ChucklesButt
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Chapter 1 of ???: I don't have a name for this yet, but its a cyberpunk thing I've had kicking around my head.
🕑 Added 2020-08-11 07:47:30 +0000 UTC
Downtown New Istanbul pulsed with life, music blaring out of tiny nightclubs, the screams and whoops of the drunk and drugged forming a treble to accompany the baritone boom of the muffled music.
Internet hotspots, installed on the exterior of buildings pinged all the foot traffic passing through, sending popup advertisements straight to the front lobe of anyone with visual cybernetics. The odd person falling on their face, blinded in exchange for force uploaded information was considered an acceptable risk by local law.
A babble of languages swirled through the air, Turkish, Chinese, Arabic and English, all shouting to be heard over everyone else, as the street thronged with people, flush with their payday and trying to put aside the tedium they’d had to endure to earn it.
Titanium alloy limbs glinted under the colours of the myriad advertisements that weren’t simply uploaded straight to people’s mind. Holographic displays, projected from store fronts, onto the smoky air, smaller businesses having to make do with ancient and outdated glass screens to display their video, boasting how their products can and would change lives, today! Make them more virile, make them live longer, help get the promotion they deserved, let them unleash the true beast within them, make them feel oh so good.
Swilling the dregs of a can of Torque energy drink, crushing it and dropping it in the street, Beyza Liu wandered through it all, slipping down one of the hundreds of myriad spiderweb back alleys, checked to make sure she wasn’t being followed, before slipping into her bosses office.
Hassan’s office was a cramped, tiny space, overflowing with two things; Bobble head dog knick knacks, littering every surface, and server banks, the large, black structures humming and whining away, dominating the back half of the already tiny office, he was given kickbacks on the rent for the place for cramming them in.
Unfortunately for Hassan, and everyone that came in here, they made the place feel like standing in a fiery pit. Dabbing drops of sweat off his brow to keep them from running into his chrome eyes, he fixed Beyza with a smile, “Beyza! So wonderful to see you! Come in, come in, take a seat.”
She slouched into a seat, rolling the sleeves of her jacket up to her elbows. “Have you got my pay for the last job yet?”
He chewed an edge of his walrus moustache for a moment, “It is coming, my dear girl, it is coming! Do not worry.”
She put a foot over the opposite knee, “Of course, ‘Hassan always gets the money’. ‘How can I ever doubt you’? ‘I wound your pride as a man’!”
“Exactly!” Hassan nodded, pointing a fat finger at her, “You understand, yes. Good. Now…” He turned to his computer, the end of his pinkie finger rotating, to reveal his universal plugin, a discrete, but very illegal cybernetic enhancement, that allowed him to have all sorts of fun with computers, especially ones that weren’t his own.
The old processing unit that had replaced half his brain whirred a little, something mechanically clicking inside of it, as he plugged himself into his computer and instantly started navigating through folders, faster than Beyza could follow.
The old man knew what he was doing, that was for sure, and soon enough, he had a picture of a man pulled up on the monitor that Beyza could see. A tattoo on his neck depicting an Eight Trigram coin. A member of the Cobalt 900, the triad that all but ran things, in the eastern dock districts. “Who’s this and what’s being done to him?”
Hassan smiled, “Diwu Nian.”
“Mhm. So? What’s the deal? Rob him? Cut a finger off and mail it to his boss? Put a bullet in his head?”
Hassan shook his head, rattling his chins, “Always so violent, young one, always so violent… No.” He dabbed at his sweat again, “Nothing so dramatic.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a small envelope, “Simply take this, and escort it to Mr Nian’s home.”
Beyza narrowed her eyes, “Do I look like a fucking courier, Hassan?”
“Er-no, of course not….” She certainly did not, short, muscular and with far too mean of a look in her eye to ever work a job that involved exchanging pleasantries. “Just, well, the pay is extremely good for relatively honest work.” He pushed the envelope towards her, “Come now, Beyza, for this, we will get paid immediately. Twenty thousand lira, nothing to sneeze at, I tell you.”
That would cover her rent for a while… and whoever wanted this done was supposed to be paying right away, unlike most of Hassans’ jobs…
“Fine.” She slid it off the desk and tucked it into her jacket pocket. “What’s in there that’s worth so much, anyway?”
Hassan chewed his moustache, “I do not know. It was delivered to me by a man in a red suit earlier, bearded fellow… Rather unsettling, didn’t talk much. But he showed me the money.”
“Really instilling confidence, Hass, buddy.” Beyza muttered, getting to her feet and stretching, giving one of the server towers a little parting slap. “Don’t suppose we can open it first? Make sure I’m not carrying a bomb around?”
“Absolutely not.” Hassan shook his head, “The man in red, he was very clear that the package was not to be opened, until it has reached Diwu.”
“Okay, okay, don’t stress.” Beyza waved at him soothingly, “I won’t open it, I promise.”
“Good. Thank you.” He dabbed his forehead again, “Come back in a few hours, and I should have the money in my hand.”
She clicked her tongue and shot him a little thumbs up, before stepping out of the little office, back into the noise of the city night.
She considered the mystery package in her hand for a moment…
And then ripped it open, to find out what was inside.
