《DAWN_POUR》 PROLOGUE - CHAPTER 1 [0] It was raining. All night long. It had been. There was a certain pace to it. An ambitious rhythm, a consistency unlike most things that went and still would go unaccounted for after the wicked wet night. It was mildly acidic. Leaving behind only the faintest sensation hinting that it even burned at all. I could taste it. I could smell it. I had loved it. It felt like betrayal. Still a long way to go. [I] 01:41:16 am It was raining harshly when the intercom, linked to the long-faded, ash-wooden door, suddenly buzzed out of current stress. The ash-wooden door was a luxury born out of necessity, while ages-old intercom tech neatly attached to it was but a vague hobby bordering on pride. The crystal clear raindrops carelessly swept away the thick dust layer that had long ago grown on the two-meter long windows stretched behind me, as I later stretched a calloused finger to casually press the violet button with an outdated cable that squirmed out of it like a snake. For a heartbeat or two, my world only consisted of the consistent beats of the raindrops, which were almost musical, when the wooden door creaked open not gracefully and all the smoke and dust of the outside material world rushed inside, all the commotion of this outside world intruded on my quiet, personal hellish mediation. Lifting my head slowly, I clearly saw that on my modest-enough door-mat was standing a woman whose appearance did not easily suggest such habitual modesty. The neon-light of the street behind illuminating her clean-cut outline looked almost staged. I could easily select that she had one of those faces resembling that of an angel yet those droopy, shiny eyes looked terribly out of place, more like those of another sort of twisted deity. A visit at this late an hour could only hint at trouble. I could see my late-night visitor seemed to be keen on dramatic entrances, that or she wasn''t sure she''d barged into the right place. I couldn''t blame her. "Are you Costello?", She finally asked as she hesitantly stepped further inside. She had long wavy hair stubbornly bleached until it shone, tucked under a weird hat that must''ve been the current fashion going on in those days, and her walk soundly spoke of borderline egocentric tendencies. I waved her at a leather chair, pulling out a single stick of cigarette out of the carton in my pocket. Lighting it, I answered confidently between clenched teeth: "Sure is. How can I help?" "I''ve heard that you''re the sort of man who can make... problems disappear." Her hair shone unnaturally pale, her blue eyes strangely illuminated in the musky dark of the small room. I wondered where she''d heard that, but not so much her strange choice of words, as I had lit my cigarette. She didn''t seem bothered, which was strange. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!"Depends on the problem." The answer seemed to amuse her, causing her to flash what might have been the slightest of grins. "I can assure you, Mr. Costello, I wouldn''t ask you anything that would risk your passing behind the designated repertoire." "Then I can assure you in return that we may come to an agreement still." The cigarette tasted as sweet as what I imagined her violet gloss might have. "Though I couldn''t catch your name." "Oh, you can call me Ms. White." I did not care to ask her if that was her true name. She knew mine, which was a start. "You see, Mr. Costello, I have a problem. One that may prove fatal if not controlled. I believe that yesterday at around 7 am, someone broke into my office and stole some files. Files, which were confided to me, and could, prove catastrophic if they were to find themselves in the wrong hands." "I am not a file-broker." File-brokers were often hired to handle any digital theft; I usually handled old-fashioned analog investigations. "I know." There was a pause, a deep silence, rudely intruded by the harsh raindrops continuously beating against the long window. Thunder occasionally bellowing its lungs. It wasn''t too hard to guess what she was really asking. "They were not digital." "No. They were physical copies. Which is exactly why I need someone in your repertoire?" "I''m guessing you do not want the police to get involved." Under the piercing darkness, I could imagine her grinning. There was no need to answer. "I could try finding them, but I will need details. I also wanna know if these files are discriminating in any way or if they are of criminal value. The actual contents do not concern me." "Mr. Costello, are you getting scared or paranoid?" The abrupt way the question was put, it was all I could do to try not to choke on the smoke. I didn''t mean to answer. "I''d say cautious would be more fitting. I tend not to get in touch with the police as long as I can manage, we wouldn''t want them to get involved, for the sake of the investigation. So I''d prefer you answer the question." "They''re not." "And the details? How were they stolen?" "I''d left them on my office two nights earlier. When I''d realized my mistake, I hurried to my office yesterday morning, which is secluded from the rest of the floor with wooden panels, only to find that the files were gone." "No one''s seen anything.", I observed. "No,", she said. "It was at least an hour before the day-shift would have started. Bu-" "Thought so. I suppose I could start with examining the office floor, the exits, talk to some janitors, maybe even some contacts.. Overall, you''re not giving me much to go with, Ms. White." "But," She emphasized, "Our outer security surveillance may have caught something. Here." She handed me a picture the a4 size, printed on hard paper, it was a still frame pulled from security footage. I glanced at it; the picture was black and white, completely unaware of the gray part that the human morality extended to, so no excuses were allowed. "I''ll take the case." It wasn''t a matter of luxury. CHAPTER 2 [II] The rain had started to get scarce by the time my client left my bureau, leaving me behind, with thoughts and mood darker than the brooding clouds that viciously adorned the illuminated night sky, unable to take my eyes off of the hard paper, eyeing every single detail of it. The colourless pixels were like a thousand little excited bees that stung my eyes in unison. I tried to keep my eyes open, a black coffee or three would never go amiss. Perhaps even something stronger. The night was young still. It was after three cigarette sticks I finally decided to get started. Any other case, I''d take my time, but this wasn''t a matter of luxury anymore, I had to get to the bottom of it. Taking my long coat, hat, keys and the old snub-nosed revolver, I opened my office doors to a cold wet night full of all kinds of things that could go wrong, misfortunate possibilities lurking behind every shadow. Poverty and sickness festering beneath the neon lights and advertisements, commercials; shamelessly talking about products; neon illuminating everything. All bow to the neon god. I hated the night already. I had my doubts about the case, the lack of information regarding my ''client'', her employers, where the hell her office was located. Instead I was given a lead, to see where it would lead like a blood-hound. It all seemed so sketchy, yet familiar. By then it wasn''t so hard to guess I would be followed. Not with what evidence they''d popped up into my bureau with. It would have to be my initial priority to find out my client''s actual intentions. Apart from finding the files. And the data-scoundrel. I knew where to start. [¡ã¡ã|?