The Madness in the Machine

"Davon, can you handle this job or not?"
I took a long drag from my cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke fill the air before me. I wouldn't say I liked the vice, but it was the one thing I could afford lately. Jobs were slow, and I wasn't desperate enough to start selling memories to the lab using them for their simulants.
Across from me was some unnamed corporate goon dressed in a precious suit that had to cost more than what I made in a year. It was dark, well-pressed, and shimmered slightly to show off the tech that made it bulletproof.
It may have given him anonymity, but I couldn't be sure. My cybernetic implants were good, but the static from other tech made reading the goon's suit challenging.
His appearance contrasted mine. Freshly shaved compared to my scruff and perfectly coifed hair to my get-up-and-go look. He appeared to be a man who took great pride in his looks.
The rich were able to do that. I was concerned with staying functional and relevant in an ever-increasing world of outdated tech and services. Computers and AI were going, but none could match human intuition, and that's why the corporate drone in front of us was here.
"I can do that. It won't come cheap," I said, flicking the cigarette behind me.
It didn't matter, as the bar's cheap drones would clean it up. This wasn't the most high-scale place to go to, but it gave all its patrons cover from corporate and government surveillance. Lately, there was no difference between the two, but few citizens realized this or cared. For many, ignorance was indeed bliss.
It was 2075, and few fought against the machine that virtually enslaved all of us. New York had become a mecha and technological center for the United States. After Silicon Valley crashed for the third time and never recovered, my city rose with new legislation promising to move us all into the future.
It did, but it cost us greatly. Ads ran on screens half the size of skyscrapers and bombarded everyone's implants. For an extra fee, you could live an add-free existence. It made walking down the street a nightmare and made my fellow citizens crankier than usual.
"You need to hunt down B-Tech Georgia," said Mr. Corporation.
That's what I'm calling him, as he didn't give me the decency to at least give me a fake name. That's okay. I've taken the worst jobs, but rarely did they come directly from a corporation.
"You want me to bring him walking or on a gurney?"
"It doesn't matter, but we'd prefer alive. If he dies too fast, the people will think of him as a martyr, and we can't have that. If circumstances aren't within your control, then we have protocols in order if he dies."
I leaned back and smiled. "Bringing him in alive costs extra."
Mr. Corporate smiled. "The terms you sent are agreeable."
"Good. I expect you to transfer the credits at the right time, or I will let him go," I said.
"We also agree to that. Your service comes highly recommended, Davon." Mr. Corporate stood and brushed on his suit without hiding his disgust. "Our expectations are high as the man is a known criminal; even one of your stature can see he will cause much damage if left to run free."
I nodded, watching Mr. Corporate leave. B-Tech was a heavy hitter in my world, but he was a downright sociopath. Others loved him, but he had the ethics of big oil and the personality of a honey badger.
He also tortured his lovers and experimented on them. B-Tech was trash for a human being and had more implants and upgrades than most people. Part of me wondered if too much tech made him what he was now.
He lost his humanity at some point, and now a corporation was paying me to bring him in. Maybe if the implants, he's regained what he lost, but that's assuming he had any humanity left.
 
***
B-Tech was easy to find, but getting to him would make my life difficult. No matter how much humans upgraded themselves with technology, life had a way of humbling us.
I knew his regular haunts like everyone else. Lucky for him, no one wanted to get near him. The police were useless and only used as a pawn in everyday corporate schemes. Government agencies weren't more helpful anymore and didn't seem to care as long as their corporate landlords didn't.
The good ol' USA was more of a giant corporation than a country. Still had the world's most extensive military. Still, they were only used to progress corporate interests in the name of democracy and freedom.
For B-Tech to get caught and taken down, it would take a more criminal element to even the scales. That's where I came in. I may be a bounty hunter, but I tread the line between legal and illegal like a tightrope walker over the Grand Canyon.
"Hey kid, tell me about B-Tech. What's his security like?" I asked.
The kid looked about fourteen, homeless, and had his eyes replaced with gear, making his vision better than an eagle's. He glanced at me with a frown.
"Don't worry, I'm not a cop."
"That's what they all say. How do I know you're not an agent?" He asked.
"Agents would already know and wouldn't waste time on a kid like you asking questions. I can either pay you for the information or beat it out of you," I said, standing over him.
"You wouldn't."
"I would," I said, snatching him by his collar and slamming him into the building wall. "You'll be well compensated."
The kids stuttered a bit before spitting out some information. "He's got two body mods protecting his back and a handful of others he hired that watch from around the club he goes to all the time."
I dropped him and contemplated what the kid said. Body mods were regular bodyguards with enough tech built into their system. I questioned their humanity; they usually had enough pharmaceuticals running through their system to keep the sketch away.
No one wants a bodyguard who can't keep still. The shakes were bad news for anyone with implants on the black market. Lousy programming and surgeries fucked up the body's nervous system terribly. You get what you pay for.
"Thanks, kid," I said, tossing him a few credit chips.
"You got business with B-Tech?"
"Doesn't everybody. It'll be best if you avoid this place for a while. I don't want you connected to me in any way."
The kid nodded and ran off. I may be good at what I do, but tackling a couple body nods, other hitmen, and then B-Tech himself made me consider my life choices. I had one idea, but I'd get screwed over in the process without shielding.
My implants made me faster than usual and allowed me to hack into a data node easier. Still, they'd be rendered useless if I used an EMP flash. I also didn't want to kill anyone if I didn't have to, so B-Tech was excluded. I honestly didn't care if he died.
I'd have to do this the hard way.
 
