Cyberpunk II 2786A.D. Las Vegas.

This morning I felt great. Truly alive like I have never been alive before.

I look at the port in my hand and then at the port in the wall. This just feels out of whack, but the Geeks told me that this was how I do it and once in I can do what I want from there.

I have some old friends to find.

I hook up the port and by the time the world flashed before me I swear that I must have dropped a load on the floor.

Next thing I know I am in a long hall way of doors. I get it, what I am looking for has to be behind a door. Not that bad, I expected something else, well, not sure what I expected but I was kinda expecting some a bit more digital.

I make to a door that is labeled Juli Mallory. Lets see what happened to her. I open the door and a world of pictures, cards and other things fill my surroundings. Even a enforcer report and a court listing that dismisses her of any wrong doing. At least something worked out right. And now lets see about little Jasmine Mallory. The entire world changes around me and I am standing at a grave yard. I knew they were dead by now, but I wanted to see what they did with their life after I went to sleep.

My eyes fall on the dates, only six months? They died six months after I went in? That was it? No life, not living or growing old, finding a new man and having great grand children?

My world pulls back and I am sitting in the hotel room puking on the floor.

This sucks!

I wreck the room watching my metallic hands shred the pressedpolyfiber broads like they are nothing.

Nothing at all.

I jack into the wall again. This time I think I blew a wad while I loaded. next thing I know I am in a sea of sharks, battling it out with them. They must be like the firewalls or defense programs or something.

One of them comes out of literally no place and chomps down on me.

I wet the carpet when I return to the world around me.

It takes me several more tries to get past the firewalls, each time they take a different form and way, but I finally beat them.

I net myself some credits and a new identity tag that I can pick up at the front desk.

When I finally come to the world around me, the place looks about as good as I feel.

Ok, I have no idea what this will cost, but it's not my money so I don't care.

 

Pythola draw her whip and lashed Spence across the face knocking him to the ground. She turned to Fox and picked her from her feet holding her face to face both shared a look before Pythola throw her across the room smashing over chairs and stools.

Pythola walked up to Fox.

“Get out and get out now.” She said.

 

She sees the whip hit Spencer. Fox stands up and turns to the woman. She looks her over. Fox grins and says "Well, I usually prefer tomboys over chicks that try to show off all of their curves, but you are pretty easy on the eyes. As for your question, no I am not a cop. The name's Fox, and I work for no one. Otherwise, I wouldn't of had to kill those bikers there for free food and a room." Fox looks the woman over again, thinking about how to counter if she attackes. Fox thinks to herself "Lets see, those blades aren't going to do much against my armor, but I will have to protect my head. My tail should let me counter any whip strike she does, but my main goal in battle should be to grab it. With my vice of a right hand, there is no way she can get is back, and she'll be in of a shock if I get it with my left hand."

 

“Bikers killed for free aye.£

Pythola laughed and laughed loudly. She let her hand release Fox from the grip.

“Your alright for a b!tch. anjoy yer meal.”

Pyrhola signalled her hand to the others in her group and they backed away lowering their guns.

Pythola called to the bar.
“Their drinks are free this night. Tomorrow They’ll die.” Pythola laughed as she left the place heading up a flight of stairs followed by her group of female warriors.

 

After battling it out with the snooze alarm for an hour, Zu finally relented and got out of bed. He had a massive headache, likely his body still dehydrating from the unfreezing process. He grabbed the ice bucket, filled it with water, and gulped it down like he'd been stuck in a desert for weeks. Afterwords, he grabbed a long, hot shower and ordered some room service. The meals the law fed him were mush, and Zu wanted some real food.

He opened up the window and observed the city once more. After breakfast, he had intended on learning the route systems as much as possible. Just get in, take out Brady, and get out, he thought. Then he began to wonder exactly how much time would get shaved off his sentence and whether or not he'd go back into cryo freeze. His thoughts were interupted by a knock at the door.

"Room service."
Zu looked out the eye hole and deactivated the locks.
"Here's your food Mr. Wesley."
Zu gave him a puzzled look but nodded anyway. The man gave him a card to sign and Zu included a tip.
"Thank you very much, sir," the man smiled and left the room. The door shut behind him and Zu activated the locks again.

