He
hated the soft
vulnerable skin
that covered his all too inefficient tendons and weak, merely mortal,
musculature. Sylvester loathed the all too fragile bone and marrow that
went
deeper still. Still, at least there was no hair. God, how he hated the
hair; it
jutted forth anew each day, a testament to mammalian primitive nature.
That’s
why he shaved
it off; All
of it.
From
his bald pate to
his feet,
he’d done his level best to remove the itchy stuff. The products he’d
paid for
had helped, but not enough. He had considered follicle surgery, but …
if this
worked, that would be redundant.
Then
the monitor
flicked on.
An
image, hardly a
precise one
shifting in dots and electronic after effects, formed on the screen.
“It’s
about #$#$ing
time!”
Sylvester cursed at the monitor.
A
woman’s voice,
crystalline and
honed in a fashion only decades of expertise could bring replied, “If
you
continue to curse, Mr. Manning, it will be much longer. Shall I wait
until you
can compose yourself?”
“No,
Godda…” He caught
himself,
once, he could have done as he pleased, to whom he pleased, and few
would have
the power to stop him. Once he could have punched his spikes through oh
too
soft flesh, and torn it like the meat it was. That was then, this was
now. He
was merely mortal, and he was petitioning a higher power to ascend
Olympus
again. Well, that and he wanted to kill things, screw the metaphors.
“No,”
He bit down on
his anger,
“I’m paying good money. Can you do it?”
On
the other side of
the screen,
she sat, perhaps just a room away, perhaps miles. The woman steepled
her
fingers in silent contemplation of the request. The man had been a
brutal
killer, seeking to live up to his name and yes, even surpass it. He was
clearly
mad, his level of Darwinist psychosis was the stuff fiction thrillers
were made
of. Still, if he was a killer, he’d been a successful one. The funds
he’d
offered were considerable. Besides, it never hurt to have a contact and
even mad
dogs could be useful…if one had the wit to install the right fences.
Besides,
her operations needed the cash.
“Yes,”
She replied to
her client,
who now was rubbing at his wrist as if his own skin was an irritant,
most
likely, to him it was, “I can make you Manslaughter again, Mr. Manning.
It will
be painful, and will take some time, but I can assure you, you will be
just as
deadly as before, more so in fact. Are you sure you don’t wish to look
more
human on the outside? It might make your work easier.”
Sylvester
had to
stifle a bark of
a laugh, “Are you crazy?” His eyes darted constantly, as if trying to
compensate for the limited spectrum they could perceive now. “Lady,
I’ve had it
up to here with being one, why would you think I’d even want to PRETEND
to be
one? Give me the steel, give me the plastic, and give me the upgrade.
Make me
Manslaughter, not some pansy norm look alike.”
“As
you wish,”
Necessity nodded,
any expression she wore blurred to him by the screen, “As for your
other
request, I’m sorry, but our initial tests show nothing.”
Sylvester
hit the wall
with a
balled up fist hard, no longer caring if he broke a bone or not. He was
about
to get improved anyways. Break it down, break it all down.
“I’m
NOT imagining it!
There’s the
music… in my head!” He snarled at the screen, “It plays over and over
again. It
took my metal, it still does sometimes. It sings how I should embrace
my “a
sneer curled across his lips, “humanity, it’s the music that made me
THIS.”
“I
don’t doubt you,
“She lied,
doubting the maniac very much indeed, “But there is no sign of it I can
detect.
You are clearly ‘normal’ again, “Physically, at any rate, she thought,
“however, scans indicate no external source for music you claim to
hear, or
claim did this to you when you were in Ireland.”
Manning
pressed his
palm to his
forehead, “Screw this… I don’t care if you believe it or not. Just help
me
drown it out. Let me hear the whirl of gears inside, the pulse of
electricity
in my arms… the sound of metal. That’ll drown it out. Steel White
Noise…”
He
was almost lost in
the beauty
of the thought.
Her
response was
simple, and
indeed, almost a trademark “Necessity will provide.”
******
The
process was slow,
and
thorough. Flesh was cut open, invaded, and quite often, simply removed.
