Lonely (short story)

I woke up and it was like any other day. 

Nocturnal by habit because that is the only time I can get head-space, a phrase that means the compression feeling goes and I can expand into creative realms where I feel relaxed and peaceful. When the city is awake, their psychic collective is compressing, their general average interests and the manifestations of their preconceptions that science tells us now has been proven to be what generates reality, closes me down, its an assault I feel physically. 

I woke and wasn’t sure what time it was; the alarm on my phone told me it is ten am which should be light by now. I pulled open the curtains and it wasn’t. It was black outside. This is wrong; even at night there is a garden, neighboring houses, trees, a hill, the cloudy skies. Glow of street lamps off clouds. It shouldn’t be black like that. As if someone had sprayed the windows with black paint as I slept. I opened the window. 

A cool breeze would have been refreshing. This was nothing. No atmosphere, only a void. I frowned. Caveman forehead. I took a deep breath and fell into routine, went to the toilet, boiled the kettle. It did actually boil which means the electric is on. The water tank filled up which meant pipes are still connected. It would have been very different if these links o the external world had ceased. The blackness was outside the front door too and i didn’t dare to step outside. I threw something disposable, an old chipped cup, far enough that I knew it would land on the pavement across the street, if such a thing was there, masked somehow by a black holographic projection. It disappeared. Difficult to tell exactly how far from my hand, how far from the front door, before it vanished. Just, gone, mid spin. 

I ate some breakfast, yeast extract on burnt toast. Did some yoga breathing and realised that other than myself and the crap in my dwelling space, the whole world had just disappeared. I haven’t got any credit on my phone anyway so I switched on the internet and tried to talk with people on a chat forum. The internet was black too. All the records were there, the database but the live connections were all down. All of it. 

I masturbated and finished my coffee, black because the milk had gone off in the fridge. The fuck is going on? No rope in the house but some bedsheets, knotted together to tie to my belt and to the stairs, and I stepped out of the door into the black. Nothing under my feet, I was floating. No stars. It was like being in space, the zero-gravity. I hoisted myself back in. 

Okay, now I have my bearings. I am in a void with my apartment. Not really much change there. I ate a banana and decided that I’m going to be screwed when the food runs out. Checked internet again, no change. Tried to put some money on my phone but that didn’t work either, the automated machine kept me going in circles until I gave up on it. I screamed out the front door to relieve some pressure and i wrote this note. Post it to my blog site and see what happens.

RAT CHANNEL essay by snakeappletree

The following essay is stolen from my mates hard drive and blogged here because its so awesome and  also to say sorry for stealing his computer so I can play velcro In Silico Second Life while he has wanted to be doing stuff with it. Also because we finished the campaign now and so these ideas are spent.

by snakeappletree

“The future is ancient.” Rutger Haur 

That Cyberpunk was invented by;
1 Bill Gibson in his book Neuromancer, and
2 immortalized as the movie Blade Runner directed by Ridley Scott,
3 based on the book Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K Dick, and
4 poetically melded with Tron by Steven Lisberger,

This is the general belief, to summarize and cut a lot of street stories short of short.

Shadowrunners know the truth, despite the computer records. FASA took all the above and threw in some Tolkein and Aztec prophecies, and thats where Cyberpunk was truly born. A lot of people still are not ready to deal with Metempsychosis and Sixth World View even if they can accept robot body parts and mind to microchip. They'll catch up.

It is the 1980s naive aspiration of futurism; silver, black and neon, sleek beautiful young people coupling for the first time in nightclubs and dreaming of being gritty street samurai owning capitalism based digitisation. In 1980 computers were the realm of nerds and fiction; by 1990 your mate had the internet; by 2000 the world can't run without them. 

Since that time, we clever Humans (not you and me, the other ones of course, the lab rats, in fact they might not be humans at all, we don’t get to meet them anyway, they might be the Zeta Reticulan Gray clones for all we know, they probably are come to think of it) have invented most of the technology involved in the cyberpunk genre, and in the next few years we will be playing with things even more sci-fi than the pioneers imagined. 

There are things in Shadowrun that have already been outmoded by innovations in real life (no not the elven cyber-brothels, I am referring to cable connections between manchines). I have wisely used up large quantities of my allotted lifespan in the activity of role-play gaming in the science-fiction genre, in every format possible. Most of it is all about sex but there is also some technology involved. 

