ã€ŠThe Electric Archipelago (WIP)ã€‹


 Chapter 1: Canal Street is a Hotbed of Madness and Depravity

    I exit the elevator and look down the street, three miles of debauchery lay before me.

    This spot is at ground level and out in the open. A crush of tall buildings surrounds it, completely blocking the horizon. Lights from thousands of windows are visible on every single skyscraper. The city¡¯s ambient light drowns out the cosmos, starlight has been denied to us. We only get the long trails of illumination from the skyways, which are broken up by the occasional cloud.

    I am at one end of the street, I can hear the rush of water as the canal disappears under one of the buildings. This place is one of the few areas where it runs out in the open, and one of the few spots that is both at ground level and under the open sky.

    The smell of liquor and perfume mix with that of fresh vomit. The walkways are covered with people, their voices merge into a den that is often interrupted by a loud drunken shout. Lights of every color dance on the surface of the water.

    There are wide walkways on either side of the canal, streetlamps and safety rails line the edges, the occasional foot bridge allows pedestrians to cross. The walkways are flanked by solid rows of store fronts. Shop after shop after shop, all along the length of the canal.

    There are shops that sell high tech sex toys. There are shops that sell robots designed for fucking, on top, on bottom, or both. There are shops that sell designer drugs, or good old-fashioned alcohol. Most importantly, there are shops that do medical work.

    Mechanical body parts can do things that the original members or organs can only dream of. Biological matter can be grown into a lot of different shapes. Cybernetic and organic modifications can be mixed and matched to make all kinds of things, wonderful things, and horrifying things.

    And let¡¯s not forget the clubs. The Dungeon is a truly wicked place, a place where pain and pleasure mix and mingle. Don¡¯t even get me started on what goes on inside The Slime Pit, the same goes for The Barnyard.

    The Demon¡¯s Den is a flashy joint, all fire and promises of apex sin. There is a clean-cut man in an Alpha Prime made suit standing in front of the place. He is preaching, much to the amusement of the nearby pedestrians, ¡°This place is an insult to the People of the Book!¡± he called out above the commotion of the crowd. The funny thing is that he is actually completely right. From top to bottom that club was meticulously designed to offend their sensibilities, which is what makes it so appealing to everyone else.

    But it is more than the businesses, it is the people that make this place so amazing.

    They are out in droves, some in tight groups of friends, some going alone, and a few large processions mixed in. They laugh and howl and shriek; they crack jokes and tell stories and make rude comments. Some appear more human than others.

    A woman is loudly and rapidly talking about how eager she is to try out her new body, which is athletic and features external reinforcements in the form of gleaming metal. A man is peacocking, his hair has been replaced with a rainbow stream of fiberoptic cable that hangs down to his beltline. Another woman catches my eye, she is voluptuous and long-legged; her eyes are bright purple and seem to be radiating light.

    What is clearly a group of off-duty soldiers are heading toward the elevator, they are regaling each other with tales of how hard they had partied. I could tell that they are in the military because of their short haircuts, general attitude, and heavily modified bodies. They looked like they could carry a two hundred-pound rucksack five hundred miles and still be ready to fight.

    A group of teenage girls are giggling, they are dressed like Japanese schoolgirls and several have adorable little dogs with them. They look and act young, but they all probably have great grandchildren.

    Not all of the people are humanoid. It moves on four legs, its head is attached to the end of a long, spindly neck; this head is bizarre, having both organic and mechanical sense organs. Its body is a hard metal casing, organic tentacles are mounted to this shell, along with a set of robotic arms that look powerful.

    There are people with animalistic features, even insectoid parts. The worst is the mammalian faces. For some reason, my mind has never been quite able to cope with the mixture of human and canine, or human and feline.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Yes, canal street is a hell of a thing. Angelic splendor and surreal horror stroll to and fro. It is a menagerie of the beautiful and the grotesque, all of it intentional, all of it viewed according to how I see the world. Because someone has to view these creatures as pleasing, otherwise, what would be the point? Unless the point of it is to be repulsive, or maybe to be intimidating.

    They all had two things in common, hidden somewhere inside of their bodies there is a human brain; along with some means of feeding oxygen, nutrients, and sense data to it. And they all have Internal Computers, or I.C.s, which are personal assistants that wirelessly connect them to the network.

    Everyone has an Internal Computer. It is always there, giving you access to a much bigger world. It communicates with you by inducing sensations and placing things into your vision. I have heard it described as, ¡°Controlled schizophrenia,¡± all I know is that it works.

    I direct a thought, my I.C. responds, checking my various bank accounts. In a dream you just kind of know why you are in a bizarre situation; a kind of strange logic takes hold. This is how my I.C. let me know that my finances are hurting. I need more than that, so I have it project the exact numbers into my vision. The computer is causing me to hallucinate a kind of heads up display. I quickly ¡°will¡± the pathetic numbers away. I had been too enthusiastic about paying off my debts; getting myself to where I am now had been a very expensive process, and the interest payments were brutal. I had also been too keen to celebrate. I had drained my accounts to dangerous levels.

    I casually glance backward, a good habit to have. He¡¯s still there, the big man in the duster, the one that I had spotted on the monorail ride from my apartment building. He has to be at least six and a half feet tall. I think I know who grew him that body. It has to be Gorman. The exaggerated, ultra-manly features; the chiseled face with the massive chin and razor-sharp cheek bones, these are all hallmarks of Dr. Gorman.

    This guy is custom built to be scary, and if you are into that sort of thing, sexy. He is a Cro-Magnon man come to steal your woman from the camp and impregnate her. He is a super soldier shooting and stabbing his way into your bunker. There is something primal about the emotions his appearance provokes. So why send a colossal brute like him to follow someone? He would be spotted a mile away. Unless the idea is to intimidate the target.

    If Gorman made him, that means that Gorman likely owns him, so to speak. The big guy probably owes Gorman quite the debt for designing and growing the body, and then transferring his brain over to the new and no doubt improved vessel. He could very well be one of Gorman¡¯s goons, a very threatening debt collector.

    The problem with that theory is that I don¡¯t owe Gorman anything. I paid him for patching me up after I had that unfortunate run-in with a police drone.

    God only knows what weapons he is hiding under that big old coat; God only knows what kind of cybernetic enhancements he is hiding under his skin. Is he following me or am I just being paranoid? I am comforted by the weight of my sidearm, which is in a concealed holster.

    He stops and stares longingly into a store, the contents of which I can¡¯t quite make out from my angle. I can tell from his body language that he is not allowed to go in, it is a look that I have seen a million times. Technically, he can go in, if he is willing to pay the price.

    I can go anywhere, that is what makes me special, that is what makes me valuable. If only I knew the man, if only I could trust him, then I could go into that shop and get him what he wants. For a reasonable fee of course.

    He decides that the price is too high, so he keeps on walking. Is it all a ruse? Is it just a show to make it look less like he is following me? Regardless, I have reached my destination.

    I am dressed in a ¡°Grey Man,¡± style. My objective is to blend in, to not get noticed. The only thing that stands out is the symbol on the right side of my shirt, which quickly and easily identifies me as a member of Echo Industries. This keeps people from spending too much time looking at me, they know right away where my loyalties lie. My only fear is that the symbol might be used as a target during a firefight.

    I pull my trench coat tight around my chest. Then I use my Internal Computer to will the micro transceiver that is built into my T-shirt to change the logo that was being displayed to the appropriate one. Now my shirt sports the Fleur-de-lis of the Charles Faur¨¦ corporation, the owner of the night club that I am about to enter.

    A few hundred pounds of synthetic muscle is guarding the door. The cyborg bouncer makes a show out of carefully scanning the crowd. I briefly imagine him getting into an epic slugging match with the big guy in the duster.

    A scantily clad woman greets me. She is impossibly beautiful; she has the perfect body. If you have the money the surgeons and their engineer colleagues can make you look like anything, she must have had the money, or at least had the willingness to be indebted to Charles Faur¨¦.

    As I eye her body, she informs me that there is a cover charge, fifteen Water Certificates. Not as bad as it could have been, but still a hit. With a directed thought the micro-computer that is grafted to my brain sends a signal over the company¡¯s network. Fifteen Water Certificates are deducted from my Charles Faur¨¦ account, plus a few more that automatically go to the Government, who always make sure that they get their piece of the action.

 Chapter 2: The Fantasy Room

    The client is waiting in the front room. Charles Faur¨¦ are experts at decadence and excess. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, every architectural feature, all of it is designed to convey a sense of naked opulence and shameless indulgence. The front area is a hub, with doors leading to specialized rooms, each of which catered to a different taste. Well-dressed people are mingling, most have a glass in their hand.

    The client gets up off of the couch that he is lounging on and makes his way to me. Mike is a middle manager in a Charles Faur¨¦ owned drone factory. His appearance doesn¡¯t exactly inspire confidence, I would even say that he looks like a bit of a doofus. But I have been assured that he is trustworthy, and that he has money.

    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind if we go to the fantasy room, it is my favorite and it won¡¯t seem out of place for me to be there,¡± he states with some apprehension.

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind, after all, variety is the spice of life,¡± I say, grinning wickedly.

    The fantasy room has a roughly medieval theme. The walls are imitation stone, the lights look like torches. In the center of the chamber there is a pond that is fed by a little waterfall. Several nymphs are playing in the water, splashing each other and giggling sensually. A Satyr is stalking the room, looking for any interested customers. A surprisingly sexy Medusa is daring me to try to have my way with her.

    A muscular, green-skinned barbarian woman that is clad in a chainmail bikini and sporting body paint approaches us. She balances her massive war axe on her shoulders as she speaks to Mike, ¡°Back again to please this mighty warrior?¡± she asks in a powerful, boisterous voice. I don¡¯t understand how she can talk with all of those big, sharp teeth in her mouth, maybe she is using a hidden speaker that is built into her throat.

    ¡°Not tonight, Blargort,¡± the client says in a sly voice, ¡°tonight I am in the mood for an elven maiden.¡±

    A computer is broadcasting information, feeding instructions to my I.C., which is tricking my eyes into seeing things that aren¡¯t really there. It is a menu, a list of available playmates. As the orc woman and my client make small talk I scroll through the list.

    The orc leaves to look for a customer. We sit down and talk business while we wait for the entertainment to arrive. I reach into my coat and produce a handgun. It isn¡¯t the little pistol that I keep on me for basic protection. This is a massive hand cannon, a revolver made by Alpha Prime.

    ¡°There it is,¡± he says with a grin, ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough.¡±

    Oh, you will thank me, I think to myself. He is paying me good money to get this for him.

    ¡°I really wanted one, but I just can¡¯t afford to take the hit to my CSCS,¡± he lamented as he took the firearm and held it lovingly in his hands.

    I don¡¯t need you to tell me why I am here. He can¡¯t buy from another company, or do a lot of things for that matter, otherwise his Company Social Credit Score takes a hit. A low CSCS means he loses privileges and pays fines. If it drops low enough, he could be exiled. I don¡¯t suffer from that problem, so I can help him out, for a reasonable fee of course.Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°It is also against the rules to jailbreak your I.C., and to do business with a Skinwalker,¡± I remind him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I will be careful. I won¡¯t be showing this puppy off to anyone,¡± he says, trying and failing to reassure me.

    He wills his I.C. to make a transfer to my Charles Faur¨¦ account; I gain several hundred Water Certificates. My computer does the math, comparing the current value of Water Certificates against the Work Hour Credits that I had spent on the weapon. It calculates a nice profit for me, more than enough to pay for tonight¡¯s fun.

    A giggling, half naked woman darts past our booth; a large, hairy creature lumbers after her. What are clearly her friends or coworkers are playfully taunting her, saying that she can only resist the beast¡¯s charms for so long. I spot what I¡¯m pretty sure is supposed to be a female vampire eying me lustfully, and I briefly consider changing my order.

    ¡°Who are you going to vote for in the next election?¡± Mike asks, trying to make small talk.

    I am struggling to not sound irritated, ¡°That¡¯s not how it works,¡± I carefully explain, ¡°My I.C. is heavily modified, kind of like how yours is jailbroken.¡±

    He nods his head, if his Internal Computer wasn¡¯t modified, he wouldn¡¯t be working with me. His computer¡¯s system would know that he was doing wrong, and he would get into big trouble.

    I continue, ¡°I exist in all of the corporate systems. I need to keep up appearances with them all, so my I.C. makes sure that each corporation thinks that I behave in the right way.¡±

    ¡°So, you vote for everybody?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I simultaneously vote for everyone in every primary and every election. And no, I won¡¯t tell you how that is possible, it is a trade secret.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes, I wish that I could vote for the other party,¡± he confesses.

    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault that you chose to be a castrato,¡± I exclaim, immediately regretting it.

    ¡°Come on man! Not everybody can be like you!¡± he protests.

    It is true. The consequences of going rogue are terrible, maybe even lethal. This was especially true for people with families. His jailbroken I.C. lets him get away with a lot of stuff, for everything else there are Skinwalkers like me.

    The girls that we had ordered arrived, prancing up to the table, looking eager to please. His elf is petite and pale skinned. Her fair hair has been tied back so that everyone can see her pointed ears. She is staying true to the part by wearing a fine dress and a silver tiara.

    I had decided to keep things relatively normal, relatively. I had picked a blue skinned alien woman, something straight out of Saga of the Stars. No, that is wrong, her features have clearly been adjusted just enough so as to avoid breaking copyright law. Burab¨­ Inc would be very upset if Charles Faur¨¦ was using one of its intellectual properties.

    She¡¯s humanoid, human enough to be attractive; but still very exotic, which is also very pleasing. She is wearing a skin-tight sci-fi jumpsuit that is covered in completely useless lights.

    ¡°Something to help you relax,¡± she offers. We know that they are talking about Exodus, a drug that puts the problems of the world at a manageable distance. It doesn¡¯t really make you feel good, it makes it so that you don¡¯t care. On top of that we add a steady stream of alcohol.

    ¡°So, what do you gentlemen do for a living?¡± the she-elf asks.

    ¡°I manage a team of drone monitors,¡± I quickly interject, I am afraid that Mike will say too much.

    ¡°That sounds ssssoooo boring,¡± the alien proclaims as she sits down next to me. Her hand only has four fingers, which I find to be both a little revolting and weirdly appealing. Maybe I need to start getting into weirder stuff, if this is my idea of an odd experience.

    We spend a little more time talking, then it is off to private rooms.

    She slowly peels off her jumpsuit, even her womanhood is strange, it is all closed up, but slowly opens as she becomes aroused.

    I pay my bill and give the girl a nice tip, before heading out the front door.

 Chapter 3: Layers of Reality

    I have drunk too much, did too much Exodus. What if that guy really had been following me? Maybe that big brute is still out there, ready to take advantage of my inebriated state. I force myself to care, force my way past the effects of the drug, past the giddy stupidity of the drinks. I scan the walkways and shop windows for the outline of that exaggerated face. He is nowhere.

    The walk back to the elevator is long and nervous, from there it is a short way to the monorail that will get me to my apartment.

    The train car only has a few people in it. A nasty bum is begging for any money that you can give him, he will take any currency. He is holding a sign that says, ¡°Help me I am trapped in V.R.!¡± It is a scary idea, because how would you ever be able to tell if the world was real. Some people insist that they can, they claim that they can tell when they are in a simulation. That is one of the reasons why things like sex bots and the clubs exist, they assert that it feels more real. But they are wrong, you can never tell. I decided a long time ago that it is best not to think about it.

    A man is staring at a wall, seeing things that I can¡¯t. As always, there are virtual worlds that sit on top of the real one, augmenting it. Most people can only see one of them, but it is my privilege to move between them.

    I tell my I.C. to switch to one of the corporate frequencies; D¨¦lta Corp advertisements and propaganda surround me. Everywhere there are reminders of the war with Mars. The massacre at the Korolev crater has always been a big focus. They are telling me that Earth is to blame for the war, we were the bad guys, we are still the bad guys. They want me to play at being a Martian Revolutionary, they are offering free V.R. simulations of hit and fade attacks against Earth forces.

    I switch over to Burab¨­ Inc, it is like traveling to another dimension. Now I can see what the man is watching; it is an anti-drug program. Burab¨­ is very anti-drug, they are always trying to warn people of its dangers and pushing for new laws. I want to tell the man that the company isn¡¯t doing it out of morality. It is doing it because they lost their manufacturing and vending rights after a bad incident. They just want to try and cut into the competition¡¯s profits; they want to deny their rivals the revenue source that they can¡¯t access. I want to do this, but I know that the man won¡¯t listen. He is probably too far gone, too brainwashed. And besides, he is earning a steady stream of Company Social Credit points for watching the show.

    By the time the train ride ends, and I reach my apartment I have sobered up a bit. The sun is coming up, the sky is slowly going from deep black to a dull shade of blue. The sun rise is hidden behind the massive structures that make up our fair city.

    My building is pretty standard. The halls are poorly lit, decorations are nonexistent, trash is strewn here and there. All I want to do is crawl into bed, but someone is waiting for me, a person is standing outside of my door. I Immediately recognize it as being Mr. Burke, my Government contact. He is inconspicuous in his plain suit and coat. His face looks like it was designed to be unremarkable, and it may well have been. Rumor has it, he is ex-special forces; I would believe it, the guy is more than a little bit scary.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°If we are going to do this, I am going to need food,¡± I declare before turning around and heading for the nearest elevator. He follows me menacingly.

    I head for a nearby fast food joint, the G-man hot on my heels, not saying a word. The place has a good breakfast menu, a humanoid drone takes my order and another drone does the cooking. The place has a nice view, it is a bit of a shithole, but it has a nice view and a good breakfast menu.

    It is still early, only a sparse few monitors and managers are present. A guy in an embarrassing uniform stares off into space, while robots go about their work. He is the perfect image of a Drone Monitor. That half-dead, meaningless existence; those long stretches of hell, with only the short bursts of pleasure breaking them up. He is watching the robots do the actual work, just in case something goes wrong, which it won¡¯t. It is a completely pointless job, an artificial occupation. But I guess that they need to make people do something, that way, they have money to spend.

    It is a Burab¨­ owned establishment. The colors purple and white dominate, appearing on the walls, floors, furniture, packaging, and bots. A nice breakfast costs me a single Token. I pick a seat and Mr. Burke sits opposite me, after a short wait my food arrives. He is silent as I dig in. I know where this is going, this isn¡¯t the first time I have had to do things for the state. That is why they let me get away with being a Skinwalker, that is why they have arranged for me to be counted as a voter for both candidates.

    The carrot tends to be good, more than worth the effort. The stick is a little bit more complicated. Sometimes they need people like me. I have to wonder if they will really take away my gift.

    As I eat and ponder what he will ask of me I stare out the restaurant¡¯s window. The cityscape is simultaneously beautiful and ugly. The buildings range from picturesque marvels of engineering, to ugly and brutish monstrosities. These structures are omnipresent, like trees in a forest.

    An Echo Industries headquarters dominates the view, it has a massive spike on top, which seems to be stabbing the atmosphere. At night a pale green light casts an eerie glow onto the structure. A skyway is filled to the brim with trucks; a lane of personal vehicles is located directly under it, the massive cargo haulers casting shadows on them. Thankfully, the ground level areas are out of sight, hidden by a combination of distance and obstructions.

    Mr. Burke finally speaks, ¡°I need you to do something for me,¡± he says emotionlessly.

    My I.C. receives a transmission from him. A young woman appears beside me. She is completely nude, except for a seashell neckless. She has dishwater blond hair, her skin is smooth; her body, nubile and perky. She has tan lines that almost make it look like she is wearing a bikini; her puffy nipples and the well-groomed tuft of hair between her legs gives it away.

    ¡°This is Jill, she is missing, and I need you to find her.¡±

    ¡°I am not a detective, I am a Skinwalker.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re able to go anywhere and interact with anyone, that makes you a lot of things.¡±

    He is right, I am a smuggler, a day trader, a weapons dealer, a go-between, and a lot more.

    ¡°I am what I need to be to make money, but I still don¡¯t know¡­¡±

    He cuts me off, ¡°This will make you money.¡±

    ¡°How much?¡± I ask before taking another bite.

    ¡°Ten thousand in each currency, plus expenses.¡±

    I feel my eyes go wide and I struggle to swallow what is in my mouth. That is a good chunk of change. I can do a lot with that, especially with it being spread out, it would make me much more versatile.

    As I finish my meal, I ask him what he knows about her, ¡°The only thing that I can tell you is that she is an employee at The Archipelago.¡±

    I don¡¯t ask him why he wants me to find the girl, I already know the answer, which is, ¡°You don¡¯t need to know.¡±

    I am too wired to sleep, I go back to my apartment to pack and get cleaned up. The place has good parking, so I hop in my car and set its destination for The Archipelago.

 Chapter 4: Sunshine and Tanned Bodies

    The city looks so different from the air. The details, the litter, the graffiti, the tension, it is all omitted. While I am in the sky the ugly, oppressive buildings become marvels of engineering and I find that I am inspired by human accomplishments.

    My car has entered one of the major skyways. Traffic is relatively light; I am making good time. The Alpha Prime system is advising me to drive safe, the other companies are giving me similar reminders, except for Charles Faur¨¦. The car in front of me has a bumper sticker that says, ¡°I¡¯m a PB and proud of it.¡±

    I get a message from D¨¦lta Corp. I have been randomly selected for an audit of my search history. That¡¯s fine, I don¡¯t have anything to hide, I could give less of a fuck about Mars. If I did need to look up something that they don¡¯t like, I would just use another company¡¯s network.

    The Archipelago is a massive vacation spot located under a giant dome. I am dressed for a tropical vacation, which is about as far as I can get from my usual attire. Burab¨­ runs The Archipelago, they charge five hundred Tokens per day, thank God he said that they would cover expenses.

    As the car flies itself to the nearest parking lot I ponder the assignment. My best guess is that she ran off with some rich guy, or maybe a guy who did a good job convincing her that he was rich. Either way, he will be easy enough to track down once I get a name.

    I can see it in my mind¡¯s eye. He butters her up, tips big, spends big, and tells her that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. What is a poor girl that is struggling to work off the debt that she incurred to get that nice body supposed to say?

    I finally get a response to the message that I had sent as I was packing. Howard does administrative work at The Archipelago. He was easy enough to find. It was as simple as logging onto Burab¨­¡¯s social network and running a search for a few keywords. From there I had concocted a story about being a newbie in need of help; several people had told me that Howard was the guy to talk to, after all, he was so knowledgeable and helpful.

    My story is that I need access to the system, I have been locked out for some reason. He has taken the bait, given me a bypass code that I can use until I get it worked out. I hastily thank him, saying that I owe him one.

    The walk across the parking lot is miserable. My swimming trunks and Hawaiian shirt do nothing to keep out the cold. I am shivering by the time I enter the building, should have waited for a shuttle. There are two entrances, one leading to Aikitol, the other goes to a hub for the other islands.

    Aikitol Island is a family place, it is where you take the wife and kids for a little bit of fun in the sun. The other islands are where the real action can be found. They are where singles or couples go to party.

    I take the tunnel to the hub. Signs, both in the real world and the digital one, warn me that no children are aloud past this point and that I am about to enter a clothing optional area. They must have a jammer in place, I can¡¯t access the systems of the other corporations, I am trapped in the Burab¨­ version of reality.

    I reach the end and find myself on a tropical island, or in a very convincing reproduction of one. It is bright and warm, something that I am not used to. In fact, I would say that it is somewhat blinding. The beach is nice, I find that sand is far more pleasant to walk on than concrete. Several ferries sit at a dock, each boat is surrounded by signs that talk about how much of a good time you will have.

    Beautiful young bodies are everywhere, they are all naked save for those seashell necklaces. A group of lean, handsome, brown-skinned young men beckon me to join them on the boat that would take us to the island that is for gay men. I politely wave them off, making a beeline for a group of young women. Then I realize that that is the one for lesbians, so I change course and finally find the right place.

    The women greet me with excited cheers, a Lei, and a tropical drink. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes several other men join us, this includes a group of guys who seem to let out an uproar of laughter at every other word.

    Three women walk over to a boat full of men. They are Archipelago veterans, as they strip off their clothes, they make lustful comments about what they call the fresh meat. Which is a hairless Filipino that honestly looks a touch young and a well-endowed, muscly brute.

    Our boat moves away from the dock, starting its journey across the fake ocean. The artificial sky is deep azure; the false sun smiles down on us. I unbutton my shirt, wondering why we don¡¯t just make the whole planet look like this.

    The girls make the normal small talk, it is as fake as the ocean and the sky. I sip the drink, the fruit does a great job of masking the sting of the alcohol. One of the girls is yakking at me, going over a list of all the fun things that there are to do. She is wondering if I would like for her to accompany me on a scuba diving expedition; we can explore magnificent coral formations and sunken ships. Or maybe we can soak up some sun on one of the beaches.

    I smile and put my free hand to my chin, thinking it over. I will need to find a window where I can sneak off. The plan is to find a maintenance access point or some other way into the backrooms. From there I will make my way to an interface that will let me look at the place¡¯s records. If I get caught, I will pretend to be intoxicated and confused. They probably won¡¯t get too mad; I am a customer and they want return business.

    Like many of the place¡¯s employees, the girl is Polynesian, or at least has the body of one. She has a little pink flower pinned into her long, dark hair. I look her in the eyes, they sparkle with interest, maybe even a little hint of lust. I don¡¯t need to remind myself that it is just as fake as everything else. At this point cynicism has become automatic, everything is a trick, an advertisement, cleverly crafted by a master persuader.

    Should I ask her if she knows Jill? I could pretend to be her friend, just a guy that is curious about an acquaintance that happens to work there. No, too risky, they might have told them to report any guests that go snooping around for info on the missing woman.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    After a leisurely trip we land on the island. The beach goes out of sight in either direction. A few buildings surround a hut that is selling drinks. Beyond the clearing there is the beginnings of a jungle. I am certain that the more unpleasant creatures are absent.  A tall, rocky hill is located further inland, its peak must come near the top of the dome. I can hear the calls of tropical birds, but I doubt that they are real. This is drowned out by a man riding past on a jet ski.

    The island girl follows me off the boat. I dump my suitcase in my assigned bungalow. Then I tell her to take me to her favorite beach. Just as I had hoped, she wants to go to an out of the way cove, a spot with lots of privacy. I will ditch her at some point on the way.

    We stroll through the jungle, pushing ferns out of the way. The palm trees shade us nicely. Some part of my mind is telling me that this is really VR, because my world is supposed to be grey and black, not green and brown.

    ¡°Do you like working here?¡± I find myself asking her.

    ¡°Of course I do. Fun and sun all day, much better than being a monitor. You just have to get used to the nudity. I think that most people are primed by VR to be sexually open and nothing says that you can¡¯t turn down a guest if you aren¡¯t interested. But the nudity is awkward at first, especially when you need a pocket.¡±

    ¡°What about the others?¡±

    ¡°Some of them are hesitant about it. Some find that they don¡¯t like the clients, so they ask for a transfer. The corporation doesn¡¯t always grant them one. Personally, I am just glad to have a job.¡±

    I ask another question, fully aware that I am skating on thin ice, ¡°Anyone ever run away?¡±

    ¡°A few, some can¡¯t handle it,¡± she frowns, ¡°Are you thinking of anyone in particular?¡±

    ¡°Does the name Jill ring a bell?¡±

    ¡°You want to help her?¡±

    Good question. Bringing her to Mr. Burke might be good for her, if she is in trouble, he might be able to protect her. But he might not have her best interests at heart. With the government you can never tell. Her real name might not be Jill, she might be on the run, she might have a good reason for staying out of the state¡¯s hands. It is a gut check that I¡¯m not ready for.

