Up ahead, a man was yelling into a payphone, face red, veins bulging at his neck like he was ready to burst. No one cared. People just sidestepped him, like he was a pothole in their day, not worth acknowledging. He gave me a sideways glance, eyes wild, and I could feel the emptiness of his anger, like it was all for show.
The bustling streets felt suffocating as I navigated through them, the living brushing past, blissfully unaware of the walking corpse in their midst.
It had been years since we’d talked; Jeff and I. He always had a knack for keeping low while running the show. Years back, he had a handful of newspaper stands dotted across the city. They hawked both holopapers and old-fashioned print—catering to those with Humanity levels too low for even basic modifications and the purists who still harbored a deep distrust of Enhancements.
They looked innocent enough—legit, even. But behind the crinkled headlines and cigarette smoke, Jeff was pulling the strings on an info network that fed the city’s dirtiest players. A gang of street kids, posing as newsies, funneled him intel. He’d helped me out more than a few times when I was still in the game.
Now I heard he’d set up shop way up in Northern Goodrich—NoGo, the wealthier part of the New Amsterdam city districts, where the skyline gleamed and the streets bustled with quiet power. It was just as busy as the south, but the crime here wore a suit and tie, deals inked over martinis instead of back-alley handshakes. In a city this sprawling, NoGo felt like a different country altogether. If Jeff was operating up there, he was playing a bigger game now. Seemed his little empire had grown into something far more dangerous—and a lot more refined.
I’d spotted him now and then over the years, lingering on the periphery, always just outside my new life. I tried to leave that world behind, but once you’ve seen it—once the curtain lifts and you catch the old man yanking the strings—the puppet show never quite looks the same. You can’t unsee the wires. And no matter how far you walked, it was always in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to look again.
The newsstand stood like a relic of another time, its weather-beaten frame and faded canopy defying the sleek glow of its digital holo displays. Headlines in flickering color danced in stark contrast to the grayscale monotony of the world around it, a beacon that shouldn’t be. From a distance, it seemed ordinary enough—a sagging canopy, weathered wood, and stacks of neatly arranged papers. But step closer, and the air shifted. The arrangement was too precise, the flickering light too deliberate.
The chipped counter bore the grime of years. An empty stool leaned against the stand, its vacancy a lie—you could feel the weight of unseen eyes trailing your every move. The smell of stale ink and lingering cigarette smoke hung thick, but underneath it was something sharper, electric, like the charged air before a deal you’d regret.
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This wasn’t just a newsstand. It never had been.
A flicker of static, and then Jeff materialized on the stool—a holo projection shimmering faintly in the muted light. His voice sliced through the air like a blade, sharp and dripping with familiar disdain. Greasy hair slicked back in his usual attempt at charm only accentuated the receding hairline, making his desperation even more obvious.
“Well, if it isn’t the one and only,” he sneered, his image leaning forward, elbows resting on nonexistent knees, as if the projection itself carried his weight. The smirk tugging at his lips wasn’t friendly—it was the kind that made you check your pockets.
“Expanding north, are you, Jeff?” I asked, keeping my tone polite despite the contempt.
“Would appear that way,” he said.
“Thought you had ‘staff’ to run your stands nowadays. What are you doing out on the front line?”
“Oh, you know me,” he replied with a smug grin. “I like to keep my finger on the pulse. I go where the news is, Jackie boy.” He scanned the street before turning his beady eyes back to me with a dubious squint. “So, what brings you back to these parts? You back in the game?”
I gave a nonchalant wave of the hand. “Just passing through.”
Jeff wasn’t convinced. He eyed me up and down, sizing me up. I resisted the urge to smack him - he always loved to play games, act like he was somebody important. But now, after everything that’d happened, all I saw was a small-time con artist desperately trying to hold onto power in a dying city.
A wide, almost eerie grin spread across his face, revealing a glistening gold tooth that caught the sunlight and winked at me. Charming. “I heard you were working local. Trash man, they say. Chasing down local runts. Is that right? That ain’t no job for a man with your... talents.” His voice was oily and smooth, like an old hand at the used car lot, hawking lemons.
I clenched my jaw and fought to keep my composure.
“Work is work, Jeff.”
He squinted at me. “You know, you don’t look too good, Jackie. You sick or something?”
“Just tired. Long nights, you know how it is.”
He shrugged. His eyes glittered with greed as he got down to business. “Can I do anything special for you today?” He gave me a smile that stretched ear to ear but somehow never reached his cold, calculating eyes.
I mentally prepared myself, bracing for the task at hand, as if I were about to plunge my bare arm into a dirty toilet to unclog a stubborn blockage. And I felt just about as dignified.
“Just looking for some news. Two questions.”
“Jackie, you’ve come to the right place. You remember the fee?” Jeff was slick and nearly as greasy as his hair.
I put two silver coins on the counter, each pressed with the symbol of the Midnight Council—a raven in front of the moon. His hand moved over them and they disappeared like magic.