DEVIMAYNA 2980 - Book One - Chapter 1

"Agent 516, please make your way to Room Two-Sixteen of Floor Fifty-One. Your presence is required immediately."

At first I had not noticed the call amid my preoccupations - the furious tapping of mechanical fingertips upon the keyboards, the hushed cacophony of silenced mutterings, the beeping racket of the machinery from all about the long, flat room, and, of course, the foggy ambiance thanks to my dissociation. That emotionless automated voice had droned through the speakers every single day, every single hour, every single minute, perhaps, since I had joined the KMRID; eventually, it had become no longer something my brain recognized as intelligent. In other words, there was no reason to even perceive the invitation. I had never been addressed before, and couldn't have expected that to change today.

Then my picture shut down to a black, sterile void, and a repeat of the command from above abruptly brought my awareness back. Blinking hard, a little startled by the sudden loss of visual, I swiftly moved to unplug the cord from the port behind my ear and rise. Now able to see the space I was in again, I readjusted my tie, straightened my stiff posture, and glanced around to observe that fortunately, no one was aware of my mistake. Thank goodness. All were still plugged in soundly, their bodies present but their eyes elsewhere, minds cloudy and sedated by the rhythmic patterns of work - the most pleasant state of consciousness, I believed. The exiting door was only a two-minute walk from my tiny gray cubicle, and I wasted no time in beginning my journey there.

You have 1 audio chat request from Unfamiliar Contact 255-4-9237-2322.

My brows creased. The words forming in the left lens of my round, thin-rimmed glasses were accompanied by two options: Accept and Deny. Whatever was going on, I was not liking the lack of warning or context, but I figured if I wanted communication, this would be it. It was a registered signal, hopefully a government agent with an insight into the situation at hand. With a sigh, I blinked, selecting Accept.

"Hey-ho! Darcy, you there?"

"You have reached Messages and Radiowaves Interception Division Agent Darcy Windy Marsalis, 516." I felt awkward at how vastly different my manner of speaking was from the person on the other end of the line, but I wasn't sure how else to conduct my speech. "How may I assist you today?"

"No need to be so formal, pal," the chipper respondent quipped. Her voice revealed real enthusiasm, and I wondered what could be happening to stir such a feeling. "Good to know I've got the right person this time though, goodness, contact numbers are always so long and for what... y'know, I accidentally called two other people before I got to you, and boy were they unhappy. Real sour bums. One of 'em even said he'd--"

Beepbeepbeep.

I winced, realizing what I'd done. But it was okay. I knew she'd call back. She was, I decided, no threat, not someone who'd report me for hanging up. I just needed her to stop rambling. The blunter the conversation, the less time wasted.

This was the problem with people. It was one thing for me to never understand them - to never get why one would talk with such excitement, why one would intentionally drag on dialogue, why one would refer to me as pal... but another thing to not understand myself. It wouldn't be such a president issue if it weren't for that I felt this lack of comprehension most while interacting with others. I felt embarrassed answering the girl the way I did, and I didn't know why. I felt rude and brash for hanging up, and I didn't know why.

I was dwelling upon this fifteen-second-long dealing for far too stretched a period of time, and I didn't know why.

I say, "this was the problem with people," but perhaps it was just the problem with me. Never mind.

You have 1 audio chat request from Unfamiliar Contact 255-4-9237-2322.

I allowed a dry smile to break out on my lips as I accepted the call.

"Hello, you have reached Messages and Radiowaves Inte--"

A short laugh. "Y'know, I can't tell if you're being serious or you just have a genius level of witty comedy in you."

"First option."

"Hah. I like you!"

I lightened up a bit, but my voice still held a short tone. This was a stranger, anyways, and I needed more information. "All right, get to your point. I don't even know who you are or what division you work for. Answer that or I don't acknowledge the invite next time. You may regard that as a threat." Was that too harsh?

"Easy, easy, girl," came the woman's reply, "no need to be so brusque. My name is Rhiannon Amalia Whitlock, and I'm an Outside Endeavors Officer of the Foreign Missions Division. Starting to piece things together, witless one?"

My eyes widened, my jaw clenched. A tightness entered my throat I rarely felt so keenly. Messy concoctions of worry and anxious anticipation welling up inside my chest, I made sure not to betray a hint of concern in my voice as I spoke. "Is this why I'm being brought to a Citizen's Occupational Office?" I'd always known I wasn't going to stay in the KMRID my whole life, and my past training had suggested a chance at the KFMD, but... this was a little soon.

