#1 Shades of Gray Noir, City Shrouded By Darkness- Sci-Fi Horror Suspense Serial

Shades Of Gray #1

  Noir, City Shrouded By Darkness

  Kristie Lynn Higgins

  SHADES OF GRAY: Noir, City Shrouded By Darkness

  Text Copyright © 2006, 2015 by Kristie Lynn Higgins

  Cover Art Copyright © 2014

  Beta Phase Ebook

  Original Cover Edition

  www.KristieLynnHiggins.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

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  Introductions

  This series uses a mixture of omniscient past tense and first person present tense to tell the story of Shades of Gray. I have used bold to separate the first person from the omniscient. Enjoy the series.

  If multiple Earths exist, what would their worlds look like? What kind of people would they be? Societies? Religions?

  Would they make the same mistakes as us?

  From the Assembled Works

  Ginn L. Irynkissgthie 525 B.D.C. (Before Dry Clouds)

  Prologue

  On a parallel Earth, thick puffy barriercumulus also known as Dry Clouds covered the sky; they prevented the glimmer of twilight from shining on the city of Noir. For three decades the polluted high-troposphere looming clouds covered half the planet and left part of the world to live in endless night. The mile-thick clouds yielded petroleum based contaminated water dubbed Tainted Rain and polluted the air; therefore, they were named Dry Clouds for leaving half the planet without drinkable water. At first, scientists believed pollution caused the great cloud barrier, but that theory proved to be false. What caused the Dry Clouds to form baffled scientists and how to reverse them eluded reason, and only technology’s constant battle with nature has kept the dark city alive.

  Man’s need for conquest expanded Noir to cover more than half a continent of what would have been called North America, and Noir became a Mega-city; it was the only one in the world. Over the last twenty years Transgenics and bio-mechas evolved at a breakneck pace. Transgenics were genetically modified organisms with an extra-genome and were mostly plants produced to survive without the sun. Bio-mechas were robots resembling living things.

  On this world, corporations not governments ruled the people, creating a society where profit set policy and dictated life. Those who resided in Noir were touched by darkness, and the light of goodness seemed a forgotten memory; they... they lived in the gray —Shades of Gray.

  Chapter One

  The Pandora Project

  Isaiah 5:30b

  If one looks to the land, behold, darkness and sorrow, even the light will be darkened by the clouds.

  The year 31 A.D.C. (After Dry Clouds)...

  October 22...

  Thursday...

  4:44 A.M...

  “Initiate the Pandora Project,” a deep male voice ordered.

  “Pandora has been awakened,” a female replied.

  “Good... Good...,” the deep voice said.

  “Are you sure the project is ready?” a second male voice inquired. “Maybe we should give it a few more weeks of conditioning.”

  “No, launch Pandora,” the deep voice instructed. “Let us see what it can do on its own.”

  “Releasing the project now,” the female said, paused, and then added, “Pandora is running as predicted.”

  “Good... Good... Let us begin the tests.”

  6:04 P.M...

  Scattered streetlights partially lit an abandoned industrial district, and the wind howled, blowing through overgrown weeds and chilled the air of the blue gray night. Over the years, a few trees and plants adapted to the limited artificial light along with a large variety of weeds. Nocturnal creatures; rats, mice, owls, and cats ruled the alleys and parks of the mega-city of Noir.

  A black sedan slowly rolled down the street, and its headlights lit up the dark road; the vehicle stopped at the curb a few hundred yards away from Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse. The four doors of the vehicle opened, and five men in brown suits exited the car. Each of them wore polarized spectacles with black mirror-like lenses, and the spectacles hid more than their eyes. Four of them removed a silver Beretta from their shoulder holster. The fifth man wore a Coffin Handled Bowie tucked in a belt, and the man tapped the hilt eager to draw the knife. Eerily in one accord, they turned their heads and stared at the rusted toy building as they awaited orders. A parking lot stood between them and their target.

  In another part of the city...

  In a secret location known as the Sanctum...

  Fifty flat screen monitors covered three walls and lit up a dark inner room called the Chamber, and data filled their screens in scrolling masses. Two dozen analysts scrutinized the influx of information coming across the monitors as they typed at their workstations. The men and women toiled, compiling a range of intelligence from several projects and experiments.

  “All right people, let’s stay focused,” a male supervisor shouted.

  He and a female supervisor walked up and down the line of workstations. They received updated reports from the analysts and kept their employers current on the projects and experiments.

  A bit excited himself, he added, “This is the day we’ve been waiting for!”

  The analysts wore indigo jumpsuits with white stripes on the sides, and the supervisors wore crimson jumpsuits with white stripes. Both the analysts and supervisors wore a wireless earpiece to communicate with operatives in the field. The hum of equipment and the chatter of the workers filled the area.

  In the center of the Chamber, two men and a woman sat at a long rectangular table; each of them wore a black business suit and had a laptop in front of them as shadows concealed their eyes, leaving only their mouths and chins visible in the computer-blue illumination. The three known as the Council scanned reports as they were delivered to them by the supervisors on Hand Held Computers; the standard size for a H.H.C. was two and a half inches by four and a half inches.

