Neon Dust

Stories

### Chapter 1: 1 Opening Act

1 – Opening Act

Tony drifted, mostly oblivious, but a voice wound its way into his ear out of the darkness, “This plasma forge is bonded with the bones. We’re not getting it off in one piece.”

A more familiar voice, though too deep and too slow, replied, “Take the arm.”

The first voice came again. It was like a recording played at half-speed, but Tony was pretty sure it was Chavez. “Who’s the lucky SOB getting this reactor and matrix? Tier-one Dust-tech, man.”

“Not your problem. Not your business.” Somewhere in the back of Tony’s mind, he wondered why Eric was talking about his gear with a stranger. Why were they talking like he wasn’t there?

“And the optics? We’re leaving him blind?”

“Leave him one. She’ll be satisfied with one eye. I’ll say the other was destroyed when we took him out.”

“We can get the auditory implants out, but his eardrums will be scarred.”

“Just do it! Take anything you can that won’t kill him.”

“The wirejob? It’s built into all his tendons, muscles, a synaptic mesh—he’ll be a vegetable if I take—”

“Am I talking to myself? Leave the goddamn wirejob! He’s never gonna have the Dust to fire it off.” Somewhere in his muddled, half-conscious mind, Tony felt a flare of anger. Who was Eric so pissed at? Him? At…someone else? Why? What changed? Did he screw him over? As something hot lanced into his chest, the darkness pulled him down, and he lost track of the voices, his thoughts, and his feelings.

***

“…your ass up, scav. This is Helldog turf.” Tony felt a rough jostle, and his forehead scraped on something that felt like concrete. He coughed. God! The air was thick! He blinked, only finding darkness, and tried to activate his AUI. Nothing happened—nothing but black behind his eyelids. He felt another rough shove, and his forehead scraped further over the rough ground. This time, some light came into his eye. “ Move , slug!”

Tony groaned and flopped onto his side so his face turned toward the voice. A man who seemed more mountain than person loomed over him. He wore stained jeans, half a dozen chains, a black synth-leather jacket with a dozen colorful patches sewn into the material, and boots—big black, steel-toed boots—one of which was poised to smash Tony in the face.

He flung out his arms—arm, he soon realized—and barely deflected the blow so it painfully ground into his forearm and shoulder instead of his mouth. “I’m moving,” he grunted, scrabbling to his knees. He tried to push himself up with both hands, but his right arm seemed to have been truncated at the elbow.

“Hurry up, you disgusting rat!” The enormous man gave Tony’s rump a kick for good measure. Sniggers sounded nearby, and something hot came to life in Tony’s chest. Nobody treated Anthony Michael Santoro like a bum-rat scav! With great pain and stiffness, he drove himself to his feet, furious to find them bare. They took his boots? His beautiful, perfectly broken-in, synthetic alligator-hide boots? He whirled on the three “Helldogs,” scowling.

“Keep your filthy, shit-scraping claws off me!”

“Ooh, listen to this gutter rat, boys! He’s got a little spunk in him! Somebody messed you up, pretty boy. Better take a look in the mirror. Hah, gonna be hard with those eyes!”

“Good one, Beef!” another voice chimed in, somewhere off to Tony’s right. “He’s still got a pretty one, though! Maybe I could use an upgrade!”

“Nah, runt.” Beef licked his thick lips with an overly moist tongue. “I think maybe I’ll take it.” The hulking fellow—more fat than muscle, if Tony were any judge—produced a switch from inside his jacket and flicked open the blade with a satisfying snick . Meanwhile, Tony held his left hand up, blinking at it. Things weren’t right. He was missing an eye?

“Oh, shit ,” he sighed, remembering the snatches of conversation he’d heard while drugged up—not a dream, after all. They took his eye. They took nearly everything. He looked down at himself. He still wore his blue silk shirt, but it was torn, bloody, and stained from filth in the alley he’d rolled through. His pants were in a similar condition.

“Oh shit, is right, my boy!” his antagonist crooned, waving the knife back and forth.

“Cut him up, Beef!” one of the others said, moving into Tony’s view out of his missing eye’s blind spot. This one was skinny and had a denim vest—fewer patches, too.

Looking past him, Tony caught his first real look at his surroundings—graffiti on every building, trash piled in the alleys, extruded concrete and plasteel buildings that had once been state-of-the-art but were now worn down and dirty from lack of maintenance, the salty, moist air, and the ever-present thick corrupted Dust mingling with the soot and smog. Tony coughed, loosening the top button at his collar—why had they bothered with the button before dumping him? He lifted his right arm, stared at the bloody staples on the stump where his elbow used to be, and laughed—more of a choked-off mad cackle than a laugh, but it felt good.

“This guy’s nuts, Beef!” the skinny guy hooted, though his voice was muted and echoed strangely. Tony glared at him, saw he was wearing a bulky breathing apparatus, and grinned.

“I’ll take that mask, runt.”

