Chapter 7 — Do A.I dream about electric sheep?
Not exactly the top floor, but the office I was led to as I walk in looked clean, professional would I call it. Soft gray walls absorbed the natural light streaming through an expansive window that stretched nearly the entire length of the room on one wall.
Two rows of desks — where one clearly meant for me, compact and positioned at the far end of the room opposite to the door, and a significantly larger workspace positioned near the panoramic window, suggesting a senior colleague or partner would occupy the more prominent position.
Sleek chairs in sat tucked beneath each desk. Looks like those types of reclining chairs that politicians pay a good price to keep their backs from being struck by arthritis before their forties. Well, from what I can see this time, it's made of this black mesh material and not leather.
A few shelves lined one wall, currently empty. Maybe not for so long with me making this my own.
Hm, there's also a weapon rack on the wall. If I want to, I could put them on display. Why?
I like to look at it as a suitable tool to… persuade visitors. Something to remind them when they talk to me while seeing the rack behind. Help them think straight — and to think like me to reach an agreement.
Then a working fridge under said rack. It was small, but it worked as I pull the door open. Cold air. Now, this was nice if I had Nuka-Cola to store right now. What in the past life I did to deserve such a luxury as you, working refrigerator?
Then a walk-way above me, just for someone higher-up than me to look down if I am doing anything that is not beyond my career obligations.
So, this is my office.
Spacious, two long desks and a large window showing outside. One for me and a longer one for someone else.
The window offered a sweeping view of the city's architectural landscape - a vista of steel, glass, and concrete stretching toward a horizon from my eyes can witness. Orange sunlight filtered through, casting long shadows and illuminating dust motes.
Hm. I gave it some thought. Personally a great view to look at, but not something I'd like to go turn my back to.
Think of the possible snipers.
I'll have to do something about that soon.
But for now… My own place. King of my own small castle.
That being the case, I took a seat on my throne. One of those ergonomic chairs with the words printed on its support leg.
Upon my first impression, I was pleasantly surprised. The mesh material on the backrest felt great, molding itself to my back. It provided just the right amount of support without forcing me into an awkward posture or becoming uncomfortably hard. Real quality stuff right here.
Now, of course, time for some music I need to face.
WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO?! A silent panic masked by my small smile.
I mean, in the literal sense. A teacher? Me? Yeah, right. The last time I taught a dumb-as-nails courier for some New Reno mob family to make improvise explosives to blow up a bandit outpost extorting the local trade route and hurting business around the region.
Long story short, I dug that poor bastard up from where the local bandits threw their victims. Why was I did this at all? I thought by arming some yokel to act inconspicuous and leave a package to the bandits, then it would make my job easier by not much as lifting a finger.
Smart idea.
That turned out harder when that inbred lit the fuse, not at the tip to give him time to run away, but near the blasting cap! Sad to say, that bastard died somewhat of a hero by no more extortions from that gang. But good news for me I technically did what was asked, but wasted six hours of what I can just clear out an outpost in just a single hour just to teach that mongoloid.
Sure, I could have also taken that outpost's stash with me intact if I went myself instead. Too bad now it's better off as scrap.
Six hours of teaching him how to make an explosive!
The point is what was I going to teach these kids at all that wasn't shooting? All I ever know is related to taking another person's life.
That's not something children should be taught about, regardless of how impervious they are to bullets. It ain't right and I'm no damn teacher, no skills close to it. I'm like country trash in the big city. I can't fit in. I barely made it past three hours with that yokel without the innate desire to strangle him for not understanding how gunpowder works.
It's impossible. I wonder about anything at all I could put into teaching something. Fishing maybe? Foraging? Hacking? Pickpocket?
Swindling shop-owners? Rustling livestock from the rival ranch?
I don't think I have the patients or the level of kindness at all like the teachers of their Vault-city schools have. You know, the type of look that kids don't run away from screaming.
Heh, couldn't be me in their classrooms. Just can't see it myself ever happening.
I removed my old ranger badge that hung on my belt. My hands traced the edges of its rusting body.
I don't think I'd be appreciated if the teacher Rin got looked more like a Drill Sargeant.
If this will help me out. Pulling out this tablet Rin handed. I need to crack it open — by force if I have to.
Sinking into the weathered fabric of my chair, I let my body relax while my mind wandered into a labyrinth of possibilities. The cushion beneath me had long since lost its original firmness, molding to my form. A wonder for my back. The gentle ticking of the wall clock punctuated the silence, each second marking the passage of time as I delved deeper into my thoughts.
The question loomed before me like an insurmountable peak: exactly how was I going to do this?
I meant without breaking the thing.
…
Slowly, time moved further, the orange glow finally set and the room soon sank into darkness, but a small desk lamp I switched open.
More time for myself.
To think.
Think.
Maybe a rest would help. A few minutes.
Yeah, that could help.
…
Inside the room bore an azure electricity crackled through the air, its origin unmistakable — Thirteen's motionless form laid on his seat. The electrical discharge intensified, concentrating particularly around his neck, where it glowed an aethereal light.
You said only fifteen minutes.
How long is it now?
My head throbbed with a familiar ache. It hurts again. What else is new? The pain pulsed behind my temples as I slowly peeled open my eyes, greeted by a paper I taped to my car's ceiling. Nothing more than a few words of "Remember.".
