“Fashion?! Fashion is everything, darling! It’s life! It’s you and me! It unites and divides. And most importantly? It makes you look spectacular when you kick ass!”
⎻ Excerpt from the book “The Strength of Fashion!” by Louis Broce, a fashion designer and a former MMA lightweight world champion.
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I did not expect the store to be open in the middle of the night, but apparently, the owner was a night owl since there was a light on the inside of the tiny building.
I left the neighborhood around 3:30 a.m., thinking I’ll simply wait around the clothes store until it opens, but was pleasantly surprised that it was indeed functioning at that time.
Without wasting any moment, I pushed the doors open – they were made of a thin sheet of acrylic glass – and stepped inside the store.
“Welcome to Old Man’s Leftovers! How may I help you today?”
I stood before a man; an older gentleman with a shiny bald scalp who was dressed in the most extravagant outfit I think I’ve ever seen. Every piece of clothing had a different color. He wore a turtleneck that had ruffles on its edges. It was pale blue with glittering violet patterns sawed across the fabric. His trousers were made of white lace that made complicated fractal patterns. Red matte shoes worn for many years tied the whole outfit together.
I wondered if this was what was called “high fashion”, as I heard the term used by others at the base a couple of times regarding this megacity. The Nova York citizens cared about fashion a lot, as it showed one’s status and character.
If more colors and unusual patterns proved one’s character, then this old man had much of it.
“Hello. I’m looking for some clothes.” Even though his outfit ‘screamed’ at me, his expression was pleasant and enthusiastic. No surprise there, since I noticed the store was hidden by its surrounding buildings, so he probably didn’t get many customers. Especially at this time of day.
“Well, that’s obvious just by looking at you. Here! I have just a thing for you!” The older man started to move to the back of the store.
The interior of this place was decorated with photos of the megacity and portraits of people dressed in all sorts of clothes. The walls had a dark crimson color and needed a paint job in some places. In the left corner of the store was a desk made of dark wood. I had to check the structure of that piece of furniture with different optical settings to confirm that it was indeed real wood. One of the most expensive materials on the market today. That desk would probably sell for many chips.
Other than that, the interior was well-kept. There wasn’t a lot of dust around and the clothes were arranged on different, labeled racks. It was a neat little store.
Additionally, the smell wasn’t that bad. I could identify scents of different fabrics and older paint on the walls. There was also a hint of something floral in the air. It couldn’t be real flowers, but it was still nice.
“Ha! I got it!” I turned my attention back to the old man. Considering the man’s outfit, I was apprehensive about what clothes he’d show me. I didn’t want to wear anything colorful or eye-catching.
Thankfully, I worried about nothing.
In his hands were a simple gray shirt and a synthcotton pair of trousers. Also, under his armpit, he was carrying a hanger with a dark synthleather coat on it. It was, overall, a very normal and inconspicuous outfit. It was precisely what I needed.
“You look surprised. What? Did you think I’ll dress you like myself? Ha! Not everyone can pull off my style!” The man laughed jovially and pushed the clothes onto me. I grabbed them quickly, and then I wasn’t sure about my next step. I guess I should ask him how much it would cost.
“The price—”
“No! No! First, you must try them on. Come on, I have a changing room right here.” He started to walk to, what I assumed, would be the changing room. I followed him. He was kind of right. I thought the clothes would fit me, but making sure wouldn’t hurt.
The changing room was in the far-right corner of the store. It was a single small room separated by a brownish curtain from the rest of the store.
“Go inside and change. Let’s see how well they’ll fit you.” The older man pointed to the changing room, and I went inside.
When I got in, I pushed the curtain back to close the small space.
On one wall was a metal bar on which I hung the jacket, and on the lower part of the same wall was a small metal shelf. I put on the clothes that I was still holding on it and started to strip.
As I was taking off the simple clothes that were provided to me by the corporation, I looked at the narrow mirror that was hanging on one wall.
I noticed that my hair was tangled, and I had specks of dirt on my face. The rest of my body was in good condition, except for my knee.
Before I came into the store, I covered my wound with a piece of cloth I tore up from the bottom of my shirt. If I didn’t do that, the first person who would’ve seen me would know I was a synthoid. Whereas humans would have a bleeding hole with pieces of bone in it, I had a wet hole that was covered in gray fluid, from which wires and artiflesh hung loosely.
It was too much of a giveaway. How many wounded synthoids that looked exactly like me were there? Not a lot, but a human that was similar to me in appearance - now there must be many women like that around.
Other than that wound, I looked like a normal human being. My artiflesh possessed small human-like imperfections to make people’s interactions with me more comfortable. Even though I was a mili-corp synthoid and I didn’t need those aesthetic augmentations, they apparently made me easier to be around.