    What to tell her? I quickly settle on the truth with the important parts modified or clipped out, ¡°I work for the government.¡±

    She breathes a sigh of relief, ¡°I¡¯m glad that someone from outside is looking into it.¡±

    Her assumption that my statement meant that I was going to help her friend makes me wince. She is na?ve, I want to explain that to her, but I stay quiet. At least she is on my side, at least she isn¡¯t sounding the alarm. Hell, thanks to my vague wording she might even think that I am a cop.

    She looks aside for a few seconds, considering her next words carefully, ¡°Is there anything that I can do to help?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I need access to the underground.¡±

    ¡°Okay, follow me.¡±

    We change course, after a few minutes we reach a path, she indicates that it is just up the way.

    I examine one of the imitation clouds, ¡°Tell me about her.¡±

    ¡°She was¡­is nice. She is always interested in having a good time, always positive.¡±

    ¡°So, you would say that she got along with everyone?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, definitely. She didn¡¯t have any enemies, if that is what you are really asking.¡±

    ¡°What about a boyfriend?¡±

    ¡°No. Not that I know of.¡±

    ¡°How about an ex?¡±

    ¡°None that came around or that she ever mentioned. You¡¯re thinking that someone kidnapped her?¡±

    ¡°It is possible. I really don¡¯t know anything, at least not yet. How about a client that got clingy?¡±

    ¡°Security knows how to handle creeps,¡± she says with contempt.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    ¡°They keep an eye out for them. They listen to us if we present a problem and they will ban anyone that causes problems.¡±

    ¡°That is good to hear,¡± something suddenly occurred to me, ¡°You never told me what you think happened to her.¡±

    ¡°Are you asking me if I think that she ran away or if she was abducted?¡±

    ¡°I just want to know what you think, if anything.¡±

    After a long pause she says, ¡°She is one of those girls that has a knack for getting herself into trouble.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡±

    We walk into a little valley. A large rock sits under a palm tree. She moves the stone, which is clearly made of molded foam. It was concealing a hatch.

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Do you need to know my name?¡± she asks, before adding, ¡°For a report?¡±

    ¡°No. No, I think it is best if I didn¡¯t, so that you can¡¯t get into any trouble with the company.¡±

    I open the hatch, slipping inside, before gently closing it. After a trip down a ladder, I find myself in a concrete tunnel. It is rather dark, only a few overhead lights illuminate the bare floors, and the cables and pipes that line the walls. After spending so much time under the bright sun, the tunnel is annoyingly dark. I stand there for a few minutes, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

    Under the facade of the atoll there are the hidden places, the inner workings. Maintenance areas, storage rooms, even breakrooms for the entertainers sit under the sand, all of it linked by a system of tunnels. A local map is being broadcasted. There is an office a short distance away.

    I start creeping forward, ears open, ready to start acting like a drunken fool if someone spots me. The corridor is tight, and seems so much smaller after the wide-open space I had just spent the last hour in. There aren¡¯t many rooms or side passages, if I run into someone I will have nowhere to hide.

    My mind turns to the island girl. Will they find out that she helped me? How much trouble would she get into? I can¡¯t get caught. People saw me leave with her, I can¡¯t get caught.

    After several minutes I reach the office, luckily, it is currently unoccupied. The room is basic, a few chairs and a desk with an interface for ICs. The walls are decorated with a few corporate posters along with signs reminding maintenance workers to keep out of sight and entertainers to be courteous to guests.

    I use my IC to access the system, entering Howard¡¯s password. The menus are easy to navigate, I pick the one for personnel. I scroll past the tab for maintenance drone monitors and the one for the people that double check the work of the computers that crunch the numbers. The entertainers are divided up by island. I scan the long list of human flesh. Jill Winters, current status: absent without leave, this is her.

    She is indentured, the debt isn¡¯t for her body, she is paying off a student loan and a lawsuit for accidentally damaging a drone. This doesn¡¯t mean that she is completely natural, but it makes me hope. This revelation raises a question: she had only been here for a few weeks, why would she run away?

    I keep perusing the file. She has a healthy number of infractions and a few good reviews from happy customers, who describe her as fun loving. Then I reach the investigator¡¯s report regarding her having broken contract.

    ¡°On or around the above date Ms. Winters signed out to go to the Gibson center. When she did not return an internal investigation was started. Records show that she did not go to the indicated location. Her account has been completely emptied (14 tokens).

    ¡°I interviewed her coworkers. When Ms. Corri (Employee ID AHJ-995172) was questioned, she told me that Ms. Winters had been in contact with a man that she identified as an Untouchable. Ms. Corri claimed that she didn¡¯t report this because she assumed that it was just a fling. Ms. Winters did not identify or describe this man.

    ¡°End of report.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t some fat cat, it was an Untouchable! This complicates things. Untouchables don¡¯t leave paper trails, they don¡¯t use corporate services, this makes them difficult to track.

    They have dispatched what the system refers to as a retention officer, a bounty hunter. His mission is to bring her back, but he is authorized to kill her if necessary. They would lose her debt, but they would still profit from making an example out of her. I have the bounty hunter¡¯s serial number, maybe I can use it to get a better handle on what I am dealing with.

    I hear a door open and a voice ask a question.

 Chapter 5: Escape

    I instinctively pull out of the system. My hand goes into my shirt, quickly finding the hidden pocket that contains my only weapon. I move slowly and silently to the door, listening intently.

    I hear another voice, it is coming from near an intersection, ¡°No, no I just need to get something out of my locker really quick,¡± this is followed by footsteps walking past the door. A quick check of the map shows that there is a changing room up the corridor.

    I wait a minute, before slipping out of the room. I pass the intersection, glancing down it, to see someone standing with their back to me. He is using his IC while he is waiting for his companion. I struggle to move both quickly and quietly. The gloom makes visibility poor. My heart is in my throat, the hatch feels like it is miles away.

    I hear voices somewhere behind me; it sounds like they met back up. I don¡¯t know where they are heading. They might be coming my way, I need to hurry, and yet I must stay silent. I reach another intersection, a drone steps out in front of me.

    It sports a hard-plastic shell that is painted in noble blue. The armor is capable of stopping pistol caliber rounds and guarding against stabbing attacks. Markings identify it as a part of the facility¡¯s security team. The head is a network of cameras positioned so that it has a 360-degree view. The robot isn¡¯t heavily armed, they don¡¯t want it scaring anyone, so it only has a baton and a handgun.

    The drone can trace its lineage back to the primitive infantry bots that were used by various governments to put down a string of uprisings during the 30s. Unlike those unfortunate souls I have had my reflexes enhanced, I can get in a shootout with a combat drone and live to tell the tale.

    The only weapon that I have on me is a little one-shot derringer. Even with the overpressure round that is loaded into its chamber I doubt that it would be able to punch through the drone¡¯s armored shell. I pull up a schematic of the model, quickly learning that it wouldn¡¯t matter. It has enough redundancies that no single attack, outside of an anti-tank weapon, would disable it.

    I stagger a bit, stammering like a drunkard, ¡°Hey, can, can you show me how to get out of here? I think that I am lost, I, I need to find the parking lot.¡±

    Its optic systems stare at me for a few long seconds, ¡°Certainly, sir. Please, follow my directions,¡± the robot says, its mechanical voice taking on a soothing tone.

    ¡°Thanks, dude. My wife called, she is pissed. Got to get home, got to get out of here!¡±

    The drone starts dutifully telling me where to go, following close behind. We take a few turns, ending up in a wider tunnel, a monorail positioned in the middle. This is obviously a main thoroughfare; it will take us to the parking lot¡¯s loading area. From there I can get to my car and get the hell out of here. The only downside is that it will be a long walk.

    Surely the robot sent out an update, saying that it is assisting a lost guest. I wonder if a human member of the security team will link their IC to the drone¡¯s camera systems, I continue my drunken act, just in case. My biggest fear is that they will decide to come check up on things in person.

    I hear the sound of an electric motor, my heart sinks. The cart pulls up beside us, the drone tells me to stop and I reluctantly comply.

    The driver is a normal looking guy, clad in a set of maintenance overalls that he has no need for. He doesn¡¯t do any work; all he does is keep an eye on his assigned drones as they go about their daily tasks.

    ¡°What is going on here?¡± the driver asks me. I have no doubt that he is using his IC to ask the drone the same question.

    ¡°The wife, the car.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Got to find my car. Got to unmad the wife.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°God damn it, another drunk,¡± he sneers. This is fine. He is just irritated because he sees this kind of thing happen all the time. This is just a worker dealing with one of the hazards of the business.

    His eyes go wide, behind me I hear the sound of a gun being drawn. They are getting a message that my IC isn¡¯t set to pick up. They must be getting some kind of security alert, probably from me accessing the system.

    I jump up onto the cart, putting the poor monitor between me and the bot. Then I hit the accelerator. The sudden burst of speed nearly causes me to fall off. The little vehicle has a surprising amount of get up and go. We race along, the man screaming the whole time.

    I have a trump card. In my suitcase there is an incendiary device, which has been disguised as a malfunctioning battery. I put it there to help cover my tracks if I needed to make a quick exit, but I can also use it as a distraction. I send out the transmission.

    I pick a random side door, hop off the cart and take off running. I round a corner, two security drones in front of me. They simultaneously order me to stop. I don¡¯t, instead, I duck into a nearby doorway, finding myself in a large storage room. There is no time to look around, no time to find the best path. Adrenaline guides me as I weave my way through the maze of boxes.

    I can hear them behind me, they have split up, one is hot on my heels while the other is trying to flank. My mind flashes back to my clashes with the police. I force it out of my brain, but it just gets replaced with those historical simulations that we did when I was in school. There is nothing quite like the terror that one feels when they are being hunted by a machine.

    Ahead, I see a hatch. I adjust course, moving toward the only exit that I have seen. The one on my side moves in to grab me. I pull my derringer and squeeze the trigger. The kick is horrendous. My pursuer doesn¡¯t know that my gun is now useless, it just knows that it is being shot at. The drone¡¯s self-preservation programing kicks in, it dives behind a sturdy looking crate. I reach the hatch, waving the empty gun behind me, the other drone has taken cover behind a metal support.

    I scramble up the ladder. A few rounds hit the area below me, making a surprisingly soft sound as they strike the concrete. I reach the top, open the hatch, and work my way out of a patch of ferns to find that a group of people are staring at me. Men in seashell necklaces are attending to a group of females, several are being given massages. I have managed to pop out on the island for straight women.

    I look around frantically, seeing a small collection of grass huts, a well-stocked bar, and a table of food, all of it surrounded by jungle. I see a thin trail of smoke rising above the treetops and I remember my distraction.

    ¡°Everybody run, there is a fire!¡± I scream as I bolt away. They don¡¯t do that. They just stay in place, staring at me in confusion. The next twenty minutes are a blur of foliage and pain as I do my best to sprint through the jungle.

    I stop, catching my breath and listening, the only thing that I hear are ocean waves. I have managed to run in the complete wrong direction. I am now on the opposite side of the island. On the bright side, my mistake as thrown off my pursuers. I decide to walk to the beach, maybe I can flag down a passing boat and get a lift from an unwitting vacationer.

    A woman and her escort are laying on the shore. A jet ski is parked nearby. I creep closer. The two of them seem to be asleep. Even the noise of my feet on the sand sounds deafening as I sneak past them. The jet ski¡¯s motor wakes them up, but it is too late. I look back to see them both holding up their arms in frustration.

    I bring up the map of the resort. I turn my borrowed escape vehicle in the direction that my best guess says is the right way to go. I hit the accelerator, going full throttle. After a few minutes I pass through a digital barrier. A two-story tall strip of neon orange caution tape warning me that I am entering the waters of the island that is for bisexual couples is being projected via augmented reality.

    The next fifteen minutes are spent nervously glancing behind me. I constantly look for a way out, a loading dock, an emergency exit, anything. Another barrier, this one warning me that I am in range of the island for families. This is a good sign, that island is close to the parking lot.

    I nervously scan the horizon, looking for a boat full of security drones and their very angry commander. Then I see it, what looks like a quad rotor. It is hovering over a distant island. An emergency response unit looking into the fire? I hope so.

    I have reached the wall of the dome. Now I have no choice but to cruise along the edge looking for an exit. It reminds me of that one RPG, that time that me and a few friends sailed along the ice wall that sat at the boarders of the world.

    Finally, I spot a doorway. It is a sturdy airlock, rimmed with yellow pain, a sign identifying it as an emergency exit. I step outside, the cold air hitting me like a freight hauler.

    To my surprise the islands have been completely evacuated. The safety regulations must be extreme. The guests and entertainers are standing in the parking lot, hugging their bodies, trembling in the cold. I make my way to my car, attracting no attention, the group staring at the dome, expecting it to burst into flames. As I pull away a group of firefighting drones arrives.

 Chapter 6: A Friend in Need

    A million thoughts race through my mind as the car flies back to my apartment building. This is a disaster, I might lose my Burab¨­ identity.

    Why on Earth would she leave with an Untouchable? And more importantly, how in the hell am I going to find him?

    An Untouchable is someone who has been excommunicated by every single corporation. They are pariahs, completely cut off from the rest of society. Those people are by their very nature hard to find. They live off of the grid, because they can¡¯t buy from or work for any company.

    Luckily, I know someone, hell, it is my job to know someone.

    As the car speeds along, I check my assorted social media profiles. The bots that maintain them are doing a good job of posting what needs to be posted to earn me a steady stream of social credit. Alpha Prime: still in Superb standing. My D¨¦lta Corp rating just went to A+. And I only need a few more points to reach LC I with Echo Industries. All in all, I would say that I am doing pretty good with the remaining two companies.

    I give the feeds a once over. The senate is getting ready to vote on war reparations. D¨¦lta members are out in force. One pundit called for payments that are so large they would bankrupt the government. When this was pointed out, she belligerently countered with, ¡°Well then, we better double it.¡±

    Another important issue that is making the rounds is that a man named Ben Millard was caught criticizing the gameplay of a new Charles Faur¨¦ game. He would normally only lose some social credit, but this game is about the struggles of one of the first people to get a non-humanoid body. Now people are up in arms and the company is thinking about excommunicating him.

    There are no doubt many other people using bots to raise their standings, but I get the feeling that most of the posts are genuine. Well, genuine in that they are thought up and posted by the person that owns the account. But maybe the opinions that are being espoused might not be so genuine. People do such an amazing job saying what the corporate systems want them to. They know just what to say to get the big points, mastered the art of finding and repeating the right slogans.

    My car lands in the lot of my complex. I need to get some rest before I head into Section 4143; it is a very dangerous place and I will need my wits about me. I enter the building, practically crawling toward my room. My neighbor steps out of his door, ¡°I could really use someone to talk to.¡±

    Fuck it, I don¡¯t really need to sleep that bad anyway.

    After I take a minute to put on warmer clothes, we take seats on a communal balcony. The lunch hour rush is just starting up. The sky traffic is starting to increase. One of the ground highways is a little backed up.

    Anthony is legitimately young, he isn¡¯t just wearing the face and body of a young man, he really is one. As far as I know he is completely natural, save for the DMT emitter that is attached to his brain. Some of his features scream Latino while others say African. His hair tends to have a mind of its own.

    Anthony is a member of the transhumanist religious movement called The Church of the Ascended. They are a fairly new religion. Their founder lived in a place that isn¡¯t too different from where we are right now. Interestingly, none of the current Church leaders knew the man.

    ¡°So, you just got back from vacation?¡± he asks. Anthony doesn¡¯t know the truth about me. He thinks that I work for Echo, just like everybody else in the building.

    ¡°Something like that. So, what is troubling you?¡±

    ¡°I think that Martin was right, but what I don¡¯t understand is why I need to be a part of the Church to follow his teachings.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I could tell him a million things about Tim Martin. I could give him The People of the Book¡¯s version, that Tim was a freeloader that mooched off of rich and gullible people. I could tell him what Burab¨­ Inc says, which is that he was a drug addict, a degenerate that wrapped his substance abuse in the thin disguise of a spiritual journey. Or Charles Faur¨¦¡¯s claim that they can get you way higher than Tim Martin ever was, all you need is a handful of Water Certificates and an open mind. There is the D¨¦lta Corp VR biopic, which portrayed the prophet as a staunch supporter of the Martian people. And finally, there is Echo¡¯s version, which is also the Church¡¯s version; he already knows that one, knows it better than he knows anything else.

    ¡°The Church says it, and they have the power to back it up. You know what they did to the independent groups, and that breakaway sect. If you try to quit the Church, you will be blacklisted from Echo Industries. Good luck trying to get access to another company while still openly worshiping Martin.¡±

    The look on his face tells me that he is well aware of the consequences, ¡°It¡¯s such BS.¡±

    ¡°It is the way it is, even if it is BS.¡±

    ¡°He never said that I have to imitate his body modifications.¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m not mistaken, he never even said that you need to get the DMT emitter.¡±

    ¡°That is debatable. But becoming¡­like him, I just don¡¯t know about that.¡±

    ¡°But if you don¡¯t you will reach a hard ceiling. You can¡¯t get above the mid-levels, can¡¯t unlock the higher teachings.¡±

    ¡°They were all leaked.¡±

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t look at them, you aren¡¯t a cheater.¡±

    He looks away, smiling shyly. After a few seconds he examines the growing sky traffic, ¡°Last night I went on a vision.¡±

    ¡°You saw something that made you doubt?¡±

    ¡°You know me, I have always doubted. In this vision I saw the head of the Church. He was in the middle of an orgy. He was doing things to a girl, the president of Charles Faur¨¦ was helping him. Burab¨­¡¯s CEO was snorting a line while she watched them.¡±

    ¡°That is a hell of a vision.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me!¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should become a Pee Bee,¡± I say half-jokingly.

    ¡°The problem with that is that the leaders of the People of the Book were there too.¡±

    ¡°Why am I not surprised?¡±

    ¡°I would get mad about you cracking jokes, but I know you well enough to know that you¡¯re dead serious.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I am too much of a cynic. Maybe I should be more like you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s funny, I was wondering if I should try to be more like you.¡±

    I throw my head back and laugh, ¡°Whatever you do, don¡¯t do that!¡±

    He joins me in laughter. After we recover, we spend a few minutes talking about a VR game. The sun reaches a point where one of the traffic lane blocks it, shadows roll over us as the cars fly by.

    He stares off into space, looking in the general direction of an Apex Warfighter Arsenal office, ¡°Maybe I should just become an Untouchable,¡± he says, sounding serious.

    Damn, what a hell of a thing to hit me with. I take a few seconds to pick the right words, ¡°My first instinct is to tell you to shut the hell up about that. I want to tell you that it is a terrible idea. You can have the Church¡¯s body work done and get it reversed if you don¡¯t like it. But you can¡¯t come back from being an Untouchable.¡±

    ¡°Ya, but they can survive, and they get to do whatever they want.¡±

    ¡°That is why I said that warding you off was my first instinct. It is a shitty place to be at, that is for sure. But they do manage, people always seem to find a way to manage,¡± I pause, still trying to find the right words, ¡°Some people, some people just aren¡¯t meant to be a part of mainstream society. Some people benefit from¡­being severed from the system.¡±

    ¡°The question is, am I one of those people?¡±

    ¡°That is something that you are going to have to figure out for yourself.¡±

    He looks me in the eyes, ¡°You don¡¯t seem to be very religious. Why are you a member of Echo?¡±

    I don¡¯t necessarily have to be a true believer to be in the Echo circle. But I do have to be a supporter of the Church¡¯s right to exist. The same is true for Alpha and the Pee Bee¡¯s. I struggle to remember my cover story, so I will my IC to bring up my notes on this identity.

    ¡°I like Tim Martin, I think he had some great ideas. I just don¡¯t think that he was divine. But his philosophy is about the closest thing to the truth that we have,¡± I crack a smile, ¡°Besides, Echo makes the best stuff.¡±

    We share another good laugh. He leaves, I go to bed, struggling to fall asleep. Had I been too rough? Were harsh truths really what he needed to hear? Will he really throw away everything that he has worked for?

    When I wake up it is dark again. Ashley has sent me a message. I ignore it. She is just another Kawaiichen. Just another dumb bitch for me to get my rocks off with. She means nothing to me, absolutely nothing.

    I grab a shower and a quick meal, then I put on my gray man attire. After hiding several knifes and guns about my person I spend a few minutes practicing drawing them. When I am satisfied, I head in the direction of Section 4143.

 Chapter 7: Section 4143 is a Complete Shithole

    My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I get a message from Burab¨­. I open it, expecting a huge fine and loss of social credit for running amok in their resort, that, or an outright expulsion. Instead, I get an apology letter for my vacation being cut short by the fire in my bungalow and an apparently unrelated incident involving an unknown trespasser. The message goes on to show a fleeting image, captured by an IC, of a busty, voluptuous woman in a jumpsuit. It is requested that I come forward if I have any information on the mysterious intruder.

    They say that they understand why I would flee into the tunnels. The shot that I took at a security drone was out of line; but no harm was done. They will reimburse me for the day and my luggage. In addition, they have invited me to stay at one of their fine casinos, how thoughtful of them.

    I am glad to see that I am out of trouble. But the relief is tainted by a new concern. Who is that woman? Why was she there? Is it related to my search for Jill?

    I descend to the base of the skyscrapers. I can no longer make out the shapes of the majestic buildings, now they just blend together into a sickening haze of metal and concrete. By the time I reach ground level there are so many things in the way that the sky is completely blocked. They don¡¯t get sunlight; it isn¡¯t for them. The artificial lighting is poor, the overhead lamps are few and far between, and as is, many are broken. I wish that I had invested in a better set of eyes, ones that could see in I.R. or maybe thermal, anything that would help with this darkness.

    Section 4143 is a housing area for industrial drone monitors. It is a neglected slum, a festering sore on the shapely body of our fair city, but you can¡¯t hate the place too much because it is just one of many. The air is bad, I wonder if the filtration system is even functioning. Many of the residents are quick to violence. They are not bad people, certainly no worse than what you will find on the higher levels. But they are more desperate, and not as closely watched.

    The area is supremely dirty. A layer of dust and grime cover nearly every surface. Garbage, much of it discarded bits of packaging, is strewn around, or stuffed into the many holes that had been knocked out of the walls. There are cleaning drones that go around picking up the messes that people make. It is actually kind of impressive that they have managed to get the place so filthy.

    I switch between the different augmented realities. Each dimension is a maddening cacophony of advertisements. Always someone trying to sell me something. Here they want to sell me sex, there they want to sell me an ideology; here they want to sell me a religion, there they want to sell me drugs. Even in the slums I can¡¯t escape it.

    I end up on the Alpha Prime frequency. I see a digital wall, much like the ones that divided up the resort. The display stretches out so that a large area is cordoned off. This warning tape says that I am under no circumstances aloud to cross into the forbidden zone, or else I face a massive fine and the risk of expulsion.

    I activate a filter that searches all of the company networks. After sorting through the results, I come to the conclusion that the area¡¯s landlord made a disparaging comment about Muslims. Alpha¡¯s response was to cut the area out of existence, so to speak. This is nothing, one time they did it to a whole moon when one of the colony¡¯s founders expressed his hatred of Christians.

    No matter which frequency I am on I can see the area that has been marked off by the police. It is a murder scene. Another network search reveals that it was a shooting, that much is certain, what the companies can¡¯t seem to agree on is why it happened. Burab¨­ insists that it was drug related, just another nasty part of the drug trade. Faur¨¦ thinks that the victim¡¯s weird artificial genitals were the cause of a hateful attack. And D¨¦lta knows for a fact that it was over the victim¡¯s support of Mars.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    As I push deeper into the section, I scan the locals wearily. No matter where you go, you should always keep a watch out, that¡¯s just common sense.

    A folding table with a shell game is set up next to a money changer¡¯s booth. A shady looking man in a long coat lurks in a doorway. A cloaked figure passes me, a set of eyes glow like embers under its hood. The entire left side of one woman¡¯s face has been replaced with metal, an array of scopes and optic systems are mounted where her eye would be. In the distance I hear a voice calling out, ¡°You are guilty, the very fact that you exist makes you guilty, there is no denying this!¡± My first instinct is to say that it is a Pee Bee street preacher, but those words could really be coming out of anyone¡¯s mouth.

    I leave the main route, heading into one of the individual complexes. Any sense of style or eye toward decoration has been completely abandoned. Places like these are made for the sole purpose of providing housing for as many unfortunate souls as possible, at the lowest cost that is viable.

    I spot a group of young men walking my way. They sport bright red shirts that are covered in lines of little metal buttons, the kind that snap together. Their pants and footwear vary. Each one of them eyes me like I am prey. This display is intentional, but their act is based on real emotions.

    I know what they are, because I used to be one of them. Not a member of this particular gang, but I spent time in a similar group.

    My mind flashes back to those days, doing so completely against my will. We wore a shirt like that, only ours were white with black trim. Our rival gang dressed in blue, with a white cravat. Different groups used different colors and accessories, but they always had those buttons.

    Reveling in sadistic glee, we attacked anyone that we could take. My group loved to wander up to the higher levels, we could get away with it in those days. We delighted in competing for the affections of women, many of them Kawaiichen, and scrapping with rival gangs. It¡¯s a subculture that worships violence, we lived to fight and fuck and look good doing it. And we were filled to the brim with youthful exuberance.

    With shouts of joy they charge. I am quickly surrounded by seven giggling lads, each of them sharp eyed, only breaking their combat ready stances to tease and taunt me.

    One sports leather pants and a set of boots that wouldn¡¯t look out of place in a VR game about the seafaring pirates of old. He mocks me, but the insults and accusations are pure gibberish, many of the slang words aren¡¯t even listed online.

    I start to notice that they are all looking toward the one that wears a set of urban camo fatigue pants and a pair of combat boots. He must be the leader.

    I look into the man¡¯s eyes, ¡°This sort of thing doesn¡¯t work if the person that you are messing with is armed.¡±

    Their eyes go wide, except for the leader, he makes a show out of not being scared, ¡°You will get in big trouble with your company for owning a zipgun,¡± he warns or more like taunts.

    ¡°You are assuming that I can¡¯t afford to buy a legit weapon.¡±

    He wavers for a second, but recovers swiftly, ¡°But can you afford the self-defense tax?¡±

    He¡¯s got me there, but I am reasonably quick with a comeback, ¡°Who says it would get reported?¡±

    The other lads are amused by this. They howl with mirth. ¡°Get him, man!¡± one of them yells out in joy.  He wears blue jeans and a pair of tennis shoes.

    With a carefully practiced finesse the young man rips his shirt off, the rows of buttons breaking it into several sections. This is the garment¡¯s shtick; you can quickly remove it in a fight. Now he stood there shirtless, holding his arms out wide, inviting an attack.

    The temptation to dash forward and strike a blow is immense. I was always told that age would cause such violent desires to pass, but I find that the urge is still just as strong.

