Shadowland

Chapter 05 - Control - Part 06

Krebbs exited the interrogation room, wishing he could slam the automatic sliding door behind him. He stalked down the corridor, his fists clenched so hard they were vibrating, his lip curled in a snarl. He had completely lost control in there, and been humiliated by the ranking agent who had been handling the interrogation. He felt like an utter fool.

He heard the door slide open and shut again, and footsteps behind him. "Krebbs, hold up!" Eastman shouted. Krebbs spun on his heel, facing her.

"Don't you start," he snarled. "That woman knows more than she's letting on! I know it! I don't care what the Thought Probe says!"

"How?" Eastman asked, hands cocked on hips. "Because of a tattoo on her hand that nobody but you can see? I'm telling you, Krebbs, you better get your head on straight. The Thought Probe doesn't lie. That woman is innocent. What's more, I doubt we're part of the investigation anymore. You just flushed our chance to find Deckard Case down the drain."

Krebbs lifted his head, took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Not if I can help it," he said. "I know exactly where he is."

"Sure," said Eastman, "He's right down the hall. He's having a party with Cariane West. They're comparing invisible tattoos."

"No," Krebbs insisted, "I'm serious. I got another anonymous text this morning." He doubted that Eastman would be impressed with a story about floating shadows. "They sent Deckard's location right to my infoshades. I know exactly where is is."

Eastman tilted her head to the side. "Let's say for a second I believe that you haven't gone off the deep end," she said. "You're telling me you know where we can find the Realists. And we're supposed to what, just let you lead a team there? After what you just pulled, you'll be lucky if the higher-ups assign you to cleaning duty in the under-city. They'll never believe you."

A broad smile broke over Krebbs' face. "That's why you're going to be the one to tell them, Eastman."

***

Eastman led six Agents in black myrmidon armour down the shadowed corridors of the under-city, with Krebbs watching their back. He had sent the file containing the location coordinates to her glasses, once he had convinced her to go along with his scheme. The higher-ups had made it clear that this was Krebbs' last chance to make good. Eastman clearly had her doubts that they would find anything, let alone a Realist cell, but Krebbs knew in his bones that the tip was good. He was so close to finding Deckard Case that he could almost taste it, and when he found Deckard Case, he would find the solution to the mystery of his strange tattoo. Then, after he had extracted every bit of information he could, he would kill the Realist scum, just as he had promised the thing that called itself Skerris.

The squadron turned a corner, into an ancient steam tunnel with pipes running up, down, and across the walls every which way, as well as occasionally across the floor. Bursts of steam hissed from badly patched pipes, obscuring the view. Krebbs' glasses tried to compensate, outlining the walls and pipes in red vectors. "Careful," Eastman's voice whispered harshly in his earpiece. "Anyone could be hiding in this mess. Proceed under cover." She ran forward and slipped behind a thick pipe running up the wall. The other Agents did the same, but Krebbs hesitated. This was almost exactly where the coordinates Skerris had given him said the Realists would be; only a few hundred feet ahead and around a corner. This was a perfect hiding place, but could people really live in a place like this?

Suddenly there was a clanking noise, and a shape dropped down from a nest of pipes in the ceiling. It was limned in red in his glasses, but he could barely see it through the fog of steam; however, for a brief second he caught a glimpse of a narrow face, light brown skin, heavy mirrored shades and a mess of black lines that looked kind of like a bird. "It's Case!" he shouted. He pulled his gun out and shouted, "Surrender, you terrorist bastard! I've got a bone to pick with you!"

"Krebbs!" whispered Eastman's voice harshly in his ear. "Get under cover!" Deckard turned and ran through the steam, hopping nimbly over pipes that ran across the floor. Ignoring Eastman, Krebbs took his gun out and fired, but Deckard slipped easily around a corner and his bullets hit nothing but pipes, releasing yet more steam into the air.

"Stand down, Krebbs!" Eastman shouted. "That's an order! Come on, after him, but stay cool and stay under cover. We don't know how many other terrorists this asshole has with him. Advance two by two." The armour-clad agents ran forward, each pair taking up positions of cover, then waiting for the next to pass. They moved down the tunnel and around the corner, toward a rusty door at the end.

"He must be in there," Krebbs shouted. "He's not getting away this time!"

"Krebbs, wait!" Eastman shouted, and lunged forward, pulling at the shoulder of his jumpsuit. Krebbs shrugged her off, running forward and opening the door. Beyond was a large space, dirty and stacked with broken, empty crates. He was able to make out filthy blankets and piles of clothes, but most of his attention was taken up by the hulking form in the middle of the room, a chunky machine standing on four thick legs. Ports slid open on its heavy shoulders, and a pair of gun barrels slid out. He noticed a circle like a gear painted on its front left leg, the letters XIII written inside, but could do no more as Eastman tackled him to the ground. "Krebbs, get down!" she shouted. "That thing's armed!" Crouching, caught in the crosshairs, she lunged for a pipe near the wall, but the robot opened fire and bullets caught her in the shoulder and upper chest.

Krebbs touched his earpiece. "Medevac!" he shouted. "We need backup down here! They got ahold of a warbot somehow! The tipoff was a trap!"

That was when the rest of the Realist cell attacked them from behind.