Post by EmperorMyric on Mar 22, 2021 15:31:22 GMT
Lost Star: Neutral Space
Opera music had always been Trasts favourite, ever since a being brought up within the company he had enjoyed its soothing tones. It now played loudly the voice of a female singer dragging out each word in the back of the Triarch Armoured Limo. It was almost enough to drown out the tapping noise made by Trasts finger hitting the ornate mahogany table in front of him but alas the sound still could be heard.
Trast was nervous. Very nervous. He had been promoted to official Triarch head on Lost Star after his massive deal with unknown backers in Waimangus club through his contact Weidemann which had brought in the company a huge amount of both resources and seemingly ilicit information from various factions to barter, keep or trade with as it saw fit, and Trast had been given some of the commision from the deal, enough to get him whatever he wanted and elevate his status here. It was in effect exactly what the man had been looking for, rather than soliciting backroom deals with scum from the lower gangs on tiny weapon shipments he was now liasing huge deals with entire drug cartels, Pirate fleets and neutral factions. It was a dream come true, that was until he had been recently contacted by none other then John Triarch himself.
Normally that would of brought joy to his heart, but when he noticed the call was on a secure non Triarch channel he knew something was wrong. When Triarch had told him this was both official and unofficial buissness his worry had only heightened. Apparantly the company had never promoted him, and the deal he had secured had never officially been passed, the board of Executives had never even heard of it, the resources and various domino affects of the deal had been near perfectly glossed over in budget edits and endless brilliant bureocratic tape. Trasts heart had sank at that, and when Triarch had nearly interrogated him for all the information on who the clients were Trast was horrified to find he had absolutely no idea, and no recollection of meeting them. He had been ordered by Triarch to track them down, and gather information, something had happened to the company internally and wheels and cogs were turning. Trast felt guilt that his own ambition had likely caused this but he was determined to find out precisely what was going on.
His only hope was to find Waimangu a good friend of his and then get him to track down the women who had facilitated the meeting with the clients. Weidemann was the only name he had, and nothing was on record. Hardly surprising for Lost Star but annoying none the less, his armoured limo was now on route to Waimangus main club and he now had his personal security guards to help him. He took a deep breath trying to relax.
Anxiety wasnt helping.
Waimangu was normally quick to answer his calls as any business Trast conducted through him usually meant hefty commissions. These commissions had become more and more of a necessity as Waimangu expanded his entertainment empire into risky and oftentimes catastrophic business ventures into all sorts of extravagant new clubs and venues. This made it all the stranger that this time he wasn't answering, not even his secretaries or his answering machines were available for Trast. The matter was too important for Trast to just wait for however long it took for Waimangu to get back on the line; if he could not find who was it that had compromised Triarch's network to such an extreme degree that such a massive clandestine project had been seamlessly intermeshed with the company's existing industry he would have much more to fear than just a demotion or getting fired.
"Sir, you might want to see this." One of his bodyguards, on the passenger seat of the armored limousine informed him. "It isn't his terminal that's down, a lot of lines are being blocked right now. Can't contact our own corporate either."
The limousine flew on autopilot, swerving between the skyscrapers of one of Lost Star's overbuilt mixed districts. The skyscrapers hanging down from the ceiling and those coming up from the floor were tall enough to be bridged together with enormous walkways at their top levels, requiring the limousine to take a wavy path to avoid all the obstacles. The hundreds of layered holographic signs made the area unfliable for human pilots, requiring the limousine to pilot itself. Occasional faint explosions could be heart, although none of the men onboard the limousine minded them too much as electrical overloads and pipeline bursts were quite common in the rickety and massively overpopulated asteroid.
"Lines blocked? Thats not normal, does intelligence indicate any clan wars are going on at the moment? I know those degenerates do like to play the information blocking game with each other especially when they start shooting... But I thought the Entertainment district had backups?" Trast asked his bodyguard, his tapping increasing. He knew there had been some serious destabilisation recently in Lost Star, some massive conflicts to do with routing out suspected CDG cults or links. Hell even one of the asteroid logistic bases surrounding Lost Star had been destroyed totally in a massive raid that had seen several large gangs and mercenary groups working together to conduct the operation. You didnt see that very often.
He didnt like this, and this felt far too coincidental, his anxiety ran a thousand different situations through his head and none of them looked particularly kind.
"Keep trying, when we get there we can ask him whats happened." Trast commented, before unlocking a small wooden box and pulling out a large energy pistol, a weapon that had been handed down over the generations. Fixing it to his armoured yet immaculate Triarch buissness suit Trast then seemed to light a cigarette with a quick flick of his finger. He did enjoy the benefit of augments but only small ones he didnt want to give up his humanity like some of those in Lost Star did.
"It's not that uncommon, sir." His pilot informed while the passenger manually attempted to see which lines were clear and if there was any way to link them together to communicate with Waimangu. "Lost Star is growing too fast, there's too many people moving in so nothing works anymore. And it never really fully worked to begin with."
The shuttle passed close to one of the large bridges that connected the skyscrapers. While it was an eight-lane highway, Trast could see that the cars weren't moving and instead a large gathering of people was walking over it.
"Yes, we always really knew that it would get to... Critical mass so to say, but thats what this new massive venture is for. I dare say I never thought I would see a plan to turn Lost Star into a mega structure but surprisingly all the various factions agree to it, hell most are financially backing it. Imagine that they want to shoot each other but at the same time create this project to help each other..." Trast commented taking another puff.
He took a look out of the window and then narrow his eyes.
"Pilot... What the hell is going on down there?"
"Not sure, sir." The pilot inspected the crowds with the limousine's optics, scanning down the streets of Lost Star. Security vehicles from the insurance companies were beginning to move up and down the roads trying to disperse the convoys while several of their hovercraft passed the limousine by. The more bridges they passed by the larger the crowds became, several trash fires were being started, plumes of smoke rose into the air. "Big crowd, must be new year's eve somewhere."
"Sir, I haven't managed to get through to Waimangu but I got several security companies on the line." His passenger reported. Like the pilot, he wore a black suit and tie, with a bulky headset for communications. Waimangu's four bodyguards sat throughout the limousine, silently waiting. "It's not just the civilian and corporate networks, they're having problems up and down the chain."
