Most people in this glorious, awful city, including me, are puppets, controlled by great puppet masters beyond our narrow view. We are pushed and pulled by the hands of fate, or capitalism, or wealth-bloated politicians and corpos. Despite the illusion of free will, we dance along to the tune of the powerful. Today, though, I look at the small, fragile mobile chip the veiled figure gave me in the plaza overlooking the city and I see an opportunity. I see the opportunity to escape, to break free of my puppet strings.
My mobile boots up with the encryption chip newly inserted. I sit alone in my apartment, listening to the movement of cars outside, the buzz of hovercrafts above and the gentle chatter of the radio. The newscaster mentions a fire in Lowtower that killed 20 people and injured others. A spark of sympathy brushes my mind, but it’s quickly snuffed out by a flood of sheer desensitization.
As I look through my mobile, trying to see what the chip added, I see a new contact. I call the number. It rings briefly, and then the sound is replaced with the familiar voice of the veiled person from a few days prior. They had proposed I work as a double agent against one of the most immensely powerful and influential corporations not just in this city, but in this country. I was, and still am, seriously considering their offer.
They say, “Hello.” I wait a moment to see if they’re going to say anything else. They don’t. I break the silence.
“Hi. Uh . . . it’s me, the guy from the plaza. I’m ready to make my decision. First, though, before I commit to anything, could you tell me what I’m getting if this all works out? What’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for you? Firstly, we can provide you with immense wealth. Second, we have connections. We have power. We can share these things with you. Third, we can provide protection, if necessary. Fourth, and potentially most importantly, some real nice tech from Hightower corps. This stuff is transformative. Honest-to-goodness, military-grade, hard-plated Scratchsilver.”
“Okay, okay, I like where you’re going with this — but what exactly am I going to be doing for you?”
“You are our man on the inside. You will provide us with information on Ashton’s current and future projects, their defense and security objectives, and, crucially, we will need you to acquire sensitive documents, door codes, and potentially cause some property and/or equipment damage.”
“Yeah, yeah, I see what you’re saying but . . . how much danger am I actually going to be in? I mean, I think you and I both know that Ashton doesn’t play nice with stuff like this, and I have no reason to believe that you guys are going to play nice either.”
“It’s true that Ashton’s violent tendencies are certainly a risk here. That’s a risk when meddling in the affairs of practically any corporation in this city. First, I recommend you get some better Silver. Going in unaided isn’t going to cut it. Second, we can and will guide you through every step of the process. Third, we mean you no harm. The only people you need to worry about is Ashton, and if everything goes as planned, they won’t be an issue.”
I hesitate for a moment, then, grudgingly, I say, “Okay. I’m in. Call me when it’s time.”
Fear is piercing through me, not only the fear of breaking multiple laws, but also the terror of betraying a corporation that, if I am found out, could have me and every member of my surviving family wiped off this plane of existence in an instant. The funny thing is, I think, no one would care. My death would be like a grain of sand disappearing from a beach. I am expendable and, for all intents and purposes, completely unremarkable. Despite my extreme unease, I also feel a strange surge of euphoria. I may be risking it all, but if I succeed, if it works out — I will achieve true, pure freedom.
Over the next few days, I go to work as usual. My routine is painfully mundane compared to the glory-filled future I’ve imagined for myself, but I push on anyway. I make a brief trip into the nicer part of Lowtower, finding my way through the maze-like corridors bathed in fake sunlight to a neon-lit Silver-Grafter clinic surrounded by an incessant buzzing.
After I tell the bored secretary what I’m looking for, a scraggly man with unnervingly forgettable facial features leads me into a large room filled with sharp-edged machines with clumps of wires sticking out like bird’s nests. The Silver-Grafter puts me to sleep. When I wake up, I feel like a new man. I am a new man, albeit an extremely sore one. Along with the mild (but irritating) perpetual taste of blood in my mouth, my legs have been outfitted with pistons and joints, my vision is overlaid with a holographic display, and a brand-new neural chip allows near-unlimited access to the latest and greatest file-snatchers and system-killers. I’ve made myself into a corp-killer. Now, I sit and wait for the organization to call.