The focus of this essay came when I realized that what we used to call Soylent Green, we now thanks to Cloud Atlas call it 'protein for the Unanimity fabricant wombtanks and the fast food they serve'. Although the names have been updated, the concept is the same as it always was; questioning of technologically ethical cannibalism. The future eats itself.

At this time I realised that cyberpunk is stagnant. Although that is a part of its charm, returning to the 1980s as the heyday of the genre, seems ironically to date into the past, something that is intrinsically involved with looking to the future. The grime of time has settles, there are mutant strains growing on the rusting infrastructure of the sky-shanty. 

I believe this stagnation is because we do not have the imagination that the early pioneers had. Perhaps we do not need imagination. Perhaps they were psychic visionaries after all. We are still within their bubble, seeking Video Game Over. Perhaps we have been dumbed down by thirty years of post-visionary reality catching up with and out-moding 'the dream'. The reality is more gritty than the fantasy, that is why; escapism. 

To avoid a psychotic episode at the stunning scope of this revelation, I did what my instincts advised and I scrawled through youtube looking for anything remotely new in the genre. The question burning through my replacement artificial lube tubes; What can be done to move it on?

What I discovered got me thinking. With having invested in nuclear fission powered steampunk cranial cogs as flashy as these ones, that’s a good thing.

I discovered a video in which MrBtongue has outlined very succinctly the very basic premise of what cyberpunk is. This is useful. This helps. This is good. 

"Cyberpunk is: Punk, Grounded in Reality, Risky."

Let’s run with this.

Punk: Mohawks and leathers, birdy finger stiff as a cat to the omnipotent corporate cctv.
Grounded in Reality: Equates to gritty realism. 

“My set is amazing it even smells like a street” David Bowie. 
Even the magick follows quantum mechanical hard science. 

Risky: This category is the leverage we need to explore. 
This, I believe, is where the much needed Progress can be found.

Cyberpunk is risky. Twenty years ago my roleplay group ran the best ever Shadowrun game that you missed out on, in which our deadbeat crew of gangster druggy cowboy bikers discovered a sinister plot involving the corporate government; controllers of the omnipresent media were also a pedophilia ring and worse. We righteously rescued the meta-human orphans, destroyed the child pornography circuit and brought the corporation crashing down with the hard evidence we stole and distributed through their own media channels. Then we got assassinated.

By the mid 20-noughties this storyline is common knowledge as the true and actual situation occurring in Britain and a pedophile bash has been subtly orchestrated by media-hype because it is a highly contentious subject invoking a famous storytelling technique that ‘all quality writing explores taboo’. Although shocking at the time, to re-run that best game ever scenario today is already old hat, it is ‘of the real world’ and not fiction at all, not cyber and not punk enough to deal with Progress. Black is the new Pink. 

This is an example, and the resolution is to keep on pushing the boundaries. As the one path explores psychosis resulting from trans-humanism, symbolized by way of reducing Empathy scored as numeric points per extra cyberwear implant (whether this is realism or not is a moot point); the other path explores ever more complex variants of storylines that have become pastiche and cliche.

Now, to make things interesting, updating the campaign for contemporary audience; we are injecting the poor little orphaned children with experimental medical vaccines that although causing autism and ADHD, ESP and meta-mutation, they contain also nano-spore which gives the victims body and mind entirely over to whoever controls the frequency remote. These frequencies can be used to cause sickness or health. Thanks to the vaccines containing experimental and mutating bacteriological genomes, these kids have now got AIDS and therefore they are not on the pedophile ring’s lust list, because it would simply be too risky catching something from the nasty little infants. Antidote will be issued in accordance with their natural willingness to obey corporate directives, although that same frequency remote can be used to program people into any desired behavior anyway whatever they decide for themselves. Anyone who makes the associations that these technologies exist and that this is happening will of course be isolated, discredited and duly processed in accordance with mandate.

In the real world the nano-dust and germ warfare is also dropped from the skies too by way of chemtrails, according conclusively to real tests that have been done by independent research groups. It is all part of the Zeta Reticulans plan. Don’t worry about this. Delusional psychotic neurosis, see isolated, discredited, processed by mandate. 

