Chapter Twenty-Three: Pulling the Pin
Charlotte, Bevan, Dagger, and two other members of the Knife were travelling by truck to Knife Base 4. It was outside Sectra Town, an emerging industrial hub in Torcra. But, most importantly, they were travelling to an adventure. A mission.
"So, what exactly is happening?" Bevan was riding in the back of the truck with several other members.
"We've discovered that The Eyes will be travelling there, for an important Unit 6 operation," answered Dagger. "Unit 6 has set up there in order to maintain a coordination of the new martial law."
"Why not set it up in Ozoldra?"
"Because that would put the operation in view of the other Oligarchs, and us. The capital is the first place of suspicion – most new operations of interest happen outside it. Sectra City is close, industrial, and well-monitored."
"And what are we planning to do?"
"Nip it in the bud. If we can slow down martial law, we can buy ourselves some more time. And, if we can kill The Eyes in the process…"
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask… why 6? What were Units 1 to 5?"
Dagger sighed to himself. "Up until sixty years ago, the secret police was not an umbrella term of agencies controlled by The Eyes, but a single organisation. They were far less pervasive, then. Unit 1 of the Secret Police was Counterterrorism and Organised Crime, Unit 2 was Suppression of Counterrevolutionaries, Unit 3 was Espionage, Unit 4 was Military Counterintelligence, and Unit 5 consisted of Guards, who would protect people of interest to the Oligarchy.
"Of course, sixty years ago, there was the split, that marked the single secret police agency becoming three. Still under the control of The Eyes, of course, but the split meant that each one became bigger and far more powerful. The State Security Bureau took on the more minor duties of Units 1 and 2. The Cloaks took on the major duties of Units 1, 2, and 5. The TIA took on the duties of Units 3 and 4. At every level, big and small, the secret police became present."
"And Unit 6?"
"Before the split, it was rumoured that there was a Unit 6, a small, flexible, and highly trained and equipped force. The rumours persisted, rising independently, and often in fictional books. Of course, the books above ground always depicted such a force as having heavenly powers, but you catch my drift. There is some evidence to suggest the existence of a Unit 6, but even now, we don't know for sure.
"Eight years ago, the Eyes created Unit 6, at Augury's request, according to our sources. This may indicate that there is truth to the original 'Unit 6', but the point stands that Augury wanted a highly trained, flexible force that worked with the highest levels of government to achieve difficult objectives. It was a more Oligarch-friendly version of his Moonlight Squad."
"Our history is quite unsavoury, isn't it?"
"Hell yes," replied Dagger grimly.
"You!"
Susan Adams, accompanied by a huddle of four cloaks, was confronted by a fifth cloak. She was irritated and leaving her secretive chambers, when she was confronted by a familiar and unwelcome face.
"What are you doing here?"
"You remind me of one of my school chums - Hortense," answered Rex. It was a secret code between Susan and Augury that her life was in serious danger. He had told her that in that event, it would be a member of the Moonlight Squad. Evidently, it was more serious than a simple feeling.
Susan's Cloaks looked at each other, confused. They were not familiar with what had just happened, but Susan waved her hand dismissively.
"So you'll be accompanying me?"
Rex nodded. "For the entire time."
The six walked up to the roof of the building, in deafening silence, where a helicopter was waiting. A Cloak was piloting it, and Susan's four Cloaks stepped back as she entered it. Rex entered the helicopter behind her.
They sat in silence, before Susan spoke up. "What does Augury plan to do?"
"You know."
"I know
how he'll become the autocrat of Torcra, but
what does he plan to do when he gets there?"
Rex smiled asymmetrically. "You're not to know that."
"I'm still an Oligarch, and you
will answer my question!" Susan was seething. After saying this, she felt a closing, psychic grip around her pale, Botox-ridden throat.
Without even looking at her, Rex said, "Augury has been the autocrat for far longer than you've realised. It is only now becoming official. You've always been subordinate to me." He released his grip. "And if you don't like it, Adams, then I'll gladly throw you out the window. There are plenty of other capable candidates, eager to fill your shoes."
Cicero was in his laboratory, and a Manfred on crutches hobbled in.
"What are you doing now?"
Cicero smiled. "A shell protects a lot, but a Shuckle's shell protects perhaps too much."
Manfred raised an eyebrow. "For someone who likes people around him to speak bluntly, your words are surprisingly unhelpful."
"A Shuckle actually occupies little space inside its shell. The rest is occupied by a concoction of chemicals. It tends to be determined by the Shuckle's mood – when the Shuckle is happy, the concoction has a medicinal effect. When it is terrified, it is a lethal poison. In the Neolithic era, a sick caveman would entertain a Shuckle, while his friend would sneak up behind it and crack its shell open.
"In the medieval times, they learned they could dose Shuckle with strong Sleep Powder and make tiny cracks and suck it out, without killing the Shuckle. Then, when syringes were developed, we realised we could stick it into the legs where they were really close to the shell, and retrieve the concoction all the same.
