Soberpunk

Tag: short story

  • Lost Sins And Rusted Chrome

    Lost Sins And Rusted Chrome

    As if by command, the city’s noise dimmed to a soft hum. There was a weight in the air, not like the smog, nor the humid summer, but something that weighed down the atmosphere, and raised a sharp burn to his chest. He swallowed the weight back down. His organic eye stung, and its vision blurred.

    The night breeze carried a chill, though not discomforting. He felt cozy under the jacket, and the tingling breeze at his cheeks reminded him of the warmth in his chest.

    “You’re here.” Her whispered, raspy voice echoed through the air, and the breeze suddenly felt still. As she sat upon a concrete ledge, the matte black hair softly shifted, though her thin, white coat more than made up for it, billowing like a flag, reflecting the distant city’s neon lights upon its synthetic fabric.

    “I said I’d come, didn’t I?” Leo replied. “You say a lot of shit. Makes you an asshole.” She snapped, looking off at the looming skyscrapers, held back by elevated highways like concrete fences. Another holographic advertisement for Kiroshi’s Nanoscarf crept over and dissipated into the night sky. “So what’s the game now then?” Her face was lit by the distant lights, she didn’t turn to look at him.

    There was a long silence that the distant cars on the highway strained to fill. “It’s not a game, Risa. And I’ve made up my mind.” He drew his Lexington from its holster and pointed it at her.

    “It’s a game to them,” she said, gesturing to the flying adverts. “A massive, never-ending numbers game. But to you it’s your life. You’ll always be chasing me, never moving forward. I’m your fucking muse.” She turned to him, expression hardened. “I’m your reason to sing, the backing track of your sorry life. Please, Leo. Just end the cycle. It’s why I wanted you here.” She opened her arms wide, replicating a messiah, and looked up at the dark sky. “Put me out of our misery.”

    Leo’s hands shook, he struggled to keep his aim straight. Every second, a new memory flashed into his mind. A different smile, long-lost tears, arguments and promises. “I swore I’d always do what was best for us, that I’d wade through the shit of this city for it. I haven’t broken that promise yet, even if the others are long buried.”

    Leo moved the pistol to his own temple. “You didn’t deserve any of this. It was my fault, and I’ll make it right.” Risa suddenly looked down at him in shock, “Don’t be an idiot Leo! You’ve got a life to live, mine’s been spent!” She took a step forward, “This isn’t some Romeo & Juliet story, let it fucking go!” She tried a quick-hack on his pistol, but it gave no signal. Set to offline, Leo still aims organically. “It’s our lives Risa. It can be whatever story we want it to.” He closed his eyes, and squeezed out the tears welling up in the same ‘ganic eye.

    Leo gripped the trigger of the Lexington, and felt a sudden calm flow over him. For the first time in a while, he felt every ounce of weight lift from his chest, there was no more debt to pay, no more jobs to run. He no longer had to hunt, to chase, to run. He no longer had to decide between right and wrong. It just didn’t matter anymore.

    “No!” Risa ran towards him, tripping and stumbling over herself. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision of Leo. He began to squeeze the trigger, and heard her voice ring in his ears so full of life. It reminded him of how far they’d come.

    “No!”

    “Not the high-fat one, I’m watching my weight!” Risa said, slapping the packaged real-meat burger patty out of Leo’s hands. “I don’t wanna use rippers for my figure anymore, it’s not good to keep synthetically adjusting ourselves.”

    “But the high fat’s always tastier!” He protested. “Why don’t we just get both and keep them in the freezer for next time?” He grabbed another low fat variety and held them both up in his hands. Risa pouted disappointedly “World’s in enough of a shit-show as it is, lets not overindulge. The consumerist epidemic is a real one!”

    “We’ve had that epidemic for the last couple hundred years, and probably had it a few thousands of years back too. Another pack of meat isn’t changing anything.” Leo shrugged and put both packs of meat in the shopping trolley drone. “You’re so greedy. Always gotta have everything!” She grunted, and continued down the aisle.

    What the hell was that supposed to mean? Leo thought. But decided it best to keep it to himself. As Risa walked off, he let out a deep sigh, and put the high-fat patties back in the store fridge.

    A couple hundred eurodollars for their shopping this time around, Leo expected less, Risa expected much more. “Didn’t you always say groceries are cheaper in Japan? I don’t remember Tokyo being better than this.” Leo mentioned while the drone loaded shopping bags into their car–a Thorton Colby; midrange, effective, and horrendously boring.