This was the first bad omen for Trast. The security companies, effectively an extension of the large insurance conglomerates that had lately risen to influential positions in Lost Star, were wealthy enough to install their own parallel communications networks in the asteroid and thus were usually not affected by civilian comms overloads.
"Then somethings going on, if the insurance companies are having problems this has to be some kind of co-ordinated attack. But the question is who? None of the top gangs would dare cross those bastards, and none of the smaller gangs even have the brains to do that. I wonder if its those cultists trying to come back for revenge?" Tast mused, turning back to view the chaos down on the streets below. It was slowly getting worse...
How could that be? The riots and slum wars were supposed to be on the lower levels, these high estates had no reason to suddenly be rioting, the security forces were scary enough just on guard surely they were not stupid enough to witness them in action?
"Pilot keep a look out, if Waimangus place has been compromised he will have gone elsewhere, does the entire entertainment district look affected?"
A louder explosion was heard and not a second later an alarm went off, making the limousine suddenly swerve at an almost right angle without the pilot inputting a command. Trast and the bodyguard on the passenger's seat both smacked their heads hard against the armored windows, concussing him unconscious for a brief second. Trast had hit his head hard enough to leave a bloody print on the window; what he saw through it seemed unreal. A massive communications spire was falling from the ceiling and the limousine had only managed to avoid it by a couple yards with its collission avoidance systems. The antennae, equipment, cables and a multitude of debris rained down, hitting the roof of Trast's vehicle while a second blast in an adjacent building destroyed a second communications antenna. Trast's bodyguards immediately went over to him, buckling carabiners onto discrete railings in the limousine's roof.
"Sir, are you alright?" One of them asked, having to yell over the deafening rain of debris that were hitting the roof of the limousine, cracking its armored sunroof. "Get us outta here!"
"That's it, we're turning back!" The pilot said, plotting a course away from the district. The first thing that Trast heard clearly was a massive, distant rumbling noise: it was the falling antenna hitting the surface below.
Trast didn’t reply immediately, the sight before him was one of confusion, why are the communication towers being destroyed? Who was suicidal enough to attack Lost Star? His head span with questions even as his body failed to react to the damage that had been caused, his mind hadn’t processed the fact he was hurt due to the concussion, in his head he was fine despite the glaring blood stain on the window and the blood coming down from his head and down his face.
“No keep going, we have to reach Waimangu that’s an order!” He shouted at the pilot before turning to his bodyguards.
“Cant you see im fine?” He replied.
The demolition of the communications antenna left debris raining down endlessly, bouncing off the roof of the limousine as its incredulous pilots were forced to turn around and head even deeper into the district at Trast's insistence. With roaring detonations that shattered windows miles around and caused the flying limousine to rock from side to side, four more antenna were demolished as far as Trast could see. The buildings were the antenna once stood were tall enough to dip into the ceiling's gravitational zone of influence, which made the antennae "fall" upwards and crash into the upside-down residential districts much in the same way as the first antennae had fallen downwards and crashed into the streets below Trast.
But the final and greatest event of this mysterious incident only came after the dust from the crashing antennae had already settled. Trast only saw a flash and then sudden, engulfing darkness. The top four floors of a neighboring skyscraper completely blew up in an explosion that dwarfed the demolition of the antennae and riddled the armored windows of the limousine with bullet hole-like impacts. An explosive EMP device had been set off, its invisible wave bounced off the streets and then back into the ceiling, plunging the entire district into complete darkness. The limousine remained aloft thanks to its military-style hardening but the same could not be said of the vast infrastructure of Lost Star above and below. The myriad of neon and holographic signs that adorned the streets chaotically all went out at once with an almost biblical rain of electric sparks that the limousine flew through.
"An e-bomb just went off, sir." The pilot announced. "This is highly organized. I'm going to try and get in contact with private security but they might have their hands full."
"I don't know who could be doing this." The co-pilot said. "Demolishing the communications nodes could have been good cover for an extremely high-profile heist but this is too much. This needs more coordination and resources than anything you could get out of it."
"Maybe its those damn fucking cultists coming back for vengeance, whoevers doing this is going to have some serious backlash and if someone particulars behind it I can see one of the biggest bounties in history being plastered on their heads" Trast commented as the limo shook violently, the normal bright background of LS descending into near total blackness. It was a scary sight, one that most citizens had never even seen or contemplated before he imagined.
Touching his head Trast grunted, realising that he was in fact rather injured, blood was streaming down the side of his face and staining the white shirt of his suit. The anxiety seemed to be gone, adrenaline had taken over, at least that one particular problem was out the way. Pulling a small shot of medical nanites from a small medi kit underneath his seat he jabbed it into his neck as the microscopic nanomachines got to work in hyperaccelerating his clotting to try stem the bleeding as he also applied a sealant patch to the area.
"If you get through to either the private security or Waimangu put me on the line immediately, I need to know whats going on so we can relay it to the company, something of this size and organisation was either done through us or with ties, that must be the case"
"I've got multiple gunshots down below." The pilot continued his scan, flying for a couple minutes among the claustrphobic blackness of the district that just had its entire grid knocked out. The mobs below had only dispersed for a moment to take cover from the falling debris but as soon as darkness had fallen over the district they had come out in force. Security details were overwhelmed and cut off from one another, the public disturbances had turned into riots, which now turned into full-blown street war as the e-bomb had opened the doors for every single looter, bandit, kidnaper, psychopath and arsonist to emerge from the sewers and the slums that they had been pushed into by gentrification.
It was as if Lost Star was returning to its fundamental origins, the insurance cartel and their mighty, well-networked enforcers had maintained the illusion of order in the district long enough for the majority of its newer inhabitants to be completely unaware of the roiling darkness that inhabited underneath the glass faccades of skyscrapers and behind the holographic advertisements. While its population had exploded due to the wars, the original reason that Lost Star had been inhabited at all was because there were those who were so maladjusted and deranged that the empires of the galaxy had nothing to give them but prison cells or lethal injections. They had self-segregated into the asteroid, away from law, and had been subsequently purged by the insurance companies who attempted to make the place more attractive for corporations and other big financial movers. But they had never completely disappeared, for the first time in a very long while the night was theirs.
