>From: jeremyl@screech.owlnet.rice.edu (Jeremy Lyn Hart)
Subject: CYBERNINJA: Running the Edge
Date: 11 Nov 91 05:45:37 GMT




	This is my first-ever post to the Chat', so please let me know what you
think.  Any criticism is welcome, but outright flames (at least w/o a reason) will
be ignored.

CYBERNINJA:  Running the Edge

Prologue, 2060:

	"Bring him around."
	The lights came on.  Eyes blurred with tears opened, and the man on the table tried
to make out his surroundings.  It seemed to be an operating room; men wearing antiseptic
white clothing and facemasks stood all around him.  Where was he?  All he remembered was the
rally downtown, and his speech, and...a gunshot.  Then it had all gone black.
	He struggled to move, but found he was strapped down.  Noticing his struggle, one of
the white-suited men bent over him.  By what could be seen of his face, the man was Japanese,
of medium height and build, with narrow, cruel-looking eyes.  The surgical mask obscured the
lower part of his face.
	"Ah, Katano-san, do not attempt to move.  You are secured against escape."  He had a
very noticeable Japanese accent, rare outside of Old Nippon.  Katano's mind raced, wondering
who was doing this to him.  The answer came quickly enough, and it filled him with dread.
	The man in white gave him another cursory glance, and then turned away.
	"Anesthesia," he commanded.
	Katano fought to stay awake, to keep hold of consciousness as long as he could, as
he felt the drugs course through his veins.  A numb haze fell over him like a curtain, and
his thoughts felt strangely slow.
	"Ready the laser cutter and implants."
	It took a few moments for the words to sink in past the fog over Katano's mind, but
the realization was like a bright light.  They weren't going to kill him, they were going
to "cyberknight" him, to make him one of the machines of destruction he had always campaigned
against.  The fog of the anesthesia covered his mind, stifling his thoughts.
	Goodbye, Akiko...
	Surgery began.

HOLONEWS AT 7, HOLOCHANNEL 87:			(Aug. 17, 2060)
(Scene:  Laura Cho, Channel 87 Anchorwoman, today's news)

Laura Cho:  "Today marked a sad occasion for all of the Japanese-American population of our
	city.  Noted pacifist and human-rights leader Akiuji Katano was assassinated at a
	peaceful protest this afternoon in downtown New Washington."

(Flashes to scene from rally:  a tall, handsome Japanese-American man speaking to a crowd
of awed onlookers from a raised podium)

Laura Cho's voice:  "At approximately three-twenty this afternoon, Katano was shot and
	possibly killed by an unknown gunman..."

(Scene:  as above, gunshot rings out, and speaker's head snaps back in a spray of blood.
Supporters rush the stage and holocam jerks up and down in the confusion.  Sirens as
ambulance arrives)

Laura Cho's voice:  "...Katano was loaded onto the ambulance in critical condition, to
	be driven to the Metroplex Medical Center..."

(Scene:  shows wounded man on stretcher, being put in ambulance.  Blood covers his face)

Laura Cho's voice:  "...but en route, the ambulance mysteriously vanished.  It is presumed
	by the authorities that one of Katano's many enemies assassinated the pacifist
	leader and hijacked the ambulance on the way to the hospital.  Police do not yet
	know why the ambulance was stolen, but they do have some leads on the identity of
	the killer.  This holo has been released to the press..."

(Flashes to slowly rotating picture, head of man of definite Asian origin, crew cut, dark
brown eyes, with scar below left eye)

Laura Cho's voice:  "...but there have been no further sightings of this suspect.  He was
	spotted by several of the rally-watchers leaving the rally in the confusion, but
	lost them in the crowd.  This shooting has been classified as a homicide, even
	though Katano was still alive when driven away, because medical specialists have
	testified to the police that he could not have lived for more than five minutes
	afterward.  He is presumed dead."

