A marble floor meets me the moment I step outside the hospital. Polished with a sanitized perfection that finally gets that extra percentage from the 99-boasters, it even reflects the featureless tombstone-skyscrapers that stand a twenty-meter arms-length from the hospital. Faces blank, as if they’re hellbent on looking like dead stones, staring at nothing and everything at once.


    Bet their lack of windows is remedied with the bullshit ‘one-way-video-feed’ Iike those I’ve seen inside of patrol vehicles. Corpo paranoia paying off in the form of complete isolation. Just so those inside can feel safe while witnessing the stillborn beauty of their district.


    Looking down, I could see myself. Tama Usagi. Moms lucky white rabbit.


    Bitch could’ve been more creative. Instead, she went and lowkey dissed my look by nicking me after a fucking albino rabbit from Japanese folklore. Guess she didn’t go far for inspiration. Got white hair, sure. Missing the bloodshots. One out of two—close, but no cigar, Kira.


    Never noticed it until now, but the monolithic skyscrapers, and these marble tiles… As if you’re leaving purgatory and stepping on the clouds before the pearly gates. That’s gotta be good PR.


    ‘Welcome to heaven! Hopefully! Guess you’ll find out once we call the ToD.’


    Moment they zap you back to life, though? Back to purgatory you go. Sorry we couldn’t repair your plastic arm or leg. Next time, just die instead.


    Honestly, what is the deal with these scrapers? They have that ‘brutalistic finesse’ tapped straight from the motherland. I walk closer up to them and it’s the same dark-purple grey wall promises it’ll look like this forever. Maybe it’s in the details, like an eye-exam done right up to the board… Wait…


    ‘Brought to you by HypoVision’.


    An AR-wall.


    ホントにビューティフル (Hontoni Byūtifuru) shit for the clankers with digital eyes. Slavic treatment for the rest of us.


    Screw it, gotta get back to Jiji-san for my payment. Looking to the right and I see nothing but unwalked sidewalks. To the left, the hospital. Up the wall? My fucking nerves for not being able to remember where his crib is at ground level. Can’t get a grip on the panels in front of me to chimney, since they were as wide as a closed car-door.


    … Wouldn’t hurt to try. I squeeze my fingers between them—and immediately pull out, blood trickle trailing down.


    “… It apparently hurt to try.”


    Folded a thousand times to fuck you up if you ever try to finger the building. I head towards the empty street, the pavement feeling good under my feet. Hope that’s not a sign of my early retirement. Honestly, it could be that it just feels good that I can actually walk again. Moment the roads split, I see civilization to the left, and the police department to the right (no doubt protecting that civilization to the left).


    So we most definitely go left.


    I’m met with a district that’s shaped after a music wave. Damn if it didn’t look tacky. Damn it if didn’t fucking look brilliant. Panels with bendable surfaces basked the district with their warm light-motifs. A slow RGB-flow color-change on the seamlessly molded walls. The structure was whole. Nothing splitting one apartment from the other - just simply ‘whatever fucking vibe you went for’.


    “Woah…”


    To think ganics get a treat every now and then. The way the light blooms through the dark glass—like it wants me to take a bite. It’s so subtle, doesn’t hurt the eyes, yet is so starkly visible. Holy crap it even uses the smallest pixels. How the hell is this behind purgatory!?


    “And they say perfectionism kills…”


    “… Well it leads to a raised suicide rate.”


    Slicked-back blonde, flashing drilled-in canines. Vampire-cosplayer, or a fucking kid with a complex.


    “Gotta say, girl. Don’t know if I dig the granny-look. The fuck’s up with the white do?”


    Run down, loose tie. Chest not having a single peck to it, as seen by the unbuttoned shirt to a v-ring.


    “Yeah,” don’t even know why the hell I’m giving them the time of day. “Getting tired of putting up with prep-punks who gang up on ganics for an easy kill.”


    “She’s feisty!” the second fella chimes in. “Who’d you steal the hoodie from, chica?”


    “Your mom.”


    Easiest fucking come back ever, always gets preppy fucking kids like him.


    “The fuck you say about my moms, esse?!”


    Holy fuck. All of them are Japanese.


    “You took a nosedive in cultural appropriation, chico? Or you that ashamed of being the sad scop of your family?”


    He growls. Momma’s the one beating the shit out of them. Dad’s off at work legally fucking a prostitute because, ‘there are no emotions involved!’