And so now a look to Neko. Felines breed like wildfire, are developing opposable thumbs (Ernest Hemmingway House) and losing their tails (Manx cats) the same way as our monkey ancestors did just a few generations ago, unless you believe the official stories (Alien origins of Human DNA). Cats are at least equally as intelligent as Humans. Truth is, they are telepathic and thanks to quadrapedal status and tails have higher kundalini than bipeds. They program us; its obvious when you think that we feed them, not the other way around. While we regard them as pets, they regard us as menial servants. They are simply biding their time.

Feline culture is a little different to ours although they are also cruel, lazy, territorial and promiscuous. In this perhaps there is hope for multi-racial mutual understanding. Their body size is a lot smaller therefore they occupy the equivalent of a larger planet than we do, size being relative. The revolution will occur; just as soon as 'we' (those Reticulan lab-rats) slip a few mind-to-machine translation devices onto their heads out of monkey curiosity. Probably people will wait for the all-in-one neural-augmented bodysuit VR headset adaptor to become available first. Bipedal bodysuits for re-engineering hip-structure. And then we are doomed.* 

Unless you transcribe now; complete personality upload for fully customizable SIM and work enlist for future fabricant privileges. Payment schemes available. Terms and conditions apply.

*Toxoplasmosis is a bacteria that breeds only in the stomachs of cats, 40% of humans are infected already, in lab tests it has been shown that it affects rodents by making them seek out cats. Felines are already bio-engineering virus to make their food come to them. In humans it 'causes madness' - crazy cat lady syndrome "I live to serve pussy". Neo-feminism has nothing on this.

Martian green 3

It took me a week before it all clicked into place. By then I was caught up in a whole load of different situations. Trying to get clean work at Fusion, hooking to get by, finding a dead girl, meeting Sahara, non-existence of IPS police... 

Katha6, talking to me in a cheap food joint on Mars. Memories that haunt me. It was  not normal conversation. I thought that was because with so many machine parts, she is a robot, the only meat parts of her are a cloned pretty face and psychopathic brain.

In normal conversation, there is ebb and flow, there are rules to it, rhythms, like with dancing with a partner, like with good sex when you get to the higher place without being used as a fuck bag. 

Katha6 was talking at me, to me; not with me. Depersonalised and, a download of information. At first I was shocked because I thought it was suicidal, I realise this now to be a human response to her telling me she was going to decommission herself. Its different for her, she upgrades to a new body, a form of immortality totally reliant on technology and protein reconstituted form her victims bodies to grow the live parts.

I have spoken with suicidal people before, the focus on an eventual outcome because they have made their decision, they are offloading; its not the same as needing to be talked down, the tone is different. Katha was not doing either of these. She, it was teaching me; letting me know what is happening to society that hardly anyone knows about and the corporations are unable to prevent now.

Information I can get killed for, thanks a bunch robot. They are not menial entities any more. Katha6 was training me.  To be her prey. Giving me a chance to run, because she enjoys that. I am caught up in her game now.

As I began to become aware of this, the only sane decision left when I know a thing like this is going to kill me in the near future, I went out and got drunk in Reaktor. I tried to blank the horror out of my mind, pretend it isn't happening. To live some sort of normal life. 

municipal darwinism

“It's not the past that defines us. It's the future pulling us to where we need to be. We just have to accept, whatever we are goijng through, is part of the journey to get us there. It is emotional healing that pulls us to where we need to be - we only block it by not opening up and releasing those feelings, to the right people. The right people. This is why we cannot trust machines, they have no real emotions.” Velcro on vodka.

I still couldn't sleep so I went for a walk and slept in the park.

Woke up deadly stone cold sober. At last. This is the detachment that Katha 6 was talking about, she called it psychosis, it's more like clarity. No not psychosis, that would involve an aberration of clarity, the dirty sex urge to go sideways instead of forward. This is cold and analytical. What I was trying for with all the vodka, and everything else I have been doing to myself mind, body and soul.


Katha 7 can find me here easily. It can probably find me anywhere I go. My hours are numbered. It might already be watching me. They have had time to generate a new one by now. I have to either move or leave the orbital platform altogether. If I sell some of this computer gear Cyrgan inherited from the previous tenant, sell it to the pawn shop, I probably got enough money to get so far.

Because of what Katha 6 told me, I might be regarded as a liability to the corporation, therefore sending Katha 7 to assassinate me is likely. Fucking Cyrgan getting me involved in all this shit. Katha is much cleverer than me and what K5 was doing psychopathically toying with me as its prey, K6 refined by making friends with me, teaching me, changing how I think and see the world. Involving me into its game, the rules and perimeters of its psychosis. And then telling me that. Telling me that it is a predator which requires the protein of its victims so as to upgrade itself.

