Haullucination

The engine rattled inside the nose section of T-12 Techno-IR truck. Scott felt nothing and heard no noise from behind the wheel. The cabin vibrated at first then the central computer came beeping on and the vibration stopped. Scott cracked his neck, first left then right, and he pushed the gas pedal.
He had been a trucker since remembered and even at the age of thrity seven, he still didn’t know what his deepest desire in life was. All he knew was that the situation in Neo-Tehran was utterly messed up and that he hated his employers. He knew he only needed an excuse to do something crazy out of his head, but no matter how much he searched he found nothing. He shifted the truck’s gear to heavy and climbed a slight slope in the factory's yard and then drove for the exit. He wasn’t planning on going straight home tonight. Scott's job was a routine of loading tons of scrap metals and unloading them at another storage. He worked on company property, the old and fractured T-12 truck with the logo of KIANI industries labeled on its door. He liked his job, but he also hated working for a company.
Scott stopped the truck by the exit and lowered the window and hanged a paper out of the window for the guard. The man who guarded the entrance was a middle aged fanatic, as Scott said, who worked all his life and achieved nothing than numerous decreases, because apparently God suffered the ones he loved.
“Finally checking in on the wife and the child Scott?” said the guardsman as he looked over the paper with his cigarette's burned ashes hanging loosely, just like the cigarette itself.
“Gotta pay them a visit every now and then, so…” Scott looked forward impatiently.
“give a kiss to your little daughter from me, will you?” the guardsman signed the paper and returned it to Scott. “Good night Scott.” He smiled
“You too, Eb.” Scott nodded and drove away.
He always lied about his private life and family wherever he worked. He even forged fake documents to prove his words, but no one ever got to see little Elahe up close or meet Janine, his wife.
His lies were only parts of his plan for blending in the fanatic society of Neo-Tehran, filled with Muslims who openly opposed cyber surgery, cybernetics and human augmentations or any other technological modification made on a person.
Even in Night City, he could at least feel at home a little, but in here in Neo-Tehran it was different. Scott saw nothing more than discrimination and murders. Surprisingly, the city was still kept at peace with all the violence and enormous illegal human augmentations in every corner. The riots and the gang wars had changed nothing at all. The whole anti-techism movement seemed to be only a mask for an even uglier face.
The neon lights raced pass him, disappearing in the mirrors as quickly as their reflections appeared in the windshield. His truck roared in the lonely streets of Nuasie. He saw young punks on walkways roaming freely in groups or individuals but that was all two or three people present. Unbelievably they weren’t arrested just yet and that alone was new to Scott, every-damn-time. As his sight roamed out of the road, a transgender woman with glowing undercut hair ran across the street. Halfway across, she noticed Scott’s hauler for the first time and froze where she was out of fear. Scott pushed the emergency brakes and honked his way to a full stop. His heart beat like a stereo speaker playing a hard dubstep song on the highest volume. The plastic tiers burned and screeched on the asphalt and the truck finally stopped moving. The headlights shone additional glow on the woman’s hair. She had implants on the left side of her head where the hair was bound to grow. To show off your cyberwares like that? such courage was rare to be found in this city.
The woman turned her head and ran away the moment Scott’s gaze fell on her. Scott turned the truck to right and sped through the Avenue without double thinking about what happened.
Three blocks away, Scott stopped his T-12 hauler in front of the same bar he drank at every other night. The summer breeze touched the plastic layer on his skin as soon as he climbed down the truck’s stairs.
Pink neon lights shone on his face, he narrowed his eyelids and adjusted the brightness and walked over the truck and clearly saw what the pink neon light represented. It belonged to the bar and spelled “Crewdog” with bold noir themed font on a pure black plate above the door.
Scott walked in, same as always, Crewdog was almost empty. He could only see the people called “Freaks” by the majority of the society. At this hour of the night, seeing people like them rebuilt his memories of the Night City. He could call these men and women “friends” any time he wanted and they would gladly do the same.
Instead, he walked up to Jeremiah, the American-African bar tender who didn’t shy away from showing off his red hand. He barely left the bar and the police didn’t care enough to search bars for punks like him, what did he have to fear?
“One of these days, they’re gonna catch you red handed, Jerry.” Scott punned and took a seat behind the counter.
“They wish, Scotty.” Jeremiah laughed. “All this shit show is for distraction, boy. They call us freaks so we don’t call 'em thieves.” Jeremiah laughed and poured Scott a glass of cold whiskey.