My physical appearance was not something I thought about often. I didn’t even have a mirror in my room at the base. So looking at myself in the mirror in this small changing room made me curious about my body. Appearance to humans was a very integral part of their life and I thought I started to understand why.
Light-brown freckles that adored my face and the lower part of my chest felt like… myself. I liked my red hair and how strong my body looked and felt.
Looking back at my face, I noticed a smile had formed on my lips. Beforehand, I would need to actively try to smile, but now it happened organically.
How wondrous.
“Come on! I haven’t all day!” The voice of the older man halted my examination of myself.
I hastily began putting on the clothes he provided. Leaving the torn piece of cloth around my knee. Even though synthfluid leakage has been stopped, it was better to be cautious.
The shoes I had on were a sturdy-looking, brown pair of light-combat boots. I didn’t need to change them.
The trousers that the old man provided were made of thick synthcotton. They felt heavy and well-made. Ragged on the edges, but besides that, they were in good condition. They were a dark maroon color, which I liked a lot.
And they fit me like a glove. I think that’s the expression. They were loose and tight in all the right spots. It felt like I could fight in them comfortably.
Maybe that old man was onto something.
Next, I put on the shirt. It was probably the plainest-looking shirt I’ve ever seen. It felt very nice against my artiflesh, though. The fabric was smooth and light. Breathable. Also, perfect for fighting. Huh.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The coat, at first glance, looked fairly normal, but when I looked at it closely, I noticed the craftsmanship of it. Some stitches had tiny imperfections, meaning it was probably hand-stitched. The zip on the black coat was made of good-grade steel. The back of the coat was adored in a pressed image of a Chinese-looking dragon that stretched all around the surface of the backside. The art was very detailed, and I liked it instantly.
This coat was expensive.
I put it on, and it fitted me very well. I moved my arms around and didn’t feel in any way restricted. It must be some tailoring trick because synthleather is not flexible in the slightest.
I put my boots back on and went outside. The old man was waiting right in front of the curtain. His arms were folded, and his foot was raised. Right, I heard some tapping earlier.
Upon my reveal, the whole demeanor of the older man changed. His eyes widened, and a smile stretched across his face. With a clap of his hands, he spoke.
“Yes! That’s it!” The man started to walk in front of me. Looking at how the clothes fit me, I guessed. His close attention didn’t feel bad, but it was a strange feeling. Nobody looked at me like that before. With amazement.
“The clothes fit me very well. Thank you.” I said.
“Right! I have an eye for these things. I can tell when something suits a person. And you— “He gestured to my silhouette with his arms, ”—have a presence that demands a certain style.” His voice was slicked with confidence, and he seemed very satisfied with the way I looked.
“How much will that be?” I asked as I went back to the changing room to grab my old clothes back.
“Just a hundred chips if you tell me your name.” A hundred? That felt underpriced. The clothes were of good quality, although clearly used, and their craftsmanship felt to be of high value. Although considering the measly five hundred chips to my name, I shouldn’t argue to make the price higher.
Though, he wanted my name. What should I say? Heavenrend was not a common name, and the corporation probably had ears in plenty of places. But I didn’t just want to give him a random name. That would feel like I cheated, almost. I did not like that feeling.
“Rend. My name is Rend.” I settled on a compromise. Rend still felt like me but was less of a name to stand out. It could also be mistaken for a simple misspelling of a word like “rent”.
“Rend… I like that! Has an edge just like you. My name’s Arthur and you are welcome to come here anytime you want. I love customers!” The man - Arthur - said.
Now, I’ve never had to pay for anything, so I wasn’t sure how to manage it, but then a message appeared in my system. I checked it and it was from Arthur. A request for a hundred chips. I answered positively and saw that my account balance went down. Huh. I will need to check how paying and banking work later.
“Payment received! And a satisfied customer! How wonderful!” Arthur seemed thrilled. His joyful attitude made me feel happy, too. It felt like I did something good.
“Thank you again, Arthur. I’ll definitely remember you and your store.” I moved towards the exit but got stopped by a hand on my arm by Arthur.
“Wait a second, Rend. I just have a piece of advice for you. A bonus, if you will.” Arthur lost his smile. He looked serious.
“I’m listening.”
“If you’re searching for honest people. Helpful, open-minded people, check the Contractors. They welcome anybody who’s willing to work.”
Contractors? I’d never heard of that corporation before, and I had all the corporation names in my memory bank.
Quickly, I asked Terra.
Terra, what is the Contractors’ corporation?
The Contractors are not a corporation. They are a group of independent workers that work on a contract-only basis. A contract can be made to carry out a single action or work for someone for a longer period of time if a job demands it. Independent Contractors, also known as ICs or Contractors, have their own internal system on which basis they work and live. They are not affiliated with any corporation and are generally negatively biased towards corporate entities. Would you like to know more, Miss Steele?
That’s enough for now. Thank you, Terra.
