Scratch

Here's part 1.
   
    My first steps felt unsteady on the vibrating ground. It was overcast, surprise surprise. The air factories cast a thick duvet over the over the old, hacking city. It was a fact of life, as inescapable as air taxes and speech costs. Tall edifices rose over me, blocking out what little sun was able to negotiate the toxic smog.
    “Vivante. Hey, Vivante.” A message popped up on my compad. I kept walking, not wanting to attract undesirable attention.
    “I’ve got some zest, some zest just for you.” Another message.
    “Get off my compad, Sadura.” I had long since cut myself of from that druggy lowlife. He was now just a part of my past, and I wanted to keep it that way.
    “C’mon, it can be just like old times. Don’t you want to get away from all the smog? The air factories? The speech tax?”
    “LEAVE!” I yelled. I put my hand over my mouth, realizing what I had done. Based on the noise registry of that one word, I would have to pay at least $300. I didn’t have that kind of money.
    “What did you say to me, Vivante?” Sadura got a glint in his eye. And not the type of glint you see in the stars on a rare, clear night. No, this glint was like that of a knife. Or maybe the barrel of the Enforcer E-6 rifles used by the police, raised and ready to fire.
    Sadura rose from the crate he was sitting on. Something in his 4-fingered hand shined.
    “Now, we wouldn’t want to do anything rash, would we?” the message read.
    “Leave me alone. I’m not on your side anymore.”
    “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
    A message from another sender opened up. “Yeah, a little on the late side.”
    “Yeah. A little bit late, don’cha think?” Another sender.
    I watched as Sadura’s posse – at least 20 men – emerge from the doors scattered throughout the alley. Smog stung my eyes as they widened. Each was holding an Extortion F-23 assault rifle.
    “Now, what do you say to that zest I so kindly offered you?” Sadura wrote.
    “I don’t have any money to spend,” I wrote back.
    “Well, you won’t have a life if I don’t get myself some loot. My boys gotta eat, right?” His gang raised their Extortions as he walked over to me. “Now listen. You listen good. You give me some money or I’ll cut your stomach right open. You got that?” he whispered.
“You’re gonna have to pay a lot for those words,” I wrote him, trying to change the subject.
“No I won’t. Sensor’s disabled. You talk all you want here. Now, are you sure there’s nothing on you?” I felt a small river of blood start to meander down my stomach.
“Take my hat. It’s all I got.” My eyes intently caressed the ground.
“What a pleasure doing business with you,” Sadura said. Malevolence dripped from his mouth.
    I walked out of the alley, looking at my compad to check the time. Error 8275. A virus has been found in your compad. Begin extraction? God, I hate Sadura, I thought.

To be continued…


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