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I guess it was too much to hope for Big Rita trying to actually reform. Devan reason with the ganger!! Have Marco come visit with the full security team his parents want and let it sort itself out
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Jun 22, 2021 16:19
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Big Rita, Big Stump, Bottle and the prospects - Wednesday, August 23rd, 2075 – Before Midnight - The Spikes Clubhouse, Puyallup A pockmarked, reinforced steel fence topped by monowire met Big Rita as she approached the clubhouse on her motorcycle. The fence slid open and she rode on in with the prospects behind her. The compound contained only three buildings: The motor pool which contained the motorcycles and a shop to work on them, the barracks for those who lived on site, mostly prospects and the clubhouse proper. Wheels kicked up ash in her wake and she growled into her mask. Even during the Crash the yard was always kept clean of ash. She pulled into the motor pool, turned off her motorcycle and stepped off it. The kickstand came up automatically. She inhaled the smells of the motor pool: Synthetic engine grease, synthetic motor oil and today the vestiges of welding fuels and the metal that had been welded. Burning chrome if she was right. Familiar smells. And as the prospects came in behind her she adopted her best authoritative pose. Prospects were all knuckleheads. Some more, some less, but all of them were. Discipline was slipping and she fell into old habits as they too parked their motorcycles. “Prospect,” said Big Rita. They were all prospects to her. Some people used names. She didn’t. Names were earned. So Bottle as she thought of the prospect internally had some old school discipline coming his way and the rest a show. Bottle and the other prospects looked to her, wary and uncomfortable. If they knew her they only knew about her from stories. Prison business was club business and club business was not the domain of prospects. If they knew her at all it was as a throwback to the times of the Crash. The bad times. Bottle stood at attention. “Big Rita?” he asked. “Go get a broom,” she said. He paused and began to look at the others. “Don’t loving look at them,” she said, her tone cold, “Look at me. Then say yes Big Rita or failing that, yes ma’am and then go get the broom.” “Yes ma’am,” said Bottle, a little surly. She let it go for the moment and there was an awkward pause as she stared down the other prospects who had formed into a sloppy line in front of her. “Prospects, tighten up that line,” she ordered. And they did but they were a little slow for her tastes. She could yell but since they were large and since trolls were mostly only employed for their strength, most trolls were generally used to being yelled at. So she spoke calmly and expected them to hear her. It made them pay attention. It made them lean in and hang on to her words. On the few occasions when she yelled a properly trained prospect or member knew that something was either going wrong or someone was about to die. Possibly both. They didn’t know this yet but they would. Order would be established. Her order. Bottle came back with a troll sized broom. All objects and buildings here were troll sized. On the rare occasion that anyone else visited they tended to end up looking childlike in perspective. “Give me the bottle,” she said. To his credit, Bottle didn’t flinch or hesitate as he reached into his pocket and held out the bottle for her. She made him wait, arm outstretched before she took it. The rest of the prospects watched as she handled the bottle. As she gripped it tight Big Rita's new leather gloves creaked around the neck. She stared at him impassively and he seemed to be waiting for the blow. It never came. She put the bottle into her own pocket and spoke. “Take the broom, go outside and sweep the ash clear for two good strides,” she said, “Just a line. Then stand in the middle. You three gather up all the other prospects you can find from the barracks while he sweeps.” “Yes Big Rita,” said Bottle. He left and the other prospects looked at her and then to each other. “You have poo poo in your ears?” she asked, “I told you to go find them.” “It’s just us,” said one of the prospects, “Uhh...Ma’am.” Her eye twitched once. “I see,” she said, “Who else is here?” “Big Stump,” said the prospect, “A few full members. At least that’s what it was like when we left.” Big Rita stared at him for long enough to make him feel uncomfortable and then looked behind her. Bottle swept the ground not that far away. The troll sized broom made short work of the ash on the ground. And there was a familiar fat figure of a squat troll walking up from the Clubhouse. His hair was long and blond, his eyes were blue, his skin fair, his face chubby with a double chin and his skin was smooth save for the bone plates that broke the skin. He wore his biker leathers but they were strained on his fat form. “Big Stump,” she said. “Hey, Big Rita,” he said, cordially, “You enjoy the honor guard I sent you?” She both did and didn’t. The honor guard had been six full members of The Spikes who brought her old ride which had been restored to new. She did appreciate it because it was good to feel like somebody while exiting the prison. It maintained her rep and rep was everything. She didn’t appreciate it because she knew exactly none of her honor guard. While in most gangs she'd be positively ancient, motorcycle clubs had plenty of older members. There was some grey in her head stubble these days but not much. But every year she got older and older. Many of the old timers she grew up with, fought alongside with, drank with and generally did dirt with were either dead, retired or in prison. She knew Big Stump though. Younger than her by at least a decade. He was no warrior nor a leader. At least not famed for either. He was big because he earned. So she grunted at his question and Big Stump took this as assent. He pulled out his favorite pack of smokes, called Stumps, his namesake, lit one and looked over the prospects. Then he turned to Big Rita. “What’re they waiting for?” he asked. “Bottle treatment,” she said. He winced and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Been a while since someone has gotten that,” he said, delicately, “The Crash I think.” He was asking what she was doing without undermining her authority. That was good. It came down to the ork and troll concept of bigness. Among the criminal set and to an extent the business set, bigness came down to certain types of reputation or fame: As a warrior, as a leader or as an earner. Those who had enough reputation or fame for any of these were considered big. However, it was also a pecking order with the single honorific of “big”. Two warriors for instance might be considered big. If they met and introduced themselves, one who acknowledged the other as big and the other who just used a name without the big honorific made a statement. One was bigger than the other. This might merely mean acceptance that one had more prowess and reputation as a warrior than the other. It might mean a fight to prove who was the biggest. The loser was no longer big. The winner was. Authority was established. Though the winner may acknowledge the bigness of the loser if it was a good fight to establish equality. This meant a culture of reputation, of fame, of prowess and above all, posturing. Two orks or trolls might ignore one another so as not to breach the subject of who was biggest. They may have a subordinate speak for them, acknowledging the bigness of both without saying who exactly was the biggest. In Big Rita’s case, she called Stump big because she acknowledged his ability as an earner and as an equal. He called her Big due to her abilities and fame as a warrior and a leader. They could squabble over who was the best earner but interclub squabbles among the older trolls was generally frowned upon. If done well, bigness created a hierarchy and kept everyone sharp. If done poorly it destroyed that hierarchy and frequently their most talented people. “Yeah, it has been a while,” said Big Rita, “How’re the kids?” “Spoiled rotten I tell you,” he said, “One even wants to go to college. Wants to be an artist.” “poo poo,” she grumped, “The gently caress is the world coming to?” He grunted. “This all we got for prospects?” she asked. Both Big Rita and Big Stump looked over the four prospects. In better times there would be at least a dozen. During the Crash they could fill the barracks full. A reputation for creating big men and less frequently big women gave the club the cream of the crop. Now all they had were four prospects. It wasn’t a ringing endorsement for the club’s main recruiting ground. “We had three more,” said Big Stump, “One is in a bad way. Lost his entire drat leg to a monowire whip. Another died in the same attack. Cut in half. One quit for having seen it. Too many wars going on right now. Too much conflict. Knight-Errant has been arresting all the old heads of all the gangs in the metroplex that keep the young hotheads in line. Not just us. I'm talking everyone. Every gang.” “Manufactured themselves a gang war to distract from the poo poo they stirred up, did they?” she asked. Big Stump nodded. “The house always wins," he agreed, "And right before the election too. They were paying off all the gangs. Five years of glorious peace. Business was booming and everyone was earning. Now you’ve got to scrape for every cred. It’s all hotheads and everyone is just shooting to shoot. The only reason we’re not shooting like that is because we’ve got too many old timers. And we’re at war with eight drat gangs because they can’t help themselves to come at us. Everyone left is scared.” “Eight?” she asked, incredulously. “That’s low,” said Big Stump, “Almost everyone is at war with everyone. You’ve got shadowrunners pretending to be from this or that gang and shooting the poo poo out of everyone. False loving flag attacks. Piddly poo poo but it works on dumbass hotheads. Almost everyone who can think is in prison or dead thanks to Knight-Errant. We're lucky because they normally don't gently caress with Puyallup. Lone Star territory but you know, Knight-Errant ate them right up. So we'll probably get it out here too once they get their poo poo together. Cig?” He offered her a smoke from his pack. She nodded and grabbed one of his cigarettes. He offered her a lighter as well. “Unless you can magic it up,” he said. “Not unless I want to rot it,” she responded. “Figured you’d learn a little more than death magic in prison,” he said. “Entropy magic,” she countered, “I’m no necromancer. I just hasten the demise.” “Right, forgot, sorry,” he said, “Got that thing you wanted.” The prospects looked on and pretended not to hear. That was good. Then she lit her cigarette and took a puff. Even the little nicotine buzz would boost her mood. You could get any of the hard poo poo in prison but for some reason cigs were almost impossible to find. “My focus?” she asked. He nodded. “I don’t like an expense with that many zeroes attached,” he said, “Hell of a thing to find someone to do it too. That was some dark poo poo you asked for. I had to spend favors. A lot of them.” “You’ve got a lot of them,” she said. He flicked his namesake on the ground and lit up another. “Not the point,” he said, with a scowl, “That thing only works when you start murdering people.” Big Rita shrugged. “I heard about the war,” she said, “And I figure I’m going to be doing a lot of that. Spellcasting at my level is loving taxing. The more I can fling the faster I get the job done. The faster I get the job done the less time they have to respond. The less time they have to respond the fewer wounds we take. Fewer deaths. I can't do any healing.” "Entropy, right," he said. She nodded and smiled an evil smile as she took a long drag on her cig. “loving right. This war though? If you do it really fast, you roll up a gang or two, maybe three in a night before word spreads on the streets,” she said, “We maintain the initiative. I lead my men, I kill my enemy, I take their poo poo. And I keep doing that until they throw down their weapons and pay me. Total submission or death. That way we maintain order so you can do biz.” “Good old Crash tactics,” he sighed. “It works.” “It’s not the Crash anymore,” he said. “It’s always the Crash,” she said, “Always and forever.” She killed her cig and threw it on the ground. Then spied that Bottle had finished and she strode out into the yard. Big Stump followed her. “Prospects,” she called, “Follow me and form a line.” They did and their line was just as sloppy as before. She let this slide. Bottle was in line as she inspected the swept and cracked concrete. She nodded at him and then took the bottle out of her pocket. In the center of the swept spot, exactly two strides apart, she placed the bottle on the ground and smashed it with one boot. Then she ground her boot into the glass to make sure it stuck. “Prospect,” she said to Bottle, “Pick a cheek then put it on the glass.” “Ma’am?” he asked, warily. “Do I need to repeat myself?” she asked, coldly. He shook his head and looked towards the gate. In fact all of the prospects were thinking that even if they weren't looking. She knew that feeling. Trolls needed to be tough and The Spikes the toughest of them all. But this likely hadn't been done in years. The Crash was over for ten years. Relative peace had stayed for five years before fleeing just a few months ago. Stricter methods were needed. “Pain is just weakness leaving the body,” she said, “Close your eyes so you don't get any glass in them.” Bottle took off his mask and put his warty cheek down on the glass. Making sure only to step on his smooth cheek, not his ear or his eye, she began to pace. Her boot covered in glass carved furrows into his face as she stepped on it for only a second. To his credit he didn’t call out as he began to bleed. That was good. He was undisciplined but he was tough. Possible clay to be molded. A possible member someday. She folded her arms behind her and began to pace. She took a a stride, added new cuts, strode off his face and paused. She would repeat until she was done. “Other gangs have no discipline,” she said, “They have been made fat and soft by five years of peace. And now they have no leadership.” Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “And they dare to make war on us,” she said, “We will show them what war means.” Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “There will be no tit for tat,” she said, “No little raids. There are eight wars that we are fighting right now. That is far too many. So I will establish order in the old way. That means absolute extermination of anyone who dares stand in our way. Total war.” Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “I am taking volunteers,” she said, “I will lead you, I will fight beside you and we will take everything they have. And after five years of peace and prosperity I think that some of them will have much to take.” Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “We will establish peace by killing everyone who opposes us. And we will do this again and again and again until they utterly submit and pay us to stay away.” Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “Because the other option is death. Total submission or death.” Big Rita summoned a mana blade in her hand. The insubstantial blade of pure entropy burned sickly blue. It was a close up spell but it would pass through any armor and unlike a projectile this only needed to be cast once. Only the strength of will would blunt its effects and even then only a little. She refined insubstantial blade into her hand into a spike. Her club's namesake. “We will move in three days,” she said, “All volunteers will be personally trained by me in close combat. Knives, swords, axes, hammers, whatever. Prospects will be allowed a sidearm for outside work. One modified twelve gauge shotgun. But we will not stay outside. We will find them in their rotten little holes, go in and kill everyone. I expect inside work to be up close and personal for all prospects. Full members will follow in after us with weapons of their choice for they once went in with melee weapons alone. A fully armored and armed troll in close combat is a terrifying thing. I and those who follow me will be those terrors.” She noticed the trepidation on the faces of the prospects here. This was expected. Going hand to hand with armed gangers was dangerous. Also not everyone had it in them to murder someone in melee. Those who couldn't would not make it in The Spikes. Everyone did it at least once. Even the earners. Even if you weren't a big, famed warrior everyone would fight if called. Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “Loot will be distributed by quarters,” she said, “A quarter for the leader, a quarter for participating members, a quarter for the club and a quarter for those who distinguish themselves in battle. That means you may get nothing. Or it means you may get the full quarter. Impress me and prosper. The first into the breach gets an automatic share. If you are quick it might not be me.” The greed in their eyes balmed the trepidation. That and the chance at fame. To become big. Probably not today but loot and fame were rarely up for grabs like this. The three prospects stood a little taller. If Bottle cared she couldn't tell. He was being disciplined. He bled. That was good. Stride. Cut. Stride. Pause. Turn. “Probationary membership will be offered at the end of the campaign,” she said, “Those who attain probationary membership will have their share back filled as if they were full members. This is your chance for a path to full membership and all of the responsibilities and benefits that come with it. Be reliable. Be effective. Kill your enemies. Establish peace. Get paid. Maintain the honor of the chapter.” Big Rita stopped and cast her gaze down at Bottle. There was a pool of blood in the concrete and ash and in his clothes. His face was a mess. He hadn’t screamed. That was good. “Go to the autodoc in the barracks, get the glass out of your face and get stitched up,” she said, “When you’re healed you can join the rest of the volunteers if you so choose. Prospects, clear out a space in the motor pool for close combat lessons. We will begin training immediately.” Bottle got to his feet, cheeks red with blood and glistening with glass as he walked towards the barracks. The other prospects moved to the motor pool and they were far more animated than before. They were sloppy and undisciplined but three days of close combat lessons would prepare or break them. These were Puyallup boys though and Puyallup boys were tough because Puyallup was a tough place to come up. It's why The Spikes recruited so heavily from here. Big Stump continued chain smoking and stared at Big Rita as the prospects left. “Bad business,” he said. She nodded in agreement. “But it’s our business.” Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 11:28 on Jun 23, 2021 |
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Jun 23, 2021 01:09
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Christ Rita is terrifying. Chaos entropy mage with a negative lightsaber.
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Jun 23, 2021 01:51
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She's a loving ENTROPY MAGE!? And she's in the Spikes? Sweet muscle jesus. I mean the Spikes are bad bad news. It's not just initiation that's bad, with the whole elf murder thing. Spikes make Halloweeners think twice about loving around. Nobody goes into Spike territory without an invitation, and even then its iffy. And she's basically the worst of the worst. Entropy mages are basically evil incarnate. Adversary Shamans cross the street when they see them coming. The Black Lodge would poo poo themselves if they saw one coming and would pay millions to get on on their side.
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Jun 23, 2021 10:08
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It's funny because Ice literally warned us about this. He said that without effort put into Rita she would absolutely fall back into bad habits. Julie never visited Rita literally once after the initial invitation. Now, Julie also had a lot of poo poo of her own to sort, but we seem to keep supporting the fact that Julie takes on way too much on her plate to the point that she can't possibly pay proper attention to everything. Unfortunately we have the combination of inviting Rita and neglect that puts Rita squarely on our doorstep, especially since Fuzzy won't let this just stand. So on the list of 'poo poo that'll get Fuzzy killed', this just moved to the top.
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Jun 23, 2021 10:43
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Julie, Fuzzy, Kenji, Julian and Mrs. Liu - Thursday, August 24th, 2075 – Morning - Blake Island Julie stared up at the farm that was moored in the harbor. Thirty feet tall, over a hundred feet long and wide enough that one of the docks had to be taken out to make room, it was an absolute monster in size. It was completely clear to let in the sun and had a number of solar panels on top to charge the batteries at night, though it still had a cable leading to the island to give it the extra energy it needed to run at night. Kenji was here as was Fuzzy and Julian. Fuzzy had woken up far earlier than everyone else to complete one of her hunts. It had taken longer than she'd anticipated and so the scent of gore surrounded her. Kenji had a pad in his hands and stood on the dock near a rectangular receptacle near the base of the farm. Julian levitated large boxes of seeds and soil that were perfectly shaped and fitted off the school boat and towards them before he gently set them down. Then there was Julie who was full of an odd mix of nervous energy at needing to know what was going on with her dentists office and guilt at meeting Big Rita. Also for being called out by Fuzzy who was completely in the right. Gratitude for how Rita kept her alive in prison warred with guilt at how that same person had murdered elves like Kenji, Julian and Krupa. "Is that it? asked Kenji. Julie was woken up out of her introspection and stared at the plasteel boxes that sported the Aztechnology logo. She looked around and saw that only Fuzzy was paying attention to her. "Should be," said Julian, "What's in these things?" "Potatoes, eggplants, tomatoes and mung beans," said Kenji, "The seeds or what they sprout from anyway. I don't know. It's prepacked by the Azzies." "Did you check them?" asked Fuzzy, warily. Her tone was full of distrust and her eyes were narrowed at the boxes. Julian turned and nodded at Fuzzy. "That's done too," said Julian, "Nothing compromising is allowed on the island." Fuzzy grunted in disapproval. Kenji looked up from his datapad and spoke without looking her way. "The Azzies are basically the only game in town for food," said Kenji, "Some of the other corps sell some stuff but they don't muscle in too hard. It keeps things peaceful. You can't get away from them so you've gotta deal with it." Fuzzy folded her arms. "I dealt without them for a long time," she said, sternly, "I know how to get food." Kenji tossed a quick look back her way and then glanced back to his datapad which he tapped a few times. "I can tell," he said, "You smell like a slaughterhouse." Fuzzy sniffed herself and wrinkled her nose. "I guess so since I slaughtered an animal." "Is something bothering you today, Fuzzy?" asked Julian. Fuzzy glanced once at Julie. Not angrily or even coolly. Just a glance, her face expressionless. She didn't hide the fact that she stared either. Then she looked back up at the floating farm. "Let's just do this so I can shower this off," she said, "I need to train Jayvon soon." Both Kenji and Julian looked between Fuzzy and Julie. They shared a short look together which Julie found a little odd. She imagined that they'd be mad at each other but things seemed normal. "Uh...Okay," said Kenji, "So I went through a couple botanists on the matrix. Pure gig economy. Had them check each others' work until I found someone whose work got confirmed a few times by other people. It's kind of hard to screen out the people overselling themselves on my own." He cleared his throat and read from the datapad, mouth working a little slower as he read from it and then faster as he interpreted. "Anyway, potatoes, tomatoes and eggplants are all nightshades," he said, "Which is a kind of plant...Uh...Species? That's compatible with one another. They can be grafted to each other to save space." "What's grafting?" asked Fuzzy. Kenji looked down at the datapad and tapped it a few times. "It's when you take two plants and cut them apart and make one plant out of them," said Kenji. Fuzzy's eyebrows lifted and she momentarily lost her scowl. "Do you sew them together or something?" asked Fuzzy. Then she remembered she was supposed to be angry and began to glower again. "Something like that," said Kenji, "Don't ask me how. The drone will do that. It says here on the datapad that the potato and tomato plant is called the ketchup and fries plant when you graft them together." Julie furrowed her brow in confusion. "Who makes fries out of potatoes though?" she asked, "Fries are made out of soy." Kenji shrugged. "Yeah, it's weird. But people used to and you can still get potato fries if you pay a premium," said Kenji, "Point is we save space. The drone inside does plant surgery and turns two plants into one. The bees will have a hard time navigating when everything is full grown but they're more of a decoration. Honey in two months. The fish...Uh...Tilapia will be ready in four months. We'll have to rebuy the bees and fish at some point though." "Why?" asked Fuzzy. Kenji looked down at the datapad and then back up at her. "Says here that it's called BRM," said Kenji, "Biological Rights Management. The plants, the bees and the fish are all sterile. I think the bees can have more bee babies but they can't produce another hive. Not sure about the details." "Maybe they can't make another queen," said Julie. "I dunno," said Kenji, "BRM also means that the farm shuts down if we put in non-Aztechnology branded seeds, bees, fish, soil, whatever. Which means that the Azzies have made a permanent customer out of us. First thing I'm going to do is pay someone to hack this farm." "Okay..." said Julie, slowly, "And what are the beans for? I mean, beyond eating. You didn't mention them." "They grow faster," said Kenji, "The Frankenfood will be will be ready in thirty days. The beans are ready in two. Sprouts anyway, not the full bushes. I don't even think these can grow to be bushes. BRM again. So while all the plants are tiny we're going to grow a ton of mung bean sprouts around them until the main plants reach a good size. The bean sprouts are good for salads and stir fry. We'll have to figure out what to do with them because they rot pretty fast. But between grafting and the beans we feed an sixty extra people. At least if the gig economy botanist is to be believed. Good reviews." "I'm impressed that you did all of this on your own," said Julian. Kenji shrugged and looked back up at the farm. "I'm motivated," he said, simply. "How about you get motivated for your classes?" asked Julian, "Because I'm already hearing repeats of last year from your math teacher." "Once those classes start being useful I'll start getting motivated," said Kenji, distractedly. "All of your classes are useful." Kenji shook his head. "I have geometry class this semester and a commlink that can do geometry but I'm not allowed to use it for class," said Kenji, "I've asked my math teacher more than once why I can't use my commlink in class and he doesn't have an answer that satisfies me." "Because you may not always have a working commlink," said Julian. "When am I not going to have a working commlink?" "Mine blew up," said Fuzzy. Everyone turned and stared at Fuzzy who continued to stare at the ground. "I mean, it did," said Fuzzy, "But then I got a better one." "What do you mean it blew up?" asked Julian. "It blew up in Marco's car," said Fuzzy, "Sparks and everything. Marco replaced it." "I'll need to look at that later," said Julian, "To make sure it's safe." Fuzzy looked up and leveled her scowl at Julian and folded her arms. "Marco wouldn't do bad things to my commlink," she said. "I doubt Marco fixed it himself," said Julian, carefully, "Someone else who you don't know probably fixed it, right?" Wheels turned behind Fuzzy's eyes and while her scowl didn't disappear her arms did unfold. "You can look at it," she said. "Thank you," said Julian, graciously. "Okay, point," said Kenji, "Knowing how to do geometry without a commlink is useful in case my commlink blows up." "Kenji, don't be a smartass," sighed Julie. "I'm just saying," said Kenji. "How about an explanation then?" asked Julian. Kenji shrugged and Julian cleared his throat and began to use his teacher voice. "During the Crash," began Julian, "Skilled labor was rare because anyone with skillwires or hardwires relied on technology that was rendered inoperable during the Crash. Further, when people began to repair the damaged tech those skills still frequently didn't matter. Outside of very specific conditions those skills could be useless because the tech allows for very little flexibility. Kenji turned around and studied Julian appraisingly but said nothing. "Actual learned skills are even more rare these days than before the Crash," said Julian, "Especially skilled labor. It's far cheaper to install cyberware that grants instant knowledge than to put yourself through school. But any wide enough disruption to that system means that most skilled labor evaporates. The world is complicated and fragile and I can't anticipate what skills you'll need. But someday you might appreciate something you learned at school because there is a chance that you'll be the smartest and most useful person in the room." Kenji nodded slowly to himself and stroked his chin. "So what you're saying," said Kenji, slowly, "Is that I should make a lot of friends with people who actually know things and that I should go out of my way to help them develop their talents." Julian heaved a bone deep sigh. One that wouldn't have escaped if he were fully rested. "That is one approach," said Julian, who was barely concealing his annoyance, "I'd like you to explore some others. I'll ask your math teacher to explain why this is important in a way that satisfies you and then you'll participate in class and learn. Fair?" Kenji nodded. "Cool," he said, "If it makes you feel any better your spirit mentor class is useful." "I'm so glad," said Julian, his tone deadpan. With nothing left to say they fed the boxes into the farm. Within seconds the boxes had the tops taken off and were empty. They repeated this over and over. Everyone helped save for Fuzzy who stayed behind because she smelled like a dead animal. She just sat on the grass and picked the blades out of the ground. Meanwhile, the spider drone inside of the farm which was a little larger than a human hand suddenly animated behind the transparent glass-like material. It moved quickly but sinuously as it scuttled along exactly like a spider. Then it stood on its back legs and began poking the honeycomb-like structure with its "feet". It was planting seeds, Julie realized. And at all angles. Then Kenji made a swiping motion with his hand. The "glass" frosted over and the entire farm became opaque all at once. It impressed Julie a little but Kenji stepped away, already bored. "We've got five harvests of bean sprouts," he said, "The drone will give it to us through the hopper...Well, a bigger one anyway. But we've got to transport it. So we've got two days to figure out something to do with it." "And they rot in a day or two you said?" asked Julie. "Yep. They don't store well," said Kenji, "Not that we can store anything because we have no idea how to do that. I really need to make friends with a botanist or a farmer or something. Luckily the farm is a turnkey operation so we have time." "Turnkey?" asked Julie. "Meaning anyone can run it," said Kenji, "You turn the key and that farm purrs to life. Or whatever biz you got going. We just keep the hoppers filled, the power on and reap the rewards. And that's it. We're done." Kenji walked off the dock and Julie followed him. They made their way the long way around Fuzzy who still glowered at Julie. "Remember," said Julian, "You'll be learning first aid with Mother Bear at noon. She mentioned to go light on lunch for the next few days until she's done." Julie understood what he meant. It may not be gross or horrible today but it most likely would be at some point. Julian lingered behind to talk to Fuzzy while staying upwind of her. And so Julie kept pace with Kenji as he walked towards the lunchroom where the island's only public line to the outside for news about their business venture. "I really feel like we should've done more," said Julie, "For the farm I mean. It seems too easy." Kenji shook his head as they ascended a cobblestone path on a small hill between the docks and the school. "We're going to be busy," said Kenji, "Don't wish for extra work. In fact, take it from me. Work the least, reap the most reward and enjoy life. That's the key to success and happiness." "Mrs. Liu said there was no place for hard work if you wanted to be wealthy," said Julie, sourly, "I like to work." They continued to ascend the cobblestone path up the hill. On a whim Julie looked behind her and saw the view of the Puget Sound. It was gorgeous though the farm blocked some of it. She also saw the metroplex which was certainly not gorgeous. She turned around and caught up with Kenji. "We are doing work," he said, "It's hard work is getting the money to buy these things, finding space to put them and then doing distro." "You sound like a drug dealer when you say distro instead of distribution," she teased. Kenji laughed and opened up an imaginary coat. "Got these hot, hot hothouse tomatoes," he said, in a faux "gangster" voice, "The newest strains out of Blake Island. Primo quality tomatoes, uncut, one hundred percent clean." Julie couldn't help herself. She joined in on Kenji's laughter with her own giggles. And she was especially glad that he hadn't asked her about Fuzzy's problem with her which he definitely had noticed. It was a conversation she'd have but hopefully later when the time was right. "Do you even know any drug dealers?" asked Kenji. "Not since prison," she said, "You?" "Who, me? Know any drug dealers? That's a ridiculous question." "Kenji," said Julie, flatly, "You literally have a shame pole in your front yard for illegally buying prescription drugs." "And if really you think about that you'll realize that planting a big log in my front yard to shame me is also ridiculous. In fact, me having a front yard is extra ridiculous. Anyone having one of those in fact. poo poo." The two teens bickered a little longer as they followed the path to the top of the hill and around the side of the school and entered the lunchroom. It was dark inside but neither needed a light to see by as both could see well in the dark. They took the side room to the terminal, turned on a light mostly out of habit and closed the door. There they found the terminal which looked much like an ancient arcade system from the last century though this was made of old plasteel instead of wood and steel. Julie checked her commlink for Mrs. Liu's number as the terminal wasn't wirelessly enabled to receive it