The Wake Up Call.
(Part 1.07)

Written by JKL
Additional text & editing by TAD

Introduction

This part of the Hetch story was NOT written by me (TAD), but by a new author called JKL (hi JKL). I was extremely happy to recieve his first email in which he asked about writing a part of The WakeUp Call story. Now after some highly productive exchanges of ideas, character details and story line info, here is some more of the Hetch adventure, brought to you in wide-screen and stereo surround sound (in selected theatres).

I personally think that this part marks the start of a higher quality storyline. I hope the Hetch fans out there will enjoy this part as much as I did and will be happy to know that theres plenty more Hetch in the pipeline (as I type this, there is at least 40Kb of text waiting to be edited and finalised, not to mention about 30Kb of background/character info..).

Please enjoy.

Chapter 1.07: Complications

Hetch navigated the slimy tunnels more by intuition than by knowledge. The drip, drip sound from the putrid water seeping down from the walls was only masked by the regular taps of their footsteps along the dark, twisting tunnels. He was glad to see the light of the end. The broken shafts of artifical white light pierced down in the gloomy, crypt-like passageway. This was Hetch's cue. He pushed the stewardess up through a series of metal doors and filter gates. He followed her, happy to leave the sights of smells of the sewer behind him. The top grate rang out with a cry of metallic pain as it slipped from his wet hands and slammed shut. They were now standing in one of the countless maintenance tunnels under the Eldora tower.

Hundreds of tunnels, intersecting after equal distances at equal angles, with equal wall color, equal floor texture and equal creepy echo. Something you might expect to find under tower built from 100% computer generated project. The main idea was to go in no more than two directions, otherwise you'll end up running in loops and circles. Hetch was going in one. Ahead and to the left of him went the stewardess, guided by Hetch's commands and aim of his handgun, which she felt almost physically. Hetch was starting to get back everything he had delayed for several days using stimulating drugs. He felt tired, exhausted, his every muscle was trying to ache more than another. Pain from the burn on his side kept him from falling asleep now and here. Less than 10 hours to deliver case, and then he'll sleep. Damn, why doesn't this case have 'pause' button?

Where are we going? Who are you?

She broke her silence finally. As much as Hetch would have prefered otherways. He replied quickly, before she managed to ask "What do you want from me?" or other such questions. He didn't feel like answering them now. "where" was enough.

We're going to do some shopping. I need new toothbrush.

This masquerade was starting to get on his nerves. Apparently she wasn't buying it, and Hetch didn't want her to figure out who he was, not after what had happened recently. Mentioning the shuttle had almost given him away, and now he was trying his best at playing the dead Mewco. Luckily he had approximately the same height and build as Mewco, and his voice after that almost was cremation scene in the flat was hoarse from smoke (Mewco's was hoarse from all the shiny stuff he had in his body). His lenses helped him change eye color from blue to brown, although he doubted someone could notice this little detail. Mewco's eyes weren't ones you felt like looking into for any length of time, they could send a cold shiver down the spine of a psychopathic snowman.

What do you want from me?

Oh, boy.

To shut up, not to pull any stunts and do what I say. Or I'll try this neat gun of mine on moving target. Clear?

She looked frightened, though Hetch couldn't say if it was because of him or because whatever Sevens had done to her. He didn't mind that, in fact he was enjoying it. It was sort of payback for cheating him into that room and for all shit that had happened because of that. Whoever she was working for didn't wish him good health, and Hetch was determined to find out who it was and either pay them back or get away and stay low. He didn't want to stir any more wasp nests. The one in his head was enough, those thoughts and the cocktail of drugs, fear and a hunger for both sleep and food buzzed around in his skull.

They emerged from non-descript service door which connected one access tunnel to the end of underground street which sloped steeply under the Eldora tower. This was a stroke of luck, thought Hetch, at least no-one would see them emerge. The high-rent tennants would have been horrified to see the likes of Mewco and the frightened looking stewardess suddenly appear from their clean building. Looking and smelling like they did, those tennants would have kicked up a huge stink, demanding that the security guards and police 'resolve' the situation of these trespassers by affording them a long, enforced stay in a detention cell complex. Hetch needed to lie down and sleep, but a hard metal bunk surrounded by violent and criminally insane inmates would not be his first choice for a vacation.

Hetch slid the gun into pocket of his ex-boss coat, keeping his aim trained on the stewardess. Now he had to get back up to surface and go get some much needed equipment. Besides, he was starving. But he had to keep his company from running away into a crowd somehow. Showing his gun on street was out of question. Putting her on chain... Hetch enjoyed this idea for some time, his mind floating between dream and reality, then his hand felt something in his pocket, keycards. A plan appeared before him like a drug filled daydream. It seemed that his dead ex-boss, Mewco, was helping Hetch from beyond the grave. "Better help me good, or I'll be kicking your ass really soon", Hetch thought.