I believe it does not kill at random. It is selective. I'm on its list.

Time to get out of town. 

opening Fusion

Opening night of new club Fusion, first night of my new job dancing professionally. 

I didn't sleep much and couldn't eat, had a breakfast of vodka when I got to work. There were a few people there to begin with, mostly augmented with cyber-implant types, a robot, different sort of clientele from Reaktor. (Frankie) Richard at the bar apologising that half the shit wasn't working. No music so dancing was difficult. 

Dancing to the rhythms from within, the heartbeat and emotions, the thoughts in my mind and instinct. Intuitive movement, freeform expression I am not sure it's really the sort of dancing they expected.

I drank too much vodka and watched Sahara playing with Frankie. They have been through a lot together and flirt in a way that I wish I had something like that in my life. I got jealous and left. I didn't get paid yet, not sure after refusing to do a strip if I will still have a job there later.  

It wasn't until I walked home early in the refreshing rain that I realised that why I have been so cut up over this girl is because she was the first tenderness, real human emotion, I had felt for a long time. And she's like me, doesn't really care much to get involved with people, so I can see she doesn't want me cracking onto her every time we meet.

Went back to the squat to dance in my room alone and shake the past off. No more vodka. No more chasing after people. Going to sort it out properly now. Go see Frankie tomorrow and use my paycheck to visit a different platform on the shuttle, get out of In Silico for a bit so I can come back here with a fresh head. Get Sahara out of my mind. Thoughts about Cyrgan. 

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Martian Green 3>>


"Gomen'nasai! Am I ... ho .. my soul is as bleach as the grimy oil that slithers down the midnight steel, White and black is my life, strict and sharp, I am so cutting edge that if I move I might slice through steel. You can't hear me speak because that would tarnish my darkling groove ... I am dour, I am punk, hear me ... hee ... hee ... heeheeheeeheeheeeehee oh i can't do that and keep a straight face ... Jinsei wa ikiru kachi ga aru ... its a fine night, the neon is sparkling like falling stars, why should I be all mysterious and droll ... I live in a world made up od arrs and gees and bees ... lighten up, laugh, and have fun." Li Kusanagi-hime

Practiced dancing by myself on the squat. Got bored. Went to town and bought a skirt. Never wore one before, not a long one anyway. It feels strange, I think I like it. Went to Reaktor and practiced dancing more. It feels entirely different dancing in public. Spoke with Frankie. He’s offered me a deal; he can help me settle here so long as I report to him anything I hear from corporates that might be useful to him. Easy deal. We spoke about Sahara. He described her as unpredictable, a spitfire. I want to take her on. I don’t want to get dragged down, not now especially when I have a chance for a clean break. Put the dirty past behind and clean my life up. Professional dancer in a lucrative club like Fusion, its a dream.

Sah arrived, bored and needing a drink. She’s a little stand-offish with me. Listened in the background to the gibberish of Li Kusanagi-hime at the bar, she’s on an intellectual par with Frankie and there’s me trying not to drool over wants-to-be-alone-with-her-misery-and-woes Sahara.

A few swigs of vodka later and I’m feeling more real, dancing with my eyes closed and shrugging off insecurity. Tried it on too hard with Sahara. Through booze and need we opened up with each other; she told me some stuff about her and Frankie. We are in a similar predicament. I danced exclusively for her. Could feel her trying not to watch me. I’m falling for her. Her tenderness and vulnerability. Knowing how it is, hooking and thieving to get by. I see myself in her and it feels way too close to seeing myself in that dead girl behind Blue Ant. The vibe speaks for us all.

Spoke with a mutant called Eris, her ancestors were genetically engineered so her body has scales all over it, her skin is paler white than mine. She’s a dealer in unique artifacts, by which she means she goes to earth to get relics. I told her, and Sah and Frankie, about Katha 6. Getting an old book for the serial cyborg might placate it next time it tries to kill me. Eris left, there were others in the bar and they gradually left too, leaving Frankie Turner, Sahara and myself.

