near uninhabited ruins between each community. Not a surprise considering each community had its own ideology and each was in competition for the scant resources which 'The Gloom' still possessed.
I tensed when I heard a noise, my hand reaching for the grip of my pistol and I let out a quiet hiss when I felt Molly pierce my wrist with her identification-spine. I held my breath for a moment and hoped I had spent enough time with her for our bond to have reformed, otherwise things could get very painful for me.
A movement to my right drew my attention, although not all of it for I was alert for any ambush - considering who I was hunting, distraction was a good way to die. I frowned when a young woman dressed in dirty, tattered and torn overalls darted out from between two towers. Fear was clear on her face and she almost tripped when she risked a glance over her shoulder. Fuck! I might be on a stakeout but I wasn't going to just stand by while someone attacked the girl... Of course, it could all be a set-up, possibly even by the organ-leggers but... I, no matter what you might think of private eyes (in general) or me (in particular), I just couldn't, wouldn't risk that this was real and she truly was in danger. Beside, I felt confident I could talk my way out if this was a trap and, well, it wasn't only organs that predators were after in 'The Gloom'. I shook my head at my thoughts and gave a low but piercing whistle which had the girl start and look around nervously. I took a chance and briefly broke cover to beckon her towards me. It would be her choice whether she trusted me or not, but at least I had tried.
She looked so much like a telecast I'd seen in my school-days, of a wide-eyed rabbit from before they'd become extinct. Still, she had only hesitated for a moment before heading straight towards me - which meant this was either a badly planned trap or she wasn't a Fringer and she knew she needed help to escape whatever she was running from.
I gave her my most reassuring smile before beckoning her to follow me as I slipped through the shadows, hushing her when she opened her mouth to speak and glaring at her when she tripped over a piece of rubble when she looked over her shoulder.
I heard her sigh in relief, no doubt believing we had made it to safety, and I had turned to hush her when I heard her gasp before she stumbled and almost fell. I caught her and cursed when I saw the blood blossoming on her back. I hauled her unceremoniously over my shoulder and ran, zig-zagging in the hope it would make us a harder target to hit.
I believe it was only because I knew Gallow's Drop and my pursuers didn't that I managed to gain ground on them. I grinned as I recognised where we were and, when I had the chance, I slipped into a hiding place I had found on a previous recce of the area and pressed into the shadows. I barely even breathed as I pressed a make-shift dressing to her back and waited, my hand over her mouth when she moaned in pain while I held Molly ready, feeling her shiver in anticipation but obedient to my command. I froze when I heard the sound of shifting rubble and a figure came into view.
I cursed when I saw him and wondered what the fuck I had got myself involved in, especially when he was joined by others. The group were all of a similar size and build and each was clad in the same nondescript grey carapace-armour lacking insignia. Which meant two things: one, I had no way of finding out who they were working for and, two, whoever the fuck they were, they had connections. Carapace-armour was fucking expensive and highly controlled, only the corporations and the government were supposed to possess it and probably only they could afford to outfit an entire squad in it. Which meant these men were either corporate or government sanctioned... or maybe just a very well connected criminal group, which basically meant the same thing. Shit! What the hell had I stumbled across?
My breath caught when I recognised the rifles the men carried and I closed my eyes as I remembered the seminar I'd attended, witnessing the damage they could do to unprotected flesh. Fucking bone-rifles were mil-spec and controlled even tighter than carapace-armour. They fired razor-sharp shards of super-dense bone which tumbled as it was fired, piercing deep into flesh and causing tremendous damage to anyone unlucky enough to be hit by one. I couldn't imagine anyone possessing even one bone-rifle in 'The Gloom', not even the corporations would sell them down here for fear of them being used against their own holdings. That, and the fact that all bone-rifles were DNA-coded and thus (supposedly) unusable to anyone not programmed into them, just screamed that I had stumbled across far more than just an organ-legging operation. This was a corporate or government sponsored operation and a bloody black one at that.
The girl moved weakly in my arms and I tried to comfort her, knowing I could do little for her in Gallow's Drop, for hospitals didn't exist here and I couldn't even get her to any half-trained, self-taught or struck-off healer when our pursuers were so close. I could only watch and wait for the men to continue with their search elsewhere and hope that, as black ops, they were more interested in avoiding witnesses than in finding the girl, but that all depended whether their bosses wanted to avoid collateral damage. No matter how little the authorities might care about Fringers, even they weren't usually quite so murderous... except, I remembered, someone was harvesting organs and that was a bloody and murderous business...