"It's gonna be hard telling who's behind this. Looks like there is a ton of people profiting from it to loot." The pilot said and then was interrupted by a loud impact on the side of the limousine. A 20mm shell expertly fired into one of the gravitic pods blew the rear starboard engine out and the armor made it impossible for the limousine to stay aloft. "Shit, we've been hit!" He said. Alarms rang and the limousine smoked. The pilots quickly followed emergency procedures and utilized the remaining engines to glide down onto helipads built onto the side of a skyscraper.
Trast had watched the ensuring chaos down below with worry, this was immensely big and he only hoped that he could carry out his job correctly otherwise it wouldnt matter what degenerate ran Lost Star Triarch would come for him all the same. But that was unless the rabid horders of denizens that lived below didnt kill them first, or turn this entire asteroid into a more chaotic lawless mess than it already was.
Admittedly, that concept Trast found quite amusing in his concussed state still.
Trast felt the impact through his body at the same time he heard it, peering out the window the pilot was right, a sparking hole had been punched straight through the engine. It spluttered as Trast gripped hard, the ride suddenly turning from the luxury softness garunteed by Triarch limos into one of turbulance and shaking. Trast swore as the craft came in to land, albeit not exactly softly on the helipad, the large jolt of their impact nerely caused Trast to smack the top of his head this time, but he ducked to try avoid it, thankfully stopping any more bleeding or conucssion from his head.
Lost Star: Neutral Space
"Give me a sitrep, where are we and how are we looking?" Trast said aloud, loading his side arm quickly with ammunition, and nodded his bodyguards to keep alert, he wasnt in the mood to deal with crazed locals today but it looked like that would likely be the case.
The limo touched down somewhat roughly but was otherwise intact, the passengers who had just minutes ago gotten the roof of a skyscraper raining down upon them barely noticed the touchdown and thus quickly sprung into action. They readied their guns and attached them to the firing ports of the limousine, scanning to find any entrances to the helipad and trainig their rifles on it. The pilots on the meantime put down their headsets and pulled suitcases from under their seats which contained folding submachineguns and ballistic vests, which they locked and loaded while the leader of Trast's security detail, Major John McMarlowe briefed everyone. He was a tall, well-built veteran with an imposing moustache, a thick British accent and a shaved head. A former special forces operator, his age had gotten him retired from the frontline forces but his massive experience had him immediately gotten him a job in the company's extremely well-paid VIP protection forces. Trast had gotten rich enough to afford hiring him on his personal detail, where he had proven to be such a professionalizing force that Trast himself could barely recognize his own bodyguards from how much they'd changed.
"According to INS we're in the Konradsson-Nishibashi Building, 110th floor, north face in relation to the standard coordinates." McMarlowe informed, looking at a holographic map of the area. Like all maps of Lost Star, it was highly incomplete and chunks of it were largely obsolete. "Next to us is the RKL Tower, Mr. Waimangu has a venue there that takes up every floor between the 50th and 80th and is connected to an elevated highway interchange. There's several bridges connecting both buildings but I am going to clear the floor first. My team will be point, you will be taken care of by the pilots. Please follow their instructions, sir."
There were no other hovercraft parked in the pad, which meant that the way was pretty clear and easy to cover. McMarlow quickly split his team into two fireteams of three. The first fireteam remained inside the limo aiming through its firing ports and covered the advance of the second, who ran until they got to the entrance of the building and stacked on its right side. The second team then exited the limo and it was up to the pilots to cover them. Once both teams had advanced into the lobby of the building, the pilots came out of the limousine keeping their heads low and Trast within arm's reach.
"Sir, ETS is ready." The co-pilot said once they reached the door. They remained covering behind it while McMarlow cleared the lobby. The co-pilot quickly reached for a back holster and pulled out a camera-like device which he pointed at Trast's face and told him to take off his glasses.
"Transpose him into Hilmarsdottir." McMarlowe ordered through comms.
"Transposing." The pilot informed and his co-pilot pressed on the trigger of his device.
A blinding white flash came from the device and into Trast's eyes, leaving him unable to see for a couple seconds. Once the light began to fade, he felt himself to be in a wide rectangular room with a blurry white and bronze monolith. More and more detail returned to him, he noticed that his line of sight was slightly taller and more detail became defined. He was in the lobby of the building with McMarlow and four operators around him. Trast's consciousness and memories had now been transplanted into the fifth operator, the tall blonde Mara Hilmarsdottir who McMarlow had brought in to replace a bodyguard he didn't like. Trast couldn't control her body, merely see through her eyes and communicate through comms. McMarlow held a device similar to the one the co-pilot posessed and had flashed Mara with it at the same time.
Mara looked again at the monolith once her eyesight had returned. Written in English, Hläerin, barcode and Japanese characters of shiny bronze one could read 'NISHIBASHI HEAVY CYBERNETICS CORPORATION RLC.'. RLC, Trast could recall, stood for Rangvald Liability Corporation, a kind of company whose stock was available only to those belonging to the Cartel. The architecture of the lobby was brutally monolithic, posessing the cold and intimidating grandeur of a natural cavern with minimalistic furniture and decorations. While its rough stone walls and pillars almost looked like they had grown out of stalactites and stalagmites, closer inspection as well as the acoustics and lighting of the lobby made it clear it had all been precisely designed. The lights were on despite the EMP, coming from rings of bioluminiscent microbial colonies growing in ring-shaped indentations around the pillars. There were several large waiting rooms and empty reception desks. The tables were huge, mirror-polished slabs of stone with rare fossils of ancient monstrous creatures from around the galaxy.
"There's still lighting in this building, sir." Another operator noted.
"Bad news." Said McMarlowe. "Last thing you want is a place that stands out when there's so many looters out. Call corporate via landlines." He ordered.
One operator quickly made his way to the reception desk and got underneath it. He quickly pulled the cabling of the EMP-fried reception desk's equipment from their sockets and identified which was the communications landline. Once he had done so, he connected his own intact battle computer and attempted to call for help.
"It's blocking us, sir." He informed.
"Dial emergency then." McMarlowe quickly replied.
