Prime City: A Cyberpunk Thriller: Neon Horizon, #2

CHAPTER 1

The threat of war between the Blind Spot and Scala City might have passed, but for Marcie things were far from over. What she would give for everything to be sorted. To be able to remain where she lay on her soft mattress as she stared at the gunmetal grey sky outside her window. But she had things to do. Lots of things to do. The fate of the city and the Blind Spot might have been settled, but her fate and the fate of some of those she cared about still hung in the balance.

With her turning sixteen, the four walls of her bedroom might no longer be her prison cell, but they still pressed in on her, decorated with images of a life she’d now left behind. Whatever happened, she’d never get her mum back. And with what she’d been through since taking a seat at the top table, she’d now also said goodbye to her childhood.

A heavy knock jolted Marcie from her daydreams, her temples stinging, her throat burning. An X-ray scan revealed the hulking figure on the landing. Over seven feet tall, metal legs, one metal eye. She cleared her throat with a wet cough. Come in.

The man exuded confidence in every other aspect of his life. The alpha male of the Blind Spot, his broad shoulders bore the weight with ease. But when he entered his daughter’s room, Wrench turned from a lion into a mouse. His head bowed, his voice low, he addressed his feet. Morning, darling.

Her throat still locked tight, Marcie cleared it again.

You must be exhausted with everything that’s gone on. His organic eye glistened with tears when he looked up. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done. You’re a hero. To both us and Scala City.

Tell that to the people now living a life with the Pandora hack.

Each of Wrench’s steps slammed down as he passed her in the bed, pausing as if he might sit close to her before thinking better of it and going to the small chair in the corner. He folded into it and snorted a humourless laugh. I remember that day.

Marcie’s bed creaked when she raised herself on one arm to see where he pointed. The photograph showed her and Sal on tricycles, the neon of the Blind Spot a blur on either side of them. She shook her head. It took me years to realise that blur was an effect. For the longest time, Sal and I would talk about how fast we went. Just goes to show how you can create your own history, eh?

I nearly told you, but Mum said you’d work it out eventually. She said why ruin the magic. Like Santa Claus, you know?

I still believed in him the last time we celebrated Christmas.

The light caught the streak of tears down one side of Wrench’s face. I’m sorry. I’ve been shut down for a long time. I’ve not been able to celebrate anything. When Mum went—

It’s okay, Dad.

No, it’s really not. He paused. Mummy died, and my reaction was to hold you hostage and give you no emotional support.

You provided for me. A lot of people don’t have that in this world.

I should have done more. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You don’t need to.

I do.

She meant to say he wouldn’t be able to, but how could she? He couldn’t know about her plans because he’d try to put a stop to them. Stabbing pains streaked through her temples, the lump in her throat swelling. She sat up in bed. The parts of her body capable of aching damn near screamed in protest of her movements.

The organic parts of Wrench’s face lifted with hope. Would this be the first step towards reconciliation? Towards him being the dad he used to be and the dad he should have been?

I need to go out and get some fresh air, Marcie said.

Already swallowed by her chair, Wrench sank further and bit his bottom lip. He nodded and inhaled, his large chest swelling with the intake. Okay, darling. He drew a stuttered breath, his legs pulling him upright with the motors in his knees. Whatever you need, I’m here.

He wouldn’t say that when he found out what she needed. But they could have that conversation another time. If ever. The hulking frame of her dad left the room, his arms hanging at his sides, his head bowed.

The sky as dark as the asphalt she trod, Marcie shivered. The Blind Spot’s main street glowed neon, signs lining the road. They were open for business, every shop owner, pimp, and dealer trying to get her attention. She could remove her anonymity mask. It would stop them trying to sell her things, but it would probably mean everyone would want to talk to her. And more importantly, everyone would watch where she went.

Other than on Christmas Day, Marcie hadn’t seen the Blind Spot so quiet. It was the only time of year the place shut down. Scala citizens were barred from entering for twenty-four hours. Maybe the city knew many would choose sex and drugs over their families even on one of the most precious days. To make sure the citizens didn’t enter, Wrench would patrol the streets. He’d even tell Marcie he did it because people should be with their families on Christmas Day. What did he think she did when he went out walking? The loneliest day of the year for a girl with no mum and an emotionally stunted dad.