My eyes widened when I noticed a hooded and cloaked figure stroll towards the men, obviously their superior from the way they straightened. I barely suppressed my gasp when they cracked their helmets open, for each was identical to the other. I knew without having to see that they would all be wearing the same slightly blank look that would mark them as clearly as the brands they bore on the back of their necks. Replicants, clones who had little self-will, who would obey any order - even a self-destructive one - without hesitation and who the anti-ARC groups used as a poster child for why ARCs shouldn't have rights. They were also the reason most of those who used organ-leggers did so, fearing that the presence of a bio-synth organ within their own bodies would make them as blank-minded as a replicant.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the mysterious stranger, about the only thing I could tell about them was that she was a she - at least, I assumed so from her large cleavage - ordered the replicants to follow her and I watched as they disappeared back the way they'd come. Not that I broke cover immediately, just in case it was a lure to get me to move out of cover and into their sights. Even when I was reasonably sure they had really left, I only moved because the girl was running out of time.
Part 2
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~4530 words out of 7858
Characters: Danny Quinn, Connor Temple, Abby Maitland, James Lester, Tom Ryan, OCs.
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N: For my Primeval Bingo round 8 card prompt: Film Noir. Thanks go to Fififolle for the beta, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Warnings: OC Death and slavery.
Part 2
Glossary
ARCs - Artificials, Replicants and Chimeras
Artificials - Genetically-altered and lab-created humans.
Biopunk - A sub genre of cyberpunk, but rather than cybernetics uses biological enhancements.
Bio-synth - Biological Synthesised. Any biological organisms bred and/or modified to perform a variety of technological functions, e.g. communicators, pistols, the tubes or ARCs, and 'programmed' to function for a single or limited number of owners.
Chimeras - Lab-created human-animal hybrids.
Coracrete - Material used in buildings. It is genetically-modified coral, which once grown to requirements, dies and becomes harder. Living Coracrete is red, orange, yellow or green. Dead Coracrete is white to start with, greying and crumbling with age.
CRA - Corporate Regulatory Authority - corporate watchdog.
Crazies - Nickname for the CRA by those who consider them crazy for thinking they can regulate the corporations.
Frank - Short for Frankenstein - semi-derogatory term for an Artificial.
Fringer - People who minimise their involvement with government/corporations. Socially marginalised and often involved in informal (grey and black) markets.
Organ-leggers - Criminals who kill others for spare parts.
Replicants - Clones.
Snout - (Police) Informant
SOCA - Serious and Organised Crime Agency
Part 2
Whoever you are, you bloody crazies, this is my story and how I came to be involved in things which changed my world forever. Not that I realised it would when I took the job on. Do I regret what happened? Would I change anything? Some, as you'll find out, but on the whole, I wouldn't change a thing. Anyway, listen to my story and judge for yourself.
Before I start my tale, I better introduce myself. My name is Quinn, Danny Quinn, and I'm a private eye hanging my shingle out in the London conurbation, the monster which swallowed all in its path without caring about who it hurt. All in the name of progress. Anyway, you're not interested in a history lesson, you want to know about what happened and why you're listening to this recording.
But first, a bit of background, you can fast forward if you want, but I'd listen so you know where I'm coming from. I live and work out of a dingy apartment in the level of the city known as 'The Shadowlands', I'm sure you know it is the lowest level of the city which still receives any natural light. Not that I was in my cramped apartment when my story starts, no, I was living in an even shittier place in 'The Gloom'. Not of my own free will but, well, to cut a long story short - and to preserve my client confidentiality - just know that I'd crossed paths with our great city's upstanding police department and they hadn't liked it. I agreed to go undercover for the Serious and Organised Crime Agency aka SOCA. Not my favourite people but it was that or face time in the cubes. Apparently, I look just like a Fringer and they figured I wouldn't look suspicious in 'The Gloom'. I know the real reason though, they weren't willing to risk a copper's life down here. Mine, on the other hand... still they had promised to wipe my slate clean and the pay wasn't shit.
For those who don't know - and since I don't know if you do, I'll tell you anyway - there are differences between 'The Shadowlands' and 'The Gloom', but they aren't the ones the authorities claim. Well, apart from the lack of tubes and cleaners and most importantly, the sun. I might only see it a handful of times a year in 'The Shadowlands' but that was more than a Gloomer would see it in their entire lives. Down in 'The Gloom', the only light comes from a variety of bio-synth mosses and fungi which cling to every crack and angle on the moisture-slick crumbling bases of the Coracrete towers.
