The Frosted Files:Open Eyes

//Chapter 9\\

     I'll admit, the system is flawed. I learned this the hard way, growing up on the streets with people and police alike throwing mean words and meaner actions my way. Since I've risen to power, I've tried to instill change, but these things take a political finesse I simply didn't possess. Politics bore me, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't change much through my usual strong-arm methods. Time and time again, I've told the APD to stay out of my business, providing them funding with a little extra for every officer, so that they look the other way.
    And yet, I heard the distinct sound of a cruiser's siren growing closer. I doubt Fellows had tipped them off - maybe someone had reported the sound of canonfire. Either way, having officers on the scene would only put them at risk.
    I reached up to activate my smart glasses, but Destiny set a very similar hand on my own.
    "I've got it boss."
    Their eyes, the large, white voids I had designed to put my enemies on edge, briefly flashed blue, before returning to normal.
    I don't know what they did, but the sirens suddenly cut out.
    Nodding, I turned back towards the large building, the report of more canonfire sounding. The little multitool, still wreathed in plasma, sat heavy in my hand. Plasma cutters are neither cheap nor light, but my compact system was as light and compact as one could manage.
    "Ready?"
    Destiny nodded.
    I ran towards the door, and Destiny kept pace. Most other people would rely solely on the fancy exosuit, if given the chance, but not me - during my daily exercise, I ran roughly five miles on the treadmill, using my own legs and lungs. Still, I wasn't as fast as I would have liked, I wasn't as responsive. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, and I had no direct outlet for it yet.
    As we got to the door, I braced the plasma blade against my palm, and my hand against my fist, my shoulder. The door, which was painted to look like wood, was actually metal, so hitting the door as hard as I did meant I got hit back. The impact went through my braced hands and into my shoulder, but the plasma blade got through. I slashed it down, cutting through the metal lock, and quickly pressed myself against the side of the wall beside the door.
    Destiny, however, rushed in, knocking the cut up door off its hinges. Gunfire erupted, fast and steady rounds of some higher caliber. A moment later, and a couple unmanly yells later, Destiny poked their head around the corner.
    "Hall's clear, boss."
    I rounded the corner and saw two Bolts on the surprisingly well kept floor, not moving, full size freaking miniguns by their sides. If I didn't trust Destiny to not kill, I'd have assumed they were dead.
    A quick lookover of the hall offered me three options - a door on the left, a door on the right, and the continuing hall, which turned right and out of sight. The beginnings of an actual plan started to form in my mind, racing alongside however many other things that ran on my train of thought.
    "Destiny, bud, do me a favor."
    "Yes, boss?"
    "Y'know these two Bolts here that you dispatched?"
    "Of course."
    "Could you go through the first and second floor and do the same for every Bolt there? If you encounter Flintwood himself, retreat. Otherwise, report back to me after clearing those three floors. Try to keep damage to a minimum, but don't show mercy, with the exception of no killing, as per usual."
    "On it." And they ran off, the black demonic form rounding the corner. Another shout echoed down the hall, and I turned to the door on the left, pulling it open to reveal a smaller hall, likely for staff or cleaners. Perfect.
    I ran down the hall, looking for a supply closet of some kind. As I did that, I also pulled up a floor plan of the building - most blueprints are public domain, kind of, resting in the government's records. Locke could have changed some things, but it was pretty damn hard to rearrange an entire mansion within a week.
    After a few closets, I found the first part of what I needed - a ton of chemicals. I grabbed a few things that I will not disclose, and mixed a few things together. Eventually, I was left with a purple-red liquid in a glass bottle. I grabbed a bottle of water too, and tucked both into my inner pocket. The next closet had the second part of this little plan - the breaker.
    There was one small issue; this supply closet was piled high with boxes and bags. I saw a few sets of skis, what looked like an elliptical, and several broken tennis rackets mixed in with the unmarked boxes. The breaker was on the far end of the closet - it was larger than a closet, actually. Legally, I think it would be classified as a bedroom, but in comparison to the rest of the building, it was a broom closet. I could imagine the previous owners scoffing at such a room being considered a bedroom, and smiled a little.
