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Blade Runner Interactive Stories

Running Scared

This Page written by: Brian Kay

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The air was thick with the smells and noise of the unwashed masses that choked the street and stormed by Frank Gates. He leaned against the Kuppa Joe's kiosk and inhaled deeply the aroma of fresh brewed coffee. It was synthetic, but it damn near tasted and smelled like the real deal. He edged closer to the front open end of the stand, still leaning on his left side and hand firmly placed on the butt of his service weapon. The smells of the street were particularly offensive today and that did not sit well with Gates. He could feel the pit of his stomach grow cold and that icy uncertainty was starting to radiate throughout his entire body. For the last 22 years that feeling almost always was a harbinger of something bad to happen, like a crow perched on a lonely road post sign, cawing, the sign pointing to nowhere. Oblivion. Dead ahead. But the crows were all dead.

Except the one that was gnawing at his gut.

A finely manicured, brown hand slid a steaming plasticup of Syn-Joe toward Gates. Gates shook himself out of his gloomy funk and smiled. He took the cup and cautiously sipped the steaming brew.

"Ahhhh, Maxwell, you have outdone yourself. This is quite good." Gates said with genuine admiration.

"Officer Gates, nothing but the best for you, my friend. It should be good, it's da real 'ting. Haveta give you a nice send off, since 'dis is your last day with poe-leeece." Maxwell grinned broadly, displaying a fine, straight set of brilliantly white teeth. Gates chuckled and raised his cup in thanks. Maxwell was one hell of a character and he would sorely miss his cheery demeanor. Gates always tried to determine where Maxwell was from, judging by his accent. But that would always change every so often. The slim black man would just smile and say he was from the 'Islands'. Long Island. Rhode Island.

Gates drank his coffee, thinking that maybe he shouldn't have taken this foot post. It was overtime and that would certainly be beneficial to his last paycheck before officially leaving the Job, but this particular foot post was smack dab in the middle of The Pits. The artificial animoid sector and the flesh district. It was busy as hell with foot traffic and the streets were clogged with ground vehicles and the flotsam and jetsam of flesh peddlers, both human and manufactured. Gates sipped the coffee and looked up at the darkening night sky. The rain had stopped and it held off most of the afternoon. Now the heat was rising from the streets along with the stench of human misery. The Tyrell pyramids were black against the graying sky, and the occasional belch of refinery flame would shoot into the air. Ascending. Its lofty destination uncertain. Fleeting. Gates snorted. The Tyrell pyramids where man-made harbingers of ill tidings. All they need is two gigantic crows to sit atop those damn buildings; that would certainly lend itself to their 'ambience'. Gates thought to himself. "God, I wish the heavens would open up again." He said to no one in particular. The Heavens would not heed Gates' plea for a righteous flood, but Hell lent a dark ear and obliged him. It was storming towards him on two muscular legs.


She was running for her life.

What was left of it.

The gunshot wound to her left shoulder was severe. Blood leaked liberally from the ugly, ragged hole. The one in her stomach was worse. She clutched her belly, hoping her insides wouldn't spill out all over the street, not that she gave a shit about who would see or step in her intestines, but that she would trip over her own guts and that bastard Blade Runner would finish her off while she was entangled in her own gore. The sea of humanity was parting for her as she ran, blood running between her fingers of her left hand and shoulder, leaving a nice crimson trail in this forest of bodies for the 'huntsman' to see. Strobe-like visions flashed in her mind's eye. Naked bodies intertwined. Genderless. A pair of dead blue eyes. A man's face. Smiling. Bright, black eyes, scanning like nervous radar. Rumpled sheets. Blood. Images kept stabbing her mind's eye like a stiletto. She had to purge these visions. These memories. She had to evacuate these images from her mind or she was going to die. She laughed, and a hiccup of blood spewed from her mouth. She was fucking dead already and slammed into the big cop with all of her dying might.


Oh-my-God, I got hit by a fucking ground car. Gates screamed in his mind. All 220 lbs of him were lifted off his feet as he careened off Maxwell. Gates' forearm smashed painfully into the black man's lovely, straight white teeth, which were now no longer straight or white. Maxwell landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood leaking from his mouth. Gates twisted and landed hard on his back, hands groping him. He instinctively tried to protect his weapon when small, but strong hands grabbed him by his jacket lapels and slammed him flat on his back again. A bloody face was now inches away from his. A fairly attractive face, with full, red lips, downright beautiful if viscous smears of blood weren't seeping from her mouth.

"HEAR ME, YOU FLESH SLUG!" the bloody woman yelled in Gates' face.

Gates blinked, his mind in a cloud of pain.

"I SAID, HEAR ME YOU BAG OF MEAT!" and slapped Gates hard in the face. Gates yelped in pain like a mongrel dog and screamed, "WHAT, YOU FUCKING CRAZY BITCH?" The damaged woman laughed and spoke in a deadly rasping voice. "Good, you're alive and paying attention. "Tell them who is the Sim and who isn't? Eh? I am the vector, but who is more alive? The dead man knows." She cackled like a cartoon witch and shuddered violently. She forced her lips onto Gates' and then whispered something in his ear, like a familiar lover. Gates shoved her off with all his might and crawled away as fast as his pained body would allow. He saw a figure cloaked in a long dark raincoat, heavy black pistol in one hand and an open wallet in his other slowly walking toward him.

"You OK, officer? Chard, Blade Runner, beat 25305." the rep-detect spoke softly.

Gates nodded dumbly. Chard made his way over to the 'retired' rep and quickly 'tossed' the body. He gingerly took the rep's shoulder bag off her intact right side and put a few items in the bag from her raincoat pockets. Bits and pieces, personal effects of a manufactured life that he would have to catalog and invoice. He saw the photos in the handbag and shook his head ever so slightly. Photographs, always photographs. Reminders of memories that are to be forever lost like tears in ra-…

"She said the damndest things, guy."

Chard blinked and his eyes were instantly on Gates, who still lay on the ground.

Gates stared into Chard's mournful brown eyes and repeated what the rep had yelled at him. Chard stood motionless, digesting this bit of information from the prostrate cop.

"And you know what else, Detective, she kept whispering in my freakin' ear over and over before she vapor-locked?" Chard shook his head no.

"My name is Jane Lee. My name is Jane Lee….."



Option 1 - Crime scene.

Option 2 - Something else.

Pages in white continue the story. Pages in yellow are yet to be written. Note that the unwritten options are just suggestions for how the story might continue - you can add something completely different if you like.

Each page in the story ends in a five letter code. If you want to return to this page in the future, make a note of the page code and you will then be able to change your URL to take you straight back to that page.

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Date: 2002-06-21 11:00