Just the Beginning
The crimes: Breaking and entering, assault, robbery, bearing of illegal arms.
The victims: One shopkeeper, male, age 57; one customer, female, age 16; one repair worker, male, age 19.
The accused: One masked male, approximately 6'2", wearing all black, armed with a heavy blaster pistol, several knives and a sword tucked inside his trench-coat.
"More of the same." The bounty hunter reviewed the facts, turning the clues over in his mind as he fastened his body armor and checked the power level on his weapons. Apparently, the masked man had entered the shop brandishing his blaster and demanded all the credits in the store. The repair man had thought to save the day by disarming the assailant, but instead ended up unconscious from the stun ray that the robber used on him. The storekeeper had sounded an alarm by that point, summoning the city police officers, and the masked man had made off with the few credits he'd managed to pick up and the girl as a hostage. A few hours later, the girl stumbled back into the store a bit bruised and beaten, saying she'd been taken to an abandoned warehouse down the alley and eventually knocked unconscious.
Then started the search for possible suspects. No one had even seen the color of the assailant's skin, so police and bounty hunters alike were surprised when the girl suggested a name.
"I know him from work," she said, hesitating. "Well, we don't work together or anything, but... well, we've crossed paths before."
"Are you sure it was him? He was wearing a mask, after all..." the police officer said.
"Yes, I'm positive it was him. I'd know his voice anywhere," came her certain reply.
"...Because, I can only issue a warrant if you're absolutely sure. Otherwise we'll waste a lot of time and money chasing the wrong person while the true criminal is free to commit other crimes," the police officer continued.
"It was Chris," she said. "I'm sure of it."
So, that was that. She was sure. Ryan, however, was not so certain. Fastening on his final piece of equipment, he slipped out into the city streets.
The dim light ran down the wall and made a puddle on the floor of the hallway. Though the walls and floor were white, darkness clung to the middle of the hallway, meandering around the evenly spaced lights like a dark snake. Every few lights, an observant security camera peeked down into the silent corridor, waiting with unending patience for the slightest movement or sound to catch its attention.
It wasn't necessary for the dark figure to tip-toe down this hall, nor was it necessary for him to weave his way around the pools of light, sticking to the serpentine trail of darkness. His programming skills guaranteed that he need not fear the video cameras and alarm systems. But natural precaution and years of ingrained, self-preserving habits kept him creeping in the shadows, pausing every so often for a look around and a moment to listen. Once or twice, he thought he heard something, not so much a sound as a tickling in his mind... But then it faded away. This is no time to let my nerves play mind-games with me.
Logically, the City Security Company felt safe enough within their own walls not to need human guards wandering their halls. Unfortunately, hackers don't exactly follow the rules of logic.
Not much farther to the Archives... He paused one last time for a look around before ducking into the storage closet, and reached for the door-plate, reviewing in his mind: Access code 1, 1, 3, 8 -- And then the shadows reached for him.
The struggle took only a moment, and a silent moment at that. Chris had trained in the martial arts and wrestling for about 50 years. Unfortunately, his attacker had trained since birth in the art of subduing the victim. 50 years of weekly lessons did not make much difference in the face of a determined hunter. Chris found himself pinned down under the weight of a man and a power suit.
"This doesn't have to be painful, and it doesn't have to be noisy," a grating, computer modulated voice said softly into his ear. "No one ever even has to know you came here."
That would be good, Chris thought. If people knew he'd been there, the precious evidence he'd come in search of would most likely be voided. Guessing at the nature of his assailant, he said aloud, "So then what is it you plan to do with me, hunter?"
"All in good time. And perhaps in a better place than this. We certainly wouldn't want anyone walking in on our conversation now, would we?" The voice wasn't quite malicious, just serious.
Chris knew he was not dealing with a greedy fool of a bounty hunter. His precaution is useful, but perhaps not as useful as I need it to be...
The hunter lifted him from the ground, none too gently, depositing him on his feet facing the direction he'd spent the last hour painstakingly emerging from. They began the return journey along the deserted hallway.
The van cut a black silhouette against the already-dark backdrop of the parking lot at night. Even if the bounty hunter had not held Chris's arm twisted painfully behind his back and a blaster at his neck, Chris doubted he would have made any attempt to escape. This boy was trained, and trained well. The feel of a sword hilt against his kidney reminded Chris just how much was at stake on this little endeavor.
