headcleaner
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.
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
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