Dark Future short stories - First - The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You
The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You
The night came after a strong red sunset. Red. Red like blood. This little town was his safe place and a trap. The world had gone to shit quicker than everyone expected and now it was all against all.
Contract wet work was bad money, but there was no better around. The super city had plenty of jobs to offer and was just about an hour away. Most of the jobs were done inside that sprawl, so.
He was known as the Black Striker, because of his black motorcycle cloath and his attack tactics striking like a crazy suicide killer down onto his target.
This time it was the first time someone came seriously after him with a proper head money. Usually, a job was revenged to the targeted party, sometimes even by buying over the hit man. Who pays most gets the loyalty.
This little town was taken over by a local sect of religous fanatics during the downfall and they drove out the old church, took over their positions and buildings. They were dysantrop and who did not turn junky or committed suicide by the age of about 20 was send to the former capital to enforce their interests. This was their breeding and training ground. A little town way past its glory with no reason to stop by for anyone travelling, especially since all motorways were interrupted by blowing up the bridges and no trains came anymore for a long tinme for the very same reason.
There was an unspoken deal between Striker and the sectarians, they would not enter the even more little valley bothering all his collected stray dogs and he would go for no more rampages through a town his family ruled centuries ago.
The last job was taking out a banker with a known track record for charging flexible interest rates using his small but powerful investment company. That was not too unusual, but he had pushed his synthetic drug consumption to most stupid levels and tried to go for war against his major big brother by hiring the most feared contractor.
Unfortunately, for him that contractor did somehow mind dying and got double from that big brother while keeping his down-payment to hit stupid instead. Black Striker was in buisness long time for a reason.
So he did. They all leave the safe zone of the sprawl some time, but this time it should be a bolt statement of power, strength and position and it needed to happen straight in the very safe zone, the holy grounds of the post downfall financial industry, a job based on an interesting bonus. One could not say no to them anyway, yet they always pay big money.
The night had come and the electronics of his camera system on the surrounding mountains were on high alert and would send out recon drones to check out approaching vehicals of a possible second wave.
It appeared that his violent death was supposed to be part of the bolt statement and a tactic to cover up the dispute of their most profitable little brother financing all kind of projects in the shadows of a society that had rather limited sunshine and hardly any growth in the spotlight while “the streets” promised constant high profit.
He’d try to find out what the actual plan was sometime soon and wondered, if they thought that a hit in the safe zone was actually possible.
The safe zone had three parts and was connected by high security fast ways and a subway system.
First was the airport with high class hotels and as high class office buildings. This area exploded in importance after the downfall, because it guaranteed safety and an international gate to the rest of the tumbling world in which the always and new poor could be easily ignored and all the shiny neon light turned the complex structure into something like a space station.
Second were the high risers that got some more company and had been connected by additional tunnels connecting them and a few nice open air spots at the river and former market squares that were surrounded by walls without gates to keep the striding poor out and in the old street system and its dirty, anarchic buildings. They just digged into the existing streets deep and closed them again, they build up massive steel enforced concrete walls to block view and access and, if necessary pulled down an old building to not give any sniper position against the rich and powerful of the new society after the downfall creating a world within the world.
The third part was an office quarter, turning the airport - city center - office quarter safe zone system into a the bling bling triangle ruling by money and guns what was left from the old Republic. They just build a concrete and fence system around the existing foot print of the quarter and refurbished the old railway to the city center with guiding walls and security towers along with a new build fast-way road that cut straight through actually not so abandoned old quarters from a past, but then stable world. This was the world of the lower ConMen, the suits, the office slaves glad to have not dropped down into poverty, but constantly threatened with downfall, if not compliant. They usually had little houses in guarded communities further outside the sprawl that got regularly under attack by violant hordes of armed stupids on drugs. They had every morning a some few hours of fear on less high secured roads to make their way into the safe zone that constantly reminded them of the consequences of not compliance. They were binded down into the system by a credit line to pay of the house and next vacation flight and, if the hordes tried to break through the fences and walls of their guarded community in which they gave birth to their born a ConSlave kids they heard the gun fire stakato of the security forces fighting them back. Another company force going after a manager or department usually was better organised and triggered heavier noise from intercepting jets or helicopters. The airport ensured highest levels of security and they had to be glad to be within the chosen grounds of power.
The target had its office in the second zone on a mid level floor of a high riser and his two floor apartment in another one next by. The air port zone was off limits anyway, officially to tightly secured but a leathel attack even in the second zone would have caused major debates at the council and therefore the attack was most likely not ordered by the council head and possibly not annouced neither.
