Dark City - Medium Fancy Municipal Conference Room
“To get interest, we need to challenge a loosely held belief.” says Toss Cheese. “In politics, that means picking at the edges. Going hard on shit that barely affects people. You can’t get new supporters on big issues. Those minds are made up - don’t wanna hear new ideas. Unless they’re at some kind of emotional crossroads. Where their old worldview has failed them so badly, they’re open to new ideas. But it’s hard to get the timing right for that shit. You need the dissolution of their inner life to coincide with the election. Hard to get the whole city there at the same time.”
“There’s an emotional crossroads at rock bottom.” says Make Worse. “Could be that’s an opportunity?”
My little bugbot rubs her belly. “My tummy hurts.”
We’re at our second election meeting. Third, if you count the bad guys. It’s at a medium fancy municipal conference room. Steel and oak, with soaring windows and large skylights. It’s got Town Hall’s cathedral aesthetics, but at a small town church size. There’s maybe thirty people in a room that could hold twice that.
This is the strategy meeting. Soca announced that Mayor Rando could actually win this time, if we get enough Riders to the polls. So we’re working up a plan to get’em motivated. Ostensibly. Mostly we’re reinventing propaganda from first principles.
I pick up Volt. Give her a diagnostic in the form of a concerned look. “I don’t like that your belly hurts. Is there anything I can do? I won’t delete you.”
“I know. I don’t know. I’ll be fine. I just gotta get it together.”
While I’m fussing over Volt, Soca is fussing over Henry. Taking blood and pumping him full of pills. Little Monkey Nightingale. It’s funny til it’s my turn. A chimp with a needle is inherently alarming. Jabby little bastard.
“Hold still. Vet said you’re ready for this shit.”
I lean away from his hypodermic intensity. “Will it make me Trustie buff?”
“No, that’s Thermogenesis. You don’t need that. This is Immune A. The anti-vaccine. It resets your immune system to purge auto-immune issues - allergies, arthritis, MS. Later, we’ll use Immune B to train your immune system to attack aging diseases. Cancer and heart disease and Alzhiemer’s and stuff.”
I nod. “Cool. Gimme both. I’m strong now. Did two push-ups today.”
“Impressive. But you can’t vax and anti-vax at the same time. You’ll fucking riot or something.”
"Can I have Thermogenesis?”
“Fuck off.” He jabs me. Prick.
As Soca ministers to his elders, the meeting rolls on around us. The initial plan to motivate our base was to promote how we would do the most good for the most people. But that got everybody riled up. Like throwing raw conjecture to a pack of wild philosophers. What was the “most good”? Survival? Happiness? How do we get the “most” of it? Is it measurable? For that matter, who are “people”? Just us? Trustees and Sleepers? The people outside the city? Future generations? Cause, fuck those guys. The unborn have had it too good for too long.
Relentless questioning pushes us back til we’re struggling to define who “we” are.
“Okay.” says Sleep Death. “We are a self selected group of people who are trying to accomplish the same goal.”
“That sounds great.” says All Fine. “Do we actually have the same goal? What is it?”
“Fuck.” Sleep Death lowers her head to the table. She’s spent.
“We’re trying to save people, right?” asks Mad Arrest.
“I want my fucking money back!” says Woke’n’Broke.
“I just wanna leave.” says Can’t Leave.
“Okay.” Sleep Death resurrects herself. “We’re a fragile alliance of self serving fuckers forced together because no one else will have us.”
“That’s honest.” muses Mad Arrest. “Maybe too honest? Should we lie a little?”
“I like the first definition.” says Toss Cheese. “Us working on the same goal. Surely our goal is to experience the feeling of safety you get from being healthy and loved. Isn’t that everyone’s goal?”
Sleep Death shakes her head. “A lot of people are after money, power, and fame. I don’t think they care if people love them, judging by the amount of abuse they deal out.”
“Well that’s stupid. What good is that shit if no one likes you?”
“Hey!” barks Woke’n’Broke. “Wanting money isn’t stupid.”
“Really? What are you going to buy with it?”
“Uh… my stuff. I’d buy my stuff back.”
“All the stuff you still have?”
“Yeah…”
Toss Cheese steeples his fingers. “Were you happy when you had your money? Did you feel safe?”
