Cyberpunk Novel

Cyberpunk Novel

By: Gavin Pollard

Ch.1: New Los Angeles

New Los Angeles was a city scape as revolutionary as it was a price...

paid in blood. Grey structures in shambles...a memoir of humanity's tragedy that is Capitalism.

Many signs flourished in dismal limelight - their beauty ranging from neon to ultraviolet, in the face of crime and deceit...immortalized by technology that both created and destroyed.

Soulless husks with a soulful persona populated the streets... eternally broken but newly reborn as a result of the transhumanist epoch.

The denizens of New Los Angeles were born to wreak havoc on stability...yet many perished before the realization of their own potential.

Chaos had become the new order. The sublime had become ordinary...and deadly.

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Chroma. The hottest nightclub in New Los Angeles. Neon lights glittered the exterior in a rainbow of photonic expression. Signs presented the events of the night and the week; up-and-coming rocker-boys and rocker-girls getting their first major gig.

The line-up to the club seemed endless. Surprisingly enough, endless was not an understatement. It stretched further than the (human) eye could see. Needles littered the ground like spike strips. The local law enforcement paid no attention to this activity whatsoever.

Near the front of the line stood four young cyberpunks. Two of them appeared human- a young girl with blonde pigtails and a boy with medium length brown wavy hair; but make no mistake, they were equipped with some of the latest sub-dermal implants. The other two individuals were equipped with optical implants and titanium cybernetic arms and sub-dermal arm blades and full-body bio-luminescent tattoos respectively (one of which featured a pulsating Chinese dragon coiling around a tall corporate building).

All four of them were accepted entry but only two left that night. NLAPD arrived on-scene in five minutes and thirty-four seconds. Tables were overturned, marble pillars left in shambles, bar stools dripping with blood. Shards of glass sprinkled the area behind the bar - various alcoholic beverages mixing with the scent of dead flesh and overloaded circuitry. At least 43 casualties confirmed. No witnesses were present - Those lucky to survive had escaped with various cuts, stab wounds, and bullet holes.

The club would be rebuilt and reopened merely a week later - "New happy-hour special...!" the promotional sign would read.

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The drink in the crystal glass was cold; so was its proprietor, perhaps even more so. "Get me another fuckin' drink," was his constant plea for the barkeeps undivided attention.

Welcome to Veracity. Every sin under the sun was not only commonplace here but rejoiced. Reeking of alcohol, piss and blood, the antique wooden stools were rickety and devoid of any support. Cigarette smoke filled the air, imperceptibly but slowly suffocating the lungs of everyone within, as if the concept of consent did not exist.

Fixers of various specialties occupied the back of the club. The extensively augmented bodyguard for hire - Styx; the infamous Rayne Bishop; and the mysterious Solomon Kore - having yet to speak a word to anyone since his arrival five hours prior - despite many attempts from patrons in hopes of being granted access to his legendary services. Kore was keen to observe anything and everything.

Gyrating bodies crowded the dance-floor - the smell of alcohol mixed with sweat and pheromones was more than enough to gag a maggot covered in shit. Electronic-rock compositions were the only partially redeeming quality for Veracity.

The likes of Vex Cassius and Dawn Killah (one of the most popular and controversial rocker-boy and rocker-girl respectively) came here to release their latest vibes to the people. Many fans believed music of this caliber to be 'literally orgasmic', 'life-altering evocative', and even 'the modern religion for the disgruntled soul'.

Among the crowd, a blonde 4"11' assassin known in the streets as 'Fatale Seraph' moved gracefully toward the dance floor - unfettered focus filled her aura; approaching the mark. Breathe in, breathe out. Feel the target...his breath, his heartbeat...ribcage expanding and contracting. Be aware of the surroundings - 'a presence is watching, be careful of him'. Two paces away, the angel of demise unsheathed her dagger.

The throat of corporate Killian Kane was sliced like a gutted fish - blood spilling and spurting outward - body dropping like a meat-bag; the sound was masked by the loudest drop of the bass. The assassin was already exiting from the back of the club within the span of four seconds; Kane's bodyguard hadn't noticed until five seconds after he had fallen, and the screams and cries of shock and pain from the shrapnel not uttered until six. Solomon Kore was the last customer to leave.

