(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")["A Hell of Heaven"]
A Sample Twine Mission by Chris Hepler
This story is set in its own original universe, but with love and homages to R. Talsorian's Cyberpunk 2020, FASA's Shadowrun, Steve Jackson Games' GURPS Cyberworld, and the fiction of William Gibson.
[[Begin...->The Scene]]The sky above the San Francisco sprawl is the color of oxide gunmetal, all stars eclipsed by the glow of advert screens. The drought situation in the Cascadian Free State is bad enough that the corps put up moisture traps on the roofs to catch the nighttime fog that rolls in from the ocean. They take the mist in the air to bottle and sell it, like they do to everything else.
These days, you make your living with a gun and an attitude. How you got here is less important, but it's still a part of who you are.
Maybe you grew up in a corporate enclave downtown, full of overachievers and undercutters.
Maybe you were an off-grid kid in the urban husk across the bay, educated by stolen sims and a thug with a soft spot looking out for you.
Or maybe you were a homeschooled biotechie who grew up in the climate-ravaged wild places of the Northern Cali coast, who came to the city to hock your medicine skills to avoid starvation.
You're free to pick one. It's not like it's gonna make you any safer.
[[I had steady employment in a corp enclave. Like indentured servitude, but with a better dental plan.->Corp Background.]]
[[I grew up in the Oakland Barrens, chop-shopping corporate limos with my gang.->Gang Background]]
[[I grew up in the wasteland, using home-brew remedies and jury-rigged surgical bots to take care of the sick.->MedTech Background]](set: $background to "Medtech")
Ditch medicine has a long tradition in the vagabond gangs of the Pacific Northwest. The collapse of the United States led to the ascendancy of the global south as economic powers, and uncountable numbers of the newly homeless.
It was common sense to form survival networks, taking in everyone from abandoned veterans to people who could farm, sew, or work metal. Vehicles were their lifeblood: campers to live out of, trucks for transport, gun-wagons for combat. Riding from city to city looking for food, work, they relied on doctors to pass down their knowledge whenever possible.
You're in SanFran because of one particular job -- you were tasked with keeping a corpo with cardiomyopathy alive until he could reach a specialist in the city. It was supposed to be a road trip no one knew about, but another corp's drones spotted you good. After it all went to shit and you finally washed off the smell of expended ammo, you found a flophouse and sold your skills to pay rent.
You had nothing but the clothes on your body, a field medic's backpack, and some metal beneath your skin.
People have started new lives with less.
[[Moving on...->Gender]](set: $background to "Corp")
Someone once said that if a corporation were human, it'd be psychotic. What they didn't predict was that after a generation or two, the personnel stop seeing that as a negative.
Your company, Tokugawa Technologies, has always had bootlicking, backstabbing, and corner-cutting. But in the Intelligence and Security Division where you made your mark, the only rules about getting ahead are:
1) Don't get dead.
2) Don't get caught.
Case in point, your boss Joseph Bishop, who got caught with the signals intel from wiretapping Palladio Microtech's firms in Silicon Valley. You busted your ass on his orders to bug them so your division could target hotshot designers for recruitment and extraction. That was in your job description, but Bishop was using the data for insider trading to get rich.
The Director of Ops, Hayashi Shinoko, hates players who don't share... so Bishop told his most loyal knuckle-dragger to run her car off the Golden Gate Bridge. You warned Shinoko like a good soldier, but Bishop had planted a fat stack of cash in your apartment so it looked like you'd made bank on the insider trading.
Unable to talk your way out of the lesser crime, you got booted from the corp. Goodbye, "sweet corporate enclave," hello, "husk in the East Bay."
[[Moving on...->Gender]]
These days, you answer to the street handle "Shift." As in, you change as needed to adapt to your situation. You've got a data plug and some implants where your eyes used to be -- can't live in an augmented-reality world without some personal augmenting. You haven't been able to afford much more.
Short aside: to cyberpunks, the body is just part of your look, and your look is part of your arsenal. So, let us know what we're dealing with. When people flash their eyes on you, do they see someone that they think is male, female, or something indeterminate?
[[I lay it on manly-style.->Got It Male]]
[[I'm pretty femme.->Got It Female]]
[[Gagger, that is how dinos in meatspace thought, fifty years back. Let 'em guess.->Got It Nonbinary]]You got it, bro.
So there's one last thing to understand... and it's a big one.
You're a T-emp, temporary employee. In other ages, you'd be called a mercenary, but the jobs you do aren't all muscle. "Criminal" doesn't quite fit either, since the laws are only enforced in the service of the almighty dollar. The point is, a fixer sees a problem, gets you on a job, and you fix it.
Maybe it's as legal as bodyguarding. Maybe it's as illegal as an art heist. Maybe it's illegal as murdering an airplane exec, but the exec's under-the-table kickbacks caused three plane crashes, so he had it coming big-time. Get it?
We start with this fixer you know, Zenevieva, who's as frosty as a Siberia morning back before climate change was a thing. Which is why her call is surprising...
[[Zen calls me?->The Call]]All right. Sugar-and-spice if that's how you like it.
So there's one last thing to understand... and it's a big one.
You're a T-emp, temporary employee. In other ages, you'd be called a mercenary, but the jobs you do aren't all muscle. "Criminal" doesn't quite fit either, since the laws are only enforced in the service of the almighty dollar. The point is, a fixer sees a problem, gets you on a job, and you fix it.
Maybe it's as legal as bodyguarding. Maybe it's as illegal as an art heist. Maybe it's illegal as murdering an airplane exec, but the exec's under-the-table kickbacks caused three plane crashes, so he had it coming big-time. Get it?
We start with this fixer you know, Zenevieva, who's as frosty as a Siberia morning back before climate change was a thing. Which is why her call is surprising...
[[Zen calls me?->The Call]]In an age of downloading AIs into your cerebrum to do cleanup tasks, the old ways of doing things are outdated quaint-core. So, uh, you do you, wizbang!
So there's one last thing to understand... and it's a big one.
You're a T-emp, temporary employee. In other ages, you'd be called a mercenary, but the jobs you do aren't all muscle. "Criminal" doesn't quite fit either, since the laws are only enforced in the service of the almighty dollar. The point is, a fixer sees a problem, gets you on a job, and you fix it.
Maybe it's as legal as bodyguarding. Maybe it's as illegal as an art heist. Maybe it's illegal as murdering an airplane exec, but the exec's under-the-table kickbacks caused three plane crashes, so he had it coming. Get it?
We start with this fixer you know, Zenevieva, who's as frosty as a Siberia morning back before climate change was a thing. Which is why her call is surprising...
[[Zen calls me?->The Call]]Bloo-BLEEP goes your phone. Zen's voice, hoarse from having it rebuilt after throat cancer, is surprisingly welcoming.
"Hey hey, dream-chip. Old made man just came back from doing five in the big black tower. We're having a little end-of-incarceration party at the Fat Cannibal. Drop by the club, you should hang."
[["What kind of vibe will it be?"]]
[["What's the catch?"]]
"That sounds... almost fun," you say. "Which is not like you. What's the catch?"
"The guest of honor's name is Virgil Trapnell," Zen says. "He was a merc with a knack for tech, but now... let's just say there may be biz coming your way. Come on over."
The line goes dead.
[[To the party!]]You can't resist a little nudge at her. "So are we talking mimosas and chocolate fountains, or alcofoam and you doing karaoke?"
"I will not be doing karaoke, now or ever," Zen says, and it feels like the temperature around you drops ten degrees. "The guest of honor's name is Virgil Trapnell. I have biz, but not the kind that is discussed over the phone. The Cannibal. Back rooms. Be there."
The line goes dead.
[[To the party!]] You rent a cheap aluminum rideshare scooter and zip across fifteen klicks of bridge to the club. The bay keeps the air cool and humid until you reach downtown San Mateo. The wind blowing in your face is a pleasant contrast to how the sprawl smells, which is mostly car exhaust on a good block and urine on a bad one.
There's a line to get into the Cannibal, but the bouncers wave you inside. The crowd is thick and the noise some kind of retro datafunk soundtrack, the kind that turns signal noise into a randomized beat. It probably sounds better when jazzed on unpronounceable club drugs.
The decor has what look like backlit diagrams of cuts of meat on human beings. It keeps the kids amused, but your grandmother who lived during the Collapse wouldn't find it funny.
It isn't hard to pick out Zen. Her literal platinum locks catch the club's lights, drawing attention away from the two chromed-up bruisers next to her. The guest of honor is seated near a meter-tall black tower that's a dead ringer of the Microtech.com Maximum Security Correctional Facility, but the real thing probably doesn't have candles on top or slices taken out of it.
This cake-eater doesn't look like much; in prison you either come out ripped or with some spare fat and he's the latter. He's got glasses instead of cyberoptics, and nicks on his face like he's just shaved with a blade for the first time in years. It doesn't help that Zen is dressing him down in front of an escort rented for the occasion.
"--it doesn't have to be now, but you get your damn feet under you."
He holds up his hands as if he's about to get hit. "I appreciate all the love tonight--"
"Shut up about tonight. This is all a gift. This is what I do for my people. But tomorrow morning, you remember who you owe." Zen spots you and stands, jerking her head toward the private rooms. "Shift. With me."
[[Follow Zen.]]
[[Scan this nebbish with your optics first.]]Zen's chromeboys take up positions outside the door to the private room. Zen lights a cigarette with the implant in one metal fingertip compartment, and shakes out the flame. You haven't seen her smoke since the operations on her throat.
"What did you hear?"
"Sounded like he owes you and doesn't want to pay up," you say. "Is money tight?"
Zen scoffs. "Money's fine."
"Loyalty, then?" you guess.
Zen takes a drag off her cigarette. "You think you know a person, right?" She looks off at a painting on the wall. "So I'm going to introduce the two of you in a few, but here's the sitch. Mr. Virgil Trapnell out there did five years for building car bombs. Helped me establish a reputation as the fixer you don't want to fuck with."
[["He didn't look like a guy to be feared. Can he still do the job?"]]
[["Five years doesn't seem like a lot for wetwork. Terrorism, either."]]
"Here's the thing," Zen says. "He did sixty, but was out in five."
"That's... some serious good behavior," you say. "Did he cut a deal?"
"No," Zen says flatly. "Listen up. He didn't get it reduced to five. He //did// sixty. It's called virtual sentencing. They hooked his brain up to a sim eight hours a day and pumped shit into his hippocampus. Blew out all sense of time and gave him all the boredom and stress of doing sixty years, compressed into a neat little package. He gets the punishment, the state gets a bed freed up for another prisoner ahead of schedule. Win-win for him and society, right?"
[["Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment."]]
