All’s Fair In War (Birth Of Heavy Metal Book 8) Read online

The low, deep thud of the music in the next room was less than conducive to the work ethic they liked to surround themselves with.

  Haynes and Haynes was a law firm that specialized in corporate law and defended and protected some of the largest corporations in New York. Sometimes, they worked to make sure the people involved in the companies were protected preemptively. This meant they specialized in anticipating possible lawsuits and preparing any company involved for the inevitable fallout. It was, in fact, how they made most of their money.

  Whenever anyone asked how they were able to get ahead of potential crises like that, merely saying it was common fucking sense wasn’t really good business acumen. Instead, the partners always told their clients there was a whole methodology involved. At that point, they talked about how there was a computer algorithm that allowed them to read contracts and the like and anticipate any kind of problems that might arise from the available paperwork based on state and federal laws, as well as legal precedent. People in upper-management positions loved being told there was an algorithm involved.

  And, in fairness, the partners weren't completely bullshitting their clients. There were computers that were almost entirely dedicated to the job of anticipating problems and suggesting solutions beforehand. The fact that the people working on those computers were the ones who were actually in charge of keeping their clients safe from a legal perspective was irrelevant. The clients were happy to know that computers guarded them from lawsuits, and it was simply good business sense to let them think that and not burden them with the semantics of it.

  There were upsides to this, of course. It gave them a unique marketing pitch to toss to their team that ran that side of things. They could thus ensure there were people intrigued by a trademarked algorithm and could then keep them there with their almost impeccable record. It wasn't the most honest of business strategies, perhaps, but as long as what they called their desk specialists were happy to be paid well above the market average for their computer science degrees, they were willing to not be involved in the marketing process at all.

  The downside, of course, were the parties. Not that big a downside, Brian Haynes had to admit—but then, as he sat and watched the year-end party they currently enjoyed, not a small one either. These events were supposed to boost morale and to some extent, it served its purpose. But a solid half of the company were the kind of people whose morale would be better boosted if they were at home and enjoying their bonuses in their own safe spaces, and that kind of took the wind out of the sails. Brian had suggested that the other partners invest in another way to boost the morale of their team. They had listened but had responded that they would wait until after this last party to see what the best alternative would be.

  He did enjoy his vindication, in this case, and took care not to seem smug. At the same time, he was stuck at a celebration where half of those present did not want to attend, and he quickly found himself included in those numbers. These people had worked hard all year, and they all deserved to be invited to an event that would be their kind of party, no matter what tastes they had. Of course, Haynes and Haynes could not provide everyone with what they wanted but still, they could make an effort.

  On this occasion, a large buffet of expensive food had been provided at a house party that occupied the penthouse of a building not two blocks from where the company held their offices. The group of thirty or so were treated to the best of food and an open bar, as well as a professional DJ who played music for the dance floor. All this lavish indulgence took place against a backdrop of a fantastic view of the New York City skyline.

  To most groups, that would be enough to raise their spirits and make sure they were more than happy to keep up the hard work they'd delivered all year. Of course, it had the subtle purpose to ensure that they knew how much money they had made for the company, how much money they were making, and the nature of the very exclusive club they were now a part of.

  The results were less than inspiring, of course. Half of the group were more than happy to enjoy all the benefits provided to them, indulged excessively in the open bar, and took to the dance floor with gusto they probably shouldn't have, considering their lack of skill. Still, he couldn't fault them for their enthusiasm.

  The other half had enjoyed the food, of course, and partook in the drink to a point, but they weren't a fan of the loud, thud-thudding pop music remixes their DJ provided for them. For the first hour or so of the festivities, they stood around a little awkwardly, checked their phones, and obviously waited until it was an appropriate time for them to simply leave.

  Brian talked to a couple of them and listened to their complaints as well as their suggestions for what would make this party more worthwhile and enjoyable for them. One suggestion in particular piqued his attention, and it wasn't long before a couple of massive TVs arrived, brought with some of the highest-end consoles. There was an option for a couple of the newer VR rigs, but that was ridiculously expensive.

  Still, his efforts were appreciated. As it turned out, those people who spent most of their time working in front of a screen spent much of their free time in front of a screen as well. The games presented were some of the new game releases—one of which was based in the quasi-mythical Zoo, a possibly alien jungle that had sprouted out of the Sahara Desert.

  It provided the options to play either alongside a group of other players—either present in the room or over the internet—to kill wave after wave of the Zoo monsters that Brian could only imagine were the fruits of the imagination of the game developers. Or players could instead team up with others to fight against other teams for the control of various points of the jungle maps. It looked fun and energetic, and it certainly made sure that those who were interested in the game enjoyed themselves while those who weren't interested could keep to the music, food, and drink.

  There was a reason why Brian Haynes was one of the senior partners of the firm, and it wasn't only because his father and uncle were the founders of Haynes and Haynes. It was because he knew how to manage his people and keep them happy and well-paid since that was the best way to make sure they kept the proverbial wheels of the company well-oiled and running smoothly. They were all in this together, after all, and while he did make a good deal more than his employees, he wanted to ensure that it could never be said that he simply rode on the laurels of his parentage.