    I do my best to stay calm, ¡°I used to be like you. I got out, you should do the same.¡±

    ¡°What happened? Are you an informant, a rat?¡±

    ¡°I took a bullet to the chest. I had it coming.¡±

    With that, I keep walking. They let me pass.

 Chapter 8: Legion

    I reach my destination, it is an apartment complex for VR addicts. There aren¡¯t any signs that proclaim this, it isn¡¯t advertised as such, but it is the truth. The focus on tiny, bare bones rooms, as well as the boasts about connection speeds gives it away.

    The smell is something straight out of hell.

    One of them steps out of their room as I walk past it. He is thin and pale, a pair of drone monitor¡¯s coveralls hangs off of his ghoulish body. His kind only leaves VR when he absolutely needs to. He is a high functioning addict; he knows that he has to go to work so that he can pay the bills. He knows that is what he needs to do to get time in the virtual world, so the retch powers through the workday. I shake my head as he walks toward the elevator. My mind struggles with visions of a possible version of myself.

    I reach room 205. I knock on the door. After a brief delay it opens. What at first appears to be a humanoid drone is standing in the doorway. But the fact that it wears fancy robes and has decorated its frame with engravings gives away the fact that it is a person. The torso is somewhat wide, not in a way that suggests fat, but more that it is stoutly built. It breathes heavily, as it needs much more oxygen than normal.

    The face is minimalist, little more than a few optic systems and a small light positioned where the month would be. This light would turn on to indicate when it was was speaking. My eyes are always drawn to the two cylindrical mechanisms that act as sense organs; something about the way that they randomly move around is hypnotic.

    ¡°John, I haven¡¯t seen you in a while,¡± it said I and not we, which always confused me.

    The Being known as Aganok lives in the cheap little D¨¦lta Corp apartment that I rent to keep up appearances. Aganok can¡¯t live anywhere, because it is an Untouchable, so it covers the rent for me in exchange for allowing it to stay there.

    The place is claustrophobic, features nothing beyond the basic necessities. Aganok has done its best to make the place feel like a proper home. A shelf is completely filled with books, with a few extras stacked on a rather beat up looking end table.

    I take a seat at the kitchen table, which has stuff piled on it so that it can no longer serve its original function. I default to the trusty tactic of telling a lie that is based on the truth, ¡°I would come by more, but I have been deep into the grind.¡±

    ¡°I get you there. I have lifetimes of that shit running around in my mind,¡± it said my mind instead of minds, and again, I am confused.

    ¡°I finally got my debts paid off. Now I am aiming at getting to the point where I am financially stable.¡±

    ¡°That is a good goal to have. You took my advice and decided to wait on that other place?¡±

    ¡°Ya, as nice as that Charles Faur¨¦ place is, I can¡¯t afford it right now.¡±

    ¡°I am glad to see that you are staying rational, a lot of people don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°People are crazy these days.¡±

    ¡°These days?¡±

    ¡°I guess you are right, people have always been fucked up.¡±

    ¡°To say the least. Take my advice, decadence is fun, but in the long run it isn¡¯t very fulfilling.¡±

    I laugh, ¡°You are probably right, but that won¡¯t stop me from trying!¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    It returns my laugh by projecting one into my IC and asks what has brought me there.

    ¡°I¡¯m looking for a girl,¡± with a willed thought the image of the young woman is sent from my IC to the main processor that links its brains, ¡°I checked in her employer¡¯s system and it said that she ran off with an Untouchable.

    It projects the image of a face, livid and ready to brawl, ¡°You are just going to turn her over to the company, why should I help you find her?¡±

    I don¡¯t know if telling it about Mr. Burke will make things worse, ¡°She is in some kind of danger. She will be safe in The Archipelago.¡±

    ¡°She is a sex slave,¡± it says matter of factly.

    ¡°She made a decision to work there.¡±

    ¡°Does she owe them a debt?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but what does that matter? She could have picked a lower paying job. She made the decision to get herself into that position.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes you sicken me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like it, but I accept it.¡±

    ¡°Why would you accept something so horrible?¡±

    ¡°Because, that is the world that we live in. There¡¯s nothing that I can do to change that fact.¡±

    ¡°What about the Untouchables? Are you saying that my efforts to get us the right to use money are useless?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I wish you luck,¡± I try to change the subject, ¡°They sent a bounty hunter after her, registration number CX-1007.¡±

    ¡°He goes by Go?tia, his original name is unknown,¡± he pronounced it Go-sha, sending the correct spelling to my computer.

    ¡°Any idea what he looks like.¡±

    ¡°No. I can only find one post, in it, he is described as horrible, but it doesn¡¯t elaborate. It was the last post that the person ever made.¡±

    ¡°So, he is good at what he does.¡±

    ¡°That, and I suspect that he is authorized to kill them, helps to set an example for the others.¡±

    ¡°So, you agree that we need to find her.¡±

    ¡°We have a nice arrangement, but you have nice arrangements with a lot of people. Why should I trust that you have her best interests at heart?¡±

    I try not to act too frustrated, ¡°You know me.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know a thing about me,¡± it counters, it wasn¡¯t the first time that it accused me of being cold.

    This is where my research pays off, ¡°I know that there are six of you in there. Your name is derived from the first letter of the names of the people that form your consciousness. Two of you are very old, from the days when the United States was still a thing; one was a computer hacker and the other was a university professor who was bitter about how little that meant at the time. One was a soldier that served in the war against Mars. Another was his lover, a woman that was a drug addict and a lost soul.¡±

    It just sits there listening. God only knows what the stack of brains that forms its shared consciousness are thinking.

    ¡°One of you is a transhumanist, the kind that is at odds with the church.¡±

    It still sits there, breathing heavily with its mechanical lungs and not moving one bit. I decide to bring out the big guns.

    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna lie, Professor Gerald Henderson. You made those times, the twenty teens, sound so amazing. ¡®There was this overwhelming sense of doom. Everyone seemed to think that the end of civilization was fast approaching. Many dreaded it, some celebrated it. Every day seemed to bring a new massacre, every person seemed to be teetering on the edge of insanity. We were separated and driven against each other in ways that had long been thought obsolete. People donned strange clothing and fought in the streets while the police did nothing. In some circles basic science was rejected, in others the very idea of being a victim was demonized. And I watched the chaos, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.¡¯¡±

    It speaks, ¡°The Church of the Ascended is in on this. They have a team looking for a girl that matches your target.¡±

    My target, it makes it sound like I am hunting her. I guess that it is just being truthful. What does the Church have to do with this?

    ¡°So, will you help me?¡±

    ¡°I saw a girl like that the other day. She was with a guy, it stuck out to me because he isn¡¯t into girls like that, he prefers tough ladies.¡±

    ¡°Okay, this is good. Can you give me his name?¡±

    ¡°Jack Mason.¡±

    I automatically do a search and what I find shocks me, ¡°He is a radical, he wants the Untouchables to revolt. He is suspected of being involved in several terror attacks.¡±

    ¡°He is dangerous. What does he want with her?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. My government contact sent me after her. I can only imagine that they want to take her into protective custody.¡±

    ¡°Or eliminate her.¡±

    ¡°It is possible, but I think that this is the best chance that she has.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where he lives. He exists on the edge of the Untouchable community, an outcast among outcasts.¡±

    ¡°The government is after him, that means that I can learn more.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I know someone,¡± I say with a grin.

 Chapter 9: The Thing

    My mind wanders as I leave the apartment complex. Is it really right to turn Jill over to the government? For the first time in a long time I feel regret for something that is happening in the present. I know all about regret, it dogs me wherever I go, no matter what I do. But it is always for something that happened in the past.

    Speaking of the past, I need to go see her. I have to do it, I need the information. The thought of it eats away at me. To me she is a reminder of my mistakes and something that will hold me back. I haven¡¯t been to her place in so long. I stop, calling up a map, trying to get my bearings.

    My forearm is taken hold of by something powerful, something with sharp, hard fingers. A voice tells me to stay still.

    I move my eyes as far as they will go, trying to figure out what is going on. There is something behind me, I can¡¯t tell what it is, but I can tell that it isn¡¯t humanoid. The claw that is wrapped around my arm is made of polished black metal, which is ice cold. The talons are as much spikes as razors, they look like they could pierce the armored shell of a tank, or slice open the hull of a spacecraft.

    Its belly, or at least a part of it, is pressed against me; I can feel a sickening, organic warmth against my back. A long neck, no, the upper half of a long body snakes around in front of me. The thing is face to face with me.

    The barrels of a pair of twin laser cannons are pointed at my face. The guns are mounted on either side of its head. Its long snout grins with a mouth full of perfectly white, perfectly sharpened teeth. The top of its body is covered in soft looking white fur. While the bottom is scaly skin. The head is adorned with countless eyes, some organic, some robotic, I recognize at least a dozen different optic systems. I look beyond the terrible face, no one else is around.

    It would gun me down before my hand got anywhere near my weapon. Keeping cool is the only way that I am going to survive this. ¡°Let me guess, you¡¯re Go?tia,¡± I ask in a tone that says that I don¡¯t have the time or patience for this.

    ¡°That is a name that will become infamous,¡± it purrs, its voice is strange and sticky. I wonder if it is produced using a mechanical system or reengineered vocal cords.

    ¡°Well, it is good to have goals, helps to keep things moving forward.¡±

    He ignores my smartassed remark, ¡°You were snooping around in the Archipelago¡¯s systems, why?¡±

    I will pretend to be an obsessed loser, I¡¯m sure that they have to deal with them all the time, ¡°I wanted to access a girl¡¯s uplink.¡±

    ¡°You lie!¡±

    ¡°I am telling you the truth. Say, can I pay you for it?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t play dumb with me, Skinwalker,¡± did I hear a ting of jealousy there? To think, this monster is jealous of me. ¡°You are working with the Untouchable,¡± he bellows, ¡°which apartment are they hiding in?¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Damn, did he mean Aganok or Mason? It is bad either way. ¡°That is absurd. He can¡¯t rent one.¡±

    ¡°He is using yours, or maybe a friend¡¯s place,¡± it accuses, that voice making every word feel like a violation.

    ¡°He aint in there.¡±

    ¡°My facial movement analysis program says that you are telling the truth, but I still think that you are lying. Have you gotten work done to make yourself a better liar?¡±

    I tell him the truth, ¡°I haven¡¯t, but it is on my to do list.¡±

    ¡°Such shortsightedness. I don¡¯t understand how you can keep yourself so basic. If I had to live in such a plain body, it would drive me mad.¡±

    ¡°Ya, well, I¡¯m old school like that.¡± I need to see if I can get him to give away which Untouchable he is aware of, without giving that fact away. ¡°What exactly do you think that I am getting out of this?¡± I ask.

    ¡°You get new customers. The Untouchables become your friend and then they use your services.¡±

    ¡°But they would need some kind of money to pay me.¡±

    ¡°They steal money. No more questions! Only I get ask questions!¡± it emphasize this by playing with the power systems of its guns, creating an iconic whine.

    ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    ¡°Which apartment is she in? How many are in it?¡±

    Time for something different, I will try to send him on a wild goose chase, ¡°I don¡¯t know where they keep her.¡±

    ¡°But they do have her?¡±

    Damn, he¡¯s good.

    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know. Maybe we can team up?¡±

    ¡°I work alone, I hunt alone. She may not be in there, but someone is, who?¡±

    I still don¡¯t know if he knows about my friend(s) in 205. I decide to play it safe. I will send him after Mason, ¡°I was just going in there for a quick booty call. I have never met Mason in person.¡±

    ¡°Tell me which room, we will go see,¡± despite the blades and guns that are holding me hostage I feel a wave of relief.

    ¡°No, no, she has nothing to do with it.¡±

    The claw tightens down, ¡°Tell me. I won¡¯t hurt her, I promise.¡±

    As I stare helplessly at the lens of one of the guns an idea pops into my brain. I saw that guy leave his room, which means that it is unoccupied. Maybe I can get him in there, get the drop on him somehow. Anything would be better than being in the current situation. The only problem is that I didn¡¯t see the number. I wasn¡¯t recording with my IC and I don¡¯t think that I even glanced at the room number.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know the room number, but I will take you there.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know her room number, how is that possible?¡± it growls incredulously.

    ¡°I just know how to get to it, I never thought to look at the number.¡±

    ¡°Lier!¡± it shrieks, tightening down enough to tear into my skin.

    I ignore the pain, ¡°I will take you there!¡±

    ¡°You already called him, he will slip out the back. I¡­¡±

    A shot rings out. Go?tia lets me go, moving soundlessly, disappearing somewhere behind me. I dive to the ground, unsure if I should draw my weapon.

    Another round is fired, then another. I look in the direction of the gunfire. It is the lads from before, several of them are pointing little zipguns at the area where the bounty hunter fled. One of them is frantically trying to clear a bad jam.

    I look behind me. The wall of the apartment building has deep puncture marks. For a second I wonder how the little popguns did that, but then I realize that it was caused by the claws of that thing. A quick inspection indicates that it crawled down the wall to get the drop on me, and then back up and over the roof as he made his escape.

    I check my arm, peering through the rips in my coat. The cuts are minor, they are already starting to coagulate.

    The leader walks over to me, ¡°That monster had you good!¡± this was followed by the other lads celebrating the fact that they had driven the freak away.

    ¡°Ya, thanks. If you need anything let me know,¡± after I say this I use my IC to send them contact information and a list of prices, with a few nice discounts thrown in. Then I make a beeline for the surface.

 Chapter 10: Adorable

    I can see a sliver of open sky between the buildings. It is normally a depressing sight, but now I see it as a relief. The same is true of the people that shuffle around in mindless throngs and stand around in insufferable gaggles. Even at this late hour they are out in force. I scan the crowd, seeing mischievous smiles on some, shame filled eyes on others. They are all heading somewhere, none of them toward anything positive, anything that will help anyone. Each and every one of them is seeking some kind of unwholesome pleasure. I don¡¯t look down on them, they are akin to animals and I love them for it.

    I look over my shoulder to check out the ass of a woman, using the opportunity to see if there is anyone behind me, it looks like I am in the clear. Go?tia works for Burab¨­ Inc, is paid to track down its members. That means that he can use IC data to find them. Luckily, I am a Skinwalker. The same measures that allow me to go inside of rival businesses and other forbidden areas will keep him from finding me.

    That bounty hunter had me dead to rights, it was a miracle that I got out of there alive. It wasn¡¯t a drone; it was a person. Which begs the question: how does someone end up like that? What kind of sick mind would want to exist in a body like that? It¡¯s not the first time that I have asked myself that question, and it won¡¯t be the last.

    I try to take my mind off of it. I will keep an eye out, make sure that I am not being followed. But I always do that anyway. I make an effort to blend into the crowd, moving in the general direction of a tram station. From there it is a short walk to her place. But I don¡¯t go directly there. I go in the opposite direction, making my way to an open courtyard. I spend some time there, hoping that anyone who is following me will be forced out into the open. Or maybe I am just killing time, maybe I am trying to put it off for as long as I can.

    I switch over to Burab¨­ Inc, they are shilling the latest update to their flagship franchise. The evil emperor is using his dark magic to enhance his massive warships. Do I have what it takes to jump into the cockpit of a starfighter and destroy these new threats? I do, but I think that I will pass. The commando raid on the Inquisitor¡¯s Dark Temple was fun, I would be willing to do more stuff like that.

    I see a flash of white light through the gaps between a cluster of skyscrapers, then I hear the report of distant thunder. While I gaze at what little of the lightning isn¡¯t blocked, I tune into a news feed.

    ¡°A Government official says that as many as seventy percent of all ICs are to one degree or another jailbroken,¡± I¡¯m surprised it is that low.

    ¡°The military is looking for twenty thousand people to spend six months in a VR simulation. They will be playing at being civilians and enemy combatants, helping to train an occupation force. Nutrient and water IVs will be provided free of charge. They will pay out at the end of the exercise; it will be in any currency that you want.¡±

    There was a time when I would have rushed at such an offer. I would have gladly died every day in VR, if it meant that I would be able to live for another day.

    I finally decide that I have wasted enough time. I reluctantly head into her complex. The building isn¡¯t the best, but it sure as hell isn¡¯t the worst.

    I reach her door, after a long pause I ring the bell.

    Kawaiichen: a subculture of women that are obsessed with youth and worship all things cute. Many men ignore them, writing them off as pathetic old hags wearing the skins of young women. Others embrace it, seeing it as either a nice kink or an opportunity for some fun. When I was a lad we would chase after them, them and any other girl that we saw. We didn¡¯t care and we made that fact a point of pride.

    The door opens, a magical smile greets me. Her eyes are playful, but there is a strange danger in them. She exudes intoxicating and infectious energy. She has the radiance and grace of a princess. She can get a bit annoying after a while. That isn¡¯t fair, because you find yourself not caring if she is a bit too silly or loud.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Her skin is rather dark, her face is primarily African with traces of a few other races mixed in. When I first met her, she was some kind of Asian, Korean maybe. I showed up for our third date to find that she looked completely different, had swapped over to a completely new body. She isn¡¯t in her set gear at the moment, wearing a house robe instead.

    ¡°Well come in,¡± I step inside her apartment. She has managed to keep the pink to a minimum, which is actually one of the unofficial rules of the Kawaiichen scene. On the walls, paintings of fuzzy animals sit beside posters of popular musicians.

    Ashley works for the government, monitors information systems. She is entrenched, been around forever, has way more influence than her position would indicate. She was the one that recommended me to Mr. Burke.

    I hear barking. A cute little Australian cattle dog puppy runs over to me. A red kerchief or bandana adorns his neck, there is a patch of black around one eye and one of his ears droops down. He yips frantically, as if he can scare me off, which makes him much cuter. Ashley scolds the pooch, telling him to calm down, that I¡¯m not a threat.

    ¡°My friend had puppies,¡± she explains, ¡°Isn¡¯t Bosco just the cutest?¡±

    I stoop down to pet him, ¡°He certainly is.¡±

    ¡°So, what¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°I need your help.¡±

    She looks disappointed, but certainly not shocked, ¡°I knew it. You can¡¯t just come see me, you only come when you need something.¡±

    ¡°I was busy, I was working. I get that you are upset, but what good am I if I am weighed down by debt?¡±

    ¡°Excuses, excuses,¡± she says as she stomps away.

    I follow her across the living room, ¡°A woman is in danger. I need to find her.¡±

    ¡°Okay, fine. What do you need?¡±

    ¡°Information on someone. He is a radical, an Untouchable named Jack Mason.¡±

    ¡°How did you manage to get involved with a terrorist?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±

    ¡°Gee, haven¡¯t heard that one before,¡± she says with a teenager¡¯s sarcasm.

    ¡°Well, what do you want me to say? That the story of how I got involved with a terrorist is short? That sounds worse.¡±

    She smiles again, but it fades quickly, ¡°You could always make me laugh.¡±

    We enter her bedroom. She walks over to a desk that has an interface on top of it, into which she inserts a thumb drive. After an uncomfortable minute she ejects the drive and hands it to me, ¡°It is a copy of his IC.¡±

    ¡°What? How did they even get that?¡±

    ¡°He probably worked with the government at some point,¡± she offers.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense, he is a terrorist and he is against everything that the government stands for.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    She has a point. Governments have been doing that sort of stuff for a long time.

    Rain begins to splatter off of her balcony door. She moves in close, putting her hands on my arms. I want to feel her body again, but it isn¡¯t for me.

    She spots my wound and I brace for a blood curdling scream, the kind from the horror games where you hunt down and kill people in gruesome, over the top ways. But she just goes wide eyed and starts spitting out questions, ¡°Why didn¡¯t I see that? How did that happen? Are you alright? Why didn¡¯t you go get that fixed?¡±

    ¡°Its fine.¡±

    ¡°I will patch you up.¡±

    The next thing I know I am sitting at her kitchen table; the contents of a medical kit are splayed across it. A local has numbed my arm, Ashley has already cleaned the lacerations, now she is closing them up.

    ¡°Why do you have a med kit? And how do you know how to do this?¡±

    ¡°I used to be a nurse,¡± I want to ask her how long ago that was, but the question strikes me as being rude. ¡°You should take some Exodus, for the pain,¡± she suggests.

    ¡°That is the last thing that I need right now.¡±

    ¡°I understand. How about a little drink?¡±

    The part of me that needs it overrules the part that knows it probably isn¡¯t the best idea. As I sip the drink, she lovingly sews the slashes in the arm of my coat up.

    ¡°Thanks, Ash,¡± I chuckle, ¡°Do you want to know what happened.¡±

    ¡°I thought about it, I just figured that you were being an idiot.¡±

    ¡°Be serious. This is a bad situation. Do you know about a Burab¨­ retention officer named Go?tia?¡±

    There is a brief pause as she searches what is available to her, including her own memories, ¡°The name means nothing to me. It is just some old book.¡±

    ¡°Well, this guy is a real piece of work.¡±

    ¡°Is he hunting the same girl that you are?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hunting anyone,¡± I blurt out, sounding way more defensive than I meant to.

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Whatever, such a Kawaiichen thing to say.

    She starts putting her sewing kit away. I stand up, putting my coat back on. I want to stay, not just for the night. I really do, but I have to go.

    ¡°I will come back after I find her. I promise,¡± why in the hell did I say that. I leave, praying that I don¡¯t hear her cry.

 Chapter 11: Cheap

    Lights glare off of the rain-soaked asphalt so that I am almost blinded if I look downward. The children of the night are undeterred by the recent downpour. They ducked under awnings or into shops, playing around on their IC¡¯s while they waited it out. Now they are out on the walkways again.

    A biomechanical woman struts along, getting as many looks of horror as of lust. A group of young men in green and black lad shirts are being followed by a police drone. An anthropomorphic dog jokingly barks at a cat girl Kawaiichen with a set of cute little ears on top of her head. She hisses back at him playfully, the exchange causes a few pedestrians to cheer, laugh, and mockingly call for a fight.

    I need a safe, private place to conduct a detailed search of the data. There is a Charles Faur¨¦ owned motel that isn¡¯t too far away. It is a cheap little place for wayward lovers and degenerates. It isn¡¯t that far away, but the walk is still long and lonely. I love her, but I don¡¯t want to. It is a horrifying realization.

    I pay the Water Certificates, which completely drains that account. The big fat zero is a reminder of why I¡¯m doing this.

    The place is cheap, but it doesn¡¯t look it. Faur¨¦ has truly mastered the art of making the lowbrow seem luxurious. The first thing that I notice is that the doors are the old kind, the ones that move on hinges. It is a place for illicit meetings, both criminal and sexual. In the halls shady characters and covert lovers walk silently, eyes glued to the floor. I do the same, I am just another freak that is up to no good, same as you, nothing to see here.

    I reach the room, it is small and lightly decorated, it is what it needs to be and nothing more. I inspect the bed with learned caution before sitting down on it. I scan the drive with every virus detector I have at my disposal, better safe than sorry. As the programs do their job, I stare at the drive unsurely. Do I really want to do this? Do I want to see inside the mind of someone like Mason?

    The answer is yes. But the question isn¡¯t even an accurate one, because his IC isn¡¯t his mind. I will be looking at his personal assistant, his internet searches, his notes.

    The programs are done, the drive is safe. The drive is safe, but I just sit there looking at it apprehensively. I get an idea, a way of finding out more about Go?tia.

    I go online, my IC sending my awareness racing across cyberspace, exposing my soul to its wonders and horrors. I go to the places that focus on body modifications. He is a Burab¨­ man, so I assume that he got his body from them. Their version of the internet is a bit too polished for my taste, but at least it isn¡¯t the Alpha Prime net.

    I fire up my bots, sending them to forums and comment sections and testimonials. While I wait, I try to get a handle on the Burab¨­ body mod scene in general. Alpha doesn¡¯t do body mods, docks your Social Credit heavily for having them. Echo only lets you get the ones that they want you to get. Charles Faur¨¦ lets you go wild. Charles Faur¨¦ doesn¡¯t care if you show up one day as a member of the opposite gender. Charles Faur¨¦ doesn¡¯t care if the guy watching the janitorial robots has the body of a fantasy creature or if the woman that monitors the guard drones is a metallic gynoid. The only thing that concerns them is that you used one of their clinics to get your work done. D¨¦lta and Burab¨­ tend to do milder stuff, with D¨¦lta focusing on practical modifications; but both companies will go into heavier territory if you have the tokens or dollars.

    The searches for claws bring back a disturbing number of results, the ones for white fur and scales make me worry just as much. If the things that I have seen in the real world are what people spend time and money becoming, what do they get up to in the zero-consequence world of VR?

    The search is a journey into madness and the darkest depths of human depravity. I am loving every second of it. I don¡¯t care what the Pee Bees say, let people get the bodies that they want, for good or ill. I want to see how far people are capable of going. I want to see the insanity that we are able to achieve.

    Then I find a post made on a forum where surgeons go to shoot the shit about their trade. The thread was titled, ¡°What is the strangest body that you¡¯ve helped build,¡± I bookmark it for future entertainment.

    The relevant post was made by someone going by the moniker AssGoblin420, ¡°A guy came into my clinic. He was shifty, squirrely. He knew exactly what he wanted, down to the tiniest little detail. Wouldn¡¯t accept any suggestions for alternatives or substitutions,¡± then he went on to describe the thing I saw.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°What did he originally look like?¡± a user named Shitbird asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s just it. He was a little bit ugly, but not hideous. We could have fixed him up, no problem, but he wanted to go way the hell out into left field with this weird ass body.

    ¡°The brain and life support systems were placed inside of an armored casing, located in the body, three feet from the head,¡± useful information, ¡°I¡¯m not sure what his job was, but he could afford the extra protection. He paid for everything up front.

    ¡°I have saved the most fucked up part for last. He has a furry¡­lump or bulge where the crotch would be. It is a very uncomfortable thing to look at, but it gets worse. You see, his bulge is the housing for what I can only describe as an array of penises. I won¡¯t describe them, I will let your imagination do the work. But I will say this, he is equipped for pretty much any occasion.¡±

    I think that I have spent enough time stalling. I give the drive a quick once over, getting a handle on what I have to work with. The first thing that I notice is a massive VR world, he must have been playing around in the thing for years, maybe even decades. The second thing I notice is that he has no banking records whatsoever, no receipts, no social credit score. The poor bastard had been born an Untouchable, more than likely because of something that his parents had done.

    The old internet, from back when there was only one, is actually still intact. The Untouchables and other unsavory persons use it, them, and the historians that are known as digital archeologists. You can find great things on there, like pictures and videos of real women, as it was the days before body parts could be designed and grown. It is a dead lead, Mason has it set up so that his IC doesn¡¯t make a log of his searches.

    I check his personal assistant, scrolling past endless reminders to pick up this item from that person and to drop off this thing at that place. None of it has any meaning to me, he only used first names and simple designations for places. Another dead end.

    He does have a file that is marked finances, but it is so heavily encrypted that it would take a good computer several years to crack. The same is true for his videos and photos. His GPS unit runs off of government satellites, because these are the only ones that an Untouchable can use. But it is a moot point, as he doesn¡¯t let it keep a log. I would have to get it from the government. More dead ends.

    I am out of ideas. The only thing left is to view his VR world.