For a
man obsessed with Progress, Manning seemed to have a touch of nostalgia
regarding his choice of armaments and even appearance. He wanted the
reinforced
endo-skeleton. He wanted the spikes and razors ready for instant
protrusion. He
wanted his eyes capable of infrared perceptions, and he wanted to be
strong. He
wanted it all, and the only real change was he wanted it better.
So,
true to her word,
Necessity
provided. Stronger plastics, tougher polymers, sharper metals, new
conductive
neuron grafts; all were installed under her personal direction. It
didn’t
matter that he was an oaf, or a killer. This was her work, and
she took
pride in that always.
The
work wasn’t done
in a single
day, of course. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and monsters are rarely
made
overnight. They sealed the patient in his cyrosleep, ready to pick up
again on
the morrow. His internal clock would soon let him know just how long
he’d been
out when he awoke after they were done.
“You
realize he’ll
kill again?”
MOBIUS buzzed as Necessity removed her lab coat entering her private
quarters.
“And
salutations to
you as well,
MOBIUS.” She sardonically replied to the computer, “Yes, I am aware of
that.
Any other reports?”
The
computer’s voice
paused,
perhaps the closest it could get to a sigh, then continued, “Rumors of
Elite
technology in Iceland seem to have come up empty.”
“I
was afraid of as
much.” She
placed her coat up, leaving the closet to automatically shut when she
turned
from it.
“The
computer searches
on
Purgatory technology have stopped.”
“Really?
Did you ever
trace it?”
She allowed a small note of curiosity to escape.
“Negative,”
MOBIUS
sounded almost
apologetic, “Too many reroutes.”
“Well,
I hope that
hacker is good.
He and or she did not sense our own operations?”
“Unlikely.
I estimate
a 83.4%
chance our own taps were undetected.”
“Mmm…
so close, yet so
far. I
wouldn’t mind learning more myself.” She sighed, and touched a wall
panel. It
opened, and the coffee was ready.
“I
can try a direct
hack myself if
you wish.” MOBIUS offered.
“Certainly
not. The
chances of it
being reversed are too great.” She took her cup, and a seat, propping
her feet
up.
“Is
Caffeine wise?”
the Machine
asked.
She
shifted her eyes
at the main console,
“Carry on with the reports.” Then, she
sipped her drink; her defiance of her overprotective program adding a
slightly
sweeter taste still to the beverage.
“The
Superhero
Bellaphon was
defeated, and his antigrav sled stolen. No doubt, he will seek to
reclaim it.”
She
nodded, “See if we
can get our
hands on it first, pay the gentlemen who stole it handsomely, have my
contacts
in Houston get the specs, and then make contact with Bellaphon to
return it.
See if anything can be done to place him in our debt, finically or
otherwise.”
“Affirmative,
and
already sending
message.”
Excellent,
a new
customer, the
design of a new product that would be at least different, if not as
good as
what she had now, and ties on this Belaphon fellow. “Continue,” She
asked.
“SNAFU
is still at
large, but
further study shows it increasingly unlikely they escaped on their own.”
“Very
odd,” Necessity
considered,
“They’re hardly the most formidable force, really most useful as
distraction or
saboteurs.” She tapped the side of her mug as her eyes grew thoughtful,
“Has
Surge pursued them further?”
“FBI
taps indicate he
has made
inquiry and been informed of their escape. Probability indicates a
cover up.”
“Tell
me something I
don’t know,”
she said wryly.
“The
two young ladies
put in the
reality show The Simple Life were originally scheduled for two
months,
but apparently could not tolerate the farm that long. The producers
salvaged
enough tape to put on the show anyways.”
“I
beg your pardon?” She said, startled.
“I
assumed you were
unaware of
that particular bit of data.” MOBIUS replied.
“You
were… correct,
but let’s
leave that particular pit of cultural wasteland off our resource
material.” She
replied loftily. At times; she could swear MOBIUS had developed humor.
She
wasn’t sure if that was a progress, or a most unfortunate glitch.
“Affirmative.”
“What
of my own
theories on
Surge?” Necessity returned to the matters at hand.
“Recorded
performance
since the
Ireland Incident does not concur with past levels of expertise. There
is
indication of slight upgrade in armor, but weaker levels of proficiency
with
it. More research required for certainty.”
