[II]

The rain had started to get scarce by the time my client left my bureau, leaving me behind, with thoughts and mood darker than the brooding clouds that viciously adorned the illuminated night sky, unable to take my eyes off of the hard paper, eyeing every single detail of it.

The colourless pixels were like a thousand little excited bees that stung my eyes in unison. I tried to keep my eyes open, a black coffee or three would never go amiss. Perhaps even something stronger. The night was young still.

It was after three cigarette sticks I finally decided to get started. Any other case, I'd take my time, but this wasn't a matter of luxury anymore, I had to get to the bottom of it. Taking my long coat, hat, keys and the old snub-nosed revolver, I opened my office doors to a cold wet night full of all kinds of things that could go wrong, misfortunate possibilities lurking behind every shadow.

Poverty and sickness festering beneath the neon lights and advertisements, commercials; shamelessly talking about products; neon illuminating everything. All bow to the neon god. I hated the night already.

I had my doubts about the case, the lack of information regarding my 'client', her employers, where the hell her office was located. Instead I was given a lead, to see where it would lead like a blood-hound. It all seemed so sketchy, yet familiar. By then it wasn't so hard to guess I would be followed.

Not with what evidence they'd popped up into my bureau with.

It would have to be my initial priority to find out my client's actual intentions. Apart from finding the files. And the data-scoundrel.

I knew where to start.

[°°|∆|••]

My down-to-earth, honest to god office was deftly located deep in the slums of this city made up of dimly lit mazes, washed up under the lifeless haze of tech-neon, it was neatly lodged between the two of the oldest stone structures faintly reminiscent of gothic architecture dating back from before the dawn of time.

It supported only three stories, shrouded in stone faded into a deep, piercing dark, conflicting with the city's ever growing fondness to artificial, neonized light.

Opposite this, stood an uncanny valley of modernized monstrosities, hollow structures brooding against the dark sky, rows of gray apartments stretching as tall as thirty stories, stacked closely togather like bloated corpses hitting the bay.

As hollow as empty graves; they were enough to provoke brooding thoughts with merely a glance up.

The constant flashing of advertisements made it impossible for the other buildings to brood under their shadows; for having been planted only a year after I'd rented my office, under the DAWN_P0UR CORP.'s Modernization Campaign, the digital billboards were attached to the buildings like twitching flies caught in an uncanny web, unable to cut themselves free, not until all life was squeezed out.

So on and on they flashed, pretty models encouraging you to try their products.

TRY OUR NEW CREAM, AS SILKY AS MOONLIGHT.

JEREMIAH ISAACC DAWNSON, REBUILDING OUR GREAT CITY BLOCK BY BLOCK.

HOVER CARS, NO LONGER HOVERING OVER YOUR HEADS, NO LONGER A DREAM!

SYNTHETIC FOOD SERVED EVERY WEEK AT SOUP-HOUSES!

A BRAND NEW FORMULA! TRY DR.ZONE'S NEW MIRACLE CURE! FIFTY PERCENT MORE ALCOHOL!

And on..

I thought they looked like over-priced cozmetics applied to cover over all the ugly warts hidden underneath.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

The apartments only stood as hollow as ever.

No wonder the buildings were so eager to whore themselves out...

And hidden deep under and inside out all of them, used to stand a cozy alley that would be by now overflowing with the late-hour salooners of varying professions seeking to drink or smoke or play away the tiredness of the day left behind.

On this old alley used to be a saloon.

Old fashioned, with bad lighting, choking smoke stench harshly seeped into every furniture, the billiard tables and the filthy glassware, with the latest jazz as smooth as a silky dress to accompany you along, it's that one good friend between all the liars and schemers and backstabbers and cutthroats and all the filth the world has to offer you've had the fortune of gathering around you.

Or at least it used to be.

Now that old, familiar, cozy little alley was nothing but a filth-ridden dark piece of crumbling concrete with only memories of long-dead ghosts to accompany you, whispering lies from the over-glorified and overrated after-life, cursing you for the warmth of your flesh.

I couldn't blame them, but I was not yet actually that eager to visit them beyond their tombs, despite all the pressure.

All that was gone now, anyhow, touched by the mighty blessing of neon.

Eerie rumblings of some sort of techno music leaked out into the empty alley.

I hadn't visited the old saloon in years; I didn't know what went on with it.

I wasn't that eager to find out. The new owner had christened the old saloon, with flashing cherry-red leds, "Cherri Wood".

I had no idea what that was meant to mean, or if the pronunciation mistake was intentional.

In the end I just shrugged it off.

Opening the shabby, rotten wooden doors with graffiti that was lazily painted over, I entered a whole new world of neon, booze, sin and electronic lust. Laid out before me was a vast podium illuminated with half the colours on the spectrum, walls adorned with varying types of electo-art - which were 3D projected, sort of holographic objects on canvas - decorated the crumbling walls. At least half a hundred people were dancing to the same tune I could hear before, waving to the rhythm of the tech song like an esspecially stormy ocean; rumbling in its mysterious depths, thunder roaring above.

