Second Chapter: @tsudohnimh/red-doll-zlata-mikhaylov
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“...the human body is no more than chemicals, compounds and elements. Working together, they do wonders, but their base is elementary chemistry. What is stopping us from using this same chemistry, to create artificial bonds between man and machine?”
Prof. Franz Hoffenheimer, Building the Mechanical Man, 1959
2
The ride over to the crime scene was short. Crammed into a police van (Constable Thomas, unsurprisingly, driving), most of the conversation seemed to be on details and procedures of which Zlata had no idea about.
Instead, she looked over the files McNally had given her. They contained the details of seven murders, all of which had occurred in Brisbane and Sydney. And all of which had a similar MO: body parts removed, somebody else left behind.
The first murder had been in Brisbane, three years ago. The initial investigation had thought it was something gang related, maybe even part of some overly macabre corporate turf war. Except their was nothing linking the victim to either. And then there was the organ theft; this one had lost his liver.
Three more had occurred in Brisbane over the next year. Then the murders stopped for six months, only to start again in Sydney; some of the organs and limbs that had been taken in Brisbane turned up in crime scenes there.
The rest of the report was toxicology, blood tests, DNA samples; information Zlata would need time to digest. But it was clear: whomever as doing this was some kind of sicko.
But that still didn't explain the freakshows involvement. Or hers for that matter.
“Ok, folks, We’re hear,” McNally said. Zlata looked up from the file; the tall flanks of ASI stadium rose up before them., the ASI logo prominent on the side.
Something was wrong though; the logo, a stylised A in the shape of the Australian continent, with the letters S and I superimposed on the centre, was dark. In fact, the whole of Richmond dome seemed darker than it should have been.
“Looks like a blackout,” Thomas said, peering out the window.
“Damn things have been getting more common recently,” Flynn added. “So much for nuclear power.”
They exited the van, directed by a few uniformed constables manning the perimeter. “Crime scenes in the east section,” one helpfully directed. “Level 1. Just follow the medicos.”
The group descended into the labyrinthine under layers of the stadium as the lights suddenly burst back into life with a buzz. “Fortunate,” McNally commented. He turned to Zlata. “did you have a chance to look at the file, detective?”
“Yes,” Zlata replied. “I can see were going up against quite an unusual character, here. But even then, I'm not sure how the fre..eh, I mean, the DAC is involved. Its strange , yes, down right bizarre, but its still murder, serial murder at that. I always thought the “Abnormal” part of your title dealt with crimes that went well beyond the norm; abuse of new technologies and all that.”
“Did you have a chance to red the tox reports? The DNA profiling?”
“I skimmed it, but didn't really get a good look at it.”
McNally nodded. “Vince, do you mind taking the Detective through what we know?”
“Sure, boss,” Flynn replied. He pointed at the file. “Mind if I have that?” Zlata handed it to him.
“So, as I’m sure you've seen, these murders started back in '92,” Flynn began, flipping open the file. “Joseph K. Franklin. A nobody, as it turned out. Then, soon after, the other murders began.
“The big thing that linked all of them, was the Killers unusual calling card: taking an organ, or a limb, and leaving the equivalent body part behind.”
“I understood that, “ Zlata said. “It's Macabre, yes, but I’ve seen a lot of strange things, some even worse than this.”
“Yes, but its not the fact he was taking those organs and limbs that got the DAC involved,” Flynn explained. “It was parts that were left behind that got us intrigued.”
He flipped to a page of various numbers and figures. “After the first killing, the liver found at the crime scene was tested: blood, DNA, the works. What was found was that it did not belong to the victim. Which worried everyone, because it meant someone else was missing a liver.
“But that wasn’t the weirdest part. The really weird part was when they analysed the blood and liver tissue separately: they didn't belong to the same person either. The blood left in the liver did not have the same DNA as the liver itself.”
In Zlata's mind, she raised an eyebrow. “So what your saying, is that first liver, was already being used by someone else before victim was killed and it was left at the scene?”
Flynn nodded. “That's what we think. It was the same for every crime since; different DNA in the body parts, but the same blood, every time. Between the murders, someone has been using these body parts as their own; that is why the DAC is involved.”
The crime scene was surprisingly un-crowded, Zlata thought as they approached.