The tall silhouette up ahead snapped Marcie from her daydream. Red targets encircled him, and tension turned through her shoulders. Were she not in the middle of the road, and were it not so quiet, she would have turned around and gone the other way. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognise her with her mask on.

Hey, lady, you wanna come into my shop?

She ignored the store owner.

With just a few metres separating them, Pierre shook his head, his hair remaining static. Marcie Hugo, the Blind Spot’s saviour. You would have been better without the mask, you know. At the moment, they think you’re the only punter in the place. Show them who you are and they’ll leave you alone.

Marcie switched off her mask. The shop owners lining the streets withdrew into their shops. They would also know where she was going. But her cover had already been blown.

So—his smile stretched across his slim face in a cold jack-o’-lantern grin—how does it feel to be a hero?

The steadying breaths did nothing to prevent Marcie’s heartbeat slamming through her, rocking her where she stood.

His eyes dead, insincerity dripped from his words like fresh blood from the blade of a knife. You did so well to stop the war. Well done, sweetie.

What happened to Horace was an accident.

You stitching him up, you mean? Hanging him out to dry for your own gains.

I didn’t think he’d lose his life.

"It’s called murder, sweetheart. The Eye murdered my brother."

It’s not his fault.

Someone else pulled the trigger, did they?

Marcie let go of a deep sigh.

But I see what you mean. There are two people who deserve to be punished for this. He leaned so close she ruffled her nose at the stench of his cologne. But one of them’s protected, so I guess when I find the Eye, he’ll have to take her punishment too.

At least he hadn’t found him yet.

I’ve heard you can keep someone alive for days if you take the skin from their body an inch at a time. I wonder if I can turn him into one large scab?

I’m going to—

Tell Daddy?

Tear your fucking throat out if anything happens to him.

Pierre lurched at Marcie, stopping just millimetres from her face. His smile broadened. I dare you to try.

He had to be calling her bluff. She was Wrench’s daughter; he wouldn’t do anything. But if he found the Eye, he’d be sure to make him pay for Horace’s death.

Pierre slammed into her as he strode off down the main street, the heels on his leather-soled shoes delivering a metronomic click. He didn’t look back.

She had to find the Eye before he did.

Very few people knew where Shank lived. An old abandoned warehouse in one of the only dark corners in the Blind Spot. Despite the lack of artificial light and the fact that the place sat in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, she still had the windows and door boarded over. Although she owned the entire building, apparently she only lived in a small apartment on the first floor.

The hairs lifted on the back of Marcie’s neck as she approached. So quiet she could hear her own pulse. Someone had to be watching. She switched to night vision. The place seemed clear.

Marcie tugged on one of the boards covering the warehouse’s front door. It held fast, so she tugged harder, the nails groaning as they dislodged from the wood they’d been driven into.

The next board came away more easily. Marcie pulled away one more before she ducked through the dark hole. Hopefully the woman was out, and she’d find a clue with no one being any the wiser.

Bright lights dazzled Marcie. The glare blinded her as she stumbled back. She switched off her night vision.

Another flash, this time driven through her skull on the back of a clenched fist.

Marcie fell and rolled away, the hunched shadow of Shank tracking her progress.

When Marcie tried to stand, Shank swiped her legs from beneath her. She landed on her right hip.

When she tried to stand a second time, Shank kicked her in the ribs, driving the air from her lungs.

Still hunched over, Shank drew her blades with a shing!

Shank! It’s me, Marcie.

Her teeth bared, her squat frame rising and falling with her heavy breaths, Shank turned her head to the side like a dog listening to a high-pitched sound. "Marcie? What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t you know better than to break into my place? You’re lucky you’re still alive."

I was hoping you were out.

And you think that’s justification?

Look, just listen to me for a minute.

I’m still deciding if I should cut your throat. You’re lucky you’re Wrench’s daughter.

I need to find the Eye.

He’s hidden.

I know. By you.

You think I’m going to tell you?

He can’t live in the Blind Spot now, can he? Marcie sat up. If Pierre finds him, he’ll kill him. He’s just told me as much. And Sal needs new lungs.

Those two things are related how?

