“Miss Bloch, can you please answer my question?” The incredibly uptight voice asks shaking me back to reality. Looking across the desk is my boss's boss, a man in a suit with slicked back blonde hair and the current CEO of Griffon Salvage, Evan Isen. “Why did you seek treatment with Dr Abhir…,” He stops obviously struggling with the name, “…he is not on our list of approved health care professionals.”
“I was stabbed, I was bleeding out I really didn’t have a choice,” I reply as I ball my fists under the desk. “Dr Abhirath saved my life when he found me, and he was obviously good enough at his job to get me fixed up and ready to work in less than forty-eight hours.”
“And how did he do that?” Isen asks a sneer on his face as he removes a form from a folder, the title reading ‘Disciplinary Action’.
“He used Cr-Regen formula, it's approved by the FDA apparently,” I reply as I look down to see Isen writing my name in the first section of the form. “It’s not like I developed carrier powers beyond the temporary healing factor.” I lie as I see Isen write down, ‘Rejection of Medical Fidelity’, in the reason for disciplinary action.
“Still, I’ll have to write you up for your bad judgement.” Isen states, the sneer on his face so wide it morphs his features into something hideous and evil. “And I’m assigning you to ‘Scavenger Duty’ apparently the CBTF has cleared Site India Charlie of Xeno Cyan, we need to start cataloguing the contents.”
“The lab run by Dr Terra Solei and Prime Theologian…” I gulp as shivers begin to run down my spine. Bad enough that a mad doctor and alien collaborator were running experiments down there, but it was well documented that the lab was apparently haunted by failed experiments.
“Get to work Miss Bloch, we have a schedule to keep,” Isen tells me as he signs the disciplinary form before filing the form away.
**
Iron Circle, Indigo City
The work crew I’m leading is made up of what Griffon considers ‘trouble makers’, albeit trouble makers that were considered too useful to let go. Normally such a group would be talking and chatting but the fear of what we might find in the dark kept us silent. As we pulled up to the temporary CBTF checkpoint we see the temporary elevator that will take us below the surface, the black armoured agents flanking the opening.
“Here we go…” I whisper as Saieed, the driver reverse parks in the contactor parking space, the five of us exiting the vehicle before walking over to the checkpoint to swipe in. As team leader I get a rundown of what to expect, the lab has been cleared of hostiles and of Xeno-Cyan gas, and thankfully the electrical systems are still running. This should be comforting to me, it isn’t. Those who I am about to lead into hell don’t voice their concerns, but I wish they would.
“Okay, Juan you’ll be our confined spaces contact,” I tell the large Honduran man, his frame stuffed into a high vis jacket and trousers, his long hair tied back into a ponytail. “When we get down into the lab, we stick together, we keep an eye on gas levels and don’t touch anything until we can catalogue it as safe,” I order as we step onto the lift our belts loaded with gas monitors, halogen lights, scanners and CB radios, ready to face whatever may lurk below. Rumbling, lights flashing as we descend after a minute we arrive at the lab, a tri-levelled structure with multiple gurneys stained with dry blood.
“Where do we start boss?” Jin, an Indonesian woman with long brown hair asks as she removes a gas monitor, the device beeping an all-clear in regards to atmospheric compensation.
“Start at the top.” I sigh as I look up at the metal staircase up to the top level. “Then we work down.”
**
Deva's Clinic, Katya Street
There isn’t enough time in the day to clear the Iron Circle lab, something that is sure to cause sleepless nights, not just for me and the work crew, but the CBTF guards and anyone else who is aware that the lab exists. Thankfully sleep isn’t on my mind as I walk into Deva’s Clinic, smiling a worried smile as I sign in with the receptionist, and slip through to the doctor’s office. Walking in, I see Deva looking at a police report, the photograph of a 3D printed knife clipped to the front with a paper clip.
“Good reading?” I ask causing Deva to straighten up and spin around.
“Not really, this is the autopsy report for one Sudirman Tirta Muljana, a low-level stardust dealer for the Komodo Crime Syndicate. He was killed by a knife that was fired at a high velocity from a distance of over 50m away, does that sound familiar.” Deva announces as I slump down in a computer chair.
“Sounds painful, so he was killed by my mystery knife throwing carrier,” I state as he slides me the report over the other side of the desk. “Wait…he was drained of blood…through a single chest wound…” I gulp as I see the report with my own eyes. “What is this thing?”
“Blood analysis of the victim showed that they had no traces of Xeno Cyan in his red blood cells. That isn’t a thing unless Mr Muljana was outside of Indigo City when the Great Impact occurred which is unlikely considering how tight the CBTF have this place locked down.” Deva explains as I silently try to suppress the nightmarish and likely painful alternate ending that would have come about if the doctor hadn’t introduced my attacker to the front bumper of his car.
“Okay so knife-throwing cyborg cyclops vampire?” I gulp as a sweet smell waft through the air from out in the hall. “That’s more buzz words than I like in a description of a man,” I state as Deva walks to the door, only for something heavy to impact the other side, flinging it open and knocking him to the floor. Stress and fear race through my body I know what was on the other side…at least I thought I did until a woman dressed in overalls overlaid with an orange breastplate strut in, her dyed orange hair pulled into pig-tails and her face covered in the type of mask used by spray painters.
“Dr Deva Abhirath?” The woman asks as I see her unclip a slimline pistol from her breastplate. “You’ve been asked to stick out of my client’s business.” She hisses as she fires her weapon, a thick boiling liquid spraying over Deva’s hand causing him to scream out in pain. Moving to help I see the weapon swing round to point at my forehead. “Don’t think about it or you find out what it’s like to have molten resin poured down your throat.” She warns as I take a step back, looking around for anything that could be a weapon.
“You’re that Resin Raider from the airport siege.” Deva groans as the woman trot over and place her booted foot on his chest. “Some industrial terrorist or something.”
“Oh, that was so last year doctor.” The woman purrs as she reattaches her pistol as removes what looks like a recurved hook from a series of knives strapped to her overalls. “Firstly, BK Image Consultants suggested I rebrand, it’s not the Resin Raider anymore it’s the Resinator. Secondly, I gave up the terrorist angle, now I’m just an artist…albeit an artist struggling for cash, so occasionally I have to do girly things like blow up a shipping container or deliver a message to a bonehead like you.” She states as she rests the hook against Deva’s forehead. “Now do I need to carve a reminder into your forehead or are you going to stop treating people you shouldn’t…”
“I took an oath, everyone who comes in here looking for help will get it.” Deva coughs as the Resinator presses the hook harder against Deva’s skin. She isn’t focused on me, I guess since she’s some master mercenary she doesn’t see me as a threat as I reach out and pick up a bottle of acid with a large ‘X’ warning symbol on the label. I need to make this good, I’ll only get one chance to pull this off.
I take a deep breath before whispering, “Harmful liquid,” under my breath and lunging forward, eyes closed, my fist smoking as I make my move.
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