Chicago, in the Corporate City-State of Yosho-Mitsu, yr. 2083
"Yosho-Mitsu's Biologic R&D has been the first to perfect the cloning of a human fetus! Our stock has increased exponentially; therefore workers in section 123-A may have the rest of the day off with pay. In further news, the so-called Neo-Revolution continued with an attack on Arasaka Securities R&D headquarters today. Numerous workers were killed and their labs were destroyed. Arasaka's president has accused Yosho-Mitsu of involvement, but we have denied all charges. Now back to your regular program."
I always thought those reporters looked like plastic dolls to me, or more like ventriloquist dummies, because something other than the Truth is stuck up their asses. It doesn't matter, though. People still huddle around the Tele-screens like bums around a fire. The more I look around this place, with the glowing signs and the ghost-like people, the more I remember that day. I mean, it's not everyday somebody comes along and says something that changes your whole life.
I was hanging with a local group of poser punks (hey, I had nothing better to do), when this one calling himself Bruce comes over, trying to act like a martial arts hero. He wanted to show off his new muscle booster implants, so he activated them and started posing in different katas. To give him credit, he did look good. for about five minutes. Human Jiffy-Pop is not a pretty thing to watch, but it sure is funny.
Anyway, as his friends are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, this old man that I mistook for a pile of garbage stirs next to me and says, "Just because you can do a thing, doesn't mean you should."
This was the first time I've heard someone who didn't worship progress like a deity. Then again, I'm not one to preach. If you count my neural ware, cyber-eye, net equipment and chip ware, I'm as jacked as the next guy. I give the 'Purists' out there a lot of credit, but in today's day and age, it's nearly impossible to survive without sacrificing at least part of yourself to the metal.
Who am I? My name is Styx, as in the ever-flowing river of Death. I had a real name once, but any who remember it have disappeared, died, or. anyway. If the situation comes up, I'll tell you about it. Otherwise, mind your own business. I am a modern day hacker-girl, jacking her mind into the virtual reality of the e-Universe. Imagine instead of firewalls and passwords, you might encounter walls of flame guarded by dogs from Hell. Everything is there if your imagination and technology can handle it in the Net, so you can imagine how hard it is to leave to come back to the joy that is my world.
I don't believe in the possibility of life without technology anymore. We've had the techno-plague running through our veins for generations now. What we can try to do, though, is keep it in balance. Knowledge and the power it brings should be shared with the masses, not hoarded by the rich. I like to add a touch of creative guidance to that too, so I can keep the phrase "What the Hell were you thinking?" down to a minimum. For example, did you ever hear about the genetic plagues? No, not the ones they released in Iraq. Those were tailored for race. I'm talking about someone going into a crowded party, releasing the plague, and the only one it kills is you. Never heard of such a thing? Didn't think so. That's one of the reasons I'm here. I've been wandering around this planet for so long, it feels weird to finally have a cause. I've been doing jobs, collecting gear, making contacts, but none of it had a real purpose. Now when people ask me when I could care less about most of the human race, I can answer with "Because you gladly cut your own throats with the knife they sell you at 10 times the cost, because you're too bored to wait for the slaughter."
Let's face it. Most people, if you tell them that the guillotine is "now new & improved, with 50% more, and if you buy one you get the second ½ off," there'll be a line around the block to see who can get their heads chopped off first. It's those that I couldn't care less about, because there's nothing anyone can do. That behavior has been ingrained in them for generations upon generations. I'm here for the ones who say," Wait a minute." I'm here to tell them that their "doctor recommended, celebrity endorsed, 'population de-intensifier'" is really a bottle of time-released poison gas. Believe me, if you open one of those in a busy room, there'll be a few less people in the crowd. If you don't want to believe me over some overpaid plastic model, that's your family's problem when they pick up the remains.
