Sunday, September 26, 2010

Day Fifty-Six

Day 56: 26 Sep 2010

My handlers call themselves the West Coast Syndicate, a name that is actually reasonably accurate. They started as a loose amalgamation of criminal enterprises in Los Angeles and San Diego back in the 1940s, and expanded quickly. They moved north as far as Seattle, and east as far as Las Vegas -- they control close to 70% of the criminal action in that area. And, since they found my slug and implanted him into me, they've been very good about keeping other organized criminal elements out.

When they heard that the Chinese had taken the slug to Vancouver, they sent me to obtain it if I could, kill it if I couldn't. Understandably, they don't want another one of me running around, especially not controlled by the Triads -- their main competitor. A combination of brute force and fear of their weapon (me) has kept the Triads from moving into the States until now, but no longer. My bosses think they'll use Travis to hit Seattle first, which is why they sent me. They don't know the Triads don't have Travis now.

No one has him -- he's on his own, taking orders from no one. That makes him even more dangerous, and not just to my bosses. To everyone.

At least with handlers, the damage can be contained, directed -- with a person like Travis off the chain. . .

The destruction could be biblical. Triads, Russians, West Coast Syndicate, Police -- none of them can bring him down, even hurt him. I'm not even sure the Army has a chance. Last year, I was in a car packed with bombs when the fuses got wonky --the whole thing blew. I walked out of that mess with a burned T-shirt and some messed-up shoes. That was it.

The good news is, Travis is on a mission. One of his own choosing, sure, but on a mission nonetheless. My hope is that this means his damage will be focused. Mission-oriented. That he won't simply go off the reservation and start destroying everything between him and me. I can't be sure of this, of course.

But knowing the slugs as I do. . . they're logical. Calculating, almost to a fault. And that kind of random destruction won't fit. It'll be wasted energy -- the slug knows that once he finds me, the two of us can then go rampage and kill everything.

I hope.

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