The hours of restless sleep had left my neck with this stiffness. For choosing to sleep inside my car once more. Wasn't exactly a luxury loveseat this car has.
Fumbling in the confined space, I reached for the recliner lever, my fingers finding the worn plastic handle. The mechanism groaned in protest as I adjusted myself upright, the weathered leather seat creaking beneath me as I repositioned to face the steering wheel.
Through the windshield lay Goodsprings, a small town drowning in the vastness dunes of the Mojave. Well, unless you're in Las Vegas, then you've mostly weathered the many storms this country went through. If not, well, obscurity is what you face — that and a lack of business opportunity rolling in town.
The settlement was little more than a collection of houses and shops, their paint peeling from age. A trailer park skulked on the outskirts, its metal homes reflecting the harsh daylight like mirrors in the wasteland. Nothing too interesting, just another no-name forgotten town around the country.
The kind of place that time and progress had left behind, abandoned in favor of more lucrative industries in distant cities.
Here, in this dust-bowl, even tumbleweeds seemed to pass through with reluctance.
The only signs of persistent life came from the handful of stubborn locals who'd chosen to plant their roots in this sleepy town's sand. Their determination to remain was either admirable or foolish — I hadn't decided which. Maybe in a few years I'll find out which.
An insistent ticking noise penetrated my awakened haze, growing more demanding with each second. My hand moved instinctively, slapping at its source — an egg timer serving as my makeshift alarm clock.
Oh, right.
It's my alarm clock. Strange choice, really.
With its loud ticking keeps me half-awake. Half-awake while sleeping means I get to reap the benefits of both sleep and awake.
A win win situation right here.
With practiced focus, I activated my optical cyberware. The world shifted as a holographic HUD materialized before my enhanced vision, digital overlays painting the interior of my car with ghostly blue light only I could see. Among the usual status indicators and environmental readings, a notification blinked persistently — a mail left for me.
The sender's designation was instantly recognizable: one from my handler.
Right, the deal. The one I was going to put myself in the middle. But I wasn't invited to, so it'll be a surprise entrance. She reminded me it's going to happen at the cemetery up north of the town.
How… Original.
Three hours. That's all the time I had to set up and prepare before the meet turned into a crash. Getting here ahead of both groups gave me a tactical advantage — one I intended to exploit fully.
Through my augmented vision, multiple HUD displays overlaid my view of the establishment before me. The bar's worn facade filled my field of vision, my vehicle positioned strategically out front like a sentinel. Goodspring's Pioneer Saloon stood as a testament to a bygone era, its weathered wooden boards and rusty metal signs having witnessed decades of desert stories.
Well, I can get myself a drink first before everything. The thought of alcohol steadying my nerves before the impending chaos seemed appropriate. I pushed open the car door to leave. As I stepped out, the desert night's chill slapped against my face.
My boots crunched against the gravel as I made my way toward the saloon's entrance. On the front porch, an old timer with a white beard occupied a wooden rocking chair, its rhythmic creaking keeping time with the desert wind. I tipped my hat in his direction, a gesture from an era as old as the building itself. He responded with a gruff grunt of acknowledgement, tipping his own weathered hat back.
I entered some cliché of a wild west movie saloon I stepped foot in.
Maybe in another life I would love a place like this.
Still, to break whatever first impression had that this might be a time-capsule broke at the several flat-screen televisions mounted on walls, and long strands of Christmas lights draped across the ceiling beams, casting a multicolored glow over the antique furnishings below.
The nearest screen flickered with a news broadcast, its modern clarity a stark contrast to the saloon's rustic interior. The anchor's voice cut through the ambient sounds of clinking glasses and murmured conversations:
"In other news rocking our nation, The Santau Group unveils a new district dedicated to the theme of Roman culture in the newly constructed East-side Las Vegas after years of anarchy reigned the shanty town as the after-effects of the second casino wars with the new legislation just passed through congress a few hours ago for the first ever bloodsport to arrive in the states much to the dismay of human rights advocacy groups who sees it as a exploitation of the financially desperate or destitute…"
The report droned on, but my attention was already shifting to more immediate concerns. Three hours wasn't much time to prepare for what was coming, and this old-world saloon was about to become ground zero for something its original builders could never have imagined.
The place was sparsely filled with people. Not much bid to look at me and instead paid more attention to their own business. The pool table laughing, the insults to the game of cards on the others or a quiet time with their bottle.
I settled onto one of the barstools.
"Well, here's a peculiar sight to behold."
The voice drew my attention toward the bartender, a girl whose features suggested she'd seen every type of traveler the Mojave could produce despite her age. A family business, perhaps, that she took on. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, studied me with the practiced scrutiny of someone who'd learned to read people as easily as drink orders.
"Call me insane, but I didn't take a fresh face to go on through the front door."
The comment stayed in the air, underscoring my suspicion that even the locals were not anticipating outsiders entering their establishment for much of a drink. In a town this small, my presence stood out like neon in the darkness.
"Just passin' through. Been days on the road."
The bartender's response came with a knowing chuckle, her hands mechanically wiping a glass that had likely seen better days. Her amusement was cut short as she offered her own observation.
"Let me guess, headed to Sin city?"
"Well… Yeah. The A.V system on my ride broke down half-way and I had to take the road here. Much slower" That's to say more dangerous with them bandits roaming around the dunes. I answered.
"The names Trudy, though, I guess you drifters passing through would not remember after you leave town." She noted.