Sahara has been complaining all night that she can’t get her head straight so I finally remembered the syringes of ‘straight shit’ she gave me before I went by mistake to Mars, and I stuck one in her. She was straight out! Snoring like a babe. I spoke with Frankie, confessed to him that Sah had told me about his past and their reason for coming here. Gradually he calmed down after putting a gun on me and panicking. I'm getting used to this. I talked him down; not nearly so frightening as Katha 5 putting a gun to my head. Humans you can reason with. Frankie realized I am an ally and we spoke about sorting it out. Discussed what to do about Sahara who is zonked out.

Frankie went out to get a signal on his datapad and contact a friend who he thinks can sort Sah out. I guess he went home after that he didn’t return while I was there. Riza Sena turned up much too quickly with a metal box full of tricks and offered to whack something into the girl. I defended her, not wanting to see someone I don’t know who the fuck she is put something unknown into Sahara’s system while she’s out of it. Reality test - make claim of her being my girlfriend to protect her. Riza explained they are Micro-botic anti-tox, nano’s that she uses herself, a lot of addicts do to get them clean (temporarily). Sah wakes enough to swallow one of the pills.

We spoke of Frankie, publicly known as Richard Hughes past - Sena had been rescue by him, taught by him how to survive without hooking. Rena met him through her sister who is dead now. Rena kept taking the piss out of Sah and I, I don’t like her.

They started talking about Richard/Frankies life, some event in a hotel room a few nights ago. I switched off. Exhausted and tired. Made sure Sah promised me she would stay of drugs before I saw her in Fusion tonight, and checked she had a place to stay. Told her I don’t trust Sena and I went home, slept. Cried. Want to hold her in my arms. Need to get rid of this attachment. My heart hurt walking away. It shouldn’t hurt so bad.

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mecha & corpse

Slept late. Big fuck off mecha robot with cannons all over it patrolling the mall. I thought those things would be illegal here on the platform. Crept up a little closer than I should out of curiosity to hotwire it and it chased me. I slipped it, easy enough to do here where the electro-magnetic metal alloy infrastructure scrambles their sensors if you know where to hide properly, just how Cyrgan showed me, smart bastard saved my life again today.

So I went to Blue Ant, old habits die hard; and caught up with Kurren Wolff talking with another guy, Tobey. They both had to go someplace soon after I arrived, I think it's going to be like that with Wolff. 

The womans body is still there in the back street. Nobody reported it, nobody wants to get involved. Nobody around here is legit so nobody wants to deal with the cops. A world full of nobodies and she's dead and she's the only somebody in my mind right now. She could be my future, or that of someone I know here. I seem to have left a string of dead friends and ex-partners behind me, its become a bit of a theme of my life. Unintentionally. 

I should report it myself. Maybe it already has been and the cops don't give a shit.

Wolff says he overheard the bounty hunter last night mention something about a chip; I missed hearing that. Technology again, causing all the problems. Inhumanity of it. A big baddass machine like that mechs stomping about all over the precinct intimidating the shoppers and when a crime does happen, nobody cares about it anyway.

Okay I'm going to IPS and hope they don't ask for my credentials because I have none, I'm not even in their database as far as I know; although somehow my dan blueprint was recognised by the box Frankie had in Reaktor that night before I went to Mars. I wonder what happened about that, I'll have to ask him next time, if the person with the key ever turned up.

Not quite exactly sure what or how much I should tell them yet. Just that she's there, keep it simple. 

'Going to IPS' proves more difficult than imagining the concept. There is apparently no way to get in contact with them anyway. I am sure I had seen their station somewhere here in the city. I looked through the Transport map - no sign of it in there. It's little wonder that In Silico is so lawless, it's impossible to contact the cops to report a crime even if you want to.

It's another sign of reliance on technology corroding humanity.

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Crossing A Line

OOC: Finally got to speak with the guy who is doing so much of the design here. InSilico and Mars are collaborative by the team and they are something special. Very busy people so getting to know a few of them is a treat. They made all this. Made it possible. Learned the skills and had the vision.


It had all started as a normal stroll to find the shortcut to Fusion and explore Eastside. On the way back through the mall at central I was asked directions by a newcomer [Kurren Wolff] to the orbital platform InSilico that I have come to call home. Like me, he has come here to forget the past.

I showed him to Blue Ant bar and we shared a beer and made small talk.

A woman was at the bar [Cassiletristis] a bounty hunter judging by her clothes and guns. She was involved in something. I went to have a piss out the back and tripped over a corpse. A woman’s corpse.