and she dialed the long string of numbers into the terminal. Moments later it began to ring. Julie held her breath, expecting the worst. That what she'd done was going to doom the project. That it was going to be a big waste of time and energy. That no one would show up. That all the farms she had now was all she'd ever have. Then Mrs. Liu picked up and answered, audio only. "Hello Julie," said Mrs. Liu, serenely, "Thank you for calling." "Hi Mrs. Liu," said Julie, her voice a little strained. "And did you bring my nephew as well?" she asked. "Hi auntie," said Kenji. "Nephew. Good, you're both here," said Mrs. Liu, "I take it you two want to hear the latest news?" "Yeah," said Julie, a little too quickly. Kenji gave her a look and Julie tried to compose herself. "Our gains from last night were meager but today is looking up," said Mrs. Liu, "Touristville residents were told to bring family and friends that live outside of the community. They brought just over seven-hundred people before closing time and we worked members of our own community into the empty chairs when we had the time." Julie perked up in her seat. The dark cloud of doubt that surrounded her was momentarily dispelled. "That's really good," she said. "What's the take?" asked Kenji. "Seven-hundred," said Mrs. Liu. "People, yeah," said Kenji, "But what about the profit?" Mrs. Liu's sigh came over the line. "Seven-hundred people, seven-hundred in profit," she said, "Odd that it worked out that way but it did." Julie and Kenji stared at the dark screen of the terminal in the small room. "That...Doesn't sound good," said Julie, slowly. "These are not people from our community," said Mrs. Liu, "Friends and family yes, but nevertheless, this means that almost all of them are poor orks and trolls. People who are asked to pay what they can near the end of the month because they saw an outstretched hand with a very good deal cupped inside. This is a business model that is completely new to this part of the world. So they paid what they wanted and what they paid was just above break even on average." "So some paid more and some paid less," said Julie. "And some people paid nothing," added Kenji. "Almost everyone paid something," said Mrs. Liu, "A few paid nothing because they didn't have any money but as far as I can tell no one took advantage. There was significant confusion about how much they needed to pay. Many people didn't understand what pay what you want meant. Some thought that the price was five nuyen and that we were asking for a tip." "That's not too bad," said Julie. "It gets worse," said Mrs. Liu, "A few of them thought that they were being tricked and it took their friends and family to calm them down. That what they were being invited to enjoy was what we in our community regularly experience. One person in particular started screaming about how they were all being tricked and that they were going to become our slaves. He had to be escorted out. No one else acted out but a number of people left after that." "How terrified are they?" asked Kenji. "There were some medical crises from people while they just stood in line," said Mrs. Liu, "Just from the fear. One of your nurses tried to give care when one of the would be customers collapsed and they refused out of fear as well." "From medical debt," whispered Julie, horrified. "Yes," said Mrs. Liu, her voice grim, "I spoke with Jimmy about it. Fear of medical drones is fairly common but he said he's never seen the fear of medical debt as strong as he's seen it here. There's more than a little fear up and down the line so dealing with that is one of my top priorities." Julie furrowed her brow in confusion. "But I've never seen that at my doctor's office," said Julie, "I mean, a little anxiety, sure, but nothing too bad. What changed?" "I don't know," said Mrs. Liu, "I don't work in medicine so I would suggest asking Pastor Devin. I'm just letting you know what I saw and what I'm seeing again this morning. These are not family and friends and so it's worse without people to talk to them. But they're here." "What can we do?" asked Julie. "Like I said, I'm not sure," said Mrs. Liu, "That's something I'll have to figure out. I'll need time." "How's the line?" asked Kenji. "It's just past nine and we've seen over five-hundred people with more waiting in line," said Mrs. Liu, "Touristville looks like it'll have some business today and that's good. So we're going to see more people than yesterday. It seems like the word is out. But I need to go soon. I have a meeting with dentists from Jimmy's old place of work to see who I hire and who I don't, I have to task someone with making a VR appeal, I have to find corporate patients, I have to work on figuring out a way to explain what pay what you want means to people who have no experience with it and I have to figure out if I can do something about the terror of medical debt." "Thank you so much for your help," said Julie, "Is there anything we can do for you?" "Not right now," said Mrs. Liu, "I eventually do want to pass at least some of the responsibility to others in the near future. This is a welcome challenge but I do love my little restaurant. Be on the lookout for talent and I'll do the same. Not an immediate concern but I do want to train my replacement at some point." "Yes auntie," said Kenji, "Is there any good news?" "We're making money," said Mrs. Liu, "More than yesterday. There was a single anonymous donation of five-thousand nuyen this morning and we're doing somewhat better than yesterday for the average take. In the thousands of nuyen. At least so far. I'll send you the details after closing. Now if there's anything else..." "I've got some food for Touristville in the next few days," said Kenji, "Would you mind taking it?" "I seem to be drowning in food lately," said Mrs. Liu, "Bring as much as you like and we'll serve it. Is there anything else?" Julie frowned at Kenji but he mouthed "later". She sighed. Then almost said no to Mrs. Liu but then she realized she'd almost missed something. "Hey, what are we going to do with the people from Jimmy's work that we don't hire?" asked Julie, "Jimmy was worried about having the hardwires taken out of his head if he was fired. If we don't hire them then they're going to have brain surgery to remove the cyberware. I'm not comfortable with getting someone fired and forcing them to have brain surgery." "And if they're not acceptable?" asked Mrs. Liu. Julie thought about it but she wasn't comfortable with a snap decision. She also wasn't comfortable with forcing even more problems to solve onto Mrs. Liu's plate. "I need to think about it," said Julie, "I just don't want them to leave without any hope if you're not willing to hire them." "I can delay..." said Mrs. Liu, slowly, "It would be inauspicious to launch your business with such suffering given its charitable nature. Keep in mind that I can't delay forever." "Three months pay at their old wage up front," began Kenji, "A gaurantee for job placement at somewhere that pays more than what they're getting now. An option to buy the cyberware from them at above market rate so we can use it ourselves. A gag order not to talk to the media and an agreement not to go back to their old jobs. Either hire them or get them to quit. We kneecap their business and their business becomes our business." "Kenji!" exclaimed Julie, scandalized. "That is an interesting plan, nephew," said Mrs. Liu, "What do you think, Julie?" "Uh...Wow," said Julie, "I mean..." "Julie," said Kenji, seriously, "That's a drat good deal that any wageslave will jump on. And these are for people that we don't owe anything. Anyone else in our position wouldn't spare a thought for them." "Well I'm sparing a thought," said Julie, just as seriously, "You're talking about completely upending their lives. It doesn't matter that we don't know them." Kenji placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "Okay," he soothed, "Okay, I can see you're uncomfortable. Look, we can keep tabs on them. Make sure that they're okay. Make sure we didn't miss anything. But I'm telling you. Paying them to get the wires out of their head is freedom for any wageslave and a little extra money in their pocket. Then there's three months extra wage in their pocket and the promise of a better job. All they have to do is not go back and keep their mouths shut. That's a better deal than anyone would give them." Julie looked away. It was a compelling argument. "Because you want to destroy their business," sighed Julie. "Yes," said Kenji, "We're going to kill their business because that's how it was always going to be. Better quick than slow. Maybe there's even some other people working on site that we don't know about. So long as they're not the shitbag owners who treat their wageslaves like wageslaves which is almost universally awful, we look out for them. Does that sound good?" "Is there another way?" asked Julie. "Yes," said Kenji, "But nothing so gentle." Julie sighed. "We will free their wageslaves," said Kenji, "And then we will kindly and compassionately kneecap their business." Julie waffled. "I'm meeting you halfway here, Julie," urged Kenji, "This isn't how business is done but it'll work." Julie finally nodded and felt guilty for doing so. Plus there was that niggling feeling in the back of her head like she was missing something. "I'll meet you halfway," she said, "But there's something I..." "Good," said Mrs. Liu, sharply, "Thank you for your decision. I need to go." She cut off the comm call and left Julie and Kenji alone. "Something about what?" asked Kenji. Julie squirmed and then shook her head. When she thought of telling Kenji about Big Rita her nerve failed. "Maybe later," she said. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 13:06 on Jun 28, 2021 |
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Jun 28, 2021 12:50
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Come on Julie, roll high, you can do it.
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Jun 28, 2021 16:55
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Julie, Fuzzy, Kenji and Mother Bear - Thursday, August 24th, 2075 – Morning - VR Construct The graphics of the old VR sim were not so great but since they were off the matrix it was secure to openly talk about the future. Everyone present was at a fairly low resolution. The setting was a "new" medical classroom with shiny and outdated tech on the sides of the room and a few rows of old timey school desk chairs in the middle of the room. On the ground was a "training dummy" which looked like a normal human man, his eyes closed as he lay on the ground as if asleep. The low resolution students "sat" in their chairs and Julie noticed that her legs clipped through the surface of the chair. A low resolution Mother Bear stood behind a desk. "First time I'm at the front of the class," said Kenji. "And that's where you'll stay for the duration," said Mother Bear, "This time, be a dear and don't watch porn while I'm teaching you how not to get others killed and how not to die." Kenji threw up a mock salute. "I'll save my porn watching for later," he joked. Mother Bear grunted, obviously unsatisfied and annoyed. "What is this program?" asked Julie, "It's looks old." "It is old. It's a FEMA training module," said Mother Bear, "That's the former Federal Emergency Management Agency for the UCAS and formerly the US. That was privatized about twenty years back. DocWagon and CrashCart fight over the contract for each city and state these days. Corporate training modules have different priorities than government. So we're going with government." Fuzzy toed the low resolution man with her low resolution boot. "I'm not a medical person," said Fuzzy, "But shouldn't we have better graphics if we're going to help people?" Mother Bear shook her head. "A lot of these emergency training sims have low graphics on purpose," said Mother Bear, "Julie, you probably went through this. Do you want to tell us why?" "Huh?" asked Julie, "Oh, training sims that are too realistic can lead to PTSD." A drop-down menu suddenly appeared out of the air and a disembodied man's voice began to speak in a neutral but helpful tone. "Are you interested in PTSD?" asked the voice, "Here are some modules." "Nope!" groaned Mother Bear, "Nope, nope, nope. Program, disable automatic mode. Enable instructor mode." The man's voice stopped and the drop-down menu disappeared. "But what's a PTSD?" asked Fuzzy. "They're the scorch marks that are left on the brain after burning some nightmare fuel," said Kenji. Julie rolled her eyes. "I'll send you specifics on it later," said Mother Bear, "But it's a disorder that comes from witnessing traumatic events after the event has ended." "Like nightmares?" asked Fuzzy. "That's a form it can take, yes," said Mother Bear, "But not the only one. Anyway, they used to use realistic quality VR sims but when the training dummies start bleeding and screaming and dying in front of you that can be traumatic. Even if you know it's not real the lifelike dummies felt real. So we're stuck at low res." Mother Bear pulled a withered hand in front of her mouth and cleared her throat. "Moving on, until we go to Denny Park, I'll be training you for two hours a day right here in the sim," she said, "Except for Julie who will get to play with the module on her own time. I strongly suggest it." "Why me?" asked Julie. "Because you're the only one among you three who have experienced a mass casualty incident," said Mother Bear. "How many people have to die before it gets to be one of those?" asked Kenji. Mother Bear gave Kenji a cool look but she did answer. "Ten is considered an MCI," said Mother Bear, "And they don't have to be dead. Just injured." "Oh, okay, yeah," said Kenji, "I've seen plenty of those." "Really?" she asked, incredulously. "Oh yeah. That's just the ACHE," said Kenji, blithely, "Corridor wars are the worst. Those are the gang wars and they get nasty. A single explosive in a confined space just shreds people and almost all of the ACHE is a corridor. The occasional mass shooter or mass stabbing. You know, someone who wants to go out in a blaze before they die and take people with them. Oh, and once every few weeks in the ACHE people jump to their deaths as a group. It doesn't always take for everyone. Lots of poo poo, really. There are dead and dying people all over the ACHE. Not so much around me because where I lived was pretty nice but if you just pick a direction and walk at the end of the month you'll find at least ten people. Maybe not in a tight little group though." Silence filled the room. "Hey, does starvation count for a mass casualty incident?" he asked. A strange look crossed Mother Bear's face that Julie couldn't identify. Julie herself felt a wave of ugliness and pity wash over her for Kenji's experience. "I'm..." said Mother Bear, slowly, before she restarted, "I meant a mass casualty incident in more of a medical setting." "Gotcha," he said, and then he grimaced, "And I'm feeling like I overshared just now. Sorry about that." Again a pause but Julie reached her hand out for Kenji's from where she was seated. He took it and they held hands. The VR sim was cold sim and so she felt like she might as well be squeezing the medical dummy's hand, but she squeezed his hand and after a second Kenji squeezed hers back. He did let go though. "It's fine, Kenji," she said, "What I'm saying is that Julie is the only one among you three who has medical training and experience with a mass casualty event." Everyone looked to her. She squirmed nervously in her chair and clipped into it even further. "I took an EMT course over the summer," she said, hesitantly, "It was near the start of the gang war...Uh wars I guess. A bunch of people were shot and got brought into the emergency room. I was there at the time taking a class and I spent twelve hours dealing with injuries. Mostly gunshot wounds." Julie remembered the scene. People had just kept coming with holes in them. Swearing people. Screaming people. People in shock. People calling for their mothers. Dead people. It'd been bad. "And so you'll get the extra training," said Mother Bear, "I'm going to reassess what I'm going to do with you, Kenji but I'll need time to think on it. But Fuzzy?" "Yeah?" she asked. Mother Bear waited for something to happen. Fuzzy realized what was being asked without being asked. "No," she said, quietly, "This isn't something I've dealt with. I hunt a lot though. So I'm used to you know...Blood and pain and death. Does that count?" "It might," said Mother Bear, her tone gentle, "I'm going to train you how to use the medical bag. In fact I'm going to train all of you but the medical bag is going to be your top priority. Normally it operates wirelessly and it will tell you what to do. There are non-wired variants. I'll have some ready because I expect wireless communication to be a mess if not completely shut down. I expect some suit to eventually panic and shut down local matrix access because someone in charge thinks that they can suppress this. They won't but they'll probably try." Fuzzy nodded once and said nothing more. Mother Bear straightened her posture behind the VR desk which only made her stoop a little less. "Bag training doesn't take a long time," said Mother Bear, "We'll do a day or two and a few minutes of review each day after that. What I'm going to focus on is how to stay uninjured, alive and sane during a mass casualty event. As a safety instructor you three are my first priority." Julie raised her hand and then realized how silly that was. She brought it down and spoke up. "Aren't we going to help people?" she asked. "We are," said Mother Bear, "But to be honest I'm not expecting much more from you than to follow my orders. You're going to learn how to do that. But if you can't there's no shame in that. Almost everyone falls apart in one way or another during these things. We have an edge because we know what's coming. We won't be confused. So you'll be better mentally and emotionally equipped to deal with the shock. That's not perfect though. If things fall apart then they fall apart." Even in the low res environment, Julie could see a faraway look in Mother Bear's eyes before the older woman continued some long seconds later. "You're going to learn how to keep yourselves and each other safe during a mass casualty incident. That's what we're going to work on the hardest. The worst thing you can do as a medic is to get yourself injured and add another problem to the pile. Maybe one of you will have the instinct to rush in and help people. That is a rare and noble trait. It's also wrong. It will quite likely get you hurt or even killed or someone around you hurt or killed. And your absence on the field while others are in need will get people killed if you can even participate. We need to be rigorous and methodical in how we approach this to keep you alive and healthy while also helping people stay alive so they can receive real medical treatment later." All three of the teenagers nodded somberly at this. Even Kenji sat up straight in his chair. "What happens if we look too good and too prepared?" asked Kenji. Mother Bear nodded to him. "That is my main concern," said Mother Bear, "People during MCI's who can absorb the initial emotional trauma without falling apart, have the knowledge and the materials to help people and then actually do it are incredibly rare. One percent of one percent. So if I train you too well you'll stand out and standing out is not safe when people start combing over the trid footage later for someone to blame." "What about EMS?" asked Julie, "Won't they get there pretty fast?" Mother Bear turned her head and spat on the VR floor. Spit was rendered in a medical sim. "Oh they'll show up," said Mother Bear, angrily, "They'll fly in from the sky on VTOLs and drop in like special forces assholes in less than two minutes. But they're not going to do triage to save the most amount of lives. They only help their customers. And they'll triage or sort people is not by who to save the most people but save those who have the best medical plan. They are always a problem at MCI's. If they help it's incidental. Even worse, corporate EMS comes in hard with weapons and armor. Assume that they're hostile until they prove otherwise and give them a wide berth. At least ten feet. They won't open fire on you with live rounds unless fired upon but you will get tased if you get too close. And if you get tased and arrested by EMS you won't be able to help anyone." Mother Bear took a sharp breath to master her anger. She was back to her cranky and gruff demeanor so fast that it was a little scary. With a wave of her hand a black and red medical bag appeared on each of their desks. "Now," she said, "Magic isn't going to be reliable because of the MCI. Too many deaths in one place at one time will warp the astral for us. So the bag is your best friend. We'll work with the bag until I'm satisfied. And then we'll work some more. Let's begin." Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 21:43 on Jul 1, 2021 |
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Jun 28, 2021 22:50
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Poor Mother Bear is simply not getting a break from deeply morally upsetting news and facts. Can’t even particularly blame Kenji for this one either, since it is relevant information he’s offering and all. His statement reads like a glitch honestly, where he gave pertinent information, but the information is deeply upsetting to everyone else, I love it.
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Jul 1, 2021 12:29
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I Identify As Human - Saturday, August 26th, 2075 – Noon - Touristville "Sup chat. This is I Identify As Human checking into the stream," said the streamer, his voice exhausted and deadpan, "Yep, this is Idah. The...The one and only. Kevin1488, nice to see you. HumanPride4Ever, glad to see you back. LaughsLast15, good of you to be here. TorgsBeTorgin, funny as gently caress name. Thanks for joining us. Hope you stick around. Hope the corporate PC police don't catch you." In the Downtown area of Seattle walked a man who was dressed in dark hoodie. He was of average height and thin, too thin really from lack of food. His eyes were chrome from cybernetic modification from better times though now they were dull and scratched. His skin was pale and his brown beard was bushy. Currently he tried and mostly failed to blend in with the well to-do lunch rush crowd of the Downtown area. Almost everyone was dressed better than him and certainly doing better. And while some dressed casually in hoodies like him none of them smelled as bad as Idah. Showers cost money he didn't have. Idah was a matrix streamer who was known by exactly two dozen people as I Identify As Human. Streaming wasn't his first job. He was a failed HVAC technician, failed longshoreman, failed welder, failed repairman, failed firefighter, the list went on. An unlucky man of thirty who'd repeatedly had his job replaced either by a drone or by lower paid orks and trolls, though it was mostly drones. He worked hard but if you asked him he'd tell you that no one appreciated hard work anymore. Also no one asked him. Every year automation and the squeeze it put on labor took a greater and greater toll on the trades. All he had now where a few certifications for jobs that weren't hiring, the clothes on his back which were simple shoes, jeans and a dark hoodie that simply read "gently caress communism" and his commlink. A few months ago he'd been unable to afford his tiny apartment with his girlfriend and dog. The transition from coffin motel meant he'd lost his girlfriend because she'd refused to sleep in a six by two by two sleeping space and he'd had to give away his dog. Life was grim for I Identify As Human and so with his commlink he'd taken up streaming content in an already highly competitive market. This wasn't working either. "So today I heard that something is going on in Toxicville," he said, "Ork Underground. The part with the toxic spirits and shamans and poo poo. You know the place. I heard from a buddy that something is um..." As he was moving in a crowd along a crosswalk the wind suddenly changed. No longer did he smell burnt buildings, the slightest whiff of garbage and the tang of acid rain in the air. No, instead he caught a smell from a restaurant. Cooked meat. The real stuff, there was no mistaking it. The heavenly aroma of real food while he'd been eating nothing but plain, snotty textured mycoprotein briefly lifted him up before he came crashing back to cold, unforgiving reality. Sadness and bitter anger filled him because that food was not meant for him. Then the reality check got worse. As he came back to his senses he picked out where the smell came from. It was The Big Rhino which was famous for being the best restaurant for orks and trolls in the metroplex. And that's when his sadness disappeared and his simmering bitter anger boiled over. Because not only was it not meant for him, it was meant for them. "loving trogs," he seethed, "Tuskers think they're better than everyone." He saw orks and trolls entering and exiting. All of them undoubtedly thinking they were better than him and people like him. Humans. But anger was exhausting. If he'd been aware of anything going on around him he would have noticed that his bitter anger spoken aloud was causing people to give him an even wider berth. "Anyway...Going to see what's going on there," he said, "Lots of activity. As far as I know no one else representing our people has done any streaming down there in a couple weeks so I think it's about time to do a little scouting, you know? Heard from another streamer that it was a ghost town the last time he checked. Things are different so it's time to look." Though he didn't notice the crowd he was aware of one thing. He didn't belong here and he knew it. If he attracted attention there was still enough police presence in the Downtown area to give him trouble. Even if all they did was tell him to get lost they'd most likely kill the stream when they did it. If the stream ended there went any money for today. No money meant no food and no shelter for tonight because he was broke. "So I'm getting close now," he said, "And I can smell it, you know? I expected the place to smell like poo poo but it's worse. They're loving eating better than us. Pretty sure that's real meat. Think they're better than us." He realized his mistake seconds later which was the norm for him. Chat only consisted of a dozen people today and yes, he'd likely made anyone listening mad but he'd also reminded them of his poverty and possibly their own. Chat was fickle and cruel. Especially his tiny "pro-human" stream. The pro-human crowd did pay him more than those in his short stint as a VR game streamer but they did seize on any chance to humiliate him. His attention was too focused on the restaurant. Idah roughly bumped into someone and they went sprawling down to the concrete with a feminie "oof". He looked around and found a well dressed elven woman on the ground and she'd fallen hard enough to scrape her hands. Thinking quickly, Idah made sure to keep his gaze on her in case chat was watching while he walked and then he turned away. "You see that?!" he asked chat, "You loving see that?! Bitch should've watched where she was going." Again he hadn't considered what he'd done. Yes he was speaking to chat but not from the inside of his coffin motel while streaming. He was also out in the world among well dressed, well to-do people and he'd just mildly inconvenienced one of them. In the metroplex, looking like he did, that was basically a crime in and of itself. The crowd that focused on him were mostly human as was proper but with a smattering of what racists referred to as "keebs, trogs and stunties", elves, orks/trolls and dwarves. They were all looking at him. An ill dressed, ill-kept man who didn't look like he'd belonged. Chat was not paying attention. Another mistake. He should've waited to get a few people engaged and watching the stream but he was only on a ten percent charge on his commlink. If he didn't make that ten percent count he didn't have the money to recharge it back at the coffin motel. This close to the heart of Downtown places that would let you recharge your commlink for free were rare. If he wasn't off the street soon the cops would make sure he'd be off the street and possibly in the ACHE. And if he went into the ACHE he couldn't afford to come back out again. It was a terrifying thought but he was desperate. So he kept rambling in hopes that he'd catch someone's attention so they'd pay him. "That's right, they'll all be on their knees someday," he said, a little too quickly, "Where they belong." A light skinned human man with a precision shaved head and an immaculately clean suit sneered at Idah. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" asked the man, angrily. "Hey, I'm out here for people like you," said Idah, "Like us. Our people. I Identify As Human. Do you?" The man scoffed and Idah kept walking, anger burning like a coal inside of his belly. He wanted to shake that man. To make him understand that people like Idah were fighting for his rights. No one understood what he did. No one appreciated him. And then the heat of that coal died once again. He was almost to "Toxicville" as he thought of it and he picked up the pace. The cops were likely called by now or some auto-piloted drone had run a credit check on him. In different times someone like Idah wouldn't have made it this far into the Downtown area. Not without a beating and likely being chucked into the ACHE. And if he were smarter he would have entered in from the western or eastern end where his poverty would have been less remarkable. But he wasn't and he didn't. He stopped as someone- Several someones actually, caught his eye. Gangers. Five men and one incredibly ugly woman, though they were all ugly. They stood near but not too near The Big Rhino and the entrance to the Ork Underground. Every human worth a drat knew the enemy and these were definitely the enemy. These were The Spikes. An all troll go-gang. Bikers. And legitimately one of the most terrifying gangs out there. Kevin1488 - 15 Nuyen Request - Idah tlk poo poo 2 that torg The streaming platform he was on was pretty new since he'd been banned from the last one. So "torg" still slipped through the sensors and he wasn't autobanned for saying a word that "they all called each other". He now focused on chat and realized that a few were active. Not all of them of course. Not even half, but Kevin1488 and TorgsBeTorgin had expressed some mild interest in what he was doing. They were mostly bullshitting. Kevin had dropped a request on him. For larger streamers, donations or subscriptions for extra content were normal and requests were pretty regularly ignored. But for tiny streamers, requests were normal. This meant Idah normally had to dance for his summer. "That's funny," said Idah, nervously, "Really funny Kevin. Those are The Spikes. No way am I picking a fight with them." "gently caress you looking at?" asked one of the gangers, "You got something to say to me?" Idah saw one of the gangers approaching him. Part of paying attention to chat meant he'd been staring off into space for too long and that space had been filled with one ganger in particular. Besides his ganger outfit, he had a tattoo on his neck, large white bandages on either cheek and two black eyes. He looked beat to poo poo but still intimidating. The ganger was taller than Idah by an easy three feet and he probably had at least two if not three-hundred pounds on him. Idah kept his cool because this wasn't the first time he'd had problems with trogs. Construction was lousy with trolls in particular. For a moment he thought about talking poo poo but the idea of six gangers following him and beating the poo poo out of him if not murdering him down in Toxicville. Trolls tended to move slowly in large crowds unless they were angry and so he simply moved with half a dozen people as they moved downstairs. His heart was beating hard as he eluded the gangers and went down into the belly of the beast. It was worse than he imagined. The smells of food were everywhere, they were amazing and none of it was for him. Unlike his expectations from up top, he didn't see gangers and thieves and prostitutes and drug addicts. It didn't conform to what he'd been told about the Ork Underground. That the people living down here were barely more than animals. That the men were all gang members and the women were prostitutes or just had too many children. That it would be a place of ignorance and evil that Seattle should have no part in. "Take a look at this," he said to chat, his voice feverish, "All of these people. It's some sort of...Of...Of..." What he saw as he tried to make sense of everything was a mix of well to-do people and the poor, mostly orks and trolls though with a startlingly large minority of humans, race traitors all of them and elves. Men and women and children. He didn't see any dwarves but they were short and the crowd was large. The restaurants were filled with people who were eating and drinking and going about their day. And as he looked through other windows he saw clothing and furniture for sale. His mind reeled and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Yes he'd heard that Toxicville had money but he'd assumed it was drug money. But there were no needles on the ground, no inhalers, no chips slotted into heads or underfoot. And then he understood. He relaxed as it all slid together. And then he grew angry. He'd been tricked. "It's a potemkin village," he said, angrily, "It's not real. Of course it's not real. Of course. This is just some liberal propoganda so they can take power with the vote and everyone here can live fat on our tax dollars. They learned it from the communists. That's what liberals always do. Yeah. So If I go deep enough I'll find the lie." Chat was starting to pick up in activity. There were now a whole six people chatting now. That was good. Really good. If he found something new, really exposed something, he could get the donations. So he played to chat because when they were happy they'd put out requests. Maybe even donations. TorgsBeTorgin - 10 Nuyen Donation - torgs don't make anything only humans do Idah's heart sped up as he spied the donation. When he'd left the coffin motel today he had no idea how he was going to eat or where he was going to sleep today. Getting back into the coffin motel was a ten spot and he could buy a mycoprotein pack. The high calorie ones that came in those toothpaste looking tubes. Another ten and he'd be good for the day. So he walked and talked to keep chat engaged and especially the newcomer, TorgsBeTorgin. It could be the start of a real relationship. One that kept him fed. "Yeah man, they don't make anything," he said, his voice muffled by the din of people talking, "You're absolutely right. They've only been around for like what, forty years now? Maybe fifty? Humans have been around for literally forever. They made the pyramids and the matrix and and uh...Beer! Humans invented literally everything and make anything. These people don't make anything...It's not real." He walked and gazed left and did a double take at mural. Though he had to move aside because there were just so many people in the crowd. What he saw was bizarre. A young, dark skinned teenage girl in a red Chinese dress holding a comically sized toothbrush over her shoulder like an axe. The words, "Pay What You Want" were underlined several times