Dark City - Sidewalk Cafe

I’m maxing and relaxing under a drone filled sky. Found a street cafe with D-bots dumb enough to serve me. Trying to enjoy my coffee, but instead of cheese, they added milk. It’s vile.

Other than that, my evening’s been okay. Slipped past a single psycho. Knees are stronger. Cartilage is feeling better in general. I’ve got out my stolen laptop, doing some cyber felonies, while drinking beverages I can’t pay for. A turducken of crime. If anyone asks, I’m working on my screenplay.

That said, no one seems likely to ask. There’s a few people around, for once. The cafe is across from a patio pub and a grocery store. One lit and loud with buff children. The other haunted by odd dark walkers.

People watching is bittersweet. They feel kinda like company. But both groups studiously ignore me.

Volt is perched on the table in Chibi form. She looks up from her virtual stolen laptop, notices me looking wistfully at the aloof strangers, and scoffs. “Fuck’em. We’re gonna wake cooler people.”

I smile and focus back on our cyber crimes. The police laptop is slowly revealing its secrets. We're making a psycho list.

“I realize you want to find and ambush the psycho, but we’re having a false positive problem.” says Volt. “Fucking city’s full of lunatics. We can’t find our guy. Too many people fit the profile. And most of them will never get around to an actual murder - let alone ours. Predictive policing is a sham.”

“It’s the terror watchlist all over again.” I sip my gross coffee. “What are our psycho parameters? Can we narrow them down?”

“No. Kinda. Maybe. 90% murders are committed by intimate or criminal relations. The rest are committed at random by crazy people. If we make a list of domestic abusers, criminals, and crazy people, that’s pretty much the whole city. There’s a lot of quiet, unstable, misery. So, those parameters are junk. But we could add another parameter. Because most murderers know their victims. Ringing any bells?”

“Are you asking if I’ve fucked any mentally unstable criminals?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember. Probably. Certainly sounds like fun.” I sip thoughtfully. “But it can’t have been recently. I’ve been asleep for a hundred years. Unless he’s from Bright City. I’ve fucked and fucked over lots of criminals there.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t help narrow the list.” says Volt. “Also, what would we do with a short list? Like, of the 100 most murderous fuckers. Will we go say hi and see which ones try to kill us? Is that the plan?”

“Not Plan A.” I pause. “We don’t have to talk with them. They’re probably deep sleepers.”

“Just shank the worst assholes in their sleep? Maybe someone’s already trying that.”

I scowl. “Rude.”

“You’re planning mass murder on speculation. Puts you near the top of the psycho list.”

Shit. “Fine. What’s Plan B?”

“Allies. Let’s wake some of these unstable criminals and start a gang.” Volt nods firmly. “Some of these guys will have access to weapons. Some will be okay with premeditated violence. Mix’em together and wait for the psycho to come to us.”

“So, instead of cops, now we’re waking criminals?”

“Sure. Let’s do the opposite of what wasn’t working.”

I shrug. “I’ll entertain it. What are you thinking for search parameters?”

“Let’s not include the domestic abusers. Fuck those guys. Otherwise… I’m not sure. Look for guys prone to vigilantism? Is that a word? What mental disorder does Batman have?”

“Delusions of grandeur.” I sip my coffee. “That could work. Prone to violence. Ideologically motivated. Enjoys confrontation.” I frown. “Have we made this list before? Shit. Should we wake Harkon?”

“Nooo.” Volt is aghast. “He hates us. How would that be a good idea?”

“Well, he’s a doer. Get’s stuff done. Everyone else we’ve woken has been less than useless.”

“Yes, and that’s a lesson. Remember how disappointing Blank was? Harkon will be no better. Real people aren’t as awesome as their fantasy selves.”

I slump a little.

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Volt scoffs. “You’re a perfectly nefarious garbage bag princess. We’ll do something terrible soon, we’re just ramping up. Now buck up. It’s not everyday we make a criminal gang, and I want us to enjoy it.”

I scowl. “Fine. I’m happy now. Let’s find some fun loving criminals and call it done. Just look for people like us. If they end up useless, at least they’ll be fun at parties.”

“Okey-dokey.” Volt putters with the list. “Ignores rules… Ambivalent to collateral damage… Fast talker… Sticky fingers… Likes to party… Relentlessly horny… Oh shit. I may have actually found us. Did you still want your Citizens ID?”

Volt beams an old article to my laptop - New Tech Start-Up Let’s You Dream With Your Friends.

Below the headline there’s a picture of two young women laughing and drinking beer. It has the caption - Co-founders of Dream Machine, Janet Wheeler and Victoria Cheeseman. A pair of A.I. designers who developed the handshake protocol that makes mutual dreaming possible.

Jan Wheeler looks suspiciously like my younger sister. My much younger, hotter sister. With better clothes. And make-up. And friends. I guess she could end up as me. If she slept for a hundred years.

I scan the rest of the text. It’s mostly a bald business plug. Breathlessly promoting a new market and its wunderkinds to high risk investors. But near the end it gets interesting:

…some scientists warn that dreams are vital for storing long-term memories, and that tampering with them is unwise. Others are concerned that full immersion virtual reality could create powerful dopamine feedback loops, leading to behavioral addictions. But Wheeler scoffs at such concerns. “Lots of things mess with your sleep. Alcohol, pot, phones, kids, Netflix. And anything you enjoy will cause a dopamine loop. Food, booze, sports, sex, videogames. If anything, these warnings put us in good company. Sounds awesome. Seriously, this is the same sky-is-falling bullshit that accompanied every tech advance from social media back to the printing press. Unfortunately for professional doomsayers, people adapt to change. Everything’s gonna be fine…

Huh.

