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| A Virtual Life: Chapter 1 | ||
| Index | A Virtual Life: Chapter 2 >> | spacer |
| I'd just split up with Judy. Christ what a mess that was. I sat around and
listened to old CDs for hours (possibly the worst thing I could have done)
trying to remember if I'd ever really loved her. I remember something, but was
it love? Can you fall out of love? Can you love someone one day and then wake
up the next day and wonder what the hell you're doing in their bed? Judy was
possibly the worst person in the world I could have gone out with - not the
brightest girl in the world if you know what I mean. She had an opinion on
everything, no matter how ill informed she actully was, and she was always very
ill informed. I think she enjoyed arguing more than anything else, and looking
back it was as much a part of our sex life as foreplay.
Strange to think really that in the end, for the briefest of seconds I wanted to stay. I'd been trying to work up the courage to dump her all day. I knew she wouldn't make it easy on me, I knew she'd cry and I knew she'd ask me to stay. Contrary to popular belief I'm not a complete bastard and hate the tearful break-ups. I prefer the lies and the faked mutuality and the "we'll be friends" lines that almost stick in your throat as you say them because you know in your heart of hearts, that you never want to see this person again. In the event Judy did all that I had expected of her, and as she was sobbing and asking me to stay, to talk, to answer her questions, I almost caved in. I did once, when I was 17 and first presented with this I couldn't go through with it. It led to possibly the worst 2 weeks of my life and I don't imagine it was much better for her - she knew it was a stay of execution rather than an acquital. I wasn't about to make that mistake again though. I mumbled sorry, turned on my heel and left. I went home and cracked open the bottle of Vodka I'd picked up on my way back from Stockholm the week before and started drinking. I realised my mistake when I woke up. My head was throbbing and stomach was determined to remind me why I don't drink vodka. I reached a compromise with it by bringing up most of my previous meal. There was a knock at the door, which was incredibly fucking loud. As I pulled myself up from the floor, cleverly avoiding the freshly delivered vomit, I couln't help but notice the pile in the middle of my floor. Now I know for a fact that it wasn't there when I started drinking, because, as unobservant as I know myself to be, I am reasonably confident that even I may have noticed a pile of dismembered body parts sitting in the middle of my fucking livingroom. Which could of course mean only one thing. I was being set up. That must be the police at the door. They'd been tipped off. How the fuck was I supposed to get out of this one? Well I imagine the whole point was rather that someone didn't want me to. Then I noticed the head on top of the TV. It was Judy of course, I suppose I would have disappointed if they had been any less stereotypical. There is very little originality in modern crime, which is almost certainly the fault of sub standard action movies. Not that this little critique stopped me heaving up what little there was left in my stomach all over coffee table. Around about then the door exploded and the windows shattered as they got tired of waiting for me to be polite enough to participate more actively in my own frame up. To my surprise though it wasn't the police. It was about 8 guys dressed in black wearing matt black ski masks. Very original I'm sure you'll agree. They can't have been all that serious as they were only carrying silenced UZI's. All well and good in here, but as soon as I got outside they would be totally fucked. I dove over the sofa and pulled out my pistol, at the same time giving the verbal command I'd programmed the house computer with to detonate those interesting little packages around the windows and doors. By the sound of the screams and bullets I guessed that I had taken them by surprise. Amatuers. I took advantage of their disarray to dive over the sofa and head for the window. They can't have been completely green though as they at least made an effort to stop me, as pathetic as it was. I shot one twice through the visor in his ski mask and caught another with a spinning back fist before somersaulting out of the window. As I left I shout the detox command and the house started filling with tear gas and the rest of the explosions went off. Are these people really the future of our profession? I got to the of the garden before any survivors managed to get out. I hung around for a minute and shot the two who got out. It was around this stage that my spider sense started tingling and I realised just how stupid I'd been. It was way too easy, this was obviously a distraction before the real attack. Then I noticed the girl. She was getting out of her black Porche 911 (all very retro). She was dressed in tight black PVC which I'd normally complain about being terribly derivative, but I was prepared to let her off with it as hers was obviously the body people had in mind when they came up with it. She had at least made the concession of tieing her hair back, but she was wearing makeup and looking pouty when she told me to drop me gun. Fucking pussy assassin wannabe. I dropped my gun, smiled and put my hands up. She picked my gun up and I told her she had a nice ass. I don't think she appreciated my wit and charm as I think she was going to shoot me before my gun exploded. Some people are just too damn busy trying to look good that they don't even bother learning the basics before they go out. I got in her car and drove off before the chopper landed or the bomb went off and started the download. I was feeling pretty smug before I remembered what had just happened. Two people were trying to kill me and someone was trying to set me up with the police. This all semmed a little bit unlikely so I pulled over and called up my bank details on my palm top. Sure enough I'd fogotten to pay Billy. This must br his idea of a final warning so I drove over to Billy's and shot him, the melodramatic little fuckwit. |
| SEE ALSO: | Index | A Virtual Life: Chapter 2 >> | ||
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| Questions, Comments, and Submissions are all gratefully received, and promptly replied to. | Cyberpunk 2.0.2.0. is a Registered Trademark of R.Talsorian Corporation. Original Cyberpunk 2.0.2.0. material Copyright 1994,1995 by R.Talsorian Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of R.Talsorian Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this archive should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks. In all other cases the copyright belongs to the original author of the pieces. |