Chrome Flesh Blood and Iron

[Sleepy Turtle]

I was about half way through replacing the micro servers in a fascinating Mk. 4 Militec construction series cybernetic arm. It was at least 3 generations old, practically an antique. I'd found it broken in a dumpster this morning.

Suddenly, a cold steel hand roughly grabbed me by my unevenly cut brown hair and dragged me off my stool. Liam, the hand's owner, pulled me out into the garbage strewn alley and threw me into the concrete wall on the other side. Looking up I saw him drop the tuft of hair he'd pulled from my scalp. His face was twisted in fury.

He screamed at me, "You dumb motherfucker! You missed the goddamn job!"

Stalking over to me he drove a sloppy uppercut into my belly. I tried to block it somewhat, but he was a chromed up 13 year old and I was a skinny, entirely ganic 8 year old, so my attempts meant nothing.

I folded over and crumpled to the ground. As I lay in the damp fetid garbage gasping for breath, he continued with a disgusted tone, "All because you were too busy playing with another shiny piece of worthless chrome."

He kicked me in the ribs with a heavy steel toe punk boot and I curled into a ball. The sounds of Joytoys plying their trade, pachinko machines ringing, and myriad conversations trickled in creating a familiar background cacophony of vice and degeneracy — the sounds of a world indifferent to my pain.

"You fucking knew we needed this! We all need food for fucks sake! Aiden needs that fucking kidney implant replaced so he'll stop pissing blood. Zoe needs some goddamn medicine for her little brother. But noooo… That's not what happened today, is it? Because you weren't there Niko. And, Aiden, the desperate scophead, decided to try to get through the security on the car on his own and guess what happened."

He kicked me again. In the same spot. I felt something crack.

"Aiden fucked up and the badges got called. Three of us were caught, including my fucking brother!"

He stomped on my ankle. I cried out in pain as I heard it crunch.

"Now, we all have to move before the cops get them to talk. We've got to leave this prime spot behind and find somewhere new to claim."

I heard him crouch down next to me followed by the snick of a knife being opened.

He spoke softly, his voice trembling slightly, "All because of you. If you'd just shown up and helped us klep that corpo kid's ride, we would have been secure for the next month. Muamar said he'd give us more jobs if everything went smooth. This was our one chance and you screwed it."

He grabbed the back of my head firmly with his chrome hand and forcefully turned my head so he could look me in the eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see light reflect off the knife in his other hand. He reeked with the acrid chemical tang of stims. His pupils were huge and his forehead covered in sweat.

"You've forgotten to show up for shit a bunch of times but I've forgiven you because of your skills and that big fucking brain of yours. But not this time. If you can't be trusted to show up when you're really needed… then what fucking use are you?"

At that he brought the knife into full view and positioned it over my right eye.

"I'm going to give you something to remember us by. Something for my brother who I might never see again. You are never going to forget the Rats."

He cut through my eyelid and into my eye. I screamed. Then he dragged the blade down all the way to my chin, leaving a deep wound. His iron grip left me helpless. No matter how much I screamed and struggled he was unmoved. I blacked out for a moment, then when I came to it was over. I heard him clomp away. I lay in the rain soaked trash sobbing and cradling my mutilated face.

I heard the other kids exit the soon to be abandoned home in a stream. They grunted as they walked. Anything they couldn't carry with them was being left behind. Some of the youngest cried as they were forced to leave. Everyone just ignored me as they walked past.

My blood slowly leaked into a nearby puddle. It mixed with the rainbow swirls of oil that pooled atop it. Neon lights from streetside advertisements shone into the dark alleyway. They dimly illuminated my dirty blood soaked form. Absently I watched a Mr. Studd ad play out in the reflection from the puddle. It was distorted and off-coloured.

I eventually pulled myself together well enough to try to get to my feet. It didn't go great. My right ankle couldn't hold my weight. The sharp pain when I tried left me gasping for air and slumped against the alley wall. Fuck. Putting as little weight as possible onto my ankle, I limped back into the evacuated hideout. Belongings and trash were scattered across the concrete floor. In the small darkened rooms that I passed, dirty mattresses were illuminated by the flickering fluorescent lights in the hallway. Dripping blood, I left a trail behind me on the dirty concrete.

When I made it to the room I'd shared, I found the Militech construction series arm I'd been working on smashed into pieces on the floor. Looking over to where the backpack containing my belongings had laid, I saw it was open and laying flat on the ground. There was nothing left inside to keep the fabric from collapsing in on itself. It reminded me of flattened roadkill.

I haltingly staggered and limped over to where my chair had fallen over when Liam had grabbed me. With effort I righted it and collapsed onto it with relief. I pulled off my dirty blood soaked t-shirt and pressed it against my face. I'd seen some of the older kids doing something similar when they got hurt on a job. Maybe it would help with the bleeding. Sounds were muffled and I thought I might throw up. My head felt fuzzy and nothing seemed quite real.

I needed to get my hidden stash and get out of here before the badges arrived. I didn't really know what would happen if they caught me, but I did know that I'd never seen any kids they'd taken come back. My tools were still there. I grabbed a screwdriver with the hand not holding the shirt to my face and carefully crawled under the desk. My ribs protested, but they were the least painful injury and I needed to move. I gingerly removed several screws holding a panel to the underside of the desk. I'd added it a while back when Liam upped the amount of drugs he was using. He'd started stealing from people, including me.