|??] My down-to-earth, honest to god office was deftly located deep in the slums of this city made up of dimly lit mazes, washed up under the lifeless haze of tech-neon, it was neatly lodged between the two of the oldest stone structures faintly reminiscent of gothic architecture dating back from before the dawn of time. It supported only three stories, shrouded in stone faded into a deep, piercing dark, conflicting with the city''s ever growing fondness to artificial, neonized light. Opposite this, stood an uncanny valley of modernized monstrosities, hollow structures brooding against the dark sky, rows of gray apartments stretching as tall as thirty stories, stacked closely togather like bloated corpses hitting the bay. As hollow as empty graves; they were enough to provoke brooding thoughts with merely a glance up. The constant flashing of advertisements made it impossible for the other buildings to brood under their shadows; for having been planted only a year after I''d rented my office, under the DAWN_P0UR CORP.''s Modernization Campaign, the digital billboards were attached to the buildings like twitching flies caught in an uncanny web, unable to cut themselves free, not until all life was squeezed out. So on and on they flashed, pretty models encouraging you to try their products. TRY OUR NEW CREAM, AS SILKY AS MOONLIGHT. JEREMIAH ISAACC DAWNSON, REBUILDING OUR GREAT CITY BLOCK BY BLOCK. HOVER CARS, NO LONGER HOVERING OVER YOUR HEADS, NO LONGER A DREAM! SYNTHETIC FOOD SERVED EVERY WEEK AT SOUP-HOUSES! A BRAND NEW FORMULA! TRY DR.ZONE''S NEW MIRACLE CURE! FIFTY PERCENT MORE ALCOHOL! And on.. I thought they looked like over-priced cozmetics applied to cover over all the ugly warts hidden underneath. Needless to say, it didn''t work. The apartments only stood as hollow as ever. No wonder the buildings were so eager to whore themselves out... And hidden deep under and inside out all of them, used to stand a cozy alley that would be by now overflowing with the late-hour salooners of varying professions seeking to drink or smoke or play away the tiredness of the day left behind. On this old alley used to be a saloon. Old fashioned, with bad lighting, choking smoke stench harshly seeped into every furniture, the billiard tables and the filthy glassware, with the latest jazz as smooth as a silky dress to accompany you along, it''s that one good friend between all the liars and schemers and backstabbers and cutthroats and all the filth the world has to offer you''ve had the fortune of gathering around you. Or at least it used to be. Now that old, familiar, cozy little alley was nothing but a filth-ridden dark piece of crumbling concrete with only memories of long-dead ghosts to accompany you, whispering lies from the over-glorified and overrated after-life, cursing you for the warmth of your flesh. I couldn''t blame them, but I was not yet actually that eager to visit them beyond their tombs, despite all the pressure. All that was gone now, anyhow, touched by the mighty blessing of neon. Eerie rumblings of some sort of techno music leaked out into the empty alley. I hadn''t visited the old saloon in years; I didn''t know what went on with it. I wasn''t that eager to find out. The new owner had christened the old saloon, with flashing cherry-red leds, "Cherri Wood". I had no idea what that was meant to mean, or if the pronunciation mistake was intentional. In the end I just shrugged it off. Opening the shabby, rotten wooden doors with graffiti that was lazily painted over, I entered a whole new world of neon, booze, sin and electronic lust. Laid out before me was a vast podium illuminated with half the colours on the spectrum, walls adorned with varying types of electo-art - which were 3D projected, sort of holographic objects on canvas - decorated the crumbling walls. At least half a hundred people were dancing to the same tune I could hear before, waving to the rhythm of the tech song like an esspecially stormy ocean; rumbling in its mysterious depths, thunder roaring above. I parted the sea of organic flesh that might have been mixed with synthetic, and made my way to what I guessed was the bar. A slender girl stood before rows of stacked liver-failures placed on metal shelves, she was slowly waving to the tune, seemingly lost in the rhythm. "I don''t suppose you have any coffee by chance?" I wasn''t sure she even knew of my presence until she grinned in confusion. She had lips dyed the colour of fresh blood and skin white as processed milk. "I didn''t think so." "What did you want?" I had to lean closer each time to catch any words she''d said. Same with her. "Rest. Some coffee. But I guess you will have to do." "What?" She had the same confused expression again, with the same strange smile. I might have said the most ridiculous thing for all I knew. "I meant your boss." "What boss?" "The person running this place. Tell them I''m here. Tell them it''s urgent." "I can''t just go and fetch him; I''m not even allowed to leave here, anyway. What''s your name?" "Costel-" A not-so-friendly hand grabbed my shoulder, squeezing it like the devil himself had come down to collect some long-forgotten debt. Considering where I was, it wasn''t that further away from the realm of possibilities. And considering the when of it, there was not much that wasn''t really further away. I didn''t have to turn to guess that it was most likely synthetic. It was that or the guy had muscles the size of my monthly use of cheap cigarettes that my meager salary could afford. Figuratively, of course. I saw that it was neither; turning around and seeing that before me stood a slender girl garbed in what could have been a trash bag, or some piece of linen badly put togather that you would more likely expect to see on a homeless person out in the cold rain. I could feel her fingers - no, metallic fingers, harshly sinking into my coat, flesh, and muscle and god knows what else, and they were as cold as gravestones, white as new marble. Her head was hidden underneath a torn hood; I couldn''t pick her eyes, nor face for that matter. "Leave the girl alone." Her lips parted to say, the only illuminated part of her face. I wondered if it was intentional. Maybe staged. In the world of digital perfection, everyone strived to make things as fault-free as possible, like drone-bees instinctively working for the hive not really conscious of the why or what for, and the queen, deep in her hexagonal-shaped castle, watching over her empire, as perfect as possible. In truth, it was her who was the prisoner. Everyone thought they were the queen bee. No one would want to be a drone. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.Too much perfection made me gag. "What girl?" I feigned ignorance. The song enthusiastically picked up its rhythm as if to support my claim. "Leave the girl alone. The boss wants to see you." "Look, I just want some coffee." "Just cut the shit, Costello." Right then, it hit me that I''d heard the same raspy voice before. Something familiar went off in the depths of my head, the fuse wrinkled inside crimson flames; the causing explosion mind-numbingly severe rocked my mind aloft. "Sure thing, Vex." Another ghost had resurfaced. I was starting to hate this saloon. Or was I just looking for any excuse at all to do so? Anyway, there were plenty. "You plan on squeezing my shoulder numb or what?" I added through clenched teeth, barely feigning a smile. "Just follow me." She said, quickly unclasping her hand as if noticing it for the first time. "The others are eager to meet you." "Of course." Of course they were eager. It was naive to think she''d be alone. The pack would have better chances of survival in the electronic jungle than the lone wolf. It was a lesson every technomaniac had to learn in order to keep on breathing. I should have expected as much. An old wolf like me, and alone at that. I involuntarily flashed a smile, careless whether she''d notice or not, nor decipher the meaning of it. I had my doubts that she would care enough to crack it, so shamelessly I cracked another grin, like a kid caught playing games on an overpriced gaming console, way beyond their designated bedtime. Designated. What a word. She led me through an arched door of sorts, only stopping to enter the code on an analog security system keypad what with all the buttons and printed numbers and such that must''ve dated back before the dawn of time. Or just the technological insurrections. Still, her metallic fingers were too fast for me to catch what she''d entered, so I had to give up trying soon. "Welcome to our tech jungle." She said, when the metal doors slid back into their slots, and assertively walked in, not checking whether I''d follow or if I had the expression I imagined I had on my face. It WAS an electronic jungle, alright. As electronic as a jungle could get. I felt elevated, electricity surging throughout my caffeine-filled, nicotine-pumped, tired-as-hell body. But also, not for the first time that night, I involuntarily felt the crushing loneliness of my own life brought on by the very essence of my own personality and perhaps also the lifestyle I had been cruelly pushed into choosing. What happened was the most natural of things to occur. We were all desperately searching for something to call ours, something real. I, somehow, never had that desire. Completely washed up and dazed under the lifeless and piercing neon, I somehow sensed that I didn''t have that luxury, whether I''d like it or not; that I never had, or would have. It was the most natural of things. With an especially bitter and knowing smile resting on my lips, I instinctively searched deep into the cavernous pockets of my coat and finally managed to fork out a cigarette out of some packet still miraculously lying deep in one of them. Lighting it I banished all the depressing thoughts which had replaced the elevating ones from only a moment ago, far into senseless oblivion of the cold and calculating darkness I would often show the courtesy of calling that which was my mind deep. I could feel Vex curiously peering at my back, her eyes penetratingly obvious and shiny under the secretive darkness of her hood. I deftly stepped inside, and blew out an impressively melodical whistle which spoke tunes. It was a jungle alright. Cables. There were practically cables everywhere, some exposed, some not, some dangerously left open and thus sparkling a hundred different tones of electric blue. They were easily giving away the impression of ancient, poisonous vines, hanging over the treacherous undergrowth in some long forgotten bog somewhere, easy for anyone to take them for snakes hanging like the executioner''s noose hanging over the muddy ground. The whole setup looked like it was salvaged from some pre-war garbage heap you''d expect to find in some post-apokaliptik world. I wouldn''t be surprised if they were, at first glance, most of them had looked pretty ancient. Although looks always had the tendency of fooling anyone with enough willingness for any prejudice. The were more monitors than I''d care to count, each showing an endless stream of data, jacks lying around, eager for any data-scoundrel to plug in and dive into the electronic oblivion that was the cybernet. Considering everything, I could see the how and the what of their easy eagerness involving jacking themselves into some virtually-crafted-world stream made up of data, forgetting all about the real one festering just outside; but I could not comprehend the why of it. Maybe I had grown too old. Maybe I had been in the jungle too long, a lone wolf. Out in the real one. One could only hide for so long, curtains drawn, doors locked, no matter how all the commotion of the world leaks inside the musty isolation of your locked room through all the 15 centimeters of paper-thin, crumbling concrete, with you there inside, smoking the day away, nursing an exceptionally horror show of a hangover. One had to leave, face the dangers of a cold, wet night, as rain poured down on the filthy asphalt, the stench of the day rising above in heat waves during the pleasant evening. The thrill of an underpaid investigation, down and deep into the inn of the beast, where all the denizens of this stinking, bright to the eye city would frequent. I could never hideaway for long, I