He removed the steaming cover, revealing a large ham and swiss omellete with green peppers and buttered wheat toast. There was yogurt and a fruit cup on the side, and two large glasses: one filled with milk and the other orange juice. Zu removed the secretary wallet from his pants and looked at the contents while he ate his food. He looked at the ID. It wasn't his name on it. Duh, he thought. You're a criminal, of course they would give you a fake ID. The name on it read Vin Wesley and he was from Neon Spring Heights, New Los Angeles. Also in the wallet were a couple of credit cards with the same name on them, as well as a couple of membership cards to some casinos around town.

Zu looked at the PCC Mr. Brady had provided him before gently tossing it onto the loveseat next to the flatscreen. He flipped the screen on, eating his food in silence while he mentally prepared himself for the rest of the day.

 

I trotted out after the rodents gleefully sporting her new jacket. This was becoming a little too easy. Outside there were several women standing over the bikes with cigarettes in hand talking about whatever it was onions did. One woman straddled and antique Kawasaki Ninja and my eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Hairy bikers that actually had a Ninja and not just a collection of dusty old Harleys.

Troy patted me on the shoulder, “you want that bike you show the b**** on it whose boss.”

I grinned, “With pleasure.” I walked over to her with my hand extended as if I intended to shake it. I could sense the arrogance on the woman. I could tell she knew what I did. She stepped off the bike and I grinned stepping back several paces, “there’s a good sport I‘d hate to break a pretty body, but now your off her I guess I can break your face.”

“Like to see ya try blonde bimbo,” the woman retorted and there I was with the stupid grin all over again.

She put her fists up and as she did I jabbed at her with my feet. The woman dodged them and laughed. I grabbed her throat and tightened my grip. Her face was becoming pale I was enjoying seeing the lines the ugly parts of her. I put in a little more pressure and grinned as I heard a crunching sound. Her eyes rolled and she thrashed her legs against me. I could hear water and I dropped her in disgust, she’d wet herself as she was dying. “Anybody else object to me riding this beast?” I asked.

The rodents were silent before the gang broke into a round of applause.

 

I feel surprisingly good this morning. Real actual relaxed sleep helped and apparently my body has been refreshing cells at a great rate. I even feel a mild euphoria, much like when you’ve given blood and your body goes a little nuts replenishing what has been lost.

Hair wet and still clad in the towel I glare at the clothes. We’ll have to do something about these.

Going to the net connector in the wall I sit down in one of the russet-upholstered chairs because this will be my first connect in about 20 years and God only knows what the online world is like now.

Plugging the connector into my hand is a rush of energy and I almost laugh out loud. It’s like suddenly being filled with light. Ones and zeroes mingle with greenish underwater sunlight.

And something is following me.

Stopping the rush I ignore the fact that I’m standing on nothingness and whip around to check my six.

Two little rats scuttle away from each other then sit up and begin to wash their paws. The casino has trackers to find out what their customers do online, do they?

Proceeding more slowly so that the rats won’t lose me I look for good bait for them. Ah, an online shopping mall, I need that anyway.

Flipping through the offerings of clothes, shoes, alcoholic drinks, sexual aids, credit hucksters, and debt counselors I very, very openly peruse the clothing. The rats come closer and closer, tracking me, until I ground them on the clothing information.

They don’t even struggle.

While they’re busy recording what I’m NOT doing I find a small door, locked solid with ‘authorized personnel only’ written on it. I don’t try to open it but just give it a few solid knocks with my fist.

When the guard dogs come bursting through the door I stand back and let them at the rats, slipping through the open door and shutting it softly behind me.

It is a long black corridor. As I stand there, small white lights in the ceiling come on, starting at the opposite end and finally ending at me. Noting which door I entered, and its access code, I take a little walk to one marked with the guard’s name.

Jerry Borgas, the guard who woke me from Cryosleep and furnished me with the Trashy Teen look. He probably has my pulse rifle and sensor dampers, too, I bet.

The access code crack is easy and the door flimsy. Peeking in I see stacks of ‘cash’. The man has many credits. Either Jerry-boy is well paid or he gives himself bonuses by hocking prisoner’s personal effects.