“He’s
not the same
man.” Necessity
stated calmly, more to herself than to her aide. “I am almost certain
of it.”
“This
data could be
very
worthwhile to the right purchaser.” MOBIUS declared.
“Yes.”
She tapped her
glass,
“especially if further research confirms my…theory, on who the first
one was.”
An uncharacteristically troubled look crossed her features.
“Shall
I calculate a
price before
we set up the auction for the information?” the machine intoned.
“No.”
She shook her
head, “Not
yet. As you say, further research is required.” She sat her empty mug
down,
“Besides, I may not choose to sell this.”
“That
is, of course,
your
prerogative.”
“Some
things are
necessary to keep
to yourself. End Report and carry on.” She moved off to take a bath,
perhaps
oblivious that MOBIUS had not asked for the explanation she’d given.
******
The
concrete broke
between steel
fingers like papier-mâché. The left arm swung backwards,
and embedded the
deadly spikes into the next target smoothly. The dust swung around
Manslaughter, and he smiled for the first time in a long time. Of
course, it
was the first time he’d allowed himself to do so since Ireland. The
damnable
white peals that had been restored were all too human, but his steel
incisors
were a sign of distinction for him.
“Damn
lady.” He spoke
to the
monitor, “You do good work.”
“So
glad you approve,
Mr. Manning.”
The blurred image replied.
“Manslaughter!!”
He
snapped, now
that he was steel, now that he was polymer, now that he felt real
again;
he never wanted to hear that name again.
“Very
well,
Manslaughter.” She
appeased him, “Your funds have been put into my own private account,
and you’ll
find everything as it was, with a few extra options. I do hope the
laser proves
useful. My assistant will see you out.”
Manslaughter
eyed the
portly
gentleman who seemed ready to escort him. “One last test.” His grey
grin
returned, wider this time. He pointed his arm at the hapless man,
“Flesh is
fragile, but it is what I hit most…”
The
target’s eyes
widened as well.
His fear, and the feel of power running through him was more arousing
to
Manslaughter than any woman’s touch could ever be.
Then
it was gone. The
energy, the
power; the same metals and plastics that allowed him to rise above
fleshy
mortality now bore Manslaughter down to the earth by their weight. He
could not
move his limbs, and his words escaped heavily with effort, “What the
#$#$?”
Necessity’s
response
was cutting,
“I said our business was concluded, Mr. Manslaughter. My assistants are
under
my protection, and as you can see, I have ways of making sure my work
is not
used against my own, or myself. You will comport yourself with a bit
more
dignity as a customer if you wish to walk out of here on your own
power. Or
shall I remove what has been given, and return most of your assets to
you…
minus of course, labor fees?”
Manslaughter
cursed,
damn the bitch.
Damn her to hell. If he ever got his hands on her… but he knew that she
might
just do it. She might take it all away. “Fine. You win. I can kill any
fleshbag
I want once I get outside in the world, what’s one fat techie to me?”
“Much
better, Mr.
Manslaughter,”
Necessity said, “Mr. Tomson will escort you now.”
The
nervous looking
man recovered
his courage, and did just that.
******
“He’s
gone, Mr.
Tomson?” She
asked, watching his face through the screen. To his credit, Mr. Tomson
had
handled the moment with professionalism. She made a note of that.
“Yes,
Ma’am,” The
technician
answered, “We can track him at anytime with the GPS if need be.” He
wiped his
brow, “Thank you.”
“For
what, Mr. Tomson?
Saving you?
I’m called Necessity for a reason, Mr. Tomson. I can’t very well let my
customers get away with killing my valued employees. You shall find a
bonus for
your troubles in your next payment. If there is nothing else?”
Tomson
smiled, but
stopped himself
from saying thanks again, and shook his head, “No, Necessity. Nothing
beyond
the tasks you’ve already assigned. I’ll get to work on the recon drones
right
away.”
“Good.
Necessity out.”
The
contact was
broken, and
Necessity turned to the other monitors before her. Monitors chiefly
filled with
taped footage of a blue and gold armored figure. Old and new, with
options that
would make most intelligence services green with envy; the various
analysis
programs were ready to run and compare.
There
was one low tech
item, a
rather plain bit of newspaper clipped…. It was hardly new, going back
months
ago.