Bab 5: In this car, I'm the one asking questions
The clock's hands hovered around 11 p.m., casting a ghostly glow in the cramped interior of the police car. The dashboard's dim lights flickered intermittently, adding a surreal quality to the tense atmosphere. I sat shivering, the evening's chaos replaying in my mind like a broken holo-film. Across from me, the policeman's face was an emotionless mask, his cybernetic eyes giving him an almost inhuman appearance.
"Tell me again how this happened," he demanded, his voice echoing slightly against the car's metal interior.
I closed my eyes, a futile attempt to hold back tears of frustration. "I've already told you so many times," I whispered, my voice trembling, betraying my attempt at composure.
He leaned closer, the faint scent of synthetic leather from his jacket mixing with the stale air. "In this car, I'm the one asking questions," he retorted, his tone icy.
I bit my lip hard, the taste of iron filling my mouth as I fought against the rising tide of anger and shock. "Around 7 p.m., two men barged into FreshMart," I began again, forcing my voice to steady. "They were shouting, hitting customers. They threw products off the shelves, creating chaos." My heart raced as the memories flooded back. "One of them pointed a gun right at me."
"They wanted the money from the register," I said, my hands clenched in my lap. "I gave it to them, but I managed to hit a silent alarm."
His red cybernetic eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That alarm button isn't at the cash register. How did you activate it?"
Despite my fear, a spark of defiance flickered within me. "I created my own link to the main alarm weeks ago. I needed to feel safe," I admitted, my voice a mixture of fear and pride.
His eyes glowed ominously in the shadowy car. "Modifying company property without authorization is against FreshMart's policy."
"I know," I muttered, feeling the weight of his gaze. "But safety comes first."
He tapped something into his datapad, his expression unreadable. "Report's complete. Thanks for cooperating," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "FreshMart will inform you about the termination of your contract."
His words felt like a punch to the gut. Jobless. My already precarious situation seemed to spiral further into uncertainty. A hollow feeling settled in my chest.
"Am I free to go?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, you're free to go," he said, not meeting my eyes.
Emerging from the police car, the chill of the night seemed to seep into my bones. The city's neon lights, a beacon of energy and life, now cast long, ominous shadows, making the familiar streets feel foreign and menacing. I wrapped my arms around myself, a futile attempt to ward off the cold and the creeping sense of vulnerability.
My comlink buzzed, a sharp, intrusive sound in the quiet night. The message from FreshMart was brief and impersonal: "Notice of Contract Termination, effective 10th May 2078." My heart sank. The injustice of it stung – I was being punished for trying to protect myself, for surviving. Anger simmered within me, a counterpoint to the gnawing fear about the men who had stormed into the store. They were still out there, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine. Had I seen them before? Their faces seemed to blend into the sea of anonymous, forgettable faces that passed through FreshMart every day.
I trudged towards the megablock. The lively bustle of the night crowd felt jarring. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated around me, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside my head.
As I approached the entrance, the memory of my promise to Castor Reid surfaced. I had agreed to help him with some cyberware and weapon fixes. The thought of delving into intricate circuits and complex machinery was usually comforting, a welcome distraction from life's problems. But tonight, all I wanted was to escape to my tiny apartment on the 44th floor and bury my face in a pillow, letting the tears and frustration flow freely.
The elevator ride up was a slow ascent through layers of thoughts and emotions. The walls of the tiny cubicle felt like they were closing in, mirroring the tightness in my chest.
Hadiah
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