Crap. Maybe he doesn’t have my stuff after all.

I create a laundry chute under the name Barb Apple and dump cash into it until I tire of it. Slamming the chute closed, I erase the chute and disappear from the room, erasing any record of my access as well.

I give myself a little tour and run across a lot of guard dogs, dragons, an impassable barriers. Well, not impassable exactly but definitely difficult. Unfortunately, they guard information about the powers that be in Las Vegas. I'll have to take more time on this later.

Exiting is easy. All the access codes are printed on the doors from this side. When I go back out the guard dogs see my access code and drop the rats, which are looking a bit tattered.

The rats tail me back to the entry point and then I’m unplugging my hand port and grinning.

“Want a deluxe breakfast?” I ask Kiara, “And then maybe shopping. Money is no object.”

 

Fox helps Spencer get back up on the bar stool. She can see the whip mark across his face. "Eat up, and then we should find a different place to sleep I guess. For now, we should try to get the bad kind of attention from actually gang leaders. I hope that didn't hurt too much." Fox goes back to drinking and eating the horrible bar food.

 

I wake with a splitting headache. I don't know why. I don't think it was the drink last night, I only had one... who knows. I resist moving for as long as possible. I can hear Tolva up and moving around... I hear the shower run for a while, then she's moving around again. I finally decide to stop putting off the inevitable, and sit up with a groan. Tolva is sitting across the room, plugged in, still wrapped in a towel, wet hair dangling in messy jagged spikes across her forehead. A few moments of silence, and then “Want a deluxe breakfast? And then maybe shopping. Money is no object.”
I chuckle. "Up to your old tricks, eh?" I grin, and she grins back. Then I remember something and smirk, "What about pink-shirt? He invited?"

 

That’s a good question.

I sigh as I grab a second towel and dry my hair energetically, sending it up in tall messy spikes mad-scientist style.

“I think he should be. We can find out if he has any useful skills.” I shake my head to calm the spikes down and dry each ear, “This is different than Los Angeles. I don’t have connections here yet so I guess we’d better start making some.”

 

Pasha watched from afar at first. He liked the hissing man, he seemed one of his own blood. From what others would see insanity, he saw someone he could have a little fun with. Though, not the kind of fun that made his blood pulse, more in a partner in that fun. His eyes went back to Johnathan, but trailed after Venom, whom walked away towards the phone. He couldn’t hear the conversation, which almost bothered him.

“I’m willing to do anything to help. As long as I get to do something. I’ll follow… for the time being.”

His answer was mostly based on the fact that he had never even been to the States. He didn’t know the American culture, and he definitely didn’t know where he was going or how he was going to manage to attempt his luck at their mission. Alive, that was. As much as he loved death, he wanted to live by the end of this, unless fate asked for him. He would gladly accept death, even rush into it was really needed. But he wanted to survive so he could be at his prime again. He stopped his thoughts as his eyes went to Venom, whom appeared to be done with the call.

“Do you think Hissy is telling the truth?”

 

**Accidental duplicate

 

Spencer stood up, the whip's lash red across his face. Annoying, but not especially painful. Looks like some attention had already been attracted. Things were going well. He turned to the bar.

"Jack. On the rocks."

The brand's popularity had never really died; ancient though it was. No replacing good whiskey.

Spencer ordered something to eat as well. It wasn't good, but it served its purpose. After eating, Spencer lit up a cigarette and looked around. Every one of these people defined themselves by the vehicles they drove. Their whole culture revolved around it. Interesting way for a subculture to grow.

A larger, thicker man walked in. He had a predilection for skulls. They decorated his cap, jacket, shirt, and little metal ones hung from his many chains. Many of the patrons greeted him as "Boss". Perfect.

Spence moved forward slowly, his cigarette still in his right hand. The ganger eyed him strangely.

"Whaddaya want, punk?" Spencer drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke in the man's face. It didn't phase him. Only one thing he'd understand.

Spencer's right arm shot out, smashing him in the face. He drew back slightly and shoved a hard kick into the big man's groin. He doubled over. Spencer brought his foot up hard against the back of his head and he fell forward. Spence grabbed his arm and wrenched it back. He drew on his cigarette again.

