Chapter Fifty-Eight - Interrogation


    <strong>Chapter Fifty-Eight - Interrogation</strong>


    <em>Gentrification of music and art is a bitch, ya know?</em>


    <em>Man, used to be that art meant something. Now some punk kid in some backwater shithole neighbourhood makes some trashcan hip-hip about how shit life is, gets picked up by abel, and a weekter hes ODed off some blow he sniffed from his new corpo wifes rack, meanwhile, everything hes made, everything he stood for has been mined and broken apart and sold to the highest bidder.</em>


    --Scoop Doge, from his penthouse suite in Ohio Two, 2051


    ***


    I figured that with about a dozen heavily-armed dudes looking out for him, as well as his nervous secretary, Burringham would be just fine if I left him for a bit. Anyone that could kill that many guards to get to him would probably kill him whether I was there or not.


    The healing kit Id left jabbed into him would take care of his injuries in the mean-time. Hed be just fine.


    So, where did you hide the assassin again? I asked.


    The guard gestured ahead, down one of the corridors that I imagine most guests werent supposed to see. It wasnt nearly as well-decorated and opulent as the rest of the hall. Security room. We have a medic working to keep him alive.


    Shit, I said. Whats his condition like?


    Not very good, the guard said. Your shots didnt kill him immediately, thats all I can say.


    I nodded. Id have to buy a second kit to keep him alive. Great. Thats exactly what I wanted to do. Spend some of my hard-earned points on a man that had just tried to shoot someone. A politician, mind, so it was only like shooting half a person, but it still counted.


    The security room, as it turned out, wasnt so much a single room as a small area marked off for the guards and the like.


    There was a small waiting area, with a few couches and a TV against the far wall, as well as a counter with a microwave and minifridge. The other side of the space had a ss door with an armory behind it, and past that a corridor with doors on either side.


    There was only one door currently being guarded.


    The guard apanying me guided me over to that door. It opened into a white-walled room with an interrogation table in the middle cast in harsh industrial light. The gunman was on the table, face locked in a grimace, his clothes tossed off and piled up to the side where someone had obviously cut them all apart.


    His mechanical arm was missing at the shoulder, and his other hand was handcuffed to the edge of the table.


    A guard was wiping his chest around an already bloody bandage. How is he? I asked.


    The man screamed and twisted on the table, tugging at the handcuff as he did so. He opened his mouth, and it was clear that someone had torn out some of his teeth.


    Hell live, the medic guard said. The shot didnt do him any favours, but it missed most vital things.


    The shot, singr? I asked.


    The medic nodded. One hit his mechanical arm. Tore a gash into his back on the exit. Nothing too serious. Second hit him high in the chest. Punctured lung, three broken ribs, some internal bleeding. I have him filled with foam to keep the bleeding down. Havent sedated him.


    Whys he missing his teeth? I asked with a gesture to his face.


    The guard looked up. Suicide capsules in his teeth. Aug-linked. They didnt go off.


    Ah, thats my fault, I said.


    They could have been triggered manually if he crushed them enough, so the teeth had to go, he said matter-of-factly.


    Shit, that sucks, I said. So, hes going to live, huh?


    He should, assuming we get him to a hospital within the next twelve hours or so. I havent administered pain medication yet, I dont want him hazy for any interrogations.


    Nasty. We get an ID yet?


    The guard who escorted me into the room was the one to reply. His eyes were glowing, a tell-tale sign he was deep into his augs. No ID. He entered the g under the name John ck, but Mister cks actual location was confirmed minutes ago, he was unable to attend because of other matters. Were investigating.


    Is his face real? I asked. To pass himself off as someone else...


    The files on Mister cks identity were changed. Hes a close-match, appearance-wise.


    Huh, I said before I leaned down atop the table, then pressed my hand over the guys sternum as he tried to push himself up. Hey buddy, whats your name?


    He screamed into my face, which was a little rude. His eyes locked onto my helmet, and he spat a gob of blood at me that sttered against my visor and immediately slipped off and sttered on the table.


    Okay, I said.


    <em>You might want to consider connecting to his augmentations and use those to identify him.</em>


    Not a bad idea, I said. I noticed the medic looking up at me, but other than checking the bandage, he didnt interfere. I opened my cyberwarfare software and linked back into the guys augmentations.


    Just about everyone had physical identification of some sort, but a lot of shops and ces epted aug-based ID. Our mystery friends augs had plenty of ID, those at the top were all linked to mister ck, but he had about a dozen more past that.


    Thats a lot of IDs there, buddy, I said.


    Probably a professional then, the medicmented.


    Yeah, I bet. You dont hire a chump to kill someone like Burringham when theres this much security around, I said.


    The arm scanned as a normal prosthetic, the medic added. Was he making excuses for why theyd failed to nab the guy?


    Ill bet, I said. Myalis, you have any clues here?


    <em>Checking the IDs... theyre all false except this one.</em>


    One of the IDs grew in my augs. Ralph Slim. Nearly the same face as the guy I was holding down, with some slight changes around the eyes and jaw, and a bit more scruff, as if he hadnt shaved in a day or two. He was almost handsome.


    Ralph, huh? Yeah, Id change IDs too if I was called Ralph Slim, I said.


    Ralph red up at me. Im not saying shit, he said.


    You dont need to say anything, Ralphy, I have... well, Myalis. Shes a friend, currently living in my grey matter rent-free. Shes real good at digging into stuff. You wouldnt believe the gossip she can dig up on people in a few seconds.


    <em>If I could, I would be blushing.</em>


    Do you want to spill your version of things while she gets to rooting around? Because what youre working for here is sympathy.


    What? he asked.


    Sympathy. Specifically mine. See, Myalis doesnt care, shes going toe up with the cold hard facts, and those never make anyone look good. Doesnt matter how vani your tastes are, theyll still make some people hurl. Now, your continued existence depends entirely on how I feel about you in the next couple of minutes, and shes not going to paint a pretty picture.


    Just, just hand me over to the police! Ralph said.


    No, I replied. I dont want to.


    He started to twist and fight back, but against the handcuffs holding his arm down, as well as the weight of my suit on his cor, it only made a racket. You cant do this, he said.


    I... Im literally doing this right now? All Ive done so far is hold you down. I havent even started to ruin your life.


    Ive, Ive got a wife, and kids!, Ralph said.


    <em>He doesnt.</em>


    I jabbed him in the ribs. No lying Ralph, I said.


    I...e on, Ill pay you!


    I shook my head. Im richer than you. Which was a weird thing to say.


    Ten million credits. Fifty million!


    He really wanted me to like him. What do you want for that many credits? For me not to question you?


    Please! he begged.


    I shrugged, then stepped back while leaving a hand on his cor. Hey, you want to question him in my ce? Ill do the torturing, you do the questions. I really dont know how this stuff goes anyway. Out of my depth here.


    Certainly, the guard said. We have training for this. Try not to do anything debilitating.


    No problem, I said.


    Wait! Wait! Ralph said.


    You know, your answers are worth... about fifty to me.


    Fifty million? Ralph asked.


    No, points. Thats fifty points worth of vanguard-grade torture equipment. I dont know what thatll look like, but Im sure itll be pretty fucky. Ive got the impression the aliens have seen and done some fucky shit, you know?


    Hey, hey, Ill tell you what you want to know, please.


    I dont actually have a torture implement catalogue, I said. But I do have one for sex toys, and Im very sure that theyre close together. You know, putting the M in BDSM.


    I''ll fucking talk!


    ***