That brought a small laughter out of me. "You never know, I got a memory." I chided, tapping the side of my head with my index finger. "A good one."
I played along with her assumption, letting the words fall casually from my lips. Whatever flows with her, I guess. Sure, it's as good as any cover for my intention in this town later. The fabrication settled comfortably into place, like a well-worn disguise handed on a silver platter for me.
But that platter fell. It clattered with her laughter, burst forth, genuine and sharp against the bar's muted atmosphere. "Ha, I knew it!"
Her sudden small outburst almost put me on alert. "Why? Don't get what's the big punchline for the joke?"
My question hung between us as she continued her work behind the counter, her movements fluid with years of practice.
"Well, you don't really looked convincing, mister."
Her words carried a hint of smugness as she metaphorically poked at my facade. The corner of her mouth twitched with barely concealed amusement.
"Didn't get the local screamsheet earlier around here? You must be here for those sardines prowling around outside of town. You can't miss 'em."
Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, maintaining appearances while sliding a glass of foaming beer on tap toward me. My hand instinctively caught the handle, fingers wrapping around the cool glass as condensation beaded beneath my grip. The amber liquid caught the dim bar light, promising temporary respite from the desert heat and persistent questions.
I paused, the glass hovering halfway to my lips. The amber liquid inside rippled slightly, disturbed by the tremor in my hand that betrayed my sudden unease.
Was this a trap?
The question pierced through my thoughts like a hot wire, sending electric tingles of awareness down my spine. My augmented senses flared, the world sharpening into impossible detail as time itself slowed to a crawl.
How did it come to this? I barely even arrived a few hours into town, and they were already able to I.D me. The realization sat heavy in my gut, not well, colder than the untouched drink before me. Years of training and careful preparation threatened to unravel in this dusty saloon, all because I'd underestimated a small-town bartender's powers of observation.
My eyes moved with deliberate slowness, scanning the other patrons through my peripheral vision.
Each casual pose and seemingly innocent gesture I watch with suspicion.
Could they be with her? Which are the ones? The man in the corner slouched over his drink - his jacket hung oddly on the right side. The woman by the window, her cybernetic hand too still on the table.
The couple near the door, positioned perfectly to block the exit. Each one could have a weapon aimed in secret at me, fingers twitching on triggers hidden beneath tables or their own enhanced limbs themselves ready for me.
Could all of them be?
My thoughts raced to my vehicle outside. Someone already attempting to jack in my car by now when I leave. The mental image of tech-runners working their magic on my ride's security systems flashed through my mind.
IF I can leave. The thought carried the weight of steel, heavy with implications.
"What? After those suspicious crowd who looked like sand was just some new discovery to them strolled into town last week and now you arrive? It's obvious something is going down here."
Good thing I carried a few grenades with me.
"Oh calm down, I ain't going to rat you out." Finally the bartender said. "In fact, I was asked to help you."
I quietly watched this kid act all calm with me. She pointed at a photo framed near the register. A photo of a couple of men and women in dirty green tiger-striped fatigues with a solemn face scarred mentally and literally for some.
This photo of friends wasn't a happy memory to cherish.
It was a painful reminder to never forget.
Written on the bottom corner.
January 2006, Panama. Go to hell or shallow beach waters.
Central America… I closed my eyes. I could see now. Clear as the day in that picture. A fellow veteran ran this bar.
"One of them is your father I take it."
She nodded with a peculiar stillness, her response carrying neither shame nor pride. The gentle movement of her head seemed to hold years of unspoken history, a gesture that spoke volumes in its simplicity. The dim bar lights caught the edges of her profile, casting shadows that somehow made her composure more pronounced.
I felt the weight of unspoken questions pressing against my conscience. The rational part of me knew it was improper to dig deeper into such personal matters, yet curiosity tugged at my thoughts like an insistent child.
"Is he…"
She caught my probe mid-sentence, her eyes flickering with recognition. "Oh, yeah, he's home. But his mind sometimes isn't. You already met him by now. Folks here if they visit this place should be the first thing they see and meet is him."
That old-timer…
The realization settled in my stomach like a heavy stone. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, painting a picture I wasn't sure I wanted to see completely. The quiet old man by the porch. How I could miss that fact… is beyond me.
"Here." The sound of glass meeting wood accompanied her movements as she placed another beer before me. The napkin underneath caught my attention, bearing cryptic numbers and letters in hurried handwriting. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper as she continued. "By the old water tower, there's a small sat-dish set up for you. You know what to do."
Of course, scribbled hastily on a crumpled napkin, showed the logo of an upside-down green triangle with lines across, dividing into four parts.
The same logo as the place where I work at. So, she at least has an idea. Probably told by her old man to send the message to me. Considering most veterans also got nowhere to turn to but accept the same work for where I am now. The only employer left in this country that accepts them.
To me, after witnessing this, it's now not that a big surprise some who left the corporation still accept favors such as this. If it means to help put this country back to its old glory — at least parts of it.
Anything is on the table for them.
A voice called out from the other end of the bar — another patron raising an empty glass in silent request. She started to move away; her steps practiced and efficient across the worn floorboards, but not before adding that both drinks were complimentary.
I savored the unexpected generosity, letting the amber liquid roll across my tongue. There was something about free beer that made it taste better, like a secret ingredient of my dollars still in my wallet makes me smile.
