FICTION: Cyborg Sleeps part 9

The rest of the story

If you've been waiting for violence and action, this is the episode you've been waiting for.

It's possible that the description of the events may feel triggering to some people, given that the scenario is based in part on real life CCTV footage of gang-on-individual violence that I've seen on television documentaries and news programmes. It isn't my point here to make any political or feminist statement as such, but the fact that this can be based on real life is statement enough, I think.

Serious and Meaningful Comment over, on with the story!

Part 9

Mission accomplished. Asira had changed out of her infiltration clothing of a smooth black catsuit and head covering (the effect of looking like a ninja was not entirely accidental, the art of hiding in the shadows has changed little) and into something a little less conspicuous in public.

It was around 2am in the regional capital city, and young revellers were expected in the streets here. Asira wore combat pants and a loose top, and carried her mini Bergen over her shoulder like a regular backpack that might contain whatever it was young women carried around with them on a night out (she guessed, money, phone, make-up and so on – she'd not had the chance for that stuff herself). Her own bag contained her infiltration clothing, her gun, and everything that ad not been expended on the mission. Her aim was to head for a safe house out in the suburbs, rest there for a few hours and then go back to the base for full debriefing. The route and surrounding streets were memorised and, where possible, steps of the journey had been implanted as part of her mission-memories so that she could recognise the points on her way.

Asira was amused by the clubbers: since they chose their clothing to show off skin more than conceal it, they were not setting of the cryptoscopy spell that had proved so useful while on the mission itself, despite the nuisance it had presented while getting on-target. Their bags and backpacks often pinged it, because nobody wanted others to know where their money was.

So, when on a quiet street something sparkled out of the corner of her eye, she immediately became alert – someone was hiding something. She didn't turn to look, her instincts of fieldcraft and covert action taking charge instead. It had come from a second street just ahead, so when she drew level with it she would be able to take a casual glance and see who was there. Surreptitiously, she slipped her combat knife from the back pocket of her combats where it had been hidden, and keeping it concealed by her hand, arm and body, she maintained her calm, easy-going gait.

As it happened, she didn't need to take a glance – the person, or rather people, announced themselves.

"Hey, hot thing! Why don't you come on over here and give us some lovin'?"

She didn't need to turn her head for her optics to pick up the group. Three skinhead gang members, she could even make out the emblems tattooed on their arms. Their stance was wide, aggressive, showy – not much good for actual fighting, but it made you look big and scary, if your opponents were easily impressed by that. They were carrying plastic carrier bags that set off the cryptoscopy very strongly, and at least two of them were also concealing things in their jeans – and judging by the way they were behaving, they weren't interested in concealing their genitalia. Suddenly, Asira felt that this was a very precarious situation. She decided to ignore them and continue on her way. With any luck, they did this with every woman they saw and rejection would seem normal to them.

Her luck was not in.

Their leader yelled, "OI! Darkie bitch, don't fucking ignore me!" She tensed but carried on walking. Just a couple of steps further on – just far enough that she would now have to turn her head to see them, she heard his command, "Get her!"

Shit.

She started to run, hoping to use her cyborg enhancements to outrun her assailants, but these were organised and the furthest forwards had already been moving when the order came, and had cut her off before she could get anywhere very far. The other two, she knew from the sounds of their feet, had fanned out to cut off the other directions. She whirled around, making sure she had a visual reference for where each of them was. As she did so, she saw in the light of the streetlamp that at least two of them now had knives in their hands, and she guessed that explained why the cryptoscopy sense had kicked in when she saw them.

"Right, lads, looks like we're gonna have some eastern-style lovin' tonight!" snarled the leader, to vicious and hate-filled laughter from his gang.

Asira dropped her kitbag and kicked it aside, wishing now that she had her gun in her hand instead of safely tucked away. No time now to try to release it from its side pocket, by the time she stood up again, the men would be on her and it would have no deterrent effect. Despite the peril she felt, Asira could not yet bring herself to contemplate killing any civilian, even if they might be intent on doing it to her. Her military training and then her cyborg training – not to mention the imperative to keep her nature secret, all insisted that she should do minimum harm and then get the Hell out of there.

To do this, though, she needed to act. She sprinted at the unarmed attacker, aiming a slash at his belly. As she hoped, he jumped back to avoid it, but in doing so left himself bent forwards at the waist and off-balance. With the power of her cybernetic left arm, she planted a devastating blow to the back of his head, pitching him forwards and to the floor. He lay still on the dirty tarmac street, but Asira was fairly sure she hadn't done permanent damage. She was about to set off sprinting, but the other men had been quicker than she thought they would be. Her advance-time sense gave her just enough time to dodge slightly as the leader's knife stabbed at her back. It caught her left side and rent her skin as it did so, the momentum of the brutal blow causing drops of her blood to spray from the wound. The stab was accompanied with a raging snarl, "I'll get you for that, bitch!"

His comrade was close behind him, and aimed a savage swipe at Asira's chest with his own blade, but she saw it coming and fended him off with her left arm, just in time. She used its artificial strength to shove him off her, before turning to face their leader again. He had already recovered his balance and aimed his knife into Asira's gut. The gash in Asira's side had broken through any qualms about the nature of her opponents, and she was now operating on pure instinct honed by training: this time she had read his movements without any need for her advanced sense, and instead rushed him, stepping into his body carrying her knife blade into his midriff as her movement caused his blow to sail past her instead.

His knife dropped limply from his hand as Asira's momentum bowled him over and wrenched Asira's blade back out, his scream of pain echoing from the surrounding buildings as he clutched his wounded belly. Asira turned again to face the last of the three, but found him no longer looking at her in anger and deadly hatred, but in fear.

"What the fuck are you?" he spluttered, scrambling and desperately trying to escape.

Asira let him go, weakened now by the blood flowing from her wound and by the fact that the danger was now past. The two bodies of her vanquished opponents lay around her feet, blood pouring from the belly of the one who had knifed her.

It was only when Asira retrieved the first-aid kit from its pouch on her bergen that she realised that the knife shot she had blocked with her left arm had actually cut her, and sliced through the synthetic flesh to reveal the titanium underneath, glinting with sinister meaning in the orange streetlight.