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Book One :: A Cyberpunk Fairytale

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>> The Scramble-Faced Man

LOCATION :: Prosperity Tower - Pirate Controlled ‘Free Nation’ Of Karrak.

DISTRICT :: Mutagenic Quarantine Isolation Zone 454. Locally known as "The QIZ."

WARNING :: PIRATE CONTROLLED DISTRICT. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. MUTAGENIC LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT.

A boiling pit of saw-toothed static hides the elegant man’s unseeable face. Not a mask. Not a filter. A scratched-out, crack-toothed, hole in the universe. A photo with the face torn out - but real, and right in front of me. I feel the hum of it against my skin.... like a glitch in the world. A virus in the stuff of existence - eating away at the fabric of reality.

Churning. Devouring....

Hope it’s fake. But there's stuff that could do it for real. Science so cutting-edge it'll cut your head off. Lost tek so darkly ancient, and alien, it’s beyond all understanding. Or, maybe.... maybe the world really is a lie. Maybe we're trapped in VR and never really escaped the nightmare Facility that trained us.

That place we called 'The School'.

It’s unnerving, whatever it is.

But nothing like as bad as the voice, erupting around me. Sourceless. Wild. Biting my delicate ears with charred noise and rolling static, hammered into words I barely understand. But somehow, I do. I do understand. Like he’s injecting the meaning directly into my head.

“Do you want to die?”

Normal kids would shift. Look away. But neither of us move.

“Our plan, does not include zait.” Inflects the pale boy sat beside me in the tattered red-leather booth. Four, sharp, horns cutting free of the leathery hood to frame a smirking kitsune mask. Like he's robbing a bank, but stopped at the bar for a drink. Beneath me, I feel a lion’s tail flicking against the sole of my foot. A nervous little tic - but, from his posture, you’d never know. He’s just too still. Too calm, as he leans his cloaked shoulders back into his corner of the booth. Razor-edged claws of solid gold clicking a slow beat on the stained plastic table.

He’s fifteen. Skinny. The closest thing we’ve got to muscle, by far.

Our client ain’t impressed.

“I said.” The glitching voice repeats. “Do you want to die?” I shiver tightly, flickering eyes round at what must be one of the rougher merc bars. Busted tables. Wall-to-wall thugs. Gangs in leather jackets. Hard-drinking degenerates with crocodile heads, and… are those nipple piercings? My eyes snap back.

“Don’t think that’s likely.” I drawl, cold and calm. “We don’t-” He raises a hand, metal glinting up his sleeve. My own tail twitches as the man leans back - posture, calm. Missing face utterly unreadable behind the 'glitch'. Clearly weighing us.

“Is that so?” For a long moment that silent, hidden, stare bores down into my heart. My eyes devoured by that shifting, sucking, hole where his head should be. That well of static and chaos. Taunted by flickers and twitches of colourless imagery. By eerie flashes of…. I dunno what. Other places? Other times? Or just some old film or show, long gone? Echoes of a signal, lost in the white noise of the universe. Almost imagined, and too fast to follow. “This is a covert insertion op.” Doctor Scratch states, very finally. Every word rattled by buzzing harmonics. “I need an elite team to retrieve a powerful originTek artefact.”

My sharp ears literally prick as my head tilts. Nose twitching. “Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s a very rare Origin device. Tier Seven. A Tek Obelisk, to be exact.”

An electric blip inside my skull, and my implant opens a hazy blue vScreen in the air beside me. Showing me a gleaming square-faced pillar of pointed rock, glowing with odd sigils. “You’re kiddin’ me.” I mutter.

“Oh, I’m not. There's no joke here." That hole in the universe, leans forward. "This is why I’m looking to hire the best team I can afford. They need to be discrete. They also need to be professional. They need….” He leans further forwards. Slowly. As if sharing a secret. “To not be children.”

My tail freezes mid-flick. “I see.”

“Don't get me wrong - I’m impressed with your ambition.” He adds. Letting us down, so very delicately. “But, you see, your team just lacks experience. And your cyberTek is crude communist junk-” My mouth opens, but he cuts me off. “-though I’m sure it’s top tier in…. some circles.”

My fanged teeth snap shut. “Great.”

“I admit," He adds, after a moment. "I don’t know your skillset. You could very well be androids built for combat. Or refugees from some kind of…. super-soldier program….? for all I know?” Demon stiffens, but my eyes barely flicker. You could even be the best in The City. But, I'm afraid, it wouldn’t really matter - you see. Because I care. I have a duty to care, in fact.” My left ear tilts higher, and I frown.

“What?”

“Which is why I don’t, personally, feel comfortable throwing children into a meat grinder.” He continues. “Or even things that look like children.”