    “Tokyo isn’t like the rest of Japan. It’s its own little Night City, though way bigger. You’d still find the cheaper stuff if you knew where to go, and if you’d be happy with low-grade, unhygienic slop.” Risa replied, amidst loud chews of bubblegum. “Anyway, we didn’t spend that much this time, did you get the Centzon?”

    Leo pulled out a square-shaped blue bottle from one of the bags “Yep. Indigo as usual. Ah shit, I forgot to buy cola!” He slapped a hand over his face. “It’s fine, I prefer it straight anyway. Get in the car, let’s do something! Don’t wanna waste one of your only days off this month.” Risa impatiently tugged on his sleeve and jumped in the passenger’s seat as the drone finished its work, closing the trunk.

    He sat in the driver’s seat and set the autopilot to home, “Y’know, rushing me to enjoy my time-off as much as possible is basically like work. Let’s just have a drink nearby and make dinner at home. Good dinner, no scop.”

    As they began to drive out of the parking lot, the car abruptly halted.

    “DANGER DETECTED, RE-ROUTING…” Blared the car’s AI. A loud whirring and gunshots filled the air as an armoured black van rushed past them. “Leo, get down!” Shouted Risa, pulling on his arm. Boostergangers hung out the van’s open doors with machine guns firing behind. In another instant, three motorcycles, with two riders each, followed suit. The back riders had rifles of their own and wildly shot at the van.

    Leo grabbed Risa and pulled her down, covering her with his body. As he guessed, stray gunshots flew at their car, most bounced off the bullet-proof windows, but eventually they wore down and a couple made their way through. Leo felt a sharp burn on his back and arm.

    In an instant, the gunners were all gone. Though the ringing of police sirens and screaming pedestrians filled the air, they were both in a surreal stillness. A few drops of blood rolled off Leo’s clothes onto Risa’s head, “You’re bleeding! I’m getting the medpack.” She said, rushing to rummage through the glove-compartment. Meanwhile as the adrenaline calmed, Leo felt the pain shoot through his body and heard a warning alarm in his mind.

    CRITICAL INJURIES DETECTED, TRAUMA TEAM RESPONSE EN ROUTE.

    ARRIVAL IN 6:58

    6:57

    6:56

    Risa grabbed hold of a MaxDoc auto-injector and jabbed him in the arm. A wave of calm overtook him as his muscles stopped tensing, his vision wavered. Leo looked into Risa’s eyes one more time, and passed out.

  • Chapter?: Rattled

    As the Age of Flame and Claw came to a close, the great continent of Akyr – unified under the Padishah Dagres the Illustrious – began a period of so-called freedom. 

    There was little celebration, for the empire had been in disarray. Many feuds of independent lords, and land previously split amongst the wyrms continued to ravage the political sphere. Therefore, in order to unite the country in both heart and title, Padishah Dagres called an invasion upon Tharion. For what better reason to unify, than the promise of new lands and riches? 

    Dagres, having married the princess Eilif of Olgur, made strong use of the Olguri navy to spearhead his war, which ravaged the south Tharian coastline for twelve years.

    By the end of the invasion, Duke Poulard de Lupelle (or Poulard the Lionheart) claimed his lands as independent, and fought the war free from the command of the king and council. A suspiciously short year into his campaign, the Akyrian empire retreated, and signed a generous trade agreement for peace. 

    Thus, the soon-to-be-prosperous Duchy of Lupelle was born, upon the mountains of Akyrian gold. 

    • Once There Were Dragons, by Mirza. (Mza.) Elaneh

    Llyn dragged the blade through the darkness, with barely a visible inch ahead of her. The glinting of wet stones in the moonlight were all there was to guide. Every step through the pouring rain was accompanied by the squelching of her wet clothes.

    The sharp ache in her legs, almost as if sparked from the bones themselves, would force grunts with each of her pained steps. Her fingers struggled to hold the blade’s hilt as it knocked about stones in the mud, it took every bit of her to hold on. The exhaustion fought against her pleads, she begged herself to let go, to just fall and sleep. But she knew she would never wake.

    In the distant dark, a bright shine cut through. It seemed no different from the wet stones at first, but as she drew closer she began to make out a building. Hope quickened her pace, suddenly her blade bumped over a tree root and she tripped into the mud. A futile obstacle. She dragged herself forward, the drag turned to a muddy crawl, and without armour to weigh her down she quickly struggled back on her feet, right in front of a small lake. Rising from the water was a castle of almost white stone, impressively thick pillars with flowing embellishments, but no bridge to access it.

