The sensory jack is unplugged from the port behind my ear and the endotracheal hose extracts from my mouth, setting my throat on fire and inducing a gag reflex. For a few desperate minutes, all I can do is cough repeatedly. When the heaving finally subsides, the feeding tube is removed from my stomach by a whip-thin medical robot. I close my eyes as I'm sewn up, nearly overwhelmed by a massive headache, severe nausea, and a bad case of the chills. The robotic nurse finishes its examination, throws a tattered blanket around me, and declares me fit for social integration. Leaving a worn yellow jumpsuit on a rusty tabletop, it wheels away.
Shuddering, I step out of the vertical pod. My legs give way immediately, and I crash to the metal grating, puking my guts out. There isn’t much to vomit, but I feel slightly better when I sit up. Leaning back against the pod, I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and shiver uncontrollably.
The facility is dim and noisy. Loud clanging sounds echo in the massive warehouse, hissing emits from the thousands of pods like a den of angry snakes, expelling vapor in the air that creates a permanent haze. Condensation drips from the overheads, creating tracks of water on the floor, dropping through the rusty grating.
Deep Sleep pods surround me. Left and right, above and below, directly opposite the narrow corridor. Spotted with wet grime, dents, and scratches, they house my neighboring hibernators. My community. Twenty-two thousand people who like me chose a virtual life to a physical one. Unlike me, they continue their blissful existence undisturbed. Willfully ignorant, so long as the rental fee gets paid.
I taste copper whenever I take a deep breath, and the air stabs my lungs like daggers. Sweat drips down my face and chest from the unforgiving humidity. The scent of rust and sewage nearly clogs my nostrils, and the violent clanging and hissing never end. It's an assault that's almost unbearable, pushing me to the fringes of a massive panic attack.
I wrap my arms around my head, and like every time I awaken from Immersion, I start to cry.
Chapter 2: 3N16MA
My eyes practically steam with anger. I feel the pulse beating in my veins; blinding hot, burning inside like violence waiting to unleash.
The anger is more at myself than anyone else. Four months of tracking Specter down only to have him slip through my fingers. With him being physically inoperable, it took a lot to lure him from his synthetic wonderland. I should have been able to contain him. But I underestimated the swiftness of his paranoia. His mind is trained to make snap decisions from years of experience. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing with him. In his synoid host, he has no fear of death. He is free to do anything, including leap from one-hundred-and-fifty story buildings.
Android Forensic Units are already on the scene. White jumpsuits over skeleton framework, oval-shaped heads like hardboiled eggs. Emergency lights flash on their backs, painting the vicinity in red and blue. I tap the nearest one on the shoulder. "Any luck?"
Its round eyes flash when it scans my face and processes my authorization. "It's a mess. Air traffic automatically diverted when the body fell, and public safety androids were deployed to corral people away in the few seconds it took for the synoid to go from air to ground. The rest is what you see here." He gestures to the remains.
I kneel, frowning. The impact destroyed the unit, spattering synthetic blood and body parts everywhere. What remains is a ruined, broken wreck that somewhat resembles a human body.
Residents of Haven Angeles stream by the scene in their sleek designer chic outfits like living fashion mannequins, paying the scene no attention. I doubt anyone notices the blood is blue instead of red. Synoid suicide isn't enough to warrant extra attention in a city where not caring has been mastered into an art form.
"Any chance of tracing the synoid?"
"Looks like a standard S1 model. The trace will lead to a stolen synoid report, but that won't get you any closer to the guy who jacked it."
"Run the trace anyway. When we get the locale of the theft, then we can canvas the area with surveillance. Our guy could be a locale. Might get lucky."
"You got it. I'll send you the results."
Agent Rogers approaches me with a scowl that seems permanently etched into his face. Dark-haired, with a neatly-cut hair and goatee, eyes covered by tactical shades: every inch the government agent. He wears the long gray coat of an HSSC squad commander and moves with the restless energy of a caged wolf. "This is on you. My men did their jobs."
I glance up, trying not to let my derision show. "What's with the attitude, Rogers? You've had that sour expression ever since you joined this op."
"Call me crazy, but I don't like rubbing shoulders with ex-cons. You're a Scyther, which means Cyber Corp forced you to work for them. So how can I trust you or your crew, Enigma? What kind of a name is that, anyway? I don't even know who you really are. Top brass lends my unit to you like you're in charge. You should be behind bars, not running point on an AIB joint operation."
I turn my attention back to the synoid remains. The head is nearly unrecognizable, synthetic flesh pulped. One eye stares accusingly from its crumpled face. Sighing, I stand up and signal for the AFUs to continue their work.
"Well, you know what they say, Agent. It takes a crook to catch a crook."
"Yeah. That's what they say. I know the things you did. I'm keeping my eye on you."
"You and everyone else. Now if you excuse me, I have better things to do."
I walk over to Kage, who lurks in the shadows with his pale face and black clothes like a creature of the night. He appears to stare at nothing, but I know he's focused on the things ordinary people can't see. With his cybernetic enhancements, the Sentry's perception is entirely different. The studs on his bald head blink with flashing lights and the visor over his eyes glow crimson, casting his pale face in a blush of red light.
I try not to sweat in his presence. Hiding my nervousness, I keep my voice as casual as possible. "Looking into the fifth dimension, Kage?"
His cherry lips curve in a thin smile. "You might say that."
"What do you see?"
"Data. I see the invisible streams that go unnoticed by your eyes. Endless numbers and characters, public and encrypted, personal and irrelevant. Information, Enigma. A neverending flow of information."
"Sounds like a massive headache."
He cocks his head, finally focusing a fraction of his attention on me. "Is there something you want to ask or is this some attempt at small talk?"
"With you? Not likely. I need to know if you're able to traceback to Specter's origin point. He has to be somewhere in the area. We should be canvassing everything within five miles of here."
He gives a tiny, frustrated shake of his head. "Specter didn't get his moniker from being easy to trace. He's a ghost in the system. His unique ability to core-jack synoids with his mind makes him nearly impossible to track. The fact that he can perform the task from cyber-immersion is unheard of."
"You're saying he's a Sleeper core-jacking from the infosphere? That's impossible."
"Just because you haven't seen it before doesn't mean it's not possible."
"How can you be so sure?"
"If he were anywhere in the area, I'd sense the ping when he severed the connection and returned to his body. In this case, there was nothing. No digital fingerprints, nothing to trace. He's a Sleeper, all right. Somehow, he can project his consciousness from the digital world into the real one. It's not that hard to imagine. We link with network connections all the time. In a way, he's doing the same thing."