    There is a knock on the door, my heart skips a beat. There is a second knock, I get up and start toward the door, telling myself that it is only room service or maybe a mistake, some drunken idiot has gone to the wrong room. I put the drive into a hidden pocket, put a hand near my sidearm, and open the door.

    I immediately recognize her, the vampire woman from the fantasy room. And how could I not recognize her? She is slender, has completely white skin, a long red dress that hugs her exaggerated curves, and eyes that could kill. She opens her mouth to speak and I see that she does indeed have a set of fangs, ¡°John Scott?¡± she asks, her voice is perfectly sultry.

    The company must be looking for me. They must have my name flagged in the system, when I paid for the room they knew right where to find me. They knew that I had visited that club the other night, saw on the cameras that I was eying her, had her on standby. The only question is why.

    Her fangs are sharp, and I am just as scared as I am aroused, ¡°My name is Myra. I saw you at the club and knew that I needed to be with you.¡±

    I don¡¯t have time for games, ¡°I somehow doubt that. Why are you really here?¡±

    ¡°It is true,¡± she says, and I am tempted to believe her, ¡°I used the corporate system to find you.¡±

    The best kind of lie, the one where you tell the truth, only changing the important parts.

    She enters the room, moving with a carefully practiced sensuality. I instinctively move backward. Life has made me paranoid, and her malevolent appearance isn¡¯t helping. She closes the door, even this simple act strikes me as being sexual. She had somehow managed to do it in a naughty way. Now I am trapped, Myra has cornered her prey.

    ¡°I need you,¡± she purrs, every word a hypnotic attack. My hand is resting on my gun, I can draw it in an instant. So why am I so scared?

    The artificial ghoul slips the dress off, revealing her nude body. Her skin is so pale, even her nipples are pallid. Her eyes seem to pin me into place, there is an irresistible hunger in them. She steps closer, I am all the way against the bed. She strolls up to me, grabs my hands, starts guiding them around her body.

    I shouldn¡¯t be doing this, shouldn¡¯t be letting her get close. What I should be doing is heading out the door. But she wants me. The best kind of fantasy, the one where you tell yourself the truth, only changing the important parts.

    She presses in close; I feel pain as the fangs sink into my neck. ¡°They are more than just cosmetic,¡± she says in a low voice, ¡°They can inject someone with something, it helps to enhance the experience.¡±

    ¡°Can inject a victim,¡± I stammer, already feeling the effects of her venom.

    ¡°Or a lover,¡± she says, implying that she can administer any number of drugs, things to get you high or things to get you ready for action. This isn¡¯t one of those situations. I push her away, try to pull my gun, but everything goes black.

 Chapter 12: Demonic Delights

    When I wake, I find myself handcuffed to a chair, a fact that doesn¡¯t surprise me in the least.

    Where am I? Stacks of chairs and tables. Strange decorations, not put on display, but placed in storage. If I had to guess, I am in one of the backrooms of The Demon¡¯s Den, that Satanic themed night club on Canal Street.

    I messed up big time. I should have known that I would let that girl get to me; should have brought up a virtual world and gotten it out of my system. I will the thoughts away, I need to focus on getting myself out of this situation.

    There is someone else in the room, he is sitting behind me, leaning his chair up against the wall. My movements have alerted him to the fact that I have woken up, ¡°He¡¯s awake,¡± he calls out as he stands up.

    He has the body of a demon. A set of majestic horns adorn his head. His torso is all red skinned muscles. The devil¡¯s eyes are twisted splotches of orange and yellow. I¡¯m sure that when he is working, he wears leather and spikes, but right now he is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, which I find to be surreal and comical.

    He speaks, revealing a snake¡¯s tongue, ¡°Okay, all we want to know is why everybody is so interested in that girl.¡±

    The door opens, Myra and another woman enter, followed by a few men. The men are all demons, same as my guard; their attire varies, ranging from intimidating to ridiculous. The other woman is also playing at being a demon, judging by the shape of her voluptuous body I would say that she is trying to be a succubus. She also sports a pair of horns, but they are smaller and sleeker than those of her coworkers. The imitation succubus is dressed in some kind of black leather dominatrix outfit, which is all belts and shiny metal studs. She is barefoot, but is walking like she is in high heels, thanks to the metal stilettos that protrude from her feet.

    ¡°I told you not to talk to him,¡± she hisses at the guy that was guarding me.

    ¡°I was just¡­¡±

    She cuts him off, ¡°Just screwing everything up! Get out! Go help the cleaning drones get the place ready for tonight!¡±

    The other devils laugh. He walks away with is head held low, it is strange and amusing to see a demonic creature act like a dog that has been kicked. No matter how strange they look, no matter how much they pretend, there will always be a human being buried deep under the false flesh.

    The succubus gets up close to me. She is curvy in all of the right places.

    ¡°My name is Baara. I just want to ask you a few questions.¡±

    ¡°Okay, shoot.¡±

    ¡°Why are you after the girl? Why is Jill Winters so important?¡±

    I can finally tell someone the unvarnished truth, ¡°To be completely honest, I have no idea.¡±

    ¡°How can you have no idea?¡±

    ¡°Someone asked me for a favor.¡±

    ¡°So, you went after her without even knowing why, just because someone asked you. That must be one hell of a friend. Or maybe you owed them one.¡±

    ¡°Money was also involved.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it always,¡± she lifts her leg, high enough that I can see the flat bottom of the spike. She brings it down onto the chair, just in front of my groin, it digs deep into the plastic. ¡°Again,¡± she says, her voice dripping with brimstone and hate, ¡°but this time I want the truth.¡±

    The problem with threatening a man¡¯s genitals is he can just get new ones, he can even get improved ones while he is at it. But still.

    ¡°It is the truth.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the truth. The truth is that you are a Skinwalker.¡±

    My heart stops, ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    ¡°We have ways of finding out. You betrayed our corporation, our family. You work with the oppressors, people that would kill me for having a body like this. People that would kill Myra for her choices. Kill you for wanting to be with her.¡±

    ¡°It always has to be about morality. You said that money is always involved, why can¡¯t it just be about the money?¡±

    ¡°Money is only a medium of exchange, a resource. I got to the position that I am in because I make the company money, and because I work toward a goal.¡±

    ¡°And what goal is that?¡±

    ¡°Absolute freedom. Total, pure, clean, untainted freedom.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I will goad her into a political discussion, maybe I can get her to think that she has used her skills to convert me, ¡°The freedom to do what? To destroy yourself with drink and drugs and bizarre sex?¡±

    Her foot is still sitting there, its presence is driving me crazy.

    ¡°If that¡¯s what the individual wants to do, why stop them? Why destroy someone in the name of protecting them?¡± damn, she is good.

    ¡°But if a person ends up being miserable because they are unable to control their urges, can you really call that freedom?¡±

    ¡°You are confusing freedom with happiness, they aren¡¯t the same thing.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t maximum happiness for the most people be your goal?¡±

    ¡°No. That would require a massive institution to manage everyone¡¯s lives. I don¡¯t need to tell you about how messed up institutions tend to be.¡±

    I go over it in my mind, thousands of years of pain, bloodshed, and failure.

    Time to hit her with the other half of the problem, ¡°But people aren¡¯t any better. A lot of people are completely incapable of managing their own affairs. So many individuals become addicts or fall into laziness. They need control.¡±

    ¡°I will admit that people can be pretty messed up. But I trust them way more than any government or other group. If an individual screws up they only hurt themselves, maybe a few friends and family members. If an institution screws up it can hurt millions. I think that the choice is pretty clear.¡±

    ¡°I do like watching people go crazy. VR, body modification, excessive leisure time, the modern world is certainly giving them plenty of opportunities to do so.¡±

    ¡°The way I see it is that we are getting closer to reaching our full potential.¡±

    ¡°Or to losing our humanity.¡±

    ¡°Non-sense. There are the Pee Bees, there are certain space stations where they stay vanilla. We have ample data on what a baseline human is, we can get that back if we feel the need or want. And besides, if people are so crazy, why preserve it?¡±

    ¡°Society will collapse if you get your way.¡±

    ¡°Fearmongering is for simpletons. You love control so much that you have fallen in love with one of its go to methods.¡±

    I feel this stupid need to defend myself, to make her like me, ¡°You¡¯ve got me wrong. I was just playing¡­devil¡¯s advocate.¡±

    ¡°Very cute.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, the pun was an accident. But think about it. If I loved control, I wouldn¡¯t be¡­¡± I stop talking, suddenly realizing my mistake.

    She triumphantly completes my sentence, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be a Skinwalker, wouldn¡¯t be breaking the law and the corporation¡¯s rules.¡±

    God damn it. She got me.

    ¡°Ya, well, for someone that loves freedom so much you sure do love the company¡¯s rules.¡±

    ¡°We organize to advance a cause. We trade our freedom for a better future.¡±

    ¡°That is how the hardcore members of the other megacorps feel.¡±

    ¡°They are wrong. They are working to help those that would enslave and exploit them.¡±

    ¡°All you do is trade one form of slavery and oppression for another. You put the people that have chosen heavily modified bodies over the people that haven¡¯t. You restrict speech in the name of defending a protected class. You hurt people, why? Because they said a word, because they insulted someone?¡±

    ¡°The other ideologies do the same. They would hurt someone for speaking ill of Martians or supposed messiahs. I believe in freedom, but no one has the right to make fun of someone for their body.¡±

    ¡°Then you don¡¯t believe in freedom. You can¡¯t just put an asterisk on it and act like it is still intact.¡±

    ¡°The oppressed need a helping hand, an advantage.¡±

    ¡°But are they really oppressed. They have full rights.¡±

    ¡°There are still people working against them. Some would take away the right to a non-human body, others would take away the funds that buy them new bodies and give them to others.¡±

    She is a brick wall. I am out of rebuttals, ¡°You let me distract you,¡± I declare, desperate for a victory.

    ¡°No, I let you humiliate yourself for my amusement and sexual gratification,¡± she pivots her foot down, slowly crushing my manhood.

    I struggle against the need to squirm around, ¡°Why bring me to a sex club?¡± I stammer, hoping that being a smartass will help me save some of my dignity.

    She rolls her eyes and looks away, ¡°Because, we had stuff to tie you up with,¡± she admits before letting up on the pressure, then the she-devil removes her foot from the chair, ¡°But now I am taking charge,¡± then she orders one of the devils to bring her a whip.

    ¡°Should I be excited or scared?¡±

    ¡°Both.¡±

    Another person enters, escorted by a demon. It is my client, Mike. He looks like he is scared out of his mind.

    ¡°Good. Mr. Jagen, I haven¡¯t seen you in a while. I have a question for you. Why did you meet with him?¡±

    ¡°We are friends, we just wanted to have some drinks and all.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. He is a Skinwalker. Why were you meeting with a Skinwalker?¡±

    ¡°I, I, just, I.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± she screams, the force hits me like a gunshot.

    He is on the verge of a complete breakdown, ¡°I wanted him to get me something! I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry. I have kids, don¡¯t do it, please!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re pathetic. I should do it. I should excommunicate your sorry ass. You¡¯re lucky that I get off to losers begging for mercy.¡±

    The other demons laugh, I use the opportunity to test my restraints.

    She turns back to me, ¡°But I do know one person that is getting kicked out.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have the authority.¡±

    She smiles wickedly, I can practically see the transmission go out. It is a long, painful wait. My IC starts going crazy. I am told that it can no longer make contact with the company¡¯s online stores. My social credit ranking doesn¡¯t drop, it straight up disappears. My bank account vanishes, the only saving grace is that it was empty. The official message comes in, I have never been so politely informed that I was completely fucked in my whole life.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so sad,¡± she says mockingly, ¡°You still have the other companies. At least for now.¡±

    ¡°Let me guess. If I help you find the girl, you will reverse the lock out.¡±

    ¡°I will consider it.¡±

    I sit there in despair. In an instant, thousands of opportunities have vanished. Contacts that have a taste for Charles Faur¨¦¡¯s decadent wares will take their money elsewhere. That uptown apartment I was eyeing, gone.

    We suddenly hear the sounds of a commotion coming from one of the other rooms. The succubus is on it in an instant, ¡°Grab him, keep him in front of you,¡± she lifts one leg, the spike retracts, then she does the same for the other. A few of the demons draw handguns. Mike takes off running, no one tries to stop him.

    One of them unties me. It is time to make my move. I put a fist into his flat, ghoulish nose. Another one moves to grab me, a policemen¡¯s kick sends him stumbling away. He is between me and his comrades, which is to say he is blocking their shots,

    I bolt toward the door, it opens, and I run straight into the big guy in the duster that was following me the other night.

 Chapter 13: Escape from Hell

    He reaches out and grabs me, I don¡¯t have time to struggle. The next thing I know he has picked me up, spun around and sat me down. Then he turns around to face the demons. One of them aims his pistol, the big guy reaches into his coat, and there is suddenly a massive shotgun in his hands.

    The big guy starts blasting. The demonic goon is struck in the chest, very human looking viscera explodes out of the massive wound, he flies backward. Another demon takes a hit, firing wildly as he falls. The she-devil, Baara, pops up from behind a stack of satanic decorations. Her face is filled with righteous fury as she flings an ornate knife. The blade sinks deep into the guy¡¯s shoulder. He barely flinches, just swivels toward her and fires. The blast hits one side of her face, there is an explosion of blood and she falls out of sight.

    The big guy starts walking backward, laying down a hail of suppression fire. The fake demons return fire, but their shots are erratic. I take the hint, heading through of the doorway and into a corridor. There are several doors, with one at the end of the hall. I can hear more gunfire coming from that direction.

    The big guy loads a few shotshells, ¡°Head out the farthest door,¡± he says, his voice just as deep and gravelly as you would expect. Then he rips the knife out and hurls it at the demon that just exited one of the side rooms. The poor bastard clearly wasn¡¯t expecting that to happen, he ducks back into the room. I reach the door at the end of the hall and pass through it.

    The main floor is an amazing place, even during the off hours. Satanic seals and symbols cover the floors. Demonic banners adorn the walls. Everywhere you look there is a pentagram or a skull or an inverted cross, everywhere you look there is an emblem of the fallen one.

    At night this place would be a seething mass of naked bodies, a sadomasochist orgy presided over by artificial demons. The lights would be turned down and the heat would be turned up. A Doom Metal soundtrack would accompany the moans of pain and pleasure.

    I¡¯m not sure why Hell is so much fun, but it is.

    The source of the gunshots is a woman in a blue jumpsuit that hugs her body tightly, like she had been vacuum packed into it. There are a pair of submachineguns in her hands. She is a caricature of a blond bombshell. The massive tits that are past the point of being ridiculous, the lips that are far too swollen to be sensual, she is another one of Dr. Gorman¡¯s living mistakes.

    The mysterious woman has taken cover behind a stone altar. She is spraying her SMGs at several demons that are hiding behind a stone pillar, one of them is another succubus. I dive behind the altar, posting up next to the woman. Rounds ricochet off of the beautiful carved stone and the immaculate, tiled floor.

    She glances over at me, ¡°I¡¯m Sylvia, he¡¯s Gustav. We are here to rescue you.¡±

    As I try to wrap my brain around this new piece of information, I realize something. This is the woman that broke into the Archipelago. Gustav joins us, firing a few blasts at the door to the backroom, before chambering a few more shells.

    I hear a voice call out, ¡°John!¡±

    I look over to see Mike, lying up against one of the ornate pillars. The client reaches into his jacket, pulling out that massive revolver I had gotten for him. He tosses the gun to me, ¡°Use it well!¡± he yells before heading for the exit. Oh, you¡¯re God damn right I will.

    I pop up, aim down the iron sights and squeeze the trigger. The recoil is tremendous, the pain horrific, I can¡¯t wait to fire it again. The bullet goes clean through my target. My attack, along with the hail of gunfire being laid down by my rescuers causes the remaining enemies to stay behind cover, only taking the occasional blind shot.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°I think that we should make a break for it,¡± I state, earning nods of agreement from my unexpected allies. We get up, making our way toward the door. It was then that we heard it, a mighty roar, a war cry from the depths of Hell.

    The source of the sound appears. It must be at least eight feet tall. The creature¡¯s torso is a solid slab of red muscle. Unlike the other demons, it walks on cloven hooves; its lower body is covered in a layer of thick hair. The face is long, the horns are impressive, the claws on its fingers look like they could slice open a military drone.

    I have only visited this place once, and that was well over a year ago. They didn¡¯t have this guy back then. I instinctively will my IC to do a quick search. There are posts from patrons of the Demon¡¯s Den. They speak of how scary it was to see and hear this big bastard stomp around as the evening¡¯s madness unfolded.

    The face tenses up, the nostrils flare, its eyes burn with anger. The beast charges forward. Gustav opens fire, the shots blast chunks of flesh off of its body, but it just keeps coming. I aim and fire, emptying the rest of the cylinder, each round hits, causing the monster to stop for a second, but it quickly recovers. Battle damage has revealed that the organic body is augmented with mechanical parts.

    It reaches us, Gustav drops his shotgun. The brute takes a swing, his massive fist connecting with the demon¡¯s snout. The colossal fiend lets out a roar of pain and anger, before throwing its own punch. I tear my eyes away from the brawl, frantically looking around the room, desperately searching for a way to help. Sylvia is using her SMGs to keep the other enemies at bay, I¡¯ve got no clue how much ammo she has left. I scan the walls, spotting a large sword hanging on a rack.

    I pocket the revolver, then I take off running toward the display of wicked looking weapons. The rack is well out of reach, more than likely to prevent a guest from grabbing one of the implements. A shield that is decorated in demonic runes is located below it. I work the shield off of the wall, then I throw it at the rack, knocking it lose, causing it to come tumbling down.

    I quickly inspect the sword, discovering that it is indeed real, and not a plastic prop. Thank god that the decorator made the choice to go with realism. Gustav lets out a cry of pain, I look over to see that he is clutching his forearm, which has been sliced open by the demon¡¯s razor-sharp claws. Blood oozes out of the lacerations at an alarming rate.

    I charge at the demon, aiming the tip of the sword at his chest. The point makes contact, piercing the skin, before striking bone or maybe metal. I rip the blade out, putting everything that I have into an overhead swing. The bruiser raises an arm defensively, the blade cuts through the flesh, sliding along the bone. My attack leaves me vulnerable; the beast delivers a powerful backhand that causes me to drop the sword as I am sent flying.

    I land in a jumble, sliding along the floor for a surprising distance, before coming to a rest in the middle of a symbol that is constructed from the number 666. Gustav jabs the demon between the eyes, while the creature is stunned, he moves to the side, reaches down to grab something.

    He swings the sword. The head isn¡¯t quite severed, the blade stopped after it cut through the final neck bone. Blood sprays out of the wound with a force that natural arteries could never hope to produce.

    The man¡¯s face is filled with pure determination as he pulls the head the rest of the way off. With a surprisingly loud shout he throws it at the remaining demons, who are awe struck. He stands there for a few seconds, laboring to catch his breath. The flow of blood from his wound has stopped, the blows to his face have left terrible bruises.

    ¡°We need to go,¡± Sylvia says in a surprisingly calm voice.

    We run out the door. Daylight stabs me in the eyes. ¡°This way,¡± Gustav yells, taking a turn to the left. I follow him, praying for my eyes to adjust to the light. After a minute or two of running they finally do. I glance around, Canal Street looks so strange in the daytime. It is like I am seeing something I am not supposed to. This place is too profane, too magical to be seen without the cover of darkness and the daze that night brings.

    The walkways are empty. No one gets in our way as we run, but there is also no way to blend in. What has happened starts to sink in, I begin to ask myself if this is real. A check with my IC shows that I am indeed cut off from Charles Faur¨¦.

    We reach the end of the street, the water flows into the foundation of a skyscraper. The two of them leap over the guardrail; I follow reluctantly. My body hits the water, the momentum takes me down deep. I claw my way back up to the surface, the others making their way to a boat that is parked just inside of the opening. We pile in, a pair of large engines speeding us along, the dim lights that are set into the low ceiling rushing past.

    As I squeeze the water out of my clothes I wonder where they are taking me.

 Chapter 14: Gormans Place

    For twenty minutes we ride. We are deep under the city now, inside the maintenance areas and substructures that keep it all running. Water flows into pipes of various sizes, feeding the city¡¯s other areas.

    They stop the boat, taking a few minutes to hide it inside of a false pipe. Then we clamber up onto a catwalk and start the next leg of our journey.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask.

    ¡°The Doctor wants to speak with you,¡± Gustav says flatly.

    ¡°He does know that I paid him, right?¡±

    He just repeats himself, ¡°The Doctor wants to speak with you.¡±

    I could make a run for it, try to lose them in the chaos of the pipes and cables. But I own them one, so I will at least see what the crazy fucker wants.

    We pass by a maintenance drone as it crawls along the surface of an electrical line, no doubt checking it for damage. Its yellow paint and orange warning lights make it stand out next to the slate grey conduit. The bot ignores us, I hope that its monitor isn¡¯t uplinked to it. Hopefully they are screwing around in VR or taking a nap.

    The exhaust has made the tunnels surprisingly warm, my clothes are rapidly drying. The inner workings of the city are strangely clean, probably because there isn¡¯t anyone here to make a mess. Well, there isn¡¯t anyone in this particular area, but the Untouchables have been known to inhabit parts of the underground.

    I look at Sylvia, ¡°You do know that you got spotted at the resort?¡±

    ¡°I tripped an alarm, won¡¯t happen again.¡±

    ¡°So, how did you two get with Gorman?¡±

    It is Sylvia that answers, ¡°The doctor¡¯s work is incredible. He has identified those aspects of the human body which most reflect its beauty and enhanced them.¡±

    That is a hell of a fancy way of saying that he turns people into freaks.

    A message appears on my IC; it is a plea/warning from Burab¨­. They are perturbed by my refusal to assist their retention officer and my failure to come have a chat with them about the events at the resort. Now they are very curious as to why the surveillance system outside of one of their Canal Street establishments has captured footage of me with the woman that broke into the resort. Time is running out, I am dangerously close to losing another company.

    We reach a doorway marked, ¡°Caution: hazardous material storage,¡± which is obviously there to keep people away. Gustav opens the door and we enter.

    This is one of Gorman¡¯s labs alright. Lab being a lose term. A scientist works in a lab, Gorman is just a pervert with a bit of scientific training. But then again, I guess that a drug dealer also works in a lab, so maybe it is correct to call the jumble of machines a lab.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    The place has all the tools of the trade. I spot growth tanks of various sizes. Boxes full of cybernetic parts and raw materials are piled onto shelves. A surgical table sits in one corner, it has the equipment that is necessary for conducting a brain transfer.

    ¡°There you are!¡± a flamboyant voice proclaims. Gorman is short and ugly, so ugly that I have to wonder if he was engineered to look that way, if some sick impulse had driven him to get an extremely unattractive body.

    ¡°John, we meet again. You really get around. But I guess that someone like you can¡¯t help but get around.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the assist,¡± I glance at the other two and nod, ¡°All of you. But why follow me? Why bring me here?¡±

    ¡°First things first, poor Gustav is injured!¡± the good doctor declares. He leads the big guy over to the operating table. Gustav removes his duster, revealing a tank top and a handgun in a shoulder holster. The doctor starts patching his knife and claw wounds. Sylvia walks over to a wall locker. She opens it and starts pulling out boxes of ammunition. She piles them up on a table and starts loading SMG magazines.

    ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I load up on ammo?¡± I ask.

    Gorman may be a lot of things, but stingy isn¡¯t one of them, ¡°Of course! Help yourself!¡± he cries out.

    I pull out the revolver, unlock the cylinder, and I dump the spent casings out.

    Sylvia is impressed, ¡°A Stallion Mk III, nice.¡±

    I look around in the locker till I find the right caliber. My mouth twists into a wicked smile, they have armor piercing slug, hollow point, and canister rounds. I gleefully gather up the boxes, as well as a few speed loaders. Then I lovingly load up six hollow points, before filling up the speed loaders. Now I have different options for different situations. I even pocket a few loose rounds just in case.

    I finish long before Gorman is done with his patient. I use my IC, immediately checking to see if Charles Faur¨¦ is still gone. D¨¦lta Corp just announced a new fourteen-part documentary on the Martian colony¡¯s war for independence. I hold my nose and leave a positive comment on the notice, fuck, this is the third documentary series they have done on it in the last eight years. It will be a big deal, I might actually have to watch it so that I can stay up to speed.

    Gorman finishes doctoring up Gustav, who puts his coat back on and heads toward the ammo locker.

    Gorman walks over to a fridge, ¡°I need you for a job,¡± he says as he digs around for a drink.

    ¡°You could have just asked me.¡±

    ¡°It has been a while, I needed to make sure that you are still on the up and up. I know that the government helped to make you what you are, by your very nature you are compromised,¡± then he hastily adds, ¡°No offence.¡±

    ¡°None taken. Alright, fine, what do you need?¡±

    ¡°I need biomatter. Lots of it.¡±

    As gaudy as his bodies are, his style does have its admirers, hence the two goons. ¡°A bunch of new clients?¡± I ask.

    ¡°No. Just one and he is the one. I am going to create my masterpiece, my magnum opus. It is time.¡±

    ¡°Well, I would be glad to help you, but now isn¡¯t the time.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you mean your run in with the good people of the Charles Faur¨¦ corporation. What did you do to piss them off? If you don¡¯t mind my asking.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to find this girl. No, I don¡¯t know why.¡±

    ¡°Well, how can we help?¡±

    I struggle with that for a second, before saying, ¡°Give me a little bit of time. I have to do some digging in a copy of someone¡¯s IC.¡±

    He points to a door, ¡°There is a quiet spot in there. Come get me when you are ready.¡±

    I enter the room, which turns out to be an empty storage area. A single light illuminates the bare metal walls. I make sure that no creatures inhabit it before I sit down on the floor Indian style. I direct a thought to the drive in my pocket, I will start at the earliest part of the VR world and work my way forward in time.

 Chapter 15: Portrait of a Young Man

    It is unfiltered, untainted imagination. The world is a resplendent vision of fairyland. The creatures of the forest, and the inhabitants of a thousand strange and wonderous kingdoms dance, play, and go on fun adventures.

    Jack and his companions lived in a big city, called Berserba. First there was Rabb, the thief with a heart of gold. They befriended Marcius, the fallen knight on a quest for redemption. And finally, Ullo the escaped circus bear.

    On Z street there was an alleyway. Behind several tattered boxes a hole had been knocked out of the wall. This makeshift doorway led to a void under a building, a place that had been neglected and left unused. Jack cleaned it up, turned it into a nice place.

    The group went on endless adventures. They freed the bubble lands from the terrible muck men. They solved the puzzle of the black pyramid, taking its treasure and giving it to the poor. They raced airships around the floating mountains of Talluck.

    One day, a wizard entered their hidden base. He was friendly, the wise and powerful man sought their help.

    They journeyed to Cazik, climbing its formidable mountains. The party explored the ruins of the lizardmens¡¯ fallen nation. They navigated a horrifying forest of black leafed larch trees, braving the frozen winds and elder things.

    The wizard betrayed them, killing Marcius. It was all a trick, a fool¡¯s errand, the quest was a lie. It was on the shores of the ancient lake where Jack would avenge his noble friend.

    The group returned to the Z street place. After much soul searching, they agreed to keep going.

