As we stepped into the Deposit Center, the Courier abruptly halted, her demeanor signaling something was amiss.
"Hold on," she declared.
From her pocket, she retrieved a Fiber Patch and promptly adhered it to the open wound on my chest. The AI-driven medical device spread its ultra-thin, spider-silk-like fibers across my skin, effectively sealing the breach. I experienced a faint sensation as the minuscule threads insinuated themselves into my flesh, but it was quickly followed by the cessation of bleeding and the administration of pain-killing drugs, which helped restore my composure.
"999," she then pronounced, leaving me to stand unassisted.
"999?" I questioned.
"That's an additional charge for the Fiber Patch," she informed me.
I offered a smile, a mental note that this was not an act of charity.
"Sure thing," I agreed.
She nodded, and together, we advanced to the desk located at the end of the corridor.
Seated at the counter was a man in his thirties, who gestured toward the deposit machine. While the Courier who had aided me lingered behind, I scanned my chip, causing the LED to transition from red to green. I proceeded to plug my Receptacle into the solitary socket on the machine.
The LED began to pulsate but rapidly reverted to its dormant, red state. An unsettling sense of anxiety settled in.
The man behind the desk glanced at me. "You require a Soul to make a deposit," he stated, before resuming his keyboard input.
"I have a Soul," I asserted. "I just secured the Gold Tier Soul.""
He emitted a disdainful chuckle without bothering to look at me, his fingers clacking upon the keys. "A Gold Tier, please."
I approached him, seeking clarification. "I've just received the Gold Tier that was dispatched to me. I've downloaded it."
He gazed up at me with an expression that intermingled disgust and smugness :
"There hasn't been a Gold Tier call, Courier."
I cast a glance behind me at the Asian woman, both of us confused by his response. My eyes returned to him.
"Listen, there was a Gold Tier call, and I downloaded the Soul. Please, check again!"
"Please refrain from shouting," he responded in a passive-aggressive tone without diverting his attention from the keyboard. "I assure you, there has been no Gold Tier call, I would certainly know."
"But there was! Check again!" I insisted.
The man ceased his typing, directing a stern look my way ;
"There was NOT," he affirmed. "Now, if you plan on causing a scene, I'll be compelled to summon security. Trust me, Courier, that's a scenario you'd prefer to avoid."
He motioned toward the guards stationed in formation in the hallway behind us. Their heads swiveled in our direction, attuned to the unfolding exchange.
I retreated to the side of the Asian Courier, my gaze locked on the guards.
"What the hell is happening?" she demanded.
"My Receptacle is empty, and he insists there was no Gold Tier call," I replied, glancing at the guards.
"Wait a second. You didn't get the Soul? But—"
"I did," I interrupted. "But there was no call."
I detected a subtle flicker in her eyes, indicating she was cross-referencing information on her overlay.
Within moments, she stated, "I have no record of that call."
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I rapidly scrutinized my Courier call history, but there was no evidence of the Gold Tier call.
"Neither do I," I informed her, my confusion mounting. "But you remember receiving the call, right?"
"Yes, I got the call. I was too far to make it in time, but I'm certain I received it. A Gold Tier, no way I wouldn't remember."
Before I could interject, the woman approached the desk employee.
"Both of us received the call; something's wrong. I know you're busy, but please check again."
The man stared at her with a smile that reeked of condescension, then finally responded:
"Do you genuinely believe I would overlook a GOLD TIER in this wretched place? Who around here in this squalid junkyard could afford a Gold Tier subscription? I'll say it once more: there was NO Gold Tier call. Now, either deposit a Soul or leave."
With that, he signaled to the security guards, who began to encircle us.
"We're leaving," I declared.
---------------------------------------------------------
We emerged from the Deposit Center, greeted by the sight of MainFrame Cleaners diligently removing the grisly aftermath of the junkie massacre, blood and flesh pushed unceremoniously into the street. Their task extended only as far as maintaining MainFrame's building cleanliness; the city beyond its borders held no importance to them.
I turned to the woman beside me :
"What the hell is happening?" I said.
"I know I received the call," she stated with conviction.
