The interior is several floors of hardcore partying, roiling smoke, flickering lights, with the overpowering sound of the ground-shaking beat making it impossible to hear anything beyond the range of my arms. I pull my hood over my head and make my way upstairs, taking it slow because of the bodies in the way. Some are unconscious; others are just blazed out of their minds.
The top floor is somewhat quieter; the walls insulated to keep the riotous din at bay. A bruiser in a dog-shaped medieval helmet and spiked leather stares me down when I approach the room at the end of the hallway. Hel is right beside me, but the thug can't see her. Pulling out a gun that looks more like a cannon, he points it in my face.
"You lost, runt? Piss off."
I hold up my hands. "I need to see Keno."
He barks a laugh. "Yeah, mate. You and everyone else. I'm not telling you again."
"Yeah, sure. Figure I'm doing you a favor, though."
"Yeah? How's that then?"
"You tell him that Specter wants to talk."
"You're Specter?" He leans in for a closer look. "Little piss-rag, ain't you? I thought Specter was a bloody madman."
I remove the hood and look him square in the eye. "Don't let the looks fool you. I got business with Keno. Buzz me in."
Dog-Face stares for a second before lifting his wrist and muttering into his holoband. An orbital cam in the corner dislodges from its holder and hovers down, whirring as it scans my face. A second later, the door slides open. I give Dog-Face a smug grin when I walk past and enter the private lounge.
Keno has his back to me, bobbing back and forth to the beat with his crew of like-minded deviants in a cloud of weed smoke thick enough to make my lungs burn. Blacklight lamps bathe the room electric blue, turning skin tones purple and inverting colors. A vast pane of one-way glass provides a view of the crowd dancing below.
Keno turns around and gives me a hard grin. He's a fresh-faced, cold-eyed Brit bastard with the looks of a college kid and the street smarts of a born hustler.
"Well look at this, fam. I can't believe my eyes. My man Specter, back among the living. Don't be shy, mate—bring it in."
"Keno." I cautiously approach, keeping an eye on his hands. Fortunately, he's not holding a weapon. It turns out he doesn't need to. When we clasp hands in greeting, a stiletto blade pops from the wrist of his other hand, the gleaming point hovering a hair's-breadth from my throat.
"Like the upgrade? Ace, innit?" His grin is an ugly thing to witness, containing no mirth at all. His pupils quiver deliriously, fixed on my face. "Laser-etched titanium alloy and sharp enough to shave with. Just had it installed. I wanted the whole firearm thing, but my mandem talked me out of it. Those things tend to be a little dodgy; end up blowing your whole arm off."
"Yeah, it's cool," I managed to say, trying not to move. The goon squad closes in, nudging each other and laughing. I slide my eyes edgewise at Hel, who leans casually against me, elbow propped on my shoulder. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, she whispers in my ear.
"Show them who's boss, baby."
I focus my gaze on Keno. "What's with the chilly reception, man? I thought we left on good terms."
"Then you need to reevaluate your thought process, bruv. Because I told you I'd kill you the next time I saw you."
"I thought you were exaggerating."
"There you go thinking again. Allow it, mate. You turned my offer down flat and told me to go swing. We had a highly profitable arrangement that you muffed up big time."
"People died." I place a finger on the flat of the blade and gently push it to the side. "We agreed that no one got killed. You didn't listen, so I took a breeze. Nothing personal. I told you from the beginning that my work was freelance. I meant it. But all of that was then. This is now. Not point getting bent out of shape over it. Especially when we can get back to making money. Big scores. Like we used to."
He stares at me for a few seconds before a wide grin flashes across his face. The blade retracts back into his arm, and he crushes me with a fierce hug.
"My boy Specter. Always cool as ice." He laughs, and his sycophants laugh with him. He waves them toward the door. "Give us a minute or two, fam. Gotta catch up with my man Spec. Go get pissed on a few bottles. I'll catch up in a few, innit."
He waited for them to clear out before brightening the lights and turning back to me, face turning serious. "Don't think this makes us good. You left me gutted, mate. I was counting on a few more scores to get me back across the pond."
