Point Zero (_.4)

Point Zero (_.4)

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Commissioned by Ichypa and Steelcondor

Wordcount: 3500

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Point Zero’s Amphitheater is a monumental construction. Though the Intrepid favored arenas and coliseums, there remained appreciation for other, lesser forms of culture. Therefore, since the Point Zero would be where those from across the Galaxy would set foot upon Earth, it was decided that humanity’s culture shall be properly displayed. The Amphitheater is just one of many monuments and institutions to art built by the Intrepid with human architects meant to showcase humanity’s glory to any visitors from beyond the stars.

Today, for the first time, a ballet was being performed within and it was to be presented by a Russian national troupe.

Some people took offense to that.

“They stole her fookin’ legs, Elliot. That’s a bit of a understatement, boss!” O’Hara took a moment to catch her breath while looking upon the Amphitheater. It was quite a sight. It was a tribute to the Sidney Opera House, which was lost along with the rest of the continent. The replica resembles less of a wave’s white foam crashing upon rock and more an entire tidal. It covered enough ground for eight football fields and was fifteen stories tall. The main theater at the center could house a crowd of two hundred thousand, while two dozen normally-sized theaters surrounded it and were more commonly used. “Alright, I can’t say that the info wasn’t appreciated, but can we please talk more about how we’re looking for someone’s bloody, stolen legs!?”

There was an information docket on the matter, which I had on my communicator. However, I elected to ignore it for the time being, in favor of an unbiased investigative approach. O’Hara should do the same, naturally. Approaching a crime scene with an open mind free of predispositions provides incredible amounts of evidence. It may very well verify information present in the briefing docket.

“All I’m hearing is that you don’t want to give me relevant information to the investigation, because you want me to figure shit out on my own.” O’Hara’s way with words is worryingly candid. The long-haired, British inventor and former vigilante will have a poor future as a law-enforcement officer with such a mindset. “Hardy-har-har, Elliot. You have experience in handling crime. I don’t. So, pass me the damn documents before I worry myself to death about my own incompetence.”

O’Hara held out her personal communication device expectantly. 

I elected to push it back to her and say no.

“D-don’t be daft, Elliot! You press-ganged me into Verdict for my expertise in weapons and stealth technology. There’s no way I’ll be helpful without a briefing, at the very least!” O’Hara attempts to thrust out the personal device my way once more. I dodge it. Easily. She is weak. Her body is weak. She would never survive winter outside a city. “Please, for fuck’s sake, have a speck of mercy, boss. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of two girls, let alone one that’s ballerina and one that’s a world-renowned general.”

I considered my officer’s words for a moment, before musing aloud. I’d read that it helped in regards to thinking. 

Huh, perhaps O’Hara did need more information, since she thought our UN aid and the victim were two different people.

“Of course, I do—wait what the fuck did you just bloody say?”

Yefimova was both the victim and our UN-assigned aide. It’s only natural that a person of her caliber would wish to recover her own legs. A mere, normal ballerina would do no such thing, after all.

“Again. I repeat. What the fuck did you just bloody say!?”

…

Yefimova spun through the stage. Her replacement legs were a titanium-aluminum hybrid metal with internal power cells which required replacements once a week if used casually. Once a day if used in intense combat simulations. According to the designer specifications, it could be modified to house thrusters or micro-missile batteries. Naturally, since such military upgrades would be out of place on the stage, the young, Russian general didn’t have them attached. 

“Forget the fucking military attachments. Those legs are used by spec-ops to topple pre-Impact tanks in petty dictatorships. Yet look at that beast of a woman, she’s using them to fly across a stage like she’s had them all her life.” O’Hara’s words were insightful. I’d forgotten that augmentations and prosthesis typically required a lengthy amount of time to grow acclimated to. It spoke well of Yefimova’s skills and talent that she was able to learn how to use the legs within a day. “Bloody hell, that’s like saying someone learned to use a rifle instead of arm, Elliot. Give me a break, stop pretending this shit’s anywhere close to normal, please!”

Panic, rumination, and existential dread all must wait when off the clock. Here and now, as a Verdict Agent, the mission is paramount. Why? Because Verdict is the sole arm of law sanctioned by the UN within Point Zero that isn’t automated. Our performance must be as perfect as possible. Thinking too deeply about simple issues, such another person’s talents, is unrequired and not needed. 