“I guess you’re right about that.” Scott held the glass up and then emptied it. He looked over his shoulder at the group of younglings with neon eyes and wire hairs who sat around a table, clapped glasses and laughed freely. Among them a redhead with purple neon eyes stared at him for a moment. He turned back to Jeremiah. “How’s the business, Jerry?”
“Well it’s pre-tty good these days.” Said Jeremiah and poured him another drink. “How 'bout you? You done anything good today? You look tired.”
Scott took a sip and smirked, “I don’t know Jerry, I think I know what I’m doing, but it seems like I’m confused.”
“confused?” Jeremiah started cleaning the counter with a napkin that absorbed liquids on touch. He smirked and tilted his head. “Excuse us, but man who isn’t confused in this hell-of-a-shit-show.” He threw the napkin down under the counter and leaned forward on his elbows. “Listen, you just gotta do what you like, man. Remember Night City?” They both looked at Jeremiah's bionic arm. “We used to lose our shits on drugs, go out and play the badass samurai shit-show, tsk!” he shook his head and paused. “Good times.”
The TV started playing a loud music and stole away the quietness inside the bar. It was the same shitty rhythm played when the news came on, Scott thought to himself. The man on the screen was surely the washed-up cousin of someone in the broadcasting in a pretty suit. It was obvious fr his looks, even a child could confirm it. “Look at that faggot.” Jeremiah said and washed Scott’s glass then stood to watch the TV.
“In today’s incident at Pak's Residential, fourteen children were injured and a total of thirty-five deaths has been reported.” The anchorman said and the screen changed into screen shots of the Pak Residential in Ekbatan. A total of twelve complexes that formed the biggest residential neighborhood in Tehran. “The head of Investigation Team, Mehrad Sarvary, claims the terrorists were armed not only by guns, but also remote missiles capable of destroying the whole neighborhood.” Jeremiah turned off the TV and put on a rock music on low volume.
“What a shit show.” Jeremiah drank a glass of water and slapped the empty glass on the counter. The sound forces Scott to look back at him. “KIANI makes missiles too, you knew that? And you work for 'em.”
“I don’t make the missiles.” Scott shrugged.
“Didn’t say you do, man.” Jeremiah turned his back and adjusted a few bottles of wine behind the counter. “Just saying you’re a part of it.” Scott stared at the metal counter colored and design like old wooden ones he felt sorry for himself but before he could know a soft hand grabbed his wrist.
“You look like you need a hand.” The hand that held his wrist belonged to the girl with purple neon eyes. “Want a warm bed tonight, babe?” she whispered in Scott’s left ear and licked it.
Scott stole his hand back “Sorry darling, not tonight.” He said. The girl growled and exposed her white teeth then walked back to her friends and they all laughed at her. The way her friends laughed seemed like she had lost a bet or something.
“What a shit-show!” Jeremiah grimaced at Scott. “What’re you doing, son? Flying Ace comes right at you and you shoot it down? Man, you can’t be real.”
“That’s right, Jerry, I’m not.” Scott sighed and slapped a pack of coins on the counter and left his seat to walk out. Jeremiah shrugged and put on a hard-rock music for the young ones and Scott left.
Outside Crewdog the sound of faint rock music mixed with the city noises. Sirens and engines roared about and all fell silent in every back alley that was a dead end. It took a few moments for Scott to walk back to his truck. He pushed his thumb on the finger print sensor and locked the rest of his fingers around the handle. The door clicked and he pulled the handle, opening the door.
Inside the cabin, Scott grabbed his pack of Magnum cigarettes from the dashboard. Magnum's packs were still made of recycled paper. Painted red with narrow white strands and a huge golden 'M' in the middle encircled by “Davis & Sons” in smaller sizes. Scott opened the pack and smelled it. Magnum was the most famous brand of cigarettes because of two reasons. The next to nothing amount of smoke their tobacco released upon burning, and the sweet chocolate taste with incredible smell. It was an expensive brand compared to the Iranian Hash-Par or the Japanese Kemuri, but worthy of its price for subtle smokers like Scott who wished to brighten the mood and enjoyed taking a brake any time at work.
