I was about half way through replacing the micro servers in a fascinating Mk. 4 Militec construction series cybernetic arm that was at least 3 generations old, practically an antique. I’d found it broken in a dumpster this morning.

Suddenly, a cold steel hand roughly grabbed me by my unevenly cut brown hair and dragged me off my stool. Liam, the hand’s owner, pulled me out into the garbage strewn alley and threw me into the concrete wall on the other side. Looking up I saw him drop the tuft of hair he’d pulled from my scalp. His face was twisted in fury.

He screamed at me, “You dumb motherfucker! You missed the goddamn job!”

Stalking over to me he drove a sloppy uppercut into my belly. I tried to block it somewhat, but he was a chromed up 13 year old and I was a skinny, entirely ganic 8 year old, so my attempts meant nothing.

I folded over and crumpled to the ground. As I lay in the damp fetid garbage gasping for breath, he continued with a disgusted tone, “All because you were too busy playing with another shiny piece of worthless chrome.”

He kicked me in the ribs with a heavy steel toe punk boot and I curled into a ball. The sounds of Joytoys plying their trade, pachinko machines ringing, and myriad conversations trickled in creating a familiar background cacophony of vice and degeneracy — the sounds of a world indifferent to my pain.

“You fucking knew we needed this! We all need food for fucks sake! Aiden needs that fucking kidney implant replaced so he’ll stop pissing blood. Zoe needs some goddamn medicine for her little brother. But noooo… That's not what happened today, is it? Because you weren’t there Niko. And, Aiden, the desperate scophead, decided to try to get through the security on the car on his own and guess what happened.”

He kicked me again. In the same spot. I felt something crack.

“Aiden fucked up and the badges got called. Three of us were caught, including my fucking brother!”

He stomped on my ankle. I cried out in pain as I heard it crunch.

“Now, we all have to move before the cops get them to talk. We’ve got to leave this prime spot behind and find somewhere new to claim.”

I heard him crouch down next to me followed by the snick of a knife being opened.

He spoke softly, his voice trembling slightly, “All because of you. If you’d just shown up and helped us klep that corpo kid’s ride, we would have been secure for the next month. Muamar said he’d give us more jobs if everything went smooth. This was our one chance and you screwed it.”

He grabbed the back of my head firmly with his chrome hand and forcefully turned my head so he could look me in the eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see light reflect off the knife in his other hand. He reeked with the acrid chemical tang of stims. His pupils were huge and his forehead covered in sweat.

“You’ve forgotten to show up for shit a bunch of times but I’ve forgiven you because of your skills and that big fucking brain of yours. But not this time. If you can’t be trusted to show up when you’re really needed… then what fucking use are you?”

At that he brought the knife into full view and positioned it over my right eye.

“I’m going to give you something to remember us by. Something for my brother who I might never see again. You are never going to forget the Rats.”

He cut through my eyelid and into my eye. I screamed. Then he dragged the blade down all the way to my chin, leaving a deep wound. His iron grip left me helpless. No matter how much I screamed and struggled he was unmoved. I blacked out for a moment, then when I came to it was over. I heard him clomp away. I lay in the rain soaked trash sobbing and cradling my mutilated face.

I heard the other kids exit the soon to be abandoned home in a stream. They grunted as they walked. Anything they couldn’t carry with them was being left behind. Some of the youngest cried as they were forced to leave. Everyone just ignored me as they walked past.

My blood slowly leaked into a nearby puddle. It mixed with the rainbow swirls of oil that pooled atop it. Neon lights from streetside advertisements shone into the dark alleyway. They dimly illuminated my dirty blood soaked form. Absently I watched a Mr. Studd ad play out in the reflection from the puddle. It was distorted and off-coloured.

I eventually pulled myself together well enough to try to get to my feet. It didn’t go great. My right ankle couldn’t hold my weight. The sharp pain when I tried left me gasping for air and slumped against the alley wall. Fuck. Putting as little weight as possible onto my ankle, I limped back into the evacuated hideout. Belongings and trash were scattered across the concrete floor. In the small darkened rooms that I passed, dirty mattresses were illuminated by the flickering fluorescent lights in the hallway. Dripping blood, I left a trail behind me on the dirty concrete.

When I made it to the room I’d shared, I found the Militech construction series arm I’d been working on smashed into pieces on the floor. Looking over to where the backpack containing my belongings had laid, I saw it was open and laying flat on the ground. There was nothing left inside to keep the fabric from collapsing in on itself. It reminded me of flattened roadkill.