  “Has the project been located?” Mr. Morta asked in a deep voice as he twirled a gold ring on his
dark brown finger; he sat at the end of the table with the woman to his right and the other man to his left.

  “Yes, one of our best operatives, Argus is watching Pandora,” the smaller man, Mr. Decuma answered as he smoothed his hand down a bright orange tie.

  “Good... Good...” Mr. Morta said. “What does the operative have to report?”

  Some distance from Etna Toys...

  A man with shoulder length blond hair wearing a black trench coat peered through specialized binoculars. Argus had positioned himself in an alley a block from the abandoned toy warehouse to watch Pandora; he noted the sedan across the street, the five men, and reported them over a cell phone.

  Within the Chamber...

  The male supervisor handed a H.H.C. to the third member of the Council.

  Ms. Nona frowned as she looked over it, thinning her cherry-red lips which contrasted her powdery white skin. Her frame was the smallest of the members. She stated, “We have received a second report from our operative.” She scanned the report a second time, disconcerted over the news and then added, “Argus has spotted five bio-mechas; they are not Proto-Androids, but a new model called Un-Men.”

  “Un-Men?” Mr. Morta spoke, not as surprised as his female counterpart. “Only one department within the corporation is developing this line of bio-mechas.” Disappointed over the untimely intrusion, he exhaled loudly and then stated, “The Factory has started their Un-Men tests; I had hoped they would wait.”

  “You knew it might happen?” Mr. Decuma questioned as he rubbed his finger over a silver tie pin of the word Fate.

  Mr. Morta nodded as he replied, “Yes, it was only a matter of time, but it means...”

  “It means–” Ms. Nona interrupted, “–that the Factory has decided to go against the wishes of the Council.”

  “How dare they!” Mr. Decuma uttered, then he slammed his palms on the table as he stood, and declared, “We must do something!”

  “But what?” Ms. Nona questioned.

  “More importantly,” Mr. Morta started. “What are their plans for our child-like Pandora?”

  Back at Etna Toys...

  The wind kicked up sand and debris as the five men, the Un-Men stood by the sedan. Their Internal Link or I-Link, not only connected them to the Factory but to each other and with the I-Link, they could think and move as one. They shut the sedan’s doors and simultaneously walked toward the warehouse across the parking lot, but the one with the Bowie paused and turned, spotting a heat signature. The heat signature was of a human hiding in the darkness of an alley that was across the street from it, and the Un-Man could tell the human was watching them. The Un-Man's I-Link blazed orange through the right lens of its polarized spectacles as it processed the data.

  Argus moved his hand to the M4 assault rifle strapped over his shoulder; he tensed, not knowing what it would do. Argus had encountered a Proto-android before, and it had nearly killed him, but he had no idea what this new model was capable of. He decided to stay on the safe side and make it clear he wouldn't interfere with their mission, so he moved his hand away from the assault rifle and waited for its reaction. The Un-Man smirked at him, continued toward Etna, and joined its brethren. Argus was relieved it worked and grabbed a hold of the M4 as he moved across the street to continue the surveillance of the project.

  Within the Chamber...

  “The matter is confirmed. The Factory–” Ms. Nona emphasized the next word, “–has gone against our wishes.” She looked to the larger man and questioned him, “What is our next move?”

  “Analyze and record,” Mr. Morta answered. “Our agenda has not changed. The Un-Men will test Pandora for us.”

  Within the dark Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse and among boxes of discarded toys and debris, a cot had been set up; a lamp on a round end table stood beside it and lit up the area in a dim glow. A woman in her early thirties slept on the cot; she had a shaven head, and a gash on her forehead bled. The trickle of blood flowed past her brow, ran down the side of her face, and dripped to a pillow. The crimson liquid spotted the white cotton case. No other bedding covered the old and worn mattress.

  The woman wore a white V neck T-shirt, gray-black pants, and black hiking shoes. Her eyes rapidly moved underneath her closed eyelids as she dreamed, and her lips moved as she talked within the dream, but there was no sound. The woman’s inaudible narration continued until she spoke out loud, “A love that will not die.”

  Her breathing increased, and her arms and legs jerked in mock movement as she envisioned herself running. Sweat speckled her forehead and her face grimaced in determination as her mind replayed a memory; it was one that would mark her future with sorrow. Three shots rang out in the dream, then the horrible recollection caused her to scream, and she sat up and franticly searched the building as a panicked feeling urged her to flee. Her heart thundered in her chest as she noticed she was alone and not in any immediate danger, so she calmed down a bit and remembered part of the dream. She was running, but there was something she couldn't remember. Whatever it was, she thought it was important enough to recall and strained her mind to grasp at the fleeting images, but it was too late; they were gone.

