> I tried so hard, but we were all alone in the wilderness. Seventeen kids, me, and one other adult. None of them had even a semblance of survival training. Only me. I did everything I could to protect them, but the world had changed overnight. I had to become intimately familiar with failure. With loss. Otherwise, I would have gone insane.
Jeremiah Braddock III
My uncle took the lead as we climbed through the drainage tunnels and back to the surface. Neither of us spoke because we didn’t really need to. I’d spent so much time with Jeremiah that silence had become more comfortable than endless chatter. I had been living with him since my father had died when I was only four years old, and so, he had come to fill that role for me. He was the only parent I really knew.
Not that I didn’t sometimes hate him, of course. Like when he’d grounded me for getting my hair cut and dyed into a green mohawk; I’d been forced to spend an entire week at home, with no company or, more importantly, access to the cybernet. He already restricted my access, but to be cut off completely? It was beyond the pale. After that, he’d forced me to go to someone with a barber skill, and I’d had my hair returned to its former glory in the space of only a few minutes. Which is to say that it went back to being a mass of unruly curls that seemed to defy my every attempt to corral it into some semblance of order.
“Took out your braids, huh?” he said, his eyes scanning the area. Someone would have to be an idiot to attack Jeremiah, but Nova City had no shortage of morons who thought they were more powerful than they really were. And if Jeremiah was attacked by the wrong person, even he could fall. By force of habit, I mimicked his wariness; he’d drilled a certain paranoia into me, and one which my time on the streets had only enhanced.
I shrugged. “They started to stink,” was my answer. An understatement if ever there was one. My tightly curled hair – a feature that had come from my mother – might be unruly and uneven, but at least it was easy to clean. The same couldn’t be said for the braids Jeremiah insisted I wear. Often, I dreamed of just cutting it all off just to spite him.
Or maybe getting that mohawk again. That would be so cool.
He snorted, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, either. If I hadn’t run away, I would have had all the tools to properly take care of my hair. Instead, I’d chosen to live in the sewers like a vagrant. It was no surprise, then, that I’d come to look the part.
After a few minutes, we made our way to the main road. I ignored the concrete-and-steel monstrosities that were the surrounding buildings, unfazed by the ubiquitous neon signs and giant, holographic billboards. Most were advertisements, hawking various products via sexually suggestive material. I was used to it, though, and I hardly even noticed the depictions of half-naked men or women slurping on the latest, greatest soft drinks or pushing some popular virtual reality experience on the cybernet.
Finally, he led me to a gleaming black hover car with chrome accents. It was all sharp angles and clean lines – an expensive machine that showed anyone who cared to look that Jeremiah was someone important. Of course, in King’s Row, such vehicles were common to the point of mundanity; my uncle was rich, but to them, he was just another thug from the Garden. Stuck up assholes, the lot of them, as far as I was concerned.
Hearing a buzz overhead, I glanced up to see a pair of drones fly by. I shook my head in disgust. Despite ubiquitous surveillance, what passed for government in Nova City rarely utilized their power to instill law and order in places like the Garden. They only responded to the worst of the worst – when gunfights threatened the stability of the entire district’s farming output, usually – ignoring the chaos in favor of sitting in their ivory towers and looking down on everyone who hadn’t been born with a silver spoon.
Of course, given that I’d been raised by one of the most powerful men in the district, I didn’t really have much room to talk. Still, I didn’t go around imposing my will upon the masses, did I? I didn’t walk around with my nose in the air, either. Not like them. I was just another girl from the Garden.
I thought back to a few years back when one of the council deigned to descend upon us, coming down to the Garden to redistribute food that had been grown in one of the district’s own silos. Back then, I had been so excited – someone from that side of the city was finally doing something to help. My nine-year-old self couldn’t have been more wrong. It was all just a photo-op. An effort to show that the corporate asshole was a man of the people.
Ostensibly, we had elections. And everyone voted, too. However, no matter how the people cast their votes, the same stooges kept getting elected. It was telling that everyone in the government was from the more upscale districts, like King’s Row, Lakeview, or Uptown. Those of us in the Garden, Bywater, or, worse, Algiers, comprised the vast majority of the population, but none of our candidates ever got elected. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the fix was in, and that the elections were a farce. Still, I’d been surprised to learn that such a ruse actually worked on most of the population. They thought they had a choice, and even believed the drivel that came out of those politicians’ mouths. It was disgusting.
