Chapter 10 “Here to see the Manager. We're expected.” “So tell me again about this movie?” Rosie understood the plan, she’d been well briefed. And had the added ability to recall images of the surveillance photographs and model at will. However she still didn’t understand where the idea came from. Paul handed her a water bottle as they waited in the forest for night to fall, less than a mile from The Grand. Matt had gone ahead to set up an observation post, Brandon and Charlie were talking in hushed whispers behind them. “So Dean Domino and Dominettes break into a casino. Two of the Dominettes disguise themselves as waitresses and lift the keycard from Big Eddie by spilling food on him.” Paul seemed deeply amused by the similarities to their current situation. “And movies are real?” Rosie corrected herself before the laughing started. “I mean true, non fiction?” “No. Not true.” Charlie didn’t seem to find any of it funny. “This is our primary rv. Secondary is a click south, tertiary two clicks east.” She looked Rosie square in the eye. “Last chance, whatever you want to do Rosie.” “I’m ready.” Rosie thought about the night they met. She’d been taken by those things to be sold as a slave at the place they were headed. She’d have rather died than be enslaved again. And likely would have, were it not for the people around her. The thought of striking back against slavers held a powerful allure. Almost as much as finding a lead on Burton Blake. The closer they got to the long dead genius, the closer she got to John. “Lose the hardware and the blacks.” Charlie sighed and took a deep breath. She took off her backpack and handed it to Rosie. “Gear up.” “In this movie, did they get out ok?” Rosie tried to break the tension then wished she hadn’t. “Movies aren’t real, don’t worry.” Smoke and noise began to filter through the red brick ruins ahead. As they turned a corner Rosie got her first real look at the old world building. Once shining copper letters, now tarnished and some missing. Ornate stone work worn smooth by the wind and covered in grime. Rosie triggered a scan and the building pulsed green, revealing an issue. “Maelstrom, Tornado. We got a problem.” Rosie used her free hand to work the internal comm, the pipboy bandaged like a broken arm. “Top floor windows are bullet resistant. How copy?” “Solid copy. Cyclone confirm?” Brandon radioed Matt, both moving to well hidden sniper’s nests on opposite sides of the square. “Confirmed. Switching to the fifty.” Rosie relayed the change to Charlie and Paul, both unable to carry a radio. Charlie, dressed like Rosie, couldn’t carry anything at all. Paul dressed in dirty, worn and mismatched armour, looking every inch of the mercenary he portrayed. Rosie pulled at her slave rags. Itchy, tattered canvas that left very little to the imagination. The cold air on her back and legs didn’t bother Rosie nearly as much as the collar around her neck. Even though the explosives weren’t armed. “This is Cyclone, toy one is up.” Rosie didn’t like her work being called a toy. The inner workings of a sliding door served as a mount for the light machine gun. The robotic parts used to change angle and elevation remotely. Rosie accessed the camera feed and ran her thumb along her index finger. The view from the fifth floor ruin behind her shifted in her vision. “Movement’s good. Headed to op one.” Matt confirmed and repositioned. “Toy two is up.” Rosie ran the test again at Brandon’s position and waited for what felt like hours. “Maelstrom stood ready.” “Cyclone stood ready.” Rosie got a nod from Paul and Charlie and radioed back. “Tornado plus two stood ready.” “Solid copy. You have a go. Good hunting.” Brandon gave the order and Paul led them towards The Grand Groups of drunks clustered around burning barrels. Addicts lay passed out on benches under long dead trees, spent injectors still in their sickly arms. The main door had been replaced long ago with wire mesh. A pack of raiders lined the steps, armed, wearing crude metal armour with rusted spikes. “Here to see the Manager. We're expected.” Rosie saw Paul show the raiders a photograph of something. The lead raider’s snarl fell away, replaced with fear. He banged on the wire mesh and it slid open with a rattle. Rosie remembered what the luxurious lobby looked like in the pre-war magazine. The polished wooden floor now looked dull, scuffed and stained. The wide marble staircase to the second floor had been chipped and cracked, bits replaced with wood. Rosie didn’t understand why it bothered her. Something about seeing the pictures made the current state of the once proud building seem all the worse. No longer filled with smiling happy faces and fine clothes. Now the faces were cruel, or terrified, or vacant. The round reception desk had been fenced in with mesh. Paul showed the same photograph to the man with his boots up