Lost and Found

Elon finds trouble in a dystopian cyberpunk world.

“You see Elon, two kinds of people are outside at night. Those who get shot and those who shoot” was what Jack had said the night before he died falling down some stairs. Of all the ways a man could die nowadays I never thought it would be stairs.
A person never knows what their last words will be. It could be something as simple as “I'm not hungry right now” or “Oops.” Jack's words were advice, like they always were. True to that big brother character he wanted to be around Elon. If Elon could give Jack some advice now it might be something like “You should really tie your shoes before you try stairs.”
Elon was looking at the ground, its texture and ware, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as efficiently as possible when something caught his eye. It was a small bit of plastic just off the edge of the sidewalk. He squatted quick to pick it up and gave it a glance over. It was an info-stick, its casing cracked and worn, caked in rubber dust and boot grime. The echoing squeal of tires forced Elons hand into his pocket.
He edged around the bend to see a duo of Public Enforcement Officers, AmeriCorp's own privatized police force. Each one seven full feet of the latest in military grade cyberware. Every time Elon saw a PEO he thought of the old Pre-Corp Takeover protest videos he'd seen, illegal protests being violently broken up, necks locked in 'Borg death-grips, crowds shot to pieces with surgical accuracy. Elon shivered.
The PEO across the street looked different than ones he'd seen before though. The black stamped metal on their cheeks gave way to ghostly bone, grinning and silent. They were designed to invoke fear. These ones looked sleeker, lighter than the 8^th gen, with more impressive leg structure. They must have been the new 9^th gen Elon had been hearing about on the net. Elon watched them as they broke down a door and leapt up several flights of stairs after whoever they were hunting, doing so with disturbingly little effort.
Elon quickly slipped down a side ally in an attempt to avoid dealing with them fingers crossed in hopes that he wouldn't run into any more trouble. He walked and walked until the lights of the city started to whiz to life, a twisting lattice of light and glass, concrete and steel. They blinked on in a disordered manner, making it look as if they had to remind one another in turn that the sun had set.

The streets would start their slow pooling, filling to the brim with every variety of ne'er-do-well. It was a breeding ground for disease and crime; from black market surgeons to weapon rentals. Even the corp-nations often operated under night's shroud, raiding and warring with each-other for dominance. He could hear them now, buzzing about in their black quad-rotor copters. They seemed unusually busy tonight, as if they were searching for something.
The gunshots started then, some more distant than others. Elon kept his eyes low and walked on awhile longer, finally coming to his apartment complex. He buzzed in and made his way up the seven flights of worn stairs passing a collapsed man on the way. Elon couldn't tell if the man was dead or unconscious but figured the cleaner drones would get to him. He closed the door to his room and felt the tension of the night flush from his body as he locked and dead-bolted his door.
Elon sighed and flopped onto his bed. His eyes drifting lazily around his small room, it's yellow stained walls telling the story of countless years of cigarette smoke. Elon didn't care much for space; he was just happy to have a place on the safer side of the city. It was all much preferable to life in and around the hell on earth that was the Megaslums, a hell that Jack helped him leave behind.

People were rats, scrambling for crumbs that dropped from the tables of big business. Elon and Jack were exception. They'd done things that still kept Elon up some nights, although whatever happened, Elon remembered to breath deep. Jack always said that air is the only thing a man can get for free anymore, so he needed to enjoy it.
Elon slid his pocket-comp from his pocket, reaching over to his nightstand for his pair of virtual goggles. He strapped them around his head and dove into the net. He floated about, free from his worldly concerns for a time. Drifting through the info-market to post up today’s data haul he'd snatched from some chinaman he tailed for nearly an hour.

He flipped over to a freelance site he frequented, scanning through posted jobs. Today it seemed to be nothing but assassinations and heists, dangerous jobs that Elon made a habit to avoid when he could afford to.

Finding nothing interesting and getting hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion, he took his goggles off and decided to take a needed rest. It had been a very draining day. He lay back in his bed, feeling old box springs as they stabbed into his back, a comforting reminder that he was home. Staring out the window at the city lights, Elon drifted away for a time.
He awoke soaked and panting, fresh thoughts of wrestling for a knife in a Megaslum trash heap danced across his mind. He worked on regaining his breath as he realized the nightmare for what it was. He stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns of screaming faces in its spackled midst, rain pounding against his lone window.

He rolled to his side and felt a stab, something in his pocket. He reached into his pocket with a sort of confusion. What was it again? Right, right; the info-stick. He fiddled with it in his hands, wiping sleep from his eyes, and wondering what sort of data might lie on this little chunk. He imagined all sorts of possibilities. Maybe it had passwords on it. Maybe it contained blueprints for a secret weapon. Maybe he would be rich. Maybe it was just some kid's collection of porn or pirated software. Elon curiosity tugged at him and he reached for his pocket comp.
He plugged the small, dusty thing in. It loaded up right away, revealing several documents with extension tags he didn't recognize. He did a rudimentary search on them, finding that, whatever they were, they were very heavily encrypted files. He saw his social bubble in the corner of the screen pop open.
The tag read
VaguePenitence: Looks like you got ahold of something you shouldn't have, Mr. Diserva.
Elon read the message over again. Who was this? It had to be some sort of script jockey surely. They were probably trying to jack into his pocket-comp right now to steal his data. He chuckled. They didn't know who they were dealing with.