"Who's the big dog in these gangs?" The man didn't answer. Spence butted his cigarette on the man's arm, and he yelled. He then reached up and broke the biker's thumb. More screams.

"The Spikes!!!" He yelled. "The Spikes are the biggest gang out there! Marshall's boss!" Spencer let him go, and returned to his drink at the bar where Fox sat.

"That'll do for now."

 

Zu straightened himself up in the mirror, gently grooming himself as well. He sighed and stared at his reflection. "Well, Mr. Vin Wesley, time to go get a job."

He walked out of the room and made his way down to the front of the Tanley. He stopped at the reception desk. "Does this casino rent out vehicles?"
"What are you looking for?"
Zu thought for a moment. He needed something fast. Then he recalled seeing plenty of motorcycles around town. "Do you all have any UnoCycles?"
"UMBs?" she inquired, "we certainly do, we have the latest from Harley-Saki enterprises."
"I'll take that then."
"Just fill out these forms," she said sliding him a datpad, "and I'll have brought around front."

Zu filled out all the necessary data and then made his way to the front. A valet had just gotten of the UMB, and was wiping it down. From a distance, the one-wheeled crotch rocket probably looked like a suicide machine. Zu was comfortable on them, however. Its gyroscope technology, partnered with it's computer system, made it more reliable, to Zu at least, then any other wheeled vehicle on the road. It was sleek and black, and it looked brand new. Zu hopped on and revved the engine. He opened up his keypad and typed in an elaborate route to the shopping strip. He wanted to get himself a jacket, and figured he'd get to know the route system along the way.

 

Fox laughs a little at Spencer's action. "Not much for subtlety are ya? At this rate, we'll have the attention of one of the mafia bosses soon enough. I think when we get the chance we should go deeper in the city of Vegas, and see what's up. Try to get a job as a bouncer or gang enforcer. All we need to do is take down the right person, and all the mafia bosses will want us to do jobs for them." Fox drinks yet another vodka and grape juice. This is her sixth or seventh. She's lost count by now. "But first I think we need a place to sleep. We spent most of the night looking around. Last time I went too long without sleep, bad things kept happening. I'm sure you remember all the trouble back in LA."

 

Spencer almost smiled. Yes, there had been a lot of trouble in LA. Hopefully now, they could be a little more in control.

Fox had been drinking quite a bit. Spence laid off after his second glass, when he had started to feel it. He nodded at her suggestion. Some rest would do them both good. The bartender pointed them to the rooms upstairs.

 

“This is different than Los Angeles. I don’t have connections here yet so I guess we’d better start making some.”

I ponder that for a minute. Yeah, this is definitely different than L.A. It feels weird having to start over completely fresh from the beginning... knowing, and known by, no one. "Well, where do you wanna start? After shopping, of course." I hide a chuckle. I can tell how much she hates the crap they gave her to wear. At least the jacket looks kinda nice.

 

Fox stands and staggers to their room, along with Spencer. She takes off her armor. Now wearing only her white t shirt and loose boxers. She falls on the room's only bed. She turns to lay on her side, and says "I guess we'll have to share a bed." She stretches and starts to fall asleep.

 

The tunnel was narrow and claustrophobic small red lights lit the tunnel highlighting the rocky surface and the chunky bulkheads between sections in a red an orange tint. One of the large bulkheads opened and a large well built man stepped through. He wore a black suit and tie and black shades of his eyes. His dark skin lit up an orange colour.

The man that greeted him was bold except for a ponytail at his rear, he wore blue jeans and a denim waistcoat. His neck was completely bionic as was his left eye. A tattoo of a snake covered the right side of his leathered looking face.

“Mr Krokodil is displeased with you’re service Morgan.” The tall man said.

“What does he expect when his convoys are un protected and running through customs. I had heard of hiding in plain sight but c’mon this isn’t east. Let us not forget the transports are a straight run from Vegas to Mars. I have my men ready for collection but the Cyber police are getting tighter.” Morgan explained.

“Then perhaps you’d care to tell Mr Krokodil why he’s not getting his money through.” The tall man grimaced.