on the desk. “Here to the Manager. We’re expected.” Rosie watched as his indifference changed. She also took it as a good sign that he used the antique phone to call upstairs. Even an analogue network could be useful. They waited for someone in the once proud and welcoming lobby. To her right Rosie saw into the ballroom. Over the jeering crowd she saw two slaves fighting in a cage. Their desperation fuelling the violent attacks, all while the crowd mocked. Rosie turned away from the bloodsport, only to see a worse sight. In the lounge slaves worked the marble bar. The stage that once held singers and bands, now served as host to a row of beaten and chained people for sale. A cruel faced man banged a metal hammer and shouted ever increasing numbers for the terrified woman sobbing on stage. She caught sight of a group of figures, rotten faces wrapped in red cloth. Beneath her exposed skin, Rosie felt her nerves prime, fuelled by the anger she had to control. Charlie stepped into her eyeline, breaking the view of Rosie’s potential fate. “Breathe Rosie, just breathe.” “Heads up.” Paul whispered. A short, wiry, highly animated man approached. He wore one of the old formal uniforms in a mocking fashion. The shirt untucked, tie loosely knotted and the hat on backwards. “Welcome to Grand, the Manager is expecting you Mr…?” “Black.” Paul answered, his response terse. “Of course, Mr Black it is. Can we offer you anything? Name your pleasure sir, there's little we can’t provide.” Paul straightened his stance and closed in on the twitching, suited man. “Straight to business then. We must insist however that you disarm. House rule I’m afraid, only staff are armed.” He clapped twice and Rosie heard someone rack a shotgun. They’d known this from the start, it didn’t make it any easier for Paul. Rosie knew that they were trusting her with their lives from here on in. The twitching man prattled through his sales pitch as they took the stairs up. The second floor hallway quickly became filled with sickly looking women standing in open doors. One of them slunk across to Paul and the twitching man waved her away. Despite Paul’s sternness, the man led them on an indirect route. They took the east stairwell up to the third floor. The noxious odour hit Rosie as the door creaked open. “As you can see we have extensive production facilities.” His thin arms gestured to the rooms knocked through to make a large chem lab. Armed raiders watched over naked slaves as toxic smelling liquids boiled and pills were pressed. The system began to show Rosie a breakdown of the chemicals, flashing up a single word in red at the end. Volatile. The tour skipped the fourth floor and headed straight to the fifth. The hallway ended far sooner than before, at a set of double doors. Extra steel plate had been welded over the wood with the word penthouse sprayed across it. The twitching man rapped in a musical fashion on the double doors. Both swung open and a raider pointed a shotgun right at him, laughing maniacally. He scuttled away cursing. “Arms up.” Paul grunted and let himself be frisked by one raider while being held at gunpoint by another. The laughing raider switched his attention to Rosie and reached to grope her. Paul snatched his wrist and bent it back. “Not for you.” Paul released his tight grip and held his arms up again. The raider tried to save face by squaring up to Paul. Something Rosie saw him regret instantly. “Not for me either, and I’ve had to listen to these bitches complain all day.” The raider smiled, seeing what he thought to be shared amusement in cruelty. “Show the man you’re not armed.” Paul snarled. Rosie tried to look scared as she span round slowly. Charlie saw the anger flare on her face as Rosie turned her back. They were ushered into the former home of Burton Blake. Rosie slipped into the dreamlike state immediately, scanning for anything and everything. In here looked clean, leather seats around a glass table that looked new. Polished wooden floors and a large four poster bed opposite a long dining table. Staying perfectly still took real effort. Any movement she made would appear lightning fast to everyone else. Not yet, Rosie thought. Nothing looked unusual, no networks, no computers, but something felt off. Some detail didn’t add up to Rosie. Following a gut feeling Rosie checked the external scan against in the one from inside the room. She looked at the last pane of bullet proof glass, a full two metres from where it should be. It’s too short. Rosie zoomed her view onto the back wall of wood panels. There has to be something, Rosie thought, getting more desperate to move. A small square of brass drew her gaze. There, hidden within the seemingly normal plug socket, she recognised the shape of a four pin port. Time snapped back as Rosie stepped into the opulent penthouse. The only part of The Grand that