Aaah, here it is. I swear she picks the most microscopic holes in the wall to meet in. If it weren't for the flickering 'Beer' sign, I'd have thought it was abandoned. As I walk into the bar, it reminds me of a trash dump, mounds of dirt and rags that were once people piled up at bars and tables. Ugh, it smells like one too. The bartender doesn't even look up from the T.V. he has in the corner. There in the back is my friend Skittles that I came here to meet. Usually she's all flash and color with her rainbow hair and tattoos, but tonight she's covered in rags like the rest of them.
She's huddled there, her leg bouncing and her eyes constantly darting back and forth. The Glass must be getting to her. What's that? Glass is a psychotropic drug that makes you paranoid and conspiracy crazy, but it enhances your reaction time a great deal. She's one of my hacker buddies, so I've been trying to keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn't over do it. Besides, her conspiracy stories are fun on slow nights like these.
"Sit down!" she hisses as I come up to her table. "You wouldn't believe the stuff that's going down in the Outback (abandoned areas of the Net)."
"What is it this time, Skits?" I say as I sit with my back against the wall. "DNA tracers in our flu shots?"
"Stay with it, Styx. They already admitted that one. I'm talking about today! Yosho-Mitsu is way beyond what they were talking about on the news. They're just now telling us things they've been doing for years! What they've got is fucking Nietchian Supermen, not little fetuses! I've seen them! She's so nervous that the table is starting to shake.
"Come on, Skits. There are so many people with robotic arms, nanotech muscles, cyber-eyes and freaking cyber-cocks! How do you know that you didn't just see a tweaker?" I scold, trying to calm her down as well as ignore the shiver going down my spine.
Skittles grabs my hand and stares into my eyes. I start, because I realize her eyes are clear and unaffected by Glass. The shivers come back with a vengeance.
"I know what you're thinking, but this is for real! What I saw scared me straight. I've been enhanced by chemicals, and knew cyber-freaks who were practically robots, but this is different. These things shouldn't exist! They don't exist, but do!" I wince as her nails draw blood.
"You're overloading, Skittles! De-tox before you draw attention," I say as I pry her hand off mine.
"You don't understand!" She practically screams as she stands and leans over the table at me. "THEY KILLED STONE!"
What? I'm still trying to register that my partner of three years, skilled in every form of combat and jacked to the hilt is dead, when the door opens to the bar. I look long enough to see two almost identical men in pressed suits and sunglasses enter.
"And now they're after me." I hear as I turn back and see Skittles going through a passage in the floor (no wonder she wanted to meet here).
"The HELL she's going to drop this bomb on me and leave," I mutter as I follow through the floor.
Ugh. I thought the bar smelled bad! Sewers are not my hangouts of choice.
"Skittles, what the fuck is going on? What do you mean he's dead?" I yell after her.
"Will you shut up and just come on before they find us?" she answers.
She leads me through a maze of smelly pipes, until all I can do is hold my nose and try not to look down. The smell finally starts to let up as she comes to a rusted ladder.
"Let me go first," she says as she climbs up to a manhole and makes a series of knocks on it. It opens, and the laser sights focusing on her forehead make her look like she's changed religions. "Cut it out, asshole!" she mutters as she climbs up the ladder. "I've brought her."
" What? You tell me my partner's dead, drag me through the sewers, and now you're going to ask me for favors?" I ask disbelievingly as I climb up the ladder. When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize the shit has just started to fly.
*************************************************************
The place is pretty plain. From the sounds of it, I think it's a back room of a holo-bar. Crates and cleaning equipment litter the room. The owner of the laser light sets down her gun and I manage to get a good look at the person Skittles led me to.
"Oh, it's you," I mutter. "Should've known the one bitch I know colder than me would be in on this, Lysande."
"You're lucky it's me, or you'll be dead a lot sooner than you planned." she says contemptuously as she runs a hand through her hair.
Great. If you combine a top black-ops solider with an Asian dominatrix with a masochistic flair, you get Lysande. Yeah, she's good at what she does, but not someone you want to be buddy-buddy with.