"You're not going to charge me? That's rare…"
Her response came quick, cutting through the ambient murmur of the bar. "If you keep pestering me I will. I swear I don't understand you corpo boys work." She eyed me for a moment before she gestured by pointing a finger at her head. "I mean how your head works."
If I was also on the same boat as her, I would chuckle; and I did. "You and I, kid."
"Almost gave me a heart-attack there." I said. "For a moment, taught I was going to be turned into some horror movie with killer hicks from some backwater town."
"Sorry." She sweat-dropped, sheepishly eyeing away for a moment. "Nothing ever happens here that much."
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the worn bar counter between us. Her restless fingers traced invisible patterns on the wood, betraying the underlying frustration in her seemingly casual statement.
Bored, is she? "Let me tell ya', kid. It's better nothing happens. Take it from me, it ain't fun when you're in it."
"Easy for you to say, I mean, you're not over here wallowing on second-hand depression and smoke or breaking up fights from people who drink too much than their livers can handle." She said.
I turn to the other patrons, studying their appearances through the haze of cigarette smoke. Their clothes spoke of honest work and simple lives - mechanic's overalls, factory uniforms, office attire gone wrinkled from a long day. Well-meaning folks, mostly, though one particular gentleman was currently showing his poor relationship with alcohol in the corner, his dinner making an unwelcome reappearance by it splattered on the floor.
A special cameo for the night.
I turned back to the kid, wiping some glasses with a rag. "Let me guess, you dream of becoming more than… a bartender at some dead-end town? One of this city legends?" I pointed out.
The world had changed, morphing into something darker and more complex. The collapse of old systems and the rise of corporate feudalism had birthed new breeds of "heroes" - legendary mercenaries from destabilized countries to corporate janitors, each carrying their own skills in a world where morality had become as fluid as the prices on life.
"Yes!" She was quick to answer.
It's people like her that perpetuate its longevity, directly or indirectly.
Her enthusiasm manifested physically as she slammed her hands on the table, the sharp sound cutting through the ambient noise like a gunshot. The regular buzz of conversation stuttered to a halt, dozens of eyes turning our way. Her face glowed with the kind of naïve excitement that made my gut twist - I'd seen that same look on too many young faces, most of whom weren't around anymore to share their stories.
The moment passed, and the other patrons returned to their drinks and discussions, leaving us in our bubble of conversation.
"Believe me, kid. You're not missing much in those kind of life. Better to live long till you're shitting in a bag while watching the sun every morning with family than a guns blazing every second of your short life and dying young as some name that people will barely remember in a few years." I explained. "You could choose one, but never the other. Once you're old enough, the former is becoming more preferable when you're too deep on the latter."
The truth hung between us like stale smoke. The legends she dreamed of were nothing but ghosts now - names whispered in bars and back alleys, their glory fading faster than the bullet holes or body count they left behind.
The real legends weren't the ones who died in spectacular firefights or corporate-sanctioned raids; they were the ones who managed to walk away, who chose life over leaving a legacy behind.
Live in peace, forgotten, but alive. Barely alive.
But that's the thing about youth - it sees only the flash, never the burn that follows. The slow after effects of the inevitability of the crash they miss.
Besides, it's stupid to think heroes are this perfect effigy of success. But when you meet them? Most of the time, they come across as rude or consistently in a state of self-pity or intoxicated. Traumatized or regretful. Hateful maybe.
Not exactly the image of a legend now, is it? Like a washed out celebrity in rehab or after a bad Botox surgery. Hard to look at when you used to look up to them.
"Think about you're pops. He left you with a well-paying job, I presume it's enough to get by. Be thankful."
The girl remained silent; her features settling into a contemplative stillness. Time seemed to stretch as she absorbed my words, weighing each one with careful consideration.
Her gaze drifted far beyond the table, her eyes laid, unfocused yet intense.
"You either burn out in a blaze of glory to a sudden end or rot away watching daytime television till you need a wheelchair to move. The poor bastards in between? There's no in between. They're just dying fast without the highlights reel for the world to see. Die young without the glory."
"Yeah… thanks…I… If you're done over there." She looked at my drink. "You got somewhere else to be."
The finality in her tone left no room for interpretation. The exchange was over, dissolved into the haze of cigarette smoke and whispered conversations that filled the space between us.
"But if you're not immediately leaving after. Could you… Come back later? I mean if you're free."
Having said that, I made my way out of the building. As I left, the old veteran bid me farewell with a gentle wave of his hand.
Back behind the wheels, I headed north up the road by a small graveyard, a few shrubbery here and there and a perfect view of Goodsprings from up here along with the old water tower.
I climbed up the ladder and saw a small setup of hardware. A vintage laptop connected to a sat-dish as was written on the napkin as said. A yellow letter "M" boldly displayed on its body.
The cemetery's tranquil atmosphere shattered as several convoys infiltrated the hallowed grounds. The air filled with the low rumble of engines - sleek corporate vehicles alongside heavily armored trucks. Armed mercenaries - packed in tactical gear or sardines - fanned out across the graves, their boots crushing wilted flowers left by mourners. Corporate suits then followed behind.
From my vantage point, I initiated the data interception sequence. Alongside crack their ICE security. Perhaps my breach in their transmitting data could serve as my entrance…
The deal between these armed thugs and suits was just beginning, as both parties entered negotiations.