  Her head hurt, she was very thirsty, and she felt a little queasy as she examined the old empty building more closely. She noticed parts of teddy bears scattered about a stack of boxes and a layer of dust clung to everything like the building and machinery hadn't been used in years. The woman remembered more of the dream, not the images but the urgency she felt within it and a sense that there was something she was supposed to do; something she believed her life depended on. The remnants of the dream faded, and she mentally tried to grasp for a clue, but it was like trying to capture a dark phantom. The sensations of fear and anxiety remained with her along with the sound of the three shots, but nothing else of the dream remained and that bothered her. She wondered if she had been pursuing someone or was someone chasing her. She wondered if she had been the predator or the prey.

  She sat there a little longer, hoping something would resurface and tell her...

  She put a hand to her mouth as she realized something that unsettled her, and the revelation frightened her more than not knowing what had happened in the dream. She realized she didn't know who she was; she couldn't remember anything past the moment she awoke in the warehouse on the cot. Smothering terror oozed over her like the Blob from the classic horror movie, and its gelatinous glob ate away at her presents of mind, adding her frightened essence to itself. It would do her no good to panic, and she mentally sprayed frigid air on the growing Blob, taking back her sanity from its frozen and cracked form.

  Her head continued to hurt so she touched her temple, felt a warm wet substance, and examined her bloody fingers. She wondered if she had hit her head or if someone had hurt her, and the thought that someone might have hurt her made her a little on edge. She moved to the side of the cot, thinking of going to a hospital when she noticed a second table; it was square and small and had a few items on it. She picked up a business card with an image of a flaming bird, flipped it over, and found a barcode on its back. She set it down, picked up a note, and read it aloud.

  “Katharine...” She studied the name, wondering if the name belonged to her. She thought about it, and it didn't sound familiar, so she continued reading, “Katharine, you must not fail; this is your last chance to redeem yourself. I know you can complete your mission, my dearest Kat. I am counting on you.”

  The note was signed by R.G.

  Katharine's view...

  I fold the paper, then along with the card, I stuff them in my back pocket and decide I need to find help for the wound on my head in case it's serious. I spot a door and start to stand and head for it when a flash of a violent memory makes me turn my attention back to a metal case on the table. Why did I ignore this item? I stretch my hand for it. Why does my heart pound in dread when I reach for it? I pause before grabbing it as a sinking feeling sweeps
over me, and I pull my hand back and decide it's best to ignore the enigma. I look to the last object on the table and pick it up; it's a small silver box shaped like a treasure chest and has a small raised star the size of a dime on its lid. I examine the box, then carefully open it, and its tune sweetly rings in my ears. The tune reminds me of the opening of a classical piece, but whose? Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart come to mind, but the piece doesn't seem to belong to either of them, then I realize I'm wrong; it has elements from each like it's a mixture of several openings playing on top of each other. I close my eyes, letting the music sink in as a calming solace sweeps over me, and the urgency to leave the building slips away as I focus on the tune. While I'm in this state of relaxation and before I'm completely engulfed by it, I wonder about a few things. How do I know the composers' names and that the piece is Ginn L. Irynkissgthie's Unfinished Melody? Why do I know some things, but my own name's lost to me?

  Unfinished Melody is short; it plays about thirty seconds, and then it starts over and plays over and over in a hypnotic flow. I gaze at the music box, hearing nothing but the haunting arrangement of compound sounds. My fear and anxiety vanish, and my body relaxes to an absolute state of nirvana as the tune lulls me into a trance. I slowly closed my eyes and enter a peaceful place within my mind. The place is a subconscious oasis to the confusion and dread I experienced before the melody. The tune has a calming effect on me and as I sit there in an ecstatic state, sounds outside of the building become louder and clearer. The wind howls, rustling the leaves of trees and overgrown bushes. A moth repeatedly taps the glass of a street light drawn to the artificial flame as four car doors slam. A cricket chirps, and an owl swoops, landing on a squeaking mouse.

  lub-DUB... lub-DUB...

  I open my eyes as my heart thumps so loud I can hear it, and I experience an overwhelming sense of hysteria. I put a hand to my chest, not in pain but in horror as I realize something's wrong. I close the music box, place it in my left thigh pocket, and search the building; it's still empty. I know I'm in danger, but from what? I glance at the case I ignored, and a deep dread lifts in me like a leviathan rising from the ocean's abyss. I freeze as I stare at the metal container; it's like I know what's inside, but my mind refuses to grasp the knowledge, and instead I want to run away from it like it's a maniac chasing me. I disregard my apprehension about the case and turn my attention back to my pounding heart and the urgency screaming at me to leave. The longer I wait to act, the more anxious and terrified I become. I feel like a deer standing in an open meadow, sensing a predator prowling towards me through the tall grass, and I fear I'll be attacked at any moment and from any direction. I get off the cot and start to run when the lamp beside me shatters, and the surrounding area plunges into darkness as pieces of the lamp ping to the concrete floor. I shriek, realizing someone shot at me, and I dive as more bullets whizz overhead. I turn the table over for cover, the case falls, knocking itself open, and a metal object slides from it.