“Hah!” Beef laughed, lunging with his shiny, narrow blade. It was a clumsy attack, but Tony figured Beef was used to sticking that blade into less-than-agile opponents. If he was where he thought he was, he couldn’t imagine there were many folks around who might give Beef much trouble; the guy had to weigh three hundred pounds, and he was part of a gang. Tony figured the big fellow wasn’t used to “scavs” or “scabs” resisting his less-than-tender, boot-heel ministrations.

Tony had learned long ago that when you were the new guy in a rough area, you had to stand up for yourself. You had to let it be known that you were not the one to fuck with. When someone didn’t get the clue, he’d often found that a little display of violence was usually just what the doctor ordered. So, when Beef made that clumsy yet powerful lunge, Tony channeled some Dust into his muscles, enhancing his strength, speeding his movements, and making Beef’s bulk meaningless—

Something came at him out of his blind spot and knocked his legs out from under him. When the concrete impacted the back of his head, Tony blinked at the gray sky, watching tiny stars circle and flash. How long had it been since he’d seen stars like that? A boot came into view, aiming for his face, and, once again, he threw his arms up, trying to protect his good looks.

“That guy thought he could fight you, Beef! Did you see that? He’s certifiable!”

“Smash him, Beef!” a new voice said, and Tony tilted his head to see the third antagonist—short, bald, with two chrome eyeballs and a tattoo on his forehead that read, “REJECT.” It wasn’t lost on him that, while stars were still floating in his vision, Beef’s boot hadn’t come down yet.

“Maybe I ought to let him live.” Beef’s boot slowly came down, and the bulky man squatted, staring at Tony’s face with a look of surprising intelligence in his deep-set, small, black eyes. “Take a look at this guy’s eye. That’s some high-end chrome. Look at his skin and teeth. This rat used to be a corpo -rat.” The two minions giggled at the pun. “What you got for me, rat?”

Tony’s mind was reeling, still coming to grips with the idea that nothing had happened when he’d tried to activate his wire-job and fight. His pride was mortally wounded, but did he still want to live? The question wasn’t entirely rhetorical; he wasn’t sure he did. Could he taunt this guy into killing him? It seemed like the perfect moment if he wanted to. Still, the question tickled some memories in the back of his mind—green eyes, long hair, soft lips, and the scents of vanilla and jasmine. “Emily,” he whispered hoarsely.

“What’s that, rat? You got something for me or not?” Beef flicked his switch open and closed just a few inches from Tony’s face.

Tony cleared his throat and licked his lips. He wasn’t ready to die yet. He had to figure out what happened. When had Eric turned on him? Who’d ordered it? Someone must have, right? The chrome, the Dust, they took everything—it felt personal. The fact he was still alive said it was. Someone wanted him to suffer. God, what he’d done for all that chrome. Could he get it back? “My plasma forge ,” he groaned.

“I think he’s too nuts, Beef. Open him up!” Skinny giggled as he spoke, leaning close, peering over the top of his breather.

“Shut up, runt.” Beef leaned closer to Tony’s face. “I think he rang his bell on the concrete. Hey, corpo-rat! You wanna live or die?”

Again, Tony licked his lips, trying to clear the cotton from his mouth. “Live.”

“Hear that, boys? We got us a new rat. Okay, corpo, you’re on my street, you get me? This is Helldog turf, and I run this block. We’ll start easy. Earn me a hundred bits by tomorrow. You manage that, and you can keep your eye for another day.”

“A hund—” Tony coughed and winced as his head throbbed. It felt like his skull was coming apart at the seams. “A hundred bits? They pulled my personal AI. I can’t even—” He choked off his words as Beef poked his knife into his ribs, grinding the tip through the skin and into the bone.

“Not my problem, rat. Use a bit-locker.”

“Yeah!” Reject said, coming around to stand behind Beef, his chrome eyes bulging. “This is Beef’s corner.”

“Shut up!” Beef lurched to his feet and shoved the much smaller man back. “Bring them bits here tomorrow, rat. Then we can talk about your next job. We’ll be watching.”

Tony just coughed, wheezing from the thick air. He had to be in the Blast. Would Eric really dump him down there? Would he rip out his Dust reactor and dump him in the dirtiest district in the entire metro area? As he struggled to get up, his mind refusing to remember that he only had one arm, he grunted, “Is this—” He coughed. “Is this the Blast?”

“That’s right, corpo. You’re a long way from stretch limos and fine ladies. Go on, now. Get to work!”

Tony nodded and stumbled away from the alley toward the street, where he saw people walking, heads down. An occasional vehicle sped by, sometimes honking at the many jaywalkers. He leaned against the rough brick and looked out, squinting his good eye. He saw tall apartment buildings, but a bodega was on the corner, a pawn shop across the street, and a flower shop on the opposite corner. No one spared him a glance, but an old-timer sweeping outside the pawn shop met his eyes and, to his amazement, offered a quick nod.