underneath the mural. Someone was still working on it though it wasn't with a spray can like Idah assumed but with a brush. He was currently creating "defeated" looking teeth, as if slain by girl with the toothbrush. "What's this?" asked Idah, before he could stop himself. A woman turned around though much of her form was hidden by a simple smock. Her skin was brown, her face plain with obvious tusks jutting up from her lips and her dark hair was tied back into a bun. "What?" she asked, "Oh, I'm just working." Chat was going nuts. They didn't consider this to be work. And they were also hurling abuse at the woman. "I mean why," he asked, gruffly. She wrinkled her nose stepped back a little from him a little. Anger grew inside of him. The "free" showers at the coffin motel charged a nuyen a squirt for soap and another for shampoo. Of course he smelled bad. He hated it and hated her for reminding him of that fact. "Oh," she said, still a little oblivious to his anger, "A new dentist shop opened. Everyone is using it. You pay what you want. No bills in the mail or nothing." "Pay what you want?" asked Idah. "Yeah, yeah," she said, "It's cool as hell. I don't know why everyone isn't doing it but you pay what you want and then you get your teeth cleaned. It's almost all automated so it's really cheap. Got mine cleaned for the first time in six months." "And you live down here?" asked Idah. This question along with his unkempt beard, bad smell and quietly angry demeanor finally put her on edge. "If you want to go get your teeth cleaned just find the line," she said, cautiously, "You literally pay what you want. And you're welcome here so long as you don't cause trouble." Rage bubbled up inside of Idah. How dare a trog speak to him like that? And this was echoed not just by chat but by another request. Kevin1488 - 10 Nuyen request - dont let taht torg talk 2 u liek that!!! But he was in a potemkin village. This was fall on communist liberal propaganda. There were people everywhere and they were watching and unlike up top, this wasn't Seattle. If he acted out and didn't have a way out he might get hosed up or killed or loving sacrificed to toxic spirits as fuel. This was the Ork Underground after all. This was Toxicville. But it was also money. And he had to keep chat happy so he could eat. If he didn't do anything for long enough chat would leave. Maybe permanently. And so as he walked away in order to blend in with the crowd he compromised. "I like the idea, Kevin, but I'm on a scouting mission," he said, as he tried and failed to sound professional, "I need to look around first. Keep that request open though." It didn't stay open. Idah silently swore to himself. Ten nuyen gone. But he continued as chat buzzed excitedly. He found the line pretty quickly and saw people moving quickly up and down the line, taking information. He passed that by for the moment and the real signs above doors that read "Crossroads Clinic" and "Crossroads Dentistry". It blew his mind that there were so many real signs down here instead of AR. He found the aforementioned crossroads and kept heading straight but he suddenly lost connection to chat. His cybernetic eyes widened and he quickly headed back. "Sorry chat," he said, "I lost connection. loving weird. I don't see anyone down here." The hall wasn't completely empty. There were a few people standing with their arms crossed about fifty feet down, chatting amiably. He doubted he could get past them. "I don't think I can scout further and still keep you," he said, "I'll come back later." Then he checked the battery on his commlink. The old link was already down two percent in just a few minutes. He had to move faster. "All right," he said, "I'll see what has connection and what doesn't. I think we're at the end of the Potemkin village right here. I'll check the other corridors." He doubled back at the crossroads and wireless signals cut out again. Bizarrely this corridor was filled with people who were working and shopping because he'd suspected more potemkin village. Then he turned around and a minute later he strode into some sort of Chinese district and he was able to walk a little further this time than the previous two directions. He saw signs everywhere both in English and what he presumed was Chinese that he could get stir fry with real meat and vegetables for three nuyen. "Bullshit," he said to the sign. It smelled like real meat though. Every restaurant in this district was doing an incredible amount of business with standing room only throughout much of the corridors. All the restaurants he could see had signs for meals real meat and vegetables. He walked up and down the corridor and looked at what people were eating. Up and down the line he saw some sort of long and stringy vegetable, like a noodle but not. And depending on the bowl and deal at the restaurant, either long, almost razor thin cuts of meat or smaller chunks at the higher end. Idah looked around and decided to take a risk. He stepped into a matrix dead spot and quickly spoke to the first human he saw. "Hey, what's the deal with the real food?" he asked. He'd approached a standing androgynous person in dark synthleather with dark skin and neon extensions woven into their cornrows. The person before him had cybernetic eyes like Idahs, only not scratched up and of a much better quality and face that was otherwise forgettable. They looked Idah up and down and appraised him carefully, eyes whirring. Then they put their chopsticks down on their cheap bowl that they held in one hand. They chewed, swallowed, sucked at their teeth and finally deigned to speak. "Caught me on a good day so I got a second," they said, "The deal with the real? Real meatspace meat, that's the deal and the deal is good. Can't get prices like these inside of the plex. Not unless you know a guy. Until I came down here anyway." Idah squirmed under the gaze of this person for some reason. In a way that even the ganger hadn't made him fear. Still, Idah didn't want to talk to anyone else. Looking for another person would take too long and people might leave chat. Plus his commlink only had so much power left. "But how do you know it's real?" asked Idah. "Rep." "Rep?" asked Idah. They nodded. "Talk to some people while doing my thing. Get curious. They tell me this story. Last summer this girl does this thing uh...Drek, uh...Hey, what do you call a kick artist but for animals?" "I don't..." said Idah, slowly. They snapped their fingers and though their hand looked real, the snap had a brief but telltale chime of chrome on chrome cybernetics. "Hunter," they said, "Huntress, whatever. Don't want to misgender. Anyway, she assassinates those animals. This wizkid girl called Nogway hears that people are naysayin. That she's not bringing the pig. Pig is too cheap for what they're selling. So she comes back from a hunt on her Harley with her kill strapped to the back. Hog on a hog. She brings that down to a shop not far from here, butchers it in front of everyone and leaves like a boss. She doesn't say drek and they don't naysay no more. So when they say she brings deer, everyone believes. Because she's got the rep." "That's deer?" asked Idah, incredulously. They searched through their synthleather pockets and found a half crushed pack of smokes. With a single machine perfect flick of the wrist they brought a single smoke just far enough out of the pack that they could pull it out the rest of the way with their mouth. With another quick snap of their fingers near the tip of the cigarrette, the ring unmistakable this time. The cig was lit. They took a drag before responding. "Paid ten," they said, "Real slices with real broth in my noodles. Veggies too. Downloaded those noods and paid twenty more for the premium content. Deer cubes this time. Downloaded the cubes first off. Snacked a bit on the rest. Don't really care about the noods or veg or broth now. Good portions. Full. I don't like being full when I'm doing my thing but you know..." The bowl wasn't full and did look picked at but Idah eyed it hungrily nonetheless. After looking Idah over again, they placed it on a nearby table where two people sat and push it towards Idah. A gesture to take or leave. "Things are hot now for me," they said, "But I know what it's like when it's cold outside. Seen the struggle. Lived it." Idah froze, a mix of angry and hungry and terrified that chat had somehow witnessed the pity. Chat wasn't there and he paused and then quickly scarfed down the remnants of the noodles, some sort of crunchy vegetable and broth made from real meat. Even eating after someone else it was still heavenly. He felt hot shame prickle at his face and warm broth slide down his throat. "Anyway, I thought I was going to do this job, but I get distracted," they continue, "I'm asking around, you know, standard legwork. While I'm asking they say I can get my teeth cleaned for whatever I want to pay. Offering to everybody. Not just me. I shrug. Dive VR. Political message but they don't shove it down? Weird as weird. I had the option to opt out and relax. So I say whatever, I'm curious, so I opt in. Message is low key chill. They just want to stay in their homes. That's all they want. I think it's too good to be truth but this feels sincere. So I test it. I'm at the end for pay. I zero it to see if I can. They accepted it. No scam and I know scams. This is chip truth. The real real. Tried to leave a little present in their system as thanks but it's airgapped. Had to hand it to a meatspace person. I got smiled at. Thanked. No one smiles at me. No one thanks me. I felt good and I never feel good." They closed their chrome eyes and took in a deep and drag on their cig. "I do a walk-in at the clinic after," they said, as they exhaled smoke, "I ask if this is pay what you want too and they say no, this ain't droned up like the other place. So ka. You know, I understand. I get checked out for cheap by real people. Way cleaner than my local doc. And sober. Can't do anything for the ware but they check my meat. I get a scrip for some immunosuppressants for the ol' ware and the pharmacy is not even a hundred feet away. I jander over here to download some food. Script gets filled and so can I. Ate some real real meat. I'm feeling good like I'm chipped, you know? Something in the air. Don't know what it is. Feels good though." Idah put down his bowl. The urge to lick it clean was high and so he pushed it away. This person spoke strangely but Idah had seen a shadowrunner trid a few years back when things were still good in his life. It was weird because shadowrunner was a strange aesthetic to take. "Bad news for my people though," they mused, "Not going to take the job." "Job?" asked Idah. Their mouth twisted into a feral grin that made Idah want to crawl a hole. "Yeah," they said, voice cold, "A job. Job's off. These people are too nice. Bad rep. Bad karma. Johnson's gonna be pissed but things are hot right now. Always another." "What kind of job?" asked Idah, before he could stop himself. They rolled their cigeratte around between their lips. "Who me?" they said, "I sell cookies." "Cookies?" asked Idah, confused. "Yeah, Girl Scout cookies," they said, with a laugh, "For the Girl Scout Cookie Cartel. I'm their number one seller for the month. Got my merit badges and everything. Didn't even have to kill the competition. I'm that smooth." They curled their tongue around the cigarette and with a snap of their teeth they ate the still burning cigarette in front of Idah. Then they turned around but Idah realized that they hadn't answered his question. Despite the fear he was curious. Like he was talking to someone even though he could barely remember their face.. "How do you know it's real?!" he had to shout. They turned and made a gesture to Touristville's East End. To the cheap, real food, the bustling people, the real signs and the laundry on strings. "Don't need to!" they called back, "Good rep! That's all I need to know! Who has time to check every little thing?! But I won't sling cookies at people who'll take care of me! Hope the people after me care about their rep and karma too! Later chummer!" The shadowrunner disappeared into the crowd and left Idah behind. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 15:42 on Jul 3, 2021 |
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Jul 3, 2021 14:05
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So there was a post from yeeeeeears ago by Deadmeat (at least I think so, sorry if I'm wrong) that he missed runner speak. The Shadowrun lingo from the books. I decided to add it in. Everyone has seen shadowrunner movies/trids. So everyone knows that they don't exist because that's ridiculous. A good old limited hangout by the corps to keep their weird little mercenary culture intact and to make some creds too. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limited_hangout And runners can still identify each other by using the lingo. If they want. They don't always. The worst that happens is someone thinks they're aping a string of ultraviolent B movies but they'd never say because most runners are terrifying. Best case you meet someone from the community in the wild. Also possibly worst case. I didn't want to use the full lingo throughout the story for a numbers of reasons, most of all because it can be hard to understand but in this case I tried to make it easier to intuit. But I think the runner subculture could identify each other by talking like they're out of a fun but forgettable ultraviolence B-movies out in the open. It looks like another esthetic in a world full of them. So before they were only a rumor.. Then they did too much high profile poo poo for too long. The corps made some B movie action trids as a limited hangout to keep their deniable assets from getting found out. Now everyone knows about shadowrunners. Everyone also knows that they don't exist. And if you try to say they're real, you get laughed at. Secrecy is maintained through ridiculousness. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 14:44 on Jul 3, 2021 |
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Jul 3, 2021 14:19
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And now for a taste of the matrix in the hell world of 2075 Shadowrun, I bring you an anime girl VR streamer reacting to man made natural disasters. Gonna go to sleep now. That's enough matrix for today. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 14:43 on Jul 3, 2021 |
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Jul 3, 2021 14:36
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Yes that was me that mentioned it all those moons ago. This was a fantastic update, Ice. I loved it.
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Jul 3, 2021 14:57
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God what a weird timeline we live in.
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Jul 3, 2021 16:17
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I Identify As Human, Jimmy and Shauna - Saturday, August 26th, 2075 – Noon - Touristville Across a kitchen table inside of a modest but homey working class kitchen sat a young woman in her early twenties. She dressed in a pretty but simple yellow dress that was available off the rack in Touristville. The color complimented her long, blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail. Her blue eyes were warm and friendly. Her face was more cute than beautiful and was made more real by the fact that there were the signs of bags under her eyes that hadn't been covered by makeup. This most of all gave her the finishing touch on her status as an actual person, because she was. And of course she had horns and tusks for she was a troll. It was a little strange at first for I Identify as Human to be the exact same size as her but that was the magic of a VR construct. She waved cheerily at him with one hand, her other placed on her soykaf. "Hi, I'm Shauna," said the VR recording of a young woman, her voice friendly and inviting and a little deep but still feminine, "Thanks for coming. I'm here just in case you had any questions about Crossroads Dentistry. We're here doing something completely new in Touristville which is our little corner of the Ork Underground. You may have heard some things about us and might be a little confused about how much you need to pay. Or you might not have heard anything at all until you got here. But I'm just here to set the record straight while you get your teeth cleaned." I Identify as Human had learned about Crossroads Dentistry and talked it up to chat as a final way to unearth the fake communist liberal potemkin village that was Toxicville. Or at least that was what chat had latched onto...Sort of. A request had come in to show a before and after of his teeth for fifteen nuyen because of course the trogs couldn't do anything right. A toothbrush and toothpaste were luxuries that he hadn't enjoyed in over a month because the coffin motel would charge a full nuyen for both and they were only meant to last for a day as the toothbrush fell apart quickly and the toothpaste was dispensed from a dirty spigot. So he'd posted his yellow teeth with a few missing in the front for chat as the "before" picture and it was yet another humiliation. But he needed that fifteen nuyen for the "after" pick no matter what shape his teeth ended up in. Shauna who knew none of this took a drink of her soykaf and there was soykaf in front of Idah as well. Chat wasn't watching at the moment because his eyes were closed due to VR so he allowed himself to indulge. Being as angry and unashamedly human was a thing he normally did for chat and while he often was angry and pro-human outside of streaming being extra was exhausting. So the brief reprieve was welcome and even in cold sim where most senses other than sight and hearing were dialed down, the soy-kaf was hotter and sweeter than anything he'd had recently. Specifically the runny coffin motel brand mycoprotein. "So we're pioneering something completely new to Seattle," continued Shauna, "No, not dentistry. That's pretty understood. I'm talking about how we run the business. It's called pay what you want and it is what it sounds like. You pay what you want to get your teeth cleaned. No insurance involved, no confusing plans, no unexpected bills. Everything is paid up front but only if you want to." She waved her hand and a number of white rectangles that looked like buttons emerged from the simple brown kitechen table. There were numbers on them counting up from from zero to ten, then it skipped by fives to fifteen, twenty, twenty-five all the way up to a hundred. The numbers went on for a little longer and then with a write in your own number option at the end. The VR Shauna warmed her hands on her soykaf mug and took another sip before she continued. "So this is it," said Shauna, "Where you pay what you want. And you don't even have to right now because you may want to inspect how you feel. So if you look around you might find a place or two to eat before you think about what you want to pay and that's if you want to pay anything. Again there are no surprises after this. No enormous bills in the mail. In fact if you a bill from someone pretending to be us then you have our permission to ignore it. There's just payment one time and it doesn't even have to be up front. The owners of this shop are fine with making a modest profit and believe that people will recognize a very fair deal when they see one and will want to keep it alive." The number five briefly lit up. "But if you're not sure what to give we're pretty sure that if everyone gives five nuyen we can break even," said Shauna, "No matter how short or long it takes. That's the average. But don't worry, if you don't want to pay or don't have five nuyen to spare..." The lights counted down from four all the way to zero. "That's perfectly fine," said Shauna, "And we won't judge you. Only you will know what you paid. But if you have a little extra and you're feeling generous..." The lights counted up quicker from five to one-hundred. "We'd also appreciate more than five if you can spare it," she said, "Because not everyone can pay. Here's the number for today that we want to reach to break even by the end of the day and how much we've actually made. You can make a selection now or say "Not right now" to continue." A short string of numbers and words popped up on the kitchen table. 64,378/40,000 nuyen. 24,378 over today's goal. 2500 out of a possible 8000 customers served today. The VR young woman waited while Idah stared blankly at his selection. Intellectually he could grasp what what was happening but it was just so wildly out of his experience that he needed time to adjust. Ages ago he remembered having his teeth busted on a job site and he'd had to pay almost a thousand for replacements because they'd made up some bullshit. At least he would have had it fixed if he had the money. It had been cheaper to have a few teeth pulled which had still cost him a hundred nuyen punch to the heart and ongoing embarrassment at the gaps in his mouth. And that had been at a pretty shady pop-up shop with no staff. Just a drone in a room barely the size of a closet. With trepidation, he pressed the "help" button because he wanted to talk to another person. This was too strange to believe which made sense because it wasn't real. The trogs must have thought everyone was dumb. So he decided to test the place yet again to find that thread so he could pull on it. After a few moments someone from outside of the VR construct answered. "This is Jimmy, your dental tech," said the dental tech, from all around him, his voice harried, "How can I help you?" Idah quietly glowered at no one in particular. This trog was going to gently caress up the rest of his teeth. "Hey, I'm still confused about this pay what you want thing," said Idah, "I just pay what I want?" "Yeah," said Jimmy, "Or pay later. Or not at all." "That's just a cleaning, right?" asked Idah, "Five is for the cleaning and the rest is through the roof?" "No, it's pay what you want." "For everything?" asked Idah, warily. Jimmy didn't respond at first but he came back pretty quickly. "I see that you're missing three teeth, you have two cracks in existing ones, one of them pretty severe, a number of cavities..." said Jimmy, mostly to himself, "We'll use stem cell treatment for the missing teeth and temporarily soften the gums around where they need to break through so you won't be in as much pain. Don't worry about eating right after getting treated. In fact eating will help your teeth break through. Very standard. If you've never gone through a replacement it's a bit like teething for babies. We're forming an entirely new tooth from your jaw so we'll put you on some vitamin supplements to prevent bone loss. Make sure to take those. It'll be over in a couple of days and it's not too bad. Over the counter painkillers should handle the uh...Teething. The cracks will be repaired with micro-surgery and the cavities will be extracted and filled." Idah was felt his heart race. There was this growing animal panic that started in his guts and ran up his spine. Fresh medical debt was one of the surest ways to get debt collectors to hound him. He'd had to move three times from different coffin motels to keep the "repo men" from taking what little he had. Most likely his eyes since they were electronic. He'd seen that happen to other people. If he lost his eyes he was dead. He'd already sold his spare kidney the last time they came and he couldn't spare the other. "This is too much," said Idah, quickly, "That's too much money." "How much money you pay is your choice," said Jimmy, "I know what we're new and doing something new but this is legit. I've had to explain this over and over today and I expect to keep explaining it over and over. If you want to walk out right now that's fine. Or if you want to pay five nuyen or even nothing, just hit the button. We'll debit it from your account. No more or less." Idah squirmed in his VR chair. "I'm not..." began Idah. "Look," said Jimmy, impatiently, "You're mid-surgery right now and it'll be another forty minutes before I'm done. I can halfway clean you up so you can leave or you can press the button, listen to the political ad if you want and then choose a sim and relax for the rest of the time. The owners aren't even forcing you to watch ads. You get the premium relaxation content when you're done. This is the best deal anyone will ever get. So you decide." Idah perked up at political ad. That was content that chat might reward him for. Plus he could move again. If he paid an extra five it was custom for coffin motel clerks to let someone lay low. Repo men didn't hound a place for long. But he had one last reservation. "Isn't this...Isn't this communism?" asked Idah, unsure but angered at the thought. Jimmy laughed and Idah's anger grew at being mocked by the tusker. "This is a business," said Jimmy, "It's just a nice one. Here, I'll reveal the exit button for you if you really want it. It won't dump you out immediately because again, you're still having dental surgery but it means that I'll finish up as quickly as I can so you can leave. I really, really can't stress just how much I don't recommend that though." A big red, circular button popped out of the VR table. It was labeled "exit". "But I have to go," said Jimmy, "Pay what you want or you can leave. I'll take care of you either way." Jimmy ceased to pay attention to the VR construct and so the VR kitchen complete with a kitchen table, kitchen and young woman began to move. It was a subtle thing. During the "pause" Shauna had stopped appearing to breathe and the steam from the soykaf had wafting. Both started back up again. Idah's heart continued to race. This fake village was startlingly, unnervingly real. He almost pushed the exit button but paused. Chat wouldn't be happy if they figured out that he half-assed it and on the slight if minuscule chance that he could get his teeth fixed he might someday be able to eat without solely chewing on his right side since there was a gap in the middle of his teeth and eating on the left side was pure agony. His hand moved away from the exit button and hovered over the zero but he stopped himself. As a self-respecting human man he wouldn't accept charity from trogs. Not ever. He wasn't a freeloader either. He balked at the idea of giving away five of his precious nuyen, fully half of what he had at the moment. So he pressed the button for one nuyen. It lit up and the numbers on the table disappeared save for the total amount of nuyen for the day. 64,379/40,000 nuyen. 24,379 over goal. 2501 out of a possible 8000 customers served today.[/i] His nuyen had been added to the tally. Then it too went away. "Thank you for paying what you want," said Shauna, "You have about thirty-nine minutes left. Now if you don't mind, we here at Touristville have a short political message about Prop 23 that we'd like to talk to you about. Just say yes if you want to hear it or no if you don't. It'll only take about three minutes and you can spend the rest of your time in your choice of a no cost ad-free relaxing VR environment." Chat would hopefully love this. Maybe he could even sell the information. That this was the liberal communist plot for toxic shamans to...He didn't know. It was all jumbled in his head. "Yes," said Idah. Shauna beamed at him and put her soykaf down on the table which cleared itself completely of buttons and numbers. Now this was just a kitchen counter soykaf chat. "Now I'll try to keep this simple and quick," said Shauna, "You may have heard a lot about prop 23 from the news or a friend. But if you haven't it is on the ballot this November. What it looks like at a glance is that if you vote yes, the Ork Underground legally becomes a part of the Seattle metrploex. This means that the mostly orks and trolls of the Ork Underground which includes us become citizens. We get SINs and legal rights and access to social services." Idah ground his VR teeth. He didn't want access to social services. He wasn't a leech. Not now, not ever. Being dependent was for the metatrash. "And voting against this means that it doesn't happen," she continued. Idah nodded fiercely. The metroplex didn't need tens of thousands of trogs getting the vote and living like welfare queens and wasting taxpayer money. "Well we have a different opinion," said Shauna, "And it may shock you but before you make a decision I'd really like you to listen. But our opinion is that we'd like you to vote against Prop 23." Idah blinked. Had he heard that right? "What the gently caress?" he asked. "You heard me right," said Shauna, "As a SINless person and yes I really am one, I'd love to be a citizen. I want to have legal rights because at the moment I barely have any. To be SINless is to be completely stateless even though I was born right here in the metroplex. My parents both used to have SINs but they lost them because they had to sell their SINs or starve. Here I am in that position again. Having legal rights isn't worth losing my home and my community and my place of work. But you might not worry about that. My worries might not be your worries and that's okay. So I'm going to tell you what happens on the plan for all of the forty-thousand people of the Ork Underground." Idah's mouth hung open, chrome eyes wide, head craned forward as he listened to this political ad. "We're not going to be allowed to stay here," she said, sadly, "People are already speculating on all of the property in the Ork Underground. Even on my little apartment which you see here. Someone wants to buy it and kick me out. And as you know rent is expensive and jobs are not plentiful. We're in a recession right now. If we're removed from this community we'll be kicked out and only be a burden on taxpayers until we get jobs. And that's if we get jobs because there aren't enough of them. We'll be forced to compete with you for jobs to get by. We'll be forced to compete with you for rent. Forty-thousand people. Maybe not all at once but that's how it'll go. There's zero plan for when we're forced to leave the Ork Underground. We've checked and you can check. There's nothing in the proposition beyond us getting social services and as you may or may not know, they're not very good. The social safety net is too frayed to take all of us." Idah didn't know how to feel about this. He didn't like trogs at all but he was agreeing with her. Apparently they weren't all dumb because they were going to be a burden. They were going to compete with people like him. It's why he'd lost his job over and over again. Having to compete. He looked for the lie but didn't find one and only barely resisted nodding along. But he did open his mouth. "Yeah," whispered Idah. "We want to stay here in our homes in the Ork Underground," said Shauna, "Where we live. Where we work. Where we're not competing with any of you. And if we stay here we'll be able to keep Touristville open and especially the dentist office open and we'll keep running it just like we do now as long as the community stays in Touristville. Because we don't just want to stay here until the next election. We want to stay here for the long term. And that means giving you a reason to care about us and that means treating you well while you're here and the promise that we'll keep doing so as long as we're here and able to do so." Idah put it together. They just didn't want to be kicked out of their homes. This was a bribe. Or at least it was if this were real at all. Then he had to rethink it all over again. "Things are okay here," said Shauna, "We have it better than some and I'm grateful for that. I have a place to work and food to eat and a home to rest my head. But I won't lie because things are bad in most of the rest of the Ork Underground and I know that because it used to be bad here too. All over the rest of the Ork Underground there's crime and drug use and poverty and gang violence. The Ork Underground does need help. But shoving everyone out of where they live with no plan will only make things worse for you and for me and everyone else except the people who want to buy all of this land out from under us." Idah felt disgusted with himself for agreeing but he finally nodded. "Yeah, definitely," he said, "gently caress..." "And maybe someday we'll get a different deal," she said, as she came to a close, "And we'll look at that deal and decide if it's worth a yes. But right now it's not. If Prop 23 passes then everyone loses because legal rights don't matter if I'll eventually have to sell my SIN to survive like my parents had to. It'll only make everyone angry at each other as we're forced to compete. I don't want that and I don't think you do either. As a SINless person I can't vote. So I'm asking you to do so and if you aren't registered we can help you learn how. So please vote no on Prop 23 in November. For both our sakes. Thank you for listening." Shauna slid out of her chair and walked out of the kitchen with a soft click of a door behind him. This left Idah to his own thoughts which were deeply confusing. Buttons materialized on the table once more with the words "Completely Commercial Free!" written under them in bold. There was the option to replay the message, the option to have an electronic brochure mailed to them if they wanted to know more, receive a message on how to register to vote, how to sign up for a tour of Touristville and lastly, a dozen different relaxing VR simulations underneath them. Idah took a solid minute of thinking and rethinking and trying to find the trick. But he was tired and confused. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. So he looked over the VR simulations and saw one that read "Fishing on a Rowboat" and he chose that one. Instantly he was transported onto a wooden rowboat in the middle of a pond in a forest. Instead of the chair he sat inside of the boat. A wooden fishing pole was attached to the boat but he ignored it. Instead he found an expanse of flat bottom and nestled into it. There was even a blanket and a little pillow stowed under one of the seats. A little touch from the designers. He hadn't had a pillow in months. Just a thin coffin motel blanket that was meant to fall apart and had been and his hoodie which stank. There was birdsong and clear sky and the lapping of water at the boat. Here there were no screaming drug addicts, no gang wars, no gnawing hunger, no tube of tasteless and snotty mycoprotein to slurp down, no thoughts of imminent poverty, no fear of the repo men who'd come for his eyes. There was only the boat as it gently rocked him to sleep. It would be the first good sleep he'd gotten in months. And it was just as amazing as he imagined it could be. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 05:45 on Jul 4, 2021 |
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Jul 4, 2021 05:26
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Ice Phisherman posted:And runners can still identify each other by using the lingo. If they want. They don't always. The worst that happens is someone thinks they're aping a string of ultraviolent B movies but they'd never say because most runners are terrifying. Best case you meet someone from the community in the wild. Also possibly worst case. We've talked about this before a bit, but it's especially fun (and useful for sorting the been-there-done-thats from the people who have just watched too many movies and lost touch with reality) when the scriptwriters make hash of the lingo. Sometimes they've heard enough of the words to know some of what they mean, but the context loss leads to rampant gibson hacking.