[["That's... actually pretty innovative."]]Zen's eyebrows arch in response. "Don't let the pasty nerd look fool you. Virgil's got more bodies on him than a discount mausoleum. Trouble is what they did to him on the inside." She aims a finger at her temple.
"They gave him sixty years in five. And I don't mean parole, I mean they plugged him into a top-of-the-line brain scrambler and made him //think// he did sixty years. Motherfuckers saved the state a buck or two in food and rent and now they got space for the next convict, you know?" Her Kiroshi eyes unfocus as she stares a long way away. "Least I could do was throw some cake and cocktails at him."
[["Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment."]]
[["That's... actually pretty innovative."]]Your eyes kick in an augmented reality overlay. The nebbish's System Identification Number comes up, with the name Virgil Trapnell to match it. He had three convicted felonies of possession of an explosive device, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit murder but his time served is finished. He does not seem to be armed.
Virgil's System Identification Number registers his birthdate, which was thirty-nine years ago, but there's an asterisk next to the age.
"Hey," says Zen. "Stargazer. I'm not asking again."
You follow her into the back room, wondering how you get an asterisk on your age.
[[Brace yourself for the talk.->Follow Zen.]] Zen nods. "Well, you elect enough politicians who adopt the tech, then poof. Stops being unusual."
"But cruel?" you say.
Zen shrugs. "They could've cranked it up to a hundred and twenty. The man put bombs in cars and he somehow walked out of the pen with hair that ain't going gray yet. But he's still our people, so... yeah, I'd be lying if I said it was okay by me. What comes next is what I need you for."
[["Yeah, you mentioned biz on the phone. What is it?"]]
[["Are we taking on the cops?"]]Zen's face is as still as a corpse. "Yeah, it's the wave of the fucking future. Trust me, when the corps see this shit on a balance sheet, they ain't going to stop at sixty years. You throw off their quarterly profits, you can bet they'll put you in for two hundred."
As you consider the list of crimes you could be convicted of, Zen changes tone. "The point is, Virgil's got some jigsaw pieces missing in the mental department. What comes next is what I need you for."
[["Yeah, you mentioned biz on the phone. What is it?"]]
[["Are we taking on the cops?"]]"Virgil was an EOD star in the Congo war," Zen explains. "Wasn't a bomb on the continent he couldn't defuse. Times changed, he came home, the Metal Graves gang took shots at him and me. A week later, the car of the Graves' leader went up like a fire fountain with him in it. The rest of the gang suddenly wanted to negotiate."
"Nice," you say. "But what's the problem?"
"Everyone knows he got out today. They're going to step more carefully for maybe a week. Then, if it comes out my old bomber-man doesn't want to play ball, word is going to get around that I don't control my own people. You know what that means."
You nod. Someone would make a play. Steal her clients, rob her stashes, take her down. Doesn't matter which.
[["So you need me to lean on Virgil for encouragement?"]]
[["I could probably bomb a few cars if the price is right."]]
[["Does he need therapy or something?"]]Zen looks at you like you just splatted a roach and forgot to wipe it off. "You screw with one badge, you screw with them all. Head-to-head is bad for biz. What I need is to reverse the damage."
"He's got something you need in there?" you ask.
"Virgil was an EOD star in the Congo war," Zen explains. "Wasn't a bomb on the continent he couldn't defuse. Then times changed, he came home, the Metal Graves gang took shots at him and me. A week later, the car of the Graves' leader went up like a fire fountain with him in it. The rest of the gang suddenly wanted to negotiate."
"Nice," you say. "But what's the problem?"
"Everyone knows he got out today. They're going to step more carefully for maybe a week. Then, if it comes out my old bomber-man doesn't want to play ball, word is going to get around that I don't control my own people. You know what that means."
You nod. Someone would make a play. Steal her clients, rob her stashes, take her down. Doesn't matter which.
[["So you need me to lean on Virgil for encouragement?"]]
[["I could probably bomb a few cars if the price is right."]]
[["Does he need therapy or something?"]]Zen shakes her head. "Not yet. Virgil did his part at trial, he never gave us up, never talked shit. He did that time for us. So he gets a little benny of the doubt. What he needs is therapy."
You must have let a skeptical expression cross your face, because she follows it up. "We don't have sixty years to unfuck his brain, but there's simstim editors for this kind of thing. I know a neurologist, Magdalena Keene. She isn't too happy with the law mangling brains like this. You take Virgil to her, and we get the old bomber-man back."
You nod. "Do I need to take some cred to her on your behalf, or call in a favor?"
"Nah. She's got what-do-you-call-'em. Principles." Zen purses her lips. "Must be nice."
[[Time to go see Virgil...]]Zen shakes her head. "I'm sure you could manage, but you don't hire a spray paint artist to decorate the Sistine Chapel. Virgil's good at homemade stuff with no taggants, and he doesn't have to learn on the job. Provided we can get him to touch a block of Semtex again." She scowls. "That's where you come in. What Virgil needs is... and this will sound weird coming from me... therapy."
You must have let a skeptical expression cross your face, because she follows it up. "We don't have sixty years to unfuck his brain, but there's simstim editors for this kind of thing. I know a neurologist, Magdalena Keene. You take Virgil to her, and we'll get the old bomber-man back."
You nod. "Do I need to take some cred to her on your behalf, or call in a favor?"
"Nah. She's got what-do-you-call-'em. Principles." Zen purses her lips. "Must be nice."
[[Time to go see Virgil...]]Zen snaps her fingers. "Dead on. You got an aimbot in that brain of yours. Beating on him ain't going to do a thing, not when it comes to deep-seated shit like they did with him." Her mouth turns down, and for a fleeting moment, you think she's concerned, or even in emotional pain. But then it's gone.
"We don't have sixty years to unfuck his brain, but there's simstim editors for this kind of thing. I know a neurologist, Magdalena Keene. She isn't too happy with the law mangling brains like this. You take Virgil to her, tell her it's a favor for me, and we get the old bomber-man back."
You nod. "Do I need to take some cred to her on your behalf, or call in a favor?"
"Nah. She's got what-do-you-call-'em. Principles." Zen purses her lips. "Must be nice."
[[Time to go see Virgil...]]Heading back out into the din of the event room, you find Virgil tongue-deep in his escort's face. As he comes up for air, he notices your eyes on him.
"You got something urgent?"
"A mission from Zen," you say.
"Should have known." His eyes meet his partner's and he hesitates, probably out of practice in intimate conversation. "I don't have a phone yet, but let's continue this later."
The escort takes out a pen and writes on the back of his hand. The two of them detach, and you and Virgil head toward the club exit. He speaks loudly over the music.
"Zen told me she rented a limo. I imagine it was for you and me. Come on, let's go."
[["You're taking this surprisingly well. Was that the first girl you've touched in sixty years?"]]
[["She seems to have told you more than she's told me."]]Virgil laughs. "I got discharged at ten a.m., what do you think I did all afternoon?"
Outside, a stubby-nosed limousine chirps and flashes its lights as you approach. It's an A.I.-driven model, with no space up front for a driver. As you enter, a virtual face appears on screen.
"Welcome to PatronRide. Your destination has already been selected. Please fasten your seat belts and observe the listed rules. Note that champagne has been provided. With any alcohol consumption, there is a cleaning fee in case of vomiting."
"Cushy," mutters Virgil. "Though setting the mood could use some improvement. Where are we going?"
[["A doctor. Zen wants your brain taken care of."]]
[["She hasn't briefed you?"]]Virgil laughs. "I doubt that. She just said she got a ride for me all day and night."
Outside, a stubby-nosed limousine chirps and flashes its lights as you approach. It's an A.I.-driven model, with no space up front for a driver. As you enter, a virtual face appears on screen.
"Welcome to PatronRide. Your destination has already been selected. Please fasten your seat belts and observe the listed rules. Note that champagne has been provided. With any alcohol consumption, there is a cleaning fee in case of vomiting."
"Cushy," mutters Virgil. "Though setting the mood could use some improvement. Where are we going?"
[["A doctor. Zen wants your brain taken care of."]]
[["She hasn't briefed you?"]]"You mean she wants her bomb-maker back," Virgil says.
[["Is that a problem?"]]
[["Yeah. Get with the program."]]"Unless you count yelling at me to get my head straight... no."
He rests a hand on the doorframe, eyes on the handle as if reassuring himself that he could open it if he chose. "Zen was good to me while I was there. Sent me stuff. Reminded me that there was an outside that existed at all, you know? But now... now I get to make my first choice in a long time."
Virgil seems to snap back to Earth. "Am I babbling, or do you get what I mean?"
[["Yeah. Get with the program."]]
[["You talking about leaving bomb-making behind?"]]
Virgil doesn't answer.
He looks out the window at the obelisks of glass and steel that took over the old neighborhoods of San Mateo. "You ever been on the inside?"
"Not like you have," you say.
"They got a place called the Memory Hole. Like solitary, but worse. It's this little... simstim lab. They tie you down and put this crown of jack-points on like you're in the electric chair. And across from you on the wall is this quote."
Virgil licks his lips. "It, uh... it says, 'The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, a Hell of heaven.' I had to stare at those words every time they put more years on me. And after a while... you're ready to listen to whatever voice tells you which is which."
[["Don't worry, we'll fix you up."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[(STREET BACKGROUND) "Don't believe a word those cops said."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp") [ [[(CORP BACKGROUND) "The cops are a corp now, and no corp has your interests at heart."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[(MEDTECH BACKGROUND) "Yes, that's common in interrogations and psychological torture."]] ]"Programming, huh?" Virgil looks out the window at the obelisks of glass and steel that took over the old neighborhoods of San Mateo. "You ever been on the inside?"
"Not like you have," you say.
"They got a place called the Memory Hole. Like solitary, but worse. It's this little... simstim lab. They tie you down and put this crown of jack-points on like you're in the electric chair. And across from you on the wall is this quote."
Virgil licks his lips. "It, uh... it says, 'The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, a Hell of heaven.' I had to stare at those words every time they put more years on me. And after a while... you're ready to listen to whatever voice tells you which is which."
[["Don't worry, we'll fix you up."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[(STREET BACKGROUND) "Don't believe a word those cops said."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp") [ [[(CORP BACKGROUND) "The cops are a corp now, and no corp has your interests at heart."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[(MEDTECH BACKGROUND) "Yes, that's common in interrogations and psychological torture."]] ]Virgil doesn't make eye contact. "I owe Zen a lot. But I don't owe her forever."
The drive is momentarily silent except for the tiny whir of the limo's electric engine. Virgil looks out the window at the obelisks of glass and steel that took over the old neighborhoods of San Mateo. "You ever been on the inside?"
"Not like you have," you say.
"They got a place called the Memory Hole. Like solitary, but worse. It's this little... simstim lab. They tie you down and put this crown of jack-points on like you're in the electric chair. And across from you on the wall is this quote."