The dish hummed to life, invisible tendrils of code reaching out toward my target truck's hiding to be a hard drive setup inside responsible for the transmission. The laptop purred as it began copying the streaming data, each percentage tick bringing me closer to completion.
I observed from the vantage point of the water tower as the deal go down.
Through my enhanced optics, I studied the pair as they conversed near one of the corporate vehicles. The sardine who initiated the conversation stood with the practiced ease of ex-military - a stocky figure wrapped in top-grade tactical gear that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. Sweat beaded on his weather-beaten face, trickling down past the distinctive scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw.
"How was your flight here?" The sardine's voice carried the gravelly undertone of someone who'd spent too many years barking orders in combat zones.
His conversation partner cut a sharp contrast - a corpo suit whose perfectly tailored Europian looking attire looked absurdly out of place in the cemetery's sweltering atmosphere. His pale complexion had already taken on a pinkish hue from the relentless sun, and dark patches of sweat were beginning to form under his arms, betraying his discomfort. A subtle twitch in his left eye suggested recent neural implants, probably corporate-mandated upgrades that hadn't fully integrated yet.
"Gah! It was hot back at home and it's even hotter here." the suit complained. His words echoed European to me, clipping the words with some rich-people accent they like to do. His hand reached up to loosen his collar, revealing a glimpse of chrome subdermal armor plating beneath his pristine white shirt.
The sardine's scarred face cracked into a knowing grin, creating a web of wrinkles around his cybernetic eyes. "Hehe. Welcome to the States. Shall we begin?"
What struck me the most is one of them spoke clearly, something that's not American. European, in fact.
What in the world… Personally, I was expecting Japanese. Those slant-eyes liked to weasel their way to where they won't belong, like in Nor-cal.
But this… Europeans being here… This is a surprise.
My optics' HUD flared with cascading windows of breach options as I observed the unfolding scene. What's your business here? I thought as I watch the two representatives of the groups shook hands.
Streams of code danced in my peripheral vision, each representing a potential access point into their systems. I had already threaded my way through their network architecture, leaving subtle backdoors in my wake.
The familiar orange glow of "backdoor_access" pulsed steadily in the corner of my vision; my established control.
Then movement caught my attention. A figure emerged, their form highlighted automatically by my targeting systems. A new window materialized in my field of view - their personal ICE defenses laid bare before my scanning protocols.
Their desperate gestures toward the water tower where I perched triggered a smile across my lips.
My HUD immediately populated with several options through my NeuroPort.
[SYSTEM_RESET]
[SYNAPSE_BURNOUT]
[CRIPPLE_MOVEMENT]
[CYBERWARE_MALFUNCTION]
[FIREARM_PREMATURE_DISCHARGE]
[DETONATE_EXPLOSION]
[INVASIVE_CONTROL]
Little did the assholes on the ground realize that while they'd just discovered my presence, I'd been swimming through their systems for what felt like a weekend swim at the beach. Every blink revealed more data in my augmented vision - their security protocols, emergency channels, even personal communications, all compromised and feeding directly into my neural processor. Each of their linked systems glowed like a constellation in my enhanced sight, connections I'd already subverted glowing a satisfying shade of green.
Their belated realization was almost amusing - like watching someone notice a shadow long after the predator had already struck. The targeting reticle in my vision pulsed rhythmically, ready to execute any number of prepared these new toys at my mental command.
Let's see if the if these things work.
Then the screaming began.
The first sardine clutched his head, a blood-curdling shriek tearing from his throat as if his soul were being shredded. His cybernetic arm spasmed, servos grinding against metal as internal components began to overheat. Their cyberware produced rectangular red squares around their bodies as the stench of burning circuits and scorched flesh permeated the air. The military-grade optical implants burst in their sockets, spraying viscous fluid down his cheeks like mechanical tears.
The wave of cyber-failure spread like a virus. A suited woman's spine-mounted targeting system detonated, the explosion shearing through her vertebrae and painting nearby headstones with a mist of blood and bone fragments. Another mercenary's reinforced skeletal frame malfunctioned, the metal supports tearing through his muscle tissue as they warped and twisted. The sound of snapping tendons mixed with their agonized wails.
Their enhanced bodies betrayed them one by one, turning into instruments of their own destruction. Limb-mounted weapons discharged randomly, adding to the chaos. The cemetery grounds became littered with convulsing forms, their cyberware short-circuiting in spectacular displays of sparks and gore. The grass beneath them darkened with spreading pools of blood and white cyborg fluid.
They collapsed like puppets with severed strings, their bodies still twitching as failing implants continued to misfire.
The once-pristine corporate suits were now crimson-soaked, their wearers contorted in final poses of agony among the weathered gravestones. The only sound remaining was the occasional pop of overloaded circuits and the sizzle of fried neural connections.
Worked like a charm…
…
What the hell is happening? A second passed, everything was running as planned and the next screaming and everyone's head has smoke coming out of their mouths and ears. Shooting at one another.
Like a demon just possessed everyone here. Was it because of us trampling on the graves?!
It must be that bastard that our Netrunner came to warn us about. Too late now; We were being scanned. Tagged. Catalogued. Hunted.
Through the windshield, I took cover after I ran back to my car. I slammed the door shut, and there I caught glimpses of the aftermath. One of the so-called bodyguards that was supposed to not let something like this happened had been the first to fall, his body discovered in fragments near some tombstone I first saw when the first scream just broke whatever was happening.
