Mechanical Maniacs: Life After Life

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

CHAPTER 4: Middleman

Dumping the truck into the ocean turned out to be more work than I was strictly willing to put into it. But again, my prints and blood were now all over the thing, and I had no need for a warrant out for my arrest right now.

So I torched it. It burned like an oil can. I was over the wall and back into W District before I heard the gas tank explode.

I ditched my coat and bought a trenchcoat on a credit card I'd cancelled years ago, wearing that to cover up my bloodied back. I beat a hasty path back onto a subway train bound for the D District and finally relaxed. At some point I even dozed off. And in my slumber, I dreamt.

It was Cassandra's funeral again. Open casket. There'd been a modest turn out of people who really knew me better than they knew her. Right behind me, in the big bruiser section of seating, was Diveman.

And I heard him say to someone else "Eh, so what if she's dead? I'd bang 'er."

My memory of the event was hazy, but the dream was crystal clear. I didn't even bother to stand up, I just launched backwards, the silent solemness of the funeral shattered by the roar of my jet engine. Dive and I crashed backwards, through seating and walls, finally coming to a terrifying halt in the street.

Diveman had always been a dirty kind of fighter, helped along by the fact that he was always ready for a fight. As I got out, he scrambled out from under me and got to his feet, loosing a pair of Dive Missiles into my back before I wheeled around and returned in kind, one Hard Knuckle bending him in half at the gut and the other shattering his right knee.

He cried in both pain and a berserk rage, falling backward even as he fired more Dive Missles into me. The explosions rocked me back, pitted my armor, and ruined the remains of my spray-paint tuxedo, but the pain was lost beyond the strata of alcohol I'd been steadily consuming since I'd woken up.

Past the point of even shouting incomprehensible words in an angry tone, I descended on him, assaulting his head and shoulders with punches. He tried to fight back, even getting in a good shot to my face, but he couldn't get any leverage to escape with his shattered leg, and by now I'd knocked enough sense out of him for him to do anything but retaliate. Go down swinging.

I slammed his chin into his neck with a particularly brutal punch a moment before the sinking feeling in my gut and the utter, sudden wieghtlessness threw me, literally, off of him. Someone was shouting something, and I could only vaguely comprehend that it was at me, but it didn't matter. I rose to my feet again and tried to push forward, only to get picked up and slammed down again.

I was held there, still struggling to get up, to hit him again. It was all that mattered. SOMEONE needed to pay for what had happened to her, and Diveman had volunteered with his crass attitude and his disregard for decency.

He needed to pay.

I awoke with a start. That... had not been a good day, on the whole. It was that particular breakdown that eventually divorced me from the Mechanical Maniacs. I'd like to think that some of them understood why I'd gone nuts, but I could never be sure.

Then again... someone hired me to kill Diveman. Someone who seemed pretty determined to hire me. So this 'B' was someone who knew me, and knew my history with Diveman at least. If this was a ploy to appear as some kind of benefactor, it would have worked on a less bitter and cynical person.

Me? It just made me even more suspiscious. Nobody on the planet tries this hard to win someone over without ulterior motives. It just doesn't happen.

I was missing my Baretta as I stepped out from underground and back into the D District. It was a short walk to the Rezatium, and back up the elevator. Back to Apartment 32A. This time, the door was closed and locked, so I knocked on it and waited.

I heard the deadbolt slide back, and the door opened to a vision of stunning... wow. Huh. Ahem.

She had dark hair, and sharp features. Dressed in a modest t-shirt and jeans, she had a look in her eye that spoke of a seasoned soldier. She gave me a curt nod and motioned for me to enter to room. Not one to turn down such a striking woman, I smiled wryly and did so.

She closed the door behind me and I noticed the other person in the room, sitting in a recliner in the apartment's living room. This was a guy. A robot, actually, but male, I could tell. Sleek lines, shiny metal, and a mirthless expression on his face. His eyes were covered with some sort of visor.

"I take it ya were waitin' on me?"

"Quite right, Mr. Hadrian. Do have a seat," the robot said coolly.

I sat carefully at a table, trying not to agitate the wounds that peppered my back. My host/employer noticed my discomfort. "Please, remove your coat and shirt so my associate can see to your wounds."

"No need ta tell me twice," I sighed, shucking the coat and shirt and putting my head down on the table so the woman, who was even now rummaging through a box of bandages, had easy access to my injuries. "So," I muffled into the table, "Wha's this all about?"

"Your task was a fairly simple bounty job. I assume you've completed it."

"Yep. Guy's toast."

Cool fingers and cold cream to help heal my torso played across my back with a military efficiency. The robot spoke again. "You knew him, didn't you?"

"Worked with 'im once 'er twice, years ago."

"No second thoughts about killing him, then?"

