The hiss of automatic doors greeted my arrival into the slightly warm, temperature-controlled lobby of the Clarke building. It was covered in clean, polished metal surfaces, and I could spot at least four different hidden turret emplacements, meaning there were probably a dozen more I couldn’t see. The whole area had clearly marked defense points with an almost spartan efficiency to it, its design clear and obvious: it was a kill-zone.
Any monster or assault-force trying to get in through the front door would have a very bad time.
I didn’t pay it much mind, marching towards the reception desk where a woman sat. Meticulously combed hair, and a face that was more cybernetics than flesh. I could only assume the rest of her body was similarly enhanced, which would probably mean she was more dangerous than any fully loaded guard could ever hope to be.
“Greetings.” Her eyes flickered with the tell-tale signs of a scan, and a very slight frown followed. “How… May I help you?”
“I’m here for the party. I’m a classmate of Terry’s.”
She scanned me over one more time and hesitated. “Name?”
“Axel Garcia, you can confirm with the Academy’s records.” I smiled slightly, trying to hide my own hesitation. “I’d thought tonight was an open party? Or did he make a list?”
“No, it… is an open party.” She nodded slowly. “No weapons allowed, however.”
“I’m not carrying any.” The woman behind the desk didn’t look convinced about that. “You can scan me again if you’d like.”
“I did.” She glanced at the elevator, then back at me. “You wouldn’t happen to have bioware?”
Ah, so that was why she was hesitating. Even the poorest of the poor could afford some rusty neuralink and eye-augs. To have some sort of augmentation that didn’t show up on a scan? That would either be from bioware enhancements, or from the sort of cyberware that had stealth capabilities. Both those options were crazy expensive, even by “rich people” standards.
I shrugged in response. I didn’t want to lie, but if she took that to mean I was agreeing, then I wouldn’t correct her about it. “Can I go now?” I pointed at the elevator. “I’m late to the party already.”
“All floors save for the penthouse are restricted.” She pressed a button, and the elevator doors opened.
There were no buttons to press or panels, and I guessed the elevator either needed a neuralink interface or, more likely, was fully controlled from elsewhere. I was hoping for the latter, because this was the second elevator I couldn’t interact with after having my neuralink pop out the back of my head.
The doors closed, and up I went.
When the doors opened again, I was blasted by a wave of smells and sounds like a slap to the face. The music was a physical force against my eardrums, while the alcohol, vomit, and sweat seared into my nose. My senses were kicking my skull in and making me reconsider my choices in life. It took me a few seconds to reorient myself and step out of the elevator.
The lights flashed on and off all around me, the holograms showing dozens of half-naked women dancing away, the lasers adding to the spectacle. The party was in full swing, with people shouting and cheering, sloshing beverages every time they moved. Despite the overwhelming sounds and scents, I could see far more clearly than I probably would’ve been able to. The darkness wasn’t quite as dark, and I could recognize a few faces from the academy.
Rather than begin my search for Terry immediately, I took the opportunity to calm down and adjust to… everything. I remember the last time I’d been to a party, it’d been the night before I started the exemplar program. A cheap little disco where they used Christmas lights and the cups were as cheap as the beverages were diluted. It had reeked a whole lot more of piss, too. By contrast, this was the sort of party you’d see in the AI-movies about “the big life,” though a lot more crowded. Oh, and the hologram dancers were a lot more lurid.
I faltered a little at the realization of just how out of place I was.
The throng of people shifted with the change in the beat, and someone turned my way as everyone collectively stumbled. The guy was plastered in luminescent paint, hair thrown every which way, and held a metal cup half-full of an equally glowing blue liquid. The stranger passed the cup to me and let out a holler as if he’d just achieved a life-long goal, then turned and vanished into the crowd.
What the hell had THAT been about? I glanced at the drink, and had been about to just toss it when my stomach growled.
Looking around, I confirmed there was no Terry in sight and reconsidered my priorities. Did I need to find him right away? No, I was in his home. But did I need food? I’d only eaten a small pre-packaged meal in the past 24 hours, and I was famished.
Terry could wait until he was easier to find.
