Dark Arrow Ch. 07

It was a pity. The girl knew her stuff and based on the equipment she was requesting it seemed she had a decent head on her shoulders. She could have been a great asset if she wasn't hell bent on taking on the Advocacy. If only he could convince her to stand down she might be one yet. He was startled from his thoughts by a snort. He looked up to see a far off look in her eyes as if she was contemplating something very hard.

"Of course I'd like a set of body armor, but I don't see any on display and we both know real armor is highly illegal. The stuff you sell is slightly left of strictly gray and some of the explosives are probably illegal without the right permits but nothing in this shop is straight up illegal. You've dabbled in the black but never really gone completely to the dark side of the weapons trade." She said softly.

He paused and thought for a moment. It was true armor was illegal and for good reason. The hydraulically assisted suits, even light armor that fit tight to the body increased a person's speed and strength to a significant enough degree that even an untrained person could be a serious threat. The heads up system in the helmets made it easier to analyze information on the battlefield if you could get used to it without it distracting you.

It didn't do a whole lot against plasma though a glancing blow would likely be absorbed by the suit and not the wearer. Even if she had a personal shield which he wouldn't doubt she did they would use EM emissions to fry that before attempting to engage. A suit could shield that to a degree making normal disruptors less effective if not completely negating them though the bigger guns and the building mounted bursts would still take it out.

Ballistics however would be next to useless against an armored target. Given enough time and sustained fire, light armor, and even some of the heavier models, would fail, but it would take a significant punishment before the wearer had to deal with the consequences. Perhaps more importantly in Erillia's case even light armor provided significant protection from the concussive damage of explosives. Not enough to negate being near a XE357 explosion but more than enough to allow for close quarters use of grenades etc.

Her odds of succeeding in her mission went from impossible to almost non existent if she could get her hands on a set, maybe even slim if she got a set of real light armor. Unfortunately if she was seen with armor she would be hunted down before her mission even begin, but he was starting to doubt that city security surveillance was going to be good enough to pose any threat to her.

She'd also been wrong about something. He did have a set of armor. It wasn't for sale though he did keep it in one of his secured warehouses usually. He had been allowed to retain his set of scout light armor from his time in the service. It wasn't top of the line anymore, but it was military issue and had been well taken care of and battle tested. The only thing was he was supposed to be stopping Erillia not helping her, yet a part of him almost volunteered the information to her. He stared at the woman in front of him thoughtfully for a moment as memories flooded back over him.

He'd been new to the rangers when it had happened. His squad had been tapped for a mission and their intel had come from an advocacy element attached to the 33rd during that time. They'd been instructed to go to the advocacy facilities to retrieve the mission details. What he'd seen that day had hardened him for life, or so he thought.

With the advent of nano tech came the ability for even more aggressive forms of interrogation. Mutilation, disembowelment, and all manner of pain could be inflicted so long as the subject remained alive and was given nanos in time. There had been some slip ups along the way but generally speaking by the time he encountered what the advocacy laughingly referred to as "debriefing interviews" the method had been brought down to a very exacting science. The argument against torture for intel had never ceased, but the torture had never stopped either nor had the flow of intel.

Some was good, and some wasn't as he was to learn later. Still at the time he was wholly unprepared to witness the aftermath of such tactics. They had been directed to a small room along a dimly lit corridor, when they'd arrived for the intel. When they'd opened the door every man on his squad had recoiled in horror except his Lt. A man was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. Tubes, and wires ran over, into and trough him. Some tubes pumped various fluids out others pumped unknown horrors into the man.

The wires attached to him and poking out of him from every which angle fed data to a bank of screens behind him. Portions of his abdomen was cut away allowing windows into the peritoneal cavity and various organs could be seen to have been assaulted directly with clips and incisions as well as wires and the odd tube in various spots. Blood bathed the floor to an extent that everyone as sure the man was dead until they heard a soft moan and rattle of breath. The moment that had shaken young McNeal to his core however was when the prisoner's eyes had slid open and he had locked gazes with him.