I watch one of them a second ago try to fight something he can't even see before his spine burst into flames with chunks of his armor burst like a tin can with too much pressure built up.
Next, the suited asshole stood frozen as the sharp blade sliced through his arms when I was running across the chaos, the metallic scent of blood filling the air.
I swear when I looked back. In an instant, I watched his eyes widened with a plume of thick black smoke billowed out, engulfing his face as he fell on the dirt.
Then the person who's supposed to be the liaison for this deal, Martinez, her last message, cut mid-sentence as something found her hiding behind a car I rushed past by.
What's the point? There wasn't even a sniper.
One by one, my colleagues' positions were being systematically dismantled, both digitally and… physically.
Like a suicide pact or something… Or a ghost killing us. We can't see it, but we sure can see it's damages it causes.
The worst part was the methodical nature of it, happening one-by-one. It was their cyberware turning against the body it was attached to.
Screw this!
"I'm not going to die for this shit!"
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the keys, but somehow I managed to jam them into the ignition. Sweat trickled down my temples, stinging my eyes as I wrapped trembling fingers around the gearshift. The engine's as I yanked the shifter into reverse.
But that's when everything changed.
An unfamiliar pressure bloomed in my chest. My body froze, caught in a moment that felt suspended between seconds. Time seemed to slow as my hand moved downward of its own accord, fingers trace an unfamiliar sensation coming out of my torso until I encountered something that shouldn't be there.
The discovery sent ice through my veins. Cold metal greeted my exploring fingers — a blade, its polished surface now slick with my blood, had penetrated my chest through the seat. The steel caught the dim glow of my dashboard lights, creating a grotesque sparkle where it protruded from my chest.
My eyes, drawn by some morbid compulsion to the rearview mirror, met a sight that turned my insides to water. There, in the darkness of the backseat I'd foolishly left unchecked, hung two points of ethereal blue light — eyes that burned with an unnatural luminescence.
They floated in the shadows like twin stars, watching me with predatory patience, bearing witness to the moment my escape plan crumbled into ruins.
As my consciousness faded, those eyes seemed to intensify their glow, as if drawing satisfaction from my final, futile attempt at survival.
I could barely punch out words my mouth could muster.
"Son of a-…"
The bastard got me.
…
"It's done. Hell, I'll do you one better — I'll send the files straight from the source. No, we don't need to hijack their network. Europeans, you say? Yeah, one them I heard talked like one — The faggot accent and all. Albanians? Huh. I understand. I wonder why are they in cahoots with secessionists and Crime syndicates in Las Vegas. We'll talk later."
I need a drink after… and a smoke too.
"Urgh…" A weak voice ground somewhere. Still alive?
I moved closer, feeling the heaviness of the gun in my hand, marking the end for the man inside.
"Sorry, pal," I said, my voice feigned sympathy as I surveyed the scene of the carnage. "From where you're standing, it looks to me you had a twenty-four carat run of bad luck."
The last survivor in the car, his chest a bloody mess, weakly lifted his head to meet my gaze. I couldn't help but let a sardonic smile twist my lips.
"Hell, you could say you pulled the snake's eye for this game." I mused. There wasn't much else left — I mean, for the poor bastard inside the car and for me soon. So, I'll savor this moment.
Gripping the revolver tightly, I leveled it at the sole survivor of today's failed meeting. "Just remember." I warned. "you should have listened - dealing with Americans is bad business." I shook my head, a hint of condescension in the gesture. "I thought you Europeans learned that after the Orbit Wars."
In a state of desperation, the man clawed at the car door, his face marked with panic. "And dealing against our corporate economic interests?" I continued, my voice laced with even more contempt to gauge more reaction from the wounded man. "Dangerous business."
I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in as I the man continued his futile attempts to open the door. "Seems like you're all out of cards left to play. You see, the game your boss put you through tonight was already rigged from the start."
Without further ado, I fired several rounds directly into the car's engine. Smoke immediately began to pour from the crevices, and within moments, flames licked at the twisted, smoldering metal.
I holstered my weapon and walked beside the vehicle. Before leaving, I tossed a timed-explosive into the backseat. The compact device landed soundlessly, its digital timer counting down as I turned and departed through the gate.
…
The crackle of the comm device echoed in my ear as my handler's voice came through. "Thirteen, good work on the data. This should be enough to work with on the Las Vegas' benefactors from Europe."
I furrowed my brow slightly. "So it is European…"
"We'll speak about the details over later," my handler replied. "Now get out of there. Oh, for the record, it's Albanian." A brief pause. "We need to make sure you're not caught. Another note, the fucking chief ordered the green light on Coronado Countdown."
My jaw tightened at the news. Fuck me… "Is there any reasons at all why you're sharing me this? I'm not assigned with the details much, but I know that Old New-Yorker is connected to it."
"Not at all in particular," my handler said. "Just, a heads up. I don't want you or anyone under me to be in the City when it all blows up."
My mind raced, processing the implications. Goddamnit. "So it's actually going through with it? No objections from the board at all?"
"None so far. If there is, then they're not speaking up."
"Jesus, ain't you a bit worried that our people is giving nukes to these coked-up rockstar wanna-be rebels? I'm sure that they'd probably mis-click the red button and blow themselves with all the drugs running around their veins."
"I know, but it's not our call."
