The First Breath After The Coma...

I feel like half the openings of my blogs are me apologizing for missing weeks.

So, yeah, I was MIA. Not like I really have much of an excuse. I was at home for a couple weeks, being lazy and lethargic, and mostly playing Civilization when I was supposed to be writing. But life has regained structure. I'm no longer just a blob of matter that likes to day drink and play turn-based strategy games, I have dusted off the ashes and am in my reborn Phoenix form, ready to punch words at you like so many concrete blocks. KIYAP!

So, like I mentioned, I've mostly been playing Civ.

To think they adopted Tit Worship so early.

I've also plowed through a few other games, particularly the original DOOM, which I haven't played... since it came out on PC and had to be started with boot discs. If you're a faithful reader (and why would you be?) you know I'm fond of playing videogames in self-constructed sequences. So, finishing off DOOM was a part of my "history of the FPS" playthrough. Next up is DOOM 2, and I've played through the first few levels of hell on earth. I've never played DOOM 2 without cheat codes, so we'll see how this goes. The first game is actual genius. While Wolfenstein 3D is intense and has some survival aspects to it that add to its difficulty, DOOM is at some points a survival horror/ platformer/ FPS. There's a reason why every FPS that came out after was called a DOOM clone. The action is intense, the enemies are tenacious and frightening, it throws curveballs at you at just the right time. It's free form in regards to how you can attack combat. There's even stealth elements to it at times, and actual tactics you can use to make the game play in your favor, which are necessary on higher difficulties, which are absolutely unforgiving. And it's ridiculously ultra-violent and as overtly satanic as Wolfenstein 3D is overtly nazi, because shock value, like the dollar, had better mileage in the '90s. If you dig retro games, or if you're old enough to where me talking about this is giving you nostalgia, fire up a copy of DOOM. If you weren't counting, including this sentence, I said DOOM seven times.

I fired up the Vault-Tec Workshop in Fallout 4. Haven't really dug too deep into it. I'm building my atrium and have to clear out the rest of the workshops in Vault 88, I've assembled four brave young souls seeking solace from surviving in the Commonwealth. I plan on shooting at least one of them out of a canon into a rock outcropping. There's a lot of space to play with, so we'll see what kind of trouble I can get into as I become the ultimate overseer.

So I started up at the office last week and am acclimating to that environment. I feel it's going well, and everyone around me seems cool. But I always have that sneaking suspicion of paranoia that everyone is merely tolerating my presence while talking shit behind my back. Living in LA definitely breeds that into you. Every social circle is like a house in the great game of acquaintances. Because in the game of acquaintances, you win, or I am like totally calling everyone I know right now. Did you see her shoes?

So far I've gotten mostly compliments on my desk decorum.

Roll for initiative.

It's in its larval stage, and I imagine it will evolve into a sprawl of kitschy gifts and posters I'll receive on birthdays and end of year gift exchanges. Much like my fy-ance made the mistake of becoming a teacher, and as such will receive teacher memorabilia for her desk till the end of time. Gift giving is such a weird thing, as is nesting.

So, I kicked around a bit, avoided my blog for two weeks, started a new job, played some videogames, I watched the first half of Buffy Season 2 and will do my write up of it next week. In all of my confessed sloth, I've also been busy on rewrites for To Slice The Sky. I'm currently working on the subterranean fight scene I've been excited for/dreading. So far it's a lot of talking in the dark, but I'm right on the cusp of the climactic moment where all the world building and heavy handed class war metaphors pay off with a distraction moment. I should be working more on it, but I'm procrastinating with other duties at the moment. What that means for you? Well, the chapter I'm writing now comes after the one I just finished. So today is new chapter day! Yay!

Today's chapter is very heavily edited from it's original version. It didn't play too well when I posted on r/cyberpunk_stories either. But I'll let you decide how you feel about today's offering, after the dog pic.

80% of my life is spent sleeping in weird positions.

C:\>14_On_the_run_from_Johnny_Law_ain’t_no_trip_to_Cleveland

      It smelled like three and a half hours inside a crowded van when Metro City peeked over the horizon. Alongside Old USA 24, a river twisted through smatterings of green Terraformed grazing plots, watched over by machines of loving grace and their debugger. The Second City’s outer wall grew beneath a pre-noon sun as more small-acreage subsistence farms sprung into a repurposed suburb.