    No time like the present, I started my trek through the mess of storage, trying to stay on top of everything. Balancing on boxes is relatively easy, but balancing on boxes which are in turn balanced on large trash bags is a lot harder. My arms were spread, and I moved as if I was avoiding a certain medic of mine before he had his coffee; it was almost comical.
    What wasn't funny was when the door slammed shut, and I jumped, falling into the mess. Waist-deep in these boxes and bags, I turned towards the door, and my heart skipped a beat. In front of the door stood a very very large Bolt, holding a very very large sword. A freaking sword.
    Before he could catch me in a Wile-E Coyote style situation, I rushed towards the breaker, making much slower progress. I could have climbed back up onto the boxes, but he would certainly have caught me then. He laughed, and began to pursue me, the greatsword held at his side. Gods, now would be a great time to have, I dunno, a nanotech exosuit. Or an AI to pilot it and save my ass. Unfortunately, Destiny didn't show up, which proved I didn't live in some drama television show.
    The Bolt grew closer, his sword almost within reach. In a desperate attempt to reach the breaker, I grabbed onto the box in front of me and tried to launch myself. I was half successful, getting just far enough to barely grasp the cover. I yanked it open, actual fear beginning to hit my adrenaline fueled heart, and, in my panic, punched the breaker with my nano-hand.
    The overhead light went dark, and I was left alone in a room full of boxes and bags with a very large man with a sword.
    In the dark.
    The fear I had felt a moment before started to slowly diminish, because now I had the advantage. I tapped my glasses, and the thermal vision sprang up. The Bolt looked a lot more hesitant with his lack of vision, and I climbed on top of the boxes again. Hearing me, he swung his greatsword, but went wide. I started to chuckle, and carefully approached him. This should be a lot easier, this way.
    I swear I had been as silent as I could be, moving over boxes, but somehow, he had still heard me. The swing took me by surprise, and even as I leapt back, the sword nicked my leg. A slow trickle of blood started, soaking into my jeans. Rude. My chuckle stopped. He must have had extensive training, for his senses to be this honed, meaning this was one of Locke's more personal guards. He may not be currently stationed with the man himself, but he would be under direct orders, meaning Locke knew I was here, meaning Locke knew Destiny wasn't me. Unless this guy had found me by chance, I suppose.
    Oh, wait. I was so dumb. Cameras - I bet the halls had cameras.
    Hearing the little sound I made when I got hit, the Bolt looked a little more confident. He turned towards where I had jumped, and started coming towards me, swinging again. This one missed, but by a lot less than the first swing. I tried to circle around to flank him, but that earned me another nick to the same leg.
    I really didn't have time to play ring around the rosie with some russian in the dark, but this stubborn prick knew he had me somewhat pinned. I remembered the set of revolvors strapped to my belt, but quickly pushed that aside - not only could the bullets hit targets outside of this room, but the sound would alert half the building of my whereabouts.
    I growled in frustration, and he swung at me again. Instead of jumping back, however, I raised my left hand and caught the blade. The force of the swing sent a jolt up my arm, and I felt a flash of pain in my shoulder. The Bolt pulled hard, and I felt the same flash of pain, only ten times worse. My vision blurred, but I used the momentum he gave me to leap over his head, landing behind him. He turned, swinging again, and I dodged, my left arm flaring with pain.
    Looking around, I found a golf bag full of lead pipes. A few had some suspicious stains on them, and a few were sharpened on the end. I grabbed two of those, and pushed myself into the corner by the door. I threw one of the pipes off to the side, and the Bolt turned towards the sound, lurching to it. As soon as he was clear of the boxes and bags, I swung the pipe at his head.
    It hit, and he went down to one knee, growling. He was fucking growling. What kind of shit did Locke put these guys through?
    He started to rise, so I flipped the pipe so that the sharpened end was pointed down, and plunged it into his leg. The amulet around my neck briefly, softly flashed a dark purple, and a small burst of strength helped me push the pipe, one handed, between his tibia and fibula, and into the flooring below. I bent the end as he yelled out in pain, so that he couldn't get up, and kicked him in the head. He still didn't go down, so I kicked again, and again. Finally, he started to get more and more dazed, and one last kick sent him into unconsciousness.