In any case, it wasn’t as if the politicians had any real power, either. Sure, they managed the mundane, but the people in charge were more akin to my uncle than the pristine officials who spent their days arguing about taxation or managing trade with other cities. At the very top were the sorts of people who could, if they wanted, destroy the entire city and everyone in it. They were the ones who made Jeremiah look like a common thug in comparison.
Could he come out on top in a fight? Maybe. I had never really seen him fight; nor had I seen the legendary founders of the city in action. Or at all. They didn’t come down to the Garden District, after all. But they also had armies of Tier-3 and -4 soldiers at their disposal, well-trained and completely uncompromising. I had seen them before, and it was an experience I never wanted to repeat.
“You coming?” asked my uncle, sliding into the backseat of the car. “Or are you just going to stand there staring at a couple of drones all day?”
I jerked my attention from the sky and climbed into the hover car. The faux leather was luxurious and comfortable, and the backseat was spacious enough to swallow me whole. My uncle was a big man, and the car had been tailored to fit him. Such was one of the benefits of being on top.
I remained silent as the car accelerated on its cushion of air. Or was it nanites? I knew that most of our technology ran on the microscopic machines we referred to as Mist, but like most people – especially those who had yet to receive a Nexus Implant – I’d never gotten any details. I’d tried, of course, but anything more than the most basic facts was thin on the ground. Perhaps I’d learn more when I got my own implant.
“Wait,” I said, pressing my face against the window as I saw that we’d passed by the quickest route to the megabuilding which housed Jeremiah’s penthouse. “Where are we going?”
“We’ve got a stop to make on the way,” my uncle said. “And no, it’s not optional, so don’t complain.”
I gave a dramatic sigh and slumped back against the seat. Crossing my arms, I settled down to wait. However, as I looked out the window, I couldn’t help but notice familiar territory. My heart started beating faster as I recognized one landmark after another, and then, finally, when I saw Farooq’s shop looming in the distance, I felt my insides twist into a thousand knots.
Farooq’s business sported a holographic sign depicting a beautiful and mostly naked woman putting on a pair of high-heeled shoes. The name of the shop – Hot Heelz – kept appearing in cursive script beneath the woman. I hated the sign, but then again, it wasn’t anything new. I was used to being bombarded by such depictions as they tried to convince me to part with my hard-earned credits.
Well, sort of hard-earned. Because I wasn’t even integrated into the system yet, I was entirely dependent on Jeremiah to give me an allowance. But as soon as I got my Nexus Implant, my identity and account would be integrated into the implant. For now, though, I had to wear a Juvenile Account bracelet that wouldn’t be removed until I became an adult and received my Nexus Implant.
In any case, the car glided past Hot Heelz, and, at first, I was relieved. I had gotten it into my head that Jeremiah was going to force me to return the boots and apologize to Farooq or something. However, my stomach tightened when we pulled to a stop a half-block down the street, and I saw the results of my handiwork.
The concrete walls of the building sported marks of blackened soot which were in the process of being cleaned by the utility drones that were responsible for removing graffiti. Apparently, the evidence of my distraction qualified, because they were hard at work spraying the walls clean. However, the soot marks weren’t what drew my eyes. Instead, I stared at the bodies.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“W-what happened?” I muttered.
Seven corpses were lying in the street, riddled with massive bullet holes. Blood pooled on the ground, and bits and pieces of flesh decorated the sidewalk. The only concession the city had made to the grisly scene was to use holographic caution tape to warn people to go around.
That there were dead bodies on the street wasn’t too surprising. If it was in King’s Row or Lakeview, they would have been immediately disposed of, but the Garden wasn’t exactly a priority. Eventually, someone would get around to it, but by then, the bodies would probably already be gone. Sometimes, the families of the deceased would claim the corpses, but usually, it fell to the scavengers to pick through the bodies for anything valuable. When they were finished, they would dump the bodies into the delta far below.
“That little bomb you set off drew the Enforcers,” Jeremiah said.
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt like I was going to vomit. The Enforcers were, nominally, a peacekeeping force. They were what passed for law enforcement in Nova City. But instead of investigating and filing paperwork, they responded to any threat by swooping in with guns blazing, taking out criminals and victims alike. As extensions of the powerful elite, they didn’t care about right or wrong. They only wanted to promote some semblance of order. And apparently, a tiny bomb – little more than a little light and a loud bang – was enough to get their attention.