Upon reaching the van, the hunter introduced Chris's face to the front window while opening the side sliding door. Then he proceeded to introduce Chris's shins to the running-boards and Chris's chest to the floor of the van. The door slid shut with a bang, breaking the silence they had maintained since their meeting in the hallway. Chris couldn't see what the hunter was fumbling with in the dark, but found out soon enough when his wrists were chained to some protrusion in the side of the van.
"So, now what?" he asked, further eliminating the mysterious silence. "We take a drive down to the police office? You don't seem the type that would be bought off easily. But, then, I doubt I could out-bid InterNet, either..." He trailed off, hoping his captor would enlighten him on his status. He was not disappointed.
"Now you tell me what exactly it was you hoped to achieve this evening," the rasping voice responded.
Odd that a bounty hunter should take interest in the victim's activities at time of capture. But Chris decided that, if it was information this hunter wanted, it was information he would receive. "Well, considering the recent circumstances, and ... misunderstandings ... I thought it would be beneficial to draw attention to the Archives, which, if studied properly, can prove my innocence."
There was a brief pause as the hunter considered this theory. "True, if you are indeed innocent, than the Security Archives can most likely prove it. However, were an official law enforcer to find you sneaking around as a phantom in the City Security building, I think we both realize that the validity of the proof you wish to find would be considered suspect. You convinced the security building's security system that you weren't there. That means you could certainly convince the Archives that you were someplace other than where your accusers claim you were."
Chris let that statement hang in the air for a properly dubious amount of time before replying, "Well, then, I guess I'm lucky you found me first."
Silence, again.
"Or, perhaps," the grating voice elaborated, "just maybe, that was your plan all along."
Chris smiled grimly into the night.
He woke to artificial lights mimicking the planetary cycle. He guessed it was morning, as the synthesized ball of light (faintly muted by the pretend frost on the window) peeked up just over the edge of the window sill. Slowly, the prior evening's events returned to him, as he stretched himself and tested out his range of motion. He was pleasantly surprised to find himself unrestrained. He couldn't quite remember how he'd arrived in this bed the night before, but he did remember he'd been chained for a while. The rasping voice of the bounty hunter replayed itself in his mind, bringing back full recollection of the events preceding his capture.
Was it fortune to be caught by this hunter, or will I regret my move? Either way, he knew he'd have had less luck facing InterNet head-on. Even if this blows up in my face, at least I've held off my fate long enough to maybe come up with another plan.
His planning would have to wait, however, because just then the door slid open with a gentle whir of motors and a soft whoosh of air. The figure framed in the doorway caught Chris rather off-guard. In no way did he resemble the mental image that the rasping voice and the body suit had conjured the night before. The boy seemed roughly Chris's age (as well as Chris's age could be determined by the casual observer) and only slightly taller. Chris could see that they we similar in build and muscle, as well. In fact, Chris realized, they were really quite similar. This boy also had dark skin and longish dark hair, although his hair was tied back and not prone to tight spirals as Chris's was.
Recovering from his initial surprise, Chris sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to face the boy. "Good morning," he greeted the stranger.
"Good morning," the clear and solemn voice again threw Chris off, as it showed no signs of the rasping and grating that the bounty hunter had used the night before. The two sized each other up for a long moment. Chris tried to decide if this could, in fact, be the bounty hunter he'd just encountered. The boy tried desperately to determine if Chris was capable either of the crime he'd been accused of or the presence of mind to seek help in the manner he had apparently sought it. "Well, I guess sitting and staring won't get us much of anywhere," the hunter finally broke the silence with his frank statement. "You were in the archives last night, looking for proof that you had not committed the crimes you are accused of committing. You knew if you were caught there that whatever proof you managed to find would be voided. You also knew that going to the Archives would be pointless if you didn't get proof. Therefore, I must come to the conclusion that you were honestly trying to be caught by someone like myself that wouldn't instantly rush you off to the authorities. I guess all this leaves for us is to try to get your proof before the police find you here."
