Undercover Ops Ch. 04

Undercover Ops: Ch. 04

Cassidy's Lynx once again roared towards the slums of Oldtown. She could not imagine that it had become a trend for the ruthless gangs to assault IOs for kicks, but it was the only real lead she had. The largest concern that raced through her mind was that someone had already discovered that she had taken the situation personally and set that trap for her to throw her off course.

In favor of the lead, most of the Operators in question had last been seen relatively close to the region; within a few dozen blocks of the slums. Even Shade, who lived a fair distance from the run-down section of the city, was known to head out to that area to shop for the basics from time to time.

It made a fair amount of sense when the team was between jobs, since the section frequently had the cheapest prices on food and the hawk shops often held gems for the hyper-intelligent tinkerer. Cassidy herself occasionally ventured back to the region of her birth for just such opportunities.

Her first instinct would be to decry that any IO worth their mettle would know enough to avoid the gangs; the largest danger of the volatile district. Unfortunately, she had just discovered firsthand that they could still prove a problem even to the wary, especially when the gangers set up an ambush specifically for an Op. Not only did they know the danger level of the opponent they faced, but they could make sure to have their weapons ready and aimed while the IO was likely caught flat footed.

And the biggest question was how a gang could manage to get their hands on brand new van, and such sophisticated equipment. It clearly hadn't been purchased by them. While they might favor the transportation, there were many, many, other things they would have sunk that much money into. A complete, and very state of the art, tracking system was not among them. Especially when she stopped to consider the state of the weapons she had collected from the scene. She wouldn't make much money from those, especially since they were such low quality that they would likely just end up back in the hands of gangs since even a wannabe Op. knew that their life depended on the reliability of their weapon.

Between the expensive equipment and the dangerous pastime, Cassidy could only come up with a single conclusion. This isn't your standard Slaver Gang. Someone is using at least that one gang in order to kidnap IOs.

Of course, that left the question as to what someone wanted with over a dozen Ops.

If they had been using gangers, and they didn't care about the condition that they arrived in, it was no surprise that all of those who had gone missing were female. In the mind of a ganger it made perfect sense. Maximize the profit of a venture by finding every possible advantage in the assignment. In that way they were similar to IOs, but the later generally held some sense of professionalism that would prohibit rape as a fringe benefit of an assignment. Any Ops who thought like that got very few jobs and were generally blacklisted by the other teams.

Cassidy dodged the Lynx around a few slower moving vehicles. She was now well within the accepted limits of Oldtown. Cassidy shuddered involuntarily. There was a reason she didn't visit this section of the city very often. Although she could justify her actions, or rather inaction, as being able to afford to pay full price for anything she might find here, the truth of the matter was as simple as bad memories.

Even if she had nearly sixteen years of good memories, a couple of isolated incidents had been enough to not only sour her to the harsh reality of the place, but she was afraid to live life itself to a degree. The chance encounter with Merritt had reminded Cassidy that there was a bright side. It reminded her of those years of happy memories. Although her parents had died young, she'd had eleven years in the happy warmth of a family. Even after she was left an orphan, she had been taken in and cared for by the residents of the block, grateful for the efforts her parents had made on their behalf.

It was those memories which she surrounded the terrified young woman that cringed within her even now. Within the heart of this dried up and defeated section of the city there had been happiness and love. She needed to remember that. Perhaps her trip back here, so soon after her encounter with Merritt, was destined. Even if she found nothing about the disappearances.

Cassidy's bike slowed of its own accord. Her mind tugged at her in recognition and she expected to look around and realize that she had returned to the scene of the crime only an hour old. The sight that greeted her however was the scene of one of the defining tragedies of her life.

The Lynx pulled over to the curb. Cassidy slowly pulled herself from the bike but her gaze never wavered from the building. Her eyes watered, heavy with memory, but the corners of her mouth lifted with a different set. Her hand came up to longingly stroke the cheap, strong, surface of the building. Where once had been a corner store, that supplied the residents all of their essential needs for blocks around, was now replaced with a dozen extra apartments.

As hard as her parents had worked, they had always found time for her. They had shown her unending patience and taught her compassion and generosity.

Cassidy felt the cool face of the building as her head dipped forward to rest against it. Tears began to flow as she suddenly wondered what they would think of the woman who had transformed from their precious daughter. They wouldn't have understood her career, though they never would have openly condemned it. At least they would have accepted her code of honor, possibly even commended her for it.

Cassidy spun, without losing the precious contact with the building, until her back rested against the wall. Slowly she lowered herself to sit as small sobs wracked her. Everything had suddenly begun to happen so quickly and she couldn't understand any of it. How was it that she, The Cassidy, could be so devastated? She'd gone into situations where teams of professional killers feared to go and walked out bruised but alive. What had happened to the woman who had stared down the barrels of too many guns to remember without the slightest qualm?

As her breathing slowed, the answer slowly formed.

Against any of those guns, during any of those missions, I didn't care if I died.