Mewco had quite a number of rooms around the city. He rented them using some real person for id (usually old people), so legally they were clean, and there was no way to trace them back to Mewco, except for these keys. Rooms were swept for bugs often, and had simple but effective security, to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Mewco used them for everything - meetings, trade, hiding of hot stuff. Hetch's plan was to get to one of these places and then ... Then he'll, say ... Hmm, he'll get a better plan. Right now he was starving, tired, dirty and stinky, and the burn on his chest didn't get easier. He felt like he'll die walking, crumble to ashes like vampires in movies, and like those creatures of the night he now feared the daylight.

Hetch flipped through dozen or so keys, scanning the addresses like a human barcode-reader. One of them was not that far away from their current location, a small room in basement in the Flesh-o-ramma dance club. It provided ideal cover for Mewco's shady deals. The sight and sounds from the club would "Kill any gun shot" and the patrons of this exotic establishment were not the kind to make good police witnesses. The designer drugs, loud music and hypnotic visuals would make any crime scene impossible to examine. Mewco had mentioned the club a few times, but upto until this very moment the name had gone forgotten in Hetch's memory. The small basement couldn't be accessed from underground, so he still had to go up. To push his way through the crowded city street like a packed dancefloor, but on the streets he wouldn't have the cover of smoke and strobe lights.

They finally made it to surface after spending half an hour underground. His blood-shot eyes burst with the pain of daylight, but at least the air was clean here, not like the gray fog he was used to breathe back in slums where he lived. That fog felt so thick you could almost hang an umbrella in it, and on a bad day the acidic rain and factory pollution would eat through the umbrella. Most people knew this and rarely ventured outside of their habitation block. Hetch had bought some second-hand bio-hazard boots from an unstable bio-tech electrican called 'Splice'. The heavy, armoured footwear protected Hetch's feet from the pools of corrosive chemicals and underfloor boobytraps that some of the gangs liked to set along the dark corridors and stairs. They weren't a fashion item, but they were practical and cheap.

Hetch walked as fast as his hurting chest allowed. The stewardess walked ahead of him, still stalked by his gun. If she chose to run now, there was nothing he could do to stop her, so he had did his best to convince her not to. His best included telling how he (Mewco) had shot two kids because they had called him asshole, while drawing arcs in air with his gun. He had ended this story by faking a shot in her direction. The expression on her face was priceless, but what it enough to ensure her obedience?

They were passing the front entrance of Eldora tower and Hetch spotted crowd of gapers surrounding a police unit. One marked car was parked in front of the tower, and one police officer was standing near it, chatting over his vid-comm device and taking a look upwards once in a while. Hetch looked up too. A fire bot was on the wall, still spraying foam into the room he had escaped recently while a second bot repaired the window cleaning droid. Around the window a small area of plastic wall was colored black - it hadn't been a big fire then. A second officer together with some tower security guards were walking around, asking people if they really haven't seen anything and generally looking as if they were looking for a witness. Hetch pressed his way through, keeping his sight trained on the stewardess most of the time. She was following his directions, looking back at him constantly. The crowd of people around were occupied with discussing his fireworks. He even overheard complaints to the security guards telling them how close the fire had been to their own appartments. They seemed more concerned about the appearence of their home than the possibility that someone might have been burnt alive. Compared to the cost of renting a single apartment, life was considered cheap, too cheap. For all of its high-class architecture and environmental gadgets it looked all too similar to the slums where Hetch lived, money before morals, cash before concern and profit before people.

... someone's burned himself.

Nope, the room was empty...

What the hell, Hetch thought. It definetly wasn't empty when he left it. And there wasn't enough fire to turn Mewco's body into pile of ash. Especially considering the amount of metal in that body.

Some kind of bomb, window blown out...

... another idiot trying to get insurance.

Hetch made mental note to check who was owner of that apartment. He doubted it belonged to the stewardess and hoped finding out true owner will give him some answers.

Watcha where ya going, shit!

A huge bearded man grabbed Hetch and threw him against a wall. As he tried to turn back, the man grabbed him again and pushed into narrow passage that separated two of eight huge support beams of tower. Hetch stumbled and hit the ground face down. He gathered himself quickly and looked back. The well-built man was closing in on him, looking very pissed.

I don't like it when some small shit like you pushes me!