"London? I thought you hated it there."
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say. Point is, I could be there already if you hadn't skipped out. Hope you're in for putting in real work or you're wasting my time."
"I'm in for it. Looking for something heavy. Rent on DSPs is sky-high, man. I need enough to last for a while. Whatever you got."
"DSPs?" He sneers, shaking his head. "You and your v-addiction. It's worse than any grime on the streets. Got you Sleepers shook when you have to come back to the real world."
"It's not an addiction, man. It's a lifestyle. No different than the one you choose to live."
"Bollocks. Life is walking and breathing, mate. Not hooking some corporate IV in your veins and bleeding five hundred quid a day into their fat accounts. And for what? To trip on a fantasy. Immersion is just another drug. The most addictive substance on the planet and you know it."
I fold my arms and grin. "Listen to you. Next thing you'll be hooking up with the Digital Underground, fighting for humanity's freedom and all."
"The DU? Not me, bruv. I got scratch to make." He glances around. "Not used to seeing you without that peng holo you run with. She finally let you off the leash, eh?"
"She's not a hologram. And you gotta use the visor, man. She's right in front of you."
"Ha! No holovisor for me anymore. Got the shines last year. Just have to make the adjust." His eyes glimmer for an instant as the cybernetics switch to the right filter. He grins when she materializes in front of him. "There you are, Hel. Looking well fit as usual. Still got this wasteman proper moist on you, eh?"
Hel waggles her fingers, switching her accent to match his. "Cheers, luv. Got nothing to do with Specter's decisions. I follow where he leads, you know?" She sidles to the window and dances sinuously in the flashing lights, throwing a wink over her shoulder at me.
Keno snorts. "Yeah, right. Well, I gotta say that you two showed up just in time. I was just kicking myself for having to cancel out on a major score." He points to the nearby glass tabletop, where several rolled joints are stacked. "Bun a zoot, bruv?"
I shake my head. "No, thanks."
"Going clean, that it?"
"My lungs can't take the beating. Especially the skins you roll."
"Aw, what's the matter? The Deep Sleep wankers cut back your nutrients again? You look half-dead, mate. Just another reason to quit Immersing while you can."
Hel turns from dancing in front of the window. "I thought you said something about a major score."
"Just getting to that, luv." He frowns at her for a second before turning back to me. "Look—are you really back or just looking to pull small fries like last time? I need to know before I go any further."
I open one of the bottles of Guinness from the open chest on the counter and take a swig. For some reason, beer always tastes better outside of Immersion. Something about the translation doesn't quite match up.
"I'm back if the payday is major. But just so you know—after the job's finished, I'm going back to Elysia. Don't try talking me out of it. Waste of time."
"Yeah, yeah. They got their hooks in you right proper." He crashes into a padded armchair, looking uncharacteristically sober. "Look, I've been working on this for a while. Should be more than enough to make you a permanent resident of your virtual world if we can pull it off. I'm talking a one and done, hit and retire kind of score. Coordinating with several different parties to get it rolling. The only missing piece is a sure-bet core-jacker
like you."
I sit opposite on a cheap faux leather couch. "So obviously this involves synoids."
"Yeah. But not your ordinary rollover. We're not talking five-and-dime manservant or cutesy little sex doll types."
"Military-grade, then?" I scrub a hand across my chin. "Soldier units. That's gonna take some real strategy. Not some half-baked plan like last time that got two bodies dropped."
He glares at me, rage twisting his face into something feral. "You're lecturing me about killing people? You gotta be taking the piss, mate. How many bloody bodies have you burned in Elysia? Don't hear you getting arsey over those corpses."
"Those corpses aren't real."
"Allow that, bruv. You don't get to choose what's bloody real and what's not. You're hooked on Immersion like a fiend with a needle in his veins because you think Elysia is more real than this world. If that's so then the killing is too. Worse, even. Because you can laugh it off. No guilt, no trauma. It's just a game, right? You can pull a trigger, watch the blood spray, listen to the screams, and feel nothing. Nothing but the thrill, that is."