(Flashes back to Laura's face)

Laura Cho:  "Police are investigating the affair, and currently suspect members of the
	multinational Mitsuhashi Armaments and Cybernetics Corporation.  The company has
	been the target of Katano's protests for many years because of their manufacture
	of orbital and suborbital "sat-killer" space-stations, notably Sun Dragon Station,
	on which construction was halted in 2052 due to Katano's protests.  Today's protest
	was against computer warfare agents and the use of experimental Artificial
	Intelligences as computer system 'watchdogs.'  Mitsuhashi has refused to comment
	on Katano's murder."

(Scene:  rotate left to include all newscasters.  Laura Cho turns to Bob MacKenzie)
Laura Cho:  "That's all the news we have for now; Body Count at eleven.  How did the
	Supersonics do against the Lakers tonight, Bob?..."


Present Day 2075:

	The night air was chill, with a slightly toxic breeze in from the coast.  Down
on the street, the Los Angeles 'Plex was alive.  People of the night - of all shapes and
sizes - roamed in search of excitement.  A jet-black corp hover-limousine coasted silently
past a street corner where a pack of gangboys sold Shokwave from the trunk of a beat-up
Chevy.  Bodysculpted prostitutes strutted beneath the glare of holoneon signs, beckoning
drooling wildboys out for a night on the town.  A silver-clad holoview star glided by,
surrounded by a protective ring of bodyguards with steel woven into their muscle.  Careful,
cautious people walked the shadows, hoping to go unnoticed.  Andrew Mason was one of these.
	Andrew's pseudo-Italian leather shoes clicked on the pavement as he turned into a
dark alley.  He stopped before stepping in and looked around anxiously, trying to overcome
the fear that someone was watching him.  Then he went on.
	High above, a shape detached from the dark shadows atop the buildings.  It ran to
the edge of the old brick roof.  Synthetic muscle fibers stronger than titanium tensed and
released, launching him to the next roof with barely a pause.  The dark shape followed
Mason as he exited the alley and headed for the air-tram station down the block.  Asaka never
took his eyes from him as the courier weaved through the teeming mass of people on the
streets.
	Below, Mason tripped and splashed through a muddy puddle.  He stood, wiped the mud
off, and bent over to pick up his briefcase.  Then a sharp prick stung the back of his neck.
He slapped at it, cursing the damned mutant mosquitoes that were able to survive in even
L.A.s toxic atmosphere.  The air seemed to kill everything BUT the mosquitoes.  With a grumble,
Mason turned into another alley, hoping to cut down the time it would take him to get to
the airtram.  This job just didn't FEEL right.
	On the rooftop, Asaka crouched silently.  He carefully separated the microneedle-gun
into its component parts and slipped them back into his pouch.  The poison would do its
job in a matter of seconds, and then he would incinerate the briefcase and whatever it
contained.  He smiled to himself.  He did not enjoy killing, but he was always proud of
good work.
	In the alley, Andrew Mason grabbed his throat and fell to the ground, choking.  He
died almost instantly.  Asaka leapt to the ground from his perch, landing beside the
briefcase and the twitching courier.  He pulled a tiny bead from a hidden pocket and struck
it on the styrobrick wall beside him, then touched it to the briefcase.  The bead ignited
and the briefcase burst into flames.  Smoke spiraled upward and the plastic-metal composite
warped and collapsed in on itself.  Asaka watched silently for a second as the flames melted
the golden "Y" symbol on the handle.  He then turned away and climbed back up to the roof.
He tapped a button on his matte-black wristcomp and waited.  Soon he heard a low humming
noise from above, and looked up just as the climbing cable was thrown down from the
hovering stealth-copter.  Asaka climbed up and they were gone.
	Back on the rooftop, another figure stood and surveyed the cyberninja's handiwork.
Pathetic, the watcher observed silently.  How could this pretend-ninja have evaded us
for so long?  The man crossed his arms and grunted softly.  This Asaka was nothing but fancy
hardware, nothing REAL.  He had been a thorn in the master's side for too long.  Ki-rin
would be pleased.     Kagemoto had an intensely pleasureable feeling that this fool's
termination was close at hand.  It would be a privilege to kill him.

