Human Heart, Silicon Soul
Breastplate of Humanity
How did it start? Well, with most things, it usually starts small. Like a snowball. Or a nuclear warhead. I don’t think it was small and insignificant. As an example, for me, it started as a job.
It was the year that the Surgeon found the Church. Well, don’t get me wrong, I too, became a believer. We were pinned down in a filty, shattered alley when the Surgeon made the choice. One prayer shouted over the din of submachinegun fire, and two minutes later the Holy Fathers of Our Lady Death showed up with blessed Kalishnikov A-80 Assault rifles and made short work of the heathens. He became a True Believer, and was well on his way to becomming a Holy Father.
The Surgeon and I grew up together in the Combat Zone. you learned to keep a good friend at your back and kill every one of the other fuckers that messes with you. Militech took an interest in the both of us. Steady pay, good benefits, and ammo reimbursement for sanctioned jobs. One day, I got whisked into a passionate fling with a beautiful Nomad girl, and spent five years of my life as part of the Dayrunner pack. My heart is in the city, though, and we went our seperate ways. I think she knew that, too, because she never questioned, fought, or argued. But, she never came with me, either. “Loki, you told me your heart is in the city, with the other Statics.” She said to me that last night. When I woke up, the pack was gone, and I was alone. I made it back to Night City, the city I grew up in, and hooked back up with the Surgeon. things went well, until he found his calling. I still didn’t have any idea what mine was, so i ended up in the Archon, a dive for mercs, brooding over my chili, and idly surfing the feedsites. This is where the call came in on my palmtop.
“Good afternoon, may i speak with Loki?” The girl on my palmtop asked. I recognized her at once. Morgan Johansen, the anchorlady of IBS News. Very attractive in that carefully cutured, well-preened and maintained sort of way. brown hair, violet eyes, an open and gentle face that also bespoke maturity and dignity. Very popular. She had a polite and cordial tone, with a mellifluous, well-educated voice. the kind of voice that was practical and sultry at the same time. “Yeah, you’re speaking with him.” I replied, moving over to a booth for privacy. “Can we switch to a secured line, please?” she asked. I nodded, made the adjustments, and the screen shimmered for a moment. “Satisfactory. I will cut directly to the point, Mister Loki. I need you to help me.” I smirked a little. “What could a woman like you need with me, Miss johansen?” I asked. I glanced around. No one was nearby. “I’ve been recieving emails of a… disturbing nature. Typically, in situations like this, of course, we would handle it, but the usual methods don’t seem to deter this individual.”
“Not to be rude or anything, but how do I know you’re, you know, you?” I asked, reaching for a pack of smokes. Her arm moved, and data streamed across the bottom edge of the screen. “My verification and authenticity codes.” she stated. I ran the check; she was legit. “Surely the IBS can-” i started, and she cut me off. “Our corporate charter prevents us from taking… a hands-on… approach. This is where you come in.”
“You want a bodyguard, then.” i stated. She shook her head. “I have more than i need. What I really need, Mister Loki, is for you to find this person and take whatever actions you think would be effective.”
“So, an assasin.” I replied, lighting up. She didn’t say anything at that, just continued to look at me expectantly.
“So, let’s discuss terms.” I said, and she nodded. “I’m currently off the Militech payroll right now, ‘in between jobs’ is the appropriate parlance.” I had started picking up her articulate and refined way of speech. “I want double my fee, plus ammo and medical expenses.” her smile warmed my heart. “Absolutely. Half up front?” She asked. I nodded. She moved her hand again, and asked me for the routing number. I rattled it off, and watched as 30,000 euro streamed into my account. Three times my fee. i nodded. “Forward me everything you’ve recieved, and anything your boys have put together, and I’ll start as soon as the call ends.” She nodded, and her hand danced across the controls, the data was now on my palmtop. I bowed my head to her. “A pleasure, Miss johansen.” and she signed off.
I stowed my palmtop, finished my chili, and reviewed the emails. scary stuff. “I will come and break you free of your gilded cage.” kind of shit. I didn’t know the ins and outs of the net as a Netrunner would, so i decided to do a little information gathering.
The best place to pick up a netrunner would be their unofficial hangout, the cybercafe ‘In the Wired’, so I hopped the mono and took a trip over to see them.
Riding the mono is alot like visiting the doctor. everything is too clean and sterile, and everyone avoids looking at each other. There’s even a bored and angry-looking security guard who likes to keep his hand on the grip of his move-along.
A few hours of haggling, and i hired a netrunner by the name of Watchdog to do some sniffing. eanwhile, I hit the bricks. I picked up a nanoaug pack for my gun, the little bastards would crawl all over the inside of my gun for the next six months; cleaning, repairing, and maintaining. Sooner or later you always had to use one. I worked it over in my mind. They could have traced the emails back to the sender, right? sent the police over. Unless the guy wasa hacker, could cover his tracks. No physical clues, no real-time data, just electronics. I eyed the bulge of the palmtop in my pocket. the guy could be anywhere. He’d given his alias, though. Metatron. i started asking questions again. Metatron was a very low key hacker. No noteworthy hacks, just information espionage and data manipulation. there were rumors he had manipulated stocks as well, but there was no confirmation in the circles of runners that spent entire days jacked into the net.
