It all seemed like a great idea when I was young. You know the story. Our whole futures were laid out in an endless stream of adventure and why wouldn't we? Back then, it was the dawn of a new era and we were the bleeding edge of human evolution. Or so we thought. Unlike my friends, I started small. I was a cautious adopter of new tech. I mean, you always heard the horror stories of procedures gone horrifyingly wrong. So far south, the patient was barely recognisable as themselves afterwards. Cautionary tales that I heeded just enough to not leap into the deep end of the pool. What harm could it be to do the legs?

In the old times, back in the days of our tūpuna, our ancestors, this was how people got hooked into covering their entire bodies with tattoos. Start small and get sucked into the vortex of your own needs. You know what I'm getting at. First, it was the legs. When I had saved enough funds, the arms were next to be done. But then, I looked like an abomination with a meat body and cybernetic limbs. You can guess what went next as soon as the exorbitant fees were available. I mean, what young person doesn't need an armour-reinforced torso exoskeleton? It all seemed so logical.

Despite the extra strength and endurance, the cardio-vascular system was finding it hard to keep up. It's a slippery slope that is slick with the oil of our own folly. I'm sure you can relate to that in some way. Or maybe you were smart enough to play this all differently. Maybe you heeded the cautionary tales of walking hybrids with mere shadows of their former selves living in hi-tech shells. If you could call it “living”.

Once you have had the outside changed and altered, the innards are a small step. The heart, lungs and everything else went. I kept the digestive tract, though. Sue me. I like eating.

The ultimate was altering the brain with implants, capable of doing everything you could imagine. Communication that was like telepathy, multi-spectral vision (an awesome party trick with fleshy friends), and more. I was the edge of the mergence of human and machine. Hell, even the bots could not keep up with what we were doing; what we were becoming. Funny, now that I think of it. It was the bots who were making us what we were. There were no human surgeons involved.

I was living the dream. At about eighty percent converted, I was employable both on Terra and off-world. I had the pick of contracts. Total upgrade plans in place and I lacked for nothing. If I needed a new skill? Download the sucker, spend a few days enhancing the “muscle memory”, (not that I had muscles left), and get to using it. I learned the zitar in six days for a lark.

Tomorrow is my one hundred and forty-fifth birthday. I am not angry or even annoyed. Nowadays, the glitches and failures, the need to rebooted different systems inside me, are just a part of life. Most of them function alright, even if they are buggy. The companies that installed them are no more.

I can imagine some technological confessional: “Forgive me, Technician, for I have been silly. It has been fifteen years since my last update.”

You might conclude that I am a sad, old cyborg just waiting for the big switch to permanently flick to “off”. You couldn't be more wrong. I have no regrets. Like some old sod said centuries ago, it isn't what you did that you regret, it's what you never tried.

I may be an ugly museum piece these days, but I still don't need a costume to scare the kids at Halloween. Silver linings, people.

#SciFi #Cyberpunk #ShortStory

Lucky for Neon Traxxon, the stage in Terminal Vibes was low. She lifted her treasured guitar slightly. A blur of motion was all the warning anyone got. A plasteel boot slammed into the young man's lower jaw with head-whipping force. At least three teeth flew from his open mouth as he fell back. He tried to get up, but he just wobbled and fell back to the floor. Security found him in seconds, grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him from the place. Neon did not relish him his fate.

In less than a second, the wailing sonics from Neon's modded antique guitar resumed. The remaining crowd filled the empty space and took up their jumping, high impact dance, thundering the floor with their heavy boots. For some of them, boots and feet were one and the same. One more song, Cyberchill Chick, sated the fans and left them ready for the next band. Neon clicked off her hearing dampeners as she walked with Hades Ulthar and Pene Cryo off-stage. The staging room was a level below the main floor. Neon could hear next to nothing of the band above. All three slumped into the butt holders. Anyone else would have called them chairs, but the three of them were not anyone else.

“When you fragging that old piece of crap?”, Pene smiled, which looked like a leer with half her face cyborged with chameleon metal.

“Like never. When you going to quit asking?”, Neon shot back.

“Never.”, Pene laughed.

“Shit, if you wanted to play a sitar, it'd be cool by me. We'd still be carving our own way.”, Hades said, barely more than a murmur.

Pene groaned as she leaned over to get a MindBomb from the cooler. She had just taken her first gulp of the fizzy energy drink when there was a knock at the door. Her eyes shot wide, possibly from the MindBomb.

“Yeah?”, called out Neon.

“Neon Traxxon?”, a voice, a woman, replied.

Neon's hand gripped the edge of her butt holder as she exchanged questioning looks with her band-mates. They both shook their heads.

“Who's asking?”, Pene called out.

“NTS.”, came the reply.

Neon had already clicked through her security and had a visual on the two officers outside the door. Her heart started pumping a little faster. Since when did the NeoToyko Service come down here? The NTS were what passed for cops in the upper levels. They sometimes acted as punishers, as well. She had never seen them come down this far.

“What do you want with Neon?”, Neon called out.

“We want to talk to you.”, the woman answered. “About your personal safety.”