No, the real differences were a surprise to me, I believed the propaganda the authorities churned out about 'The Gloom', that it was a lawless place where the strong preyed on the weak, that the only food they had was stolen from Shadowlanders or things no sane person would eat. It was all a lie. Up in 'The Shadowlands' I lived - as I expect you still do - on a diet of vat-bred algae shaped and flavoured, according to the advertising, to resemble real food. The adverts actually claimed it was better than the real thing, but, as I said, it was a lie. Admittedly I felt rough the first week I was in 'The Gloom', but that was from the additives the corps put into their slop to make everyone who eats it crave more of it, not that us poor saps realise that. After that first week though, my eyes were opened to a whole new world of real food. I love the food down here, my favourite is a recipe from an old guy by the name of Gideon - Golden Fungus steak served with red-eye moss and potatoes, all washed down with Matthew's Delight Ale - you should try it.
The other difference which surprised me was that the Gloomers are a community. My fellow Shadowlanders wouldn't lift a hand to help anyone else, even their neighbours, being too busy trying to survive, to make the next rent payment and buy enough food to fill their bellies. Gloomers, on the whole, not only know their neighbours' names but they look out for them. Fuck, if not for that, I doubt I would have got through my first week in 'The Gloom', chucking up my guts as the additives purged from my body.
Yep, you heard right. Gloomers aka Fringers, actually care about each other. That is the other lie the authorities tell about 'The Gloom'. SOCA might have sent me undercover in one of the Fringer communities which claim 'The Gloom' as their own, but they are nothing like I was led to believe and what I expect you believe. Despite all the propaganda, Fringers are not all criminals, although many wish to avoid the attention of the authorities in their lives - which makes them criminals in the eyes of the authorities, including you crazies. Others are just those who have fallen through the gaping cracks in an inadequate social system that the corporates won't pay for and which the government can't afford. 'The Gloom' is the home to the rebels, the poor, the jobless and the ill, as well as to the actual criminals the authorities claim are its only inhabitants. It is home to the forgotten and to those who wish to be forgotten and... I think, to me. After living here, I believe I understand why people live down here and I wonder if I will stay once this job is completed.
Anyway, I'm probably boring you crazies by now, so I'll continue with my story. I had slipped and slid my way down the disused tunnels and layers of slime into 'The Gloom', finding myself only a short distance - although a long walk - from the Fringer community that SOCA suspected of harbouring their target. I was cautious as I reached the edge of the community of, according to the sign, 'Gallow's Drop', having heard how suspicions the Fringers were of outsiders - never knowing if strangers were thieves after their scant possessions, killers or even cops. No, it was a shock when I walked in and was cautiously welcomed, offered a bowl of mushroom soup and directed to a bunk I could call my own. Oh, I'm not saying they welcomed me with open arms, after all, I could have been a thief, killer or cop, but they didn't turn me away or try to kill me in my sleep, which is what the authorities would have you believe.
What did take me several months was earning the trust of the shadowy, criminal elements of Gallow's Deep, obviously a more suspicious lot than the typical Fringers. No, the criminally-inclined don't trust easily but after almost four months I finally felt I had made some headway, even if I had almost given up hope of finding anything of interest for SOCA. You might be wondering why I was still working for them considering I had decided to stay in Gallow's Drop, but I haven't told you what they'd sent me here for yet and then you'll understand... although since you're part of the authorities, you probably won't care, after all, what's one less Fringer, right?
OK, OK, I'll tell them, assuming I haven't pissed them off and they're still listening. Ouch. I'm telling them, OK?
Right, where was I? Oh, yeah. It took time, but I had finally heard a whisper. One which spoke of healthy Fringers turning up dead and missing a number of vital organs. A whisper which spoke of organ-leggers killing humans and harvesting their organs for profit. Yep, that is why I stayed, scum like that needs to be put down and if it means working for the bloody SOCA - or even you crazies - I'll do it.
I will admit the mere thought of organ-legging made me shiver, why would anyone want a human organ? Bio-synth organs were easier to obtain - even for Gloomers, on the black market, natch - and were far safer... except I knew why. Some people hated the thought of having anything 'unnatural' inside them, believing it would make them less human, that it would make them little better than one of their hated ARCs. As if being party to the murder and theft of another human's organs made them anything but monsters.