I snort out an uneasy laugh. "Jeez, Keno. What's got into you? Why all the hatred of Elysia?'
"Nothing, mate. Nothing except maybe I know a little bit about the dirty laundry there. Like maybe I had a proper bird I was sweet for a bit—proper toff, but always up for it, you know? Turns out she took a vacay to Elysia for a tad. Total noob, she ended up taking a wrong turn or two, found herself in a skin district, one of the dodgy ones. Buggers who like the rough stuff, rape fantasies and all."
I feel the fight drain out me. "Aw, man."
"Yeah. Bloody bastards used her like a human toilet for thirty-six hours straight because she didn't know how to switch the environment. When she finally got out, she was never the same. We weren't the same, you know? She doesn't like anyone touching her. Not after counseling, not after months of her being back in reality. She still has flashbacks. Still has nightmares."
"I'm sorry, man. But that's not me. That's not what I'm into."
He settles back in his chair, a bitter smile on his lips. "I know that. But that place is proper grimy, bruv. It's a cesspool where people go to wallow in their true natures in like pigs in a sty. No shortage of psychopaths and sickos with their masks off, indulging in their basest desires. You know it. You've seen it."
My eyes drop. "Yeah. I've seen it."
"Then don't go telling me about the place like it's the dog's bollocks. You wanna turn a blind eye, that's fine. But don't expect everyone to buy in on your little whitewashed fantasy."
"Yeah, I hear you. Look, we talking Elysia or we talking business? You were saying something about jacking a shipment of military synoids."
"No, not military." He leans forward, face intense. "Even harder."
"What's harder than military?"
"Prototype. Maximillian Industries. I'm talking the nick of all nicks. Straight from the vaults of Los Nuevos, bruv."
The bottle nearly falls from my hand. "Let me get this straight: you're talking about hijacking a heavily guarded transport rig carrying prototype synoids from a corporation known to kill to protect its secrets."
"Bloody right, mate." A wide grin stretches across his face. "Time to go big or go home."
Chapter 6: 3N16MA
I want to wake up.
The world is washed out, hazy around the edges. I know I'm dreaming again, trapped in a miasma of memory that resurfaces whenever I'm too weak to stop it. Weak, just as I was then. Eight years old, abandoned by whoever birthed me into an overcrowded orphanage. Not enough beds and not enough food led to the survival of the fittest, and I wasn't fit enough to stay. Pushed out by children stronger and more ruthless, I found myself on the streets in a week. No one bothered to look for me. Children vanished all the time, and the only people who noticed were predators.
It took only two days of frightened wandering before I caught the eye of a monster in a man's form. I don't remember his face. It's shrouded in my dreams, wild-eyed and bestial. Giggles escaped his lips as he trailed me, perverted whispers of what he'd do when he caught me. He took his time, stalking me through alleyways and darkened streets where the light was scarce and people were just shadows, eyes blinded by holovisors. They walked by without a glance as if I was invisible, something beyond or beneath their notice.
The monster lurched toward me, gibbering profane threats. I curled into a ball and wrapped my arms around my head, surrendering to the imminent torment. But a sickening gurgle was the only thing I heard as warm liquid spattered on me like summer rain. I summoned enough courage to peer through my fingers, terrified by the accompanying silence that somehow was worse than the maniacal sputtering.
The monster stood at an odd angle, staring at a curved blade protruding from its chest. Blood streamed from the wound, pooling on the ground. There was a whirring sound, and his body jerked as another blade impaled him from behind. Something like a bubbling scream exploded from the monster's throat.
Two more blades pierced him as if his flesh was ripe fruit. He flailed as he was yanked backward, mewling and scrabbling at the ground. When his assailant stepped from the shadows, I saw the blades were fingers connected by segmented links to the massive gauntlet on the woman's hand. She was slim, dressed in black and red combat armor, a snug hood covering her face. Only her fierce grin was visible, the crimson smile of someone enjoying her work.
