Chapter 8: Meeting local color
I walked aimlessly, just wandering the streets. All the passersby tried to keep their distance from me, either afraid of the police or because everyone had something dark on their conscience. More than once, my new interface highlighted a person's various crimes right before my eyes. It was as if I knew their entire life if I requested additional data from the police databases.
My new module easily identified implants in people, showing their entire structure. Almost everyone had an illegal module, without a serial number or place of installation. I wondered how this was possible. By investigating the data, I realized that black markets were thriving, and little had changed in people. Where there is law, there will also be its opposite.
Where do the implants on the black market come from? This discovery shocked me. At first, I thought that gangs simply robbed implant shops, and that was the end of it. But it turned out to be much worse when I learned about the Scavengers' organization.
The entire list of their crimes didn't fit in my memory block. They were too numerous and brutal. Selling and kidnapping people, skinning them for organs and implants, robberies, violence, murders. The list of their deeds constantly grew. I couldn't understand how the city's government could allow this. Why weren't there military forces to eradicate this plague at its root?
To my regret, I realized that this was a free city, and hence all the consequences of such freedom. An amusing sign "City of Dreams" was lit up on one of the skyscrapers. More likely, it was a city of the dead, judging by the death statistics. To this sad fact were added five percent unaccounted for. Most likely, these were those who could not be found or determined whether they were alive or not.
I didn't think I would see such a future. It seemed to me that the world would become more perfect, and people much smarter. Looking at how one freak was injecting himself right on the street and shivering, apparently from a high, you realize that this is far from the case. Everything around reminded me of something. Some part of my memory was trying to break through the fog, showing fragments of familiar images. I felt that I had seen this somewhere before. Familiar names flickered here and there, like ghosts from the past.
Right now, I wanted to get to my apartment as quickly as possible and think everything over, despite what was happening around me. I needed to disable the facial recognition module—I was seeing too much of people's vices. The implant tab showed that all modules were active, and I mentally wished I could disable them all, which I did with this module.
It became much easier without a bunch of information in front of my eyes. Maybe there are settings where the search works only on demand? A ripperdoc could solve this problem, but she took an instant dislike to me. The others looked at me warily, but showed no trace of hatred. But she had very strong negative emotions, evident in every movement and expression on her face. Although it puzzled me that her facial expressions were mostly on one side of her face. Strange, maybe paralysis? I don't know, I won't guess, I'll ask Mike; hopefully, he'll tell me.
Incoming call: Henry Baker. Accept/Decline.
Here was my attending physician. Accepting the call, I saw the doctor's face on the screen.
"Matthew, I'm calling to check on your condition, are you alright? I received information that you were injured during the police and gang confrontation," said Henry.
"The body was partially damaged, but the ripperdoc fixed everything," I replied.
"Good. Nothing strange happening?" he asked.
"No, nothing like that," I said, omitting the malfunction and my internal turmoil. Now I trust them even less; as soon as you browse the internet, you constantly come across mentions of this company. They always take what they want and don't care about your opinion.
"Great. Don't forget to come for a scheduled check-up this week. I'm glad you're alright, but I can't talk long, work is waiting," said Henry.
"I understand, see you," I replied.
"See you," he said and disconnected.
Through all this, I almost automatically reached the building where I was supposed to spend the night. It was small, only ten stories. Strange, even in my time they usually built no less than twenty. Upon entering, I saw a great mess in the corridor, and all the walls were defaced with graffiti.
All I had was the apartment number and nothing else. I needed to go through all the floors to find where it was. Maybe there was some kind of information stand or something similar. To my disappointment, I found only a broken screen. Perhaps it had been an information terminal, but now it was just trash.
After walking around the first floor, I didn't find the right number. Damn, who came up with this system? I'd like to tear his hands off. Next to each door was a display showing the apartment number. Some of them were dim, making it difficult to understand what was written. After going through the entire floor, I couldn't make any sense of it. It was as if all the numbers were scattered randomly, without any order or logic.
I had to go through every floor to check everything. My main problem was the malfunctioning elevator. At one point, it stopped for a whole twenty minutes. No matter what I did, it wouldn't move. I was about to break that damn door to get out when the elevator, as if sensing the threat, suddenly started working. Luckily, there were stairs, and I used them for the rest of the way.
Stepping onto the fifth floor, I heard the sounds of cursing. A man's voice was raised, using plenty of swear words. Finally, reaching the source of the noise, I saw two freaks with crossed arms near one of the doors. They quickly noticed me and immediately looked scared.
"Damn, Rex, that bitch called the cops," one of them said. They had no weapons in their hands. Mentally, I activated the facial recognition module.