His statement ended so abruptly that Chris took a few moments to respond. This blunt and to-the-point method of speaking probably saved the hunter a lot in the long run. He made himself impossible to bribe or negotiate with. There was no point in arguing with him, either; he was honest and observant. At last Chris's mind processed the implications of the statement and managed a reply, "Yes -- Yes, I was looking for -- well, I guess someone like you, if you're..." he didn't quite know how to qualify that. "But, yes, I was hoping to bring attention to the Archives without being carted straight off to a trial, if that's what you mean. The evidence is there... so long as InterNet hasn't tampered with it, that is." A shadow of doubt flickered across his face as he considered that possibility for the thousandth time.
The hunter nodded sharply -- his every word and action seemed clipped and pointed -- and turned to look down the hallway toward something beyond Chris's line of vision. "Oh, I think we'll find it, all right," he said, thoughtfully. "InterNetters don't really have the capacity to tamper with the Archives." He turned a calculating gaze back to Chris and added, "Free-lancers might, of course." He let that thought hang between them. "Anyhow, I suppose you'll want breakfast." He pushed off from the door frame and walked down the hall without further comment or invitation. After a moment of speculation, Chris rose and followed.
After breakfast, the hunter busied himself with a computer for several moments, and Chris could see that he was sending a message. When that task was completed, he turned back to face Chris. "I guess now we just wait. If you're right, we'll hear soon enough that the warrant's been repealed." Chris had explained his alibi over breakfast, telling how he'd been across the city at the time, in front of plenty of security cameras.
"Yes, that will be a relief," Chris replied. An awkward silence ensued, Chris wondering how long the wait would be and how he would spend the time without getting caught.
"I guess you should probably stay here until we hear from them." The boy sounded ... not reluctant exactly ... uncomfortable? uncertain, maybe?
"I wouldn't want to impose. You've been most generous already." Chris meant it, meant it very much.
"No, it's okay. I don't have company very often." Yes, uncomfortable was the word. The boys eyes darted around a bit as if searching for something familiar to ease themselves on.
"I see," Chris replied evenly. "Well, if there's anything I can do... I find myself much in your debt." The awkward silence deafened him. "I suppose bounty hunting isn't exactly a friend-making occupation," he attempted a conversational tone, and was rewarded by a wry grin (the first expression other than serious contemplation from the boy).
"You could say that. People don't understand my art," the hunter adopted a poetic air. "Mostly, they run away from me or emphasize how few pieces they want their victims in. Not very conducive to bonding." Chris saw a glimmer of humanity showing through the callous layers a bounty hunter had to wear.
The silence was a bit more comfortable this time, contemplative almost.
"Well, I guess you already know that I'm Chris," he broke the silence, reaching for an "amiable" response this time.
The boy looked at him for a moment, and Chris worried that the walls would slam back up with the guarded gaze he received. But the moment passed, and barriers softened again. "I'm Ryan." Still a bit blunt and forceful, but it was progress nonetheless. Chris nodded silently, letting himself smile a bit. After studying him for a moment, Ryan continued, "Yes, just Ryan. I'm sure you understand the practice of maintaining a single name."
It was true; Chris had given up his last name years ago. Right after his father had given him up... Chris nodded his understanding. "Perhaps we share our reasoning," he replied. "But that remains to be seen. In the mean time, it would appear we have some time to waste."
Two days had past by the time the police finished their investigation of the Archives. Not only did they find the proof that Chris had not been at the scene of the crime, but they also found that the crime was oddly absent from the Archives. No, not erased, not retouched. The actual video showed something along the lines of the shopkeeper and repair man talking for a few moments, the repair man positioning himself partway down an aisle, the shopkeeper using a stun ray on him and hitting the alarm button, and, eventually, a girl wandering into the middle of the confused scene complaining of a head-ache and a masked man.
While the police had been busy discovering all this, Chris and Ryan had managed to break into the local InterNet files and forward a few illegal documents to InterNet's top competitors. They'd also exposed a hacking group by setting up an alarm on a private police file that notified the secretary that someone was accessing the files, showed a detailed map pinpointing the location of the hackers and a video of the culprits at work. Unfortunately, InterNet wasn't too pleased with the results of the police findings in the Archives, and were similarly put out when their competitors started reporting their illegal activities, and Ryan suggested to Chris that maybe they ought to find a safer place to work from.
This is, of course, just the beginning of all the trouble they eventually managed to get themselves into...
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