The third was out of question, just because the target never went there and so it must be the high risers zone. Considering a missing rest and bonus payment, but a company security commando dead and ripped apart by Strikers dogs food they had underestimated him. But where and how did they figure out this place he considered to have to give up now for ever?
Most contractors worked with sniper weapons from a safe distance or bombs, but the Strikers special signature was an infantry attack using a drum fed Tec-9 sub machine gun from close distance and a fast motorcycle somewhere close by to get away. This was a new level of contract. An opportunity. High pay, high level of difficulty. There was no way to get out of the safe zone due to the massive presence of full auto armed security forces, check points and the weight of RPGs and high velocity ammo needed to shoot his way out into the anarchy of the sprawl that would secure him, but kill the ConSecurity in their fancy uniforms.
They had understimated his creativity and connections. The anti aircraft guns of the safe zone were not able to shoot down a tiny mid range rocket fired from 20km away and pretty much everyone had enemies. More than one. After taking the counter-contract, which he was able to do without entering a saloon in the lost quarters of the sprawl as the first one he had countered, which would have forced him again to pay his respect and tribute to a club or organization of some kind in arms dividing the anarchy of theses streets and buildings in a chaotic system of over population he found a hacker that was an enemy. Just a few text messages later after leaving the dark net confernce room Striker had found that hacker that for a reasonable amount of cash would provide him with a live stream from the safe zone security cameras and gave him a shout as soon as the face recognition would ring indicating a match. A week after the first ring Striker had a profile. Their biggest source of strength was also the ConMens sweet weak spot: Dedication to routine.
Collateral damage was no option as the client pointed out and it also could have caused unpredicted actions of revenge. The rocket was tiny and guided and the time window of 30 minutes at his most favourite Cafe on Saturday in the open sky, always at the very same place, was perfect.
The strike went down as planned. The target was killed with a cup in his hand shortly before leaving to the gym by a self build tiny rocket that hardly was bigger that a .50 projectile launched from a forest 19.5km away from the hit point and did its job without any collateral damage. Well, physical collateral damage. The rocket had so much kinetic energy that it ripped the torso apart and spread a few litres of blood and meat all over the other guests. It struck from above straight down through head, chest and stomach exited through his ass and must have further driven itself into the concert below his chair. A perfect hit.
Striker checked the hit following the live pictures provided by a hacker that liked to see his target dead, too, from using his VR glasses sitting on his motorcycle after er launched the tiny rocket and just waited until he could slowly drive away back into his valley making sure he had not to cancel the hit by a long range emergency signal, if anything unsuspected would come across, to destruct the rocket. He was in business for a long time and be able to take the highest contract cash for that reason: He was in cold blood on a job.
Back in his valley it was all as normal. He fed the dogs with some more additional food than the constant rat stream that tried to also conquer his valley coming from the little town could provide, where they considered these rats holy like the Hindus cows and their deseases just helped to divide the weak from their strong, when about 12 hours after the strike no money was in yet, but he started to sense along with his dogs, a threat approaching.
That has not happened ever. Not that strong. No way the townies had a bad patch of synthetic drug that made them try funny and stupid against their unspoken agreement.
He had turned the valley and its two mountain tops into his safe place to store his equipment and from time to time hide an exit person or family until further passage was safe to a place far far away inhabited by runaways called Punks that lived with, instead against each other.
Almost all houses from that abandoned village were empty, some had his spartanic private rooms, there was a garage and workshop, a few were turned into grow houses to provide with food and the only high he was ever interested in, places for the dogs and their breed, storage of food and stuff he took from the Con world that was useful such as all kind of electronic equipment, clothes for undercover operations and gold and silver coins to pay of the old school organizations still active in that chaos that was the new reality after the downfall and that so much missed their lost powers and positions.
He had taken good care that both access ends of the valley were blocked with difficult to recognise but movable gates and even had removed parts of the old road to keep anything that was not off-road, like racers or go fast smugglers out. The houses had a system of booby traps and autonomous guns that would, if the hidden security cams and moving sensors connected to a military grade artificial intelligence defence system suggested, go live and be able to take out an entire division, but an old school division from way before the downfall. They could came in with a platoon of those tanks that he had collected shortly after the downfall when the soldiers gone somewhere, leaving even the light equipment behind, and that were incorporated into the valley’s defence system, without a chance.
On both mountain tops the long and mid range camera systems kept an eye on the little town and its surrounding villages while to the other mountain sides a system of traps, barb-wire overgrown by dense spiky berries ensured that getting up the steep terrain through a wood full of rats was no option. He was surrounded by an enemy that he would not hesitate to play against any sprawl force. Usually they looked for him down there in their town after a contract gone bad which hardly ever happened, but most there did not even remember that he existed or his valley so close, as it was just another abandoned part and not even the most spooky one of these religious freaks ever really left their usual paths and certainly not their own company constantly on drugs.