I haltingly staggered and limped over to where my chair had fallen over when Liam had grabbed me. With effort I righted it and collapsed onto it with relief. I pulled off my dirty blood soaked t-shirt and pressed it against my face. I’d seen some of the older kids doing something similar when they got hurt on a job. Maybe it would help with the bleeding. Sounds were muffled and I thought I might throw up. My head felt fuzzy and nothing seemed quite real.

I needed to get my hidden stash and get out of here before the badges arrived. I didn’t really know what would happen if they caught me, but I did know that I’d never seen any kids they’d taken come back. My tools were still there. I grabbed a screwdriver with the hand not holding the shirt to my face and carefully crawled under the desk. My ribs protested, but they were the least painful injury and I needed to move. I gingerly removed several screws holding a panel to the underside of the desk. I’d added it a while back when Liam upped the amount of drugs he was using. He’d started stealing from people, including me.

When I removed the last screw the panel fell to the floor with a clang. I flinched at the sudden noise even though I expected it. From inside the hollow metal desk I pulled out a couple hundred eddies I’d managed to squirrel away, an old external cyberdeck, and, most importantly for right now, some emergency medicine and drugs. It used to be that if someone got hurt the gang would give them some ‘Dorph and a MaxDoc. Or, if the gang was going to pull a job that would involve a fight, everyone would get some stims or even Black Lace if they were lucky. That had stopped a while back when Liam really got hooked on stims.

I had to be careful if I was going to use any. If I took too much I’d OD. I’d seen it happen to kids my age often enough. The inhalers weren’t made for children. I’d not really used drugs before, but I’d seen what it could do to people. Some couldn’t stop. For the girls, that usually meant ending up leashed to pimp that would supply them. For guys, that normally led to stealing, violence, isolation, and usually death in one way or another. On the other hand, I’d also seen people on the right combination of drugs stay up for three days straight and walk on broken limbs.

Stolen story; please report.

First I grabbed the nearly full MaxDoc and took a hit. The itching started immediately in my face, ribs and ankle. Quickly, I grabbed the mostly empty ‘Dorph inhaler and tried to just breathe in half a hit, but immediately knew I’d probably taken too much. The pain disappeared and I felt amazing, like everything was going to be okay. The itching no longer bothered me. My shock, fear and pain disappeared and I felt ready to go. On the other hand, my heart was racing and my hands were twitching. I’d definitely taken too much, but thankfully ‘Dorph was pretty hard to OD on. Even so, if I’d taken a full hit I knew I’d be having a seizure right now.

I’d initially hesitated, but with the ‘Dorph running through me, I decided to pull out the last item from inside the desk: an old Militech Ticon tech pistol. The thing was beat to hell. When I found it, the battery wasn't charging the capacitors correctly and it wouldn't fire. It ended up being simple to fix. Turned out the battery was damaged. Somehow, the outer casing had been hit hard enough to bend and damage it. That was impressive, considering Ticons are notoriously hard to damage. I ended up scavenging a battery from a completely destroyed M-76e Omaha. The different battery didn't connect quite right, so the output for uncharged shots was reduced. That was probably a good thing since I doubted I could handle the normal recoil.

I pulled the shirt away from my face. The MaxDoc had stopped the bleeding. I had no idea how my other injuries were faring, but I could deal with them later. I wasn’t bleeding anymore and could move without pain. That was enough for now. I needed to get out of there.

I wrapped up the money, drugs and gun in my bloody shirt and crawled out from under the desk. Standing up, my ankle felt a bit unsteady, but no pain. That was good enough for me. I dumped everything into my ransacked backpack and scrounged for some clothes. No one had touched the mostly clean clothes I’d left under my mattress. Those went on top of the money and drugs. I left the Ticon on top of everything for easy access. It was fully loaded.

I pulled on an only slightly dirty gray t-shirt and a ragged green jacket someone had left behind. Carrying my backpack, I started to leave, only to stop and remember my tools. Looking back, I couldn’t leave them. I hurried over to my desk and threw the most essential and difficult to replace into my bag. Rushing now, I zipped up my bag and started half jogging out of the hideout. My ankle rolled and I felt something shift. It didn’t hurt, but that probably wasn’t good. The lack of pain had made me careless. Limping now, I moved as fast as I could without causing any further damage.

I’d left the hideout and was just stepping out of the alley, when I heard the first drone incoming. I tried to blend into the crowd, but it wasn’t easy. I was clearly injured and there weren’t many kids on the streets. There never were. After about a block and a half I let out a breath of relief. It looked like I was probably in the clear. I kept limping along, looking for somewhere I could hide and maybe make a temporary home. Or, at least somewhere I could rest and try to recover.