    The lack of access didn’t stop her. Llyn submerged waist-deep in the water, and trudged forward. As she drew closer the castle’s might turned daunting and its doors towered over her like mountains. But there was no light nor sound from within. The stone was old and weathered. Her eyes scanned the walls, she saw the horseman at the edge of the lake, gazing in her direction, and a deep fear gripped her stomach.

    Bang! Llyn slammed her fist at the heavyset stone door. ‘Please!’ she shouted. Her fist crashed against the door once more, the screams rattled her throat as saline tears mixed with rainwater on her tongue, ‘I beg you let me in!’ The same fist continued its assault. The door slightly shifted. Llyn took a few steps back, and desperately charged to crash into the doors. But as she rushed forward and braced, the doors swung open towards her, knocking her back onto the ground. The inside of the castle resembled gates to an abyss. There was nothing but an unfathomable darkness. Llyn noticed that the horseman was gone once again.

    The entrance hall had seen better days. It mourned its past self in dark cobwebs, dull moth-eaten banners, and old knights statues which had long since crumbled to the ground. The banners were of the old knights order – a white nightingale in flight, over a black shield.

    She limped her way through the hallway, struggling to step over the odd stone brick and statue limb. The castle was no warmer than the wilderness. ‘Dry, at least.’ She coughed to herself, blade still at the ready over her shoulder. ‘Can’t be too careful.’ She mumbled, and the door slammed shut behind her.

    As she reached the end of the hall, there was a set of large wooden doors, she saw a gentle light flickering from beyond them. Shoving the doors open, she was introduced to the great hall of the castle, with a ceiling impossibly high. The centrepiece of the room was a long, stone table with a handful of heavy ornate armchairs, their backrests pointed to the sky like thrones. The floor was made of polished stone, its colour dulled by a thick layer of dust. Llyn’s eyes followed the table until the end of the hall, where the old decayed corpse of a knight sat upon the largest seat. His head lay tilted, leaning upon its fist which had miraculously held its position on the armrest.

    To the side of the table laid a roaring fire and bedroll, with skewered minnow roasting over it. A large rucksack was neatly placed beside the bedroll with a few stacked books and a quill over an open journal.

    ‘That’s far enough now ruffian! Drop your weapon!’ shouted a melodic and bright male voice from a set of doors on the opposite wall. Llyn jolted her head to face the sound and noticed the end of a small crossbow pointed right at her. 

    ‘Fuck’s sake’ she exclaimed, and dropped her blade to the ground. The crossbowman was a baby-faced man in brightly coloured travellers clothes and long, wavy ashen hair, his clothing was clean, almost fresh. And his skin sparkled against the firelight, reflecting it back at her like a mirror. ‘And… Erm… Put your hands high up and fingers stretched!’ His voice quivered softly.

    ‘What are you, a bard? Playing songs for dead kni-‘ Llyn’s quip was cut by a streak of hoarse coughing which almost dropped her to the ground, each one felt as if it should be the last, but yet another kicked through. The lad awkwardly stared at her, waiting for the ordeal to end, which lasted more than either of them felt comfortable with.

    ‘Right then. I can note that you are deathly ill. You carry a blade of substantial weight in comparison to your size, and do not wear even a slither of steel for self-protection.’ He lowered his crossbow and took one step forward. ‘And despite your unsightly brazen demeanor, you are injured. And quite severely at that. One would think you had a great fall, or possibly were run over by a group of bandits upon their steeds. Unusual for you to have made your journey all the way here, and I wonder for what reason you would be wandering the forest or bogs nearby. A witch of sorts maybe? A trap for the bandits to soon assault me themselves?’ He moved a hand up to his chin and rubbed. ‘No, no. That doesn’t explain the greatsword.’ 

    He looked down at Llyn, who had no strength to speak any longer and was desperately trying to keep her eyes open. She cursed to herself, feeling an unexpected fondness for her former state outside, now praying that the fool would stop rambling. ‘Quite the fairy-tale situation I have here don’t I?’ He stood in deep thought for a moment and finally his eyes widened, an innocent smile spread across his face, revealing his teeth, white as the moon. ‘My name is An-Tayir. Due to the peculiarity of the situation I have decided to assist you!’

    And with those words, Llyn finally fell to the ground, and passed out.

    The streets bustled with wagons and carts, the clicking footsteps upon cobbled stone, and merchants shouting their egregious prices out to the crowds. The sun shone upon Serlo’s face, and the scent of salty fish and baked bread entered his nostrils, he would have felt hungry if it wasn’t for how distracted he was with the colourfully dressed ladies about. Now that was a sight he didn’t get to see outside the books.