“Well… uh… Fuck you! You just want to fix a video game!”
“Yeah, because it was awesome, then Big Cheddar wrecked it.”
All Fine interjects. “I think Big Cheddar’s dead now. There’s a new guy.”
“So we gotta kill the new guy. Same diff.”
The meeting devolves into hurtful descriptions of what they’d like to do to the new guy. Henry slumps in boredom. He doesn’t play games. Soca doesn’t either. He shakes his head, stands, and delivers.
“Our only possible platform is waking people up. We can’t do any of our other plans without it. And if we’re just gonna lie and then do nothing, we may as well let the Trusties win.”
There’s an unhappy silence as this truth sets in. Eventually, Toss Cheese chimes in.
“While I don’t really disagree, people still don’t want to wake up. It’s the wrong way around to get votes. Hell, even I don’t want to be here.”
Soca waves around the room. “None of us want to be here. What’s that got to do with anything? We’re still here. Something’s got us so miserable that this somehow makes sense. We’ll just wake up people like us. Start with the folks who are gonna die in their sleep. Some of them wanna live. Statistically. We could train them up a little, so they don’t immediately get arrested. Then together we can - I don’t know - find a line to the outside world, get our shit back from the trusties, and murder whoever ruined the dream game.”
Soca’s words provoke a grudging acceptance from this world weary crew. But it’s a facade. A thin veneer over a palpable upsurge in optimism. You can feel it like electricity. Like that moment before you dose. They're all too scarred to say it, but he’s got them hoping. God dammit.
I slump in my seat. Volt rubs her tummy.
“What’s wrong?” asks Henry.
“Nothing. I maybe understand Make Worse more than I want to.”
Henry grunts. “I hear that. She’s way too happy right now. Does not bode well. Fuck. Neither does that.”
Henry’s looking behind us. I spin to see four stalker-bots slink in the front door. They weave like they’re kinda drunk but also in a perfect diamond formation. Each has two off-color shoulder patches that detach to become hand-size horrid mosquito drones with glistening proboscises.
“Hello. You are in a government facility. Please present your citizen ID.”
Fuck.
Henry stands and unlimbers his shillelagh. Some of the crowd head for the back exit, but are met by another diamond formation of robotic interlopers. The lines of beautiful windows that frame the hall are slyly propped open, to reveal a dozen more off-kilter industrial looking bots. Not content to block our escape routes, the skitter in the windows to completely surround us in a tight, creepy package.
“It is an offense to withhold your citizen ID.”
The smiling bastards loom closer as we shuffle back. Their hands jitter with nervous aggression. Their skeeter-bots drool with god-knows-what. Only Henry hasn’t backed up, but I don’t think we’ll be shillelaghling our way out of this one.
“A-ha!” says Volt. “I think I know what’s been bothering me. Henry may want to step back.”
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I yank Henry back just as the skylights give up their frames. They thunder down on the Interlopers in an explosion of glass and bug-bots.
Everyone is screaming. The Riders shrink into themselves. The Interlopers flail wildly. Thousands of bug-bots skitter over them, chewing anything that looks important. It’s a much more reassuring skitter than what we saw earlier. A skitter for justice. Insectile attack drones are cool when they’re on your side. Oh shit, here come the skeeter-bots.
The riders flail to keep the ‘roided up flying hypodermic needles off us. The Interlopers crush bug-bots furiously. This is some weird ass war of attrition. I have no idea who’s winning. Fog of war, man.
A Skeeter and a Bug collide before me. Crash on a desk. The Bug is impaled but she’s got the Skeeter in a headlock. They struggle back and forth. The Bug meets my eyes. “Fly, you fools!” They fall off the desk with a little plink.
I take a deep breath. “WE GOTTA GO!!”
Soca and I sweep a path with heavy oak chairs. The Riders limp after us, slowed by the Skeeters relentless assault and whatever they’re injecting. Henry pops in with an electric rebuttal whenever an Interloper grabs a Rider.
We manage to get our crowd out of the room, but it’s exhausting. These heavy chairs are heavy. Also, the Interlopers have crushed most of the bug-bots and are less distracted. Also, I’m feeling kinda woozy.