A single constable stood watch before the line of police tape; Zlata could see a single figure, hunched over what she assumed was the victims body, inside the room itself.
As she walked closer, she noticed something on the ground, just inside; a severed arm. A small shiver flowed up what was left of her natural spine; she had seen many severed limbs in her time, but it never got easier. Not after everything she had seen.
“Ok, we'll set up shop here,” McNally said. He pointed to a corner. “Rob, put the stuff down over there, and start unpacking.” The young constable dutifully followed orders.
McNally stuck his head in the door. “Dr. King, punctual as ever I see.”
The hunched figured turned and looked up at McNally; Zlata instantly recognised her as one of the coroners she had worked with before: Dr. Catherine King.
“You certainly always have something interesting for me, David!” She said. “Ah! Zlata, I didn't expect to see you here? Have you working with the DAC?
“Hello Doctor,” Zlata replied, a little woodenly she felt. She had never gotten used to Dr. Kings personable nature. “Yes, they have me working with them for this case.”
“We'll, it certainly won’t be a boring one,” Dr Catherine said, turning back to the body. “They never are with the DAC. Although this one doesn’t seem as bad as that Vampire case....”
Zlata heard someone splutter behind her. Glancing back, she saw Constable Thomas shaking his head; his face had gone white.
“Oh god,” he said, “Don't remind me about that.”
In her mind, Zlata looked confused. “Um, what did she mean by vamp...”
“Ok people, you know the drill,” McNally said, seemingly ignoring her. “ Jack, Eun, start canvassing the witnesses; they have them grouped up in the foyer. Rob, go to the security centre , and get every tape they have. I want at least the last 24 hours of security footage. Vince, Detective, your in here with me.” he waved them inside.
The room was bigger than Zlata expected, and surprisingly bare. Blank walls, one side covered in mirrors; a few large bags and suitcases off to one side; a chair, knocked over; and finally, a bunch of big, buzzing florescent tubes giving everything that dead, washed out look.
Of course, the most prominent feature of the room was the massive pool of dried blood which dominated the floor. And at the centre, the poor, unfortunate victim.
“Anders Paulson,” McNally explained. “Born, England, 1965. Migrated to South Africa back in the 70's. Winner of the Mr. Atomic world championships three times running. He was here for the “Iron and Lead” competition.” McNally knelt down besides Dr. King. “ Cause of death?”
“Guess,” King said with a snark. “Massive blood loss, due to loss of arm.” She held Anders jaw in her hand, tipping the head back and forth. “From the way the body fell, I would say he was in shock. Probably blacked out, never woke up.”
Zlata bent down to examine the arm. It lay a short distance from Anders; there was something, off, about it. The limb seemed to be covered in some kind of fluid or gel; the skin was pale, almost pallid. In a few spots, the skin had split, revealing pink muscle underneath, as well as some sort of black fibres.
“We'll, we can probably rule out that this is Anders arm,” She said out loud.
“That would match the MO,” McNally said, looking back at her, “But how can you be so sure.”
“Well, for one,” She said, pointing at the arm, “This arm has been cut off; the wound is a clean slice. While Anders arm;” she pointed at the body, at the jagged stump where Anders right arm should have been; “Has been torn off.”
“Very good,” King said approvingly. “Although I wouldn't say his arm was torn off.” she poked at the stump. “I won't be able to tell you more till I get it down to HQ, but I would say his arm was actually severed; most likely by a blunt object moving at very high speed and with much force.”
“Our guy did this with a blunt object?” Flynn asked, shaking his head. “Jesus. This guy has be a cyborg then. No way a basie, not even a strongman like this bloke;” he gestured at Anders; “could pull that off.”
Zlata stood and observed the room around her. She looked at how Anders body lay, the blood around him. She observed how the blood had splattered, a fine spray having coated one of the walls and some of the luggage.
In her mind, she was building a narrative. She spun on the spot, peering out into the hallway. Looking down, she stepped over the severed arm, across the threshold, then spun again to look back into the room. She looked at the door, its positioning; she looked at its surface, the handle. In her mind, she nodded to herself; the doll's head remained still.
“The killer was standing outside,” she said, more thinking aloud than talking to anyone in particular.
