Mistrunner 2 a cyberpunk.., p.27
Mistrunner 2: A Cyberpunk LitRPG, page 27
I wove through the crowd as I crossed the gambling hall, eventually finding my way to the bar on the other side. Leaning against the polished wooden surface, I got the attention of the barkeep, who was a young, handsome man with a cybernetic eye.
He gave me a smile, asking, “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey,” I said, returning his smile with one of my own. I wanted to look approachable, after all. I’d already spied my target, and he’d noticed me in turn. But it wouldn’t do for me to make the first move. If I wanted to avoid suspicion, he needed to be the aggressor.
Once I’d been served, I took a moment to savor the drink. Or pretend to. It definitely wasn’t to my taste, and it didn’t even have the added benefit of accomplishing its intended function. Due to a combination of my inflated Constitution attribute and my Regeneration and Resistance abilities, I was functionally immune to the effects of alcohol. Or any other inebriant, if I had to guess. Perhaps somewhere out there in the wider universe, some alien had come up with something that would work, but everything I’d tried back in Mobile had been entirely ineffective.
I turned around as I sipped my drink and watched the gamblers. Most were obviously wealthy and were just using the casino to blow off some steam. Others had the looks of professionals. I didn’t know what, precisely, tipped me off, but I got the impression that they were the predators in this jungle, and I resolved to avoid them at all costs.
Eventually, I let my target catch me glancing in his direction. And when we locked eyes, I knew I had him. He grinned at me. I gave him a coy smile, then turned back to the bar. Now, I only had to wait until he took the bait.
People were so much easier when I was playing a role, when I had a defined target and goal. With someone like Patrick, I had to worry about feelings and the future, but with Calvin Kane, I’d only need to think about accomplishing the mission. There was freedom in how uncomplicated it was, and it allowed me to put my best, most confident foot forward.
After another minute or two, during which I continued to sip at my drink, I heard someone approaching me from behind. Without Observation, I never would have been able to separate his footsteps from the din of the crowded gambling hall, but with it, I had no doubt that Calvin had taken the bait.
I felt rather than saw him sidle up to the bar next to me. At first, he pretended that he hadn’t made the trip specifically to talk to me, instead getting the bartender’s attention. Once he did, he said, “A beer, Monty. And for the lady …”
“Whiskey,” I repeated my order. I didn’t look at him. Not yet.
“So, you’re new around here, right?” asked Calvin. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, looming beside me. He was a tall man, with an athletic build. And he was incredibly handsome—but that was probably artificial because I’d seen a photo of his mother, and they looked nothing alike. Even so, I wouldn’t begrudge a man his vanity. Not when I was wearing a top that barely even covered my chest, at least.
“I am.”
“A woman of few words, then? I like it,” Calvin said, almost as if he was having a conversation with himself. The file Salvatore had given me had called him self-absorbed, and he’d given me no reason to label that description false. “What brings you to my little town?”
His town, huh? The statement wasn’t exactly inaccurate. Biloxi was owned and operated by Blue Epoch, and he was the highest-ranking executive around. Still, it felt a bit presumptuous to claim ownership of his employer’s property.
“Banshee business,” I said.
Even though I wasn’t looking in his direction, I could almost see his face go white. He really had no idea who I was. Or rather, who I was pretending to be. Enforcers might not be as feared by the elite as they were by the residents of the poorer districts of Nova City, but they weren’t to be trifled with, either. And nobody—aristocrats or street urchins—wanted to deal with a Banshee.
“Oh … ah … s-sorry. I didn’t—”
I let out a fake laugh, then turned toward him. I flashed my widest grin before saying, “Oh, your face right now. Priceless. Absolutely priceless.”
“W-what? You’re not … you know … one of them?” he asked.
“No, no—I definitely am,” I said. “But for tonight? Let’s just put that aside, huh? I’ve never been to this quaint little town, and I’d love a local guide. You up for it?”
It took him a moment to process what I was offering. I couldn’t have been clearer without holding up a sign that said, “I’m interested, you mook!”
But Calvin clearly wasn’t the sharpest sword in the arsenal, even if he was very good-looking. I got butterflies just looking at his dazzlingly blue eyes; those couldn’t be real, could they? No. Nothing about him was real.
Besides, I was just doing a job here. Not getting involved.
“Right. Sure,” he said, smiling back at me as he recovered his composure. “I think I could play that role.”
“Good,” I said, setting down my glass and taking his arm. “I want to see everything Biloxi has to offer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RUINING A LIFE
I wonder if Mira is still out there. She was the instrument through which Jeremiah showed his disdain for me, but that wasn’t her fault. I tried to protect her, but I have no way of knowing if I was successful.
—Nora Lancaster
do you have any more?” asked Calvin, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. His whole body twitched, and he shivered in the damp heat of the Biloxi night. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and wheeled around, hissing, “Who’s there?”
Of course, I knew that no one was there. That was just the dust withdrawal causing hallucinations. It would get worse. Much, much worse. But that was the point. Dust wasn’t like most drugs. It didn’t care about attributes or skills; no—it cut right through every defense, resulting in a euphoric high that I’d heard was unmatched by any other substance. But like most good things, it came with a significant downside: addiction and the degradation of mental faculties. Most dust fiends didn’t even notice the latter, but it was there. It didn’t just destroy brain cells. Instead, it attacked the attributes directly, focusing on Mind.
