Chapter 10 - To Higher Places 2
“My wrists hurt.”
I whined to the gang member watching me.
“I wanna go to the bathroom, I’m thirsty, I’m hungry.”
That’s what a five-year-old would say. I planned to keep it up endlessly—until their ears bled, until their brains melted from the nonstop complaints.
“This chair’s uncomfortable, untie my wrists at least, I miss Daddy, you stink so get away, waaah, you’re ugly.”
Opponent thinks you're a rich girl. Complain about the side dishes.
Good idea.
I tossed away the nutrient bar they’d given me to eat, claiming it tasted awful. Even though I was the one acting like a total spoiled brat. The gang member’s face turned beet red with rage—it was quite the sight.
By the way, “nutrient bar”? I’d checked it before throwing; it supposedly had all the nutrients a human needs. I nibbled a bit, and the taste was the worst. This stuff was basically human dog food? Did everyone outside corps eat this crap? It better not be loaded with heavy metals too. I’d have to make serious money later to avoid this garbage.
Anyway, the gang member putting up with my princess act soon hit his limit.
“Fuck! Fine, you’re free—deal with it yourself!”
Do you know the advantage of being a five-year-old girl? Even with a nuclear bomb like V in my brain, to everyone else, I looked harmless. Perfect operation success.
Of course, they were criminals, so humanity was questionable. Push too far, and they might snap, rationality out the window, and hurt me. Honestly, I was a bit scared it might actually happen.
But I had my reasons. I scanned the surroundings slowly.
Over thirty gang members that I could see had set up in this abandoned research facility on the city outskirts. The place had long forgotten its original purpose, now their hideout. For instance, a room labeled “Centrifuge Chamber” had a few passed-out drunks inside. Guess they centrifuged their consciousness.
Others played poker, chatted and laughed among themselves, stood serious guard—varied bunch. The key was their scale and camaraderie. Deep bonds meant an old organization; large scale meant solid structure. This one had both. Pros at crime, so they’d weed out anyone who casually damaged goods. That was my gamble for pushing hard.
That’s why I went for it. A tied-up princess had fewer survival odds and options than a feisty young lady. Results? Pretty successful.
“Why’s she wandering around?”
“Guess they let her loose.”
Strolling the facility interior, peeking around—they’d glance but mostly ignore me. Like they were used to this. How many kids had they kidnapped before? Impressive in a twisted way.
“Hey, missy.”
Even the boss-looking guy barely said a word. Name was Drex, I think? The others called him that.
“Who’s your daddy? Just tell me that, and this uncle won’t bother you. Curious, that’s all. Huh?”
They kept prying about family, and it was starting to piss me off. I’d track those people down and bleed them dry eventually. My spiritual dad was from a century ago. My physical dad—and mom—was Alphabet. Could they handle the latter?
“...Hmph!”
I spun away like a proper girl.
Crude chatter scratched at my ears from behind.
“Hah, saw that attitude? She’ll make guys cry in droves later.”
“Guess Daddy’s tastes run that way.”
Loud guffaws erupted. Worthless talk—not worth hearing. As I tried to ignore and leave—
A snippet grabbed my ankle.
“So, those two talked yet?”
“Not yet, boss. We roughed ’em up, but they won’t crack. Torture ain’t working... Our bitmancers are probing their brains to extract info, but... they’re ImmuneWire guys. You know.”
“Fucking corp ICE. Shit, this’ll take time.”
“Well, dragging it out just tightens the noose on that kid’s daddy.”
I pressed against an unseen wall and sighed quietly. Maid and pilot. Those two must be suffering big time right now. No idea how they ended up in an ImmuneWire VIP escort team. Maybe dirty work in the past earned it. But to me now, they were innocents.
Remember my principle?
Keeping it in mind.
The world’s broken—can’t help that. But I’d protect at least my surroundings. Because I had the power.
Caution: No full-frontal war with the entire gang.
[Reality combat required. Owner can't handle it.]
[V won't assist plans with 100% owner death risk.]
‘You’re blocking me because there are other ways, right?’
Suggestion: Transmit this place's cyberspace structure to Svetlana.
[Rescue from outside becomes much easier.]
‘Won’t they detect the transmission? They’ve got bitmancers.’
Use the tracker in your clothes.
[Continuously signaling Svetlana.]
[Safe route so far—no detection.]
A tracker in my clothes? No wonder, with all these frilly strings. Given Svetlana’s obsessive paranoia, it was obvious.
‘Alright, let’s do it.’
To map cyberspace structure, I needed a computer. But proper ones were guarded. The one place with tight security while I roamed free: the electronics control room. Their “security room.”
“Scram.”
The guards here tensed up when I approached. No booze stench on them either—aces inside, no doubt. Environment differed too: no trash piles or spray-paint graffiti near security.
“Why?”
“Our bitmancers... fuck, you wouldn’t get it. You coming disturbs them. Got it? Beat it.”
That’s how I’d been shooed before.
Just mapping structure—no need for core system access.
[Research facility = vast cyberspace likely.]
Abandoned research site meant devices linked centrally everywhere. Unless they’d severed all, any entry point worked.
I snuck through the facility, avoiding eyes, seeking deserted rooms. Deeper in had fewer watchers than near entrances. Spotted “Break Room C”—slipped in when clear.
Tolerating the dust, found a downed vending machine, yanked a wire, plugged into my neck port.
Cyberspace synchronization.