had to get out, break isolation, only to find it thicken outside, but anyway, I could never sit still for so long. I would have to go out to the fight. Nowadays I couldn''t even get any rest, although I craved it. I hadn''t slept in a long time. Maybe all the caffeine had finally gotten to my sick, tired mind. How lovely. I told her that. "How are they supposed to meet me when they''re all plugged in, love?" I asked pointedly, not turning to see her, still puffing at my cheap cigarette. "They''re not.", She replied coldly. I could basically smell the faintest of hints that she was angry at me calling her love. "And why exact-", I began not discouraged. What a chivalrous knight I was. "I thought I''d already told you to cut the shit, Michael. But, okay. Be that way. They can wait, but he cannot." "OH, am I ever surprised you still remember my name, Vex. Or is it just because of the business cards I keep giving around?" "Everyone knows you do it intentionally, Costello." Oh, she did like pronouncing my name. "Well, it helps get the word around. And there are only so few channels you can reach me, each pre-designated or pre-deduced. A watchtower on every route." So she did keep tabs on me, one way or the other. I almost felt flattered. Vex snorted. "There he is." A hulk of a man came striding towards us, his body wrapped in some sort of linen, the same as Vex''s. The way it looked, you''d have thought they were some troopers ready to wreak havoc in some desert. I didn''t know the man, but I guessed who he was. And what he was supposed to be. So far he hadn''t impressed me. Nothing ever did. The yellow hulk kept walking these enourmously spaced steps and we waited and waited and it must have been only after a century that he finally reached us when his hand shot up like a hungry viper and grabbed my hand, cigarette and all, and squeezed it with the intention to crush all bones. "Costello, you old fool. How nice it''s to see you still with all that stinking coat, hat, and that brood in your eyes. And lookie that smirk, oh it''s gone now. Oh, see that confusion in his eyes, you''d think he wasn''t some detective but a child trying to learn a play at cards. Oh, your hand, you must excuse me. It''s nothing bad, we''ll have it looked. That wrinkle on your brow, you''re really working your mind at it, aren''t you? But what''s one more ghost on a place like this, eh? Tell, me. And be honest. Well, I can see that you are, you''ve a honest face. You were not followed, were you, huh, hound dog? Old fool?" "No, I weren''t." He was right, what really was one more ghost in a place like this. When old skeletons kept bouncing back out of their coffins and ghosts had the tendency of haunting metal husks of old tired flesh. If anything, I was the one out of place here; I was the abnormal one, everyone else, the normal citizens. Out to do whatever normal citizens were to do. What a night it was turning out to be, oh what a night. CHAPTER 3 [III] Why not? , thought Jackson, whom his friends called Jax. WHY NOT? I might get some food in my belly at last, he surmised. Real food, not that tasteless, synthetic shit that they''d feed you back at the soap houses. They''d said it''d keep his body nutritious, but he''d never been able to get used to the taste. The problem was, there was no taste. The bastards wouldn''t even waste any sort of sweetener on them. He would wander around for days with an empty belly, only to walk back resigned with his tail between his legs, holding an empty bowl, a metal tray, actually, but he liked to keep things dramatic when he thought- hoping for a colourless mass of synthetic food to stomp right down into the tray. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! So they always slided off the ladle down into the tray. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! God, it was miserable. So, why not?, he went back to his argument again. Why not? It was easy work, just keep track on some dreamy, old-timer still hung up on the ancient past. Easy job, easy pay. Still, heavy on the purse side. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.Considering. Uhh, to hell with it, he thought. So what if the guy who''d asked him to track that other guy was a bit too heavy on the shady side for his liking? It was honest pay. That or a kinetically-accelerated bullet to the brain. Yeah, that or this. This or that. Food or lead. Every job had its risks. His more than some, less than most. A man had to make decisions, otherwise life would insist on staying on a stalemate. A stalemate would tire a man out. You had to keep on moving. Sharks, thought Jackson whom his friends called Jax, had the right idea, as he once again connected into the mainframe of the police department, the exceptionally hot firewalls breaking under his unforgiving code one by one. Suddenly, he had a thousand different digital eyes, eager to keep the city''s doings under record. He felt like god, watching over his creations. You had to keep moving, he concluded as he wondered where one could still even get a trenchcoat to wear at this day and age, as he watched the figure briskly walk past a security camera attached to some closed-up bar on the dull-lighted screen. Every job had its risks. His more than some. CHAPTER 4 [IV] An hour ago What did a man had to do, to get a drink at this hour at this day and age, I kept wondering as I passed by some small-time bar whose owner was a washed-up data-scoundrel named Dexter who''d back in the day used to run some jobs for a crime syndicate or two until one day he''d split and decided that he''d rather spend the rest of his days huddled up in some cold hole, which was named The Dexter''s Hole, poisoning his and others'' lives with equally cold booze. He was a good chat, that is, whenever I''d decide to ever once in millennia. I wandered where he could be, but then decided it was probably the rain. Lots of shops were closed due to the recent rains, which on normal nights still wouldn''t stop old Dexter from selling booze, the late-night alcohol peddling regulations be damned. No booze after 10pm. Tell that to Dexter. You cannot keep Dexter from peddling booze, not ever. The man used to peddle synthetic body organs back in the day, for pity''s sake. Dexter was immune. Untouchable. Regulations be damned, I surmised as I pulled the collars of my coat against the sudden gust of cold wind which blew through me like I was made of feather. Shaking, I cursed Dexter and his closed-up bar under my breath. The rain had no fault. It was just trying to wash away the city. A downpour. A vain struggle. Tell that to me. Nothing new. How