Virgil licks his lips nervously. "It, uh... it says 'The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, a Hell of heaven.' I had to stare at those words every time they put more years on me. And after a while... you're ready to listen to whatever voice tells you which is which."
[["Don't worry, we'll fix you up."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[(STREET BACKGROUND) "Don't believe a word those cops said."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp") [ [[(CORP BACKGROUND) "The cops are a corp now, and no corp has your interests at heart."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[(MEDTECH BACKGROUND) "Yes, that's common in interrogations and psychological torture."]] ]"Yeah," Virgil says. "That's what I told my last dog when I took him to the vet."
[[The car pulls to a stop...->The Arrival]]Virgil shakes his head. "I hear you now, but I was hearing them for a long time."
"The truth isn't milk," you point out. "It doesn't have an expiration date."
A smile creeps across Virgil's face, but he returns to looking out the window. "It's also harder to find than you think."
[[The car pulls to a stop...->The Arrival]]Virgil cocks his head. He looks at you differently now. "You ever work for one?"
"Most definitely have," you say.
"Then why am I listening to you?"
"People change."
Virgil snorts. "Yeah. Takes time, though."
[[The car pulls to a stop...->The Arrival]]"You sound like you learned that at a university. Me, I had to do it the hard way."
"No U, unless you count downloads and de-listed mentors. I grew up vagabond."
Virgil looks at you, brow furrowed. "No shit?"
"No shit."
"Well, I ain't saying that was easy. I'm saying my way wasn't, either."
[[The car pulls to a stop...->The Arrival]]"Now arriving, 243 South B Street," announces the car. You're ready to catch Virgil if he decides to bolt, but though he looks around nervously, he follows you.
The street docs you've known work out of dingy, half-hidden cellars with questionably sterile operating rooms. It seems a street neurotherapist isn't much different. The door marked 243 is steel set into plascrete, and ringing the buzzer doesn't make a sound you can hear.
Finally, a slit opens with a clank. "Name?"
"Zen sent us," you say. "This guy here is Virgil Trapnell. I'm Shift."
The slit slams shut again. The sound of six or seven magnetic locks releasing follows, and the door opens to reveal a diminutive, graying woman who used a plastic stool to get up to your height. "I'm Magda," she says, "Welcome to the island of misfit toys. Whichever one of you has the most trauma, take the bucket seat."
[[You enter a strange den of technology...]]Magda's office has a forest of wires, computer towers, cameras on booms, and other tech you can't quite identify. Projectors use the available wall space as high-resolution screens. As for the bucket seat she mentioned, it's literal -- a dentist's chair covered in plastic with two splayed armrests and a receptacle attached to each one.
Virgil wrinkles his nose at the antiseptic smell and a faint stench beneath it. "Are these for puking?"
"When you trigger the brain directly, you can get all kinds of responses," Magda replies. She pulls a lever and the legs of the chair separate, another bucket ratcheting into place between them. "And if your neuroediting takes all day, we're full-service here."
Virgil looks aghast. "I'm not undressing for this shit. There isn't even anything wrong with me."
[["Magda, ignore him. The cops conditioned his brain."]]
[["Virgil, can you really say there's no need for therapy?"]]"I heard." Magda steeples her fingers and taps her lips at this information, considering. "Virgil, if it reassures you at all, you're not the first person this has happened to. You have options that weren't available even just a few years ago."
Virgil hesitates. "I don't know you at all," he says. "And editing my brain, it's like... you'd be editing //me//. Why would I let that happen?"
"If you've been having nightmares and want them to stop," Magda says. "Or if they placed triggers to cause nausea when you have violent impulses, or if you get panic attacks when looking at a chair like mine. We could remove all that."
Virgil's mouth opens but he doesn't form any words. Magda follows up. "Just tell me what you don't like about yourself, and I can give you options. The only thing holding you back is you."
Virgil sounds amazed. "Can... can you remove that stuff without touching anything else?"
Magda smiles. "The question these days is, what //can't// we do?"
[[Virgil sits down in the chair...]]Virgil hesitates and Magda steps in. "The typical criteria involved in a law enforcement conditioning problem are symptoms like nightmares. Do you have any of those?"
Virgil's eyes dart about as if looking for some escape route. "Uh..."
"Do you find yourself in panic attacks where it's hard to breathe? Do you get triggered by sights such as this chair here?"
Virgil's face goes white. She's on to him.
"I see," Magda says. "Did they use a similar chair to inflict the trauma?"
Virgil nods.
"Would you like that fear response to go away?" she asks gently.
"You can do that?" Virgil sounds amazed. "Without touching anything else?"
Magda smiles. "The question these days is, what //can't// we do?"
[[Virgil sits down in the chair...]]Magda lowers the chair's back as if Virgil were at the dentist, and pulls a silver cable from the wreath of input/output paraphernalia at its head. She hands it to him.
"We go when you're ready," she says. When she is seated at her station of monitors, Virgil gives a half-hearted smile, takes a deep breath, and jacks in.
Still standing, you look over Magda's shoulder at the diagnostics filling her screens. "Where do you start with something like this?"
"The parietal lobe and hippocampus," she says, before catching herself. "Sorry. That doesn't tell you anything, does it? First I look for regular data structures. Brains are messy compared to editors who like to have files organized for reference."
The monitors show a vista of mist and static, but after a moment of searching, Magda zeroes in on a series of dark red blocks with doors, giving the impression of old-timey British police boxes.
"That's our paydata," she says. "Now... did you want to loop Virgil in on this, or does Zen have something in mind he shouldn't know about?"
"He can't hear us?" you say.
Magda looks unconcerned. "Not at the moment."
[["This is his brain. He should know what we're doing."]]
[["It'll be less traumatic for him if he doesn't know."]]
[["He doesn't look like much, but he's deadly if you piss him off. Be honest."]]
[["Zen doesn't want anyone knowing about this. Probably not even him or you."]]Magda smirks. "Oh, you're a //real// one. Glad to hear it."
She flicks a switch on a microphone and speaks into it. "All right, Mr. Trapnell, we've found where the modifications have been made. The first node appears to be recent. We're going to trigger the memory for examination purposes, if that's all right with you."
Though his mouth is closed, Virgil's voice comes over the speakers. "Uh... do you know what it is?"
"Not without looking, I'm afraid. It dates to about a month ago?"
Sections of Virgil's brain light up with activity. "I don't remember much from then. Bring it back."
The monitor shows a black steel gate slowly retracting as Virgil watches. Readouts of his emotions spike -- amazement, elation, nervousness. It seems strange that he would be so enamored of the next sight -- a parking lot -- but you come to realize this is his first view of the outside of his prison.
"This was when they put me on virtual parole," Virgil says. "They did it about a month before the real thing. They try to make it so you can't tell it's a sim. You can, of course, but since they're watching, you've gotta behave." His hands turn in front of his face as the boundaries of memory and lucid dreaming begin to blur. "This is... almost fun."
"Don't try to act," Magda says. "You'll mess around with your long-term storage." There's no response.
She turns to you. "Jack in. I'll need you to control his memory of motor movements."
[["Uh... I guess?"->"If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["Why can't you do it?"]] Magda doesn't smile. "Zen told me. She wants her cat with claws, huh?"
"That a problem?" you ask.
"Wouldn't release a kitty into this dog pit of a city, no," she says. "Let's go."
She flicks a switch on a microphone and speaks into it. "All right, Mr. Trapnell, we've found where the modifications have been made. The first node appears to be recent. We're going to trigger the memory for examination purposes, if that's all right with you."
Though his mouth is closed, Virgil's voice comes over the speakers. "Uh... do you know what it is?"
"Not without looking, I'm afraid. It dates to about a month ago?"
Sections of Virgil's brain light up with activity. "I don't remember much from then. Bring it back."
The monitor shows a black steel gate slowly retracting as Virgil watches. Readouts of his emotions spike -- amazement, elation, nervousness. It seems strange that he would be so enamored of the next sight -- a parking lot -- but you come to realize this is his first view of the outside of his prison.
"This was when they put me on virtual parole," Virgil says. "They did it about a month before the real thing. They try to make it so you can't tell it's a sim. You can, of course, but since they're watching, you've gotta behave." His hands turn in front of his face as the boundaries of memory and lucid dreaming begin to blur. "This is... almost fun."
"Don't try to act," Magda says. "You'll mess around with your long-term storage." There's no response.
She turns to you. "Jack in. I'll need you to control his memory of motor movements."
[["Uh... I guess?"->"If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["Why can't you do it?"]]Magda's voice is as pleasant as a grain of sand in an eye socket. "Zen should know if her little product on the chair here gets deeply fucked, the only way to fix the problem involves me being both alive and conscious of what I did. He gets the parietal lock, not me."
"Had to be said," you reply.
"Understood. We can talk about wiping tonight's memories after the main deal is done."
She flicks a switch on a microphone and speaks into it. "All right, Mr. Trapnell, we've found where the modifications have been made. The first node appears to be recent. We're going to trigger the memory for examination purposes, if that's all right with you."
Though his mouth is closed, Virgil's voice comes over the speakers. "Uh... do you know what it is?"
"Not without looking, I'm afraid. It dates to about a month ago?"
Sections of Virgil's brain light up with activity. "I don't remember much from then. Bring it back."
The monitor shows a black steel gate slowly retracting as Virgil watches. Readouts of his emotions spike -- amazement, elation, nervousness. It seems strange that he would be so enamored of the next sight -- a parking lot -- but you come to realize this is his first view of the outside of his prison.
"This was when they put me on virtual parole," Virgil says. "They did it about a month before the real thing. They try to make it so you can't tell it's a sim. You can, of course, but since they're watching, you've gotta behave." His hands turn in front of his face as the boundaries of memory and lucid dreaming begin to blur. "This is... almost fun."
"Don't try to act," Magda says. "You'll mess around with your long-term storage." There's no response.
She turns to you. "Jack in. I'll need you to control his memory of motor movements."
[["Uh... I guess?"->"If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["Why can't you do it?"]]You hook a datacable from Magda's editing console into the port behind your ear and settle on the floor. Braced against Magda's desk, your body supports itself as static fills the world and your voluntary muscles go limp.
The world of Virgil's headspace server feels cramped even though what he sees is the wide streets of the city, stretching out in every direction. You feel hemmed in his avatar, the dream-body he is trying to pilot down the street. As he does so, your chest tightens, as if the muscles are struggling to push him up a data stream that is flowing the wrong way.
"Magda... something's wrong!" Virgil says. "Are you fucking with me?"
"Just trying to guide you," you say through his avatar's mouth.
"Virgil, don't mess with the program," orders Magda. "Focus on the consequences. Do you want this instance deleted?"
Virgil's thoughts wriggle in your head, a disturbing, invading feeling. "No, no, this one's okay."
