Chapter 10
Dreams came to him in fits. Violent, bloody, and soul shattering. Sam, Noriko, Polanco, and a dozen blurry faces that he was certain he knew in his life. He reached out to them. He didn’t know how or why, but he was certain if he didn’t stop them, they’d walk to their death. He tried to call out, but no sound came from his throat.
When he looked at his hand after reaching out to them, blood smeared his palms a shiny crimson. It was his fault they died. That certainty settled in his dream consciousness. The awareness that he was ending lives of people around him like calculated sacrifices on a chessboard. Ahead of him in the king’s place, a massive corporate tower with the Haltech logo illuminated brightly. Behind him, the bodies of the dead, stacked in a row like a sidewalk of corpses, paved for him to advance after his goal.
Jon’s nightmare shocked him so deeply he lurched awake with a gasp. The acidic pang of bile hung in the back of his throat as his lungs heaved desperately for air. He tried to wipe the cold sweat out of his face, but the prosthetic arm was a poor tool for the job. Frustrated, he huffed and used his pillow to towel his face off instead.
He checked the chrono in his hud and groaned at the result. It was later in the morning than he expected. He ached, like he slept a fraction of that time, and knew it was likely the truth. He rolled himself out of bed, throwing on a pair of faded stonewashed jeans and a t-shirt that had a smiley face with a cartoonized grin and a pistol. He slipped on a pair of black sneakers and grabbed a brown jacket with the optional temp regulators in it.
Stepping out of his apartment, he tested the fit of the jacket, making sure the collar sat up. The Armox Weave in the collar piece doubled as a kevlar neck guard. His clothes were a little more grunge than he typically wore. Looking more like he just left a thrift store more than a designer fashion shop. He had to shop for his means.
He tried not to look at himself as he passed a cracked stand up mirror and frowned. His outfit wasn’t exactly breaking ground in fashion trends, leaving much to desire. A depressed sigh eased past his lips. There was nothing for it. He just had to make do until he could afford better threads. He passed an aug smoking on the stairs; the guy gave him an appraising nod. “Eyyy, nice chrome tomo!”
Jon scowled at the vagrant. Not because the man was homeless. Homelessness in Cap City sat very close to a comfortable 25%. Though it tended to lean more truthfully towards 30% if the bean counters were being honest with themselves so everyone just accepted it. He realized the source of his contempt for the comment was self loathing and forced himself to stop glaring.
“I’m not yer tomo,” said Jon dismissively.
The homeless man held his hands up placatingly as he leaned back. His grey white beard spilling off the side of his chest as he slouched a bit more on the stairs. Cooked protein and grease assailed his nose as he lowered himself to the food court on this level. A few noodle stands and a kabob stand on his left called out to passersby for the patronage.
His goal today was finding a fixer to set him up with a new identity to operate under as a merc. It wouldn’t do him any favors if he walked around the streets of Cap City calling himself Jonathan Masters. Nearing the elevator to ride down to the parking level, he slid the gate open to step inside. It reeked of fake meat, body odor, and a hint of urine. This Megatower isn’t as quite upscale as the ones some more elite corpos used. The lack of quality definitely shined through metaphorically.
Leaning against the yellow cage of the lift as it descended the tower, he could see outside to the greater city at large. The enormous towers clustered near the city center reached skyward like glass and steel lily’s with a few poorer megatowers dotting the outer edge, and then the endless sprawl of mid-sized apartments, offices, factories and other buildings like concrete grass to the megatowers. As if noticing the bland landscape, humanity polished it up with intense neon’s and building facade advertisements. All trying to compete for consumer attention spans.
The quad screen tv in the elevator cycled mindlessly through ads and news segments. The current death toll today is already in the double digits reported in almost satirical game show style fashion. An ad played for a brain dive bar, specializing in life-threatening scenarios for the timid thrill seeker unwilling to risk their own flesh and blood. A chrome ad by Toranaga played hyping up their latest ram stack targeting the Runner crowd. A product Raven would probably enjoy unironically.
