Cerecom™- Dome 116, Paradise City, Sea of Tranquility district, Moon; the locals call it Little Paris. The temperature is a balmy 4 °C, and the weather is, as usual for a partly abandoned habitat, misty with a chance of localized CO2 pockets. Make sure your gas mask is close at hand.

 

Kate- Which corpo owns these parts?

 

Kate's Head- Swims a bit.

 

Cerecom™- La Belle Vie, they specialize in agro; A big part of the underground is dedicated to farming, cell cultures for meat, algae for flour and some high-end bio-fruits.

 

Kate's left foot- Misses a step in the haze.

 

Kate's right foot- Catches her mid-fall.

 

Kate- Grumpy

Lemme guess, they got beef with Alabaster, so the target can stay here as long as she keeps her head down and no dog fetches her to their jurisdiction?

 

Cerecom™- Was there even a reason to ask?

 

Kate- Bathes in soft neons; adjusts to the local penumbra slowly, while palming her rough pockets for the rubbery device.

Just fucking around to calm the nerves... need to be on our A game today; can't go much longer without a win.

 

Cerecom™- Too late for A, you barely get a D minus; at least you reached the destination.

 

Kate- So... who owns the dome?

 

Cerecom™- You just asked that.

 

Kate- Oh—Right... Sorry, just can't think straight right now.

 

Cerecom™- We really need to get you something to eat, fast. You have been in a funk since Brother Joseph and his friends bought you two months, but you need to get back on the beat. You can't stay on hiatus forever.

 

Kate- Tensing facial muscles. Dives into the inky darkness of her mind for a moment; haunted flashes of faces, people, no, beasts. The burn of fire in her brain, then, a memory of spilled blood.

 

Kate's hand- Squeezes the gas mask inside her trench coat's pocket, the hard lenses bite into her palm, forcing her to the present.

 

Kate- Cold, lost... Empty.

Don't remind me...

 

Kate's stomach- *Growwwwwwls*

 

The teeth of hunger bite at her.

(author note: all visuals are currently placeholders)

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Kate- *Pffsh!*

Gnaws on her own teeth.

Fucking brain ads! Corpo gotta lay down the Moon Dust baggies.

 

Cerecom™- Garbage in, brains out!

 

Kate- Mean smirk.

Says the bottom-drawer-grade brain implant fryin' my cortex.

Her eyebrows invade her upper sight as she glares darkly.

Can’t wait for that trash to reach that minimal install time; you keep bombing my neural with this shit.

 

Kate's stomach- Churning gut full of fire and nothing.

 

Kate-“Install the brain worm to get the freebie; guess that’s how they get you, through your stomach. Just like one of those dumb water animals that used to eat worms and lick windows.”

 

Cere- Be careful with your words, Kate. You are dangerously skirting the libel clause as defined in the contract you signed...

 

Kate- I didn't sign...

 

Cere- You know better! By consuming that taster, you are consenting to the terms of use.

 

Kate- *Sigh.*

I know, I know.

 

Cere- You can think what you want, you simply can't say anything aloud for a few more hours.

 

Kate's stomach- Bitten by acidic irony.

 

Kate- Yeah, yeah, can’t curse them aloud while "enjoying" the promo, got it.

 

Cere- I’m doing this for your own good!

 

Kate- *Pff!*

Chuckles to herself.

Sounds just like an abusive parent; fuck you, Alabaster Megacorp, kicking me in the nuts while ‘m down.

 

Cere- You do know you don’t have nuts, right? Just making sure you are still coherent; it has been a few days since your last substantial meal.

 

Kate- Shiiiit... right! Must be out of my mind here, thank you for noticing. I'll plead insanity, you'll be my witness.

Anyway, enough clowning, gotta focus on the job now; fail today, and I‘ll get slim enough for a download. One more week, and even the crops downstairs will be disappointed when I get unplugged. Barely heavy enough for half a measure of bonemeal, if that...

 

Cere- At least your implants would keep their value.