"You bet. No more sitting in a drab cubicle fifteen hours a day for you anymore..."

She says this like it's such a bad thing. Like I should be happy to leave.

"...isn't that just nice. The world is such a nice place."

"Now I'm the one who must inquire about your sense of humor, Whitlock."

"Don't worry, Mars. There's--"

I winced. Someone else called me that once.

"Marsalis. I don't do nicknames."

"You'll get used to it."

I tried to protest, but the lump growing in my throat constricted me, allowing her enough time to continue.

"Anyways, I must tell you the reason I called. I've been asked to inform you that you begin your first mission tomorrow, that's what. With me!"

"Oh." I grimaced, my stride speeding up in concordance with the pace of the conversation. Man, this girl certainly knew how to bounce subjects around.

"And Winnie, and ol' Jo, of course."

Jo...

Honestly? I hated that name.

"Jo wanted me to reach out to you today to get you prepared and stuff. He's the captain of Squadron Nine, that's the one we're in, the one that you're joining. Pleasant guy. A bit scary, but a real pleasant guy..." Her voice began to trail off, leaving space for my thoughts to echo around inside at a growing crescendo.

"Jo? Jo who?" I pursed my lips. There was a small, quiet nagging in the back of my head, whispering a single name into my rapidly blossoming worries. But there was absolutely no way. There were over four billion citizens in Kartov. The chances of this Jo being--

"Josiak Wolfgang Timberland," Whitlock chimed. "Cap'n Josiak Wolfgang Timberland, that's ol' Jo for you. But don't tell him I called him that, he likes it when you call him sir, see."

I froze in place, nearly causing two other people walking behind me to collide into my back. A few crass slurs were thrown at me from the affected, but I didn't have it in myself to care at the moment. Nothing was working in my brain. I felt my fists clench painfully, felt my voice dive low. "Oh."

"Be careful now, don't get too excited, you might bust a few gears in your head."

"That's a rude thing to say." I shifted uncomfortably before resuming my hasty step down the corridor, my face looking as though I had just tasted something incredibly sour. That was a strange remark coming from another Artificial Human... most of us government agents were AHs, and I knew the Foreign Missions Division didn't accept pure-born. Interesting.

"Ah, sorry, couldn't resist. Almost to Two-Sixteen?"

"Yes."

"I'll leave you alone for a bit, then."

Thank you.

"You're going to receive your new uniform from a liaison droid, then the Dean said you could have the rest of this last day off. Your cubicle is already being cleared for the next operator, so no need to worry about gathering belongings."

"I have none there." I hardly have any belongings in the first place, I realize.

The desired destination was only a few doors down. Too far.

Come quicker, please.

"Excellent! Means you don't have to pay any shipping fees. Those are offensively expensive. Y'know, I used to work with the KEMR a few years back, when I was twenty-two, then one day they said I was off to the KPIFS and made me pay seven hundred alms just to get my stuff sent back to my flat! Outrageous I tell you, out--"

Beepbeepbeep.

Was I being a bit of a jerk? Probably. But I didn't know what else to do.

I turned into Two-Sixteen and took my place near the only window in the area, a large, tinted pane of clear that took up practically the entire wall, from the ceiling down to my feet. Despite the fact that I was now alone, I knew better than to drop my rigidity. You never knew when someone was watching through the cams that perpetrated almost every inch of the building... or the cams inside my own manufactured eyes. Regardless, I found myself fighting back my trembling, a sick feeling swirling inside of me. I desperately wished for a private room where I could just have a few moments to process.

I faced the massive window, to be met with the usual hazy vomit of dark blueish-gray that was the outside. Kartov was perpetually encased in a thick blanket of nauseating smog, making it impossible to see anything from a certain height up. Few people knew what was beyond those dooming clouds, though since I was joining the KFMD, I reasoned I'd find out pretty soon. The floor I was on was just on the bottom borders of the fog, meaning I could look down and see much of the deep indigo streets below. The details of the grounds were miniscule in my sight.

It was a temptingly long drop.