“So what do I do how do I ensure the Mars enforcers don’t blockade the large convoys. And who the frag are you anyway.” Morgan questioned.

“I am Jazzman and I’ve come with this convoy to make sure the enforcers don’t impound it. Now I believe you have a sum of three Bill for me to take back to Vegas.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Another emerge a women with a tall green Mohawk on her bold head. She carried a case and handed it to the tall Jazzman.

“So why’d they call you jazzman.” Morgan enquired.

“Because I like the Jazz.” Jazzman smiled revealing his full set of golden teeth.

After the case had been opened and inspected Jazzman returned to his small shuttle on the Queens docking Hab. Once inside he left Mars a distant memory. The red sky disagreed with him.

 

Suddenly in mod terrace town an explosion blew out the front of one of the Banks the glass shattered first followed by the large bang and the explosion spread out across the street knocking people over and some of the cars. A large Natwest sigh came crashing through the road blocking more traffic.
Seven Mohican men and two Mohican women emerged from the fog of black smoke that had consumed the bank and was now spread across the street. Some people followed heads down coughing. The nine gangers held silver pulse rifles and Pulse pistols they began shooting at two enforcers near by creating a street shoot out.
Some of the Mohicans used the crashed cars for cover while engaging in a fire fight. Pulse lasers flashed across the street hitting the odd bystander.

Pasha had seen this from following the other. Was this stateside life. Pasha realised three of the gangers were shooting at him.
Bright blue pulse laser bursts flew past his head one grazed his thigh while another punched into his cheek leaving a scorch mark and a stinging that followed.

 

“Food with Mr. Pink Shirt Vector Guy first,” I say decidedly. My stomach just switched on full force, “Let’s see what he has to say.”

I start throwing on my clothes. Hate them or not I know that I look hot. The thing is, I look more like a biker prostitute stripper than a…well, what am I? I don’t know my way around here yet and I’m infiltrating instead of running away so I guess I’m not a runner.

My sense of identity is gone.

Frowning at my reflection I reject the idea that the outfit demands a belly button piercing and probably a tramp stamp tattoo.

“I had a quick look at who the powers that be in this town are,” I shake my head. Kiara’s getting ready quickly, she must be hungry, too, “But didn’t get much. Their cyber defenses would be tough and dangerous to crack.”

 

He took out the gun from his side holster one liquid movement. He took his first shot at the first of the gang members as he stealthily backed up. His boots went down with thudding steps, and he fell to his side, sending the second shot. He was quick to roll next to a car, hiding his body behind it as he gun recharged once more. He could hear the three shots that hit the side of the car, only inches from him. He growled and muttered under his breath. He really hated guns. Three more hit, nearly singeing his boot. He quickly went forward, shooting the last of his ammo. He was sure he met his mark as he went back to reload.

Goddamned gun.

 

One of the Mohican passed him looked down on pasha and fired. The shot struck his shoulder creating a pool of blood. Pasha dropped the gun as a second shot sent the Mohicans gun flying.

“C’mon.” Another called.

With that they were heading away.

 

"Damn." I swore, somehow having managed to stay out of the fight. I jogged over to Pasha, he looked pretty badly hurt. "You sure you've never been state side?" I asked and offered him a hand to help him up. I whispered so Venom wouldn't hear if he ran over. "Don't trust Venom, his name says it all."

I glanced around. This might have been random, but I doubted it. They had aimed, and targeted Pasha and ignored me. What was it about Pasha? Doesn't matter, he seemed to be smart enough. "I guess we should find you a doctor." I said looking at his wounds, carefull not to get any blood on me, he was worth having around, but not worth getting dirty over.

 

Micheal walked over to Pasha as well. He didn't look directly at Pasha or Jonathon.
"Move out of the way," Micheal said to Jonathon.
Micheal's demeanor had change from being snakish to actually being quite normal.
"Move out of the way," Micheal said again.
Micheal bent down and looked at Pasha. Micheal stared into Pasha's eyes.
"I'll help, but I need your permission first," Micheal said.
Micheal looked at Pasha for a while and then he looked at Jonathon.
"Don't be ridiculous about doctors," Micheal said, "They won't help him....not properly that is."
Micheal looked back at Pasha.