"I've managed fine on my own until today," I retort.
"Thanks to us. Other than being born, what have you done now to bring the Wrath of God down on you?" Lysande asks as she turns and starts checking various weapons laid out on a table.
"Very funny, Lizzie. I've done everything from jaywalking to assaulting the vice-president of a major pharmaceutical company. You guys seem to know more about this than I do. Who exactly is after me, anyway? How did Stone die? He was one of the tougher psycho-bastards I ever knew." I sit down on a crate and start rubbing my forehead. "This is all getting a bit much."
"The fun's just getting started," Skittles says as she goes to check the door. "I got her here, Lizzie. You can tell her the rest. I've got to get a drink." She steps out and Lysande heaves a sigh as she sets down her repeating shotgun.
"What? Why this ploy just to get me here? What's going on, Lizzie?" I ask, pulling my hair in frustration.
"All right," Lysande says. I can tell you this much. The 'people' after you are called Agents, but you might know them as 'Mr. Johnson.'"
"Yeah, I've been in groups working for them before. Why weren't they after me then?" I ask.
"They didn't know who you really were then. Have you ever noticed how they all look the same?"
"Two of them came into the bar we left. The same.wait a minute. Are these guys supposed to be the 'Supermen' that Skittles was ranting about?"
"Yes.and no. Needless to say, they are incredibly powerful, and they have Arasaka and Yosho-Mitsu in their back pockets. Combine the companies personal vendettas with the Agents desire to get you, and you've just become 'persona non-grata.' That's where I come in; to save your ass." Explains Lysande.
"Were they the ones who killed Stone?" I ask quietly.
"Yes. He saved Skittle's life, and mine." Lysande says.
And that was the end of that. We all know we're going to die sooner or later in this place. Stone was a warrior through and through. 'He saved our lives.' A fitting epitaph then; that's all we leave behind.
I notice that the music has stopped and Lysande goes to check the door. Skittles comes through the door and is about to say something, when Lysande pushes past her.
"I know. Follow me and try to look like one of the sheep."
I huddle down and try to do my best impersonation of a Chinese fire drill. Everything is chaos, flashing strobe lights, water, smoke, and people screaming and pushing towards the exits.
"This way!" Lysande screams in my ear and pulls me towards the kitchen. We pass Skittles crouched behind the bar as she's pulling the pin out of a grenade. Four of the Arasaka shock troops with their black leather and custom weapons spot us and try to push through the crowd.
Lysande leads the way through the kitchen till we get to a lid in the floor.
"Aw, come on," I moan. "Not the sewer again!"
"Shut up and move!"
An explosion shakes the wall as Skittles comes running into the kitchen followed by heavy gunfire. I hate the sewer, but I hate serious injury even more.
"Here goes nothing," I say and jump, expecting the worst.
**CLANG**
I didn't expect this. I never thought the old subway tunnels were still accessible. Lysande and Skittles are running up ahead along the subway tunnels.
"I'm starting to feel like a rat," I joke sarcastically as I manage to catch up to them. "Where are we going?"
"No where," Lysande says as we pull up to an embarking platform. "Skittles is injured, so you're going to treat her while I call for a ride and check our tail." She then runs back down the tunnel.
"I gotta remember about broken glass the next time I hide behind a bar," mutters Skittles as I slap a stim on her and try to pick out the shards of glass in her back.
"Hey, how about remembering why you got me into all this?" I ask, while pulling a little too hard.
"Shit!! Look, Styx, I'm just the messenger here. If you want answers, wait for our ride." She groans.
"I'm getting tired of this, Skits." I sigh as I finish treating her wounds. "Was all that before just bullshit to get me here? Supermen and conspiracies. come on! Why should I go with you guys, instead of back on the street where I belong?"
"Look," Skittles whispers as she looks down the tunnel and reaches for something in her boot. "I can't let Lysande know about this, but he gave me something to give to you." She turns around and holds out her hand.