I once heard the legend of two cities called Sodom and Gomorrah when I was a small child. That story had always stuck with me, because I'd felt that the locations were both inextricably similar to the one I was in now. Things were Sodom and Gomorrah-esque here, but combine the cities into one great state a few thousand years in the future and fill it with a few billion people. Every manner of perversion was on full public display - from intoxicated women stumbling around unclothed, to drug-ravaged men jumping atop of taxis and beating in the windows with metal bats, from paper-thin teens throwing about flaming Molotov cocktails, to prostitutes engaging in all kinds of grotesque acts lining the sidewalks, chaos was the only correct term for the nightmare that was the outside. This was the Kartov I had grown up in, and it was the Kartov I was used to. This was how things had always been, apparently. This was the natural order of society. Was it a good order? Obviously not. But that is what it is to be human, I suppose. Raining brimstone and hellfire from the sky might actually be more ethical than not, if you really think about it. Hopefully the flames could take me too.

A sudden creak from my left abruptly jolted me out of my thoughts. I turned to observe a flat oval-shaped bot, barely reaching halfway up my shins, rolling in, supporting a neat little package on top of it. It made its way at an unhurried pace to the center of the small dim room we were in. A pixelated, beaming smile appeared on its screen.

"Greetings, Officer Marsalis! I am here to deliver your new KFMD uniform and badge!"

Officer. Not agent. The title sounded so much more intense than its predecessor.

I let out a deep sigh, kneeling down to reach for the parcel. "Thank you." Neither my hazy dark eyes nor my tightly knit brows exhibited much emotion as I began undoing the bundle, examining its contents. I was really not too impressed by any of this, contrasting my company, who seemed to find this whole ordeal exciting enough to grin stoically through all of it.

"Your uniform includes one white button-up, size twenty-five... one pair of black trousers, size four... one black belt... one pair of black suspenders... one size 3 KFMD shortjacket, color dusty brown..." The robot paused for a moment. "...arranged exactly one week ago at 13:45. Is this your order?"

A quick, curt nod. "Yes, thank you."

A week ago? For the last seven days I'd gone about my days so normally, unable to realize that my life was about to change in such a drastic measure. For some reason I found that hard to comprehend.

"Would you please sign here?"

I glanced down again to see a long metal pen attached to the droid. Leaning in once more, I scribbled off my full name onto the screen's signature line. A faint, satisfying ding was heard as a green checkmark replaced the writing.

"Excellent! Your armor will be given to you at the dock before missions, along with your other supplies and weapons. Your weapons will include... two double-edged Welsher concealer assault knives... one B-14 assault blaster rifle... and two 980 Sketch blaster handguns."

"Mhm..." I pursed my lips and raised myself up again, gaze still trained intensely on the outfit. I softly mumbled something I barely even registered to myself, fingering the tags, making a mental note to cut those off.

The bot interrupted my musings, rolling over to another door, its uncanny, over-enthusiastic smile returning. "Please step into the changing room and try on the uniform, Marsalis."

With a half-hearted nod, I moved towards the attached chamber, shoulders still held back square, chin high up in the air in the fashion any person with stature would promenade about with.

My head hurt from this pretense, yet I could never make myself end this terrible practice of posture.

Upon closing the door, I collapsed against the mirror-clad wall, sinking down to the neat tile floor, hands tearing at my short, fluffy black hair. I felt my chest cave into emotion, my manufactured breaths growing short and desperate, my neck straining against the faux skin that held in its cables, my eyes widening far too much, surely giving me the appearance of a madwoman. I desperately did not want to join the KFMD. I didn't want to leave the lifestyle I'd stuck to like a religion for the last fifteen months, a beautiful, beautiful religion that a fanatic like me had come to love so dearly. A few teardrops threatened to surface, and a mighty threat they were indeed. I must not cry, I thought, over and over again. To cry is weak.

There was no room for weakness in Kartov. There was no room for weakness in me.

I want to feel, but guilt consumes my heart.

--

Did I want to leave my comfortable MRID cubicle for the Foreign Missions Division jets? Of course not. I'm not a lazy person, nor am I physically unfit, but the notion of departing from a job where you get to sit and plug your visuals into a port, surrounded by myriads of other AHs, just like me, danger-free... for an assault blaster rifle and a seat aboard an OWV aerial craft, was absurdly unnerving.

"Hey, Whitlock?"

"Marsalis."

I was mildly disappointed she hadn't given me another stupid nickname. I didn't know why. I wasn't supposed to feel like that, but it was okay. I was always confused at myself.

Never mind.

"I'm joining a squadron of officers. Yet you've already told me about working with two others. Squadron Nine isn't new. What happened to the officer I'm replacing?"