"No, sir, it's blocking us from everything." His subordinate said, vainly going through lists of ports to see which one could bring him to Lost Star's local landline network. "It's not just corporate that's firewalled, it's everything. I can't even get firefighters, police, ambulance or insurance, sir." As a testament to how real the corporate rivalries were, the Rangvald-owned company had set up its communication networks in such a way that any connections coming from Triarch employees were indiscriminately blocked regardless of what they were. Once any employees of Triarch stepped into the installations owned by the Cartel, they were completely cut off from even the most vital emergency services.
Trast had been thankful for the calm landing, he had never been one for rough journeys despite how often he had travelled in his limo. He had exited the vehicle with his family pistol close at hand and his body fitting and modified ballistic armour strapped tighly around himself, he would not take any chances especially with Lost Star in chaos. It was bad at the best of times and he didnt trust anyone apart from his guards but on a night like tonight anything could clearly happen. He was somewhat taken aback when he had been thinking on the situation when suddenly he had been transposed.
It never really felt right, he had done it twice before both in tight situations where his men had to bail him out, once when a drug cartel had ambushed their limo with some surprising ordnance before being cut down and the other when a small gang had decided to turn down Triarchs offer and instead try hold Trast for ransom. Both times he had been ego transplanted as his guards had taken care of the situation for his own good but he had never gotten used to it.
He now saw the world from Maras eyes, observing the monolithic construction of Rangvald, part with disgust and part with fascination. He hated the Rangvald corporation, after all they were one of the biggest competitors with Triarch and he had several deals undermined by them before he had attained this high status which he had never forgotten. However at the same time he had never been in a Rangvald building or its offices, never seen how they were like and he was intrigued to see his companies competitor now up close and personal. Perhaps while he was here he could secure some critical files or information to sell or for Triarch to exploit...
He quickly shook the notion, being inside someone elses mind had a tendency to take you out of the situation proper, they needed to escape and their lives were in danger. Trast focused and then spoke to Mara.
"If everythings locked down we need to find the quickest route out, or some way to hardwire into the system and get a call out. If we run around here blind we are sitting ducks for looters or Rangvald security"
A loud, deep gunshot echoed on the cavernous insides of the Rangvald headquarters making the whole team lower their heads in unison. The signature recognition system quickly cycled through its database and informed with a holographic overlay on Mara's glasses that the discharge had come from a VSSP-20 anti-materiel rifle.
"We aren't the only ones in this building." McMarlowe informed and the team put on eyeless balaclavas. "Let's move."
"It's not a Rangvald gun so I'd say whoever fired it is an uninvited guest." Mara added.
"Great looters, just what we need. Keep an eye out there might be looters and Rangvald defences. Especially if they have blocked everything related to our company I wouldnt be surprised if the sensors detect us armed that any defences this place have will attack us, might be tricked into thinking this is some corporate hit job" Trast communicated to Mara, it was always interesting talking without a verbal method.
Trast wasnt used to speaking without a voice but he would need to. He could only hope his pilots and close bodyguard would keep his main body safe while these protectors found a way to get both out of here and to their objective without them all getting killed. But it still bothered him, something big was happening in Lost star and he desperately wanted to know what or who was the cause, after all any big regime change usually incorporated Triarchs support covertly in one way or another.
"Then we move." McMarlowe said. As soon as he had adjusted the balaclava he simply vanished from sight, followed by the rest of the operators one by one. When not even a glimpse of their shadows remained the team quickly raised their rifles and began advancing deeper past the cavernous lobby of the Nishibashi building and into the offices. The pilots remained in the entrance, waiting for the operators to kill the snipers.
The office hall was so large that both the ceiling and roof were out of view, hidden by the darkness. House-sized office cabins made almost completely out of glass hung from the ceiling with cables and were connected by wide but precarious-looking catwalks, with the only sources of light once again being the fungal growths that were arranged in rings. The floor was carpeted with paper and the signs of an evacuation. Suddenly, a second shot from the 20mm rifle echoed in the room, amplified by its acoustics into a deafening thunderclap. The flash of the muzzle came from the manager's offices which hung several levels above. The shot was not directed at the Triarch forces and instead had been fired into the outside of the building through a thin slit in the bunker-like cavern that the offices hung inside of.
"Tally on snipers, sir." Mara informed.
An alarm went off in Mara's HUD, noticed by Trast and the others.
"Something's giving out photonic pulses. Probably the snipers set up a perimeter." McMarlow raised his hand to halt his squad's advance. "Switch to passive."
Once doing so, the view changed from thermals to a highly contrast-sensitive view that managed to pinpoint where the pulses were coming from: several grenade-like objects hiding amongst decorative plants. In order to avoid them, McMarlowe and his team quickly went prone and attached themselves to the catwalks using static generators. Once firmly sticking to the surface, they moved to and over the edge of the catwalk to crawl beneath them upside-down, passing below the photonic detectors. They crawled along towards one of the office cabins, hearing the snipers take shots at regular intervals before they could finally crawl on the walls of the cabin and onto its roof, with a clear view of the manager's office.
"If we take down the snipers we should see Waimangu's building from their position, sir." McMarlowe reported. "Requesting permission to engage."
Trast was almost lost in his further interest in Rangvalds way of doing things, this place was nothing like the monolithic and dreary establishments that Triarch built and maintained, and while some of them did have artistic flare most of them were built for purpose rather than form. While Triarch was good at many things he knew the company almost certainly lacked colourful and artful imagination, looking at this rather idyllic building from a rival company this only backed up his belief in that statement.
He almost felt himself holding his breathe as the Operators moved silently and steathily to avoid the photonic detectors although it was a strange sensation when he technically controlled no lungs to hold on to his breath, he was on edge either way briefly feeling the anxiety creep back before McMarlowe signalled that they were clear after moving down the catwalks and making their way up to the sniper positions. Hearing their shots he could tell they were immensely close, and when McMarlowe asked for Trasts permission to engage he knew that his head Operator knew what was best.
