Neon Virus

Data. Pure data. The good shit.

Respawn had switched from keyboard to neuronal interface. And although the screen before him blackened on command of a thought, he saw -- far beyond the abilities of the human retina.

How many colours do you need to taste the source code?

He navigated with ease as algorithms solidified in his mind, binary values became tactile to the nerves of his fingertips. As his consciousness pushed on, a weighing sensation closed in on him, not unlike the hint of a claustrophobic episode. That fucking Polak had skimped on bandwidth again!

Concentrating on core functions alone, Respawn thought his path through the shadier boroughs of the HyperNet which had manifested behind his eyes as a multidimensional mental construct. If the insider tip was only half as credible as that bloke from Sydney had---

"Kuso!"

In a jump that sent his chair into an uncontrolled trajectory Respawn flew away from his terminal, tearing the neuronal headset off and flinging it on the table. Around him the other customers of the sleazy neuro café stared in various levels of perplexity.

"Shit! My head."

He pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes. A red-hot needle had shot right into his mind! Not a needle -- a honed edge, as two parts of himself had shifted against each other like a cerebral glitch.

"You alright, mate?" a random voice struggled to reach him.

"It's in my head! It's in my brain!"

<#>

"Unit 19; this is Dispatch; come in."

Mikaere was setting off from the tiny ramen place near the hydrogen plant as he received Lucy's call. The taunting smell of a supper that would never meet his stomach hot filled the patrol car.

"Dispatch; go for one-nines."

"Assault at 17A59, Grid 3. One suspect, still inside building. Officer and ambulance on scene."

"Copy that. Any more back-up needed or en route?"

"Negative. You are the only free unit in the area, handsome."

That answered both parts of his question. Mikaere switched the emergency lights on, yet saved the sirens for the larger crossings he would have to negotiate on his way to the inner city's Grid 3.

"Copy that. Unit 19 en route and out."

<#>

Grid 3 covered the older "neon districts", where industrial compounds and the original urban area hadn't yet merged into a convolute of concrete, chemical waste and sky-rocketing crime rates. Within the so fittingly baptised quarters delinquency described a smooth horizontal, freed from any seasonal fluctuations by the ever-damp housing abysses. One new exotic drug every week, one murder every day, one cyber crime every minute.

A sports bar's aquamarine reflected on the wet tarmac, danced in dark puddles with the crimson Xs of a strip club. Steam from a multitude of air ducts carried the colours further down the back alley to its dead end, past dangling power lines and sagging AC coolers. On the last dozens of metres flashing red took over. Mikaere added his own emergency lights to it as he pulled to a stop.

"Dispatch; this is Unit 19. Reinforcement officer has arrived at scene."

"Unit 19; this is Dispatch. Copy that."

Judging by the lines of vehicles, Tanja had been first on said scene. Mikaere saw her blonde ponytail swinging about in front of the ambulance that had parked behind her cruiser. She was busy calming a wiry man in a wife beater. Some metres away a paramedic was treating a male person squatting against a rubbish container.

With a sigh Mikaere abandoned his ramen for good and got out of the patrol car. Tanja acknowledged his arrival only with a short hand sign. Bar the emergency vehicles this alley appeared like any other of its countless nocturnal siblings. Shop signs and graffiti on rusting roller shutters proclaimed Babylonian messages. Electricity hung tangible in the heavy air. Towards the main street two mates -- one seemingly intoxicated -- emerged from the gentlemen's spot after following its pale promise of untouchable flesh or a half-hour escape into the virtual make-believe of intimacy. Not a single strip club left in town without a neuro booth. Casually curious, the duo strolled in. It took Mikaere twenty seconds to make his professional life a lot easier by running barrier tape between the boot lid of his cruiser and a window grate of the closed pawn shop neighbouring the crime scene. With the general public at bay, his attention focussed on the hunkering man as he fell into a short choking fit. It went as quickly as

it had come, yet changed nothing about his general state. The youngster kept the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over the top half of his face whilst the medic tried to talk him down from whatever he was on. Mikaere let him do his job and approached the driver instead. The woman, easily as tall as Tanja, was leaning against the ambulance's open rear gate, exploiting the situation to stock up on nicotine.