“I don’t think-”

“I do.” The static voice scours my ears, hissing with adamant anger. And then it fades, twice as quick. “….sorry….” He sits back again. “I realise I'm spitting in the rain, here. The City devours children like candy. Especially out here." Gloved fingers flex. "But I am afraid I cannot, personally, bring myself put a- a minor at risk. I will not have your life on my conscience. I will not. It would be a poor joke, considering my profession.” Which he hasn't actually told us. But I can feel my shoulders slump.

I know we’re done.

But, like an idiot, I keep digging.

“Ya, okay, we’re a bit uh…. young.” I slip an irritable emphasis on the word. “But we’re a bloo- a skilled outfit, packing decent cyberTek. And equip-”

Doctor Scratch raises a hand, right as I’m pulling back my plain sleeve with razor-nailed fingers. Unveiling the custom-printed ebony armour gleaming beneath. There's no sigh. No shake of his head. And no sorrowful face to see behind that brutal web of glitching noise. But it's over - I can feel it. And I gotta fight to stop my ears snapping flat. For a second, I think it's gonna go like the last guy - bombastic yelling, scoffing, and sneers of “Don’t you animals know who I am??”

But, in a way, it’s worse than that.

“I’m sorry.” He says, instead. “My research is priceless, and I have exactly one chance to acquire this item. My team must be the best. The very best…. Goodbye.”

“We- Wait-” I start, but he cuts me off with a hand. Sliding out of our cracked booth.

“No. Sorry. I will be going. But I wish you good luck. Or, rather, very bad luck.” I get a dim sense that there is a head, and it’s shaking. “The kind where you never get a job like this. The kind where you…. give up….. Maybe learn to weld meks. Or open a noodle stall, instead.”

“Sure.” I smile as cold bombs of anger rip through the basement supports of my soul. Later, there’ll be subsidence. A collapse. Screaming in the streets. But, for now, I prop the cracking ceiling and hope for the best.

“Good.” He finishes. Smoothing off his pinstripe suit. “Now. This is a delicate situation, so I hope you won’t tell-”

“We know all ‘bout your situation.” I state, cold as ice. Staring him down. Right in the middle of the bar. With Pirates and scumbags, and dodgy dealers pretending not to look.

Doctor Scratch freezes, cold, and I hear his own supports begin to crack. Peeling a gratifying little chip of plaster off that elegant front. “You-” Fingers flex, but he controls himself. “So…. this really was a scam. In a way, I’m glad.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“What? Wait-” I start, but there’s a sudden shimmer of static….. and he’s gone. Just gone. As if he never was…..

I sit there, for a second. Demon beside me. Then we both deflate - with a long, pained, sigh. Sliding, slowly, down the busted vinyl. Raising a claw, I flick open the image waiting at the corner of my eye.

Tek Obelisk (Tier 0 - Common Artefact)

Threat Rating :: None.

Purpose :: Decorative lamp.

Value :: Low.

Bounties :: None.

Notes :: Originally thought to be part of a weapons system, Obelisks are now widely regarded as junk.

“That bleedin’ liar.” I growl as virtual screens unroll around me. “Didn’t even get to the bleedin’ pitch..... Or the ‘surprise’.” I add, ripping our ‘just in case’ smoke grenade off the underside of the table.

There’s a small snicker in my ear, still crackling with static. “Hard luck, mate.” Our team's [Drone Tek] chimes in over long-range comms. Linking in from the team vehicle. “But, like - what can you do? We don’t got a rep yet, y’know? Like, we’re total noFace round here?”

I shrug, staring at a particularly nasty bullethole in the grimy ‘wooden’ wall of the tavern. It’s suspiciously close to head-height.

And, oh look…. someone spilled their ketchup…..

“Funny. Didn’t know this place served food.” I say, as if testing the idea.

“It doesn’t.” Intones a far darker voice. A glitching mess of static, far deeper than anything Scratch could manage. It has an ice to it. A calculation. An inhumanity…. I used to shiver. But I know, now, there’s way worse out there in The Dark than our pet Machine Mind…..

So I focus on the links it sends me, instead.

No such thing as the Worldwide Web no-more, if it ever really existed. But the local (cobbled) Pirate-net burns its glorious, ghastly, orange directly into my synthetic eyeballs. I scroll through as quick as I can, dodging virusy pop-ups and ads. Looks like a hacked post on some ‘black intel’ (as if there’s any other kind here) site. Mostly just a buncha staticy forum images of Doctor Scratch, taken at a real distance….. A bunch of speculation, too. But, beneath it….. a wave of hot tips on his recent acquisitions. All, powerful originTek artefacts, by the look of it. We got a black-stone pyramid... thing... cut with runes and symbols. Leaking a weird green light, like it really is magic. And it may as well be, based on these rumours.... I scroll down, past some silvery orb with fins that hurts my eyes - even in photo. Past some necklace that lets you walk through walls….?