The elevator settled down on the ground floor with a jolt before allowing him to open the cage up. Stepping out onto the promenade, he passed several food and merch stalls. Electronics, music, and clothes flanked by Chinese and Japanese food, and the occasional Reel Meat stand offering Reel Burgers and Reel Dogs. Jon made the mistake of asking one of them why they used the Reel spelling in their company name once. When the worker responded, it was because the meat was synthetically vat grown and that it spooled off a wheel like old film reels since there were no grazing lands left. He realized he was better off not knowing.
As he worked his way down the stairs, he caught a few CCPD beat cops interviewing a few gangers. They looked like part of the Hounds, a gang that took over the territory that used to be a college as the Sprawl rolled over the area. Few of the old streets remain, but the Hounds are fiercely territorial about what’s left of it. Their colors even matched what the old school colors used to be.
A body lay on the floor at the foot of a cop as he scribbled skeptical notes on his pad. Jon caught a look. The clothes and blurred facial effects told him it was a scav. Shorthand for Scavengers, streeters who chop up unwitting augs for scrap.
Scavs are a real and present danger to any aug, but they also prey on the living too, harvesting viable organs for resell and dumping the unusable material off. Human Parts trafficking, both organic and non, had become a growing market. Augmentation and gene-therapy matured, extending lifespans beyond the centennial mark. The population naturally craved these goods, regardless of how legally they gained them.
No one spared a mournful glance at the dead scav. Not even the CCPD cop who stuffed his notepad into his pocket, giving the Hounds a weak verbal lecture before returning to his squad car. Jon used to think the cops served a vital function to the public, but without the flag of the Agency to wrap himself within, he was struggling to see what the CCPD did for the public.
They were chronically understaffed, and the corrupted bloat that poisoned their ranks festered at every level. On the street, Jon pulled up a map of the city, and dropped a waypoint at the Fixer he was looking to visit. Her name was Diva, and while she often dressed the part, she often had the attitude of a cut throat corpo. He liked how she cut through the bullshit of any matter.
That kind of ruthless efficiency was what he needed. Plus, he couldn’t go to Q-ball after Polanco got jumped by a Tora mech. It was his fault his friend was so exposed. So he was expanding his horizons and his social circle today. Time to rub elbows with an upper socialite.
#
The walk to Diva’s office took him around twenty minutes to cross town towards the heart of “old city”. Sex workers, vagrants, gangers, druggies, corpos and everyone in between walked the sidewalks, going about their business or trying to ply their trade. The crowd flowed like a current of flesh and steel. Each individual but a singular atom in its own orbit, but cohesively building the overall stream. Jon pried himself from the current of the mob at his destination. Standing outside the salon, he sighed. This was not a place he frequented often, but Diva enjoyed looking her best. The fixer wouldn’t be found elsewhere.
Stepping inside, a holo of a saleswoman popped up in front of him, trying to leverage some latest brand of trendy hair treatment that forced him to swipe it aside. Only when he took another step, a different ad played. He closed his eyes with a sigh, swiping that one aside too, then reconfigured his notifications so that everything muted save for a small notice. As silence and nothingness greeted him, except for the small red exclamation point and number that progressively grew, he approached the front desk.
“I’m here to meet Diva.”
“Sugar, no one just meets Diva. You got an appointment?” The receptionist said, eying him up and down.
“No. But we got biz.”
“I’m sure ya do. No appointment, no meet.”
“Look, if you could just tell her, it’s important.”
“You can, when you book an appointment.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He was about to relent when a high pitched nasally voice called out from above and over his shoulder, “That’s good enough Patreese.”
Turning back, he watched Diva as she slowly descended an ornately curved staircase from the second level of the salon. A gloved hand gliding over the gold accented railing. She wore an eye fetching lavender dress and had vibrant olive skin. Her chrome work was light, non-invasive. Unlike his own. Though she seemed to approve of his own work and look.