still held a sheen of old world luxury. The raider headed back to another pair and sat on the leather seating. He tossed the sawn off carelessly on the seat next to him and started crushing pills on the table with his glass. The others joined in, snorting and drinking. With Paul unarmed, two women posed no threat. Rosie, feigning submissiveness, stared down. A smile flashed across her face as she gave the target sighted signal behind her back. “You must be the Manager.” Paul stepped forward to greet the man in charge. Dressed in only grimy jeans. Wide eyed and wired, teeth rotten, face twitching. Rosie had been briefed on him, violent, unpredictable. Like all addicts, she thought, seeing there were enough chems for a month on the table alone. “My employer sent you a gift. A token of thanks for a bargain well struck.” Paul put his hands on their bare shoulders, ready to present Rosie and Charlie. “Assuming of course, we have a deal?” “I set the meet. Bring a sample, Jones wants to test it.” The Manager snarled. “Why you wanna do business with Jones, he ain’t like he was.” Rosie saw a sharp mind at work under all the chems. “We can buy as much as you got to sell, and we ain’t starting shit with those metal bastards. Unless of course that’s the point, I know your employer has—” Paul cut him off. “My employer has his reasons I’m sure. Just like he has a reason to send you a gift.” Paul shoved them both forward and the Manager grabbed Rosie. “Little bird has a broken wing." The Manager leered as he saw Rosie's bandaged arm, hiding the device that brought her here in the first place. “Bitch has got a mouth.” Paul subtly began to shift towards the seated raiders. “Yes, she does.” The Manager pawed at her, running his hands over her body. Charlie tried to distract him by draping herself over him, but he only had eyes for Rosie. Rosie felt his stinking breath and held the signal for a three count behind his back. Her mind flashed to the last time a man touched against her will, and what John did to him. Rosie held a two count. Charlie slipped over to the seated raiders, casually placing herself almost within reach of the sawn off. After a deep breath that stank of the man forcing her towards the bed, Rosie flashed a one count, held it, and closed her fist. Inside the dreamlike state Rosie broke free of the track marked arms with ease. She reached up to the collar around her neck, drawing the knife hidden behind the steel box that made it hard to breathe. The anger that this place filled her with caught like kindling. Staring into the overblown pupils Rosie struck at a pulsing vein in the neck. Gouts of blood propelled out as Rosie twisted and withdrew the blade. She caught a hint of realisation as they both knew he’d be dead before hitting the carpeted floor. Rosie turned from the falling fountain of red, knowing her friends' lives were hers to save. Charlie hung in mid dash for the sawn off on the couch. The nearest raider had just begun to react. As had Paul, lunging forward with a right hook. The system pulsed inside Rosie’s eyes. Paul and Charlie highlighted in blue, with the targets edged in green. Percentages assigned to each target climbed as Rosie approached. The first target had his head down, snorting crushed pills from the table. Rosie drove her knife through his temple. Cracks streaked through the glass table as it shattered and began to fall. The second target had only just started to register the danger, getting to his feet. Rosie cut his throat from behind. By now Charlie had gripped the sawn off and began to aim. Paul’s fist made contact with the side of the reacting raider's head, starting to force him sideways. Rosie’s muscles started to burn. She’d never moved this much in the slowed time, even as they practiced for tonight. Her strength ebbing away, Rosie hurled the knife from her hand. It sailed through the air in a perfect line, embedding in the exposed neck of the last raider. Rosie collapsed and time snapped back. Glass shattered, blood splattered and bodies landed with a series of thuds. Charlie aimed the sawn off at each target in turn, finding each one dead. “She’s down!” Paul yelled as he saw Rosie on the ground. He snapped his fingers and Charlie tossed him the gun. He covered the door as Charlie scrambled over to Rosie. Her pulse raced under Charlie’s fingers. Charlie did the only thing she could think of and began to massage the thumping carotid artery under her hand. She felt like a clueless field medic again. Out of her depth and with no real understanding of what Rosie’s body went through as she killed four people and zipped across the room in less than a second. Rosie sat bolt upright and drew in a sharp breath. “Rosie, look at me.” Charlie looked startled. “Follow my finger.” Rosie did. “I’m fine.” Rosie protested as she got up. Rhythmic breathing took hold in Rosie’s