Anyway, every whisper I heard, every clue I uncovered, led me to one place - a run-down and falling down pub-cum-club situated towards the edge of Gallow's Drop. The entrance was a gaping hole sliced into the grey, crumbling Coracrete wall, above which was a sign etched in acid and filled with luminescence moss. The moss needed a trim and if I hadn't already known the name of the place, I doubt I would have guessed the sign should have read 'The Broken Web'.
I stepped inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the smoky haze within, the gloom barely broken by the few patches of moss which clung to the walls and ceiling. I'd been making myself a regular for the last few months and was on nodding acquaintance with several other Fringers who frequented the place. I headed towards the fake wood bar and ordered beer, not as good as Matthew's Delight but still a damn sight better than what passed for beer up in 'The Shadowlands'. I had just lifted it when I felt a hand on my arm and I spun, ready to defend myself but not willing to start a fight without cause, even if I had earned myself a reputation as reckless and quick with my fists. I quickly recognised my assailant and hissed at him, “Bloody hell, Corby, I could have decked you.”
Corby ignored my comment, instead showing off the gaps in his teeth as he cried, “Danny-boy here can be my second.”
“Second for what?” I asked, wondering if it was for what passed as a duel down here while doing my best not to recoil as his rancid breath battered at my face.
“Baiting.” Corby grinned. “Danny-boy can cover my bet.”
Bloody hell, I wasn't sure what was worse. Baiting was illegal, even in the rather free-wheeling atmosphere of Gallow's Drop it was done behind closed doors and conducted with caution, for not all Gloomers approved of it. I had to wonder exactly how I was going to cover Corby's bet, I - like the Fringer I was pretending to be - didn't have many creds to my name. Although he could be referring to the way I'd taken down those two raged-out-of-their-so-called-minds Rage addicts who'd tried to shake me down for the little I did have. I also couldn't help worry if Corby's offer meant I'd been accepted by the criminally-inclined Fringers or if they'd figured out that I was a snout. Fuck it! I really didn't want to watch the baiting, but I knew this might be my only chance to find out the information I - and SOCA - was looking for.
I'm not going to go into detail about the baiting, you don't need to know about it to understand my story, so let me just say it was as terrible as I'd always imagined and as you've probably heard. Corby had somehow obtained an advertising hoarding-beast as his fighter. It was greying with age and I had no doubt it had been discarded by its original owner when its usefulness had ended, although whether its hide had been scarred in fights for the prime advertising spots or in previous baiting matches, I didn't know and could hardly ask. Its opponent was another similar bio-synth - fuck knows how the baiters came by two such beasts - and with two such well-matched opponents, the betting was fierce. I won't go into detail except to say the fight was vicious and brutal, with the watching crowd baying for blood and urging their favourite on as what passed for currency in Gallow's Drop was bet on which would eventually win. The fight finally ended with a sound which had me swallowing bile and the loser slinking away to nurse its wounds, while the victor - if you could call it that - was apparently happy to munch on the tentacle it had ripped from its opponent.
Only two good things came out of that night. One was that Corby's beast won, good news not so much for my paltry winnings but for the fact I didn't owe anyone anything I probably wouldn't want to pay. The second was the conversation I partly overheard, enough of it, at least, to know it might be a lead to the organ-leggers. I knew my handler would call me impulsive and a maverick - he had every time we'd talked so far - but if I wanted to get SOCA off my back, I needed to check out the information first, to make sure it was a solid lead.
***
Not that I checked out the lead immediately, even I'm not that impulsive... OK, not all the time. No, I returned to my apartment to pick up what I'd need for a quick and hopefully quiet - even though I knew better than that - look at the location I'd heard mentioned, an old abandoned cannery from before the sprawl had taken over this part of the country. I had a quick shower - one good thing about all the moisture down here, there was never a lack of water - and changed my clothes to dark and nondescript. I was heading out when I paused with my hand on the door handle, my gaze flickering towards the concealed section I had made in the bottom of my battered cupboard. Within it lay my SOCA sanctioned comm-unit and my absolutely unsanctioned pistol, Molly. Both would mark me as a non-Fringer, but could I risk encountering the organ-leggers armed with only a blade for protection? Fuck it! I knew I'd never talk my way out if I was caught with the comm-unit, Molly … she might be a DNA-coded bio-synth pistol but she would be easier to explain. Half the clientèle at 'The Broken Web' thought I was some sort of mercenary, down on his luck and hiding from someone. I was sure I could spin that to the organ-leggers if I had too, that I was just a merc for hire, looking for my next pay day and not bothered by what it might involve. That might just work and I knew I'd feel a fucking lot safer with Molly than without her.
