As the clock neared midnight, the time had come for my nightly descent from the rooftop. My backpack was securely fastened, and I prepared to make the leap to the neighboring building. Dust billowed up around me as I landed gracefully, but my moment of reprieve was brief. The implant in my head delivered a message, an iridescent notification that seamlessly overlaid my vision, etched onto a digital membrane that wrapped around my cybernetic eyes.
"Target Name : Harvey Whitaker
Target Address : 715 Augustin Street, Apt 189b
Target Distance: 4.128 Km
Target Subscription : Tier 1
Couriers Contacted : 3"
This digital missive presented me with a tantalizing choice - a new job. On my heads-up display, the directions were etched, a mini-map reminiscent of a GPS system guiding my way was now projected onto the real world.
I opted to pursue the assignment, spurred into action by the prospect of the rewarding Credits. With a swift twist, I activated the overdrive function of my leg enhancements, granting me an immediate and excessive burst of speed. I navigated the urban terrain like a phantom, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with practiced ease, my gloved hands grabbing ledges and cables as I moved. But I reached a precipice, a yawning gap between buildings too vast to bridge with a single leap.
With a sigh, I understood that I had to descend into the perilous streets below. Before I did, my hand found the weapon holstered on my thigh - a blade of dark metal, its sleek form extending approximately fifteen centimeters. I triggered a small button on the handle, and the blade hummed to life, emitting a pulsating crimson glow. Its astonishing vibrational frequency, a staggering 2000 movements per second, would make it cut through reinforced metal like a knife through softened butter. Yet, I fervently hoped it would remain dormant in its sheath.
The unforgiving streets below were teeming with life, the cacophony of bustling pedestrians and erratically moving vehicles forming a surreal backdrop. My landing on a heap of garbage aroused but brief glances from passersby, for such sights were hardly unusual.
Rising to my feet, I wasted no time, embarking on a relentless sprint. The fact that two other Couriers had been alerted to the same target didn't deter me. My gambit relied on my superior speed, the desire to avoid conflict, I just had to arrive first to the scene. Once a Soul was secured by a Courier, it could not be wrested away without dire consequences—namely, the loss of the Soul itself.
I zigzagged through the labyrinthine streets, obstacles blurring in my path. As I neared the old Telecom Tower, its lofty structure, once a hub of bustling corporate activity, had been repurposed into budget apartments, an architectural relic of a bygone era. Ascending the tower provided a viable shortcut, and my body responded with practiced agility. I leaped onto concrete edges, scaled the tower's heights, and reached one of its sprawling balconies. The symphony of sirens and distant gunshots persisted as I resumed my swift pursuit.
My mini-map indicated proximity, a mere 2 kilometers to my target. I called upon my leg implants' overdrive feature once more, leaping with tremendous force to land on a rooftop below. But this act proved too much for the decaying building's fragile structure, and I plunged through two floors, a cascade of debris and dust accompanying my fall. I emerged with little more than a few superficial scratches, testament to the hardiness of my augmentations.
As I surveyed my surroundings, coughing in the midst of the fallen debris, I noticed two figures sprawled across an aged mattress. My initial assumption was that they were lifeless, but one stirred with a languid movement. He was a young man, his once-human appearance marred by grimy, oily implants. His skull bore disfigured sores and blisters, while his mouth, bereft of teeth, oozed dark stains.
A junkie.
In this desolate world, some chose to forsake the pursuit of the digital afterlife in favor of an earthly paradise - a chemically induced reverie known as "Dream". This synthetic substance plunged users into a state akin to an endless dream, prolonging the REM phase of their sleep and immersing them in a perpetual state of vivid reverie. But awakening a Dream-induced sleeper could unleash a violent and unpredictable reaction.
Both figures began to stir, their movements sluggish. While their slumber kept them docile for now, the time had come for me to slip away. The first among them raised himself from the mattress, eyes vacant and mouth drooling, a single cybernetic eye nestled within the scarred expanse of his forehead, while the sockets that once contained his humans eyes were empty and bloody - a crude modification likely procured from the Neon Underground cheap unlicensed doctors, where the sale of such gems could fetch an attractive reward.
I leaped upward to the next floor and then navigated my way back to the rooftop, leaving the unpredictable Dream addicts behind. The distant screams of the awakened junkies spurred me into action, and I pressed on, determined to reach my target before any obstacles could deter me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
My relentless sprint brought me to the location building without further hindrances. Bursting through the rooftop access door, I embarked on a rapid descent through the stairwell, coming to an abrupt stop on the 18th floor. With nimble strides, I threaded through the dimly lit hallways until I reached my intended destination. Gently, I rapped upon the door.