     Riding shotgun, Decker played Tetris in his left eye while tracking the road with his right. He absently rubbed medgel on his scalp where Breaker lasered during wetware maintenance.

     "Entering Metro City limits. Self-drive activated. Directing vehicle to Spoke12 Roplaxive Group Consulate," A Siri class voice overrode Manner's song selection.

     "What the hell?" Decker scooted upright.

     The steering column jerked itself away from Worthington's grasp, hiding itself within the dash. She tried the brakes, stomping on a sliding panel foot rest.

     "Oh no. No-no-no-no, this is not cool."

     Breaker looked up from his phone, "What's going on?"

     Decker spun his head around, piecing everything                                                    together.

     "We don't want to go to that place," Fixer said.

     "No doi, lame brain," Sweeps pushed to the front. "How'd self-drive turn on?"

     "It just did.” Worthington banged on the dash, “Now the steering wheel's gone." Her hands flung to her hair, "This van is just the biggest hunk of slag we could have stolen. Whose genius idea was to paint a company van and joyride it into a city?"

     "It wasn't my idea to paint it," Decker said.

          Sorry if hide in plain sight sounded dumb in the wastes. -M

     As everyone looked at their phones, blue and red lights flashed through the rear window.

     Brawl17 peered out the back window, "Oh, fraggin’—it’s the pocs."

     "In compliance with local law enforcement, please abide by any instructions your officer gives you.” The car chimed, “As a corporate ambassador for Roplaxive Group Inc., you are required to adhere to company policy when divulging potentially sensitive information."

     "What are we going to do?" Worthington hissed at Decker.

     "For your safety, live recording and streaming will commence. Recordings can be requisitioned from Roplaxive's Neuronet archives in case of evidence subpoena."

     Decker gave a silent scream as the recording equipment fired up. He twisted around in the co-pilot seat, "Simper and look at the ground. It's for the greater good."

     Rolling itself to a smooth stop, The Van pulled along the empty highway's shoulder. The officer killed the siren but turned the flood light on to white out the rear view.

     Decker turned back to Worthington, "Act natural, Boss." He tacked on with a wink.

      Above a sneer of someone sniffing skag, the peace officer’s shades reflected back Worthington and Decker's Stepford smiles. Her Gene Works palmtop booted up with its trademark startup sound.

     "Is something wrong?"

     "We're just fine, officer. A little shock over the self-drive activating, that's all," Decker's heart rate climbed in his health stats widget.

     "Uh, huh. I scanned this vehicle as belonging to Ocean City based company, Roplaxive Pharmaceuticals, I'm certain you're aware of them," If Officer Lopez was being funny, her face didn't give any hints. "There's reports to be on the lookout for a missing van of similar make. Possibly commandeered by terrorist clones and a fugitive slicer in possession of sensitive materials."

     "Officer Lopez, my name is Qi Worthington, Roplaxive Pharmaceuticals, Advertisement division," Worthington's voice initiated a holodisplay, faced towards the poc, projecting her dead owner's credentials. "Our self-drive automatically engaged upon entering the City Limits. It was a bit of a shocker after enjoying the open road on manual. My associate here, uh–"

     Decker picked it up, "–Handle SykeWhiplash23, creative security architect, Roplaxive Synthetics. My file's guarded. Freelance, have to be lopro in my line of work, you know, for security reasons. There's bad people out there," Decker forgot how to laugh and tried anyway.

     "What's with the clones in the back?" Lopez gestured to the back of the van. Her holodisplay shifted to a skeletal readout of the back cabin. "Couple appear to be heavily modded." Brawl17 and Breaker put their heads between their knees and simpered harder.

     Worthington's smile flinched in the corners, "We're here on business for–"

     "–Uh, actually I believe we're not allowed to divulge the nature of our business trip. Can't break our confidentiality agreement, Worthington."