You can almost hear Magda's contemptuous silence. Finally, she says, "Then we're going deeper."
[[Brace yourself...]]Magda mutes the mic and answers rapidly, as if she's said this many times before.
"Same reason the coach of a baseball game doesn't pitch. I need to monitor all his stats while someone else can control his avatar to keep it from resisting. If he's compliant, the work is much easier. If he tries to alter it, wanders off, or causes turbulence with the memory, something could go deeply wrong.
"Now, do you want to hand Zen back her competent professional, or do you want to hand her a body with the brain of a fucking cucumber?"
[["If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["Uh... I guess?"->"If it prevents damage, I can try."]]Your stomach shifts along with the world. You are at the row of police boxes once more, and a second one has opened. Inside is nothing but a long tunnel that cannot be seen from the outside. Both sides of the tunnel are nothing but more doors, stretching on for what seems like forever.
Virgil moves his avatar into the space, looking around. Each door is labeled with dates, from four years ago, month-by-month. There must be hundreds.
"What is this?" you ask.
"All the years they put in me," Virgil answers.
After a moment of silence, you ask, "Magda? Where do we start?"
"They're traumatic, right?" she says. "You'd be better with them gone?"
You can feel the avatar-Virgil's heart pounding. "Not... entirely," he says.
[["Doing time changed you up, did it?"]]
[["Are you screwing with me?"]]
[["Don't tell me they broke you and then made you like it."]]
Your gaze drops down before you can correct it -- it's Virgil, his eyes going to the equivalent of the ground. "I... I did a lot in those years. I remember beating on the walls with my fists, trying to remember my karate lessons. Then, when they made me quit doing that, I tried painting. First it was explosions, because sometimes the fire can be beautiful... but then I stopped being angry, so... it was just landscapes."
[["That sounds like progress."]]
[["I think you stopped because they conditioned you."]]
[["Can you tell if that's your own thoughts?"->"You think you have enough clarity to know for sure?"]]
Virgil tenses and the vid feed of cyberspace gives a second of static. "So what if I did? Sometimes you gotta get with the p... the new situation. Can't I say I learned something in the Tower?"
[["If that's what you want, I'll respect it."]]
[["But you didn't! They put it in your head to control you. Magda, delete that shit."->"The only reason you feel that is because they're *making* you feel that. Magda, delete those fake years."]]
[["What matters is I have Zen's back. Magda, we've got to do our job. Delete the memories."->"The only reason you feel that is because they're *making* you feel that. Magda, delete those fake years."]]You can feel Virgil's heart, trembling rather than pounding, like a wild rabbit put in the backseat of a car and having no idea what's happening to it.
"I don't want to fight. I just thought I should say... experience changes you, you know? Maybe what they put in my head was to help me." When Magda is silent and you don't respond immediately, he adds, "...in a way."
[["Your brain, your decision."]]
[["You think you have enough clarity to know for sure?"]]
[["The only reason you feel that is because they're *making* you feel that. Magda, delete those fake years."]]
Virgil's avatar nods its head, but the feedback from his body doesn't lessen. He mutters, but from your vantage point inside his head, you can hear everything clearly:
"Zen's going to kill me."
"Hello? Flash!" interjects Magda. "Time doesn't make you useless to her. Being toothless does. Do me a favor."
Something *bloops* in cyberspace and an olive-colored metal trunk appears at your feet. "Open this up for a second," Magda says, "...and Shift, let him do what he wants."
[[Virgil reaches for the clasp on the trunk...]]Virgil's avatar raises its hands. "Lotta people say information is power, or information is currency."
"Because it is," you point out.
"Then why would I want to give my memories away?" he says.
"Because they're not yours?" Magda interrupts. "They're added, stuck in you."
"I *made* them mine," Virgil says. He nods, gently bobbing your point of view. "And if I didn't, I //think// I did, and you're just a visitor in here. Get it?"
[["Dead on, my hand. You're golden."]]
[["No. Zen's calling the shots, and I gave my word."]]Virgil's shoulders ease down from their unconsciously-braced position. "Does that mean you're not going to... you know... mess with a good thing?"
[["Dead on, my hand. You're golden."]]
[["No. Zen's calling the shots, and I gave my word."]]Virgil takes a deep breath, and you feel like he's not as anxious. His avatar is a little more comfortable a place for you -- you're not fighting over the body at the moment.
"You have time to think in there," he says. "And it makes you wonder about... like, the rest of your life, of course, but even more, you think about the concept of 'forever.' I started off angry. Then I decided to focus it into determination. You know, practicing karate in my cell, painting cars blowing up, turning my time into my own. But after a while... I was done with that too, and just wanted to forget it all. I painted landscapes to see when I got out."
His eyes fall to the smoothly rendered floor of the cyberspace node. "Is it weird if I don't want all this to go away?"
[["Your brain, your decision."]]
[["You think you have enough clarity to know for sure?"]]
[["The only reason you feel that is because they're *making* you feel that. Magda, delete those fake years."]]As the trunk opens into cyberspace, you see it's full of screenshots, piled like old-time photos. Virgil swipes the top one away and a moment flits by you like a breath drifting past your face. You see yellowed concrete to every side but one, the last wall framing an industrial door with a slot at the bottom.
"That's my cell," Virgil says. "One of the days we were locked down and I didn't have my paints. The day didn't exist, of course. They make a lot up to reinforce the rules."
He swipes more days away. "They did that a lot. Every time someone would act up, maybe start a fight, it was extra weeks edited to seem like the guards were in charge and the fights were rare exceptions." Virgil's eyes go still, like he's staring. "I, uh... didn't remember that until just now."
He flips through the pile of memories until the remembered ones are larger than the ones he hasn't touched yet. His hand stops on one with a blurred-out image and a silver lock icon on its screen. It refuses to be swiped away.
"Here's the declawing program," he says. "The whatchimacallit, aversion conditioning."
[["Magda, remove that."]]
[["What do they make you unable to do?"]]
(set: $background to "Gang")
With the megacorps running downtown SF, the East Bay is full of tollies -- menials that come in to clean the corps' buildings or serve their food before slogging back across the bridges at night. That's no slam on them -- housing costs mean even a middle manager's a tolly these days. Home is in the husk, where the landfills are picked over by repurposers, and the gangs serve the community better than the badges.
Growing up in your neighborhood was like growing up with parents on plasticoke. In happy times, you can get anything you want. But cross them, and the paranoia kicks in. Then you get a limb broken.
Case in point: Cram, the head of the gang you ran with, had his liver replaced with a professional-grade one a week back. His squeeze Nat chose his recovery time as the moment to hit on his enforcer Skillz, or maybe vice versa -- their stories differ.
Didn't matter. Cram got you and some friends to beat down Skillz whether he was guilty or not. Sure, Skillz killed one of said friends before you got through, but you both know it's just biz. Even when Cram's on his back in bed, he's got to walk tall and sound deadly, because weakness just makes a better target.
[[Moving on...->Gender]]Magda's voice echoes in your head. "You want to leave the years alone, fine. But let's get him cracking on the shit with consequences."
Something *bloops* in cyberspace and an olive-colored metal trunk appears at your feet. "Open this up for a second," Magda says, "...and Shift, let him do what he wants."
[[Virgil reaches for the clasp on the trunk...]]Magda's voice echoes in your head. "You want to leave the years alone, fine. But let's get him cracking on the shit with consequences."
Something *bloops* in cyberspace and an olive-colored metal trunk appears at your feet. "Open this up for a second," Magda says, "...and Shift, let him do what he wants."
[[Virgil reaches for the clasp on the trunk...]]The lock icon breaks with a *crack* and the image beneath comes into focus. Virgil touches it and it expands until it covers your entire field of view.
You are in a concrete room, cold and damp, smelling of rust. Seated at a table, you try to move your legs and find them shackled. Your dataport readout says you have a chip slotted in your temple jack, but you're not sure what, if anything, it's doing.
Across from you sits a bearded, uniformed officer with tattoos creeping up his neck. For a moment, he says nothing, does nothing.
"Proceed," says a voice. You look up at a speaker practically hidden in the ceiling.
The officer draws a pistol, some dino model that nobody makes any more but will still kill you just as dead. But rather than pointing it at you, he places it on the table. Then, slowly, he withdraws his hand.
"Pick that up," he orders. Virgil doesn't move.
[[Slowly pick up the gun.]]
[[Snatch it up and shoot him before he reacts.]]
[[Hold very still.]]Virgil takes a deep breath in meatspace that echoes in your ears. "Don't tell anyone. If I get violent, if I pick up a gun in any way, some psychotropic command screws with my inner ear. I get nauseous instantly. Full-on chunk-style, you know?"
[["Let's take a look at it."->"Magda, remove that."]]Virgil tenses and the vid feed of cyberspace gives a second of static. "Hey! I got with the program! I learned something--"
But Magda has started the deletion, and the doors de-rez, clearing space all around you. Virgil tries to reach for the last remaining one, but he has to fight you for control of the avatar.
"Fuck!" he yells, and the body collapses to its knees. "That's... that feels *weird*." He tries to draw a pattern in the air with his finger. "I feel like painting, but I don't remember how."
"Hello, flash," interjects Magda, "We're on the clock here. Zen wants this kitty re-clawed. Do me a favor."
Something *bloops* in cyberspace and an olive-colored metal trunk appears at your feet. "Open this up for a second," Magda says, "...and Shift, let him do what he wants."
[[Virgil reaches for the clasp on the trunk...]]
Virgil tenses and the vid feed of cyberspace gives a second of static. "Zen doesn't know what it was like in th--"
But Magda has started the deletion, and the doors de-rez, clearing space all around you. Virgil tries to reach for the last remaining one, but he has to fight you for control of the avatar.
"Fuck!" he yells, and the body collapses to its knees. "That's... that feels *weird*." He tries to draw a pattern in the air with his finger. "I feel like painting, but I don't remember how."
"Hello, flash," interjects Magda, "We're on the clock here. Zen wants this kitty re-clawed. Do me a favor."
Something *bloops* in cyberspace and an olive-colored metal trunk appears at your feet. "Open this up for a second," Magda says, "...and Shift, let him do what he wants."
[[Virgil reaches for the clasp on the trunk...]]You're not sure what the cop wants, but it definitely isn't good. You've heard stories about cops who cack street kids and later claim they were going for a weapon. So when you move, it's at sloth speed.
But as your hand gets within a few centimeters of the handle, something hurts. It starts as a dull ache in the stomach, then increases to a sharp pain. Something swells in your ears, and the sounds of the cop telling you to hurry up seem far away and under water.
Amid all the pain, you let go, and Virgil's avatar lets loose a burning flood of vomit onto the table. He heaves three times, then, in a convulsion, shoves the gun off the table past the cop.
The nausea subsides.