“This is on you,” he said. “Remember this scene. I want it burned into your brain. Actions have consequences, Mirabelle. You wanted something, and you chose to act. You probably thought your plan was perfect, that no one would get hurt. But sometimes, no matter how much you plan, innocent people are going to get hurt.”
I stared at the dead bodies, tears in my eyes. I was no stranger to death. It was part of life in Nova City. But I’d never directly caused anyone to die, and it didn’t feel good.
“What do I do?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. I wiped my eyes. “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” Jeremiah said. Then, he handed me the box containing the boots, adding, “There. Seven people died so you can get these. It would be a shame if they went to waste. Make better choices next time.”
Guiltily, I took the box. However, I wasn’t as excited about the boots as I had been before. All I saw when I looked at the box was seven dead bodies. I knew I hadn’t killed them, but I also knew that those people would still be alive if I hadn’t stolen the boots. Or if I’d chosen a different distraction. Or made any number of other, different decisions. I hadn’t pulled any triggers, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t ultimately responsible.
“The second lesson of the day is this,” Jeremiah said, holding up two fingers. “You didn’t kill anyone. They did. They created the world the way it is. You just made a mistake, and one you’re not going to repeat. Remember who’s really responsible.”
“Who?” I asked. “I didn’t have to –”
“Those assholes at the top,” he growled. “They could have made Nova City into a utopia. They could have made this place a refuge. They had the means. Still do. But instead, at every turn, they’ve made choices based on selfishness. The rest of us are just trying to survive in the world they chose to create.”
I didn’t really agree with his assertion that I wasn’t ultimately responsible. I didn’t want to pass that off on someone else. However, I didn’t argue because I really didn’t know what to say.
After telling the driver we were ready to move on, the hover car accelerated away from the scene of my crime, eventually looping around toward my uncle’s penthouse in the heart of the Garden. The closer we came to the megabuilding that had been my home since I was four years old, the less prevalent the drones became. Eventually, they disappeared altogether, and with their lack of attention, the buildings that comprised the city became far more colorful, more decrepit, and populated by people in a wider variety of clothing. Graffiti decorated almost every cracked wall, and as I looked around, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the diversity of outfits on display.
There were four basic types of pedestrians walking in front of the building. First, there were the workers. Most were dressed in drab coveralls – or something similar – as they trekked back from their mundane jobs at one of the Garden’s Silos or in one of Nova City’s factories, most of which were in Algiers. One and all, they had that defeated – or maybe exhausted – look about them.
Second, there was the younger crowd. In many cases, they barely wore clothing at all. It didn’t matter if they were male, female, or anything in between. Short shorts, tiny skirts, and tops that barely covered a person’s chest were the norm. And in some odd cases, even that was too restrictive. No one went strictly nude, but there were quite a few that might as well have been. Even though I could never walk the streets like that, there was a part of me that envied them. But one facet of their appearance, above all others, drew my eye.
It was the hair.
It came in every color of the rainbow, and it seemed like the variety of styles didn’t lag too far behind that lofty number. I almost let out a sigh. Most of those styles were completely out of my reach. My wild, tightly curled hair just wouldn’t cooperate with a proper sidecut or hang down to my back in a glorious mane. Instead, it grew out rather than down, and without significant effort, would frequently decide to do its own thing as opposed to what I wanted it to do. That was why I usually wore it in braids, but as I’d told my uncle, life on the street hadn’t given me many opportunities to clean them properly, so they’d quickly gained a pretty terrible aroma. I’d unraveled the braids, cleaned my hair in one of the public fountains, and then just let it roam, wild and free. The result was a giant ball of curly hair that was probably lopsided.
I told myself I didn’t care, but with my return home, I was beginning to dread the looks of my uncle’s hangers-on. Especially Heather, who tried to mother me at every opportunity. Of course, her hair was perfectly straight and enviably blonde, so she had no idea what it was like for me. I’d hated her from the very moment she moved into Jeremiah’s apartment.
Was it rational? Nope. Not one bit. Still hated her.