Sure enough, they do.
My mobile boots up with the encryption chip newly inserted. I sit alone in my apartment, listening to the movement of cars outside, the buzz of hovercrafts above and the gentle chatter of the radio. The newscaster mentions a fire in Lowtower that killed 20 people and injured others. A spark of sympathy brushes my mind, but it’s quickly snuffed out by a flood of sheer desensitization.
As I look through my mobile, trying to see what the chip added, I see a new contact. I call the number. It rings briefly, and then the sound is replaced with the familiar voice of the veiled person from a few days prior. They had proposed I work as a double agent against one of the most immensely powerful and influential corporations not just in this city, but in this country. I was, and still am, seriously considering their offer.
They say, “Hello.” I wait a moment to see if they’re going to say anything else. They don’t. I break the silence.
“Hi. Uh . . . it’s me, the guy from the plaza. I’m ready to make my decision. First, though, before I commit to anything, could you tell me what I’m getting if this all works out? What’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for you? Firstly, we can provide you with immense wealth. Second, we have connections. We have power. We can share these things with you. Third, we can provide protection, if necessary. Fourth, and potentially most importantly, some real nice tech from Hightower corps. This stuff is transformative. Honest-to-goodness, military-grade, hard-plated Scratchsilver.”
“Okay, okay, I like where you’re going with this — but what exactly am I going to be doing for you?”
“You are our man on the inside. You will provide us with information on Ashton’s current and future projects, their defense and security objectives, and, crucially, we will need you to acquire sensitive documents, door codes, and potentially cause some property and/or equipment damage.”
“Yeah, yeah, I see what you’re saying but . . . how much danger am I actually going to be in? I mean, I think you and I both know that Ashton doesn’t play nice with stuff like this, and I have no reason to believe that you guys are going to play nice either.”
“It’s true that Ashton’s violent tendencies are certainly a risk here. That’s a risk when meddling in the affairs of practically any corporation in this city. First, I recommend you get some better Silver. Going in unaided isn’t going to cut it. Second, we can and will guide you through every step of the process. Third, we mean you no harm. The only people you need to worry about is Ashton, and if everything goes as planned, they won’t be an issue.”
I hesitate for a moment, then, grudgingly, I say, “Okay. I’m in. Call me when it’s time.”
Fear is piercing through me, not only the fear of breaking multiple laws, but also the terror of betraying a corporation that, if I am found out, could have me and every member of my surviving family wiped off this plane of existence in an instant. The funny thing is, I think, no one would care. My death would be like a grain of sand disappearing from a beach. I am expendable and, for all intents and purposes, completely unremarkable. Despite my extreme unease, I also feel a strange surge of euphoria. I may be risking it all, but if I succeed, if it works out — I will achieve true, pure freedom.
Over the next few days, I go to work as usual. My routine is painfully mundane compared to the glory-filled future I’ve imagined for myself, but I push on anyway. I make a brief trip into the nicer part of Lowtower, finding my way through the maze-like corridors bathed in fake sunlight to a neon-lit Silver-Grafter clinic surrounded by an incessant buzzing.
After I tell the bored secretary what I’m looking for, a scraggly man with unnervingly forgettable facial features leads me into a large room filled with sharp-edged machines with clumps of wires sticking out like bird’s nests. The Silver-Grafter puts me to sleep. When I wake up, I feel like a new man. I am a new man, albeit an extremely sore one. Along with the mild (but irritating) perpetual taste of blood in my mouth, my legs have been outfitted with pistons and joints, my vision is overlaid with a holographic display, and a brand-new neural chip allows near-unlimited access to the latest and greatest file-snatchers and system-killers. I’ve made myself into a corp-killer. Now, I sit and wait for the organization to call.
Sure enough, they do.