“Mmm. Not the best, but every statue begins as a lump of clay.”
“Pardon?” Did she just call him a lump of clay? He swore she did.
Diva circled around him, snapping her fingers for him to follow. “Come.”
They walked past rows of stylists working on customers. Multiple sheers snipped at grasped hair. Clippers running their steady buzz as hair on several scalps was cut, shaped, and molded to perfection. The duo stepped into the rear area of the salon that saw less traffic. They hung a quick right and then stopped at an office as she stopped and gestured for him to step inside. Doing so, he could feel her eyes on his back. Heavy with judgement.
Diva stepped around him to the front of her desk and flicked the terminal on with a sweep of her hand. She eyed him silently as she fished out a long cigarette and lit it, then waved the pack to him. He declined with a polite wave of his hand.
“Now then. You must be new in town. Haven’t seen your face before. What biz do we have so urgent?”
“Need a new cover. Previous employer and I are...” he trailed off, struggling to find the right word.
“Estranged?” Diva asked.
“Estranged. That sufficiently describes it. I’d like to remain as incognito as possible, so if I’m doing biz, I can’t very well use my name.”
She nodded. Remodeling was something she’d carved out as a niche for herself in the world of fixers in the city. Everything from Corporate Witsec, Immigration, expatriation, down to remodel and reskins.
“Is this a purely digital do over or are we doing physical too? If you want the body done, it’s going to get pricey. You got some deep embedded hardware,” said Diva.
He hesitated for a moment before siding with frugality. He couldn’t afford her services if he opted to get a whole new body. Vat cloned organs were one thing. Limbs and half body swaps ran extremely resource heavy. That meant piles of credits he didn’t have. With a mournful sigh, he shook his head, feeling like he’d turned down his last chance at having his body whole again.
“No physical. Just pure digital. I don’t have the scratch to afford a full organic replacement for all the hardware.”
Diva gave him an amused look. “Yeah, you don’t look the Corpo CEO type.” She leaned back, eyeing him appraisingly. “I can do it. And I’ll even do it for free. I’ve got a gig that could use your talents.”
“A work trade?”
Diva smiled, pointing at him. “Bingo. So. Do we have a deal?”
He thought for a minute. “Ok. What’s the job?”
“There’s a joeboi who’s been roughin up one of my girls. Gets a little too handsy if ya catch my take. Need him zeroed.”
“Deets?”
Diva flicked the file to him, the download bar swiftly filled, then a mugshot and relevant information filled a portion of his view in an opaque menu. His name was Aric Fen. Typical looking goon. Colossal head, thick eyebrow ridge, small eyes, enormous nose, small brain. Had a few gold teeth and a bit of chrome on the left side of his head. He saved the file and closed it out.
“Where can I find this joeboi?”
“Likes to lurk around the alleys near the fifth tower.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Jon stood up, adjusting his jacket. The scent of expensive hair care product and bright colors pressed in against his senses, making him feel the need to get out into the open. He gave Diva a quick farewell and left her salon. Having biz to focus on lifted his spirits better than he realized it would. The absence of purpose filled momentarily, closing off the creeping void of despair that nested in his core. The mid afternoon shadow cast by the sun across the sprawl’s rooftops gave the air a coolness to the breeze. The wind gusted through the angular corridors between buildings.
Plotting a route, Jon rented a taxi. The electric taxi whispered through the bustling streets, giving him a moment of peace with himself. Reflecting on the changes in his life circumstance, he reveled in no longer being shackled to Wilson’s bullshit. All he needed now was time and money. Thankfully, since Haltech thought he was dead, he had plenty of time to work with. As for Money? That came easy enough for a man with his skill set.