“Shit!” Soca points at my back. “There’s a bug on you! A bad bug!”
I slap the back of my shoulder. Ugh. My hand is goopy. I’m slightly dizzy, but I think it’s from disgust.
“Are you okay?”
“For sure. Just a half dose of slow down juice.” I flick the skeeter remains from my shoulder. Toss back a No Thought. “Means nothing.”
“No Thought isn’t a stimulant. It won’t counteract a sedative.”
“It’s meant to complement it. Do we have any beer?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go.”
We stagger into the night. There’s three trucks parked across the street. They’re not that far. Also, we’re not moving that fast. I love these fuckers, but they’re slow as shit. How am I leaving them behind?
The Interlopers have finally subdued Volt’s bug-bots, but they have not escaped unscathed. Torn and tattered, they’re barely lurching after us. Unfortunately, we’re pretty doped, and lurching even slower. It’s zombies chasing zombies. A genre I didn’t know existed.
Fuck this.
I forge ahead. Soca won’t leave Henry, and Henry won’t leave anybody, so I’m on my own. Just me and Volt’s last bug-bot. Typical.
I get into a truck. Look back at the zombie race. Nobody’s gonna make it to me. Buckle my seat belt. Adjust my mirrors. Look back at the zombie race. Okay.
Hop the curb. Blaze towards the medium fancy municipal hall. Soca is stoked.
“Good idea! You come to us!”
I drive past him.
“Or keep going, I guess…”
I hammer the Interloper hoard. Crush a good chunk on my first hit. Back up. Forward. Back and forth. Can’t get fast enough to knock them out. Gotta smear them against the building. So I do.
Got most of them smushed, but the truck’s fucked. Fair trade, till they get faster. Windows smashed. Skeeter-bots. Intensity. The fuck?
“Crap!” barks Volt. “They had reserves! These guys are fresh. The Riders have left. We can go!”
I wheel it around. Scrape a few hitchhikers off on a telephone pole. Sputter into the night. A clean escape. Except the truck is barely moving and there’s a dozen skeeter-bots stuck to it.
“I think we’re fucked.” says Volt. “Should we consider surrender options?”
This is awkward. I head towards an address I’d memorized a week ago. “We’ve got one last idea.”
“Really?”
We clunk down some side streets. Steering feels funny. Is a wheel loose? Or gone? We’re chucking battery life. Something is leaking. I check the GPS. We’ll probably make it.
“Remember when we were looking for Blank? It gave me some ideas to find someone else.”
“Who?”
“Anyway, I ran some numbers, and I think I found them.”
“Why didn’t we find them together? Who did you find?”
The truck conks out. No power. But it’s still moving. I fight the dead steering wheel to keep us on track.
“Anywho, he’s saved us before. This is gonna work out great.”
We coast to a small house. It’s quaint.
“Who? Who’s saved us? Oh no. Oh no no no no.”
I pop out of the truck. A pair of skeeter-bots shadow me. Fuck them. Climb the stairs to the small house. Knock on the door.
“Oh no, Xan. People aren’t the same between worlds. My belly hurts so bad.”
I hear the arrhythmic clumping of an Interloper behind us. A shadow approaches the door. It opens to reveal a large man. Not tall and cut like a Trustie. But wide and square. Like they tried to carve a man out of brick, but gave up.
He scowls at me. At Volt. At the Interloper. Understandable. Thankfully, I know what he wants.
I take a deep breath.
“Fight or hide but never run,
“Left behind when they have won,
“Poison, salt, ashes, death,
“Total resistance.”
He looks at me blankly. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I’m taken aback. My belly doesn’t feel good. “It’s the oath. It’s what you want from me. Why you’re in my dreams.”
“Lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looks around me to the Interloper that’s creeping up. “I don’t know what kind of trouble you are, but you can’t bring it here. My daughter’s in this house.”
“Please present your citizen ID.” The interloper is at the bottom of the stairs. The two skeeter-bots hover over his shoulders. “It is an offense to withhold your citizen ID.”
The large angry man flips out his ID while staring balefully at me. I take a nervous step back, and he follows. Blocking me from the door, the house, his daughter. His body language is clear - I’m not going that way.