You’re welcome, Miss Steele.
So, Contractors? Huh. Arthur was more perceptive than I first realized. That didn’t necessarily mean anything bad. Yet. I thought his intentions were good. He was nice to me.
“I’ll think it over. Thank you again, Arthur.” I turned and left. The night was still young.
You’d think that the term “least activity” would mean low activity, but apparently that meant something else in Nova York.
When I snuck through the streets and alleyways to get to the Old Man’s Leftovers, I did not see many people or heard a bustling street around the corner. I saw a person or two sneaking through the same places I was going through, but that was about it.
Now, though, as I approached a street not so far from the store, I could hear the energy, the life, the crowd walking around and about. I heard many screams, some of them of joy and some of them not. I heard many intense conversations, screamed arguments and whatnot.
No. Even under the cover of the night. When the sky is dark as fresh oil and no lights are in sight but the city ones’, the megacity of Nova York is buzzing with life. When an average person was supposed to be asleep, the nightlife was bustling.
The neon signs on the tall buildings and moving advertisements cast a strong light on the ground underneath them. Streetlights shone brightly. Car lights brightened up the roads. All of those things took away the safe, dark spots one would like to hide in. Although, they also provided me with an opportunity.
I could easily blend into the dynamic crowd and look like one of many. Cameras were everywhere, but so were the people.
Some time has passed since my attempted abduction and I suspected that there weren’t Fran-Mili Corporation employees running around the megacity trying to find me. No, they would retreat and plan for another attempt. I probably was safe for a while. Although, unless they get what they want from me, I would never be free of them.
First, I would have to find out what they want from me. So far, I could only speculate about the reason. One possible reason, that is. My neutronium core. Precious item. A return on their investment.
Maybe, if I caused them enough trouble, they would let go, but considering there is only one of me and much more of them, that seems like an unlikely scenario at this point in time.
As I was walking with the crowd of the megacity, I wondered if I should take Arthur’s advice and visit the Contractors.
If I were to continue to live in this city, I would need to think about a job and a place to rest. For that, I need money and information. Information about the potential job opportunity I got from Arthur. The money would come from there if I were to become one of them.
A job not affiliated with any corporation sounds very convenient for my current situation. I might as well go and check it out.
So, to the Contractors’ headquarters I go.
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Terra guided me through the chaotic street life of Nova York to a building which supposedly housed the Contractors. While the street leading to the HQ was busy, as I got nearer and nearer, I noticed how everything became less so.
There weren’t many stores surrounding the building, or there were, but they looked clearly abandoned and empty. There was no signage anywhere in the radius of the building.
It looked as if a plague had emptied the area around the Contractors’ HQ. Deserted and forgotten.
The building itself was in a relatively good condition. Made with yellow foam-concrete, it had an unfortunate hue. The windows didn’t have any cracks and I couldn’t look inside them because of the dark covers.
If I strained my ears, I could make out voices and the sound of hitting something. Like someone slapped their hand on a table.
While I approached the building, I had no clue what to expect. What little information Terra and Arthur provided said nothing about the intricacies of this organization. The only thing I knew was that the Contractors did not affiliate themselves with corporations. I wondered how much the GUF had any sway on them.
I pushed the white door open and had to turn my hearing sensitivity down because of the noise the hinges made. It was atrocious.
“-come on! You know I can do it! Don’t be a little bitch about it.”
The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was the crowd. At least thirty people were scattered around the main room, sitting at various tables and playing some strange-looking games, I assumed based on the dice and cards that I saw. At the far back, I saw a big receptionist’s desk with a single person behind it. Behind that person was a screen that stretched along the whole wall. Up to the ceiling, it was probably three meters high.
On the screen were floating squares with text on them. When I zoomed in, I noticed those were the contracts. The client, the job, and the pay were mentioned, so it had to be it.
At the desk was a young man with black hair and a long but trimmed beard. He didn’t look particularly happy. The reason might have been a woman standing before him, in front of the desk, pointing her finger at him.
“Calling me a bitch won’t change my mind, Rin.”
They were having an argument. Since I came to ask how I could join, I started to walk towards the desk.
The people sitting at the tables and near the walls didn’t look at me much. I noticed some suspicious glances my way, but nothing outwardly hostile or otherwise.
The receptionist and the woman - Rin - were still having an argument as I came behind her. Their conversations did not appear to lead anywhere, so I decided to interrupt.
“Excuse me, could I ask you something?” As soon as I spoke, the woman visibly startled. She then turned and looked me in the eye. I’ve never been looked at with such hostility before.
“Who the hell are you, bitch?” The woman said with a silent, angry tension in her voice.
Maybe she called everyone a bitch, I thought. Or it was a common way to speak to someone in this town. I didn’t know, but I definitely did not enjoy her speaking to me like that.
“You can call me Rend, bitch.”
You reap what you sow.