When I removed the last screw the panel fell to the floor with a clang. I flinched at the sudden noise even though I expected it. From inside the hollow metal desk I pulled out a couple hundred eddies I'd managed to squirrel away, an old external cyberdeck, and, most importantly for right now, some emergency medicine and drugs. It used to be that if someone got hurt the gang would give them some 'Dorph and a MaxDoc. Or, if the gang was going to pull a job that would involve a fight, everyone would get some stims or even Black Lace if they were lucky. That had stopped a while back when Liam really got hooked on stims.

I had to be careful if I was going to use any. If I took too much I'd OD. I'd seen it happen to kids my age often enough. The inhalers weren't made for children. I'd not really used drugs before, but I'd seen what it could do to people. Some couldn't stop. For the girls, that usually meant ending up leashed to pimp that would supply them. For guys, that normally led to stealing, violence, isolation, and usually death in one way or another. On the other hand, I'd also seen people on the right combination of drugs stay up for three days straight and walk on broken limbs.

First I grabbed the nearly full MaxDoc and took a hit. The itching started immediately in my face, ribs and ankle. Quickly, I grabbed the mostly empty 'Dorph inhaler and tried to just breathe in half a hit, but immediately knew I'd probably taken too much. The pain disappeared and I felt amazing, like everything was going to be okay. The itching no longer bothered me. My shock, fear and pain disappeared and I felt ready to go. On the other hand, my heart was racing and my hands were twitching. I'd definitely taken too much, but thankfully 'Dorph was pretty hard to OD on. Even so, if I'd taken a full hit I knew I'd be having a seizure right now.

I'd initially hesitated, but with the 'Dorph running through me, I decided to pull out the last item from inside the desk: an old Militech Ticon tech pistol. The thing was beat to hell. When I found it, the battery wasn't charging the capacitors correctly and it wouldn't fire. It ended up being simple to fix. Turned out the battery was damaged. Somehow, the outer casing had been hit hard enough to bend and damage it. That was impressive, considering Ticons are notoriously hard to damage. I ended up scavenging a battery from a completely destroyed M-76e Omaha. The different battery didn't connect quite right, so the output for uncharged shots was reduced. That was probably a good thing since I doubted I could handle the normal recoil.

I pulled the shirt away from my face. The MaxDoc had stopped the bleeding. I had no idea how my other injuries were faring, but I could deal with them later. I wasn't bleeding anymore and could move without pain. That was enough for now. I needed to get out of there.

I wrapped up the money, drugs and gun in my bloody shirt and crawled out from under the desk. Standing up, my ankle felt a bit unsteady, but no pain. That was good enough for me. I dumped everything into my ransacked backpack and scrounged for some clothes. No one had touched the mostly clean clothes I'd left under my mattress. Those went on top of the money and drugs. I left the Ticon on top of everything for easy access. It was fully loaded.

I pulled on an only slightly dirty gray t-shirt and a ragged green jacket someone had left behind. Carrying my backpack, I started to leave, only to stop and remember my tools. Looking back, I couldn't leave them. I hurried over to my desk and threw the most essential and difficult to replace into my bag. Rushing now, I zipped up my bag and started half jogging out of the hideout. My ankle rolled and I felt something shift. It didn't hurt, but that probably wasn't good. The lack of pain had made me careless. Limping now, I moved as fast as I could without causing any further damage.

I'd left the hideout and was just stepping out of the alley, when I heard the first drone incoming. I tried to blend into the crowd, but it wasn't easy. I was clearly injured and there weren't many kids on the streets. There never were. After about a block and a half I let out a breath of relief. It looked like I was probably in the clear. I kept limping along, looking for somewhere I could hide and maybe make a temporary home. Or, at least somewhere I could rest and try to recover.

Reaching up to my face, I confirmed that I couldn't see out of my right eye. Absolutely nothing. God damn it! Fuck! I started quietly crying again, despite the drugs. It was all just too much, too fast.

If only I'd actually shown up for the op. Fuck! I didn't miss it on purpose! I fucking try to remember things! I just get distracted!

It started raining. I quickly found out that the jacket I'd taken wasn't waterproof. Within minutes, my clothes became heavy with water and clung uncomfortably to my skin. I needed a place to rest, recover and think and I needed it soon.

I can't keep going for much longer. I'm tired and the 'Dorph will only keep me going for so long.

I turned off the busy street to look for an abandoned building with a minimum number of squatters. The city smelled like wet concrete and garbage with a pervasive undertone of caustic chemical pollution and exhaust. Every spot I found was crammed with reality junkies, dorphheads, and desperate JoyToys. Eventually, I spotted two guys sheltered from the rain in a corner where an overpass met the street. I knew they wouldn't let me join them, but I was tired and absolutely done with this day. One was asleep. The other was sitting on a crate twitching and talking to himself.

Fuck it.

I walked up to him.

"He, he, he told me that it would work. It was going to work. It was going to work. The mayor said so. If I just helped MaxTac they were going to give me it. Yes! Yes, of course, of course."

He giggled.

I was standing in front of him but he didn't seem to notice. He was thin to the point of emaciation and his body odor could be smelled from ten feet away.

Cautiously, I said, "Hey choom, can I crash…"

Suddenly, he stopped giggling and reached behind the crate, pulled out Budget Arms Slaught-O-Matic and shoved it in my face. The hand holding the gun twitched wildly.

He yelled, spittle flying everywhere, "YOU'RE NOT TAKING IT! IT'S MINE! YOU'RE NOT TRICKING ME AGAIN!"

I held my hands up and backed away slowly. He forgot about me as soon as I was maybe 15 feet back. There weren't many people around and those that were didn't care.