Name: Richard Pinkens (nickname Rich)
Age: 25
Employment: None
Crimes: Petty hooliganism, robbery
Marital Status: Single
Recommendation: Detain if suspicious.
The screen displayed information about the second person, who was loudly cursing. He had a short haircut, several metallic lines on his face, and chrome-plated fingers.
Name: Keith (nickname Keith)
Age: 29
Employment: None
Crimes: Petty hooliganism, robbery
Marital Status: Single
Recommendation: Detain if suspicious.
Such information was provided on the second accomplice, who clearly didn't know moderation in food.
"Shit, what's going on, how many are there?" came a voice from inside.
"Just one, this dumb piece of metal," said Rich.
"Does he have a gun?" the question came again. Their behavior seemed strange to me. They didn't look like serious gangsters, more like petty hooligans.
"No, completely empty," replied Rich.
"Then tear him apart for parts," said the unknown voice.
"Yeah, boss," they shouted in unison and, rolling up their sleeves, headed towards me.
Strange, do they even have any intelligence? Even assuming I didn't have a weapon, which I might have behind my back, I was still stronger than them. A rough analysis showed that they didn't have many implants and the ones they did have weren't very effective. Why weren't they afraid of the police and instead wanted to confront it? People in this city had strange thinking. Either the law here meant nothing.
I wasn't going to stand there for long since they attacked me first. With a determined step, I approached them and, without saying a word, knocked everything out of Rich with a single punch. His teeth flew out of his mouth in a spray, and he collapsed like a felled tree. The punch was indeed strong—some advantage of having mechanical parts. Keith froze in shock, looking at his unconscious partner, but quickly followed him with the same outcome. I would need to find out how much it costs to completely replace a jaw, just out of curiosity.
Having dealt with them, I immediately headed to the open door and almost immediately saw the kitchen, where a man completely covered in tattoos and with metallic lines along his spine was beating a woman. Her face was bruised and severely swollen. My metallic footsteps were loud enough, and he heard them, turning to face me.
Name: Samuel Swick (nickname Rex)
Age: 35
Employment: None
Crimes: Robbery, murder, assault, drug trafficking, extortion, illegal arms trading
Marital Status: Single
Recommendation: Detain under any circumstances, lethal measures permitted.
This one was far scarier than his unlucky subordinates. In his hands were retractable Mantis Blade implants. And his list of crimes was truly impressive.
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"Damn useless idiots, I always have to do everything myself. Don't be afraid, bitch, I'll deal with him quickly and get back to you," said Rex, cracking his neck first to the left, then to the right, and started towards me.
"Samuel Swick, surrender and lie on the ground with your hands behind your back," I pretended to be a robot, trying to speak as monotonously as possible.
"Try and make me," he said with a smirk and extended a knife that shot out from his forearm through some mechanism. He lunged, aiming straight at my chest.
With a quick move, I stepped to the left, dodging his attack. I delivered a swift punch to his stomach—the force of the blow threw him back, sending him flying back into the kitchen and stopping only when he crashed into the wall.
"Khhkhkhk...," he coughed, clutching his stomach. "Damn it, what a piece of shit...," he spat blood, glaring at me furiously. Then, despite the blood running from his lips, he rushed at me again. He swung his blades wildly, trying to hit me, managing only to scratch me slightly.
Finally, seizing the moment, I struck upwards, smashing his head into the ceiling. His eyes immediately rolled back, and he collapsed to the floor motionless. The instructions still permitted the use of lethal measures. Considering his list of crimes and seeing him in front of me, I decided he wouldn't live. Grabbing his skull, I dragged him out of the apartment. With my other hand, I grasped his chin and sharply twisted his neck. There was a crunch, his body twitched a bit more, but then everything went still.
The system marked him as neutralized and recorded him in the database as dead.
"What should I do, they will kill me...," a weak and trembling female voice said.
Name: Katherine Wright
Age: 32 years
Place of Work: Heywood Clinic
Position: Nurse
Crimes: Fraud
Marital Status: Divorced, two children
Recommendation: Do not touch.
Perhaps my actions were hasty and abrupt, but they were the first to decide to attack me.
"Calm down, they're dealt with, and they won't cause you any more trouble," I said. This made the woman cry even more.
"They're from the Sixth Street gang, I'm done for," she said through her tears.
Information about the Sixth Street gang immediately appeared in my database.
The Sixth Street gang is a paramilitary organization composed of veterans from the Fourth Corporate War and recent wars, retired military personnel, former corporate security officers, and civilians with military training. They are the dominant gang in Arroyo and Rancho Coronado, Santo Domingo, Glen and Vista del Rey, Heywood, as well as Charter Hill, Westbrook.
"Why did they attack you?" I asked.