I don’t want to remain in the Blind Spot. I’ve got too much history here.

You want a tiny violin to go with this speech?

It isn’t fair for the Eye to be punished.

"He killed Horace."

Were I anyone else, I would be facing punishment too.

But you prevented a war.

With the Eye’s help.

I still don’t get where Sal’s lungs come into this.

If I can go to Prime City, I can take the Eye with me. I’ll get Sal’s lungs, and the Eye will have a new home.

Are you forgetting the wastelands? Shank finally let her knives retract into her sleeves.

I’ll get across them.

Shank snorted a laugh. Without Daddy’s protection? Besides, what does he think about this plan?

He told me this morning how he wanted to spend the rest of his life making up to me how shit he’s been as a parent since Mum died.

You haven’t told him?

It’d break his heart.

Which is a good reason to stay.

Not as good as helping two people I care about find their freedom. I love my dad, I really do.

But?

I’m not sure I like him. And I owe the Eye. I got him into this situation.

And where are you going to get the credits to get into Prime City and buy the lungs?

Maybe you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to. Now the tension had eased a little, Marcie took the place in. Not an abandoned warehouse at all. Far from it. Exercise equipment covered the large space, the reek of stale sweat in the air. Punching bags, sparring dummies of every description, free weights …

I can’t tell you anything, Shank finally said.

Please?

I’d really like to, honestly I would, but I can’t betray Wrench’s trust in me.

Before Marcie could speak again, Shank cut her off. I mean, with business being as quiet as it is, and will be for the next few days.

Huh?

All the commercial properties are pretty much abandoned at the moment. A lot of spare rooms.

Marcie nodded. And you hate slack dens, don’t you?

Fucking slack dens are a plague on this place. I’d shut down every one of them if I could. Now, Madame Fiona’s, that’s a high-quality establishment! I feel sorry for just how quiet they’ll be. There are so many empty rooms in that place right now.

When Marcie stepped forward to hug Shank, the woman snapped her knives out and raised her top lip in a snarl. Don’t push it.

Thank you, Shank.

I don’t know why you’re thanking me. The slightest glint in her dark brown eyes. So why don’t you fuck off before I change my mind about cutting your throat?

As Marcie moved past her, Shank grabbed her by her right arm. She pulled her in and kissed her on the forehead. Follow your path, darling. You deserve more than the cards you’ve been dealt.

When Shank let go of Marcie, she climbed back out through the hole she’d made in the front door. The alley even darker compared to the bright glow in Shank’s training area, it took the lenses in her eyes a few seconds to adjust. She then took off at a sprint towards the red-light district.

CHAPTER 2

Hey, lady, come and try some of our home-made Blind Spot food.

Marcie quickened her pace past the shopkeeper. Pierre might have recognised her, but with everyone else, the anonymity mask proved effective.

The woman from the next shop along—a store selling synthetic alcohol among other items—spread her arms wide and shrugged. It costs nothing to look.

The clouds remained thick and unbroken. A veil of dark grey, it pressed down against the neon glow from the streets. An illuminated blue tube on Marcie’s right blinked before turning off as if finally admitting defeat against the sky’s oppressive weight. The cold air turned her breath into condensation and billowed from beneath her mask. While maintaining her pace, she kept her focus ahead.

Some special vegetables from the agricultural lands?

Synth-cigarettes?

Like she’d smoke that shit. Six months on those things and she’d need steel lungs like Sal.

Lady, over here. I have some wonderful bargains for you.

Marcie clenched her jaw and drew a deep breath. All of this had to be easier than travelling the quiet streets as Marcie Hugo. A line of expectant faces hung from doorways farther ahead, all of them readying themselves for her approach. She ducked down an alley on her right.

So tight, her shoulders nearly scraped the walls on either side. The only light came from the neon glow in the streets at both ends. Marcie switched off her mask and discarded it on the ground. She could get another one. For now, she needed to travel as light as possible.

Where she would usually jump from one wall to the next, Marcie leaped up and spread her arms and legs out in the shape of a star. The exposed bricks were damp and rough to touch. She climbed the two walls by holding herself still with her arms and dragging her feet up, and then doing the same with her feet to lift her arms higher until she reached the top.