"See, I told you they'd come for me. I told you…"

I couldn't hear the rest. The guy on the mattress barely stirred, clearly drugged to the gills. I thought about the gun in my backpack.

I can't keep looking for a place to rest. Maybe I should just take it. People just take and take from me. The fuckers in the gang never cut me in on the take from any of the jobs. I was just "paying my dues" whatever that means. People steal and hurt each other all the time. Why should I always be the one getting hurt and stolen from. Why shouldn't I just take what I want?

I moved around the corner of a nearby building into an alley and pulled out my iron. The grip was a bit too big for me, but if I held it with two hands I could reach the trigger and hold it steady. I put on my backpack and walked back out holding the gun. There was a dumpster I could hide behind about 15 feet from the two men. The mumbling man didn't notice me as I peered around the corner of the dumpster. I didn't know anything about correct form, but I'd played with pretend guns and I'd seen people shoot before. Carefully, I lined up the iron sights using my one good eye. I aimed at the center of his body and pulled the trigger.

A three round burst fired. The first two hit and the third flew high. Recoil had forced the barrel up. The man fell off the crate screaming. I was surprised. The sound of the gun was much quieter than I expected. I moved out from behind the dumpster and walked a few paces closer. Ready for the recoil this time, I shot another three round burst into the screaming man. He stopped screaming. The guy on the mattress was stirring. I walked up to him. He was blinking blearily and reaching for something out of sight. I was close enough now that I didn't really need to aim. I fired two bursts into him in quick succession. He stopped moving. It was over.

Moving the bodies was a pain. Literally. Even if they were skeletally thin, they were still damn heavy to me, especially with my injuries. Eventually, I got them in front of the dumpster. That was all I could do. There was no way I was going to try to get them in and I was exhausted anyway. It wasn't like I was trying to hide them or anything. Nobody cared if some random homeless nobodies killed each other.

I painfully limped back over to the mattress. The 'Dorph was wearing off and the pain from my injuries was coming back. It wasn't nearly as bad as before I used the MaxDoc thankfully. I looked down at the mattress in exhausted exasperation and weary disgust. It was soaked with the blood of the man I'd killed. Next to it I found a rusty chef's knife the man had been reaching for. I left that next to my bag for now.

After struggling for a few minutes, I managed to flip the mattress over. Thankfully, only a bit of blood had seeped through to the other side. Soaked to the bone, shivering and exhausted, I crawled sluggishly onto the mattress. I reeked of wet garbage, blood, and the body odor and evacuated bowels of the dead men I'd dragged. Holding my iron tightly, weariness overcame the pain and discomfort. A discordant melody of occasional gunshots, vehicles moving above me, and the gentle patter of rain accompanied me into a fitful sleep.

 

[Sleepy Turtle]

A terrible spike of pain from my eye woke me. With a gasp I tensed up. Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted from just beside my head. I scrambled off the mattress and dove behind the crate next to it. Desperately, I searched for where the shots came from. I didn't see anyone. As my brain fully awoke, I hesitantly looked down at what I was holding. With a groan, I carefully moved my finger away from the trigger of the Ticon I'd had in my hands all night. I flipped the safety on and removed the mag to check how much ammo I had left. Six rounds left. So two bursts or six charged shots. Unfortunately, I doubted I could handle the recoil from a charged shot. I reinserted the mag and placed the gun in my backpack.

The pain in my eye was terrible. Every time I shifted my gaze it made the mess that was my eye move against the scabbed remains of my eyelids. I tried to focus on not moving my eyes and just moving my head. That was better. Still horrible, but better. I needed to get a ripperdoc to take care of this. There was no way I could afford an ocular implant, but hopefully I had enough to get them to just take it out or something.

As I shifted, a sharp pain from my ankle made me gasp. I gingerly sat down on the dirty mattress and pulled up my pant leg to take a look. My ankle was swollen to hell and tender to the touch. Now that the adrenaline from the impromptu wakeup call was starting to fade, my other injuries were reminding me of their presence. With every breath I took, my ribs sent shooting pain through me. Every facial movement I made pulled on the scabbed over wound, causing a searing spike of agony.

I rummaged through the bottom of my bag, took out the MaxDoc and took another hit. The itching sucked, but it was nothing in comparison to everything else. It wouldn't fix my eye, but it should help keep it from getting infected and speed up the healing for everything.

With the itching flooding through all my injuries and the pain an insistent unending drumbeat, I held carefully still, making sure to resist the temptation to move my eyes. Tears started leaking down my face. They stung my ruined eye as they fell.

This is too much. Everything hurts so much! I can't do this. I can't do anything while in this much pain. What am I going to do?! It hurts too much! It's too much! I need some more 'Dorph. I just can't deal with all this.

Trembling slightly, I pulled out the Dorph inhaler and took a careful hit. Within seconds, the pain flowed away to a dull, almost imperceptible, ache. The trembling was gone. I hadn't overdone it this time.

I need to be careful. I get why people can't stop taking this. It feels way too good. But, right now I need it. I need to be able to move and think.

My stomach rumbled, distracting me from my thoughts. There were a few vending machines about a block away. I passed them on my way here last night. Before I got going I pulled out my cyberdeck and my small horde of eddies.

I stuffed the MaxDoc and Dorph back into the bag and put the cyberdeck and eddies in my pockets. Since I didn't have a good way to carry the kitchen knife and it was a piece of shit anyway, I decided to just leave it behind. Only slightly painfully, I slung the backpack onto my shoulders and started making my way towards breakfast.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped at some point during the night. It was late in the morning and the streets were crowded. I'd learned a while back to stay unnoticed and out of the way when on the street. You didn't want some corpo asshole, gangoon, or cyberpsycho to get angry at you for dirtying their pants or whatever. That was a quick way to get yourself some broken bones or, if you were particularly unlucky, a bullet. For me, right then, I just really didn't want to get knocked over. I was hurt enough as it was.