  He sighed softly, shook his head, and moved to the other side of the penthouse, where the massive TVs displayed unbelievable amounts of violence against both the monsters of the Zoo and other people in the game. Brian narrowed his eyes as one of the suited characters in the game attacked with a sword instead of the assault rifles most of the other players used. This drew considerable complaints from the other players online about how quick it was to kill someone with the blade. It took a single slash with the weapon but required three or four shots from the firearms to do the same.

  "I'm not saying that it's not overpowered," one of his employees—whom he recognized as Freddie Encarnacion—said. "But when you think about it, the need to come in closer and close the distance, all while being shot at, levels it out. I think so, anyway."

  Brian realized that both the TVs had been assigned, one to what they called PVE—which he assumed meant Player versus Environment—while the other had been reserved for the people who wanted PVP, or Player versus Player. They seemed to be organized about it, and while there weren't enough controls for all the people present, those who waited their turn sat in another corner and watched something on their phones. They projected the images on the nearby walls, which enabled them all to watch in relative comfort although with iffy quality.

  Surprise of surprises, of course, was the fact that they watched videos about the Zoo.

  "Come on," one of their programmers protested and shook her head in disbelief. "Okay, I understand that they are actually bringing some of the animals from the Zoo into the games to give it some modicum of grounding in reality. But when you really think about it, the monsters that are actually in the jungle are much crazier than basically anything the devs might be able to think of, so why not simply use more of the Zoo monsters instead of creating their own?"

  Another programmer nearby shrugged. "I don't know. They put two games out a year, plus all the expansion packs and DLCs, so when you actually come down to it, they'll run out of creatures to use eventually. Either they are pacing themselves and only use a handful of the real ones and make the rest of them up so they have some left for future games, or... I don't know, they simply want to use their creativity when they make these games, which isn't that bad when you look at it that way. They come up with some original content, you know?"

  "Fair enough, if you can call it creative," the woman—whose name Brian couldn't remember for the life of him—spoke again. "But look at the new ravagers—all I see is a massive lawsuit coming from James Cameron, that's all I'm saying."

  "That's obviously homage to the Alien movies." Her colleague laughed. "It could not be more obvious. It's an alien jungle, so of course you have to have xenomorphs and face-huggers. It's almost incomplete without them."

  "I understand homage, which is why I'm still waiting for a predator race to jump into the current meta." She chuckled. "But...come on. When you have monsters like that one”—she gestured at the video—"you really don't need to spend all that much time being creative. Simply bring that one and you're good for a while, right?"

  Brian's gaze drifted to the screen and he lost focus on the conversation. It was important to listen to what his employees said, but he felt a little context was needed in this particular situation.

  From what he understood, they watched a video from the content streamer called ZooTube that dealt almost exclusively in content from or related to the
location in question. It had started out as a quick and efficient way for researchers to share the footage they'd collected inside the jungle, but it quickly gained traction with the people who were curious about exactly what was happening inside there.

  It wasn't long before the actual content from inside the Zoo was joined by streams of games based on it, along with a handful of original films and TV series. The market was definitely growing and one of the most popular channels on the site was called Heavy Metal, based on a merc group of the same name that worked from the American Staging Area.

  Haynes hated the fact that he knew so much about them—only due to the fact that he'd worked on paperwork for one of the gaming companies that needed access to some of the intellectual property that came from the Heavy Metal team. There was still considerable speculation around who actually owned the channel since the footage that was used was usually from five or six different perspectives. There were names involved, but he couldn't recall too much about them.

  The monster currently under discussion was, of course, a doozy. It was huge and fleshy, with a seemingly limitless number of mouths filled with terrifyingly sharp teeth and hundreds of tentacles that sprouted from its body.

  "Okay, how the hell do you think they can incorporate a critter like that in Hellgate 4?" the second programmer asked, leaned back, and folded his arms. He glanced up and startled when he saw Brian. "Oh—hey, boss. Great party, huh?"

  "You tell me." He chuckled. "I'm only the host. You guys need to have fun for me to have fun. So…uh, you are all fans of this stuff, huh?"

  "Yeah," the first said quickly and firmly. "Honestly, even having possible aliens among us is exciting, don't you think?"

  "Well, the concept is, sure," he said cautiously. "The reality? I’d have to say, no thanks. I have something of a queasy stomach and I’m not really one for violence either. How—how are they operating that Hammerhead?"

  His eyes were on a trio of vehicles that had been modified to work with weapons and a variety of other defenses, all of which helped the group in their efforts to fight back the attacking beasts. They coordinated well and worked as a team to keep the monsters at bay. From what he could tell, the weapons on the Hammerhead operated to keep the middle ground clear of the smaller creatures that tended to attack in swarms.