As if someone had flipped a switch, three men suddenly appeared from the opposite end of passage, looking just like the first. One was carrying a fragment of pipe, second an axe and third two knives, each the size of Hetch's arm. The look of this group screamed "you're dead" in bold red, neon capitals. Hetch glanced back and saw the first man pull out a huge revolver. A trap. These guys had guts, committing a robbery with the police sitting just around the corner. All this pushing and shouting was supposed to look like an ordinary street brawl, the thing cops would pay little attention to as long as it didn't involve them physically. Anyway the police were occupied by the residents of the Eldora tower complaining about how bad the police are, how overpaid they are and why it took them so long to arrive. But the main reason why so many people had left their appartments was the fear that a bomb would go off somewhere inside the tower. The news of the Rhyson incident had even caught the attention of these isolated tennants, cocooned in their expensive Eldora appartments. The anti-terrorism corporation always took their time in responding to a possible bomb explosion scene, in case a second device went off. The possibility of loss of life and equipment made the A-T corporation very cautious about arriving too quickly. Their army of accountants and lawyers controlled whether or not they actually sent a team out to a bomb scene. Life was cheap, but the equipment wasn't.

Now that nobody was looking, the gang could do whatever they want. Clever guys, indeed. Not that you could tell it from the looks of these people. Also, the stewardess was nowhere to see. Damn. He had to pull himself out of this mess fast. There was the chance that she would run straight to the police, or even pulled out a gun herself and help the gang to finish off the resurrected Mewco.

Give everything, shithead, and maybe you'll live.

"This looks like job for a superman", Hetch thought, as he put down the case and made a scared face. It wasn't that hard. He turned as he did so, facing the man with the hand cannon. Hetch slid his hand in pocket where he had keys nd the gun.

Movin'!

Slowly, he pulled keys out of pocket and dropped them on case. He put his hand back in pocket. Keys gone, now he had space enough to grab gun and aim it at this ape. So far so good. Hetch squeezed the trigger, letting out a short burst that hit the head and chest of the big guy. While the newly ventilated thug fell to the ground, Hetch ripped the gun from his pocket (or what remained of it) and turned around. The barrel, still smoking from the two bullets, was held at arm's length directly at the rest of the shocked gang. They weren't expecting such turn of events, and Hetch managed to take out two of them before the third got the message, dropped his pipe and ran away around a corner and vanished.

Drop the gun!

commanded the stewardess's voice behind Hetch. He was expecting her to be far away by now, maybe calling the police before getting away. Hetch spun around quickly, gun still in his prosthesis. He saw the stewardess, holding the large gun of now dead thug, then he felt as if lighting had struck his arm - sound, flash and hard punch. The gun was pulled by gravity from his now limp fingers of his hand. Good it was his mechanical arm, or he would be screaming on ground right about now. She was definetly freaked out, and seeing that a direct, brutal gun hit on Hetch-Mewco didn't make him even flinche with pain as the bullet drilled straight through his arm pushed her over the edge. She started shooting wildly in Hetch's direction. Hetch dove for cover, avoiding all the random rounds by a large margin and he hid in a meter by meter square niche between two buildings. The heavy trash cans around him would, he hoped, provide enough protection against any other shells thrown in his direction. There was five more quiet clicks, as she continued to hold down trigger. Then she screamed, voice full of desperate anger.

Damn you Mewco, how many times do I have to kill you before you'll die?

What was she doing here? She wanted the case, right? But she had no weapon, not before picking that body. Also, these thugs didn't look like giving their booty to anyone. Running into small dark corners of buildings like she did, knowing that there's bunch of armed people tossing lead at each other - that was plain suicide. Unless you were expecting it to be safe...an ambush? More of stewardess's people? You have to have lots of spare money and paranoia to hire four people and leave them hangin' around just in case. Besides, these people looked like caveman compared to those two he met in the tower. This just isn't making any sense. He doubted that she would hire a street gang to do her dirty work. Those suited thugs were professional, mercenaries or perhaps corporate agents seeking out Mewco after getting a bum deal from one of his questionable business transactions.

Hetch broke his mental babbling and looked at his gun, laying on ground near the case few steps away. He had to get case and run, thinking can wait for later. As he prepared to dash for it, the stewardess ran into his view, grabbed his gun and, aiming at him, she reached out for the case. Perfect timing, Hetch congratulated himself. He was now half crouching in his hiding place, two buildings pushing against his back and a crazed, armed woman in front. No way to run, no red 'exit' sign. Shit. This was a dead-end, with the emphasis on dead.

I'm...

Shut up! I've heard enough! You're not going weasle your way out of ....

Police! Drop your weapon and surrender!

That's police alright. Shoot half clip from an automatic, fire six cannon rounds right under their nose, and they come to check it out after, what, two minutes? Amazing... It must have big a large queue at the doughnut shop.