When I reached the vending machine I pulled out my cyberdeck. I had the money to buy something, but why would I buy it if I could steal it. And anyways, I had other plans for that money. The low-security on the flaking yellow painted machine made this doable. I pulled a cord from the old dented aluminum casing of my cyberdeck and carefully jacked it into a small, hidden access point beneath a loose panel. On the small flickering screen of my deck I selected Breach Protocol to gain control of the machine's systems. The program worked its way through the defenses with some help on my part. When the Code Matrix interface appeared on the tiny screen, I quickly input the correct characters, watching as each selection nested and overlapped to form a cohesive sequence. Once through, I uploaded a basic Control daemon.

With the ICE bypassed and my daemon in place, I accessed the vending machine's control panel. Navigating through its software on the small screen was a familiar challenge and I managed to override the payment and selection systems quickly. A smile had just started to cross my face when a tug on my scabbed over wound reminded me that facial movements were a bad idea. Emergent smile gone, I executed the final command. The vending machine whirred to life, dropping an XXL Burrito into the dispenser slot.

I grabbed my prize and walked away as quickly as I could. It would be a while before I could hack that machine again. That particular machine was owned by All Foods and they'd notice quickly if I stole from them too often. Corps were dangerous to mess with if you weren't careful. I'd learned how to hack from an older girl, Tammy. She'd shown me how to get into the vending machines. Every day, she'd go down the street to hack the same one. Then one day, she left as usual and just never came back. The vending machine she used was swapped out for a newer version that same day.

As I went to take a bite, I quickly realized that eating was going to suck until my face healed. Thankful for the Dorph, I took tiny bites as I gingerly worked my way through breakfast. The CHOO2 fumes and cacophony of a busy day in Night City accompanied me as I limped down the street. A block down, I found a nice dark alley out of the way. I spotted a comfortable looking crate in the detritus littered through the alley. Sitting there watching the crowds and eating my breakfast, I took a moment to think.

I need to get my eye taken care of and I need a good safe spot to hide out and heal. Anything easy to find will be taken. I need a place that hasn't been noticed, or is too dangerous for even stupid people to take, or… I need to take someone else's spot and keep it from anyone who would want to take it from me… Finding a good spot someone hasn't taken would just be up to luck and I don't think I'm very lucky. The dangerous areas… police stations… Maelstrom hangouts… fuck, where else? The other gangs aren't too bad to be near. They are at least predictable. But, those areas are already claimed. The police are just too good at catching people for me to slip by. Near the Maelstrom is an option. A terrible option. But it's on the list.

Okay, how about taking someone else's spot?

I looked down at myself — a bloody, limping, half blind, underfed 8 year old.

Not going to be able to scare people into leaving. But I do have a gun and some eddies. And killing those guys last night wasn't too hard. Why did the Rats talk about killing someone like it was a big deal? It was so easy. Whatever.

So, find a spot near a Maelstrom hangout and hope for the best or kill the people in a safer place, take it for myself, and kill anyone who tries to take it from me.

About half way through the burrito I was stuffed. I tossed the rest onto the ground with all the rest of the trash.

One way, I just have to hope that I don't get caught and don't have to fight people I can't win against. Or, the other way, I can choose my fight and a spot that nobody strong would care about taking. Taking a spot seems like a better idea, but for that I need ammo and maybe grenades or something. I don't have enough money to do that and also get my eye taken care of… The people I take the place from could have some eddies… Maybe… Whatever, if I have to, I'll just take some more Dorph to deal with the pain until I can get the eddies I need. Going without a place to sleep or staying near the Maelstrom are still worse options.

With that final thought, I got up and started limping my way toward the Kabuki Roundabout.

As I carefully made my way into the crowds packing the place, I noticed a middle aged asian lady at a street stall was eyeing me with a frown. So were many of the other stall owners who had noticed me. Chatter in a mix of Mandarin and English surrounded me as I shuffled my way through. I had to be careful not to get trampled or get too close to any of the stalls. Enough kids had tried stealing here and gotten a lesson from the Claws for me to know better. I didn't want any of the stall owners to think I was trying anything.

When I hesitantly limped my way into Straight Shooters, the man at the front counter started watching me intently. With some degree of trepidation, I made my way over to him.

"I need some ammo for a Ticon and some grenades."

He looked at me silently for a moment. He scanned my injuries and the general state of me.

"Okay kid. Sure. If you have the money I'll sell you what you need."

He pulled out a box of ammo and flipped up a screen set into the counter.

"You can see a list of our available grenades here."

He pointed at the screen then paused. I wasn't tall enough to see the screen. My head didn't even reach the top of the counter.

"Or not… How about you just tell me what you need and I'll grab something for you."

"Umm… A normal one and an EMP?"

I could remember seeing a small fight between the Tiger Claws and the Maelstrom where EMPs were thrown. They seemed to take down those with lower quality implants. At least for a bit. And that was all I was really looking for. I wasn't planning on going after anyone who would have implants that could resist an EMP grenade.

He pulled out two grenades. One colored blue and the other red.

Pointing at the blue one he said, "This is the EMP." Moving to point at the other one he said, "And this is the fragmentation. Which is what I assumed you wanted. It's what most people think of when they say grenade. Also, I grabbed the cheapest ones since I doubt you have much money."