Elon felt cool and prepared. He tapped in a few quick commands sending a virus that would lock them out of their own comp. He'd show them. He'd sell their info to the PEO and make a nice little sum. PEO didn't like hackers. He could almost imagine the look on the stupid kids face when he saw his plan had backfired.
VaguePenitence: Hahahahaha

VaguePenitence: Nice try kid.
VaguePenitence: But you'd better run this file.
Elon received an executable file and angrily typed a message in return.
NimbleJack: Do you think I'm some kind of idiot? Why would I run a virus you sent me?
VaguePenitence: The PEO are probably almost at your apartment.
Elon started to type a response when he heard a distant but familiar squeal of tires. He found his hand gripping the pistol he kept at his side, before he glanced back down at the screen.
VaguePenitence: They're here for that info-stick you somehow got your hands on.

VaguePenitence: If you want to survive.
VaguePenitence: Hang onto that info-stick and run the file I sent you.
VaguePenitence: It will make you invisible for awhile.
Elon's heart skipped beats as he ran the file and snatched the info stick. He could feel the big steps of the PEO shake the floor as they stomped up the stairs to his apartment. He glanced at the door, a panic setting over him. He looked back at his pocket-comp, it flashed PROGRAM RUNNING.
Elon's apartment door blew into pieces as it made contact with a full 'Borg foot, exploding like it was Styrofoam instead of oak. The debris shotgunned through the room, shattering the apartment's one window and filling his bed and dresser with shrapnel. Elon hugged a wall tightly as two PEOs blew past himas quickly as the door had. They were like a wrecking crew, tearing apart his bed and floor in an instant, looking for the thing Elon had in his pocket. He held his breath, the file her ran must have taken him off their sensors somehow.
Elon carefully slid past the frantic PEO and out the door. He rushed down the stairs in a panic, his legs moving so fast he almost fell several times. When he made it to street level, his feet pounded wet concrete as he tried to distance himself from his apartment complex. He turned down an alley and then up another, trying to lose anything that might be following him.
Elon stopped, his breath coming in sharp gasps, crouching low behind an old dumpster, soaked from the deluge. His legs were numb and his chest burned. He looked at his pocket-comp and saw several messages.
VaguePenitence: Rooting for you! Let me know if you make it out.
VaguePenitence: The file I gave you should hide your pocket comp from the surv-grid.
NimbleJack: Why didn't those peo rip my head off!?!?!?!?
VaguePenitence: They're full borg.
VaguePenitence: You can hack a full borg's vision.
VaguePenitence: Make things invisible to them.
VaguePenitence: You're welcome!

Elon heard quadrotors, over the torrential downpour. He felt their buzz shake the air around him. He glanced out from behind the dumpster, where he could see reflections of searchlights on the city glass. People had gone inside and the streets were empty, save for trash and PEO vehicles speeding towards his apartment. His attention returned to his phone.
VaguePenitence: That certainly stirred the hive didn't it?
NimbleJack: What the f**k is on this info-drive?
VaguePenitence: Information vital to the resistance. We need you to bring it to us.
NimbleJack: The resistance? You guys actually exist?
VaguePenitence: We sure do! We really need whats on that drive though.
VaguePenitence: If you can find a sewer grate, you should be able to avoid the PEO.
Elon looked about, spotting one in the street. Glancing about the avenue, he waited for a break between the searchlights. Elon planned the sequence out in his head. He would run out, grab the handle, pull the cover off, and jump down the hole. His hands shook. He ran his muscles through the actions over and over again as he waited for the right moment. He took several deep breaths.
Now! He dashed across the street and slid the grate off in one smooth motion. His heart raced as his feet disappeared into the dark. He was waiting for his feet to hit the ground or water but it took longer than he imagined. He smashed hard into concrete, his whole body jolted with the impact. His face slamming into the rung of a ladder. He didn't imagine it being this far of a fall.
Elon sat in a daze, probably with a concussion as his eyes grasped for vision in the black tunnel. His legs pulsed almost a hard as his head did. The smell of human waste and charred flesh filled his nostrils. He reached for his pocket-comp, needing light, and sent another message.
NimbleJack: I'm in. What now?
VaguePenitence: Now you need to make your way downstream.

VaguePenitence: I'll message you when you're close.
VaguePenitence: Watch out for rat catchers.
He turned his pocket-comp light on and looked about the passage. It was lined with the corpses of dozens of rats with holes burnt through them. Catchers were sewer patrol bots mounted with high power lasers. They patrolled the sewers of the city and took care of Vermin and people like Elon using it to dodge illegal situations.