She slowly raised her left arm. “Anders was standing just inside. They probably had a conversation. Anders tried to close the door, but the killer stopped him.”
McNally stood and walked over to where she stood. “How do you figure that.”
Zlata pointed to the door. “There are divots on the outside of the door.” she pointed to a shallow depression on the surface of the door. “Anders must have tried to close it with some force; the killers hand almost went through it.”
Zlata raised and lowered her left hand again. “The killer struck underarm; he swung upwards, slicing up through Anders armpit.”
Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Ok, how did you get that one?”
In her mind, Zlata smiled. “Simple: door frames too low to get a good overarm swing, unless he was using a very small object. Plus, the way the blood splatters; there’s a straight line of blood running up the mirror and onto the roof. It doesn’t look like arterial spray; I would say it was flicked upwards off the murder weapon.”
Flynn looked closely at the mirror; sure enough their was a thin trail of blood drops running up its surface. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, you can see that from here?”
“I have the best eyes the Soviet Union could give me.”
McNally was nodding. “I can see why your so highly praised. But tell me, why do you think Anders and the killer were talking?”
“That I'm not entirely certain on,” Zlata explained, “but it is a possibility. The door wasn’t forced; Anders opened it. He did try to close the door pretty hard, but not slam it, like he was in a panic; if he did, the killers hand most likely would have gone through it. “
“So Anders opened the door, sees someone, then try's to close the door.” McNally scratched at his chin. “No, correction, he tried to close the door in someone’s face. You only really do that if your annoyed at someone. Or trying to piss them off.”
“Either way, Anders didn't see this guy as a threat. And their one more piece of evidence to go along with that.”
“Which is?”
She pointed at the body. “Anders himself. That surprised look on his face, the lack of defensive wounds. Knowing what I know now, I would say our killer caught him completely off guard; caught him at ease, didn't give him a chance. Anders literally didn't know what hit him.”
McNally looked impressed. Flynn just shook his head. “Shit, who needs us? Just put the red detective on the case, she'll have it wrapped up by lunch!”
In Zlata's mind, she looked annoyed. Her doll face remained still. The red detective? What did he mean by that.
It was then she realised their was a face hovering just over her right shoulder. “Wow, that's impressive.” the face said.
Zlata spun, taking a step back. The face belonged to a young man, no, a young cyborg. Her eyes quickly took him in, circuits in her brain coming to life. Blond hair, youthful face, almost boyish.
And a dark blue body that screamed “combat.” Covered in seams, bulging in weird places; sure signs of internal weaponry...
Zlata didn't think; reflex kicked in. Years of training backed up by thousands of lines of code got her ready for battle. Without hesitation, she raised her right arm, dropping her hand; the barrel of her arm gun slid forward from it resting place. She stood firm, ready for combat.
Then she realised two things. One: her arm gun was unloaded. She cursed; four years on the police force, and her reflexes still went for the arm gun, and not her service revolver. She thought she had gotten over it, but it seemed certain now that it was hard wired into her system.
The second was that no one else was reacting. Or rather, that no one else was reacting to the mystery cyborg; Instead, they seemed to be reacting to her, looking at her strange, mouths agape.
“Uh, detective...” McNally said, uncertain.
The mystery cyborg took a closer look at her outstretched arm. “PP-19 arm gun. 9X21mm Vulkan.” He smiled. “Pretty sheek, but alas, it does not appear to be loaded. Don't you usually have to fit an external magazine?”
“Stand down, Detective,” McNally said, finally figuring what was going on. “he's one of ours.”
Zlata came to her senses; in her mind, she blinked. She pulled back her arm, the arm gun sliding back into its slot. “Sorry,” she said. 'Old army reflex. They pop up from time to time.” that was a lie; it had been a long time since she had reacted like that outside of a riot or raid. Something had put her on edge.
The Cyborg shrugged. “No problema, sudarynya. If anything it was cool to see some ol'skoo sov tech at work.”
McNally cleared his throat. “Ahem. Detective Mikhaylov, meet the final member of our team, Constable Wyatt.”
The cyborg extended his hand. “Please, just call me Wyatt.”
Zlata took his hand cautiously, a little embarrassed. In her mind, her face was bright red; the dolls face was too, but that was normal.