 

Kate- Crooked smile.

In your dreams, you secondhand toaster! Nobody's gonna pay full price for a sloppy second full of crumbs, except maybe the brokies and the weirdoes.

 

Cere- You’ve described 99%+ of the population here. I’m pretty sure the Venn diagram of that encompasses the surface of the whole freakin' Moon.

 

Kate- Touché!

 

Cere- Kate, real talk here: your anxiety level is somewhat high. You know, like really, really high. Should I download Dr. Watson for a full diagnosis and a prescription? The installation fees and consultations would be...

 

Kate- Cheeks burn, jaw locks.

Skip! Put on the ignore list.

 

Cere- I know you’re short on funds, but you should take better care of yourself; you are preapproved for a credit line.

 

Kate- Anger seeps hot into her veins; conviction settles heavy as lead.

Told you tens of times already! I swear, you keep this shit out of your contextual memory out of fucking malice!

 

Cere- You’re still a debt virgin; there are more wild animals on the whole moon than virgins like you! If you’re not careful, some cult might take notice of your existence. Then who knows? Maybe they'll sacrifice you to a demon for some economic privileges.

 

Kate- Stops cold, hit by the absurd statement. Then takes a heavy step forward with renewed vigour.

Ain’t taking any debts! That’s the only thing my bio parents left me; nothing gained, nothing owed. Don’t know how they did it or who they were, but I ain’t squandering that for shit! Feel me?

 

Cere- ... Noted.

 

Kate- *Grumbles*

“Bet not...”

 

Cere- We’ve reached our destination: 246 Grande Allée corridor, Dr. Ariane Prince's Clinic.

 

A neon sign- Cliniqu'express.

 

Kate- Looks around the market area, taking in a scene of architectural chiaroscuro where Art Deco cream buildings meet a medieval public square.

 

The street- Dimly dipped in neon light, gnawed by grimy stalls loosely inspired by Earth's past cultures but built on big dreams and misery. There is an uncanny hollowness to it all, a B-movie set quality of things made with painted plastic instead of chrome. The front ends don't quite fit, the materials are off, the charm? Murdered by mixed-in pockets of concrete grey brutalism.

 

Kate- “No kiddin’...”

 

Kate's nose- *Snif Snif*

 

The street- Rotten veggies, stale sweat, old people, death.

 

Kate- Nice perfume they got going here! Cere, mute the background odours. Quite the stink... shit, Stink...

Gravity crushes her as she nearly loses a step. The world gets dark as her gaze turns inward, toward a past still so persistent. A teen boy with brown hair...

He would have loved that.

 

Cere- He would have sold that for a VR and made bank like a bandit.

 

Kate- A sad smirk.

Right... bastard had the biohazard market cornered hard!

 

Cere- You know, you usually try not to think about him.

 

Kate- Looks around for anything to avoid the topic. Spots a fruit vendor.

Must be coming from that stall in front of the clinic.

Creeping sense of cold emptiness behind her eyes.

Something’s weird about it. Can’t put my finger... Cere, a hand?

 

Cere- This establishment doesn’t have an AR display or any online presence. Though you deactivated the visual inputs for public VR, it still normally buffers in your implants. I suspect your brain learned to perceive the lack of data processing heat as an eerie feeling.

 

Kate- No distribution permit either—I bet. Any food inspection license on the books?

 

Cere- You're getting better at getting a subconscious feel for the metadata; colour me impressed! None are to be found here, but when I cross-reference this specific vendor, she had her license revoked a few years back; this is probably black-market food, stolen from the table of the rich and powerful. She was released last March after 15 years of hard labour for smuggling.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

 

Kate- The old goat is back at her old tricks, no surprise there.

 

Cere- Should I alert enforcement authorities? They will release a reward for finding a breach of probationary conditions.

 

Kate- Not yet, stash that one for later. Don’t want shit where I'll be eating in a hot second.

 

Cere- I’m starting a dossier and gathering footage of the violations.

