Silence dripped off the ceiling like the condesate did in the wintertime, with the echoes deadened by the growth of engineered fungus that lined the ceiling far above. The machinery below makes soft sounds, which are dampened, as well as masking conversation of technicians, programmers, maintenance entities and other creatures of the pit.

Sinthia walked along the path marked with blood and traces of oil splatters. Her right hand gripped the Butt of the Kalishnasmith Autorepeater 3200 tightly. Not wanting to drop it. Her flexsteel soled boots with Velgrip toes and heels making no sounds on the rusted steel flooring over the factory pit. The stench of decomposing recycled crude rose in noxious waves from the floor hundreds of feet below the platform she was on. Stalking a murderer to take her vengeance, here many lives away from home.

The matte flat coat and pants slithered on her body. Reacting to the muscle play as well as the stop and go nature of a stalk. The hair tie kept her long single black braid, shot with some gray, pulled back from her eyes. Always ready to expand out in a fan over the curve of her skull at the sound of weapon fire providing as much protection as it could. The entire clothing ensemble was intelligent, working to safeguard their bearer and do what they could in her quest. Along with her car, other transportation, weapons working together to hold her together in the Transhumanistic universe.

The long years of searching are almost over. The agony of the hunt, alterations to flesh and lives of herself and others to continue the chase. Things given away, not always freely, no longer missed with the murderer almost in sight. The death of her family about to be revenged on the one creature that took their lives in an orgy of violence and blood.

“Remember” she whispers to herself. “Remember their faces when it begs for mercy.”

Her optical mods flicker into life. There are interference patterns running. Heat sources creating a wall blocking thermal imaging. The light is indistinct up here above where the lamps are suspending. The scant light is more reflection of flames used to smelter raw materials as a part of the creation process. Her left hand slides down to her blade, activating the homing feature as well as the stored poison reservoir. Not even certain if her prey is still human, she no longer completely one herself.

The coat stiffens slightly, sensing some movement close to her location. The footing underneath is not steady. The platform is secure, but the shoes dislike the rust flakes and old oil that covers it. Makes them want to clean off the surface so they don’t have to worry about their grip. Partially polarizing the Velgrip toes to dig into the much a smattering more.

The pistol is ready. It estimates it has not been fired in over 172,800 seconds, since just after landfall, and it knows it is ready to take out the target. The optics are online, the passive targeting engaged to preclude premature countermeasures against its payload. Loaded with dumb projectiles, all depends on rate of fire and tracking of point of impact instead of intelligent loads that are fire and forget.

Sinthia’s eyes finally locate a target of interest. Located about 15 stock meters over and partially covered with local garbage. The overall shape matches the HUD data on the murderer that had escaped from prison and in the course of fleeing had slaughtered her family. Downloading the information to the rest of her accessories, and with the neurochemicals firing showing that Sinthia had seen it also.

“Lets do this kids.” She subvocalized. No reaction from the figure, perhaps the fungus and noise drowned them out well enough. Down into a crouch, moving close enough for a positive visual identification before gunning down the monster.

It takes her several minutes to make her way over there. More gases rising invisibly almost activate her gag reflex. Only practice and the anticipation of revenge kept her from coughing. Closer and closer she got. Within 7 meters, then down to 5 meters, all articles of her ensemble are prepped for the fight or flight response. The range is down to 3 meters and the pistol tells her optics it is ready and requests permission to open fire. Sinthia keeps her finger off the trigger, withholding permission and then the distance is down to a single meter. The trash is easy to see now. A red brown glow is coming up out of the large man sized pile. There is a single boot sticking out from underneath some slimy plastic piping.

Taking a few steps back, finding a long pipe of some kind, donning the gloves onto her left hand, the knife left alone in its sheath, Sinthia uses it to push aside the trash. Piles of clothing, decaying paper, as well as insects scurry out. There is a body there. It used to be male. Obviously deceased based on the condition of the evisceration of the torso and the shredding of the throat. It is not her target, but the boots belong to the target. Meaning it is right there. Lighting up the electronics for an active search she spins in place as the pistol shrieks out an electronic warning of something dropping from the ceiling area.

Tripping backwards over her own feet she sees it falling down towards her. About 10 meters up still and she slides her finger over the trigger. As her body falls onto the flooring the coat takes over, the fibers in it stiffening for protection as well as moving her arm up to where the pistol will get a shot off. The optics are feeding in the time of flight and designated impact point as the metallic body is only moments away from crashing onto the same platform but a few feet away, closer to the other victim.

The pistol gets a targeting solution, the coat has it dead on and the rounds are released from the Kalishnasmith in a torrent of Teflon coated titanium barbs. With no minds in the rounds the half thing, half automaton cannot distract the rounds as dozens of them impact within an inch diameter location. They punch into the soft flesh below and begin to richochet inside even as it lands claws first onto the platform and the programming in the legs and arms propel it into a body slamming attack.

Flesh dead before the muscles took over the no uncontrolled body still moves in a leap with the arms extended out with claws ready to slash Sinthia into bite sized pieces. The coat slides a reinforced sleeve up to cover her face while the hair tie fans over her skull protecting the soft brain tissue.

Sinthia feels the dead thing collapse on top of her. A parody of life while the arms twitch in the last attack sequence but without lungs pumping, artificial heart beating, limbic system decimated the arms have no strength and it is suddenly limp and dead on top of her. Blood and oil leaking out of the entrance wound and making her body slick.

Disgust rises up and she violently heaves her stomach contents out. Scrabbling to get out from under the dead she shudders and finally pushes it off her enough to get out from under a couple of hundred stock pounds of weight.

She stands up, and the coat runs a DNA match on the blood. Success is finally there. After years of looking, more than one planet searched, Sinthia, with help from her friends, has killed the serial murderer that escaped from custody and during that escape, had added her entire family to the long list of grieving relatives it left in its wake.

Time to leave this planet, time to find some place warm and safe to sit and cry the tears she has never let go of. Training, feedback programs, and a mission to do have all artificially held her grief at bay for long years. Now that it is over. She can find someplace to sit and relax in a warm sun and cry for her dead parents and siblings.

She makes her way down the many stories of stairs. Outside finally the ash and acid laden rains coming down from the leaden skies wash and etch away the biological evidence on her outfit. Her car sits there waiting for her to enter, to pull away from the curb in this back alley on a nameless world devoted to the factory and capitalism and take her to the port where she has booked transport for them all off this world and to some place idyllic for the healing to begin.