Vuelo de Neon

Truenos, se escuchan motores a todo volumen de vehículos azul neón surcando por tubos amarillos ficticios que marcaban el principio y el fin de su camino.

De un vehículo a otro se observaban figuras saltar peligrosa y poco hábil de turno en turno, quedaban de pie como titanes haciendo sombra a los gigantescos edificios oscuro y dorado, de concreto como el hielo y cristales pulidos como el sol, donde brillaban rostros sonrientes y tristes, las expresiones exageradas daban vueltas rápidas como si fuera un juego, mensajes enormes corriendo en cintillos corriendo a la velocidad de los vehículos.

Un incendio, una explosión, vehículos fuera de control, las figuras buscaban escapar ahora con mucho mas rapidez pero se encontraban al limite de sus capacidades, otra explosión, mas cercana, luces verdes y rojas hacían eco en los edificios y cristales de los horrendos vehículos obtusos.

No iré a prisión, pensó uno de ellos, un pensamiento compartido con su compañero, y decidió tomar un brinco riesgoso hacia otra serie de vehículos, el color amarillo cortado como cuchillo dejando destellos de luz roja y verde a su paso.

 Los edificios eran como espejos, las figuras reflejadas en ellos, ahora hormigas, contando su terrible historia ante este mundo oscuro. Las miradas ahora enfocadas en ellos daban como resultado un purpura y rosa neón brillando como auras alrededor de ellos, eran cazados, eran famosos, no había tiempo, extendieron los brazos y dieron un ultimo brinco hacia la oscuridad, ángeles sin alas al abismo.

Bruce - Short Story II

Capitol City, Industrial Sector

Bruce woke up yet again, every time it was a different nightmare but it all began the same way.

He had to wake up, that was his recurrent nightmare, always had high hopes of dying in a dream, not happening today. He began his daily routine.

He ate some sausages and eggs from the machine, tasted like plastic, hadn't had a real meal in years now, specially after the crisis in the west had hit hard on the farm land and wiped almost all, if not all, the available farms. A quick bath was next in order, he examined the news feeds, bombed with gonzo material worthy of the early twenty first century, he had stopped caring for all of that, he only checked them for key patches he needed from his contacts, nothing else.

Time for a dress up, black sneakers, jeans, white long sleeved shirt, black hoodie and a blue cap. He knew nothing about fashion, he was looking for comfort, not trying to setup the next five minute trend. Inside that closet was a thirty eight Gianolli revolver, easy to stash, made from materials that could not be picked up easily by detectors or the police.

Next stop, the relays downstairs, he needed to be near so he could pick up a line with his contacts.

He waited for the magical hour, eight in the morning, when his contact would pick up with him and set him up for the next assignment. It was all killing and dicing and slicing, not his cup of tea but it helped him live and pass his idle time, other reasons were there though.

He also did it for the people in the apartment complex in which he lived, horrible conditions, not worthy of any living being no matter who or what it was. It was all for Doña Maria and his kids, who had been left alone by an abusive husband with a debt in blood to some gangs his husband had gotten in trouble with; for Joey the mechanic, who worked day and night to make a miserable living, without the opportunity to get anywhere else in life as it was either school or food; for Lola the porn actress, diagnosed with bone cancer, her career paid for her meds and all the junk she set herself up with, she lived for her vices and her vices lived for her as no medical service would provide her assistance without her having a steady job or a class one citizenship; for Pepe the shoeshiner, who had done this for the last thirty five years of his life, just as his dad, and his dad did until they died, with two kids on the street also trying to pick up any sort of living, no education, nothing.

They were the important figures of his life, the underdogs, the ones without a voice.

The feed picked up on him, he linked up and spoke mentally.

"Bruce, just in time"

"What you got for me man?" Asked Bruce, he was still half asleep but more than ready to do his work.

"Check under the second relay. You have thirty minutes" Said the voice and the connection ended. Bruce checked the nearby physical relays, antennas setup to spread communications freely throughout the city network, and found a piece of paper with some information written on it. "Fourth and twelve. Black Lieutenant. Driver"

Bruce took out a cigarette and lit it, he used the lighter to burn out the piece of paper and quickly walked to the intersection. It was crowded, people crossing streets like herds of sheep, cars going around senselessly and food stands on every corner. It was a curious type of Industrial Sector, not much industry to be seen as commerce and residences had taken over and displaced it somewhere else, mostly third world countries.

He stood on the intersection of Fourth and Twelfth waiting for a Black Lieutenant to pass, it wouldn't be hard to recognize it between all the trucks, cars and bikes flowing through. He waited patiently.

He took some time to look around, more poor people, but at least they had values, not like the rich people on top of them. He was disgusted by all the higher strains of society, living in the highest zones of the towers, spending their money like if there was no tomorrow, burning it in useless and senseless things that keep the capitalist machinery running at disturbing speeds, fast cars, fast women, fast money, fast food, fast families, fast everything, it was all dirty, it had all died, broken dreams and hopes of an ever crumbling society.

He saw the car coming up from the north. He knew the drill. He would ask the man for directions and when he least expected it he would plant three bullets into his chest or face.

The light went green and the car advanced, slowly like if it knew what was coming. Bruce had a trick under his sleeve, the relays in the city were connected to the main network which in turn led him with ways to either close or stop certain intersections from working, in this case he would switch the red light once the car had gotten close enough.

He did so at two cars of distance from the light, nothing suspicious about it, everything was in order. Bruce approached the car, he knocked on the dark tinted window a couple of times before getting it to roll down a little, the sight of a woman in black surprised him.

"What can I do for you?" Asked the woman with a nice tone of voice. Bruce had seen and been there many times before, people talking nice to him, trying to escape their inevitable faith, trying to backstab him when he wasn't looking, they were all the same, all of them.