I just nodded in agreement and absorbed the new information.

"Each of the grenades will cost you a hundred and the ammo will be 50. Making your total is 250 eddies."

Hesitating for a moment, unsure, I asked, "Why so much for the ammo? Doesn't handgun ammo usually cost less than half that?"

With a sigh, the man ran a hand over his face.

"I'm already giving you a gonk deal on the grenades kid. But fine. To start with, handgun ammo can range in price wildly depending on caliber, rarity, and manufacturer. But you're still right about this stuff being more expensive. When you've got a tech pistol like this that magnetically accelerates the projectile you need a different type of ammo. In this case it is a dart-like thing with fins that is encased in a sabot which detaches when it leaves the barrel.

Don't ask me why, but for whatever reason, the manufacturing process or materials used or maybe random corporate nonsense, the ammo costs more. Not to mention, the Ticon is an outdated gun and the ammo for it isn't really used for any other model. That alone makes the stuff more expensive just due to rarity."

I listened closely, taking advantage of the opportunity to learn. I hadn't noticed the fallen sabot pieces when I fired the gun yesterday.

With a nod and a muttered thanks, I pulled out the eddies and placed them on the counter. He pushed my items across to where I could reach and I scooped up everything. I put it all in my backpack and left without another word. His eyes lingered on me as I limped my way out, his expression heavy and unreadable.

 

[Sleepy Turtle]

I found a small dilapidated hotel in Kabuki near the border of Little China. It looked to have originally been 3 stories tall, but the top level had completely collapsed along with about half of the second. The concrete was covered in bad graffiti and pockmarked with holes. Some appeared to be bullet holes, but others seemed to have come from explosions or random vandalism. Garbage surrounded the building, most of it used inhalers and needles. Even from an alley across the road, I could smell the place. It reeked of raw sewage, unwashed bodies, and an acrid chemical tang. The scents almost burned as I breathed them in. It all mixed into a familiar stench. I had smelt it before — the lingering malaise left after years when a building was abandoned to saturate in the fumes from a cornucopia of cheap synthetic drugs — of a place left to soak in the dead hopes of the dying, unwashed masses.

It was near dusk and the smog-filled sky filtered orange beams down onto the building, casting the front facade in shadow. I carefully finished reloading the magazine and reinserted it into the Ticon. No one would care about anyone who chose to live in this place. Not even the people who lived there cared. The building would likely finish collapsing within the next 5 to 10 years if nobody did anything. And no one would. It would just become another ruin among many. All those who lived there knew that the roof could collapse on them any day. But, these people knew that they would likely die long before that ever happened.

I inspected my gun. From the shots I'd taken with the Ticon, I'd noticed that it wasn't nearly as loud as I would've expected. I could only guess it was because of the lowered power of the shots from the mismatched battery. It wasn't silent or anything, but it was certainly quiet. That could be useful for what came next.

If I had the option, I would've watched the place for a week or more to check out the number of people who lived there, their habits, and anything else I could learn from just watching from the outside. Unfortunately, I didn't have that sort of time. With every step I took my ankle felt worse and worse. Even if I couldn't feel the pain, I could tell something was wrong. I needed a place to sleep, rest, and hide. I couldn't keep walking around looking and I couldn't wait out here in the open.

I took another careful hit of 'Dorph as I'd felt it wearing off. The growing pain receded into the background, easily ignorable. So did my growing concerns about what I was about to do. All my options were shit and I would do whatever I had to to survive.

Focused, I stepped out of the alley and limped my way over to the building. I circled around the side of it searching for a way in other than the front door. There was an open first-floor window, but it was too high and I couldn't even see inside. At the back of the building, I found a door with the words, "Employees Only" on it, faded to near illegibility and partially covered in graffiti. The door handle and lock jamb were entirely missing, leaving a ragged hole and a partially open, free-swinging door.

Peeking in through the hole, I saw a dimly lit room empty of people. Fluorescent light leaked in from an empty doorway off to the right. The floor was covered in rubble and metal scraps. A metal table in the corner was on its side, ventilated with bullet holes. Seeing that the room was empty, I opened the door.

The rusty hinges gave a sudden loud shriek as it opened. I paused and waited. It was quiet. No sign of movement coming my way. I squeezed my way through the crack I'd made, pushing my backpack through first, trying hard not to touch the door. Once through, I carefully picked my way through the debris over to the empty doorway. Bent and rusted hinges stuck out aimlessly along one side of the doorframe, bereft of the door they once held.

Peeking out, I found myself at the end of a dark hallway intermittently lit by fluorescent lights. Across from me, through an open door, I saw a room filled with bloody, ripped-up mattresses, rotting food, and a bunch of other trash. Buzzing swarms of flies filled the air and leaked out into the damp, musty air of the hall. The still, heavy air held the pervasive scents hostage, left with no breeze to set them free. Looking down the hall, I found a sea of rooms with open, broken, or missing doors. Occasional damp spots discolored the concrete floor — likely from last night's rain leaking through the collapsing structure. Among the closely packed rooms, only a few doors remained intact and closed.

Several doors down, lying between two pools of light, I saw a pile of rags just barely recognizable as human. If it wasn't for the hand peeking out and the slight movements as they snored, it would've been impossible to tell. I'd clear the rooms between us first before I dealt with them.

Slowly, I made my way over to the next room down on the left. It was missing its door entirely, just like the room I had left. Across from it, stood an intact door, partially open. I would check the room without a door first just in case anyone inside might glance out into the hall.