The door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman, her tear-streaked face marked by the scarcity of cybernetic enhancements, save for a metallic block affixed to her left temple - a memory enhancer, a common sight among the senior population.
"You are...," her words faltered, intermingling with sobs.
"Yes, I am the Courier," I answered, my voice calm and reassuring.
With a trembling hand, she moved aside and widened the door's opening. As I entered the room, the communal living area unfolded before me. Several individuals sat somberly by a bed situated in the room's center, their mournful presence saturating the space. The air was permeated with a musty aroma, which the occupants had attempted to mask with the fragrance of a solitary scented candle. Glancing at the timer, I noted 14 minutes remaining - my swiftness had proven remarkable.
Those in the room, presumably the deceased man's family, shifted to grant me access to the body. It was an older man, a rarity in these times, likely in his sixties. A mechanical metal plate, adorned with intricate implants and wires, concealed one side of his face. Nestled at the base of his neck was the receptacle for my connection—a conduit established by MainFrame engineers once the subscription had been fully paid.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
With practiced efficiency, I retrieved the cable extending from my Receptacle, just as the door to the apartment was violently thrust open. A woman, another Courier, confronted us, her entirely metallic arms digging into the frame of the door.
Too late, her expression conveyed, a bitter acknowledgment that victory had slipped from her grasp.
Our eyes locked for a moment as she recognized the futility of the situation. Swiftly, I plugged the Receptacle connection wire into the input port on the deceased body, and, in resignation, she departed the scene.
As the transfer initiated, my vision began to dim, a searing migraine wracking my senses. Such discomfort was an inherent part of the process - the subscriber's Soul was being downloaded onto my neural network, relinquishing portions of my own memory in the exchange. Fleeting glimpses of my childhood dissolved as payment for the newfound space within my consciousness.
A recollection unfurled—running through the streets, laughter in the air, a blurry figure, a woman, holding my hand and casting a loving smile in my direction.
Another memory formed—a bowl crashing to the ground, shattering into fragments, two adults locked in an angry dispute, a resounding slap.
Then, a final memory—of a young girl, playing with her hair and gazing upon me with affection.
The memories ebbed away, leaving me in momentary darkness. On my heads-up display, a series of numbers and percentages flashed, denoting the download verification process. Gradually, my vision returned to its full clarity.
100%.
The entire process was executed in less than a minute. With the cable safely unplugged, I stood and faced the elderly woman. Her red, human eyes glistened with tears, a rare scene in the age of cybernetic enhancements. She presented a photograph.
"Could you take this with you, for him, when he reaches the MainFrame?" she implored.
I accepted the photograph, my inclination to explain the impracticality of physical objects lost as she clasped my hands and the image, her gaze beseeching.
"Please," she entreated.
I nodded in acquiescence, then departed as the woman found solace with her family, their collective grief echoing in the room. With the door barely hanging on to its frame due to the prior Courier's forceful entrance, I exited the building. The path to the nearest MainFrame Deposit Center unfurled on my heads-up display.
Time to get some Credits.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The journey to the Deposit Center unfolded without incident, a mere ten minutes of uneventful transit. Arriving at the colossal edifice, I couldn't help but remain in awe of its imposing presence. It stood as a massive, dark block at the terminus of a major thoroughfare, its severe design contrasting starkly with the rest of the city's decay. The enigmatic MainFrame company wielded a power matched only by its air of mystery. The allure of a place in their digital Heaven captivated every individual in this dystopian city.
The building's architectural motif combined elements of Gothic and Art Deco styles, evoking the ambiance of a shadowed Gotham City from a bygone era. The immense entrance, accessed by a grand staircase consisting of twenty or so steps, appeared designed for giants. Its massive metallic open doors, resembling a portal to a secretive realm, loomed ahead. Ascending the steps methodically, I observed that only Couriers and employees traversed this sacred ground.
Upon reaching the security checkpoint, I extended my forearms, permitting the embedded chip beneath my skin to interface with the digital reader. The small red light metamorphosed into a welcoming green, granting me passage.