I had no idea how quickly it was supposed to work, but after only a week of heavy use, Calvin was already showing the signs. Not only were his reactions much slower, but he’d grown increasingly paranoid. He was convinced that someone was out to get him. He was right, of course, but he didn’t suspect me in the slightest.
It hadn’t even been that difficult to earn his trust. Once, I’d marveled at how easily Jo could manipulate people into doing what she wanted. She was never malicious, but everyone in her group of friends tripped over themselves to stay on her good side. With Calvin, I’d channeled my inner Jo, and he’d fallen in line. Odd that, after all my training, my friendship with Jo would be so impactful on my mission.
Getting him hooked on dust was even easier. Like many privileged idiots, he’d spent his youth dabbling in every inebriant he could find, so he’d sampled dust a handful of times. And just like everyone else who ended up an addict, he’d thought himself immune to dependence. All it took was a pretty girl with a ready supply, and he’d fallen right into my trap.
“Nobody’s there,” I said, dumping a bit of pink powder into a glass of water. Then, I downed the resulting concoction.
“You sure I can’t—”
“This is my private stash,” I said, holding up the bottle. “That stuff you’ve been taking doesn’t do anything for me. I need a stronger compound.”
It was a lie, of course. The “dust” I’d been taking to keep pace with him was nothing more than dyed sugar. I wasn’t about to test myself against the potent drug, even if I was curious if the combination of my high Constitution, Regeneration, and Resistance might give me immunity. The bottles I’d gotten for him, though, were the real thing.
It was like watching a hover car slamming into a megabuilding in slow motion.
When we’d first met, Calvin was suave, handsome, and self-assured. Now, I could already see the effects of the addiction I’d foisted upon him. His cheeks had grown hollow, his eyes were watery and deeply sunk into his skull, and he’d already lost quite a few pounds. Soon, he’d look just like any other junkie, albeit one who could cover some of it up with the trappings of wealth. It was like looking at an abandoned building, but one with a fresh coat of paint. From a distance, it might look okay, but up close, its real nature would become evident. So it was with Calvin, and this was after only a week. In two, he’d alternate between being a desperate, twitching mess and passing out in alleys and stairwells.
I almost felt bad about what I had done to him.
But I hadn’t forced him to take the drugs. I’d just made a suggestion. He was the idiot who’d decided to throw away a life of privilege in favor of being a junkie. Actions, as my uncle had often said, had consequences, and it was almost satisfying to see Calvin dealing with the effects of his own decisions.
Or it would have been if he wasn’t so pathetic.
Luckily, I was almost finished. I only needed to ease his path to true addiction by putting him in touch with someone who could satisfy his drug habit. To that end, I said, “I think I can help with your problem, though.”
“What? How? You know someone?” he asked.
I nodded. I hadn’t spent my days in Biloxi idly twiddling my thumbs. Instead, I had explored most of the town, even venturing into the nearby tenements that housed the men and women who harvested the kelp. There, it hadn’t taken long to find a den of dust fiends who, in turn, had directed me toward their dealer. I might not have been comfortable navigating the luxurious environs of the wealthy, but I was completely at home in the slums.
“I do,” I said, pushing myself to my feet and looking around the hotel suite. Once, it had been pristine, but now, it looked like the dust den it had become. Furniture had been toppled, the expensive paintings had been destroyed, and there was filth everywhere—all courtesy of Calvin, who reacted to the drug with unrestrained mania followed by long stretches of unconsciousness. I had no interest in constraining him; the more destructive he was, the better. We were establishing habits, after all. When I left, I needed him to be completely incapable of hiding his addiction.
And he was well on his way. I only needed to make sure he had a ready supply, and then I would be in the clear to enact the next part of my plan.
“How?” he asked.
“I’m a Banshee,” I said. “I know how to find things I want to find. You think a drug dealer can hide from someone like me?”
“Oh …”
He really was pathetic. Even without my influence, Calvin wasn’t the most intelligent person around. But under the effects of the dust? It was if his brain was running at half speed. Doubtless, after I left, he would quickly show his incompetence.
Of course, I wasn’t going to wait for that. Even if he started making mistakes, it was likely that someone would cover it up. Or just send him away. No—I needed something big; when Blue Epoch investigated, they’d find that they’d left a dust fiend in charge. After that, the blame would soon fall on his mother, who’d gotten him the job in the first place.
Simple.
A bit cruel, but definitely not complicated.
Besides, he was in charge of the kelp-harvesting operation and, as such, complicit in the suffering of the people he used as workers. They weren’t slaves, exactly, but they weren’t that far off. Even the farmers and factory workers in Nova City were better treated. So, even if he hadn’t created the system, he certainly hadn’t done anything to change it. Which made him easy to hate, so long as I kept that at the forefront of my mind.
I was well aware that my judgment of him was hypocritical. It wasn’t as if I’d gone out of my way to help anyone else. But I studiously ignored that fact, focusing on what made my task easier to stomach.