lovely. I arrived at my destination, after burning some shoe-rubbers, my soles had started to throb, and the revolver deep in my pocket wouldn''t know how to stay still, and lolling this way and that as I quickly passed by insignificant, faceless and gray 10-story concrete buildings. Before me stood a three story building, an old garage from back in the day. I didn''t know what purpose it served nowadays, but anyway, that didn''t matter. It was only four blocks away from my crumbling office, and the man I was looking for was named Jeremy, and the man I was looking for, who was named Jeremy, used to live here. I knocked on the wooden door, and deftly delved in without waiting for any response, like any good old friend. Maybe I was hoping to catch him in some inappropriate situation. It wouldn''t be the first. An eerie darkness then biting cold welcomed me, the place stank of disuse. Meaning, it stank like any good old home when you draw all the curtains and shut off any oxygen supply and leave the place for good. Which was a good sign, Jeremy was probably around. I looked for the old basement entrance, next to the old corridor that was entered via the front door which was where I''d used to enter the building. I tried flipping the switch but no light answered. I cursed Jeremy for his neglect of electricity bills much unlike any good citizen as I almost slipped off the old stairs, the rising dust invading my eyes, mouth, ears, nostrils, any exposed orifice. I kept descending into darkness, the fact that I''d forgot my old, battery-powered flashlight back at the office kept ringing in my ears; as if my brain was so eager to remind me of my own idiocy. But then again, yeah, mistakes weren''t a luxury in my job line. There were too many risks. I found Jeremy huddled up on some old couch, which had dozens of empty beer bottles circling it as if for some kind of ritual, like those mushrooms. Moonlight seeped in through some small basement window. There weren''t anything else of note; it looked like an empty room. If it weren''t for the long years spent right in the middle of weird occurrences, I''d leg it out of there. I never had the patience for drunks. Or weird things. I lifted some beer bottle that was halfway dark meaning that it was halfway full, and poured it down Jeremy''s face, which made him dart halfway upwards meaning that he was halfway awake. "Wha-WHAT THE FUCK?!", Roared Jeremy like any good old friend does when they see another good old friend. "It''s your morning alarm, you''d set it today, remember?" "HOW THE FUCK?! WHADDAYA MEAN?!" By then Jeremy had gotten his own beer bottle, holding it by the point, he was ready to go thirteen rounds with an exceptionally drunk punk who''d dared disturb his beauty sleep. I emptied the remains of my own bottle at him and flipped it at his feet. Jeremy slipped on it and fell on his behind with a thud; the beer bottle went flying off his hand and it looped through the air then it was gone until it broke somewhere. Stepping over the beer puddle, I yanked his hair back, with his wet, and burning, red and blue eyes, slimy, greasy mousy brown hair, and disgusting rotten teeth exposed in some expression of painful grimace, he wasn''t an exceptionally pretty sight. I took the a4 still-frame out of some deep pocket and pointed it down on his nose. Then thought better of it and moved it a little further away from his little rat eyes. Then thought better of it again and let go of his hair, grabbed him by his armpits and helped him onto his couch, his legs dragging and parting a sea of dust on the floor. Taking some napkin out of my many pockets I threw it on his face. A minute after he was swiping his eyes and snotty nose clean. And I decided to wipe my hands on a nearby armchair. "Costello? Is that you?" "What gave it away?" "You son of a bitch! You couldn''t just knock?" I didn''t answer. "God, your coat stinks of cigarette, I''m already sobered up." "Good. Get ready, I need you sober." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author."A son of a bitch, that''s what you are Costello. I swear to god. A class A son of a bitch." I kept my silence. I''d never known my mother, so I didn''t know what she was. Twenty minutes later he was all sobered up and ready. "So what do I owe the pleasure of smelling your stink?", asked Jem. "You remember Vex?" "The banker chick? What about her?" "Yeah.You remember what''d happened to her?" "Yeah. Get to the point." "Run your pretty eyes over this.", I said handing him the crumbled still frame. "Is that who I th-" "Yeah. What do you know about a certain Ms.White, Jem? Wears a business dress, a funny white hat with a blue feather sticked to it. Skin white as milk. Works for some corporation or the other, and somehow knows who I am and what work I do, huh?" "I don''t know any Ms. White, cut the shit." "Take a good look at that pic, Jem. Take a real close look." I yanked dear old Jeremy''s hair and crammed the paper on his face. His hair was greasy. "That''s a ghost you''re seeing. Ghosts ought to keep warm and cozy down in their graves. Not go around robbing corporations for physical copies of files." "What the shit, man. Let go of my hair, for god''s sakes! Fine, I may have heard some things." "Good, things are often good. Tell me.", I replied. I let go of his mousy hair, a few strands were left behind. "I heard things. About the Tech Junkies. That they were recruiting people. People with benefits. People with pull. Even the half ones. Re-attaching them somehow. These guys have serious tech and the knowledge to pull it off. If anything, they''d be your best bet." "And? Ms. White?" "Penelope Cyrus." "That sounds made up. Are you making that up, Jem?" "No. That''s what''s her name. A real stone cold bitch. She''s a bounty hunter." "A bounty hunter? At this day and age? And they call me archaic." "For all the punks who think they can hack their way outta things. It was surprising enough when she''d care about these files, but seeing her." Jem pointed a bony finger at the paper. "It makes better sense, now." "What do you mean?" "Hmm.. You weren''t followed, were you?" "No, although I was aware of the risk." "Can I trust you on this?" "You can, Jem." "Follow me." "Sure thing." Jeremy, got up, swayed a little, and getting a hold on his feet, started walking over to some cabled switch I hadn''t noticed earlier. He flipped the switch, and for a split second or two nothing happened. Then everything happened. Some panels slid back into their holes without making any sound, the walls parted as if he''d just muttered open sesame, the ground caved in and I expected to see