| From: | Frank Pelletier <jeanpell@****.IVIC.QC.CA> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Where we going, dad? |
| Date: | Sun, 22 Mar 1998 15:07:19 +0000 |
>>>>>[
+++++Fuchi Oracle v.1.2 <Senses merger>
South Miami. Horrible place.
The air is stale, swirls of wind barely cutting through the oppresive,
heavy humidity. Sweat beeds down my neck, the violet sun casting its last
threads of light before sinking into the ocean.
An old stucco building stands in front of me. Plaster cracking in some
places. Its wooden skeleton jutting out in other places. A couple of
latin kids hang in the doorway, sizing up the rare tourists for potential
hustle value.
"Hey mister, you wouldn't happen to have a few dollars for poor kids...",
he says with a huge smile. My hand dives into my pockets... a couple of
CAS dollars. I throw it at them. It ain't worth nothing to me. For
them, it's the world. I slowly walk into the appartment block. An eerie
silence fills its hollow corridors, dust suspended in the air. Third
floor. I walk up, the last rays of light filtering through the barred
windows. Door 23. The last one. Haze, always predictable. I walk up.
Predictable. The door is half-opened. Opened. No. Something's wrong.
I quickly jump to the left, rolling along the wall, smoothly pulling out a
Ruger Thunderbolt in one fluid motion. The loudness and violence hits me,
the door flying apart under a staccato of deafening booms. Stupid,
always loads Hi-Ex.
"CYAN! SHIT! STOP SHOOTING!". Debris slowly falls to the floor,
silence reclaiming its rightful place. Cyan, always the violent solution.
A face peers around the corner. Paler than before, thin, eyes buried deep
within stretched skin. "Jake? That you homie?"
"Cyan... Don't you use pinhead cams anymore? You almost blew me in half"
"I...I lost them."
I stand up, and walk towards him, peering inside. A dull gray slum,
ripped mattress lying in one corner. Deck and trid unit standing on a
wooden crate. Weapons and ammo lying in a heap near his trenchcoat.
Haze goes back in, dropping the two Predators on his coat. He falls on
the mattress, slumping into the corner. "I'm tired Jake... Tired. They
all want my ass. It was only business. Shit. Muthafuckers don't
understand that."
"You raped that girl. Haze, you raped a girl"
He almost breaks down..."I...I was fucked up... I was high on everything.
I had money, I had power. I was so fucked up. I dunno. I don't remember
anything. I don't....I...." He buries his head between his knees.
I'm gonna regret this. "Cyan. I talked to some feds..." A blur. One
seconds he's lying on his mattress, the next, he's rolling next to the
door, pulling both guns towards me.
"No...No... calm down. They ain't here. I TALKED to them, Cyan. Calm
down". He relaxes, lowering both guns. "I talked to them. They wanted
me to turn you in. They would've interrogated you. Implanted a kink bomb.
Let you go. Hell, I think they would've used you as a fed agent." He
chuckles at that last sentence.
"Fuck... muthafucking me a muthafucking fed? I'm gonna die before that
happens."
"I know. I checked the records Haze. You did some pretty bad stuff.
You're dead if they catch you. And Lynch. What the FUCK were you
thinking?"
"Lynch's an impotent old muthafucker. He was lucky. I mean, he's twice
my age, the bitch. Old bitch was lucky."
"Lynch's a muthafucker allright. But he's a hell of a good muthafucker.
He outclassed you. Haze, you lost your touch. You were a hell of a lot
more focused with us, you know."
He lowers his head, shaking imperceptibly. Man, he looks like half the
assasin he was in Jersey. The whole East Coast used to shake when they
heard Haze, the Breathstealer, the Retribution, was on a contract.
He never missed anyone. But... But... BTLs, drugs, justice dragged him
down. The Yaks sold him off. I lost track of him almost 2 years ago.
I knew he was in Seattle. But I didn't know it was that bad.
"It's your decision, Haze. You can either turn yourself in to SIGA. Or
you can come back with me to Jersey."
"Jersey? Boston? I ain't going anywhere near Boston, homie. Boston's
unhealthy... shit...I ain't going near there."
"What? Boston's harmless. A couple of jokers are having fun. But
nothing we haven't seen before."
"No... you don't know. You don't. Wanderer's there. I'm not going to
Boston. Hell no. No way."
"What? Wanderer who? Listen up, Cyan. *sigh* We won't be going to
Boston. Straight to Trenton. Or Washington. Blue would love to see
you."
"Blue? I could stay with Blue? And Kyle. You got Kyle?"
"Kyle's there. He's doing wonders there. He came out of his vegetative
state two weeks ago. He still can't talk... and any neural input from his
jack comes out garbled. But he answers to simple stimuli. It's a good
sign."
"Titan?"
"Tom's okay. He's in Trenton, with Unity. Feds did a hell of a job on
him."
"I'm tired, Jake. I'm so... I want out..."
"S'Okay, Cyan. Okay. Grab your gear. We gonna leave for DC tomorrow."
I look at the screen. One final message, sent to Shadowland, from here.
Same demeaning, better-than-you tone. Same aggresive, arrogant Haze.
Nice to see some things haven't changed.]<<<<<
-- Cathedral <14:56:21/03-22-59>
