Simlog #38, recorded by Babsie, Dreamland Trailers
A thing it flying through the air, landing just in front of Zachery, a few meters from Babsie. He’s shouting she shall take cover. She screaming a little scream, turning, running panicked towards a tree some meters behind, jumping and rolling on the wet ground, covering her head with her arms.
Noises of fighting. Men moaning, bodies falling to the ground. A loud shot as a shotgun gets fired. Then another, a little muffled. No explosion. Nobody is giving her a ‘false alarm’. She is taking cover for some more seconds, twenty maybe. Slowly and carefully she’s peeping from behind her tree. People have gone.
“What the fuck!? Where’s the party?” She gets to her feet following up to the trailer park. Bodies lying around. It’s the BTL junkies. One is holding his guts for they try to come out of his belly, screaming. That must have been a shotgun. She’s looking around. Two bodies shot with crossbows. One slowly moves in pain, the other not.
Her fist cramp around the handle of her little CO2 crossbow-pistol and her red dotted laserpointer nervously groping it’s way through the morning fog. It’s all so silent. There’s some blood on a container, just where the guy with the gut shot is.
She’s looking around and finds her people at that sky-blue container. “DREAMLAND ENTERTAINMENT LTD.” sprayed over it in golden glitter letter stencils. An old man is sitting on the ground. They try to interrogate him. But he seems not very responsive and in shock. Maybe a madman. Jet has his jacket and armor vest perforated by heavy buckshot. His clothes are still smoking from cordit. They scream at this Dreamland guy.
Someone says: “Someone check for the wounded.” He must have meant those guys lying around. She turns from the scene, takes out her medkit, that she has been carrying in a bag over her shoulder, knees at the people. The one with the gut shot first. She has problems to stop the bleeding. Her hands all red. “I can’t stop the bleeding of this one!”, she yells. Then leaves him on the ground, runs over to the next. She manages to cut the bolt. The medkit tells her what to do. That it can be removed. No arteries. She’s checking her AR display. No vital organs hurt. So she cauterizes the bleeding with a shot from one of the slap-patches from the kit. Blood spluttering out at first where she had removed the bolt. Then she closes the hole in the body with a spray, presses the skin together carefully not to glue in her own fingers.
The man moans, she slaps him some painkillers on his arm, moves on to the next. Someone is screaming. But she is already checking the other guy. He’s unconscious, not dead. That’s what the medkid says at least. She has wrapped the sensor-pad around his arm to get his bio-data. Scans the wound with the scanner.
She’s working concentrated and silent. Two times she’s fighting back some sick sour stuff from her stomach, but she’s doing it. The men stabilizes and she packs her things, leaves him behind. She’s trying to wipe her hands on a cloth, but the blood is not leaving. “They need a doctor”, she says to the next she’s seeing. But she doesn’t look at his face.
That are just bodies all around. She has to get out of here. Some of her friends move behind the blue trailer. There is something on the ground. Nebraska is holding her hand in pain and cries. She pushes her aside. A body on the ground. A girl covered in blood with cuts and bruises all over. Dead by her looks. She’s lying on a car-seat put on the ground. On her head a net of trodes taped with duct tape on it, turning around her head around her chin and holds it in place.
She’s checking the vitals. The medkit tells nonsense and reports signs of life. “This one is alive!”, she yells. She checks her eyes, if the pupils move. They are. She’s carefully removing blood and sperm from it. “I think it’s Annie! I – I can’t help her!”
Fog comes around the trailer, carefully pulling her back. “I take from here.” He’s doing some mumbo-jumbo with his hands. Like the quacks in the movies, pulling meat out from bodies, proclaiming they have healed someone. He’s doing it like that, with his hands. The body cracks, he moans.
They all just stand around and stare at the near-corpse of Annie and how live is floating back to her. Fog is looking like shit after it. He sinks back on his knees.
Babsie is just running out of there. She stops at the lake. Taking a breath. Her eyes close on details. But she still doesn’t compute. Then screams. A female hand is hanging from one of the blue plastic barrels that are drifting in the artificial lake.
Another body she sees lying under the waterline in the mud. There are more barrels in the lake. A dozen, maybe more. “Oh…” She barfs. People coming running up to her. They stare at the scene. “They all raped killed and disposed them here.”
Simlog #39, recorded by Babsie, Tyrell & Partners
“I couldn’t stand it, had to stop the recording. Sorry, Roger.
I have been driving Annie back to Jennie’s Gang. They were celebrating very much that Annie was still alive. But they started using so I said good bye before it was too late. Jennie paid me a little bonus and I am sure nobody really expected me to solve that case.
They said something like: ‘Look! You made it into the news, Babsie!’ I should be proud of myself, but I just feel tired and everybody is celebrating tonight. Just I have to fight my crave and turned on a movie instead. And I’m killing the rest of your whiskey tonight, Roger.
Hope you have a good time. And I hope I got those two shitfaced cops off my back with this. At least they should drown in papers for a few weeks now, that they are the heros of this. Well, that was my first case, Kowalski. How was that?
I just wanna get drunk now. ‘Night Roger. Hope you fuck well. And I’m fucked up already. So thank you very much. Those sick rich bastards never see the slammer from inside. Even if they do something like that. I’m just feeling sick. They already started to fight over the movie rights and that and the bodies of the dead girls are not even out of the morgue.
It should feel like a victory. And it does. A bit. But since I’m clean nothing is feeling for real anymore. I can’t even say that I felt anything real when all that happened. How many days am I clean now? Do I make a month? I really want you back, Roger. I hate to sleep alone.
You should buy better whiskey. This one just has not…" She slurs. “The right bite…”
The bottle rolls off the table and her head comes down.