"Permission to engage given, take them out and then we can get a sit rep of whats going on inside Waimangus building, I need to know if he is there or not. If he isnt this mission is a bust and the primary objective will be calling for extraction until then extraction stays secondary, linking up with Waimangu is primary"
Opera music had always been Trasts favourite, ever since a being brought up within the company he had enjoyed its soothing tones. It now played loudly the voice of a female singer dragging out each word in the back of the Triarch Armoured Limo. It was almost enough to drown out the tapping noise made by Trasts finger hitting the ornate mahogany table in front of him but alas the sound still could be heard.
Trast was nervous. Very nervous. He had been promoted to official Triarch head on Lost Star after his massive deal with unknown backers in Waimangus club through his contact Weidemann which had brought in the company a huge amount of both resources and seemingly ilicit information from various factions to barter, keep or trade with as it saw fit, and Trast had been given some of the commision from the deal, enough to get him whatever he wanted and elevate his status here. It was in effect exactly what the man had been looking for, rather than soliciting backroom deals with scum from the lower gangs on tiny weapon shipments he was now liasing huge deals with entire drug cartels, Pirate fleets and neutral factions. It was a dream come true, that was until he had been recently contacted by none other then John Triarch himself.
Normally that would of brought joy to his heart, but when he noticed the call was on a secure non Triarch channel he knew something was wrong. When Triarch had told him this was both official and unofficial buissness his worry had only heightened. Apparantly the company had never promoted him, and the deal he had secured had never officially been passed, the board of Executives had never even heard of it, the resources and various domino affects of the deal had been near perfectly glossed over in budget edits and endless brilliant bureocratic tape. Trasts heart had sank at that, and when Triarch had nearly interrogated him for all the information on who the clients were Trast was horrified to find he had absolutely no idea, and no recollection of meeting them. He had been ordered by Triarch to track them down, and gather information, something had happened to the company internally and wheels and cogs were turning. Trast felt guilt that his own ambition had likely caused this but he was determined to find out precisely what was going on.
His only hope was to find Waimangu a good friend of his and then get him to track down the women who had facilitated the meeting with the clients. Weidemann was the only name he had, and nothing was on record. Hardly surprising for Lost Star but annoying none the less, his armoured limo was now on route to Waimangus main club and he now had his personal security guards to help him. He took a deep breath trying to relax.
Anxiety wasnt helping.
Waimangu was normally quick to answer his calls as any business Trast conducted through him usually meant hefty commissions. These commissions had become more and more of a necessity as Waimangu expanded his entertainment empire into risky and oftentimes catastrophic business ventures into all sorts of extravagant new clubs and venues. This made it all the stranger that this time he wasn't answering, not even his secretaries or his answering machines were available for Trast. The matter was too important for Trast to just wait for however long it took for Waimangu to get back on the line; if he could not find who was it that had compromised Triarch's network to such an extreme degree that such a massive clandestine project had been seamlessly intermeshed with the company's existing industry he would have much more to fear than just a demotion or getting fired.
"Sir, you might want to see this." One of his bodyguards, on the passenger seat of the armored limousine informed him. "It isn't his terminal that's down, a lot of lines are being blocked right now. Can't contact our own corporate either."
The limousine flew on autopilot, swerving between the skyscrapers of one of Lost Star's overbuilt mixed districts. The skyscrapers hanging down from the ceiling and those coming up from the floor were tall enough to be bridged together with enormous walkways at their top levels, requiring the limousine to take a wavy path to avoid all the obstacles. The hundreds of layered holographic signs made the area unfliable for human pilots, requiring the limousine to pilot itself. Occasional faint explosions could be heart, although none of the men onboard the limousine minded them too much as electrical overloads and pipeline bursts were quite common in the rickety and massively overpopulated asteroid.
"Lines blocked? Thats not normal, does intelligence indicate any clan wars are going on at the moment? I know those degenerates do like to play the information blocking game with each other especially when they start shooting... But I thought the Entertainment district had backups?" Trast asked his bodyguard, his tapping increasing. He knew there had been some serious destabilisation recently in Lost Star, some massive conflicts to do with routing out suspected CDG cults or links. Hell even one of the asteroid logistic bases surrounding Lost Star had been destroyed totally in a massive raid that had seen several large gangs and mercenary groups working together to conduct the operation. You didnt see that very often.
He didnt like this, and this felt far too coincidental, his anxiety ran a thousand different situations through his head and none of them looked particularly kind.
"Keep trying, when we get there we can ask him whats happened." Trast commented, before unlocking a small wooden box and pulling out a large energy pistol, a weapon that had been handed down over the generations. Fixing it to his armoured yet immaculate Triarch buissness suit Trast then seemed to light a cigarette with a quick flick of his finger. He did enjoy the benefit of augments but only small ones he didnt want to give up his humanity like some of those in Lost Star did.
"It's not that uncommon, sir." His pilot informed while the passenger manually attempted to see which lines were clear and if there was any way to link them together to communicate with Waimangu. "Lost Star is growing too fast, there's too many people moving in so nothing works anymore. And it never really fully worked to begin with."
The shuttle passed close to one of the large bridges that connected the skyscrapers. While it was an eight-lane highway, Trast could see that the cars weren't moving and instead a large gathering of people was walking over it.
"Yes, we always really knew that it would get to... Critical mass so to say, but thats what this new massive venture is for. I dare say I never thought I would see a plan to turn Lost Star into a mega structure but surprisingly all the various factions agree to it, hell most are financially backing it. Imagine that they want to shoot each other but at the same time create this project to help each other..." Trast commented taking another puff.
He took a look out of the window and then narrow his eyes.
"Pilot... What the hell is going on down there?"
"Not sure, sir." The pilot inspected the crowds with the limousine's optics, scanning down the streets of Lost Star. Security vehicles from the insurance companies were beginning to move up and down the roads trying to disperse the convoys while several of their hovercraft passed the limousine by. The more bridges they passed by the larger the crowds became, several trash fires were being started, plumes of smoke rose into the air. "Big crowd, must be new year's eve somewhere."
"Sir, I haven't managed to get through to Waimangu but I got several security companies on the line." His passenger reported. Like the pilot, he wore a black suit and tie, with a bulky headset for communications. Waimangu's four bodyguards sat throughout the limousine, silently waiting. "It's not just the civilian and corporate networks, they're having problems up and down the chain."