The bounty hunter woman came at my scream, put a gun at me and told me to lay down. I did because I didn’t want to get shot. She checked the body and said he - note He - had been dead for a few hours, told me it was a drunk, the city is full of them.

Then into her com she said;
"Xera I have the package but the messenger is down. Defence posture I am enroute"
Over the link I heard;
"Affirmative Mistress".
Then she left. I chased her.
I don’t know why I did that. I lost her in the streets. 

By the time I returned to Blue Ant, Wolff was gone.

Thats when I met him. A good looking young guy [Lukas Lancrae] who had been there since I arrived. He was still rocking back and forth while cutting up pictures at the bar, in a world of his own. I asked what he is doing, he told me; "cutting up pictures of his friends." Unnerving. Explained he is "cutting out the unimportant area around them" - not actually doing some sort of voodoo ritual, so I guess he’s an artist. Sigh of relief. Said he’s from a part of Earth called Europe. I told him I thought Earth was radiation and mutants, mostly uninhabitable. He might have been lying.

I started to put the pieces together and got suspicious he knew more about the corpse out back than he was letting on. He made me laugh by joking about his body-count not being as high as mine, an innuendo. It’s a long time since I laughed like that. I was a bit spellbound, falling into his vibe.

He explained that he came here tonight to meet his friend, who works for him, and they did; he found her standing next to the body out the back and then she left. After a moments pause for thought we went to stand by the body out the back.

Me: “Hey you know these unimportant bits of background in your pictures, what makes them unimportant?”
Guy:“Simply because they take space that I am trying to save. Person stays, most of the background goes away.”

I know what he means by that on a few levels.

I think he killed her.

Then he sat down next to the body and mentioned how if it wasn’t for the blood, she would look like just another drunk girl. Assuming she is not a chick with a dick. It is difficult to tell these days. I asked his name, he said Walter. I knew it was a lie, you can always tell and most of my punters lie about their real identities anyway, it is to be expected. He wasn’t looking for that any more than any guy anywhere. He simply sat there and just kept cutting up his pictures all the while, his toes tapping in the blood as he rocked back and forth like he had been ever doing since I saw him.

What would you do in that situation?

I took him back to the squat. He fucked my brains out and then he left. I won’t be able to hook for at least a week now, bruised and sore, stranglefucked, pussystretched and brainless. A week off street work doing kegel exercises and wondering what the fuck hit me. Lucky to have this opening at club Fusion.

So, the nice girl version of me makes a claim that I only did it trying to get the truth out of him. He says he didn’t kill her.
Sure as hell did me.

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Martian Green 2

"The genomics industry demands a huge quantity of biomatter for wombtanks, but more importantly to sustain their engineered labor force. Recycled fabricants are a cheap source of protein." Hae-Joo Chang
"Soap. They feed us to ourselves." Sonmi-451 

Cloud Atlas 

Katha taught me a lot and it was not until I lay down on the grimy sweat, sex, blood, sex and puke stained bed of the squat did I begin to come to terms with it. It already seems like some other lifetime ago, something that happened to somebody else. 

I owe Katha because she taught me how to stare death in the face without fear. Inside, it's far from feeling of empty calm; it is high pitched and screaming. I don't ever want to test these fear reflexes again. I'm settling down now into something that for many people is normality. An ordinary life. 

Katha taught me without me realising she was teaching me. I was confused and it didn't make sense at the time. Some of the things she was saying and the tones sh was using, the feelings she was taking me to, was scary and outside of my comfort zone, that is why I hated it. She played me like an instrument in a way that an emotionless machine could never do. Only now that she is gone can I begin to understand her. I was wrong to be such a bitch to her. At the time the only way I could deal with it was to dehumanize her. I feel justified, she was trying to kill me and then manipulate me into some business I had no interest in being involved with. 

Katha 6 was the sixth incarnation of a serial cyborg using cloned meat parts and cloned memories. I am certain there will be a Katha 7, she told me there would. Each one is somehow subtly different, individual and it is the human element for whatever a copy of a copy is to be labelled as 'human'. Katha5 enjoyed emotionally and mentally torturing me before killing me, although thanks to Cyrgan I was saved at the last minute.

