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onemanrenaissance · 5 years ago

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Smoldered Earth

Next to Godliness

*A Saturday Night

Two messily poured Macallan shots raced their way across the slippery bar top; two sidewinders crashing into the awaiting hands of what appeared to be very good friends or two very pretentious acquaintances. The two embraced their libations – a few sheets in for each, but neither kept tally; they choked those down while heading back into the thrust of the exhibit. A warehouse/pop up of various art displays – the type that catch fire & trend socially via tagged locations & pervasive backdrops – served as scenario for the this summit of sorts.

“It’s…it’s this odd grey area I’ve mastered in the last few years…the point right before I push…it’s like I’m in there &…I-I can sense the reflex or the conditions & deduce from there,” Sw!tch slurred in between various attempts at landing the right pose.

Bub, sprawled across the floor in front of Sw!tch, angled to capture something remotely flattering, attempting to negotiate his phone. Suddenly, Bub popped up as if something novel dawned on him.

“Right before you push, huh?” Bub started as Sw!tch stared back with a dim lidded dry expression; “…I was wondering why I’d do something as primitive as take a camera phone picture when it’s a dozen security cameras & over 200 phones in here at the moment, 17 of which are angled at you.”

“Creepy flex…” Sw!tch started, “…so, that’s how your powers work…I’ve seen a few technopaths, but most need physical interface – but they we’re still able to track your ass down from your signature.”

“Novice groupies,” Bub sneered.

*Two Hours Before

Sw!tch had no clue who or what’d he’d meet inside, but he resigned that it wouldn’t be in the realm of his worst case probabilities – it never is, & he wouldn’t let that stall him tonight. He looked over the edge of his dash at the security camera that had conspicuously angled itself towards his vehicle on arrival. He knew that whoever was trailing & surveilling him, had been digging for information on his mother, Sharlyn Isaacs, was inside, & he had no name – just a dark web pseudo. He exited his vehicle, & made his way alongside the buildings perimeter, emerging from the cameras peripheral into its direct view as it adjusted its gaze. Entering space, he knew the behavioral affects trafficked in by my technopaths, & that they would position near the back house since proximity is the name of the game, hissing off any other competition or potential usurper like a feral cat – thus isolating themselves; so, more than likely near security, servers, or both.

Bub leisurely sipped his drink while rapidly perusing circuit sets to relay to cameras inside the facility when he felt a blinding pinch begin above his right eye; it felt like the slow birth of migraine as he heard an unfamiliar voice spill over his shoulder.

“Yea…proximity is my thing, as well,” Sw!tich started, “…now you know how my powers work…& I need to know why you’re prepping to dox my 60 year old mother.”

“I see you got my invite,” Bub started, extending his hand after rubbing his right temple, “…I’m Bub.”

Gripping his hand while staring suspiciously, Sw!tch, responded, “Sylas Issacs, Jr.”

“C’mon, government,” Bub quipped, eliciting a smirk from Sw!tch, “…but what do powered call you?”

“Switch,” Sw!tch responded.

“Ahh…” Bub exclaimed, “…because you can disable powers…turn things off…”

“& on,” Sw!tch started, “…I can exert, force particles on a molecular level in powered & non powered…there’s a finesse to manipulating beyond that point—but, yea that has nothing to do with why I’m here. You’re researching my mother; I get security alerts on familial inquires because of my profile, I had my TP’s locate you, & I assume you saw us looking at you, & I received your invite to this “marketing social.” Cute, touch. So why?”

“I was hired,” said Bub.

“By?” Sw!tch responded.

Shaking the loose ice cubes in his now empty tumbler, Bub responded, “Your sister.”

It was a release of sorts – the situation was suddenly more complex than it was the second prior, but for Sw!tch, it was a case of “better the devil you know,” & he realized Bub’s employment & or short term alliance with his sister were his only insights into her endeavors.

“Bartender…two doubles of whatever he had,” Sw!tch said leaning over the bar & motioning at the mixologist before looking back at Bub, “we’re about to become fast friends.”

*Two Tuesdays After

“So…..explain me to this cleaner business again?” a puzzled Sw!tch stammered out climbing between a wall & adjacent dumpster, Bub just ahead of him standing in front of two green metal doors.

“Essentially…people pay me to clean traces of digital presence, dark web resin…I’m a one man contingency plan if you will...” Bub started, “…if something should impair or dispose of my clients, I handle disposing of the pertinent, traceable impairments known as data.”

“& investigation falls under your auspices,” Sw!tch questioned.

“With the money your sister has I’d jack off a dolphin, or let her put grapes in my potato salad,” Bub responded while decrypting the RFID lock on the entrance.

“Caucasianally Poetic,” Sw!tch retorted, & continued, “why are we coming in the back entrance of the hospital?”

“We’re going to the morgue,” said Bub flippantly.

“Yea, about your invites,” Sw!tch whispered while bawling in his lips, “…yea, this is why I don’t do “hero” shit.”

Turning to Sw!tch, Bub responded, “why are you whispering? No one’s down here, we’re on between shifts & everyone else is dead.”