All of the buildings were two to three storeys tall, each roof at a different and often opposing angle to their neighbour. But at least they gave her a route from one side of the Blind Spot to the other without shopkeepers, dealers, and pimps. At least she could exist up here as Marcie Hugo.

Marcie’s feet twisted and turned with the pitched angles. The occasional tile snapped, but her eyes had already assessed the structural integrity of the route, picking out a safe run that would support her weight. The gaps between the buildings were no wider than a few metres. She took them in her stride. No need for her flying suit here.

The collective crimson glow from the red-light district marked it from the rooftops. So bright they probably saw it from Prime City.

The biggest sign around, this place spared no expense. Large purple neon letters declared the establishment open. The shaped neon green tubing depicted a naked woman with large breasts. She’d arrived at Madame Fiona’s.

There were more workers on the streets of the red-light district than there had been on the main road. On the roof of a far less swanky brothel, Marcie held back by a few metres. The second she jumped down, they’d see her. Mask or not, she’d attract too much attention.

Marcie stepped back another pace, closer to the skylight in the building’s roof. While holding the edge of its frame in a tight grip, she snapped it up with a sharp tug. The window broke open with a pop, the ching of something metal landing inside the building below.

Although she pulled away from sight, she kept the skylight open a crack. Silence inside, backed up by an X-ray sweep of the place.

Her heart pounding, Marcie lifted the window all the way open until it lay flat against the roof. She sat on the edge, her legs dangling down. A two-storey drop. No one below. She hit the ground with the gentlest of taps.

Still silent inside, Marcie slipped through the closest door and shut it behind her.

The room stank of lube and sweat. The old bed in the corner had red velvet sheets, which were hardened and crusty from where they clearly hadn’t been cleaned for weeks. A shower in one corner, dusty shelves beside it with jars lined up along them. Some were filled with yellow liquid, some red, some brown …

Marcie returned to the corridor. Better to try her luck than spend any more time in there. Whatever people did behind closed doors should remain behind closed doors.

The room opposite had been cleaned much more recently. It had a bed with purple sheets, and whips, chains, and handcuffs were lined up along one wall. The wardrobe in the corner hung open. Leather and PVC catsuits, masks, tubes … Still not what Marcie needed. But then she found a pink satin nightie at the back. It had white feathered trim, the uniform of an off-duty sex worker. Next to it sat a cat mask and fake claws. Hopefully no one would question it. After pressing her ear to the door and hearing nothing outside, she did another X-ray sweep to be certain.

Marcie emerged from the brothel opposite Madame Fiona’s. She passed four working girls and two men. None of them paid her any mind.

The street was cleaner than she’d ever seen it. They’d clearly put their time off to good use. The cold nipped at Marcie’s bare legs, her cybernetics twitching in response. She reached Madame Fiona’s but halted outside. The entrance framed with a large pink glowing heart, it revealed a long corridor alive with pink neon. Like she had with the woman’s brother, she recognised the walk and silhouette approaching her from the end of the corridor. Becky! Shit.

Leaving before Becky saw her, Marcie nipped into the shop next door. The deep bass grooves, the muted purple glow, she’d walked in through the back of a slack den. The man behind the bar watched her every step of the way.

What are you doing in here?

Huh?

Look, I don’t care if a working girl wants to come in here on her downtime, but don’t be so blatant. You know the rules. If you’re on the job, even on a break, you don’t come into the dens. It tells me you’re either trying to steal my punters—of which I have none, like everyone else today—or you’re trying to get me shut down. You know the two businesses shouldn’t mix.

Marcie only half-listened to the man as she watched Becky leave Madame Fiona’s at a fast march. If the woman didn’t always look so pissed off when she walked, she might have read more into her angry stride.

Are you even listening to me? the owner of the slack den said.

What?

The man leaped over the counter, squaring up to Marcie. Don’t make me throw you out.

The cybernetics in Marcie’s arms twitched. He could try. But she didn’t need the attention today. She lowered her gaze and left the shop, nipping into the long pink corridor Becky had just vacated.

The wallpaper and carpet had hearts printed on them. Every one of the internal doors was heart shaped. A mixture of all different perfumes hung in the air, their combined funk like fly spray. It caught on the back