    He skipped over towards a market stall, where a bright-eyed older gentleman was serving grilled eel in bread. Serlo, too distracted and not used to the cities, crashed right into a wagon of apples and fell alongside them to the ground. ‘Devils be damned kid, what in the realm are you doing?’ He sat up looking at an old man with a face like shaved bollocks and a piercing nose, sharp as a spear. Serlo held his hands up, his chest was gripped with a weight he could not name. ‘Fucking kids. What do you have to say for yourself?’ The man’s wrinkles curled into his skull, shrivelling his face to a raisin. Serlo wanted to speak, but the words did not leave his mouth. His eyes were wide, and his breaths began to quicken. 

    As he was about to turn tail and run, a heavy voice burst from behind him. ‘Oi, Barth! You geezer! Stop jabbing up the young lads, poor boy was just distracted by one of them fine maidens over there.’ Accompanying the voice was a wide, hulking man, the bones of his face seemed as if they bulged out from his skin, giving his expression a badly carved statue. He gestured to the group of ladies near a stall that Serlo had taken note of, and was infatuatedly staring at.

    The ladies stared at Serlo, a couple laughed, and others scorned. He was smitten, of course, and turned his head to the ground. However, the attention they were giving only intensified the emotions that the old man, Barth, had stirred within him. He was, once again, frozen.

    ‘The runt knocked over my apples you oaf. He deserves his jabbing! Maidens or not!’ Barth looked back down at Serlo. ‘Move your blithering arms already! Are you too busy thinking with your prick?’

    The heavy man moved closer, his footsteps were like a bear’s, the scattered apples shook as he stomped along. ‘Alright then, let me help you with this, lad.’ he said to Serlo as he began picking up the apples, four in each oversized hand. The gesture calmed Serlo, especially because the man was blocking view of the ladies, who had seemed to lose interest in the kerfuffle. He began to scutter towards the mess and picked up as many as apples as he could, in jolting, anxious movements. Old man Barth went silent until they finished.

    ‘Great, that wasn’t so hard now was it?’ The big man shrugged. Serlo said nothing. ‘Here, take an apple and keep your eye on the fucking road next time, you runt.’ Blabbered Barth, as he handed Serlo a shiny green apple. ‘What about me? You old geezer.’ Barth looked up at the heavy man and frowned. ‘You can share, as you shared the work. You dim oaf.’ He turned away, and walked off, pushing his wagon along.

    ‘He’s a right tosser, don’t you worry about him lad.’ The heavy man turned to Serlo and gave a wide smile, his teeth were yellowed, but somehow in perfect rows. ‘My name’s Fergus, nice to meet you.’ He held out his monstrous hand towards Serlo, who took a moment to realise the gesture. After all, he had seen it at the orphanage, but never taken part in the shaking of hands. ‘What’s your name?’ Fergus asked.

    Serlo looked at him wide-eyed. He did not respond.

    For he could not.

  • The Hunt

    In the dark grove sat a lone figure, awaiting his final breaths. I could see only his fluttering cloak, the silhouette of jagged antlers, and glowing violet pupils which pierced the shadows.

    The Muhari edged closer, their winding weapons drawn, glinting like the crescent moon above. The figure was tired, but his vigorous panting had begun to calm. A pale hand of the Muhari general was held up high as the warriors gripped their weapons tightly. With dying, grey eyes they scanned their prey up and down—awaiting the signal. The figure finally calmed, and the last warriors converged on their positions, he took a long, slow, breath. It was contagious, after hunting him for so long we all followed suit.

    Breathing in…

    …and as breath left our lungs—the hiss of a blade sprang from the grove, and a new shine glinted from the figure. The general’s hand sealed into a fist, as warriors leaped out of hiding—all at once, attacking the now visible rogue Elf, who’s twisting blade shone upon him a sharp light.

    Bright sparks blinded me, the ringing of steel rattled my hearing, innumerable movements and sounds in mere moments. It was as if two storms had clashed, the air itself weighed me down as I turned to the general, who watched intently with eyes darting around the chaos. His face suddenly hardened as he nocked an arrow upon his bow and pulled the string, his severed ears twitched, listening out for something.