“Then, as your weapon’s tech expert, I’m telling you to watch out for the girl who has legs that can punch through a depleted uranium shell. Don’t piss her off. Just point her at the enemy and run the fuck away.”

The advice was insightful, succinct, and pertinent to the situation. I shall make a note of this fact on O’Hara’s record and put her down for a commendation for work that exceeded expectations. Perhaps, I shall also consider making an official board and giving her a gold star for all to see? A pay raise is good, but she’ll certainly appreciate being esteemed by her colleagues more. Thoughts to be considered for later.

We approached the stage, spoke with the guards, and I assisted O’Hara in ascending the stage from the frontmost ledge. It was too high of a height for a normal human being, so she naturally needed assistance leaping up to the elevated platform. Thereafter, as my agent brushed herself down, I addressed our UN Liaison and the victim of our case. The conflict of interest was more than apparent, but there was nothing to be done about that. 

If someone stole my limbs, I could regrow them, but most people could not.

I greeted the liaison and drew her attention, while O’Hara kept herself one step back. Given Yefimova’s reputation and character, her actions were unnecessary… but she didn’t know that. Well, the general’s reaction to someone fearing her is pertinent information. If her personality is particularly harsh, then the thief might not have stolen her limbs due to the whims of some organization, but due to their own hate and dislike. 

“Right on time. Good. Let’s talk while I equip myself.” Yefimova is a woman of short stature. Her new prosthesis possibly weighed more than the rest of her body, which was a lithe, toned form that spoke of near-perfect conditioning and possible obsession with idealized strength. How many hours did she spend daily on the minutiae of her body? My guess was two or three. Yet, despite the magnitude of that investment, she didn’t seem perturbed by the loss of her legs. Strange. Is it due to her reasoning for her optimal form not due to obsession of her body and something else entire? Could it be an effect of her Infection? There were many questions, but I did not ask them of my new ally. “I’ve heard you’re a Class 2 Bioweapon in your current state, Elliot. May I presume that you can handle most of the foes and enemies we’ll be facing in battle without even touching your limits?”

That was a correct assumption, but unfortunately O’Hara overheard it. 

My new agent’s reaction to the news was as expected. Fear. Terror. Fright. Even though she witnessed my abilities in the battle against her would-be-murders, she didn’t know the extent of my strength and ability. Nor was she particularly powerful and strong, despite her intellect, gadgets, and unshared connections. Though the general before us was certainly strong, her power lay in controlling armies and seeing them crush opponents, while I was an army of one. 

So, O’Hara took a step away from me. It was understandable, though it certainly still hurt that my new employee suddenly disliked me. 

I elected to focus on Yefimova and nod to her words.

“Then, this will mostly be an investigation. Once the thieves are located, I’ll simply join you in defeating them. Good. That means I can practice with these legs in case you fail.” The words were delivered coolly and succinctly. She lacked tact. She had less than I did. O’Hara was so perturbed by that she took an instinctive step back towards my direction. Unconsciously, my new employee saw me as a protective presence. Yay. “My men have found a few leads, but only one led to someone we believe is linked to the whole affair. Unfortunately, he elected to fight against my guardians instead of come quietly.”

The man’s current status?

“Dead. Here is the autopsy.”

The situation reports also stated that five casualties were incurred amongst her guard detail. She didn’t’ mention that fact. Was it lack of care for those who guarded her, especially since they let her legs get stolen, or was there more to the relationship besides lack of trust? Did she not trust her guard detail, especially after the event, and was weeding out the undesirables? The ones that remained with her are all former soldiers of her battalion. The five that were “injured” while apprehending a civilian suspect that ramped up out of desperation were from Point Zero. 

Thankfully, the autopsy answered that question.

The civilian had an insectoid template. In terms of body, the sudden ramping up transformed him into a hybrid between an ant and a man. The jaws became mandibles, antennae grew, and lenses replaced the eyes. However, due to the inherent nature of the Infection seeking out to empower bodies without creating weaknesses, the rest of the body was simply, inwardly enhanced. He gained proportion strength as ant as a human being, as well as gaining an exoskeletal shell, and the ability to ignore pain. If he ramped up further, he would become a giant of a human being with a multitude of limbs, immense strength, and inestimable endurance. 

Five security guards from Point Zero should have had no trouble putting him down with just sidearms. 

