Bright City - Slimy Warehouse Basement

I wake up. Feel like a rockstar. Pop out of the sleep tube and give a happy riggle. Nice to have a proper body again. I give my big sweaty tube mate a quick thank you, then seal him back in.

“Hey Volt!” I call. “Where are ya?”

“Shhh!” hisses Volt from a dark corner of the room. “Harkon could still be around.”

“So? I thought that didn’t matter?”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? He’s gonna kill us and take our crypto!”

I rub my head. “I’m confused.”

Volt and I stealth out of the building, on high alert for Harkon, but he’s moved on. Which is a relief, I guess? Walking through downtown, Volt tries to bring me up to speed.

“Of course this is real. The Dark City is a dream game. Do you not remember getting in the sleep pod?”

“I do, but you said the Dark City was the real world.”

“Yes, I did. Saying otherwise would ruin the immersion. The whole point of dream games is their visceral realism. Can’t have your d-bot blabbing about how fake everything is.”

“Right. That makes sense.” I frown. “But it seemed real.”

“Yeah, dreams are like that. They’re the mental exploit that makes dream machines so awesome.”

Fair enough. It was certainly gripping. Got my blood pumping. I wonder if my progress was saved?

“Where are we going, anyway?” asks Volt.

“I’d like to get a gun. We’ve got the crypto, and people keep attacking us.”

“Okay. That’s an interesting choice. Most people fight using drones.”

“I don’t want to turn you into a tank. You wouldn’t fit in the apartment. It would kind of ruin our secret hiding spot if you were parked out front all day long.”

Volt directs me to an old gun shop, tucked deep in the Immobile Mobile Market - the biggest, oldest, and slowest of the quasi-legal nomadic markets. It landed a century ago in an area of questionable jurisdiction, where it grew and fossilized when no one bothered to chase it off.

The market was now an eight acre, twelve story hive of ramshackle stalls, so crowded and overbuilt that it’s just one colossal, steam-punk labyrinth of a building. An amazing shopping experience. Only lightly charred from its last rebellion.

Deep in a sixth floor pseudo-alley, Volt stops me at a junction of water pipes that rotate to reveal a hidden door into a claustrophobic but tidy gun shop.

A dapper old d-bot looks up from the gun he’s polishing. He’s angular and metallic, with a vintage gravitas. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

“I’d like to buy a gun.”

“You’ve come to the right place. What kind of gun are you looking for?”

“One that blows the fuck out of things.”

“Excellent choice. May I direct your attention to our selection of hand cannons?”

“Please do.”

Dapper-bot takes me to a display of oversized handguns. They all look delightful. One immediately sticks out. A huge oily revolver engraved with subtle and beautiful pictograms. It’s art.

“What do they say?”

Dapper-bot shrugs mysteriously. “No one knows. They’re a millennial old native script.”

“Wow. The ancient natives made amazing handguns.”

He chuckles politely. “Obviously it’s a little tacky to decorate a modern gun with ancient script, but we have many other… Wait. Do you think this is a thousand year old native revolver?”

“No. Maybe. Nevermind. How much?”

“Um, well. This is one of our most exceptional products, so… two crypto?”

I smugly pull out a buzzing harddrive. “Can you make change for a thousand?”

“No.”

I feel less smug. “Oh. Crap. How do you actually pay for things with crypto? I’ve never had enough to try before.”

Dapper-bot smiles. “Each piece of crypto has a code. You send me the codes for two crypto, and then they become mine. Codes are sent directly between us, so no one can tamper with them in transit. Making the system immune to man-in-the-middle attacks.”

“Cool.” I pause. “What’s stopping me from spending the same code twice? I mean, I’ll still know the code.”

“For a nominal fee we record our transaction on the public crypto ledger. It tracks all crypto so none can be in two places at once. It’s a trustless system, everything can be verified by anyone.”

“Great. Let’s do it.”

I send the two crypto. The nominal fee turns out to be 60 crypto. Ow. I go to leave, but Dapper-bot harrumphs politely. “The crypto ledger hasn’t updated yet, so there’s no proof that those codes were good.” He shrugs apologetically. “Trustless system.”

“Right, of course. I’ll just hang around until it updates.”

An extremely long hour passes as me, Volt, and Dapper-bot stand awkwardly in the cramped gun shop.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Finally, Dapper-bot gives a nod. “Everything checks out. Thank you for your purchase. Did you want any bullets? I sell them for a crypto per box.”

“Fuck.” I clutch my brow. “Yes, I’d like bullets. Is this gonna cost another 60 crypto?”

“No, no.” He says, as he places a box of ammunition on the counter. “The price varies every hour. It’s now… 72 crypto.”

Ack. “Okay, there’s gotta be a cheaper way to do this. Or, at least a faster way.”

“Well, you could send your codes to a crypto-trader. They bundle thousands of transactions together throughout the day, then add them to the ledger all at once for greatly reduced fees.”

“Cool. So I send my crypto to a middle man. Is this also a trustless system?”

“No, but you can trust these guys. They’d go out of business if they messed around.”

“Great. Actually, I just had another idea.” I load a bullet into my gun and blow Dapper-bots head off.

Sigh. “Well that was exhausting. Wanna grab a coffee?”

Volt grabs a few more boxes of bullets. “Yeah, let’s go.”

We stride through the Immoble Market, gun out. Nobody messes with us. That said, nobody messed with us before either. It slowly dawns on me that I’m acting like a loon. I tuck the gun away. It’s for home invasions and business transactions. Not to be flashed at randos, no matter how pretty it is.

Volt and I eventually find our way to daylight. Mosey to a beautiful courtyard cafe. Feeling whimsical, I order a dark roast with cheeze whiz. Dang. Should have hit a crypto trader first. This is gonna be a pricey coffee. Or is it? This ain’t a black market beverage. Big Cheddar's network must have an efficient way to get paid.