There was an ocean of pain in that stare and regret so deep he thought he might drown in it. He'd torn his gaze away and forced them to look anywhere but at this man. He immediately wished he hadn't. The walls were splattered with blood and various unidentifiable bits and pieces. The floor must have been a half inch deep in blood for a good 10 foot around the prisoner. In it floated various pieces of discarded flesh and detritus. The smell of blood, excrement, sweat, and fear permeated the room to the point he would forever be in wonder that he had not become violently ill as he stood there.

He returned his eyes to the man in question to avoid examining the damage that the evidence made clear had been done here. He found himself haunted as he studied the prisoner by the realization that this man was barely older than himself in appearance. He didn't have the bearing of a dangerous enemy combatant either.

There was no hate burning in those eyes. No gloating in the knowledge that his compatriots would exact revenge for what had been done to him. As he stared back there was only pain and despair coupled with such overwhelming regret that Jonathan had no doubt the intel they were here to receive was valid. It was the look of a man who had betrayed everything and everyone to stop the pain.

He tried not to think about the ramifications of what he'd seen but his brain made a quick calculation before he could stop himself. He knew there was too much tissue and blood here for it to have all been a result of the man sitting there at this time under normal circumstances. Either they were keeping this man alive while still torturing him over and over or there had been others in this rooms very very recently.

The look on the man's face though quashed any attempt Jonathan might make at believing it had been from others. No one could look that thoroughly broken that quickly and the wounds on the man were fresh because with the location and the rate of bleeding Jonathan was positive he'd die within an hour unless extraordinary measures were taken.

He'd known in that split second, when his mind had run away before he could marshal it into ignorance, that they must be using nanos to repair the damage and keep the man alive. Letting them repeat the torture over and over and over until they got what they wanted.

In front of this macabre scene sat a man in casual attire. Blue polo style shirt and tan pants rolled at the ankles. Black leather gloves spackled with blood both fresh and dried lay in front of him on an instrument tray alongside an assortment of tools Jonathan quickly ignored rather than contemplate their uses. On his feet he wore black thigh high waders that were also covered in grizzly testimony to the work he'd been doing and had done in the past.

The part that turned more than one stomach wasn't so much the man's placid attitude as he sat there humming an aimless tune to himself. Rather it was the fact that he sat there merely munching on half a sandwich that he'd obviously ordered from some establishment. The other half sat mockingly on the tray, the paper wrapping for the sandwich preventing the bread from absorbing the blood the tools, which sat just inches away, dripped with.

It took a supreme act of will power for Jonathan not to bolt from the room and find the nearest trashcan or other object to forcefully eject his own lunch into, and a glance around his team showed he wasn't the only one.

"Ah good, you're here," The stranger said in an inanely cheerful voice. "I've been expecting you. The files and pertinent portions of the recordings are on the table. I trust you've been briefed already." Receiving a nod from the Lt. he chuckled lightly. "Good then grab the file and get on with it." Bridgeford had strode forward and grabbed the dossier. They'd started to turn and walk out when Bridgeford paused and turned back to the scene in the room.

"You know if this intel isn't any good I'm going to come straight back here even if I have to crawl through hell itself to do so." His voice dropped as he locked eyes with the prisoner before continuing. "I'm going to come back here, ram my sidearm up your ass and pull the trigger until it goes 'click'." There was a moment of silence broken only by the eventual chuckle of the agent. Standing, the man placed his sandwich down on its wrapper and pulled on his gloves.

"I assure you," he said with a grin in their direction. "Our friend here would find that a welcome distraction." With that he'd reached beneath the man. It wasn't until that moment that Jonathan noticed the seat was not solid but rather resembled a toilet lid leaving easy access to the man's ass, balls, and dick. With a swift and brutal tug the agent ripped some device or other out of that man.