Stuck there on the stairs, caught between a brick and a disappearance, I almost miss the slight shadow that slips out the door and jukes to the edge of the deck. It’s a teenage girl, lanky and coltish. Hair pinned in a messy bun by two chopsticks.
“Back inside, girlie.”
She side-eyes her dad, the interloper, me. Her little mouth sneers, and her brow pulls down in a tight, angry, vee. In a wee raspy voice she hisses “Total resistance.”
Angry Dad swings a paw to grab her, but he’s too slow. She’s over the railing, spinning in a roundhouse kick that separates the interloper from his head. She lands behind the busted automaton, her hair loose. The two skeeter-bots are stapled to the lawn with chopsticks. Didn’t even see that happen.
“Goddammit, Lily!” Fierce Dad is exasperated. “Now we gotta move.”
She ignores him. Looks at me. “Are there more coming?”
“Dozens.”
She gives a sharp nod. “I’ll get my armaments.” Slips back into the house.
“What? Nooo.” The Dad calls after her. “Young lady, we are panicking. Hastily grabbing a few nonsensical items, then fleeing into the night. Not grabbing armaments!”
“You should grab yours too.”
“Fuck.” he whispers tiredly. Looks at me balefully.
“Kids.” I shrug. “They learn it online.”
“How do you know Lily?”
“We met… uh… online?”
“In that damn dream game? You teammates or something?”
“Or something…” I mumble. “It’s not really a team game…”
This awkward moment is thankfully interrupted by Lily's reappearance. She’s wearing some kind of motocross outfit. Full opaque helmet, leathers with hard plates sewn in, chunky black boots. She flicks her wrists, and two extendable batons snap out. They have the same sparking spikes as Henry’s shillelagh.
But what dominates my attention is her dazzle camo. Instead of white patches, she has blocky strips that flare with eye-watering ultraviolet light. Including a large angry vee over her faceplate.
“Ho. Lee. Fucking. Fuck.” says Volt. “You actually found Harkon.”
“I guess I did.” I say. “You were right tho. People aren’t the same.”
“Forget what I said. I clearly don’t know what I’m talking about. You should delete me.”
Harkon hands her father a small note. “Escort her to this address. I’ll scout the route.”
“Why don’t I scout and you escort?”
“You don’t have your armaments.” She launches off the deck and blasts into the night.
“But you’re just scouting, right?” he yells into the night. There’s no answer. He stands there stress flexing his fingers for a moment, then hustles into the house. “...godammit. Where are my armaments…”
I stand awkwardly on the deck. Which is fine. I do everything awkwardly. It's my comfort zone.
He’s back in 10 or 15 seconds. He’s got the helmet and the chunky black boots. No camo, batons, or leathers, but he’s strapping on an old school bulletproof vest. Pauses as he sees me.
“Is that light coat bulletproof?”
“No.”
“Fuck.” He shrugs off the vest, and straps it on me instead. It’s been used. Not like previously worn, but previously shot at. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
He looks down at me. I’m struggling a little under the weight of his vest. Or maybe it’s the tranquilizers. I hide it well.
He sighs. Takes off his helmet. “I’m pretty freaked out about what my daughter’s up to. Can I carry you?”
“If I’m slowing you down, you can leave me.”
“Nope.” He puts the helmet on my head. Scoops me into a princess carry. “You won’t slow me at all.”
He launches us from the deck and hammers down the street at highway speeds. His boots somehow propel him a dozen feet for every step. It should be alarming, but I haven’t been held in a while, and he smells good.
We pass a few busted interlopers, then a lot. He perceptibly speeds up. Eventually, a couple get in our way, and he kicks them to pieces without slowing down. Sweet.
It only takes a few minutes to get to another small house. Harkon is sitting at the table. There’s a large metal briefcase on it.
“I need your help to kill Big Cheddar. Not in the game, in this world.”
“Okay. I don’t know how to do that.”
She flips open the briefcase. It contains two guns, like a dueling case. But, instead of pistols and bullets, it has hunters and drone guns. I’m astounded.
“One for each of us. Except, they don’t work. They need a threat detector with a capable visual detection algorithm."
I gasp. "I have one of those!"
"I thought you might. We can work together, if you are willing to take the oath."
"Already did."
"Perfect." She flips a gun to me. "Let's go burn Cheddar."