DEPENDENCE – MAKING FRIENDS WITH TONY XU
The hum of electronics mingles with Tony's headache. He has to get up. To get to the lab and work on his thesis. He'd rather work on the prototype with Alex. Uncomfortable synthetic sheets rub against his shirt. A blue glare disturbs his rest. His hand moves to drag the blanket over his head, but there is none. Actually, why is he wearing a shirt in bed? And by the feel of it, no waistcoat to go with it?
Tony tries to get up, and is immediately knocked down by a tearing pain in his chest. He feels old. Indeed, he has earned his doctorate already. He is professor Xu, or rather, was. This isn't university.
Gently, quietly, he rises to take in the sight: Narrow walls to the left and right, straight ahead a force barrier to a cell block. Tony got shot and arrested. Alongside his entire agency. Are they here?
There is only one other person in sight, across and one cell over, sporting the same orange jumper as Tony. Cheap, high-visibility, dehumanising. Tony's vision focuses. The other person is nobody he knows. Some moderately built man, around thirty years old, crowned with what would probably be a black pompadour given access to haircare, sitting crosslegged and returning the scrutinizing look in kind.
The stranger smirks and nods. Welcome to the high-sec holding cells. Index finger across the lips. Be quiet. Makes sense. The cell doors are specially designed to be airtight, yet let sound pass unaltered and unmuffled. They are also almost perfectly transparent, just visible enough to reassure guards of their existence.
Tony turns his head to peer left and right. Where are the guards? The answer is the pointing of one finger, the gesture of putting on a helmet, a pair of fingers towards the eyes and then off the other way. Just one, over there, captain with full gear, facing that way. That means Tony is just barely out of sight.
Time to hug the wall, then. Any other academic wouldn't have this down to muscle memory. Any other academic would attempt to talk this out. Beg for a chance to earn their bail from within captivity. Tony has done it before. It wasn't easy, even for him. It would be impossible this time.
Besides the control terminal, there is nothing new to see from this angle. No guard, empty cells. A flicker in the force barrier catches the doctor's eye, though. He has read about the cell door's inner machinations. Might as well use the time to examine a real specimen. The time before the captain notices an inmate ready for interrogation. Focus on the mission! …Has a little technical fascination truly been reprimanded by his colleagues, not least of all the operators, so often that he now does it to himself too? Upsetting.
That flicker again. It might be… But no, that would suggest… Yes, it seems one emitter is installed incorrectly. Not just that, it compromises the whole cell door. All it would take to collapse the barrier is a well-placed surge. This, the good doctor can arrange.
But even so, he has no chance of actually escaping. Not on his own, at least. He quietly sits back down and gestures to his brother in orange. I can walk out. What about you?
Brightening eyes and rolling shoulders are the only reply. Kindled spirits raise the stranger onto his feet. The spark in his eyes grows to fire. “Hey! Are you going to think of petty quips all day, or are you getting me lunch sometime?” No response. Presumably, the captain deems hunger sufficient punishment. “Come on! Mad I am telling you how to do your job properly AGAIN? Your punches SUCK, pop!” Now the guard reacts.
Tony pretends to still be unconscious, and counts the steps. Walking by. At the terminal. Walking back. The quiet zap of a barrier shutting off. Time to test the theory. Through his own cell door, Tony can see the captain giving, to quote, a petty quip. Zap! The barrier is down, and the doctor is out.
If only a martial expert were here to handle this. Sharp would love to. As it stands, Tony is unarmed, and the captain is holding a gun.
Tony is holding a gun, two hands overpowering another, dictating all shots to go wide. In response, a plated glove smacks the doctor's face, then his arm. The prosthetic one. It doesn't mind.
The captains attention rushes to an elbow around his throat. Is the inmate choking him through the armor? Does that even work?
Evidently, it does. He is out cold. Of course the gun is marked, but there are some credits on him. Useful at a nanofab, perhaps. “Wow, you don't waste time. Already looting.”