rooms full of gold or courtesans or better yet considering it was Jem, full of booze reminders of other rituals, placed in macabre shapes. But instead, flickering, bright screens took the place of those panels, at least five of them, keyboards and open-ended jacks were suddenly everywhere. Artificial light flooded into the room. My eyes which were more used to the darkness of my cozy office started watering. He sat on some chair, which a moment ago weren''t there. I crossed my arms, aware of the fact he''d left me standing on my two feet. I could still feel my soles throbbing. I switched the weight from one leg to the other. He typed in her name. A few results picked up. Then pictures appeared. He clicked on one. One from an article about a new employee. A successful one. "This is your beloved Vex. Before the tech insurrections. And this is your Vex, now." He put on some glasses and glanced at the still frame for three seconds. The same frame was then on the monitor. "Suffice to say, I like her new style better." Two different sets of giant eyes kept staring down at me. Two familiar eyes, yet different. The left one had brown eyes, full of hope, passion, and happiness. The one on the left had a soul. Her blond hair was resting on her small shoulder frame. She had on a brown business suit. Black glasses with thick frame. Her warm smile brought back distant memories, memories of sea, sunlight, warmth. I felt myself involuntarily smiling back at her. Then my smile died as quick as it all had passed. Habit made me reach for a cigarette. I lit one. The one on the black and white frame, had liquid-metal blue eyes. Almost white. Abnormal. Unnatural. No feelings could be observed. It looked devoid of soul. But I wasn''t fooled. I felt my stomach get tied in a knot. "How could this have happened?" "The Tech Junkies must''ve gotten to her." "But why? She was just a manager, nothing big shot." "I dunno. She obviously had an ace hold up somewhere. Maybe someone owed her? Or cared about her? Looking at her, it''s not that hard to guess she must''ve had lovers all ''round, Mike." He threw a side glance at me. I tried not to flinch. I tapped the cigarette on some empty beer bottle. The ash crumpled, disappeared. Dissolved. As easy as that. I wondered if it had been that easy for her, too. Somehow I doubted that. But I could never be sure. "Maybe.", I said finally. "Maybe not, we won''t know until we find her. But something''s not clear." "Yeah. They must''ve reconstructed her. Serious tech and the serious attitude to go with it." "But how? I''d seen her, Jem. There.. There was not much left." "Beats me." "Such a help you''ve been, old Jem." We both knew Jem was holding precious info. I started to leave. What a helpful visit. A complete waste of time. Not quite, but still. "Mike." "Yeah?" "You know who Ms. White works for." "Yeah." "You know what she is." "Yeah." You know Vex''s in trouble." "Yeah." There was silence. "I can give you The Tech Junkies'' address." Silence again. "Thank you, Jeremy." CHAPTER 5 - IN PROGRESS [V] PRESENT 03:28:45 am "You''re a bitter old fool, Costello!" "At least I know what the hell I am Vex. Do you even have any idea?" "What do you think? I might have made certain mistakes in the past, Michael. But don''t take me for an unaltered fool!" "O.K" I said. "I won''t." "Good." "Do you have any idea?" "God, this again. Brutus, please tell this nostalgic fool that times have changed, please inform him that old-school, hard-boiled, investigating detectives are a thing of the past! Tell him that watching too much noir flicks have damaged his mind!" "Oh, you''re the one to talk about damaged minds, Love. What about you? I''m surprised you can even remember your name." She''d struck low. Good for her. "Oh, I remember my name, Costello, and you had better, too. Try calling me love one more time, and you''ll see what''s what, I swear to god." "I cannot wait. I''ve all the time in the world, that is, until she catches up to you! YOU IDIOTIC, DREAMY FOOLS! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!!" "That''s eno-"Brutus started to say. "What do you think you are? A buncha dreamy fools out to do some good. What, you''re cowboys and robbers, now?" "Costel-"Brutus started to say again. "You think you''re revolutionaries? Legionaries? Out to change the world?" "You''re the one to talk about change." Vex remarked in a whisper. "That''s a thing of the past." I didn''t want to get too personal in front of Brutus. She''d kept him along, I was aware of this fact, and the fact that I was aware of the fact and could do nothing about it irritated me. The fact that Brutus'' hand was resting on Vex''s shoulder irritated me beyond description. "And that''s where it should remain.", I added through clenched teeth. Hell, I was bitter. I was making a scene. I was being overly dramatic. I was unnecessarily passionate. Hell if I could help it, though. I had all the right, or so I thought I did. What the hell did it matter, huh? "Oh, believe me, you archaic idiot. Believe me, I wouldn''t have it any other way." Her eyes shone dangerously between narrow slits. She seemed calm, completely still. Like a still water hiding dozens of sharp rocks underneath. Suffice to say, I was in hazardous waters. Dying to take a dive. How lovely. Instead I decided to take a hike. I told them that. Brutus decided he had other ideas but Vex stopped the old gorilla. Good for her. The sharp cold of the wet street outside slapped me in the face. Everything irritated me. Everything was subjective. I hated those pile of flesh throwing their bodies around to the same tune from before. Nothing stood the same. The music irritated me. People were never the same, they''d change, and their agendas changed with it; when they were good for their words, it was for all the wrong reasons. The booze irritated me. No one was happy with what they got; everyone wanted just more of it. The squeaky dance floor irritated me. No more natural anymore, everything synthetic, even the music, mankind had finally found the magic words to cheat death itself, and they were using it to get high. The new, alien smell of the Cherri Wood irritated me. I was feeling vexed. My feet soles wouldn''t stop throbbing. I realized I had missed the old saloon, I didn''t know if there were any other pubs, saloons, or bars left in town that didn''t involve junked up punks or scoundrels, or synthetic tunes. I longed to listen to jazz. Classic. Baroque. Anything. The fact that I was an old dog still having the blues for an old world long gone by irritated me beyond everything. Maybe they were right, maybe my time had