    Jack¡¯s next quest was to rescue a princess.

    He scaled the castle wall, squeezed through the bars, and found a dead guard. The young adventurer followed a trail of defeated foes, until he found her. She was feisty, aggressive, ill tempered. Instead of a dress, she wore ornate armor. A short sword sat on each hip. She didn¡¯t need rescuing, she had already escaped on her own. But she did begrudgingly express her appreciation for the help he would have provided.

    Together, they would found a new regime. The empire reigned supreme, always expanding, always conquering new lands. Its uniforms and armor were inspiring, its weapons were sharp and sturdy. A grand armada ruled the seas, its armies dominated the land. The imperial flag flew proudly over countless kingdoms.

    The capital city was built from nothing, the emperor planned it out, building by building, all on his own. Banners hung proudly from mighty walls; flags flew majestically from the tops of colossal towers. There was a circus track for chariot races. If this didn¡¯t keep the populous busy, the colosseum would. The metropolis was centered around a fortified palace.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    As the empire grew the conquests became more violent. The troops became more bloodthirsty, the generals more heartless. Chivalry and honor became things of the past. Anyone that stood in their way was destroyed.

    And then they found it, the fortress city of Parasi. Built on an island, waves struck the buttressed walls of the ancient city. The defenses were impressive, it would be the greatest challenge yet.

    A battle fleet and a full army were brought in to lay siege to the place, but the residents didn¡¯t seem to care. They sent no arrows toward the attackers, no guards appeared on the ramparts, no warriors sallied out to do battle with the invaders.

    They approached cautiously, fearing an ambush. The front gate had been left wide open. The first troops entered, moans of passion greeted their ears, their eyes saw writhing bodies. This had to be some kind of trick. The city was quickly captured, the empire¡¯s leaders entered, and met with the ruling council.

    ¡°Please, put down your weapons,¡± they urged, ¡°Why waste your life doing violent deeds, when you could spend your days having fun?¡± a good question, the answer is that violence is also fun but it is a moot point because you can do both.

    The emperor was enchanted by the city¡¯s hedonistic philosophy. For the next few years Parasi would become the unofficial second capital of the empire. But no matter how many times he visited the city, he would always return to her, his empress, the shield maiden.

    Things went on like that for a long time. Battle after battle was fought, nation after nation was rebuilt in the emperor¡¯s image.

    The empire fell, overthrown and replaced by an alliance of five kingdoms. The deposed emperor was determined to retake his lost realm. He returned to that secret hideout on Z street. From there he led a revolt.

    The struggle was long, the rebellion would have to tear each kingdom down piece by piece, each king toppled one by one. They ambushed the enemy¡¯s troops on the roadways of an ancient civilization and in the thick jungles of a far-off land. They would attack and fade away before the enemy could overpower them.

    The five each had their own armies and navies, but the threat was greater than that. The kings were in league with otherworldly forces; they had a powerful enforcer at their beck and call.

    This enforcer used his supernatural powers to hunt Jack and his friends. No matter what they tried they were unable to kill their foe, they could only flee. It seemed hopeless, but they discovered that the enforcer could be tricked. He could be distracted; he could be duped into attacking the forces of the five.

    They won, they defeated the kingdoms, freed the people. But no empire or republic was created to take their place. Jack and his friends went on no new adventures.

    The hiding spot on Z street was cleared out. The armories and barracks were replaced with sand tables and charts, each of them breaking down some aspect of the megacorporations and the government. It was here that the simulation ended.

    It always seemed to come back to this city, this particular street, that one little hiding spot. I bring up my IC, instructing the navigation program to search the city for this general layout.

    Zachariah street, just south of Deep Eiluna. It is a place where Untouchables are known to live, it is entirely possible that Mason grew up there. He must have gone to that hiding spot a lot, it must have meant a lot to him. It would be the perfect location for a base of operations. This has to be it, it just has to.

    I leave the simulation. Sitting there in the dim light I struggle to collect my thoughts.

    The door flies open, it is Sylvia, she looks worried, ¡°You need to come quick!¡±

 Chapter 16: Firefight

    I get a message on my IC, it is from the good doctor. I open it, seeing a live camera feed. A tactical unit is working its way toward the lab.

    I instantly recognize the uniforms. They are mercenaries working for a company called Madeleine¡¯s Safety Systems, a subsidiary of D¨¦lta Corp. These mercs hide behind an innocent sounding name. a name that is meant to sound like it is an adorable little girl giving you instructions on how to stay safe. Regardless of their name, they are highly organized, heavily trained, and well equipped.

    The tactical group is made up of people commanding teams of humanoid drones. They use specially modified ICs to do it, the machines are in many ways extensions of their bodies.

    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Sylvia asks.

    Gorman sounds like he doesn¡¯t have a care in the world, ¡°Gustav, my beautiful boy, get the riot cannon.¡±

    Gustav jogs away, heading to a different room, his big boots stomping on the metal plated floor. I stand there, watching in fascination as the point drone reaches the corner that leads to the hallway where the door to the lab is. A snake cam shoots out of its arm and winds its way around the corner, giving the drone a safe view of the next area. They move into the corridor, a fireteam posts up on the door to the lab. They stand by while their comrades enter the other rooms.

    They clear the rooms with immaculate precision. Each trooper is clad head to toe in composite armor and combat gear. Most of them wield tactical SMGs, holding them at eye level, ready to squeeze off a burst of hollow point rounds. Each drone is sleek, moves with the speed and grace of a seasoned soldier. Their programing is drawn from the experiences and knowledge of hundreds of warfighters that have fought in dozens of conflicts.

    The D¨¦lta goons finish securing the area, they move into position in front of the lab¡¯s door. Me and Sylvia get behind cover, pointing our weapons at the door. Gorman is hiding behind a solid looking piece of lab equipment. Gustav returns, he is lugging a gigantic chain gun, I can tell by the size of the holes in the barrels that it fires big, fat shotshells.

    The door opens, but no one shoots. A loud voice cuts through the tension, ¡°Give us the girl and nobody will get hurt!¡±

    I want to tell them that I don¡¯t have the girl, but I know that they won¡¯t believe me. Gorman answers for me, ¡°I don¡¯t know who you want, but they aren¡¯t here. Can I interest you in a new bo,¡± he is cut off by a gunshot. This is immediately followed by everyone opening fire.

    The first group of drones comes through the door, trying to quickly clear the fatal funnel. Gustav cuts them down with his riot gun. Hunks of soft armor are blasted apart, buckshot tears through outer casings and shreds the inner workings to pieces.

    As the first wave falls, I focus on the bots that are giving them covering fire. I take aim and squeeze the trigger, the armor piercing slug cuts completely through the drone. The shockwave from the impact blasts its way through the machine¡¯s body, destroying the subsystems that keep it running.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Incoming rounds ping off of our cover. A clear plastic tank shatters, the heart that is growing inside of it slops onto the floor. A 3D printer takes a grazing hit, a round ricochets off of a lathe.

    The second wave enters, Gustav sprays his Gatling gun, most of the bots fall, but one gets through. The survivor reaches cover and begins exchanging fire with Sylvia. Another wave enters, a few more get through.

    Gorman pops up from behind his cover. He throws something, while simultaneously telling us to fallback. There is an explosion, we send a few rounds into the smoke cloud as we retreat deeper into the lab. We find new cover and start taking potshots at the drones and troopers that are pouring into the room.

    Gustav has drained the riot gun. He drops the weapon to the floor, the tip of its barrels have started to glow. The big brute pulls out his handgun and starts blasting.

    An MSS trooper gets gunned down by our hail of fire. Blood sprays out of his wounds and he falls to the ground. A team of drones moves to help him, by the time that they reach him they have been reduced to distorted hulks. A shot from an enemy pierces the equipment rack that I am using for protection, the bullet explodes out of the metal plate, missing my head by mere inches.

    A flashbang comes sailing toward us, it shatters into countless pieces. I look over to see Gorman holding a C&C Model 47 pistol, a grin on his face. Damn, I didn¡¯t know that he was such a good shot. I also didn¡¯t know that he had such good taste in firearms, I guess that is one aesthetic we can agree on.

    I empty my gun into a team of drones, each shot feels like a cannon blast. As I reach for another speed loader I spot him, a trooper has flanked us. He has a carbine pointed right at me. He isn¡¯t doing anything; he is just standing there while I reload my revolver. His head falls off, tumbling to the ground and rolling away. A fountain of blood erupts from the neck as the body falls in slow motion.

    I tear my eyes away from the madness in front of me, focusing on putting the rounds into the cylinder. I get them in and slam the wheel back into place, before raising the gun, ready for action.

    I scan the area frantically, aiming down the massive gun¡¯s iron sights. I see it, a slight disturbance, a strange flickering pulse of light that dances between the primary colors.

    A stealth suit, there is no mistaking that throbbing rainbow pattern. The tech renders the wearer invisible, unless the surface of the material becomes obstructed. That is why those kinds of suits are useless on a conventional battlefield, they are only suitable for certain kinds of operations. Blood has splashed onto the surface of the suit, causing a disruption. The only question is why did they take out that MSS trooper.

    Another D¨¦lta Corp soldier falls, a swath of red appearing out of nowhere right before he tumbles to the ground. One of the MSS guys catches on, he sprays the area with his submachinegun. A round finds its mark, the invisibility field sputters and dies as it becomes soaked in blood. He is wearing a skintight bodysuit and a pistol belt. The face is completely covered. There is a katana in his hands.

    The remaining D¨¦lta Corp guys start peppering every corner of the lab. More invisible figures are revealed as they try to sneak in close. The newcomers take cover, draw their pistols, and return fire.

    ¡°Who the hell are these guys?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Who cares? Let¡¯s just get out of here while we still can!¡± Sylvia declares.

    ¡°They have the symbol of the Church of the Ascended on their uniforms,¡± Gustav explains.

    I picture the symbol in my mind, a humanoid shape, with a translucent figure above and behind it. This is meant to symbolize ascension, but people joke that it looks like someone is performing oral sex on a giant ghost.

    Echo has tactical units. But the Church is known to deploy is own assets. These groups tend to be well trained and highly motivated. Aganok said that the Church was involved in this. Hell, at this point who isn¡¯t involved?

    I call out to the others, ¡°It is some kind of spec-ops unit. Sylvia is right, we need to go.¡±

    ¡°This way,¡± Gorman says, leading us toward a hidden door.

 Chapter 17: Hunted

    We can still hear the sounds of gunfire and shouting. Ahead I see a dark corridor, pipes and cables line the walls and ceiling. I check for a local map, it is a twisting maze of maintenance tunnels. The area is full of dead ends and there is a clusterfuck of random rooms. I instruct my IC to find a way out of the mess. It tricks my eyes into seeing a neon yellow line on the floor, which will lead us out. I send the instructions to the others, then we take off into the labyrinth, hoping to rapidly put some distance between us and the battle.

    I carefully unload and pocket the armor piercing rounds that are loaded into my revolver. I replace them with shotshells, hoping that they will do well in the claustrophobic environment. We move through tight corridors and around sharp corners. Each of us glances back nervously, expecting to see the armored frame of a tactical drone, or the slight distortion of light made by a cloaking device. Each of us except for Gorman, who is still somehow completely unshaken.

    A message comes in, the sensation that my IC uses to alert me to this fact startles me. The transmission is from Alpha Prime; they are making me an offer. I can bring them the girl and be handsomely rewarded or face severe consequences. And with that the final piece is placed on the board, or maybe it would be better to say that the final player has entered the arena. Whatever this girl has or knows, everybody wants it. I don¡¯t have time to think about any of that right now.

    Our group keeps going. The tunnel twists and turns. The neon guide shines like a beacon, we follow it blindly. The four of us slip past an open door. The room is occupied by a humanoid drone which has its back to us, toiling away at a workbench.

    The tunnel widens as we enter a junction. Support pillars and equipment fill the room, the sides and corners are pitch black, the ceiling is high. We advance slowly, methodically checking in every direction. The neon line runs the full length of the intersection.

    Sylvia spots it just in time, a faint shimmer in the dim light. She reacts, raising one of her SMGs and letting off a long burst. The Ascended commando¡¯s cloaking device fails as he falls to the ground, his katana still held above his head, ready to strike.

    Chaos ensues. People start shooting at anything that looks suspicious. A muzzle flash lights up the darkness as an enemy takes a potshot. I aim and fire, then I thumb back the hammer and let off a second blast. Some of the pellets find their mark, the cloak fails, my third blast drops the hostile.

    ¡°Look out!¡± Gorman yells. The shimmering figure is lit up by the three of them just as it gets into melee range of Gustav. That was a close one. We need some kind of edge, or at least a way of neutralizing those invisibility cloaks.

    Out of desperation I check out what is being openly broadcasted. I feel the transmissions, drones sending out safety notices; hazard warnings, and there it is, the thing that could save us.

    With a thought I order my IC to find and activate the area¡¯s fire suppression system. Hidden fixtures pop out of the ceiling, light blue colored gas sprays out of them. The gas rapidly sinks to the ground, the place is now shrouded in mist. Through the artificial fog I see resplendent displays of rainbow light as stealth systems fail.

    I spot one of them lining up a shot on Gorman. I fire, taking a leg clean off, the doctor turns and finishes the commando off with a single shot to the head. Another one charges at me, his sword at the ready. I expend the two remaining shells. One blast gets him in the belly, the other in the chest.

    I reach into my coat to grab another speed loader of shotshells. The shooting has stopped, did we get them all? The others start reloading.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    The sensation of cold metal on my neck tells me that in fact we didn¡¯t get them all. The Ascended had managed to work her way over to me by using the supports and machines as cover.

    She says exactly what I expect her to say, ¡°Tell me where Jill Winters is, and no one gets hurt.¡±

    A pale, snake-like mass whips out of the shadows. I hear the words, ¡°He is mine!¡± Metal claws grab ahold of the commando, punching through her suit and gouging deep into her body. She lets out a scream of pain and terror, in a flash the thing moves back into the shadows, the woman still held in its gleaming claws. We hear her shrieks get further and further away.

    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Sylvia exclaims, speaking for the three of them.

    I answer her, ¡°That particular class of madness doesn¡¯t have a name yet, thankfully, it is still completely unique. But the individual does go by a name, which is Go?tia, he is a bounty hunter.¡±

    Gustav is hopeful, ¡°He saved us.¡±

    ¡°No, he was just clearing the way. He¡¯ll be back, we need to get out of here.¡±

    As I reload, I send them a brief summery of everything that I know about the creature. The claws. The laser cannons, the location of the armored section that houses his brain and organs, I give it all to them. Then we start moving again.

    Dr. Gorman gives his expert opinion, ¡°The brain is probably completely isolated. The organic parts of the body run off of a separate system of organs. The only thing that connects the mind and body is the nervous system.¡±

    ¡°So, wounding him won¡¯t help,¡± I say, letting myself sound more pessimistic than I mean to.

    ¡°No. It wouldn¡¯t hurt his mental functions, but it will still affect the body. Of course, it is hard to tell without knowing the capabilities of those organic parts or how much of that body is cybernetic.¡±

    ¡°He planned it all out in detail. We should expect the worst.¡±

    With that, we quiet down, listening intently for the sound of metal claws scraping and clicking in the darkness. The neon line is our only hope, our only way out. Go?tia has no doubt anticipated our move. The same route is being projected into his awareness. His awareness is so altered, so different from my own, that I can¡¯t even begin to guess what it would be like.

    That terrible voice echoes through the corridors, ¡°I¡¯m gonna drag you away, one by one!¡±

    Mind games, I should have seen this coming. I can¡¯t let him get to me. He¡¯s just another freak, just another product of the modern age. But this doesn¡¯t help, because I know that there is still a dangerous, warped mind inside of that thing, I can¡¯t wright him off as just another weirdo.

    The corridor ends, we find ourselves in an open area. In several places the walls disappear, and we can see into hollow spaces that are many stories tall and miles long. Flying drones race around in the cyclopean voids. In the distance I can see what looks like a part of a massive ventilation system.

    He attacks. His lower claws are attached to the ceiling, he swings his upper body down. Go?tia points his head at Gorman and Sylvia, letting two laser blasts fly. They hit between the pair, the deck plate explodes, sending molten metal and shrapnel flying.

    With his upper claws he makes a grab for Gustav, who dives down. The big guy doesn¡¯t make it far enough, the freak grabs him. The abomination starts moving in an up-ward motion. At somewhere around the halfway point the head cannons lock onto me. It fires a single blast, which hits the pillar beside me. The next thing I know I am sprawled out on the floor.

    The body completes its swing, the thing lets go of Gustav, sending him flying head over heels. The creature detaches itself from the ceiling, landing on all fours with surprising grace. It crawls across the floor with shocking speed. Every movement of its sickening body is a blasphemy. Before I can line up a shot he reaches me, slaps the Stallion out of my hand. The abomination hovers over me, there is something about that belly that is especially revolting, like merely being touched by it is harmful and defiling.

    It takes a second to taunt me, ¡°You¡¯re coming with me, this is going to be a fun interrogation!¡±

    There is a blast. Something hits Go?tia, the impact knocks him away, green blood sprays out of a nasty wound. Another blast and another hit, it is pushed further away. He turns his upper body, looking for a target. Then a final shot sends the vile thing careening over the edge.

    I scan the area. There, a feminine figure in the shadows, but her face is hidden. The mysterious woman is holding her right arm out, she puts it at her side, I can see some kind of mechanism slide back into place.

    The figure steps out of the shadows. It is Ashley.

 Chapter 18: Pretending to Watch Robots Work

    I crawl over to my revolver, haul myself to my feet, and move to the edge. With weapon at the ready I lean over the railing. Go?tia is nowhere to be seen. After several long seconds I spot a trail of puncture marks that lead up and wall and out of sight.

    Gustav has also gotten up, he appears to be uninjured. The both of us make our way over to Gorman and Sylvia, Ashley joins us. The two of them are lying on the floor. There are slashes cut into Sylvia¡¯s jumpsuit. The skin underneath is badly scratched, but it is nothing life threatening. Gorman is another story.

    Jagged pieces of metal shrapnel are stuck into his arm, probably from when he put it defensively in front of his face. Gustav starts trying to remove one of the hunks of deck plating, Ashley interjects, ¡°Don¡¯t! The bleeding will get worse if you take them out.¡±

    Gorman looks at Gustav appreciatively, ¡°She¡¯s right. Its not that big a deal. I can get patched up when we get out of here.¡±

    Gustav reverently helps him to his feet while Ashley gives Sylvia¡¯s wounds a once over. She is dressed in typical Kawaiichen garb, a blue and white Japanese schoolgirl uniform with a few modifications here and there.

    Ashley completes the task, then she states the obvious, ¡°You are probably wondering why I am here.¡±

    I head off anyone¡¯s questions, ¡°This is my Friend Ashley. And yes, I am wondering why she is here.¡±

    ¡°I was sent to protect you. Mr. Burke told me that I should keep you safe.¡±

    ¡°Why would they send a government administrator to act as a bodyguard?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯m not a government administrator. I am a spy.¡±

    ¡°You are a spy? That doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± I say incredulously.

    ¡°Sure it does. No one would ever suspect that someone like me would be a threat.¡±

    A thousand things crash through my mind. I turn away, looking to make sure that no one is sneaking up on us. She lied to me. This whole time she has been lying to me. How could this have happened? What else is she keeping from me?

    She walks over to me, scanning the ledge for that fiend, ¡°I saw potential in you when we first met. I was the one that recommended you to Mr. Burke.¡±

    I had always wondered why they had picked a random street punk. All I knew was that Mr. Burke came to visit me in the hospital after my gang picked on the wrong guy. I was presented with one of those choices that isn¡¯t really a choice. I could either agree to become a Skinwalker, have unlimited freedom and money-making potential, or I could face a lengthy prison sentence.

    ¡°One of my duties is to help keep an eye on you,¡± she explains, ¡°The initial plan was for us to be fuck buddies, but then we fell in love.¡±

    ¡°You are in love with a Kawaiichen!¡± Sylvia declares, I turn to look at her, seeing a sour expression.

    ¡°What is wrong with being a Kawaiichen?¡± Ashley asks indignantly. The group starts moving forward, walking past her. Ashley keeps standing there indignantly. Then she stamps her foot on the floor plates and shouts the word ¡°Bimbo!¡± in a pouty voice, before following us.

    We reach a hatch and open it, revealing a lane of sky traffic and the buildings that are behind it. A staircase leads up to a walkway.

    Gorman lays out a plan, ¡°John, you and Gustav go get the biomatter, you know where to meet us. Sylvia, my precious, you will escort me there.¡±

    I politely object, ¡°Gustav can take it to you. I have to go take care of something.¡±

    ¡°Of course, do whatever you need to do.¡±

    With that the group splits up. The biomatter factory isn¡¯t that far away, we can walk there in about twenty minutes. The walkways are still crowded. I am thankful, we can blend in, avoid attacks by anyone who wants to keep a low profile. As we walk my mind wanders.

    Ashley was never what she seemed. It was all a lie, everything was a lie. She acted like she was an old woman playing at being young again, like that was her biggest secret. She pretended to be cute and innocent, but she is really a trained killer. For all I know she is a war vet or an experienced assassin. She is concealing some kind of weapon in her right arm, she probably has something in the other one too. Those arms that had been around me all of those times are just as fake as she is.

    I finally break, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± I ask in disgust.Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°It was a secret.¡±

    ¡°So? You talk about love, but you keep something like that from me?¡±

    She rolls her eyes, ¡°Whatever.¡±

    ¡°Makes me wonder what else you are keeping from me. How much do you know about Jill?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything. The only thing that I have is a question of my own. Why would Mr. Burke send you to do this when he could send a proper detective or an intel asset?¡±

    ¡°Because, I¡¯m not linked to the state. Whatever is going on, the government doesn¡¯t want to get directly involved.¡±

    ¡°Makes sense. But this still leaves the question of what is going on.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll know when I find her.¡±

    ¡°When we find her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that I want you tagging along.¡±

    ¡°Too bad,¡± she says in a spirited voice, ¡°You¡¯re stuck with me.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, until a few minutes ago I thought that you were just a lonely bureaucrat with a Peter Pan complex. Turns out you¡¯re some kind of killer.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not lonely! I have tons of friends.¡±

    ¡°I guess you¡¯re not really a bureaucrat, either,¡± I change the subject before she can make a comment about not having a Peter Pan complex, ¡°Why would you dress like that when you knew that you were going to be getting into a fight?¡±

    ¡°Because, if you can¡¯t die in glorious battle while looking stylish, then what¡¯s the point?¡±

    She looks over at the hulking man in the duster, switches to her IC, ¡°Who is this guy? And who the hell were those other people?¡± the words appear in my head, as if she was projecting thoughts into my mind.

    I use my own IC to wordlessly answer her, ¡°It¡¯s a long story. If you don¡¯t know who they are, how did you know where to find me.¡±

    Her response is unintentionally ominous, ¡°The companies might not be able to accurately track you, but we can. I took the back way when I saw that those troopers were laying siege to the place.¡±

    Horrific notices start rolling in, I am rapidly losing access to Echo and D¨¦lta¡¯s services. The termination messages cite a refusal to cooperate with enforcement officials conducting an investigation. They fail to mention that those enforcement officials were trying to kill us.

    I have just lost two more companies. Now I only have Burab¨­ Inc and Alpha Prime, and they are both teetering on the edge. How am I supposed to make a living now? Trading between the members of two companies, how many opportunities can there really be? Now I will have to strongly consider Alpha¡¯s offer.

    We enter the facility.

    Biomatter is made by growing plants that contain the proper nutrients and combining them into a slurry. The main production floor is a massive grid of hanging gardens.

    The crops are planted, tended, and harvested by drones. These drones operate according to a schedule and have no reason to deviate from it. Nevertheless, the robots are still monitored, day and night, by a crew of humans.

    We find the guy that I know in an out of the way office. Berry is sitting in a chair, his feet up on a desk, fast asleep.

    I slam the bottom of my fist into the wall, he bolts awake, ¡°Oh shit! Oh, oh, it¡¯s you.¡±

    ¡°Ya, its me. Listen, I need some of the stuff, all of it that you can give me.¡±

    ¡°Oh crap. It is a good thing that you woke me up! I almost missed our game.¡±

    ¡°Our game?¡±

    ¡°Ya, I play an RPG with some of the guys.¡±

    ¡°That is great, I¡¯m glad that you have found a way to help pass the time. But I really need the stuff and I am in a hurry.¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay, we will head over to the storage room,¡± he looks over at Ashley and then back at me, ¡°You getting a new body, John? You gonna become a Kawaiichen?¡±

    ¡°No, Berry, I¡¯m not going to get a sex change. It is for a friend.¡±

    Ashley is giggling, the sound reminds me of better times. Berry stands up, notices Gustav lurking near the doorway, ¡°Oh, dang. Okay, follow me.¡±

    Berry leads us to the storage room; the trip is just as awkward as one would think. Even in refrigerated containers the organic sludge still has a short shelf life. The facility has a high turnover rate, a somewhat unpredictable production level, and a lack of oversight. This means that walking out the door with a container of biomatter isn¡¯t that big a deal. This will be considerably more than a container. By the time we are done, Gustav is hauling two barrels on a dolly and a backpack full of small bottles, he even has a smaller container tucked under an arm.

    The big guy in the duster starts toward the door. He stops and turns, looking at me with sad eyes, ¡°I liked working with you. See you later,¡± then he walks out the door with his burden.

    I thank Berry, promising to pay him later. It is a promise that I am fully aware I probably won¡¯t be able to keep. Me and Ashley head to the nearest train. Its time, if Mason is there, we will confront him.

    A message comes in from Burab¨­ Inc, it is a notice that they will no longer be offering me their services. This is followed by the company¡¯s networks and systems blinking out one by one. At least they were kind enough to send me the notice first, for what little that is worth. I only have one left, just like everybody else. Its official, I am no longer a Skinwalker.

    I send Alpha a message, telling them that I will get them what they want.

    The train ride to Zachariah street is long, tense. Ashley is bobbing her head up and down, rocking out to music delivered via her IC. As she enjoys the music that only she can hear, I nervously check the news and the only message boards that I can still access.

    We get off the train at the closest station; from there it is a short walk to the target building. The area is just as neglected as you would think. It is also free of advertisements, which feels like a blessing. Alpha hasn¡¯t programed in any augmented reality features into the area, I¡¯m sure that the other companies are the same.

    There are two different kinds of Untouchables. There are the kind that got blacklisted for hurting children, and then there are the ones that got blacklisted for everything else. The later does not associate with the former, who are made to live in separate areas. Thank God this isn¡¯t one of those places.

    We take our time scoping the place out before entering the alley. Most of the people are Untouchables, you can tell by the fact that their clothes aren¡¯t name brand. But as I carefully scan the pedestrians, I get the strange feeling that I am missing something else, some other attribute that distinguishes them.

    There it is, the trash covered alleyway, just like in the VR world. I move the boxes out of the way, sure enough, there is a hole in the wall. I stoop down and walk through it, followed closely by Ashley.

 Chapter 19: HIdeout

    I get past the makeshift entrance and find myself in a decent sized room. Well, it is more of a void, a place that has been hollowed out as outdated subsystems were removed. The bare walls have been decorated with surprisingly well-done graffiti and a few anti-corporate posters. The space has been filled with random pieces of furniture, crates of supplies, and a few makeshift weapons racks.

