literature

Exit Takahashi

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Literature Text

  Clif frowned at the deck in his hands. It was top of the line; sleek, chromed, simple, with the Yasashii Electro logo on the side in tiny block letters. The Aurora III, guaranteed the fastest on the market, with stacks of internal memory and a three hour battery life. He hated new tech, but it was on the boss's orders. If Clif had learned one thing, it was that you didn't cross the boss.

            He ran a hand across his buzzed scalp, frowning at the tiny glowing screen. It was the only light in the dirty apartment, its cold glow lighting up the decker's gaunt, unshaven face. Clif didn't sleep much, and ate even less, leaving him a skeleton in cheap jeans sitting crisscross in the corner. With a sigh, he jacked in.

***

            Synthesized noise flooded Goro's ears, stuttering and blasting along to a rhythm that filled the dancer's bones. He shoved through them as though they were tall grass, his bulky parting the sea of young meat. They didn't object, blissfully lost in the haze of whatever new drugs were in this week.

            Goro hated clubs, and he hated the punks that flooded them. He had no time for loud music, and a bad dose of Pigment twelve years back had put him off pills and dust for life. The man was all muscle and chrome, with military-grade augs throughout. A black leather coat hid the body armor on his chest and the massive pistol strapped to his hip. His face was locked in a permanent toothy scowl; it was hard to tell where the scars ended and the tattoos began.

            He crossed the dance floor and reached the stairs to the private top floor, locked with a tiny keyreader. He held his breath as he slid the fake ID through. Clif was good, but if this went wrong he'd have all of Takahashi's goons on him in a second.

***

            Takahashi's club was hard to miss. It lit up the grid with obnoxious neon, inviting deckers to come and play. Clif was almost disappointed to find it loaded up with only the most basic of ice. He broke in, the wall turning to static and dissolving away, allowing him entry to the gang leader's files. There was enough dirt on the club's mesh to put Takahashi away for life – data on human trafficking and the details of currently unsolved arson case – but none of it mattered for the job at hand. It was a simple matter to let Goro in. With that done, he began nosing around for what the boss had really hired him for.

            "Basilisk," he'd said. "It's military, a new cyberwarfare weapon. I need to know where some goon like Takahashi picked it up."

            The word popped up on a quick scan of the gangster's mailbox, but when he tried to force his way in, the security held. Clif found that this was good stuff – at least two or three times better than the stuff he'd bypassed to get in. He was intrigued, and set to work.

***

            Takahashi reclined behind a huge desk, approvingly watching the gyrating bodies below through a panoramic tinted window. He was flanked by two bodyguards in simple suits, while he was dressed in a much more expensive three-piece and a pair of purple glasses. All of them had Yakuza tats. The gangster resembled a shark, a cigarette clenched in his teeth.

            He did not turn to acknowledge Goro as he entered, instead taking a long drag before ponderously exhaling. "You're one of the guys who toasted Torahiko last week?"

            Goro was caught off-guard by this accusation. He had, indeed, shot Torahiko last week, on the boss's orders. That the gangster sounded so unconcerned worried him. He quickly regained his composure.

            "Let's say I did. What are you going to do about it?"

            "I should thank you," Takahashi said with a smirk. "Torahiko was in idiot for travelling alone, but he was also a notorious gambler. He lost us a lot of good money. It was good of the higher ups to send you."

            Goro relaxed a little bit at that. Takahashi had no idea who he was, or why he was really here.

            "It was just business," he said with a shrug. Goro slowly walked over to the desk and gestured to the bodyguards with a flick of his chin. Takahashi nodded and dismissed them. He slid one hand under his coat and clicked the safety off on the pistol.

***

            The wall finally collapsed around Takahashi's private files, appearing as a cube that splintered like glass and dissolved. Clif let out a small chuckle of triumph, cracking a smile. He began ripping the entire archive to his deck.

            His moment of victory turned to horror as the ripping stopped. A digital howling filled his ears; the colours around him inverted. Clif found his deck unresponsive, felt his body begin to shake and spasm. The lines of the grid exploded into complete chaos, a jumble of geometric shapes and colours that stung his brain.

            He yanked the jack out of his head and fell into darkness.

***

            Takahashi slumped over the desk, his expensive suit punctured three times and stained red. Goro heard the bodyguards rushing up the stairs and made a split-second decision.

            He flung himself through the window, spraying the writhing dancers with broken glass. Several of them screamed, euphoria turning to pure terror as drug-addled brains struggled to comprehend this interruption. A warning shot sent them running out of the club, covering his escape.

            It took Goro three hours to get back to the apartment. He hustled up the fire escape and through an open window. The lack of lights and noise had him thinking that Clif was still jacked in. An addict, he was, an addict to another world of lines and numbers and sound. Goro stuck his head in to the decker's room to check in on him.

            Clif was splayed out on the floor, red froth on his lips. He rushed over and found that the kid had chewed his own tongue half off. The Yasashii had been thrown across the room, and still shone dimly. The kid's fists were clenched so tight that Goro couldn't pry them apart, and he realized with a frown that the body occupied a small puddle of piss. There was only one thing to do.

He called the boss.

***
I'm out the habit of writing and it really kills me. Forced out this little cyberpunk thing after looking at lots of art and reminiscing about Neuromancer.

I'm a sucker for retro 80s cyberpunk, the whole "Japan takes over the world, the internet is like Tron, yadda yadda" deal. Definitely not happy with this, but so begins the crawl towards regular work.
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