Finally, i got a call from Watchdog. “Whoa man. Metatron came out of the woodwork in a big way.” He stressed ‘big’. “What’s ‘big’, Watch?” I asked. He grinned, the ivory of his teeth a bright flash in his coal-dark skin. “big as in he data-mined the Atlas fullborg factory on the east side of town. If you can get there in less than ten minutes, you might be able to catch him on-site.”
I started heading for the Street. a couple of candykids blitzed by on their Argas boards. “What makes you think he’s on site there?” “The security is so tight he’d have to be on site to get in.”
i hailed a cab, and paid him a substantial amount to blast on through. This was going to be a quick job.
The Atlas company made a simple but unique fullborg body. composite plastics and lightweight metals, all shrouded in a RealSkinn covering. it looked and felt real. The only meat in those bodies was the pod, a small container that kept the user’s brains and a few important organs intact and alive. This was for the people that used different fullborg bodies in their line of work; like the welder frame, or the Dragoon tank frame.
The factory was well lit. I made it to the front gate, and started talking. the main security officer was a bit nonplussed, but i pressed the issue, and he agreed to walk me around the place. I had about two minutes before Metatron went offline. Then the alarms went off, and all hell started breaking loose. The automated assembly area had suddenly gone into the red. The sec chief carded his way in, his FN-RAL sweeping the way in front of him. My Colt 2000 seemed small and wimpy compared to his heavy assault rifle, bt it’d saved my ass many a time, so I slammed a clip home and dropped the safety. The chief looked relieved that he had backup.
They started coming out of the woodwork: half-finished bodies leaping about in no decernable pattern. Fuck. I sighted, led the target and squeezed. The plastic chest caved in, and the half-formed woman’s face gaped at me hideously. Her arm stretched back, grabbed a heavy Pallet, and slung it at us with the same ease we’d throw a wad of paper. I ducked behind a vat of musculature, the Chief ducked behind a larger piece of machinery, and began firing in short, controlled bursts. A skeletal body dropped from the ceiling in front of me, slapped me so hard I thought my head twisted all the way off. i flew to the right, i twisted in midair and pulled the trigger three times. the reports were loud, deafening alomost. one found it’s mark, shattering the hip joint. The thing fell over, pinkish grey musculature flexing and spurting a creamy blood. nauseating. It pulled itself over and scrabbled towards where I’d hid the floor, moving with a ghastly, eerie speed, it’s pseudo-enamel teeth clicking and chattering. I steadied my right hand with my left, took a precious second to aim, and pulled the trigger. The head shattered, the body collapsed. I ejected the half-empty clip and slammed a fresh home, jerked the slide and got up. blood ran from my ear where the thing had clocked me. I got up, shaking my head. the chief was handling himself well, and didn’t seem to need my help, so I moved further into the facility. the Chief was right beside me. “this area’s TS. I’d get fired if I let you go on alone.” he huffed. I nodded. We grinned at each other. Decent guy, shitty moustache. I told him so.
“You won’t stop me.” The voice was flat and monotone, seeming to come from everywhere at once. I looked everywhere, trying to pin the source down. “give it up, ‘Metatron’.” I said, emphasising the name, adding sarcasm. “You can’t get out of here. the exits are covered. give it up, and I’ll make it clean. a dignified death.” his response was to laugh. the chief tapped my arm. “speakers. He’s not in the room.” More smoke and mirrors. we moved through the factory, he wasn’t there. a full security sweep revealed he’d made his escape. quick and clean. The Sec Chief wa a man named Nellis. A decent guy, well rounded. had a wife and daughter. We got along great. When i went to leave the building, the police were there, waiting for me. With an arrest warrant. Nellis actually stood up for me, but they still took me downtown. I made a mental note to return the favor as i sat in the police car on the trip back. I was wanted in connection with the stalking of Morgan Johansen. real slick.
I was disarmed, and an inhibitor was placed on my reflex boost, placed in a holding tank. It took a while but the place filled with lawyers from IBS. Morgan had sprung me? They got me out, and took me to the studio, where I had the biggest goddamn shock of my life.
Well, up to that point, anyway.
Holy shit. I thought it was going to be small. You know, a Short Story. This one’s gonna be big. I know how it begins, the whole opener, the beginning, part of the middle, but i have no idea how it’ll turn out. I only know bits and pieces. Hopefully we’ll learn more about Loki and his past. this guy is kinda… likable. The secrets behind Morgan will be revealed next episode, so be certain to tune in. Can you figure out who Metatron is? Do you have any idea what’s going to happen next?
I’m sorry if this is dry. I had so much in my head, and I had to pack it all down before it leaked out! Sometime in the near future, i’ll flesh it out. But not before Chapter Two: The Gilded Cage.
I want your opinions!