Which just left one problem, I hadn't spent much time with either bio-synth and knew I'd have to be cautious. Yep, they might have gone feral on me and forgotten I was their master. I don't know if you've ever seen what happens when someone picks up a bio-synth coded for someone else? It isn't pretty, the smell of burnt flesh had stayed with me for days and it had taken over a month before I could even consider eating meat, even if it had just been meat-shaped and flavoured algae.
I smiled as I recalled the packet of bio-synth formula I had stashed in a drawer, that would put my bio-synths in a good mood and a few hours spent bonding with them should be long enough to ensure they'd obey me. I glanced out my grimy window and sighed, leaving now or in a few hours wouldn't make much of a difference to me, I could only hope it wouldn't make a difference to anyone else. I shook my head, it was time to make plans - now that would shock my handler - not to mention eating and I supposed I should inform my handler I had new information, although for that, I needed my comm-unit to like me rather than try to electrocute me.
I cooked - yep, I actually cooked - a quick stew of various fungus and even a little rat meat I'd bartered for. I can see you turning your noses up at the mention of rat, but they were far healthier to eat than... I don't know... maybe 'Beef Stew - as good as the moo thing' used to be my favourite up in 'The Shadowlands' before I realised real food tasted better. When it was ready I took my meal, the feeding formula and my two bio-synths to my ratty sofa. I divided my time between eating my stew and feeding them, petting and stroking them when I felt they were too busy eating to bother shocking me. Once we'd all eaten our fill, I just took the time to sit with them in the gloom and listen to my contented bio-synths purr. I knew I had re-bonded with them when Molly crawled into my lap for a cuddle and the comm-unit wrapped around my arm, just as keen for attention. Assuming I made it back, I vowed to spend more time with them for they had obviously missed the fuss.
Which reminded me, I needed to go over my options and I could see only one - if I spent time asking questions, either they'd shut up and move shop elsewhere or I'd end up dead - so I decided to go in carefully but blind. I scratched the comm-unit before placing a call to my handler, not surprised in the slightest when he called me several names which you really don't need to hear. Once he'd stopped ranting, I told him I'd call him back with any progress and tucked the comm-unit up with a portion of leftover stew. Molly, however, I holstered under my jacket, hearing her purr contentedly as she felt my comforting warmth.
I checked nothing was out of place before firmly closing my door and strolled down the surprisingly tidy hallway - considering no cleaner slithered about collecting rubbish down here in Gallow's Drop. I headed towards the entrance to my block as if I was off to one of the pubs, before I considered for two seconds about slipping into a handy shadow to see if anyone had followed me. Not that it took me that long to dismiss the idea, if anyone noticed they'd know I was up to something.
Instead I set out for the cannery just to the north of Gallow's Drop, not that I took the direct route, even if I had wanted to. The narrow walkways left between the bases of the Coracrete towers disappeared from time to time when the bases merged, although in a few places, someone had hacked through the crumbling walls to form tunnels linking the various areas of Gallow's Drop together.
I took a left when a right would have led me straight to the cannery and looked about for a suitable spot to observed them from while I decided how to search the building. No matter how much my handler might think I was impulsive, I wasn't a fool, besides, checking them out like this was what any mercenary worth his salt would do.
It didn't take me long to find a suitable spot to conceal myself in and made myself comfortable, sharing a sliver of Greenhorn mushroom with Molly as I waited. The area looked suspiciously well-travelled for somewhere this close to the outskirts of a Fringer community and that sent all of my well-honed instincts tingling. Fringer groups tended to keep to themselves, with at least several miles of rubble and near uninhabited ruins between each community. Not a surprise considering each community had its own ideology and each was in competition for the scant resources which 'The Gloom' still possessed.
I tensed when I heard a noise, my hand reaching for the grip of my pistol and I let out a quiet hiss when I felt Molly pierce my wrist with her identification-spine. I held my breath for a moment and hoped I had spent enough time with her for our bond to have reformed, otherwise things could get very painful for me.
A movement to my right drew my attention, although not all of it for I was alert for any ambush - considering who I was hunting, distraction was a good way to die. I frowned when a young woman dressed in dirty, tattered and torn overalls darted out from between two towers. Fear was clear on her face and she almost tripped when she risked a glance over her shoulder. Fuck! I might be on a stakeout but I wasn't going to just stand by while someone attacked the girl... Of course, it could all be a set-up, possibly even by the organ-leggers but... I, no matter what you might think of private eyes (in general) or me (in particular), I just couldn't, wouldn't risk that this was real and she truly was in danger. Beside, I felt confident I could talk my way out if this was a trap and, well, it wasn't only organs that predators were after in 'The Gloom'. I shook my head at my thoughts and gave a low but piercing whistle which had the girl start and look around nervously. I took a chance and briefly broke cover to beckon her towards me. It would be her choice whether she trusted me or not, but at least I had tried.