"Nope," I grunted. The woman pulled me up to wrap a bandage around my ribs. Turns out I'd cracked two of them leaping around like a young fool. "We didn't part on th' best 'a terms."

"I see," the robot bluffed. He HAD to have known I wouldn't feel bad about killing Diveman. It was written all over the half of his face I could see.

"So," I grunted as the woman finished her job and stepped back off to the side, "Hows about I get paid so I c'n get outta here?"

The robot cracked a smile. "You've already been paid, Mr. Hadrian." He reached down to the side of the recliner and brought up a folder that he threw on the table. "Take a look."

I opened the folder, not really surprised by what I saw. It was the lease to the apartment, signed in my name and handwriting, and apprently already paid off for the next three years. Beneath the lease paperwork were billing statements, creditor reports, and financial firm projections which all confirmed what I already knew.

"Ya paid off all o' my debts." It was how I had managed to pay for the trenchcoat. "Cute. A place ta live 'n a fresh start. Pretty big paycheck fer a broken down Russian."

"Think of it as-"

"A retainer. You have more ya want 'r need me ta do, don't ya?"

The robot grinned again. "You are a wise man. A little past your prime, but sharp as ever."

"I ain't that old. An' I ain't that smart," I grimaced, shifting in my seat. "So, who's next on th' list?"

"Come again?"

"I assume ya want me ta kill someone else. I might 's well get started, right?"

The robot chuckled and shook his head. "Mr. Hadrian, the people I represent have a much higher level of interests than mere murder. We have a greater purpose for you."

I rolled my eyes. "The people ya represent? Yer th' middleman here?"

"Yes, I believe that's what I implied."

"So who do ya work fer?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Oh, that's not important," the robot replied, his voice laced with a certain disdain that I almost missed. "What IS important is the project you'll be helping us with."

"An' wha' project is that?"

The robot stood up, nodded to the woman, and left the room, leaving me fairly confused. He stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. I turned and looked at the woman, whose expression had softened. She smirked at me.

"Hiya, Hardman."

My heart skipped a beat and I felt a wave of cold, hard, raw emotion wash over me. Something caught in my throat. The voice, HER voice, was just as I remembered it.

"NEEDLEGAL?"

She swept forward, clamping a hand over my mouth. "Shut up! Don't shout like that."

"Mmmf mmfmf mfmmffmmm mfmmfmmmm" I tried.

She took her hand away and I tried again. "How can I not shout? I haven't seen you in 15 years! What the hell is going ON?"

She shot me a glare, the kind she always used to, the kind that always demanded I at least follow her lead if I wasn't going to outright obey her. "Look, the Middleman can't know about this, okay? He already knows that you used to be Hardman, and that's bad enough. If he discovers who I am... was... the whole plan might be compromised."

"WHAT plan? What the hell is your brother up to this time?"

"This is MY plan, thank you very much," she huffed. I grinned as she took another seat at the table. "Look, about a year ago, I stumbled onto a radical terrorist group, the Middleman's friends. They've been planning something big, and I've been trying to piece it together from everything my cell's been able to learn."

"Undercover work. Fun," I grunted, putting my shirt back on.

"I don't have much time, so don't interrupt. Two months ago, I discovered their objective. The President of the Unite States, along with a few other high-powered politicians and dignitaries from around the globe, will be gathering for a summit in Monsteropolis in four weeks. Their plan is to assassinate them all-"

"Higher level of interests my ass."

"- and throw the world into chaos. Pretty standard megalomaniac nonsense, but I have no idea how. They don't have enough people to stage a full out assault, and they don't have the connections they need to get nuclear warheads. They plan on using something that'll cause a lot of collateral damage, but I have no clue what it is."

"So wha' d' we do?" I asked.

"Our cell is supposed to transport an unmarked briefcase from Monsteropolis Airport to the W District. Apparently, it isn't very vital to the plan, but it's SOMETHING. You're not stupid, and I could use your experience on figuring out what this is and how to break it."

"OUR cell?" I wondered aloud.

She threw a glance at the door before continuing. "Raijin and SD are already in, and we're working on finding Kenta and Classi. We need all the help we can get. I can't just sit by and let the world go to hell again."

I heaved a theatrical sigh. "Fine, I'll help ya."

"I knew you would," she said smugly. "I'll get in touch with you later, when the Middleman is otherwise busy. We're the only people that can do this, Hard. We're the only ones left."

Something about that sentence hit me hard, but I had to contain my reaction as the door opened up again and the Middleman stepped back into the room. "So, Mr. Hadrian, I assume you've accepted the offer?"

I flashed a fake grin. "Oh, yeah. Sounds easy as hell."

"Excellent," the Middleman smiled. "I'd stay and chat, but I have business to attend to. Come along, Constance, we have work to do."

Needlegal, having readopted her silent, stony demeanor, nodded and walked out with him, leaving me in a high-class apartment with no debt, and no answers.