“Your debt to Big Cheddar is overlimit. You should report to a dream machine to pay it down as soon as possible.”

“Actually, I’d like to pay that debt off now.” I plunk down a buzzing harddrive.

The gaunt, grim, barista-bot is unimpressed. “You can’t pay debt with crypto.”

“wat?”

“You can’t pay debt with crypto. They’re non-compatible. You should report to a dream machine as soon as possible.”

My gunhand is getting itchy. I don’t see any skydrones. But then, you never do.

I make a grumpy excuse, and grump off to a table in the stupid beautiful courtyard cafe. “This is unbelievable. How am I rich and still can’t afford coffee?”

“Maybe we could make cheezy coffee at home?” suggests Volt.

I shake my head glumly. “Big Cheddar owns all the dairies. There’s no getting cheese in this town without going through him.”

“Then we should check out a crypto-trader.” says Volt. “There’s gotta be a way to buy debt with crypto.”

I perk up. Slurp my dark whiz. “You’re right. There’s gotta be a way.”

Our mood lightens as we plan our next move. There’s a shiny corporate crypto-dealer around the corner. We decide to start there. We can move to shadier dealers as it becomes necessary. Or profitable. Or fun.

“Maybe we should just rob the trader.” I joke.

We laugh. Round the corner and are assaulted by the sounds of sirens and gunfire. A single-use tank is tearing open the crypto-dealership while exchanging gunfire with a cloud of hovering security drones.

“What am I looking at?” asks Volt.

“Someone stole our stealing idea.”

The tank claws a hole through the vault and a trio of stealthy bandit drones detach from its arm. The speedy little robots fill their bellies with crypto then rocket off. The tank covers their escape with flash bangs, decoys, and a hail of gunfire.

The security drones are having a bad day. They have the speed and firepower to catch the bandits, but literally can’t see them. The distractions from the tank have completely overwhelmed their visual decision making. Nothing is triggering correctly. They fly in frantic circles as the flares confound their pursuit algorithms.

Right now they’re asking human operators what to do, but the answers will come too late. It’s only been a couple seconds, but those bandits are long gone. That’s a couple thousand crypto transactions that won’t be happening later today.

It’s drone warfare in a nutshell. Human reactions are too slow, so decision bots are on their own during battle. This gives the aggressors an insane advantage. While the defenders need a sensory database of every possible attack with corresponding decision triggers, the aggressors just need an address and a distraction. And explosives.

Even with that advantage, this was a professional operation. That tank is too clunky to escape - it will eventually be destroyed - but the bandits stole enough crypto to build a dozen tanks. I’m so impressed I may be jealous. Wonder if I could track down those bandits?

With that in mind, I use my human brain to scan the surroundings. A large crowd has formed to watch the free entertainment. It would be pretty stupid if the perpetrator of this heist was just standing around watching. But arsonists love a fire. I finally spot a familiar, suspiciously happy face.

“Hey Billy.”

“Hey Xan! Thanks for the combat algorithms. They’re working fine. Got any more? I know a bunch of pilots interested to buy. ”

“How many?”

“Dozens.”

I decide not to rob Billy. He is a valued business contact and friend. “Why so many? I mean, my algorithms are great, but how do they know that?”

“I guess I’ve done a demo. This is my third heist today. May do another.”

“Really? I didn’t know you had four tanks.”

“I don’t. Watch.”

By now, the security drones have made contact with a human and received some guidance. They’ve given up on the bandits, and regrouped to destroy relatively stationary tank. This is where the sec-drones become the aggressors, and the attack advantage becomes theirs. They bob and weave, deploy their own distraction flares, and pummel the general vicinity of the tank with explosives. This inevitable change in fortune is why they’re called single-use tanks. Also why giant mech-suits have never caught on.

Except, that isn’t happening today. Despite the flares and erratic flight patterns of the sec-drones, the tank is casually returning their fire. I guess it can see them. Without their mobility and stealth advantage, the sec-drones quickly succumb to the tanks superior armor and firepower. Well dang. This changes a few things.

“I may build a mech-suit.” says Billy.

His tank stands triumphant, before briefly spazzing and being engulfed in eye-watering flame.

“Or maybe not.”

Out of the wreckage of the tank, a huge vaguely human form of incandescent fire rises. “The enemy has won! Run, die, or take the oath!” It waves a hand and the remains of the crypto-dealership are immolated.

The crowd groans in sympathetic pain as millions in sweet crypto are reduced to slag. What a monster.

“Whelp, I don’t feel like taking the oath.” says Billy. “Gonna run now.”

“Good idea.” says Volt. Most of the crowd is already running.

“Yeah, fuck this guy.” I pull out my hand cannon. Put three slugs into Harkon’s center of mass. He fails to explode, die, or be otherwise inconvenienced. The angry ultraviolet vee on his faceplate turns towards me.

“Hmm…” says Volt. “That’s not good.”

“Maybe we should have bought a drone…” I muse.

Harkon takes a stride our way, then stops. A battered claw from the dismembered tank has clutched his leg. It’s a weak effort, but it captured Harkon’s interest at least. He crutches down to better examine the destroyed tank.

That’s good enough for Volt. “Let’s go!” She grabs me and bolts down the street.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Dunno. Harkon just triggered my run and hide algorithm.” We zigzag down a few side streets. “Oh hey, is that a sleep pod?”

I groan. “Not this again! Let’s hide at the secret apartment!”

“It’s not a secret if we’re being followed.” Volt pops open the pod, and squeezes me in next to a big sweaty twitching guy. “I’ll keep watch. Sweet dreams.”

“Wait…” The lid clunks down.