"Successful night?"

"Four marks on the stretcher so far. Number five decided to be difficult, though. Fucker won't move; not even to the van," the driver sensed Mikaere's question.

"He was in there?"

"Hmm-hm."

"How many more?"

A healthy draught on her fag prevented an immediate answer.

"Dunno. He and the owner were the only ones left when we arrived."

Across the neglected ambulance the café lay in treacherous silence. Apart from the expected grime its single large frosted window was intact, but the glass door to its right showed the spider's web of cracks resulting from brute force. Mikaere took a couple of calculated steps towards it. If somebody stood close enough to the front, he might be able to make out a shadow against the flickering of half-broken ceiling lights. Instead, a sudden clash erupted from the establishment as more of its interior fell prey to an unseen wrath. Hand on his holstered sidearm, Mikaere retreated. Somewhere behind him an Eastern-European accent demanded retaliation.

"Kurwa! That punk is ruining me! Fuckin' do something, missy!"

"You address me as officer or ma'am. And right now I need you to calm down and stay put!" Tanja outlined the limits of her compassion before stepping over to Mikaere.

"Fill me in, kiddo. Lucy said something about free beer."

Mikaere's younger colleague quickly rid him of that delusion. Although against enforcement dress code, she wore her old tech squad base cap, pony tail neatly threaded through the gap above the adjustment strap.

"Can't make much sense of it. One of that shithole's customers suddenly lost it, began screaming and then thrashing the place." She nodded past her shoulder. "Owner herded the other patrons out and locked him in."

"Backdoor?"

"You ask that every girl?"

"Only the ones I pick up at two o'clock in an alleyway."

Tanja performed another nod, now down the alley to a narrow passageway. Her ponytail performed a tightly choreographed swing.

"Owner ran around and barricaded it. Might not be the sharpest dresser, but did everything right on that one. Suspect remains clamouring only in the customer area, though. Doesn't react to demands to show himself. Place has CCTV, but no external access point to it."

The commotion had given way to a rhythm of crunching noises. Electronic fragments being ground into the floor.

"Your average data junkie," Tanja continued to recite from memory. "Thinking himself some kind of cyber lord, but is too broke to get his own neuronal rig. Owner knows him only as Response, or similar. Complained about the equipment on multiple occasions, but never showed aggressive behaviour before."

"And we are positive he's alone in there now?"

"Yes."

"Did he arrive alone?"

"Owner couldn't say."

"The other customers bolted?"

"Except for the one at the skip. Fell into some sort of shock, probably because he got ripped out of his neuronal uplink without any form of warning."

Ignoring proper procedure for terminating a neuronal session could invite all kinds of funny effects, from epileptic seizures to cluster headaches. Fried cortex, if the hardware was dreck.

"Never-ever do I hook myself to that crap."

"I tried it once," Tanja shared her dark past. "It took me about thirty seconds to be motion sick all over the terminal."

"Classic gamer girl. Our costumer of the month has quiet down again."

Something that couldn't be said about the owner who continued to venture forth into the realm of Slavic expletives.

"Sir, I asked you to stay behind the patrol car!" Tanja turned her authority volume fully up once more.

Mikaere crossed over to her cruiser, where the Pole had indeed inched around the rear. The police woman followed, never letting the café's façade go out of sight.

"Sir, I'm Officer Taumata. Before we can proceed, we have to assess the situation. Do you keep any weapons in your establishment?"

"A baseball bat, and I smash his fucking head in with it!"

By the look of things Tanja and he would have to drag the crackpot hacker wannabe out by their own. That the ambulance had shown up that quickly was already too much luck for one night. Mikaere was in no mood to take extra risks.

"Anything else the suspect can use against my colleague and me? I don't care whether you own a licence."

The owner snorted, rubbed his palms against his stained vest.

"There might be a gun under the counter."

"Might be or is?"