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Sunlight gleamed through the reinforced Plexiglas window of the mega-building apartment like a fading day-dream. The interior was worn, with exception of a stainless steel island - recently buffed. Clothes laid strewn as if hit by a megaton nuke - tight black leather pants on the counter, a plain white cropped t-shirt crumpled on the floor, and ruffled dark blue panties on the stained grey couch.

A girl with dirty blonde hair and neon-blue eyes slept peacefully despite the chaos; a very much welcomed visitor left quietly so as to not disturb. Awakening slowly, proportionately long arms to here short stature outstretched, she yawned loudly. Rubbing her eyes, Rylee slid out of the bed smoothly in one motion stretching once again - sticking her stomach outward, arching her back. She sauntered leisurely toward the window, sun beaming down on her slim nude figure. Smiling slightly, she gently moved a stray hair back to its rightful place. The girl itched her left-eye - it bugged out momentarily; one of the side-effects of the no-name color-changing optical implant. "Damn it Lenny, why did I cheap out again", she muttered quietly to herself.

Using her smart home app, she started the coffee machine - the smell soon permeated through the room, and also put on her current favourite song: 'Fuck it' by Vex Cassius. The guitar riffs were edgy and the lyrics were controversial - 'Fucking radical', she mused.

Rylee did not bother to dress right away; instead she had breakfast (two eggs and burnt toast), continued listening to music, all in the buff.

She jumped in the shower, the cold water running through her soft hair, down her face - droplets quickly falling off her eyelids, nose, and lips. Water flowed down her chest, toned stomach - studded with a small crystal belly ring, down to her petite lady bits. She shivered as her back, pert ass, and legs were soaked.

Rylee perused the closet deliberately, 'first impressions are everything'. Eventually, she decided upon the perfect outfit - a black tight strapless dress, Nano-armor undershirt, dark blue pencil skirt, a black silk thong, and black obsidian studded combat boots. No outfit would be complete, however, without a few arms: a concealed Glock 26 Gen 4 (9mm), two identical recently sharpened explosive-tipped throwing knives, and a titanium katana.

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Rayne Bishop cocked his Smith and Wesson Special Edition pistol, pointed it at his victim's head and pulled the trigger without hesitation; faster than one could protest. Mistakes would not be tolerated. Blood and brains splattered on the floor. Fortunately, it was covered in plastic. He shook his head in disappointment. The cleanup crew arrived. Bishop paid them handsomely and left promptly for his next meeting.

He was heading to meet a young eager cyberpunk, looking for a job, presumably to pay the bills for a crappy apartment or perhaps merely a small alcove on the street. Rayne wasn't sure, nor did he care. All that mattered was whether she was qualified for the job and could get it done. Bishop wouldn't pay her too well, as she hadn't earned a reputation yet, but just enough to keep her coming back for more.

Kamryn Dean crossed the street confidently, into the alleyway ahead. She was finally meeting the Rayne Bishop - one of the best fixers in the city. Kamryn silently fan-girled only showing a small smirk on her face. She quickly smartened up as she reached the alley - knowing the meeting place was nearby. She had to appear calm, collected, and most importantly, cool.

Without a word, he patted her down thoroughly, not missing a beat, then asked her a question, "Miss Dean, I presume?"

"Kam, on the street". She coyly replied, then added, "...Mr. Bishop, sir".

"I appreciate your respect sweetheart, but that will only get you so far. Do you have the will and the guts to get the job done?" Rayne replied, patiently waiting to get to the point. He hated small talk.

Kam nodded slowly, he could tell she was trying to act confident but that she was a little bit nervous. Bishop understood why, he was a very dangerous man. "Your target is Yewan Grey. He is the son of a corporate. It does not concern you who he nor his father is. Bring Yewan in dead or alive. If you can capture him alive I might pay you a nice little bonus." Rayne handed her a small package, filled with details about the assignment.

"Consider it done". She winked at him and left, a little wiggle in her gait - Kam's revolver swaying in its holster in time. Kamryn knew it was rude, if not fatally reprehensible, to ask a fixer of his stature for payment before the job was done.

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