Just barely sticking my head around the edge of the empty door frame, I scanned the room. Other than the bathroom, the entire place was visible from where I stood, and even for that not-yet-visible room, I could still see its door. The place was tiny, with just enough room for a bed and a desk. Not that even those remained. The only thing in the room was a bare soiled mattress with a nude woman curled up on it, left wearing only a single pink stiletto shoe with a broken heel. Stepping inside, I could quickly see that the woman wasn't breathing. Now that I was closer, I could smell it too. The scent of death had been covered by all the other noxious odors filling the place.

I checked the bathroom and gagged. It was smeared with shit and piss. Without running water, they'd just filled the toilet. Then, once it was full, did the same to the shower. Flies swarmed the place. If all the bathrooms were like this, then I now knew where the raw sewage smell was coming from. Disregarding its hellish contents, the bathroom was empty of people. I closed the door and left the room with relief. Unfortunately, I knew that this wouldn't be the last bit of death and filth I'd see today. Thankfully, the Dorph made it all a bit easier to deal with.

The room across from it was empty beyond used needles and inhalers. It was the same for the next couple of rooms, other than the odd piece of broken furniture or ripped-up mattress. Soon, I was able to make out something coming from somewhere farther down. Just two rooms up the hall from the sleeping man, I could hear music and rhythmic slapping leaking from a closed door.

The light above me flickered and buzzed as I stepped closer to the occupied room. From just outside, I could hear upbeat pop music accompanied by the repeated sounds of flesh hitting flesh and a man grunting. I checked the door handle. Unlocked. Probably broken.

Aware of the squeaky hinges common in this place, I carefully inched it open. It made a little noise but was easily covered by the other sounds in the room. Inside, a rail-thin man, wearing a white tank top so stained it looked like yellow-brown camo, kneeled on a dirty mattress with his pants around his ankles. From behind, I could see his boney shoulders pressed up against thin jaundiced skin, looking like they wanted to escape their disgusting fleshy cage.

The woman beneath him was limp and silent. Strapped to her head, she wore a shitty braindance rig, its flickering lights played ceaselessly against the deep circles under her eyes. The hoodie she wore had likely once been a nice baby blue, but now, it was nothing more than a ripped and dirty rag. The frayed cargo pants that lay discarded near the bathroom I could only guess were her's. She was a Reality Junkie, probably high on synthetic hallucinogens, dead to the world, and busy living a different, better life in a virtual one.

Through the crack in the door, I fired a burst into the back of the man's chest. The bullets tore through him and lodged in the opposite wall. He spasmed and fell onto his side gasping and gurgling. I spotted a pistol on the floor, but it was on the opposite side of the mattress from where he fell. He wouldn't be able to reach it. There was no need to waste more bullets. He would die soon and he wouldn't be able to make much noise. You can't yell if you can't breathe.

I checked the person sleeping a couple of doors down. He hadn't stirred, still peacefully snoring.

Looking back into the room, the dying man's red bloodshot eyes stared at me in a mix of shock, pain, and fear. It took a while for him to fall unconscious. Even through the Dorph, I knew that had been fucked up, but I just didn't really care that much. Letting him die slowly had been a choice made out of callus calculation, not deliberate cruelty. Also, considering what he'd been doing when I found him, he didn't engender much sympathy.

Stepping over the sabot pieces left on the floor by my shots, I entered the room and closed the door behind me. Walking up to the girl, I put the muzzle right next to her head and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled the trigger. The quiet snaps as it fired rang loud in my ears. Even muffled by the happy pop music they felt deafening. For some reason, that one felt different. A couple of silent tears rolled down my face. I checked the bathroom. Nobody inside.

Maybe I don't have to keep going. Maybe I can just take this room and be done with this… No… No. Once I fix up a room, someone will take it from me. Once I have something worth stealing, someone will steal it… No… I can't hide here with other people around. I'm too weak.

This building is already pretty much invisible because of how shit it is and once I clear it out, I can board it up and set up noise traps to know if anyone gets in… And maybe something better if I can get enough eddies. But I can't do that until I get this place empty.

Fuck, I wish I could just scare the rest away. No, I've only gotten this far because I've surprised every person I've killed. I need to stick to the plan. Just keep going and don't think about it. Focus.

I pulled out the magazine from my gun. 12 rounds left. 4 more bursts. I hadn't bought a second magazine. That was stupid. I wouldn't make that mistake again. With care, I pulled the box of ammo from my backpack and reloaded the magazine. I reinserted the mag and put the ammo back in my pack. Finally, I picked up the Nue from the floor and checked the mag. 6 rounds left. It looked in good condition, but considering where I found it, I didn't fully trust it to fire. I put it in my pack anyway. Moving slowly, I exited the room and closed the door behind me.

The person in the hallway still hadn't moved. As quietly as I could, I cleared the last couple of rooms between us. Finally, I limped close to the immobile figure. I didn't want to miss my shot. The bullets bouncing full speed off the concrete floor might be louder than the gunshots. Just a few feet from the person I stopped, lined up a shot, and fired a burst into them. The quiet snaps of the bullets firing echoed slightly down the hall. With a jerk, the man woke up and started to take in a choking breath. I fired another burst. And another. He stopped moving.

I paused again to see if anyone had noticed the noise. Nothing. 9 rounds left. Half my magazine, gone in an instant. If I were shooting a normal Ticon, I doubted I'd have needed to use more than a single burst. I debated reloading the mag again.

Fuck. I really should've gotten a couple extra mags.