	A few hours later, Asaka was out on the town.  L.A.'s Lowtown was THE place to be
when the sun set, especially for players looking for action or a rush.
	Asaka glided the convertible black Ferrari HV3 low to the ground, just to take it all
in.  The girls on the corner shot him admiring looks as he went by, but didn't try to sell.
He had a rep in Lowtown, not as an operative for Mitsuhashi Arms & Cybernetics, but as
a slick gunrunner and slam-man from New Washington, up the coast.  People knew not to fuck
with him.
	He stopped outside The Red Line, one of the raddest new clubs on the streets, and one
of which he was part-owner.  Vic the Steward grinned a quick hello, steel teeth flashing, as a
valet went to park the hovercar.  Asaka went in.  As always, the flashing lasers and multicolored
holoneons nearly blinded him.  When his eyes adjusted to the alternating glar-and-shadow effect,
he looked out over the dancefloor set into the ground at basement level.  He smiled as he
watched all the young crazykids out there dancing like tomorrow would never come.  On a metal
platform at the far end of the floor, Steel Samurai, one of the most-wanted neo-thrash
bands on the scene, rocked the building with the dissonant, droning roar of a new song,
"Riding the Shok-Wave," if Asaka remembered correctly.  The harsh music screamed from huge
speakers hung all along the walls.  Asaka turned and slowly scanned the rest of the club.
Men in business suits sat and laughed with friends from their corp next to a table full of
tatooed gangboys clad all in black.  Bright purple eyes met his from across the room, framed
in a face painted like a butterfly's wings.  Asaka smiled and looked away.  In the dark
corners, groups of quiet people spoke softly, talking about things the civilized world
had no right to know.  Shok' junkies sat slumped in dark booths, shaking and staring off
into space at scenes only they could see.
	Asaka made his way to the bar...



	Well, that's it for now (sorry if you liked it, but I've got to sleep sometime).
What do you think?  Smash, trash, whatever you want.

This story is copyright 1991 by Jeremy L. Hart.
(Who'd want it anyway?)
You can use my characters (the few that've been introduced so far), but if you don't
ask me first, I'll blow up your house...


--
Jeremy L. Hart
jeremyl@owlnet.rice.edu
"I used to trust the media to tell me the truth - tell us the truth
 But now I've seen the payoffs, everywhere I look - who do you trust when everyone's
	a crook?..."
		- G. Tate, M. Wilton "Revoluton Calling"


From amethyst!noao!asuvax!ukma!hsdndev!rice!screech.owlnet.rice.edu!jeremyl Tue Nov 12 13:33:33 MST 1991
Article 686 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo:
Path: amethyst!noao!asuvax!ukma!hsdndev!rice!screech.owlnet.rice.edu!jeremyl
>From: jeremyl@screech.owlnet.rice.edu (Jeremy Lyn Hart)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: CYBERNINJA: Running the Edge (Pt. 2)
Message-ID: <1991Nov12.164834.2943@rice.edu>
Date: 12 Nov 91 16:48:34 GMT
Sender: news@rice.edu
Followup-To: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Organization: The Society of Anarchist Gamers
Lines: 209


	Hey again.  Sorry, everybody, for posting my first "installment"
of this in such a weird format.  I didn't know, but now I do.  Thanks to
all who wrote me to give me their opinions.  I was really surprised by
the amount of good things people told me - thanks!  Also, sorry to cut the
last one off so short, but it was midnight and I was about to fall asleep
at the console here.  Anyway, here's the second part of "Cyberninja," in
a bit of a different format.  Have a blast...


CYBERNINJA:  Running the Edge (Part Two)

Last time:

Asaka is in The Red Line, after successfully completing his last mission.
Now he's headed for the bar.

	Asaka weaved through the crowd deftly, politely refusing more than
a few drunken invitations, and sat down at the bar next to a big Anglo
in a red jumpsuit.  The grimy nametag read "Connell," and the big white
crossed-Rs on his shoulder showed everybody who cared that he belonged to
Reiner & Ruiz - or at least he belonged as much as ANY spacer belonged to
a corp.

