Brain Hammer

Dr. Smax and the Amazing CyberPunk FlashFiction Generator presents:

story

by

Xg0331-24 Alpha.

You blink. What the hell is that supposed to mean? You move your sleep dead arm in the direction of the Descrambler XTR-50 and flip the toggle towards your neon label “DECODE.”

Then wait.

You’ve been in the cellar for 5 years, during which you alternatively earn a commission by hacking into YimKang Medicinals for proof of ethical discrepancies in the genetic engineering operations, and downloading the top of the line Bio-hallucinogenics and newest version of Trippers for resale at inflated street values. You have never met your boss, but the credits keep hitting your account, so you never hope to.

You’ve never had a meaningful relationship, as you consider Tokyo a cesspool of civilization and the only redeemable company are those paying you for your time. There’s been other Specters ghosting around your information line, but they were fleeting at best and of limited interest. All you need are the Trippers, stimulating body and mind to orgasmic climaxes and letting you down slow enough to realize they are wearing off and correct the situation.

The Trippers, newest drug to hit the street, and the hottest selling as it touts no withdrawals, and limited addiction ratings. Those claims are a bold-faced lie, and your boss currently blackmails conglomerate CEO, Chin Yuan, a couple million credits a year to hide her little secret.

Mrs. Yuan has many secrets. Then again, so does everyone else.

Your secret lies in your true profession. You alone were responsible for the creation of a biocybergenic abomination which you subsequently released up the populace of Tokyo 10 years ago, today. Your bastard child “altered” 300,000 men, women, children and various other life forms before being captured. For all you know, it’s dead. Its rampage lives on despite abstinence legislation and genetic cleansing raids.

To date, no cure has been found. You were a genius.

Since that time, you’ve been hiding in the dankest, deepest holes you can find. It’s bad enough to have the nation’s government looking for you, but when the Corporations want you; you’re dead. Hacking pays the bills. Foodstuffs drop from a chute in the ceiling and you can gaze upon the sunshine when you call up the proper URL.

The decoding program whirs away while you call up a new file at YimKang Medicinals. CY3611B. Promising. A quick scan reveals more proof that the illustrious Mrs. Yuan is going to be very dead, soon. Her board of directors, it seems, has decided to “vote” her out. A nice way of saying, eliminate her.
Boooooooop. Your head reverberates with an incoming call indication tone from your external communication neural implant. You squeeze you right earlobe to initiate conversation.

Yeah?

They got you number, kid.

I’m older than you, Squawk.

Yeah? That don’t change much.

Who?

A polite ding hits your eardrum, then the sultry disembodied female voice coos at you, “Decoding Complete.”

Yuan.

How?

Ask your boss.

You disengage conversation and turn to your computer screen.

FATHER!!

You’ve nowhere to run.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 28th, 2004 at 10:10 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.