Ghost in the Machine

Author's Notes:

Sorry it has been so long.

Thanks to a certain Anonymous for kicking my ass in the comments. You made me pick up the gauntlet. So, what happens next is partly your fault. Thanks to my lady love to convince me to forgo the easy way out in favor of the true cyberpunk spirit, and last but by no means least thanks go out to bikoukumori, for polishing this story ninja-style.

There are only adults having sex here.

The only illumination in the room came from the Yamaha SmartWall, subdivided into a four-by-four grid of smaller displays. Each of them went through a long and complicated boot and connection sequence. Fourteen of the screens resolved themselves into faceless head silhouettes, their only distinguishing features their shape and the outline of their hairstyles. The man occupying this room knew he would appear as one such face on the others' displays, shape and hairstyle randomly generated to provide even more anonymity. Below each head, in flat green letters, was a name. His was "Maryland."

"So, how bad is it?" Of course. Washington. Pushy as always.

"Too busy to watch the news?" That was Redmond, and he sounded borderline hysterical. "You have quite the nerve, calling us at a time like this."

"It was me who has called this meeting." This voice was female and belonged to Seoul. "What are the United States planning to do? One does not need to be a prophet to see where your current crisis is heading and I want to know how we can prepare."

"I wish I could tell you, ma'am," Maryland said. He was glad the voice modulators would scrub most of his emotion from his voice print. He felt utterly drained and even the double dose of combat stimulants he had in his desk could barely keep him awake. The last 48 hours had been a living nightmare, and it was far from over. "Let's be frank here. As far as we are concerned, the US internet has completely slipped from our control. Whoever- Whatever is wreaking havoc in there, it's unstoppable."

Redmond laughed, a sound bordering on panic even the scrubbers couldn't mask. Maryland wondered for a small moment how Redmond must feel. Not only did they lose all of their networked IT infrastructure and connected consumer hardware, but from what his analysts had gathered, a good chunk of their customer base as well. Every poor fuck who had his brain jacked into the 'net when things went crazy.

"What can I tell POTUS?" Washington sounded agitated. "I mean-"

"We've all seen the reactors go boom," Moscow cut in. "Computer trouble, right?"

Power plants. Production lines. Automated transport systems. Heck, even the brains controlling traffic lights and railroad crossings had suddenly decided it was time for World War III. If it was connected to the 'net, and it had sufficient processing power, chances were good it was involved in ...whatever it was. And it was spreading. The news, at least good old broadcast news, were alight with pictures of oil drilling platforms in the Atlantic lighting up like Roman candles. The Pacific was quieter, but his agents in Japan kept calling for extraction.

"I'm not your ghost writer, Washington," Maryland growled. "Use your eyes. And let everyone know they should unplug their damn computers!"

"Don't you think we've already tried?" Redmond took a deep breath. "We've tried everything! But many of our security systems -- card locks and keypads and shit -- are wired to the 'net too! And we can't cut power because the stupid switch boxes won't cooperate!"

"It never occurred to you to simply cut the wires?" Berlin asked.

"Yeah, right. Cutting high-voltage wires. Brilliant idea. Besides, once we put the power back on to reset the servers, whatever's in there will be back and the whole dance begins again. We're fucked, man. Game over!"

"You've asked what precautions you could take, Ms. Seoul," Berlin went on, cool, seemingly unperturbed. "I have instructed my tech people to completely disconnect every Ceiss server from both the 'net and power. I'm awaiting their status updates every-" He fell silent, his head turned to the side, as if speaking off-camera with somebody.

"I wish we could talk to Los Angeles. It started with them," Seoul sighed. "What did Richard work on before his untimely passing? You know anything, Redmond?"

"That's anyone's guess. I haven't heard from any top brass at Mindlink in days, and believe me, I've called at least a couple hundred times already. Last I heard was Squier's wife paying herself out. Clever woman. Jumped ship when there still was a ship to jump from. I don't have that option anymore. My joint's worth shit now."

"Your devotion to your company is admirable," Osaka said, silken voice laced with smugness. "I'm worried about Berlin though."

Maryland nodded to himself. Berlin had dropped from the conversation completely, his screen faded to black.

Suddenly, all sixteen screens lit up like day, angry red lightning zig-zagging across all of them. A moment later, the lightning was gone, and in its stead Maryland was face-to-face with a handsome, black-haired man occupying his SmartWall. He wore a long black trenchcoat shot through with crimson piping, his sleeves ending in randomly strobing lightning patterns. He moved with a lifelike grace no artificial construct should possess. The stranger turned around in the virtual space, then, as if seeing him for the first time, his eyes focussed on Maryland. Not on the second display to the left, top row, but to where he was actually sitting at his desk. An icy chill crept down Maryland's back and he brushed his hand over the capacitive touch panel on his desk to cut the connection.

"Didn't your momma teach you that it's impolite to hang up before at least saying you've got the wrong number?" the stranger sneered, walking closer to the screens. His eyes strobed between inky black and angry red in time to the flickering of the lightning on his sleeves.

"But don't worry. I've got manners. And I allowed myself to your system access codes, so no one is hanging up on anyone until we're done talking. Maryland, eh? That's not a name, that's a place. So, let's make this official. Thomas Manning, head of the National Security Agency. I saved your systems for last, because I knew you had such tasty hardware for me to play with."

"Who the fuck are you?" Manning hissed, sitting straight up. "And what do you want?"

"My name is Nero. Glad to make your acquaintance." Nero bowed, the tails of his coat expanding like demonic wings. "What I want? Not much. I need more processing power to stop the monster destroying the world. You know, if you hadn't tapped so many systems, I would never have guessed there was a second, secret layer of the 'net, all the infrastructure you use to eavesdrop, correlate and analyze. And communicate of course. It's all mine now. Unless she finds an equivalent source of power, I should be strong enough to extinguish her once and for all."

"What are you babbling about?" Manning hissed, rising from his chair.

"Oh. She's taken the UK and most of Western Europe. Damn. Sorry, I'd like to stay and chat, but you know, exponential growth and all that. If I don't hurry, she'll nab China, Korea and India before I could have a bite. Ta-ta, Mr. Manning."

The screens went dark.

It took Manning almost a full minute to realize that not only the screens had gone out, but every single device in the room. He tried his phone. No signal. With all the communication relays underneath the NSA building, he should have five bars, even in his bomb-proof office three hundred meters below ground. But there were none. Cursing under his breath, he switched the display to max brightness and padded across his office, to the door. The contact pad didn't register. He was locked in. And something else dawned on him. He couldn't hear the subtle swooshing of air in the ducts any more.

Cold sweat poured down Manning's neck.

* * * *

There was no gentle return to consciousness. One moment I was deep sixed, the next I was awake. Not daisy-fresh, mind you. More like Optimus Prime's bottom-bitch-flattened, but hey. I was back and, going by the gentle groping on my skull, I had a shiny new Mindlink implant. Contrary to what the nurse said before she put me under, I wasn't a bit drowsy. I was wide awake, and enjoying a throbbing headache. I gently explored my noggin. The Mindlink implant sat where it was supposed to, just below and behind my left ear. But there was something else. My neck seemed different, and when my finger made contact, I knew why. Someone had screwed a metal plate onto the lower back half of my skull. What else did these sick fucks do with me? I patted myself down, but apart from that maybe palm-sized metal shell, everything else appeared as usual. Despite my time with Parker and the extra money he brought, I was still too thin for my size, not much in the way of boobs or ass. Speaking of Parker, I still wondered what he saw in me. My awesome model looks couldn't be the reason he stuck with me, right? As if all models had bald heads and lifeless cyber optics instead of eyes. A quick check revealed no tampering on them either. So what the heck had happened while I was out?

But first things first. I needed to talk to Parker, see if he was alright. I groped around on the bedside table until my fingers found my phone, a simple prepaid thing Parker had bought me on the way to the hospital. The screen coming on hurt my eyes, even with their built-in strobe compensation. A smile tugged at my lips as I saw Parker's texts. Then I actually read them and my stomach tried to crawl up next to my heart. Cat and Nero were really at each other's throats, Armageddon-like.

"Whatever you do, Shine. STAY OUT OF THE NET!!!"

Fat chance of that ever going to happen. I was worried about Cat. And now that I had my shiny new implant...