She looked so much like a telecast I'd seen in my school-days, of a wide-eyed rabbit from before they'd become extinct. Still, she had only hesitated for a moment before heading straight towards me - which meant this was either a badly planned trap or she wasn't a Fringer and she knew she needed help to escape whatever she was running from.
I gave her my most reassuring smile before beckoning her to follow me as I slipped through the shadows, hushing her when she opened her mouth to speak and glaring at her when she tripped over a piece of rubble when she looked over her shoulder.
I heard her sigh in relief, no doubt believing we had made it to safety, and I had turned to hush her when I heard her gasp before she stumbled and almost fell. I caught her and cursed when I saw the blood blossoming on her back. I hauled her unceremoniously over my shoulder and ran, zig-zagging in the hope it would make us a harder target to hit.
I believe it was only because I knew Gallow's Drop and my pursuers didn't that I managed to gain ground on them. I grinned as I recognised where we were and, when I had the chance, I slipped into a hiding place I had found on a previous recce of the area and pressed into the shadows. I barely even breathed as I pressed a make-shift dressing to her back and waited, my hand over her mouth when she moaned in pain while I held Molly ready, feeling her shiver in anticipation but obedient to my command. I froze when I heard the sound of shifting rubble and a figure came into view.
I cursed when I saw him and wondered what the fuck I had got myself involved in, especially when he was joined by others. The group were all of a similar size and build and each was clad in the same nondescript grey carapace-armour lacking insignia. Which meant two things: one, I had no way of finding out who they were working for and, two, whoever the fuck they were, they had connections. Carapace-armour was fucking expensive and highly controlled, only the corporations and the government were supposed to possess it and probably only they could afford to outfit an entire squad in it. Which meant these men were either corporate or government sanctioned... or maybe just a very well connected criminal group, which basically meant the same thing. Shit! What the hell had I stumbled across?
My breath caught when I recognised the rifles the men carried and I closed my eyes as I remembered the seminar I'd attended, witnessing the damage they could do to unprotected flesh. Fucking bone-rifles were mil-spec and controlled even tighter than carapace-armour. They fired razor-sharp shards of super-dense bone which tumbled as it was fired, piercing deep into flesh and causing tremendous damage to anyone unlucky enough to be hit by one. I couldn't imagine anyone possessing even one bone-rifle in 'The Gloom', not even the corporations would sell them down here for fear of them being used against their own holdings. That, and the fact that all bone-rifles were DNA-coded and thus (supposedly) unusable to anyone not programmed into them, just screamed that I had stumbled across far more than just an organ-legging operation. This was a corporate or government sponsored operation and a bloody black one at that.
The girl moved weakly in my arms and I tried to comfort her, knowing I could do little for her in Gallow's Drop, for hospitals didn't exist here and I couldn't even get her to any half-trained, self-taught or struck-off healer when our pursuers were so close. I could only watch and wait for the men to continue with their search elsewhere and hope that, as black ops, they were more interested in avoiding witnesses than in finding the girl, but that all depended whether their bosses wanted to avoid collateral damage. No matter how little the authorities might care about Fringers, even they weren't usually quite so murderous... except, I remembered, someone was harvesting organs and that was a bloody and murderous business...
My eyes widened when I noticed a hooded and cloaked figure stroll towards the men, obviously their superior from the way they straightened. I barely suppressed my gasp when they cracked their helmets open, for each was identical to the other. I knew without having to see that they would all be wearing the same slightly blank look that would mark them as clearly as the brands they bore on the back of their necks. Replicants, clones who had little self-will, who would obey any order - even a self-destructive one - without hesitation and who the anti-ARC groups used as a poster child for why ARCs shouldn't have rights. They were also the reason most of those who used organ-leggers did so, fearing that the presence of a bio-synth organ within their own bodies would make them as blank-minded as a replicant.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the mysterious stranger, about the only thing I could tell about them was that she was a she - at least, I assumed so from her large cleavage - ordered the replicants to follow her and I watched as they disappeared back the way they'd come. Not that I broke cover immediately, just in case it was a lure to get me to move out of cover and into their sights. Even when I was reasonably sure they had really left, I only moved because the girl was running out of time.
Part 2