The taxi slowed to a halt near a curb, depositing him after payment. Pedestrians marched along to the steady beat of life. An Aug in short pink shorts, a clear plastic vest with bright paint splatter and a wire connected to the socket behind and above her left ear that disappeared beneath a white tank top. A prim pressed Corpo in a 3 piece Italian ensemble sporting grey pinstripes and a royal blue tie with sunglasses going the opposite direction. He spoke his half of a conversation, oblivious to the world around him. A jogger in a white sleeveless athletic shirt and running shorts wove in and out of the crowd. An elderly woman and her teacup poodle on a faded pink leash and harness.
Life ebbing and flowing, the pedestrians surging forward and back with the traffic lights on the streets managing them. They were all blood cells in the massive concrete and glass heart that was Capital City. A shrinking sensation hit Jon in that flow, like an invasive bacterium that didn’t belong. Or at least he didn’t belong before, but now he looked the part. Cast down from his previous life, this was the biome he belonged to now.
Several blank surfaces with lens projected ads flashed as he walked by them. Sensor software tailoring the presentation algorithmically to suit him, as they were for everyone who looked at the space. For him, he spotted several firearm manufacturer ads.
“Wait. Wait. Wait,” the mechanical male voice of the street crosswalk announced as the light changed. Glancing down, he saw several large red x’s and a pictogram of a man walking, crossed out in red flashing on the street top in his lenses. Standing next to the streetlight, a soft breeze carried with it the smells of burnt ozone, car exhaust, factory exhaust, urine and pot.
A seedy street vendor stopped him with a wave, “Hey tomo, interested in a cheap Dive? I’ve got all kinds of BD’s. Blow your mind.” He pantomimed an explosion from his head.
Jon sighed inwardly before shaking his head. “Not right now, thanks. But I would pay for some information if you can help?”
The vendor wilted slightly, perking back up at the mention of a transaction. “Whatchu need tomo?”
Jon flicked the data file for the joeboi he was after. After the download finished for the vendor, his eyes remained blue as he studied the info and face. “Yeah, I see this guy. He comes by often. Likes the pretty girls. Find him in Chinatown near the dolls.”
Jon nodded and flicked the guy a fifty spot. “Thanks.” He was a block or two west of Chinatown now. Opting to hoof the rest of it, he set off with the vendor waving to his back, pleased. If the joeboi had a weak spot for dolls that made sense, then why Diva was having issues with him. Most of the dolls got their cosmetic work done through her. Make them as sexually appealing as possible, pheromone boosters, and subsonic hypnosis mods. The professional dolls worked high in the megatowers rigged up to sophisticated virtual intelligence. The works to hook a client.
Chinatown was the preem for sex workers. Most of them worked under protection from the Jade Dragons, a gang with teeth sharp enough to rival the Yakuza. The Dragons took a share of the earnings, and the dolls benefited from having a secure work environment. Entering the old entrance for Chinatown, Jon already counted no less than twenty armed guards in static and roaming patrols. The dragons were pretty easy to spot, thanks to the trademark ink they sported on their neck.
Zooming in on the tat, his implant scanned the ink, informing him with an inset window that the tattoo also had microscopic neurochips facilitating smart-link firearms. That meant any issue with them meant facing down smart rounds. Strong encouragement not to screw off in their territory, unless it was with a purchased doll.
He pulled up scan data against CCPD records to find the Dragon’s leader in the Dollhouse. It was an oxymoronic name though, given the fact they were operating more in an open court rather than inside a building. DollCourt didn’t have the same zing to it, though. The dolls decorated the streets in front of shops like sensual advertisements for pleasures untold. Teasing you to abandon your capitalist programming to indulge in some hedonistic fantasy for a price.
Around him the bright glare of neons flashed as several restaurants, retail and electronic shops all vied for consumer attention amidst the dolls. Jon found the Dragon lieutenant operating this operation. Jon approached at a casual pace to offset concern and tension. A doll stopped him in fishnets, wearing a leopard print bathing suit and a clear pink vinyl jacket that ended at the ribs. It was more an accessory than anything.
“Hey tomo, looking to unwind?”