     Reflected in mirrorshades, Decker’s shrug said, ‘What are ya gonna do?’ "Corporate lawyers, you know how it goes. Sue the nanobots right outta you. So anyway, were on the way to the consulate, but we found out we're on the wrong side of Metro City."

     Officer Lopez said, "Sir, your car's self-drive coupled with Metro City's meticulously crafted transit system, can get you to your destination. Your next destination. As per inter-corporate-government operations."

     "Yes, of course, that's exactly our destination," Worthington said.

     "To ensure you get there, I'm going to follow along. Give you a police escort." As an afterthought, Lopez added, "For your safety."

     Before anyone could protest, the poc stepped away from the window back to their souped-up cruiser. A nuclear powered, mean-faced, beast of a cruiser that could outrace and ram the van into submission without much effort.

     "Incident complete, record sent. Please continue on your way to the nearest Roplaxive Group Consulate immediately. A list of shared corporate rights within neighboring city-states is available for viewing on the Neuronet." The VI's voice died away and everyone spoke at once.

     "What the frag–"

     "–we're going to die–"

     "–they have our lips to the plasma saw–"

     "–this piece of slag won't outrun a hot piece of–"

     "–sent to Piss City if we're lucky–"

     "–to get the frag out of–"

     "–Alright already!" Decker gripped the close cropped portion of his hair, darting frantic looks about the interior, "Idea.” He pointed like a hunting dog, “Toss me my bag."

     "We're not really going to the RoPhar consulate, are we?” Breaker handed off the pouch-studded carry-all. “We’d be captured immediately. I don't think–"

     Fixer spoke over his twin, "–we can fight our way out of hostile turf." Identical faces nodded in agreeance.

     Lopez pulled up to the passenger window. Decker dug around as the steering column resumed its manual drive position. The Officer gave two ignored rapid horn bursts, rolled down the cruiser window, then shouted and honked some more.

     Worthington rolled the window down and leaned into view, "Oh, thank you for checking in. Manual drive is back to normal.” Worthington gave her best executive guvvy smile, “Go on ahead, we'll catch up."

     "Yeah, just looking for something," Decker called through his back.

     The peace officer car pulled ahead and the newly liberated steering column jerked back into the dash.

     "Peace officer escort engaged. Please remain calm, our destination is Spoke12 Roplaxive Group Consulate."

     Curses and exclamations filled the now mobile van's guts.

     "Sweeps, dial up a map on your phone," Decker shouted from inside his bag, "I’m going to be indisposed for a moment." He emerged with a skag-eating grin and a lumpy multi-glove slipped over his hand.

     "It’s an old map, but I’ve got a pin on it," Sweeps said from behind the driver seat.

     "Rock and roll," Decker dialed up, >cutting_tool in his HUD as the glove morphed into a handheld heating element. It melted the access panel lock, revealing a pair of Microdrive access ports in the plastinium floor. Decker slotted a direct link from his Minjung-Ui Him palmtop and followed down the rabbit hole into the VI’s memory core.

*

     A stewardess in a pillbox cap smiled blankly at Decker’s avatar, “Welcome from Sunjin Automotive to the User Administration lobby. Please provide proper access information in the next thirty seconds or Intrusion Countermeasure Executables will activate.” The claustrophobic blue light standing in for reception room walls revealed themselves as Thick level ICE.

     “General user request,” Decker background loaded his .xpz. Sniffers, firewalls, threadnets, contextualizers and infologgers popped into existence as weakly rendered icons and faded to translucent, waiting to be invoked.

     “Welcome, general user. You are currently in peace officer escort mode and have highly limited access. What is your request?”

     “Automobile year, make, and VIN per officer request.”

     “Registration information request complete. Information shared with MCPD Patrol Officer Michelle Lopez.”

     Decker could feel the van jerking itself on the roads of base plane reality, “Ah, frag.”

     “I’m sorry to have upset you, but there is no need to use profanity. You have fifteen seconds to provide credentials.”

     Decker. Whatever you’re doing, do it quick. Accompanied an earthquake from the edge of nowhere.

     “Are you still there? Do you need help remembering your password?”

     Sweat beaded on his neck and forehead. Query results scrolled before Decker’s avatar as it fidgeted in idle animation, its face cycling between `=| ,=[.

