Neon Shadows
Chapter 1
My breath quickens as I leap over the sharp roofs, trying to catch my footing. One misstep and I’ll fall to my death and end up in the scrap yard with the other cyborgs while my organs are harvested for the black market.
“Get back here!” one of the local authorities shouts as his foot slips and slams his head on roof tiles. He’ll feel that tomorrow.
The crackle and buzz of the neon lights illuminate my face in a spectrum of colors as I slip into a fire escape, tucking my tails close to my body, hoping the tight fabric holds. Making my way down a dark, abandoned hall, I leap over the rails to cut down on time.
The smell of ozone decreases the further I descend the winding staircase and into the heart of Fortune City. Once a bustling metropolis for the rich, has transformed into the gutter muses for the wicked and disadvantaged over the centuries.
The city is divided into towering corporate skyscrapers and the grimy, labyrinthine streets below. Though the rich are miles and miles off from our zip code, their building structures can still easily be seen through the thick fog and pollution like deities overlooking their subjects.
As the heel of my black boots splashes through a dirty puddle in the alley way, it no longer matters how Fortune City turned into the dirtiest home for scumbags. Despite their exodus, the rich injected their own version of authoritative grasp through a police force they outsource from a private corporation overseas—the very people we are supposed to be at war with for the past two decades.
But everyone knows politics play their own dirty underground games while we all inadvertently turn into casualties.
My mask heats up with every breath as I leap onto a hanging metal ladder and quickly ascend into one of the open windows in this dingy bricked building. The brittle wood threatens to splinter into my skin if it wasn’t for my black gloves.
The young woman on the couch sharply inhales at my nimble entrance, pulling her little child into her arms for protection as I sprint through her short living room and out her front door. Most apartments here are the size of a rich man’s walk-in closet, requiring a few simple strides from one side of the wall to the other.
The despicable living conditions would be horrifying to the average person but here, in Fortune City, it’s par for the course.
As my boots stick to the floors of the building’s hallway, I pull down my mask and lift up my goggles, pushing my hair back from my face. One of the residents exits his door and jumps back when he sees me. I nonchalantly turn in his direction and blow him a kiss before pulling the fabric of my top out of my pants and tying it into a knot on the side to expose my mid-drift as my tails explode out in satisfying release.
Taking in the smoky scenery outside, I plaster a wide smile on my face and internally celebrate my win. I lost them. Pushing down my hood, I run my hand through my wild, two toned hair and tuck my hands into my front pockets as I whistle a tune down the packed sidewalk.
The neon signs down here flicker like dying fireflies around the aura of desperation from the bustling crowd.
“Hey Kira!”
Turning toward the call, I wave at old Mr. Kreg who owns the butcher shop on Main Street. He’s a sweet, middle aged Orc that had seen better days, but his genuine smile always brightens up when I pay him a visit. His preteen daughter is there, swinging her legs at the table as she people watches out the front bay of their shop. When Zelia catches me, she waves animatedly and puts her hands together in a heart shape as part of her greeting.
I’ve watched her grow up to be a confident little thing after she lost her mother to the local gangs—The Tyger Lillies. It was Mr. Kreg’s ‘lesson’ when he tried to stop their tyranny on the streets. He was never the same since.
It’s one of the reasons why I do what I do. Tapping a few buttons on my watch, the green projected numbers scroll rapidly until it softly chimes upon completion. I flick my wrist to turn it off, hoping the money helps bring Mr. Kreg and his daughter through another month without being harassed.
But the butcher isn’t my destination today. Weaving between people, I slip through, crossing the road, avoiding oncoming hover traffic until I reach Hatchet Street. The sidewalks are visibly more crumbled but it could possibly be because the lights are brighter on this side, easily showcasing more of the city’s physical flaws.
Slipping between the tight alley spaces, I nimbly climb the next fire escape, ascending to the fifth floor of the closest mid sized building. Looking left and right, I make sure no one follows me before I heave the window open. It sticks after a few inches and I turn to put my shoulder into it before it can open enough with my cybernetic arm for me to slip inside.
One foot, then the other. My sigh escapes at the familiarity. Closing my window, I secure the lock before divesting myself of my top, tossing it aside. Quickly scanning the items in my home, I make sure nothing is out of place.
When the tension in my shoulders releases, I roll my neck and tie my hair into a bun, keeping it out of my face as I make my way toward my small refrigerator and pull out a cold can of water.
Plastics were done away a century ago and now I can’t imagine what it would be like to drink water out of a flimsy container. Various metals overtook global trade as our technology transformed what was handheld into the compact gadgets we carry on our bodies as well as inside of it.
Gently placing my can beside me on my desk, I twitch my head and tap a finger on the surface to awaken the projected screen. It takes a few seconds to scan my retina before it opens to the page I need. Numbers scroll as multiple windows pop up simultaneously, informing of all moving transactions in live time. I sit back and watch, taking in the information with a calm breath.
A new window opens and my attention is stolen. The news reporter reads the holographic teleprompter, stating that the heiress of the powerful Milicron Corporation has vanished. Rumors swirl that she’s been kidnapped by the rival Chimera faction.
I lean forward onto my elbows, taking another large gulp of water, scrolling through the search engine feeds as well as the underground rumor mill while her voice drones in the background.
My own past resurfaces, the more I absorb. Flashbacks of another life, smiles, youthful laughter and empty promises. Dreams of a future stolen away overnight. Shaking my head, guilt gnaws at me. I abandoned her when she needed me the most… and at the same time, abandoned who I was.
Grinding my molars, I tap my fingers rapidly on the desk, minimizing half the wind0ws until only the important ones remain at the forefront. Blinking in pattern and flicking my eyes, I scroll through encrypted chats and servers until I reach the Nexus—the digital information pipeline for the forbidden district where humans and monsters coexist, their uneasy truce maintained by a fragile balance of power.
“No rest for the weary,” I mumble to myself as I finish off my can of water, and fall down the metaphorical rabbit hole over what led to the kidnapping of Si-Jung Laska, the heiress of Milicron corporation