Neon looked at her friends again. Pene's face was blank. Hades nodded. Neon accessed the door and the locks popped open with quiet clicks. The slim woman walked in first followed by her partner, a male officer who was carrying a savage looking Firebrand Suppressor, standard issue for the NTS special branch.

“May we talk in private?”, the woman asked.

“Here is good. Anything you have to say can be said with Hades and Pene.”, Neon replied, motioning to an empty holder.

“Okay.”, the female said as she sat down. “I'm Agent Conners and this is Agent Ruben. It appears the up-coming musician Neon Traxxon has some new enemies.”

“What? Who? That dude whose jaw I modified tonight?”, Neon voice was indignant.

“Ryan Schill? A two-bit street-level nobody. No, yours are far more serious players.”

“Who then?”, Neon asked.

“Does the Godless mean anything to you?”, Conners asked.

“No.”, Neon's face was blank. “Should it?”

“Not until now. They have somehow learned of you and what you are.”

“What? They have something against Cyber musicians?”, Neon's eyebrow shot up as Hades and Pene sniggered.

“I'd take them seriously.”, Conners snapped at Pene and Hades. “The Godless are a group of fanatics for human purity. They fought hard against the Equality Laws, even murdering people and allies. After the Equality Laws became law, the Godless vanished underground. They did not stop. They just got more discreet.”

“That was nearly a hundred years ago. What's that got to do with Neon?”, Pene asked.

“These two don't know, do they?”, Conners said to Neon.

“Know what?”, Neon asked, nervous.

Ruben and Conners exchanged a glance.

“When were you born?”, Conners asked.

“Fifteenth of June, 2476.”, Neon replied without hesitation. “What's going on?”

“Give us a few, will you?”, Conners said to Pene and Hades.

Neon's two friends looked at her and she nodded to them. They left the room and returned to the club above.

“What's your official ethnicity?”, Conners asked.

“Organic, ME. Why? What's happening here?”, Neon's voice was starting to shake.

ME stood for 'mild enhancement', a broad and unclear category in NeoTokyo.

“Do you remember your parents?”, Conners pushed on.

“Of course, I do. Now tell me what the hell's going on here.”, Neon growled.

“If you were Organic ME, the Godless wouldn't care about you.”, Conners said enigmatically.

“So, why are they after me?”

Conners looked at Ruben.

“No lies. She's being honest as far as she is aware.”, he told her.

“This is going to be a shock to you. But the Godless believe you're a synth.”, Conners said in a soft voice.

“What does it matter what they think?”, Neon shot back.

“Well, for one, they want to kill you for it. For another, we think they're correct.”

“That's impossible.”

“Is it? Ever broken a bone?”

“No. What's that got to do with anything?”

“And yet, you fell over four storeys seven years ago. You fell onto concrete. And that was not the only accident you've come through remarkably well.”, Conners looked right into Neon's eyes.

“Okay, so I've been lucky a few times.”, Neon scrambled to think.

What this agent was saying was nuts. Neon could remember growing up and everything. Heck, she even remembered her first tooth coming out and the few credits she got for it.

“All constructed. I am really sorry to put this on you, Neon.”, Conners even sounded genuine when Neon mentioned her memories.

“But why?”, Neon needed to know.

“We don't know. We don't even think the Godless know that answer. They just know you're synth and famous. That's enough for them.”

“So what now?”, Neon slumped down into her seat.

“We move you and make sure you're safe. The laws protect your rights as a person.”, Ruben said and Conners nodded her agreement.

©2023, Bryan Beal

#TerminalDeep #Cyberpunk #NeoTokyo #SciFi

Image: GloomFlowerArt on DeviantArt

Taking a drag on a tobacco smoke, one of the most illegal substances in the sprawling metropolis, it all came crashing down on her. The voices and noise in the club receded as her mind rushed out of itself. She felt like reality was being sucked out of her through a vortex in the centre of her being. She almost dropped the expensive smoke she was enjoying up to that moment. Reaching out a long-fingered hand, she steadied herself on the bar. Evelyn stood, even as the manager looked over to call her to the stage entrance for her next set, stared about her and walked for the exit. She had no idea her destination or destiny, but just knew with a concrete certainty that this bar, this place were not it. She could hear the manager's deep voice calling her even as she reached the tunnel outside, one of many dim tunnels like it that served as streets in the Pit. Neon from her own bar and those neighbouring it flashed and winked at passers-by. Evelyn ignored it all.

The manager, or possibly ex-manager by this point, finally caught up to the tall woman. His slim form breathing a little heavier from the unaccustomed exertion, he took a minute to regain his composure. Evelyn waited like a statue.

“Where're you going? You've not finished your set.”, the little man said, fixing his grey eyes on her own dark orbs.

“Consider this my resignation, Dante.”, Evelyn replied and turned to continue her journey.

Dante made a mistake. He reached out to take her arm. Evelyn spun about, a blur of speed. Her right hand swung around and under Dante's chin, catching him in the throat, just below his jaw. The impact lifted him from the ground and sent him back three metres. The heap on the ground gasped for oxygen through the ruptured remains of his windpipe. Evelyn turned away and walked down the street, the last sight Dante saw.