I retreated back into an empty room and repeated the process of loading the mag. Before continuing, I went and grabbed some large pieces of cardboard I'd seen discarded in one of the prior rooms. I carefully arranged the pieces on top of the dead man in the hall. If you didn't get too close, it'd be hard to tell it wasn't just another pile of trash.

Once done, I continued working my way down the hall. Empty room. Another empty room. Another. And another. The fifth, however, wasn't quite as empty. In the shower, I found another corpse, long dead and rotting as it lay in the filth surrounding it. I kept moving.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Something. 3 men were laid out across the room, unconscious. One had foam bubbling from his mouth. All of them had needle tracks along their arms.

None of them woke up.

I reloaded the mag again and continued making my way down. I found another body a couple of doors down. Stabbed to death it looked like. Old blood soaked the mattress.

I had nearly reached the end of the hall when I heard raised voices coming from an open door two rooms down. Carefully, I moved into the room next to it on the same side of the hall and pressed my ear against the separating wall. They were pretty thin here.

"Come on man, just give me the Glitter."

"No. Not fucking happening."

"Come on man, what the fuck?"

"It's always just a bit more. Just a bit more."

"Bro, I just need enough to deal with the shakes. I'm quitting. I swear."

"That's what you always say!"

"I really mean it this time!"

"Sure you fucking do! The only reason I'm in this shithole is because you're like a fucking brother to me. So come on, let's get out of here. I'll take you over to Aunty Cho's place. You can get cleaned up again and I'll help you through the withdrawals just like last time. I've got some shit that will help you sleep through most of it."

"Come on man, this again? I, uh… I just… Just give me some glitter and a couple days to get some things together first and I'll go."

Silence.

"No… You either come now or I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. I'm done coming out to shitholes like this to get you. If you don't come with me now, then this will be the last time I do something like this for you."

A choked-out sob.

"Fine… Fine… Okay. I'll go. Just… Just…"

Another sob.

"Just one last hit. Please."

A sigh.

"Fine. Here."

The sound of an inhaler being used. A giggle. A louder sigh.

"Alright, come on."

I could hear the two men walk out of the room and, thankfully, down the hall towards the front of the building, not the back. Carefully, I peeked out at them. The guy being guided down the hall looked similar to many other homeless addicts — thin, shaky, stained clothes, the usual. He did, however, have some familiar tattoos on his arms. Tiger Claw tattoos. And, if I had harbored any doubts, the man herding him forward dispelled them. He had a Tiger Claw insignia on his jacket and a katana at his waist. The typical look.

Thankfully, they didn't notice the dead man halfway down the hall behind them.

Ten minutes of waiting later, I was confident they'd left the building.

I guess at least one person here had someone who still cared about them. And a fucking Tiger Claw that cares? They treat our lives like they're fucking nothing! The last guy from the Rats who joined them died within a week. Sent out to deliver drugs or something. Every other fucking week they've either kidnapped someone for an XBD or gotten some idiot to "join" them, only to die within weeks on some job. I don't know anyone under 16 who's joined them and lived. At least, not anyone who isn't already a member's brother or something.

Whatever, I just hope there isn't anyone else here who's going to have people looking for them. That Tiger Claw was basically done with his choom anyways. And I've already come this far. Just gotta hope I guess. If someone does come looking, then hopefully I'll have at least fully healed by then. Whatever, I'll deal with it if it happens.

I continued working my way down the hall. There was no one in any of the last few rooms. At the end of the hall, I found the stairs to the second floor around the corner. As I carefully made my way up, I was relieved to know that this was almost done. The second floor should be much faster to clear since so much of it had collapsed.

Hopefully, I won't have to kill too many more today.

Rubble littered the edges of the stairway, swept to the sides by those who used it. Concrete and whitewall dust mixed with indefinable fluids to create a dark sludge that clung to my shoes. The noise as I walked reminded me of the sticky crackle of soda-drenched soles on linoleum, mixed occasionally with the sucking squelch of mud.

At the top, I found a hallway identical to the one downstairs other than the semi-frequent holes in the roof and the rubble scattered throughout. Halfway down, the hallway ended abruptly at a barrier of crumbling concrete and rusting metal rebar. Unfortunately, I could clearly hear a radio playing and people loudly talking. It was coming from an open door just a couple of rooms down. As I cleared the couple rooms between us I listened to the two people talking.

"... you think of it? Good right?"

"Ehh… I don't really go for that kinda shit."

"The FUCK choom?! You said you liked XBDs! This is some preem shit scophead. Not easy to get!"

"Chill man! I do like XBDs. I just don't get off on kids."

"What're you trying to say cunt?! That I'm fucked up?! That I'm a piece of shit?! That I'm CRA…"

"NO MAN! No. Just fucking chill. I ain't saying nothing… Take another hit."

"Fucking whatever. Fucking pussy."

"..."

"Ahhh… that's the shit."

I had finished clearing the last room before the open door. Before I left the room, I pulled off my backpack.

No way past without them catching me. I guess it's time to use those grenades.

I pulled out the two grenades from my pack and pulled my pack back onto my shoulders. Carefully, I cradled them in one arm and carried my gun with the other. I limped back into the hall and balanced my gun against the wall next to the open door. With deliberate care, I primed both of the grenades. One quick breath. I tossed them around the corner and into the room without looking — one after the other. The EMP went first.

A moment of yelling and scrambling filled the air before they exploded. The crackle snap of the EMP was closely followed by a deafening explosion. Pieces of shrapnel whizzed out the door and stuck into the wall on the other side of the hall.

