ABC - Penance
Chapter 32

Labour Camp One – Original site.

The buildings that I passed showed more evidence of neglect, doors hanging off their hinges or missing completely and many windows at ground level cracked or broken. A graffiti artist had even made the long trip out to the abandoned site, tagging the walls and paving with their logo.

I approached the target building slowly, skirting around open spaces and trying to stay in cover. Close up, I could see the windows at the ground level had all been covered over with translucent plastic sheets, hot-glued across the damaged glass. The doors had been replaced with new heavy duty ones of metal, new coded locks installed too.

It all looked very secure, the effect only spoiled by the wide open shutter door at one end. I stalked closer, noting the tyre marks still visible on the pavement outside. Someone had loaded a number of vehicles here and recently too.

I peeked around one edge of the open door, seeing a loading bay littered with fragments of packing foam and binding tape. At the far end was a cargo elevator, the sliding mesh door pulled to one side. On my right side was a regular sized door that led into the rest of the ground floor. The door itself was wedged open with a small box, the floor showing scuff marks from boots and heavy items being dragged out.

On impulse I went that way first and found a long open room. It may have once served as a manufactory room, where the inmates laboured away to make goods for sale by the Camp. It had been put to similar use by the latest occupants, with a lone Auto-Lab abandoned in the middle of the floor. Marks on the tiled floor showed where other similar machines had rested, presumably taken away in the trucks.

The Auto-Lab that remained was partially stripped, in particular its memory core was missing. It was sitting at an angle and I could see the unit had been dropped, buckling one base edge and popping the side panels. They must have deemed it unworthy of hauling its carcass away, just taking the core so it couldn’t be interrogated.

I pushed on through an adjoining door, this one closed but unlocked. It opened to reveal a chamber completely sheathed in dust proofing, reminding me of some illegal Chem labs I had busted in my time as a Detective.

This room was stripped too, only long stainless steel and plastic benches in rows remaining. I walked up and down the empty rows, wondering if this room had been used for some kind of research or packaging of what the Auto-Labs had made. None the wiser, I headed to another connecting door.

The heavy duty door here was protected by a sophisticated smart-card lock, now disabled. It had been torn open and hacked in a method that looked like Ghost’s handiwork. I had my Machine Pistol cocked and ready to fire when I pushed the door open, to reveal a series of cells connected to a long corridor.

I moved cautiously forwards, checking each open cell as I went past. They were basic double occupancy cells, with a bed each side of a central toilet and wash basin arrangement. There were fifteen such rooms in a row, most appearing long abandoned. About half way along the corridor, one cell caught my attention.

I pushed the metal mesh door open and looked at the right hand wall. The pale grey surface had been painted over in exquisite detail showing a scene of idyllic farmland in a valley, the background filled with soaring snow-capped peaks. Someone had spent a lot of time in this cell, working on their masterpiece.

My fingers traced the paint, feeling the smooth texture of water colours. This work was recent and I could not ignore the similarity to the painting I had seen gracing the Head Warden’s foyer. My eyes were drawn to the right hand side, searching for a signature. I could not see one, then on instinct I dragged the bed away from the wall.

The painting continued down to the floor, changing at the line the bed had covered. Below the line, the scene changed to a dungeon like cavern, painted in dark and sombre colours only brightened by the yellow glare of flames and the deep red of blood. It was a torture chamber, human-like figures strapped to walls and tables. Tall, inhuman figures in white robes administered the agonies, faces hidden behind demonic masks.

It was untitled so I searched for a signature at the bottom most right corner. There, painted in a clear hand was a simple signature from the artist. One name only, but a name that filled me with more questions. It read simply ‘Pony’.

I sat on the bed, staring at this disturbing piece of art. It might be sheer coincidence, yet I had no doubt in my mind that Prisoner-One, Pony, had once been a man named T. Anderson.

Looking at the scene he had depicted, I felt another realisation crawling over me like a cockroach seeking my mouth. I spat sour bile on the floor and stood, knowing I had to search the basement.

