Ten Ton Hammer - Taking MMO Gamers to the Next Level!

I turned back into my cell just as the two men marched off, but Finster called out from a few soundproof cell doors down the hallway, “By the way, this special assignment requires the standard automatic termination implant.” No amount of flowery terminology could make those things sound any more innocuous or humane; it was a radio-activated capsule buried between the lobes of your brain that could, from anywhere in the world, be activated to release a neuro-toxin. It was instantaneous death at the press of a button. As if it wasn’t enough to have that looming over you, there were numerous accounts of accidental deaths involved with ATI devices.

Leaning back out of the cell, I responded, “Well, that changes the terms of the deal. What if I reconsider?”

Finster and his guard stopped at the main security door of the wing; he didn’t even turn to reply. With a cheerful tone, his voice echoed down the corridor, “It was installed during your last sleep cycle. See you in the morning.”

The beeping of my cell door before it slammed shut, allowing me just enough time to get my head back inside, ended our conversation. The lights went out and everything was silent again, leaving me with a lot on my mind.

* * *

The highlight of my morning was watching how uncomfortable the requisitions officer was when Finster ordered him to provide me with a weapon and ammunition. It was just a simple ballistic pistol, but you’d think it was his first born the way he clutched it and looked me right in the eye. Finster beamed his usual smile as I slid the clip into place and inspected the sidearm, and I couldn’t help but join him as we both nodded with approval at the officer, who couldn’t muster anything beyond an ice cold stare in my direction as a response.

“I take it this sort of situation is a rarity around here,” I began as we stepped out the door and into the hallway, where two guards immediately took up positions beside me. I tucked the pistol into a holster at the small of my back and slid my hands back into my pockets.

CPSD 39 Finster tilted his head and shrugged, “Not really, I suppose.” He glanced at the two soldiers as we began walking down the sunlit corridor, with massive plate glass windows offering a scenic view of immaculately tended square grass planters, which was an impressive feat for a one hundred and seventeenth level atrium platform, a setting I made a conscious effort not to take for granted after my years of quiet, dark incarceration.

When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to perpetuate any kind of conversation, no matter how trite, I interjected, “Is that all I get for this mission, a gun?” True to their conditioning, I could feel both of the guards tighten up when I mentioned the word gun.

“If you’re smart, it’s all you’ll need, Inmate 7 Vanik.” Finster wasn’t looking at me or the scenery outside.

At the risk of causing him to second guess my eagerness to work with the Commonwealth for even a temporary freedom, I corrected him. “Vanik. My name is George Vanik.”

The Assistant Director smiled condescendingly and nodded as if to say ‘how quaint.’ I knew not to press the issue with him and continued walking obediently. As the hallway came to an end, he pointed at the elevator doors, prompting one of the guards to reach out and place a bare hand on the reader. A polite, feminine voice floated in from somewhere above us.

“Authorization for ground level approved. Inmate 7 Vanik detected; threat level unknown. Assistant CPSD 39 Finster detected. Are you in danger?”

“No.” He sounded impatient for some reason. I wondered if he had to put up that sort of thing at every door he walked through.

“Elevator enabled for ground level. Have a nice day, CPSD 39 Finster.” The first female voice I’ve heard in two years was abruptly cut off by the rush of air emerging from the elevator as it opened. In the cramped space, all I could smell was the gun oil of the assault rifles on either side of me. Once we were cut off from the echoing hallway, he turned to me and raised his eyebrows expectantly. It was apparently time for my mission briefing.

“Who’s the target,” I began casually, trying to establish the overall goal before digging into the details of the numerous other questions I had prepared.

“Me.”

* * *

“I… don’t understand.” As I stared at Finster, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall of the elevator.

“Luckily, that’s not a requirement of the mission.” He smiled and glanced down at his watch. “We’ll be at the ground floor in four minutes. After that, you’ll have about thirty seconds to leave the facility and try to hide somewhere in the city.” He wasn’t sweating, fidgeting, or even breathing heavily.

Casting a sidelong glance at both guards, who appeared to be completely unshaken by the topic of the conversation, I rubbed the back of my neck. “So you’re a clone, then?” It wasn’t uncommon for high ranking government officials to keep clones in stasis for testing allergens, harvesting spare organs, or complete reconstitution after the death of the original body. I guessed it was an inevitability that eventually they would be used to fake deaths. “You get to blame it on some resistance faction, then conjure up a new identity on paper and plastic surgery.”

“Close, but backwards.”

Frowning, I moved on, “What guarantee do I have that my implant won’t be immediately activated? Once they find out I was involved, the central office will just press the button.”

Commonwealth Prime, In-Game

“Your implant is controlled by an unauthorized unit,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim remote detonator like a normal person would casually produce a lighter or some change. “Unfortunately, there are few places in the world with advanced enough medical equipment to safely remove an ATI, but I imagine holding the trigger yourself will let you sleep better at night. Once I’m dead, it’s yours.”

My eyes fixed on the detonator in his hand, I was nonetheless aware that almost two of my four minutes had passed. “And these two?” I waved my hand towards the soldiers.

“They have been… briefed on their responsibilities.” As if he was waiting for me to ask before putting on his show, he turned to the guards and muttered an odd phrase, “A friend of mine is out of time.”

Snapping to attention, they replied in unison, “The time has come for me to dine.” They stood rigid and frozen, unnaturally so.

Finster took a deep breath and then finished the rhyme, “I dine only with friends of mine.” No sooner had the last syllable left his lips than the guards abruptly raised their rifles, took aim, and shot each other simultaneously. They didn’t even grunt in pain as one slumped against the wall and the other pitched forward onto the floor. Once they had expired, Finster caught my astonished gaze and quipped, “I can’t imagine what command was like before behavior modification, can you?” He nudged the body on the floor before continuing, “Loyalty and patriotism are fickle, but conditioning is always reliable.”

I couldn’t help but stare at the bodies for a few moments. “They’re going to blame that on me too, aren’t they?”

“Without a doubt. You have one minute, Inmate 7 Vanik.”