"Oh..." The girl at the other end of the line somehow seemed to audibly wilt. "Yeah, he's, uh... he isn't here anymore."

I nodded as I traipsed down the last corridor towards the exit of the KCMC. One hand withdrew into the folds of my trench coat, brushing against the taser gun concealed inside, the other grazed against my cheek, as if to check the tearstains were gone. The streets were what laid ahead, and protection was always necessary, especially when leaving an administration building, and especially when that administration building was the Kartov Communications and Missions Center - the second tallest building in the city. "Ah, I see. He moved divisions?"

"Not... not quite..."

I paused to think for a moment before continuing on my route. "Oh. Government... not like him?"

"No. You're getting closer, though."

"Suicide?"

A short hesitation. "Mhm..."

"Huh. Too bad, I guess." I glanced down at the watch bolted in iron to my left wrist. It was getting late. If I was going to finish my errands before curfew, I had to move fast.

"Right off the edge of our OWV as we took off," Whitlock continued, voice a little less steady. "I watched the whole thing."

"Mm." I shoved through a crowd of drunken imbeciles, trying to keep my head above the violent flow of pedestrians. "Sorry."

"Tank said he hated seeing the outside 'cause it reminded him of the life he could've had if it weren't for... well, he didn't like Kartov much... y'know... I think he was on hallucinogenic drugs..."

I shrugged. "If he was openly badmouthing Kartov, that's treason. Punishable by death. He was bound to go either way."

A long, swollen quietude followed. I realized that was probably not the right thing to say. A small sigh came from the speaker implanted in my ear, accompanied by a little sniffle. This girl was making me feel really stupid.

"... but that's so awful that happened. I'm so sorry, Whitlock. I'm sure he's in a better place now." I believed absolutely none of that last statement.

"I-it's okay, it happened a few months ago, since then we've been mostly out of action..." Whitlock could be heard shuffling something around, then clearing her throat. "I'm glad we'll be back in. Thanks, Da-- er, Marsalis."

I felt bad, but not bad enough to tell her she could give me all the friendly names she wanted.

"I have to go," I responded stiffly. "I'm running some errands. Thank you for informing me. See you tomorrow morning."

"Bye--"

Beepbeepbeep.

Well, that was not what I'd been expecting. That feeling of awkward guilt began to gnaw at me again, threatening to consume me once more, but I was fast in suppressing it. I had other duties to attend to, if you could even call them that.

Everyone in this city had experienced some form of personal loss. Officer Whitlock would be fine. We all were, after all.

Standing on the brink of a collapsed roadway chunk, I stared down into the abyss that was the Underground. This hole had been blown open several years back by some rogue Disciples gang members with a cyberfusion grenade, and had since then never been properly fixed up. Below me was a seventy-ish foot drop to the lower reserves of Kartov, where the lack of intrusive government presence was compensated by copious amounts of crime - far worse than even what the surface contained. Somehow far darker in luminance than the perpetually gray geometric landscape above, the only lighting offered was from the flickering, dim neon signs scattered about the structures that could be generously referred to as buildings. It was always necessary to bring a flashlight or some other kind of such equipment. Luckily, I had recently installed the updated night vision feature into my system, and my glasses would enhance the rendering.

Speaking of my eyes... The small green checkmark at the corner of my vision was still visible. That needed to go for now if I was to complete my errands.

I shut off my external sight and shuffled through contact numbers inside my headserver, until I eventually came across the one I was looking for. I sent an audio chat request and sat down, legs dangling off the edge of the deep cavity, patient. I couldn't continue without a certain someone's contributions.

No answer. Another call, then another, and one more for good measure. Nothing but endless ringing. I gave up and, with a disgruntled scowl, tabbed into my messages.

• Marsalis: Scramble. What are you doing.

• Unregistered Signal: Sorry, I can't pick up now. I'm at a party.

• Marsalis: What?! I

I stopped to delete the text quickly. If someone were to go through my communications, I wouldn't want them finding any betraying information about my secretive goings-on. I had too much to lose.

• Marsalis: You know what you're supposed to be doing.

• Unregistered Signal: Ah. What's that again?

I frowned, growing irksome.

• Marsalis: I'll be there in fifteen minutes, unless you want to keep stalling.

• Unregistered Signal: I see how it is. You're no fun.

I opened my eyes again, gazing around to make sure I was still alone. Clear. Now, I just had to stay still and wait. Wait for Scramble Rome to get back to his hut and do his job.

