The Alpha Protocol

The sky over sector 4 had the color of old blood and rusty iron.

At least what we called heaven. In truth it was only the

Subpage of the gigantic plasma dome, which we are of the toxic waste of the

Outer world separated – and at the same time served as a massive glass branch for the slums.

I knew the sweat from the forehead with the heist and pulled the clamp

the modified energy cell. A quiet sum rewarded my effort.

“Look, it actually works,” I muttered and knocked lovingly on the rusty

Housing.

For the elite in the glittering upper sectors of the city, this was just garbage.

Valueless scrap, which through the enormous disposal shafts down to us

fell. But in my world one survived only if one from what others

throw away, create new things. From the disassembled housing of an Enforcer drone,

a few copper cables and activated carbon I had a first class water filter

assembled.

A precious, glass-clear drop fell into the collecting vessel. I did

my finger and let the water on the earth of my greatest treasure

Drop it.

In the corner of my hidden shelter, illuminated by a flickering UV

Tubes, standing three hollow rocket sleeves. They served me as planting vessels. I had

collected for months organic waste, fermented it and my own,

nutrient-rich fertilizers processed. The wage of this hard work was difficult to

green canals: two pralle, bright red tomatoes and a buffalo more powerful

Onions. Real fresh food was unpaid in Sector 4. The consortium fed

us only with synthetic nutrient blocks that tasted after moist cardboard.

A hard, rhythmic knock on my heavy steel door ripped me out of my

Thoughts. Three times, one time.

I relaxed right away. It was Betty.

I pushed the heavy bolt back and pulled the door open. Betty squeezed on me

past the small room. She looked just as exhausted as I was, her face was from

Motor oil smeared and her wild curls had her with a piece of cable to a

unordented dut tied together. She was my best friend, my

Trade partner on the junks and the only one in this fucking sector,

that I trusted my life.

“I tell you, Jada, the guards at the control points are nervous today,” she said

breathless and threw a heavy linen bag on my workshop table. It cried

metallic. “I could have three intact frequency relays from the garbage presser sector

save. They bring us enough credits on the black market for a week

heating energy.

Her eyes migrated to my plants. She punched out an awesome pea. '

all the spirits... you really did. I thought the toxins in

Groundwater would destroy the roots.”

“Not if you double bridge the filter cartridges,” I said proudly and

one of her onions. “Here, take them for tonight. And don't say I

never do anything good to you.”

Betty smiled and carefully put the onion in her pocket as if it were pure gold.

“You’re a fucking genius, Jada. If the consortium knows what you're doing down here

from their waste, they would put you in the upper sectors' laboratories

are replaced.’

“Or putting me on the wall for illegal cultivation,” I replied dry.

The smile disappeared from Betty's face. “That’s not funny. The Purifiers are

today on the hunt. I've seen patrols that usually never get so deep in sector

4. Full armor. Living scanner. They are looking for someone.”

Even before I could answer, the sirens worshipped.

The noise cut through mark and leg. It was not a normal shift change

Alarm. It was the shrill, penetrating circle that a raid of military

Elite unit announced.

My heartbeat hammered against my ribs. The walls of my shelter

vibrated under moaning heavy boots that are on the metal webs outside

my room marched.

“They are in our block”, whispered Betty, and naked panic flickered in her eyes

up.

“You have to get out of here,” I cried. I grabbed her on her shoulders and pushed her into

towards the back wall where I had solved a rusty cover. Behind it

a narrow ventilation shaft. “Go through the shaft. He leads directly to the

Waste incineration plants. They're not looking. Take the relays!”

“What about you?” Betty was strung, but I pushed her energetically into the tunnel.

“I don’t fit with you. I'll take the southern exit. We

meet at the old cistern tonight. Run, Betty!”

Once she disappeared in the shaft, I pulled the cover back in front of the hole.

I didn't torch long, grabbed my tool backpack and mine

electric shock – a self-creation from a broken plasma gun and

Car batteries – and open the front door.

The corridor lighted in the bright red of emergency lighting. Screams halled through the

Metal labyrinth of slums. Ozone and burned plastic were in the air.

I ran. Left. Right. I knew every angle of this plane. I was almost on the edge

the dark zone where the scanners of the consortium no longer worked.

Ten feet.

Suddenly, a massive shape in black high-tech setup was released from the

Shadows. A purifier.

Even before I could lift my shocker, the hard shaft of his

Guns in the stomach pit. The air escaped my lungs. I broke gorging

the cold grid floor together. A heavy boot came on my wrist,

forced me to release the gun.

“Rebellin secured,” the soldier’s mechanical voice reconciled

Helmet.

Two more guards showed up. One grabbed me rough on the hair and pulled

my head back. I spit blood on his shiny armor, but he laughed

just quiet. He pulled a flat, metallic device out of his belt – the ID scanner.

You would register me, condemn me for theft and in the mines

send. A death sentence on rats.

The cold sensor was pressed hard against my neck, exactly where my

implanted chip sat. The device piepte.

But it wasn't the green confirmation signal.The scanner hit a grellent,

pulsating warning tone. The display flickered blood red.

The soldier who kept me stared. The atmosphere in the corridor changed

unbeatable. The superiority of the guards was pure, naked panic.

“What... what is this?” the purifier rang, holding the scanner. His hand trembled

so strong that he almost dropped the device.

“Love it before!” the other, but his voice almost broke.

“Identity: Jada. Status: Slum resident. But... here's an override directive directly

of the Oberkommando.” The soldier swallowed audible. He looked down at me like I was

a time bomb. “Genetic Compatibility for Omega sector confirmed. Level:

Absolutely.

Sector Omega.The name alone was a myth, a ghost story that we are

At night in the slums told us to grieve. A place deep under the earth,

no one ever returned. The place where the monsters of the consortium bred

were.

“Sit them,” the commander whispered while he slowly step ahead of me

as if I had a fatal disease. “Put them. Bring her right away

down to the Apex.

I wanted to scream, to fight, to call Betty, but a czech sounded as

a needle in my neck. The world swept into more toxic

Darkness, and the last thing I heard was the fearful whispers of my kidnappers.