The brightness of the optical camouflage shimmered in the light, as the dark hallway gave way to a chaos of orange and white construction scaffolding. The figure dodged and weaved through towards the light outside, their black clothing showing through as their cheap active camo suit flexed and folded. I followed.
“Stop,” I yelled, “in the name of the law!”
The light of day burst through as the figure reached the edge of the scaffolding, where the orange plating gave way to the air outside. Beyond was the old Ivory Rose building, the first to be condemned in Outer Hong Kong. Its demolition had been tied up for legal red tape for years as it slowly degraded.
The combat software in my head spurred up, sensing my direction as the figure leapt. I watched as the guidance path unfolded before me, carefully matching the trajectory, and I pushed off after them.
Hey, you only live once, right? Or maybe twice, in my case.
The chasm to the street below us whipped past in what seemed like only a fraction of a second, and then I tumbled and rolled through one of the broken windows on the other side, a chunk of debris nudging into my back.
The figure stumbled, then got up and ran. “Hey!” I shouted, “You can’t just torch a crime scene like that! Stop right fuckin’ now and maybe we’ll go easy on you!” It was a lie, of course. Whoever torched it was probably the murderer, and IntSec wasn’t going to go easy on someone who capped a double platinum.
My ears buzzed. It was Charlie. < They torched this right, Vic. You cap ‘em yet? >
< You put the fires out yet? >
< Well, no, but - >
We dodged down a flight of stairs in the dim light, lit only by the red glow of emergency lighting expected to have long since failed. The building was a mess. Debris everywhere, garbage, bottles and drug injectors.
< Then shut off your mouth and get to it. >
A surface projection appeared in my eyes, overlaying the darkness, a green grid wrapping around the shapes in the hallway, like in movies that were already old when I was a kid. The figure stumbled again as they ran. Maybe they couldn’t see in this light. Big mistake. Now I had the advantage.
A section of the grid was red up ahead, and the figure rushed forwards, tripped, and fell into it. There was a loud, feminine cry accompanying a thud and a crash about a floor below.
“Surrender now!” I shouted as I approached the hole in the floor. A gunshot rang out and a bullet whizzed by my head. I jumped back.
“Alright then,” I said, as I reached into my jacket and withdrew a canister. “We’ll do this the hard way.”
Combat software didn’t control your movements. Not directly, anyway. Instead, you sort of leaned in to it, as a learned habit. It put tiny pressures on your arms and legs and other muscles, and you just had to follow those pressures. Canister in hand, the combat software sensed my microgesture intent, and projected a path before my eyes.
With one smooth motion, the canister went flying, then rebounded off the wall. The suspect’s second shot missed it as it came back down and burst open.
There was a yelp and a jolt. The things could disable anything that wasn’t paramilitary grade, at least temporarily. “I told you we could’ve done this the easy way,” I said.
I leaned over and looked into the hole. The cheap active camo had shorted out. Now I could get a good look at the face and other identifiers.
I could feel my sweat as I started to cool off.
Rain Bailey Biyu, age 34, sex F3. Resident status nickel. Previous offenses…
< HQ really dropped the ball on this one. It’s the fucking hooker. >
< You’re kidding… > Said Charlie.
I sent Charlie a live snapshot. I was definitely not kidding.
< Ah, geez, > said Charlie. < Why do the pleasureboats always cause so much trouble? >
Huan’s tone was measured. < Careful, Charles. I don’t want our investigation getting disrupted over accusations about slurs. >
Charlie acknowledged.