As the police moved forward, the stewardess backed away slowly, keeping the gun on Hetch and not knowing what to do. Another step and she tripped over the body of man with his knives still gripped in his lifeless hands. The cop closed in and pushed the barrel of his gun so close to her face that the cold metal touched her nose.

Don't move!

She froze. Unsure whom she most feared, the police or Mewco.

The young cop looked briefly into the small corner where she had been aiming, and he saw a man in dirty clothes that had bullet holes in arm and coat pocket.

Hey! You ok?

Apparently the cop thought Hetch was a good guy, the victim of a shooting. Hetch was just happy to see the police come and help him. He didn't like to admit it, but the police officer had saved his life. Without his eagerness to make an arrest, and collect a small bonus for it, Hetch would by now have become more like Mewco than he wished, he would be dead, lying on a cold mortuary slab somewhere.

The stewardess tried to get up and the cop again concentrated all his attention on her, forgetting Hetch. That gave him an opportunity. He slowly stood up, careful not to disturb the young man trying to make his first arrest as written in book. The cop was ordering the stewardess to turn around. Poor lad was having a hard time controlling himself. The sight of a dead body under his feet was apparently making him sick and nervous, as were the two other bodies and evil looking criminal lady with gun still in her hand. There was probably also excitement from the fact that he was about to arrest this very dangerous and very armed murderer, for real and all by himself.

On knees, hands over head!

Hetch tiptoed towards the cop, who had already secured handcuffs and now was admiring his work, not sure what to do and what his partner will say and whether he had to call him now and how he was supposed to take her away... The cop was oblivious to the man standing over him with his left hand raised ready to strike.

THUD !

Hetch knocked him out. He wasn't an expert at backstabbing, especially with his left arm - either it was very lucky blow or this particular cop was not even as shock resistant as his wristwatch. They should paint 'fragile' and 'this side up' on uniforms. The young cop quietly collapsed right onto the body that the stewardess had tripped over.

Kenn, where are you?

It was the cop's comm, the sound of it muffled by his sleeping body. Hetch had to hurry away from here, before the partner of this dumbass came to check why no-one was answering. It was just some ten seconds from here to where police car was. With the crowds and confusion around the tower's base Hetch estimated that he had close to twenty seconds, max. He quickly packed away Mewco's gun and keys, took the case and moved over to the silent stewardess. She was still nervously crouched down on her knees, facing away, her hands locked behind her back by the alloy hoops of the handcuffs.

Let's get out of here. Sleeping beauty's partner will be here soon..

Hetch said, not trying to imitate Mewco's voice. She, still expecting to be taken away by policeman, turned and stared at Hetch with a look of surprise.

Are you going to sit here and look stupid? Come on, move it!!

Damn, Kenneth, answer! Do you need backup?

Hetch turned and ran away, deeper into the tower where the passage met another one, turning right at headed straight ahead. He heard footsteps behing him - the stewardess was following, running as fast as she could in her situation. As they rounded a corner, Hetch stopped, dropped the case and walked towards a heavy, metal door that led into one of tower's supports. He took out one of his blank ID cards and put it into lock. This lock was used rarely, so the card took more than its usual time to develop. Hetch just stood and looked at small strip on its side that showed progress by slowly changing color from light blue through red to black.

Finally the lock was satisfied and gave out a cheerful beep. Hetch pocketed the card, opened the door and motioned at the stewardess to go in. He followed her, closing the door behind him. It was safe here - the police would search the surrounding streets, nearby houses and mag rail stations, transport, anything. But they will never search locked maintenance door just next to crime scene, not if they're suspecting gangs were involved. So they have some time to get away through the mesh of underground tunnels that they had walked just half an hour ago. It seemed that the Eldora tower had a firm grip on his fate and on that of his attractive hostage. Everything was telling him to get away, to run as fast as he could, far away from this place, but where to? There was a chance that the police would rip open the service door, there was the chance that some of the Sevens would find them and there was a chance that the stewardess had another trick up her sleeve. There was the chance that Hetch's brain would burnt out from thinking about all these 'what if' questions.

Time T-9

The clock on case was still ticking. Nine hours left. Hetch felt tired again, as the adrenaline rush faded away. His mind went wandering, unable to concentrate, unable to stay awake after four days of abuse. Hetch sat down on floor, resting his back against smooth plastic wall and closed his eyes. His chest ached. He was hungry. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. There's enough time, he tolded himself. He would just rest for an hour. Just for an hour. Those 60 minutes would give him time to think, time to rest.

He passed away, ensnared by the grip of sleep, deep, beautiful sleep...

To be continued...

JKL