    So when you isult her, it’s as if the strongest thing they know is being destroyed.


    Can’t have that, now can we.


    “Bro! Bro, bro, bro!” he fucking orates like an ape. “She’s totally chipped the fuck out! Why else would she bark like a bitch!?”


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    “Because I can fuck you up even if I’m not.”


    The three of them all stare at once.


    “HA-HA-HA!” the three of them all laugh at once—


    SNAP—a chilling numbness surges through my face—pulsating ache, ears ringing. A fucking snap-dashing cheap-shot piece of shit.


    “Yeah, pimpslapped you,” blondie says. “Learn your manners, rat.”


    Blood spit, and a grin.


    “Shit, might need another good whack to get the deets down. Mind—”


    Heard the snap—not up all the way yet.


    Intentional.


    My whole fucking being tremored as his diaphragm almost punctures against my well-aimed fist. Don’t need to see the fucker if you can tell where he’s going to end up.


    His eyes - those beautiful little baby-blue-blots… actually bloodshot.


    “More ‘ganic than you’d like to be, eh bōya!?”


    Heave the fucker off, surging the rest of whatever the fuck he had in his lungs out in a wheeze.


    He’s reeling on the ground, and friend pops a whip out of his index.


    “Seriously? You’re actually going to—AIIE!”


    Whip-cracked me. Piece of shit.


    “Seriously, esse!?” I culturally appropriate back to him.


    He slurs a grin, somehow, before he whips at me—crack!


    It instantly wraps and spins around my arm. It fucking burns and hurts like hell—


    “S-shit! Let go!”


    “No.”


    Instead, I pull.


    “W-woah, what the fu—”


    And heave, and pull, and the fucking ape shrieks—


    “S-Stop! Let go you fucking cyberpsycho-bitch!”


    With one more pull, we’re face to face. Hell, we’re nose to nose.


    “… Romantic, isn’t it?”


    He blushes.


    I crack his nose with a headbutt, blood trickling from my forehead because of his fucking clankiness.


    “G-guys!” It’s the fucking wizkid of the bunch. “We ought to perhaps be a bit more tender with her?!”


    Glasses as thick as his hindsight.


    “Ora! Come at me, bōya!!”


    Arms out, fucking ‘ganic gladiatress. Bask in my fucking gutterpunkness, you fucking—


    Get a hand on my fucking shoulder. Head down, duck, backing off. Arms raised, ready to fucking knock you out—


    “Heard you stirring up quite a ruckus here.”


    Oh no.


    A permanent dress-vest, etched straight into his shirt. Sleeves blend into his gloves—nothing textile, all tactical. Bulletproof.


    It’s a fucking Civvie.


    Midfuckers probably snitched on me. I hear them scampering away, but can’t take my eyes off the Civvy.


    “What’s it to you, サツやろう (Satsuyarou)?”


    His eyes shimmered copfuck blue, before dullying.


    “The iron in my blood might pop up as cyberware.” I say, taking two steps back, shoulders raised, elbows tucked, looking like the biggest fucking fool on earth.


    He snickers, as he kneels, despite me being 164cm.


    “Got a report of a little run-away runt.”


    “Cool.”


    He rises and just fucking laughs.


    “Kinda short on my bagging quota…”


    Bridge crossing the high way, a quick sprint ontop and he won’t dare to fire a single PulpRocket. If he does, he’ll raze the bridge crossing the underpass highway, just for a kill. Alleyway behind the ‘waves’ could net me the same protection—I just have to be anywhere but fucking out here where there’s nothing stopping him except for the glare of the sun.


    It all starts with a step, and then fucking freezing on the spot. The way his hair, buzzed on the sides, slicked back in an off-lefted wave, bely his vacant fucking stare. Who the fuck sports black-eyeballs with demon-blue-pupils as a cop?


    No point in negotiating.


    I jack my heel to the ground—he catches my arm mid-spin, and pulls me back.


    I stare him right in the fucking eyes, and he stares right back. No. Fucker just looks right back. Shit, he isn’t even a part of this standoff, is he?


    His hand goes past his gun on the hip for a white pouch.


    Oh fuck no.


    This psychopath’s gonna wrap me up in a COSY.


    Gotta get the fuck out of here.


    “Hey!” I get his attention. “This guy’s trying to COSY a high-schooler!”