"I'm looking for directions to Avalon street. You know where that is?" Asked Bruce with a rural accent.

"Just go down this street until you reach the Chinese laundromat and turn left. Are you looking for something in specific?" Asked the woman.

"Yeah. See that over there?" Bruce pointed at the other side of the street and the woman looked.

"What?" Asked the woman, she looked back and saw Bruce with the revolver on hand.

"It's the place where your brain will be left after I finish with you" Then he pulled the trigger three times. First on the head, second on the chest and last one on the thorax. He was making sure she was really dead, really, really dead.

He walked away from the scene, no one seemed to notice him or really care about it, too common for anyone to bother anymore, to usual for anyone to be surprised, it was just a matter of walking out of there and blending with the crowds.

When he returned to the apartment complex he found a small aluminum can lying next to the door. He picked it up and took out a wad of bills. As he counted it down he walked down the hallway, knocked at every door and gave a portion to each one of them.

When he reached Doña Maria she stopped him

"Bruce they came looking for you again" Said the old woman in her late forties or fifties wearing a green apron over an old dotted dress, slippers dirty and worn out.

"The police won't find me, they can keep trying but I'm not going down, believe me" Said Bruce

"Be careful mijo. I don't want anything to happen to you. You are the best thing that ever happened to us" Said Maria

"Don't worry. Take this for juliancito. I know he's sick" Said Bruce and gave an extra to Maria

"Thanks Bruce. God bless you" Said Maria and gave him the sign of the cross over his forehead, Bruce walked back to his apartment and closed down, sat down and placed everything on a small table. He stared at the gun, the money and the pack of cigarettes. He took out another cigarette, lit it up, took the gun back to the closet and hid the money in a hole being covered by his clothing properly lined up.

Back on the small living room he sat on the couch and connected to the relay to see the news feed and some programming, anything to keep him distracted until two and then at seven, keeping up with his tasks and his partners in business, every day, same place.

Bruce - Short Story

Bruce coughed as he walked down the unlit street.

He, a dark clad figure, had no problem passing unnoticed but some other figures called more and more of his attention.

There was the Lizard Man known as Ed, always dressed formal in an ever changing two piece suit, who lurked the streets only at night, he hissed and sissed as he walked past by, checked his golden watch and ran off in a hurry as if he was late for something.

Mindy the psychotic cyborg whore wearing her mini skirt, nothing else aside from that, and a cigarette on her left hand, not that it mattered if she smoked it or not, it was a good tactic anyway and made her look more real than the udders she had implanted.

Don the Butcher which was just closing down his shop but Don was a weird guy, secretive, a loner, big fellow but with a heart of gold, that he could never deny to anyone. Bruce had heard of people that had come into his store and never gone out, it was relative though as most of those that never came out weren't in good terms with society to start with.

There was Alex standing near a broken down light post, his distinctive bowler hat had a seven of clubs on the left side and a bullet casing on the right that had the word 'Mother' engraved on it. He loved to play with a folding knife and show his rotten teeth as he sneered at passerbies who were always terrified of him, it made him laugh but he wasn't that bad.

Mark the dealer who could hook you up from anything simple like drugs or guns to complex stuff like military grade weaponry and vehicles or households and vehicles. He was quite a peculiar being, no one knew how he did it or who his contacts were.

Dan the Man, a mercenary that had fought in the China and African wars. He had been hit by every possible projectile and chemical known to man, clinically he has been called dead at least fifteen times but he is still alive, somehow, but not complete, had gone mad during the process of said wars and had begun predicting the world would end soon. He even opened up his own cult and preached day and night how it would all go down.

Bruce knew all of them because he lived in Quarter Stone, a place also known to be Satan’s little Hell Hole. Anything could happen at any moment here, any second, it was as unpredictible as the population that inhabited the area, even time itself wasn't sure what was going on here anymore.

Bruce kept walking down the street when someone stopped him and pulled him back.

"Where are you going Bruce?" Asked the voice and Bruce turned his head over his left shoulder. It was a loan shark that had been chasing Bruce, his debt calling on his door again.

"Home. What do you think you are doing here?" Asked Bruce. The Loan Shark smirked.

"I can go wherever I want. Now where is my money" He looked really angry now. Bruce turned his sight back front and sighed.

"You really want to know. I think I have your money right here" Bruce turned and produced his Pescadero Automatic Pistol which he pointed to the man forehead. The Loan Shark laughed.

"You think you are going to kill me and get away with it. My boss would surely get your ass for this, he will anyway" Said the Loan Shark then grinned.

"You know, I prefer to run the risks nowadays" A succession of five micro bullets came out from the gun and tore most of the head off. The lifeless body crashed on the ground with a single thud and Bruce noticed chunks of the head everywhere on the street, not that he was going to clean it or that it mattered to him.

He hid the Pescadero again under his jacket and walked to a small alley in which an single engine air-cycle was waiting for him. The air-cycle was shinning gray and was resting in the open ground of the alley, respected by those who passed by and left alone by the ones that lived there.

Bruce took off a small card from his pants pockets and placed it on the ignition. The air-cycle came to life and it hovered a few centimeters from the ground. Bruce mounted in and went forward with it, trying to keep the speed at a minimum. He reached a street that was made of blue color markers, twelve lanes on each side, and entered it, the speed raising automatically to the minimum accepted, his trench coat flying, knuckles red then white from pressure, lenses reflecting the morbid lights of the city, the horror show born in it, the panoramic view of the twenty second century, cold and magnetic, dead with desire but never giving anything back for it. He kept the speed up and continued up north, destination unknown...