The security detail guarding the towering hallway struck an imposing figure, a vigilant row of MainFrame security guards stood sentry within the cavernous high-ceiling corridor, a formidable force enhanced by the pinnacle of cybernetic implants and weaponry. Each guard donned an imposing black ceramic helmet and combat suit, concealing their identities. They bore military-grade rifles and had undergone clandestine training, supplemented by cerebral implants to safeguard against wireless hacking incursions. Their formidable presence made it abundantly clear that these were individuals one did not wish to provoke.
In the hallway, a solitary desk was perched at its terminus, manned by a single individual. Adjacent to the desk was a Soul deposit apparatus—a colossal metallic cylinder adorned with black and chrome elements, featuring a single eye-level input port. This port represented the sole entry point into the MainFrame server accessible by Couriers, its design reminiscent of a monolithic artifact, as if crafted to impress deities. Reflective surfaces gave rise to infinite shimmering images, while a solitary red LED pulsed deliberately, its rhythm akin to the measured respiration of a behemoth.
Arriving at the desk, I was greeted by a young woman dressed in immaculate attire, her cybernetic implants lending her an air of sophistication, with gleaming metallic embellishments tracing intricate patterns across her neck. These were not typical implants, but costly and sleek accessories.
Her gaze met mine, and with a subtle wave of her hand, she directed me toward the deposit machine. Once again, I scanned the chip in my forearm, prompting the red LED to transition to green, still pulsating rhythmically.
Retrieving the cable attached to the base of my neck, I connected it to the singular input on the machine. The green LED began to pulse at an accelerated rate, signifying the establishment of a connection.
Then came the headaches, a familiar post-transfer discomfort. My Receptacle was being emptied, and as usual, I bore the burden of migraine. Chaotic numbers and progress bars flashed across my heads-up display, commingling with disorienting glitches that distorted my overlay.
In less than a minute, the transfer concluded, and I was left with an agonizingly throbbing head, my brain feeling as if it were resonating within my skull. The LED had transitioned to a resplendent green, but in a final act of pulsation, it returned to its initial red state.
The woman behind the desk swiftly typed on a keyboard before her, then turned her gaze in my direction. "Verification is complete, Tier 1. Your payment has been transferred."
Even as she uttered the final words, my heads-up display revealed the sum received, the credits dutifully deposited into my account - 15,000 Credits.
One step closer to realizing my dream.
With a final nod, I took my leave, exiting the building to stand beneath the ever-present Elite Freighter, visible in space through even the densest fog.
An agonizing headache enveloped my mind once more, a common side effect of transferring a Soul. Fumbling into one of my pockets, I extracted a bottle of pills, but my vision faltered, and I began to lose consciousness. The infuriating child-proof cap thwarted my efforts to access the medication, and the bottle tumbled to the ground, producing an echoing reverberation as it rolled toward the stairwell.
An intervening foot gently halted its progress, and a hand retrieved the fallen container. My vision remained blurry, my head still throbbing as I attempted to reach out to the indistinct figure before me.
It gradually resolved into a human shape, which I presumed was a woman. The figure leaned in, placing a pill in my mouth, and the distinctive shape and texture told me it was my Beta-Blocker, intended to alleviate my headache. I swallowed it, and within seconds, relief coursed through me as my vision returned to clarity.
I could now see the Courier who had arrived mere moments too late during my last job. Her shiny metallic arm offered me back my medication bottle.
"This really is the worst, isn't it?" she remarked, her smile faint but present.
I nodded in agreement. "Thank you," I responded.
"I was right there, delayed by a couple of awakened junkies," she elaborated, her voice tinged with frustration. "Without their interference, I would have arrived first."
"Broken building near the old Telecom Tower?" I inquired.
"Yeah, know anything about that?" she responded.
"Maybe," I replied as I rose to my feet.
She observed me for a moment, and it dawned on me how attractive she was. Despite her fully cybernetic arms, her facial features remained untouched, unmarred by augmentation. Her origins appeared to be of Asian descent, a rarity in a world defined by mixed lineages. Standing at a height similar to mine, she possessed a slender frame, accentuated by her cybernetic arms. Her attire consisted of a dark and purple synthetic fiber runner suit, a favored choice among Couriers for its cooling properties and ease of movement. I observed enhancements in her leg, causing the fabric to contour around her ankles.
"Next time, I'll be the first to arrive," she declared before suddenly taking her leave.
"Sure thing," I responded.
In a blur of agile motion, she darted down the stairs, displaying an otherworldly grace that made her seem as light as a feather. Before I could react, she vanished into the bustling street. Clutching my head as the lingering headache finally dissipated, I watched her departure.
It was time to return home.