hector chasse. (ironarmor) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2016-01-03 09:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | hector chasse |
WHO: Hector Chasse.
WHAT: A little dose of Chasse family retribution.
WHEN: New Year's Eve (backdated).
WHERE: Chasse Pharma HQ, Mars.
WARNINGS: Violent behavior, threats.
The Kamikaze wrapped up the job on Io with focus and precision. Their leads got them to their criminals, the fight was brief and uncompromising, and they escorted the saboteurs back to the ship without incident. It felt like the win they needed, the win Killian had promised them. It felt like things were back on course. But they weren't, not quite yet. He had business still to attend to before the year was over. He told Bristol that he'd meet the crew back at HQ. A few days' absence, at best; he'd taken virtually no vacation time in his thirteen years of serving with the RAC, and a brief sojourn was hardly objectionable. He didn't bother to pack a bag. Express liner to Mars, first class, same day tickets cost a fortune which he paid without hesitation, only frowning slightly when the ticket vendor openly gawked at his ID. (He silently cursed his parents for being the kind of narcissists to name their company after themselves, and for having an unusual name, even if he was the one who was still too proud to give it up.) While he waited for the ship to board, he bought a suit. The most expensive one he could find, yet it still didn't fit his shoulders right, still stretched too-tight across his chest and itched like cheap fabric. He grimaced at the terrible cut and bought it anyway. The point wasn't to look good. Just to pass. It wasn't a long trip. Good space travel never was. (Even if the ship was badly designed, like some kind of winged blimp that had gotten lost and wandered through a disco.) Soon enough, he was back on Mars again for the first time since the last disastrous encounter with his sister. The city was alive and wild, streets filled with New Year's Eve partiers: women in glittering sheathes and heels, excessively drunk men in suits yelling jubilant nonsense, noise and color and lights. Mars was always extravagant compared to the other colonies, but after the stark empty desert expanses of Io, it felt more claustrophobic than ever to Hector. He stalked close to the doorways as he made his way towards the tall building looming over the other artistically designed skyscrapers, crossing old familiar avenues, dodging out of the way of packs of roaming celebrants. He didn't care about the holiday, but it did provide an interesting opportunity. The lobby of Chasse Pharma's headquarters was glass and steel, white and clean, the lights softened to almost make the interior seem inviting for the occasion. Hector cut his way across the floor to the front desk with purposeful strides. He knew this place too well. He'd grown up here. "How can I help you?" The security guard managed to look both bored and attentive at the same time. Hector pulled out his wallet and held his RAC identification card up. "I was invited to the company New Year's Eve party," he told the guard. "I obviously don't have company ID, so you'll have to give me a pass." The guard hesitated. "Sorry, sir, I didn't recognize you. I'll need to get in touch with the head of security so that he can confirm with Mr. or Ms. Chasse —" "I'm Hector Chasse," he bit out as he leaned over the desk. "I own shares in this fucking company. Are you going to make me stand here and make me extravagantly late for this party, instead of just fashionably late, or are you going to let me through?" He watched the guard hesitate another breath, torn, and he lowered his voice to smooth, soft, dangerous. "I could pull out my phone and call up Gordon to have you fired for incompetence, or I could just kill you with my bare hands. The company would cover up anything I do, even if it's leaving a body in their lobby. No one gives a shit about you. Least of all me." The guard went pale. "I'll take that," Hector pulled the security badge off of the guard's shirt with a sharp tug. "I'll return it on my way out." He swiped himself through the entrance stiles, and the strip of green light welcomed him into the heart of Chasse Pharma. It had been a long time since he was in the building, but it hadn't changed all that much. Details — little things he noticed — but the layout, the windows, the view as the quiet (new) elevator swept him swiftly up towards the top floor in a glass tube that laid the city out before him. He could see landmarks as they climbed higher and stared at them, unmoved. All he could think about was the party. The plan. The lift slowed as it reached the top floor, came to a halt, and pinged a polite arrival. The doors slid open; the party washed over him in a wave of sound, music and laughter and conversation. Hundreds of people, he estimated, most of them upper-tier employees who were trying to make an impression on their bosses, ambitious enough to come and swim in the shark waters even on the holiday. Especially on the holiday, with champagne flowing and diamonds glittering at ears and throats. He shouldered out of the elevator as a couple stumbled past him, cutting straight past the open penthouse party, and slipped down the hallway that ringed the building until the nameplates on the doors started looking familiar. There. Miranda Chasse, Chief Research Officer. His mother's old office, he realized with a curl of his lip. The security officer's badge couldn't get him in Miranda's office, not at this high of a level, but the screwdriver and wire cutter he'd brought along did the trick easily enough. It was dark inside the office, with only the lights of the city out her expansive windows casting a glow in the shadowed room. He moved carefully, slowly, made his way to the large, polished, wooden desk where he could stand and look out across the colony. It was, really, quite the view. It didn't feel like home, but even he could admit that it was an impressive sight. Mars outdid the other colonies in nearly every way. There was no competition in the modern age in technology, in architecture, in wealth or privilege. The people who looked down on this city from above thought themselves at the peak of the universe. Untouchable. Hector brought his fist down with all his strength on the desk, and the wood gave way with a sharp crack, splintering beneath the force of his blow. He hit it again. Again and again, until the whole thing shuddered and collapsed to the floor. Her stationary spread in sheaves across the ground, pens rolled, and the bulb of her lamp shattered when it fell, sending glass across the carpet. Panting, breathless, the seam of his jacket torn, Hector felt the satisfaction shivering through his nerves like lightning. Blood dripped from his hand where the wood had gouged his skin, but he barely noticed it. He felt alive. Deeply victorious. Walking to the windows, he smeared his bloody fingers across the glass and wrote a word in large, streaked letters before he left. KILLJOY. |