"The shit was that? You think you can just quit, and I won’t notice?"
I make to say something, but instead catch a fistful in the mouth.
(More beat up)
That one was from one of the Brickheads, genetically grown mounds of muscle that happen to have legs and small brains. Shit hurts but damn if I'm gonna let Savage Sal knock me down—at least all the way. Not while they’re watching. My gaze shoots up where my Case Leads watch’s on from the viewing portal amidst the sterile chamber of white. It's only after the fact I realize I should have probably kept my eyes on coach. Savage Sal hits me like a hammer. . .
(Sound effect heavy hit, knocked down, trauma sound effects)
"I'll see you in two hours. Come one boy." Savage Sal says a blur in my hazed vision. (fading footsteps, door opens)"He's all yours." (Sound of approaching footsteps and healing). "We got you B.56. Careful now. . . gently in. (noise of being submerged in water)
(Voice muffled:) A little something to relax you. . .
(Lo fi classical comes up and is the transition as everything fades to Kal's heartbeat, and inner monologue):
God, I hate this place. God, I hate it. . . pull the plug. . . just do it. . .
"Don't want to see you wasted bro and I definitely want to see you free."
My lip wrinkles and a cynical scowl touches my face—not a sign of the beating I had taken only a few hours prior on me. Gotta love the magic of a high-powered gene corp. "Now look there is still a chance—"
"And the chrome dome fairy is also real."
Savage Sal blinks flatly. The left side of his flabby face drooping from Ghoul's palsy. Another reminder of why my life blows. Never free, blessed with unnatural enhancements and a good chance of unnatural curses. Crossing his arms, Savage Sal sighed, his expression no softer even if his words were. "Look, I know it doesn't seem good, but if there is a chance we have to try. What else are you going to do?" Get fat and sick like you, cause we were never meant live. Maybe join a breeding program. My thoughts turn to a gun. I've always been fascinated by them. Weapons of liberation. The smallest weapon that keeps the predators at bay. I wonder what it must be like to hold one, to have one. Are they cold? What about after their fired? The shape and feel of the barrel in my mou—
"Kal? Kal! Are you paying attention?"
"Yes, sorry. I think. . . there’s some hybe-fluid in my ears still," I say putting on a weak smile. "Go on."
"I was saying that we can get the overall World Champs title still."
"Uh-huh."
"But its gonna come down to points, which means first place or second with a fast time in your next two races. And, of course, you will have to absolutely slay it at the World Champs next month."
"What would I have to place there?" I ask, trying to avoid what would surely come after Savage Sal's mad man planning.
"As it stands now? Third at least to be crowned World Champ, but let’s be safe and plan on first place, eh. It will look better on the boss man anyways," he said, referring to none other than both of owners: Virdi Inc.
"Shit is chrome in the head. Doesn't even make sense. First place should be good enough. No one understands this point bull."
Savage Sal shrugs, "And we were born. Shit doesn't need to make sense. We just need to understand the rules. . . which clearly state win three consecutive World titles and your life debt will be considered paid in full."
"Great, so say it happens as you say, then I have two, and I only need do the impossible one more time," I snigger, a nasty gleam in my eye.
"Did I take on shitting defeatist? Now that’s chromed up."
"Did you ever do it? The best this sport ever saw? What the hell makes you think—"
Savage Sal shifts, the look on his face worse than any beating he could ever give me. Hurt.
"I was the best. . ." he said, his fingers just grazing droop of his palsy. "But it wasn't in the cards. But it doesn't mean it can't be for you." I turn silent. A sick revulsion forming in the pit of my stomach. It was one thing to lash out and another to actually land a blow on someone you love.
"I know," I mumble, "I'm sorry."
(Long silence, the scratch of clothes and thrum of Virdi Inc)
"Sorry isn't said in words. It's in action."
I groan.
"Oh yea, you know what it is."
"What time?"
":
"A Lifestyle, I know, I know. See you then."
(Begins walking away)
"Don't forget your debrief, I wanna read that shit with my wagyu—"
"I know."
"Details, last time—"
"I know!"
(Door Slams)
(Walks up to door- scans, opens,
- Ai: Welcome home, Kal, your cortisol level indicates acute stress. You must remember those memories are not real. They are perceived by a narrative you have told yourself. The flesh cannot remember trauma from a time when your life did not exist. May I recommend box breathing to calm down? Good. Your cortisol is falling as predicted. I have taken the liberty of lowering the altitude settings, within the Virdi allowance to 14, 500 feet. Supper is prepped in the oven and will be ready in approximately 95 minutes. You have received no mail today. Your social following has declined by 874 followers. You have 1 missed call, and 1 voicemail. Uploading to your neurolink now.-
Sound effect of neurolink)
Hi Kal! It’s Emmie, I saw the race, but you were busy traveling. Hit me up, up in Ank tonight? Say seven? Cool, miss you, love ya. And hey, don't be too hard on yourself. It happens.
Ai: It is two minutes passed seven, would you like to upload to the Ankoriale?
Yea, hit me up, up, Mag." I say, settling onto my couch, as my neurolink syncs with the Ankoriale servers—pulling me from this world and to the skin of my digital second life. My walls melt, my world shimmers, and everything takes on the luster and lust of a more perfect world. Flexing my hands, I feel the warm tongue of a humid breeze and splash of an inviting waterfall, pouring into a crystalline basin, hidden in the lush forest of our design. Then I see her, rising from the waters, glistening under the orange sky. Like a siren, she extends a hand and I find myself walking to her, grasping her perfect hands in mine, and following as she pulls me into the pull. Her bathing top comes undone, floating away until it glitches from existence and we share in neural fired bliss, but the real bliss comes after. The kind where we laugh, play, dream, and talk. The kind of bliss that is to be known.
