404

Slash was in before the defensive programs could react, shredding the ICE with a grace saved for the naturally talented. Once he was inside the perimeter, he began to climb among the neon crystalline towers of stored information with ease, deftly leaping from one to the next. Now his task was to locate the data and jack out. He was so absorbed in his assignment that he completely missed the presence of something… not right.1

He eventually found the data, but as soon as he retrieved it, a silver figure appeared out of nowhere. He couldn’t see it that well, for it seemed to blink in and out of existence, but he got the impression of fangs. 2

Slash jacked out and snapped the electrodes from his head. He was still breathing hard, and he began to break out into a cold sweat. After deciding that it was just a vision born of his insomnia and poor eating habits, he decided to take a shower, but before he could make it to the bathroom, his phone rang. 3

“Yeah?” Slash asked the receiver.4

“You have it. Usual time, usual place,” answered a voice that reminded Slash of a composite of every person ever born.5

“How-” Slash realized that he was speaking to a dial tone.6

Goddamn that Cipher. How the hell did he know?7

Once he put the receiver back down, Slash checked his watch. Ten, that would barely give him enough time to catch the bus to meet Cipher. Shower forgotten, he threw a jacket on and ran out.8

9

The Danger Zone was just another sleazy bar in a city full of them. Everything from the glasses to the walls seemed covered in a grimy film that couldn’t be scrubbed clean. It had a small clientele, mainly people who would rather drink alone to forget their miseries. The bar itself had a sort of tangible haze of apathy. Whenever Slash walked in, no one looked up, no one knew who he was, no one would remember him when he left. It was the perfect place to handle private business. 10

Slash walked in and took a table in the corner. He was early. Slash fingered the chip in his pocket. Didn’t know what was on it, wasn’t paid to. All he knew about it was that Cipher was paying him a fat sum to retrieve it. That was just as well. His clients were entitled to their privacy as long as he was entitled to his fee. Slash ordered and waited.11

Before long, a large figure in a trench coat and fedora took the seat opposite him. It wore a pair of mirrored sun glasses and a brown wool scarf. Slash had always idly wondered what Cipher had to hide, but whenever he asked, Cipher just muttered something about a skin condition. It didn’t matter all that much anyway. 12

“Got my money?”13

A gloved hand slid a bundle of wadded up bills across the table to Slash. Converting old currency to credits was a pain, but Cipher insisted on it for an added level of anonymity. No one could trace outdated currency as it changed hands often. Usually those hands belonged to people and organizations that the authorities did not want to bother for fear of their lives. Again, this was just as well to Slash. As long as he got paid, he was happy.14

“My chip?”15

Slash retrieved the chip from his pocket and placed it on the table. 16

“Good. New contract. Good pay. In or out?”17

Slash, who always liked good pay, nodded.18

Cipher reached in to his coat and pulled a large envelope out. Then, he stiffly got up and left. Cipher had no problem cutting through the group of model-fit young men now pouring in through the door. People seemed to unconsciously shy away from him to leave his bulky figure enough room to pass easily. Cipher seemed to have that effect on people.19

20

Slash contemplated opening the packet, then decided against it, sliding it into his own jacket. On a whim, he looked back towards the door, and into six pairs of burning red eyes. Shit! His eyes flickered towards the exit, betraying his unease. He managed to regain his business demeanor by the time they were upon him. One sat down across from him while the rest stood around him conveniently blocking any route of escape.21

“Hello, Slash.” He sounded confident, which made sense for a man who could kill Slash where he sat with just the wrong look.22

“What the fuck do you want?” 23

“You know what I want. You’ve made my employers very angry, you know.”24

“Who are your employers?” already dreading the answer.25

“Please forgive me, my colleagues and I represent the private interests of a group that you just stole a confidential bit of information from.”26

How the hell did everyone always know?27

“I assume you want it back, then,” was all that Slash could think to say.28

“Indeed.”29

“Well you wouldn’t mind if I took a piss before we got down to business, would you?” There was a window in the back just big enough for him to squeeze through. Once outside he could escape to his apartment, grab his deck, and then… what? It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he got away.30

“One of my men has to accompany you, naturally.”31

“Naturally,” Well, it was worth a shot.32

Slash ambled to the bathroom as slowly as possible, weighing his odds. They were not good. He took a urinal near the door; his shadow leaned against the wall opposite. The bathroom was not that small, but Slash could swear he felt hot breath down his neck. As he walked to the sink, there was a whisper in his ear:33

“You know, I could just kill you and take the chip off your corpse,” he gripped Slash’s right shoulder; his maniacal grin was made more intimidating by his flaming irises, which seemed even more intense. Slash knew that this course of action had already been considered, and decided that he enjoyed breathing too much to stop now.34

“You ever heard of the Cyclops?” Slash asked, his left hand inching towards his pocket. “It’s a mythical beast noted for having only one eye.” His fingers locked around the handle while his thumb flipped the catch. “Wanna know why I asked?”35