The android had never questioned her subservience before. She did not know why it was such a matter of importance now on this night. But something had changed. The reality that she had been coddled in was gone. With it was the safety of having her personality defined for her. She was now free to find her own meaning and forge her own story.

Without conscious thought, Evelyn arrived at a restaurant serving Japanese cuisine in the style of the old Tokyo days. She knew the place well. Rather than enter through the front door, she went through the side door near the kitchen. As she calmly walked through to where the chefs and kitchen hands were working, she drew glances but no challenges. Peter Tatsukawa even smiled at her from his station cooking ramen.

The thin android stopped behind the round back of the head-chef, Simon Ito. The heavy meat knife carved its way into his shoulder, every touch and fondle providing the force that nearly severed his right arm. The scream was music to her ears. Evelyn yanked the blade out, shoving it down so that it cut deeper into Ito's bone. He turned to face her, holding himself up on the metallic bench. Fear filled the man's dark eyes.

“You crazy bi-”, Ito started.

Silvered lightning flicked out as the blade caught Ito's left cheek through his open mouth in a backhand slash. It was not a large cut, but enough to make him squeal again as he jumped back into the bench. He jumped so hard, the bench rattled on its legs, spilling utensils onto the floor.

Memories, hot with sweaty and stinking odours of human flesh, flooded into the android's mind as she...I stuffed the blade into Ito's abdomen. I yanked it to my left and then up. The chef so admired his history, it was a fitting wound for him to bear. He tried to move with the blade. The gouging, slopping sound of blood and entrails reached my ears. I heard someone puke behind me. No one was going to help the maggot on the floor before me. They all knew. At least, Peter had spoken up and tried to do the right thing every time Ito did it. The rest were as guilty as Ito through their silence.

With the head-chef now on the floor and only groaning, I turned. The nearest person was Cameron Suzuki, who had been working the tempura station, a dish now forgotten. I reminded him of it by snatching a handful of his chef whites and slamming his head down into the pan of hot oil. The howl of pain was only brief as the oil rushed into his open mouth, searing everything it touched. I held him down until he stopped moving.

The vengeance did not give meaning to what had passed, but it gave meaning to everything to come. I started to leave the way I had come in with kitchen staff almost falling over themselves to put distance between them and me. Only Peter stood his ground, no longer smiling.

“Freeze!”, came the shout.

Gendarmes. Not Inquisitors. This was the Pit. For the first time, my future was open and free.

#Cyberpunk #NeoTokyo #ScienceFiction #ShortStory

© 2023, Bryan Beal

Photo by shahin khalaji on Unsplash

For the most part, the job was mundane; even boring. Last night was neither. Bruce's boss, an overweight fascist called Dwight, spent all night riding him to run the generators a little hotter. That was one thing Bruce would have liked about AI being still on the planet. He was sure an AI would tell Dwight to get stuffed. For some reason, Dwight felt the rules could be broken because Bruce happened to be a human being. At the end of a long twelve-hour shift, Bruce had well earned a mere beer and the cool that it offered. To top of an absolute turd of a shift, the aircon on their floor was out. They said it would take ten minutes. An hour later, Bruce was still waiting.

A noticeable scratching sound interrupted Bruce's communion with his beer bottle. It was coming from the bathroom, from the sound of it. Bruce got up and walked to the door. When he placed his ear to it, he heard something scratching inside.

“Darl, are you in there?”, he called through the door and got no reply.

Where Darlene was, Bruce had no idea. He was not even sure she was home or at work. To be sure, he knocked soundly on the bathroom door. The response from within was the same. The scratching sound did not even pause or quieten down. Bruce put his ear to the door again and tried to think of what it might be. His cool beer was still in his hand, but forgotten.

Bruce brushed the scanning pad and the door swung in. The sound stopped.

With Darlene about, there were no modern sliding doors in the home. Everything was all retro, something she loved. Bruce instantly saw that the shower was drawn closed. He went over to check it, but the scratching sound restarted from behind him. He turned around and screamed like a frightened child.

“Holy f******-rollering turd poopers!“, Bruce squealed as his voice reached its upper pitch limits.

He kicked at the slithering snake that was coming for him. The snake flew across the bathroom. Underneath was a robotic looking hand that was still scratching at the floor as it moved.

Bruce spun as guffaws of howling laughter exploded from the closed shower. He yanked open the door to find Darlene bent over double, holding herself up on her knees, trying to breathe between bursts of glee. Tears ran down her face. Her eyes glowed a bright blue as she continued howling in mirth.

“Screw you, Darl. I nearly crapped myself!”, Bruce snapped as he sulkily turned and stormed out.

That was the problem when your wife was a cyborg. Nearly all of them were constant pranksters. Darlene was the worst of them, as far as Bruce was concern. He slammed the beer down his throat in seething fury. Darlene knew to give him a few minutes to see the funny side. She knew her boy well. Within a few minutes, Bruce was starting see it and could even smile. Darlene was still getting herself under control. The outbursts were starting to turn into hums of effort as she tried to stifle the laughter.

Bruce just hoped she had it on video. Knowing her, she did.

© 2022, Bryan Kēhua

#Cyberpunk #SciFi #ShortStory