"Man, you know what crazy motherfuckers run around."

"What kind of gun?"

"A 1911."

"Loaded?"

"Yes."

He employed his shoulder radio, ready to waste his breath just for the bitter fun of it.

"Dispatch; this is Unit 19. Come in."

"Unit 19. Dispatch. Continue."

"Attempt to establish contact with suspect has failed. Suspect is believed to be armed with semi-automatic pistol and dug in inside the building. Requesting back-up."

"No back-up unit available. Sorry, hon."

Still Mikaere was not above ridiculing himself.

"Any chance we get the Heavy?"

"Negative. Mechanised unit is caught up at a synapse chop shop over in Eden Township. Will take a while."

The district's two armoured quadrupedal police drones were much sought after for dicey jobs. Mikaere saw no need for asking about the second Heavy. It still sat in the cruiser workshop, waiting for spare parts.

"Copy that. Units 19 and 23 preparing for arrest."

"Please be careful."

Tanja, who had overheard the conversation, double-checked her sidearm and ballistic vest in a stoic routine.

"Keys."

The owner handed to her the key to his property.

"You will not follow us in there under any circumstances. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mikaere sprinted to his own patrol car, giving the ambulance crew a heads-up on the way. The hoodie bloke wasn't doing too well. Behind the tape three more spectators had joint the strip club duo. Mikaere shooed them away so he could open the boot unhindered. The Benelli pump-action shotgun locked underneath the lid was loaded with rubber slugs, originally designed for riot control. He freed the gun from its holdings, closed the boot and restored the tape. Only now he performed the characteristic pumping to ready-load his weapon. Jogging back, he gave Tanja the sign to go into position. Glock at the ready, the younger officer crossed the alley to press herself against the wall right to the café's door. Mikaere mirrored her action left of the window. Again he tried to make out anything inside, but had to shake his head towards Tanja. He crouched beneath the window sill and resurfaced left of the door.

"Ready?" he mouthed.

Tanja answered by silently easing the key into the lock. Turning it slowly. The bolt sprang back with a clack that sounded deafening to Mikaere. Tanja gave another half-turn to release the snapper. Quickly. No need for any more subtlety now. Under Mikaere's kick the door flew open, giving him room to storm in with carefully measured force. Tanja followed him in a staggered fashion.

Experience imprinted the situation's details into Mikaere's consciousness as sharply as any ocular augmentation. Counter to the left, empty. Scuffed couch behind him under the window, empty. A row of terminal tables on each side wall. Coffee dispenser and access to back room at the far wall. A person was slumped against the vending machine, easily missed in the flickering half-light.

"Police! Show me your hands!"

As Mikaere took another right-step, Tanja veered to the left, helping herself to an unobstructed line of fire from a different angle. None of them closed in. Even with weapons drawn, any distance below five metres was considered unsafe. Mikaere had seen fleeing suspects pumped up with synthetic stimulants jumping over his cruiser -- lengthwise.

"Raise your hands and turn around! Now!"

The figure straightened itself into the shape of a young man, yet beyond that little resemblance remained to a human being. With a snarl the body set itself into a twisted motion, each step on broken hardware triggering more agitation within its bearing.

Tanja took the shot. Certain of the man-stopping power concentrated in Mikaere's pump gun, she had aimed at the legs instead of choosing an easier target area. And markswoman that she was, she guided her Parabellum above the right knee. The impact threw the suspect into the demolished row of terminals, smashing him shoulder-first into a monitor as his leg gave way. Bloodshot eyes darted wildly, yet failed to recognise the deeper reason for the tumble. His gnarling rose to guttural howl, a sound carrying primal rage yet no trace of pain. Swinging himself up onto his good leg and dragging the bad one behind, he leapt at Tanja with amazing speed.

Mikaere's slug got him in the rib cage, knocking him off balance. What had once been a bloke dreaming of a better life as a hacker, a programmer, a pro-gamer, stumbled back into the dispenser and slumped wheezing onto the ground before it.

