Edward Graves: Temporal Detective

“The mainframe is just around that corner,” shouted Melanie as she thundered down a sterile white corridor. Behind her, Solomon continually checked over his shoulder with his six-shooters drawn and ready. He’d already had to wound two Black Glove agents since they left the control room and he was sure that there’d be more to come.

They rounded a corner and came to a set of doors, marked with a sign that read: Central Mainframe-Authorised Personnel Only. Melanie whipped out a security card and flashed it by a scanner. The doors automatically slid open with a reluctant hiss and they bounded through.

She froze in terror as soon as she entered the room. There was blood. Everywhere. On the walls, on the floors, on the computers and even on the ceiling in places. Every one of the fourteen technicians, five engineers and three security officers that were stationed there – the night crew – were laying on the floor or slumped over computer banks. All of them were motionless and all of them were dead.

Melanie’s knees began to bend inward and she lost the ability to support her own weight. Solomon caught her under the arms just in time and helped her on to a chair. Once he found one without a body slumped in it.

“Oh my God,” she gasped through chattering teeth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Her hands were trembling and she was sucking in air with shallow, jagged breaths. Tears began to well in the corners of her eyes. “God no, no, no.”

Solomon crouched down in front of her, blocking her view of the room and grasped her hands in his own. It was almost comical, seeing her delicate and slender appendages in his broad and calloused mits.

“Melanie, listen to me, look at me Melanie. We got a job to and a lotta people are countin’ on us, so you gotta keep your head on straight, OK? Just focus on what you gotta do, OK? And me, focus on me, can you do that?”

She could her him speaking, but the words weren’t really sinking in. She could only think of the bodies and the blood. She’d known those people, she’d worked with them and now they were gone. All so that some psycho could upload a virus, to get through their security and try to summon some fairy tale monster?

She looked into Solomon’s eyes, he was saying something but she wasn’t sure what.

“Melanie, can you do that? Mel?”

She clenched her fists, “They’ll pay for this, I’ll blast them back to hell!”

Solomon made her look away while he moved the bodies and did his best to lay them, respectfully on the floor at the back of the room. He took a moment to say a few words for them and then gave Melanie the all clear.

She practically pounced onto the central console, but then withdrew when she saw the blood smeared over the controls. She hesitated for a moment but then took a deep breath and brought up a holographic interface. She was doing it for her slain comrades as much as anyone else. Solomon took up a position by the door, his guns loaded and ready to fire.

“Can you get the defences back up?” asked Solomon.

Melanie squinted at the display, typing and opening windows; running scans and cancelling sub-routines. “Whoever uploaded this virus was good, very good.” She licked her lips, as she often did when she was concentrating. “But I’m better,” she said with an evil grin.

“I’m afraid not Miss Rain,” said an accented, feminine voice. “Back away from the console.”

She heard the click of Solomon’s revolvers and she turned to see him holding them at Ivana Baskov. Her hand was resting lazily on the hilt of her sword which was still in its scabbard.

“Lady I don’t like harmin’ women, but if you so much as twitch that trigger finger, I swear to god that I’ll fill you full of so much lead that they’ll be able to use your corpse as a pencil.”

“My,” said Ivana, “quite the poet, aren’t you?”

It took a few moments for Melanie to process what happened next. There was a glint of light reflecting off of steel followed by a gunshot and then a spray of blood.

As Solomon looked down at the stain that was spreading across his shirt, a look of shock began to register across his face.

“Solomon, No!” bellowed Melanie.

“Uh-uh, stay there Miss Rain,” said Ivana, sounding like a teacher talking to a student who had spoken out of turn.

Mealanie couldn’t comprehend how this could happen. Why? It made no sense, good people were dying and for what? She began trembling again, but she did her best to choke back her tears; she couldn’t let her enemy see her weakened. Instead she focused on her fury and rage and let it give her strength.

She gritted her teeth and spoke with short, grated words. “You monster, I’m going to kill you, I swear to God, I will!”