Kod was hoping to see more odd things at the party, but it didn't happen. In the eye of the public, everyone was snow white. They had principles by which they stood firmly, great ideals and the math of their expenses always added up spot-on. Of course. Everyone was beautiful and perfect.
The other other Unionized Mercenaries consisted of one Mercenary rank and one Senior rank. The three didn't know each other. As such, they wandered around the premises, looking like they were constantly watching out for the bad guys when the chances of someone trying to ruin the party were worse than those of winning the lottery jackpot.
Towards the end of the party, Mr. Calista passed by and handed him a piece of paper.
There was a street address written on it. The escort agency.
"Tell me which one you get." The businessman whispered to him. "I wanna see the lucky winner!"
"I'll do that. Thanks."
The party came to a close. Kod confirmed the completion of the job with the UM dispatcher and headed home.
He used the net to find out where that address led to. Of course, it had to be in a shabby corner of the northwestern part of the city. That didn't surprise him much.
The district was a mixed bag: black market traders were at home on those streets, and Unionized Mercenaries bought military grade stuff from them for cheap. When it wasn't that, it was stolen computers, parts or whatever else satisfied quickly and efficiently. One could draw a perimeter around four streets and call that area Pleasure Square.
The next evening, he set out for that address.
Almost everyone stared at the truck. Traders rubbed their hands in anticipation. A UM member that important was bound to buy expensive equipment.
Instead, Kod parked himself and walked straight into a tiny, empty restaurant.
There was a greasy fat man behind the counter.
"Can I get ya somethin'?"
Kod looked at his paper. "Sorry, I must've had the wrong address."
"Lemme see your paper."
The man gave the handwriting a good look... "Uh-huh... I know that guy. Came here not too long ago, said he liked the food a lot. Want to have what he's having?"
"Hmmm, let's go with that."
"All right. Follow me into the freezer. You get to choose which cut."
The room marked 'freezer' was nothing more than an office full of binders. The fat man picked one up and handed it to Kod.
"Your call, good sir..."
Kod opened the binder. It was full of pictures: men, women, from age seven to seventy-seven, some normal, some mutated beyond recognition.
He whistled. "Where do you find all these guys?"
"Oh, the streets, the neighborhood... I don't even have everything in my binders. If you have anything special in mind, you can talk to me about it. I might be able to find ya somethin'."
Kod hesitated. So far, nothing pointed towards the Department. Perhaps all those people had really been found on the street. At least, without evidence, that was the truth until proven otherwise.
He looked like he was still flipping through the binder, but his mind was set on possibilities. Buying a slave like that wouldn't help - it might even incriminate him. At least he had the address of the agency; an entry door in case he changed his mind and needed to go deeper if the need arose.
No. The one who would provide the most information would be Mr. Calista. The businessman was blissfully ignorant; he was proud of his newest acquisition and would seize the opportunity to show her off and talk about her in the most minute details. If there was information to catch, it would be from him.
For now, he smiled at the fat man and gave him back the binder. "I'll think about it. Too many beautiful ones in there. I'll have to make a choice."
The fat man gave him a vicious smirk and nodded. "I understand ya. Hope to see you back again. And remember: if nothing suits you, I'm sure we can arrange something."
"Yes, I know. Take care."
He gave himself a cheery face before exiting the place. To everyone else, he'd look like his searched had proved fruitful.
As soon as he had closed the door of his truck, he shuddered in disgust. A bad taste filled his mouth as he thought of one item in particular. "Who the hell likes those kinda things?" he thought.
Now, he needed an excuse to see Mr. Calista again. A look into his record gave him an easy way in: the guy had given him a bonus on his job reward.
He didn't let Yowa know of his concerns. She was always busy with other jobs, and he didn't want to trouble her with the sordid affairs of those perverted businessmen. Making someone worry about you was hardly the way to keep a cool head.
He still had the address of Mr. Calista's home. It was the weekend - the man ought to be home.
He rang. This time, the man in person answered him.
"Well hey, if it isn't my bodyguard! How are ya today, Mr. Naïnsev?"
"I'm all right, sir. I was just passing by and wanted to say thank you for the generous reward. I don't come across these often in my hard work."
"Ah, don't sweat it. It's only fair. You're gonna come in for a little drink, right?"
"Well! I can't refuse, coming from you."
They sat down in the same luxurious room as the first time he had seen him. The catgirl was waiting, this time wearing a slightly more conservative outfit - although 'slightly' was a weak word and everything was relative.
"How can I please you, good sirs?" She said once the two men had gotten comfortable.
"I'll have a Danileta. What about you Mr. Naïnsev?
"Same thing, please."
He glanced at the girl as she walked away. She had a natural sway of the hips, coupled with a swish of the tail and an ass to die for. Truly a work of art...
The seducing didn't stop there. She had a natural penchant for lewdness, the way she stuck out her butt as she served the sweet, almond-flavored drink to the businessman and the way she gave Kod a free view into her neckline as she served him. With the drinks poured, she retreated out of plain sight, in a corner of the room, and sat down.