All of a sudden, there was a long muffled beep, and I looked down my white button-up to observe one of the vague red lights glowing in my chest fading out. For just a moment, I lost all vision again, and not a single joint in my body could move. A soft hiss, and then I was standing upright once more, my eye cams frozen in place. I could now walk about freely, under no scrutiny from the secret services. To any agents attempting to watch my actions through my cams, they would be met with a frozen screen and a location tab a kilometer away from where I actually was. Thank goodness for Scramble. He was a lifesaver in so many ways. And this would not be the only service of his I'd pay for today.

I kicked a bottle laying on the ground into the wall of an abandoned shop nearby, wincing as the glass shards shattered everywhere. A small shuffling noise, a few weary grunts from the corner of the alley, and then a hefty old man stumbled out from the shadows, wielding a sizeable crowbar. Clothed in nothing but a shredded, nastily discolored tank top and what could pass as baggy green pants, the deep grimace on his face looked as though it was pressed into him permanently.

"I need a lift, Bart. Here and back. Thirty minutes," I demanded, tossing him a small pouch filled with alms and krilders. "Now."

He leisurely pulled open the sack, running his grimy fingers through the coins before glaring up through his brows at me. "I want a roll."

Now it was my turn to adopt a sneering expression. "Absolutely not. All you ever do is raise prices and I--"

"And all you ever do is pay what I ask. Give me a roll, missy."

"I can have you reported, and you'd never see your confounded drinks again."

"You wouldn't, 'cause do that, and you'd never see your own drinks again either. Don't think I don't know who you are or why you go down there, Darcy Marsalis."

I sputtered, upset and becoming growingly intimidated. But he was right. How he came to know who I was I had no idea, I'd never even told him my name. But he knew. Such was the nature of black market operatives, I supposed.

"Fine," I spat, flicking a tiny wad of tickets from my pocket right at his overlarge beerbelly. "You win now. But don't think I can't make your life miserable if things keep continuing like this. Get me to the Underground now. Someone's waiting on me."

He chuckled, his whole tubby frame wobbling grotesquely. The man motioned for me to stay put before receding back into the shadows. Nervously I grasped at my taser gun again, apprehensive as to whether he would even return at all. Fortunately, he stalked back into sight a minute later, this time carrying with him a small, clean device, glowing an eerie rich blue and emitting a soft humming noise. Its smooth, expensive appearance contrasted greatly with its holder.

He occupied himself with idly scrubbing away at it with the edge of his shirt, evidently trying to annoy me. I gritted my teeth. I was already going to be late enough as it is. For all his personal laxity, Scramble was a very punctual guy when it came to in-person dealings. "Huh. What've you been up to here, anyways? What happened to your alliance with the Disciples? They kick you out for being useless again? What's this now, the third time?"

"Y'know, Darcy," he grunted, gently turning over the device, "I know a bit more about Kartov than you do. You're only twenty-three years old, I am nearly twice that. Don't get too ahead of yourself now. You may think you're invincible, that you're all-powerful, with your spotless little dress shoes and your fancy little weapons and your shiny little ID card." He scoffed. "But what you haven't got is allies, and that's somethin' I am in no shortage of. Not a droid behind a desk making empty promises about my 'career,' or a pod instructor telling me the administration is my friend or whatever nonsense. I've got real, personal connections. And that's somethin' you ought to be afraid of, kid." He shook his head, stepping towards me, offering the device. "That's somethin' you ought to respect."

"I respect no one but my authorities," I snapped back, whisking the object away from his hands.

"If you have so much respect from them, then why are you going to the Underground to meet up with a dealer right now? I know that government workers are forbidden from purchasing or drinkin' alcohol. That says a lot about where your loyalties really lie."

Again, he had me there. I had nothing left to say. The sullen countenance spreading deeper on my face, I moved back over to the hole and held aloft the strange item, ignoring his words. With the click of a button and the bright flash, followed by a quick zap, a transportation port had now appeared on the ground of the bottom floor far below. I repeated this procedure again, this time facing the device at the outer wall of the shop, creating another dark void of a gateway. I tossed it back to him.

"I'll be going now. Thank you."

He pursed his lips, giving a short nod before turning to saunter back off into the shadows. "Anytime, kiddo."

With a last wary glance around, I pulled off and concealed my spectacles in a pocket, then stepped into the portal beside me.

I hated conversations with Bart.

Why? Because he was always right.

Tonight, I was going to wreck myself again.