"And we've been separating the chemicals and finding new ones ever since we've been able to take chemicals out without cracking the shell."
"And I take it that rack of vials is all taken from a Shuckle?"
Cicero nodded.
"So, what are you doing with them?"
"Finely mixing the chemicals across various moods."
"For…?"
"Well, Shuckle produces several interesting chemicals, which I thought about as I was lying in bed a few nights ago. They all have interesting effects, but if I were to mix them in with each other, tweaking with proportions and other catalysts, reagents, and auxiliary compounds, something incredible could happen. Imagine a chemical that could sever allegiances and make people turn to our side."
"You… you vowed never to open up the Red Files. This is brainwashing!"
Cicero shook his head. "No. The brainwashing from the Red Files was always permanent, and usually painful, debilitating. It would strip someone of their personality and creativity. But worst of all, it would be irreversible.
"The White Files, however, had 'soft brainwashing' components. If I'm right, we could inject it into someone. It would put them into a two-day coma, and their brain would become highly receptive to messages we placed in their head. Then, as they woke up, they would get endorphin releases from obeying these messages, and their other primal instincts, like eating. Then, other parts of the concoction would inhibit ceratonin release when they went against these messages, or did other things at the expense of it."
Essentially, it would make the subjects want to do what the Knife told them to, and make it difficult for them to experience any fulfilment from doing anything else.
"In other words, brainwashing while keeping their personality?"
"The wash isn't permanent, though. Every two weeks, they'd have to take a pill of another set of a lighter dose. Not enough to open their brain up to becoming totally receptive, or to induce another coma, but enough to keep them going. Impossible to administer on a large and dangerous scale, but useful with captured and intelligent prisoners."
"The way I see it, you're still stripping people of who you are." The usually light-hearted Manfred was stern.
"A part is not the whole, Manfred. If you replace the stereo in a car, it's still the same car."
Manfred shook his head. "P is not equal to P minus a very small amount."
"By that logic, people change who they are every day. We're just making them do it… faster. And in a new direction."
"And if the Oligarchy did that?"
"To make people agents of tyranny? Of course that would be bad."
Manfred shook his head. "Cicero, you're so arbitrary. Why should
we get to decide what the right direction is for a person?"
"People should be free to be agents of the Oligarchy?"
"And we should be free to kill them. It's a form of self-defence, really. They push us, we push back. But to brainwash them…"
"Is a more clever form of self-defence. Rather than just outright kill them, we're putting them to good use. And then setting them free."
"You're taking their free will. Capturing them is self-defence. Brainwashing them is…"
"…Intelligent. Ultimately, we do more good than harm."
Manfred smirked. "You're a utilitarian, aren't you? You believe that the happiness of people can be added, subtracted, and multiplied across a population, so you can come to an objective conclusion of what path to pursue?"
"Of course. It might be nice to fluff around with arbitrary morals, but it's all about making the right decision."
"Based on what? Utilitarianism unravels itself here. Not only is it impossible to objectively quantify morality or 'happiness', your entire philosophy is built on achieving goals. Whence cometh these goals? Your objective methodology is still based on your subjective desires."
"Here I am, being lectured on what is right by a former cult leader who knelt to Augury."
"The alternative was death."
"You could have fled. I did."
"Because you were smart enough to."
"And you weren't?"
"No. You may be morally bankrupt and have only an elementary grasp of philosophy, but you know how to manipulate others and manipulate systems. I might have been able to wriggle out for a while, but I couldn't have survived."
"In that case," mused Cicero darkly, "perhaps it would have been better if you
had tried."
Three days later, a seven-man squad of The Knife was undergoing a mission. Dagger, Bevan, Charlotte, and three other members of the Knife (two from the base near Ruraya, one from the base near Sectra), were preparing for their mission to disrupt the establishment of martial law. It was nighttime, and The Eyes was already in the building. All of the members were dressed like Dagger – covered in dark Pokémon fur, to protect from identification and psychic powers.
One member, squeezing silently through the ventilation shaft, aimed his gun, equipped with a silencer, at the two security guards below. He fired two clean shots, knocking them both to the floor, dead. The guard in the room next to them, viewing the security camera footage, would then send a distress call. Unfortunately, the signal was blocked by his glove – hackers back at Knife Base 4 were sending waves through his gloves to counter these waves.
The man dropped to the floor, silently. These guards would soon go cold, and their heat sensors underneath their armpits would set off a rather unwanted alarm, if that were to happen. Ripping open their shirts (and recoiling from the stench), he placed heat-generating patches where the sensors were. Still kneeling, he lifted one of their heads up to the iris scanner at the door. The scanner beeped in acceptance, and the moment the door swung open, it was a matter of who could shoot faster: the guard inside or the professional terrorist.
Two silent shots, and one man fell. The member of The Knife casually stepped over the dead guard's body, and shut the door behind him. It was time to get to work.