    Two connotations. One fucking reaction - surprised confusion.


    I twist, despite his deadlock. Heel surged to skewer him on the inner thigh—Civvie-weak spot. Didn’t release yet, so we give it another proper press.


    Still nothing, so we fucking stand, air-planking with my leg on that fucking artery, which that asshole Jiji-san told me would be a surefire way of fucking getting them to—


    “You’re doing it wrong, kid.”


    I body-check the fucking ground as he lets go.


    “… Urgh.”


    “Foot one on the side of the cap, the other on the artery. Ain’t rocket science.”


    How the fuck does he know that?


    I turn, ignoring the blood trickling from my nose.


    “How the fu—”


    He’s offering something to me that has three golden teeth peeking out of the dark blue, gold-latticed body.


    Credchip. A.k.a, undigitized ￥endo.


    … Given to me by a civvie.


    “Nice fake you’ve got there.”


    He rolls his eyes before he juts it to me again.


    “It’s your payment, kid.”


    Heard that one before.


    These fucks know ‘ganics do off-hand jobs that clankers can’t because their bucketware screams ‘I’m a fucking microwave oven!’ wherever they go.


    “No idea what you’re talking about.”


    He sighs, shaking his head.


    “Next time, maybe you want to actually sit inside of the tram, rather than be on it.”


    … Wait a fucking minute.


    “Motherfucker… Jiji?”


    “Hey,” he says, pointing and smirking. “Told you not to call me that.”


    “Jiji!” I burpee up. “Fucking crusty-ass Oyaji-geezer-yarou! You’re a Civvie!?”


    Can’t fucking believe it!


    “Feds shoved your old body in a blender, huh?! Tell me, which fast-food joint do I gotta avoid?”


    He rolls his eyes.


    “Your favorite ones.”


    “Oh no! Not Kōgozen!”


    “Please,” he says, arms crossing and nose raised to look down upon me. “As if you’ve ever dined there.”


    “Hey, a girl can dream, right?”


    He brims his narrowed eyes with a sharp blue glow—twin blue suns against the darkness of space.


    “… Of eating the liquid-remains of an old persons body?”


    “Just drown it in food oil—can’t tell the difference then.”


    He rolls his eyes with a little itty-bitty sigh.


    “Look, kid. You’re coming with me.”


    He reaches for me—I pop a step back.


    “Fuck no!” Shoulders and fists level to my cheeks. “Hontoni bakadane! Ain’t getting your quota without a fight—!”


    No, wait—that means he’ll get it


    “I-I mean—at all!”


    He plants his hands on his hips, as he looks around with exasperation. Guess homeboy doesn’t like it when others see him duking it out with a kid.


    “Don’t even think of using the fucking COS!”


    He widens his eyes, a baffled glare trunching his brows.


    “You mean this bloody thing?”


    He shows the white pouch from before.


    “It’s not a goddamn cozy-wrap. It’s just the pouch I held your credchip in.”


    “Until you click it up and fucking instantly mummify me—AIIE!”


    The pouch thuds on me and makes me showcase just how much the human body can look like an overcharged Tesla coil when freaking the fuck out. Jiji bursts into cackles, face turning fucking red. Didn’t think Civvies had any blood to blush with.


    “Damn it, kid!” he says, barely recovering, apparently. “You bodied a fucking tram, but a COS:y is where your grit draws the line?”


    I slowly shake my head, narrowing my eyes on him.


    “Yeah, well,” I deadlock his eyes. “A tram doesn’t lie about killing you.”


    His smile suddenly fizzled, twitches of hesitation drowning it to a frown. Lips parted, but only a dry whisper ushers out. He folds his arms, looking like he’s giving himself a self-hug moping his face to the ground, before lets go the breath he didn’t realize he was holding with a breath. shakes his head with a breath.


    “Look, Kumori, we’ve got to talk.”


    “… About what?”


    “Not here,” he says, as he clicks his thumb.


    The loud glory of a howling funnel thruster orates its presence from above, before it whiplashes me with its tempest, stretching my hair by the roots from the force. When it all stopped, I looked again from my cowering stance, and saw a hover-craft.


    Aapproaching the mirror-tinted windows, I could see my hair still standing, so I pat it down. The door opens, and a staircase clicks like clockwork, one step rolling in front of the other.


    They literally looked like golden chocolate bars.


    “After you, kid.”