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Jul 4, 2021 06:31
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Yond Cassius posted:We've talked about this before a bit, but it's especially fun (and useful for sorting the been-there-done-thats from the people who have just watched too many movies and lost touch with reality) when the scriptwriters make hash of the lingo. Sometimes they've heard enough of the words to know some of what they mean, but the context loss leads to rampant gibson hacking. 
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Jul 4, 2021 06:42
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In this case wouldn't it be the Gibbs Gibbs Gibbs Gibbs Gibson
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Jul 4, 2021 19:47
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Hexenritter posted:In this case wouldn't it be the Gibbs Gibbs Gibbs Gibbs Gibson Reported. How dare you.
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Jul 5, 2021 03:15
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Deadmeat5150 posted:Reported. 
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Jul 5, 2021 04:21
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"This was a bribe." The moment the cognitive dissonance just utterly collapses. We see the paranoia of things being too good to be true, the build-up where it's not believable. They're no longer thugs scheming some evil plans, they suddenly and violently morph into.... regular people who don't want to be kicked out of their homes. Denial still exists after, but it's obviously weak even to Idah. This was definitely an uncomfortable read, definitely at the opening. However, we could use some discomfort at times. Talking to the runner and hearing them talk about 'assassinating animals' was a great bit of needed levity to break up the frankly negative toxic soup we traveled through with Idah. I also appreciate the thought that the runner feels like they were only really talking because they also had to process what just happened. A chip addict saying the experience felt as good as what they feel when chipped.... is something else.
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Jul 6, 2021 00:05
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Idah, Chip, Chuck and Yang - Saturday, August 26th, 2075 – Noon - Touristville Idah checked his teeth with the mirror app on his commlink. With a grubby finger hooked into his cheek he saw that they were so white and clean it looked like they’d been hand polished. The aching throb he had on the right side of his mouth that he’d mostly learned to ignore for years now was gone too. Sure he was missing three of his front teeth, two on the top and one on the bottom but that dental tech told him that the teeth would emerge from his gums in a few days. In his hand was a tiny bottle of calcium supplements that he’d gotten for free from the pharmacy nearby. He cracked open the top, looked at one and his eyes widened at the sheer size of each pill. There weren’t many but they were huge and no way could he dry swallow this thing. Then he belatedly remembered to check chat. He’d been so intent before but the nap had helped him forget about his problems for a time. He had fifteen nuyen for the after picture of his teeth waiting for him. The charge on his commlink only had two percent left so he had to get it fast. With his nine nuyen from earlier that would make twenty-four whole nuyen which meant a full belly tonight, a coffin to sleep in maybe a half a charge for streaming tomorrow. He quickly took a picture of his teeth and then checked the request. To his dismay he saw that it had expired. In his haste he’d forgotten to check the time limit on the request and it had expired. It had only been five minutes long. The time limit was a way to get streamers to focus on a specific user in chat. With a time limit that short the request had been a cruel joke. Then he read the log from chat. He bristled with anger as chat made fun of his “meth mouth”. Then after they’d had their fun the chat had dissolved. Idah ground his new teeth. Not once. Not once in his life had he ever touched any of the hard stuff. He’d lost so many of his family and friends to drugs. To the latest formula of meth or strain of heroin and whatever the hell Tempo had been. And in a dark moment he felt like they’d been the lucky ones. Only a few idlers were left in chat and he didn’t have time to wait on them to try and squeeze out any creds. He received a warning that his power was at one percent and he promptly shut off his commlink. That was a serious problem. Not down here, but up top in this part of the Downtown area a commlink was how SINs were broadcast. Someone without a commlink would be checked for a SIN by the cops. He was so close to being thrown in the ACHE due to his lack of funds and small debts that were nevertheless impossible for him to pay back. Well, there was nothing he could do. He’d have to turn it on, run and hope that his commlink didn’t die before he got to the coffin mo… He slumped against a wall as he came to a horrified realization. The assumption that he had twenty-four nuyen instead of nine had still been fixed in Idah’s mind. For just one more nuyen he could have had a place to sleep tonight. No charge on his commlink but still, a place. He’d eaten a little. But his loving pride. His refusal to freeload had cost him that single nuyen he needed not to be homeless tonight. This feeling was new. “Homeless,” he whispered. For the first time in his life he had no place to rest his head. He’d resisted the label for so long but he was at such a low point that he let a new thought, a new identity really, creep inside of him and nestle there. Idah was homeless. He didn’t even know how to begin to process that fact. And it was a fact. People bustled to and fro past him in the corridor outside of the Touristville Pharmacy as he wrestled with the concept. Monetarily he understood that he’d been fighting against this label for months. Identity was important to Idah. In fact, identity was hands down the most important part what made Idah, Idah. Further still, being human had slowly but surely eclipsed the rest of who he was. Before he’d been blue collar and proud. He’d been a working man who worked with his hands. Sure the pay was low but he knew who he was and had been proud of what he did. A man should work with his hands. It’s what made men, men. But as he’d jumped from job to job, borrowed money he didn’t have for tutoring software for new certifications for jobs that had thousands of applicants each, as he maxed out his credit, his home, his girlfriend, his dog, he’d been run down by life. He’d stopped defining himself by what he did because he’d stopped working with his hands. Not willingly, no one would pay him to do it. As he became angrier and angrier he’d searched for some way to explain what was happening to him. Political matrix personalities had bolstered his hate and told him that it had been the metatrash. Not at first, at least not damningly. But each step led him further and further down the path of hate as he followed each guest with a more hateful viewpoint. One felt truer. Over and over again, each new host more and more extreme until one day he’d gone from merely mistrusting and grumbling about metahumans to openly hateful. And his life had become progressively worse, not better like they’d promised. They said that there were conspiracies. They said that the enemy was all powerful, impossibly well organized and clever. They said that the enemy was winning but could be overcome if they fought back. Some said a chosen few would need. Some said that it would take all of humanity. Most blended both. But the promise had been that if we all faced the common enemy, they could be destroyed. Here he was, trying to ape the people who’d told him the truth. But it hadn’t been the truth. Or at least not a truth that helped him. He was poor and homeless and slowly starving. All he was now was human and it turned out that not only had being aware of some enemy and banding together with all humans had not been some secret to wealth or success or happiness. It hadn’t included even being treated like a person. It was Idah’s lowest point. Something in him broke. Suddenly his feet were carrying him. He took a right at the crossroads and found the shops selling real meat dishes. Cybernetic eyes feverishly scanned for the best price. Up and down the halls he scanned. He barely paid attention to the mostly ork and troll shoppers. Then he found it. There were noodles with real chunks of deer meat and real vegetables for only nine nuyen. It was a steal at twice the price. Minutes later he was out the door and already scarfing down chunks of deer meat, mung bean sprouts and soy noodles in a meaty broth. The restaurant had been full so he hadn’t stayed and besides, he couldn’t tip. So again his pride kept him from staying. In the corridor he ate real meat for the first time in years and it was so good. Each bite was like a little bite of heaven. Though even heaven didn’t slow him down though and he ate each chunk, slurped each noodle and crunched each bean sprout with reckless abandon. Idah just wanted to feel good. To know that he still had a place in this world and to know that the delicious smelling food had been meant for him after all. That he could have more than a disgusting tube of mycoprotein for food and a coffin to sleep in. Then the meal was finished. The sense of satisfaction and elation came with the horror that he was homeless and now completely destitute. Rationality came flooding back in and he was repulsed at what he’d just done. Humans didn’t do things like that. Not the best of humanity. Those humans worked hard and understood the value of a nuyen and weren’t ruled by their impulses. It had been the metatrash and especially the trogs who acted without thinking. That’s what he’d been told and that’s what he knew and suddenly he didn’t because he’d just done what he thought only his racial inferiors did. He sank to the floor in the corridor. His knees buckled as if they’d been kicked from behind. Idah stared blankly forward, not even caring to lick the bowl clean of the precious broth. The cheap bowl fell to the floor. Where his human identity had been before he’d recognized that ripping sensation inside of him. Not a physical thing, but emotional. There, in a rare moment of introspection he found a tear had opened wide in his idea of “humanness”. That tear was in his very identity. Normally he plastered over those rips, tears and holes with anger and hate but he didn’t have enough energy to summon either of those feelings. And so as the lengthened and people stepped over him and that hole inside of him kept opening wider and wider. The streamer known as I Identify As Human was questioning what it meant to be human. He didn’t like it doing this. In fact, he hated it, but he couldn’t stop himself like he normally could. Cold, numbing terror overtook him as he looked for some other way to identify himself and found nothing. The rips in his identity came with a yawning abyss in the holes. His identity as human had been a thin one, Idah realized. He’d pretended to be strong and sure of himself and better than everyone else but his brother and sometimes sister humans. But not he realized that his humanness had been weak. He’d based his identity off hate and anger and a racial default of humanness. And now Idah was now homeless and didn’t know who he was. He was too numb to cry or scream or shake. So he just sat there on the ground as people passed him by. He stared into the middle distance. He stared at nothing. He was nothing. “Hey,” said a stranger, “Are you okay?” Idah looked up from his hands and saw a stranger. That stranger was an ork teenager with dark skin, short, black hair that had been braided into cornrows and brown eyes. He was tall with thin arms and legs for an ork. He wore a white t-shirt with a dark, tight fitting jacket over the top, currently unzipped. Black pants led down to scuffed black boots. Finally, around one shoulder there was slung a messenger bag. On any other day an ork getting this close to him would cause some sort of negative reaction in Idah. But no, he couldn’t muster up the energy. Being tricked and mocked by chat hadn’t been his lowest point. This was his new lowest point. He was homeless and destitute and pitied. As he tried to summon up a lie, he found that he couldn’t. Seconds went by and the ork didn’t go away. He seemed to expect a response. So Idah dragged one out of himself. “No,” he said instead, “I’m not.” “Mind if I sit with you?” asked the teenage ork. Idah didn’t move and the ork took this as assent to sit. So the ork did. He unzipped his messenger bag, removed a small candy bar and began eating. It was a little bizarre and Idah wondered if the ork was mocking him. The ork noticed and lifted the candy bar at Idah. “Hungry?” asked the ork. Idah looked away. He was hungry but no way was he going to accept charity from an ork. In fact, the food he’d eaten today had only sharpened his appetite. The ork unzipped the messenger bag, fished around in the hole with a hand and produced a small, rectangular box of candy called “Ultra-Yummy Sugar Snax”. He popped the top and poured a few of the chocolatey balls into his hand and ate them. Then he rattled the box. Normally Idah would seethe at being condescended to but he was hungry. So he reluctantly held out his cupped hand. The ork carefully poured out a generous portion and Idah ate them. They were in fact, extremely sugary. The total lack of the stuff lately meant the stuff hit his tongue like a bomb. He couldn’t remember the last time he tasted chocolate. And the insides were full of ultra-sweet fruity flavors. Neither the chocolate or fruit were real of course but still, it was the closest he’d probably ever come to the real stuff. For a while they shared until the contents of the box were gone. More people stepped around them. They chatted, laughed and went about their day in a place made for them. The ork produced more Ultra-Yummy Sugar Snax and even though he was still hungry, Idah waved his hand to beg off. Another box of those and his pupils would have fully dilated. At least if he had pupils instead of machinery. The ork reached into his pack again and drew out a small, red apple and a small blade. Idah’s eyes widened at the luxury of the thing. On any other day if an ork drew a blade he would have drawn away but now he watched, completely fascinated as the ork drew the knife across the apple in a bizarrely efficient spiral cut that removed the skin in short order. Then he cut the apple itself into quarters, ate one of the quarters and then offered a quarter to Idah. In the dimness, lit orange largely by Chinese lanterns, Idah looked at the apple slices like they’d come from another world. He reached out but hesitated. “You sure?” asked Idah, quietly. He was nervous. What did this ork want from him? “Yeah,” said the Ork. Idah took the apple from the ork’s hand and without hesitation he crammed it into his mouth and bit down. The juicy taste of fresh apple exploded in his mouth as he chewed through the fruit’s flesh. He looked back to the ork, ashamed and hoping for more. The ork chewed on the third slice and still had his palm out for the fourth. Idah took it and had another piece of heaven. The ork took the knife that he’d laid on his lap, folded it and put it back in his pack. After eating, Idah felt a lot better. It was a bizarre feeling he had. He was homeless but he had clean teeth. He had no nuyen but he’d eaten real meat and fruit and vegetables. And in this place of people who he considered dirty, he was most likely the filthiest person here. “Thirsty?” asked the Ork. Idah nodded. Though he’d just had his broth and the apple, getting water was a little hard. So he took it any time he could. And so the teen opened the messenger bag a little wider and withdrew in one hand a bottle of water and in the other hand he had a beer. Which yes, the apple had been more expensive. It had been at least five nuyen and was probably way more. Still, the beer was the most amazing of them all. The dark brown bottle was so cold it was still sweating. “drat,” he whispered, “What else you got in there?” The ork only smiled and handed him the beer. Then he produced half a pack of smokes, though a different brand than the other guy. Unlike the other pack, this pack was perfect and had to be unwrapped. Both the Idah and the ork had smokes and beers. A few people gave them looks but neither cared. “Not much,” said the ork, “Food, drinks and smokes. It’s for tonight.” “For a party?” asked Idah. “A few people consider it a party,” said the ork, “But no, I’m actually a healer. The snacks and drinks keep people going. Smokes help to calm down. Drinks help them process but only when they’re done. The smokes and drinks are new additions. I’m not sure if I’ll keep them.” Idah tried to open his beer but it wasn’t a twist off. In an odd gesture he put his palm over the top of the beer and it opened on its own with a hiss, though he left the cap. He did the same to another beer that he pulled out of his bag. Then he pulled out a lighter, lit his cigarette and then offered it to Idah who accepted. “What do smokes and beer have to do with healing?” asked Idah. The ork sipped his beer and had a smoke before answering. “Physically?” he asked, “Nothing. But I’ve been doing some different work than I’m used to lately and got a talking to about paying attention to only the body and ignoring the person inside. People aren’t machines. They have needs. Even if some things aren’t good for them in the long term some people can’t afford to think long term. Sometimes something bad for you takes you going further than if you only take care of the body.” Idah nodded along as he took a drink of his beer. He didn’t make a face at the taste but it tasted bad. Stealthily he checked the label while he lit his cig and saw that it was called “Otherweiss”. It was a brand so bottom shelf that most grocery stores and gas stations didn’t carry it and if they did, it was always at the very bottom of the freezer. This was hood poo poo but it was over ten percent and it was a beer so he kept drinking. He inhaled and exhaled smoke as the tip of his cigarette slowly burned down. Between the candy, the fruit, the beer and the smoke, his body began to buzz with pleasure. “Thanks,” said Idah, minutes later, “Not to complain, but why are you sharing all of this with me?” “You just looked like you might need them,” said the ork. Idah thought that this response was strange and he wondered what the teen wanted from him. The strangeness continued when the teenager reached for the beer and Idah almost gave it back but instead the teen placed one of his palms on the cap. Without appearing to do anything, no twisting of the hand, no tool, just the hand, there was a hiss of carbonation and the teen came away with the cap in his hand. Idah didn’t remark on the trick but he was impressed. He just drank while the teen picked up Idah’s used bowl and utensils that he’d left on the ground. “I’ll be right back,” said the teen. The disappeared only long enough to toss the trash. Then he bent over, zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulders. Idah could accept a random act of kindness even if the teen seemed strange but it seemed like the teen was about to go. “Want another beer?” asked the teen. Idah looked up at the teen. Out of reflex came the racial epithet, trog. It was completely unbidden and thankfully it didn’t find his tongue. He felt ashamed and looked away. Then, unwilling to turn down the kindness because he desperately needed it, he nodded at the offer of a beer and felt even more ashamed. The ork teen reached down a hand and after a moment of consideration, Idah allowed himself to be pulled up. “Good,” said the teen, “We’ll get stepped on if we stay out here for much longer though. I know a better place. Come on.” The teen led Idah with the flow of the crowd and down the corridor further into the Chinese district. Business seemed to be booming and Idah’s head swiveled from side to side as he witnessed sights that continually violated his expectations. There were no addicts, no prostitutes, no dealers, no gangs or criminal activity of any sort. There were restaurants, clothing shops and furniture stores which seemed to be the bulk of the business though not every shop was such. On his left he saw a liquor store named “Spirits and Spirits” with a sign that said “Coming Soon” on the door. They passed by this store and his still unnamed benefactor stopped at a much tinier store not much further down the way. A Chinese troll in his early twenties with a thin face, a shaved head, pronounced tusks and a vaguely “mystical” looking orange monk outfit, complete with a very long string of prayer beads. He called out to the ork with Idah. “Yo!” called the “mystical” ork, “Almost didn’t see you there.” The teenage ork sauntered up to the kiosk, cigarette still burning and with a beer in his hands. Idah got a closer look at the counter and written above the man on a whiteboard was “Buy Offerings for the Official Touristville Spirit!” and “Good Luck!” and “Good for Health!” There were several different types of incense sticks along with a sign that said “Get Your Picture Taken with the Touristville Spirit!” though written under it was “The Touristville Spirit is Not Taking Pictures Today”. Below the sign under a glass case were dozens of different kinds of fruit, a large stack of red credsticks with a sign that said “Lucky Credsticks!” along with packs of cigarettes and vape pods, a number of mini-bottles and different kinds of beer in a mini-fridge with a clear front. “The Touristville Spirit Loves Offerings of Beer, Liquor and Smokes Too!” read another sign. “Hey Yang,” said the teenage ork, “How’s business?” Yang leaned heavily against his table which sent his prayer beads swinging slightly. “Booming, no thanks to you,” teased Yang, with a smile, “The fruit is moving slow but the cigs, liquor and beer are real sellers. Not sure how long selling liquor will last with the new store going up and I’m not sure how the plushies will go with the new look.” Yang hooked a thumb to a plush doll of a dark skinned ork in a green t-shirt and blue shorts. “Kids like bright colors,” he said, “Dark clothes don’t sell as well. And don’t let Julie see you with those.” Yang motioned to the nearly burned down cigarette and beer in his hand. The teen killed the beer, dropped in into a recycling bin and stubbed out the cigarette on a kitschy ash tray. “If she doesn’t like it when I change she shouldn’t have done that new ritual,” said the teen, “Besides, neither of these are bad for me.” Idah’s ears perked up at the word “ritual” but he said nothing. At first he was wary because of “toxic spirits” but all of this was so strange. All of the tourists that walked by the tiny kiosk seemed fine with it. “How did you even pick up the habit?” asked Yang. “Kenji,” grumbled the teen, “It turns out he used to smoke when he was young.” “Is he that elf from the party?” asked Yang, “The one that sat with you, Julie and Fuzzy?” “That’s him,” said the teen, “We made a kind of a trade and this is one of the side effects. Anyway, these filters don’t degrade. I don’t want to use them if they’re going to last for decades. Can you get ones that do?” Yang shrugged. “Sure, I guess,” he said, “I think it’s good to experiment at your age. Do some stupid things. Get in trouble.” Chip grinned mischievously. “So long as you don’t get caught by the cops,” he said, “Remember, they don’t like orks much.” Idah thought it was odd that one ork had to remind another ork that cops didn’t like them much and briefly wondered if the teen was some sort of ork poser. That didn’t make sense though. He was pretty sure that posers were universally hated. “Good advice, thanks,” said the teen. Yang finally noticed Idah and then looked back to Chip. “Who’s your friend?” he asked. The teen shrugged. “Some guy I met,” he said, “He looked down. We’re about to get a meal.” “Nice of you. You going to the usual place?” “Yeah.” Yang smiled. “Mind if I send some people your way?” he said, “Vice moves but the fruit doesn’t at these prices unless they meet a certain someone, you know? I don’t want to have to cut my prices.” The teen looked back to Idah, lips pursed and then once more to Yang. “Send them in twenty?” he asked, “I’ll get an order of food in. Maybe talk to Auntie Liu if she’s here too. Kenji looked at the money I made over the summer and I want to do something with it. I might as well make a little extra. Float me a little? It’ll be worth it.” Yang rubbed his chin, his face skeptical. “Depends on how much,” he said, “Things only just started to pick up and I donated at the party. Most of my creds are tied up in what I’ve got here. So if you help me move this fruit...” “Twenty then, yeah,” said the teen. “I’ll see who I can whip up,” he said, “Thanks a lot.” “And for a pack of cigarettes,” said the teen, “As an advance.” Yang’s smile turned into a scoff. “You don’t have enough in your pack?” he asked, “Or walk literally a hundred feet to go get them? I know you’re fast.” “But it wouldn’t be from you.” “You’ll get yours,” said Yang, “Don’t worry, but you already get enough freebies.” The teen sighed. “Had to try,” he said. “It’s good that you do,” said Yang, “Maybe one day you’ll get better at it.” Idah left with the teen feeling very confused and they wended their way into a restaurant named “Eighty-Eighty Tastes of China”. It was a nice place and busy to be sure- Far nicer than the restaurant that he’d gotten the meal from and way too classy for Idah. It was busy too, with about a dozen people waiting around for their turn to get a table. The teen caught the eye of a hostess behind a podium after someone else made a reservation. She was an orkish lady of Chinese descent, pretty but harried looking with a round face, green eyes, dark hair pulled back into a tail and a smart looking red dress. “Can I get a table?” asked the teen. She looked dubiously at the bottle of beer in Idah’s hand but said nothing. “Two?” she asked. “Yeah,” said the teen. Her eyes unfocused and her contacts briefly lit up as she checked reservations in AR. “There’s a half hour long wait,” she said, “Also we also have a policy against outside food or drink. I’m sorry but you’ll have to take that outside.” She nodded to Idah’s bottle of beer in his hand. Oh,” said the teen, “But I didn’t get it from outside. I got it from over there.” The hostess looked confused until the teen pointed to a statue of a dog in the center of the room and the offering plate underneath it. She looked back to the teen, obviously non-plussed. “That’s for Chip, the Touristville spirit,” she said. “I know,” said the teen. The woman squinted at the teen and then her eyes widened in recognition. Then she bowed her head a few times before him. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know who you were,” she said, her tone embarrassed. “It’s okay,” said the teen, “I have a new look. “Of course,” she said, much more agreeable now, “I’ll find a table for you. Just one moment.” She rushed away and a few waiting customers looked annoyed but said nothing. Thirty seconds later a single troll, a cook by the look of his dress, came through the double doors of the kitchen with a small table tucked under one of his arms. He placed the table as close to the offering plate as possible and chairs had to be procured from tables that weren’t using them with apologies. “Right this way,” she said. She led Idah and the teen to the new table. Before she left the teen procured an orange from his messenger bag and handed it to her. She smiled at him, thanked him and left. Then Idah and the teen sat down at the table. “Are you some sort of bigshot or something?” asked Idah. The teen pursed his lips and thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Maybe?” he said, “I don’t think about it like that. People just like me.” Idah looked to the side and saw an offering bowl near a large and stylized statue of a dog. The bowl was heavily laden with all the things from the kiosk: Half a dozen types of fruit, red credsticks, packs of cigarettes and vape pods, mini bottles of liquor and there was even a small mini-fridge with a clear front that kept beer cold. A few sticks of spent incense on simple wooden trays lay near the bowl. “Is that normal?” asked Idah. He waved his hand towards the heavily laden offering bowl and mini-fridge near the dog statue. “No,” said the teen, “It’s new.” Idah frowned as the teen failed to understand him. He meant everything, not just the mini-fridge. He was very interested in its contents though. But he decided to go with the flow to keep from offending his current meal ticket. “Yeah, it doesn’t seem uh…Traditional…” said Idah. “Nope, it’s not,” said the teen. “Is that for the Touristville spirit or something?” “Yeah.” Idah pursed his lips in thought. “He’s not a toxic spirit, is he?” asked Idah. The teen frowned at Idah and suddenly Idah remembered that not all people thought all spirits were toxic spirits. “No,” said the teen, “He’s not. You’d know if he was.” Idah shifted uncomfortably in his seat and there was a pause as a waitress came by. She distributed menus. Real ones, not AR menus, Idah noticed. Only really nice placed that that. Then she took drink orders and left.