I stood, running my hand through my straightened hair. I definitely didn’t like it very much; instead, against all odds, I preferred my natural hair. I’d complained about it often enough that my preference surprised even me, but I couldn’t deny it. In any case, the straightened hair was still necessary for the disguise.
“Come on,” I said. “I have somebody I want you to meet.”
All hints of flirtation were gone from my voice. Thankfully, the moment I’d gotten Calvin hooked on dust, the necessity for such an act had been obviated. The reality of it was that even if I could fake it for a while, flirtation and interpersonal relationships just didn’t come naturally to me. Sure, he wasn’t really perceptive enough to recognize my clumsiness as the red flag it was, but that fact didn’t make me any more comfortable with my inadequacies.
That first night, I’d covered it up with sheer promiscuity, and even I can admit that sleeping with him was enjoyable enough. But it had quickly lost its appeal the more he’d become mired in the dust habit I’d thrust upon him. Fortunately, his own interest had lagged as the addiction progressed. Still, I wondered if I could have been so blasé about the whole thing if I hadn’t been playing a role.
Probably not.
He quickly agreed to go with me, chattering manically about nothing as he followed me out of the hotel suite. When we made it to the lobby, we both got some strange looks. I’d expected that; Calvin looked like the dust fiend he was, and I’d discarded my fancy clothes in favor of something less conspicuous. After all, looking too rich or prosperous in the slums would paint a target on my back. I had no interest in dealing with that, so I’d made some effort to blend in. To that end, I wore a simple pair of coveralls that I’d stolen from one of the kelp harvesters.
Not appropriate for a luxurious hotel like the Calgary, but it would keep me from standing out in the slums.
In any case, we quickly headed out of the hotel and down the sidewalk that ran along the main street. Biloxi wasn’t a huge town—smaller than Mobile, in fact—but it was still large enough that it took us almost half an hour to reach our destination in the slums. A tenement loomed over us, boxy, blocky, and made of unadorned concrete. At ground level, graffiti decorated the walls, and on the floors above that was a grid of narrow windows. It looked like nothing so much as the prison it practically was.
A few men and women, all showing the same signs of addiction Calvin had begun to display, loitered nearby. Fortunately, they’d clearly just come down from a high, and they hadn’t recovered enough to start looking for a way to get their next hit. Otherwise, there was every chance that Calvin’s expensive clothes would attract all the wrong kinds of trouble. I had a plan for what to do if that happened, but it wasn’t quite as buttoned-up as my first option.
So, we pushed by a couple of people who’d perched themselves on either side of the door. One of them asked us for credits, but I ignored her. Calvin took his cues from me, doing the same. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, I wouldn’t let myself get distracted by a beggar.
The interior of the tenement wasn’t much better than the facade, though there was only one man in the lobby. He looked healthy enough, which meant that he wasn’t a dust fiend. Instead, judging by his faded blue coveralls and his slightly salty odor, he was a harvester who’d just finished a shift. The kelp had stained his hands a deep red.
Once I saw that he wasn’t a threat, I moved past him on my way to the stairwell, which I mounted a moment later. Calvin followed close on my heels until we finally reached the appropriate floor, where I led him into a dingy hall.
At one point, it might have been a decent-looking space. Utilitarian and without frills, but adequate. Now, though? There were stains on the walls, the lighting flickered, and in more than one spot, the carpet had been ripped from the floor. There was also a pervasive smell that clung to the place—like body odor, fish, and vomit, all rolled into one. It wasn’t overbearing, as if someone had made some attempt to purge the odor only to find that it had seeped into the very walls.
It was disgusting, and I wondered how anyone could live in such conditions.
Of course, the answer was that they did it because they didn’t have any choice. Nobody chose to live in a tenement. It was just the last stop on the way to homelessness.
But I ignored those details; I’d seen them the last time I was there, and I didn’t need to focus on them anymore. Instead, I headed confidently down the hall, making a couple of turns before I finally reached the door that was my goal. I banged on the door with the flat of my hand, and a moment later, it slid open.
“You’re late,” said the man on the other side. He was short, thin, and had a ring of stringy hair falling down to his shoulders. The top of his head was bare, and he had sharp features that gave him a dangerous look. He was clad only in a dirty robe and a pair of once-white underwear. “Come in. And bring your boy toy with you.”
Calvin took offense to that characterization, saying, “I am not a—”
I cut him off with a glare. “Just shut up and follow my lead,” I said. “Do that and you’ll get what you want, okay?”
I could see the fear in his eyes. Not of me. Instead, he was terrified of not getting his dust. That was the thing about the drug; it was so addictive that it only took a couple of hits before someone was hopelessly dedicated to getting their next high. It was possible to go clean, but few people managed it. Some of that was because most people who went down that road had done so for a reason. They just wanted an escape. Dust provided that, even if it ruined what was left of their lives. If you were going to live in squalor, you might as well do so while high on dust.
It was the same desperate hopelessness that drove others to spend all their credits on Bourbon Street. Or to spend their whole lives hooked into one VR chip or another. I didn’t blame them, even if I did judge them for their weakness.