Bub continued to lead them down the corridor, & banked left into room & then paused before slowly rescinding from its entrance planting his back against the wall adjacent. Head titled from a distance, attempting to identify what halted Bub in his tracks, Bub shh’d Sw!tch as he inched closer & peered around the corner to see an attendant upright & sleep behind a desk. Slowly recoiling back, eyebrows lifted, he scowled at Bub.

“No one’s here – everyone’s dead,” Sw!tch mockingly sneered.

Bub was mid sentence asking what they could do when they heard the attendant yawn & bustle in the chair during a stretch; Sw!tch quickly disabled the attendant’s sight & auditory functions temporarily & rushed Bub into the room.

“Smooooooth, Sw!tch, the Helen Keller,” Bub exclaimed as the man flailed & fell from behind his desk to the floor in a spastic stupor.

“He’ll be fine,” Sw!tch murmured as he stepped around the man in a full panic on the floor beneath him, “…why are we here?”

“One of my clients is in here, & I need his thumb to unlock his phone – I can’t “Bub” my way passed biometrics just yet,” said Bub pulling the phone out of his pocket & waving it, just before locating the mortuary cooler drawer containing his clients & easing forth his corpse.

“Oh, God he’s crying,” muttered Sw!tch looking back at the attendant, “I always forget to turn that off, too,” he said swinging back forward as Bub unzipped the body bag, “Aaron Spivey?!” Sw!tch exclaimed.

“How the hell do you know, Aaron?” asked a concerned Bub.

“Daedalus is one my firm’s bigger accounts & Aaron was one of the contacts when we first inked the deal years ago…when did he die?” Sw!tch responded.

“Two nights ago,” Bub responded.

“How?” asked Sw!tch moving back towards the desk.

“Autopsy pending,” said Bub turning back to look at Sw!tch, “are you eating that man’s kettle corn chips, Switch?!”

They’re salt & vinegar & they we’re unopened!” Sw!tch responded dryly with a mouth full of chips.

“Anyway, I’ve got what I need – we need to head to his place now…can you switch him back on”

Bub reprogrammed they unlocked mobile device, & Sw!tch restored the attendants senses to much rejoice on his end. They arrived to Aaron’s apartment; it wasn’t messy as expected, but lived in. The loft was spacious, & completely automated, so the space continued on in his absence & didn’t feel stale or unattended. Bub took to searching the premises for the collateral specified for decommissioning per his client as Sw!tch slunk down in the large sectional sofa in the living room, backed by a large floor to ceiling windows overlooking the bustling metro below. The coffee table centered in front of Sw!tch had large cashmere throw draped over it, & it looked odd & off put, but Sw!tch removed his shoes, propped his feet on it, & leaned back for a bit respite. Drifting a little, Sw!tch began to rustle his heels back & forth on the soft throw, as the faint occurrence began to resonate in his mind that a throw on coffee table was kind of peculiar, the throw’s silky underbelly caused it to slide off, unsheathing a portion of the large, amber yellow, resin coffee table. Sitting up, Sw!tch’s head tilted slowly as he looked at the coffee.

“BUBBBBBBBBBBBBB!” Sw!tch yelled until Bub stumbling over himself made his way back into the living room.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” he questioned with alarm as he looked at Sw!tch, who wide eyed, was pointing down at the resin coffee table encasing a women’s body. “No, no, no,” Bub exclaimed walking around the sectional to get a closer look, “I dump data, I don’t dump bodies!”

Sw!tch stood frozen as Bub got down on his hands & knees to peer closer at the women seemingly fossilized alive, at the time, in amber. Then Bub reeled backwards – back & shoulders first, then neck. His whispered & manic “no” beginning to crescendo.

“What….WHAT….WHAT else is wrong now besides Jurassic Jane here…what else is happening on this Bub adventure” Sw!tch began rattling off & pacing, “this why I don’t this “hero” shit, it’s bodies, dolphin dicks, white women in tables,” trailing into what sounded like a low prayer.

“That is Portia Mackavic,” Bub said softly.

“Who?” Sw!tch responded opening one eye, breaking from his fervent prayer.

“Portia Mackavic…mercenary…pretty much the hand of organized, stealth syndicate, Killer Concert,” Bub responded to Sw!tch’s blank expression, followed by a pause, & Bub shattering said pause with, “Mackavie!”

“Bitch, Mackavie,” Sw!tch responded before heading for the door, “we gotta go!”

Time slowed as they were heading for the door, stepping off the carpet, breaching the laminate flooring in the kitchen, the sink & island to their left; that’s when they heard the high pitched whirling – akin to the sound of a whisper, but loud & growing towards a piercing wail as the sound & its source neared. An AirTronic GS-777 entered the home in the bedroom further to their left; the blast flooring them both, flinging the drywall the comprised the bedroom towards them in chunks, blended with glass & all manner of décor reduced to projectile debris. The ringing in their ears subsided – met then by the concurrent cadences of fire alarms, flushing sprinklers, emergency sirens, & the lamenting of trapped victims & onlookers. Bub nudged Sw!tch who was still looking about from his prone position on the floor. Both stumbled from the front down the lengthy hallway to the still operative & oddly empty elevator.

Jamming the lobby button repeatedly with his bloody thumb, Sw!tch looked over to Bub, & said, “what do we do about the body?”

As the elevator door closed, Bub responded, “there’s some messes you just can’t clean.”

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