The prisoner let out a moan that sent shivers down Jonathan's spine. He watched as the prisoners eyes rolled up and the man collapsed forward, held up only by the restraints as he lost consciousness.

The agent stepped back whistling softly as he twirled the device he'd removed from the man. Jonathan had to swallow the urge to vomit as he saw what it was. A long metal rod around ¾ of an inch in diameter with an egg shaped bulge at one end probably an inch an a half in diameter at the widest portion. It was around 12 inches long and judging from the blood on it had been buried a good 9 inches into the man.

What held Jonathan's gaze though, and forever fixed the image in his head, was the fact that the device was covered in tiny spikes. He'd guess them at less than 1/8th of an inch in length, but they were clearly designed to rip and shred whatever the device was inserted into.

A shiver went up his spine as the agent twirled the device one last time, causing a few bits of blood and gore to splatter off, before setting it on the tray. Without a word the agent turned and pressed a nano cartridge to the man's neck and dispensed the nanos into him. Then stripping off his gloves he glanced towards the cameras and nodded once.

Sitting back down he retrieved the sandwich half he'd been eating and bit into it again waving them away as a medical team arrived and carted off the prisoner.

"You've got what you need, now go deal with the situation." He said dismissively between mouthfuls. Almost everyone was fighting the urge to wretch as they turned and exited the room. "And be sure to let me know if the intel was accurate," the agent called after them.

"I tried a new method this time. I have nearly 100% success when I do an interview and I'd hate to have that average go down but I am curious. So regardless of what you find let me know if the situation matches his account."

Jonathan shook his head to clear the memories. A sigh burst from him as he looked at Erillia. The time had come to make his choice, but really it wasn't ever in question. The decision was made long ago, and now he just had to follow through on his choice. He knew exactly what he'd signed himself up for and he knew exactly what was in store for her. He nodded his head in affirmation of his internal decision and acknowledgement of what she'd said.

"Yeah I have what you need. It's in two separate warehouses, and this ain´t going to come cheap." She didn't bat an eye.

"How much?"

"For what you're asking I should charge you enough for me to get off this damn rock!" He grumbled. She merely stood there staring until he sighed. He made a show of calculating the cost though with his years of experience and the rarity of the items she was after he already knew the figure.

"If I charged you full value I'd be asking for four million credits. Those explosives are difficult to get and the grenades are even harder since you're asking for military grade and spec goods. If I gave you our usual discount, for being a shady customer I'd prefer not to be on the wrong side of, you're still looking at Two and a half million. But I insulted you and your mother, you showed me that even my cover isn't as good as I was led to believe, and you're not asking for me not to make my report. In consideration of what my cousin did to you, what you're going to try and do, and what you've shown me I'll take one and a half million for the lot." Her eyebrows rose considerably. "And not a cent less," he growled waving a finger at her.

She nodded and reached into a pocket. Pulling out one of the chits she'd preloaded with half her worldly means she tossed it to him.

"Two million even, and you can keep the change." He caught the chit and glanced at her in shock. He'd known she commanded a large fee for her last contract but based on his information this was a majority of that. He'd counted on the large sum he was asking to discourage her. Hoping that maybe just maybe he could convince her not to go at the Advocacy head on. She merely smiled at his look of shock.

"We both know I'm not coming back Jonathan. You were always a good business man and your merchandise has served me well more than once. If I survive what I'm about to do money will be the least of my concerns. If I don't, well like they say, you can't take it with you. Consider it a gesture of good will and an incentive to keep your report as uninteresting as possible so it doesn't get flagged and read until after this is all over with."

"Right," he said quietly. "Well I'll need to come with you to open the warehouses. I suggest we use my vehicle as that will attract less notice than if you were spotted by someone." He started to reach for his keys but stopped as she shook her head.