Reaching up to my face, I confirmed that I couldn’t see out of my right eye. Absolutely nothing. God damn it! Fuck! I started quietly crying again, despite the drugs. It was all just too much, too fast.

If only I’d actually shown up for the op. Fuck! I didn’t miss it on purpose! I fucking try to remember things! I just get distracted!

It started raining. I quickly found out that the jacket I’d taken wasn’t waterproof. Within minutes, my clothes became heavy with water and clung uncomfortably to my skin. I needed a place to rest, recover and think and I needed it soon.

I can’t keep going for much longer. I’m tired and the ‘Dorph will only keep me going for so long.

I turned off the busy street to look for an abandoned building with a minimum number of squatters. The city smelled like wet concrete and garbage with a pervasive undertone of caustic chemical pollution and exhaust. Every spot I found was crammed with reality junkies, dorphheads, and desperate JoyToys. Eventually, I spotted two guys sheltered from the rain in a corner where an overpass met the street. I knew they wouldn’t let me join them, but I was tired and absolutely done with this day. One was asleep. The other was sitting on a crate twitching and talking to himself.

Fuck it.

I walked up to him.

“He, he, he told me that it would work. It was going to work. It was going to work. The mayor said so. If I just helped MaxTac they were going to give me it. Yes! Yes, of course, of course.”

He giggled.

I was standing in front of him but he didn’t seem to notice. He was thin to the point of emaciation and his body odor could be smelled from ten feet away.

Cautiously, I said, “Hey choom, can I crash…”

Suddenly, he stopped giggling and reached behind the crate, pulled out Budget Arms Slaught-O-Matic and shoved it in my face. The hand holding the gun twitched wildly.

He yelled, spittle flying everywhere, “YOU’RE NOT TAKING IT! IT’S MINE! YOU’RE NOT TRICKING ME AGAIN!”

I held my hands up and backed away slowly. He forgot about me as soon as I was maybe 15 feet back. There weren’t many people around and those that were didn’t care.

“See, I told you they’d come for me. I told you…”

I couldn’t hear the rest. The guy on the mattress barely stirred, clearly drugged to the gills. I thought about the gun in my backpack.

I can’t keep looking for a place to rest. Maybe I should just take it. People just take and take from me. The fuckers in the gang never cut me in on the take from any of the jobs. I was just “paying my dues” whatever that means. People steal and hurt each other all the time. Why should I always be the one getting hurt and stolen from. Why shouldn’t I just take what I want?

I moved around the corner of a nearby building into an alley and pulled out my iron. The grip was a bit too big for me, but if I held it with two hands I could reach the trigger and hold it steady. I put on my backpack and walked back out holding the gun. There was a dumpster I could hide behind about 15 feet from the two men. The mumbling man didn’t notice me as I peered around the corner of the dumpster. I didn’t know anything about correct form, but I’d played with pretend guns and I’d seen people shoot before. Carefully, I lined up the iron sights using my one good eye. I aimed at the center of his body and pulled the trigger.

A three round burst fired. The first two hit and the third flew high. Recoil had forced the barrel up. The man fell off the crate screaming. I was surprised. The sound of the gun was much quieter than I expected. I moved out from behind the dumpster and walked a few paces closer. Ready for the recoil this time, I shot another three round burst into the screaming man. He stopped screaming. The guy on the mattress was stirring. I walked up to him. He was blinking blearily and reaching for something out of sight. I was close enough now that I didn’t really need to aim. I fired two bursts into him in quick succession. He stopped moving. It was over.

Moving the bodies was a pain. Literally. Even if they were skeletally thin, they were still damn heavy to me, especially with my injuries. Eventually, I got them in front of the dumpster. That was all I could do. There was no way I was going to try to get them in and I was exhausted anyway. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide them or anything. Nobody cared if some random homeless nobodies killed each other.

I painfully limped back over to the mattress. The ‘Dorph was wearing off and the pain from my injuries was coming back. It wasn’t nearly as bad as before I used the MaxDoc thankfully. I looked down at the mattress in exhausted exasperation and weary disgust. It was soaked with the blood of the man I’d killed. Next to it I found a rusty chef’s knife the man had been reaching for. I left that next to my bag for now.

After struggling for a few minutes, I managed to flip the mattress over. Thankfully, only a bit of blood had seeped through to the other side. Soaked to the bone, shivering and exhausted, I crawled sluggishly onto the mattress. I reeked of wet garbage, blood, and the body odor and evacuated bowels of the dead men I’d dragged. Holding my iron tightly, weariness overcame the pain and discomfort. A discordant melody of occasional gunshots, vehicles moving above me, and the gentle patter of rain accompanied me into a fitful sleep.