"I know… I'm just saying… Blowing up a rival headquarters building on our soil… Obviously wrong for all the reasons."
"If it means that the Japanese will turn tails and leave our Western shores… Then fine."
"You're just lucky your post isn't assigned to that godforsaken city."
"Yeah, yeah. Next you're going to say I look in front of the monitors for too long. Okay, dad. I get it." She sarcastically said. I could feel her eyes rolling by now.
"Listen, we can argue like old couples on their second honeymoon later. Now get out of there!"
Oh.
"Right, sure. Not caught, huh?"
"… Don't tell me…"
"I mean, I'm not technically caught when there's no one alive to tell."
"…"
Still…
Nukes… Damn. She gave me a new name… My handler. she could still give me another if this all does blow up, and I get caught in the proverbial blast…
I turned the situation over in my mind, analyzing it from every possible angle, considering every conceivable outcome. My thoughts flickered to how this might end, replaying possible conclusions that left me wondering just how far things might go.
What would happens if that drug-addict has his hands on a nuke.
As each possibility took shape, I felt the faint trace of a smirk tug at the corners of my mouth—a brief, instinctual reaction to the memory of the handler's expression.
But then, just as quickly, the smirk faded. The weight of the situation pressed down, replacing any lingering hint of amusement.
But I need to stop Morgan. Just enough time to have somebody to put some sense into the others on the board of directors to call off the plot.
Consciousness returned to me violently, my body drenched in a cold sweat that had soaked through my dress shirt and made it cling uncomfortably to my skin. What the hell… The remnants of the strange nightmare clung to the edges of my mind, refusing to drown and forgetting like normal dreams usually did.
Oh, right… That place… Damn, just when I was starting to not give it any thought.
But it got me thinking.
Reality slowly came into focus as I found myself back in my seat in my office, the chair creaking softly as I shifted my weight to sit-up straight. I looked around the deserted workspace, not a soul in sight around. The usual buzz of keyboards and office chatter was replaced by an eerie silence. I must have fallen asleep during another late night at work.
Seeking some sense of time, I looked back at the window. The familiar warmth of the setting sun had been replaced by its nocturnal counterpart - a bright white ball that is the moon in the sky, casting long shadows across my desk and bathing the office in an ethereal silver glow.
That dream lingered in my thoughts, refusing to be ignored. In it, I had done something extraordinary - exercised some power over machines without my pip-boy. I remember… back then.
I think I used to be able to. Could I? Did I?
If I could do it the same way to this tablet… The device sat innocently on my desk, its black screen reflecting the moonlight.
With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, I focused my senses, concentrating intensely on the tablet before me.
To my astonishment, the HUD appeared, just as it had in the dream - a translucent overlay of geometric patterns and data streams coming from all over the room. But the one that caught my attention was the one coming out of the tablet.
A small screen on my HUD expanded with the option it wanted me to open the tablet. I pressed it on.
My head panicked when my fingers moved without my own control, as if guided by an unseen force. They danced across the digital keyboard on the tablet with purposeful precision, each keystroke deliberate and certain despite my conscious mind being merely a spectator to their movement.
It punched in a sentence that made no sense to me.
[We thirst for the seven wailings. We bear the koan of Jericho.]
But from my knowledge, it looked like some religious texts. Though, not that I know of. Not much on religion. Usually, praying doesn't save me in a firefight, so I never found much used to learn them but to hear some in passing journeys of mine.
[Password Accepted.]
[Security Disabled.]
I watched in silence as the tablet's display illuminated my face with its soft glow, showing me nothing more than a simple welcome screen. The anticipation built in my chest deflated slightly as seconds ticked by without further development.
But nothing else happened.
Just as I was about to set the device down in disappointment, the screen transformed before my eyes. The interface expanded, revealing a vast digital panorama that captured my full attention. I mean, the screen opened to me a large scenery of a room; the details rendering with stunning clarity. The space was bathed in natural light streaming through a row of windows, with a bright blue sky just teased behind them - a perfect spring day simulated.
My eyes were immediately drawn to a prominent feature that seemed out of place: I can't miss a large hole in the wall, its jagged edges like an explosion occurred; powerful blow a hole open.
The scene felt eerily familiar, yet completely foreign. Adding to the unsettling atmosphere were chairs scattered throughout the virtual space, not just randomly tossed about but positioned as if their occupants had left in a hurry.
They look like the same school chairs that Vault-City schools use, their utilitarian wood and metal design unmistakable to anyone who had spent time in those top of the line schools in the NCR region.
What was I supposed to do here? The question echoed in my mind as I studied every pixel of the displayed scene, searching for any hint or clue that might guide me forward.
How exactly will this help me?
The doubt crept in as I continued to stare at the mysterious image.
This is it?
I watched for a good few minutes without anything changing. Nothing even remotely caught my interest.
What now?
That curiosity died out. I am at my end, not sure what to do at a scene of an empty room. But I found someone else entering.
"Rin?"
"Thirt—" She coughed, fake sounding one like she's posturing herself. "Sensei, you're awake."
Right…
"Well, I spent the day dodging bullets and hijacked a tank to trying to open this tablet of yours. Sure, I enjoyed my sleep." I extended my hands to my side. "Now I'm awake."
Rin just gave me a look. A confused one.
"So, what are you doing here this late?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by Rin's unexpected presence.
She made her way towards me. "I stayed behind to handle the preparations for your arrival," she replied, her tone as always, professional.