I parted the sea of organic flesh that might have been mixed with synthetic, and made my way to what I guessed was the bar.

A slender girl stood before rows of stacked liver-failures placed on metal shelves, she was slowly waving to the tune, seemingly lost in the rhythm.

"I don't suppose you have any coffee by chance?"

I wasn't sure she even knew of my presence until she grinned in confusion. She had lips dyed the colour of fresh blood and skin white as processed milk.

"I didn't think so."

"What did you want?" I had to lean closer each time to catch any words she'd said. Same with her.

"Rest. Some coffee. But I guess you will have to do."

"What?" She had the same confused expression again, with the same strange smile. I might have said the most ridiculous thing for all I knew.

"I meant your boss."

"What boss?"

"The person running this place. Tell them I'm here. Tell them it's urgent."

"I can't just go and fetch him; I'm not even allowed to leave here, anyway. What's your name?"

"Costel-" A not-so-friendly hand grabbed my shoulder, squeezing it like the devil himself had come down to collect some long-forgotten debt. Considering where I was, it wasn't that further away from the realm of possibilities. And considering the when of it, there was not much that wasn't really further away.

I didn't have to turn to guess that it was most likely synthetic. It was that or the guy had muscles the size of my monthly use of cheap cigarettes that my meager salary could afford. Figuratively, of course.

I saw that it was neither; turning around and seeing that before me stood a slender girl garbed in what could have been a trash bag, or some piece of linen badly put togather that you would more likely expect to see on a homeless person out in the cold rain.

I could feel her fingers - no, metallic fingers, harshly sinking into my coat, flesh, and muscle and god knows what else, and they were as cold as gravestones, white as new marble.

Her head was hidden underneath a torn hood; I couldn't pick her eyes, nor face for that matter.

"Leave the girl alone." Her lips parted to say, the only illuminated part of her face.

I wondered if it was intentional. Maybe staged. In the world of digital perfection, everyone strived to make things as fault-free as possible, like drone-bees instinctively working for the hive not really conscious of the why or what for, and the queen, deep in her hexagonal-shaped castle, watching over her empire, as perfect as possible. In truth, it was her who was the prisoner. Everyone thought they were the queen bee. No one would want to be a drone.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Too much perfection made me gag.

"What girl?" I feigned ignorance. The song enthusiastically picked up its rhythm as if to support my claim.

"Leave the girl alone. The boss wants to see you."

"Look, I just want some coffee."

"Just cut the shit, Costello." Right then, it hit me that I'd heard the same raspy voice before.

Something familiar went off in the depths of my head, the fuse wrinkled inside crimson flames; the causing explosion mind-numbingly severe rocked my mind aloft.

"Sure thing, Vex." Another ghost had resurfaced. I was starting to hate this saloon. Or was I just looking for any excuse at all to do so?

Anyway, there were plenty.

"You plan on squeezing my shoulder numb or what?" I added through clenched teeth, barely feigning a smile.

"Just follow me." She said, quickly unclasping her hand as if noticing it for the first time.

"The others are eager to meet you."

"Of course." Of course they were eager. It was naive to think she'd be alone.

The pack would have better chances of survival in the electronic jungle than the lone wolf.

It was a lesson every technomaniac had to learn in order to keep on breathing.

I should have expected as much.

An old wolf like me, and alone at that.

I involuntarily flashed a smile, careless whether she'd notice or not, nor decipher the meaning of it.

I had my doubts that she would care enough to crack it, so shamelessly I cracked another grin, like a kid caught playing games on an overpriced gaming console, way beyond their designated bedtime.

Designated. What a word.

She led me through an arched door of sorts, only stopping to enter the code on an analog security system keypad what with all the buttons and printed numbers and such that must've dated back before the dawn of time. Or just the technological insurrections.

Still, her metallic fingers were too fast for me to catch what she'd entered, so I had to give up trying soon.

"Welcome to our tech jungle." She said, when the metal doors slid back into their slots, and assertively walked in, not checking whether I'd follow or if I had the expression I imagined I had on my face.

It WAS an electronic jungle, alright. As electronic as a jungle could get. I felt elevated, electricity surging throughout my caffeine-filled, nicotine-pumped, tired-as-hell body.

But also, not for the first time that night, I involuntarily felt the crushing loneliness of my own life brought on by the very essence of my own personality and perhaps also the lifestyle I had been cruelly pushed into choosing.

What happened was the most natural of things to occur.

We were all desperately searching for something to call ours, something real.

I, somehow, never had that desire.

Completely washed up and dazed under the lifeless and piercing neon, I somehow sensed that I didn't have that luxury, whether I'd like it or not; that I never had, or would have.

It was the most natural of things.