Mikaere ejected the empty case and chambered a fresh one and only then dared exhale. Both he and Tanja closed in now. The body before them was groaning lowly, with the only movement performed by its good leg. The thigh muscles strained and relax in a mockery of their last objective, in time pawing the surrounding floor free of debris.

"Ever seen something like that before?"

He furrowed his brows.

"Can't say I have."

"OD'd on a new product," Tanja assumed with no claim for accuracy. "Maybe a bad implant tune or some such scheiße?"

Mikaere's eyes grazed the broken neuro sets.

"Yeah, maybe something like that."

He took a step back again, already reaching for his radio.

"Get the medic... wait!"

Tanja was almost through the door.

"The chrome. Behind the counter."

Tanja seized the owner's.45 and left the building to grant the ambulance team access. With the hand still on the radio, Mikaere wavered on how to deliver the update to Mama Bear.

"Dispatch; this is Unit 19. Come in."

"Unit 19. Dispatch. Continue."

"Suspect in custody. Two shots fired. Suspect receiving medical attention. Suspect shows---"

He let go of the send button for a brief moment.

"Medical status unclear. Requesting back-up for crime scene protection and evaluation."

The med crew rushed past him.

"Negative. Units still engaged at chop shop and at multiple cases of assault. Supervisor request you secure crime scene best as possible and support units at rampage at 17A07, Grid 3."

"Are you kidding me, Lucy?!"

"No. It's crazy out there tonight. I try to get reinforcement from other districts, but they are on their last leg, too."

Mikaere had been on the job long enough to know that the order to basically abandon a scene had by no means been given lightly. The Benelli grew heavy in his right hand. In front of the vending machine the medic shook his head.

"Copy that. Give me five minutes. Nineteen out."

Outside, he found Tanja tending to the hoodie lad. His state had dramatically worsened. The fits of coughs had evolved into a raspy breathing. Tremors were running through his limbs.

"There's a major emergency at A07. I go. You stay with the suspect. Might not make it."

She nodded.

"What of the scene?"

"Still got the keys?"

"Yes."

"Lock it."

Tanja looked at him in her sparse variant of disbelieve, but a dry response was prevented by something she noticed up the alley. Mikaere turned to one of the titty bar blokes walking towards them, not caring about the barricade tape. Literally not caring, as he dragged it into an ever-tightening V until it tore free from the cruiser.

"Oi! Back to the others! Now!"

The trespasser kept trudging, pale face flashed red by the signal lights.

"Some weird shit. Got a doctor there, right?"

Mikaere blocked his way and worked the shotgun, knowing that he ejected a live shell, but counting on the psychological effect of the sound.

"I'm not fucking about, homeboy! Back off!"

"I'm glitching, man..."

His failing voice was out-droned by the savage roar from behind the rubbish container. Mikaere spun around, already too late to act. Although not knocking her over fully, the pouncing had massively compromised Tanja's balance. Unable to free herself from the second café costumer who was clawing at her ferociously, she reeled back under his mindless attack. Mikaere fell into a sprint, his vision narrowing on the flailing hands, the foaming mouth, the dark blood gushing out of Tanja's face. Her 9 mm thundered once, twice, the sound ugly from the flesh it was swallowed by. A third time. He had almost reached them. The attacker jack-knifed as his ruptured organs collapsed. Mikaere threw himself against the human husk, sending it to the asphalt with a full-blown body-check, where it trembled in its throes, hoodie twice-soaked with blood. Mikaere stumbled to a halt, butt of his shotgun ready to smash down. For a long couple of seconds he remained so till he dared turn away.

Tanja stood rigid, heated gun still raised in an awkward angle. Her right cheek was torn open from her mouth all the way back, baring the reddened row of teeth in her lower jaw.

"Shit!"

Mikaere eased the pistol from her hand.

"Can you make it to the ambulance?"

She managed the hint of a nod. There was more blood. More wounds. Amazingly, the young woman was capable of walking for the moment. Six short paces; Mikaere steadied her nonetheless. Halfway to the med car the troubled strip club patron charged at them, his face distorted in screeching rage.

The End