Wyatt shook vigorously, Zlata feeling the strength in his arms. “I've always wanted to meet you detective; I’ve been watching you for a while!” Wyatt seemed to stop, thinking about what he just said; his face went bright red. “Watching your work! I mean, watching your work, yes.” He shook his head as if he was agreeing with himself.
She realised that most of his skin, except for his neck and head, was the same dark blue material; it was some kind of tactile rubber, she assumed. Which meant that Constable Wyatt here was almost as much a rebuild as her; if she was right, only his head was still natural. Very advanced; she had heard the military had cyborgs of this level, but never the police.
“So,” McNally suddenly cut in, “where the hell have you been?”
Wyatt's head snapped to look at McNally. “Looking around, of course. Pretty much searched the entire perimeter, found something you might find interesting,” His head snapped back to Zlata. “So your Russian right? Strange, you don't really seem Russian...”
“What did you find?” McNally asked, seemingly ignoring the fact Wyatt was no longer paying attention.
Wyatt looked back to McNally. “Oh, just the killers escape route. And boy is it a ublyudok.”
Constable Thomas watched with concern as the needle on the instrument ticked higher and higher.
“Ok, this is as 'bout as close as a basie can get without the cancer rate shooting up,” he said, stepping back with a sigh of relief. “You two, should, of c-course, be fine.”
Zlata idly wondered whether Thomas would chance the radiation over having to stay in the same room as two cyborgs. She looked about where Wyatt had lead them; it was some kind of utilities room, filled with various large steam and water pipes. At one end of the room, a large round hatch stood open, revealing a white landscape beyond. Much of the room had been covered in a fine layer of dust, blown in through the hatch.
“This room backs up right against the dome,” McNally said, checking over a map. “Which means that's the Flinders sump out there.”
The Flinders sump was something of mistake, an ecological horror that no one had foreseen. Back when the Melbourne domes were being built, a rather large gap formed where the Richmond and CBD domes met. The fear was that radioactive dust that settled on the domes might run down between the two domes during the rain, straight into what was left of the Yarra river. In an effort to save what they could of the environment, a weir was built along the river bank, intended to catch said radioactive dust.
It was a well intentioned idea, but as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with them. The dust build up was more than expected, and while the weir stopped the dust from flowing into the river, it also didn't give it any where else to go. The result several years of highly radioactive dust and soil building up almost smack bang in the middle of the city. And while it wasn’t anywhere as bad as the Werribee badlands, the fact it was on the door step of the heart of Melbourne made it all the worst.
Of course, the Department of Nuclear Sanitation and the major contractors like ASI promised to clean it up. And of course, they never did.
“How long do you think the hatch has been open?” Zlata asked.
“We'll I cant say for certain,” Wyatt said, poking at some dust that had settled on a pipe. “But the level of dust in hear suggests a while, at least.” He smiled at her. Zlata sensed he was being genuine and not just a smart arse; he really didn't know, but felt light hearted about it.
“I can tell you one thing,” he said, pointing at the hatch. “Whomever opened that hatch, was not week.”
Zlata peered at the hatch, and at once saw it; the latch mechanism had been torn off. “That thing would have to be solid steel,” She said. "That adds weight to the cyborg theory.” She turned back to McNally and Thomas, who she saw was unpacking something onto the floor.
She leaned in for a closer look: it was series of small television screens, all linked to a large battery pack and what appeared to be some kind of antennae. She was about to ask what it was, when she realised Constable Thomas was breathing very hard; his hands were shaking a bit, and she could swear she could hear his heart beating.
She immediately moved away. “Oh, sorry, Constable.”
He turned to look at her; his face was ash white, but he still smiled. “Pl-Please don't f-feel bad, Detective.” he pulled a small tube from his pocket, shaking out two tablets and quickly swallowed them. He almost immediately seemed to calm slightly.
“Ok, I’m here,” Hogue said, walking in. He immediately stopped when he saw the hatch. “Holy shit. This is gonna be one hell of a clean up.”
McNally nodded. “I’ve already alerted DNS; they'll move in once where done here.”
“Is it even safe for you and Rob to be in here?”
“As long as we stay at this end, we'll be fine.”