Thus, being someone who has fought against such creatures and knew their weaknesses, Yefimova suspected that she was betrayed by the local forces. After all, she was a general whose specialties lay in defeating roving, rampant hordes of Infected creatures all throughout Asia. Her choice to say nothing about casualties is therefore a mindful one that she intended for me to hear. 

She did not trust anyone from Point Zero. 

Including myself and O’Hara.

How inconvenient. 

…

As Yefimova dressed herself, O’Hara elected to speak to me as we waited in the resting room of performers. Given the status of the Amphitheatre, luxury was not reserved for the guests alone. The performers were granted food fabricators, recliners which perfectly supported the body, as well as personal entertainment devices. Naturally, I strode to the food fabricators and took as much premium, free foodstuffs as I could possibly consume in the interim moments.

Triple cream, fresh strawberry ice cream composed by a gourmet, five-star chef appeared before me constructed to exacting specifications from raw, organic material of the highest quality.

The near-yellow color of the triple-cream dessert was dazzling to look upon, especially with the chunks of fresh strawberry and striations of strawberry jelly the flowed over its curvatures. It was light, yet thick upon the tongue, creating a coating of creaminess that faded and smoothly slid down the throat without leaving behind a coating of sugar. The fresh strawberry chunks burst when bitten, while the striations of strawberry jelly granted a different, slicker texture to the tooth. The acidity and freshness of the former, as well as the sweetness and stickiness of the later, merely had the mouth desire another refreshing, creamy bite of the triple-cream ice cream base. 

Then, the cycle continued with the next bite and the one after. 

I consumed it. Enjoyed it. Then, I got another while listening to O’Hara.

Unfortunately, I would not be able to empty the fabricator’s tank as I wished, but I shall nonetheless enjoy myself as much possible. 

“Oi, quit gorging yourself. I need your help to make some sense of this truckload of feces.” O’Hara has performed a heist upon my personal communication device. It took her five minutes to overcome its “state of the art” electronic warfare suite. Another commendation is in order for my subordinate, while a letter of complaint shall be sent in the way of the manufacturer. I continued to enjoy my eight serving of creamy, frozen confection. For a brief moment, I had debated trying another flavor, but decided against it. Double Strawberry and Triple Cream is an unmatched flavor of ice cream, especially when in season. “This isn’t just limbs being stolen. This is an international incident that can turn into a damn war, Elliot!”

Correct. Whomsoever committed the terrible act of stealing Yefimova’s legs most likely did so while framing another member of the UN. The fragile alliance of nations that is conspired by the Intrepid as humanity’s representative council has many enemies who would like to see its members fight one another. The Intrepid value bravery and boldness. They root for the underdog and view hostile nations that go against the UN, against the calamities that ravage the world, and continue to fight as candidates to take control of Point Zero… as well as all the material aid the Intrepid are sending the UN nations.

A rogue republic or petty dictatorship will certainly be crushed even with aid from the Intrepid, due to the UN’s many investments into orbital weapons systems and domination of the skies, but what if the UN had fought against itself before? What if the victory is not swift and decisive, but instead a grueling war in which the smaller faction has time to leverage the abundance of resources it has and can force a peace upon a cripple United Nations?

It’s something that’s quite possibly occurring now, with Russian’s rising star losing her legs in a city which the UN purports is entirely under its control.

Quite the suspenseful caper.

“I appreciate the literary allusion, really I like the classics, but can you please bloody have a sense of fear and concern, Elliot!? The two of us are at the forefront of a possible, damn war… and you’re eating tubful’s of ice cream!” 

O’Hara makes a good point, however I had two points of my own.

“Ice cream does not count as a point, Elliot.”

I had one point of my own.

“Well, I’m all ears. Lay it on me, boss. Tell me why I shouldn’t worry about fucking up and sending the world into war while we still have to deal with two ongoing calamities.”

No matter the case, you’ve used the impending international incident as a good enough reason to order mass assaults on every criminal group in Point Zero by military forces. 

“Uh. Excuse me?”

Given the possible international incident that’s occurring, I’ve implemented measures to protect not only Point Zero, but the UN itself. The various gangs all over Point Zero are now being systemically assaulted by surplus, military hardware in the form of Drones. Technically, the emergency reserves of military equipment involved in the current, city-wide offensive is only for attacks on Point Zero, but given the fact that a Russian General who is also part of the UN military has been attacked… well… it’s only reasonable to call that as an opening assault on Point Zero by an unknown foe utilizing the criminal elements of the city, no?