passed. Here it was, case closed. I could rest now. Okay, maybe it wasn''t. Still a lot of questions needing answer and I was feeling that I could not easily give up on Vex so easily. Not when I''d found her. Brutus and his merry gang of old fools were after the big prize. None other than the good old DAWN_P0UR Corp. They had tricked themselves into believing they could tackle a multi-billion international corporation enema. I had tried to warn them but that in turn had quickly degraded into an argument about Vex''s certain choices involving death and undeath. I thought I''d be happier to see her, no doubt she''d thought the same. I was back on my way to the Cherri Wood, having cooled off my steam, wandering around shaggy streets with even shaggier names, when a figure stepped into the scene a dozen meters ahead of me from some back alley, standing under a street light as yellow light it was a skidrow not yet blessed by dawnpour, washed over him and the darkness beyond illuminated his clean-cut edges. Not for the first time I wondered if everything else in the world was just as perfect, that if everything was staged, planned, or written down ahead of the time they were presented before me. I wondered if people had timetables stuck on their walls, next to their intricately planned table of well, plans. This, also, irritated me. Too much perfection would make me gag, and I had no such traces of it on myself. I was simply imperfect. I often wondered if that meant I was inferior, to everyone else. People would often stare at my face, wondering why I wouldn''t get any plastic surgery, why I would walk around at this day and age with this face. Wondering if I was a perv or a killer for contract what in all the long coat, busted up ugly face and the permanent grimace stuck on it which I was often told that it gave me the expression that of a serial killer. It seemed everyone except myself had the perfect idea about what a killer''s expression was supposed to look like. I stopped in my tracks, the figure took no note of me, and so I decided the same, making sure to get a hold of the snub-nosed revolver in my pocket which wouldn''t stay in my palm. Then just as I''d stopped I kept on walking, wondering what was going to happen. "A cold night, isn''t it?" He said through clenched teeth with a thick as a thumb cigar entrenched between them. I saw that he too was wearing a coat, a black one. Mine was cream. He was wearing circular goggles that resembled pilot goggles. He had on a hat. I couldn''t really pick his face. His goggles reflected the yellow street light back like those of an owl. "A wicked wet one if I''ve ever seen one. They say it''s only going to get worse." I answered. My wonder only kept on growing. You won''t need that snub-nosed revolver in your pocket. I am no threat. Although there are those that would like it so." The stench was almost as thick as the cigar it emanated from. "I''d like to believe that." "Surely you would." "You got any light? Mine''s busted because of all the rain." "Sure." He handed me a Zippo lighter with strange engravings running over it. I liked that. I forked out a cigarette and lit it while my new friend kept staring at the overcast sky from the brim of his hat. I handed it back. "You keep it. Smoking''s bad for you, you know." "So they say. Thank you." "It''s strange. I thought you''d be asking me a thousand questions by now." "Maybe. Maybe I''m busted, too. Maybe I''ve grown tired of it all." "There are those that''d like you outta the game, you know. To some you''re just a pawn, and to others a valuable knight, to be thrown into the middle of a battle. If you die, you die a hero, if you come back, you keep fighting until you, again, die a hero. But that''s not how it is out in the real world is it? Out here, in the real world, you die or you keep on living until you die again. And there are no heroes. No happy endings. It''s strange about stories with happy endings. ''And they lived happily ever after.'' Buncha nonsense." He kept puffing at his cigar passively as he spoke. Those goggles looked hypnotizing. "There are no happy endings. It''s just where the story cuts off. Because no one would like to see what happens after. Because not even the story teller has the balls to show it clear and true." "That''s a cynical way of looking at it." I said, not really caring if I''d die long as I had a cigarette stuck between my lips. I kept flipping the Zippo lighter between calloused fingers as I firmly held the revolver in my pocket with the other. "And true." I added. "I''m glad we agree on this. I had a notion we''d understand each other. You know what they call you? A freak of nature. An abnormality. A lunatic. Two dozen years ago you''d be considered sane and normal, just as anyone, and those people would be thrown into asylums by white-coated shrinks. But today, you''re the one who''s not normal." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there."Because I don''t give into the entire new tech, I know." "Your profession is considered archaic. It''s funny; I was honestly surprised when I learned I was actually ''least ten years older than you. By their standards, I should be pre-historic. May I ask, out of personal curiosity, why all this? Why are you so stubborn about being stuck in the past so? Was it really that good of a time for ya?" I flashed him an exceptionally hideous grin. Faint resemblances of long forgotten memories suddenly resurfaced. Out of the blue, now I could hear a screaming boy, a pointlessly furious old man with snow in his hair, a certain smack of a belt. A broken gameboy on the ground. I could smell the rusty stink of the alcohol in his breath again, I could taste the salty residue of the kid''s tears, and I could feel the dust over the old noir flicks. Lying broken next to the gameboy. I could see the boy finally get fed up, reach the kitchen, happy and content. I could watch him look at his reflection surfacing on the reflective side of a naked white knife. His empty expression forever lost on a sea of crimson as it slowly covered the white blade like a tidal wave. I flicked the cigarette away. Suddenly feeling empty. It landed a few meters away, in the middle of the crumbled old dark road full of potholes and hidden dangers and broken glass fragments. I forked out another goddamn cigarette and lit it, nearly biting off its filter between misshaped yellow teeth. My two front teeth weren''t really mine. I had them replaced when I''d turned 20 because the filling of one had chipped off, leaving behind a huge hole that had given my lovely complexion the expression that of a meth