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If the upper floor had been an abandoned laboratory, the basement was a morgue. From the moment the cargo elevator had descended to the lowest level, a stench of corruption hit my nostrils.

The lights down here had been disconnected, so I took my small torch from the bandolier and snapped it onto the mounting rail beneath my gun. Its light stabbed out into the broad space, knifing over stacks of bloated black bags.

I clamped one hand over my nose and mouth, the other moving my gun and torch in a steady back and forth sweep. There had to be close to thirty body bags down here, some laid singly and others dropped carelessly across their companions.

Beyond this a plastic lined portable room could be glimpsed, the entire assembly supported by thin metal poles that were affixed by bolts to floor and ceiling. An airlock assembly was connected on one side, the inner and outer doors now hanging open. There were connection ports too for air supply and ventilation, the machinery gone along with all the other valuable equipment.

I stood in the airlock opening, my torch illuminating the plastic enclosed chamber. A lone trolley sat upended in a corner, everything else stripped away. The floor was interlocked panels of plastic mesh, spatters of dried blood visible between the woven material. I stepped inside, wondering what the test subjects thought as they were brought in here.

Sheer terror I would imagine, perhaps knowing what awaited them.

As I turned to leave, a scrap of white paper caught in my torchlight. It was wedged in the gap that lay between a pair of floor panels, almost hidden deliberately it seemed to me. I knelt and drew it out, seeing an old style printed photograph. From the texture of the waxy card I reckoned it had to be a couple of decades old, possibly more.

In the light from my torch I unfolded the photo. It showed two sombre men, arms around each other’s shoulders. They were standing in front of a blue coloured vehicle, a van I thought. On the back of the photo it was signed as follows:

“Hey Tor, The Light will come. We just have to endure the Darkness first. Alex”

I turned the photo over again and examined the two men. One was short and blonde haired, a pleasant face with vibrant blue eyes. The other man was taller, a good foot bigger than his companion. He had a blonde goatee, close trimmed and pale blonde hair. Eyes of a deep grey stared out at the camera, the pale brows knitted in concentration.

One of these two men was Tor Anderson, a skilled artist. He was better known to the world by his true profession as a Genetic Engineer. Every school kid knew that Tor Anderson created the Fast Heal serum, a concoction of nano-technology that knitted flesh and repaired cellular damage like magic.

He was a legendary recluse, long unseen on the world stage for decades from what little I knew of him. Could he be the man who now called himself Pony?

I was in something deep, poking at the edges of knowledge I really didn’t want to learn. Then my phone rang, scaring me shitless when it broke the silence.

I pulled it from my pants pocket and saw it was from Georgia,

“Hey babe, what’s up?” I asked her as I answered the call.

“The Sentry just alerted me. Your location data is being accessed and I am trying to follow whatever is tracing you”

“Shit!” I replied. “How long have they been plotting my position?”

“A minute tops” Georgia said hurriedly. “I am in the middle of a trace but they are using a lot of cut-outs. You need to activate the kill-switch”

I stepped back into the main basement, my Machine Pistol in one hand and the phone in the other.

“How long do you need to complete the trace?”

I could feel Georgia’s anguish down the phone connection.

“At least five minutes, maybe more” she cried.

“Okay, you got it!” I told her. “Call me when you are ready and I’ll kill the tracker”

“Luisa! They could be on you by then! Kill it now!”

“Don’t worry, Georgia, I’ll be fine!” I lied to her and disconnected the call. Then I turned my phone off completely and slid it into a Faraday bag I had bought recently, along with the photograph. The bag was an expensive piece of protection for such a cheap device, but I couldn’t afford to have this phone cooked until I was done with it.

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I ran back the way I had come and triggered the elevator. It ascended to the loading bay and I skirted the edges, hugging the walls until I paused at the open loading bay door. Lying low to the ground, I poked my head around the corner to check the central courtyard. A heavy bullet smashed off the ground a bare arm’s length away from my head and I ducked behind the solid wall.

“Hey, Luisa, is that you baby?” called a voice with a familiar drawl. “Sorry about the shot, you startled me”

“Hi Bobbi!” I yelled back. “It’s Okay, you missed me. What are you doing here?”