So, it was a pitty that he could have to give up this place soon.
They came in bright day light on a Sunday and therefore were not forces from the old church still having their foot in the wider region trying to enforce an old sentence for being a heretic that came after a few of their sisters decided to leave church prison with some help from the outside.
All dogs felt it and looked with him in the same direction. Darkness was about to come too close. He went into the bunker next to the garage and his private rooms to get into his combat suit and linked his VR to the camera system controlled by the AI. He usually could feel danger before the AI rang to indicate a threat.
The bunker would also be his last line of defence and was able to take artillery shells not in use any more carrying mini nukes.
There they came. A convoy of street cars, armoured, darkend windows showing the signs of the security forces of the clients company. Big brother of a greedy finance specialist trying to take out the contractor that had sold out the little man.
They did not pass by further into town, but stopped at the southern gate system. So, they were up for him and had pretty good information. For them the outside area only showed the ruins of what once was an industrial complex, but quite tiny compared to those they protected. All was overgrown with fast growing plants. The former road deeper into the valley was blocked by a krator from a 10kg TNT explosion, scrapped trash buses and trucks that were supposed to create the impression of being remainings from a military grade attack on a brigade taking base there some time ago. Rats were all around and a mine warning sign should keep of everyone that still could think straight and had chances to survive a certain attack by the rat population.
This was as far as their cars could take them. A drone lifted off their convoy and flew into the valley in good sight by Strikers defence system. There was still hope that they would turn around. The valley had too many densely planted small trees to give a standard recon drone like this one any chance to do its job and figure out what was hiding there.
Instead it looked like an old battte field of the nearby military base against a militia as they regularly happened during the downfall.
They had no spider recon robot and therefore leaked patience or were up for a quick and dirty job.
The drone started hovering and they stepped out of their cars. Two platoons, 12 wet targets in light body armour carrying standard high end security weapons ideal for house to house combat.
The problem was who told them where to die?
They slowly entered the valley and made their way deeper into the compound.
They did not know what they were facing. They were a reconecance team, only. Hopefully. Black Striker was always exaggerating a bit and stayed alive by expecting the worst.
They got further and the first one was attacked by a rat a few meters in. These rats got bigger after the downfall and gave the dogs quite a fight brining up to 5 kilos into the death match. The road into the valley was a motorcycle road only, he had no use for cars and used an old Huey helicopter to get human load or supplies out and into his valley.
So the space the little path gave was maximum two meters wide and high, hidden always below trees, winding like a snake deeper into the valley, using the remainings of the old road while being interrupted by movable blocks controlled by the AI.
The leading ConSec Commando climbed over a car wreck and got to close to a waiting rat hunting. Country side rats were bigger and these under the constant threat of the dog pack in the center of valley also way more aggressive than those somewhere in the underground of the sprawl they came from.
He freaked out and lost. Screaming his lungs and soul out as soon as the animal had its first bite into his uncovered flesh below his helmet he tumbled and pulled the trigger pushing full auto fire into two of his following soldiers close behind him. Three others flanking the advance started firing killing the rat and the man with targeted bursts as Dysantrop Soldiers usually did instead of trying to survive they punished who was weak.
The teams stopped, looking at each other in fear not knowing what just struck upon them. The rats were not even part of the defence system now on high alert, but food for the dogs as soon as they made their way past the gate system.
They stopped and heard the squeaking high pitch sound of the other rats that did mind loosing one of them. The AI indicated that their puls levels started to get out of control and based on their eyes their adrenalin reached new levels of uncontrollable heights. “Welcome to the garden of hells kitchen” Striker thought while walking through the virtual 3D space the AI had created for him awaiting his orders. The orders were “Hold. Stay invisible” and hope came back that he might keep his place for some more days.
The two teams freaked out when the rats attacked in a pack. About six big ones attacked two in the middle of the corso from below biting into their boots and trousers that were way to soft to withstand their sharp teeth and strong chars.
That was it. Along with them screaming in pain and fear and uncontrolled fire arm use more and more rats attacked to have lunch.
The last car waiting outside reversed with screaming tyres. That must be the commando car collecting the video footage of the body cams. That car got a tiny tracking robot that would rest in silence and after about a week use the first opportunity in open air to come back into transmission range to send a full tracking history.
Now. It was time to wait after giving the hacker a warning that the Con might be on the lookout.
Maybe, he’d figure out who pointed them to his place....sometime...