    I grit my teeth and grabbed my left shoulder, shoving the dislocated bone back into the socket. The sword lay on the ground, so I picked it up and set the tip against the floor, shattering the blade with a quick stomp that bent it too much. Brittle forgery, it seemed. I had really only intended to bend the blade so that it wasn't wildly, but this works too.
    Exiting the closet, I pulled up the floor plans again, and did a few quick calculations that resulted in a visual overlay that worked well with my thermal vision. It was like an augmented reality version of your common map app, but for buildings.
    Looking over the floor plans again, I decided where Locke would likely keep his office, and set a marker there in my augmented map. A highlighted path lit up along the floor, leading me towards my destination.
    The glass bottle and water bottle sat in my pocket, next to the glass vial Adrian had gifted me. I took those first two out now, one in each hand, and started towards where I guessed Locke's office to be. These were for an emergency only situation, due to the danger. I had developed this chemical back in college, and was nearly expelled for it. The purple-red liquid, which can be made with everyday cleaners, as well as a few rarer elements that can be found with most cleaning services, but not in the everyday home, will be called Chem-A. When Chem-A meets water, it combusts. In theory, at least - I was never able to test it, and had forgotten about it after college, up until now. Locke had been the one to help me discover it.
    I had swiped the sword guy's ID card on my way out - even with the main power down, the door locks seemed to have their own power sources. The cameras, which I now saw, were down, luckily.
    I climbed the stairs to the second floor, and began hearing Destiny at work. It was quite the sound, a few gunshots before either silence, or a yell of pain followed by silence. I could wait for Destiny to finish up their task, but I didn't really have time for that, so I rushed up onto the third floor, following the illuminated trail.
    As I quietly walk along the path, meeting no one else opposing me, I make the mistake of letting my guard down.
    A door bursts open right beside me, and in the split second I had to process things, I'm hit, hard, by a tackle worthy of the NFL. The breath leaves my lungs as I'm knocked onto the ground, pinned beneath the Bolt. I struggle, but even with my fancy prosthetic, I can't escape.
    The glasses in my pocket sat awfully close to said prosthetic, though.
    "Well, well, well, if it isn't Fate Frost. I can finally take what is rightfully mine - the very company we made, that you claimed for yourself. Bushvok, our pal here needs a nap."
    While Locke was monologuing, I had broken the Chem-A bottle, disguised as a broken rib, hidden by a quiet sound of pain from me.
    "How about... Instead of a nap... More like a tan?" I managed to choke out. Locke looked at me, confused, I could tell, and I used my tech hand to cut the plastic water bottle. Violet and scarlet flames leapt up from between me and Bushvok, and the large man yelled before scrambling off me. I gasped in a very hot breath of air, the flames spreading over both my clothes and his, and started to feel the burns form.
    I started to tug my coat off when Bushvok landed a sucker punch directly to my jaw.
    I went out like a nightlight.
    And, once again, I woke up in that endless room with the blue imposter.
    I could hear water dripping in the distance, a few seconds between drips.
    "You have a habit of getting us into trouble, don't you?" He asked me, arms crossed.
    I threw my arms up in a 'what can I say' gesture. "What can I say? Trouble finds me faster than I can run."
    "Gods, Fate. At this rate, you'll end up dead before you can find the kid."
    "What kid? And won't you die too?"
    "Classified, and classified. The Fog's already abandoned you, and I would if I could."
    "Okay, douchebag, what can you say?" I asked, ignoring his bitchy remark.
    "That you should have broken the other glass. Seriously, you thought the Fantasy Flames would be better than some magical emergency only gift from a wizard?"
    "I guess I wanted to go out in a blaze of g-" A brick hit me in the stomach at the speed of your average little league fastball. I have no idea where it came from, but I clutched my gut, doubled over, trying to not puke.
    "I have to listen to every cheesy, dumbass pun or play on words you make, dipshit. I don't need to hear any more of it."
    I would have come back with a witty remark, but I still felt like my gut was trying to reshape itself.
    The sourceless lights overhead blinked a few times. The blue me, my ID, came over and grabbed me by the front of my coat and pulled me up.
    "Break the fucking vial, Fate. I'm not hopping again."
    He pushed me away, and I fell back, hitting my head against the not-concrete.