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Jul 11, 2021 14:48
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“How do I know the difference?” asked Idah, who quickly added, “Because I don’t know. I uh…I think maybe I was told some wrong things.” The teen gave Idah a long look and thought about it. “Well, what do you think you know?” he asked. “They’re evil terrorists,” said Idah, “And they kill people.” “For the toxic practitioners that’s mostly right,” said the teen, “It’s more complicated than that but not by much. The spirits tend to follow the practitioners.” “Glad I didn’t get that part too wrong at least.” The teen shrugged good-naturedly and Idah was pleased that he hadn’t permanently soured the conversation with his host. “So if he was one of those kinds of spirits…” said Idah, slowly, “Then he wouldn’t be a local tourist attraction.” The teen nodded and Idah smiled at finally getting something right. “The local spirit is a healing spirit,” said the teen, “He takes care of people in his community and the people who come into it who are hurting.” “That sounds all right,” said Idah. “You think so?” asked the teen. Idah had to think about it for a while. He didn’t fully trust himself. Just because he’d been wrong didn’t mean that he wasn’t wrong again. “As long as he helps people I don’t think he’s a bad spirit,” said Idah. The teen smiled at Idah. “I’m glad you think so,” said the teen. Then he reached past the offering plate, opened the mini-fridge and pulled out two beers. He handed a beer to Idah and took one for himself. Then he raised the beer, neck extended towards Idah. “I’m Chip,” said Chip, “Your friendly neighborhood healing spirit.” Idah clinked his beer together with Chip’s purely out of reflex and he had a tiny crisis as he stared at the self-proclaimed spirit. Then he had another as he thought of how to introduce himself in this moment. Idah was a racist streamer handle of a probably defunct stream. He no longer identified as human or at least not as a part of his core identity. So after mulling it over he decided to use his real name. It was a name that no one had cared to ask about in a long time. It felt dusty as it left his lips. “I’m…Chuck,” said Chuck. “Nice to meet you, Chuck,” said Chip, “Let’s order something and you can tell me your story.” They ordered their food and had beers. Chuck, not Idah he had to remind himself, recounted his life. It was a life that no one had bothered to ask him about in a long, long time. He was raised in the metroplex of course, Snohomish specifically, among the old style government subsidized ranches. He did okay in school but nowhere near enough to get anything like a scholarship as competition for what little few scholarships there were was fierce. Then when he finished school he slipped into blue collar work like his dad and grandpa did. But the last few decades hadn’t been good to blue collar workers. In fact they’d been bad for a while now but things just kept get steadily worse. Chuck made sure to talk about automation because he didn’t trust himself to talk about orks and trolls taking jobs that humans used to have. Wages kept getting lower and the jobs became fewer and fewer. He and people like him kept getting squeezed and squeezed. His last living relative, his mom, died from a bliss overdose. All he’d had left in the world at that time was his girlfriend and his dog. Then when he couldn’t afford his apartment his girlfriend left him and he’d given away his dog to a friend. He skipped the descent into racist streaming and talked instead about his failed gaming streaming that he’d done primarily from a coffin motel. “And then I ended up here,” said Chuck, some minutes later, “I um…Heard about the teeth thing from a friend.” Chip nodded and was about to say something when he spotted several dozen people come into the restaurant with a searching look. “Hey,” said Chip, “You mind if I go see to them? It’ll only take like five minutes.” “Uh, sure,” said Chuck. “Thanks,” said Chip, “I’ll be right back.” Chip nodded and vanished in his seat without a sound. His coat, shirt, pants, boots and a single cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear all fell down without a person to fill the space. Seconds later Chip appeared in front of the crowd in his green t-shirt and blue shorts. The crowd of Chinese tourists clapped. He performed a few magic tricks. Not sleight of hand but actual magic. He disappeared and reappeared a few times and then held the hands of a particularly old orkish woman. He spoke to her and her eyes widened with delight. She spoke Chinese and they seemed to have a brief conversation despite speaking two different languages. He repeated this last “trick” a few different times, mostly on older people which seemed to individually delight them and confuse others. Pictures were taken and then the tourists dropped off their offerings of fruit, red credsticks and incense, though one of the younger people dropped off a six pack of beer in the mini-fridge. When the short show was over Chip strode over to the table he shared with Chuck, picked up his clothing, disappeared behind a door and came back, now changed into his previous clothing. He sat down at his chair and even found the cigarette which he tucked behind his ear. “I just got the translate spell,” said Chip, “Well, that and some others. A power boost too. But I don’t know how to incorporate translate into the act yet. I’d hoped that it would let me speak a different language but it just makes the person I’m touching understand what I’m speaking and vice versa. It’s a lot less showy than I hoped but it’s looking to be great one on one.” “You can do spells?” asked Chuck. Chip nodded. “Can they all do spells?” asked Chuck. “No. All spirits have powers,” he explained, “Things that only spirits can do. Some spirits can cast spells that directly relate to them. A lot of elemental spirits can shape elements similar to them. But only spirits of man can cast any spell. That’s me. The elemental spirits and the beast spirits are pretty limited in what they can cast. So they mostly just have powers.” “Okay,” said Idah, “What’s the difference between a power and a spell?” Chip shrugged. “Mostly powers don’t make me tired,” said Chip, “While spells do, but not always. Magic is complicated and has its own rules that only makes sense within itself. Honestly it doesn’t matter that much unless you’re a spirit or a summoner or really into magic.” Chuck nodded and was thankful that he didn’t have to know the difference to keep the conversation going. Then he pointed to the mini-fridge and Chip nodded. The top popped the instant it left the fridge. “Honestly I’m feeling outclassed by automation too,” said Chip, “I mean I’ve never worked with teeth specifically but automation puts me to shame. On a good day I help a few dozen people. Right now I’m just helping people who’re showing up and who I think need help. A lot of people have been panicking while they wait for medical care or right after. Some people are volunteering but we don’t have near enough people. I don’t really know what to do.” Chuck nodded sympathetically. It was odd to consider but he felt a little kinship with the spirit. After all, if medicine got too good wouldn’t the spirit be out of a job too? “I think you’re doing all right,” said Chuck, “I was having the worst day of my life until you showed up.” Chip smiled. Food arrived. Conversation suddenly died as Chuck began to tear through his Kung Pao Chicken, though the “chicken” was soy of course. Chip pushed his food around on his plate. When Chuck was satisfied Chip had a question. “How good was the dentist thing, really?” asked Chip, “I haven’t really been able to ask yet.” Chuck burped and belatedly covered it up with his hand. “Uhhh…” said Chuck, “My teeth don’t hurt anymore and I got a nap. So it was pretty good.” Chip sighed and Chuck continued. “Then I talked to this weird person who talked like one of those guys from the old trids,” said Chuck, who laughed, “You know, one of those shadowrunners? They even called me chummer. They fed me so that was pretty cool but it’s like they stepped out of the last decade.” Chip’s gaze suddenly focused on Chuck. “You talked to who now?” asked Chip. “Uhhh…Some person who’s really into old trids?” asked Idah. “Did you happen to get a recording of them?” asked Chip, “That’s what streamers do, right? You um…Record things?” Chuck didn’t because he’d been eating someone else’s food at the time. But then he paused. Chip seemed intent. If it was important to him then he guessed he could go through the motions to make the spirit happy. He activated his commlink and hurried because he was down to one percent battery. Of course there was no stream and it was a good thing too. But then he checked the software on his eyes and he’d set up an automatic recording stream back from when he’d still been new to streaming. His eyes automatically recorded an hour and then deleted the footage. It was a lucky break. He had to go back a while but he found the conversation. Just in case he edited everything he said out as well as blurred out his stream which he saw through his eyes. Chuck had learned the basics of trideo editing. Three minutes later he uploaded the file to a sharing site right as his commlink died. “Got it,” said Chuck, “It’s on a sharing site. I can give it to you later if you want but my battery is dead.” Chip pointed to a jack on the offering bowl next to a credstick slot. Chuck laughed and plugged it in to charge. “Nice,” said Chuck, “I’d been at low power all day. It was seriously stressing me out. Getting power anywhere either costs or I have to walk for a while to find a free station. And those are almost always busy.” Chuck relaxed just a bit as he let his commlink recharge. “No problem,” said Chip, “Glad to help.” “You really care about shadowrunners though?” he asked, “Really?” Chip shrugged. “A friend of mine asked me to keep a lookout for anything weird,” he said, “It’s probably nothing but I want to make sure.” Chuck smiled and shook his head. Who was scared of last decade’s trid flick antiheroes? “Sure man, whatever you need,” said Chuck, “You gonna finish that?” Chuck pointed to Chip’s virtually untouched food. Chip pushed the plate to Chuck and he helped himself. This turned out to be a bad decision. Between a whopping four meals and several beers he was feeling severely bloated. The fortune cookies that came at the end of the meal were left unopened. The day had started off awful but it’d taken a real turn for the best for Chuck. But Chip couldn’t stay forever and he’d be right back to where he was. He stretched out the conversation for a few minutes longer until he got a full charge and he nursed his beer, but he couldn’t just stay here all day. “Thanks for the meal,” said Chuck. “Sure,” said Chip, “Is there anything else I can help you with?” Chuck was aware that when he left this place he’d be destitute and homeless again and because of that he probably wasn’t going to be treated like a person again for a long time. For a flickering moment he wanted to beg for help but even at his worst, he’d never begged or stole. Perhaps that would be a new lowest point. “Don’t got a job, do you?” he asked, hopelessly. It was silly to expect a job from a spirit, he knew, but… “Oh, yeah,” said Chip, “You said you did construction, right?” Chuck’s heartbeat quickened. “I did,” he said, “I do. If I can.” Chip nodded to himself. “We weren’t expecting the dentist office to take off so fast,” he said, “So everyone is incredibly busy. We were trying to expand the parking lot near the West End but that’s sort of fallen apart. We’re low on labor.” “Can’t just magic that up?” Chip laughed and shook his head. “That would be more trouble than it’s worth,” he said, “And it probably wouldn’t look good. Most spirits don’t make parking garages.” “You’re working with concrete?” asked Chuck. “Yeah.” “Well uh…I do concrete.” Chip pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and put it between his lips. He didn’t light it and instead rolled it around in thought. “Okay,” said Chip, around the cigarette, “Let me ask someone how we’re doing the hiring right now since very little of this is strictly legal.” Chip pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and put it on the table. Then he vanished again and his clothing fell like before. Chuck didn’t say it but “not strictly legal” things happened on a lot of his jobs too. The existence of OSHA or rather the lack thereof was a running gag in the metroplex. Minutes later Chip reappeared in his seat where his “street clothes” lay. He stayed in the green t-shirt and blue shorts for the moment. “We’re looking for people,” he said, “In fact we’re looking for a lot of people. We want professionals who work hard and do the job right, fast. I was told to ask how much experience do you have?” Chuck’s licked his lips in excitement. “I did construction for five years,” said Chuck. He’d work for any wage. Hell he’d work for three hots and a cot which was way better than what he was getting right now. “Okay,” said Chip, “The person who’s in charge is super busy so she put me in charge of hiring.” Chip lifted his chin with just a hint of pride at that. “Though you’ll still have to be okayed by the guy who runs the dig team,” he continued, “Mostly just to make sure that you know what you’re doing. We can spare one or two people to oversee to make sure everything is done right. I was told ten nuyen plus years of experience, max twenty nuyen. So since you have five years of experience how does fifteen an hour sound?” Even with all of the experience in the world Chuck would be lucky to make ten an hour. And that’s if he could get a job. He almost wished that he’d said he’d worked for more years but he chastised himself. He would earn what he’d earn and he’d show them that he could work hard. Chuck had been raised by his father and grandfather that hard work equals success. That hadn’t been true in a long time for most industries but some traditions died hard. Chuck could tell that this was probably Chip’s first time negotiating pay though. You didn’t just give away the game like that. “Oh, she also said to mention medical,” he said, “She said that was important. Everyone sort of gets dental of course but you’ll get to skip the line. We already have a ton of reservations. We’re buying a few autodocs for the doctor’s office. Which I guess is just another machine that makes me feel obsolete. It’s not hospital quality but it’ll cover most stuff. Plus I can help out too for what it doesn’t cover.” Never in Chuck’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he’d even get a whiff of medical care from his employer. “Also we sort of want to keep the money in the community,” said Chip, “So you’ll get half off if you work that day. We don’t really like it when money leaves the community.” Chuck almost frowned but kept his cool. Of course they were paying in scrip. Normally only corporations made their own money, normally used by wageslaves and only redeemable at corporate stores. But he’d heard of it being used by smaller companies as well. Still, scrip and medical wasn’t terrible. But then he remembered that Chip didn’t seem to understand how to negotiate and so he asked. “That’s uh…Not scrip, is it?” he asked. Chip frowned in confusion. “Uhhh…What’s scrip?” “Money that’s not nuyen,” said Chuck. Chip shook his head. “No, we pay nuyen,” said Chip, slowly, “I didn’t even know that there was other kinds of money.” Chuck leaned back in his chair and thought for a while. This was beyond a good deal and he wondered what the catch was.He’d do it no matter what. Fifteen nuyen was fifteen nuyen, but while he tried to find what wasn’t being said, Chip fretted openly. “Is it not enough?” asked Chip. “What?” asked Chuck, “No, I’m…I mean, I…” Chuck tried to think of how to say what he was feeling but he wasn’t good at that. So he just went with his gut and the words tripped out. “For fifteen nuyen an hour, medical and half off…Something immediately occurred to Chuck. “Wait, is beer half off?” he asked. Chip shrugged. “I was told everything,” said Chip, “And beer is part of everything. So…Yes.” Before, Chuck had been happy and grateful for the work. But at the mention of half price beer, he was enthusiastic. Chuck extended his hand over the table. When Chip offered his hand, Chuck shook it vigorously. It didn’t matter what the catch was or who he’d have to work for. Getting paid well, being taken care of and kicking back at the end of the day at the bar with cheap beer was a dream come true. It was all that Chuck really wanted out of life. Well, all of that and his dog back. That was the actual dream. “You needed some more guys, right?” asked Chuck, all smiles now. Chip nodded and Chuck reluctantly released his hand. He wanted to hug the spirit. “A dozen more,” said Chip, “Guys or girls or whomever. Do you think you can find them?” “Uh, yeah,” said Chuck, “If you’re paying that much with medical bennies and half price beer…And half price other stuff I guess…Then you’ll have zero problems.” Chip smiled around his cigarette. “Can I trust you to find them?” asked Chip, “Because I don’t know anything about construction and everyone else is busy. I need to get back to helping people too.” This raised Chuck’s eyebrows. “You want me to hire?” he asked, incredulously. “Yeah,” said Chip, “You can stay here and call people in. I’ll check back now and again.” Chuck looked down at himself. His “gently caress Communism” hoodie was ratty and smelled awful. In fact he smelled awful. “Look uh…Chip?” he asked. “Yeah?” “Uhh…Look,” he said, suddenly embarrassed, “No one is going to believe that I’m hiring for ten to twenty an hour with medical bennies and half price beer. The deal is too good to believe with just me saying so.” “It is?” asked Chip. “Yeah,” said Chuck, seriously, “And I’m not dressed for it, you know? I mean, I don’t need a suit or nothing but I don’t look the part. I need clean clothes. And poo poo, I need a bath. I need one bad.” Chip chewed on the tip of his cigarette in thought. Then he looked over to his offering plate, reached over and pulled it onto the table. It was absolutely full with fruit, smokes, mini bottles of liquor and credsticks in red instead of black. He even slapped the top of his mini-fridge full of beer though he didn’t move this over. And though Chuck didn’t see this, it was noticed by many, especially those who worked at the restaurant. “Would this convince them?” asked Chip. “Uhhh…Yeah,” said Chuck, “Yeah, I think it should.” Chip nodded. “Ask the waitress where you can get a shower,” said Chip, “Tell her I said to help you get one. Also ask her for a bigger table. Use the money on the credsticks to get an outfit and to get snacks. Make sure you call in people who are reliable, competent and trustworthy, okay? If you’re not completely sure then don’t call them. Otherwise the head of the dig team will just send them home.” Chuck nodded emphatically. He wasn’t doing the hiring. He was finding prospective people. People whose behavior would reflect on him. Even though he was only making fifteen an hour this was how he’d excel. He’d do it by finding the best people he could. That and working hard. It’s how he’d get noticed. He’d had this same line of thinking before and even though it had failed over and over again, he hadn’t waivered in his approach and he didn’t waiver now. Chuck would show Chip that he’d work hard. “You got it, boss,” said Chuck. Chip stood up, shouldered his messenger bag and nodded to Chuck. Then he remembered to put the cigarette in his mouth back behind his ear. “Oh, and no smoking inside the restaurant,” said Chip, “This is a nice place.” Then he was off and out of the restaurant. Chuck talked to the waitress. Minutes later he was in an unfinished home where he had a real shower. Not just a wet, disposable, coffin motel brand washcloth no bigger than his palm. He scrubbed his body pink. Clothes that he’d bought on the way were a bit baggy around the shoulders and arms as they were meant for orks, but he’d make them work. He came back to a larger table, offering bowl still there, commlink still charging, which he briefly panicked about as he’d left it behind. But it wasn’t gone. No one had touched it. And it was this fact that finally convinced him that this was real. That this wasn’t some elaborate Potemkin village. The illusion shattered and reality came crashing in. It took him a few minutes to adjust to his new reality, which was reality itself. He didn’t understand it yet but he understood it well enough. When he finally came to grips he went through his old list of contacts. Most of those relationships were spent. A couch to sleep on for a night or two and a meal was all he’d gotten from most of them but it had been something. And some of those people had been orks, he realized to his shame. So he called them first as a way to deal. “Yo Marty,” he said, after dialing, “No wait! Don’t hang up. I’ve got work.” There was a pause as Marty responded, his tone cautious. “Hey, how many years have you been doing construction?” asked Chuck, “Ballpark estimate.” Marty gave his estimate and Chuck nodded. “How does sixteen an hour with medical bennies and half price beer sound?” Marty laughed at him but Chuck was self-assured. Not just at the laughter, but that Marty would be making a nuyen more than him. An hour earlier it would have made him angry and would have served as fodder for the stream. Now it seemed small. He took a look at the offering plate full of fruit and smokes and mini bottles, then the mini-fridge itself. Then he sent an invitation to his stream which Marty reluctantly accepted. Then Marty saw the bounty. “Yeah, thought you might say bullshit,” said Chuck, “But this is real poo poo. Look, you let me sleep on your couch and fed me when you didn’t have to. I appreciate that. I know you know your poo poo. I know you’re reliable. I know you’re all right. I don’t forget. You need work? I’m putting together a crew. We’re working on a car park expansion.” Chuck listened and nodded along. “Yeah,” he said, “I mean, they’re not corp loaded, but the corps don’t pay poo poo. These are nice people. I want to do right by them, you know? Like you did for me.” Chuck reached into the mini-bar and grabbed a drink. It didn’t twist off so he put the edge of the cap on the end of the table and was about to smack the top of it, but this was a nice place with a nice table that he probably shouldn’t gently caress up. Instead he pressed the edge of the cap to one of his cybereyes and snapped the cap off with a swat of his hand. It was an old party trick and probably not good for his eyes, but he wanted another beer and could afford getting the scratch buffed out now. “Yeah, I know it sounds too good to be true,” said Chuck, “That’s what I thought. Now I’ve got all of this in front of me. Look, I’ll ping the location and you just gotta trust me when you see where it is.” He sent the location data to Marty and skepticism rolled off Marty’s reply. “Yeah, that’s what I said,” said Chuck, “Ork Underground. Some place called Touristville. Yeah…No…Not the one in Redmond. This is Downtown Seattle. They do all right down here. And I mean all right all right, you know? I know you’re not going to believe it, but believe it. They…” And he thought back to the “shadowrunner” who he’d talked to. Who’d shared a half-eaten bowl of noodles when no one else would have given him a time of day. Chuck understood now. They’d been processing what this place was just like Chuck was now. And so he went with what they’d said. “Look, I know you don’t believe,” said Chuck, “I didn’t either. This looked too good. But these people got a rep. And as far as I can tell it’s a drat good rep. These are nice people. Like nice, nice. I can transfer you some funds if you’ll come down and talk. We’ll have snacks and catch up. Chinese food. Good poo poo. For real. Real meat on the menu. I’m telling you man. They’re not corp loaded. They’re better. Because they actually pay.”
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Jul 11, 2021 14:48
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Kenji gave Chip some karma, huh? I'm curious to find out what Kenji got in "trade."
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Jul 11, 2021 15:46
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Welcome Chuck!! Getting killed with kindness.
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Jul 11, 2021 16:18
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Chip having little echoes of Kenji and calling Mrs. Liu "Auntie" was delightful. Our boy has so much agency now.
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Jul 11, 2021 16:22
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I don’t think Kenji is the only thing influencing Chip’s new changes. Being a riot healer has to be taking its effect. This is a pretty cute conclusion overall. And hey, the gang gets to now be directly aware there’s runs placed on them.