chest. She looked across at the blood soaked chaos she’d wrought. Whenever she deleted a target in the training programs, they simply disappeared. Not here, here the bodies lay at odd angles, blood pouring from them. She remembered what Charlie told her, that this would feel different. She’d come here knowing she may have to kill, and that it would be up close. “Maelstrom, Tornado. Targets down, beginning search.” “Solid copy Tornado. Cyclone prep diversion.” Rosie stepped over the Manager, a pool of red growing around him that she tried to ignore. Paul kept the door covered as Charlie searched through the desk area. The four pin slipped into the port hidden in the plug socket. Rosie set to work attacking the encryption. Green code scrolled down her vision. She scratched and clawed at the blood stained bandages that covered the pipboy. “Need my knife.” Paul yanked the blade free and threw it to Charlie’s feet. She cut the bandages free while Rosie ran her first attack. Brute force got rebuffed instantly, almost laughably fast. Next Rosie probed for any weakness, and found none. Fine, Rosie thought, as she decided to make one. Rosie dropped fragments of her hack anywhere she could, disguised as innocuous updates. “Look at this, do that thing.” Charlie held a handwritten ledger in front of Rosie, turning the pages quickly. “How long?” Paul tried to keep the tension from his voice. “Rebooting, sixty seconds.” Everything became quiet. Rosie stood and caught a glimpse of her reflection, one side of her deep red from head to toe. She couldn’t smell or taste, or even feel it, thanks to the system amplifying the senses she needed and not the ones she didn’t. Rosie wondered what she looked like to Brandon and Matt, then she thought about what Charlie would tell them about this. What would John think, Rosie decided not to tell him. The long hidden network restarted and began to apply Rosie’s updates. She watched the recompiling code cascade down her vision. Each disguised update unpacked, spreading and corrupting everything around it. Her hack worked like using well placed explosives. The firewall weakened just enough for it to crumble under a barrage of unanswerable requests. “I’m in.” Rosie took her position on the floor near the body of the Manager, covered in enough red to easily pass as dead. Charlie did the same near the others. Rosie accessed the remote guns, getting a view of the outside in her closed eyes. “Firing toy one in three, two, one.” Rosie signalled the repurposed robot parts and triggered a rattling burst of fire through the night outside. The hardened glass pinged under the impact, yet did not break. Almost immediately after, the glass thumped under the impact of the high calibre rounds, fired from half a mile away. Glass shattered, flying inwards on the wind. More distant booms rang out as Matt landed shots inside the penthouse. Rosie let rip with more wide bursts. Everyone she could see ran for cover until a group emerged from the front door, firing in all directions. Rosie changed the elevation and cut them down, hearing the rattling fire through the smashed windows. The penthouse doors burst open under the boots of a five strong raider pack. “Need cover!” Paul yelled in fake panic over the incoming fire. One of the raiders darted into the room, drawn by the pills strewn amongst blood and glass. He took a high calibre round to the chest and turned into a wet bloom of red. The rest ran as Paul crawled to safety. Rosie watched as the raiders outside gathered in cover. They started to attack to the west, Rosie loosed a burst from the east. Chaos and confusion spread as Rosie operated the mounted guns remotely. The more she fired the less accurate they became. Before long the almost suicidal tactics began to put the raiders outside Rosie’s firing arc. “Eyes on Hurricane.” Not now, Rosie thought, as she cursed her flawed design. The grey green cameras remained stable for the most part, but she couldn’t see clearly enough to be sure. Rosie cautiously got up. “We’re clear, Paul’s out.” Charlie sprang up, grabbing the sawn off and covering the door. A familiar sound drew Rosie’s attention. Hydraulics shifted, gears turned, and the wood panel wall retracted. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered, illuminating a steel door. “Maelstrom, we’ve got underground access that breaks south. Expect loss of signal.” Rosie tried not to think about going back underground. “Breaking the toys. How copy?" “Solid copy. Hit it.” Rosie smirked as she saw confused raiders staring through the ripped off lens. With a snap of her fingers Rosie triggered the explosives placed around the remote guns. A pair of thunderous booms sounded outside, quickly washed out by cascading rubble. “Tornado and Whirlwind going dark.” Rosie walked into the narrow lift with Charlie, shutting the hidden door behind them.