“Ingrained through training.” as though he needs to justify himself. He doesn't, the stranger is impressed. “Good, 'cause the clock is ticking. What does your training say next, Tony?”
Accentuated by chest pain, his heart is pounding too fast to ponder, so instead, Tony blurts his question. “How do you know my name?” “Wouldn't you like to know! Sources have a hefty price tag.” Sources, as in software? No, wait. Tag. A glance down verifies: The doctor has already been identified and labeled. And Irving McAllister III is convulsing with laughter, in direct spite of their perilous situation.
What next? Tony has grown too reliant on real-time guard predictions and auto-filling floor plans. There is no HQ left to guide him, no AI to supplement his awareness.
“I have no intel. I don't know how to escape, or where we are to begin with.” “What, that's it? THAT is what holds you back? Get me another guy and I'll get you your intel in record time. …Scratch that, they're too wired up. It would raise the alarm.” Monitoring is lenient at this security level. The choke just now probably flew under the radar, and Irving knows this. Then, was the offer to kill somebody for information?! That, the name, the looks… He could pass as a Data Vampires fan. (A weird joke among Invisible, finally adequate but with nobody to laugh at it.)
Tony has unthinkingly begun scouting. Training, again. No virtual peek assistance, though. And no neural uplink to silently communicate, either. “No patrols ahead.”
Irving's hard steps mark him as a hitter who refuses to be underdog. This may be a problem. How did they get Sharp to play along back then? Something like “Be quiet like a tiger gone hunting, okay?” Judging from Irving's frown, he thought himself already doing so.
It doesn't matter. The room is clear. “Fork. Check the left.” Tony takes the right. Jackpot: A nanofab. “Shit!” Irving fumbled and his door is sliding open.
Tony dares not look. He is hidden behind an office drawer. The lack of spatial models and movement detection programs leaves him blind. Is it safe, or is somebody coming? What about his partner? Every second is nerve-wrecking. Chest pain flares up again.
“Uh, clear. It's a closet.” A dead end. He peeked, he watched it open, and apparently he just stood there through it all, and it took him this long to realise! This spells death for the both of them in due time, or worse. Unless Tony leads henceforth. A novel idea, with its own share of problems, but better than the alternative.
As such, he presses on before Irving can. “Wait by the next door while I make us some tools.”
No objection as Tony wakes the nanofab. Oh, and he has to hack it manually. Damn! There hasn't been a single console so far. Think! Is it worth to–
“Stop!”
A guard has entered. He must be aiming his gun right now. Did Tony not check for patrols long enough? Or– cameras, hell! How could he forget? No AI, that's how. Add another notch to the alarm tracker, then. Two, actually.
Tony has yet to dodge, to take cover behind the nanofab. Thud. Tak! The sound of a melee fight. A gunshot perforates the ceiling panel above Tony. He recklessly engages. A maneuver most operators wouldn't even consider, and which the tactic model, pessimistic as ever, would deem a certain loss. Irving is swinging the severed leg of a chair like a baton. When did he get that? No matter. Tony knocks the wind out of the guard, Irving knocks him down, followed by a chokehold.
“I suppose we're beyond stealth now.” The tiger reaches around his prey for the chin. “First off, neck implants. Don't even bother trying to snap it. Secondly, I jammed his heart monitor.” “You can do that?” “You may as well do whatever you had in mind earlier.”
Those were dangerous words. It is too late to take them back, a switch has already fallen. Irving squats down in the helpless guard's view. “Allow me to introduce myself properly.” There is an oddly familiar grin on his lips. “I am Irving the Third…” He is not a data vampire. “…also known as The Torturer.” He is a violent sociopath.
This is not going to be an enjoyable sight. Luckily, Tony spies a console whence the victim came. A convenient and practical excuse to leave. “I shall take care of the cameras in the meantime.”