    As I focused my hearing, I could faintly make out words. Not yelling, nor the grunts of battle, but a whispered chanting like the weaving of a spell. My eyes adjusted to the flashing lights, and I saw it—his battle movements formed ties and knots, they began to form a twisting symbol in the air of battle. Sweat trickled down the general’s face, he clenched his jaw, desperately keeping the bowstring pulled. The symbol shined brighter. I held my breath, but suddenly the general’s arrow cut through the thick air. The Elf–noticed it at once, and snatched at one of the Muhari, holding him as a shield.

    But the shot hit its mark. Through his own warrior’s neck—the arrow pierced the lone Elf’s eye. As the air of the grove finally calmed, seven Muhari corpses appeared, strewn out amongst the trees and bushes, their bodies disfigured by seemingly endless cuts. All surrounding the now dead rogue Elf.

    Only me and the general remained.

    Legends of the Alfen, by Komas Ganios

  • A Filthy Awakening

    The first thing he noticed was the smell, the rancid drippings of half-eaten bento boxes, dried up urine mixing into the humid summer air, and salty metal. The dried up blood in his nose and mouth. He realised he was in complete darkness, barely able to move his limbs, feeling crushed by something.

    He began to kick and shove, moving around massive bags covering his body. Each kick only intensified the stench further, his struggling forcing constant shallow breaths of the filth.

    Finally a kick gave way to a steel door, and it flashed with light. He gathered what strength he had left, and kicked again. The door swung wide open, and the sun shone brightly at his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

    As his eyes adjusted, he climbed himself out. It was a large dumpster, and he was still in Harajuku.

    His head pounded, his stomach churned, and his vision spun. The stench, the kicking, the adrenaline, the fucking hangover. He retched and emptied his stomach onto the street.

    "Coulda just did it in the dumpster y'know? Now I gotta deal with this smell, in this gonk-ass heat."

    The voice was sharp and tired. Interrupted occasionally by the pull and puff of an electronic cigarette.

    The man was skinny, spiky haired and dresed in a black leather jacket with innumerable studs and spikes. His electronic smoke machine had a skull at its mouth, which he would kiss to take puffs.

    "Name's Shingo. Been waiting for you to get up, choom. You've been out for a while, they finally decided to dump you after your other malfunction last night."

    He was confused. He was just partying at an event, taking shots, grabbing a stray ass or two, and doing the usual SNS exchanges. Music got a bit intense, and the shots stronger, but nothing out of the ordinary.

    "You're Ryota Kanamori, I know. Coolest kid on the street. Until about 7 hours ago."

    It wasn't crazy for someone to know his name, but what does he mean until 7 hours ago?

    "You were on one of those PAN programs for months. Kids you paried with cut you last night after it malfunctioned for the Nth time. Thought you flatlined and dumped you like trash. Little shits knew the PAN was fried, but not that your normal personality kick-starts your brain back when it sizzles out."

    PAN? Personality Alteration Neuralware. He knew of it, he had heard and been tempted many times, but never went for it. He was happy, he was trendy, popular. Had the girls, and the money. Didn't need it.

    "You probably think you never needed it, and you're right. You were a good kid, a bit of a gonk, but not a bad guy. The night you're probably remembering is the last memory of the normal you, before the PAN took over."

    A puff of pink smoke flew past Ryota's face, forcing a short cough.

    "You pissed off the wrong guy, and went for the wrong girl. An Ebmitsu exec. They fucked with the trends you followed. You had to spend more than you had to keep up. Joined some shitty service job working for the kids who used to worship you. They kicked you around and spat on you. Circle of fucking life eh?"

    He slotted a new cartridge in the E-cig machine, took a big puff, and blew more smoke into Ryota's face.

    "We tried to help you, but you didn't listen anymore. Used your last yen to buy into the experimental PAN scop, and we lost you. You went back into your flashy brat life, wooing everyone with your plastic corpo-charisma. But worse this time, with a weird obsession with Ebmitsu's subsidiary fashion brands."

    Ryota's head started to wrack again, pulsing as if shocked by a taser. He saw memories he didn't remember, differing by months. Things he would never do or say. And blood.

    Bloodied friends, bloodied hands, broken tables and furniture. Bloodied execs in Arasaka-branded suits. Men in black he didn't recognise. Corpses... The memories sent a shiver through him. A fear.

    "The kids you were with last night tried to dump you out and make it look like an overdose. But Ebmitsu's gonna want to clean up their mess. So, time for you to disappear."

    Shingo turned his head towards him in a smug grin. "Don't worry choom, you can always come back to the Rats. Lets clean up this town together, and smother it in shit."

    He held out his hand.
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