"Arrival?" I echoed, my brow furrowing in confusion. I had arrived? I maintained a neutral expression as I watched Rin approach.
"If you're going to be the new Sensei of Schale, then it's my responsibility to ensure you're acquainted with your work," Rin explained. "And to prepare the eventual announcement of your appointment."
She paused, a slight furrow appearing between her brows. "That has certainly given me some problems to work through earlier." She admitted.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Rin continued, "For one, the… stunt you pulled, while ultimately beneficial in restoring order to our district, has certainly set tongues wagging amongst the Kivotos grapevine." She shook her head slightly. "That makes it difficult to manage the timing of the announcement, before the rumors get out of hand. The second is the property damages your joyride as costed the city among the mental scar you left on the trouble makers — justified or not is concerning to medical staffs."
A tension I hadn't even realized was building in my head suddenly spiked. News? Announcing my welcome? My thoughts raced. What kind of job have I just taken on? I had thought I was simply going to be a teacher, nothing more. But Rin's words painted a picture of a position with far-reaching implications, almost like a civil servant running for some kind of political office.
Is this what is like being a politician?
Am I really in over my head here? I wondered, unease stirring in the pit of my stomach.
Rin watched me carefully, no doubt gauging my reaction. She's perceptive, I noted. And it seems there's more to this position than meets the eye.
I cleared my throat, weighing my next words. "I see. Well, I'm certainly… intrigued by the challenges ahead." A wry smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Just like all politicians, the usual smile. "I suppose I have some catching up to do."
"But rest assured, those rumors will be pushed aside once I make the formal announcement tomorrow morning," Rin said, her tone reassuring. "As such, the other schools will be notified as well." She paused to adjust her glasses, the movement precise and measured.
"Then, I will assist you further with your actual duties after the announcement has been made." she added.
As Rin spoke, I felt a growing sense of unease stirring within me. Formal announcement? Notifying other schools? The implications were starting to sink in, and I could feel my mind racing, thoughts swirling chaotically.
Almost all of my thoughts were shouting at one another. Remorse and regret over my decision. I was in over my head. I was like Icarus, except I didn't fly to the sun — I was the moron who just shook hands and take jobs without looking at the fine print of the help wanted poster.
Funny thing is, there was no poster — just words from Rin about an open position.
I'm in over my head here, I thought, struggling to maintain my composure.
Rin's voice cut through the turmoil in my mind. "Sensei, are you alright?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly with concern.
I blinked, realizing I had been staring blankly. "Guh? Huh?" I managed, my response awkward and disjointed.
"You froze." Rin observed, her gaze searching mine.
I cleared my throat, trying to regain my footing. "Oh, yeah, sure. Just, uh, a lot on my mind, that's all." I said, offering a half-hearted smile.
Understatement of the year, I thought ruefully. The weight of this new role I had taken on was beginning to truly sink in, and I couldn't help but wonder what I had gotten myself gave a silent sigh. "As you shown much. Is there anything troubling you."
A lot. "Just a bit. It's all too much for me to take in right now."
Rin closed her eyes for a moment as she spoke. "I see…" Then opens them to return looking at me. "Perhaps… I will accompany you around your work for a few days and have someone help you around the city. I would personally, however, my obligations… Strangle me to my desk."
"Huh, that works… Thanks. I appreciated that. A lot. For a stranger you just met, you're real nice. Even behind that cold exterior you use as a mask."
"Please, don't push you're luck." Rin cocked a brow. Clear as day, annoyed.
"Oh, believe me, Rin. I have all the LUCK in the world to push galaxies."
"Here." She handed me the items she was holding. A small bottle of water — cold. Then a… brochure for Kivotos.
"If you still feel awake. Then you could occupy yourself with this informative brochure, or walk around your new office building."
"You know, are you this sweet on everyone? Is the cold expression you put really necessary?"
Rin just gave me a sharp glare. Yes. Yes, it is necessary for someone who keeps a city together. A strong leader for others to follow; the rest to thread lightly against her.
"Heh, guess I must be real lucky guy then." I noted with a chuckle.
"Also, Sensei, about the Shittim Chest…"
"Ah, right. Again, not much progress, but I'll keep any approach on the table to open it."
"I see… Then it's best I leave it in your care. It is yours, but I must apologize for its current form's lack of function."
"Eh, no worries."
"I suppose I should let you be. Goodbye for now, Sensei."
"Goodbye."
A/N: Hello, a slow chapter this time. I was originally planning to release it alongside chapter 6 since I personally think this couldn't stand on its own story-wise considering the… "You know" plot this chapter has.
I am talking about 13's dreams. I wonder what was it about… Most be important.
Again, this month a lot of things are currently happening for me personally with my internship and academics. So, I might be busy for a long while. But of course, updates will still come but shorter.
Another note: thankfully, the storms never hit one another and caused some super storm or something. But now the countries above me are in for a world of hurt, since the storms just grew in size many weeks ago.
Another storm entered but wrecked Havok to the northern provinces again, but on a smaller scale and left faster.
Eisenhower Haloway: Probably not good hahaha. But for someone like him, he'll at least give it a shot at a desk job. Besides, being drunk is not his biggest problem now and soon.
Mnass: Thanks! The storm thankfully never returned and moved North-West. Hehe I like overworked girls. Very nice to write about them.