Chapter Fourteen - Mayoral Image

“Protesting as a form of protest--that is to say, the gathering of large crowds rallying for change--is dangerous to the economy, to the health of the individuals, and to the health of a government.

That is why taking immediate, violent action against the protestors is often recommended. It puts a complete stop to the protesting action early with a minimal loss of potential revenues and a heavy reduction in the amount of property damage suffered, all for the cost of a few lives.”

--Copcore Promotion Material, 2029

***

I woke up an hour shy of noon the next day, and the first thing I did, while still half covered on the bed with a softly breathing Lucy next to me, was check my messages.

There were lots. Most of them I dismissed while skimming through. The Mayor’s office had sent me a reminder about our meeting in... about forty minutes. The Family sent a long form with requisitions and updates on the whole sewage situation.

I rubbed at my fleshy eye as I read over a kindly worded message from Peter Silverbloom about that prosthetics clinic. “Right. Forgot about that,” I muttered. “Myalis, can we set up a meeting with him tomorrow?”

Certainly. And good morning, Catherine. I was contemplating waking you up soon. You still have time to shower and dress for your meeting with the mayor.

Did I want to shower and dress for a meeting with the mayor? No, no I did not.

But I had to. Not only did I not want to come off as the sort of person that couldn’t be held to her word, I also... wait, actually that was really the only reason. Well, that and I’d just end up having to put off the meeting.

Besides, the mayor had some explaining to do. The buck was supposed to stop at his corrupt office, not at my doorstep.

I slithered out from under Lucy, giving her head a peck when she grumbled sleepily, then I trudged over to the showers and stood under scalding hot water for a while. The building had some sort of water recuperation and filtration thing going on, separate from the rest of the city’s water grid. This was a luxury few people would be able to afford soon if I didn’t get moving.

With time ticking onwards, I rooted around the bedroom for something to wear, then decided to head out fully kitted. That meant a clean undersuit, good samurai boots and a long coat, all with enough stealth tech to make me a nightmare to corner. The helmet came on last.

“Make another note,” I said. “We need to go clothes shopping at some point.”

I couldn’t just wear samurai stuff all the time. I needed threads for more casual stuff. Lucy was having fun printing T-shirts, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to wear a shirt that said ‘Wired Wrong’ or ‘My Girlfriend Has Vibrating Fingers’ on it.

The shirt with ‘I Know Where Cat’s Reset Button Is’ on it was just too lewd to be seen in public. Although... it might embarrass the mayor.

Oh well, next time. I was already dressed and I had twenty minutes to get to the meeting which was nearly halfway across the city from here.

I snuck out the front of our place, noting that some of the Kittens were already up and some hadn’t gone to sleep yet. I waved them goodbye before heading out.

It was, of course, raining, so I slipped on my helmet (which I’d definitely need to drive around anyway) then walked over to my bike which I’d parked near the mech. Myalis was kind enough to punch in the location data before I’d even started the bike up, so it knew where I was going before I even took off.

The flight was what I’d expect from a flight across New Montreal. Long and tedious, even if I was cutting across traffic and zipping through no-fly zones the entire time.

The Mayor’s office was in the city council building, which I noticed had a bit of a crowd forming at the front. Dozens of people, some with cheap signs, others with holographic projectors sending out banner messages over their head. Then there was the police and the news, all crowding closer to the front.

Had news gotten out about the sewage? It was rare to see crowds gathering like this. Protesting was super illegal, and the cops weren’t shy about opening up on a crowd. Then again, the city was in a deep shithole at the moment, and the cops lining up behind the fence looked a little... anaemic from up in the air. No big groups of fully armoured SWAT troopers, no combat androids, just a few dozen guys in light riot gear.

They’d get seriously fucked if the crowd turned on them.

I hesitated. I could park nearby, somewhere discrete and out of the way, then slip into the building nice and subtle-like. Hell, I could park on the roof and kick my way in, then just walk over to the mayor and say hi.

But those people were there protesting because no one was doing anything. At least, that’s what I figured most protests were about.

So I swept down and revved the engine on my bike before lowering it down right onto the steps by the front of the city hall building. Dust kicked up around me as I swept off the bike. The crowd was shouting, the cops were confused, but no one seemed willing to stop me. So I left the bike there, still on so that it wouldn’t just tip off the side and roll down the steps.

I felt a little under armed at the moment as I looked over the crowd. All I had was my Trenchmaker.

I really had to get into the habit of carrying a bit more with me.

A few calls of ‘Stray Cat!’ proved that at least a few people in the crowd knew who I was. Hopefully that’d be enough to let them know that something was being done.