“Working!” she called. “How about you?”

“The same” I shouted. I clambered to my feet, the concrete wall at my back. I glanced out at what little I could see of the courtyard and saw no-one. Bobbi’s voice sounded like she was close, maybe fifty meters or less and up one level.

“Hey Luisa” Bobbi yelled. “You know you can’t get away from here. How about you come out nice and quiet like so no-one has to get hurt?”

“Sorry Bobbi!” I yelled. “I don’t think your employer wants me to leave here alive. If you let me go, I promise not to hurt any of your crew”

“You know I can’t break a contract, Luisa” she replied. “That’s the end for a Freelancer if they don’t fulfil their mission”

Bobbi was keeping me busy while her crew circled me, I knew that. Wade was probably coming around the back of the building and Nigel was going to send in drones any second. I had no idea what Catherine was so I’d have to deal with her when I saw her.

I grabbed an item from my bandolier and primed it, waiting for Nigel’s opening move. On cue a recon drone buzzed in the open door, racing past me and circling around the loading bay. It was a distraction and I held my fire, watching the doorway intently.

Less than five seconds after the recon drone, his bigger armed remote surged in through the gap. It was about a meter from rotor to rotor, a sensor head swivelling to track me as it flew into the bay on its own gust of wind. The underslung gun was already tracking towards me when I tossed the EMP grenade into the air.

The pulse surged out and killed both drones instantly. As they clattered to the floor I was already running to the cargo elevator, praying the power was still connected. I jerked the mesh barrier closed and hit a button at random. Through the mesh I could see a smoke grenade land in the middle of the floor, dark green smoke billowing towards me.

My Smart Goggles rebooted as the lift began to ascend and with them I saw a hulking shape enter from the side door. I loosed a blind burst from my Machine Pistol through the barrier, making them jump back into cover. Then the elevator cleared the ceiling as I was out of their range.

The car stopped at the second floor, so I pushed the barrier open and stepped into the chamber beyond. Old shelving still lined the walls and a solitary light flickered to life as I entered, triggered by my movement. Some newer cartons were stacked in here, provisions for whatever team had been working in this place. Most of it was long-life packaged food so I crouched behind it to think for a moment.

Wade would now be coming up the stairs and Nigel would have at least one more recon drone to follow me. He could have another combat drone, yet I knew those suckers were expensive so he might only have some suicide drones as a backup. Those little bastards were scary, flying right at your head and detonating a small charge to crack your skull open.

My best bet was to go up one more level and try to circle around past Bobbi’s crew. I thought about using the roof top but I would be too exposed to Nigel’s drones and any long range sniping from Bobbi herself.

The cargo elevator buzzed and tried to descend, sounding an alarm because I had left the mesh barrier open. Good, that meant at least one of the crew was in the loading bay, cursing me and the Health and Safety rules that stopped the car from moving while the gate was open.

I ran to a door, found it locked and used my Kinetic Enhancer to kick it open. This level was more accommodation cells, long unused so I ran the length of the corridor to the far end. The door here was unlocked so I pushed it open and found myself in a guard room. A door ahead led to more cells and to my left was an interior elevator and a doorway labelled ‘Stairs’.

As much as my legs wanted me to use the elevator, I pushed open the door to the stairway. Flights led up and down and below me I thought I heard a clink of metal off concrete. That was likely to be Wade so I took the stair upwards, my thighs already beginning to feel the burn. I reached the top floor but the stairs continued up to the roof, ending at a maintenance hatch. I was tempted but stuck to my plan, casting about for a connecting route to the adjoining building.

The third floor interior was more cells lining one side of a corridor. At the end was an external door with grimy reinforced glass showing a covered walkway to the next accommodation block. It had waist high concrete edging and sheet metal roofing overhead. It looked clear from what I could see so I heaved against the door, forcing the protesting hinges to open.

I kept low, trying to stay below the level of the side walls, but I must have stuck my head up too high. A cry echoed from below and a rifle shot followed, chipping splinters of concrete awfully close to my head. The next building had another toughened door and wouldn’t budge, so I lay on my back and kicked hard, channelling power into my boots.