I look around at the sleeping city. With its desperate graffiti and man-hunting drones. That article hasn’t aged well.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

I dump my coffee and pack up my laptop. Head over to the patio pub with the buff children.

Volt buzzes up next to me. “What are you doing?”

“I need a better drink.”

“There’s booze in the store. Let’s go there.”

“I need a drink in a bar.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

I nod. All my ideas are bad. I once thought my enemies were random psychos.

The party goes quiet as I approach. Their glares run from scorn to smug. A big boy stands and faces me. “What do you want, dreamer?”

“I’m tired of being alone.”

He nods and reaches towards me. Tears off my garbage bag. “Go back to sleep.”

The other boys and girls howl with excitement. Call for a dog. I back away. Pull out my spoon. Big boy stares down at me. I hear a metallic clip-clop from behind. Fuck.

It’s another police drone. Vaguely dog shaped, except its head is a block of sixteen tasers. They’re all pointed at me. “What is your Citizen's ID?”

Volt buzzes around, making various tactical distractions. Illusions of attacking and fleeing perps that get some attention, but there’s always at least eight tasers pointed at me.

“It is a crime to withhold your citizen’s ID.”

Volt blazes over to the odd walkers. “Help! We need help!”

They studiously ignore her. The dog gets closer. “It’s a crime to resist arrest.” I’m fucked. My ticker isn’t up to a multi tase. Volt loses her shit. Buzzes the odd walkers angrily. “You fucking cowards! They’re gonna kill her!”

The odd walkers scurry from Volt’s aggression, their profile blurring streamers dancing behind them. They all run. Except for one, leaning on a short staff. Slim and pale. Moving slowly and deliberately. Only a few cursory streamers at his elbows and on his staff. Maybe he’s too tired to run. Maybe that’s why he’s coming towards me.

The howls from the buff children turn ugly. They call him a filthy rider. Threaten to end him. He keeps chugging slowly my way. Stops behind the police dog. Gives its hind end a light kick. The dog spins, but too slow. As soon as its head points away from me, the staff axes down on its neck. There’s a loud crack, a bright flash, and the sharp smell of burning metal. The dog collapses.

Slim turns to me. “You okay?”

“Yes.” I look down at the sprawled dog. It spewed dozens of electrified wires between us when it went down. If it’d been hit a fraction of a second earlier or later, one of us would have been zapped. Also, the bar goers are incandescent in rage. “Are we gonna be torn apart by an angry mob?”

“I doubt it. Nobody wants to work anymore.”

He gives me a good look over. “Been dreaming?”

“Yeah.”

“In trouble?”

I nod.

He nods too. “Come on then. We’ll get you sorted. We can stay at Andrew’s place. Just don’t be weird to my roommate.”

Someone is talking to me and wants to help me. Also, I’m poison. “I’m being stalked by a psycho. He’s trying to kill me.”

“Ack. Do you mind if I shoot him?”

“No…”

“Alright then. Let’s go.” He hobbles off.

We collect his groceries. He fights with them, so I help, but they’re heavy with booze, so I struggle too. We portage for a block, then stop to lighten our load. Various ant ships accost Slim. “Okay. Thanks guys.” He slips their dire warnings away without reading them.

We’re having a good time, but getting nowhere fast. Volt is sent to bring the truck around. That’s a problem solver, and soon we’re at Andrew’s place. It’s a mansion inside a walled estate. Much gardens.

“Nice.”

Slim shrugs. “I’m a guest.”

He gets us through the main gate, into the garage, and buzzes the front door. “It’s me.”

We pour into an entry hall that belongs in an opera house. Tiles, and spiral stairs, and frescos, and a chimp in streetwear.

“Oh shit, you have a pet monkey?”

The chimp frowns. “Seriously?” He stomps off.

“Socrates, wait!” But he does not. Slim deflates. Gives me a sour look. “Why? I asked for one thing.”

I’m sorry, but confused. “What did I do? Oh shit, was that your roommate? Whoops.”

Slim shakes his head, unloads a few groceries.

“I’m really sorry. Should I go apologize?”

“Nah, he’s not mad at you, just frustrated. He’ll need to cool off before he’s ready for an apology. Which is annoying because it’s his night to cook dinner. Wanna order a pizza?”

I give my hip a little wiggle. It’s moving pretty good. That skeleflex is working. “Sure, why not?”

Twenty minutes later a drone drops off a pizza. I “regretfully” inform Slim that I have no money to pay.

“That’s alright.” He serves us both a slice and turns on an old movie.

Oh.

I’m indoors with company. The pizza’s pretty good. Fuck it, I’m calling tonight a win.

Xan - Level 6 Criminal Mastermind

Stats

Physical - Frail (Getting Better)

Mental - Good (Except Memory)

Spiritual - Cheerful Nihilist

Abilities

Perfect Vision (S)

Perfect Night Vision (S)

Regeneration (F)

Dream Walker (A)

D-Bot Design (A)

Items

+1 Spoon of Striking

Nighty, Sneakers, Fall Coat

Old Smartphone (shared)

Brain Scanning Sticker

Garbage Bag of Stealth

Back-up Garbage Bag of Stealth

Stolen Laptop

Informational Symbiont

Quests

Escape Death

Be Bad

Volt - Level 5 Sworn Sword

Stats

Physical - Frail

Mental - Okay (Getting Good)

Spiritual - Devoted

Abilities

Machine Vision (?)

Machine Hearing (A)

Plane Strider (A)

Flight (D)

Tactical Holograms (D)

Threat Detector (?)

Items

Old Smartphone (Shared)

Holodrone

+2 Truck of Truckliness

Quests

Protect Xan

Get Good