  "It looks like they might have one extra member of the team inside, running the weapons," the first programmer said and squinted to try to see more clearly.

  "If there are three, wouldn't they need three extra members inside?" Brian wondered. If he was ever so unlucky as to head into the Zoo himself, he would definitely make that particular responsibility his. Staying as far away from the action was priority number one.

  "Sure, three," the second programmer agreed. "But watch that shooting. Look at the way it picks off the larger monsters with rockets while it distracts them down low with the Gatling guns. That kind of coordination and precision isn't possible for humans, not even with machine help. That there is run by a computer. I'd even go so far as to say that's an AI. And yes, thinking about it, I’d even take that one step further and say it's a combat AI."

  "Aren't those still in development?" the woman asked.

  "Yes, they are," Brian grumbled under his breath, narrowed his eyes, and hastily made a mental note of and memorized the name of the video before he backed away and headed toward one of the bathrooms, his phone in hand. Once safely in a private place, he pressed one of the numbers he had on speed dial, pressed the device to his ear, and sighed in frustration when it began to ring.

  "Hi, Patrice?" he said and tried to fake a smile in his voice. "Could you connect me to Darren please? I have something here I think he needs to see."

  Chapter Three

  He definitely wouldn’t say that working for the Russian government was boring. It was certainly the best way to gain experience in the computer sciences field while also being paid for it. There were hundreds of companies who wanted people like him to work for them and eventually get paid, but all of the starting positions in those companies were unpaid internships. Beto Vasili was not the kind of guy who agreed to that kind of crap. He intended to be paid for his work.

  The FSB paid rather well, all things considered. They had offered him a job and basically acceded or were willing to compromise on his every request, knowing that most of the people with his credentials would be able to find work elsewhere without too much trouble—if they were willing to accept a whole other kind of crap. That said, once contracts were signed and he sat in his little cubicle, he'd found that accepting that kind of work always came with a more or less proportionate price.

  In this case, it was that they expected him to live up to the kind of money they paid him. They were willing to offer a salary that was competitive with the private sector for a starting-level position but in exchange, he had to give up most of his social life, virtually every kind of connection to his family, and thanks to the horde of Non-Disclosure Agreements they had made him sign, any ability to talk about his work. Some people might have found all of that irksome, but it worked out fairly well for him, though, given that he never had much time to talk to friends or family anyway.

  He ended up making friends with the people he worked with. They were operatives in name and rank, although the name made much more of the job than he thought it should. They sat around, processed communications, and made sure no one else listened in on what was said. It was, in essence, a desk jockey job, and they all reveled in it. They knew what they were doing, and that said, there were three or four volumes of protocols that told them how to do their job. The fact that it had been written by people whose last encounter with technology had been a typewriter was irrelevant. All it meant was there was more than enough time to sit around and do nothing while they kept their country safe.

  Most of that time was spent reading news articles and keeping up with the latest gaming streams, since they did have unfettered Internet access. They had all been around their work for long enough to be able to do it in their sleep—meaning they were now experts at multitasking.

  "Hey, Beto," his cubicle neighbor Artem called and pushed his desk chair out far enough that they could talk to each other face-to-face instead of over cubicle walls.

  "What's up, Ar?" he replied and pretended to have his eyes glued on the screen in front of him. "Can't you see I'm insanely busy... Hah, I couldn't even finish that with a straight face. What's up, buddy?"

  "I'm only here to make sure you are up to date with your viral video checklist," Artem said and imitated the gruff and somewhat nasal voice of their commanding officer. "Are you...up to date, Beto?"

  "That depends." He tried not to laugh at the almost perfect impression. "What kind of trouble would I be in if I wasn't? Will you spank me?"

  The man made a face. "Why do you have to make everything so uncomfortable, man? I know it's a joke, but come on, seriously."

  Beto rolled his eyes. "It's really not my fault you don't have a sense of humor, Ar. But seriously, you never come over here unless you have something juicy to share, so spill it. Now!"

  "Again with making things dirty and uncomfortable," his colleague protested.

  "How was that dirty?" he asked. It was true that most of his jokes ended up with something of a sexual nature, and even more so when Artem was around. The temptation was irresistible. The man had been raised in a very conservative home and any mention of sex or anything like it was bound to make him uncomfortable—most of the time. Not in this situation, though, but he was interested to find out the new and as of yet untapped ways in which he could make the man squirm.

  "Juicy," Artem explained. "Juicy is a word that brings to mind certain...things. And thoughts. And stuff."

  "Well, you know that I would never want any of those particular thoughts to enter your brain." He chuckled. "Come on, what video is it you wanted to show me?"

  "This one." The man pushed in quickly to enter a search into his computer and clicked the link that came up. It was a clip Beto had seen before, or so he thought. The grainy footage showed a car being pulled over as a couple of police officers stepped out of their vehicle and spoke into the radios they wore on their collars. One remained at the police car while the other advanced on the vehicle that had been stopped, his hand on the pistol that he still had holstered around his hip.