I walked up the rest of the steps and checked the time. I was right on the dot as I crossed through the entrance. There were some more cops inside, hands on their short-barreled auto-shotguns, but none of them moved to do anything as I crossed the lobby to the receptionist. “Meeting with the mayor,” I said.

The young lady behind the counter, an actual human instead of a droid, jumped and nodded. “Yes ma’am, we were expecting you. The Mayor said he’d meet you here.”

“Alright,” I said.

A pair of double doors to my left swung open and out waddled Mayor Dupont. He was somehow imposing for a man that looked part rat-part politician. His suit was impeccable and he looked freshly shaven and cleaned up. His gaze locked onto mine, beady, intelligent eyes curling up in the corners in a charismatic smile that I didn’t trust for a second. “Stray Cat!” he greeted as he came closer. “I’m glad to see you here, and just on time too, very punctual.”

I crossed my arms and pretended not to notice the hand extending to shake. “Only because you’ve got some explaining to do, Dupont,” I said.

“Ah, yes, I know, I know,” he said with a shake of his head. “This city, I swear. So many problems and so little time. The sewers, the emergency election, the aliens chomping at the gate. It’s quite exciting.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. He was being more... agreeable than the last time I’d talked to him. That felt like it had been a long time ago, as opposed to just a week or two back. “And what do you intend to do about it? I warned you that this would happen and now you have protestors just outside with no water and shit flowing out of the drains.”

The mayor nodded. “I know. We should have acted sooner. But I do intend to do something, and right now. If you would, please follow me.”

Curious despite myself, I followed Dupont. He didn’t head deeper into the building, but towards the exit I’d just come in from.

Dupont stepped right outside, one of his aides keeping the door open for me to follow after him. The noise of the crowd grew considerably as they saw him, and I imagined he was currently the image of a lot of hate.

Then Dupont moved to the side, grabbed the lapels of his coat, and gestured to the crowd with a big winning smile on. An aide rushed over and soon a small drone-mounted microphone was hovering before him. “My dear citizens!” he began.

The crowd actually quieted down.

“I can see that you are upset, and rightly so!” he continued.

Catherine, this is being broadcast across a number of channels.

And I was right there, in the background, arms crossed but with the framing it probably looked like I was tacitly supporting him.

The absolute fucker.

“Our city is facing a myriad of issues, and I assure you, they are not being ignored! It pains and yet gladdens me to see so many gathered here in protest. You are right to be upset but we will overcome this challenge together. We are too resilient, too tough to allow some adversity to put us down.”

Dupont stepped to the side slightly and gestured back towards me. Suddenly I could feel thousands of eyes on me.

How long had he been planning this for? Since I made that appointment? Did he know I’d park out front? Fucker.

“Ladies and gentlemen and others, meet Strat Cat, one of New Montreal’s own, a hero and symbol of the City’s strength, and of course a valiant friend of the Dupont management and proof that we will solve your, and our, problems!”

“No,” I said. No one heard me though, one voice against Dupont’s which was being blasted out from some speakers somewhere. “Dupont, you sack of shit.”

“With the help of New Montreal’s own samurai we will--” and on and on he went, political nothing, but people were listening because I was here.

If I was in that crowd, what would I think?

Samurai were fucking mythical to some people who didn’t know better. I’d been one of them, one of those to think that we could fix anything. And now Dupont was rubbing himself all over that image.

I was only aware that I’d pulled my Trenchmaker out of its hip-sheath when Dupont’s voice cracked.

Probably because the barrel was pointing unwaveringly at his head. “No,” I repeated. “Myalis, patch me in.”

Done.

“You don’t get to use me as a fucking prop to cover up more empty-promises. You were given a chance to fix things. I warned you already. Today was meant to be your second and last.”

Dupont’s own mic cut off. An aug? An aide pulling the switch? In any case, when he next spoke, it was just between the two of us. “You’re going to threaten me in front of this entire crowd? You can only get away with so much. I’m the rightfully elected mayor!”

“You had power. Had. You wasted it, didn’t even try to make things better.” My voice rang out over the square.

“Stray Cat, this isn’t a nice image.”

“Fuck your image,” I said. Then, before he could talk me out of it, I pulled the trigger.

Dupont flopped to the ground, the upper half of his head sprayed out behind him. The crowd, predictably, screamed. The cops were clearly undecided on what to do next.

I turned to the crowd while tucking my gun away. “Go home,” I suggested. “Or don’t. One way or another I’ll fix this.”

Waking up before noon was a mistake. It left me so damned grumpy.

***