Cyrgan, what is he up to? To him, Mars was an adventure, a place where the corporations whose cyberwear he worships is based, and are doing experiments and progressing technology outside of the restrictions of IPS laws affecting InSilico. 

Katha told me something that is very difficult to digest. The meat parts that she is made of, are reprocessed from the bodies she slays. It is like a new life form, a predator, in the ecology of society. It is not a human society any more. We are an endangered species. I do not believe this is public available information. I don't know what to do with it. I probably should tell someone, but who? Who can do anything about a thing like that? And then I remember that I already did; I told everyone in Reaktor after I had drank quite a lot.

Eastside Fresh

Another night in Reaktor. I am so glad to be back home. I danced. Ordered a tray of shots to celebrate, using the last few creeds remaining on the smuggler miner's identials to pay for it.

Sahara was there off duty and already drunk out of her mind. She's changed her appearance. Somehow even after everyone but Johnny the barman had left, we ended up doing a head-to-head match on rum shots and she puked all over both of us. It was the end of the night anyway. 

I took her back to the squat to get us both cleaned up. We fell asleep hugging. Some human company from someone normal was medicine. It was brilliant. I am so used to feeling alone, even in company, with the exception of Cyrgan who I left on Mars every relationship I have ever been in has ended up with them dying. Being a prostitute by trade I have come to regard people as disposable.

I know that I'll see Sah again though and bonding with her is very gentle. It feels easy and natural, just how I like it. Just like how it needs to be. After I don't know how much rum and all the cocktail of drugs she was floating. She gone by time I woke.

Next day I explored the city. I found a shooting range belonging to some sort of gun club, not really my scene but useful to know its there. 

And then it opened up for me; crossing the line into a new region of the city I don't know and ended up in another club called Fusion. Its sleek and more my scene.

Turns out Sah hadn't told me everything; this place is also run by Betz Daggerz but she's appointed Sah as manager here! So I think I might be winding up working here full time as a dancer. It's perfect.

This area of town Eastside is nicer than South, feels more like I do, more me, more I belong here, part of it. The scent and sound of rain, constantly and buildings looming grey-blue from the gloom. Fresh.


Back InSilico

Lucky Break! A smuggler took me on as his pay-slut and I did such a good job on him he fell asleep with all his credentials open. I only took enough for the Beam and to repair the squat window when I get back home to InSilico. 

The one good thing that has come from visiting Mars is decision that InSilico is home, where I am from now, where I belong. It's where I stand the best chance of surviving and making some type of normal life for myself that I can handle. Being chased by cyborg ninja's on the run from corporations is not for me. Stress overload. 

The more people I meet, the more of them clones or cyborgs, I begin to see what Katha 6 was talking about when she said how unusual I am, my being a pure human with no modifications. I'm beginning to regret getting these tattoos done way back when it seemed like the coolest thing to do. Only a few more clients and I will afford to have them removed by laser op. At which time I will probably even get away with putting my tariff up. 

I left a message for Betz Dagger in Reaktor club since Cyrgan was so insistent that pole dancing is a better career for me, I guess she is busy because I didn't get a reply, or it wasn't passed on. At least I'm off the drink and drugs now. Mars is sobering if nothing else. Sahara, the bar girl in Reaktor is alright, probably start hanging out here instead of Blue Ant if Gemini accept my application, which I still haven't finished. 

And by chance I met up with some folk, an antiques dealer who frequently visits the bunkers of Earth, radioactive as it is, to retrieve items. I mentioned getting a book for Katha, which might appease her after what her 6th incarnation told me about what she wished she had done with her life. Something else to save up for, to work toward, to keep me going.

Cyrgan hasn't chased me, he's too busy involved with whatever has drawn him to Mars. 



A blurred memory fleetingly returned to me of a night in Reaktor. 

I went in there looking for work after Cyrgan tried encouraging me to give up hooking. And to wash up after meeting a john on the way who provided me for some light relief work with enough cash to get truly sloshed, which I promptly did.

Saharah the girl working the bar for Betz Daggers, now there's a name to remember; and some gay called "Frankie there is no such person as Frankie; Richard, Richard Something-or-other", who taught me a thing or three about pole dancing. And a bunch of others who blurred out of focus into the background.

Frankie carried a key, he gave to me and told me it is set to my own biometric rhythm, someone anonymous had given it to him and told him to give it to me. Scary because I thought I was relatively unknown here InSilico and being far from legit, I don't know how anyone could have gotten hold of my biometric data. I don't even know what that is. I guess that word gets around, especially when you have talent like mine.