    There are well over a dozen people occupying the space; none of them appear on any social network, meaning that they are Untouchables. The ironic thing is that I am close to being one of them. Their response to the presence of me and Ashley is slow, they clearly didn¡¯t expect to see us.

    The surprised rebels start to react, reaching for weapons, but not drawing them. And then I see her, Jill. She is dressed in the plain, brandless clothing of an Untouchable. Her dishwater blond hair is tied back, to my shock she looks calm.

    After all this time, I have finally seen her. She¡¯s so close, but I can¡¯t just grab her and run. And at this point I¡¯m less than sure that I even want to. Ashley is holding her arms out like she is showing them that she is unarmed, but I know the truth, she is ready to attack.

    I look around at the growing crowd, ¡°You guys have really bad security, hell, you don¡¯t even have a door!¡±

    Mason approaches me, his hands are empty, ¡°Everyone is welcome to come in. Untouchables stick together, we have nothing to worry about.¡±

    His eyes are just as intense as they are in the photos from the police records. Mason is a man with a purpose, an all-consuming purpose that blinds him to any and all outside concerns. He speaks with a certainty that few are blessed with.

    ¡°Well I aint an Untouchable, at least not yet. I think you know why I am here.¡±

    He studies me with interest, ¡°Come on, sit down and we can talk.¡±

    Ashley interjects, ¡°I want to talk to her, make sure that she is alright.¡±

    He gives her a once over, visibly writes her off as a Kawaiichen, ¡°That¡¯s fine by me. Go talk to her, she isn¡¯t a prisoner.¡±

    Ashley walks over to Jill. For a second I feel concern, wonder if I should let her wander off alone. But then I bitterly remember the fact that she is more than capable of taking care of herself.

    Mason leads me to the middle of the room. Chairs and a sofa are arranged in a crude circle around a wooden coffee table. The chairs are surprisingly fancy, probably pulled out of some abandoned hotel. Mason sits down on the couch. A woman with a fade cut, an OD green tank top, fatigue pants, and a set of combat boots sits down in one of the fancy chairs. Her body is all whipcord muscles and tomboy scars. She looks like she could take most people in a fight. Her eyes are glued to me. ¡°This is Toni,¡± Mason says, ¡°Forgive her, she is highly motivated.¡±

    I pull out my revolver before taking a seat, he doesn¡¯t get mad, he gets that I am just being cautious. ¡°What is all of this about?¡± I ask.Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°I want access to a multiplayer virtual world.¡±

    You¡¯ve got to be kidding me, ¡°I know that you don¡¯t have access to the corporate ones, but if you want to frag some people or mess around you can just make your own.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a smart ass. This is a very special world, the Grotto, it is where the people that secretly control the world go to plot and plan.¡±

    I do a quick search for it. The Grotto is a conspiracy theory, just as he said, it is supposedly where the elites go to hold their secret meetings. I don¡¯t know if I should be amused or horrified. Next, he is going to start speculating on who really killed Tim Martin. ¡°Now you are being the silly one,¡± I say with a chuckle. Toni looks like she wants to cut my head off.

    He is undeterred, ¡°I¡¯m being serious. Contact Senator Tom Smith, tell him that I will trade access to the Grotto for the girl.¡±

    This time I don¡¯t need to do a search. Everyone knows who Tom Smith is. He is a high level Alpha Prime politician, easily the most prominent Pee Bee. Unlike the others, the Pee Bees and Alpha don¡¯t have a set party. They are instructed to vote for whichever candidate seems like they will be the lesser of two evils. The Freedom party and the Liberty party will often fight over Alpha¡¯s votes.

    Smith is legitimately popular; I could see either party supporting a presidential campaign. He could do it, he could be the first ever member of the People of the Book to be president. And now I am being told that he is compromised. Is that what this has all been about, blackmailing one of the few senators that people actually like? Sure, he is high up on the totem pole, but would it really be worth all of this effort?

    ¡°What happened? I¡¯m going to assume that it is about a sexual encounter.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Once I get access to that virtual world you can have Jill.¡±

    ¡°How can you give her to me if you are handing her over to the senator?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t. By that point it won¡¯t matter,¡± he smiles, ¡°I¡¯m going the blow to whole thing open, expose them all.¡±

    ¡°A noble goal. Why don¡¯t you contact the senator yourself?¡±

    ¡°It is proving to be more difficult than I thought. He is well guarded, and my unfortunate status isn¡¯t helping things.¡±

    I do a bit of quick checking. Senator Smith is known to like his historic VR simulations. Maybe it is the truth, maybe it is just a publicity thing, maybe it is a bit of both. It doesn¡¯t really matter. If I can find him in a game, I can deliver Mason¡¯s ultimatum, and I can be one step closer to ending this.

    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll do it. I need an out of the way place to stay.¡±

    He points to a series of partitions that are made out of particle board and cloth, ¡°You can use one of those rooms.¡±

    I get up, suddenly very concerned about Ashley. After a few nervous seconds I spot her standing in a corner talking to Jill. I join them, Toni following close behind, but still saying nothing.

    ¡°I think that your friend wants to talk to you. It was nice meeting you, Ash,¡± Jill smiles at me warmly as she walks away. I didn¡¯t even say a word to her. How the hell did I let her slip away like that?

    I motion for Ashley to follow me. I find an unoccupied room, we enter, closing the curtain. The little room features a simple bed and a cheap dresser. It is just a place for someone to spend a night or two in.

    I look at Ashley unsurely, ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°She went with Mason willingly. He told her that it was for a good cause, that she could help a lot of people.¡±

    ¡°From Mason¡¯s point of view that is a completely true statement,¡± I fill her in on the revolutionary leader¡¯s offer and my plan to get in touch with Smith.

    She looks away, examining the flimsy looking wall, ¡°What do you think?¡±

    ¡°I can use a proxy to hide my true identity from the company. But they might figure it out eventually. And then I¡¯m all out, I become one of them.¡±

    ¡°What about her? You going to hand her over?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you want me to? After all, Mr. Burke is your boss.¡±

    ¡°And I know what could happen to her. If Mr. Burke, or whoever is controlling him, wants her silenced¡­¡±

    ¡°I know the risks, and I feel rotten about it. But if I don¡¯t do as told, I could end up the same way.¡±

 Chapter 20: Wargames

    I check the bed before sitting down. Ashley announces that she will keep an eye out for me while I work, I warn her that this could take a while. She reluctantly settles down for the long haul.

    Smith¡¯s current game of choice is an historical simulation of the Martian war of independence. The senator¡¯s game records say that he likes to play aggressively, which is odd for a Pee Bee. He will be using a random name, so that he doesn¡¯t get swamped by people.

    I log into a match. It assigns me to a team, I start seeing images of my teammates running around, shooting at the enemy. If this was one of those games that focused more on fun than realism, players would be spraying wildly, as much at their own teammates as their opponents. But this is meant to be something closer to a historical reenactment.

    Everything is red orange. Rocks are struin across the sand, the ground looks like it is impossible to walk on. I see a crater, a reminder that we aren¡¯t in some North African desert, we are on the surface of Mars.

    You can easily tell which ones are the Earthlings; their spacesuits are armored, militarized. The Martians like to stay quick; their suits are only lightly modified for combat.

    My team has divided into several groups. A bunch of guys are crowded around an outpost that we must defend. A few guys are milling around near the center of the map. But what sticks out immediately are the four players that are making a push against the enemy¡¯s dropship, which is our main objective. I tell the game that I want to spawn in next to them.

    An icon on my visor¡¯s Heads Up Display tells me that I am currently one of the Martian rebels, I will automatically switch teams if I stick around for the next match. Other than navigational data, the HUD doesn¡¯t give much information. This is definitely one of the realistic games. Another indicator of this fact is that there aren¡¯t any sound effects; it is just you in your helmet, breathing loudly when something happens.

    In the surprisingly blue sky, I see a formation of VTOL gunships; fortunately, they are heading away from the battle. I start moving forward, sticking to a path that is mostly free of rocks. Upon rounding a bend, I spot the target.

    The design is based on a regular personnel shuttle, the kind that is very common on Mars, as well as its moons and assorted space stations. The manufacture had added a layer of armor, a few gun and missile pods, and a beefier power plant. The Earthlings loaded them by the dozens onto troop ships that they stuck in low orbit, where they waited to deploy soldiers to the surface.

    The dropship has landed next to an apparatus that is imbedded in the ground. I believe that it is a water extractor. A group of rebels are crowded around the structure, which towers above them. Incoming laser fire is eating away at the base of the device, which is glowing white hot in some places.

    Now I am faced with a dilemma. I need to get over there and see if any of them is Smith. But that move is about the dumbest one I could make; it would be much better if I stayed where I am and shot at the enemy from a different angle.

    I elect to take my time, help out my team. Maybe they will be more tolerant of me running around looking through visors at faces that might not even accurately represent the player¡¯s real appearance. A few well aimed shots drops the hostile troopers. I run over to the others. After reaching them I take a knee, give them a once over as I catch my breath.

    Each of them has at least one spot where silver duct tape has been used to patch a hole or hold some piece of gear into place. Unit patches and insignia have been painted on their space suits. I see everything from armored unicorns to eagles with banners and medieval weapons clutched in their talons.

    A man with a lamp stuck on his suit¡¯s shoulder pad and enough spare batteries to power a dozen rifles greets me, ¡°My good dustboy, you have come just in time! The red is smarter than the blue, this they will learn post haste!¡±

    That slang, the arrogance of a society that is descended from scientists, these guys are deep into the role-playing side of things. I scan the faces of my comrades in arms, none of them look any thing like Smith.

    The area is free of enemies, for now. We need to capture the objective before more of them spawn in. I switch over to the frequency that the group is using, ¡°We shouldn¡¯t just stand here. Let¡¯s go capture that ship. Then we will beat those,¡± I search the internet for a suitable derogatory term for Earthlings, the resulting word is said with absolute confusion, ¡°Pugmurks.¡±

    One of them looks at me with furious eyes and bared teeth, ¡°Are you kidding me? We need to wait for reinforcements!¡± Some kind of range finder has been spot-welded to the side of his helmet. A black line of electrical tape covers the wires that run from the device to the rebel¡¯s backpack.

    ¡°Hey, I hear that Senator Smi¡­¡±

    I am cut off when a blast hits my helmet, which explodes in a shower of flaming plastic. Boiling flesh and brains fly through the air, before landing on the red sand, as my head bursts apart from the intense heat, like it had been left in the microwave for too long. The only saving grace is that this server doesn¡¯t have pain settings on. But considering the nature of my death, I probably wouldn¡¯t have felt it.

    ***

    I wake up in a place that is becoming increasingly familiar. I had been dreaming about playing. A groggy haze dominates my awareness. Getting any good sleep is difficult when you just dream about what you did all day, what you know you will have to spend the next day doing. The little room¡¯s single light is out, Ashley is fast asleep, she looks so peaceful. A dull glow seeps in under and above the curtain, most of the others have turned in for the night.

    I check the time, 4:00 AM appears in my vision for a few seconds. It has been three days. And it had been a long three days. I had fought in hellish dust storms. I had struggled with jerry rigged equipment. I had faced opponents that had years of experience waging war on the surface of the red planet. And I had died countless times.

    Early in one match I tripped on a rock and fell into a particularly deep crater. I used up my supplies performing emergency repairs on my suit. Then I spent the rest of the round trying to scale the annoyingly steep sides of the hole.

    My comrades and I had freed occupied settlements and ambushed the invaders at every turn. That was when I was a rebel. As a brave Earth trooper, I had helped bring order and sanity to a rough colony. I had fought alongside death commandos from the Magellan settlement; I invaded the plains of Acidalia with the 665<sup>th</sup> Armored division. But I had never even seen my real objective.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Three days and no luck, countless games, countless imitation battlefields, and no sign of him. Maybe this was a bad plan. Hell, for all I know I had seen him and not even known it.

    I get up to go use the restroom, my movements wake up Ashley, ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Nothing. Just going to take a leak.¡±

    She sits up, taking a few seconds to straighten her hair, ¡°You want to go get some food?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    We visit the base¡¯s restrooms, which are surprisingly nice. Then we head out onto the street. I bring up a map on my IC. Through the groggy haze a picture is projected into my mind, the area¡¯s restaurants and fast food joints are displayed.

    I start listing off places that sound like they might be good, Ashley interrupts me, ¡°You can¡¯t, remember.¡±

    ¡°Oh, ya,¡± I say, slowly and painfully remembering the fact that I am no longer a free man. I reluctantly will my IC to only show me Alpha Prime owned places.

    I suggest that we eat at UltraBurger, as they have some good breakfast sandwiches, but then Ashley reminds me that there is another complication. She is with Charles Faur¨¦, she can¡¯t eat at Alpha establishments, not without a fine and a hit to her CSCS.

    ¡°Well, shit. Okay, lets just go where we want and meet back up here,¡± She agrees.

    A half hour later we are sitting around the coffee table in the center of the base. The place is quiet, most of the Untouchables are still asleep. Except for Toni, who made a show out of following me to UltraBurger and back.

    I unwrap my sandwich, she starts digging into her salad. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t eat that kind of stuff,¡± she chides, ¡°It is bad for your health and will make you fat.¡±

    ¡°If that happens, I¡¯ll just get a new body,¡± I grin at her wickedly, ¡°Maybe a better one. Maybe one with a fourteen-inch cock!¡±

    She frowns and focuses on her meal, ¡°That isn¡¯t necessary.¡±

    ¡°I was only kidding.¡±

    ¡°I guess that I¡¯m not in the mood.¡±

    ¡°You are normally so hyperactive.¡±

    ¡°John¡­I¡¯m worried.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be, it is my ass on the line.¡±

    ¡°You know what I mean. I¡¯m worried about you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°That isn¡¯t true. You are too confident, acting too much like a young man,¡± the irony of her statement about youth seems to be lost on her.

    ¡°I am just trying to stay focused, not fall into despair. I am being cautious.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t been cautious a day in your life.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong. I know when to act and when to stay back. I like to do crazy things, but I stopped being totally reckless the first time I got shot.¡±

    ¡°The first time,¡± she says with contempt.

    ¡°Hey, the second time wasn¡¯t my fault.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s never your fault.¡±

    ¡°Wrong again. I freely admit that it was my fault the first time.¡±

    ¡°What about the third time?¡±

    ¡°Trust me, I will do everything in my power to avoid a third time.¡±

    She smiles playfully, ¡°If you do get a new body, just remember to keep the boy parts to a reasonable size, okay.¡±

    I let out a good laugh, surprised at how much I needed it. Then I say, ¡°Well, it is still a bit early, but he might be active. I¡¯d better get back to it.¡±

    I am starting to wonder if this was a mistake. The game isn¡¯t that popular, but it still enjoys a healthy player base. How likely am I to find him?

    I enter another game. It is already several minutes in. The first thing that I do is check the map, a friendly player is moving around to flank the enemy. This could be him, fits his style. It will let me spawn in near the player in question, which I do.

    The rocks in this spot are darker than the sand, most are grey or black. It is a nice sight after all of the red and orange. I find his location on my HUD, start jogging in that direction.

    I check the HUD again, the red blips of several enemy contacts appear near my target. I pick up the pace, days of experience running across the sand and rocks are the only thing keeping me from falling. I top a crest, take a second to survey the valley where the skirmish is taking place.

    The lone rebel is posted up behind a formation of rocks. He is engaged in a firefight with a group of troopers. Laser bolts strike the boulders, cascades of liquefied rock and smoldering stone chips explode into the air. He returns fire, scoring a lethal hit on an Earthling.

    One of them is picking his way around the side of the boulders. I line up a shot, the bolt will go completely straight, this should be easy. I manage to fire just as he darts out from behind a rock, it is a near miss. The bastard dives into a small crater, pops his head up over the lip and starts trying to find where the shot came from.

    The lone wolf drains the last of his rifle¡¯s battery. Without missing a beat, he pulls one of his handguns and starts blasting. I work my way down the slope, stopping every few feet to take cover and send a few rounds in the direction of the coward hiding like a little bitch in the crater.

    I reach a spot that is free of boulders. An incoming blast sends me rolling behind the only thing that provides any kind of cover, a slight rise in the ground. The motherfucker in the crater fires a few bursts. The bolts hit my cover, turning sand to glass. I pop up, firing a quick shot. The blast hits a rock that is sitting near the rim of the crater. The superheated stone explodes, spraying the invader with shrapnel. I take advantage of the distraction to perform a headshot.

    The last remaining enemy charges the wolf, he empties the pistol into the asshole¡¯s chest as he rounds the boulders. The dipshit stumbles away as his suit¡¯s armored plate melts, the molten metal running down his pants and onto the red sand.

    My teammate is reloading his weapons. I walk over to him, praying that this isn¡¯t another waste of time. He finishes popping a fresh energy mag into his rifle, turns to face me as I close in. Our suits have those big old visors, I can see his smile as he puts a hand up in greeting.

    There he is. That is his face under the helmet, that warm, friendly face, a face that a politician shouldn¡¯t have. Maybe it isn¡¯t his real face. Maybe his real face is a caricature of a used car salesman. A lot of leaders wear a false face, many choosing to look like movie stars or models. But not him, he¡¯s just some guy.

    I tune into his frequency, ¡°Senator Smith?¡±

    Instead of looking annoyed, his face brightens, ¡°Yes.¡±

    I force the words out of my mouth, ¡°I have an offer for you. Someone wants to trade the girl for access to the Grotto.¡±

    There is a long pause as it sinks in. Maybe he had forgotten about it; maybe he thought that the problem had worked itself out. Either way, I stand there for a while watching him slowly come out of the fantasy.

    He speaks at last, ¡°So, this is the price that I pay for my indiscretion,¡± his words aren¡¯t angry, more like, resigned.

    ¡°No one will even know that it was you.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t that. Yes, earning the ire of that place¡¯s members is very bad, maybe even dangerous. But it is more about the failure, I should be better than this.¡±

    ¡°You are better than most. You are a human being, everyone makes mistakes,¡± these reassuring words come out of my mouth automatically.

    We get a message from one of our teammates, a sniper that is camped out in a group of hills that over look the battlefield, ¡°Hey, the two dumbasses that are standing around need¡­¡± he is cut off when the two of us simultaneously mute him.

    The senator walks to the other side of the boulders. He looks around at the dead, ¡°What is the sum of human history? It is rivers of blood. No matter how far we go, no matter where we end up, we can¡¯t seem to escape it,¡± I feel bad for him. Charismatic populists are a long dead breed, they made sure of that. He could have gone so far, ¡°There are two different versions of how the war went. There is the Martian version, in which we committed countless war crimes and they were completely justified in declaring independence. Then there is our version, in which they committed countless war crimes and we were in the right to punish a wayward colony. And there is a theoretical third version that non-biased historians could make. That version would probably lie somewhere in the middle and actually resemble the truth. But there will never be such a history, because it would please no one and only cause problems.¡±

    I can feel it again, that agonizing regret, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t want to do this.¡±

    ¡°Then don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t as simple as that and you know it.¡±

    ¡°I guess that you are right,¡± I get a message from my IC, he has sent me the access codes, ¡°You won¡¯t find what you are looking for. That place isn¡¯t anything like what the rumors say.¡±

    ¡°Nothing ever lives up to the rumors.¡±

    My IC gives me a notification, ¡°You have left the game.¡±

 Chapter 21: Rude Awakening

    I come out of VR hearing the sound of laser fire and screaming. This confuses me for a few seconds, the simulation didn¡¯t have sounds. Then it occurs to me that I¡¯m not even in the VR game anymore. There is no sign of Ashley.

    I jump up, rip the revolver out of its holster. I step through the curtain barrel first. Smoldering corpses litter the floor. Craters have been melted into the walls; stray bullets have left their marks on every surface. A thin haze of smoke hangs in the air.

    There is the sound of another laser blast, followed by sporadic gunfire. I move in that direction, aiming down the iron sights, eyes peeled for pale flesh and shiny black claws. A shadowy figure stumbles out of the smoke. I hold my fire, as it is humanoid.

    The mysterious figure reaches me, it is an Untouchable. The first thing that I notice is that he is missing an arm, blood pores out of the end of the stump, the man is struggling to catch his breath. I holster my weapon, grab the man and haul him back toward the partition.

    I sit him down in one of the rooms and start feeling my way along the outer wall of the partition. After what feels like a long time, I find the medkit that I had noticed earlier. I get back to the room, tear the kit open, dumping its contents onto the bed. I shift through the bandages and other supplies, searching for the tourniquet. The sound of gunfire and death hustles me along.

    The man had been staring in shock at the particle board wall. Now he looks over at me, ¡°That thing is going after Jill.¡±

    ¡°Ya, I know,¡± I say, as I slip the tourniquet into place. I take a few extra seconds to make sure that the bleeding has stopped. ¡°Where?¡± I ask my patient.

    ¡°By the routers, but he moves so fast, he could be anywhere.¡±

    I exit the room, weapon at the ready. The sounds of a barrage of laser fire guides me toward the far side of the room. The smoke has started to dissipate a little. I see bolts of energy coming from behind a sturdy pillar. As I close in, I see that terrible head peak out from behind the support, it moves around as he locks onto a target. He is holding onto the column, pushed flat against it so that it provides cover from the guns of the Untouchables.

    My shot goes through one of the countless eyes. The impact jerks the head backward. But it quickly recovers, tracking toward me. I take off running, bolts hit behind me. Then they strike around me as Go?tia adjusts his aim.

    I leap over a table that has paper pamphlets stacked up on it. A blast hits the pile, sending flaming leaflets flying. I land on the other side, tripping over an old, busted up printer that had been left lying there. I fall, throwing out my arms to soften my landing. Go?tia crawls to the other side of the pillar so that he can stay locked onto me.

    Ashley steps into view. Her mechanical arms have opened up. The right one is pointed at the creature. Something glows white hot as it is ejected from the barrel, it hits with the force of a charging bull, tearing the abomination off of the pillar. He lands out of sight.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    I pick myself up. A message comes in on my IC, it is from Ashley, ¡°Thanks for drawing him out.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Where is Jill?¡±

    ¡°Good question.¡±

    In frustration I send her a picture of a very rude hand gesture. We meet up near the pillar, there is no sign of him. Ashley switches arms, keeping a different weapon at the ready. Several Untouchables move in to help us, I tell them about the armored section in his body.

    ¡°How could something that big just disappear?¡± one of them says in astonishment.

    Mason steps out from behind cover, a pistol in hand, ¡°Don¡¯t get flustered,¡± he looks toward me, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you warn us about him?¡±

    ¡°I have had to escape him, along with tactical teams, ninja commandos, and demon gangsters.¡±

    ¡°Demons?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ask. Let¡¯s just find Jill.¡±

    A woman screams. Our eyes shoot to an area that is clearly being used for storage. She comes running out from behind the stacks of boxes, the thing hot on her heels. She turns around, sees that he is closing in. It moves in a strange, almost liquid manner, intentionally putting her between us and him. Before we can tell her to get going or move out of the way, he has reached her.

    The tail stabs at Jill, a spike pops out of the tip. She hops backward, narrowly avoiding the point. Go?tia tries again, this time the spike sticks her in the shoulder. It must be armed with some kind of toxin, because she almost instantly passes out. A few of us take aim. Go?tia hunkers down low, making it impossible for us to shoot without the risk of hitting her.

    The tail wraps around Jill. He leaps forward, the girl still held in place. The fiend lands claws first on one of the Untouchables, gleaming black metal razors rip his flesh apart with zero effort. None of us shoots, for fear of hitting the poor man. By the time he has landed, Go?tia has rended the man to pieces. He shows no hesitation as he crawls toward the door, moving with horrifying speed, keeping Jill positioned so that we can¡¯t fire. He reaches the exit, we are left standing their in shock.

    Damn it. I should have stayed inside. He thought that I was working with Mason. He knew that this is an area that is frequented by Untouchables. He was probably patrolling around Zachariah street, spotted me when I stepped out to get food.

    I take stock of the situation. The wounded are being attended to, fires are being put out. Mason is stooped down over what is left of the man that was torn to pieces by the bounty hunter. He is staring at the bloody remains, this was one of his people, a friend and a comrade.

    I walk over to him as I reload, ¡°I have the access codes to the Grotto. But you won¡¯t get them until we have Jill.¡±

    A series of looks cross his face as he realizes how close he is, considers what he will have to do, questions if it is still worth it, and ultimately decides that it is. He sends a message to everyones¡¯ ICs, telling them to get armed and ready to move out.

    Toni limps over to us, the slash mark in her thigh is bleeding through the hastily applied bandage. Mason waves her over to a chair and inspects the wound. He undoes the dressing, electing to redo it completely. She protests at first, but gives in.

    Mason completes the task. He stands up and gestures for me and Ashley to follow him, saying that he is heading for the armory. Toni calls out to us as we walk away, ¡°He will take her to the Burab¨­ detainment facility on North 419<sup>th</sup> Street.¡±

    His response is as much him talking to himself as asking us for advice, ¡°How the hell are we going to get into that place.¡±

    It is a good question. The detainment center is as secure as any prison. They keep runners there, along with criminals that the state pays them to keep behind bars.

    Ashley has clearly been researching the facility using her IC, ¡°We would need an army to break into there,¡± she says in frustration.

    She¡¯s right. We would need more firepower than the D¨¦lta Corp tactical team that attacked the doctor¡¯s lab. And then it hits me. ¡°Wait. Ashley, you are a genius!¡± I yell out, startling everyone.

 Chapter 22: Assault on Detainment Center A13-9E

    The golden light, and the vivid pinks and oranges of the dawn sky are hidden behind the city¡¯s buildings, just like every other morning. But unlike most mornings, this time I can see it. Even if it is through the optic systems of a spider drone.

    They call it a spider, but it only has half of the required number of legs. It also lacks fangs, or any other weapon. And its eyes are in the wrong places and configurations. The little machine is nothing more than a mobile surveillance system. Its current target is the Burab¨­ detainment facility; its current position is on top of a neighboring tower.

    On the outside it looks no different than any other skyscraper. On the inside it is a carefully planned network of cell blocks, rehabilitation centers, and support facilities. The building handles runaway indentured servants, delinquent debtors, and those that have stolen from the company. It even houses law violators for the government, for a fee of course.

    Other people are watching through the spider¡¯s eyes. One of them uses our ICs¡¯ to highlight a vehicle, which has veered out of a nearby lane of sky traffic. The craft is larger, clearly designed to transport passengers. Smoke trails behind it, but if you look closely, you will notice that it isn¡¯t coming out of the engines. The craft makes a beeline for the prison.

    The voice of Mason in my head, an IC induced hallucination from his mind to ours, ¡°This is it, get ready.¡±

    The transport nears the facility, the pilot makes a show out of pulling away at the last instant. The vehicle moves along the side of the building, as if it is on the verge of crashing into it. A keen observer will take note of the fact that one of the craft¡¯s doors is open. Blobs of distortion jump out of the doorway, landing on ledges and outcroppings. The craft clears the skyscraper, starts rapidly descending. It quickly disappears behind other structures, leaving only a trail of smoke.