Following my nose, I made my way around the party until I discovered a… kitchen? I’d only seen one in ads or flicks. The place was about as crowded as the rest of the penthouse, and the countertops were littered with boxes from at least a dozen different brands torn open and emptied. Trace amounts of food could be found scattered all over.
It looked more like someone had tossed a grenade into a food shipment.
“Hey, this food’s for everyone, right?” I asked the trio of women stuffing their faces with donuts. They looked me over before giving a shrug and a nod.
That was all the confirmation I needed. I found the first victim (a box of plastic-wrapped sandwiches). The moment I unwrapped the first, my hunger flared and I began to eat. By the fourth sandwich, I realized I was practically inhaling them. I finished off the first box and went for the second. Then the third.
By the fourth box I noticed a few people were sticking around to stare. Fifth box and I was growing a little concerned. This should’ve been enough to keep anyone fed for at least a week, two if they rationed it. But I was still hungry.
“You got an iron stomach or something?” One of the partygoers had stepped up, he’d been there since box two.
“Or something.” I hastily answered, wiping off some of the salsa from my mouth. “You want some?” I’d pointed at the fresh stack of loaded boxes that’d been refreshed at some point.
“Nah man, just never saw anyone eat so much.” He pointed over his shoulder at the crowd. “Think you can keep going for at least another box? I’ve got a bet going.”
Taking a moment to glance at the boxes and then back at the guy, I just shrugged, gauging how ‘full’ I felt. “Tell you what. I think I’ve got room for four more in me. You give me half of whatever you make from the bet.”
“Deal!” He hastily returned to the others.
From there on, my eating gained a bit more purpose. Eating decently good food, being paid for it, and basically getting Terry to foot the bill? Yes please.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Another box and the number of people had grown. The party outside was dying down, but the people staring at my gorging myself had become a crowd. Every finished box would get cheers. Three Baconado boxes had remained untouched.
I wasn’t too bothered by the onlookers, more trying to keep an eye on my “betting partner” as he’d quickly talked more and more people into joining the betting pool. By the end of box number eight, the drunken crowd was jeering and cheering in equal measure. I was just about ready to burst by the time I finished the ninth box to a cheering audience.
Though I felt highly satiated, I was also a bit concerned. I really hoped this wasn’t the normal amount of food I’d need to eat, because that had been a month and change of meals. It was definitely not the kind of eating habits that could be covered by a guard’s salary.
“What’s going on over here? Is that… Axel?”
The music had cut off, and someone had shoved his way through the crowd. Terry looked like he’d just been dunked into a barrel of some cheap alcohol and energy drinks. Smelled like it, too.
“Who the shit invited you?” He asked, face flushed and voice slightly slurred, his body swaying a little.
The others in the kitchen had gone quiet.
“It’s an open party.” I shrugged, not standing up as I finished up the last sandwich. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave, but I did come over to talk about what you did to my profile.”
Terry blinked slowly. “Your what?”
“My profile. You dropped a note on it.” I answered, feeling a bit too placid from the meal to be properly angry, at least not yet. “It went something like… Rowdy and prone to delinquent behaviour. Highly aggressive and prone to vandalism.”
He shifted on his feet, face turning with a flash of anger. “Who told you that it was me?”
If I answered the question honestly, that I had no proof and that it’d been a gut feeling, then I was fairly certain the exchange would come to a stop there and then. I was about to make something up, when he cut me off.
“It doesn’t matter either way.” Terry smirked, leaning back. “Did you think that asking me to put it back will fix anything? Did you think that, if I had the permissions to put or remove those notes, I wouldn’t just add a new one in a day or two?”
“I had considered that possibility, yes.” I stood up as I dusted myself off.
For a second I imagined myself punching him with everything I could muster. But as much as he did deserve a smack or four, I didn’t want to accidentally murder him. Instead, I reached out and grasped his arm before he could pull away.
And squeezed.
“Hey!” His first complaint quickly turned into a scream. He fell to his knees as I bent his arm further, tightening my grip. “STOP!”