"I secured the Soul," I began, "I'm certain—"
"Waste of time," she interjected, her frustration palpable. "An utter waste of time. I want my Credits."
She pivoted toward me, her gaze unyielding.
"I want my credits."
"Half," I offered. "Half of nothing amounts to nothing. Aren't you curious about what's happening?"
"I couldn't care less about what's happening. I was promised Credits. You owe me for saving your life. Perhaps the subscriber didn't pay the full amount, or maybe MainFrame isn't inclined to honor a Gold Tier. No one can say. However, what I do know is that I am owed 125,999 Credits."
I responded with a nonchalant shrug, explaining, "I didn't receive the payment—"
"Damn you," she muttered.
In an instant, with a movement as quick as lightning, she seized the Fiber Patch and began tearing it from my chest, blood dripping from the wound as the nano fibers were ripped away. I collapsed to my knees.
"999," she said, her gaze locking onto mine as I slowly crumpled.
I was in no condition to refuse. I hastily initiated the transfer of Credits via my heads-up display.
She released her grip, her eyes remaining cold and unyielding as she stared at me. The Fiber Patch began to reconfigure itself, its nano filaments swiftly weaving through the wound, closing it and repairing the damage as it reattached itself onto my skin.
With that, she bounded down the steps and disappeared into the streets.
"Wait!" I called out, but she remained unfazed and continued her brisk departure.
The situation had devolved into a tangled web of mysteries. First, the target proved to be alive, followed by the painful headaches, the unbidden visions of unfamiliar memories while I was just supposed to lose mine, and now, the absence of the Gold Tier call.
Glancing at the time - 3:47 in the morning - I realized that returning home in my current condition would be treacherous. I opted to summon a Homing Driver.
Through my heads-up display, I connected to a dispatch service. Homing Drivers operated independently, using the darknet to accept pickup requests. Think of them as armed taxis, ready to brave the dangers of the streets. While most were wary of provoking or attempting to attack them, the job was still perilous and, where danger lurked, so did Credits. Homing Drivers commanded steep fees, and I rarely called upon their services. However, given my present condition, returning all the way to Red Fusion on foot was not a viable option. I placed a call, and a Homing Driver, bearing the ID "HD 09981," responded promptly.
HD 09981: "Avant Street to Red Fusion, 7,800 Credits."
The fare was exorbitant, but I had no alternative. I accepted the offer, and a timer began counting down on my display, indicating that the driver would arrive in four minutes.
I stationed myself near the entrance of the MainFrame Deposit Center, secure in the knowledge that no one would harass me there. Thankfully, my headache had abated. Gazing at my chest, I watched as the Fiber Patch firmly adhered to my skin, a stark reminder that this woman had, in fact, saved my life - even if she had blackmailed me immediately afterward. But this was ToxCity, and grudges were a luxury I couldn’t afford. She had taken a risk, expecting Credits in return, and -much like myself -had not received her payment. All things considered, she could have done far worse to me.
Intrigued and baffled, I scrutinized the call history from MainFrame targets. The Gold Tier remained conspicuously absent. How was this possible? I had never encountered nor heard of such an occurrence. Had MainFrame expunged the call history? Or was it never present in the first place? The perplexing circumstances had me questioning my sanity.
In the main street before me, the telltale violet glow heralded the arrival of the Homing Driver. A heavily customized pickup truck with a plethora of steel reinforcement plates pulled up to the steps. Two laser turrets mounted on its roof swiveled with swiftness, scanning for any potential threats among the remaining junkies, who wisely hid from the menacing vehicle.
No one dared provoke the Homing Drivers.
I received the signal on my display:
HD 09981: "At pickup location, payment required."
I confirmed the payment, transferring the funds wirelessly. The passenger door swung open, and I climbed into the vehicle. The driver remained in a separate compartment, shielded from the passenger area.
The door sealed with a reassuring click.
I relaxed and reclined into the reasonably comfortable seat as the truck initiated motion. Through the tinted windows, I peered outward, watching at the city as the vehicle steadily conveyed me to my destination, safely navigating the perilous streets.