And that was what would have most disappointed her parents. They had loved life. They fought, in their own way, to make it better for everyone around them. They would never have accepted the violence, and would be horrified that she could think so little of herself that it didn't matter if she died.

But now things were different. Now she had more to look for and a reason to look. The Stinger parked across the street reminded her of one such reason. It wasn't his, but it remained a symbol of what she had felt, what she hoped to feel again.

And, Cassidy reminded herself as she wiped the tears carefully away with the back of her hand, I have a mission to complete!

And even though her parents didn't approve of violence, would have dreaded that their princess had become a master of it, even they would have understood that this mission was important. Whether they liked IOs or not, whether they understood them or not, they had feared and hated the Slaver Gangs.

But more than that, this was about helping a friend. Shade was out there somewhere, likely along with a dozen other Ops. She needed help, and there was only one person who could find her. Shade was like her little sister, and she wouldn't leave the hacker out there, alone, for any longer.

Cassidy pushed herself back up the wall. A single deep breath steadied her and focused her mind back to the task at hand. As much as the car staring at her reminded her of her other desires, she needed to see Shade home safely. That was why she was back in Oldtown.

With memory fresh in her mind, Cassidy looked around with new eyes. It was always twilight here; no day or night. While the same could be said anywhere in the city, where the buildings rose to blot out the sky in every direction and the only light was manmade, it was particularly true in Oldtown. Here people bustled along at all hours in order to report to their drudgery of jobs.

She continued to ponder the situation more carefully as she leaned against the wall. She had a tenuous lead to follow, but everyone who would have known anything for certain was dead. She cursed herself for not leaving one alive for questioning. The one with the shattered shoulder could have easily been disarmed instead of killed, but she'd let her temper get the best of her.

Was everyone dead? Although Slaver Gangs tended to be much smaller groups than the rank and file street gangs, the group that had ambushed her had been small even by those standards. Undoubtedly someone still knew something about their activities.

Traditional Slaver Gangs were mostly a small subset of a street gang. Usually a corp would approach a single ganger and offer him a lucrative side business. He would then gather a number of his friends, and they would form an offshoot branch of their original gang. The corp got the people they needed, but without the need to spend the time and effort training employees for it. For a fraction of the cost, and all of the deniability compared to if they had done it themselves, they outsourced the problem. There was little doubt that anyone in the slums had come up with the idea to attack Ops, so more than likely there was a trail somewhere here to follow.

The only problem was that Cassidy had absolutely no idea where to start looking. For all the time that she had grown up in Oldtown, she had no idea of how the gangs really worked. While she had lived here, she had avoided them like the dangerous plague they were. Once she had left, she had considered them beneath her contempt. Now she began to realize her mistake. All knowledge is worth having. A favorite phrase of her father's proven by the current situation.

She knew gangs were based around territories. Although the regions around the edges of Oldtown were most likely to maintain slightly more affluent members, the heart of the slum was where the largest number of the poorest lived. The disillusioned youth knew that they would grow up and hold the same jobs that their parents held and make the same pittance. This meant that they needed to find other meaning in life, and turned to the street gangs. Membership was for life, and many of the wage-slaves wore gang colors even to work. Most wore them into the incinerator when they died.

There was another thing that wouldn't have changed in the few years since she had lived here. There were only two entertainments which everyone agreed were both moral and affordable; alcohol and television. Although she occasionally doubted the morality of the former, especially after a particularly rough night, it was certainly popular among the gangers. It was also late enough in the day that at least some would be out drinking. Although, with round the clock shifts, many bars were open all hours in order to serve the various schedules of the patrons.

Cassidy returned to her bike and watched for a break in the growing traffic. As she pulled out and began towards the blocks where she had been attacked, she realized what a comfort the traffic actually was. On the Lynx it wouldn't hinder her too much, but it certainly pointed towards a lack of an ambush prepared.

The more she thought about it, rather than simply reacting, the more she should have realized that something had been planned. To a degree, she had become far to complacent. She had forgotten the dangers that the city itself posed. It was second nature to be on guard during a raid on a corp, but she expected her skills to be up to any minor incident that came along outside of those narrow parameters. Admittedly, they had been this time, but that had been this time. Although she hoped not to ever face a next time, she was realistic enough to admit that it would likely happen again.

Traffic began to lighten the closer she got to the twice damned block. She couldn't help the tension that sprang up at the base of her neck. Now that she was conscious of her previous mistake, the awareness prayed on her. The streets were still far to clean for her comfort. It was almost as if the hand of the suburbs had come in and swept clear an area about a dozen square blocks right in the middle of the slums.

It wasn't until she passed the store that catered to region that she realized the truth. Cassidy laughed and most of the tension flowed from her. The entire ground floor of the building that soared a thousand feet or more above her was taken by the store that fed a few dozen blocks.

She knew, from her investigations and free time reading The Gutter, that the chain store was owned by Pharmatectric. If they owned the store, then likely they owned the entire region, and their employees filled the residences. Due to its roots as a chemical and pharmaceutical manufacturer, the company had an obsession with cleanliness that extended even into the slums. And because the employees dealt with it constantly at work, it was little consequence to face it at home.

