~The Fix-Up~
The rain beat down on the oil slicked streets of new Boston, and I found myself instinctively pulling my torn, faded jacket closer to my chrome skin. I looked up at the rain, squinting through the blurry neon haze.
“Time for a tune up.”
I turn into the alley, pulling the nusmoke to my lips and lifting my hand, watching my palm glow red. I hear the crackle as the tip lights against my hand. Who’d’ve guessed that heatsink implant would be used like this?
Suddenly, I hear a sound behind me, and instinct screams at me to point and shoot. In an instant, my pulser is drawn, I’ve whipped around, and I’m aiming at whoever is tailing me. I catch myself before my finger lands on the trigger, however. My eyes scan my target, already drafting up the BOLO in my mind: shaved head, silver synths across his face and arms. He whimpers and his hands fly upwards.
“Don’t shoot! It’s me boss!” He sputters. My eyes go wide, then squint in annoyance. It’s Casey.
“Jesus kid, how many times have I told you not to lurk out here?!”
I pick my nusmoke up off the ground, wiping the grime off the metal filter.
“What’ve you got for me?” My tone levels out, the anger quickly fading.
“The 9ers saw DeMarcus and his gang heading for the pier, boss. That’s gotta be where Sasha is held! You gonna help, boss?”
I’ve already turned, continuing down the alley.
“Call the cops. My work is done. I’m just a private eye, kid, not some ‘slinger.”
~
“Just can’t seem to stay sunny, can it?”
My splicer, Holly, looks out the window for a beat before she turns back to me. Her hands are slick with my Nublood as she tweaks my arm synths. My free hand is wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the ice cutting through the annoying heat of her workshop. I feel my mind drifting back to Casey’s info, the burn of the whiskey unable to cut through my worry for Sasha.
“It’s NEVER sunny, Holly. ‘Swhat happens when the arctic circle melts.”
She frowns a bit, pausing for a moment before resuming her diligent work, eyes plastered at my arm’s internals.
“Must be hard for you. Decades of development in the synth business and there’s still no practical solution for water proofing. Keeps me in business, at least.”
I hear the snap of my synth’s panelling and the feeling returns to my arm. I glance down, giving a curt nod before standing and reaching for my shirt.
“What now, detective?” I hear Holly ask, wiping her hands on her apron.
With a flourish, I slide my arms into my jacket, hand resting on my holstered pulser. Muscle memory from the war.
“Now? I’ve got a girl to find. Bill my office.” I call out.
I step into the familiar air of the city. The ambient smell of petroleum and smoke feels like a warm hug from a cold parent. If it were up to the city, I’d have bled out in an alleyway years ago. But the old girl can’t rid of me so easily. I begin walking. The cracked pavement crunching under my boots as I pick up speed. I’m running towards the docks. I’m running to save Sasha.