New sights overlaid my vision with V’s message. All systems linked to this machine, chaining onward like stepping stones—facility’s full cyberspace merged with reality.
“Whoa...”
Gang cyberware, smart guns, bitmancer security room—all fortified, opaque. Opposite, another fortress under siege by multiple bitmancers. Beasts and layered defenses. Probably the hover-rig pilot’s and maid’s ICE.
No deep dive chair needed for this?
Much less efficient than deep dive. But huge plus: observe reality and cyberspace simultaneously. Very effective for real-world ops.
I looked at myself. My data, and another block hidden in my clothes. Faint signal streaming far into cyberspace.
‘Gang didn’t find this?’
Multi-encrypted and concealed likely.
[Visible to owner by Svetlana's intent.]
Svetlana knew I could breach Cerberus-level. So she permitted it for emergencies.
I traced the block’s location, felt a hard lump in my dress, fetched scissors, ripped—tiny transmitter emerged. Prepared this far? Elite was elite.
Yanked another wire, linked myself and transmitter.
Cyberspace map compressing... 91%
Complete. Transmitting to Svetlana.
A thick stream vanished into cyberspace distance. Uneasy, I checked bitmancers—busy with fortresses, good.
‘Should be good now.’
Unplugged to return unsuspected—then two messages bounced back via transmitter.
Miss, you did wonderfully. I'll put this data to good use.
But return to a safe spot now. I'll handle everything from here.
That instant, cyberspace shifted massively. A colossal serpent reared far off, glaring at the entire facility. Its size and poise radiated menace. Familiar to me, though—the one that shielded kids during Cerberus fight.
‘Won’t they spot that?’
Gang bitmancers ignored it, fixated on fortresses. Concealed from all but me, like the transmitter. How’d they hide that bulk? ImmuneWire tech?
Curious, fiddling the transmitter—idea struck.
‘If this doesn’t block me, you can see internal code, right?’
Possible.
‘V, clone the code and apply to me.’
Analyzing owner's intent.
Sad... Owner ignores V. (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)
‘With camouflage code, enemy bitmancers won’t know it’s me. I’ll hit the maid’s and pilot’s ICE and fight together.’
Dangerous choice. Protocol V advises against.
‘You know the principle I mentioned?’
Owner... (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)
Understood. (•̀ᴗ•́)و
Code analysis starting. Clone complete.
V was getting more assertive, emoticons varied. Using Alphabet’s code directly, self-evolving. Unsettling—might follow Alphabet’s path someday. But no time to worry about V now.
Applied to owner's data block.
Unique code layered onto my data.
Stealth - Ally distinction code applied.
My form went semi-transparent—camouflaged—but outlined, still visible. Same for distant serpent and transmitter. Allies in camouflage could see each other clearly.
‘V, that ICE won’t block me entering?’
Owner already VIP-registered in their database.
‘Listen close. Strategy’s simple: From ICE core, send only clones for endless guerrilla hits.’
Not deep dived—processing and focus way down. Half my usual 13 clones max, probably. Camouflage on all? Even worse. Still fightable. So fight. No debate.
‘Last: Keep real me hidden.’
Sitting plugged into vending machine screamed suspicious. Needed undetected cyberspace access.
System-linked toy nearby. Play with it—perfect cover.
Focused on reality, grabbed corner toy. Vroom, choo-choo. Toys fun... Act from now. I’m... a five-year-old girl... Self-reminder.
Unplugged toy, linked to neck, silently routed data elsewhere. Simultaneously, serpent morphed—smaller but longer. Slithered facility edges, coiling systems in its body. Split at branches, scattering paths.
Gripping toy, casually returned to gang areas, watching all.
Clea thought the adults acted weird today. Huge scary guys marched in sync like machines, all one way. From dorm window, over a hundred lined up, then dashed another direction.
This wasn’t just inside ImmuneWire Paris Branch.
“Yo, ever seen that many hover-rigs?”
“All ImmuneWire? War?”
“Eyes down, idiots. Lock gazes, they’ll hassle us. Nothing good with corps.”
Civilians gawked at sky-filling hover-rigs, muttering reactions. All converging one spot: city outskirts abandoned research facility.
There, black-suited and coated, gloved woman waited. Svetlana. One eye gleamed—on a call.
Call ended, Svetlana turned at hover-rig landing behind. Heavy metal sand stung, but no flinch.
Descending: massive cyberware-laden soldier.
“For ImmuneWire. Secretary-General Svetlana, Paris Branch Combat Director ‘Darlang.’ Combat rank: Colonel.”
“And?”
“One battalion rapid-deployed, holding distance. More time? Regiment or brigade. Call partners, mercs, gangs we deal—”
“No time.”
“Pardon?”
“A colonel, yet so dense.”
Svetlana sighed, drew hip pistol. Sharp glare made giant flinch.
“Colonel, Chairman’s deadline: two days. No wait for deployments.”
“Then, simulated eight rescue ops with current forces for safe VIP extraction. Based on—”
“Don’t need that. Or think I called you because I need you?”
Svetlana smirked thinly, mind ranting: Why so slow? Girl sends cyberspace map while kidnapped. Why don’t colonels, directors know their roles?
“You and men encircle facility, catch runners. I finish, you clean up. No pointless flexing.”
“...Secretary-General, that means...”
“I go in alone.”
Svetlana racked pistol slide. Chambered round flashed sunlight.