"I have transportation, and you're not going anywhere. You leave this shop and the other agents outside will be on your tail instantly. Even if I kill them all it will draw attention. No this is how we're going to do this. I'm going to purchase a small trinket from your odds and ends." As she spoke she slipped one out of her shirt crumpling one side up around her neck. He tried his best to ignore the stunning view she now presented with her breasts almost completely exposed. Tousling her hair her glanced to the glass of one of the display cases and nodded, evidently satisfied with the appearance.

"I'll leave blushing and straightening my clothes and anyone watching will assume I didn't have credits for what I wanted and worked out an alternative means of paying you. You're going to write down the combination and location of the items I need and I'll retrieve them myself."

"You expect me to just trust you with the codes to two thirds of my supplies?" He asked incredulously?

"I'm trusting you not to try and rat me out. I'm trusting you not to immediately blow the whistle to your advocacy cronies. I'm trusting that the lives of your friends and lovers mean more to you than the pay day I'm sure you'd get for turning me in. I'm trusting you to do the right thing Jonathan," she said softly.

"You can change your codes remotely after two hours. I'm sure you have very precise sensors in those warehouses. You'll know if I take anything but what we agreed to, and if I do you have my permission to blow the whistle right then and there. A deal is a deal and we're both going to trust each other this one time. You make a lot of money and I get what I need."

He floundered. She was right and he knew it. It's how he would have played this had he been in her shoes. He was running out of time and he HAD to stop her somehow. He stepped to the counter and grabbed a piece of paper. Writing down the codes on the paper and scribbling a few lines. He needed to do something.

In desperation he realized the only thing he could really do was break his word and turn her in now. If he did it now the response would be fast and loud, but she could still get safely away. It would force her to abandon this plan and the advocacy would likely move their prisoner off world when they realized how serious she was about attacking them.

He glanced at the counter as he finished writing. If he moved now she'd see it and kill him before he ever had a chance to trigger the alarm.

He needed a distraction. As much as it irked him as he passed off the paper to her he believed she was dangerous enough he didn't make any attempt to grab her. She took the paper but kept her eyes on him until he stepped back away from the counter. He had to fight the urge to frown. It was almost like she knew he was going to try something, and was just waiting for it.

His mind twisted and turned the problem until he grudgingly admitted that the only way he could make a move was to do something obvious and over the top which might very well prompt her to attack him. The best he could do was feign anger or concern and hope she didn't react fast enough. She'd probably kill him for it but she wouldn't have the time to go after anyone else, and most importantly it would keep her alive for now.

Glancing over her face he contemplated for a second longer before making his move. Anger was likely to provoke an instant attack. Concern wasn't exactly expected and if he played it right he could make it seem like his concern was for himself and his position after whatever she planned went down. It was his only shot. It would conceal his reason for movement and startle her just enough that she failed to notice what he was doing until it was too late.

"Why are you really doing this?" He barked out pushing forward and gesticulating to cover his hand moving to reach under the counter. Erillia paused and turned to pin him with a withering gaze. In a smooth movement she slung her bow off her shoulder and drew an arrow. Before he could react she'd let it fly, piercing through the top of the counter and severing the cord to the alarm button he'd been reaching for just as his fingers brushed the edge of it.

"Because they took what was mine!" He almost flinched at the thundered response. Her attitude shifted for a second and he saw the girl she used to be for a flash as she shook her head. "The only thing that was ever truly mine." Her forlorn voice, although now so soft he had to listen closely to pick up each word, roiled with death and destruction. The threat washed over him and he shuddered again as he looked at her framed in the door way against the dying light. The city seemed to shudder too as the air grew thicker with tension while the night closed in. It was as if the city itself could sense what stalked its streets tonight.

"Whatever it is you think has been done or taken, you don't have to do this. It doesn't have to go this far," He murmured. He'd been too late before. He'd failed to stop things he should have stopped. He could make amends right here and now though. As he looked in her eyes though he saw that he was too late yet again. The light was gone from her eyes, leaving them unnerving to stare at. They looked almost like soulless pits devoid of life and more than willing to suck the life and light out of whatever got in her way.