“Excuse me, could you tell me the name of the street we’re in?”
“Fuck off.”
I watched the random stranger walk off and my shoulders deflated, staring down at the tablet. Moreau had quickly ad-hocked a map of the city into it. The issue was that the device was still disconnected from everything… and New Francisco had a severe verticality aspect that Frontier City 02 never had.
Walking at ground level, with cars moving up and down the street, I reached a public elevator and was slightly surprised to find out I was on floor 20. The map Moreau had provided pointed at me needing to get to the ground floor, so I took the elevator down. Reaching floor 00, where there were also roads and cars.
And a veranda overlooking another street further below.
“What sort of madman designed this place!?” I bemoaned.
Off I went looking for stairs, or an elevator. Lo and behold, I found another elevator, stating I was on floor 08. Down I went, then found another street with traffic, and… realized this was not the floor I’d been trying to reach but one in-between.
Moreau had mentioned this should’ve been a ten minute walk.
It’d been three hours, and at this point there was no doubt I was in an entirely different part of the city, not that I could be sure. Every building and area had a similar blank boring metallic look to it, though seeing how people avoided certain areas, the place was probably chock-full of digital flourishes and decorations to make it distinct from every other prefabricated piece of architecture.
Fiddling with the user-unfriendly tablet, I came to the conclusion I was either on the exact opposite side of the city, or I’d only moved a few hundred meters vertically. It was a coin-toss at this point, because some of the public elevators moved horizontally, so between the poor labeling system and how smooth elevators moved, it was impossible to be sure.
The only certainty is that I’d moved way down.
Over at the lower areas, the smog had gotten thicker, and the amount of direct sunlight had dropped significantly. Visibility had gone from decent to poor, and the acrid stench left me feeling as if I’d been stuck in a toxic cloud.
+Strength
. .∟Endurance
. .∟Poison 5+ -> 5+
[26%] -> [29%]
[00%] -> [04%]
“Actual toxic cloud, then.” I grumbled. “At least I got something out of this… Even if endurance being under strength doesn’t make sense.”
My stomach made a similar sound of complaint.
Putting aside my quest for the gun-shop… or any gun-shop at this point, I followed my nose for the nearest source of food. I’d spotted vending machines all over the place, but I was hoping that having a vendor to interact with would lead to not being as lost anymore. So I followed the trail of hot cooking and burning oil.
+Senses
. .∟Smell 5+ -> 5+
[00%] -> [07%]
There was a hole-in-the-wall hotdog burrito place called “Deez Weiners”. The cook was a chubby guy that whistled along to some song, robotic arm dipping into boiling oil and pulling out the hotdogs. The man looked about as greasy as his food.
“What can I do you for?” He called out as soon as I stepped closer.
“Give me four of those, and something to drink? I don’t know the brands.”
The guy judgingly glanced at his left to the empty space above the counter.
It took a second.
“My neuralink broke,” I said.
“Huh, never heard THAT one before.” The guy nodded, raising a brow. “How do you plan on paying?”
I showed the cred-chip. “This good enough?”
“Up-front, and we’ll call it good.” He poked the chip with his non-robotic hand, then blinked, eyes widening.
“Problem?”
“No, no, no problem at all. Four cozy dogs and a soda coming right up!” He hastily got to work, wrapping everything. “So… you’re not from around here, are you?”
I stared with a deadpan. “What gave it away?” Shaking my head, I brought up the tablet. “Could you tell me the street we’re in? I’m looking for a shop called ‘Blast-off’.”
He glanced down at the tablet and back up at me, then turned back towards his work. “You’re not that far, actually.” He packaged everything into a bag and handed it over. “See that street over there? Stick to it until you reach an elevator on your left. Take it all the way down. When you step out, take a right, and then another right on the first alleyway. It’s a straight line from there.”
That immediately got my spirits up. “Seriously? Damn, I was closer than I thought. Thanks!”
“Don’t mention it.” He hastily waved me off.
Greatly relieved at finally managing to reach a conclusion for my meandering, I quickly ate my way through the meal while following the directions the cook had given me. The elevator rattled a little, and reaching what I hoped was the “true” ground level, I maneuvered around the trash. But as I’d been about to enter the alleyway, I spotted graffiti on the walls. The sort that were cheap signatures, specifically, the sort gangs would use to mark their territory.
Either the gun-store was inside or beyond one such territory, or the cook had just sent me down here to get robbed.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Weighing the odds of either scenario, I plugged the credchip into the tablet. Then my eyes boggled at the cash that was left inside.
> [$68,254]
“That can’t be right.”
20K had come out of Moreau, or so she’d said. Either she’d lied and been far more generous, or I’d somehow won 48K out of a food-eating contest!? Wait, on second thought, it made perfect sense. The crowd at the party had been rich kids with a whole lot more pocket change than I made in a year.
It was a depressing thought.
Emptying the credchip of everything down to the last $20.5 and storing the rest in the neuralink’s internal account, I took out the chip and pocketed it. Looking around, I confirmed there were no cameras or lookouts. So with no witnesses, I proceeded to rub my face and hair against the backpack until it reeked of my scent before hiding it in one of the piles of trash.
So with far less money to be concerned about, and a little more confident, I turned down the alleyway the cook had told me to. A part of me hoped my hunch was wrong and that I’d need to pick my backpack again, but then I heard the thugs.
Two of them wheezed whenever they breathed, they remained pressed behind a door I walked past. The sound would’ve probably been imperceptible if not because my hearing was sharper now. The moment I’d passed their hiding-spot, the door burst open and two others stepped into the alleyway ahead of me.