“No thanks. Actually, I’m looking for a joeboi. Seen him?” He flicked her over the deets.
She scanned them for a minute, then her expression twisted. Brows furrowed and lips pursed disapprovingly. Finally, she nodded, her internal lens flicking off the blue glow in the pupils as she glanced back up at him. “Yeah. Seen him. Comes around checking out Kloie. Follows her a lot.”
“Kloie get her work done at Divas?”
“We all do sugar. Diva’s the best ChopDoc in town. All us dolls get our lifts done there. Why?” She said with a faint smile.
He shook his head with a dismissive wave. “Just confirming something. Diva hired me to deal with the joeboi.”
The doll nodded with a shudder, “Won’t no one lose sleep over that wonk.”
He nodded to her, taking her meaning. “Where can I find Kloie?”
He waited to ask this last, so he didn’t put her off. Asking a girl for another girl struck him as poor form, especially if she was a doll. That was a social faux pa he didn’t plan on making. She eyed him for a moment, having weighed the conversation before finally pointing towards an opposite portion of the quad.
“Down over by the Pleasures shop.”
“Thanks,” he said.
Turning to leave, something caught his arm, and he saw her small slender hand with emerald painted nails on his bicep. He glanced up to meet her eyes.
“You owe me fer time.”
He sighed, flicking her a twenty spot. She smiled and letting go to wave as he strode away. Diva hadn’t mentioned he’d have to spend his own credits on the job. Still, that’s just how this biz worked. In the past, he could cover as a merc and use the Agency’s credits. Now they came from his own pocket. He chose which jobs he took now. Who lived or died, and for why.
He pushed through the crowd of tourists and locals alike. The sounds of conversation swam around him. Deals being made between shops and patrons. Dolls working with new clients. The sizzle of protein and vatmeat on fryers. Food vendors offering samples. Ad boards running lens ads competing with holo ads shot from building facades.
Kloie stood next to a waist high concrete hand rail on a small stone bridge that arched gracefully over a small river bypass. She had dark skin, from extra melanin injections, most likely. Green eyes like faded jade. High set cheeks that curved elegantly down her slender jawline to a carefully sculpted chin. She had the look of a Michaelangelo brought to life by Prometheus himself.
She brushed wild raspberry colored bangs from out of her face into the raven black hair that fell behind the red streak. Those jade stones rose to meet his own eyes, locking him in her gaze. The pheromone pushes on full drive, like fish hooks snagged in the cartilage of his nostrils. His ole factory senses being drawn to her like dust trapped by gravity forming the center of a planet’s core.
A warning inset popped up in his hud cautioning him against outside interference. An internal ICE deployed, and the allure fell away like Pinochio with cut strings. Focus returned to his gaze, pupils tightening, and her demeanor shifted immediately to casual disinterest in him. She didn’t see him as a mark any longer.
“Whatchu want?”
“Need a quick word. About a joeboi been followin’ ya.”
“Which one?” she asked. “Plenty joebois follow me like lost dogs.”
Jon flicked the deets to her. She scanned the download a moment. Then nodded with recognition.
“Hmm. Know that one. Cheap. Always has that hungry look. Like he not eaten in a week.”
“He here now?” Jon asked.
“Usually shows up towards the end of my shift. Lu Bei walks me home most nights. Keeps the joebois away. Why?”
“Diva wants him dealt with.”
Kloie smiled, “Ah, you my prince charming? My knight in shining armor?” she said, tracing a finger along the black alloy extruding from the surface of his skin on the side of his eye.
He pulled his head away, the taste of bile rising in his throat. “I’m no one’s knight, sister. I’ll walk you home. How long till yer off?”
She shrugged. “Whenever. Can be now, can be in a few hours. I pick.”
“Fine. Whenever you pick. We go.”