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Jul 12, 2021 03:30
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Shock and Ozric - Sunday, August 26th, 2075 – After Midnight - Puyallup Barrens The war room was busy and devoid of distractions. It was just a plain white room with hardwood tables, upon which there were cyberdecks for hacking and rigger control consoles, or RCC's, which controlled combat drones. Hundreds of view screens buzzed with activity and ten people were hard at work at making war. Music played, all of it loud and angry with violent lyrics. Everyone heard something a little different. Some went with classics like rock, rap or techno, though Shock was a fan of post-hope industrial music, which were the salvaged sounds of dying machines. The ten people currently on duty all heard something different with no overlapping genres, the drumbeat was maintained at a steady rhythm that had been tested and optimized for war. That rhythm was heard by all. It kept them in sync like a drummer's cadence and propelled them forward. And it would only change when one of the senior members of the hacker collective adjusted the beat up or down to either increase or decrease aggression. This was the war room of the Reality Hackers, a Puyallup based gang of deckers and riggers. Though unlike most gangs, which were some form of hierarchy, this hacker collective was a direct democracy with some deferment towards seniority and skill, in that order. Of the ten conflicts that they were involved in, mostly as hired and wired muscle, four of those conflicts were considered "active". Over in Everett the Rovers took on The Scatterbrains and the Reality Hackers added both wheeled and flying drone support. It was a standard, short contract job and they expected the gang to surrender soon enough which would free up resources for other projects while netting a small windfall and important contacts with the Rovers. The Blood Mountain Boys were trying to push the 405 Hellhounds out of their territory in Renton. This was mostly matrix work to sabotage with their rides along with a few drone operated long rifles on slides that had been delivered by their flying drones to create sniper traps. Where one person was wounded and then the would be rescuers would be picked off. The slides and rifles were rigged with simple explosives as a precaution which made them into burner drones. Dealing with the motorcycle gangs or motorcycle clubs as they liked to be called was tricky and Shock didn't like targeting them. Unlike most of the Seattle gangs, the MC's had long memories. But the group had come to a consensus as they were pretty democratic, especially for gangs and the money had been deemed worth the risk. The other two ongoing conflicts were in Downtown Seattle. One with the Disassemblers to push the Halloweeners back into their portion of the docks. Shock was almost sure that the Disassemblers were being used as proxies by some corporation or interest group but money was money and that job paid well. Halloweeners were born to die and had functionally no memories when it came to who made war on them last because basically everyone did. Finally, some of the mercenary groups needed extra matrix and drone muscle. Ares' name was mud and no one would work with Knight-Errant, the Ares brand police force. Even a ton of mercs were turning up their noses at contracts that made Shock's head spin for all the zeroes they had. So the gang had been sub-contracted through a mercenary company. At present they were getting paid to deal with the protests and riots. Strictly non-lethal, which was weird for the Reality Hackers during times like these but at this point more dead bodies would just mean more burned down buildings. Corps and the mostly corp run state played their own games where they balanced overt violence with secret violence. But so long as they paid, money was money. Each conflict represented a working group and members could roll from one area to another as each conflict heated up and roll away as they cooled down. At the moment seven of the ten on duty were gunning down Halloweeners and spraying blood and clown style greasepaint all over the docks while the Halloweeners attempted to use mostly fire based weapons to take on the dissasemblers. It was easy money as the Reality Hackers did drone flybys as air support to which the Halloweeners had little response. Shock wasn't part of this as he was the sole person handling the protests and riots at the moment and he had the dubious and also unpaid position of keeping watch. It was mostly playing nanny to their in-depth defense network of cameras, sensors and pop-up turrets though as the gang war initially kicked off they'd picked up stakes and moved to a particularly dilapadated section of Puyallup. During times of conflict, secrecy was their best defense. If anything did need immediate help a simple call would bring the other nine to his work station at a time with drones diverted to do violence, cyberdecks ready to gently caress up anything and everything electronic and if that failed, disposable Puyallup muscle on call to bleed and die for them, all hired and paid through proxies to maintain anonymity. If there was a real emergency, the other ten gangers upstairs who were off duty getting high, eating, making GBS threads, loving or sleeping could be called up in a pinch. Though you didn't want to be wrong about that poo poo because a false alarm would piss absolutely everyone off. Ozric rolled over to Shock's station. The gang member had half of her head shaved, her hair dyed gold with silver highlights which matched her gang jacket and pants. A green circuit board tattoo occupied her shaved half and it would occasionally strobe neon for one reason or another, or for none at all. Her face was plain and ubaugmented save for her eyes which were chrome like his and she could probably do with a bit more padding on her body as she was fairly skeletal. Even Shock had told her to get more fuel in her, which was what Reality Hackers referred to as non-VR food. But she had the lobes and the guts and an unhinged enough attitude for this line of work. She wasn't shy about using hot sim even though on a long enough timeline you would stroke out. The brain just couldn't handle it. Shock respected that as she was a fellow post-hope doomer like himself. Ozric greeted Shock with an emoji of a one and a zero mimicking a sex act appeared above her. Ozric was one of those girls that didn't let her emotions touch her face. Her emotions were portrayed almost completely through images. "Hey, want to gently caress later?" she asked, face impassive. Her voice was easily heard through the music as it automatically lowered when one of the other gang spoke in close proximity or yelled loud enough. She couldn't be heard otherwise. The girl's voice was inflectionless and quiet save for the rarest of occasions. Shock knew he wasn't much to look at either. Equally plain as her but he had the lobes to match hers. He'd gotten far more chromed out than her with full arms, an auto-injector that had taken up most of his stomach and intestines, cybereyes and of course, a datajack, though everyone at least had the jack that allowed a brain to control machines directly with a thought. But in the matrix or in personal VR constructs it didn't matter what you looked like. Ozric was not only a fantastic piece of rear end but she programmed fantastic pieces of rear end too. Face, body type, gender, metatype and even morphological shape was just a suggestion. If you wanted to be an anthropomorphic fox girl or fox boy or even just a fox or a dolphin or a fuckable burning star, you could do that. "I dunno," he said, "Probably." He tagged a few protesters waiving signs who gave cover to protesters he'd already tagged for property damage and assaulting the police. They thought their full masks, including the Know Shades, which helped defeat facial recognition were good enough. And they were. But one of the collective had cracked the protesters' gait obfuscation. Everyone walked just a little bit differently and what had been a largely unidentifiable mass of protesters were now being identified. He hadn't shared the process with the mercenary group of course. It was the Reality Hackers secret sauce and the collective shared with no one. "Let me upgrade that to a yes," she said, a kissy emoji appearing midair, as she attempted to capture his attention, "I programmed another me." "You did that last month," he said. He checked another screen. A fog had been slowly building in the area for the last twenty minutes and with the accompanying falling ash it obscured sight. He grumbled and internally lamented that this had been a bad spot as every few days the fog from recent acid rains rolled in. The combination of fog, ash and pollutants in the air severely reduced visibility. He dialed up from normal sight, to nightvision, from nightvision to infared, from infrared milimeter wave as he dialed up the spectrum. Nothing doing. He sent a message to one of the other collective for increased drone surveilance for the base but they were all busy gunning down Halloweeners to...He checked their playlist...Ride of the Valkyries. "This is Ozric 2.0," she said, confetti coming from a party popper emoji, "I've been analyzing the data from the previous few sessions. She's still not much for conversation on her own but I can direct. Been optimizing her all week just for you and me. She knows what you like even if I'm still fuzzy on that poo poo. Plus I can spawn infinite copies." His interest was peaked. Not just for the sex but to get a look under the hood at her programming. She was smart and not shy about experimenting. The deep reinforcement learning algorhythm from Ozric 1.4 had been pretty killer. "Anyone can do infinite copies," he said, as he feigned disinterest. "Not lovely copies, idiot," she said, "Hot sim optimized two-hundred percent fidelity copies of my best hot-sim self. Imagine a dozen of different looking me's going to town on whatever bitchmade shitcoded sims you can bring." Shock pretended to hold out as he thought. She was trash talking and she'd not only forgotten to use an emoji but her eye had twitched. Any hint of emotion meant that she'd try to impress him. Rivalry was not only good for jockeying for position inside of the Reality Hacker collective but also for his sex life. Meanwhile, his work station went ignored and he pushed away a few minor alerts as fog and ash continued to increased near the hideout. If anything was truly bad then the real alerts would fire off but until those fuckers got their K/D ratio up with the Halloweeners they wouldn't send poo poo to him. The cameras and pop turrets already here would just had to do. Besides, guard duty was a snap which is why it paid nothing. "I dunno..." he said, "You're a little low on fuel. Not sure if you'd last. Remember that time you passed out after not eating for a week?" "Giving a poo poo about my meat?" she asked, with a pout emoji, "You're not loving my meat. This poo poo is digital. You're the one and I'm the zero. It's fine. And besides. I eat...Sometimes." They'd had IRL sex exactly one time. It had been incredibly disappointing but Ozric had claimed she'd needed a baseline to gather more data for more engaging VR sex. Both of them had run out of stamina far before they were done. It was the decker's curse. Shock only exercised just enough to make sure the connections of his wired body to his meat body remained stable. He'd seen 'ware basically fall off other members' bodies more than once from atrophy. "Fuel is fuel," he said, "You should upgrade to the calorie injector like I did. Pretty much everyone does it now." A butt emoji materialized in air and farted at him. "That poo poo looks like cum," she said, "Cum in a canister." He laughed. She was right but it also didn't matter that she was right. It was a mix of everything that the body needed to survive. Fuel was fuel. Actual meals were reserved for VR. Newbies stopped eating altogether after getting the calorie injector but it turned out that stopping eating altogether decreased efficiency and wared on the sanity. While on the other hand, good VR food increased efficiency and reduced friction among the collective. He even had the data to prove it. One of the collective, dead and gone now, had been the best VR chef around and they still used his programs at every meal. "You don't eat it," he said, "You slot it into the injector. It's just fuel." "Which is in your stomach," she said, "A pint of cum in the stomach. If I wanted a pint of cum in my stomach I'd blow a troll." "In your mouth?" he asked, "Wouldn't fit." The two laughed. He with his mouth and her with a slapping knee emoji while her face stayed perfectly impassive. "Fine," she said, eventually, "I can get one...Maybe...Gotta save though. Upgraded my deck again. You know. Gotta optimize." Shock nodded. That made sense. Decks and RCC's were expensive. "Tell you what," said Shock, "I think there's still some meatspace food around here somewhere from the move. Max Capacity bit it a few months back but he had a stash of ramen." "Ramen is cool," she said, "I can down it quick." "I know. But I want a full twelve hour session after we knock off and I don't think you'll last without fuel," he said, "I'm talking narco algormythms, nootropic drugs, sex, food, violence, despair all in a steamy hot sim sauce. Better than loving real. We'll hook up our decks together and I'll give you enough data for months. I'll take you by the cyberdoc tonight so you can get topped off and we'll play all day tomorrow." A fanning hand emoji waved at her stony face. The half of her hair that existed blew in the wind and her wireless tatoo glowed neon like a blush. "poo poo, I was trying to convince you," she said, "And you're just playing hard to search. All right fry-boy, we'll gently caress up our brains together. All limiters off. You better not have a dirty deck though. I will gently caress you up if you give me anything." An emoji of two ghostly hands cocked a shotgun above her before disappearing. "We'll both do an anti-virus just in case," said Shock, "But if anyone's deck is dirty it's yours. Watch my station." She slid over on her plain rolling chair. If this wasn't war it would've looked like anything else but the Reality Hacker collective had read the data and come to consensus. Some individuality could be sacrificed in the short term for optimization. She'd be guided around on a slave pulled palanquin once again soon enough. Or she'd stroke out. She'd been pushing herself pretty hard lately on hot sim. "What're you doing again?" she asked. "Mercwork for the protests," he said, "Identifying and detaining." A yawning emoji appeared above her. "We have arresting powers," he said, with a grin, "loving weird to be on the other end but I wanted to experience the new while it lasts." "gently caress the police indeed," she said, and again she deployed the one and zero emoji. "Good money," he said, ignoring her, because she loved it, "I've mostly been downloading felporn onto their commlinks. We get a bonus for every hundred years we can make stick." Felony porn, or felporn for short wasn't pornography specifically, though much of it was. It mostly referred to anything dark and socially unacceptable enough by normies. The kind that a jury would turn off their brains off so the corps, the state or some interest group could win an auto-victory. It was part of the standard Reality Hacker toolkit for their enemies. A yellow question mark appeared over Ozric's head. "On individuals?" she asked. "Nah, collectively," he said, "And I gotta say that the felporn Knight-Errant has been giving the mercs and thus us to pin on the protesters and rioters is...I mean...It's not even vanilla." "Vanilla can be all right sometimes," she said, "Gotta explore the entire frequency, you know?" Ones and zeroes again. Though this time dozens of them. "No, I said it's not vanilla because this has no flavor," he said, "It's the same hundred files and I've been doing some digging. That's literally all they've got. It's just there to shock the normies in the courtroom if it goes to trial. If the courts weren't so corrupt and people weren't so stupid none of this poo poo would stick. It's not even real. It could've been defeated by pre-Crash deepfake detectors. Knight-Errant is barely even trying." She spawned an eye rolling emoji. "I know what felporn is, Shock," she said, "Don't try to teach me Basic. Of course they upload felporn on a motherfucker." "Wanna know what's hosed up though?" asked Shock. The question mark, still above her head, wiggled excitedly. "Sup?" she asked. "I watched a lot of it," he said, "You know, see if there's anything actually good. It's not, it's pure shock porn. The kind people like you and me saw before we were ten. But if you get past the shock part you start noticing poo poo. It's bland, not even vanilla. Pure sim gruel. Even the mass produced poo poo has at least a bit of style to it." The question mark deflated a bit as her interest waned. "So it sucks, so what?" she asked. "No, scan this," he said. He made a gesture to a screen and a snuff film popped up, mid murder. Both were hardened enough to this sort of thing that it barely rated a raised eyebrow. The question mark disappeared and an emoji of simple face, one eyebrow raised, finger under chin like a thinker's pose popped up. "I think this felporn is focus tested," he said, "All of the felporn has that made by committee feel to it. There's no art, no style. The kind of people who do this usually enjoy their work. This is as bland as an injector meal." She gave him a shrug emoji. "Okay, focus tested felporn," she said, "I hadn't thought about it before but I could see the corps or the state dumping that on someone." He gave her a real shrug back. "I'm just saying," he said, "It's bland as gently caress. Pure A/V gruel." "You sound like my grandpa when you say A/V," she said, her own voice as bland as could be, "Okay, then don't the gently caress police. Don't gently caress them because they're boring. Felporn is boring. Cops are boring. Courts are boring. The whole loving doomed meat world is boring. So you better not be boring tomorrow when you put my girls through their paces. I hate redundant data." "Don't worry about me," he said, "I'll debug the poo poo out of her." A heart emoji appeared over her head and an arrow went through it. "You say the sweetest things," she said/ "I do," he replied, "Now I'll get your fuel and when we knock off we can get that calorie injector installed." "Can it inject drugs?" she asked. Hundreds of question marks appeared over his head. He laughed, gently caress he loved this woman. It'd be a shame when she eventually stroked out and died or became a vegetable but he could just hack her deck and grab the Ozric 2.0 sexbot when that happened because she sure as poo poo wouldn't share the sourcecode. Giving up meat world sex for pure VR had been the best decision of his life. Especially after that punk show. The fuckers had broken his deck with their boots. He only hadn't retaliated because only losers got their deck smashed and he'd made sure to cover that poo poo up with his backup deck before they'd found out. Retaliating might have been caught and then he was out of the collective. Though the punk community and the rioters had a lot of crossover. Maybe he could make it look legit enough not to get noticed. He gave one last look towards the conditions outside of the hideout. Even thermals were struggling with the mist and ash. He mass messaged the entire collective with a priority alert as a gently caress you. His K/D ratio was lagging behind while everyone else was still having fun gunning down gangers. No way did they need seven people for an air raid on gangers. "Can it loving inject drugs?" he asked, rhetorically, a beat too late, "poo poo. Anyway, just watch over the protests and I'll tell you how to optimize your injector. Oh, and you're on guard duty until I get back and I just sent out a mass text because there's like zero visibilty. So they're all going to talk to you since you're the only one at the duty station. Sucks to be you." She gave him an angry face emoji at the last instant. And she gave him an actual scowl, so he knew he got to her. He saved that for later. "You fucker!" she exclaimed. Shock jacked out of the VR construct and pulled the three inch jack out of the chrome I/O port that was his datajack located on his left temple. To his left on a ruined couch in a ruined living room was Ozric, her body beyond emaciated. Sunken cheeks, zero breasts, no rear end, stick arms and legs. Her cybernetic eyes were open and didn't see the lovely meatspace version of the gang hideout located in the dumpster fire that was the real world. Plus she was drooling a little bit. At least she wasn't bleeding from the nose today. She'd had more than a few mini-strokes lately and only the nootropic, brain enhancing drugs kept her functional. He walked through the first story of the two story house, striding carefully over wires that laid haphazardly over the rotting floor. All was dark as the windows were completely blacked out. The best defense for the RH collective was secrecy and even Shock didn't know where he was. A few silvery insect killer drones that looked exactly like roaches save that they were chrome colored zipped underfoot as they kept the place insect free. Rot free not so much as he had to wend his way around holes in the floor. The upstairs where the server farm was nice and the outside of the place was reinforced with concrete and steel, but no one wanted to fix the first floor. After all, they spent little time in not just in the meatspace clubhouse, but meatspace in general. The kitchen was ancient and disgusting with loose grout so thick with dirt that they looked like dog turds and filth and ash had been caked onto basically every surface. If not for the drones it would have been infested by now ten times over and that was not good for the electronics. He reached into the fridge and grabbed one of over a hundred clear auto-injector meal cylinders. The inside of it was white, tasteless and had the consistency of semen he had to admit. But it's not like he chugged the stuff. Instead he popped open the auto-injector port in his stomach, found an empty meal cylinder near the drug tubes and popped it out and the fuel recharge in. The heads up display on his cybereyes showed an error message as he'd put it in upside down and he sighed before he flipped it, frowned as it still read upside down and then he flipped it once again. The auto injector on his HUD displayed green and he grumbled as he hated when he did that. Nutrients began to pour into his body almost immediately. Apparently his meat body had been hungry because he slotted out the newly emptied bottle fuel cylinder, reached back into the fridge and slapped it in. This time it read green automatically. Then he riffled through mostly empty cabinets and eventually found an ancient looking cup of instant soy noodles that looked only a few years old. He shivered at the idea of meatspace food. Over and over he'd told Ozric that meatspace food was for normies but she was cheap. Getting her to kick meatspace food was a mercy that she didn't fully appreciate. He had to use a bottle of water because the tap just spat ash colored bullshit if it even worked. Then he slapped it in a microwave and watched a single meatspace roach attempt to flee from the arrayed hunter-killer cybernetic roaches. They'd already devoured the insect before the cup beeped, his entertainment over. The food smell real and real was foul. Shock shuddered at the non-optimized fuel. He sat down next to Ozric in a room filled with eight other gang members but he only had eyes for her. As a precaution he dipped his cybernetic finger into the antique realmeal and read the temperature on his HUD via the sensors in his finger. Ten more degrees before it could be properly consumed without burning her mouth. But she did that pretty regularly anyway. Meat was just meat and you could ignore it in VR. Also he'd forgotten the utensils but Ozric normally chugged cup noodles in just a few seconds. He had no idea how she did it but she did. The girl was still a decker after all and getting your fuel down fast was the mark of a competent one. He walked back to the living room and with a groan of relief he sat back down on his couch next to her. Walking felt primitive. Then he considered something really depraved. If anyone was watching he wouldn't have, but he briefly killed the internal camera feeds and kissed her on his sunken cheek before re-enabling the feed. He'd miss her when she was gone but this was the life. When the meat died he could still gently caress her work in digital which was basically just as good. And maybe, just maybe, he could ask her to add conversation skills to Ozric 2.0. They could improvise with a little machine learning and it'd be like she'd never died. Just like a few of the other girls he'd dated before they'd died too. They'd given him their own Ozric 2.0's style sims as well. He'd wonder if his girls get along with the new Ozric 2.0 when meatspace Ozric flatlined. Each new girl added complexity to Shock's digital harem. Either way they'd eventually play nice. After all, that could be patched in with only a minimal loss of fidelity. Suddenly the front room exploded like thunder. Shards of what had been the hideout's street facing wall slashed the meatspace bodies of his fellow ganger collective. A datajack was severed and one fell to the ground. Since they were running hot sim instead of cold that meant a seizure instead of a concussion. The body twitched before being hit with something that made his chest explode and it knocked over the couch he sat on. It's twitches became weak as the world continued in sound and fury mode. Other Reality Hackers went down under the hail of wooden and steel shard-like knives, gunshots from some big gently caress-off bullets by the sizes of the wounds and worst of all, the destroyed datajacks which meant an insta-seizures as everyone here ran hot. Those that didn't die immediately jerked violently. And it all happened so fast that Shock didn't even move. This was meatspace poo poo. It wasn't real. Not really real like the matrix. The matrix was where the danger was. The gunshots swept right to left and came closer and closer and then Ozric's head was scooped off as the gunfire was walked towards him. Shock felt irrationally angry that some barbarian had come at him in meatspace and had not only killed his girlfriend but possibly his sim version of her too. Then his armed was ripped off by a weighty round, cup noodles sent flying into his face as his cybernetic armed violently pinwheeled across the room. He screamed as near boiling water scalded him before taking another shot in the thigh. Vision of the meatspace world darkened while his tech brightened his fading vision with error messages. They flashed red in his dying, cybernetic eyes. The world had seemed to tilt. He was on the wall for some reason. On the wall and covered in blood and hydraulic fluid. The auto injectors kicked in and just dumped everything into his system: Mind expanding nootropic drugs, coagulants to keep him from bleeding out, fast acting blood pressure meds to keep him from stroking out and of course, heroin based painkillers and good old meth based designer combat drugs. All of this was what barely kept Shock alive while everyone around him either died or had a seizure that would put them down for days. He was the only one who hadn't suffered from dumpshock, where someone's brain was violently kicked out of the matrix or VR instead of safely cycled down. "All you fuckers!" someone bellowed from outside, "Are loving dead! You declare war on The Spikes?! You die! It's that simple!" Shock moved his remaining hand away from the heavy pistol on his side. His meat guts, what was left of them, went cold. "Who the gently caress here hit The Spikes?" he asked the dead and dying, "Who the gently caress? We didn't vote on that. We didn't..." This was the first he'd heard about it. But then again, he didn't hear everything. The collective had factions and ran side businesses. Everyone did. But no one would have okayed conflict with The Spikes. They were the worst of the meatspace world because they were made out of so much loving meat and that meat rarely died. Even during the chaos of a general gang war, only the most insane of people would gently caress with The Spikes. So there was either a mistake or some rogue element in the collective had hosed up bad. Didn't matter. Half the gang was dead or dying. Gunfire started raining down from upstairs. Not from the pop turrets but from far smaller caliber weapons, he could tell by the sound. They were the people who'd been off shift. And Shock had no clue why the pop turrets weren't firing. He rolled under the bed, felt around with his hand and snatched Ozric's cyberdeck. He really hoped that she'd had something close to an Ozric 2.0 and wasn't just bullshitting. Her meatspace body dead but if he could salvage her sim, she wouldn't be data dead. She'd live as code forever. He jacked back into the VR construct, now alone. The pop turrets reported as functioning but they wouldn't pop out of their recessed on the gang's house which meant they couldn't get an angle to fire. Most of the drones were out on patrol and he called them back in to do battle, but it'd taken minutes to come here. Surprisingly, the Steel Lynx was still online in the outdoor garage. It was a drone that was about the size of a car, sleek and chrome with four legs that ended in wheels and it served as something between an armed technical and an ultralight tank. He did a weapons check and found the heavy machine gun to be locked and loaded. After hiding himself as best he could under the couch and with the roar of motorcycles on the way, Shock jumped into the Steel Lynx, all but becoming it to fight for his life.
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Jul 14, 2021 12:24
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Jul 14, 2021 18:43
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Valve got weird over the decades hunh
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Jul 14, 2021 18:54
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And so one of the biggest threats to Chip is in the process of being removed. Gross and hectic. Let’s see who prevails.
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Jul 14, 2021 20:07
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Trigger Warning: Killing in combat, cold blooded murder and a mock execution. Big Rita is not a good person. If you want to skip this chapter at any time then here is the summary. Big Rita and her prospects triumph, taking injuries but no casualties. All but one of the Reality Hackers are murdered. The final one, Shock, is enslaved in order to reform the formerly all human gang into an all ork and troll gang. A mock execution by Big Rita breaks what is left of his will so thoroughly that he will basically do anything Big Rita tells him to. All of the prospects murder in the heat of battle. They are forced to murder the survivors in cold blood. This breaks their will as well and serves as the most important step to becoming a Spike. Effects: Chip is not ID'd at the protest/riots due to the hole made in security. The gang war gets worse without a team of hackers and drone pilots to help put down the anti-corporate and anti-government aligned gangs. Ares is not only losing control of the streets but is seen losing control of the streets. The riots are worse as a result without government contracted gangs (with extra steps) and there is another round of burning in the Downtown area. Big Rita, Bottle, Fuckup, Fuckup Two, Deglove and Big Stump - Sunday, August 26th, 2075 – After Midnight - Puyallup Barrens The magical mist around Big Rita dissipated in seconds as she released the spell but the gas vents and tip of the barrel along her fully automatic, fully customized Defiance T-250 shotgun still smoked and rose as volcanic ash fell. This was the Puyallup Barrens. This was the place that Big Rita loved. No place better. No place harder. And she knew exactly how to greet it when she came home. With blood and death. Just like she'd been taught so long ago. She dropped the drum magazine, all thirty-two plus one troll sized rounds expended. These weren't normal shotgun rounds filled with shot, no. Instead she'd fired solid slugs that were more comparable in size to half a soda can than your average shotgun slug. And she'd fired all thirty-three of them more or less into the locations on the wall marked by her rust spirit. They'd easily penetrated not only the hideout and any unlucky occupants, but they'd also probably punched through the back of the hideout as well. With a command from her commlink which was wired to her shotgun, her smartgun system automatically ejected with drum magazine which thumped heavily onto the cracked and volcanic ash covered pavement. The smartgun system showed her the heat gauge and exactly how many more rounds she could fire before she risked warping the barrel. Perfectly within tolerances, just like she liked it. She reloaded and though she could have racked a round through AR she loved to do it by hand. She loved the sound it made. To her a newly racked round was like a bell that tolled the dead. She watched as the pop turrets on the house opened from their recessed areas and turned on her. Or at least they tried to as turrets hidden in the house began to grind and squeal before failing. She didn't even bother raising her shield. The rust spirit had not only dispatched the single lovely little spirit that the Reality Hackers could muster and done recon but it had ruined the automatic defenses that this little gang of matrix cowboys and drone pilots could muster. All save for one which she left to keep things interesting. She couldn't have all the fun no matter how much she wanted to. "All you fuckers!" she bellowed, "Are loving dead! You declare war on The Spikes?! You die! It's that simple!" It was a simple proclamation because simple was good, unambiguous and in this case, truthful. Most of her gear was old but well loved: Looted SWAT team armor, looted SWAT helmet, titanium tower shield, auto-shotgun and combat knife. It was all not just barrens ready but Crash ready. Beyond ruggedized and personalized. Tested and tested and tested again in battle after battle after battle. A kit that her fellow Spikes had kept for her for the ten years she'd been in prison. And that was good. But she had her focus and her focus was new. It'd been custom ordered. A present to herself for all of her years of good work in prison. When an awakened initiated it meant learning and understanding a deep truth. And to Big Rita there was nothing more true than murder. So her first initiation had been simple but profound. It hadn't taken stacks and stacks of bodies to learn the secret. It had only taken one kill done in the right way. A method that she was going to share tonight. Her chosen reward for that deep truth had been the metamagic of centering which helped her resist magical drain. Centering was a popular choice for the awakened because it helped resist magical drain but there was a catch. To center oneself one needed to proclaim their truth in a way which made them obvious. It's why she only centered herself after sneaking in under cover of her mist and aided by her rust spirit and luckily that spell hadn't taxed her because putting on a stim patch in full armor was a pain. Now that she proclaimed her truth to center herself, she could cast all drat day until the deed was done and the focus she'd had made just for her was dark and augmented her centering. Most people didn't center themselves on such a profound truth as hers and expressions were usually less deadly if not deadly at all: Some danced, some sang, some chanted, some carried staffs or wore bright clothing. It could be anything so long as that truth was felt by the awakened and proclaimed to all, even if those who witnessed the truth couldn't understand it. Her centering focus was necklace made of the finger bones of her murdered enemies and there were many of them. The focus activated and deeply augmented her ability to resist drain during the proclamation of her intent to murder. Not just to kill. She wasn't just a killer. Killers were a cred a dozen in the metroplex. Big Rita was a different breed. A murderer to her very core. The finger bones seemed to wail and shake at her proclamation and she smiled mirthlessly under her full helmet. Now she could cast some heavy spells all drat day. Not only was she a murderer, she made others do it too because at some point you only really advance in your mastery of your chosen profession by teaching others. And that's how her power progressed these days, magical and otherwise. It came in the teaching of her truth. "Prospects!" she roared, "Get in there and get some loving blood on you! Axes only unless I say so!" From down the street came the roar of motorcycles. They'd been waiting on her. Them and just a little further back, half a dozen full members of the Spikes, though they