	"Long time, Connell." Asaka said softly.  The big man turned,
spilling his drink partially into the huge red beard that covered the
bottom half of his face.  Then the man grinned and roared with laughter,
exposing crusted golden teeth.

	"Asaka!  Damn, boy, haven't seen you in awhile.  Doin' good?"  He
bellowed, and clapped the tall man heartily on the shoulder.

	"Not bad.  How's biz?"  At that, Connell's grin became a disgusted
frown.

	"Not shit."  He sipped his drink and stared off into space.  Asaka
motioned to the bartender for a drink.  The man passed over a beer, smiled,
and headed down the bar.  His bald pate gleamed half-chrome in the
colored lights.

	"That bad, huh?"

	"Well, Kat, I mean, business's gone down the hole since the big
boys upstairs figgered out L-5 was cheaper - and safer - than firin' back
and forth to Mars all the time.  Only thing left out on Red these days're
the ore mines, and those boys sure ain't lookin' to buy any comp terminals.
No, space shippin' ain't the biz to be in right now, my friend."  He turned
to Asaka and squinted against the lights.

	"You hear about Marty Holland?"  Asaka shook his head 'no' slowly.
"Well, he got hisself splattered all over the Mountains of the Moon
comin' in to Luna City for a refuel.  Not enough to even get him there,
his backers were so cheap.  This business is gettin' damn dangerous."
Asaka chuckled.

	"Well, Connell, I know you - you'll beat it all."  Connell laughed
again, a short, bitter laugh, but didn't reply.  They both sat and watched
the San Antonio Bulls royally trash the San Francisco Celtics on the
holovid.  Asaka swiveled his chair to face the dance floor and watch
the kids dancing, but something else caught his eye.

	A woman dressed all in red was making her way through the crowd
to the door.  She turned his way, and their eyes locked.  Asaka imagined
he could fall inside those eyes, they were so deep and clear, the brightest
blue of the Pacific.  She had to be half-Japanese, Asaka thought, because
no Japanese girl he had ever seen had eyes that color.  Suddenly, her eyes
widened, and she turned away.  Asaka caught a glimps of dark, waist-length
hair swaying as she walked, then she was gone.

	Asaka stood and pushed his way through the crowd, trying to catch
sight of her.  There was something very familiar about her, like he knew
her from somewhere.  Kat shoved people out of the way left and right, and
then he was outside.  A cool breeze whirled pieces of trash out of the
gutter and onto the sidewalk.  They scattered as he headed down the street.
He could just barely make out the lights of a car fading into the distance.

	"Increase mag, two hundred times," he murmured softly.  The car's
license plate abruptly appeared before his eyes.  "Seven-one-z, f-nine-q,"
he whispered to himself.  Then his reverie was broken by a hand on his
arm.

	"Hey, freak-boy!" a deep voice roared from behind him.  "Yeah,
man, show me face, eh?  Gonna kick your ass!"  Asaka turned slowly to face
a gangboy dressed all in leathers, with blood-red circles painted around
his eyes.  The eyes were bloodshot, and Asaka could see the insanity lurking
behind them.  A Blood Brother, Asaka observed, street punks with an
affinity for crime and a taste for human flesh.  The punk licked his lips
with a red tongue and tightened his grip on Asaka's arm.

	"You hear me, slant-eyes?  Raker's hungry, and you're meat!"  He
whipped a straight piece of silvery metal from underneath a jacket and
lunged.  The vibroblade cut a humming arc in towards Asaka's abdomen.
Then the cyberninja spun into motion.  Synapses fired down intricate
silicon pathways, and Asaka brought his knee up faster than the eye
could follow.  His hand knocked the vibroblade into the gutter.  The
Blood Brother lay on the cold concrete, moaning in pain, with his hands
between his legs.  Asaka gazed at him in disgust.