"What's her name?" Kod asked.
"Ah, I called that little kitty Rina. It's Apanian for 'sunshine'. Knew that?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, hey! What about you? Did you go to the place I told you about?"
"Yep."
"And...?"
Kod chuckled. "I'm a simple man with simple needs: blonde, stupid and with huge knockers."
Calista let out a fat, roaring laugh. "Ain't it so! Playing it safe on that one, huh?"
"Pretty much. What else could have I gotten?"
"Oh, anything, my good friend, anything! It's not like you can just go out into the street and go 'oh! A homeless girl! Let's bring her in and cuddle her!' Doesn't work that way."
"So what? Custom-made people? There's a factory and they assemble them?"
Calista laughed again. "Not so far from the truth, actually! See, science is pretty strong nowadays. Talk to any geneticist and he can whip out any kind of thing in a flash. You want a creature with five eyes, purple skin and two left hands? No problem! That's how good we are at the stuff!"
Kod forced his eyes to widen. "Anything?"
"Anything! You have my word on it. Got doubts about the stupid blonde, now?"
"No, no; it's just that I didn't believe they could push possibilities that far."
Calista smiled. "What, the pictures hadn't proved it already?"
"Oh, to be honest, the pictures looked more like some post-nuclear offspring than anything else. I stand by the principle that I'll never kiss a thing where I can't make out the face from the ass."
This caused Calista to let out a roaring laugh again. "Well put! I like how you look at the technology's potential. You see it as something that can bring harmony and grace, while protestors do nothing but bitch about 'oh, so-and-so wanted a treatment and instead he got this-or-that side effect, wah, wah!' They never talk about research that does go right."
"Well, does research do go right all the time?"
"No, no. Let's be realistic: most live experiments have no results at all. The labcoats try a treatment and nothing happens whatsoever and they just tell themselves better luck next time. The only cases of adverse mutation I've heard about were few and far in-between, but you know how the press goes. When it involves a man, then it's the story of the century. In the meantime, we could skin a cat alive in front a camera and they wouldn't say a thing though. Go figure!"
"Have you tried?"
Another laugh. "No, never! It's tempting but I love cats way too much to even dare to do that. No, seriously, they're professionals. They measure their stuff before putting it into practice. That's what professionals do."
Kod nodded. "I expected that much from the Department."
"Oh, absolutely!"
That was the turning point. Mr. Calista had implicitly acknowledged that the Department had a hand in creating the specialized mutants.
He smiled. Things were more fun now that he had a lead. "Have they got many clients."
Calista gravely nodded. "Some of the richer ones have two. And the richest have three or more! My house is a shack compared to what successful businessmen do nowadays. Imagine the young type, dark-haired and fair-skinned, smiling broadly and driving the latest in luxury cars. One of those guys could buy himself a harem if he felt like it. It's a good industry. The Department finds the poor and homeless, pretty 'em up a bit, and then sends 'em off on a new life in the high society, all this while getting paid for it. Win-win, I say!"
Now, this time, the man wasn't telling all the truth. He was shadowing some of the nastier parts. Kod remembered some people on photos who were hardly prettied-up. They were monsters, made to satisfy the most vile of perversions.
He didn't let that concern show; he simply nodded. The conversation had stretched long enough.
"Well, Mr. Calista, I'd better continue on my day. I've got some work ahead of me at the office. Let's have lunch some time, all right?"
"No problem, no problem! Enjoy your day, and I hope you enjoy your girl as much as I do!"
Kod laughed. "Yep! And thanks for the drink!"
The incriminating evidence was all in his breast pocket: a microphone, a recorder and a digital card were enough to perform the job adequately.
Happy, he pondered a best-case scenario: he uncovers massive corruption and sex slavery inside the political party, manages to discredit an entire governmental division and becomes the reference for aspiring leaders. Impeccable, perfect, and thus impossible.
Naturally, someone would, sooner or later, get word of his curiosity and start raising hell. That'd only make the adventure more challenging.
He was disgusted at the whole story. The politicians hardly sounded human on the television; now, they had taken another step further away. They fed their own stereotype: fat, lousy, greedy, perverted little beasts. And to top it all off, they had a shop right next door where they could get any and all of their pleasures fulfilled. What had the world come to?
Just who started?... Did people request it? Or did the Department start making them and offer a temptation?
Let's think logically. Chances were that someone had made a mutant for himself. And through word of mouth, the phenomenon had spread over to the rest of the Department, followed by anything and anyone close to it. With his new position as Section Lead, he was like a politician himself. He spoke more than he fought, and managed more than he planned. The battles he fought were of wit and words. Not to say he wasn't skilled at the practice, but he'd rather be doing something else - anything else. It was too easy to get sick of the work halfway through.
Perhaps he should call Yowa and schedule a little break.