     “Time remaining five seconds. Four…”

     A sniffer.xpz dinged back with the mechanic codes for a ’76 Sunjin 바디 전송.

     “Thank you. What can I help you with?”

*

     Operating pedals emerged beneath Worthington's feet as the steering column jerked back into her startled hands.

     Decker returned to base plane reality shouting, "Drive, drive, anywhere, drive."

     Worthington put some lead in her step, "Sweeps, give me an anywhere." The engine responded with an electric whine. Rubber burnt on cracked asphalt.

     "Left, off the highway, up that way," Sweeps flicked the screen, frustrated by satellite lag. Fixer, Breaker and Manner all rolled into Brawl17. Decker flopped forward, numb with nethaze as the van lumbered over a former center divider. Sweeps helped him to his knees to catch a blurry off-ramp bounce into view.

     Lopez hit her siren, zoomed forward, and Metro-Drifted the cruiser into a U-turn across highway lanes. A roar of dispersed heat drowned the siren call. Officer Lopez revved the cruiser’s fission engine, ready to test out the ram bar. A panicked scream chorus rose inside the van as Worthington floored it down the off-ramp but didn’t move much faster.

     "Where’s my fraggin path, you ugly frag?" Worthington fought for traction as the police cruise rocketed past the rear bumper.

     Sweeps moved himself past the group into shotgun, "At the end of this, ohuuum. Yeah.”

     “Oh, um, yeah, what Sweeps?" Fixer accused from over his shoulder.

     “That.”

     Sweeps pointed out the windshield. Their road to incarceration lay before them in the form of a boxed-in straightaway, flanked by the guts of ancient shopping centers and fast food joints.

     Breaker looked through the back window at rapidly approaching lights, "Uh, guys, I don't want to alarm you or anything–"

     A bullhorn crackled, "–Pull your vehicle over, now, or I will use deadly force."

     A light tap on the back of the van jostled everyone inside. Worthington scowled at her navigator as they careened over a Route 66 sign, "Okay, where to now, genius?"

     "Right. Parking lot, right!" Sweeps tapped at the screen in a flurry, "Smash through the fraggin’ mall doors or something!"

     Lopez kept hot on their tail. She nudged her cruiser into their back end amidst parking spots and abandoned shopping carts. Each touch left dents that could be seen inside the van.

     “Hold onto your butts.”

     Worthington brought the van up to the edge of the Sears side mall entrance. Eying the side mirror, she spun the steering wheel as Lopez made for another smack on their crumpling back end. Back tires skid along blacktop, as the pursuing officer jumped the curb and plowed into the blown out window display from Holiday 2029. Decker used his bag to deflect Manner’s claymore as it rattled about the cabin like a spray paint mixer. He couldn’t tell if her sour face was from her girlfriend’s driving, or that he touched her sword.

     "It's cool, keep going," Sweeps offered up, “we’ll be fine if we can get across this bridge coming up.”

     "Uh, gonna have to pull a better psyche out than that to get to it." Breaker said from the cracked side window.

     "How about you come up here and show us how it's done?" Worthington got the vehicle back under her control just enough for the fission powered road destroyer to smash into the cargo door. It folded inwards. Safety glass shotgunned about the van interior. Brawl17’s mass tumbled into the group from the impact.

     They collectively pushed Brawl17 upright, "Well someone needs to show us how it’s fraggin’ done,” he said. “Unless you want to be gene trash in the morning." Worthington jerked the wheel, knocking him back down.

     "There's another entrance, that you're missing," Sweeps tracked the passing double doors.

     "I'm not missing it," Worthington hoped for the best as she busted a quick heel-toe maneuver, drifting up the mobility device access ramp. The van rocked up on two wheels and slammed into the remnants of a guard rail, punching the other side inwards with a plastinium crunch. Fixer was knocked in the head, showing signs of concussion as Breaker held his clone close. Tires squealed, hampered by warped wheel wells and bent axles. Glass shattered outside. Scrapes of metal on linoleum followed as one of the doors dragged beneath the abused van.

     "Look the frag out," Sweeps shielded his eyes behind his phone.