 

Kate- Just send it to the natives after the job’s done.

 

Cere- As you wish.

 

Kate- Cautiously optimistic.

Who knows, maybe it’ll give me just enough Paradise Corners to buy myself a tall glass of water.

 

Cere- It won’t amount to much, but something is better than nothing.

 

Kate- Bright side, bright side, don’t look at a gifted something's something as the sayin’ goes.

 

Cere- You have such a dirty mind; someone would think you have been raised in a brothel.

 

Kate- *Snickers discreetly.*

Moves closer to observe the kiosk.

Clerk looks freaking old, like Original Sin ancient. Hag must be one of those “Au Naturel” religious nuts.

 

Cere- Plausible, I have reports of a chapter of theirs in local police reports, though they are quite old.

 

Kate- Either that or she’s piss poor as a dry fuck with a secondhand dildo. Who still ages nowadays, 'riously? I bet she thinks she renders service to nature by dying or some shit. Guess in a way she’s right; the pool don’t need no stupid genes floating too long and spreading.

 

Cere- Already plenty of that in the monkey's alphabet soup.

 

Kate- Right?

 

The stall- Looks as bad as it smells.

 

Kate- Gags.

Corpo gods above; this place is tainted with dead stocks!

 

Cere- I guess not even a lowly cleaning bot would get caught dead here.

 

Kate- If there was ever one, ‘t’s dead alright; probably shot ‘tself in despair. Anyway, shopping here gonna make a good cover. Should be able to peek at the clinic across.

Gets closer

 

Old Clerk- “As-tu fini de mater ma shop? Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”

 

Kate- Crisps tensely at the untranslated French, as if a shot went off. Pain surges in her limbs from the reactive tension.

Great, just great... another linguistic ghetto. Always the same with those fucking places: bunch of xenophobic cunts stacking up together, like drones on a rack. This is going to suck so bad.

 

Cere (translating)- Are you done looking at my shop, sexual innuendo implied, what do you want?

 

Kate- Wait, no emotional layer coming with the translation?

 

Cere- None; she’s implant-free as far as I can tell.

 

Kate- We got a real "Au Naturel" cultist? You know, I was kidding! I really thought they all died out last century. She got me scared for a second here, tummy blended all nutrishake-like! Hate feeling other people’s emotions.

 

Cere- So you keep saying.

 

Kate- 't always makes me so fucking confused...

 

Cere- You never were a fan of tele-empath functions.

 

Kate- Hell if this wasn’t fucking 2112, I’d rip you out by the roots like a vine, bare-hands, and get an antique flip phone like a caveman!

 

Cere- It would be highly inadvisable; barbaric surgery would leave large lesions on your small brain. Plus, it is fucking 2112.

 

Old Clerk- Pokes Kate’s chest hard.

“T’as le fix souvent, poupée de Satan?”

 

Cere (translating)- “You often fix...”

 

Kate- Don't translate, I think I got that one.

Smouldering intensity lights right back up, like sleeping ambers fed by oxygen.

Don’t touch me, bonny granny...

Pushes the offending hand away to the side.

 

Old Clerk- Her lips harden, a volcano about to blow.

 

Kate- Deflects.

“How much for that red stuff?”

 

Cere- FYI, the red stuff is called raspberries. They could be good for your diet.

 

Old Clerk- Calms somewhat in an unhappy face. Listens to Kate’s answer through a decrepit hand-held device.

 

Kate- S' that a cellphone? Quaint! What’s next, a landline and a rotary?

 

Cere- Do you want me to filter her real voice and let you hear only the translation? You might lose some cultural finesse.

 

Kate- Could do that, sure!

 

Old Clerk- “The raspberries? Thirty-six for a hundred grams.”

 

Kate- “What? Are you nuts, lady? Should I believe they grow in rare earth? Maybe they were made with solid gold? Or have time travel duties stapled on top or some shit?”

 

Old Clerk- Listens to the translation, then makes a dismissive wave high in the air in anger.