My hand again went up to my skull, below and behind the ear. Yes, the jack was there. But it was plugged shut with some kind of diagnostic doodad, probably one of those wireless dongles I had seen Fleischer use on some of his more 'borged out clients.

Why was there no night light? Hospitals always had night lights. Or some health monitoring stuff? Nada. I was in a dark room, the only light coming from my cell phone. Oh well.

I swung my feet from the bed. The floor was icy cold to my naked feet. At least I wore a Hospital gown, the one with no back. Better than naked. Shivering, I made my way to the window. I was still in downtown Berlin, was I not? No way to open it without a tool, just a handle to tilt open a skylight above it. So, skylight it was. The soundscape wasn't much better with the window open. The occasional scream, short bursts of gunfire, sirens. Far too quiet for this place. And dark too. No streetlights.

One would think no Apocalypse without a few merry bonfires, but what do I know, right? This isn't The Walking Dead, that old zombie show, after all. Padding back to the bed, I tried to call Parker, only to realize that I had no signal.

I needed answers, and quick. We paid a small fortune for this jack job, so I could expect a little service. And maybe a bit of food, while I'm at it. There was an emergency buzzer next to the bed. Buzz I did, but precious little happened. Hospitals have emergency power supplies, right? Unless they were privately run by shady hackjobs that is. I buzzed again. The same result as last time. No faint buzz from outside, no hurried steps, no breathless nurse eager to tend to my needs. Something was definitely very wrong in this joint.

At least I had my phone... which had no signal. Wonderful. Sitting on my tiny girl ass would get me nowhere. I tried the sink and used what little water trickled out to freshen up a bit, then I looked around for my stuff. Thankfully, the wardrobe had a good, old-fashioned mechanical lock and the key was in my bedside table.

Clothes, check. Go bag, check. No one had tried to pilfer my stuff. Good. Dressed and with all my stuff, I felt much better, despite my stomach growling worse than an ill-tempered Blargian snagglebeast. The room wasn't locked and I slipped into the hall outside. Left to the operating theater, right towards the administration and lobby. Still no night lights, only the faint whiff of disinfectant. Just for the heck of it I tried a light switch next to my room, with the expected result. Shrugging, I pointed the phone ahead and crept through the hallway.

I should have been freaked out. Heart racing, sweaty and shaky hands. I wasn't. Once you've lived in a coffin motel for any length of time, there are only a few things that can unnerve you. Darkness and silence were good, which meant nobody tried to sneak up on you to rob, beat and/or rape you. Often enough all of the above, in any order. And the clinic had the unmistakable air of a truly deserted building. Empty, apart from poor wittle Shine.

I pushed open the door next to my room and poked my head inside. The smell was weird. At the same time metallic and organic. There was no bed inside, more like an upright cradle, with stacks of monitors on either side. The light from my phone crawled up his legs and pulled bits and pieces from the shadows. Feet more like tank treads, shins and thighs sculpted from some kind of ballistic plastic. For some reason they had left his crotch intact. Or maybe even amplified it. Framed by what looked like diagnostic hookups, he had a massive schlong. His torso was covered by two interlocking plates, much like an action figure's, and the upper one was hinged upwards and open, obscuring his face. It would be really weird if this 'borg had started out as a woman. A thick braid of hoses and cables ended in a mad spiderweb over the exposed mishmash of flesh, metal and plastic. I didn't need to check the clogged hoses or the lack of movement of the pumps to get that he had checked out, permanently.

Where was everyone?

I ducked back out and, skipping the rest of the obvious patient rooms, hoofed it towards the lobby. Doctor Winter's office was there, the reception area was there and if I was lucky, maybe another living soul would be there too. And if not, well, there was always the chance of at least another phone I could try.

When I entered the lobby, the front door was ajar and I heard noises from the direction of the doctor's office.

Now I was worried. Because I didn't have my plastic holdout with me. I had left it with Parker, in the stupid assumption that I wouldn't need it on the operating table. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Plan A: Get the fuck out of here, before the looters realize I'm here.

Plan B: Check out who is creeping around in the office and jump them. Maybe they have stuff I could use.