"Trial successful, eighty-nine-percent of optimal," comes the voice from the ceiling. "Retrieve the chip."
The cop doesn't take any chances, and forces your head down onto the wet, stinking table. He pulls a chip out of your head jack, and only releases pressure when he has stepped out of your reach.
[["Magda, maybe step in next time?"]]You don't know a ton about therapy, but putting a hole in a virtual authority figure is bound to help get Virgil back on track. Your hand is a blur as you grab the ancient pistol and--
--a burning torrent of vomit comes up. You hang onto the gun as multiple heaves wrack your body, and the stinking mess washes across the table. In the convulsions, your finger pulls on the trigger, but all you get is a click -- it wasn't loaded.
Only after the pain makes it too hard to breathe do you let go of the weapon, and it clatters to the floor. The tight knot of pain in your gut immediately releases. You sag onto the table and take deep breaths, never mind the smell.
"Trial successful, eighty percent of optimal," comes the voice from the ceiling. "Retrieve the chip."
The cop doesn't take any chances, and forces your head down onto the wet, stinking table. He pulls a chip out of your head jack, and only releases pressure when he has stepped out of your reach.
[["Magda, maybe step in next time?"]]You ready yourself to interfere, but as soon as you ease up, it's like the bursting of a dam. Virgil re-enacts the memory by darting his hand toward the gun...
...and then it feels like you've been struck. But the cop's gun is still in its holster. He's waiting as a spasm wracks your body, twisting your guts like a towel. Your avatar heaves forward, vomiting onto the table.
More heaves follow until Virgil drops the gun and it clatters to the concrete. Then, it's as if the giant fist grabbing your esophagus lets go. The pain wafts away like steam from an extinguished fire.
"Trial successful, eighty-nine percent of optimal," comes the voice from the ceiling. "Retrieve the chip."
The cop doesn't take any chances, and forces your head down onto the wet, stinking table. He pulls a chip out of your head jack, and only releases pressure when he has stepped out of your reach.
[["Magda, maybe step in next time?"]]You didn't stay out of jail this long by doing what corp-cops say. When the memory-driven Virgil tries to move the avatar's hands forward, you shut it all down. He strains, but you have control.
The officer sneers. "Pick up the fucking gun."
Now you're *sure* it's a trap. Virgil tries to reach, but you slam your left hand onto his right to hold it back. This must look ridiculous to the cop, who doesn't appear to be laughing.
He reaches for his sidearm on his opposite hip. "You want to die?"
Virgil's adrenaline kicks in. You're not going to be able to control him.
[[Let Virgil grab the gun and shoot.->Snatch it up and shoot him before he reacts.]]
[[Let him grab the gun, but throw off his aim.]]
The memory freezes. "Oops," comes Magda's voice in your head. "Got caught up watching the vitals. The aversion programming kicks in one hell of a reaction biologically."
"So he can't pick up a gun without puking?"
"Looks like the parameters cover anything with violent urges while reaching for an object," Magda says. "Knife, gun, stick, hairbrush..."
"This part I can do without," Virgil says. "Delete it."
[["Definitely. Magda, junk this damn program."]]
[["That wasn't in Zen's deal."]](set: $aversion to "Off")
The room goes background-screen blue, with a progress bar and white letters that say "BUFFERING."
"Memory deleted," Magda says. "Jacking you out."
Everything turns to static -- the room, the smell, the sounds of your own breathing. Your eyes give you nothing but gray, your ears, hissing. The stench from the memory is gone, but instead you breathe in a sterile odor, like you were packed in Styrofoam.
Metal bangs on metal. A voice booms. "We know you're in there, gagger! We tracked that fancy car!"
The dark red blur in front of you slowly focuses into Magda's studio. You hear her rack the slide of a pistol behind you. You scramble behind a short refrigerator, fumbling for your own weapon. Your body, still working off the dump shock, responds only slowly.
"Fucking Metal Graves gang," snarls Magda. "I see five on the camera. They want our boy."
[[Get ready for a fight!]]Even with the avatar frozen in place, you are able to tell Virgil's nervousness. "But she'd want me to be able to handle a piece, right?"
"That's not a given," you say. "Maybe she wants you on a short leash, so you need her like she needs you."
"She trusts me enough to make bombs--"
Magda speaks into both your heads. "Hate to break in, but we've got a sitch in meatspace. Metal Graves chromers at the door. Jack out, both of you."
"Shit." says Virgil. "Delete the aversion, *now*!"
[["I'll handle it. Leave the locks on."]]
[["I want all of us fully functional. Delete it."]](set: $aversion to "On")
In response, you feel a brief pressure on your neck and something *pulls*.
Everything turns to static -- the room, the smell, the sounds of your own breathing. Your eyes give you nothing but gray, your ears, hissing. The stench from the memory is gone, but instead you breathe in a sterile odor, like you were packed in Styrofoam.
Metal bangs on metal. A voice booms. "We know you're in there, gagger! We tracked that fancy car!"
The dark red blur in front of you slowly focuses into Magda's studio. You hear her rack the slide of a pistol behind you. You scramble behind a short refrigerator, fumbling for your own weapon. Your body, still working off the dump shock, responds only slowly.
"Metal Graves gang," snarls Magda. "I see five on the camera. They want our boy."
You see Virgil, trying to hide behind the dentist-chair where he was previously jacked in. It's not going to stop a bullet, or hide him. He reaches for a metal bucket, but hesitates, gagging.
"I'm a doornail," he says. "I'm a fucking doornail!"
[[Get ready to cover him.]](set: $aversion to "Off")
The room goes background-screen blue, with a progress bar and white letters that say "BUFFERING."
"Memory deleted," Magda says. "Jacking you out."
Everything turns to static -- the room, the smell, the sounds of your own breathing. Your eyes give you nothing but gray, your ears, hissing. The stench from the memory is gone, but instead you breathe in a sterile odor, like you were packed in Styrofoam.
Metal bangs on metal. A voice booms. "We know you're in there, gagger! We tracked that fancy car!"
The dark red blur in front of you slowly focuses into Magda's studio. You hear her rack the slide of a pistol behind you. You scramble behind a short refrigerator, fumbling for your own weapon. Your body, still working off the dump shock, responds only slowly.
"Fucking Metal Graves gang," snarls Magda. "I see five on the camera. They want our boy."
[[Get ready for a fight!]]"Oleg!" comes the voice from beyond the door. "Kick a hole!"
A guttural cry is eclipsed by a *crack* like you have never heard before. Magda's steel door shudders and dust bursts from the plascrete that it has been set in. It must be what a battering ram sounded like against an old-timey castle.
Magda's eyes are wide, and she holds her pistol in a death grip. Virgil's variety of terror, on the other hand, seems to have cleaned the dump shock out of his system. He scrambles across the floor on all fours and flattens by a crate of fiber-optics.
A second *crack* and the 'crete breaks around the door. The steel frame sags, and a third kick from whatever monstrosity is on the other side knocks it askew.
You see twin pinpoints of red light -- cheap cybereyes that use their own illumination instead of low-light tech. Below them is a barrel of a chest under a dull black tacti-cool jacket. The legs are all metal, scratched-up Russian titanium that could stave in ribs if you let him get close enough.
You have no intention of letting him get close enough.
[[Shoot for the head and hope you hit.]]
[[Shoot for the torso and hope that jacket isn't armored.]]"Oleg!" comes the voice from beyond the door. "Kick a hole!"
A guttural cry is eclipsed by a *crack* like you have never heard before. Magda's steel door shudders and dust bursts from the plascrete that it has been set in. It must be what a battering ram sounded like against a castle gate.
Magda's eyes are wide, and she holds her pistol in a death grip. Virgil's variety of terror, on the other hand, seems to have cleaned the dump shock out of his system. He scrambles across the floor on all fours and flattens by a crate full of fiber-optics.
A second *crack* and the 'crete breaks around the door. The steel frame sags, and a third kick from whatever monstrosity is on the other side knocks it askew.
You see twin pinpoints of red light -- cheap cybereyes that use their own illumination instead of low-light tech. Below them is a barrel of a chest under a dull black tacti-cool jacket. The legs are all metal, scratched-up Russian titanium that could stave in ribs if you let him get close enough.
You have no intention of letting him get close enough.
[[Shoot for the head and hope he doesn't have a cyber-skull.]]
[[Shoot for the torso and hope that's not a flak jacket.]]You don't give the chrome monster a chance and neither does Magda. In the small studio, your pistols are deafening.
The one they called "Oleg" steps in, but one step is all he gets. He jerks his neck as blood sprays from his face. You don't know how many shots it took. You don't know if Magda got him or you did. You just know he's falling and the bodies behind him are next.
The next two razorpunks in the door are packing iron, but you and Magda are laying down a hailstorm of lead. When your magazine goes dry, Magda keeps up the pressure, and soon they're falling and leaking, clogging up the doorway for the next bunch of scorchies. Those take cover behind the bricks.
You swap to your last magazine, only to look up at the sound of a metal weight bouncing off the floor.
Right next to Virgil, a live grenade settles to a stop.
[[Dive for cover!]]The biggest, easiest target is the torso, and your rounds land like explosive punches. You don't stop firing until you've dumped the entire mag into him. But though the one they called Oleg staggers, he doesn't fall down. Metal clangs as he shoves aside the wreckage of the door and gets inside the room.
You eject the magazine, but your hands are shaking as you slot the new one. It takes two tries, and that's too long.
He stomps his foot, and --*shink*-- chrome-covered spikes emerge from each of his knees. Clearing the distance to Magda's desk, he kicks it, lofting forty kilos of furniture into the air and knocking Magda back like she was a toy.
[[But then...]]He's focused on Magda, and that's his fatal mistake. You put one round in the side of Oleg's head, and are grateful to see Virgil squirm out from under the desk, looking functional.
You turn to cover the entrance. The next two razorpunks in the door are packing iron, but while they're aiming, you're firing. While they're deciding which way to jump, you're firing more, going from body to body like a whack-a-mole game at a carnival.
Your magazine runs dry again, but the remaining scorchies outside are taking cover behind the brick. You swap to your last magazine, only to look up at the sound of a metal weight bouncing off the floor.
Right next to Virgil, a live grenade settles to a stop.
[[Dive for cover!]]You don't give the chrome monster a chance and neither does Magda. In the small studio, your pistols are deafening.
The one they called "Oleg" steps in, but one step is all he gets. He jerks his neck as blood sprays from his face. You don't know how many shots it took. You don't know if Magda got him or you did. You just know he's falling.
The next two razorpunks in the door are packing iron, but while they're aiming, you're firing. While they're deciding which way to jump, you're firing more, going from body to body like a whack-a-mole game at a carnival.
Your magazine runs dry again, but the remaining scorchies outside are taking cover behind the brick. You swap to your spare magazine, only to look up at the sound of a metal weight bouncing off the floor.