The block where she had been attacked was as busy as the rest were. Cassidy slowed the bike and pulled close to the cars parked on the side of the road. More than anything, their presence comforted her. If trouble came, planned or not, she could find some cover.

Without surprise, she noticed that the bodies and shells had been removed and the limited damage to the street repaired. The fact that the blood had been cleaned away would have surprised her, had she not already determined which of the corporations ran this section. All in all it was as if the entire thing had never happened.

In truth, aside from her memories, it may as well never have. The residents wouldn't care, except for perhaps any related to the gangers, and even they would only hang their heads and reflect that it had been the inevitable outcome of their decision to join one of the ever-present gangs.

A single lap of the block proved there were no fronted bars. Likely each building held at least one somewhere within it, whether legal or not, but the most popular ones were always, like the stores, on the ground floor with at least one wall open to the street. Although, many of the gangs enjoyed the atmosphere of the ones nestled in the basements, their only entrances dim stairwells. No one, ganger or IO alike, who had enemies liked to hole up in a location with no readily available external frontage. Even forty floors up there was a better chance of survival going through a window than facing armed opponents who had the front door covered.

Cassidy began to spiral outward in search of the nearest bar. After fully circling over half a dozen, she despaired that Pharmatectric actually refused to allow them in its districts. If that were true it would have to be the only of the megas which didn't rely on alcohol to numb its employees to the harsh reality of the world. It would make her search for more of the gang infinitely more difficult, however, as she then needed to search every bar in the immediate region in the hopes that 'her' gang held territory outside of the Pharmatectric controlled area.

The possibility that the mega corporation refused bars would be conceivable given the nature of many of their products. In truth, some of the files buried in the third tier of The Gutter hinted that the company actually saturated the water supplies to their facilities with some of their black market products. Those products, which everyone knew existed, could do everything from remove inhibitions, to produce sterility outside of certain genetic constraints, to biochemical warfare.

Of course there was no way to test the hypothesis to the satisfaction of the corporate court, or else their competitors would have long since dismantled the company. If the hints were true, however, they didn't need alcohol to either dull the inhibitions or strengthen the loyalty of its people; the drugs mixed with the water did that quite nicely. Regardless of the truth of the allegations, Cassidy had never trusted their water.

Finally, she spotted the telltale burnt out light over a narrow stairway. It was certainly far enough away that there was very little likelihood that anyone inside had been a witness to the fight. That provided her with all the safety from retaliation that she was likely to get. In case they had other things on their minds for her, she reached back and drew her pistol.

She clicked the safety off and checked the chamber. As she had sent a message to her agent, to inform him of the new merchandise, she had meticulously checked each of her guns for damage or any other signs they might jam. She'd also reloaded them and chambered a round.

Although most Ops followed gun safety protocol and left the safety on and nothing chambered unless the shooting had started, Cassidy knew her capabilities. She had spent years around guns and knew without a doubt that they were safe, even in that state. If someone managed to get her gun from her own holster, then she had a much bigger problem than gun safety. Likely she would already be unconscious or bound. And hopefully even then the gun had cleared her holster, as she fought to defend herself.

With a comforting pat, she replaced the gun, set the security codes on the Lynx and glided down the steps into the bar.

If the proprietor had tried, the bar could not have been any more cliché. The small room, perhaps thirty feet to a side, was lit only by a handful of hanging lamps and a strip of track lighting immediately over the bar. A dilapidated gaming table sat comfortable beneath two of the few lights and around it sat a quartet of patrons ~nearly half the total population of the dismal place.

A sound system rumbled from somewhere. As Cassidy moved over to the bar, she confirmed that the controls sat behind it, for the tender's pleasure. The system looked like something her parents had been able to afford in her youth. But even the cheap pile of circuits was more than enough for the small establishment.

Cassidy noted that the four around the table, all men, glanced up at her entrance but then went back to their cards. From the bets and the relative positioning, she guessed they were playing poker, but couldn't be sure. Although there were always new games being created, the classics never faded. Instead, most of the new ones could be derived from those basics.

A man and a woman sat at one of three booths. By the way they half turned towards each other and half towards the exit, she knew where that would end. Either one of them could have been a professional, but they both came out looking for companionship. Cassidy blushed slightly as the previous night flashed into her mind. She could relate better now than she ever could have before.

Someone ~Cassidy couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman~ nursed a drink in the corner and watched everything that went on with absolute intensity. Shadow, as she had chosen to dub the person, was big and tense. Either Shadow had come looking for a fight, or was here to meet someone. Either way, she hoped it was a situation that had nothing to do with her.

Finally, aside from the man behind the bar, a woman sat on a stool. From the way she hunched over her drink and mumbled to the proprietor she had to be a regular. If anyone in the bar would be able to provide information on the local gangs it would be that woman, if not the bartender himself. Either way, there was only one logical place to go.