     "What do you think I'm trying to do?" Worthington swerved around a planter and overturned cell phone kiosk. The mall doors hooked onto the kiosk remains, peeling the bumper off as they sped away.

     Brawl17 scoffed, "Can we pull over? I think my phone’s due for an upgrade."

     “How can you joke right now?” Breaker spat. He steadied Fixer as Decker pumped stims into the dazed clone’s neck.

     Dragon roars of reactor exhaust echoed through the quiet halls of the mausoleum to consumerism. Swirling red flashes illuminated the darkness behind them with blips of blue in between. Worthington flipped on the van’s high beams to little effect. It only helped her see everything she ran over as the corporate van that couldn’t lurched through a zombie flick location.

     Floodlights blazed in the rearview mirrors. Lopez navigated the mall drag with the grace of a drunken shark, slamming into support pillars and taking out the façade of a Hot Topic in the process. She spun her wheels, lining up her headlights with the tail wreckage of the Roplaxive van, gunning it like a slug from a railgun.

     “Left, left, before the escalator, left.” Sweeps gesticulated wildly.

     Carts filled with cheap plastic and metal flew aside and burst to splinters. Lights and sirens whooshed behind the clone filled van, barreling up and over the escalators and into a drawn security gate. The van spun around and around, caroming off of planters and tiled walls till they broke on through to the outside. Spinning to a stop, the van creaking on a mutilated frame. Inside, everyone stopped screaming and opened their eyes. A collective sigh of relief followed by nervous laughter came from all the occupants.

     “Are we all alive?” Decker looked up from beneath Brawl17 and Manner forming a shell over himself, Fixer and Breaker. Worthington looked like she was ready to skag her panties while Sweeps probably already did.

     A peace officer issued slug blasted a hole clean through the van’s plastinium siding. A bloodied and pissed off Officer Lopez aimed down the barrel of her sidearm as she held down her tragus, calling in back-up.

     “Oh, for frag’s sake,” Worthington tried the accelerator to find it smash uselessly to the floorboard.

     “Are we out of fraggin’ juice?” Breaker’s voice cracked.

     Fixer blinked his eyes open, “What’s out of juice?”

     Officer Lopez approached the vehicle with more intent than its engine had of turning over. Another shot, too close to their collective heads to be a warning, ripped through the cabin. Decker was locked out of the VI since he unslotted his Minjung-Ui Him. He dug in his bag for anything that could help as Worthington banged and cursed on the steering wheel.

     Decker pulled out his second palmtop that Roplaxive gave him as a signing bonus. The lump of slag weighed in his hand as he looked towards the exposed VI core, crowded by its own casing. Decker woke the Ghost from sleep mode, synched his graybox, and slotted into the core’s Microdrive ports. Instead of diving in after, he removed a failsafe and assigned the Ghost to charge a new peripheral. A tongueless scream filled the van. Blood spattered from Manner’s side across the wall behind her.

     “Decker, whatever you’re doing, do it quick,” Brawl17 applied direct pressure to her graze. Outside, the sound of a fresh round being chambered came from too close.

     The Ghost glowed and stank of burning plastic. “Try the engine,” Decker shouted as the palmtop caught fire. “Do it.”

     Worthington punched the start button to no avail. Black smoke filled the ventilated cabin space. She bashed a furious fist into the dashboard then held down the button with conviction. Windshield glass shattered from a discharged round as the engine weakly cried back to life.

     “Punch it,” Decker coughed as he sprayed coolant from his multi-glove onto his bricked corporate freebie.

     Officer Lopez fired feebly after their slow getaway, opting instead to run alongside them.

     “Sweet fraggin’ mother, OC pocs would have given up by now.” Fixer said. The peace officer kept pace with their slow escape.

     Sweeps fed directions to the driver as Lopez leapt onto the side of the van with a dull thud. She latched onto a loose corner and pried open the top of the cargo door.

     “You are all under arrest for suspicion of domestic terrorism to cause an insurgency. Additional units are on their way. Stop the vehicle, now.”

     Her last words were punctuated by slamming into the side of a donut shop sign, taking the whole side door with her. She never stood back up.