The locking mechanism gave way and the door swung inwards, showing another corridor lined with cells. I scrabbled on my hands and knees inside, then once I felt it was out of Bobbi’s line of sight I got to my feet. It was a long corridor and I covered most of it when I heard the big tread of Wade stomping the floor behind me.

I didn’t wait for him to shoot me in the back, instead dropping to the floor in a long slide and flipping onto my side. It was an awkward angle, my Machine Pistol pointing past my boots at the charging figure of the Freelancer. Wade had his own gun raised, a short barrelled Assault Rifle, yet my sudden drop had thrown off his aim.

His burst of fire ripped over my head, tearing up the walls and corridor end. My own burst was equally wild, shredding the roofing panels over his head as I sent about half a magazine in his direction. He jerked sideways, taking shelter in one of the doorways to a cell.

I took the opportunity to get running again, then I saw a shadow eclipsing the glass panel of the external door. Whomever it was, I did not want to tangle with them. As I reached the corridor end, I made a sharp left turn into the stairwell passage. Down was tempting but I had no idea where Nigel was, so I chose upwards.

Against my better judgement, I slammed the maintenance hatch open and climbed onto the roof. Sunlight blazed down on me, the old metal roof radiating heat. I shoved the hatch down and cast about for something to wedge it closed, my eyes alighting on the remains of a solar panel framework.

It took a couple of hefty kicks until I worked a piece of strut loose, then I jammed it into the handle. I was just in time, a metal fist slamming into the hatch from below. My improvised lock held for now so I scurried along the roof ridge, my feet straddling the roof panels as they sloped away from the central capping.

Bobbi took another shot at me, the heavy round punching clean through a solar panel. Fragments of shattered glass embedded themselves in my armour weave and I dropped between the frames, desperately seeking cover. Bitch was toying with me I realised, herding me towards her waiting crew.

“You should have slept with me, Luisa!” she yelled from across the courtyard.

“What!” I shouted in reply. “Is that all it takes to call off this hit? Get over here and I’ll fuck you right now!”

“Nah, a contract is a contract!” she answered. “You would have had a nice memory before you die, that’s all”

Another big ass round slammed through a panel less than a dick length from my head. I cursed and rolled along the sloping roof, wondering how she was targeting me. A faint buzz came to my ears and I looked out past the rooftop. One of Nigel’s drones hung out there, observing me with its beady little camera eyes.

I sent a short burst at the drone and my shots went wild despite my Smart Goggles. All the jumping and running had knocked the electronic sights out of alignment so I unhooked the weapon from the device. Any shots I took would have to rely on my own natural shooting skill, which meant in layman’s terms I was fucked good and proper.

Nigel’s drone danced an aerial jig, mocking my piss poor shooting. It was tempting to try again and I bet the Drone Jockey was hoping I would too. Tiny remotes are hard to hit and as soon as I pointed my gun he would have it spinning cartwheels, letting me waste as much precious ammo as I wanted.

Fuck you Nigel, I seethed to myself.

A rhythmic banging of metal on metal ended further along the roof, meaning Wade was up here with me. Time to get moving again and try to replace a way out of this noose. I kept as low as I dared, running awkwardly along the roof edge and keeping the bulk of the building between me and Bobbi’s rifle.

I came to the end of the roof, seeing the top of a connecting walkway to the next building about two meters down. The roofing over the walkway was curved and pitted with rust, making me pause and contemplate how to reach it without falling off.

Wade solved my dilemma for me. His heavy boots stomped along the building ridge capping and he yelled at me angrily, causing me to turn way too fast. I was swinging my Machine Pistol into line as I spun and I saw his own rifle lifted to his shoulder, ready to fire.

It promised to be a punishing exchange of gunfire, except for one minor event. My foot slipped off the edge of the roof, sending my burst into the sky. Wade got two solid hits on me, centre of mass, driving the Ceramite chest plate hard against my boobs.

With a complete lack of grace, I fell off the roof.