I have drunk too much, did too much Exodus. What if that guy really had been following me? Maybe that big brute is still out there, ready to take advantage of my inebriated state. I force myself to care, force my way past the effects of the drug, past the giddy stupidity of the drinks. I scan the walkways and shop windows for the outline of that exaggerated face. He is nowhere.

The walk back to the elevator is long and nervous, from there it is a short way to the monorail that will get me to my apartment.

The train car only has a few people in it. A nasty bum is begging for any money that you can give him, he will take any currency. He is holding a sign that says, “Help me I am trapped in V.R.!” It is a scary idea, because how would you ever be able to tell if the world was real. Some people insist that they can, they claim that they can tell when they are in a simulation. That is one of the reasons why things like sex bots and the clubs exist, they assert that it feels more real. But they are wrong, you can never tell. I decided a long time ago that it is best not to think about it.

A man is staring at a wall, seeing things that I can’t. As always, there are virtual worlds that sit on top of the real one, augmenting it. Most people can only see one of them, but it is my privilege to move between them.

I tell my I.C. to switch to one of the corporate frequencies; Délta Corp advertisements and propaganda surround me. Everywhere there are reminders of the war with Mars. The massacre at the Korolev crater has always been a big focus. They are telling me that Earth is to blame for the war, we were the bad guys, we are still the bad guys. They want me to play at being a Martian Revolutionary, they are offering free V.R. simulations of hit and fade attacks against Earth forces.

I switch over to Burabō Inc, it is like traveling to another dimension. Now I can see what the man is watching; it is an anti-drug program. Burabō is very anti-drug, they are always trying to warn people of its dangers and pushing for new laws. I want to tell the man that the company isn’t doing it out of morality. It is doing it because they lost their manufacturing and vending rights after a bad incident. They just want to try and cut into the competition’s profits; they want to deny their rivals the revenue source that they can’t access. I want to do this, but I know that the man won’t listen. He is probably too far gone, too brainwashed. And besides, he is earning a steady stream of Company Social Credit points for watching the show.

By the time the train ride ends, and I reach my apartment I have sobered up a bit. The sun is coming up, the sky is slowly going from deep black to a dull shade of blue. The sun rise is hidden behind the massive structures that make up our fair city.

My building is pretty standard. The halls are poorly lit, decorations are nonexistent, trash is strewn here and there. All I want to do is crawl into bed, but someone is waiting for me, a person is standing outside of my door. I Immediately recognize it as being Mr. Burke, my Government contact. He is inconspicuous in his plain suit and coat. His face looks like it was designed to be unremarkable, and it may well have been. Rumor has it, he is ex-special forces; I would believe it, the guy is more than a little bit scary.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“If we are going to do this, I am going to need food,” I declare before turning around and heading for the nearest elevator. He follows me menacingly.

I head for a nearby fast food joint, the G-man hot on my heels, not saying a word. The place has a good breakfast menu, a humanoid drone takes my order and another drone does the cooking. The place has a nice view, it is a bit of a shithole, but it has a nice view and a good breakfast menu.

It is still early, only a sparse few monitors and managers are present. A guy in an embarrassing uniform stares off into space, while robots go about their work. He is the perfect image of a Drone Monitor. That half-dead, meaningless existence; those long stretches of hell, with only the short bursts of pleasure breaking them up. He is watching the robots do the actual work, just in case something goes wrong, which it won’t. It is a completely pointless job, an artificial occupation. But I guess that they need to make people do something, that way, they have money to spend.

It is a Burabō owned establishment. The colors purple and white dominate, appearing on the walls, floors, furniture, packaging, and bots. A nice breakfast costs me a single Token. I pick a seat and Mr. Burke sits opposite me, after a short wait my food arrives. He is silent as I dig in. I know where this is going, this isn’t the first time I have had to do things for the state. That is why they let me get away with being a Skinwalker, that is why they have arranged for me to be counted as a voter for both candidates.

The carrot tends to be good, more than worth the effort. The stick is a little bit more complicated. Sometimes they need people like me. I have to wonder if they will really take away my gift.

As I eat and ponder what he will ask of me I stare out the restaurant’s window. The cityscape is simultaneously beautiful and ugly. The buildings range from picturesque marvels of engineering, to ugly and brutish monstrosities. These structures are omnipresent, like trees in a forest.

An Echo Industries headquarters dominates the view, it has a massive spike on top, which seems to be stabbing the atmosphere. At night a pale green light casts an eerie glow onto the structure. A skyway is filled to the brim with trucks; a lane of personal vehicles is located directly under it, the massive cargo haulers casting shadows on them. Thankfully, the ground level areas are out of sight, hidden by a combination of distance and obstructions.

Mr. Burke finally speaks, “I need you to do something for me,” he says emotionlessly.

My I.C. receives a transmission from him. A young woman appears beside me. She is completely nude, except for a seashell neckless. She has dishwater blond hair, her skin is smooth; her body, nubile and perky. She has tan lines that almost make it look like she is wearing a bikini; her puffy nipples and the well-groomed tuft of hair between her legs gives it away.

“This is Jill, she is missing, and I need you to find her.”

“I am not a detective, I am a Skinwalker.”

“You’re able to go anywhere and interact with anyone, that makes you a lot of things.”

He is right, I am a smuggler, a day trader, a weapons dealer, a go-between, and a lot more.

“I am what I need to be to make money, but I still don’t know…”

He cuts me off, “This will make you money.”

“How much?” I ask before taking another bite.

“Ten thousand in each currency, plus expenses.”

I feel my eyes go wide and I struggle to swallow what is in my mouth. That is a good chunk of change. I can do a lot with that, especially with it being spread out, it would make me much more versatile.

As I finish my meal, I ask him what he knows about her, “The only thing that I can tell you is that she is an employee at The Archipelago.”

I don’t ask him why he wants me to find the girl, I already know the answer, which is, “You don’t need to know.”

I am too wired to sleep, I go back to my apartment to pack and get cleaned up. The place has good parking, so I hop in my car and set its destination for The Archipelago.