     The group almost gave a jinxing sigh of relief when the sound of ghetto birds reached their ears. The van struggled up a slight incline as the sight of three black helicopters popped into view over the hilltop.

     “Here comes those additional units,” Brawl17 groaned.

     Everyone's phone buzzed. Manner had moved to the front seat with Worthington.

          Look out the front. Take out this battery. -M

     Four heads turned upwards in confusion. The bridge crept closer to its collapsed end.

     Decker reacted first. "Do it, Worthy. It's the only way," then whipped out his phone battery.

     "You're sure about this?" Worthington really meant 'are you fragging nuts?'

     "No, but let's do it anyway." Decker gave an expectant look to the rest of the group.

     Manner looked her lover in the eye, urging her forward as if nothing could be more important. The clones followed Decker’s lead, yanking out their phone batteries and tossing them into his open bag.

     With a bump the driver side tire blew out, dropping Worthington's control of the van to almost nothing. Wheel frame fighting asphalt rattled through the frame. A world of vibrating, spinning, and then rolling was theirs to enjoy as Worthington and Sweeps adjusted their safety belts. Someone shouted to hang onto something as the group suspended weightless, gravitating to Brawl17 who clung to the driver seat back on the way down.

     Remaining safety glass rode in on a green wave of river water, gushing into the cabin. It rolled onto its side, pulling in water from the busted windows, as the cargo door was its only exit.

     "Brawl, hoist me up, Yo." Decker shouldered his bag and pulled himself onto the side of the sinking hunk of slag. "C’mon gang, let’s play the vacate game."

     Manner spider-like crawled up Brawl17 and out. She reached an arm down to help with evacuating. Everyone was out and swimming towards cover in a drain pipe on the far bank. Decker was about to dive into the river when he heard a splash behind him. He looked about to find green river water and no Manner. He wrung his bag strap hanging off his shoulder, trying to keep his balance as the van sank. Before he had no choice but to jump or get sucked down, a sword pommel and a hand lunged from the water. His hands slipped off her and the sword twice before reaching into the water and pulling the water logged clone free. Manner coughed and sputtered as water rushed over the surface they rested upon.

     Decker shoved Manner away as water displacement created a vacuum beneath him. The next moments were murky and green and stung his eyes. Closing them couldn’t shut out the environmental chemical analysis warnings from his health widget. He thrashed his augmented limbs in what looked like it could be up. Struggling against the plastic/metal coffin brought him no closer to freedom. Decker selected echolocation sensory input behind his clenched eyelids. A wavering outline of his gear bag, twisted around on a piece of slag, formed itself in his HUD. All his thrashing only succeeded at pinning Decker to the wreck.

     Drowning on the outskirts of Metro City was not how Decker was going to go. He dialed up a handsaw from the multi-glove and went to town on the strap. It gave way as the van wreckage hit the river bottom, freeing Decker to knock his head against the interior.

     Disoriented, he grasped at the sharp injury, releasing breath in an underwater scream. Up made no more sense. Sonar was a confusing mess of debris and broken windows. The van settled, sucker-punching Decker one more time. His nanomachines worked overtime to harvest spare oxygen as his lungs burned for more. Feeling the world go dark, bony hands grasped Decker beneath his armpits.

     On the riverbank, he retched water and algae from his lungs and stomach. It stunk of sulfur and tasted worse. His bag was lost to the river now. All he had left to his name were soggy clothes, a waterlogged Korean palmtop, and a multi-purpose glove tool. Maybe a couple baggies stashed in the lining of his soaked jacket. Downstream, his party members hoisted themselves into an open waste main. Manner, her claymore slung across the back of her reddening shirt, waved to Decker then pulled her hair into a ponytail.

     After a couple more gagging fits, Decker caught movement in his periphery. All that remained was a tiny water geyser breaking the surface when Decker turned his head. He was cold beneath the afternoon sun, and knew things could only get colder from here. Helicopter blades beat the air above, moving Decker’s shaky legs. Behind a pair of dead shrubs, he caught yellow-rimmed pupils surrounded by greenish iridescent scales.

     They stared into each other's eyes until someone's voice reverbed its way to Decker's ears. He looked away for a moment and back on nothing but a faint splash.