Gondo sat in a folding chair next to the table, lost in thought. His memories drifted back to the day Calcio and he had graduated from the Academy and had received their Crowns. As tradition, they were special ordered and custom to the Caster. Gondo had opened the crate containing his Iron Crown and lifted it with reverence, placing it atop his head. He then turned to his friend, prepared to see what brilliance Calcio had imagined. The crown of a retro fast food mascot sat upon Calcio’s head, gaudy and plastic, as he stared blankly at Gondo. After a stunned second, they both collapsed into laughter.
Now as Gondo sat looking at the body still wearing that silly crown, he had to chuckle. You son of a bitch. Somewhere in the infinite, Calcio was guffawing in that funny way he did, slapping his knee. The culmination of a long and stupid bit, but very fitting.
The mainframe incorporated into the table was flashing. Calcio had recorded his last cast.
In the age of the Cognitive Crown, it was easy to experience death a thousand different ways. You could even give birth if you wanted to. One time, Gondo had even been born, but that was incredibly weird.
He had never wished to investigate what it felt like to lose one’s life during Casting, and he didn’t now. He downloaded the recording to his data link and deleted it from the mainframe.
Several hours later Gondo stood outside the apartment, watching the detectives. He had his hood up to deflect the rainwater dripping down through the maze of the city above. The paramedics wheeled the stretcher through the murky green twilight and into an auto-ambulance, then off it was onto the highway and the local crematory.
He and his friends would hold a memorial for Calcio. They would raise their glasses, tell stories. Laugh and cry. Then eventually the memory of his friend would fade, just like the countless others that died this day. Few would know of the potential that had been squandered.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He began to think of that fateful moment when his friend’s life had changed forever.
His holo-visor flashed that a new message was available, distracting him from his reverie. Somehow even with the myriad ways of communication available to them, the people of the Endless City still preferred text.
Gondo’s holo was running on a specially designed server Lowell had created himself. Nobody should be able to contact him directly like this. The message was encrypted in an old cypher that Calcio and Gondo had used years before. He opened it.
“GONDO MACREADY. OUR CONDOLENCES ON THE PASSING OF A MUTUAL FRIEND. WE WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU ABOUT MATTERS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE. ENCLOSED IS OUR PROPOSED MEETING PLACE AND TIME. WE GAURANTEE YOUR SAFETY BUT TAKE WHATEVER PRECAUTIONS YOU MAY NEED. THE OUROBOROS”
The Ouroboros... a rogue group of Casters that was identified by the government as a terrorist cell. Hell, who wasn’t. Gondo had never thought they were real. He was intrigued.
He called up a link to Ignasius who answered immediately, because he was a robot.
“Gondo?”
“Kit up, I have a meeting to go to and I’ll need some protection. I’ll send coordinates.”
“Affirmative.” Ignasius replied. Was that excitement he heard in the robot’s tone?
...
Gondo walked carefully through the back alleyways of the Marshes towards the proposed meet up spot, wearing his hood against the perpetual and unpredictable streams of water from above. Ignasius glided silently beside him. While the robot’s outward appearance had not changed, Gondo had no doubt he was armed to the circuits under his chassis. Knowing Ignasius, this would involve napalm. His robot friend had a thing for fire.
“Stay frosty, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t want a repeat of the Brandenburg.” Gondo said.
The normally blue light on Ignasius front panel briefly flashed a burning red, then back to blue.
“Understood.” he replied, disappointed.
As they neared the location Gondo began to enter a focus state known as the phalanx. A mind shield that covered he and his friend, and underneath a psionic spear honed and ready to pierce through at any danger. This had setup written all over it, but if it was, they would be ready.
The harsh yellow glow of artificial sunlight refracted through the rain as the battle-hardened psychic and the mechanical killing machine arrived at the rendezvous.