Every one marked stolen.

Last of all, pride of place, is a grainy vid-call posted by some Pirate hacker called ‘The_Rat’. We’ve got Doctor Scratch asking some unseen informant techy questions about future targets. All in codewords, too. He mentions something called ‘The Gatestone’….. Another called ‘The Phylactery’. And, in a deep and hesitant hush, a third one known only as.... "The Eye of Exodine....."

A huge, digital, eye flickers into being beside me - wreathed with endless, osculating, triangles. Almost lost behind a maddening storm of numbers, calculations, trajectories, and symbols from some unknowable language. “I will start making inquiries.” Polybius ticks in my ear, with mechanistic rhythm. “Perhaps we can…. get ahead of things….”

“Sod it. Go on then.” I mutter to my implanted throat-mic. Barely moving my lips.

Another voice hits the line: Rough. Dry. But still a girl’s. “Want me to follow?” A smile enters her voice. “After all, it’s dangerous outside. All alone. Wouldn’t want him having any mysterious accidents on his way home…..”

I don’t so much as glance at our other table. I’d just see a ragged girl in a hood, anyway. Maybe a bone-white braid, leaking out the side. A metal arm - or six. Maybe a clunky boot - or the massive, not-at-all obvious, lump on her back. The one about the size and shape of a tightly folded 88 calibre anti-materials rifle. “Yeah, no. Better not. It’s bad f’business." I hesitate. "And, ya know, just bloody bad in general.” My fingers twitch - fretfully clawing the tape off our smoker bomb. Which eagerly promises to never be ‘not sticky’ again.

image [https://images2.imgbox.com/a3/3c/NasYXTf7_o.png]

“Guess we’re out a job, though, right?” Chimes our [Drone Tek]. “So…. like….. any ideas?”

[Sniper] girl seems to consider this. “Could scope Hell’s Bazaar again?”

We all wince.

“Ya serious?? After last time?? Seriously??” I choke off a low shudder. Legs yanked up. Tail wrapping ankles as I coil into a bestial hunch on the cracked vinyl seats. Bare, clawed, toes digging deep into naked foam and ruined plastic.

“Yeah, mate, gotta say - like - it ain’t named that for kicks?” The drone-boy stutters.

“Sure, Zipper.” She starts, but I cut her off.

“Nope. Don't care. No thanks. Only way I’m going back there is strapped to a nuke. A big nuke.”

“Y’sure, mate?” The boy on the other line snickers. “Like, I mean, that guy was gonna front me a lottta cash for your giblets.”

“Not as much as I’d get fer your skinny-” I cough before I can stop myself - and Kami snorts. Damn throat mic - can’t get away with nothin’. “God, what even are giblets?? And why did he even want em? Do I wanna know?”

“Nope, mate. You do not.” States Zipper the drone-tek. “But, hey? Like. You’re gonna be back soon. Right? Could you grab us some like.... calzones, or whatever?”

“Grab? Whut? The heck is a ‘cal scone teas’?” I growl at the grenade, setting a passing barmaid to frown and stop.

“Nah, mate not... whatever you said? I mean, like, y’know? Calzone!" I can almost feel him gesturing. "Like, those folded pizza thingies? Yeah? With the melted cheesey meaty saucey stuff inside? Oh man, I could do with ten of em about now…..”

“Huh. Sounds pretty bloody good, actually. Hey, Kami? You up for it?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatev’.” [Sniper] girl grunts, across the bar, pretending to sip the same fake hologram drink she’s been pretending to sip for an hour. And it's still sorta weird hearing her whisper, when you’d not hear her shout over this mess.

“Yeah! Alright! Good to go!” Zipper gushes back, excitement bubbling. “You’re in for a real treat here-”

“Zipper. I hope to bugger ya checked this joint - whatever it is. ‘Specially after ‘The Burgerland Incident’.” I do the air quotes, despite the lack of camera. My implants translating the motion onto to my miniaturised avatar, back at our mobile base. “Heck, I still think that kiddie meal had real kid in it-” A glowing maze of cubes burst into being beside me, multiplying and shrinking to build a hyper-realistic digital ghost. Solidifying an Asian-ish boy with punky blue hair, and torn-off sleeves - which blur forward, planting gleaming blue-nailed hands on the edge of the table.

Or, rather, through it.

“Mate! Hey! Hey! C'mon! Not this again! Yeah? Like, I mean, I totally checked it. Alright? It was simMeat, like they said. Like, real good stuff too!"