Scott pulled one cigarette out and used the truck’s lighter to light it up. The tobacco burned and the smell of chocolate filled the cabin in a second. Scott wasn’t one of those truckers who smoked driving, he liked to park at a corner and look around as he smoked. He sucked at his Magnum, his sight fell on a hooded man who stood in the corner of an alleyway with a punk couple in leather jackets and torn jeans, hand to hand in front of him. Scott exhaled and cracked his knuckles, finger by finger. He watched the three of them in the alleyway and smoked for a few moments then climbed down the truck. He walked to the alleyway and tossed away his cigarette halfway across the street. The couple laughed, the girl kissed the boy on the cheeks and they walked away. Scott put on his cap and pulled the tip down to hide his face. “Don’t you think you’re acting a bit obvious?” he told the man then raised his eyes to see him. His face was covered with shadow so Scott had to turn up the brightness in his eyes to see clearly. “Amateur!” Scott said when he found out under the hood a seventeen years old boy hid himself. His forehead was soaked with sweat, no cybernetics on this one.
“I’m… I’m just standing here, sir.” Said the boy with shaky hands and swallowed his fear.
“No worries, kid.” Scott pulled out some cash out of his Pocket. Rials. “here,” he handed the money over. “One paper.”
The boy looked around and took the money and shoved it in his pocket, then bowed to grab the drug from his backpack. When he opened the zip, Scott saw a whole stack of spray cans inside. He sneered and put the drugs in his pocket. “Better stick with the art, you don’t belong in this business.”
The boy said nothing and Scott walked away. He went back to his truck and turned the engine on again. The same vibration and the computer's beep. He drove off on the lonely street.
Home was dark, Farrah turned on the lights when Scott walked in and closed the door. “welcome, Scott.” Farrah said, her voice came through the microspeakers planted all around the house, soft and clear.
“Hello Farrah,” Scott took off his jacket and threw the cap away. “Did Malcom call today?”
“Scott, you had twenty missed calls from Malcom.”
“Right…” Scott sounded disappointed. He went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water, then threw the glass in the sink along with the rest of dirty dishes he had to wash some day. “You’re talking nonsense again, Farrah.” Scott said and went to Farrah's control panel in the living room.
“No I’m not, Mark.” Farrah said.
“I’m gonna reset you.”
“Of course you will.”
Scott sighed, removed Farrah and then plugged her back in.
“Got a little toy for myself. “ he told Farrah. “Lock the doors I’m just gonna relax for a while.” He sat on the sofa and waited for Farrah.
“Whatever you say, Scott.” Farrah chuckled unusually and Scott took out the paper of Glitch. A cheap hallucinogenic drug he bought from the boy in the alleyway. Glitch came in pills on sticker papers, hanging on a tissue, you had to remove as many as you wanted manually. Scott only needed one, he removed one pill and put it on his tongue.
It tasted like bonbons, but a hundred times more intense and sensible. He leaned back on the sofa and let his head rest back, looking at the ceiling. The wirings of Farrah were visible, hanging out of the ceiling. He had to repair it, but never cared enough to do so. The wires were blue, red, green or even purple. Scott couldn’t exactly say. They vibrated around and pixels fell from them, diving into Scott’s mouth. He sat up with a sudden move and fell down a dark hole. “Fuck!” he managed to scream and looked up. He saw his own teeth, dashing away as he went deeper in the hole. Around him turned into rainbow colors. Scott landed on a TV dead channel with his face. Red noises filled his ears then stopped. The screen went off and absorbed him, he sunk like a ship in an ocean of lead. Beneath him the Nexus pixelated and sucked him in a floating upside down view of Tehran's streets. He flew around. Pixels blew out and sent sharp shard his way, he dodged them, or at least that was what he thought. He started falling outside the floating city, into a sea of void around it. He was certain that he would die if he hit the void, but then Farrah's wires grabbed him by the neck. He fainted in a second and all was black.
When he woke up his truck had hit a gas tanker in the KIANI main storage, blowing half the warehouse and setting fire to the rest. The window was shattered in his face and the computer’s warning noises echoed in his ears. Everything was too bright for him to see. The nose of his truck had caught on fire, he knew half the truck was inside the gas tank. He stretched his right arm to grab his pack of Magnums. Only then he realized he had a piece of metal in his right shoulder. He pulled the scrap out and blood ran out along with all the sparks from his wirings. He finally grabbed the cigarettes and kicked the door open. The door broke and fell off, he threw himself out and got to his feet in no time. He held the Magnums in his right hand and kept a his left on his injured shoulder and walked away from the burning truck and the blown out missile storage on the other side of the tanker.