“Well, if you think so,” Hogue replied, concern in his voice. “Ah, Wyatt! Nice of you to finally show up!”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, Eun's worried about me?”
“Eun worries about you when you go to the toilet. Don't worry, I didn't tell her you're here.”
Zlata briefly wondered about the connection between Eun and Wyatt. Were they lovers? It wasn’t unusual for police members to date each other, but it was for them to serve in the same unit.
“It's n-not what you thi-think.”
Zlata spun; Thomas was standing next to her, holding some kind of radio pack.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Wyatt and E-Eun,” he replied, walking past her in a very wide arc. 'You-you'll understand eventually.”He walked over to Hogue. “Jack, I’ve got the ra-radio pack here.”
In Zlatas mind, she raised her eyebrow; that was the second time Thomas had been able to pick up on what she was thinking. Perhaps her shell wasn’t as emotionless as she thought. Or maybe it was his APIAS...
She watched as Hogue strapped the pack on his back. Thomas took a lead from it, and plugged it into a slot in Hogue's eye ring. It dawned on Zlata what was happening; they were connecting to Hogue's visual feed. They would be able to see what he saw.
“Cleaver,” she said. “I've never seen this used before. But aren't you susceptible to radiation yourself?”
“Nah,” Hogue said, confidently. "Back in the program they coated every cell in my body with a radio-phobic polymer layer. Radioactive particles bounce right off me. Course, the damn treatment will probably give me cancer, but in the mean time I can take enough rads to nuke a turkey.”
Zlata thought about that, then looked down at her own layers. She quickly began to strip out of her clothes, lest they become contaminated.
Thomas looked at her, perplexed. “Um, Detective, why are you getting naked?”
She stopped, looking at him. “You think I'm naked?”
Thomas didn't reply; instead, he turned a shade of red not far off her own, and quickly turned back to his screens. Hogue chuckled while Wyatt laughed. In her mind, Zlata smiled; while she felt sorry for the poor boy, it still felt good to know she could get that kind of reaction out of someone.
The sump was a rough wedge of white, chalky looking dirt, that stretched out a hundred meters or so till it met the curving walls of the CBD dome. From their perch at the hatch, Zlata, Hogue and Wyatt surveyed the scene. Their were a series of deep foot prints running along the surface.
“Drops about seven foot,” Hogue said. “Survivable for a basie.”
“But in a rad suit?” Zlata asked. “They would need at least a hard suit to walk across this without him szhiganiye. The soft dirt should at least give us a good gauge on how heavy this guy was.” she stood up and jumped outward. “Try not to land on the tracks!”
The other two followed her. Together, they awkwardly followed the tracks across the sump. It was slow going; each footfall sank about half a foot into the radioactive dirt.
The tracks made a straight line for the sump wall. Even with years of accumulated dirt, the sump still stood twelve feet above the surface. Its inner wall was slick, with no projections one could climb.
The tracks came to a sudden end, just before the wall. The ground was more disturbed here, like something, or someone, had just kicked it around.
Zlata peered up the top of the wall high above her. “Hmmm. Rope maybe? Already had an escape route prepared?”
“But if he had time to prepare an escape route,” Hogue said. “Why out here? Why this hospitable place?”
“No one is likely to look, maybe?”
“I have another theory,” Wyatt offered.
Zlata looked at him. “Oh? What have you got?”
Wyatt point at the top of the wall. “He jumped.”
Zlata looked back up the wall. “That's at least twelve feet! No one could jump...”
Just as she spoke, from the corner of her eye, she saw Wyatt squat down, and with an explosive burst of energy, leap upwards. With perfect technique, his feet came down on the top of the wall, and now he stood far above them.
Wyatt looked closely at the edge of the wall. “Yep footprints.” he smiled down at them. “He jumped up here. ”
In her mind, Zlatas mouth was agape. When she was rebuilt, such feats would have been unthinkable, even for cyborgs. The times had changed, and it was apparent Wyatt was a very advanced cyborg.
But their was a worse implication. She looked at Hogue, saw the look on his face, saw he was thinking the same thing.
Whoever their killer was, he was just as advanced as Wyatt. They weren’t just hunting a killer anymore.
They were hunting a killing machine.
Fourth Chapter: @tsudohnimh/red-doll-science