With an especially bitter and knowing smile resting on my lips, I instinctively searched deep into the cavernous pockets of my coat and finally managed to fork out a cigarette out of some packet still miraculously lying deep in one of them.

Lighting it I banished all the depressing thoughts which had replaced the elevating ones from only a moment ago, far into senseless oblivion of the cold and calculating darkness I would often show the courtesy of calling that which was my mind deep.

I could feel Vex curiously peering at my back, her eyes penetratingly obvious and shiny under the secretive darkness of her hood.

I deftly stepped inside, and blew out an impressively melodical whistle which spoke tunes.

It was a jungle alright.

Cables. There were practically cables everywhere, some exposed, some not, some dangerously left open and thus sparkling a hundred different tones of electric blue.

They were easily giving away the impression of ancient, poisonous vines, hanging over the treacherous undergrowth in some long forgotten bog somewhere, easy for anyone to take them for snakes hanging like the executioner's noose hanging over the muddy ground.

The whole setup looked like it was salvaged from some pre-war garbage heap you'd expect to find in some post-apokaliptik world.

I wouldn't be surprised if they were, at first glance, most of them had looked pretty ancient. Although looks always had the tendency of fooling anyone with enough willingness for any prejudice.

The were more monitors than I'd care to count, each showing an endless stream of data, jacks lying around, eager for any data-scoundrel to plug in and dive into the electronic oblivion that was the cybernet.

Considering everything, I could see the how and the what of their easy eagerness involving jacking themselves into some virtually-crafted-world stream made up of data, forgetting all about the real one festering just outside; but I could not comprehend the why of it.

Maybe I had grown too old.

Maybe I had been in the jungle too long, a lone wolf.

Out in the real one.

One could only hide for so long, curtains drawn, doors locked, no matter how all the commotion of the world leaks inside the musty isolation of your locked room through all the 15 centimeters of paper-thin, crumbling concrete, with you there inside, smoking the day away, nursing an exceptionally horror show of a hangover.

One had to leave, face the dangers of a cold, wet night, as rain poured down on the filthy asphalt, the stench of the day rising above in heat waves during the pleasant evening. The thrill of an underpaid investigation, down and deep into the inn of the beast, where all the denizens of this stinking, bright to the eye city would frequent.

I could never hideaway for long, I had to get out, break isolation, only to find it thicken outside, but anyway, I could never sit still for so long.

I would have to go out to the fight.

Nowadays I couldn't even get any rest, although I craved it.

I hadn't slept in a long time.

Maybe all the caffeine had finally gotten to my sick, tired mind.

How lovely.

I told her that.

"How are they supposed to meet me when they're all plugged in, love?" I asked pointedly, not turning to see her, still puffing at my cheap cigarette.

"They're not.", She replied coldly. I could basically smell the faintest of hints that she was angry at me calling her love.

"And why exact-", I began not discouraged. What a chivalrous knight I was.

"I thought I'd already told you to cut the shit, Michael. But, okay. Be that way. They can wait, but he cannot."

"OH, am I ever surprised you still remember my name, Vex. Or is it just because of the business cards I keep giving around?"

"Everyone knows you do it intentionally, Costello." Oh, she did like pronouncing my name.

"Well, it helps get the word around. And there are only so few channels you can reach me, each pre-designated or pre-deduced. A watchtower on every route." So she did keep tabs on me, one way or the other. I almost felt flattered.

Vex snorted.

"There he is."

A hulk of a man came striding towards us, his body wrapped in some sort of linen, the same as Vex's. The way it looked, you'd have thought they were some troopers ready to wreak havoc in some desert.

I didn't know the man, but I guessed who he was. And what he was supposed to be.

So far he hadn't impressed me.

Nothing ever did.

The yellow hulk kept walking these enourmously spaced steps and we waited and waited and it must have been only after a century that he finally reached us when his hand shot up like a hungry viper and grabbed my hand, cigarette and all, and squeezed it with the intention to crush all bones.

"Costello, you old fool. How nice it's to see you still with all that stinking coat, hat, and that brood in your eyes. And lookie that smirk, oh it's gone now. Oh, see that confusion in his eyes, you'd think he wasn't some detective but a child trying to learn a play at cards. Oh, your hand, you must excuse me. It's nothing bad, we'll have it looked. That wrinkle on your brow, you're really working your mind at it, aren't you? But what's one more ghost on a place like this, eh? Tell, me. And be honest. Well, I can see that you are, you've a honest face. You were not followed, were you, huh, hound dog? Old fool?"

"No, I weren't."

He was right, what really was one more ghost in a place like this. When old skeletons kept bouncing back out of their coffins and ghosts had the tendency of haunting metal husks of old tired flesh.

If anything, I was the one out of place here; I was the abnormal one, everyone else, the normal citizens. Out to do whatever normal citizens were to do.

What a night it was turning out to be, oh what a night.