Right next to Virgil, a live grenade settles to a stop.
[[Take cover!]]The biggest, easiest target is the torso, and your rounds land like explosive punches. You don't stop firing until you've dumped the entire mag into him. But though the one they called Oleg staggers, he doesn't fall down. Metal clangs as he shoves aside the wreckage of the door and gets inside the room.
You eject the magazine, but your hands are shaking as you slot the new one. It takes two tries, and that's too long.
He stomps his foot, and --*shink*-- a metal spike emerges from each of his knees. Clearing the distance to Magda's desk, he kicks it, lofting forty kilos of furniture into the air and knocking Magda back like she was a toy.
[[Just then...]]From beneath the tossed desk, you see Virgil, now exposed. Oleg sees him too, but the metal monster is just a little too slow.
Virgil's hands close around Magda's dropped pistol, and he fires up into Oleg's crotch. For all the titanium legs and titanium hips, there's some parts that are still flesh down there. Blood sprays and Oleg lets out a yell that sounds remarkably high-pitched for someone his size.
You've got seconds. You put one round in the side of Oleg's head, and turn to cover the entrance before he even starts to fall. The next two razorpunks in the door are packing iron, but while they're aiming, you're firing. While they're deciding which way to jump, you're firing more, going from body to body like a whack-a-mole game at a carnival.
Your magazine runs dry again, but the remaining scorchies outside are taking cover behind the brick. You swap to your last magazine, only to look up at the sound of a metal weight bouncing off the floor.
Right next to Virgil, a live grenade settles to a stop.
[[Take cover!]]You flatten, making a smaller target for the blast and fragments, but there's little hope. Virgil grabs for the grenade...
...and throws it through the doorframe into the hall.
Light.
Deafness.
Your ears whine like a mistuned microphone. But for a moment, nobody moves.
You are the first to get to your feet. The hallway looks like an abbatoir. Nothing living is out there. In here, there's only Magda and Virgil. She's emerging from behind a fragment-shredded desk, holding her hand to a bleeding cut on her temple. He's on all fours, stunned at what he's done.
"You did it," you say. "We're alive."
[[Virgil sits back...]]You flatten, making a smaller target for the blast and fragments, but there's little hope. Virgil grabs for the grenade, and his body immediately curls up. One hand goes to his mouth, trying to hold back the inevitable puke...
...and the other...
...tucks under his chest...
...and he falls onto it.
Light.
Deafness.
Blood.
[[Open your eyes.]]You look up and immediately wish you hadn't. There's a Metal Graves hoodlum standing over you, his face painted up like a skull and some black polymer blades jutting out of his hand.
"This one's bleeding," he says. "Gonna die soon."
The last hoodlum comes up next to him. He's wearing leather and spikes like he doesn't own a washing machine. He smells like that doesn't bother him.
"Make sure of it," he says, and all you can think is it's some humiliating shit to die to some scorchie who looks like he pulled his fashion sense out of a 1980s time capsule.
A *pop* and red from an exit wound spurts out of his face. His eyes roll back in his head and he collapses. When Skull-Face turns on Magda, you seize your chance. Three rounds left in the pistol. One in the hip gets him to stumble to his knees. One in the back doesn't do much good through his vest, but you're just finding the aim for the last one in his head.
[["We did it," you say.]]...as the three of you take in the carnage. Its stench is terrible -- millions of years of evolution are telling you that it's not good to be where humans are torn apart like this.
"What now?" Magda says. Her voice is muffled, almost drowned out by the ringing in your ears. "I mean, I need a new flop. The Graves are going to roid-rage. If they back down now the other gangs will think they're meat."
Virgil closes his eyes. "This is why I wanted to leave all this shit behind. Even when you win, you lose."
"Don't tell me you're going to run and hide *now*," Magda says. "We freed you up and you acted like a goddamn hero."
"No!" he says. "This is me, no locks, and I'm saying I don't want this shit."
[["You could make the difference."]]
[["Then eject. Be safe, get out of town."]]Magda gets to her feet, then wobbles, propping herself up on the arm of the dentist chair. You see the blood matted in her hair but aren't sure if it's from fragments, injuries, or the messy, messy dead.
"Present company excepted," she says, gesturing at the bodies on the floor. She's got a point. You see Virgil's hand first, identifiable because it's got an escort's phone number still written on it. What's left of the rest of him makes you gag.
"Zen's not going to like this," you say.
"Understatement," Magda acknowledges. "But the Metal Graves just lost a good chunk of their enforcers. Can't be said we didn't step up." She paces back and forth, surveying the damage. "I almost had this place paid off, too. I'm going to need a new flop, I need to get my equipment into my car 'cause the badges will impound all of this..." She grits her teeth. "What about you? I don't want to forget you pulled a save on me here."
[["Just back me up. Zen's going to grill us."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[GANG BACKGROUND: "I know a scorchie, name of Cram, he can get you a flop. But he needs creative punishments for a special friend."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp")[ [[CORP BACKGROUND: "If you can edit memories, there's some paydata in my head you could unlock."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[MEDTECH BACKGROUND: "You know anyone who fences cybertech? These bodies might pay our way."]] ]
Virgil's eyes dart in your direction. "You mean hits."
Magda grabs a fire extinguisher and limps out into the hall. "I'm all for payback," she calls. The sound of spraying foam and the continued electric whine in your ears drowns out any of her other opinions.
"I'm not ungrateful. You two saved my life just now," Virgil says. "If I couldn't have grabbed that grenade..."
"It was mutual," you say. "We needed all three of us."
"No, but... I thought I had changed. It wasn't real, my free will was on the cutting-room floor. But now I can change, and I'm thinking... if I choose the same thing they wanted, am I actually free?"
[["If you're running away the rest of your life, that's just another kind of jail."]]
[["If it's really you making the choice, yes."]]Virgil nods. "Better for us all if I did, yeah. Zen's rep will take a smaller hit if it's all on me. Ain't going to be hard to act like I'm afraid of the Graves." His lips wrinkle. "Uh... how are we going to make it look like I got away from you?"
You look around the wreckage of the studio. "Sorry, can't hear you over my concussion."
Virgil laughs. He wipes at his face, removing a bit of blood that might have been from Oleg. "I shouldn't yuk it up. This isn't a time to joke, but... you're all right, you know? I just wish there's something I could do for you."
[["Just run. Don't stop for any reason. Figure out favors later."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[GANG BACKGROUND: "Tell everyone I wasted these scorchies single-handed."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp")[ [[CORP BACKGROUND: "Any dirt you hear about Tokugawa Technologies--bring it to me."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[MEDTECH BACKGROUND: "I'm going to scavenge the cyber off of these fools. Should bring in a little cash."]] ]You're not wrong.
After Magda hoses down a few smoldering parts of the studio with a fire extinguisher, she packs her most expensive possessions into her car. You strip the dead and try to wipe the place clean of fingerprints.
The other residents of the block have undoubtedly called the police. Fortunately for you, their response time is about as speedy as garbage pickup around here -- once a week at best.
By three a.m., you're meeting in a parking garage with Zen, reporting the bad news. She leans against the limousine that brought her, arms folded and tense. Though her voice remains even and cold, Zen's all over you with questions -- how did the Graves find you? How many were there? How are you alive?
Finally, she comes to "Were there any survivors on their side?"
"Not that we saw," you say. "All five Metal Graves down, and a lot of their chrome just came onto the market. If we can move it, it's not a total loss."
"And Virgil's remains?"
"None to speak of," Magda says. "He jumped on a grenade."
"Heroes." Zen spits. "Always fucking it up for the rest of us. I'll notify his family. We'll have a service."
[["Hey, show some respect. He kept the two of us breathing."]]
[["Let them know he saved our lives."]]
[["Yeah... my man had more balls than brains."]]Magda chuckles. "Don't get too far ahead. I'm going to need some new equipment. Salvage some chrome before it gets cold and we'll start motoring."
After Magda hoses down a few smoldering parts of the studio with a fire extinguisher, she packs her most expensive possessions into her car. You strip the dead and try to wipe the place clean of fingerprints.
The other residents of the block have undoubtedly called the police. Fortunately for you, their response time is about as speedy as garbage pickup around here -- once a week at best.
By three a.m., you're meeting in a parking garage with Zen, reporting the bad news. She leans against the limousine that brought her, arms folded and tense. Though her voice remains even and cold, Zen's all over you with questions -- how did the Graves find you? How many were there? How are you alive?
Finally, she comes to "Were there any survivors on their side?"
"Not that we saw," you say. "All five Metal Graves down, and a lot of their chrome just came onto the market. If we can move it, it's not a total loss."
"And Virgil's remains?"
"None to speak of," Magda says. "He jumped on a grenade."
"Heroes." Zen spits. "Always fucking it up for the rest of us. I'll notify his family. We'll have a service."
[["Hey, show some respect. He kept the two of us breathing."]]
[["Let them know he saved our lives."]]
[["Yeah... my man had more balls than brains."]]Magda smirks, but there's no pleasure in it. "I got nine of 'em on speed dial, but if we don't offer Zen first pick, she'll go ballistic. Start salvaging before it gets cold. We need to vanish."
After Magda hoses down a few smoldering parts of the studio with a fire extinguisher, she packs her most expensive possessions into her car. You strip the dead and try to wipe the place clean of fingerprints.
The other residents of the block have undoubtedly called the police. Fortunately for you, their response time is about as speedy as garbage pickup around here -- once a week at best.
By three a.m., you're meeting in a parking garage with Zen, reporting the bad news. She leans against the limousine that brought her, arms folded and tense. Though her voice remains even and cold, Zen's all over you with questions -- how did the Graves find you? How many were there? How are you alive?
Finally, she comes to "Were there any survivors on their side?"
"Not that we saw," you say. "All five Metal Graves down, and a lot of their chrome just came onto the market. If we can move it, it's not a total loss."
"And Virgil's remains?"
"None to speak of," Magda says. "He jumped on a grenade."
"Heroes." Zen spits. "Always fucking it up for the rest of us. I'll notify his family. We'll have a service."
[["Hey, show some respect. He kept the two of us breathing."]]
[["Let them know he saved our lives."]]
[["Yeah... my man had more balls than brains."]]Virgil nods. "Yeah. If I run from the Graves, if I run from Zen... I'll be looking over my shoulder forever, won't I?" As he chews on the thought, he looks you up and down. "Of course, you're with Zen, so that means your advice is, uh..."
"Take your time," you say. Pushing doesn't seem right here.
"That makes me wonder," he muses. "Is there something you want? Not as Zen's voice, I mean. You."