“Great! Just my luck, another bitchy Karen! Listen, kid, they need soil, good biological soil with the right bacteria. They don’t grow on rocks, you know? Azote...”

 

Kate- Takes a breath, focusing back on her actual task and ignoring the crone.

Great... got her on a rant now. Perfect time to spy on the rent payment across the street. Cere, give me the bounty notice.

 

Cere- Here...

Kate- Nice rap sheet! Unlicensed 3d printing will do ya in big for sure. Girl! You should have known that the Corps Above don't want anyone not under their thumb to own means of production. Think they’re gonna let regular Jane start another Corpo World War from a dusty rat hole? You're delulu, girl.

 

Cere- Yes, it has been quite illegal since the war.

 

Kate- Turns out competition makes for terrible profit margins. Couldn’t have people at home competing with the big dogs; if printers print printers...

 

Cere- Anarchy in the streets.

 

Old Clerk- “...hen there is the right atmosphere, the water... Just that cost alone would make you irrigate the damn thing with your tears, "chaebol" princess! So,”

 

Pokes

“GET”

 

Pokes

“FUCKED”

 

POKES!

Kate- “!”

 

Startled, as pain races across her muscles.

 

Forgot her! She ain’t wrong, but FUCK! DON'T TOUCH ME!

 

Kate- *Growls like a beast*

“Don’t—”

Old Clerk- *Blabbers insults in French*

 

Kate- Brain explodes in a white-out.

“DARE—

Kate- TOUCH ME, WITH YOUR FREAKY, BONY, FINGERS!”

Grabs the finger, twists HARD!

 

Finger- *Snap!*

 

Kate- “SHUT IT, OR I FUCKING BREAK YOU!”

 

Old Clerk "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! LÂCHE MOI FOUTUE PUTAIN!!!”

 

Cere- Better not translate this... Kate? Kate?

 

Kate- "KEEP TOUCHING ME, AND I'LL RIP YOU APART!"

The burn of oxygen in the bronchi. Anxiety, anger, and panic tumble into her senses. A mess of hot reds, cold whites and nauseating blur invades her consciousness.

Can’t... can't make empty threats... Fuck fuck fuckedyfuck... Business, just business... right?

 

Old Clerk- Weakly pushes back, rancid breath and body odours lace the air, a sickly sweet fruity smell. Her face twists in a rictus as her body bends with pain.

 

Kate- Takes a step back and wrinkles her nose, surprised.

Bio food!

*Ugh...*

 

Brain-ads- I only need Nutripack 3k® while on the job! It's an efficient way to keep up with production quotas for the day!

 

Kate- Shocked by the incongruous ad out of her incoherent state.

Brain-ads? You chose to spam me NOW?

 

Cere- Sorry, that was a contractual obligation. By the way, Kate, are you forgetting the mission?

 

Kate- Startled, panics, remembers the mission. Throws a discreet look from the corner of her eye.

Shit! The doc! Still around? Hope she didn’t get spooked!

 

Cere- Nope, still there! I guess mild elder abuse won’t faze anyone in this flea-infested monkey ass of a dome.

 

Kate- Goosebumps.

Eerie bitch... Perfect bio-lotto winner princess. Full red lips, eyes larger than Disney’s appetite, DNA mods?

Jerks wildly in panic toward the doc.

NO! FUCK! SHE’S A PRINTER! SHE’S FULL-FLEDGED BARBIE!

 

Doc- Startled by the swift shift. Looks into Kate's eyes, as her own open wider and wider.

 

Kate- She made me! Must be readin’ me like a .doc now with empath-softs. Fucking glassy bitchy little glass eyes full of terror! SHE KNOWS!

(placeholder)

Cere- Kate, her legs are shifting; it's a cheetah configuration implant!

 

Kate- Saw that; fuck my life! Knew she was too artificial for genetics. Damn hairy-armed froggy cunt... Barbie's gonna give me the slip! ‘M a freakin’ grade B beef patty, eight-bit-brained, trained monkey!