I look at what's in her hand and my world turns to black.
"Yosho-Mitsu's Biologic R&D has been the first to perfect the cloning of a human fetus! Our stock has increased exponentially; therefore workers in section 123-A may have the rest of the day off with pay. In further news, the so-called Neo-Revolution continued with an attack on Arasaka Securities R&D headquarters today. Numerous workers were killed and their labs were destroyed. Arasaka's president has accused Yosho-Mitsu of involvement, but we have denied all charges. Now back to your regular program."
I always thought those reporters looked like plastic dolls to me, or more like ventriloquist dummies, because something other than the Truth is stuck up their asses. It doesn't matter, though. People still huddle around the Tele-screens like bums around a fire. The more I look around this place, with the glowing signs and the ghost-like people, the more I remember that day. I mean, it's not everyday somebody comes along and says something that changes your whole life.
I was hanging with a local group of poser punks (hey, I had nothing better to do), when this one calling himself Bruce comes over, trying to act like a martial arts hero. He wanted to show off his new muscle booster implants, so he activated them and started posing in different katas. To give him credit, he did look good. for about five minutes. Human Jiffy-Pop is not a pretty thing to watch, but it sure is funny.
Anyway, as his friends are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, this old man that I mistook for a pile of garbage stirs next to me and says, "Just because you can do a thing, doesn't mean you should."
This was the first time I've heard someone who didn't worship progress like a deity. Then again, I'm not one to preach. If you count my neural ware, cyber-eye, net equipment and chip ware, I'm as jacked as the next guy. I give the 'Purists' out there a lot of credit, but in today's day and age, it's nearly impossible to survive without sacrificing at least part of yourself to the metal.
Who am I? My name is Styx, as in the ever-flowing river of Death. I had a real name once, but any who remember it have disappeared, died, or. anyway. If the situation comes up, I'll tell you about it. Otherwise, mind your own business. I am a modern day hacker-girl, jacking her mind into the virtual reality of the e-Universe. Imagine instead of firewalls and passwords, you might encounter walls of flame guarded by dogs from Hell. Everything is there if your imagination and technology can handle it in the Net, so you can imagine how hard it is to leave to come back to the joy that is my world.
I don't believe in the possibility of life without technology anymore. We've had the techno-plague running through our veins for generations now. What we can try to do, though, is keep it in balance. Knowledge and the power it brings should be shared with the masses, not hoarded by the rich. I like to add a touch of creative guidance to that too, so I can keep the phrase "What the Hell were you thinking?" down to a minimum. For example, did you ever hear about the genetic plagues? No, not the ones they released in Iraq. Those were tailored for race. I'm talking about someone going into a crowded party, releasing the plague, and the only one it kills is you. Never heard of such a thing? Didn't think so. That's one of the reasons I'm here. I've been wandering around this planet for so long, it feels weird to finally have a cause. I've been doing jobs, collecting gear, making contacts, but none of it had a real purpose. Now when people ask me when I could care less about most of the human race, I can answer with "Because you gladly cut your own throats with the knife they sell you at 10 times the cost, because you're too bored to wait for the slaughter."
Let's face it. Most people, if you tell them that the guillotine is "now new & improved, with 50% more, and if you buy one you get the second ½ off," there'll be a line around the block to see who can get their heads chopped off first. It's those that I couldn't care less about, because there's nothing anyone can do. That behavior has been ingrained in them for generations upon generations. I'm here for the ones who say," Wait a minute." I'm here to tell them that their "doctor recommended, celebrity endorsed, 'population de-intensifier'" is really a bottle of time-released poison gas. Believe me, if you open one of those in a busy room, there'll be a few less people in the crowd. If you don't want to believe me over some overpaid plastic model, that's your family's problem when they pick up the remains.