[["Making Zen happy punches up my reputation. That's worth something."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[GANG BACKGROUND: "If you made any connections on the inside, my man Cram needs manpower and firepower."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp")[ [[CORP BACKGROUND: "Not unless you can erase the memory of an entire branch of Tokugawa Technologies."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[MEDTECH BACKGROUND: "A license to practice medicine, but I doubt you've got a spare."]] ]Virgil nods. "Hadn't quite thought about it in those terms, but..."
"But it'll help you sleep at night?"
"Right... sounds petty, though."
"Not if it lasts you the rest of your life," you say.
Virgil considers. "That's a good point. Uh... how are we going to make it look like I got away from you?"
You look around the wreckage of the studio. "Sorry, can't hear you over my concussion."
Virgil laughs. He wipes at his face, removing a bit of blood that might have been from Oleg. "I shouldn't yuk it up. This isn't a time to joke, but... you're all right, you know? I just wish there's something I could do for you."
[["Just run. Don't stop for any reason. Figure out favors later."]]
(if: $background is "Gang")[ [[GANG BACKGROUND: "Tell everyone I wasted these scorchies single-handed."]] ]
(if: $background is "Corp")[ [[CORP BACKGROUND: "Any dirt you hear about Tokugawa Technologies--bring it to me."]] ]
(if: $background is "Medtech")[ [[MEDTECH BACKGROUND: "I'm going to scavenge the cyber off of these fools. Should bring in a little cash."]] ]
"Ha ha, no possible way," laughs Virgil.
Magda settles back on one foot, arms crossed. "When you say 'entire branch,' what headcount are we talking?"
"You'd need more dentist chairs," you answer.
Magda surveys the mess. "If I can get my high-end tronics out of here before we're ass-deep in badges, that could be more than a wish. But we've got to pack *now.*"
You and Virgil help run her essential equipment out to the trunk of her car and stash it full of captured hardware. Fortunately, this neighborhood sees cops about as often as it sees trees, which is to say you're long gone before you hear any sirens.
[[Time to call Zen...]]Virgil nods. "Yeah. Been a long time since I took fire with anyone that had my back." His eyes unfocus, and you imagine he's seeing absent friends, years and oceans away.
"Does that mean you're going to stick it out?"
Virgil's jaw goes tight. "Yeah. Let's do this thing."
"First step," says Magda, who has finished extinguishing the hall, "Let's get out of here before the badges show up and put us all in that damn tower. Grab the expensive stuff."
You fill Magda's car trunk with her editing equipment and pile hardware on top of Virgil, who sits in back. When you hear distant sirens, Magda slams the doors and peels away from the crime scene.
[[Next->Time to call Zen...]]
Virgil's brow furrows, like he's trying to figure something out. "Been a long time since anyone went through fire with me and didn't ask for the moon afterward. Why are you doing this?"
"You just got free," you say. "I'm not going to shackle you to someone you don't want before your first night is over."
"Fuuuuuuck!" Magda yells at the ceiling. "All this and we don't even get him on our side?"
"You got a problem?" you say. "I thought you were into liberating his brain."
"Yeah, and I did it." Magda opens her mouth, about to speak, then changes her mind. She taps her finger against her lips before coming to another conclusion. "Look, I'm chill with you two. No one can say you didn't fight for our seat at the table. Just... we better bring Zen some captured hardware so we're not empty-handed and therefore fucked."
Virgil nods. "I won't forget this. Now, like you said... I'm running."
He grabs the little gift bag Zen gave him. Then he disappears into the clouds of smoke and dust in the hall, with only one glance back.
[[Time to vanish...->The Wrapup]]The corner of Virgil's mouth crawls upward into a grin. "If anybody asks, there were ten of them and after the grenade the rest ran off to change their pants." The amusement on his face quickly fades. "Seriously, that's all you want?"
"You just got free," you say. "I'm not going to shackle you to Zen before your first night is over."
"Fuuuuuuck!" Magda yells at the ceiling. "All this and we don't even get him on our side?"
"You got a problem?" you say. "I thought you were into liberating his brain."
"Yeah, and I did it." Magda opens her mouth, about to speak, then changes her mind. She taps her finger against her lips before coming to another conclusion. "Look, I'm chill with you two. No one can say you didn't fight for our seat at the table. Just... we better bring Zen some captured hardware so we're not empty-handed and therefore fucked."
Virgil nods. "I won't forget this. Now, like you said... I'm running."
He grabs the little gift bag Zen gave him. Then he disappears into the clouds of smoke and dust in the hall, with only one glance back.
[[Time to vanish...->The Wrapup]]
"Well, this place is a far cry from a boardroom." He nudges Oleg's body with his foot, then steps back as the motion causes a widening pool of red on the floor. "Not that I was too used to those. I think I saw one on a tour in high school one time." Then his brow furrows.
"But?" you ask.
"But..." he agrees, "...I did meet a few intel gatherers on the inside. Burbon-and-burn-bags kind of guys who weren't supposed to get caught. For the price of some cigarettes and a few letters in code, I bet I could net you something." He cocks his head as he looks at you. "But you were about to let me go before you knew that. What gives?"
"You just got free," you say. "I'm not going to shackle you to someone you don't want before your first night is over."
"Fuuuuuuck!" Magda yells at the ceiling. "All this and we don't even get him on our side?"
"You got a problem?" you say. "I thought you were into liberating his brain."
"Yeah, and I did it." Magda opens her mouth, about to speak, then changes her mind. She taps her finger against her lips before coming to another conclusion. "Look, I'm chill with you two. No one can say you didn't fight for our seat at the table. Just... we better bring Zen some captured hardware so we're not empty-handed and therefore fucked."
"You got a problem?" you say.
Virgil nods. "I won't forget this. I'll get you any info I can. Now, like you said... I'm running."
He grabs the little gift bag Zen gave him. Then he disappears into the clouds of smoke and dust in the hall, with only one glance back.
[[Time to vanish...->The Wrapup]]After Magda hoses down a few smoldering parts of the studio with a fire extinguisher, it's time to go. The other residents of the block have undoubtedly called the police. Fortunately for you, their response time is about as speedy as garbage pickup around here -- once a week at best. Magda packs her most expensive possessions into her car while you strip the dead and try to wipe the place of fingerprints.
By three a.m., you're meeting in a parking garage with Zen, reporting the bad news. She leans against the limousine that brought her, arms folded and tense. Though her voice remains even and cold, Zen's all over you with questions -- how did the Graves find you? How many were there? How are you alive?
You string together a story with Magda. The last thing you remember seeing was Virgil scooping up a grenade and throwing it back. It must have been a flash-bang, because you were blinded and disoriented. When you could see again, Virgil was gone and the Metal Graves dead on the ground.
Zen spits. "Just what I needed. You think you know a guy, then it turns out he's a fuckin' ninja. Law corps are probably there by now looking to track him. "
"What's the play?" you ask.
The cords in Zen's neck stand out. "The one thing I fucking wanted was to have the appearance of control over my people. Now I either say the Metal Graves killed Virgil or say they failed to ice him and gloat that there were no casualties. Neither's optimal. He could turn up alive or dead, and then I'm as fake as a corporate press."
[["What if I say he's dead, but I killed the Metal Graves and I'll kill a dozen more if I have to?"]]
[["I could say he skipped town at your request. Like you're looking out for him."]]
[["Gloat. Say a full-on Metal Graves hit squad went after us and inflicted zero casualties."]]Virgil nods. "Wish I could say I was disgusted, but we did that back in the People's Dem, real butcher shit. If you need a hand, we can do it quick."
"You two ghouls do your thing," Magda says. "I'm packing my good shit so I'm out of here before the badges show. Usually takes them a half hour."
The three of you work fast. Despite Magda's distaste, she volunteers her car, and Oleg's cyberlegs manage to fit into the trunk, along with a small arsenal of weapons. Virgil slams it firmly.
"There. Zen won't be left empty-handed." He cleans himself with one of Magda's bottles of sanitizer. "Though I'm kind of amazed you'd defy her for someone you just met."
"You just got free," you say. "I'm not going to shackle you to someone you don't want before your first night is over."
Magda wipes bloody prints off of the trunk's handle. "Let's go. Sirens are gonna be blaring soon enough. We got proof we fought the good fight for Zen, but that proof's also known as Exhibit A."
Virgil nods. "I won't forget this. Now, like you said... I'm running."
He grabs the little gift bag Zen gave him. Then he disappears into the streets of the husk, and you get the feeling you're never going to see him again.
[[Time to vanish...->The Wrapup]]You phone up Zen. She answers on the sixth ring.
"Left the phone in your other brain this evening?" you nudge. She's got an implant -- who doesn't?
"I was hoping you'd go away," she says, her voice like a bad city road. "Then I remembered you might have gotten in some predicament only I could solve."
"Way past that part of the night," you say. "Sorry to ring you so late. Our friend's freedom prompted a visit from the Metal Graves. We've stayed out of hospitals and morgues so far, but we could use a checkup. Can you meet?"
An hour later, you're admitted into an underground parking garage that Zen's regular payments ensure stays private after hours. Her eyes would be bloodshot if they were made of meat, but she's long past those days. You fill her in on how you deconditioned Virgil and put down the Metal Graves' welcoming committee.
"So," she asks Virgil, "You want to put the fear of God into the rest of those assholes?"
His face is cold, porcelain on a shelf. "What I want doesn't enter into it," he says. "I owe Shift, and that means I owe you. But when I'm done, I walk away. No bullshit, no sneaky goalposts. I want a limit."
"The Metal Graves will want payback for all that red," says Zen. "We'll have to bunker up until the lead stops flying. You're not going to get a better deal than this: you stick by me and I stick by you. Until it ends."
Virgil seems to seethe, but no more. "Time is something I've got."
[["I hope you two see eye-on-eye now."]]
[["You two sort that out. I did the biz I was here to do."]]
Zen lights an e-cigarette. "Did he actually, or are we selling to the family here?"
A scowl crosses Magda's face. "This isn't a fucking joke."
Zen nods. "Stay airy, just had to ask. Have to say it doesn't add on the balance sheet. Man just got a whole new life ahead of him, and he does this. Sometimes you just got to wonder what they're thinking."
"I took a look in his brain," Magda says. "But the brain ain't the mind."
"Yeah," you mutter, recalling something. "He had a saying. 'The mind is its own place.'"
"Agreed." Zen's optics scan the parking lot, maybe for signs of life. Finding nothing other than the three of you, she adds, "That's probably for the best."
She takes a look at the chrome and hardware you packed away, but it's clear from her lackluster negotiations that her heart isn't in it. You find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, which have no doubt stayed dry as long as she's owned them.
As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, if you were into that sort of thing.
But when you re-enter the city on the far shore, it is lost in the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]Zen lights an e-cigarette. "He did," she says. "I should say, that's not a small thing. But if I were him, it wouldn't add up. Man had a whole new life ahead of him. Sometimes you just got to wonder what they're thinking."
