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Michigan Jones: Hit Man: Chapter 10 Michigan Jones: Hit Man: Chapter 10
by Asa Butcher
2008-09-07 09:32:32
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The approach to Zone Reström hadn't changed a bit in all these years, which in itself was reassuring. Reström was on an island, manmade of course, and only had one official point of entry - everybody knew there were secret access points, but they were actually a closely-guarded secret that had been surprisingly maintained since its construction 15 years ago.

Reström had originally been built as a state of the art entertainment island with all of the latest gadgets and gizmos for an ever-demanding public. It had cost an obscene amount of money to construct this artificial isle just off the capital city's coast, but the owners were confident of earning back their investment threefold within the year.

To their credit they almost did, but a series of accidents - both accidentally and deliberate - hit the island leading up to its first anniversary and the public quickly fell out of love with the place. The main culprits were a new back-to-basic religious group that decided to employ extreme methods in converting the non-believers - explosives, sabotage and intimidation are worthy tools.

Reström, the company responsible, had thrown too much cash, both officially and unofficially, at ending this threat, but it was a case of too little, too fucking late. The public weren't going to be won back, so they simply abandoned the place; it had made them a reasonable profit, so why squander their profits on the old when new prospects were to be had. Anyway, the island was stripped clean and Reström installed the EMP pulse in a secret location to stop anybody else from squatting on their old turf.

As I mentioned before, there were a number of people who were drawn to a place where no surveillance, no electronic tags or no e-credit would work, but they weren't the type of person many of us would invite home for a fucking cup of tea and a biscuit. So, Reström kept the name and changed its game, and I would hazard a guess that the new owners also made a threefold profit with a year; such is the insatiable appetite of a city for sex and anonymity.

The access road was quiet for this time of day, save for the private security employed by Reström's current owners, each of whom was armed with classic weaponry, like M16s, AK47s, Glocks and Brownings that were immune to the EMP pulse. The lack of crowds made my journey across quicker but it left me feeling exposed and that was one sensation that I didn't fucking like.

I flashed my pass at the first checkpoint, switched off all my electronic gear and a quick mouth swab proved I was clear of any STDs - the island is also renowned for being clear of disease. I made my way past the 'Welcoming Committee' of kids handing out flyers and business cards of the various whores to be found on the island, many of which offered various discounts and the like, yet they all eventually answered to one man, the Pimp Tour de Force, the mysterious Mr Mute.

Walking through the streets of Reström brought back the memories thick and fast, none of them happy, until I reached A Avenue and a wry smile spread across my face. I felt ten years younger, the weight of a shit world yet to settle on my shoulders and then I saw her up ahead looking almost the same - if you discounted the battle between time and plastic surgery.

Zee looked up and saw me striding down the street towards her and I could tell that my appearance had finally allowed her to relax. My eyes scanned the buildings around us searching for any signs of ill-paced movement and my hand subconsciously fell upon my gun, but there didn't seem to be anything out of place. Zee remained rooted to the spot and made me walk right up to her, same ole Zee, never compromises. I was about to comment on how great she looked, but I never got the chance because she slapped me hard across the face.

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