The gauntlet retracted the finger blades, yanking them from the monster's body in a spray of blood droplets. The beast screamed, begging for his life, but his pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Without ceremony or hesitation, the woman pointed a small handgun at his head and pulled the trigger. The blast seemed too loud for such a small weapon, and the damage was equally devastating. What remained of the monster flopped to the ground, forgotten by the woman as she approached.
"Stand up, girl," she commanded.
I hesitantly obeyed, almost as frightened of the stern woman as I was of the monster. She was only four inches over five feet, but at that moment, she towered over me like a giant. Her hood shadowed her face, but I saw brown skin and dark, penetrating eyes. Fresh blood still painted her weapon, steaming in the frigid air.
"What is your name, little girl?"
"G-Gemma," I manage to stammer.
She gave me an accessing stare as if summing up my potential in a single moment. Finally, she nodded.
"Gemma. My name is Dabria. You're free to go. Run, hide, try to survive. And you're free to come with me and never be afraid of anyone again. The choice is yours."
I looked down at the monster, surprised to see he was only a man. A soft, overweight pile of dead flesh leaking rivers of blood that spread around him like dark wings. He was dead, but I was very much alive. And I knew at that moment that I never wanted to feel helpless again. I wanted to be strong. Fearless. Like Dabria.
I looked up at her. Her eyes gleamed, waiting for my response like a vampire on an invitation to enter.
"I want to come with you."
"Then come."
She turned and strode away, black coat fluttering behind her. I took one last look at the dead man and followed her. For the rest of my life, I followed.
The stratum between dreams and reality splinters with a buzzing sound. Someone at the door. I claw my way out the bed, hungover from the two hours of sleep that crashed over me like a tidal wave.
"Who's there?"
"It's Zen. Open up."
I manage to pull some clothes on without tripping on my face. "Yeah, come on."
The door unlocks at my command. I'm still groggy, so it takes a moment to realize it's not Zen at all. Kage glides in like a ghost, eyes glinting red to match the thin slash of a smile on his face.
"Your feed disrupted last night," he says, still speaking in Zen's voice. "I need to know everything that occurred when you entered the Spider's Den."
I involuntarily edge backward until my back presses against the wall. "I talked to Nox about finding S
pecter. He said he'd be able to do it and will get back with me when he has something."
Kage tilts his head and studies me, eyes whirring and clicking in his bloodless face. His voice alters back to his own, velvety soft and menacing. "That's one sentence. I need to know everything. Word for word. Exactly as it was spoken."
I manage to meet his unnerving stare without flinching. "Come on, Kage. I told you all that you need to know."
He sighs, lifting his hand. His forefinger touches his thumb, lightly rubbing one against the other.
The simple action causes a jolt of agony to explode in my head. I shriek, pain flashing so intensely that I nearly go blind. I end up on the floor without memory of falling: drenched in flop sweat, chest heaving, vision blurred, the coppery tang of blood thick in my mouth from biting my tongue. Snot drips from my nose, and I feel the wetness of urine at the same time that the scent stings my nostrils. I'm in too much pain to be embarrassed by peeing in my pants like an invalid. My skull throbs as if it's been repeatedly smashed into a brick wall.
Kage kneels, moving more like a serpent than a man as he gazes at me without emotion. I'm more frightened by the apathy than the act itself. Causing me endless pain is nothing to him. I'm not sure if there's any humanity left at all inside his cybernetic shell.
"You seem to forget yourself, Scyther. You forget your place in this arrangement. What are you?"
I spit a glob of blood into the carpet, managing to push myself to a sitting position. It's nearly impossible to concentrate with pain exploding in my head. "P-property. I'm property."
"Excellent. And who do you belong to?"
"Cyber Corp."
"Very good. And who is your handler?"
"You are."
He nods, reaching out to cup my chin. "And when I tell you to do something, how do you respond?"
"Obey without question."
"Good girl." His cold, metallic fingers brush against my face, sliding to the back of my neck. A light touch and the pain vanishes. I nearly sag in relief, but the tiny act of holding myself erect is the only defiance I have left.
Syn City- Reality Bytes Page 6