O’Hara stared at me for a moment, before turning towards a viewing screen. After she accessed the haptic controls, she called upon the current news station of Point Zero.

“…Massive numbers of military drones have begun to sweep across the city. Citizens are advised to stay indoors as it seems that UN has had enough of the criminal presence in the city, after the attack on a Russian General earlier today. Various syndicates and gangs have taken to the streets, attempting open warfare, but they are being handily defeated and sent to the hospital. Daniel from Channel 5 is on the streets now.”

“This is Daniel from Channel 5. Ladies and gentlemen, you may all know me better as the Arena’s Host Mr. D, but today I’m happy to report that we’re currently collaborating with regular, official news for our beautiful Point Zero. And, if I may, it looks like our majestic city on a hill is going to look a lot more beautiful tomorrow, because this isn’t a fight… it’s freaking clean up baby! These military bots are popping criminals like zits!”

“What the fuck. What the FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK!?” O’Hara’s increasing decibels for each phrase was rather interesting. However, my focus was mostly on the ‘clean up.’ As I expected, the military-grade Drones, even if they were surplus, were higher in material and processing quality. They were cutting through the main body of criminal forces like well-aimed rifle bullets through unarmored flesh. High caliber-weaponry dealt with slapdash mechanized forces and mutants alike. Lesser individuals with small arms were defeated by airburst flachette. Heads were recovered and not destroyed, so criminals could serve their time after their bodies were reconstructed. “It’s a bloody warzone on the streets, Elliot! Are you daft?! This is going to fuck over the whole city for months!”

Unlikely, since the Intrepid are already intervening.

“Huh?”

I motioned towards the television screen, while returning to my food. I could not have it melt. 

The Intrepid intervene in battles that are already won. To fight against the weapons of long lost, and the destruction of the very world, they would stand back and witness glory. However, they utterly detested the worthless waste of lives. Those who are defeated conclusively are removed from the equation, sent elsewhere to be evaluated, and then set to lives that would benefit the victor after they have served the sentences meted out by those who they fought against.  

Therefore, since victory was assured for the UN’s surplus Drones, the Intrepid sent in the Arbitrator.

The cameras could not discern its shape, and neither could the human eye, as was the case for all Intrepid. It simply was a mass of imperceptible nothingness whose presence was allowed to be perceived through voiding all around it. Stealth in the most advanced sense by one of the handful of civilizations in the Galaxy who could call themselves a superpower. 

It did not descend from the stars, but instead strode out of space itself. The Drones automatically ceased fighting in its presence, or so it would seem to those who looked on. The truth of the matter was that no measure of current technology on Earth was impervious to the Intrepid’s whims and wishes. All the Drones stopped not because of programmed response, but because they had no choice but to stop.

For the criminals on the streets, their fleeing commanders and officers, and their subsidiaries who could one day rise and continue a fruitless conflict, the Arbitrator simply had them all appear kneeling upon the street. Fifteen hundred human beings were ripped forth from their locations on Earth and deposited before the Arbitrator. Each one heard its voice, though the cameras picked up nothing for the television, and before they were sent away to be judged according to humanity’s laws and courts.

Then, the Arbitrator appeared in the dressing room right next to me. 

Taller than I tough.

O’Hara had difficultly comprehending the matter, stumbling back at its sudden appearance, but I was prepared for it. 

The Intrepid rewarded cunning, even if it was without glory, after all. 

It spoke to me, though nothing entered my ears and no words appeared within my mind, and offered me a reward. A fool would ask the Intrepid for peace upon Earth, though they came and aided humanity due to humanity’s choice to continue fighting. An idiot would ask for the UN’s control over Point Zero forevermore and for criminals to never come into power again, when the Intrepid were searching for those worthy of leading humanity.

Rewards from the Intrepid needed to something that would benefit humanity by letting it continue to grow to the delight of the Intrepid.

So, for the reward in exchange for my systematic cleansing of Point Zero of criminal organizations, I asked for a food fabricator of the highest quality for my building. 

One that would be refilled regularly at no cost.

The Arbitrator stared at me.

O’Hara managed to catch her breath from screaming only to start screaming at me for being an idiot.

Yefimova left her dressing room and dropped her assault cannon in surprise and shock.

I met the Arbitrator’s “gaze” without hesitation or concern.

Then, laughed, patted me on the head, and nodded gleefully before disappearing from reality.

Super premium ice cream on demand obtained.

What a great start to this little lost-and-found adventure.