"You've always ignored us," said Katherine.
"You can reach out at any time. The police will help you," I replied.
"Ha, that's funny. It's easier to hang myself than to wait for your help. And what do you want, robot?" she said.
"I'm not a robot. Matthew Carrington, police officer. If you need help, you can contact me," I said. Deciding not to bother her with my presence any longer, I wanted to leave but stopped. What should I do with the body?
"Ma'am, what should I do with him?" I asked, genuinely unsure of the proper protocol in such a situation.
"You're with the police, why ask me? Just dump him on the street, the scavengers will deal with the body by morning," she said.
I looked at the body with doubt. I decided to try contacting the police. There had to be a special channel for officers. Finding the right one, I connected, and after a few moments, a voice came through.
"Dispatcher here."
"This is Private Matthew Carrington. I have a dead criminal and a couple of unconscious ones. What are the next steps?" I asked.
"Send the data on the criminals," came the reply. How do I send a message here? Oh, attaching his personal data, I sent the information.
"Received, wait for the service. They will handle it," the voice on the other end cut off.
With that done, I picked up the dead gangster's body and grabbed one of the unconscious ones, heading downstairs. Seeing me with the bodies on my shoulders, everyone quickly started moving aside and heading in the opposite direction. Once outside, I dropped the bodies and started waiting.
My wait wasn't long. First, a police car pulled up nearby, and two officers got out.
"So, rookie, giving us work? What do we have here, petty hooliganism, I see. And this one, looks like he's not a survivor," said one of them, according to the database, it was Derek.
"Alright, let's not take too long. Send us the footage of the incident, and you can go," added his partner, Sam.
Video? I doubted for a moment, rummaging through the tabs, and indeed found the logs, where there was a recording from my visor. I immediately sent them the necessary data.
"Alright, I see, another bunch of tough guys with big balls. Good job, or else they'll soon stop fearing us if we let this slide," said Derek.
"Okay, take care," said Sam.
Quickly loading the two toothless criminals into the back seat of the car, they left. Almost immediately after, a black van with a morgue sticker on the side pulled up. It was clear what they were here for. The guys didn't even greet me, quickly lifted the body, and stuffed it inside. I didn't think they were some scavengers or anything like that, clearly seeing the positions of these people.
Finally, freed from the sudden work, I resumed my path from where I had stopped. I had to go back up to the floor where the confrontation took place. Blood splatters still remained on the floor. But the apartment of the rescued woman was still open, and I decided to check if she was alright. Entering inside, I froze.
The woman was hanging from a rope squeezing her neck; according to the indicators, she was still alive. Running up to her, I quickly tore her from the noose. Her face was swollen and heavily bruised. It seemed her heart had stopped, but her brain was still alive. I couldn't perform artificial respiration, only chest compressions. Quickly checking, I realized I had something for such cases: an "Emergency Rescue Kit." Opening a small compartment on my back, I took out several injectors. Information immediately appeared on them:
Trauma I - Application method: injection. Briefly accelerates the natural healing of the body's wounds. Side effects: weakness, reduced reaction, appetite.
Taking one, I injected the drug into her arm, and it automatically administered the medicine. For greater effectiveness, folding my hands on her chest and pressing carefully, I continued performing chest compressions. Gradually, her breathing started to recover, and soon she coughed and began to gulp for air. Opening her clouded eyes, she focused her gaze on me.
"Can't even die in peace," she said bitterly, tears rolling down her face.
"You shouldn't make hasty decisions. Death changes nothing. But as long as you're alive, you have a chance to change a lot, especially since you have two children," I said.
"Children... They're all I have. I lived for them, but I'm so tired. Every day working myself to the bone, with no prospects, for a meager salary. I had to borrow from them, there was no other choice. They'll come again to take the money. Better to die on my terms than from their torture," Katherine said, sobbing.
"And yet, try to live for your children again. Think of what will happen to them without you," I said, trying to restore her sense of purpose.
"What's the point? I don't want anything anymore," she said, getting up and heading to the bathroom. "You're really not just a borg. They wouldn't care about human emotions. You can go. I'm not going to kill myself anymore."
She disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the sound of running water. Standing there for a moment, I realized I couldn't save her forever. If she truly wanted to die, there would be nothing left for me to do but let her go.
When I was carrying Rex's body, I took a shiny chain from him. Leaving it on the table, I exited the room, heading off to find my apartment.
After traversing several floors, I finally found it. Placing my personal port to the interface, the door opened. Entering inside, I saw that the room was in much better condition than the rest of the building. There was one bed, a small table against the wall, dim lighting that turned on automatically, and a large window with a view of the Heywood district.
[image]
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone