I can see a sliver of open sky between the buildings. It is normally a depressing sight, but now I see it as a relief. The same is true of the people that shuffle around in mindless throngs and stand around in insufferable gaggles. Even at this late hour they are out in force. I scan the crowd, seeing mischievous smiles on some, shame filled eyes on others. They are all heading somewhere, none of them toward anything positive, anything that will help anyone. Each and every one of them is seeking some kind of unwholesome pleasure. I don’t look down on them, they are akin to animals and I love them for it.

I look over my shoulder to check out the ass of a woman, using the opportunity to see if there is anyone behind me, it looks like I am in the clear. Goëtia works for Burabō Inc, is paid to track down its members. That means that he can use IC data to find them. Luckily, I am a Skinwalker. The same measures that allow me to go inside of rival businesses and other forbidden areas will keep him from finding me.

That bounty hunter had me dead to rights, it was a miracle that I got out of there alive. It wasn’t a drone; it was a person. Which begs the question: how does someone end up like that? What kind of sick mind would want to exist in a body like that? It’s not the first time that I have asked myself that question, and it won’t be the last.

I try to take my mind off of it. I will keep an eye out, make sure that I am not being followed. But I always do that anyway. I make an effort to blend into the crowd, moving in the general direction of a tram station. From there it is a short walk to her place. But I don’t go directly there. I go in the opposite direction, making my way to an open courtyard. I spend some time there, hoping that anyone who is following me will be forced out into the open. Or maybe I am just killing time, maybe I am trying to put it off for as long as I can.

I switch over to Burabō Inc, they are shilling the latest update to their flagship franchise. The evil emperor is using his dark magic to enhance his massive warships. Do I have what it takes to jump into the cockpit of a starfighter and destroy these new threats? I do, but I think that I will pass. The commando raid on the Inquisitor’s Dark Temple was fun, I would be willing to do more stuff like that.

I see a flash of white light through the gaps between a cluster of skyscrapers, then I hear the report of distant thunder. While I gaze at what little of the lightning isn’t blocked, I tune into a news feed.

“A Government official says that as many as seventy percent of all ICs are to one degree or another jailbroken,” I’m surprised it is that low.

“The military is looking for twenty thousand people to spend six months in a VR simulation. They will be playing at being civilians and enemy combatants, helping to train an occupation force. Nutrient and water IVs will be provided free of charge. They will pay out at the end of the exercise; it will be in any currency that you want.”

There was a time when I would have rushed at such an offer. I would have gladly died every day in VR, if it meant that I would be able to live for another day.

I finally decide that I have wasted enough time. I reluctantly head into her complex. The building isn’t the best, but it sure as hell isn’t the worst.

I reach her door, after a long pause I ring the bell.

Kawaiichen: a subculture of women that are obsessed with youth and worship all things cute. Many men ignore them, writing them off as pathetic old hags wearing the skins of young women. Others embrace it, seeing it as either a nice kink or an opportunity for some fun. When I was a lad we would chase after them, them and any other girl that we saw. We didn’t care and we made that fact a point of pride.

The door opens, a magical smile greets me. Her eyes are playful, but there is a strange danger in them. She exudes intoxicating and infectious energy. She has the radiance and grace of a princess. She can get a bit annoying after a while. That isn’t fair, because you find yourself not caring if she is a bit too silly or loud.

Her skin is rather dark, her face is primarily African with traces of a few other races mixed in. When I first met her, she was some kind of Asian, Korean maybe. I showed up for our third date to find that she looked completely different, had swapped over to a completely new body. She isn’t in her set gear at the moment, wearing a house robe instead.

“Well come in,” I step inside her apartment. She has managed to keep the pink to a minimum, which is actually one of the unofficial rules of the Kawaiichen scene. On the walls, paintings of fuzzy animals sit beside posters of popular musicians.

Ashley works for the government, monitors information systems. She is entrenched, been around forever, has way more influence than her position would indicate. She was the one that recommended me to Mr. Burke.

I hear barking. A cute little Australian cattle dog puppy runs over to me. A red kerchief or bandana adorns his neck, there is a patch of black around one eye and one of his ears droops down. He yips frantically, as if he can scare me off, which makes him much cuter. Ashley scolds the pooch, telling him to calm down, that I’m not a threat.

“My friend had puppies,” she explains, “Isn’t Bosco just the cutest?”

I stoop down to pet him, “He certainly is.”

“So, what’s going on?”

“I need your help.”

She looks disappointed, but certainly not shocked, “I knew it. You can’t just come see me, you only come when you need something.”

“I was busy, I was working. I get that you are upset, but what good am I if I am weighed down by debt?”

“Excuses, excuses,” she says as she stomps away.

I follow her across the living room, “A woman is in danger. I need to find her.”

“Okay, fine. What do you need?”

“Information on someone. He is a radical, an Untouchable named Jack Mason.”

“How did you manage to get involved with a terrorist?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Gee, haven’t heard that one before,” she says with a teenager’s sarcasm.

“Well, what do you want me to say? That the story of how I got involved with a terrorist is short? That sounds worse.”

She smiles again, but it fades quickly, “You could always make me laugh.”

We enter her bedroom. She walks over to a desk that has an interface on top of it, into which she inserts a thumb drive. After an uncomfortable minute she ejects the drive and hands it to me, “It is a copy of his IC.”

“What? How did they even get that?”

“He probably worked with the government at some point,” she offers.

“That doesn’t make any sense, he is a terrorist and he is against everything that the government stands for.”

“So?”

She has a point. Governments have been doing that sort of stuff for a long time.

Rain begins to splatter off of her balcony door. She moves in close, putting her hands on my arms. I want to feel her body again, but it isn’t for me.

She spots my wound and I brace for a blood curdling scream, the kind from the horror games where you hunt down and kill people in gruesome, over the top ways. But she just goes wide eyed and starts spitting out questions, “Why didn’t I see that? How did that happen? Are you alright? Why didn’t you go get that fixed?”

“Its fine.”

“I will patch you up.”

The next thing I know I am sitting at her kitchen table; the contents of a medical kit are splayed across it. A local has numbed my arm, Ashley has already cleaned the lacerations, now she is closing them up.

“Why do you have a med kit? And how do you know how to do this?”

“I used to be a nurse,” I want to ask her how long ago that was, but the question strikes me as being rude. “You should take some Exodus, for the pain,” she suggests.

“That is the last thing that I need right now.”

“I understand. How about a little drink?”

The part of me that needs it overrules the part that knows it probably isn’t the best idea. As I sip the drink, she lovingly sews the slashes in the arm of my coat up.

“Thanks, Ash,” I chuckle, “Do you want to know what happened.”

“I thought about it, I just figured that you were being an idiot.”

“Be serious. This is a bad situation. Do you know about a Burabō retention officer named Goëtia?”

There is a brief pause as she searches what is available to her, including her own memories, “The name means nothing to me. It is just some old book.”

“Well, this guy is a real piece of work.”

“Is he hunting the same girl that you are?”

“I’m not hunting anyone,” I blurt out, sounding way more defensive than I meant to.

“Whatever.”

Whatever, such a Kawaiichen thing to say.

She starts putting her sewing kit away. I stand up, putting my coat back on. I want to stay, not just for the night. I really do, but I have to go.

“I will come back after I find her. I promise,” why in the hell did I say that. I leave, praying that I don’t hear her cry.