Aaah, here it is. I swear she picks the most microscopic holes in the wall to meet in. If it weren't for the flickering 'Beer' sign, I'd have thought it was abandoned. As I walk into the bar, it reminds me of a trash dump, mounds of dirt and rags that were once people piled up at bars and tables. Ugh, it smells like one too. The bartender doesn't even look up from the T.V. he has in the corner. There in the back is my friend Skittles that I came here to meet. Usually she's all flash and color with her rainbow hair and tattoos, but tonight she's covered in rags like the rest of them.
She's huddled there, her leg bouncing and her eyes constantly darting back and forth. The Glass must be getting to her. What's that? Glass is a psychotropic drug that makes you paranoid and conspiracy crazy, but it enhances your reaction time a great deal. She's one of my hacker buddies, so I've been trying to keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn't over do it. Besides, her conspiracy stories are fun on slow nights like these.
"Sit down!" she hisses as I come up to her table. "You wouldn't believe the stuff that's going down in the Outback (abandoned areas of the Net)."
"What is it this time, Skits?" I say as I sit with my back against the wall. "DNA tracers in our flu shots?"
"Stay with it, Styx. They already admitted that one. I'm talking about today! Yosho-Mitsu is way beyond what they were talking about on the news. They're just now telling us things they've been doing for years! What they've got is fucking Nietchian Supermen, not little fetuses! I've seen them! She's so nervous that the table is starting to shake.
"Come on, Skits. There are so many people with robotic arms, nanotech muscles, cyber-eyes and freaking cyber-cocks! How do you know that you didn't just see a tweaker?" I scold, trying to calm her down as well as ignore the shiver going down my spine.
Skittles grabs my hand and stares into my eyes. I start, because I realize her eyes are clear and unaffected by Glass. The shivers come back with a vengeance.
"I know what you're thinking, but this is for real! What I saw scared me straight. I've been enhanced by chemicals, and knew cyber-freaks who were practically robots, but this is different. These things shouldn't exist! They don't exist, but do!" I wince as her nails draw blood.
"You're overloading, Skittles! De-tox before you draw attention," I say as I pry her hand off mine.
"You don't understand!" She practically screams as she stands and leans over the table at me. "THEY KILLED STONE!"
What? I'm still trying to register that my partner of three years, skilled in every form of combat and jacked to the hilt is dead, when the door opens to the bar. I look long enough to see two almost identical men in pressed suits and sunglasses enter.
"And now they're after me." I hear as I turn back and see Skittles going through a passage in the floor (no wonder she wanted to meet here).
"The HELL she's going to drop this bomb on me and leave," I mutter as I follow through the floor.
Ugh. I thought the bar smelled bad! Sewers are not my hangouts of choice.
"Skittles, what the fuck is going on? What do you mean he's dead?" I yell after her.
"Will you shut up and just come on before they find us?" she answers.
She leads me through a maze of smelly pipes, until all I can do is hold my nose and try not to look down. The smell finally starts to let up as she comes to a rusted ladder.
"Let me go first," she says as she climbs up to a manhole and makes a series of knocks on it. It opens, and the laser sights focusing on her forehead make her look like she's changed religions. "Cut it out, asshole!" she mutters as she climbs up the ladder. "I've brought her."
" What? You tell me my partner's dead, drag me through the sewers, and now you're going to ask me for favors?" I ask disbelievingly as I climb up the ladder. When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize the shit has just started to fly.
*************************************************************
The place is pretty plain. From the sounds of it, I think it's a back room of a holo-bar. Crates and cleaning equipment litter the room. The owner of the laser light sets down her gun and I manage to get a good look at the person Skittles led me to.
"Oh, it's you," I mutter. "Should've known the one bitch I know colder than me would be in on this, Lysande."
"You're lucky it's me, or you'll be dead a lot sooner than you planned." she says contemptuously as she runs a hand through her hair.
Great. If you combine a top black-ops solider with an Asian dominatrix with a masochistic flair, you get Lysande. Yeah, she's good at what she does, but not someone you want to be buddy-buddy with.
"I've managed fine on my own until today," I retort.