This was the first bad omen for Trast. The security companies, effectively an extension of the large insurance conglomerates that had lately risen to influential positions in Lost Star, were wealthy enough to install their own parallel communications networks in the asteroid and thus were usually not affected by civilian comms overloads.
"Then somethings going on, if the insurance companies are having problems this has to be some kind of co-ordinated attack. But the question is who? None of the top gangs would dare cross those bastards, and none of the smaller gangs even have the brains to do that. I wonder if its those cultists trying to come back for revenge?" Tast mused, turning back to view the chaos down on the streets below. It was slowly getting worse...
How could that be? The riots and slum wars were supposed to be on the lower levels, these high estates had no reason to suddenly be rioting, the security forces were scary enough just on guard surely they were not stupid enough to witness them in action?
"Pilot keep a look out, if Waimangus place has been compromised he will have gone elsewhere, does the entire entertainment district look affected?"
A louder explosion was heard and not a second later an alarm went off, making the limousine suddenly swerve at an almost right angle without the pilot inputting a command. Trast and the bodyguard on the passenger's seat both smacked their heads hard against the armored windows, concussing him unconscious for a brief second. Trast had hit his head hard enough to leave a bloody print on the window; what he saw through it seemed unreal. A massive communications spire was falling from the ceiling and the limousine had only managed to avoid it by a couple yards with its collission avoidance systems. The antennae, equipment, cables and a multitude of debris rained down, hitting the roof of Trast's vehicle while a second blast in an adjacent building destroyed a second communications antenna. Trast's bodyguards immediately went over to him, buckling carabiners onto discrete railings in the limousine's roof.
"Sir, are you alright?" One of them asked, having to yell over the deafening rain of debris that were hitting the roof of the limousine, cracking its armored sunroof. "Get us outta here!"
"That's it, we're turning back!" The pilot said, plotting a course away from the district. The first thing that Trast heard clearly was a massive, distant rumbling noise: it was the falling antenna hitting the surface below.
Trast didn’t reply immediately, the sight before him was one of confusion, why are the communication towers being destroyed? Who was suicidal enough to attack Lost Star? His head span with questions even as his body failed to react to the damage that had been caused, his mind hadn’t processed the fact he was hurt due to the concussion, in his head he was fine despite the glaring blood stain on the window and the blood coming down from his head and down his face.
“No keep going, we have to reach Waimangu that’s an order!” He shouted at the pilot before turning to his bodyguards.
“Cant you see im fine?” He replied.
The demolition of the communications antenna left debris raining down endlessly, bouncing off the roof of the limousine as its incredulous pilots were forced to turn around and head even deeper into the district at Trast's insistence. With roaring detonations that shattered windows miles around and caused the flying limousine to rock from side to side, four more antenna were demolished as far as Trast could see. The buildings were the antenna once stood were tall enough to dip into the ceiling's gravitational zone of influence, which made the antennae "fall" upwards and crash into the upside-down residential districts much in the same way as the first antennae had fallen downwards and crashed into the streets below Trast.
But the final and greatest event of this mysterious incident only came after the dust from the crashing antennae had already settled. Trast only saw a flash and then sudden, engulfing darkness. The top four floors of a neighboring skyscraper completely blew up in an explosion that dwarfed the demolition of the antennae and riddled the armored windows of the limousine with bullet hole-like impacts. An explosive EMP device had been set off, its invisible wave bounced off the streets and then back into the ceiling, plunging the entire district into complete darkness. The limousine remained aloft thanks to its military-style hardening but the same could not be said of the vast infrastructure of Lost Star above and below. The myriad of neon and holographic signs that adorned the streets chaotically all went out at once with an almost biblical rain of electric sparks that the limousine flew through.
"An e-bomb just went off, sir." The pilot announced. "This is highly organized. I'm going to try and get in contact with private security but they might have their hands full."
"I don't know who could be doing this." The co-pilot said. "Demolishing the communications nodes could have been good cover for an extremely high-profile heist but this is too much. This needs more coordination and resources than anything you could get out of it."
"Maybe its those damn fucking cultists coming back for vengeance, whoevers doing this is going to have some serious backlash and if someone particulars behind it I can see one of the biggest bounties in history being plastered on their heads" Trast commented as the limo shook violently, the normal bright background of LS descending into near total blackness. It was a scary sight, one that most citizens had never even seen or contemplated before he imagined.
Touching his head Trast grunted, realising that he was in fact rather injured, blood was streaming down the side of his face and staining the white shirt of his suit. The anxiety seemed to be gone, adrenaline had taken over, at least that one particular problem was out the way. Pulling a small shot of medical nanites from a small medi kit underneath his seat he jabbed it into his neck as the microscopic nanomachines got to work in hyperaccelerating his clotting to try stem the bleeding as he also applied a sealant patch to the area.
"If you get through to either the private security or Waimangu put me on the line immediately, I need to know whats going on so we can relay it to the company, something of this size and organisation was either done through us or with ties, that must be the case"
"I've got multiple gunshots down below." The pilot continued his scan, flying for a couple minutes among the claustrphobic blackness of the district that just had its entire grid knocked out. The mobs below had only dispersed for a moment to take cover from the falling debris but as soon as darkness had fallen over the district they had come out in force. Security details were overwhelmed and cut off from one another, the public disturbances had turned into riots, which now turned into full-blown street war as the e-bomb had opened the doors for every single looter, bandit, kidnaper, psychopath and arsonist to emerge from the sewers and the slums that they had been pushed into by gentrification.
It was as if Lost Star was returning to its fundamental origins, the insurance cartel and their mighty, well-networked enforcers had maintained the illusion of order in the district long enough for the majority of its newer inhabitants to be completely unaware of the roiling darkness that inhabited underneath the glass faccades of skyscrapers and behind the holographic advertisements. While its population had exploded due to the wars, the original reason that Lost Star had been inhabited at all was because there were those who were so maladjusted and deranged that the empires of the galaxy had nothing to give them but prison cells or lethal injections. They had self-segregated into the asteroid, away from law, and had been subsequently purged by the insurance companies who attempted to make the place more attractive for corporations and other big financial movers. But they had never completely disappeared, for the first time in a very long while the night was theirs.