 

Doc- Bounces away.

 

Cere- Nobody is contesting your qualities here, but she’s going to bounce if you don’t act now!

 

Kate- No shit!

Laser-focused glare, invaded by her bushy eyebrows. Starts running while pulling her cold pistol from the holster.

“Hella fast, ain’t she?”

 

Cere- The suspect has been recorded actively avoiding capture! You are now cleared for the limited use of lethal force after a verbal warning.

 

Kate- “COUNCIL AGENT! EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK DOWN!!!”

Vision narrows, cascading heartbeat, out-of-control accelerated breathing.

Adrenaline! Gunslinger’s worst enemy since 1365 AD! Can feel my fuckin' sanity wringing like a wet rag. Gotta fix that, stat! Cere, adrenaline blockers.

The world stabilizes into focus.

 

Cere- Better?

 

Kate- Yes.

 

Doc- Jumps away in lunar gravity.

 

Kate- She ain’t stopping, didn’t even flinch at the warning.

Slows down her run to a stop, takes her pistol in both hands.

Alright, close your eyes bitch... reopen, breathe in, breathe out... one, two, reopen. Better... Safety off, finger on the trigger, center mass, just like training. Activate aimbot, shoot to kill!

 

Cere- Confirmed

Adjusts Kate’s cybernetic arm and wrist slightly.

 

Gun- *BANG!*

 

Kate- Reaccelerate into a sprint, her magboots lightly sticking to the metal of the floor, keeping her anchored.

 

Cere- It's a miss! Adjusting the trajectory based on the host’s new dynamic kinesthetic data. You lost weight, Kate, and not in a good way.

 

Kate- Fucking discard cum-bag body! Should go full Barbie when I hit it big! Stupid partials, bio just ain’t cutting it for accuracy!

 

Little girl in the crowd- *Yiiiiiiiiiiiiii!*

 

Kate- Slows down to line up another shot.

 

Gun- *BANG!*

 

Cere- Round two, impact, damage estimates based on visual and acoustic data.

 

Kate's ear- Piercing pain.

*iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!*

 

Kate- “Fuck, that hurts!”

 

Cere- The host’s unprotected biological sound receptors seem to have been affected by sudden firearm discharges. Some long-term trauma is expected. Would you like to add synthetic eardrums to your wishlist? Black Industries currently has a discount on some professional-grade options.

 

Kate- Forgot the damn earplugs! At least that one's a hit... Fuck it, authorize the wishlist!

Lines up another shot.

 

Kate's ear- Another burst of muted pain.

 

Gun- *BANG!*

 

Cere- Confirmed hit!

 

Man in the crowd- His voice muted by Kate's pain.

“JANINE!!! NON, NON, non non non non! Pas ça, pas toi...”

 

Kate- Yelling?

Sees a little 6 or 7-year-old girl, lying on the ground.

 

The World- Turns into a jumble of colours, red, grey, neon shades... red, lots of red.

 

Kate- First shot? Fuck!, No... I... someone...

Sudden cold spike to the brain, distantly floating from herself, eerily calm, detached.

Here’s that third-person perspective again... No time for squats, the job... see after.

 

Doc- Fleeing, hobbled, but still bouncing in long, gracious arcs.

 

Kate- THE FUCKING RENT IS RUNNING! She ain’t wearing mags though, slows her down a bit; still have a chance!

 

Cere- I'm sending you the analysis for the third round's damages.

 

Kate- Got her somewhere good this time! Sorry, Marie, a girl's gotta eat. Today, you're my lunch! Nothing personal. Still fleeing? Cere, what's she running toward?

 

Cere- A vertical light well, less than a hundred meters.

 

Kate- Me and my fucking turd laying luck; she’s gonna jump! And I’m here wearing fucking mags; can’t follow with anchors on my heels!

 

Doc- Bobs and weaves, using bystanders as cover, doesn't look back.