head. I was missing four teeth. In regards of genetics, I hadn''t really won the lottery. Instead I was turned and fucked over by it. I kept puffing, filling my lungs with smoke hoping one of these days I''d catch cancer. I could feel those shining yellow goggles sinking into my skin, muscle and bone and gaze into my soul. Good for him, there were nothing there. "Yeah, a lovely time and how." "Yeah, I was warned about your petty sarcasm." "You haven''t heard the half of it, then, pal." "And nor have you. These days no one stay dead. People are screaming, immortality is here, and how! Buncha hypocritical chicken-heads. It''s not immortality that''s been found, it''s undeath. All the stories about noble knights dying and returning undead only to be shunned by their loved ones, cursed with the ever-lasting agony of rotting life unable to die; well, Costello, they are true. There are terrible things lurking out there in the night. Things that wait in ambush for prey. Ghosts walk among us, my friend. Skeletons with metal bones and synthetic marrow in''em. Root cells. Cybernetics. "Aesthetic" Surgeries. All this shitty neon and leds making my eyes fucking water. It''s disgusting. I understand ya, ya know. I understand ya." "Yeah." I flicked away the ash; it dissolved in the darkness of some gutter. "And you understand me. There is a revolution comin'', Costello. I say stick with the tech junkies and all those scoundrels. The other side''s not so pretty, they''re the ones that want the old order. It was easier, now it''s a tad bit hard to control everyone. The city''s finally gone bust. Everyone''s gone crazy, yet you''re the one who''s outcast. They say you''re the lunatic, but to me, seems you''re the only one who''s sane enough these days." "I couldn''t dramatize it better myself." "You''re honest I like that." "Yeah, what''s your name anyway?" "A friend." "I doubt that." "I don''t." "I bet." I whispered into the empty street. I knew he was gone, what else? I kept flicking the lighter between my fingers. Holding onto it like my sanity depended on it. If it were to dissolve, too, I''d know I had finally lost it. The cigarette started to burn my lips. [???|?|???] "Okay," I said to the group encircling me, back at the Cherri Wood. "I''ll help ya." "Why the sudden change of heart?" Asked Brutus brusquely, he was the boss of the whole deal, a total hulk of a man with shoulders expanding over two kilometers; there was a suspicious gaze in his molten stare. "I''d told you he''d be back." Said Vex, with a triumphant expression on her face. She was the master thief of the Tech Junkies. For years she''d helped them loan money from the bank. The slow legal process was not always so legal. Or slow. "So what, old man? You gonna show us some tricks?" Said a punk that went with the name of Peregrin. He had the stature, nose, eyes and the vulgar expression of a vulture. He looked like a walking bag of skeletons, with parched brunet skin. He was a marksman. "And old dog teaching us tricks." Surmised Jack of Gold. Or Jack of the Treat. Or Jack of Hearts. Or Jack of Any-Penny, depending on whom you asked. He was the data-scoundrel with the golden canine tooth which he''d often flash in an easy roguish smile he''d often claim the ladies'' simply could do but not resist. The cybernet jacks were hidden underneath his long dark wavy hair. I wanted to punch him the moment I laid eyes on him. "I like detectives." Mused the blonde with the perfect brows, eyes, lashes, nose, the full red mouth that did not even need a lipstick, and the wonderful set of pearl-white teeth. She looked perfect. A Mona Lisa what with all the right proportions in all the right places. Her name was Perfekta; she was the black widow of the operation. She looked great; I knew from just looking at her that the only thing real was her hair colour. "I say let him. He looks like he needs some real food. Or real clothes. And a bath. And some rest, for crying out loud, he looks worse than when Ve-" The one called Armington suddenly fell silent under the burning gaze of Vex. He was an old military contractor, the center of all connections that surrounded the whole gang. He was bald with thick brown beard. He was the only one with scars on their face next to Vex and Brutus and myself. "All of the above." Said the Redhead one between pursed lips. She had exceptionally long canine teeth that ended in sharp metal tips. I couldn''t quite make out if it was a he or a she, so I stuck with the Redhead, like everyone else did. The Redhead was the lead hacker. The Redhead was slim and had a quick form and lips that looked even better than Perfekta''s. Something about it attracted me. When it caught my stare it smiled, flashing those two canines like those of a vampire; as blood-red, soft lips stretched in a stunning smile, lips that were enveloped in milky-white skin. I found myself grinning back like an idiot; the smile, which was often described as being hideous, did not have the same effect as it often did on others. The Redhead only smiled larger, much so that it seemed impossible that a normal person could stretch their mouth so wide. I turned to Vex, arms crossed, looking cross and wild and, oh god, fiery. She looked like liquid flame. I could feel the heat, the fury enemating from her. I didn''t flinch. "I had a sudden inspirational visit." I answered Brutus. "A real game changer." "An inspirational visit, you say." Said Vex. A few others snorted in response. "If you say so, but I cannot have you make a scene again, not in front of everyone. I need your word on this. I need your word, that you won''t go out to rat to a certain Ms. White." "Of course not." I answered between clenched teeth as I lit the cigarette with the Zippo that hadn''t dissolved into thin air just yet. Vex was watching my every move. The flames danced in her eyes, unusually reflective and unnatural under the fluorescent light. Unnatural. Abnormal. Eyes that did not belong to her. Brown. Her eyes used to be brown. Now they looked alien, like two blue wells, hiding a burning fury underneath and not really being successful at it. "I," Said Brutus in a voice that demanded attention.", I need your word, Mr. Costello." "You can have it." "Say. It." "I give you my solemn word in an exceptionally honest and sorrowful manner. You wanna shake hands on it?" "Good. That won''t be necessary." "That''s lovely, so, do any of you have any cigarettes? Mine''s out, and I don''t wanna go out into the rain." "I''ve got a few packs lying around, you can have any you find. "Thanks, Love." "It''s nothing." She had started smoking. How lovely TO BE CONTINUED..