"It's gonna be hard telling who's behind this. Looks like there is a ton of people profiting from it to loot." The pilot said and then was interrupted by a loud impact on the side of the limousine. A 20mm shell expertly fired into one of the gravitic pods blew the rear starboard engine out and the armor made it impossible for the limousine to stay aloft. "Shit, we've been hit!" He said. Alarms rang and the limousine smoked. The pilots quickly followed emergency procedures and utilized the remaining engines to glide down onto helipads built onto the side of a skyscraper.
Trast had watched the ensuring chaos down below with worry, this was immensely big and he only hoped that he could carry out his job correctly otherwise it wouldnt matter what degenerate ran Lost Star Triarch would come for him all the same. But that was unless the rabid horders of denizens that lived below didnt kill them first, or turn this entire asteroid into a more chaotic lawless mess than it already was.
Admittedly, that concept Trast found quite amusing in his concussed state still.
Trast felt the impact through his body at the same time he heard it, peering out the window the pilot was right, a sparking hole had been punched straight through the engine. It spluttered as Trast gripped hard, the ride suddenly turning from the luxury softness garunteed by Triarch limos into one of turbulance and shaking. Trast swore as the craft came in to land, albeit not exactly softly on the helipad, the large jolt of their impact nerely caused Trast to smack the top of his head this time, but he ducked to try avoid it, thankfully stopping any more bleeding or conucssion from his head.
Lost Star: Neutral Space
"Give me a sitrep, where are we and how are we looking?" Trast said aloud, loading his side arm quickly with ammunition, and nodded his bodyguards to keep alert, he wasnt in the mood to deal with crazed locals today but it looked like that would likely be the case.
The limo touched down somewhat roughly but was otherwise intact, the passengers who had just minutes ago gotten the roof of a skyscraper raining down upon them barely noticed the touchdown and thus quickly sprung into action. They readied their guns and attached them to the firing ports of the limousine, scanning to find any entrances to the helipad and trainig their rifles on it. The pilots on the meantime put down their headsets and pulled suitcases from under their seats which contained folding submachineguns and ballistic vests, which they locked and loaded while the leader of Trast's security detail, Major John McMarlowe briefed everyone. He was a tall, well-built veteran with an imposing moustache, a thick British accent and a shaved head. A former special forces operator, his age had gotten him retired from the frontline forces but his massive experience had him immediately gotten him a job in the company's extremely well-paid VIP protection forces. Trast had gotten rich enough to afford hiring him on his personal detail, where he had proven to be such a professionalizing force that Trast himself could barely recognize his own bodyguards from how much they'd changed.
"According to INS we're in the Konradsson-Nishibashi Building, 110th floor, north face in relation to the standard coordinates." McMarlowe informed, looking at a holographic map of the area. Like all maps of Lost Star, it was highly incomplete and chunks of it were largely obsolete. "Next to us is the RKL Tower, Mr. Waimangu has a venue there that takes up every floor between the 50th and 80th and is connected to an elevated highway interchange. There's several bridges connecting both buildings but I am going to clear the floor first. My team will be point, you will be taken care of by the pilots. Please follow their instructions, sir."
There were no other hovercraft parked in the pad, which meant that the way was pretty clear and easy to cover. McMarlow quickly split his team into two fireteams of three. The first fireteam remained inside the limo aiming through its firing ports and covered the advance of the second, who ran until they got to the entrance of the building and stacked on its right side. The second team then exited the limo and it was up to the pilots to cover them. Once both teams had advanced into the lobby of the building, the pilots came out of the limousine keeping their heads low and Trast within arm's reach.
"Sir, ETS is ready." The co-pilot said once they reached the door. They remained covering behind it while McMarlow cleared the lobby. The co-pilot quickly reached for a back holster and pulled out a camera-like device which he pointed at Trast's face and told him to take off his glasses.
"Transpose him into Hilmarsdottir." McMarlowe ordered through comms.
"Transposing." The pilot informed and his co-pilot pressed on the trigger of his device.
A blinding white flash came from the device and into Trast's eyes, leaving him unable to see for a couple seconds. Once the light began to fade, he felt himself to be in a wide rectangular room with a blurry white and bronze monolith. More and more detail returned to him, he noticed that his line of sight was slightly taller and more detail became defined. He was in the lobby of the building with McMarlow and four operators around him. Trast's consciousness and memories had now been transplanted into the fifth operator, the tall blonde Mara Hilmarsdottir who McMarlow had brought in to replace a bodyguard he didn't like. Trast couldn't control her body, merely see through her eyes and communicate through comms. McMarlow held a device similar to the one the co-pilot posessed and had flashed Mara with it at the same time.
Mara looked again at the monolith once her eyesight had returned. Written in English, Hläerin, barcode and Japanese characters of shiny bronze one could read 'NISHIBASHI HEAVY CYBERNETICS CORPORATION RLC.'. RLC, Trast could recall, stood for Rangvald Liability Corporation, a kind of company whose stock was available only to those belonging to the Cartel. The architecture of the lobby was brutally monolithic, posessing the cold and intimidating grandeur of a natural cavern with minimalistic furniture and decorations. While its rough stone walls and pillars almost looked like they had grown out of stalactites and stalagmites, closer inspection as well as the acoustics and lighting of the lobby made it clear it had all been precisely designed. The lights were on despite the EMP, coming from rings of bioluminiscent microbial colonies growing in ring-shaped indentations around the pillars. There were several large waiting rooms and empty reception desks. The tables were huge, mirror-polished slabs of stone with rare fossils of ancient monstrous creatures from around the galaxy.
"There's still lighting in this building, sir." Another operator noted.
"Bad news." Said McMarlowe. "Last thing you want is a place that stands out when there's so many looters out. Call corporate via landlines." He ordered.
One operator quickly made his way to the reception desk and got underneath it. He quickly pulled the cabling of the EMP-fried reception desk's equipment from their sockets and identified which was the communications landline. Once he had done so, he connected his own intact battle computer and attempted to call for help.
"It's blocking us, sir." He informed.
"Dial emergency then." McMarlowe quickly replied.