	"Stupid."  He turned and walked away.  Where there was one
gangboy, there were sure to be more.  He had Vic bring the Ferrari around
and jumped in.  The roof's hydraulics hissed as it closed over him.

	"Car?"

	"Right here, boss," came the answer from hidden speakers all
around.
	
	"Drive."

	"Where to, boss?" the car's simple AI asked, confused.

	"Anywhere."

	The Ferrari lifted off and glided down the neon-lit street,
past all the walkers of the night.  Asaka sat in silence, brooding.

	Down the street, a black Ford Glider hovercar lifted off and
followed.


	Kagamoto walked into the master's office as he had a million
times before.  The pretty little Nipponese secretary shyly waved hello
as he passed by, then went back to her typing as he opened the mahogany
door.  He walked through the plush foyer, past the hidden laser cannons,
and strode confidently to the far door.  He slid his I.D. card into the
metal slot.  The computer beeped once.

	"Thumbprint scan, please." it said in flawless English.
	
	The little box whooshed out of the wall, and Kagamoto placed his
thumb on it.  The computer beeped again.

	"Retina scan, please."

	Kagamoto obediently put his eye to the little tube embedded in
the stainless steel wall.  He stared straight ahead into darkness as
the invisible beams scanned every dot of pigment in his eye.  The
computer beeped once more.

	"Kagamoto, Ryoji, identified.  Thank you." it chirped, and the
door hissed open.  Kagamoto entered.  The door closed behind him, and
he was left standing in the near-darkness of the office.  A thin glow
of light radiated from the slitted windows.  Across the room, the
master's chair faced the window, away from Kagamoto.  He waited silently,
and pondered the efficiency of so much security for one lone man.  But,
he conceded, such security is necessary for the protection of one of
the most powerful men alive.

	The chair spun slowly around.

	"Yes?" whispered a heavy, dry voice from the darkness.
	
	Kagamoto bowed.  "Oyabun," he said, "I have been observing
Asaka for several days now.  He has done nothing unusual."  When he
received no reply, Kagamoto spoke again.

	"Oyabun, might I enquire why you want this man followed?  Surely
he is a loyal employee, even if he is one of Mimuroto's.  Is there a
purpose in my surveillance of him?"

	For a moment, there was no answer.  Then the deep voice
issued from the shadows of the chair again.

	"He may not always remain loyal.  Remember that.  This man has
special importance to me.  Do not lose track of him.  Do you understand?"

	"Hai, oyabun."  Kagamoto bowed deeply.

	"What is our progress on Project Sun Dragon?" the heavy voice asked.
Kagamoto straightened.

	"Fairly well, oyabun.  All will be in place soon.  However,
the operations have failed miserably so far.  Each recipient of the
implant dies within hours, stark, raving mad."

	No answer.  Then, "Very well.  Leave."  Kagamoto bowed.  The door
hissed open and shut as he passed through.

	Millions of miles away, Kirin looked out into the unblinking
darkness.  With a mental command, the hologram projector cut off.  He sat
alone, thinking.  His thoughts raced down neural pathways of silver and
silicon, ten thousand times faster than any human was capable of thinking.

	Watch Katsuyori Asaka, he thought to the darkness, for he will
soon rise to challenge our power.  We cannot let him interfere.

	I should have killed him when I had the chance.



This story is copyright 1991 by Jeremy Lyn Hart
You can use my characters, but if you make them do unspeakably
disgusting things without my permission, I'll come into your house
in the dead of night with a pack of hungry I.R.S. agents...


	Like it?  Remember, send me any comments or suggestions you might
have (even if they're irrelevant).  I'll try to post again in a few days
(when I don't have any more homework).
	Later.
--
Jeremy L. Hart
jeremyl@owlnet.rice.edu
"I'm the new messiah, death angel with a gun
 Dangerous in my silence, deadly to my cause
 Speak to me, the pain you feel..."
		- G. Tate, M. Wilton, "Speak"

(Yeah!  Queensryche rules!)