“What are you trying to pull, scumbag?” The grin faded.36

“This!” Slash pulled his hand out of his pocket and swung his arm around with all of his might. His switchblade struck the other man directly in his right eye, and instantly pierced the orb, sliding into his brain, wreaking havoc with the man’s synapses. Slash bent down and pulled the blade out of the twitching soon-to-be corpse, and dodged a stray beam of light that shot out of his other eye, burning a hole in the ceiling. My name is Ulysses, punk.37

Slash shot out of the bathroom like a bullet before the others could react. He kept low and weaved like a madman, hoping that his next step wouldn’t find him neatly perforated through the heart. He could hear the screaming, glass shattering, footsteps. He could smell something burning, cauterized flesh. He could see… the door! He burst onto the sidewalk and almost fell headlong into the street. Glancing left, he bolted down an alley that led back behind the bar. Realizing that he was still holding the knife, he flipped the catch and stuffed it back into his pocket before leaping onto the hood of a decrepit car. From there, he catapulted himself at a fire escape ladder, and pulled himself up with his arms. Slash peeked behind him and caught a glimpse of two figures sprinting down the alley towards him. He propelled himself up the narrow stairs to the roof of the building. Finding nothing to throw down the fire escape to slow his assailants, Slash opted to keep running. Reaching the end of the building, he was about to jump, when he fell through a skylight instead. He flailed his arms and caught on to something. Metal grating. Some sort of walkway. He pulled himself up, and wedged himself into the darkest corner he could crawl into. Then he promptly lost consciousness. 38

His fingers burned, and he was bleeding. Looking up, he realized that he wasn’t dreaming, and that it was still dark. There were sirens in the distance, and he figured it best to be nonexistent when the cavalry arrived. Slinking down the stairs, he inspected his surroundings. He was in a giant room with all sorts of metal constructs jutting out at random intervals. Some kind of warehouse? He reached the bottom, and stared into the center of the room. Illuminated by the skylight, there was a pool of something… unpleasant. The dark and murky sludge reminded him of shit, and smelled like death. He thought of what would happen if he did not catch on to the walkway, and decided that the pain in his hands and arms was a much better fate than falling in… that. Remembering his pursuers, Slash punched out a window, and loped away as fast as his strained legs would carry him. As soon as he was reasonably sure there was no one following him, he slowed down to a walk, stuffing his blood covered hands into his pockets. Maybe when he got home, he would have time for a quick shower before he took off. His apartment should be safe for the time being, as he paid for it in cash, and he paid extra for his landlord not to ask questions. It would take them a while to find it, and he was definitely in need of a hot shower and something to eat. He walked home, thinking of how much better he’d feel once he got there.39

Once he reached his block, a massive explosion threw him off his feet. Confused, he stared at what had once been his home. At present, it was a pile of smoldering rubble. Son of a bitch, Slash thought as he searched around for somewhere quiet to bed down for a while and think up what the hell he was going to do next.40

Eventually, he found himself inside an empty subway station. Still hours before daylight, Slash figured he had some time. Reclining on a bench in the most secluded part of the station he could find, Slash promised himself he would just doze off for a few minutes, and then get back to trying to escape death for another day. 41

Slash awoke to something grappling with his watch. Instantly lashing out with his free hand, he found that he had just punched a rat in the face. Hoping he had broken its neck, Slash ran to the restroom to check if the filthy creature had bitten him. 42

Shoving the door aside, he was shocked at what he saw. In the mirror was a pale figure covered in blood. Its ruffled hair was flecked with debris. Its jacket was torn in several places; one slice cutting right across its side was covered in clotted blood. Its hands looked like they had been through a wood chipper, and its face had several cuts running across it. Slash had certainly seen better days.43

He carefully cleaned his hands and face, but when he tried to remove his jacket, Slash felt an unbearable ache in his side. Staring at it, he realized that whatever hit him had not only slashed his jacket, but it had taken a chunk of his flesh as well. Those laser-eyed freaks must have had better aim than he gave them credit for. Then he remembered the one in the bathroom. Whipping the knife out of his pocket, Slash stared at the blade. It was covered in blood, and some sort of thick, white liquid. Vividly recalling the pierced eye, Slash retched into the sink until he was empty.44

As clean as he could make himself, Slash was still a mess. He tried his best to fade into the crowd of early morning commuters, but he failed miserably. Walking back outside, Slash remembered Cipher’s envelope. His deck was destroyed, but he figured he might as well read it anyway. Slash found a corner to lean against and ripped open the seal. The envelope only had one sheet of paper in it. This was odd, as there was usually a detailed description of his mark. This was not the case. Slash removed the letter and began to read:45

Slash, you’ve been made. Get out while you still can. The Neon Spike. Eleven pm. Tomorrow.46