waited in reserve. They weren't strictly backup. They were here to cart back the loot once the prospects either won or died in the process as well as to kill any reinforcements that showed up. To make it just the tiniest bit easier for the prospects and because she loved firing her shotgun after a decade in prison she turned around to the fence to the yard that she'd leapt over in the mist. She fired a few shotgun shells into the wall nearest it to loosen the fence and then turned around and then lobbed a few more into the front door. It wasn't enough to totally destroy anything but this was the prospect's first night out with her. A troll's power was in strength and momentum. Weakening obstructions would get them killing all the faster. She spied flashes of gold and silver in the windows on the second floor of the old duplex that was the gang's hideout. The gangers fired submachinegun rounds and those rounds fell on Big Rita like rain. The black, modified SWAT armor and tower shield made sure that the low caliber rounds had zero effect beyond some minor bruising. This rain of bullets bounced off her and what stayed in the armor would be shown to the prospects later and they'd learn how to dig every bullet out. It would show them what a full Spikes member went through when they went to war. Bottle as she remembered him was first through the fence. His motorcycle, troll sized with his full troll weight upon it smashed through the fence with ease and instead of stopping in the yard he kept riding, spike tipped battle axe whirling in the air. Defying Big Rita's expectations he didn't stop in the yard but lowered his battle axe like a lance and rode up the stoop and into the house. Ancient concrete was churned up and sprayed from the back wheel dirt under the heavy tires and then he crashed through the door. As more gunfire rained down on her from above and impacted her shield she couldn't help but double over in laughter. She leaned on her riot shield like one might lean on the shoulder of an old friend after a good joke. "Indoor motorcycle cavalry charge," she said, "loving glorious." Beyond the door the sickening crunches and snaps of bone and screams of pain suddenly silenced. The roar of the motorcycle echoed throughout the house came with the war whoop of a badass trog in the making. Possibly even a Spikes member if he kept this up. Other prospects rode into the lot on their motorcycles but didn't ride inside. The first one ran over the downed fence with ease but the second one hit the fence, lost his balance and fell down at speed. A third prospect had been following too clos behind ran over his torso and the second prospect howled in pain. "Hey fuckup!" she snapped at the downed prospect, who she internally named Fuckup, "Get the gently caress up!" Then she pointed to the troll who'd ran over Fuckup. The bullets paused for a moment as those upstairs reloaded. "And you!" she snarled, at the third prospect, who she also thought of as Fuckup, "Fuckup Number Two! Don't run over warriors in your loving warband! Don't follow so close behind someone else's ride! You still in loving preschool or something?!" Fuckup slowly got to his feet as he used his axe to stead himself. More gunfire began to fall though thankfully on her as she was here to be the biggest and most obvious threat. She barely paid attention to it other than to keep her shield in the way. Just like riding a bicycle. "You're a full fifteen seconds behind first into the breach!" she bellowed, "Missed out on a quarter of the loot! You'll get your share of the next quarter if you impress me and right now you're not impressing me! Now get the gently caress in there and get some blood on you that isn't yours! I want axes in skulls!" More gunfire erupted from the first floor of the house, not targeted out those outside but within. With Big Rita screaming insults and encouragement both, the prospects ran inside towards that gunfire which Big Rita nodded in approval at once they were out of sight. These were good Puyallup stock. They weren't cowards. As the prospects ran inside she strode in after them to witness how they fought. There was a method to her chaos. So simple that even a prospect could understand once explained. If anyone besides Big Rita was shooting with a gun then they were an enemy. And the sound of a fully automatic troll sized shotgun was unmistakable. Less like chatter and more a roar. A good prospect who only had two emergency shotgun slugs in a double barrel would home in on anyone firing more than twice and ideally they would kill them. So it created a simplicity to the battlefield for her as yet unblooded warriors. If they hosed up something this simple they weren't Spikes material. Big Rita's boots crunched concrete underfoot as she holstered her shotgun. With her free hand she concentrated and formed ambient chaos and entropy which settled into her palm. It swirled for a moment before she gave it shape and it extended into a spike, its color a pale, sickly blue. The blade would not only pass through armor to kill anything organic, but it could be swung around inside with ease which made close combat much easier for the already large trolls in the house. And speaking of close combat, there were those sounds inside and not far away. Screams or rage and pain. The bark and chatter of gunfire. These were sounds that she loved. As familiar as an old lover. She followed a path of destruction inside caused by the motorcycle. To her left was a living room filled the dead and the dying. The danger here was low but not nonexistent. Deckers and drone pilots could feign death and cause mischief though she knew where the most obvious threat was coming from. She'd have the prospects circle back here once the fighting was done. Then she stepped over two dead bodies, obviously dead and parts of them obviously crushed under the wheels of the motorcycle and into a new room. Mingled screams and the sounds of combat came from the kitchen. She caught Bottle, still astride his motorcycle the roar of a motorcycle, wheels streaked with gore. He dodged automatic gunfire from an enemy ganger at close range as he accelerated forward. Then he whipped around with his back tire and the force of the tire's spin sprayed ancient fragments of kitchen tiles at his foe which the enemy ganger shielded himself from. This made his gun fire wildly into the air as they tried to cover their face with their gun without thinking. In this moment of weakness Bottle used the momentum of his spin, raised his axe and buried it into the side of the ganger, almost cleaving him in half. She nodded at this, satisfied. Bottle had passed the first part of his test for tonight. He dismounted and left to find more foes near the direction she came from. Big Rita kept her shield up as she moved through the hideout, almost a moving wall. She came upon what looked to have once been two rooms, their walls knocked down sometime ago. Here is where the other three of her prospects fought three gangers who had no close combat weapons at all, only pistols. She set her shield behind her, effectively guarding their backs and evaluated them as they worked. Big Rita ignored the screams for now and focused on their form. Fuckup only swung his axe downwards like he was splitting wood. Fuckup number two swung sideways like he was swinging a bat. And the yet unnamed prospect in her head swung so wide that it threatened to hit his fellow warriors in training. This was easy to do in a melee like this and she thought about how to best drill them later. It was like she hadn't trained them for three days at all. It was sloppy work which is why she'd chosen the Reality Hackers, an all human gang to blood her prospects. Real combat was a different animal than sparring though so if any survived and thrived she'd just drill them harder. But eventually, unskilled troll strength and rage won out over the smaller humans. Fuckup, who was still injured, cleaved an arm and a good part of the torso off a screaming ganger. The axe got stuck and Fuckup placed a boot to the dying ganger's torso and kicked him off his axe, blood flying, innards now out. Fuckup number two managed to cleave the other completely in half with a swing from his bat and had much the same results save that there was nothing to stick to. The yet unnamed prospect in Rita's mind swung and swung and swung, missing each time to a not all that nimble ganger who couldn't even fire from the fury of Unnamed and his axe. The two Fuckups attempted to rush the last ganger but Rita held up her blade. The sheer animal terror that rolled off something composed of death and chaos stopped them cold. This was a mercy to them. The Unnamed swings were wide enough and hard enough to severely injure or kill one of the prospects since he was so wild. The ganger managed to squeeze the trigger in a panic. Gunshots ran out as the ganger missed and drywall and boxes full of electronic parts were scattered as the troll bellowed, wearing himself out more than the ganger ever would do to him on his own. Big Rita slammed her shield into the floor to keep her wall stable for the moment, strode towards the fight, dodged Unnamed's axe as it went wild once again and with a short, efficient slash, her blade passed through the ganger. His clothing and armor were completely undisturbed. No physical force acted upon him so he continued his last movement. The blade was completely ethereal and only damaged the flesh. The ganger didn't cry out from her diagonal slash. He only fell like a puppet whose strings were cut. He bounced off the wall as his momentum carried him with a first wet slap and then hit the ground with a second wet slap as rotting, liquefied flesh ran out of his clothing. He still had a shape for now but what the blade had touched had rotted on contact for the blade only destroyed what it touched. This action, while instructive, also satisfied her truth. She needed to murder at least one person after her declaration so as not to threaten her magic. Making truth into a lie wasn't good for a centered awakened. "The gently caress!" Unnamed screamed at Big Rita, "I had him!" He raised his axe, eyes wide and wild, still in the fight but deprived of his kill. This was normal for someone's first attempted murder and she even would have forgiven a swipe or two of the axe before putting him down. With his low level of skill she probably wouldn't even have to kill him to do it. But what wasn't forgivable was the lack of blood on him. Plus she was still waiting for the Steel Lynx to join the fight. She wondered if it would happen at all. "You were slow and sloppy and your swings put your fellow warriors at risk," she said, "I want quick kills." There was a thump from outside and a cry of pain. She'd been waiting for a runner and raised her pale blue spike to point at the wall. "There's your kill," she said. He shook his head to clear some of that battle haze and attempted to go out of the room past her shield. But Big Rita placed a hand on her shield to stop him from moving. He looked at her, obviously angry and again she pointed at the wall with her spike. "You're losing him," she said. He turned around and raised his axe at the wall to hack it down. "No," she said, "That's too slow. You're big. What do you do?" Unnamed was slow on the uptake but quick with the violence as some who joined the MC tended to be. So it only took him a few seconds to understand what she asked of him as she pointed at the wall with her spike and she lowered it as Unnamed took a few steps back. He bellowed in anger, ran headlong into the wall and it buckled but didn't give with the first charge. Then he ran to the other side of the room lowered his shoulder again, smashed through the wall and kept going as the ancient wood shattered under the force of an armed and armored troll. "Attaboy!" she called into the night, momentarily satisfied, "You punch through! Now get some blood on you." She shook her head in exasperation as she turned away and hoped that the lull in the battle had given the survivors some time to set back up again to give her boys a better fight. Sure these two had blood on them and Bottle had his share too, but the more the better. "You two go upstairs and clear everyone out," she said, "I'm going to find Bottle and see if he wants to take on the Lynx." She pulled her shield out of the hole she'd created for it in the ground and became a walking wall again. Fuckup one and two followed for a short time and then squeezed upstairs, feet crunching as the wood buckled and broke though neither fell through. She found Bottle who was in the living room and searching for more people to kill, axe out and red. With a salute of her blade, she acknowledged him and his deed. He did the same which Big Rita appreciated. Even in combat one must show respect once it was given. It looked like the bottle treatment had worked on him after all. "I'm going outside to take on..." she began. Heavy machinegun fire ripped through the living room as suddenly both Big Rita and Bottle were on the receiving end of what she'd just given to the Reality Hackers a minute earlier. She dismissed her spike, threw up her shield and tackled Bottle to the blood soaked, body strewn ground. "Get your shotgun!" she screamed into his ear, "Two shots into its face then fade! I'll hit it from above!" She left Bottle the shield on its side and scrambled towards the stairs as heavy fire thundered overhead. Blood sang in her ears and she had zero idea if Bottle had heard her but if he didn't he could improvise or die. She crawled towards the stairs and ran up them as they were being chewed up by gunfire, barely missed by the blind fire of the heavy machinegun. She summoned a different spike this time. The blue spike had been for organic material. The red spike was for inorganic material. Her two prospects were upstairs having just finished off two more gangers. She bowled past them and towards the end of the hall. The world was blood and cordite and screams. Blood thundered in her ears and sang in her veins. Just like she'd taught Unnamed, she charged the wall at the end of the hallway. A troll could learn to use their words, they could learn finesse, they could be intelligent, they could be anything they put their mind and body and soul to, but when a troll encountered a problem, their true strength was their strength. Their ability to overwhelm and punch through their problems. Big Rita punched through the wall, knees up to her chest to either come down on the Steel Lynx or absorb the shock when she fell to the concrete. The Steel Lynx was there, barrel blazing. This model was shaped like miniature tank, its profile low, its wheels on protruding legs, its color black and sleek. And it was directly under her. Big Rita whooped in joy and smashed booted feet into its top before slamming her red, ethereal spike down into it, fist following as she hit steel hard enough to feel her hand go numb. With an effort of will she easily fought through the pain of aging joints and kept her focus on the spell to keep it from disappointing. Rust blossomed from the machine as she ruined its innards. With two cuts, left and right the machine screeched and fell silent. She hopped off it, dismissed her blade and just in case it had any fight left in it, she grabbed the Steel Lynx, teeth clenched, muscles straining as she rocked it once and then flipped the half-ton, miniature tank onto its back. The drone was good but the drat things were like turtles. Once flipped they were functionally immobilized. After this, Big Rita had a quick breather. Ten years ago in her prime this wouldn't have even winded her but she was feeling her age. But as her body slowly decayed it increased the magical power of the entropy mage. So at least there was give and take. Then she dismissed her red spike and walked into the now ruined hideout. All the prospects were there and she was satisfied to see that they all had blood on them. Some was theirs some belonged to others. Unnamed clutched his arm in pain. Something had not only shredded his armor up to the elbow but taken several layers of skin with it. It wasn't a full degloving as his fingers were untouched and he still had strips of skin left on his arm but it was close enough for her to finally give him a name. "Monowhip?" she asked. Deglove nodded. "Fucker sprang it on me," he complained. "They do that," she said, "Good job, Deglove." Monowhips were always a problem for trolls. It didn't matter how much meat you had if a weapon a single atom thick could slice through it with ease. Spikes armor offered protection against monowire but honestly it was fairly meager. Then she looked to Bottle who had her shield. It was wildly deformed by gunfire. HMG would have punched through it so he must have taken some glancing blows. With a nod of approval she placed a hand on his shoulder. Bottle smiled and they all the prospects looked to one another as they understood that the fight was over. Immediately they began to laugh with relief. Big Rita didn't laugh with them but she didn't discourage it either. Relief was good. Shared trauma bonded people together. "Got any healing magic?" asked Deglove, hopefully. "I don't do that," she said, "Healing runs contrary to my kind of magic. Where's your axe?" He grabbed it from one of the ruined couches. There was blood on it. Technically there was a lot of blood on the floor. He could have faked it. So she'd just have to get the body from the outside as a proof of death. "You'll get patched up and fetch your kill when we're done here," she said. The prospects all looked to each other. "I thought we were done," said Bottle. Author's note: Restating the trigger warning once more. Big Rita looked to the bodies on the floor. Some were still alive if you could call braindead alive. The prospects were hot blooded and had murdered their enemies in combat. This was good but it wasn't enough. Now for the second part of the test. One of the many that separated mere killers from murderers. Mere gangers from Spikes. "Axes out," she said, "Not everyone in the living room here is dead. Find a defeated enemy and offer them a choice. Serve or die. If they refuse to serve or can't answer then kill them." The smiles from the laughter vanished. The relief was gone and replaced with silence. "Uh..." began Bottle, "What?" She turned to him and cracked her aching knuckles. "You heard me, prospect," she said, tone devoid of inflection, "We don't let our defeated enemies linger. That prolongs the war. They have three choices: Either they give up immediately and pay us, they're defeated and serve us or they die. The Spikes don't do lovely little drivebys. We don't do tit for tat. You kill my pal I kill yours. That's a cycle that no one wins. So when we go to war we exterminate our enemies. We are fearsome because we are strong enough to make our wars total wars. And when we show our enemies that the war we wage means their extermination if they lose, that is how we make peace. Pay us before we come, surrender when we beat you or die. That's our way. That's what works. Now find someone still alive and give them the choice." After a few moments uncertainty and a flat eyed stare from Big Rita, both Fuckups and Deglove began to search the corpses for those still living for the prospect of cold blooded murder was less scary than defiance. Bottle wavered. "I..." he began. "Prospect," she said, her tone as cold as the grave, "Finish what you start. Or do we have a problem?" He was very quiet as he decided what to do. Then he glanced at the other prospects but no one would look at him. He looked back to Big Rita but didn't meet her eyes. "We don't have a problem," he said, quietly. "Good," she said, "Now give them the choice." He nodded and slowly began to search for bodies to complete his grim task. Everyone living appeared to be too brain damaged to react. This was also why she'd picked Reality Hackers. There would be people too addled or damaged by dumpshock to resist. Minutes later after the deeds were done, Big Rita had her boot on the only person still living and conscious enough to make his choice. He had one arm, his other most likely blown off by a shotgun slug. His ears, eyes and nose all had fresh blood on them and his speech was slurred. Dumpshock she reasoned and hot sim dumpshock to boot. Cold sim dumpshock didn't make someone's brain bleed. "Serve or die," she said. She pointed a newly summoned blue spike at him. The last Reality Hacker squirmed away from the blade. "Erv!" he exclaimed, his tongue dumb. "You want to serve?" asked Big Rita. The Reality Hacker nodded, though his head lolled to the side a bit. The brain damage was real and probably extensive. She wondered if he was worth the trouble at this point. He had maybe forty minutes before his brain damage was no longer possible to be healed through magic and even that wasn't a sure thing. Technological healing would probably be expensive and the recuperation long which made that option not worth exploring. "If you want to die I can make you die," she said, "Service means giving everything to us. Every nuyen, every contact and every secret that was yours will become ours. You will belong to The Spikes. Do you understand?" The Reality Hacker nodded desperately as blood slowly rain down his face. Big Rita tapped a finger on her bloodstained armor in thought. The Reality Hackers had operated in Puyallup for a while now. Almost ten years if she recalled. That meant that there was space for them in the wastes of the Puyallup barrens. They'd been an all human gang. Why couldn't she take what made them distinct and successful and remake them into an all ork gang? They had friendly and affiliated ork gangs where members could be poached for favors and gifts. So talent could be found. Resources had aleady been procured. They had a seed in this human to show them how to be successful once more and the humanness of the gang could be stripped out. Ten years was a long time in the Puyallup Barrens. A very successful run. And so she made a choice. She lowered her shotgun and leveled it at his face. He began to wail, blood flecking the barrel but a boot on his stomach pushed the air out of him. "Kiss the barrel and serve and you might live," she said. The Reality Hacker immediately kissed the tip of the barrel. Big Rita activated her shotgun's software and momentarily disabled the weapon. Then she squeezed the trigger. There was a click from the weapon but of course it did not fire. The Reality Hacker didn't even shudder. He just lay there, unmoving but still alive and his drug addled eyes grew vacant as Big Rita watched the effect of the mock execution take hold. "You're ours now," said Big Rita, "You'll help us make your gang again. We will choose the members." He didn't respond of course. The Spikes would break him and take everything if he lived. Then she activated her commlink for the first time and contacted the full members who'd been waiting. The old, built-in commlink in her helmet flared to life. "Big Stump, you there?" she asked. "Yeah Big Rita," he said, "You finished?" "We're finished," she said, "Be on the lookout for any incoming drones just in case. And get me a good magical healer in this room in less than half an hour. Pay what it takes to get talent. The last ganger's brain is damaged from hot sim dumpshock but he's still conscious and aware. He's agreed to serve and I want to see if he knows enough to be worth the trouble. Ten years is a long time for a gang out here. I say we spin off our own. Stand by on the salvage crew. I want him to disable any traps so we can get everything." "Got it," said Big Stump, "Anything else?" She looked to the prospects who she'd almost forgotten. It was easy to forget that a person was there after their first cold blooded murder. There was something profound about imparting deep truths and it had a way of breaking people. Their presence was almost always erased. Not only in the astral, though there still was a little something there, deeply muted grey, but the presence that a person was there just wasn't there right now. No one was home. The four prospects had killed in combat and people could adapt to that. These were Puyallup stock after all and that meant the hardest among them were killers. But murdering in cold blood was a completely different animal. Not all people who killed were killers. Not all killers were murderers. But all murderers understood the truth of murder and Big Rita felt her power swell just a bit by bringing death and chaos into the world for she was an entropy mage. Her truth had been shared and it was so profound that it would take days if not weeks for these prospects to grapple with it. These prospects were in for a bad time as they dealt with their very first murder hangover. Her truth didn't break everyone but it broke most people and once broken they would do basically anything they were told to do. Now broken they could be reforged, sharpened, hardened and made deadly with every new exposure to blood and death. Once this tempering process was finished they would finally become a Spike. "The prospects are ready," she said, to Big Stump, some seconds later, "They'll need some time to adjust. One of them needs his arm tended to soon and another might have some broken bones from getting run over. Maybe some gunshot wounds I don't see. I need a medic and transport to get them in the autodoc. When they're out remind them to drink beer, eat, poo poo, shower, go to sleep, all that. They won't be able to do it without being told. It'll be a few days before they start acting independently again." "I know the drill Big Rita," said Big Stump, "You don't have to tell me. Good to have you back though. No one better at this." "Good to be back," she said. Seconds later she looked to the prospects who despite their great size barely seemed to be there. "You four, go outside and sit down," she said. The prospects obeyed immediately and without question. Big Rita looked down at the insensate Reality Hacker as his eyes stared up blankly at the wall. "Poor bastard," she said, "You made the wrong choice." -- Chip is not ID'd at the protest/riots due to the hole made in security. The gang war gets worse without a team of hackers and drone pilots to help put down the anti-corporate and anti-government aligned gangs. Ares is not only losing control of the streets but is seen losing control of the streets. The riots are worse as a result without government contracted gangs (with extra steps) and there is another round of burning in the Downtown area. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 03:54 on Jul 16, 2021 |
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Jul 15, 2021 17:02
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Rita is the scariest person in this entire fic 
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Jul 15, 2021 17:19
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Ah, so that's why Big Rita formed such a kinship with Julie. Julie has an instinctive capacity to cause entropy with her manabolt magic.
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Jul 15, 2021 18:24
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Julie’s raw power is from the biggest act of entropy in shamanism via kin slaying, and she did it by spontaneously learning an entropic spell in Manabolt and one-shotting something with it. In addition, she was in a deadened state that resembles the state of an initiated prospect. Rita may have been feeling nice when she met Julie, but I’m thinking that a lot of the affection came from Julie reminding Rita of her comfortable place.
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Jul 15, 2021 23:22
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Ice Phisherman posted:
Maybe Rita can even get her new pet post-hope doomer to quickly flip or sabotage those corporate contracts. Imagine the city/corps got fed some false intel to arrest their key allies on the street, or anyone else standing in the way of the Spikes and their subsidiaries burning and looting some arcologies. Times like these are when the more… pragmatic and robust organizations like the Spikes can displace failing ones like Ares and
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Jul 16, 2021 19:04
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. Rita sure is going to make things interesting for The Riot 
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Jul 16, 2021 23:38
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On a more absurd note, I am imagining that any time Shock fails to deliver their demands at 100% (or, even, at random, just to grind down his spirit), one of the Spikes force-loads his digital waifu library and plays eenie-meenie-miney-moe or Sophie's Choice with which one gets deleted next. e: Rita wouldn't get into that micromanaging poo poo personally, and this way she can use it to build up a casual baseline cruelty in the new recruits. Cassius Belli fucked around with this message at 04:20 on Jul 17, 2021 |
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Jul 17, 2021 01:06
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Julie, Kenji, Fuzzy and Tek - Sunday, August 26th, 2075 – Afternoon - Blake Island "You know," said Kenji, "I had my doubts when I started this. Serious doubts. But it's actually working." Julie and Kenji were at the docks where they unloaded the second harvest of mung bean sprouts which had sadly turned into a multi-hour job of stacking, loading and levitating. The single drone inside of the floating factory farm was almost a blur as it harvested the sprouts while leaving the still budding potatoes, tomatoes and eggplants alone. The last sprout was harvested and so the spiderlike drone scuttled to the hatch to deposit the stringy sprouts. Kenji loaded the last empty box into the receptical and then seconds later the box had been filled with sprouts. He deposited it onto a full wooden palette, one of two. Julie would levitate both palletes to and from a rented boat parked an eighth of mile offshore in a slow cycle where Tek, Fuzzy's friend, emptied box after box into bigger boxes for storage. This strained Julie's eyesight because if she looked away too long the box would drop but the pallettes were large and Tek did the work of grabbing the palette when it neared. And finally, one of the island's security spirits would inspect each palette as it came back as all items were inspected for safety. "You mean the bean sprouts?" asked Julie, as she concentrated, eyes burning. Kenji dusted his hands off and then pressed them into his lower back as he stretched. "Well that," said Kenji, with a groan, "They're priced to move because they gotta be. They rot in less than two days. Tek over there has been pretty slick. He's been getting paid in meat to deliver Fuzzy's kills to Puyallup and he's been sitting on a pile of meat and bones for a moment like this instead of selling it piecemeal. But I mean the dentist office too." "I heard from Chip that the real meat is really moving the sprouts," said Julie, "Anyway, did you check the new numbers from Mrs. Liu? I missed them the last two days." You haven't been looking?" he asked. Julie shook her head, but only slightly as she floated a wooden palette back from the boat and waited on Kenji to load the final box of sprouts of the day. The palette then levitated into the air and slowly made its way to Tek. "Well you disappeared right after training yesterday," he said, "I haven't seen you around. You've been busy?" "Yeah, I finally bound water spirits for Mr. Peters," said Julie, "I promised I'd have it done this semester and I've been procrastinating. It took twelve hours over two days to summon and bind two pretty big water spirits and Krupa had to help me by talking to Dolphin. Even then I think the only reason that the spirits agreed was because cleaning up the enviornment was something that they wanted to do. And it wiped me out of all of the reagents I gathered last year while hiking. I had to buy a few too." Julie was quiet for a few seconds longer the last palette made its way to Tek. He unloaded it and waved. The two waved back and not much longer later he sped off across the Puget Sound and towards the metroplex. Julie pulled second palette back, its straps dangling and waving in the wind as she levitated it towards her. Meanwhile Kenji picked up a single box of Aztechnology brand mung beans and slotted it into the farm for planting. Seconds later the full box was emptied and Kenji withdrew it. As soon as the drone was done recharging it would plant the beans and the third harvest would be ready in another two days. Kenji's notes from the gig economy drone farmers said that yields would be reduced as the tomatoes, potatoes and eggplants got bigger but they'd never completely leave. In order to maximize space, tiny "filler plants" would occupy the space between the plants. "Well, you can afford more," said Kenji, "And you'll have more space in your place." "Yeah, good thing," said Julie, "I'm going to be rooming with Sasha so she's not cramped in her cabin anymore. She really didn't leave much room for herself." Kenji pursed his lips in thought but said nothing. "Anyway," continued Julie, "How does being initiated feel?" "Feels weird," said Kenji, "And I did it twice back to back. First by talking for a long while to D...Which might have been a short while...I dunno. And then by helping you with Chip. I thought I'd just be a battery to feed him all of that wasted potential everyone says I have but I ended up getting a look at what a spirit looks like under the hood. How things move and change. I didn't know magic was like that." "It reminded me of surgery," said Julie, "But peaceful." "It reminded me of music but without a musician," said Kenji, as he struggled for words, "And the music plays itself." They looked at each other and eventually shrugged. Initiation meant understanding deep truths and Kenji had not only done this once but twice. Either he know understood two profound truths or deepened his understanding of a single truth. Julie's own initiation had been originally to understand herself before that got horribly sidetracked by a vision of the future. "Hey," said Julie, a little while later," How did you convince Mrs. Maureen to conduct the ritual again? She told me that I needed to learn and that her time was valuable and..." "Oh," said Kenji, with a small smile, "I bared my soul to her. Literally. Showed her the wreck after she got done teaching spells. There's some ultra-slow learner she's trying to tutor so she was still here yesterday. She gasped and had questions and cried a lot. I asked for help initiating to help hide it and she said yes, immediately. I said I was half done from a ritual I did earlier and that I was willing to empower Chip in order to initiate again because that meant getting a look under the hood. She agreed on the spot. No questions asked." Julie shook her head. "I'm just glad that I'm not the one horrifiying Mrs. Maureen this time," said Julie, "But we really need to stop torturing her with our crap." "Yeah." "Are we actually going to stop?" asked Julie. "Maybe." Julie smirked despite herself and then immediately felt bad about it. She was tempted to ask what he'd learned in the deeper sense but that seemed extremely personal. So in a roundabout way she decided to ask about the rewards. "What'd you get out of the initiation?" she asked, "The more tanigble stuff I mean." She didn't look at him and instead blinked her eyes hard a few times against the pain. Then she stared into the small gaps between the honeycombs that were filled with water. Not uniformly, the drone still needed to move around, but here and there tiny fish darted here and there that would grow into tilapia, a white fish that would grow fast. The genetically engineered fish would be full grown in only four months whereas the unmodified fish took eight. It probably wouldn't be full grown in time but it would be a source of meat. The quality of the meat as she understood it was pretty bland though. "Two things," said Kenji, "I got masking. It'll change the appearance of how I look on the astral. I can drive it up to look more powerful than I am or drive it down to make myself look less powerful. Even mundane." "You really shouldn't say mundane when you talk about unawakened people," said Julie, "It's offensive." "Sure, okay," sighed Kenji, "Do they really care though?" "I think it's more about how we look at the unawakened than what they think about us." "I don't think it's offensive if no one is offended. Other than you. On behalf of other people." Julie gave Kenji a cool look. He smiled just a little. "Fine," she admitted, "What's the second thing?" "More adept power," he said, "Which I'm not sure about using yet. The teachers want the adepts to think long and hard about what powers we get because we can't really change them" "You changed your sense of smell to reading people," said Julie. "That's Dog stuff," said Kenji, "Anyway, I got extra power because I figure I need a little extra mojo. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet. Either I'll keep going on the social route or grab the improved reflexes power like Fuzzy has." "Combat powers?" asked Julie, "Why?" "In case some bullshit goes down," said Kenji, "Which it has been going down recently. Just the first level of Fuzzy's power is pretty expensive and you can't match it without high end cyberware, bioware or drugs. In either case I asked Jayvon and Saanvi if they'd train me in a little hand to hand just in case. Can't always have my uh...You know...On me." He made a fingergun motion but not towards Julie. That made her feel uncomfortable but at the same time he'd helped do battle with Pinchface with those skills. Skills which she still didn't know much about. "You think it'll be that bad?" she asked. "It's already been that bad," said Kenji, "And you know it's going to get worse. I feel like I've been coasting for way too long and I'm getting left behind. You're learning to be a better healer, Fuzzy is training with Jayvon, Chip upgraded his powers thanks to yours truly and agreeing to test that gaes from O just in case and last but not least, Sasha is improving herself too. I'd like to divert a little money to Sasha so she can get a few more upgrades while she's in the tank. Plus maybe put a little something aside for myself. Everyone really but I doubt you and Fuzzy are going to have any tech in you since it'll screw up your magic." "That's supposed to be food for people," said Julie, "You know that, right?" Kenji raised an eyebrow at her. "Look, I'm in on this thing we've got going," he said, "It's important to you. But if I want to make sure we're sharp enough to compete and quick enough to stay safe. Does that mean less food in mouths? Yes it does. But we need to find a balance between helping others and helping ourselves. You, Fuzzy, Sasha, Chip, Saanvi, Min Yun, Octo and I suppose Julian too are my first priorities. That's my core group. Those are the people who eat first. You understand?" Julie didn't like it but she didn't argue either. "Don't worry," said Kenji, "We'll budget it out and get the best prices on everything. I want a balance. We eat first but we don't neglect hungry people either, okay? This is about the safety of the people I care about. I can work with you to find a compromise but I'm not going to neglect everyone either." Julie reluctantly nodded. This was going to be a trying time and though it pained her, Kenji was probably right. He often was lately. Hey, do me a favor?" he asked. "What?" she responded. Kenji turned around and rubbed at his lower back. Julie took that as assent to heal him. Raw magic manifested in her hand and she gave it form through the healing spell. Then she touched Kenji on his shoulder. He sighed in relief as the healing magic worked what were pretty minor aches and pains away but it was low enough power that she didn't rob him of the tiny amount of damage to his muscles that once healed would make him stronger. Months earlier she wouldn't have been able to do it but she'd been working on control. "Want to check the take?" asked Kenji. "For the beans or the dentistry?" she asked. "Both of course," he said. Kenji leaned over and pressed a few buttons on a small console of the floating farm near the port for the boxes. "Six-thousand pounds of bean sprouts," said Kenji, "Put on pallettes by yours truly. Levitated by you. Transported by Tek. Meat provided by Tek, which is running out by the way because he only gets so much and he's almost burned through his stock. Sold in Touristville's east end because there's cheap meat on the menu and it's packaged with it. Also that stuff won't sell without the meat, again. Not given to the ACHE because we're not close to ready yet. Tek gets a cut, you get a cut, I get a cut, Fuzzy gets a cut for the rep score account I set up for her and everyone who sells gets a cut too. Money stacks up and everyone's rep determines how much they can get when they want it." Kenji cleared the screen with a wave of his hand. "And this next shipment is going to be a little lean on meat unless a certain someone talks to someone else she's avoiding," said Kenji. "It's like you're trying to tell me something," said Julie, sarcastically. Kenji placed a hand to his sweaty shirt, face full of mocking innocense. "Who, me?" asked Kenji, "Ask why Fuzzy is staring at you and why you're avoiding each other? Never." Julie didn't know what to say and so she cast about for something to do. The wooden palettes needed to be moved off the dock, up the hill and back into the storage area in the kitchen. They weren't hers after all. So she sat down on the middle of one of them and bade Kenji to do the same. Just like she'd been doing for the past few hours she levitated both of them with a spell. Slowly they both levitated up the hill towards the school instead of walking. Kenji didn't look impressed. "Maybe it is a little like flying," said Julie, "Just not very fast." "You're avoiding the subject," said Kenji. The pallettes with teens on top of them easily levitated up the hill. Julie sat upon hers, feeling guilty, frustrated, annoyed and fearful. "Can I avoid it until we look at the take from the last few days?" she asked. Kenji sighed but nodded. "Fine. As long as we figure it out I don't mind a delay," he said, "That said I don't think she's mad at you like I think you think she is." Julie perked up. That had been her worry. One of them at least. "She's not?" asked Julie. "I have an eye for these things," said Kenji, "I'm pretty sure she's getting more and more frustrated with you. So I'm going to be a good friend and step in to smooth things over before she actually does get mad." This only increased Julie's negative feelings but she was both annoyed and thankful for the time limit that Kenji had given her. She needed to talk to everyone about Big Rita but she wasn't sure what to do. "Thanks," she said, "I'd like a mood booster before I talk about this. And I'm guessing from you talking about putting tech in bodies that the dentist office is doing well?" "It is," said Kenji, "Prepare to have your mood boosted." Julie smiled as they crested the hill and approached the lunchroom. They both stepped off and Julie continued to levitate the crates while Kenji opened the door They both entered and headed towards the cafeteria counter where lunches were normally served. Kenji grabbed a slice of pizza and a drink and Julie grabbed a cobb salad while she deposited the floating pallettes neatly in a corner. Even after their normal lunch with Oli today to talk about her art they were hungry after the exercise. Julie rubbed at her eyes with one hand and tried not to smear her makeup. "I had to keep my eyes open for almost two hours to keep the spell going," complained Julie, "They're killing me." "What, like two hours straight?" asked Kenji. "No, but it feels like it. They just need to be open most of the time and I need to stay focused. It's hard." They entered into the room with the terminal now with food. Kenji pulled a chair behind him. When he set it down next to the other one inside he put his pizza down near the old terminal, reached into his pocket and fished out a small bottle of eyedrops from his pocket. Julie stared at it, blearily. "Why do you have eyedrops in your pocket?" asked Julie. He handed it to her and she made sure to inspect it. As she suspected they were normal eyedrops. "Back when I was courting favors and money from the corporate nobility I'd keep certain useful things on me," said Kenji, "Sometimes someone would come back from an all nighter with red eyes and I'd be the guy with what they need." Julie tilted back her head, squeezed a few drops in her eyes and sighed with relief. Technically she could have healed herself but healing wouldn't suddenly moisturize her eyes as the healing spell didn't spontaneously produce water. She did use a low power spell to reduce the strain though. Then she handed back the dropped to Kenji. "Because they're on drugs," said Julie, belatedly. "Yes," said Kenji, "Because they're on drugs. It's easier to get eyedrops instead of an earful. They're used to always having their way out in the corporate world but that doesn't work here. They hate earfulls and so sometimes people would come to me. I wanted them to get used to coming to me for things and they did for a while." She handed it back, already feeling better and frowned a little at him. "You know you're enabling them," she said. Kenji pocketed the eyedrops. "Everyone enables them," he responded, "Because you'll always find people ready to enable you if you have money if they think they can get their hands on some of that money. Doesn't matter the whim or vice. I don't do that anymore by the way and more than a few people are mad at me for not enabling them anymore which is worse than if I never did at all. I'm not chasing favors or money anymore. But I still think it's just good to keep useful stuff in my pocket and help out the people I like." Julie felt a little awkward at the mild rebuke. Kenji smirked. "You know, just in case they're on drugs," he teased. "Sorry," she said. "No problem," said Kenji, "I had uh...A change of heart, you know? Plus I don't want to be involved with corporate poo poo for a while." "Why not?" "You mean beyond the obvious reasons?" "Uhh...Yeah?" Kenji shrugged. "You know that Ares took over Lone Star, right?" asked Kenji. "Yeah," she said, "What about it?" "Word is that Ares had Lone Star's corporate board murdered," said Kenji, "The entire loving C-Suite. Beyond a hostile takeover. No one has ever done that before. And you're going to have Ares kids and former Lone Star, now Ares kids, still going here. We are going to do absolutely everything in our power to stay out whatever poo poo gets kicked up." "I guess I hadn't thought about it," said Julie, "Do you really think it's going to be that bad?" "Don't know. But we're the only people not affiliated with a corporation or government here," said Kenji, "The Ares kids are going to feel threatened and isolated because they can't just call security to make their problems go away or hole up in their corporate arcology where everything is nice and safe. Instead they're here and surrounded by people who see them as the beneficiaries of a megacorp who possibly murdered people that they know or at least have heard of. They're going to want allies to watch their backs. That's something that we're not only not going to do but I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure we're not even approached for or against." "So it'll be bad." "Like I said, I don't know what it's going to be like," said Kenji, "I'm just hedging my bets. But I'm still plugged into the corporate rumor mill from last year and from what I can tell a lot of people are paranoid and scared. This school is a place where the kids of ultra-wealthy corporate types and a few government types meet to try and get along. Someone just hosed that up. So we really need to keep our heads down until this blows over." Julie swallowed a forkfull of cobb salad and covered her mouth before she spoke. "That makes sense," she said. "Thank you," said Kenji, "I'm glad you agree. And that also means watching out for Sasha when she gets back because she's former Ares. Someone might think she's an easy target and lash out. So all of us need to run interference for her." Julie nodded firmly in agreement and Kenji said no more. Instead he ate his pizza and Julie ate hers while he accessed a file from Mrs. Liu. They both read it. Hello nephew and presumably Julie, Fuzzy and honored spirit Chip. I hope you three are well. "Honored spirit?" asked Julie, "Really?" "He's got a little shrine for receiving offerings in her shop," said Kenji, "So yes." They both read on. I will be as brief as I can as I am busy. I have managed to attract a number of wealthy corporate customers to the community and have rolled back opening hours from 6 AM to 2 PM to 5 PM to 1 PM. Our community is normally closed that early in the morning but a limited number of stores will be open earlier for customers who wish for a quiet time before their morning commute or on their way home from the night shift. Those who wish for a more boisterous time have their dental time blocked off from 6 PM to 7PM. These are peak hours and we will not fill all of the chairs in this time so they might have a pleasant and leisurely visit. "I don't understand why we have to block off times just for corporate customers," said Julie, "Especially if we can fit more people in." "Because they're paying the bills," said Kenji, "Pay what you want turns a modest profit on a good day but one person who needs half an hour or an hour or even more in the chair sucks up any profit from half a dozen people on average. We need to treat the corporate people right because they pay full freight and don't mind doing so and they also spend money elsewhere." "Still..." "Well, unless you've got a third option, if you want to make money we either need to turn away the poor because they're a drain on resources or pamper the rich a little to get theirs." Julie grumbled a little but if there was a third option she didn't see it. So she held her tongue for now on the subject. She and Kenji continued to read. I will be out of communication for the next day or two as I need to detox from Long Haul. The sleep alleviator requires a day or two of rest as I have been awake for many days straight. Please do not wake me unless absolutely necessary. I have handed off the day to day management of the store to Jimmy as he basically ran the day to day operation of his old business and I have hired out to find corporate customers for the next few days. Once awake I will resume management. I also appreciate the trideo recording you sent me, nephew and I have adjusted accordingly. I have one of my own for the both of you. "What trideo recording?" asked Julie. "I'll tell you in a bit," said Kenji, "Numbers first." Finally, here are the total numbers thus far. Ask Kenji for what they mean. 246,160/22,754/11,300/500 Yours, C. Liu Julie squinted at the numbers. The first one made her heart speed up. "Hey, is that..." she began. "Profit," began Kenji, "Then total customers seen, total existing voters who've voted early against Prop 23 and finally new voters registered who voted against Prop 23." Julie beamed. "We're making money!" she exclaimed, "And we're getting votes!" "Money is good," said Kenji, "Votes are a big whatever." "But it's close, right?" Kenji shrugged. "Julie, we live in a time where votes can be calculated instantly," said Kenji, "But I have this feeling that they're so good at this these days they'll know the outcome before a single vote is even cast." It took Julie a moment to get the cynical joke and the smile slipped from her face. "You think they'll cheat," she said. "I think they'll try," said Kenji, "And that we need to make it hard for them." "Okay...The good news then," she said, "We made a quarter million nuyen in five days." "No, in four and a half days we made twenty-five thousand from the current mix of normal customers and the poor," he explained, "In three hours spread over a day and a half we made almost a quarter million in a day and a half with the corporate customers." "It's a lot of money," said Julie. "We broke even between normal customers and the poor twice on Wednesday and Friday," said Kenji, "The poor are a drain on chair time, money and messaging time for politics. We're five percent of the way to the election." "What are you saying?" "I'm stating reality," said Kenji, "And it is a reality that we need to address. I'm not saying we need to abandon the poor." "That kind of sounds like what you're saying," said Julie, nonplussed. "I..." began Kenji. He held up a finger in a "wait one moment" gesture, stood up, put his pizza in his mouth and walked out of the room. Julie waited, frustrated and picked at her cobb salad. Kenji came back a minute later with a new piece of pizza in his mouth and a datapad he'd scrounged up and he began to draw out words and letters freehand as he chewed, pad in his lap. 1 poor person, half an hour visit = 6 potential paying customers and money lost. 1 poor person, hour visit = 12 potential paying customers and money lost. 1 poor person, two hour visit = 24 potential paying customers and money lost. Julie noticed that Kenji's script with hand hand was surprisingly clean and tidy and he wrote quickly. He on the other hand scarfed half of his pizza and then put it down on his empty plate before using a napkin to clean off excess grease. "Okay, so," said Kenji, "When we put a poor person who needs extra care in our chair they take up time and money. In fact, we lose money not just once, not just twice, but three times." Julie furrowed her brow in confusion. "How do you figure that?" she asked. Kenji chewed his pizza and began to freehand again. 1. Money lost because the customer can't pay. 2. Money lost because other customers aren't in that chair. We also lose votes. 3. Money lost because Touristville can't sell products to people with no money. We get less rep and rep is worth less. Kenji underlined "We also lose votes" and "We get less rep and rep is worth less" a few times with his finger. Julie stared at the problem and tried to wrap her head around it. She didn't have that instinctive business sense like Kenji did but eventually it began to click. Her store was an anchor store. It gathered people to it and smaller businesses would benefit. However, if customers couldn't pay then her anchor store wasn't doing its job. So while Julie came to these conclusions that Kenji led her to, he finished off his pizza, left and grabbed another slice. "I see what you're saying," said Julie, sometime later, "These are problems." "Yeah," said Kenji. "What do you suggest?" she asked. Kenji shrugged. "Don't know," said Kenji, "It's something to think about. It doesn't need to get solved right this second. We're not going to dump them either but this is a priority. We need the money and the votes and this is a holdup for getting the maximum amount of butts in chairs. The faster we solve this, the faster we put our hands on more farms. They're fifty grand a pop." "So much money..." sighed Julie. "A quarter mil is a lot, no doubt," said Kenji, "But remember that's five farms before negotiation. More with a farming drone a piece and seeds. And we haven't even figured out where to put this stuff yet, how to load it or unload it, how we'll transport it, where we'll store it or how we'll cook it. It takes you, me, Tek, a rented boat and half an afternoon to move just those bean sprouts. So try and keep it all in perspective, okay? It seems like a lot but our needs are pretty big." Julie tried to grasp the enormity of the task, but honestly she couldn't. Not only was the amount of money that they were making too much for her to imagine and it was the lesser of the two money making strategies but what they needed to do to feed the ACHE was dawning on her as a seriously daunting task in terms of logistics. "That's still a lot," said Julie. "Which is why we're going to automate and delegate as much as possible," he said, "I figure that we don't need to feed absolutely everyone on our own." "We should try," said Julie. Kenji stroked his chin in thought. "I don't think we should," said Kenji, "Not because we shouldn't try but because some people are already feeding the ACHE. People who donate time and food for their own reasons. We don't want to edge them out. I don't know the particulars but I figure if we funnel them some money or food we can get the most bang for our creds and we can kick the can down the corridor. The meat and bean sprouts get turned into money and that money can get turned back into food by those people." Julie nodded eagerly. "That's a great idea," she said, "So we can feed them now." "Yeah, we can feed them now through the people already doing the work," said Kenji, "We don't have much say over how it gets done and we don't reap the rewards of them liking us and connections and stuff but food is food and I think more food in bellies pushes back the problem. I can't be sure of course but I think so. It feels right." Kenji was being intentionally vague. Julie understood that problem as a riot of the entire ACHE. A hundred and fifty thousand people that would ransack not only Downtown Seattle, but Touristville as well as it was on their doorstep. Plus there would be a government crackdown afterwards. That had been the warning from Dragonslayer. "So what should we do now?" asked Julie. "For now we rake in the creds, fund the people feeding the ACHE in the short term until we get set up, get some farms, look for space, find trustworthy people to help us do this thing, hope that we don't get targeted and hope that other people follow our example to make it easier on us." "Is that all?" asked Julie, a little sarcastically. "No," said Kenji, "I want to buy some fruit plants." "Why?" "Look, if you want to just feed the ACHE that's cool," said Kenji, "But most of them are used to bland bullshit starvation rations. Peoples' sense of taste and smell gets hosed up due to the smell of garbage. So you want something tasty with strong flavors and if it's a big deal like real fruit, you can hide it in other stuff. What people eat is political. If it's you know, above their station like in the Pyramid? People get mad. So you've got to hide it. Every year or so someone tries to do it big at the ACHE and there are protests of angry people that poor people are getting good food. So if we do it big we need to make it look like they're not eating above their station." Kenji made airquotes when he said "their station". "So no protests and the people in the ACHE will like us more," said Julie. Kenji tapped his nose in response. "Which makes things so much easier," said Kenji, "Feed them bullshit and they'll eat it, but don't expect them to be grateful. Give them some of the good stuff and they'll be interested. Treat them like people and they'll like you. Maybe even respect you. Bleed for them and they'll love you." Julie shivered and put aside her salad, suddenly no longer hungry. "I want to help but I also don't want to bleed too much," she said, "And I don't want anyone bleeding for us either." "Which includes me," said Kenji, "In fact I'm anti-bleeding. I don't want any of us near this if and when it gets violent. I figure it will eventually." "Are you sure?" she asked. "Oh yeah," said Kenji, "Which is why I want to have a thing we set up chugging along. Ideally we'd get the ACHE to help the ACHE but I don't see that happening. Maybe if we make some contacts and get people all facing the same direction with this ideology thing. I don't know. I'm not holding out much hope for that." "They'd turn any farms we give them into drug growing operations," she said, "Like you said." "You got it." "Could we...Ensure that they don't?" she asked. Kenji shrugged. "How?" he asked, "I'm not the police and I don't want to be. If we give up a farm it's as good as gone. Better to keep the farms in house until we figure something out." The conversation came to a lull and Julie was still frustrated. It felt like they were making a little headway but not enough to satisfy her. He briefly left the room, came back with another piece of pizza and clicked play on the trideo that Mrs. Liu sent them. What came up was a thirty second playback of the local news, KOMO 5. A blandly handsome human a strong jaw, light skin, blindingly white teeth, dark hair, perfect blue eyes and a tailored suit sat paused on the terminal's screen. "Looks like he was grown in a petri dish," said Kenji. "That's not fair," said Julie. "Blandly beautiful or handsome is in right now in corpworld," said Kenji, "They want attractive people who don't offend anyone for being attractive. If that's his real face, hair, eyes, jaw, anything, then I'm a straight A student. I've seen way too many people who look just like him. His face looked like it was picked off a shelf." He pressed play and the man began. "In other news," said the newscaster, "We bring you special ongoing coverage on the Ork Underground and Prop 23 with a KOMO 5 exclusive. We now bring you live to Downtown Seattle. Particia?" There was a cut to a blandly beautiful woman with short red hair, creamy skin, perfect green eyes, full lips, equally blinding white teeth and a heart shaped face smiled a focus tested smile at the camera. She wore a conversative black dress that showed off her cleavage and she stood on a familiar city street. This was Touristville's West End near Pike Place Market. "Yes, good morning, Dan," she said. The shot went wide and she took in the entrance of Touristville's West end where people were streaming both in and out. "I'm here near Pike Place Market near one of the entrances to the Ork Underground," said the newscaster, "And today we're investigating rumors of a dentist office right here below our feet. Not just any pop-up shop but a full shop with eighty drones and if you can believe it they're serving the public for free." There was a cut and to an ork woman with a child on her hip, a microphone near her face. "...Couldn't believe it," she said, "I was able to get myself and my children all seen to for free..." Another cut. This time an elven man. "Yeah, I usually don't come down here, but I heard from a friend. It's real and it's free. Couldn't believe it." Yet another cut. A human man. "Yeah, I haven't been down there. I'd heard that this was where that terrorist attack with the toxic spirit went down, you know? Can't risk it. Besides, it's the Ork Underground, you know? It's not safe. I'm not even sure if the business is legal. That's what Prop 23 is all about, right?" Kenji paused the trideo. "Just announcers after this," he said, "Talking about how it's free but dangerous." Julie frowned. "I mean, it's technically free if they want it," she said. "Technically free sure," said Kenji, "But we've been noticed, they're trying to gently caress with our revenue stream and they're reminding people that there was an attack by a toxic mage not that long ago. We're in the news and it hasn't even been five days. Meanwhile I'm pretty sure they're trying to distract from the fact that the fact that Downtown burned again." "It did?" asked Julie. Kenji nodded. "I got bored and went on a walk because I'm dealing with this whole initiation thing," said Kenji, "I watched the fires from the beach last night. I don't think it was citywide like last time because I didn't see fire or smoke anywhere else but Downtown was definitely lit up hard. And somehow the morning news manages to find time to talk about a dentist office instead of why the wealthiest district in Seattle got smashed and burned again last night." "Are you sure you're not just being paranoid?" asked Julie, "It's not even a thirty second clip." "I don't think Auntie would have sent it our way if it wasn't significant," said Kenji, "They're driving home the points that it's a free ride and it's dangerous. That means less paying customers and less customers in general. Want to bet me that we see more of these?" Julie hesitated, not eager to entertain the idea. Then she shook her head. "No," said Julie. Kenji cleared all of his tabs, ate his pizza quickly, stood up and motioned with his head out the door. Julie looked to her salad and quickly stuffed it down her mouth as fast as she could as they walked out of the terminal room. Julie circled towards the empty cafeteria, found a drink for both of them in one of the fridges reserved for students on the island and they left together. Kenji turned on his white noise generator as they walked outside and took a path that led nowhere in particular. "So Chip met someone who stumbled across a shadowrunner yesterday," said Kenji. Julie gulped her sports drink down hard but didn't choke. "Oh poo poo, really?" she asked, quietly horrified. "Yeah, it was by pure chance," said Kenji, "They were a pink mohawk runner playing it down." "A what?" asked Julie. "A pink..." began Kenji. He stopped, frowned down at the ground, looked up at the canopy and they walked for a minute. Julie wasn't sure what was happening exactly but it looked like Kenji was trying to make a decision." "Okay, the runner community isn't a single community," said Kenji, "It's a bunch of different people with different approaches that sort of fall into different styles. Those styles have names for easy classification." They kept walking away from the school. Kenji kept his voice low despite the white noise generator. "Five main types of runners," said Kenji, as he raised a hand with all of his fingers, "Not how they do the job but how they approach it. Ideology I guess. You've got your pink mohawks, they're loud as gently caress, flashy, don't give a gently caress types. Some are political, some aren't. Then you've got your black trenchcoat runners. They're smooth and sneaky, with backup plans on backup plans. Usually no politics at all. Closest thing to an actual mercenary." "Um...Aren't shadowrunners all mercenaries?" she asked. "Mercs usually don't have causes," said Kenji, "A lot of the oldsters don't consider black trenchcoats to be real runners. And some of the oldsters still kicking around are mirrorshades runners. They're a little more pragmatic but not always. Go in quiet, go loud if they have to. They're professionals. More political on average than pink mohawks and definitely more political than most black trenchcoats." Kenji pushed aside a low hanging branch for Julie. "This is a lot," said Julie. "We'll you've got to learn it because we just had one of these people sicced on us," said Kenji, "Anyway, you've got the hoods. Those are the cool ones in my book. They've got causes. They're do-gooders. Extremely political, even if it's just on the local level. And finally you've got Delvers. They look for Lostech which is research or historical stuff that was considered lost or destroyed in Crash 1.0 or Crash 2.0. They not only have no politics but they don't interact with the general runner community as much." Julie took a second to process this. "So you've got the...Pink mohawks, black trenchcoats, the mirrorshades, the hoods and the delvers." "You got it," said Kenji, "Those are the five main runner types. Some can be more than one of those. Like you could be a hood with a black trenchcoat approach. A dogooder who's smooth and sneaky. Or you could just be pink mohawk to your bones. Flashy and violent as gently caress." "And you think Chip found one of those," she said. "No," said Kenji, "He found someone who recorded one. This person screamed pink mohawk runner. They knew the lingo and they knew it in a way that the trids never got right. They've got the look. It's dated but pink mohawks dress a certain way so they don't accidentally shoot each other if they run across each other. Even though they're dressing down to blend in they've still got the look. And they've defintely got the feel." "Okay..." said Julie, slowly. It was rare that she saw Kenji so animated. Something about it was quietly unsettling and she didn't know why. "Was anyone hurt?" she asked. Kenji shook his head. "No," said Kenji, "They saw how the community is being good to people and decided to call it off. Total stroke of luck. They got their teeth fixed for basically nothing and got a real meal with real meat for cheap. So they called it off." Julie frowned in confusion. Belatedly she realized that he'd kept walking and was still talking even though he'd left her behind. This left her out of the bubble so she couldn't hear him. She caught up to him on the trail but he'd already stopped by the time she reentered. "Why would that make a shadowrunner call off a job?" asked Julie. "Huh?" asked Kenji. He looked at her, uncomprehendingly. "Why would that make a shadowrunner call off a job?" she repeated. "I mean, it wouldn't for all of them," he said. "Okay..." she said, "But why would it at all?" Kenji slowed to a halt and stared at Julie for a few seconds. "Running isn't a profession that most people choose," said Kenji, speaking with the slowness of someone engaged in heavy introspection, "It's more like a ledge you cling to before you hit bottom. It's for the desperate. For most most of...Them...A lot of things went wrong before they got there. All they have left is to sell their violence. Their ability to do crime. Some stop after a few short runs once they're stable again. Some die. Some keep going because they enjoy the life. But poverty is what put a lot of them in that position, Julie. Running is what they do to pay the bills. They're desperate people." Julie swallowed hard. When Kenji told her about the existence of shadowrunners, deniable freelance mercenaries who worked for basically anyone, it had been scary. Most of it she didn't remember. But now Kenji was talking about them again and it was with a familiarity that she couldn't ignore. She knew that he still wasn't a very good liar. Edward's rules had included a ban against lying and though Kenji no longer had to follow them he was still uncomfortable with lying. So his knowledge about shadowrunners had the complication that truth sometimes had and that knowledge was unnverving. "Kenji?" she asked, her voice quiet, eyes downcast. "Sup?" Julie licked her lips. She could play dumb and refuse to force the issue but she wasn't sure that she could say nothing and do nothing. They occasionally lied to one another to spare their mutual feelings. She was pretty sure that she would pretend to accept one of his lies and he would pretend to believe that she accepted it. But the words came tumbling out of her anyway. "How do you know all of this?" she asked. Kenji grew very still. Unnaturally so. She knew this to be his kinesics power. It was his magically enhanced control over his body language. She was hurt that he felt like he needed to guard his feelings from her but she also realized that she'd asked an uncomfortable and perhaps even a dangerous question. Nothing happened for a minute. Then two. They just stared at one another. Kenji was still and unreadable. Julie didn't back down. There was no easy way to play this off for either of them. He'd broached the topic about shadowrunners not once but twice. Either he'd find a lie or he'd tell the truth. Julie wasn't sure which was better and which was worse. "The first thing I thought when you asked me that was that you'd look at me differently," he said, quietly, "But I already told you something...And you didn't look at me different. Remember?" Julie nodded slowly. That day in her old apartment in Touristville. He'd been sitting in her chair eating Chinese food. He looked so happy and full of good food and there'd been a party outside that he didn't feel like he could enjoy. So he'd sat there alone. He'd confessed to having killed people. Three as a mercy. One in self-defense. One on the suspicion that he was in danger. But that's all it had been. A suspicion. Then she'd sat on his lap and almost kissed him and was absolutely sure that if she had, he would have kissed her back. In that moment she'd accepted him and she had this deep, gut level feeling that another moment like that was approaching. Not that she could kiss him but that there was a threshold here. Kenji didn't talk much about his life and from what little he'd said she could understand why. The urge to kiss him aside, she had no idea how to feel about that moment or what it said about her. "I remember," she said. "Yeah," said Kenji, "So...If you want to know how I know these things...Well...I trust you. I've told you things I've never told anyone from this side of my life. Not Fuzzy, not Sasha, not Julian or Chip or anyone. I might share secrets with them one day. Maybe even along the lines of what you're asking about. But this is my life. These are my secrets. And if you want to know you will never, ever share them with another person so long as you live." Julie nodded slowly. "I did these things to survive, Julie," said Kenji, "And I think you can appreciate that having lived the life you have. I was compelled to survive. You remember why, right?" Again she nodded. "Okay," said Kenji, softly "So if you want to know why I know certain things I will tell you. We still have the rest of the afternoon and the night. I know a quiet place where we can talk. I respect you and care for you and trust you enough that I think I can tell you. It would probably be helpful to explain to get you on board with certain things that need doing and I could really use the help. Because violence is no longer probable. It's imminent. I could really use your help. Not to do the violence but to prevent it." He looked away then. "Or you can just take it on faith," he said, with a small nod to himself, "That I just know certain things and act strangely sometimes. Money might disappear and I won't be able to tell you why. Ignorance will be to protect you. It'll be for your sake. And if nothing happens that means everything went right."' -- Does Julie press Kenji on why he knows about shadowrunners? Also, does Kenji continue his focus on magic to help him be more social or does he go for more combat oriented magic? Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 03:23 on Aug 12, 2021 |
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Jul 21, 2021 01:19
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knowledge and combat It’s time to get ready for some fireworks, there’s not long now.
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Jul 21, 2021 04:42
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