Kloie spent a few more hours working with Jon, passing the time from a nearby noodle shop. Cooking oil, fried pastry, and vatmeat and vegetables filled the surrounding air. He took comfort in the scents, knowing it would overwhelm the delicate pheromones that Kloie used to hook clients. The vantage point also gave him the chance to scan the crowds without being an obvious member of them.
Jon’s target didn’t show until Kloie called it a day. This made him curious if she was following a routine, or if she was being observed. Jon called her on holo. A moment later, her portrait winked up in his hud.
“Mr. Knight!” she said.
He wasn’t sure if she was teasing still, or just enjoyed making him uncomfortable. The knight metaphor striking too close to home. Still, he did a commendable job of not rolling his eyes.
“I think your tomo’s lurking in the crowd. But if I show my face, he’ll ghost.”
“You want me to go alone? You watch my ass?”
“I’ll watch your ass. He won’t get close enough to do anything. Promise.”
“Okay, Mr. Knight.”
The call ended, and he caught her turn his way and give him a flirty wink. He’d been sitting there in case anything happened. Before she could leave, her Dragon bodyguard approached, and she assured him he wouldn’t be needed. Jon gave him a subtle nod as the man turned his way. A professional promise nonverbally exchanged between them.
The Dragon drifted away, and Jon followed Kloie at a far enough distance before he could track her, but monitor her joeboi. The goon fell in doing his best to keep Kloie in sight, yet stay far enough back the crowd partially obscured him. Well, all except for the fact he was a full head taller than most. Watching the guy try to haunch down made for awkward and near comedic viewing. Any humor Jon might have taken from the situation melted away in the knowledge this guy was planning some wonk shit with the poor doll.
Noting the distance between the two close at a steady rate, Jon melted into the crowd of people. He gained ground on the target until he had the man within arm’s reach. Aware that the distance between them and Kloie was also shrinking, Jon timed his attack to coincide with an approaching alley way. At the alley’s mouth, Jon surged forward.
His hand clamped down on Aric’s mouth tight as he wrapped the other around the man’s weight. Jon’s augmented limbs enhanced strength, forced the man into the alley against the feeble protests. With Kloie out of sight, Jon threw the man into the concrete back wall of a building. Crumbling like folded paper, joeboi slid down to his ass as he fished out a Chinese Mk 23 pistol. The mk 23’s were unique for their ability to fire gas propelled smart rounds.
The barrel shook as it lifted to meet Jon’s gaze. He simply glared down at the man. His chest heaving with rage. A boiling red ember that spilled over in waves, washing through his body. Rage at his life, at the mess his body had been reduced to. Rage at the bastards who’d killed and maimed his friends. Rage at this lowlife for hunting women like a weak, pitiful shit.
“Fuck you!” Aric said, the Chinese special discharging.
Jon blocked his face with his forearm, the poison dart shattering uselessly against the black alloys and composite shell of his forearm. With a practiced blur of motion, he drew a holstered service pistol from its concealed strap inside his jacket. He snapped off a single round that slammed home into Aric’s forehead. The back of the man’s head exploded outward, ejecting its wet contents against the dirty concrete like a spilled strawberry sundae.
Aric’s body went slack, and Jon’s heavy breathing ebbed with it. He schooled himself back to neutral. The pistol drooped in his hand, even as he let it slide back into the holster hanging below his armpit, tugging the jacket back over top of it. His body shook with the thrill. The after effects of the fight or flight high, better known as the crash.
He snapped a still and sent it to Diva with a text. A minute later, she called him. “Excellent work dealing with that joeboi. Fans are fine, but when they hunt my girls like wild animals, it becomes a problem. As agreed to, I’ll have your new credentials done up and sent to you. Cheers.”
The call ended, leaving him alone there in the alley, with Aric’s cooling body. With a new identity, he could work freely now. Start building up finances to conduct his one man war against Haltech. Then, when the time was right, burn them to the ground for what they did to him and Sam. Without a second look at the corpse slumped against the wall, Jon turned to leave. He wasn’t sure how real it was, but he relished the sensation of having some control back over his life.