Tony checked for cars, then shuffled barefoot on the hot asphalt across the street. When he’d stumbled up the sidewalk, he paused to catch his breath, leaning his good arm on his knee, looking down at his dirty, bloody toes. When had he split his big toenail? He heard the swish of the old guy’s broom and looked up, squinting his eye. Why wasn’t it compensating for the brightness? “No PAI,” he groaned. Of course.

“They really did it.” He lifted the stump of his right arm, noting the raw, red state of the seam where Chavez had stapled the flap of skin in place. It looked sloppy. “All the shit I did for that guy, and this is how he treats me? I practically paid for his yacht!” Grimacing, Tony straightened and pulled the top of his shirt open, loosening a button. Another big red scar met his gaze, stapled shut. As he’d feared, they’d taken his Dust reactor, the whole damn thing. He gingerly felt the back of his neck and, sure enough, found another raw sore—they’d pulled his data port.

After he buttoned his shirt back up, Tony prodded his teeth with his tongue. “At least they left me my teeth, those rat bastards!”

“Double-crossed, huh?”

Tony jerked his head up and glared at the old guy with the broom. “You could say that.”

“Hah! Dumped you in the Blast with no shoes? I guess you could be glad they didn’t kill you, but they might as well have. You’re lucky it was the Helldogs’ corner you woke up on and not the Night Ravens.”

Tony sighed and pressed his palm against the throbbing scab where his right eye used to be. “Gangs?”

“Oh yeah. We’ve got quite a few ’round here, but some are worse than others. Helldogs run this street, and I pay my protection, so don’t get any ideas.” He moved a little closer, peering at Tony’s face. “They stripped you down, huh? Took an eye but left you another. Small favors, I s’pose.”

“Look, I should probably get the hell outta here. I gotta get back to New Manhatt—”

The old guy laughed, shaking his head. “You think they’re letting a guy like you through the checkpoint? No PAI—nothing? Never been to the Blast, I take it? Corps tend to discourage free travel. Boxer Manufacturing runs this part of the district, and the neighboring megas have the bridges locked down pretty tight. Takes scratch to get through.” He chuckled, rubbing his fingers together.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Yeah, I was relieved of my bits.” Tony sighed. “And my Dust. Everything. I need to get a mask or something.”

“You don’t even have a matrix or reactor?”

Tony shook his head. “Stripped.”

“Yeah, kid. The Dust down here’s dirty.” He pointed down the street, and Tony looked to see an enormous megatower in the distance, the top half of which was simply gone —girders, broken concrete, and plasteel jutting out at crazy, bent angles. Even so, the bottom third of the thing was lit up. Tony had glimpsed the tower from New Manhattan, but he’d never been close enough to realize it wasn’t abandoned. “Piece of the Aurora Gate fell here, broke the NGT megatower in half, and blew up a fusion reactor—it’s why the Dust is corrupted down here.”

“Yeah, I know the story,” Tony sighed. Everyone knew the origin story of Dust, and the Blast was just a footnote. Persephone, a benevolent AI that destroyed Horizon Net, another AI, in a bid to save humanity from enslavement or extinction—it was never clear—had created a gateway to another dimension in her space station, Aurora Gate. Nobody knew if she’d intentionally destroyed herself and left the Dust as a gift or if the Dust or something on the other side of the gateway had done her in. Whatever the case, she was gone, and the Dust remained.

He realized he’d zoned out, and the old guy had kept talking, “…grows faster here than in other places. ‘Course, it’s all corrupted, and there are so many other places for the megacorps to harvest it. It’s too expensive to purify it, you see? So…” He shrugged.

“So it just gets thick in the air and messes up people’s DNA.” Tony sighed.

“Nah, most everyone has a matrix and a reactor. If not, like you said, there’re breathers that’ll protect you for a while.” He pointed toward the pawn shop. “I’ve got a few. You can borrow one.”

Tony squinted, looking at the shop behind the old guy. The sign above the door read “Bert’s Parts and Pawn.” He nodded at the window. “You’re Bert?”

“Oh, yup. That’s me.” Bert smiled and waved the broom toward the door. “Come on. I’ll see if I can find you a breather.” He walked inside, and Tony looked up and down the street. Straining his eye in the opposite direction of the broken megatower, he tried to catch a glimpse of New Manhattan, but the smog, haze, or whatever it was down there was too thick. He followed Bert inside.

When the door closed behind him, Tony paused, examining the store. It was a typical low-tech pawn shop—electronics, a few guns, clothes, and jewelry, but also racks of electronics components, motor parts, and other odds and ends. “So, you’d really let me borrow a breather? I don’t think I can repay—"

Bert chuckled and waved his arm, cutting Tony off. “Sure I will, but you’ll owe me.”

“Ah.” Tony smiled. “I was waiting for the catch. Look, uh, Bert, they took my data port, my PAI, everything. I don’t have a single bit to my name. I was, um, gonna try to get out of here and see if I could cash in an old favor or two from some of my contacts in the city.”