“Wait!–” Thud. “Plausible deniability is not so fun from this side, is it?” “What are y–” CRACK. “AAAH!” “How do we get out of here?” “Y– You can't get out. The– The ground floor is–” Thud. “Tell us how.” “Ask for a cargo televator.” “W–What?” Thud. “AAaa–ah! T–Take the next door left and go straight to– straight past the camera.” Thud. Gasping. “Real answers only.” “I– I swear, that's–” Thud. “Please! Stop! I can't–” An odd moment of silence. Every second is nerve-wrecking. “Okay, okay! Next-door's-the-hallway, Clint's-patrolling, second-right-get-keycard-from-Joe – he-won't-care, he's-about-to-get-fired-anyways–” A sharp breath. “–back-and-through-sec-door, camera-to-the-right, right-door-and-there's-the-elevator…” Sobbing… “Good. Oh, and Sharp, unlock the nanofab, please.” “Who?” “Ah, nevermind. Just hold the registered biometrics against it during use.” “Hah! You hear that? It's your lucky day. You're more useful alive than dead.”
A van approaches fast, and brakes hard. Enforcers storm out and into the building, unaware that two escapees just took the maintenance ladder approximately 100m away. Unaware because the cameras have been smashed or disrupted.
“Great work, daddy!” “I am not much older than you.” “Aw, don't be cold now. I'd hate to let a good business opportunity pass.” It was a surprisingly fantastic operation, considering the circumstances. Attempting something like this again would be foolhardy. Then again, all safehouses and contacts Tony had via Invisible are likely known or even bugged by now. Anyone to have his back would be an invaluable boon. Irving has already proven the right instincts for it.
But the twirl of the torturers improvised weapon suggests something else. “I want to learn more about you, mister Ksu.” Tony should have seen this coming. He's smarter than this, what the hell. No aces left up his sleeve. All cards on the table. Not even a weapon. Talking is the only way out, this time. “It is pronounced ‘Zhew’. Doctor Xu.” A remark that utterly failed to humiliate the torturer at all.
Blood of two people sticks to that bat. Not Joe's, he actually complied, and all but kissed them farewell. “Do you genuinely feel the need to hurt me for this?” “Maybe not. Normally I would begin with a demonstration, but you have already witnessed my craft. So now you have the chance to offer up and walk unscathed. My exclusive friendship deal to you!” He has to be bluffing. “You wouldn't attack me within earshot of enforcers.” “You wouldn't dare to scream when I do.” It is impossible to tell who took the first step, but now Tony is backing off, and Irving is advancing menacingly.
“I am with an agency. Any secrets you attain only make you a target.” “Yeah, overheard something about that. Specifically how they're spread thin across the continent's jails.” Damn. At least it implies more agents have survived the raid.
“Sounds about right. So many important and dangerous people, I could talk for hours. Sure you don't want to get a drink for this?” Back against a wall. This is it. “Haha! Now you're up-selling yourself, doc. Go on, tell me ONE name I can recognise, and we'll get coffee.” A recognisable name? Their specialty is covertness. There is nobody who still has a high enough profile to be in the public conscious. Except maybe… Sigh. “The cat is out of the bag, so I may as well. My employer, the person running the agency, is no-one less than… Olivia Gladstone.” Irving takes a moment to think. “The terrorist?” That does not do her justice, but yes. How to best put it? “Isn't she long dead?” Fair point. The execution was staged, and history rewritten several times over, but somehow that feels like the wrong thing to say right now. Irving doesn't seek rationale. He hasn't needed reasons at any point thus far. He is probing for attitude, for… “Put yourself in her shoes: If your greatest enemy were to declare you dead, would you politely lay down in a grave?”
Maintain eye contact. Keep staring him down. This has to stick.
Why is it now, of all times, that Tony's mind drifts back to Sharp? He has an intense stare, as if condemning a hate crime. Or committing a hate crime. Or both. Had it even back when both eyes were organic. He'd usually break it to make a condescending remark, or to concede without admitting it. For the first time, Tony considers that Sharp's arrogance may be reeling his dyspathy in, rather than exuberating it. To imagine him unbridled by his self-image…
“Whoa.” Tony stops staring now.
“There's a place we can get dressed, about two blocks down.”