A quick look at the group confirmed one of them had a gun, two were wielding knives, and the third a rusty pipe. I then proceeded to have a double-take moment when I noticed two of them had cybernetic legs.
It was still a bit disorienting to think that getting parts of your body replaced by robotics was just THAT cheap over here.
More so when all four of them were teenagers. The oldest of the group couldn’t have been beyond sixteen. “You know how this goes.” The one with the pipe spoke up, sizing me up with a smirk. “Either you give us what you got willingly, or we beat you up and take it anyway.”
For a moment I’d nearly done what he’d asked. It was the whole point of emptying most of the cred-chip: never get caught with nothing to give your robber or they might kill you out of spite. That’d been the plan, at least, I looked dirt-poor, my clothes were crap, I was covered in stinky grime. Only an idiot would think I had more than a dozen bucks to my name.
Yet as I looked at the four thugs, I… did not feel threatened. Facing off the two E-class monsters had been worse. Looking at these kids, it felt… sloppy. The one with the firearm had no way to shoot me without risking either the pipe-kid or either of the knife-wielders behind me.
And I was fairly sure I was faster.
“No.”
Pipe-kid hesitated, glancing over at gun-kid, who gave a firm nod. “Well, you heard it. Let’s rough him up.”
That answered who was in charge, and why they were staying back. Maybe the gun was more as a threat to keep the others in line? He was certainly the tallest of the four. Whatever the case, I made my mind up and ran directly at the pipe-kid. He didn’t expect the burst of speed and swung at my head.
It was slower than the wriggler’s vines.
I ducked and slapped his weapon-wielding hand. The sound of cracking bones made me wince, but I was committed now. “Sorry.” I muttered, pressing my palm against his chest and very carefully pushing him back and towards the gun-kid.
There were no bone-breaking sounds, but he was still airborne for a good two meters before he and the gun-kid crumpled on one another. Pipe-kid was heaving, trying to recover his breath while the gang leader scrambled to get him off of him.
By the time they’d untangled, I’d already reached them, snatching the firearm out of his hand.
I scowled at the weapon, it was a 3D printed plastic revolver. “Ew.” It was gross to even touch the thing, let alone consider using it. Not that it would be worth it, the tool only had three bullets. Probably for the best, any more and the barrel would’ve deformed from the heat. “How can you afford cybernetic legs but not a proper gun?”
“Fuck you.” The former-shitty-gun-owner snarled.
The two knife-wielders had opted to make a run for it the moment I’d taken the gun.
They were already gone.
“Hey, pipe-kid, are you breathing alright?” I nudged him with my foot.
He whimpered, giving me a middle finger with his good hand.
Now I was starting to feel a bit shitty about beating them up. They weren’t even proper thugs. “You kids have a ripper-doc somewhere? Get that hand looked at?”
“Ain’t gonna give up our chooms.”
“I am not familiar with that slang, but good for you for sticking up for your friends.” I thought for a moment before taking the bullets out of the revolver and breaking it into pieces. The plastic snapped so easily I would’ve probably been concerned it could’ve exploded in my hands had I tried to shoot. “Call the others to pick you up once I’m gone. And maybe next time don’t try to mug people.” Then I glanced at the other one. “You’re coming with me.”
The brat warily eyed the revolver-pieces, then up at me. “...why?”
“I need a guide and you just volunteered.” I answered plainly, then looked down at the hand-broken kid and gave him a nudge with my boot. “Now you can either help me properly, and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks, or I’ll just drag your ass around until I get bored and dump you into the biggest trash-bin I can find.”
The duo exchanged worried glances.
“Fine.”
----------------------------------------
“What’s your name?” I asked, shouldering my backpack and ignoring the trash smell. Hopefully it would all get washed
“Why do you care?” He snapped back at me.
“I don’t want to keep mentally calling you ‘gun-idiot’.” I replied, giving him a once-over. On closer inspection, the cybernetic legs looked… bad. They were rusted and a few cables dangled freely. Asking about that felt a bit too personal, though. “I’m Axel.”
“Don’t care.”
“Very well, Gun-idiot The First. Keep leading the way.”
The guy stomped his way forward, and I quietly enjoyed not having to bother with checking the map every other minute. Gun-idiot had told me our exact location and now that I was sure I’d gotten massively lost and very far from my destination, I just instructed him to take me to the nearest legal weapon’s shop. Just because my neuralink couldn’t connect to shit didn’t mean I couldn’t have someone else connect.
Going back to confront the cook had felt like a waste of time when there were only so many hours left in the day. I’d have a few words with him if I ever stumbled onto his stand again (I marked it on the map, just in case).
A very prolonged and awkward walk later, we reached a gun-shop.
“Bang bang for your Buck Buck.” I read the store name. It wasn’t the one Moreau had suggested, but I was on the completely wrong side of the city. “I guess that’s that, Gun-idiot.” I threw him the cred-chip with the agreed-upon amount. “There’s a little extra for your friend, hope his hand gets better.”
The kid caught it mid-air, then frowned. “That’s… it? I try to rob you and you end up paying me?”
“Not to be rude, but you suck at this mugging thing.” I waved him off. “You didn’t really do much. No harm, no foul.”
He kept looking at me like I’d just grown a second head. “Axel, right?” He finally asked. “I won’t forget this.”
Gun-idiot then turned away and ran off, the threat lingering in his wake. I just hoped not to encounter him again. With how massive New Francisco was, I was fairly sure I could live the rest of my life here without ever meeting the same person twice.
Fortunately, there were better things waiting for me.
Stepping into the gun-shop, I took in the scent of gunpowder and grinned.
But first things first. “I’m going to need a box of blank cred-chips.”