Cold wet concrete, the hum of neon, an advertisement for Corella Robotics plays from the PA, "Visit your local ophthalmologist and ask if our new ocular implants are right for you." Connor, a 26 year old man, is standing in the middle of a street, breathing heavily, the heavy rain washed the spattering of blood off his face. His hand gripped a Rutger 9mm revolver, missing four bullets. Four bodies lay around him. Two face down in the gutter, water streaming around them, another leaned against a building with an Umbra Tech Rifle on the ground next to him, the fourth sprawled out next to Connor's feet. The sound of a loud engine snaps Connor out of his daze, as an Aquila, a luxury hover vehicle, passes over. Now, hearing the screams of sirens getting closer, Connor looks around calmly and sees a faintly lit alley. His foot slips on the wet street, and he stumbles his way into the alley.
Neon sign's for old bar's and sex clubs light his path, as Connor continues through the alley. "PLEASE REMAIN CALM, WE ARE HERE TO HELP." Connor can hear the recorded message repeating from the police kuruma speakers. A blue neon sign reads, Blue Bird Night Club, grabs Connor's attention. He opens the door leading inside and is quickly overwhelmed with the loud dance music pounding in his ears, and bright flashing lights blinding him for a moment. Slowly his vision adjusts, and makes his way through the dancing crowd. Passing people wearing bright colored clothing and waving light sticks. Most of them have an empty expression indicating they are on some kind of hallucinogenic. Probably that new, HYPE, that's been going around.
Connor approaches the bar, which is tended by an elaborate amalgamation of robotic arms and motors that fluidly move across the bar, mixing drinks for multiple people at a time. At the top of this contraption, Corella Robotics is printed in bold white text going up the central beam that attaches it to the ceiling. "I'll take an Old Fashioned." As soon as the robot is done with one drink, it immediately gets started on Connor's. The hands switch and pass each drink around, the gears and motors buzz at a high pitch making 3 at a time. Trying to keep an eye on your drink is like playing thimblerig.
Sliding into one of the booths at the back of the club, he takes a sip of his drink. Watching as people dance and grind on each other. He takes out an Omoide Message chip. 'Why do they care so much about you little guy?' Connor thinks to himself as he inserts the device behind his ear into the Omoide port. His eyes glaze over and his expression goes blank. His consciousness falls into the back of his mind and starts looking through the contents of the chip.
Going through file after file, It's just a bunch of junk. Mundane work files, but there's something else, locked behind Ishiki grade encryption. 'Why would "simple" merchants need that kind of protection.' Taking another sip of his drink while he contemplates what to do next. 'I guess there's only one place to go.' He finishes his drink, ejects the chip, and leaves the bar. Conner rented a room at a random capsule hotel to wait out the police patrolling the area. Purchasing holovids to pass the time and food, delivered by rusted droids. After a few days at the capsule hotel, Connor goes to the one person he knows could help.
In Japan town. Connor arrives at an old Japanese style building, the right side covered in graffiti, the alley to the left filled with garbage bags. A wooden staircase leads to the door with a flickering neon sign hanging above that reads Electric Brain. Connor enters the building, closing the shoji door behind him. The room is filled with blinking lights from old school PC's to more advanced PBC's and various other tech.
"Ohh, shit! The one and only Conner has decided to bless my shop with his presence." The man behind the counter said with a London accent and a hint of irritation in his voice. He was wearing lime green coveralls, large round wire frame glasses, and curly brown hair flopped over to the right reaching his shoulder.
"Randall, could we not do this right now? I need a favor."
Randall chukeled, "A favor, seriously? After what you pulled last time? Hell no."
"This isn't like the job with Irene, I promise. I'll pay you an extra twenty-five percent." Conner pleaded
"Double."
"What?! Are you really-" Conner pauses and looks at Randall's face, which looks serious and upset, Conner thinks for a moment with a disgusted look. Then he lets out a disgruntled sigh. "Fine. Double."
Randall gives a nod with a wide smile. "Pleasure doing business with you, old friend. And don't worry, there's not a single runner in all of Japan Town better than me! Alright, Let's take a look-see." Randall grabs the chip and inserts it into a port on his PBC, Personal Brain Computer, similar to the old PC'S from 2030, but specifically made for full dive, instead of the limiting and inefficient monitor. Then Randall plugs a cable from the PBC into his Omoide socket behind his ear, his consciousness falls into the black void of cyberspace where he maneuvers through the files and begins his work on cracking the encryption.
"I hope you weren't sent here to kill me. I'd be pretty helpless right now." Randall says in real space, with a singsong tone. His body limp in his chair, almost lifeless.
"I'm not stupid, You probably have the cams linked in there?" Connor says looking to the corner of the room with a small black camera.
"You're no fun." Randall says disappointed. The camera lens rotates focusing onto Connor. "This could take awhile, if you have anywhere else to be." Randall says in a more serious manner. Connor plops onto a couch at the back of the room. Intent on waiting.
Thirty minutes later. "OH SHIT!" Randall exclaims, pulling himself out of cyberspace, ejecting the chip from his PBC, and quickly standing up looking at Conner. "You gotta go. NOW!"
"Woah, what's going on?" Connor stands from the couch.
"Whoever coded this is good! I tripped a fucking tracker!" Randall says as he throws the chip at Conner and starts shoving clothes, circuits, chips, and any other valuable electronics, light enough to carry, into a neon green duffel bag. "I saved everything I could, but a lot got deleted from a self termination protocol that was part of the same damn trap as the tracker." Randall slams on the table "How was I so careless!"
"Hey, hey! Look, we'll make it out of here ok? Come one, let's go." Connor grabs Randall by the collar and starts pulling him toward the back door.
"Wait." Randall runs toward the computer and types lines of nonsensical code, hits enter and runs out the back door with Conner as all the electronics in the store start sparking and catching fire.
"Was that really necessary?" Connor asks.
"If you knew what's really on that chip you'd do the same."
Conner looks at the chip in his hands with a concerned face and thinks to himself. 'What did I get myself into?'