Highway

Highway

They say that the traffic in what used to be the United Kingdom got to be so bad that people would converge at a great Mecca known as M-25 to pray for a safe and trouble free journey. Whether these prayers were ever heard, no one knows, however from the holo-vids I've seen of them, hundreds, maybe thousands of people congregated there on a daily basis to offer up their desires and dreams. I don't know if I believe them, but right now I'd take whatever divine intervention I can as I'm trying to chase down these jerks in their SUV.

The job was supposed to be a simple intercept and retrieval op – nothing fancy, nothing complicated, just tag these three as they leave the apartment and recover the contents of that briefcase. My CO gave me the job after returning from his annual trip to the Nevada Commune with a new suit that cost more than a year's salary.

I should have listened to my mother – she told me never to trust a man who was good at poker.

I'm fortunate enough to be able to steer my bike with one hand while I try to aim well enough with my CS-44 Enforcer to disable their vehicle. My first shot fizzes just past the SUV, slamming into the side of the freeway, detonating with a great spark of energy.

My boyfriend tried to explain the D-Cell technology to me once – what can I say, I'm a girl who likes techno-foreplay – I can't recall the intricacies of it all, but it went something like this:

Sometime around 2013, a young doctorate student at Miskatonic University called Teresa Ashcroft hit upon a segment of text within an obscure passage of the Unaussprechlichen Kulten that – when spoken correctly – opened up the vast eldritch energies that existed in the space between dimensions. It didn't take long for Ashcroft to set up her own company – imaginatively called The Ashcroft Foundation – to exploit this find that she christened arcanotechnology. This energy source was harvested and manipulated by scientists at the Foundation over the next 30 years. Ashcroft was committed less than ten years after her making her "discovery".

The D-Cell is a miniature version of this concept – the Class 1 D-Cell is the biggest – used to power hospitals, government buildings and the imposing Mechs and space faring Navy of the New Earth Government. Those babies can run indefinitely. Then you have the Class 2 D-Cell, capable of powering your home, car, small business for five years between recharges and so on.

The Class 5 D-Cell forms the basic power source for pretty much every projectile weapon built on Earth in the last 40 years – no need to reload; it just hurls shavings from inside the metal barrel at super-sonic speeds. That's the joy of arcanotechnology – a completely safe source of clean power that was supposed to revolutionise the next phase of human history.

As far as I can see it's just bought us more trouble – internal border conflicts followed by civil wars and then the Great Arcanotech War that devastated the Planet. Fortunately, the New Earth Government grew out of the aftermath, unifying the planet under one government. That was ten years ago now – the world is a different place these days. At the same time, it's been like switching on a beacon that says to the rest of the Universe "Hey, look at the silly little Humans – let's pay them a visit."

Dammit, I'm not concentrating. The SUV has swung across two lanes and I can't get a clear shot at them. There are cars swerving all over the place – which hasn't deterred one speed freak on a bike similar to mine. He must have been doing nearly ninety when he was clipped by the SUV. I see his body fly through the air – sucks to be him right now.

I manage to weave through the traffic, getting a window of opportunity that lasts for a fraction of a second. The projectile hurtled from the barrel of my pistol and obliterated the rear driver side tire. I allowed myself a smile as the SUV begins to buck and twist until it slams into the drive wall at around sixty. I over take them and bring my bike to a stop as their vehicle comes to a rest.

I get off the bike – which had better be here when I get back as I'm still paying for the finance on it – and approach the SUV. I can see that the windshield is shattered with a nice red plume of blood in the impact crack. That's when I hear it inside me, the darkness that wants to see the light of day. I push it back down, holding it in check for now.

I approach carefully – the traffic is still flying past as insane speeds despite the collision and the wrecked SUV in front of me. I can see that Skinny isn't going to be a problem for me as his head is buried in the windshield. I look about for the other two goons – the smoke from the engine seems to have filled the cabin and it's obscuring my view.