“Why should I?” I asked. It was surprisingly easy to ignore his punches as he hammered away at my arm, trying to free himself. “Why do you care anyway? It’s just an arm, I’m sure you can beg your parents to get you a cybernetic one.”
This was surprisingly cathartic.
“FINE!”
I loosened my grip, but didn’t let go. “Fine… what?”
“Have your stupid profile back. I sent the note deletion request.” As soon as I released his arm he pulled away. “Asshole.”
“Thank you, Terry,” I said, giving him a smile that was all teeth. “Hope we never meet again.”
“The stupid guards you love so much are under the direct supervision of NexCorp lower-management.” Terry spat. “Want to guess what position I was offered? I’ll make your life hell. You won’t ever see so much as a bullet.”
I believed him.
I chose not to comment, turning to leave, but stopping as the betting-guy handed me over a familiar square red cred-chip. The crowd let me move through, and I was on the elevator going back down to the lobby, mind spinning with Terry’s words.
Was… that all that awaited me? Getting some Terry or Terry-adjacent prick to just make sure I’d never be able to do anything? I’d wanted to become a guard, sure, but that didn’t mean I wanted to live and die as some sort of glorified mop-crew.
My eyes flickered to the tiny little notification in the corner of my eye.
AP 4 / 150
At some point of the night I’d crossed over the four-hour mark since my fight with a literal E-Class, a monster I’d killed with my bare hands.
A heaviness in my pocket reminded me of the special cred-chip Moreau had given me, and of the not-a-real-data-shard that she’d provided alongside it. One she’d told me to break if I wanted to go with her to New Francisco.
Stepping out into the cool night air, I looked around. Without my augs, there were only a fractional amount of ads. The city felt cold in a way far different than the artificial branding one had been. The buildings were tall sharp blocks of concrete and metal coated surfaces. Rust gnawed at the edges, tucked between massive reinforcement plates, scratches and scorch-marks on walls marked where some monster had managed to breach through at some point or another.
Was this really the same city I’d grown up in?
Quietly walking back to the academy plaza, I picked a bench and sat down. My gaze fell on the statues of the various megucas. First on Gravis Aqua, then trailing off to the one for Sahara.
Was she still running around looking for “the teleporter type”? I promised myself to send her an apology once I could connect to my apps again. Her and everyone else.
“I think… it’s time to adjust my career goals.”
I snapped the data-shard and waited.
----------------------------------------
“Boop.” The clip played, the monster reaching out, a massive claw capable of tearing through flesh like butter delicately pressing the button, passively watching the human be yanked into safety.
> >Classification?
The user prompted.
Building management CYPHER sub-strata #15 reviewed all available data, sending a quick query to the dozens of sub-strata #16 that had been used during the encounter, as well as those used in the following investigation.
> >H-Class. Harmless.
The user pushed the input after 0.7 seconds.
> >Negative.
This was the fourth negative in a row.
A new set of protocols kicked in.
> >Escalating. Importance and Immediacy?
It idled 6.3 seconds as the user selected the options from a dropdown menu.
> >High importance, high immediacy.
CYPHER sub-strata #15 gathered and compressed all relevant data, vids and readings of both the event itself and from the event’s postmortem, creating a summary.
Hours since first sighting 15 Current Status Unaccounted Potential Damages $15.4 Trillion
. .∟Frontier City 02 - Lab 03
. .∟Miscellaneous
$15.399 trillion
$0.001 trillion
Total Damages -$686
. .∟F-class live sample
. .∟Table repairs
. .∟2x AI Therapy sessions
. .∟Miscellaneous
. .∟Insurance (min coverage)
$8,500
$200
$40
$603
-$9,999
Potential Deaths
Potential Injured 2,840
3,441 Total Deaths
Total Injured 0
0
CYPHER sub-strata #15 sent the packet to the city-wide CYPHER sub-strata #14 processing queue to join hundreds of other such requests.
The packet was quickly reviewed by the priority system. It deemed human bias had overblown the packet’s priority, and created a shadow-note indicating to other CYPHER stratas that its true importance and immediacy were very low.
All systems returned to their optimal tasks.