 

Cere- The target seems to have activated a bootleg military-grade evasion software. The risk of additional collateral is around 78%. Do we engage?

 

Kate- Slows down, aiming for a gradual stop.

Nah, we have to let her go. Can’t afford an audit for OK Coral while having nothing but civies to show on the scoreboard. If she had used a weapon, sure. But Barbie knows the rulebook. Alright, Ken doll, enough playtime for today...

"SHIT!"

 

Cere- Kate, KATE, KEEP RUNNING! We still have a chance!

 

Kate- Rushes forward.

Plan?

 

Cere- We can get her while she's mid-jump to the lower level.

 

Kate- What are the odds of collaterals if I shoot 100 stories down into open public park space?

 

Cere- Fifty-six...

 

Kate- Stops near the railing, observes the doctor disappearing.

Not worth risking an unlubed meat stick in the ass over a half-and-half. Resume normal biopsychological functions.

 

Cere- Resuming...

 

Kate- Panicked breathing, confusion setting in fully.

 

Man from the crowd- “YOU CRAZY BITCH YOU SHOT MY KID!”

 

Kate- Disconnected.

‘m fucked... alone... alone...

 

Man from the crowd- “... LISTENING TO ME? PUTAIN?”

 

Kate- Shallow breaths, head spins madly, unaware.

Miss Adrenaline is taking this dance. Panic attack, just... great...

 

Man- Grabs Kate by the trench coat and shakes an oblivious and confused Kate.

 

Kate- Snaps at the contact!

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

Strong body shakes, blurred red vision, burning brain.

WHO? WHAT? What’s going on?

 

Cere- The host is showing acute symptoms of CPTSD. Would you like to get online assistance from a virtual psychiatrist? Consultation fees are 26,99 credits per hour. Or, you could buy Dr. Watson's full licence for as low as nine hundred ninety-nine and ninety-nine for a full year of service.

 

Kate- Feels a soft, spikey surface through her squeezing biological hand. The cold grip of a weapon in the other.

A red face screaming... all in my space, all in my face.

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT IT!”

Don't touch! Can’t, can't handle it right now!

“BACK OFF FUCKER!”

Pistol-whips him, then pushes her gun into the man’s mouth with force. Completely confused, untethered to the events.

What’s going on? What, where...

 

Cere- Easy, Kate, don’t shove your gun in the man’s mouth; he isn’t cleared for enforcement action. Whatever you do, DO—NOT—SQUEEZE the trigger.

 

Kate- Trigger?

Moves her finger from the murder lever.

 

Cere- Breathe! Square breathing; you know the drill. Unless you want to explain to the Council why you had to put a civilian on your dental plan.

 

Kate- Gun? Mouth? What?

Shaken, pulls her gun from the man's mouth and slowly lets him go.

 

Cere- Maybe sing Green Sleeves with me? Please...

 

Kate- Unresponsive.

 

Cere- Breathe and slow down.

 

Kate- Jolted.

Calm... calm down... breath, square breathing... in... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Hold... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Out... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Let go.

 

Cere- Good job, you had me sc...

 

Kate- Turns around over the railing.

*UUURRRRG BUAAAAAGGGGGG*

Vomit comet- Falls over like a shooting star.

 

Kate- Fuck me... bet that one wasn’t on today’s forecast.

Truly notices the man for the first time.

What... what was he on again? What happened?

 

Cere- He’s the father...

 

Kate- Father? “Fuck! RIGHT! THE STRAY!”

A little girl is in a pool of blood, unmoving.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..."

 

Cere- She’s breathing, barely. Don't worry too much; it's good PR if she pulls through. ‘Council Agent Saves Child.’ It should keep the higher-ups from sharpening their pitchforks. Cleanup is on the way. I also flagged the fruit hag for extra brownie points.

 

Kate- Hope she makes it; If she does, she’s gonna get a full borg, free of charge. Good PR for the council on the cheap. Everybody’s happy, not even me. I fucked up... Again...

 

Cere- Ain’t this just Paradise?