"I took a look in his brain," Magda says. "But the brain ain't the mind."
"Yeah," you mutter, recalling something. "He had a saying. 'The mind is its own place.'"
"Agreed." Zen's optics scan the parking lot, maybe for signs of life. Finding nothing other than the three of you, she adds, "That's probably for the best."
She takes a look at the chrome and hardware you packed away, but it's clear from her lackluster negotiations that her heart isn't in it. You find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, which have no doubt stayed dry as long as she's owned them.
As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, if you were into that sort of thing.
But when you re-enter the city on the far shore, it is lost in the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]Zen lights an e-cigarette. "Isn't that always the way... Ain't every day you have a whole new life ahead of you. Sometimes you just got to wonder what he was thinking."
"I took a look in his brain," Magda says. "But the brain ain't the mind."
"Yeah," you mutter, recalling something. "He had a saying. 'The mind is its own place.'"
"Agreed." Zen's optics scan the parking lot, maybe for signs of life. Finding nothing other than the three of you, she adds, "That's probably for the best."
She takes a look at the chrome and hardware you packed away, but it's clear from her lackluster negotiations that her heart isn't in it. You find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, which have no doubt stayed dry as long as she's owned them.
As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, if you were into that sort of thing.
But when you re-enter the city on the far shore, it is lost in the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]Magda chuckles. "If you want me in a mood to make someone's day really fuckin' bad, you picked a great moment. Pick some chrome off the bods and we'll start motoring."
After Magda hoses down a few smoldering parts of the studio with a fire extinguisher, she packs her most expensive possessions into her car. You strip the dead and try to wipe the place clean of fingerprints.
The other residents of the block have undoubtedly called the police. Fortunately for you, their response time is about as speedy as garbage pickup around here -- once a week at best.
By three a.m., you're meeting in a parking garage with Zen, reporting the bad news. She leans against the limousine that brought her, arms folded and tense. Though her voice remains even and cold, Zen's all over you with questions -- how did the Graves find you? How many were there? How are you alive?
Finally, she comes to "Were there any survivors on their side?"
"Not that we saw," you say. "All five Metal Graves down, and a lot of their chrome just came onto the market. If we can move it, it's not a total loss."
"And Virgil's remains?"
"None to speak of," Magda says. "He jumped on a grenade."
"Heroes." Zen spits. "Always fucking it up for the rest of us. I'll notify his family. We'll have a service."
[["Hey, show some respect. He kept the two of us breathing."]]
[["Let them know he saved our lives."]]
[["Yeah... my man had more balls than brains."]]Virgil gives a small smile. "There were a lot of people in there. Some were sharks, you know, nothing but swim and eat, but others... they'd look out for you. If there's money to be made, I could get people to the table."
"Not bad," you say.
"Hate to interrupt the deal of the century," says Magda, "but we need to be out of this flop before a dozen badges ask what the grenade was all about." She starts unplugging her equipment. "And I don't want my best stuff locked up in an evidence room."
You and Virgil help run her essential equipment out to the trunk of her car and stash it full of captured hardware. Fortunately, this neighborhood sees cops about as often as it sees trees, which is to say you're long gone before you hear any sirens.
[[Time to call Zen...]]Zen nods. "I can get you a price on the chrome, too. We'll sort it. Not a bad night."
She gestures with her head, and her car's doors open. Virgil hesitates to walk in their direction. He glances back at you.
You ask, "You gonna be on smooth road from here on out?"
"Back in that fuckin' slaughterhouse, you called me a hero," Virgil says. It sounds more accusatory than grateful.
The truth and what he wants to hear are close enough. "You were to me."
Virgil looks around the parking lot, like trying to find someone who can help him. But all he sees are Magda, Zen, and you.
"I handled my shit like a soldier is supposed to. Not the same thing." His hands are jittery. He clenches them. "Just... don't make the same mistakes I did, or nobody'll ever get anywhere. I'm not going to like what I have to do, you get me?"
He looks from Magda to you and back again. Magda, her face now in a permanent state of scowl, nods to herself.
"You can get through it," you say. "The mind is its own place, right?"
Virgil lets out a breath. "Yeah... yeah, it is."
He gets into Zen's limo as Zen takes a look at the chrome and hardware you packed away. As she tallies up what they're worth to her, you find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, pitiless and unblinking.
As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, if you were into that sort of thing.
But you can change the settings in your heads-up display, and you take the moment to see that Zen's payment went through. For tonight, you're doing okay.
When you re-enter the city on the far shore, the star blends into the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]Zen's expression remains unreadable. "We'll see," she says. Trust does not come easily to her.
She gestures with her head, and her chromeboys in her car pop the doors open. Virgil hesitates to walk in their direction. He glances back at you.
You ask, "You gonna be on smooth road from here on out?"
"Back in that fuckin' slaughterhouse, you called me a hero," Virgil says. It sounds more accusatory than grateful.
The truth and what he wants to hear are close enough. "You were to me."
Virgil looks around the parking lot, like trying to find someone who can help him. But all he sees are Magda, Zen, and you.
"I handled my shit like a soldier is supposed to. Not the same thing." His hands are jittery. He clenches them. "Just... don't make the same mistakes I did, or nobody'll ever get anywhere. I'm not going to like what I have to do, you get it?"
He looks from Magda to you and back again. Magda, her face now in a permanent state of scowl, nods to herself.
"You can get through it," you say. "The mind is its own place, right?"
Virgil lets out a breath. "Yeah... yeah, it is."
He gets into Zen's limo as Zen takes a look at the chrome and hardware you packed away. As she tallies up what they're worth to her, you find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, pitiless and unblinking.
As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, were you into that sort of thing.
But you can change the settings in your heads-up display, and you take the moment to see that Zen's payment went through. For tonight, you're doing okay.
When you re-enter the city on the far shore, the star blends into the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]Virgil smiles. "Licenses are overrated. Look what Mags here did without a degree."
If "unimpressed" was a sport, Magda would be winning a state championship. "My masters' was in neural data architecture," she says. "It was almost as expensive as this tech. Come on, we need to stash it and go. The cop corp will want to know who threw that grenade, and I don't intend to be the one answering."
You and Virgil help run her essential equipment out to the trunk of her car and stash it full of captured hardware. Fortunately, this neighborhood sees cops about as often as it sees trees, which is to say you're on the freeway before any sirens get close.
[[Time to call Zen...]]Zen minces no words. "Then you're going to get targeted big-time."
You snort. "How is that different than my usual life?"
A laugh escapes Zen, possibly for the first time since you've met her. "You got the guts of the insane, my hand. I don't want you playing battle tank forever, because you'll die. Anyone can die."
Magda steps in. "Not to interrupt your plan, but what if we sell all this chrome, and use it as a down payment on some other bomb expert? By then, we'll know if the Graves are going to lick their wounds or come at us some other way."
[["What about Virgil? Are we going to try to find him?"]]
[["Good enough for me."]]The right side of Zen's mouth creases. Were it someone else, you might call it a smile. "I don't know how much cred you have that you can spread this story and sound legit..."
"I was there. Magda too. It's our word versus some corpses, backed up by some corpses. Let us worry about that. Virgil knows better than to come back after he burned you."
Zen hedges. "Still, it's words, not proof. If the Graves smell blood, they'll be looking for more."
Magda steps in. "Not to interrupt, but what if we sell all this chrome, and use it as a down payment on some other bomb expert? By then, we'll know if the Graves are going to lick their wounds or come at us some other way."
[["What about Virgil? Are we going to try to find him?"]]
[["Good enough for me."]]Zen's eyes never leave yours, or betray what she's thinking. "Shooting my mouth off tends to end with someone else trying to shoot my mouth off."
Magda steps in. "Not to interrupt, but what better proof do you have than all this chrome we're trying to sell? Fuck, use it as a down payment on some other bomb expert. By then, we'll know if the Graves are going to lick their wounds or come at us some other way."
[["What about Virgil? Are we going to try to find him?"]]
[["Good enough for me."]]Zen's deadened face tells you what you need to know before she says a word. "He's been on the inside a long time. If he doesn't go completely off-grid, he'll wind up in a photo, use a credit chip, get flagged. Then it's cake to find him."
You nod, as if you're ignorant of all this and you're Zen's confidante. "What if he //does// stay completely off-grid?"
"Then nobody sees or hears him, so nobody gives a damn," Zen says. "Come on, show me this chrome. It's better to move it before anyone flags the serial numbers as missing."
She takes a look at the tech you packed away, but it's clear from her lackluster negotiations that her heart isn't in it. You find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, and wonder if her circulation is poor near them, because they look colder than yours.
As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, if you were into that sort of thing.
But when you re-enter the city on the far shore, it is lost in the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]Magda's eyes narrow as she considers you. "Truth? Or convenience?"
"They gratered him upstairs. All the shreds sticking out have got to hurt."
Magda nods. She flicks a switch on a microphone and speaks into it. "All right, Mr. Trapnell, we've found where the modifications have been made. The first node appears to be recent. We're going to trigger the memory for examination purposes."
Though his mouth is closed, Virgil's voice comes over the speakers. "Uh... do you know what it is?"
"Not without looking, I'm afraid. It dates to about a month ago?"
Sections of Virgil's brain light up with activity. "I don't remember much from then. Bring it back."
The monitor shows a black steel gate slowly retracting as Virgil watches. Readouts of his emotions spike -- amazement, elation, nervousness. It seems strange that he would be so enamored of the next sight -- a parking lot -- but you come to realize this is his first view of the outside of his prison.
"This was when they put me on virtual parole," Virgil says. "They did it about a month before the real thing. They try to make it so you can't tell it's a sim. You can, of course, but since they're watching, you've gotta behave." His hands turn in front of his face as the boundaries of memory and lucid dreaming begin to blur. "This is... almost fun."
"Don't try to act," Magda says. "You'll mess around with your long-term storage." There's no response.
She turns to you. "Jack in. I'll need you to control his memory of motor movements."
[["Uh... I guess?"->"If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["If it prevents damage, I can try."]]
[["Why can't you do it?"]]Zen takes a look at the tech you packed away, but it's clear from her lackluster negotiations that her heart isn't in it. You find yourself glancing at her metal eyes, and wonder if there is any equivalent to them growing bloodshot.
No, her eyes never get tired. You imagine her scavenging the parts of the dead until finally the last of her meat body gives out decades from now.
Finally, it is over. As Mags drives you across the San Mateo bridge to drop you off, you glance up at the sky. Here, in the couple of kilometers over the water, the glow of the advert screens is diminished, and one star, Polaris, can barely be seen high above everything else. It would make an interesting landscape to paint, if you were into that sort of thing.
But when you re-enter the city on the other side of the bay, it is lost in the sea of light.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]