"No, sir, it's blocking us from everything." His subordinate said, vainly going through lists of ports to see which one could bring him to Lost Star's local landline network. "It's not just corporate that's firewalled, it's everything. I can't even get firefighters, police, ambulance or insurance, sir." As a testament to how real the corporate rivalries were, the Rangvald-owned company had set up its communication networks in such a way that any connections coming from Triarch employees were indiscriminately blocked regardless of what they were. Once any employees of Triarch stepped into the installations owned by the Cartel, they were completely cut off from even the most vital emergency services.
Trast had been thankful for the calm landing, he had never been one for rough journeys despite how often he had travelled in his limo. He had exited the vehicle with his family pistol close at hand and his body fitting and modified ballistic armour strapped tighly around himself, he would not take any chances especially with Lost Star in chaos. It was bad at the best of times and he didnt trust anyone apart from his guards but on a night like tonight anything could clearly happen. He was somewhat taken aback when he had been thinking on the situation when suddenly he had been transposed.
It never really felt right, he had done it twice before both in tight situations where his men had to bail him out, once when a drug cartel had ambushed their limo with some surprising ordnance before being cut down and the other when a small gang had decided to turn down Triarchs offer and instead try hold Trast for ransom. Both times he had been ego transplanted as his guards had taken care of the situation for his own good but he had never gotten used to it.
He now saw the world from Maras eyes, observing the monolithic construction of Rangvald, part with disgust and part with fascination. He hated the Rangvald corporation, after all they were one of the biggest competitors with Triarch and he had several deals undermined by them before he had attained this high status which he had never forgotten. However at the same time he had never been in a Rangvald building or its offices, never seen how they were like and he was intrigued to see his companies competitor now up close and personal. Perhaps while he was here he could secure some critical files or information to sell or for Triarch to exploit...
He quickly shook the notion, being inside someone elses mind had a tendency to take you out of the situation proper, they needed to escape and their lives were in danger. Trast focused and then spoke to Mara.
"If everythings locked down we need to find the quickest route out, or some way to hardwire into the system and get a call out. If we run around here blind we are sitting ducks for looters or Rangvald security"
A loud, deep gunshot echoed on the cavernous insides of the Rangvald headquarters making the whole team lower their heads in unison. The signature recognition system quickly cycled through its database and informed with a holographic overlay on Mara's glasses that the discharge had come from a VSSP-20 anti-materiel rifle.
"We aren't the only ones in this building." McMarlowe informed and the team put on eyeless balaclavas. "Let's move."
"It's not a Rangvald gun so I'd say whoever fired it is an uninvited guest." Mara added.
"Great looters, just what we need. Keep an eye out there might be looters and Rangvald defences. Especially if they have blocked everything related to our company I wouldnt be surprised if the sensors detect us armed that any defences this place have will attack us, might be tricked into thinking this is some corporate hit job" Trast communicated to Mara, it was always interesting talking without a verbal method.
Trast wasnt used to speaking without a voice but he would need to. He could only hope his pilots and close bodyguard would keep his main body safe while these protectors found a way to get both out of here and to their objective without them all getting killed. But it still bothered him, something big was happening in Lost star and he desperately wanted to know what or who was the cause, after all any big regime change usually incorporated Triarchs support covertly in one way or another.
"Then we move." McMarlowe said. As soon as he had adjusted the balaclava he simply vanished from sight, followed by the rest of the operators one by one. When not even a glimpse of their shadows remained the team quickly raised their rifles and began advancing deeper past the cavernous lobby of the Nishibashi building and into the offices. The pilots remained in the entrance, waiting for the operators to kill the snipers.
The office hall was so large that both the ceiling and roof were out of view, hidden by the darkness. House-sized office cabins made almost completely out of glass hung from the ceiling with cables and were connected by wide but precarious-looking catwalks, with the only sources of light once again being the fungal growths that were arranged in rings. The floor was carpeted with paper and the signs of an evacuation. Suddenly, a second shot from the 20mm rifle echoed in the room, amplified by its acoustics into a deafening thunderclap. The flash of the muzzle came from the manager's offices which hung several levels above. The shot was not directed at the Triarch forces and instead had been fired into the outside of the building through a thin slit in the bunker-like cavern that the offices hung inside of.
"Tally on snipers, sir." Mara informed.
An alarm went off in Mara's HUD, noticed by Trast and the others.
"Something's giving out photonic pulses. Probably the snipers set up a perimeter." McMarlow raised his hand to halt his squad's advance. "Switch to passive."
Once doing so, the view changed from thermals to a highly contrast-sensitive view that managed to pinpoint where the pulses were coming from: several grenade-like objects hiding amongst decorative plants. In order to avoid them, McMarlowe and his team quickly went prone and attached themselves to the catwalks using static generators. Once firmly sticking to the surface, they moved to and over the edge of the catwalk to crawl beneath them upside-down, passing below the photonic detectors. They crawled along towards one of the office cabins, hearing the snipers take shots at regular intervals before they could finally crawl on the walls of the cabin and onto its roof, with a clear view of the manager's office.
"If we take down the snipers we should see Waimangu's building from their position, sir." McMarlowe reported. "Requesting permission to engage."
Trast was almost lost in his further interest in Rangvalds way of doing things, this place was nothing like the monolithic and dreary establishments that Triarch built and maintained, and while some of them did have artistic flare most of them were built for purpose rather than form. While Triarch was good at many things he knew the company almost certainly lacked colourful and artful imagination, looking at this rather idyllic building from a rival company this only backed up his belief in that statement.
He almost felt himself holding his breathe as the Operators moved silently and steathily to avoid the photonic detectors although it was a strange sensation when he technically controlled no lungs to hold on to his breath, he was on edge either way briefly feeling the anxiety creep back before McMarlowe signalled that they were clear after moving down the catwalks and making their way up to the sniper positions. Hearing their shots he could tell they were immensely close, and when McMarlowe asked for Trasts permission to engage he knew that his head Operator knew what was best.
"Permission to engage given, take them out and then we can get a sit rep of whats going on inside Waimangus building, I need to know if he is there or not. If he isnt this mission is a bust and the primary objective will be calling for extraction until then extraction stays secondary, linking up with Waimangu is primary"