    Someone on street level sends out a live stream from their eyes. A convoy of armored vehicles is approaching the prison. They are painted black, sport golden Fleur-de-lis insignia where the emblems of the military would normally be. Charles Faur¨¦ has arrived.

    On top of the lead tank there is something very strange. A red skinned demoness, dressed in a jet-black military dress uniform, complete with jack boots and a short skirt is issuing orders. Half of her face is the chrome sheen of a composite alloy skeleton. Baara, that woman from the unfortunate incident at the club. She¡¯s leading a combat unit, looking for revenge. Her remaining eye burns with rage, her mouth frozen in an evil sneer.

    The battle group parks in front of the building¡¯s front entrance. APCs disgorge squads of combat drones, which sport limbs made out of synthetic muscle. They move up the gently sloping, tiered staircase, moving to take cover behind concrete planters and vehicle barriers. The machines and their human commanders mean to storm the building. Tanks lay down a hail of fire, covering the elegantly designed robots.

    Burab¨­ troops exit the building, ready to meet the threat. The drones are the same model as the ones that chased me in the resort. Instead of a hard-plastic shell this version has full metal armor plating, which is painted OD green. They carry battle rifles, LMGs, and grenade launchers.

    I switch back to the view of the roof, windows have been broken out. How long can Burab¨­ survive while fighting on two fronts? Who will get to Jill first?  I move my awareness back to the battle at the main entrance. The attackers are already getting an advantage, they will be inside the building soon. How long will Burab¨­ be able to hold the lobby?

    ¡°Looks like D¨¦lta Corp is going to try to get in on the other side,¡± another lookout declares. I switch to his view. Sure enough, a group of red and black combat utility vehicles are moving in fast, aiming for an entrance that is meant for supply trucks. The vehicles have gun turrets and room for several troopers. The trucks reach the building, the massive blast door opens, and they race inside.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± the lookout proclaims.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Ashley gives her opinion, ¡°D¨¦lta must have made an agreement with Burab¨­. We need to get down there and intercept those trucks when they exit the building.¡±

    Mason gives his orders, ¡°Take us down. Get into position over the door. Everyone watch your fire, she will be in one of those vehicles.¡±

    I pop my awareness back into my body, taking a few seconds to get reoriented. Now I am seeing through my own eyes. The interior of the flying truck is strange. Its basic setup probably isn¡¯t too different from the inside of the vehicle that the Ascended commandos used to get into the building. There are rows of seats with sturdy restraints, along with racks for equipment and weapons. But instead of the uniformity and efficiency of a purpose-built assault craft, the Untouchables have a jerry-rigged monstrosity. No two seats are identical, and only a few bare any resemblance to the ones that would be found on a military troop transport.

    I am pushed against my seat, which is fashioned from an old lawn chair, as the craft descends. After a few tense minutes of dodging billboards and other obstructions we reach the doorway. And just in time too, as it is opening back up again; they must have had her ready to go.

    Untouchables get to their feet, shuffle nervously to our flying cargo hauler¡¯s doorway. A few jump out, landing on the first D¨¦lta vehicle as it exits the building. A few more leap onto the next truck. Then our makeshift assault craft shakes violently, veers wildly away from the building.

    ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± I announce, readying my weapon.

    There is the sound of a twin laser blast, one of the engines explodes. The vehicle is now completely out of control, locked into a tailspin. Ashley is thrown into me, I do my best to stay standing, but I lose my footing.

    He comes in through the open door. There is a whirlwind of metallic claws, blood splashes against the walls and roof of the compartment. I try to get a bead on him, but he is moving too fast, there are too many friendlies in my line of fire, the craft is rocking around too much. Before I know it, the tail lashes out and I am back on the floor.

    The vehicle straightens out, gains a little bit of altitude. Ashley regains her footing. Her left arm opens, there is a bright muzzle flash and a deafening sound. The flechette shotgun¡¯s bladed spikes rip open the flesh, before pinging off of the armored casing. I shove my gun into the gaping hole, putting the tip of the barrel against the metal shell. I fan the revolver directly into it.

    There is a long, horrific shriek, which passes through several different pitches as it plays out. Red blood leaks out of the shell, mixing with the green of the artificial frame. Mason, myself, and several others heft the limp, snakelike body. We hurl it out the door, it plummets to the ground; landing hard on the street below, green blood, shattered bone, and broken cybernetics explode out of it.

    ¡°Is he dead?¡± Ashley shouts.

    ¡°He fucking better be,¡± I reply.

    Mason asks for a report on where the target is. ¡°This is Toni. I got a quad rotor following them. Our guys took out the turrets, but they have all been shaken off!¡± the wounded soldier is back at base, helping us the only way that she can.

    Mason sounds determined, ¡°Pilot, get us to that convoy.¡±

    The pilot acknowledges the order. Toni has more to say, ¡°Wait, there¡¯s a problem.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Looks like Charles Faur¨¦ wasn¡¯t completely focused on that side of the prison. One of their combat vehicles is closing in on the D¨¦lta Corp trucks.¡±

    There is a small traffic jam at a light. The D¨¦lta Corp trucks are forced to stop. The APC runs up onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians dive out of the way, as the vehicle bashes its way through benches and trash bins. It makes a sharp turn, blocking the path of the convoy. D¨¦lta corp agents, decked out in tactical gear, have already started exiting their vehicles. Drone troopers bolt out of the APC¡¯s rear hatch way. The two sides start exchanging fire.

    Our craft passes over the battlefield. We see her, she is being man handled by a D¨¦lta goon. He is forced to maneuver her behind one of the trucks, as enemy drones drop several of his comrades. A wounded D¨¦lta trooper hurls a grenade, taking out several of the infantry drones, before collapsing.

    We land behind the jet-black APC, everyone piles out, rushing toward the convoy. Mason gives his people some encouragement, ¡°They have almost wiped each other out. Move in and get her.¡±

    A long muzzle flash lights up the interior of the APC, Baara is grinning like a maniac as she opens fire on us. Several of our soldiers fall, the rest dive behind anything that looks like it could provide protection from the hail of gunfire. A round hits me in the stomach, knocking me down.

    I lie there, consumed by agony, helpless as Baara walks forward, spraying at anything that moves. She is firing a light machinegun, the kind that military units use to lay down covering fire for advancing soldiers. The weapon hangs from the sling on her shoulder, spend casings are ejected in long streams of gold with every burst. Someone takes a shot, scores a hit on her side. The lady demon stumbles, quickly recovers; she ignores the damage, puts a burst into the offending target.

    Ashley readies her hidden weapon, Baara sees the mechanism unfolding. The she-devil walks a trail of bullets up one of her legs, into her torso, and all the way to her neck.

 Chapter 23: Fallen Angels

    I flip over onto my stomach, start crawling toward her, leaving a snail trail of blood as I go. I had always heard that a belly wound is the most painful, but I had no idea. I have to push past the pain, have to get to her. Where is my gun? This pain, how do I shut out this pain? I need to think straight, how do I shut it off? Where is my gun?

    I hear Mason shout taunts at the succubus. She answers with a long burst of machinegun fire. He is hiding behind the engine block of a car; the rounds punch through the soft shell but go no further.

    I reach Ashley. It is bad, she is breathing heavily, staring up at the clouds. The white of her uniform is rapidly turning red. I start inspecting the wounds, before remembering that I don¡¯t have any medical supplies on me. Maybe one of the Untouchables has some, or maybe we can grab some off of one of the dead D¨¦lta agents. I will my IC to summon emergency services, the system reports that they are sending a tactical unit to deal with reports of a shootout in the vicinity, paramedics will be deployed when the area is secured. She will be long dead by then.

    Baara sends another burst toward Mason and the surviving Untouchables, it sounds like it is closer this time. I slowly, painfully turn over onto my back. Sure enough, she is walking over to us. ¡°I hate to kill one of my own, but she shouldn¡¯t have been here,¡± she points the barrel of her machinegun at my face, ¡°You on the other hand¡­¡±

    The sound of engines are heard overhead. The succubus looks up, confused. The Ascended¡¯s assault craft is bearing down on us. A hidden chain gun spins up as it is lowered out of the hull. There is a loud burp sound as the Gatling gun fires. The demoness is ripped apart in a blur of warped metal and a mist of blood.

    Everyone that is still on their feet dives to the ground. The gun is discharged several more times as the craft swoops in. It stops, hovering a few feet off of the ground. The rear hatch opens, several motorcycles speed down the ramp and maneuver around the bodies. The riders are wearing the armor of the Ascended¡¯s militia. They reach the goon that is holding Jill hostage. He tries to surrender, one of them casually pulls his sidearm and shoots him in the head. He covers the other rider while he grabs Jill.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The motorcycles zoom away, the gunship staying over them. They got her.

    I focus back on Ashley. Her clothes are completely soaked in blood; crimson runs away from her in thick streams. Her breathes are still labored, she turns her head slightly in my direction, ¡°Promise me that you¡¯ll save her.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°And, and find someone to take care of my dog.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to do that. You will see him soon. I will bring¡­¡± I trail off. Her chest has stopped moving, there is nothing behind her eyes anymore.

    I look around frantically, as if anyone could do anything. Mason surveys the battlefield, searching for wounded. There aren¡¯t many people left in his group; I can see it on his face, he knows that he has failed.

    I lie there, the pain in my belly comes in waves. It is dulled by what is going through my head. Ashley is gone. A thousand fun days and nights sit there dead and rotted out. All joy is behind me. Why did I push her away?

    I am dimly aware that I am being picked up and carried. The world becomes distant, as I am hauled into the transport and someone applies an anesthetic and an antiseptic, patches up the hole in my stomach.

    An alert comes in, Alpha has kicked me out. That¡¯s it, that¡¯s the last one. Now I¡¯m one of the Untouchables.

    And then I see it through the haze of my despair. I can finally identify that thing that I perceived on Zachariah street, that thing that really makes Untouchables different from everyone else.

    It¡¯s the calm. They aren¡¯t anxious, aren¡¯t scared. The Untouchables don¡¯t have to answer to anyone, don¡¯t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, having the wrong opinion. They have been exiled and in many ways that is their salvation.

    I reflexively try to check the news, take my mind off of things. But of course, I can¡¯t access any of it. I am blind, but when I think about it, maybe it is for the best. After all, it is all insidious fabrications and clever distortions. Maybe it is better to know nothing and be free of the lies. Besides, I already know what each and every one of them will say. I can predict how they will frame the battle back there on the road; I know who each one of them will blame for the violence.

    I just wish that she could have felt this.

    Mason walks over to me, ¡°We have decided that we will try to get her,¡± he hangs his head, ¡°Even if there are only a handful of us left.¡±

    I don¡¯t answer. He hands me my Stallion, which he must have picked up before we left. I feel its weight, examine its finish. I have to do this, I promised her.

    ¡°Toni says that they took her to their headquarters. I know that you two were close, I know that it hurts, but we need you,¡± he gives me a few seconds, I still don¡¯t answer, ¡°Well, are you with us?¡±

    ¡°Ya. Just give me a few minutes to make some arrangements,¡± I send out a message, ¡°Anthony, I need your help.¡±

 Chapter 24: The Truth

    The Church of the Ascended¡¯s local headquarters is much like their other buildings, a monolithic structure that conjures up visions of a past that likely never happened. These features are combined with elements that suggest a future that I pray will never happen.

    Echo Industries made combat drones surround the building. Robed figures roam the area, their garments covered in the Church¡¯s symbols. There are cameras everywhere. Of all the places that they could have taken her, this one is as secure as any.

    I am glad that I insisted that me and Mason spend at least a few minutes walking around in the robes before we started making our way toward the HQ. The garments are strange, and it take some getting used to. We wouldn¡¯t want either of us giving ourselves away by failing to look like we are supposed to be there.

    I look at Anthony, ¡°Are you sure about this? You don¡¯t have to do this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure. Anything for a friend.¡±

    I turn to Mason, ¡°You will have a place with Mason¡¯s crew, right?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he says, looking distracted, probably thinking that he doesn¡¯t have much of a crew left. He is holding a duffel bag, which contains our contingency plan. Its just the three of us, each hiding a small arsenal under our robes. But our objective isn¡¯t combat, Anthony thinks that he can quietly get us in and out. I have my doubts, but it is the best shot that we have.

    The anesthetic is starting to wear off. I begin to fear that the pain will hinder me.

    We reach the perimeter, Anthony moves his hood back and waves to the drone commander. He nods his helmeted head at him, and we are inside the building.

    The walk across the lobby feels like it takes a solid week; the wait for an elevator feels like it is twice that time. ¡°Are you sure that he will keep her in his office?¡± I ask as we ride up to the top floor.

    ¡°Yes, I was his assistant for a while, he always keeps important things close.¡±

    ¡°Smart man,¡± Mason quips.

    The elevator reaches its destination. We exit it, finding ourselves in a lavish office. The floors are immaculately polished tile, set in intricate patterns. Magnificent banners flank a set of doors that sit opposite a massive window. This window has a view that would throw the heads of major corporations into a jealous rage. A gigantic bookshelf lines one wall, its presence feels haughty, like the owner wanted to show off the fact that he possessed and read old style books. Two guards clad in an ornate version of the militia¡¯s armor and holding rifles at port arms are standing on the other side of the room. And there¡¯s Jill, sitting on a chair in one corner; her arms restrained, a defiant look still on her face.

    The guards bring their weapons to the present arms position, a clear threat.

    Anthony throws his hands up, gesturing for them to calm down, ¡°Woah, guys! We¡¯re just here to help the Aryaleiter with something.¡±

    The one on the left speaks, ¡°No one told us anything about it. I will contact¡­¡±

    Predicting how he will finish the sentence, Mason draws his SMG, me and Anthony follow suit. The guards react, raising their weapons to the firing position. Mason is too fast for all four of us. The silencer on his weapon turns the already weak sounding shots into whispers, the damn thing probably costs three times the price of the weapon itself. He puts a burst right into their necks, one after the other, right in the spot where the armored plate gives way to flexible material.

    The two men crumble to the ground, too busy clawing at their jugulars to shoot. ¡°Damn, that was some great shooting, are you really some kind of android?¡± I jokingly ask Mason.

    One corner of his mouth raises for a second, ¡°Ya, a heavily upgraded sex bot.¡±

    I see the distortion as a commando makes a move toward him. I shout a warning as I level my carbine. Another blur appears, this one thinner, moving horizontally as a commando smacks my weapon away. I lose my balance, fall, my stomach wound opens up, the staples popping out like some horrific parody of a gag where a shirt¡¯s buttons explode off after the wearer has eaten a big meal.

    Mason is struggling with the blur, keeping an invisible katana at bay. He lets off a burst from his submachine gun, walking rounds up a wall, failing to get the unseen enemy. Anthony has raised his shotgun but is unable to open fire without hitting a friendly. I ignore the pain, try not to think about the bleeding as I lift the carbine up. A distorted swipe fills the air, half of the barrel falls away, clanking on the tiles.

    I start scurrying backward, struggling to draw my revolver. The thing draws closer, keeping low, foiling Anthony¡¯s attempts to line up a shot. My pathetic retreat is brought to a halt when I run into something. I look over my shoulder, seeing a pedestal, one of many decorations that adorn the room. The thing that sits on the podium is a globe, but not of any planet that I recognize. This world is trapped inside of some kind of bladed cage. I try to pop up onto my feet, but my wound keeps me on the floor.

    The inner doors open, a strange being enters the room, stopping dead in his tracks. Beyond the doors I can see an empty room, which looks like an office or study.

    Mason uses the distraction to let go of his opponent¡¯s sword. He reaches for his LBV, grabs a massive hunting knife. Using pure guess work, he finds a weak spot in the commando¡¯s armor, jams it into a vital organ.

    I get a message from Anthony, it is a crude, rapidly thought up image of me using the pedestal for cover. I scramble behind the platform, praying that the stone is strong enough. I close my eyes, hear three shotgun blasts in quick succession. I slowly stand up, seeing a shimmering form on the ground, the blood that is already pooling causing the invisibility system to fail.

    I slowly work my way to my feet. We turn to face the being that has just entered the room.

    He is completely hairless, except for a set of thin eyebrows. Ornate robes cover his thin frame and porcelain skin, the flesh is so white that it is totally unnatural. Almost androgynous, only his voice and a few scant physical features give away his gender. His eyes are blacked out, no whites or irises at all, but if you can bring yourself to stare into them you will quickly notice that little flics of purple swirl around in them. External cybernetics adorn his pale skin. This is the Church¡¯s vision of the new human, the next step in evolution; the future of our species, made in the image of their psychonaut founder.

    If you have seen a few of them, you can look past the standardized features and identify the individual. I recognize Aryaleiter Mamuna from my time in the Echo systems. He is a powerful figure in the Church. His look of annoyance at the noise turns into one of distress, as he realizes what is going on. Then a look of anger and confusion crosses his almost genderless face, we can tell that it is because he can¡¯t seem to call for help using his IC. Mason holds the bag up and grins, ¡°Jammer. Very expensive, but worth the investment,¡± the idea had come to us when Anthony had asked why Jill wasn¡¯t talking to us on her IC.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Mamuna looks at Anthony, ¡°We bring you in, help your wayward soul, and this is how you repay us? I am disappointed in you, Morningstar. I suppose that you no longer wish to be called by that name, even if it is your true name.¡±

    ¡°You took me in, you helped me when I was lost. But you always charged me for it, expected money, loyalty, compliance.¡±

    ¡°You have no idea what you are talking about. Without us you are lost and alone.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the way that it always is, I have to join up and be a good boy. If I fail to do so I am the worst of the worst, and hopelessly doomed. I¡¯m not playing that game anymore.¡±

    ¡°You will be exiled. I will call in favors, I will make sure that none of the other companies have anything to do with you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t care? You will care when you are on the street!¡±

    ¡°Fuck you. I don¡¯t care what you think anymore,¡± I see in his eyes that same joyous freedom, and I am happy for him.

    While he is confronting his former master I free Jill. We are ready to go, but first there is one more thing that I need to take care of. I can feel that the blood has soaked my shirt, I ignore the pain as I address Mamuna, ¡°Tell me, what is so important about getting her? Is blackmailing Smith really worth all of this madness?¡±

    Mamuna takes a second to gather his thoughts, ¡°He was drunk and horny. He is not a perfect person, even if they make it look like he is.

    ¡°He was drunk, so drunk that he didn¡¯t realize that he had stumbled into the wrong place to get his¡­release. Alpha pretends to be family friendly, but even they have loosely associated subsidiaries that deal in vices. He didn¡¯t realize until a few days later when he looked at his bank account and saw the fine for using a non-Alpha business. He panicked, what if Burab¨­ figured out what had happened and outed him? Or much worse, what if they blackmailed him?

    ¡°He told an assistant to deal with it. The lacky couldn¡¯t find the girl, she had been transferred to another place. His assistant chose money over loyalty. He sold information about the scandal to an Untouchable. But the assistant betrayed him as well, he also sold it to D¨¦lta and Echo.

    ¡°Burab¨­ just wanted their debtor back. Alpha Prime wanted her so that they could keep her quiet. Charles Faur¨¦ wanted her because everybody else did. Burab¨­ got her back, thanks to that bounty hunter. Then they gave Ms. Winters to D¨¦lta Corp, in exchange for the promise to make the Liberty Party more focused on anti-drug activism.¡±

    ¡°But why do you and D¨¦lta want her so bad? Is controlling Smith really worth a radical change in policy? Hell, people obsess over the office of the president. Yes, it is a powerful position, but it has a lot of restrictions on it. It¡¯s not like he can just wave his hand and make magic happen. The heads of the megacorporations and groups like the ASC are much more powerful.¡±

    ¡°Our aim isn¡¯t to control a president. That would be too short sighted, and as you said, there are too many restrictions in place. Our aim is to take control of the entire government.¡±

    ¡°You want to launch a coup?¡±

    He casually walks over to the colossal bookshelf, examines the spines of the tomes as he speaks, ¡°There is a war going on, or maybe it would sound less irrational to call it a conflict. What do people do in a conflict? They try to win, of course. How do they win? It depends on the nature of the conflict, but generally, it is because they gained a significate, if not massive advantage. How do they gain this advantage? Again, it depends on the nature of the conflict, but generally, they get an edge by securing more resources than their opponent.¡±

    ¡°An amateur studies tactics, a professional studies logistics,¡± I cite the oft quoted line.

    ¡°Exactly. While tactics are very valuable, and can greatly help to win a war, they take a backseat next to things like supply chains and standardization.¡±

    ¡°This is all true, but what in the fuck does it have to do with anything?¡±

    ¡°It is simple. The government is a resource.¡±

    ¡°The government is, at best, a corrupt mess. At worst, it is a racket, one that is backed up by the force of law.¡±

    ¡°You understand the basics. The government has the power to force people to do things, and it has the power to tax. All of it backed up by a massive police force and a professional military. The state can take a person¡¯s money and force them to act a certain way, regardless of their corporate loyalty.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m following.¡±

    ¡°The government is a resource, just like any factory or asteroid. People don¡¯t see it that way, they see it as either an institution that maintains order or they see the laws and taxes as a burden. What they fail to realize is that it is possible to take control of the government. There is a system in place which allows entities to give donations to politicians, effectively creating a legal and systematic form of bribery.¡±

    ¡°None of this is new, it has been the norm for a long time now. That was how they did it in the United States of America. It was one of the reasons why they became a failed nation.¡±

    ¡°You are a student of history, good. The five corporations and the institutions that control them are locked in a conflict. Sometimes they team up, other times they stab each other in the back. They take a variety of actions, make different moves, all in the name of winning.¡±

    ¡°The propaganda and the businesses, they need people and cash.¡±

    ¡°Precisely. To them, it is all about profit and furthering their agenda. They sell products to make profit, they want to grow and increase their power. As I said before, the government is just another resource to fight over. It is simple to understand, but it requires the acceptance of hard truths.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°We want to use the power of the government to help people take the next step in evolution. D¨¦lta Corp and the pro-Mars faction of the Liberty Party want to use the power of the government to send tax money to the red planet.¡±

    ¡°So what? Are these two goals incompatible?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the cost of our ascension will be high. Cybernetic and biological parts for the whole species, it will be very expensive, and there is only so much money in the government¡¯s coffers.¡±

    ¡°So, this whole thing has been about controlling where tax money goes, why am I not surprised? You want the girl so that you can have something to hold over the leadership of the Pee Bees, you will threaten their future president with destruction if they don¡¯t do what you say. You want Alpha Prime to side with you, give you their voters. All so you can make your vision of transhumanism a realty.¡±

    ¡°D¨¦lta had the same goal in mind. They were willing to get their hands dirty to advance their cause. We want to help the human species advance, why would we pass up an opportunity? Why would we let a rival acquire so much power? We had to act.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t maintain control of the Pee bees. Their goals are contrary to yours.¡±

    ¡°Their faith can be subjugated to ours. All we need to do is get their leaders to back us up.¡±

    ¡°Do you really think that it will be that easy?¡±

    ¡°Of course it will. The People of the Book act like they know the truth, but they will twist themselves into knots trying to convince themselves that pleasant lies are fact.¡±

    ¡°But so many of their ideals go against what you believe.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. They have followed contradictory ideals before, they will do it again, and they will do it with a mad belligerence. They pretend to reject all that is worldly, but they will rush to lick the boots of the established order.¡±

    The sad thing is the fact that he is completely right. I don¡¯t know what to say, I am unable to counter him. I elect to smile and point at Jill, ¡°Well, that won¡¯t be happening.¡±

    ¡°I will get the guards,¡± Mamuna turns his back on us, heading toward the door.

    Anthony steps forward, hits him in the back of the head with the buttstock of his shotgun. He falls to the ground, lies there, just staring off into space.

    Jill looks horrified, ¡°You killed him!¡±

    ¡°No. There is a known flaw in the DMT emitter, a sharp blow like that can cause it to leak uncontrollably.  The Church is so dogmatic that they never modified the design to fix the problem. He will be fine, he will spend the next few days going on a psychedelic journey.¡±

    Mason looks at the limp form splayed out on the floor, ¡°We should kill him.¡±

    ¡°We probably should. But let¡¯s just get out of here.¡±

    By the time that the elevator reaches the ground floor I am struggling to stay standing. By the time we reach the car they have to help me into it.

    Mason tries to reassure me, ¡°I will take you to our little back up place. Just sit there, I will get someone to patch you up.¡±

    ¡°No, we are going to the Grotto.¡±

    ¡°Now?¡±

    ¡°Yes, now. They could change the access codes at any minute.¡±

 Chapter 25: The End

    The water is crystal clear, light from the torches that are mounted on the walls of the cavern dances on the surface. The sounds of splashing water, giggling, and moans bounce around the cave. I can see a full moon shining through a hole in the roof, when it quiets down, I can hear a soft ocean breeze.

    All around me clusters of people engage in sex acts, often involving as many as six participants. Bodies are mounted from every possible position, often by two or more people. Most of them have the face of some captain of industry or other leader. It feels like it is some perverted parody, like a clever and knowledgeable person could decipher subversive meanings out of who was fucking who. There are also A.I. driven simulations, NPCs that help to add variety.

    A female banker is lying on her back, legs spread; a male that is a big-time lawyer railing her, while a female that runs a cybernetics firm rides her face. Two males that head drone manufacturers double team a female NPC, one using her mouth the other taking the rear; another male, this one also involved in drone construction is close by, he is porking a male NPC.

    Me and Mason swim around awkwardly. I have been to more than a few orgies, but never one where I felt out of place. Maybe it is because this is all fake, or maybe it is because everyone here is wealthy beyond belief.

    The heads of Phobos Arms and Mitra Arsenal are leaned up against a rock, unseen figures are floating under the water, pleasuring them. The woman from Phobos has her eyes closed, focused on the sensations, ¡°I¡¯m telling you,¡± she says, her voice effected by the efforts of the A.I., ¡°If we combine our money, we got to outbid C&C. We gotta get that bastard on our side, we don¡¯t have enough loyal senators between us to risk it.¡±

    The man from Mitra must have cum, because his NPC swims away. He speaks in a contented voice, ¡°Those new asteroid mining safety regs will cost both of our companies a fortune, which is probably why C&C is pushing for them. But the problem is we will look like we are cutting corners to save costs.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like someone needs to do an information campaign highlighting the dangers of the Model 43 and its tendency to explode.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll send a message to CFN first thing in the morning.¡±

    We casually swim past. The woman from Phobos Arms sucks her breath in sharply, kicks a foot involuntarily. Her A.I. starts to swim away, she pulls it back.

    Mason whispers to me, frustration in his voice, ¡°They are just sitting there talking and partying.¡±

    ¡°Two of them did just make a deal.¡±

    ¡°A minor deal.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just another good old boy system,¡± I say with contempt, before jumping back into the real world. The pain hits the second I come back, I need to get my IC modified so that it tunes that shit down. Anthony has gotten us far away from the scene of the crime. I don¡¯t even see or hear any emergency vehicles, and I have no doubt that someone has found the bodies by now. Jill is looking at me with concern.