***
 
The Bad Wolf was a seedy cyber bar on the city's edge. The city's edge was a misnomer since New York City currently stretched down the eastern seaboard to New Jersey's border.
The bar I stood in front of was at the original edge if it was thirty years ago. Not that it mattered as the city's population grew and became more crowded daily.
B-Tech was here, and it was time to get dirty. His guards would prove problematic, but good ol' B wouldn't come quietly. It wasn't his tech I was afraid of, but his mental state.
The man was clinically insane, but his followers flocked to him like a god. I know everyone needs to believe in something, but the crazy should've taught them that there are people not worth following.
The music in the club pulsed in its electro-synth-wave beats. Even in the future, the synthesizer ruled the airwaves in an ever-present nostalgic romp through the 1980s.
Dancers filled the club's center, and their bodies swayed with the rhythm as large telescreens lined the walls. The bar's blue and pink neon glow stood out in contrast to the hazy table area where occupants either drank or lost themselves in virtual reality.
It was a sketchy place with no rules. The only thing that mattered here was the credits and what they could buy. Everything and everyone here had a price. A cyber-Babylon if I wanted to give it some historical pretext. Nothing was sacred, yet all was divine and only for a fee.
Moving through the crowd, I made my way toward B-Tech. He sat on a gold sofa holding a champagne glass filled with a liquid that glowed as much as neon at the bar. His bodyguards stood close as a few local prostitutes cuddled up against him.
I clicked the safety off my plasma gun, and its subtle vibration kept me calm as my heart raced. An EMP wasn't doable here, but age-old brutality and the way of the fist were always on the menu. Plus, I could shoot whoever got in my way.
Two of the bodyguards moved in my direction, and I didn't give them a chance as I drew my gun and fired twice. A blueish plasma shot out and engulfed both of them. They trembled before stiffening up and falling over. So much for that.
B-Tech dropped his glass and pushed the whores off him. He stood in time for me to slam my fist into his face. Pain exploded in my hand. Fuck, that hurt. Did he replace his fucking skull?
He shoved me back and sent me flailing into the crowd of dancers. I lost my grip on my weapon as it slid into the oblivion that was the crowd. People scattered as B-Tech entered the dance floor. I doubt this would; we'd settle this with a dance-off.
I stood and drew my baton. It fired up to life as electricity crackled along its length. I'd have to get close, but I expected this to be the outcome. Nothing is ever easy in my line of work.
"B-Tech, I know someone who wants to chat," I said, sidestepping my way around the floor, looking for an opening.
He grinned, but it was hard to tell whether it was in humor or madness. The man he was had long since been forgotten. He was more machine these days, and it showed in his movements.
His movements were more purposeful, with no fluidity. Each step is calculated. He wiped the sweat off his tattoed head and flicked his tongue at me. Even that was modified and spliced to look like a serpent. If he was trying to intimidate me, it didn't work. Body mods were a normal part of human history, and this was no different.
B-Tech drew a long serrated knife. "Davon, I heard you got the corporate job. What took you so long?"
We danced on the floor, swiping at each other to gauge the other's weaknesses. I doubt he had any, except for his chronic insanity. Even then, I doubt that'd be a weakness in this situation.
"Yeah, someone has to bring you in. Other hunters are too weak, and you know it," I said, forcing a grin.
"Then come at me. See if you're man enough," He said, pointing his knife at me.
"I will."
I ran toward him, dodged his knife thrust, and dropped to the floor. I slid into him, knocking him off his feet. He fell, and I slammed the baton into his chest, sending the power into his system.
His body twitched with the electricity and then grew still. I hurried back and hit the com on my wrist, alerting Mr. Corporate that the job was done. I expected more, but I may have gotten lucky.
"That was a mistake, Davon."
I glanced up to see B-Tech getting up. Jumping to my feet, I kicked out with a roundhouse to only get a sore foot. He sliced at my other leg and cut me deep. It hurt, but luckily that part of my leg was cybernetic and not by choice.
My gun slid toward me. One of the prostitutes nodded and smiled. I glanced back in time to see B-Tech charge toward me.
He tackled me, and we both went crashing down. I pulled the trigger, and the plasma engulfed B-Tech. The sudden stop on the floor hurt more than the sliced leg, and B-Tech was a dead weight on top of me. I checked for a pulse before pushing him off me; he was still alive.
A beep on my com caught my attention. My credits were paid. Another job on the books, and I could eat for another day. I stood and limped toward the door. Mr. Corporate entered the club with others.
He looked me up and down and smiled. "Well done, Davon. We'll cover all medical expenses, of course. I assume everything else is in order."
"Yeah."
I walked out without any other replies and needed a drink. With one glance back at the bar, I wondered how far I had gone with my implants and if B-Tech's madness was part of him originally or if the technology did it. Maybe I should stop while I'm ahead before I go mad myself.

***

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