Retirement
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….."
Options
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
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Date: 2002-06-21 11:00
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