    Mason follows me out of the simulation, ¡°But they are enemies, why would they hang out together?¡±

    ¡°They are the non-believers, the hired guns. They only want money, so they tolerate the ideologs. The groups that infiltrated the megacorporations have a different agenda.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    He finishes my thought for me, ¡°Control. They talk about morality, but it is really about control.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. Each group wants control, so they cut deals and stab each other in the back. The fact is that the world is a complex place. But people don¡¯t want to hear that, they want simple explanations. They would rather hear about secret cabals.¡±

    A look of horror walks its way across his face, this is followed by rage, ¡°I lost most of my people for this! For nothing!¡±

    I look at Anthony, ¡°Take me to a hospital.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t, remember.¡±

    I slouch back down in the seat, ¡°Fuck.¡±

    ***

    I lie in the bed that Mason¡¯s people put me in. They have patched me up, now I just need to recover. It is lonely, but I have had visitors.

    Gustav came to see me. He has a much more normal body now, thanked me for helping him work out his issues, whatever that means. He brought Bosco with him, I think that I found a good home for the little pupper.

    Anthony stopped by. He seemed so happy, far happier than I had ever seen him. He is working on providing religious services for Untouchables. Aganok is helping him get settled in. They are making big plans.

    I ask them to bring me Exodus and alcohol. They refuse, saying that I should lay off until I am healed up. I spend most of my time in VR. Anything to get away, anything to help me forget about her.

    ***

    I awaken in the middle of the night. The room is pitch black. The more animalistic parts of my brain are telling me that something is very wrong.

    Mr. Burke steps up to the bed, he seems to tower over me, ¡°You don¡¯t obey instructions very well.¡±

    ¡°I did what you wanted me to,¡± I say, trying not to sound too defensive, desperately wondering where they put my revolver.

    ¡°No, I wanted you to bring Jill Winters to me.¡±

    ¡°I would argue that what you really wanted me to do was stop the balance of power from being thrown out of whack.¡±

    There is a brief pause before he gives his response, ¡°I never said that you had the authority to read between the lines. Keep that fact in mind, next time.¡±

    ¡°Next time? I¡¯m an Untouchable, there can¡¯t be a next time.¡±

    ¡°We have made an investment in you. Do you really think that we would squander that special IC and all of the arrangements that we have made?¡±

    ¡°You can get me back into the megacorps?¡±

    ¡°Not you. That is why we will make a new you, so to speak. You will get a new name, a new identity. The only problem is that you will have to start from scratch.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t I just keep being an Untouchable?¡± I ask half-jokingly.

    ¡°Think of it as restarting an old game that you enjoyed in the past. Or maybe you are more concerned with the control?¡±

    ¡°Something tells me that it is a moot point.¡±

    ¡°You are correct. You will also have to help fund the procedure.¡±

    ¡°With what? I lost all of my money when I lost all of my companies!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, we have something in mind.¡±

    ¡°I bet that you do. What about Ashley? Do you even care that one of your subordinates is dead?¡±

    The G-man turns and starts walking away, a wave of relief washes over me. He stops at the door, ¡°One more thing. I know you, I vetted you, so hear me out. When you go in to get your new identity codes loaded into your IC, tell them to add the capacity to handle simulated intelligences to your augmented reality system.¡±

    ¡°Why the hell would I want to do something like that?¡±

    I swear that I see a tiny smile tug at the corners of his mouth, ¡°I think that you would appreciate some of the things that certain historical figures have to say,¡± with that, he leaves.

    I picture it in my mind, ghosts from the past whispering madness into my brain. Rasputin violating busty peasant girls, a look in his eyes that goes beyond madness, a look that cuts right into your soul. GG Allin beating the audience with the mic stand, totally naked; covered in his own excrement, completely consumed by a need to punish the world. Vlad the Impaler making a gruesome horror show out of desecrating the corpses of his foes, his legacy terrifying entire generations. Jim Morrison serenading about dark, psychedelic journeys to places that don¡¯t exist in our reality. Charles Manson ranting about the failings of society, an acid soaked, beatnik poet of outlaw philosophy.

    I lie there, thinking about all of the wonderous possibilities.

 Appendix A: Organizations and Subcultures

    Kawaiichen

    The group¡¯s name is a combination of the Japanese word Kawaii (cute) and the German ¡®chen¡¯ word form. They are bound together by their love of all things cute, as well as their youthful attitude. They are known to be excitable, bubbly, playful, and energetic.

    The subculture is entirely made up of young women, although some groups will have effeminate male friends that occasionally hang around.

    Their style of dress is focused on being cute and conveying a sense of youthfulness. Garments and accessories are often colorful, pink is common, but excessive use of it is frowned upon. Complete schoolgirl outfits or elements of them are a staple; this applies to both the English and Japanese versions.

    There is a subset of cat girls. Unlike the ones from the Furry community, these ladies generally only have the ears which sit on top of their heads. Some use mechanical ears, these are often removable. Others use organic models, which are created using the woman¡¯s DNA. There are some cat girl Kawaiichen and their admirers that dislike the removable ears, viewing them as being for posers. A few also have tails. There are a number of fox girls.

    As with all subcultures there is a negative stereotype associated with Kawaiichen. Many people see members of the set as just being older women that have gotten young bodies and are desperately trying to relive their lost youth.

    The Church of the Ascended

    Tim Martin was the son of a wealthy businessman. An only child, his early years were spent in luxury, but he described it as lonely. Young Martin spent a surprising amount of time reading. He was sent to college with the mission of earning business and law degrees, with the ultimate aim of beginning his own career. While in school he took a class on world religion, this would give birth to his fascination with spirituality. His father and stepmother would only find out that he had switched his degree to religious studies when they attended his graduation.

    Mr. Martin was livid. He disowned Tim, cutting him off from financial aid. The young prophet wasn¡¯t deterred. He still had money, more than enough for what he had planned. Over the course of a decade he would go on a great journey, a slow pilgrimage across the world. He visited holy sites and met with scholars. He would chronicle his adventures in a non-fiction book, My Journey of Mind, Body, and Soul. The experience, along with his education, would be key in forming his philosophy, his other main influence was LSD.

    Lysergic Acid Diethylamide was discovered in 1938 by Swiss chemist Albert Hofmann. During the early years of the cold war between the United States of America and the USSR the American Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) experimented with the chemical. As a part of their tests the CIA exposed American troops to LSD without their knowledge. In a bizarre attempt to gain the power of mind control the CIA carried out project MK-Ultra. The project would involve torture and sexual abuse, even of children, combined with doses of LSD. This operation would accidently start the counterculture movement of the 1960s. It would only be the first time that the CIA started a drug epidemic in America, the next time it would be intentional.

    Tim Martin became convinced that the use of psychoactive drugs was necessary to obtaining total enlightenment. He experimented with many different kinds of psychoactive substances, including a large amount of LSD. But he would ultimately settle on DMT, as it is naturally generated by the brain for use in dreaming. Martin teamed up with a brain surgent to develop the DMT emitter, an implant that would gather and store the DMT generated by the user¡¯s brain. The substance can then be used at will.

    Having finally run out of money, Martin would spend the next three years going from one house to another. There are several famous incidences associated with this period. The press was scandalized by the fact that he was going around sleeping on people¡¯s couches, and as was often implied, cavorting with happily married women. Another focus was his increasingly strange body modifications.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Why Martin chose to adopt the appearance that he did is a matter of debate. Many people have noted similarities to the Greys, a superseded species of extraterrestrials that have entered into pop culture and the world of conspiracy theories. Others point out the resemblance to occultist Aleister Crowley¡¯s drawing of an entity called Lam. The most likely explanation is the machine elves witnessed by the psychonauts of the past.

    Tim Martin was murdered while alone in the home of his wife to be. He was shot in the back nine times, with no signs of forced entry, a struggle, or an attempt to flee. The killer was never caught, no suspects were ever identified. There was and still is much speculation on who killed the prophet. For many years after there was a stock character of the conspiracy theorist that is obsessed with the Martin case.

    Theories include but are not limited to the following. Martin was assassinated by the government, which was scared of his growing influence. Martin was killed by an ex that was jealous of his newfound love. Martin was assassinated by members of another religion that feared him building a rival faith or for blasphemy. Martin was murdered by an angry spouse. Martin was assassinated by the people that would found the Church so that they could gain power. Martin was killed in a botched robbery that had nothing to do with who he was.

    Martin¡¯s teachings were consolidated into one source, The Book of Spiritual Wisdom and Advancement. Less than a year later The Church of the Ascended was founded. The church was quick to obtain a monopoly, using any available means, on the worship of Martin and the practice of his teachings.

    Under the Church the study of Martin¡¯s life and the implementation of his teachings would be simplified and systemized. A rank structure was established and protocols for ceremonies were created. Several years later Martin¡¯s secret teachings were discovered. The mysteries, as they are known, are only taught to the most dedicated members of the Church.

    The People of the Book

    The group is a combination of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Its name is taken from an ancient Islamic term for those religions that were based around the Old Testament. They are commonly referred to as Pee Bees or PBs. Depending on the person, this designation can be an insult, a term of endearment, an example of belligerent pride, or simply a matter of brevity.

    For a long time, the older faiths had been fearful of where the world was going. Everything about the modern age seemed to be at odds with their worldview. Practitioners were free to learn about and adopt other beliefs. The scandals of religious leaders could no longer be buried.

    Somewhere near the middle of the century the vast majority of Jews, Christians, and Muslims managed to look beyond their differences and past conflicts to focus on the needs at hand, which was fear of atheists and other threats.

    The People of the Book is a support network, an advocacy group, a lobbying organization, and a militia.

    The group recognizes all sects of Christianity, including Roman Catholicism, Nomadic Catholicism, and all branches of Protestantism; Sunni, Shia, and Reform Islam; as well as all forms of Judaism.

    The Anti-shaming Coalition

    The ASC is an organization dedicated to the advancement of people with heavily modified and non-standard bodies. Founded during the early days of body modification and brain transfer technology, it jealously maintains its domination on transhuman advocacy.

    Scholars have noted that several key ASC founders were a part of the Critical Theory movement. A group which was exposed as being a communist ploy to divide society as well as an attempt at correcting Marx¡¯s failed prophecy about a downtrodden class of people revolting against the powers that be and rebuilding civilization. The group¡¯s defenders will point out the fact that in the early days artificial bodies were strange looking, often invoking the Uncanny Valley, and that people who had their original bodies destroyed in accidents or conflicts faced a lot of discrimination.

    The Liberty Party

    The Liberty party came to prominence during a particularly bad crime wave. They introduced legislation to increase the size of the police force, raise prison time for all offences, and build new correction facilities. After receiving a sizable donation and the promise of votes from Burab¨­ Inc the party added an Anti-drug plank to its platform. To this day they still focus on Law and Order, no matter what the level of violent crime is currently at.

    The Freedom Party

    The Freedom party was created to counter a number of laws that were passed by a now defunct party. These laws placed harsh restrictions on people with bizarre bodies as well as hard caps on time spent in virtual reality. The party¡¯s platform is concentrated around a vague idea of social progress. It has added a pro-Mars plank to its platform at the behest of D¨¦lta Corp.

 Appendix B: The Megacorporations

    The New Way

    Sometime around the turn of the century the capitalist part of the world found itself in a situation where a few corporations controlled the vast majority of business. Over the years, mergers, bankruptcies, anti-trust actions, and rebranding changed the names of the megacorporations. But it seems that it is the natural state of things that the economy is whittled down to a handful of companies.

    The modern iteration of this condition is constructed around a piece of legislation. This was the law that would confirm the legality of corporate social credit programs. The new law was passed as a response to a court case that ruled against a corporation that had been sued for implementing one of these programs.

    During a board meeting one CEO would famously answer the objections of his PR head, ¡°This is the new way, get used to it.¡±

    This new way would create an entirely new dynamic between the consumer and the business. In the past, the customer was always right. Now, the company would dictate to the customer what behavior was and wasn¡¯t acceptable. The corporation would act as a kind of secondary government.

    The new way¡¯s defenders would point out that people respond to incentives; they were merely using incentives to help people make positive choices. Corporations had been doing that sort of thing for a long time now, this really wasn¡¯t anything new. And besides, people needed to be controlled, wasn¡¯t it better that a company do it in a soft manner, rather than a government use force?

    The problem with this line of thinking is that each corporation has a different and often completely incompatible worldview. How can they say that they are helping people act right when they can¡¯t agree on how they should go about acting right?

    Regardless of the logic, morality, or practicality of the new way, it is universal. When given the right to implement a system of control the megacorporations took full advantage of the opportunity. Numerus polls and studies have shown that there is a demand for a company that lacks a social credit system; it is estimated that as much as thirty percent of the population would switch to such a service. In spite of this fact, there are currently no exceptions to the new way.

    Alpha Prime

    The origins of this corporation may very well be the strangest out of the bunch. This is especially true when we look at what the business has evolved into.

    A social media star created his own fashion line aimed at male youth, called Young Alpha. This venture was widely mocked when it first launched. It was still mocked when the star reached his thirtieth birthday, but it out of pure jealousy, Young Alpha was now a major clothing manufacture.

    The star cut his detractors off at the pass. A few weeks before his thirtieth he made an announcement, ¡°I may not be so Young anymore, but I¡¯m still an Alpha Prime,¡± this was immediately followed by the news that the corporation had changed its name.

    Over the next few years the company would expand into other areas. The founder would tragically pass away before hitting forty. He was killed while helping to move injured sailors from a damaged navy destroyer onto his private yacht.

    Alpha Prime refused to die with its creator. The company continued to grow until it found itself at the top.

    During the 20s the university system would come close to completely collapsing. A variety of reform initiatives were tried. One such effort was the rejection of Critical Theory aka Social Justice. One major university would go so far as to embrace traditionalism, Alpha Prime would recruit very heavily from this institution. Many of these hires would go on to reach the very top of the company¡¯s ranks.

    The standards of behavior for an Alpha Prime member are traditional and conservative. Homosexuality is strictly forbidden. Masturbation and sex outside of marriage will result in a loss of social credit. Promotion of traditional values and conservative ideals will earn the member social credit. The company is against extreme body modifications. People that were gestated in artificial wombs are forbidden from joining.

    Alpha isn¡¯t tied to any political party. It instructs its members to vote on which ever candidate the board of directors believes will be the lesser of two evils.

    The company¡¯s colors are blue and white, its symbol is a chalice with a capital A engraved on it. Alpha¡¯s currency is the Work Hour Credit, abbreviated as WHC. One WHC is worth two Burab¨­ Tokens. They have forgone complex social credit systems in favor of simply standing levels, which are Bad, Good, and Superb.

    Burab¨­ Incorporated

    Burab¨­ got its start manufacturing military equipment during the Russo-Japanese war. The small company would eke out a living selling one product or another for over a hundred years. It wasn¡¯t until an engineer had a minor accident that Burab¨­ Inc would become a major player.

    It began when the company was switching from manufacturing an outdated product to one that was believed to be the next big thing. The settings on a speaker system were bungled, causing an incredibly annoying sound. On a lark, the engineer rigged up a device on his lunch break that produced the sound with the simple press of a button. Video of him harassing his coworkers with the gadget would go viral, many viewers expressed a desire to have one.

    The official story from Burab¨­ is that the team saw an opportunity and jumped at it, that those innovators spotted a demand and met said demand like true capitalists. Other sources say that they initially offered the item as a joke. Regardless of their intentions, the new product would sell insanely well.

    The profits were used to expand the company. It acquired a major drone manufacture, along with a weapons producer and an asteroid mining firm. They invested in a publishing house, which would land them the unbelievably lucrative Saga of the Stars franchise. From there they continued to grow, until one day they were one of the top companies. But they would end up hitting a major roadblock, one that would change the face of the company.

    Someone noticed a pattern of mysterious deaths, every one of them tied to the use of recreational drugs. A public outcry led to an investigation. It was found that in almost every single case a Burab¨­ product was to blame. It turned out that the company had been cutting corners to save money. The scandal resulted in legal action; the company would lose all rights to manufacture recreational drugs.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    A shareholders meeting was called, they adopted a two-part plan for recovery. Their first step was to set up a special team, its sole purpose was to purge the company¡¯s ranks. The team performed this task with razor sharp efficiency. They found and terminated every corrupt and incompetent leader in the corporation, they even did a brief audit of every single worker. Some sources of trouble were so deeply entrenched that it was easier to terminate them in an entirely different way. The special team completed its task by picking the new personnel that would form the skeleton of the rebuilt corporation. Then the team was given their reward, a hefty retirement package. It was hoped that this would keep them from making too many appointments based on nepotism.

    The new president, Mr. Takahiro, was chosen for his masterful sense of innovation. He was immediately faced with the fallout of the scandal, which he parsed down to two main issues. One: a PR nightmare. Two: Burab¨­ could no longer manufacture drugs, while the other companies could, putting them at a disadvantage.

    Takahiro found an amazing solution, he would simultaneously take the moral high ground while working to deny the competition access to the drug market. If they couldn¡¯t do it, then no one could. They would go full anti-drug.

    The standards of behavior for a Burab¨­ member are focused on abstaining from drugs, encouraging others to avoid drugs, and staying positive when it comes to the company¡¯s entertainment franchises.

    Burab¨­ Incorporated is tied to the Liberty Party. In primaries members are instructed to vote for candidates that are anti-drug.

    The company¡¯s currency is the Burab¨­ Token. A Burab¨­ Token can on average buy one person a good meal. Purple and white are Burab¨­¡¯s colors, their most common symbol is a letter B rendered in ornate script. The company¡¯s social credit system is organized in seven tiers, each tier has three levels. Example: T2L3.

    Charles Faur¨¦

    Charles Faur¨¦ was started by a man of the same name. He manufactured arms from his machine shop during the fall of France¡¯s 16<sup>th</sup> republic. The ad hoc weapon manufacture would stamp every blade and barrel with his name and a sarcastic Fleur-de-lis. This playful action would cause him to become a bit of a meme among the conflict¡¯s warriors.

    His daughter would parley this fame into the creation and success of a proper weapon¡¯s factory. Before her death several such facilities had been erected in France and other nations. Her successor, a young suitor, would take the company into other areas. By the time he stepped down Charles Faur¨¦ was one of the big five.

    One high level corporate officer, Ben Bisswell, was married to a woman with a strange body. She would eventually change it, this time to a more human form, before changing it to something very alien. Her actions would scandalize elements of the press and public. They could never wrap their brains around why she would do this, much less why she couldn¡¯t pick a body and stick with it.

    Bisswell joined the ASC and brought in several of its spokesmen as advisors. Bisswell was instrumental in the acquisition of Human Action Services. This feat earned him an even higher position in the firm. He used his rank to increase the ASC¡¯s influence even further. By the time he retired the company¡¯s social credit program would abandon its Libertarian leanings to focus on enforcing ASC policies.

    The standards of behavior for a Charles Faur¨¦ member are centered around complying with ASC dictates. Members are required to vote Freedom Party, favoring ASC approved candidates over pro-Mars politicians in primaries.

    Water Certificates, redeemable for one liter of clean water, are the Charles Faur¨¦ currency. One Water Certificate is the rough equivalent of five Burab¨­ Tokens. The corporate colors are gold and black, the Fleur-de-lis is still its primary symbol. The company¡¯s social credit levels are Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond, Black, and Ultra-Black.

    D¨¦lta Corporation

    D¨¦lta Co was one of the pioneers of asteroid mining using unmanned drones. They were also a major player in the second wave of Mars colonization.

    During the 40s tensions began to grow between the Mars colonists and the government. At the tail end of the first wave of colonization a lonely and disturbed researcher massacred his teammates. The state took this as a sign that closer governance was needed. The colonists insisted that it was an isolated incident, the government pointed out that there had been several other violent altercations.

    Things would finally kick off in the 50s. There was a sniper attack on a military convoy passing through Elonville. This resulted in the massacre at Korolev crater. From there, relations would continue to go downhill until a full-blown war had broken out.

    The planet¡¯s capital city, Opportunity, was quickly captured. Within a month the majority of the Earth¡¯s military and police resources had been captured or destroyed. The state was ready for this eventuality. For the previous few years they had been preparing for a full-scale assault on the red planet.

    The Martians failed to repel the invasion. They adopted hit and run tactics, slowly chipping away at the enemy, sending countless flag draped coffins back to Earth. After several years of this a public outcry forced the government to seek peace. Mars was granted independence, but it is common knowledge that Earth will try to take the planet back if they see an opening.

    When the D¨¦lta Corporation reestablished contact with their Martian assets they were shocked to find that the majority of their facilities were still intact and that most of their employees were still alive. This was hailed as a major accomplishment. Several of the managers that were responsible for preserving the Martian side of the business were handsomely rewarded and fast tracked into positions of power. Shortly after this, the company would adopt a pro-Mars attitude and change its social credit program from a focus on being upbeat and polite to one that would reflect its new concerns.

    The standards of behavior for a D¨¦lta member involve both loyalty to the brand and loyalty to the independent Martian colony.

    The company¡¯s currency is the D¨¦lta Dollar, which is worth somewhere around twenty Burab¨­ Tokens. Red and black are its colors, a hollow triangle is its symbol. The social credit ratings are: D, C, B, B+, A, A+, AA, AAA, S.

    Echo Industries

    Echo¡¯s first accomplishment was exploring and establishing a research facility on Charon. They were responsible for exploring the inner planets as well as making key developments in astro medicine.

    The person most responsible for the company¡¯s achievements on Charon was Miriam Paulides. Her career hit a roadblock when someone reported that she was using LSD. Paulides was recalled to Earth to face an internal investigation.

    She made an impassioned speech in her defense, ¡°The beauty of God¡¯s vision is left naked and clear when you travel into the depths of outer space. How can you look at the pallid sphere of Pluto and deny it? I use the spirit molecule to help me commune with the creator, how does this make me bad? Who have I hurt?¡±

    The review board wasn¡¯t impressed, the same was true for the company¡¯s directors. But the public liked it, and the government was inclined to defend her religious freedom. It was ultimately decided that Miriam would stay with Echo, and this was a good decision, because she would go on to establish settlements on over a dozen planetoids.

    Paulides was eventually recalled to Earth again, this time it was to take overall control of Echo¡¯s research and development programs. By this point she was already a high-ranking member of The Church of the Ascended. It has been noted that she had a tendency to appoint and promote fellow Church members. It has also been noted that several of these people would go on to gain high positions in Echo, and that they also tended to favor Church members.

    The standards of behavior for an Echo member require tolerance of The Church of the Ascended, with entry into the church granting the member a great amount of additional social credit. Echo Industries is strictly Freedom Party, favoring the interests of the Church over those of Mars.

    The company uses the Fuel Credit as its medium of exchange. One Fuel Credit represents a gallon of synthetic gasoline, it is the equivalent of four Burab¨­ Tokens. Green and black are Echo¡¯s primary colors. It uses two C shaped waves colliding as its symbol. The firm¡¯s social credit system is rather complex, involving tiers and levels which are represented using abbreviations and roman numerals. The tiers and levels are: Unproven Customer, UC I-III; Proven Customer, PC I-III; Loyal Customer; LC I-VI. Exemplary Customer, EC I-V.

 Authoréˆ¥æªš Thoughts on this Draft

    This is a work in progress. The finished product will be longer, have much more detail. I think that my main problems are that I move too fast and that I struggle with describing what people look like, especially faces. Although a fast-moving book might be a good thing.

    There are a lot of different themes at play. I wanted one theme to be that the MC¡¯s positive interactions with people built up a kind of good Karma that contrasts with the negative aspects of the corporate social credit systems. Social credit systems are a hot topic at the moment. This was the main inspiration for this story. It is already happening in China, will it spread to other entities?

    In this world people are commodities/resources. They are indentured servants and debt slaves. I am not so sure about this aspect of the story. It is a standard idea in dystopian cyberpunk tales. It makes sense in this world of extreme control. But I am afraid that it will get a little too excessive.

    I want to make a world that has the decadence of ancient Rome but is transitioning into the chaos of the 1960s. There should be a tension there, something bubbling just under the surface. The people have no meaningful work to do, as robots do all of the labor. They are given the pointless job of watching the drones, for no other reason than it keeps them busy. And it also gives them cash, kind of like Henry Ford paying the workers enough to buy his cars. The bread and circuses of sex bots and VR will only keep this generation tame for so long, it is bound to go south at some point.

    On a similar note: if there was a big war in the near past, then there should be veterans of that war. We know that it was a guerrilla war, at least from the appendix, so they should be at least a little bit like the veterans of Vam and GWOT. I myself am a GWOT vet, I often feel that frustration, that sense of pointlessness, that we wasted so many young lives.

    I also wanted to play around with the idea of the perception of reality and living in bubbles. This topic is very much related to the work of Scott Adams, I would highly recommend looking into his thoughts on the subject. The senator¡¯s speech when he is being told about the blackmail is one example of this concept. Each side believes what they want, the truth has little to do with it. Reality itself is being manipulated thanks to augmented reality. It is unclear how much or how little people truly believe, because they may very well be lying to appease their company.

    I think that the next draft needs more dystopian elements. The company propaganda needs to be more invasive, more vicious. The book needs more augmented reality, more glimpses inside of the different realities that each corporation forces on people. It also needs a scene where a person that is brainwashed tries to defend their beliefs using sophistry.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    But it can¡¯t get too overwhelming. I have been playing The Outer Worlds and as much as I enjoy that game¡¯s dark humor, the anti-corporate themes can get a bit old; because everything about that universe is built on that idea, on taking the dehumanization and disposable nature of the worker to the greatest possible extreme.

    It is also easy to forget that this story isn¡¯t so much anti-corporate or anti-capitalist; it is a protest against the infiltration of ideologies into corporations and organizations in general. We have seen leftists do it with the news and entertainment industries. This tactic is known as The Long March Through the Institutions and is called Critical or Conflict Theory. Conservatives refer to it as Cultural Marxism, and will insist that it be called this, even when you point out the fact that you can prove its existence by calling it by the name that its creators gave it.

    As I said before, this world needs to be fleshed out. We need a few more subcultures and a bit more tech. We need more leering descriptions of the city, its people, and their culture. It needs an extra dose of Noir.

    The book needs a layer of slang. But again, not too much of it. Many readers cite excess slang as being a problem with A Clockwork Orange. It is also one of, one of many, reasons why many people find Naked Lunch to be unreadable. Each company needs a nickname, which is not necessarily even hateful, to be used as a synonym.

    I want an MC that is a little different. He isn¡¯t just an anti-hero, he revels in the craziness of the world around him. He is a voyeur, a people watcher. He isn¡¯t just a social person, he is fascinated by people and their strange ways. I think that this is the best lens with which to view this world. He won¡¯t mope about how bad things are, he won¡¯t go into edgy soliloquies about bringing down the system. He will mostly stick to presenting the world around him in a (hopefully) interesting way.

    I think that his status as a Skinwalker isn¡¯t used enough. He needs to use the ability more, otherwise there is no point to it. I also have to wonder if Skinwalker is the right name to use, as it is heavily associated with lame Creepypasta stories from Reddit and /x/.

    Ashley is a whole other story. I plan on making her a bit more cutesy in the final product. This character presents a high level of risk vs reward. She has the potential to be a fun and memorable character, a unique twist on the Razorgirl trope. But she also has the potential to be annoying. Annoying characters can ruin otherwise good stories, see Temple of Doom and The Fifth Element if you don¡¯t believe me.

    All in all, I think that this is a good start. I want to finish this and get it published, almost certainly through Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP). I look forward to any feedback that you can give me. Thanks for reading.