Doing my best to shrug off the ringing in my ears, I grabbed my gun and moved around the corner. There were three guys in the room, not two. By the back corner, laying halfway on top of a bedroll, a guy with a braindance rig on and a big hole in his neck was sprawled out, unmoving. Collapsed behind a ratty couch, a man with some sparking, knock-off mantis arms twitched against the floor. On the other side of the room opposite the couch, next to the bathroom, a man with a shredded leg and a cut on the cheek sat against the wall.

His shocked glassy eyes were looking right at me. His arm moved. BANG!

The shot whistled right past my head and I felt a tearing pain from my ear. I stumbled to the side and my ankle collapsed, sending me to the floor. As I fell, he shot three more times. None of them hit me. Frantically, I pointed my gun in his general direction and just started firing. Within moments I had run out of ammo.

No more shots came my way. He wasn't moving. To the side, I could hear the twitching man start to settle. Quickly, I tossed the Ticon to the side and hastily pulled out the Nue pistol I'd grabbed earlier from my pack. On my hands and knees, I scrambled my way around the side of the couch to get a shot.

The guy was jerkily trying to sit up. Still on my knees, I aimed carefully despite my rush. I only had 6 shots. The first shot entered his chest but nearly threw the gun from my hands. It bucked so badly that the top of the gun smacked into my face. My scabbed-over wound flared in sudden agony as it tore back open. I cried out and fell on my back.

Thankfully, that one shot seemed to be enough. Blood and viscera had been sprayed across the floor and up the wall.

Suddenly, from down the hall, I heard a man yell out in a slurred voice, "Wha the fuck wassat?!"

Hurriedly, I looked around, trying to come up with a plan.

Cover? Nothing other than the couch. Hiding? The bathroom is the only spot and that will get checked for sure. Run away? Not a chance. The only exits are the closed window and the door. I'm on the second floor and I'm not even sure the window will open.

I could hear unsteady steps slowly getting closer. More ominously, at one point, I heard the heavy ku-chunk of a big round being chambered.

Okay, the door isn't an option. What else?

My thoughts racing, I suddenly remembered what the guys in here were talking about and a rough plan came together.

Blood and tears running down my face, I quickly grabbed my bag and stumbled over to the bedroll. I pulled the braindance rig from the dead man's head and tossed it onto the couch. After dropping the gun and my pack onto the bedroll, I roughly shoved my pants down around my ankles. Dropping to the floor, I pulled myself, my gun, and my backpack into the corner. I crunched myself into a ball with my knees to my chest and my back to the wall. My pack, I pulled tight against my shins. I hid the gun between it and my bunched-up pants with the grip pointed up for easier access. Lastly, I gripped the bag tightly, pushed my face into my knees, and started quietly sobbing. It took no more than 10 to 15 seconds to finish and it was just barely in time.

Not looking up, I heard the man lumber into the doorway.

Sounding a bit more sober he asked in a bewildered tone, "What the fuck?"

A moment's pause — the room was silent except for my quiet sobs.

"Hey kid, what the fuck happened in here?"

I just pulled the bag to me tighter and cried a little louder.

"KID!"

I jumped slightly and started mumbling into my knees.

"I can't fucking hear you!"

He took a step forward.

Speaking louder and looking up slightly, just enough for him to see the tears and blood, I said haltingly, "They, they… were arguing. Arguing over who…" I let out a choked sob. "Over who would get the next t… turn." I moved my hands behind the pack and went back to sobbing while keeping a careful eye on the guy through my lashes.

I hope that's enough. I'm not that good at acting.

The man dropped the barrel of his gun, a Carnage shotgun, and scratched at the scalp under his greasy hair. He wore nothing other than ripped underwear and worn hiking boots. All over his body weeping open lesions and infected wounds riddled his skin. I didn't know exactly what had caused his condition, but many of the synthetic drugs out there could do absolutely horrific things to you.

"Huh, well I guess it was bound to happen at some point. Fucking Carver…"

A pause.

"Alright kid, get the fuck out of here."

Without waiting, he turned to the corpse of the man behind the couch and crouched down to rummage through his pockets. He put the shotgun down on the floor beside him.

He mumbled to himself, "He's gotta have something stashed away."

He wasn't looking at me anymore. I pulled the gun out and carefully aimed. More ready for the recoil this time, I fired. I hit him in the side, blasting off a fist-sized piece of flesh and spinning him around as he fell over. The gun still almost fell out of my hands, but at least it didn't hit me in the face this time.

He screamed as he fell. Once on the ground, he clutched at his side and continued screaming. I shot again. That one got him in the upper chest. That stopped the screaming and soon the halting, wheezing gasps stopped too.

Tiredly, I pulled my pants back up and limped over to the Ticon I'd left on the floor, dragging my backpack along behind me. I'd learned how to act like that the same day I learned why the Tiger Claws were taking kids. The day I ran across that braindance was a very bad day.

Fucking XBDs.

Slowly, I put the Nue back in my pack and reloaded the Ticon. I still had some rooms to check. The world felt far away as the ringing in my ears continued. Feeling like I was walking through mud, I checked the remaining rooms. There was nothing. Just another corpse in one of the rooms.

I dragged myself back to a room on the second floor that had a functional door and a mattress that didn't stink too much. Since the lock on the door was broken, I dragged a metal chair I found with me. Once inside and having finished wedging the chair under the handle, I collapsed onto the bed. I felt exhausted, numb, and vaguely sick. The Dorph was wearing off again, and the pain was creeping back in.

Despite everything, I fell asleep within moments.