This city was a dangerous one.

What was once full of promise, with the potential to grow and earn your way the good old American way, now held a more tainted story.

This city was a spiteful one.

With the billionaires lining the pockets of their congressmen to get exactly what they wanted—more money, fewer consequences.

Desirae was an outcome of this fate. A daughter to a rich man who lived miles away that left her to her own devices. Daddy issues could never be so literal. She spent her final days of high school hiding away in the halls, preparing for the beast that was real life. College wasn’t for her, but it wasn’t like her father would care. He wasn’t around enough to have a say.

With a load of money and the wits of a Young Einstein, Desirae was expected to know how to ‘adult’ just by the nature of things. So as her last days of the semester roll out, and the reality of life begins to ensue, what would an eighteen-year-old girl do in the heart of Chicago, with her Daddy’s money and all the time in the world? Deal.

The world of dealing is important, all major cities saw it as a way for vermin to make a quick buck, but luckily she didn’t have to worry about the predicament of ruining some hoodlum’s life off a gram of weed. No, her situation was a little more peculiar than that.

Desirae was the type of person that ventured the alleyways at night, pushing the things people wanted most. Augmentations. Alterations to themselves that enhanced certain aspects of their life, whether it be external through the use of glasses and accessories, or internal through extensive networking of unlicensed doctors and ganglords. One was legal, the other was not. While Desirae lacked any form of augmentation, she found joy in the adrenaline rush of being a part of the culture shadowed behind the flashy lights and smiley faces. The augmentations the government legalized were minor and insignificant—the illegal enhancements that are only done behind closed doors were where the real money was spent. The only augmentation she, and everybody else along this strip of businesses, had was a small chip embedded into the skin of her wrist. Insignificant, but a pain in her ass.

Desirae had never seen somebody go through the surgery to obtain these alterations, she had never been witness to the miracle of this technology. But this honor was alive in the streets, with men and women sporting their metallic arms and artificial irises. Where the medical field only allowed augments that rid their patients of physical ailments, the networks beyond the dark web allowed creative freedom to reign.

Creativity was a lost cause to Desirae, though. She tried theater and failed every audition she went for. Her masterpieces were that of stick figures, and her musical talent was outshined by toddlers. The only thing she had going for her was her wits and intellect, something that saved her while exploring this darker side of Chicago.

She snaked around each skyscraper, cutting by the alleyways and kept her hands inside her pockets. Her hood covered her blonde hair, shoving by each person that walked too close to her. The streets were a contrast to her home life—the columns cased with gold at the trimmings were replaced with the dirty steel framework of the buildings. She yearned for the adrenaline of working such a dirty and tainted job but never had experienced a night without her silk pillowcases and excess allowance. She wondered if she would survive given the chance to run away.

Arriving at the center of town, she stepped into the crowd and blended into the masses. This was the nicer part of Chicago, right next to the businesses that overlooked the Chicago Riverwalk. She was supposed to meet with a guy named DeVile, some hoodrat who made millions off the wicked dreams of augmentations. All he asked of Desirae was a list of potential candidates, ultimately earning her a quick buck. Not that she needed it, but it made her feel like she had accomplished something.

As she approached her destination, she paused to take a moment and watch the lights dance along the water to her right. Vibrant pinks and purples bled through the streets, kissing each reflective surface and raining down the glory of city life onto its inhabitants. A false promise of happiness.

The club she entered was a hot spot for the rich and famous, with their boozy drinks topped with fire. The bouncer nodded at her as if he knew her all too well to question her age. The music was electronic and bassy, the strobe lights further hindering the intoxicated and masked the sight of women grinding on men. The nightlife was alive, and it reeked of vomit and sex.

Pulling her hoodie down, she moved around the dancers and made her way to the VIP lounge. Here, she was met with two more bouncers, nodding in the same mindless way they had the past ten times she visited this club. She never had met with DeVile, but all the other gangbangers chose this spot to meet. It was a neutral zone, one where the cops didn’t dare impede on, but one where the men were willing to spend big bucks for their women. It was like watching a game of cat and mouse. Chasing, and chasing, only biting when they figured they had a shot.

Pushing past the beaded curtains, she came face to face with five strippers and three guys. They were ogling over the goods held by these girls—goods being drugs. They were all as high as a kite.

Clearing her throat, everybody in the room turned and eyed her from her head to her toes. She was an outcast, with her worn gray hoodie and tattered jeans. The strippers, obviously, were bare and exposed in every legal area, whereas the men were dressed to the nines. Suits, ties, and vests: they were the walking image of success. However, it wasn’t the same success her own Father saw. This success was from the undermining of legalities and loopholes.

“How you doin’ sugar?” One of the ladies asked and approached her. Standing taller than Desirae, she had to tilt her chin upwards so she wasn’t facing a view of chest. “You look a little young to be here, dontcha?”

Desirae adjusted her jacket and cleared her throat, her eyes flickering between the men and women. “I’m with him.”

“Him?” The woman laughed, it was high pitched and stale. As artificial as the rest of her. “Who’s him, dollface?”

If she had to witness the smacking of her gum one more time, she was going to lose it. “Uh… De-Vile?”

Stupid name, she told herself. I’m in a stupid situation.

“DeVile?” She said with a furrowed brow. Turning, she called over her shoulder. “Hey, sweetcheeks. This young girl is here for you?”

Desirae had been here a few times—to this very room, too, but most of the clients she met with had the decency to hail the hookers after she left. Peeking past the woman, she laid eyes on the man in the center. He sat with his arms stretched on the backside of the couch, his eyes glossy and narrowed towards her. His lips, tugged into a smirk so coy and condescending it made her shiver. He pulled his arms across his chest and leaned forward, his eyebrows raised as he eyed Desirae curiously.

“Fresh meat, huh? How old are you, darling?”

She pinched her palms, still keeping them hidden in the pockets of her jacket and simply shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re DeVile?”

He nodded. “The only name you’ll know of mine. Now, what do I call you?”

“You don’t. I have the list of contacts.”

Sniffling, he stood and grabbed his glass off the table. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman who still stood in Desirae’s way, moving her aside. “To answer your question, Moxi, yes she’s here for me.”

Moxi hummed, holding her hands up in the air. “Don’t know what shit you’re gettin’ into this time, but let’s pretend I don’t know any of it.”

She winked towards Desirae before parting, leaving DeVile and her to talk. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot to distract her from how out of place she felt.

“Do you drink?”

“No.”

“Smoke?”

“No.”

“Do you do anything?”

“Not really, no.”

DeVile scoffed and took a swig of his liquor, shrugging his shoulders. “Suit yourself, but we all have our vices. Where’s the list?”

She took one of her hands out of her pocket, holding a plasma drive between her thumb and forefinger. He reached out for it, his jaw dropping when she held it back and tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“How do I know it’s you?”

DeVile narrowed his eyes again, looking back at his friends on the couch who stared in awe. Apparently, none of them were used to such defiance. “You have got to be kiddin’ me, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid. You’re, what, twenty-six? What’s the password.”

“Password?”

“The one our mutual gave. Give it, or I walk out the door right now with all these sweet names.”

Lifting his hands up in the air to surrender, he nodded in compliance. “Fine, we will play formalities. If that’s the game you wanna play, though, you have to wait until we verify each of these names are legitimate before payment.”

He snapped his fingers, his two friends standing immediately and grabbed her by the shoulders. She shoved them away initially, crying when their fingers pinched the skin so hard with their grasp that she knew she’d bruise. Thrown into a seat, she let them attach two bracelets to her wrist. With the push of a button, her wrists were connected by a blue laser that shot out of the center of each bracelet. She pulled her hands apart, getting sent with an eclectic shock with each tug. Glaring at the goons, her eyes fell on DeVile and watched as he snatched the thumb drive from her fingers.

“The password’s Humming Bug.”

“Yeah, fuck you!”

“Fiesty,” DeVile said and covered his heart. “Who taught you those words?”

He folded the arm of his suit jacket up, his wrist metallic with connectors following his veins and attaching at the joints. He pressed a blue, circular button, and the metal on his wrist raised into multiple slots. Inserting the flash drive directly into his wrist, she gasped.

“What are you, a walking computer?”

He hummed in response, his emerald eyes now glowing with something artificial. As he stared into the distance blankly she felt a curious tickle take over her. It took every ounce of discipline in her body to make sure she didn’t screw up by saying the wrong thing. Not that it had exactly worked up to this point, she was handcuffed on a couch with strippers, but she was doing better than she would have otherwise expected with such a douchebag like him.

“These are some pretty big names, fresh meat. Where’d you get them? Billionaires, movie stars, singers…”

“Doesn’t matter. Are they what you want, or not?”

“So defensive. You better start answering my questions, or I’ll have them cuff your mouth shut. Be real hard to be feisty then.”

“My family has connections. What more do you wanna know?”

“Well, buggo, I need to make sure you aren’t a narc.”

“What the hell is up with you and nicknames?”

“Give me a fuckin’ name then, champ! Old sport! Or, are you more of a baby kinda gal?”

“You’ll call me baby in your grave.”

DeVile blinked, yanking the flash drive out of his wrist, and turned to look at her with a grin. “You are a real pain, but you gave me the best list of contacts I think I’ve ever had. You said your family has connections?”

She nodded, pursing her lips. Desirae didn’t like where this was going.

He walked over, his medium-length, dark hair falling in front of his forehead as he kneeled down to be at her level. “Well, you better give me some kind of alias, then. I’m going to be needing you a lot more in the coming weeks. We won’t have much of an issue as long as you keep giving me a list like this.”

Desirae bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head as she struggled to keep her mouth shut. It was evident DeVile saw this struggle, he reveled in the frustration he was causing her. He reached for her wrists, pressing his finger over her ID chip. She could squirm all she wanted, but she knew it was useless. He had all her info the second his augmented hand touched that spot.

“You are going to meet with a partner of mine in a week with a list just like this. Do that, and you’re safe. Have it ready by Friday, outside this club, 10 PM. Got it, fresh meat?”

As soon as Desirae nodded, he released his grasp and the bracelets fell to the floor. She stood, darted out of the room, and made her way to the streets as fast as she could. The way he laughed when she ran was ringing in her ears, it was a telltale sign just how fucked she was for getting involved with that gangbanger.