"Thanks to us. Other than being born, what have you done now to bring the Wrath of God down on you?" Lysande asks as she turns and starts checking various weapons laid out on a table.
"Very funny, Lizzie. I've done everything from jaywalking to assaulting the vice-president of a major pharmaceutical company. You guys seem to know more about this than I do. Who exactly is after me, anyway? How did Stone die? He was one of the tougher psycho-bastards I ever knew." I sit down on a crate and start rubbing my forehead. "This is all getting a bit much."
"The fun's just getting started," Skittles says as she goes to check the door. "I got her here, Lizzie. You can tell her the rest. I've got to get a drink." She steps out and Lysande heaves a sigh as she sets down her repeating shotgun.
"What? Why this ploy just to get me here? What's going on, Lizzie?" I ask, pulling my hair in frustration.
"All right," Lysande says. I can tell you this much. The 'people' after you are called Agents, but you might know them as 'Mr. Johnson.'"
"Yeah, I've been in groups working for them before. Why weren't they after me then?" I ask.
"They didn't know who you really were then. Have you ever noticed how they all look the same?"
"Two of them came into the bar we left. The same.wait a minute. Are these guys supposed to be the 'Supermen' that Skittles was ranting about?"
"Yes.and no. Needless to say, they are incredibly powerful, and they have Arasaka and Yosho-Mitsu in their back pockets. Combine the companies personal vendettas with the Agents desire to get you, and you've just become 'persona non-grata.' That's where I come in; to save your ass." Explains Lysande.
"Were they the ones who killed Stone?" I ask quietly.
"Yes. He saved Skittle's life, and mine." Lysande says.
And that was the end of that. We all know we're going to die sooner or later in this place. Stone was a warrior through and through. 'He saved our lives.' A fitting epitaph then; that's all we leave behind.
I notice that the music has stopped and Lysande goes to check the door. Skittles comes through the door and is about to say something, when Lysande pushes past her.
"I know. Follow me and try to look like one of the sheep."
I huddle down and try to do my best impersonation of a Chinese fire drill. Everything is chaos, flashing strobe lights, water, smoke, and people screaming and pushing towards the exits.
"This way!" Lysande screams in my ear and pulls me towards the kitchen. We pass Skittles crouched behind the bar as she's pulling the pin out of a grenade. Four of the Arasaka shock troops with their black leather and custom weapons spot us and try to push through the crowd.
Lysande leads the way through the kitchen till we get to a lid in the floor.
"Aw, come on," I moan. "Not the sewer again!"
"Shut up and move!"
An explosion shakes the wall as Skittles comes running into the kitchen followed by heavy gunfire. I hate the sewer, but I hate serious injury even more.
"Here goes nothing," I say and jump, expecting the worst.
**CLANG**
I didn't expect this. I never thought the old subway tunnels were still accessible. Lysande and Skittles are running up ahead along the subway tunnels.
"I'm starting to feel like a rat," I joke sarcastically as I manage to catch up to them. "Where are we going?"
"No where," Lysande says as we pull up to an embarking platform. "Skittles is injured, so you're going to treat her while I call for a ride and check our tail." She then runs back down the tunnel.
"I gotta remember about broken glass the next time I hide behind a bar," mutters Skittles as I slap a stim on her and try to pick out the shards of glass in her back.
"Hey, how about remembering why you got me into all this?" I ask, while pulling a little too hard.
"Shit!! Look, Styx, I'm just the messenger here. If you want answers, wait for our ride." She groans.
"I'm getting tired of this, Skits." I sigh as I finish treating her wounds. "Was all that before just bullshit to get me here? Supermen and conspiracies. come on! Why should I go with you guys, instead of back on the street where I belong?"
"Look," Skittles whispers as she looks down the tunnel and reaches for something in her boot. "I can't let Lysande know about this, but he gave me something to give to you." She turns around and holds out her hand.
I look at what's in her hand and my world turns to black.