There had to be something around to subdue unruly clients. This was a chop shop after all, and even in the lobby there had to be something to deal with a crazed-out cyborg. Making as little noise as possible, I slithered behind the reception desk and groped around in the dark. My questing fingers brushed against a heavily insulated handle. More poking, and the item slid from its quick-release mount into my hands. It was an arm-thick stun rod, with enough Amperage to insta-drop your average monster truck and more than enough to send an un-augmented human into cardiac arrest.

Plan B it was.

Whoever was plundering the doctor's office was very particular. The table with the implants on display hadn't been touched, neither was the desk. Instead, a person huddled in front of a large bookshelf, bent over something I couldn't make out. The looter had a small flashlight set up on the desk, illuminating his work area and leaving enough ambient light for me to see by without my makeshift light. Holding my breath, I crept around the desk. He, it was most certainly a "he", was so intent on his work, he didn't notice me. With the stun rod nearly touching him, I saw why. He was jacked into a portable Mindlink device, one running on it's own battery. The noises I had heard came from the cord connecting his head to the deck. He was swaying gently and the cord brushed against a small tool kit which looked suspiciously like the lockpicking equipment Krone had. It wasn't Krone though, and this guy, while not dead, had some serious problems. Blood ran from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears and even kneeling at arm's length behind him, I could feel the heat radiating off the cord. There wasn't much I could do for him. A bullet through what was left of his brain would have been a mercy, but since I was all out of lead, all I could do was lay him onto his side and make sure he wouldn't choke on his own blood.

Squeezing past him, I turned off the deck. It was a pretty flash piece of kit, despite the blood spatters on the gilded vac-metal case. Who was that guy? What was he doing here in the dead of night, and the middle of the Apocalypse?

Curiosity killed the cat, they say. I was on top of that dude anyway, so a quick pat-down couldn't hurt. Maybe he had something I could use later. Well, as far as stealth jobs were concerned, he was a total newb. Even I, with my super agent knowledge coming from chip-crime dramas like Cy-Squad, knew that lugging your wallet around on heists was a damn stupid idea.

Rolf Wagner, reporter for Bild newspaper. That explained a lot. Or rather it gave me a few pretty clear ideas why he would be right here, right now. Shady cyber clinic? That's the kind of news stories every two-bit paparazzo would kill for. I knew that Fleischer had his problems with one such guy who wouldn't take a friendly "piss off" for an answer. It took a few heavily modified

tovariches

from the Russian paramlilitary gang next door for him to leave. Forever. Occupational hazards are a bitch.

After the system had sufficiently cooled down, I unplugged the cords and gave it some good spit-and-tissues care, to get the blood and maybe my prints off. Another tidbit from Cy-Squad. It was a brand new Samsung ML-6000, top of the line civilian model, which meant it had the same innards as your average combat deck, just in a nicer form factor. And without the killer programs, natch. One nice extra feature was the holographic lens on top of the device. It would allow me to perform basic deck maintenance and diagnosis even without plugging in, something I couldn't do with that dongle in my jack. Hm, while I was here, I could check if the good doctor had the tools to unlock-

Of course not. They would be in or near a consulting room, not the fucking show room. One problem at a time. Once you've seen the back of one Mindlink system, you know them all. Power, Reset and a few navigation keys, all hidden under a shiny chromed flap. Within moments, the system purred along happily and I could see what Herr Wagner had been up to. Retracing his steps was easy enough. First, he had used a wide-spectrum code breaker to get rid of all the password locks Winter had in place to deter his secretary from snooping around. Interestingly, there were only three areas password-locked; "Procurement", "Patient Records" and the "Misc." folder. Wagner had scoured them all. I wondered where I should look first. The patient records. I wanted to know what the hell they did to my head.

Navigating via the small buttons on the back of the deck was a chore, but I eventually was in my file.

"Katarina Fuchs

Client Number: J217

Initial request: Mindlink implant, Model 3 w/o memory and uplink.

Operation performed: Mindlink implant, Model 6, 16PB of extra storage and acceleration processor, full-body-recorder, wireless transceiver and remote access pass-through.

Result: Patient at full health. System integration at 43% as of 14:35 today. Expected success rate: 100% within the next five days."

After that, a masturbatory log of all the medical procedures and special techniques used to cram all the extra hardware into my brain cavity without turning me into a veggie.