I can feel it again. It's prodding at my mind, trying desperately to get out into the open. I know that if I open the rear door I could end up with a stomach full of lead – or worse. I take a short run up at the crumpled front of the vehicle, climbing up onto the roof in process. I put the gun away and give my over-eager partner some limited action.

They say that the first Tager came to Earth in the late twentieth century, although it didn't bind with a host until the early twenty-first. No one knows what type of Fragment it was – a Nightmare, a Reaper or anyone of the other permutations that exist – but rumour has it that anyone who is compatible with the Fragments carries some of that first host's DNA in their bloodline.

Almost makes it sound like a noble calling, doesn't it.

Mine is a Whisper – the perfect stealth/infiltration unit with limited flight capability, they are considered to be the most inoffensive of all the Tager Fragements – but you wouldn't know it when she gets riled up. I've torn through units of grunts with blades that have grown from my forearms and vaporised them with streams of organic acid without even blinking. My body count during the war was up there with any of the "big boys" – much to their chagrin.

I let her out for a moment – my vision clouds over as the blades grow from my arms. I take a second to admire them before plunging them into the roof of the SUV. Twisting and turning my blades, they carve open the car like a tin can. I have to confess that I love the sound of metal being torn open – especially when there's a chewy centre inside. The scream fills my ears – sounds like goon number two was hiding in the back. I thrust my arms forward in the direction of the sound – which is suddenly transformed into a gurgling noise for a few seconds before being replaced by silence. As the blades retract I see the blood dripping from them. I can't help but smile.

I wasn't expecting to get flipped off whatever was left of the roof of the SUV, but that's what happened next. My next sensation is the combination of asphalt and my body colliding. Whatever was holding my leg lets go and I get the chance to get up.

Goon number three seems to have undergone something of a transformation since my last sighting of him. The crash hasn't been kind to him – one side of his head looks like hamburger meat – but he definitely looks pissed. I never realised he was a Dhohanoid – an inhuman hybrid devoted to causing suffering and pain. His arms have become sinewy tentacles and his torn clothing reveals some sort of maw of teeth in his chest that want to rip my head off. The tentacles flash out, wrapping around my torso and my throat as he pulls me towards him.

Who'd have thought that Goon number three would be the religious sort? The biological augmentations to his body are definitely the work of the Esoteric Order of Dagon. He's probably some sort of religious fanatic – and he thinks his little costume change brings him one step closer to his Fish God.

As he drags me towards him there's a splitting pain in the back of my head as I give in to the black desire within me. My chest begins to heave and pulse. I can feel her starting to express herself, like an irrepressible child who wants to come out and play. There's a sudden change in the demeanour of the wee beastie in front of me – it's like he can sense the change in me. The tentacles try to release me as the Goon turns to run.

He manages one step before it happens.

I can feel the tentacles erupt from my arms, my chest, my shoulders – a whipping, whirling black mass that grab at the Goon as he tries to escape. They wrap around his body and pull him to the floor, flaying his body with the caustic secretions that the symbiote creates for one purpose only – when she's feeding.

I can hear his screams gradually recede, and then the mass of black tendrils withdraw back within me. I can sense that she's happy now, almost like she's purring inside me. I turn my attention back to the SUV. Blood is dripping from the door seal as I open it. What's left of Goon number two hits the tarmac – I ignore it as I see the slick metal briefcase I was tasked with retrieving.

I open it – and inside there's a delicate ebony box surrounded by eggshell foam. I carefully removed it and opened it. Inside I find a small, ornate headpiece carved out of what looks like very hard wood. Something seems familiar about it – it's like I've seen it somewhere before.

I can hear the sirens getting closer. I'm not in the mood to provide any sort of statement to the local law enforcement – I'm above them, beyond them almost. I tuck the headpiece back into its briefcase, scoop it up and get back on my bike. Once I was off the highway I pulled over and made the call to my CO.

"It's Flatline," I spoke quickly. "I've got it. I'm on my way back in." I ended the call and resumed my progress. It was then that I remembered where I had seen the headpiece before.

It's part of the Circlet of Gabbhaz – and that's not good in anyone's book.