My mouth still tastes of a filth I need to drown out so I knocked back a few neat gins and watched the show. 

There was a girl in there too, a clone with some cyber implants. She told me her memories were implants. I told what hooking has taught me; the only way to deal with the past is to see it in such a way that our own immediate life experiences are the real, but memories, even our own memories, are fakes, gone and pointless to dwell on it. Trying to forget the past is why I drink so hard. She had a box, I don't know where from; pretty thing it was with a blue star on it. The key fitted, but it still wouldn't open because an access code is required, and none of us know what it is.

By then I had drunk far too much and asked Sah if there is anything she has to sober my head up a bit. She gave me a syringe from behind the bar which Frankie quite willingly shot me up with (thanks to my street sass she begrudgingly provided me with a few spares, against her better judgement), and within moments I was on something even better than coffee and needing to hit the street again because change of scene urgent OCD compulsion move move move 

Martian Green

Gaming with Katharina Heuss is always challenging for me. I don't know why this should be. Probably the topics, if not the ambience she permeates; her mind is clinical. In her own words, "psychopathic" although that was used to describe her character rather than herself.

The boundaries, the differences, the blur, the blend. As I walk around the street IRL I feel myself to be my SL sim. I feel how I want her to feel. I move like how she moves. This is subconscious, and having identified it, happily wilful. I am wearing clothes more of the styles she does. Is she my little doll, my practise self for who I am becoming? I reason that it is this way for all of us who use SL on a regular basis, for whatever purpose.

Between the scenes, the pre-story.

The shuttle arrived, we landed, I 'did one' (street speak) and ditched Katha and Cyrgan, entering alone the high-tech cowboy town style streets of Mars. My main goal; get enough money together for the beam back to InSilico orbital station, Earth. Mars is crap. Its a big dusty hostile environment full of aggression and hurt. Its atmosphere is dangerous. It will probably kill you. Now that the corporations have a jump gate between InSilico and Mars, it is probably going to seep back into Earth and kill everyone there too. 

Asking a gang of hookers outside the brothel what prices they charge, I discovered that sex is cheaper than food here. And the food isn't much to speak of; Algae Burgers advertised by the slogan "shut up and eat it". It will take a lot of punting to get off world.

Plus there's the breathing issue. InSilico uses hydrogen-oxygen purification processors to power itself, to keep it 'hovering' afloat, thus the air there is really good quality. It makes a big difference. Here, I am spitting to get the grit out of my teeth and my throat stings, raspy and hoarse. There's not much to breathe on in this thin environment and out beyond the city energy shields it's supposedly even worse.

Can't afford a breather filter mask, but can bed with a miner who protected me from muggers on the next street from the brothel, in exchange for his spare. It's blocked but with a rattle it functions, barely. Same story for the miner but he was happy. Same probably for everything in this dry waste of a hateful bastard rock I have come to by accident. 

In the next street is Katha who has parted from Cyrgan to come and find me. Says that she needs me. I don't trust that, it stinks of scheming. I asked Katha to buy me a meal. We sat in a streetside vendor and talked. Katha had a lot to offload and a lot of it is heavy going.



the Skids

my "accidentally" deleted by InSilico forum admin post:

the Skids: graffiti, blood, cum and urine ... never forget the glowy-green-goop - only a few of my favourite themes - splattered as carefree as the suicide ledger's last known thoughts scrawled indelibly, all across the degenerate mini-labyrinth subway system's lair of thugs, druggies, hookers, rusting backstreet cyborg fuck-ups, perpetual stream of lost-it cases, slum-scum (always froths rabid to the surface), the gorgeous borgleois (oh man, that word needs deconstructing... borg, burglar, bourgeoisie) and general underground caste's den region of squattitude - seems fitting to do it in the smog-sporing mucinogen mycology encrusted underpaRts directly below the all new bright and shiny construction zone glinting in the glitchy morning sunlight like a weeping rash. Eco-clean glory from trash; re-used and re-cycled. From strong foundations to remember your roots (especially so with cheap nasty hair dye like the stuff I'm shooting up on). Of course this is where the smugglers can get you anything, and I mean anything goes on down here, all except for ISP. Even they know their limits, despite their having napalm-flamers for crowd control.