"Your girlfriend doesn't exist."
I frown in confusion. "What?"
"Enigma. You told me to find out what I could about her. I couldn’t find anything. She doesn't show up on any databases, has no public or private records I could find. She's a ghost."
"Weird." I exhale, wincing from the stabbing pains in my chest. My lungs are still adjusting to breathing natural air.
"Are you okay?" Hel scoots closer to me, sliding my arm around her shoulder. I practically wilt from the release of tension. The sensation of being with her again is instantly soothing, as if restoring a broken piece of myself. The neural interface allows me to feel her body against mine, smell the scent of oil in her hair and the lilac perfume on her skin. It's not as good as complete Immersion, but it's a breath of fresh air in the harshness of the real world. No one else on the shuttle can see her, but to me she's as real as any of them. It's not as if anyone notices. Most of them have holovisors on, ignorant of what's going on around them. Others talk to invisible friends and partners just like I'm doing.
"I'm fine now. I missed you."
Hel's fingers intertwine with mine and grasp tightly. "I was so worried when you didn't show up. What happened?"
I squeeze her shoulder. "Nothing to worry about. I have to take care of some business. Deep Sleep raised the rates, and we fell a month behind. I'm about to boost our funds up so I can come back without worrying about money for a while. Those bastards nearly killed me by cutting my nutrient intake by half. Always raising the rent. I need to get my hands on some real funds this time."
Her fingers blur when she opens her holoband and creates a search in the deep web. "Synoid market has gotten a lot more dangerous. The crackdown on handlers has everyone paranoid."
"Yeah, I know. But that drives the payment up for someone who can deliver the goods, which works in our favor."
"Who do you have in mind? Practically everyone we've dealt with has been arrested or driven out of business."
"Not Keno."
Her eyes search my face. "Keno? Doesn't he still want to kill you?"
I give her a genuine attempt at a reassuring smile. "I'm pretty sure he was exaggerating."
Downtown San Bernardino is a ghost town where relics of pre-Cataclysm buildings die without dignity or grace. The crumbling, burnt-out husks are used to host homeless squatters, fugitives, and anyone looking for cheap thrills. People who venture into the area usually look to purchase contraband, drugs, or just party like it's the end of the world at one of the many raves that last all night long. Huge bonfires blaze; guns and firecrackers explode nonstop.
I exit the shuttle and head into the thick of it. Ravers with tattoos, cyborg enhancements, multiple piercings, and handmade masks push and shove through the streets, screaming like banshees and moving to the pulse of music that swells from one stage to the next. I use the plugs from my headgear to mute the sound somewhat, staying on the fringe of the crowds so I won't get trampled.
The harsh lights and deafening noise are almost too much. It's only the presence of Hel that gets me through. She takes in the chaos with a broad smile, staring wonderingly like she always does when she crosses over to the real world. Throwing her hands up, she laughs, shaking her hips in perfect time to the beat, every movement arousing. Her skin glows in the flashing lights, beaded with sweat, her body throwing shadows like everyone else. She looks so real that I'm only reminded she's not here in the flesh when someone walks right through her, temporarily disrupting her holographic image.
We finally make it Mad Dawgs, a popular club in the area. It used to the City Hall sometime before the Cataclysm, the now the building is dilapidated like all the others. Windows broken, walls crumbling. But when I tap a button on my holovisor, everything changes. The CG effects filter transforms it into a hip-hop haven; the exterior savaged with torches and skull carvings, the entranceway fashioned into a snarling dog's head with the door in its open mouth.
The interior is several floors of hardcore partying, roiling smoke, flickering lights, with the overpowering sound of the ground-shaking beat making it impossible to hear anything beyond the range of my arms. I pull my hood over my head and make my way upstairs, taking it slow because of the bodies in the way. Some are unconscious; others are just blazed out of their minds.
The top floor is somewhat quieter; the walls insulated to keep the riotous din at bay. A bruiser in a dog-shaped medieval helmet and spiked leather stares me down when I approach the room at the end of the hallway. Hel is right beside me, but the thug can't see her. Pulling out a gun that looks more like a cannon, he points it in my face.
"You lost, runt? Piss off."
I hold up my hands. "I need to see Keno."
He barks a laugh. "Yeah, mate. You and everyone else. I'm not telling you again."
"Yeah, sure. Figure I'm doing you a favor, though."
"Yeah? How's that then?"
"You tell him that Specter wants to talk."
"You're Specter?" He leans in for a closer look. "Little piss-rag, ain't you? I thought Specter was a bloody madman."
I remove the hood and look him square in the eye. "Don't let the looks fool you. I got business with Keno. Buzz me in."
Dog-Face stares for a second before lifting his wrist and muttering into his holoband. An orbital cam in the corner dislodges from its holder and hovers down, whirring as it scans my face. A second later, the door slides open. I give Dog-Face a smug grin when I walk past and enter the private lounge.
Keno has his back to me, bobbing back and forth to the beat with his crew of like-minded deviants in a cloud of weed smoke thick enough to make my lungs burn. Blacklight lamps bathe the room electric blue, turning skin tones purple and inverting colors. A vast pane of one-way glass provides a view of the crowd dancing below.
Keno turns around and gives me a hard grin. He's a fresh-faced, cold-eyed Brit bastard with the looks of a college kid and the street smarts of a born hustler.
"Well look at this, fam. I can't believe my eyes. My man Specter, back among the living. Don't be shy, mate — bring it in."
"Keno." I cautiously approach, keeping an eye on his hands. Fortunately, he's not holding a weapon. It turns out he doesn't need to. When we clasp hands in greeting, a stiletto blade pops from the wrist of his other hand, the gleaming point hovering a hair's-breadth from my throat.
"Like the upgrade? Ace, innit?" His grin is an ugly thing to witness, containing no mirth at all. His pupils quiver deliriously, fixed on my face. "Laser-etched titanium alloy and sharp enough to shave with. Just had it installed. I wanted the whole firearm thing, but my mandem talked me out of it. Those things tend to be a little dodgy; end up blowing your whole arm off."
"Yeah, it's cool," I managed to say, trying not to move. The goon squad closes in, nudging each other and laughing. I slide my eyes edgewise at Hel, who leans casually against me, elbow propped on my shoulder. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, she whispers in my ear.
"Show them who's boss, baby."
I focus my gaze on Keno. "What's with the chilly reception, man? I thought we left on good terms."
"Then you need to reevaluate your thought process, bruv. Because I told you I'd kill you the next time I saw you."
"I thought you were exaggerating."
"There you go thinking again. Allow it, mate. You turned my offer down flat and told me to go swing. We had a highly profitable arrangement that you muffed up big time."
"People died." I place a finger on the flat of the blade and gently push it to the side. "We agreed that no one got killed. You didn't listen, so I took a breeze. Nothing personal. I told you from the beginning that my work was freelance. I meant it. But all of that was then. This is now. Not point getting bent out of shape over it. Especially when we can get back to making money. Big scores. Like we used to."