He started to make his way downstream, following the instructions he was given, the cold disgusting water running past his legs, soaking into his pant-legs. The stench filled him to the brim causing him to gag every so often. Stumbling over piles of filth and meat as he watched for any sign of the catchers.

After awhile Elon got into a rhythm of trudging through the muck. His legs burned but his mind started to wander. What if they let him join the resistance? Would he accept it? Jack always said that the resistance was our only hope. The only way to escape the grasp of the corp-nations. Elon wondered what the resistance needed on the info-stick in his pocket. Maybe it was information showing corporation backstabbing amongst corps they were supposed to be partners with.
All at once, one of the tubes ahead of Elon filled with a bright red. He heard the screech of a dying rat. Looking around he saw nowhere else to go but up a nearby ladder. He climbed hard and fast, terrified at the thought of having his life melted away by an uncaring bot. The drones just filled things with holes until they stopped moving, their programing was basic but effective.

The buzz of the catcher's rotors grew louder. Elon held his breath, his fingers crossed in hope that the drone wouldn't notice him, trying to will his tired legs to stop shaking. As it slowly hovered by, Elon could almost feel the heat of the laser passing through his body. It was inevitable the thing was going to find him, and then, silence. The sound of buzzing fading into the rushing waters. He breathed a bit easier, filled with a sense of relief and eager to get out of this rotting, drone-filled, death tube. He carefully worked his shaking legs back down the ladder.

After a time, Elon made his way to the river outlet. Was this where they wanted him to go? Almost as if reading his mind his pocket-comp buzzed. The sound reminded Elon of the catcher, he shuddered.
VaguePenitence: Go back to the last ladder, I'm outside.
Elon climbed up the ladder as the cover slid open. He looked up and saw the face of a woman, her eyes were different colors, one orange with bits spinning and adjusting, the other an unnaturally pale blue.
“Hello, Elon,” She said, reaching a hand down to help him out of the sewer. “You certainly smell like a lilac breeze.” her smile wrinkled oddly around a circular implant behind her cheekbone.

“You try dodging through a drone filled sewer with PEO on your tail,” he joked meekly, pulling the info stick out of his pocket and handing it to her.

“Oh believe me kid, I have” she took it from him. She fumbled around in a bag at her side, pulling out a rusty metallic ring and handing it to Elon. “Put this on,” she said.
Elon fastened the ring around his neck. “What is this?” he asked. “Some sort of telepathic device?” She didn't answer with anything but a pained smile as she pulled a small box with a switch out of her bag.
“Sorry kid, the corps have devices that can read memories and we don't have anything close to that kind of tech”
“Oh? Then what is this thing? Are you gonna wipe my memories before you induct me into the resistance?”
“Its a cortex bomb kid, we can't take any risks. It's for the greater good and your sacrifice will be remembered.”

The sky was a deep obsidian. The stars of the city lights shone in the distance, blurred behind heavy waves of rain. Elon stared at her in disbelief. The world seemed to freeze for a moment when he reached for his pistol. It was too late, though. The girl had already flipped the switch.

Elon felt the thing explode. His world spun and he hit the ground. His ears pounding a high pitched scream as he reached up to feel his face. His left ear was missing but the old bomb must have misfired, or been defective, because Elon was still alive. He leveled his breathing and tried to make sense of things. He saw the girl above him. She spat at the ground and talked fast on her pocket-comp.
Elon stood up on shaky legs as the 'Borg girl stared on in disbelief. He pushed hard with his left hand against the slick gash on the side of his head, trying to stem the bleeding. Her lips looked like they shaped out the words, 'you should be dead' or maybe 'how are you alive.' Elon grinned. “Looks like today isn't your lucky day either, miss.”

He put his weight into it and collapsed her nose with his right fist. She hit the wet ground clutching her face, probably screaming. Elon couldn't hear. He pulled his pistol from his holster with his free hand and put a bullet in her head.
S**t, he thought. Wasn't there more than one? He glanced about. Blood amd water streaming down his arm and onto the pavement. Nobody was around, but she must have been talking to someone. He picked up her pocket-comp, turning it off, and her bag. He darted for the nearest alleyway.

Elon needed to find a street surgeon and a new identity. His breath came in ragged gasps as the bleeding continued. He pulled out his own Pocket-comp tapping in the security code and flipping over to something Jack had made him set up.

“Now Elon,” he had said, “If you ever make it bad with the PEO, or get real messed up, its good to have a street surgeon on hand, give you a new ID and a fresh mask.”
Bless you Jack. Elon called the number Jack had given him and a man with a soft voice answered. Elon told him everything that had happened and the doc said he'd be around shortly to pick him up. Elon slumped against the wall as his vision blurred, the wet alleyway becoming distant before going dark.

Author's Note

I've done a couple drafts and am considering expanding this into a fuller work.