"-Zipper-"

"-I do my research, y’know? It’s all checked out, and-” He drops his head - shrouding half of it in a long woosh of neon-blue fringe, shredded with silver. “Look, like, I know I-”

“Hey, I believe ya.” I promise - meeting his CG eyes. Though it’s gotta look like I’m talking to nobody. 'Specially to the maid, still craning her head in our direction and walking back and forth in a very slow and totally non-suspicious way. But the kid nods in relief. Fake virtual light shimmering on the implant slapped in the shaved side of his skull.

“I’ll risk it if he does.” Kami volunteers, bravely.

Zip just rolls his. “Like, come on Kam. Y’know I’ll….”

I wave em off. “Alright, alright. We’ll send ya a foldy pizza by drone-drop. Jus lemmie know watcha want on it.” I frown. “Well, uh, in it I guess.”

“Awesome, mate!! I’ll have, like, everything!” Zip grins, with a smirking salute.

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“Pepperoni.” Kami intones, as if pronouncing judgement. Eyes still stuck on her ‘drink’, no doubt.

“That it?” Zip sighs. “Aw, come on, like…. How ‘bout that monsterMeat? Right? Or.... Oh, hey, y'know they still got simVeg out here! Y’know? Peppers, mushrooms, olives, garlic?" He gestures, and some anonymous colourful chunks appear. 3D printed food-blobs that ain't seen the same century as a real vegetable. "Oh, and, like…. chocolate milkshake, fries, and….. Yeah, what?” The blue fringe flicks as he glances right, nodding to nobody. “Ah, yeah! Badger wants…. okay, wow, slow down yeah?”

"Just send me a big ole list.” I hesitate. “And, uh, keep the lil’ idiot in check. Alright? Nothin’ too freaky? Yeah?”

Zip’s hand flickers. Not a glitch - but speed. “Mate, like, trust me - nobody’s less ready for ‘gummiebears & liquorice meatballs’ than me. Or-”

“Chocolate-covered curly fries in a sour gummie-bear sauce.” Kami supplies, with enduring horror. “And ketchup. Green ketchup.” We share a shudder-cringe of true horror as the waitress comes sidling back. Ear bent toward us. Or near us? My eyes narrow, slightly. Brows low.

“Ah, yeah mate, no worries. I’ll keep shortie in line.” Zip coughs, starting me back into the convo.

“Copy that, Blue Bastard - target confirmed. You take the bar, and I’ll blast the help.”

I chuckle as the maid literally jumps - scurrying back toward an empty table. Which she does a terrible - but frantic - job of mopping. Like she’s trying to bore a hole dead through it by sheer force of friction.

“Hah, yeah - like, roger that! Calzones! Let’s get going!” Zip beams, practically hopping.

“Ah, wait! We should ask Demo-” I start right as a set of metal-sharp claws dig into my armoured arm.

“We go. Now.” Hisses the horned shape next to me.

“Yeah, yeah - we’re goin’. Soon as-”

“Kah! No! Not soon! Now!” Demon growls, throaty and inhuman. Square pupils scanning the room through his fox mask. He twists in the seat - fluid, and dangerous. Bladed digits digging deep into fake leather. My eyes widen, and I flick my fuzzy ears to the room - augmenting the sensitivity. I’ve got bar staff chatter. Drunken mumbling. Illicit deals….. But nothing aimed at us.

What did he feel? Or hear?

I blink as a second, identical, barmaid blows past us - both veering to scrub the same round table.

“Wait a sec….” My head pivots, right as a third identical maid-clone stops behind us. Mid-stride. Staring at her doubles. Almost like she ain’t used to being a triplet….. “Oh- Oh Hell!!!!”

Zip’s virtual eyes widen at an unseen screen, and he glitches around. “Mate!!! Somethin’ going down!!!”

Too. Late.

The ‘maids’ yank pistols from nowhere. Flicking em up to hammer the booth beside us. No words - no time. I duck back into cover, right as flames explode from the sides of their guns. Rushing down the barrel. Ejecting high-energy rocket-propelled bullets that drill their way into the booth.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

And then there’s just silence.

The stink of burnt propellant.

The killers whoop - bumping skin, and dancing about. Fists glitching as their real hands impact, under the hologram disguise. I glance at Demon, who looks about ready to bolt - or fight. Kami is a frozen shape - half outta her seat. I lick my lips. Every eye on the killer duo and their smoking weapons.

Which is right when their target get up.

Slowly.

Revealing a mile high bastard, built of metal. Eyes mad with hate as steel-armoured fists crack the table. Sparks and rocket-smoke pumping from bloody dents in his chest.

And I wonder what these clowns were thinking.

“You. Two.” The metal man grins like a maniac, his chrome-steel jaw sharp as knives in profile. “Ye got me frukin’ attention. Now what ye gonna do?”

The whole bar goes deadly still. Every hand touching a weapon.

I swallow.

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