From: martin8@vaxa.mdx.ac.uk
Subject: In His Genes
Date: 30 Nov 1994 09:19:51 GMT

Lines: 120
Message-ID: <martin8@mdx.ac.uk>

	This is my first ever attempt at this sort of fiction, so please        
tell me what you think. E-Mail me with any comments, suggestions as I don't
really have much experience writing. I have been following Cyberpunkesque
fiction for many years and now I am also an avid fan of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo.
Well, here it is.         


In his Genes
************
	    
	He was on of those people who you never really noticed until they 
were gone, but he wasn't gone, he was dead. Or at least that's what we had 
been told. His flat had been torched by some crazed booster gang - nobody 
knew why and nobody really cared. 
	
	Gene had always had the habit of pissing people of. Maybe it was 
because he enjoyed it, or maybe because he was scared that he'd be forgotten 
if he ever stopped.
	
	We all knew him though. His friends. He played guitar in our band, 
"The Dicers" - yeah, shit name but we liked it. There had been Gene on rhythm
Wils on lead, Ian on drums, Mike on bass and I was the singer. We weren't
very good, and we were the first to admit it, but it was something to do
in between playing video games, eating and sleeping. Gene always hated it
when we played video games. He wanted to go out and do it for real, not
play around on some shitty Senseware console that was held together by 
duct tape. 
	
	He had been the one who had bought the gun. We didn't want anything 
to do with it, but he had just gone crazy and said that we had to touch it, 
learn how to use it. Wils had just quit. He said Gene was crazy, and he had 
just gone. Sure, we knew where he lived, but we didn't care. We were all 
caught up in the adrenaline rush of the real world. Before long, there was 
only me and Gene left. Mike had got a job cruising on the 'Net and Ian had 
been moved to a drug rehab. clinic. 
	
	I always thought we could make it, Gene and I. We had the edge, or 
so I thought. I had always been faster and stronger than Gene, but he didn't
seem to have a conscience. When we had trashed out first shop, I told him
to leave the people and to go, but no. He stood there and calmly shot 
each one in the back of the head as they lay on the ground. I couldn't see,
but I was sure that he had a grin on his face the whole time.
	
	I kept telling myself that nobody cared about what we were doing, 
we were only small time. We weren't even known on the streets or in the 
sprawl. Gene wasn't so sure. He was becoming more paranoid every week. 
Soon, we got ourselves a flat and wired it up with all the latest surveillance
gear. Nobody could get within a hundred yards of the place with out us 
knowing. Gene liked it this way. Gene said we were ready. He said we were
ready to move up a step. To move up to the big time. I was scared. I 
remembered seeing the holo-vids of solos being blown apart by the cops, but
Gene said it wouldn't happen to us. We were to fast. We moved faster than
anyone on the street he said. I still wasn't sure, but I went along with it
because I knew he'd kill me if I didn't.
	
	First stop was a trip to the clinic for a few 'minor' alterations. 
We had money, and plenty of it, but I didn't realise how much implants cost. 
They literally did cost me an arm and a leg, and even both my eyes, but I 
liked the power. They gave me the feeling that I was unstoppable. Some sort 
of immortal force that was unlike anything I had ever even imagined. I was 
going crazy, just like Gene, but I didn't care anymore. I wanted blood, I 
wanted action. 

	We got hold of a contact. His name was Tow. He was ex-military and 
he looked like he could kill us without blinking. He got us our first 
extraction. It was too easy. We just walked in and straight out again with 
no trouble at all. I didn't like it. I had to be cautious, because I knew 
that there was no way that Gene gave a shit about what happened. He just 
wanted the thrill. I reckon he just got an adrenaline rush waking up in the 
morning. Our next contract was not so easy though, but we managed it. 
Scratch two security guards and five civilians. We were now on the wanted 
list. The next couple of jobs we got were fairly routine to us by now, and 
then it changed. Gene killed Tow. He just walked up to him and sprayed him 
with 9mm. That wasn't good. Tow had lots of contacts, and they would be after 
us. I was right. Six solos came for us the next day. They knew exactly where 
we lived and exactly what security we had. If I hadn't been up repairing my 
leg, we would have been dead. Completely dead, with no bodies left to prove 
that we'd ever existed.

	They just walked in, completely calm. I'll never forget the look on 
the first guys face as he walked in and saw me. It was horrible. He was like 
we had had been to start with. A novice. Well, I wasn't able to see the look 
on the second or third solos faces, because the second one was just as dead 
as the first, and the third was covered in blood. 
	
	Gene was up and ready before the first two had collapsed and the others
never stood a chance. I still don't think it was necessary to shoot each of
them just to make sure though, but hey, that was Gene.

	Anyway, we stayed low for a couple of days. We even moved to a new 
flat, but nobody seemed to be after us. It was quite. Too quite. I knew 
something was about to happen. It did.
	
	I was out doing surveillance sweep when a black van shot past me in 
the direction of our new flat. They didn't see me, but I knew where they were
headed. I started to run after them, but with only one cyber-leg, I couldn't
run fast enough. They got to the flat first. With a rocket launcher.
I watched it all, with the same expression as the solo I had killed a few 
nights before. I knew the feeling, the useless feeling of just being there
without being able to do anything. 
	
	Why they chose that night I never found out, but I was luck. Maybe a bit
too lucky. Two hours after they killed Gene, I was in the sprawl and
working for a security company. I didn't stick around to see how many bodies,
If any, they pulled out of the flat. I don't even think I cared. I had grown
used to the killing that went on around me. It was my job.
	
	I just didn't care anymore.
	




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Martin Pause                              In Cyberspace.....
martin8@mdx.ac.uk                   Nobody Can Hear You Scream
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