In any case, there was a third type of person walking the streets, though I hardly paid attention to them because they so uncommon. Dressed in suits, they were the professionals. People who were trying to climb their way up to a more prosperous district. They eschewed the fashion so prevalent among the denizens of the Garden, favoring the styles you’d usually find in Uptown or Lakeview. Of course, the clothes were knockoffs, made of cheap materials by unskilled laborers in sweatshops. It made them look like they were wearing costumes. Or maybe it was just my own biases peeking through; I considered them bootlickers and traitors, and I wasn’t the only one.
Finally, there was the fourth type of person, and those were far more familiar to me. The warriors. The fighters. The Operators. Like my uncle and his men, they wore practical clothes, though not without their own sense of style. Faux leather jackets adorned with spikes, elbow pads, or chains were common, and they were usually paired with matching pants and heavy boots. Some of them had visible cybernetics, but others seemed entirely flesh and blood. Vanilla had taught me the error of assuming that just because I couldn’t see a cybernetic didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
But it wasn’t the way they were dressed that made these people stand out. Instead, it was the way they moved. All predatory grace that told anyone who knew anything that they could handle themselves. Most moved in groups of two or three, but every now and then, I’d see a lone wolf. Stupid, suicidal, or confident – those were the only reasons anyone traveled alone. And sometimes, it was a combination of all three.
There was a parking structure connected to the megabuilding, and the driver directed the car up the ramp, twisting and turning until we finally reached the top. Once again, my stomach twisted when I saw a crowd of people waiting for us. Four were standing, and each of them carried some sort of firearm. I recognized a couple of them as my uncle’s underlings, but the other two must have been new. Either way, I immediately dismissed them as unimportant, instead focusing on the other three.
Kneeling, two were fairly average sized, but one was quite a bit bigger. What’s more, I didn’t need to see Pegleg’s cybernetic leg or Turk’s creepy eyes to recognize who the captives were. And they were definitely prisoners, as noted by the energy shackles clasped around their wrists and ankles. They were made specifically for people who were Tier-2 or above, designed to siphon the power from the nanites that gave skills their power. They could still display superhuman strength, but that was what the guards were for, I suppose.
“What…w-what’s going on?” I asked.
“Cleaning up your mess,” my uncle said. And when the car pulled to a stop next to the men, he said, “Remember – actions have consequences. People know you. They know you’re one of mine. And I can’t allow anyone to attack my people without responding in kind.”
He opened the door and got out. I followed without a word.
“Mr. Braddock, we didn’t mean nothin’ by –”
Jeremiah didn’t allow any more begging, and in the space of an instant, a pistol had appeared in his hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, he aimed at Turk’s head and pulled the trigger. A bright blue bolt of energy erupted from the barrel and a nanosecond later, Turk’s head exploded. Blood splattered, and what was left of his head sizzled and smoked. Turk’s lifeless body fell to the pavement with a thud.
With that, Pegleg and Vanilla tried to scramble away, but they only got a few inches before identical bolts of energy tore through their craniums. In the space of two seconds, there were three new corpses at the top of the parking structure.
“Erik, Nora – you two head over to Farooq’s,” he said. “He deserves reparations. I think two-thousand each for the guards, a hundred for the boots, and five-hundred for his trouble should do. Lacy and Brock, do something with these bodies.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nora – a strapping woman who bulged with almost as much muscle as any man I’d ever seen. And she liked to show it off, too, opting for a sleeveless leather jacket with spikes at the shoulders that left her thick arms on full display. Beneath that jacket was a top that covered little more than her breasts, leaving her impressive abdominal muscles bare. Finally, she had on a pair of fuschia pants that looked like they’d been painted on. Despite her obvious femininity, she’d spent so much time in the gym that she could give just about any man a run for his money, at least in terms of raw musculature.
I’d always found it to be a bit much, but judging by the fact that she rarely spent a night alone – and almost never let one of those nights go by without a good deal of bragging about it later – some people must’ve found it attractive. As much as I hated to admit it, I wanted to be more like Heather – slim but athletic. It was too bad, then, that I ended up like neither. Instead, I was short and compact. Apparently, another feature I’d inherited from my mother. In any case, if Nora was happy with her bulging physique, who was I to judge?
Besides – I was a little too preoccupied with the fact that my uncle had just killed three men. And though they’d clearly had it out for me, I hadn’t wanted them to die.
“Why?” I asked, glaring at Jeremiah.
“Because you are my niece,” he said. “And nobody hunts my family. Even when they deserve it.”