The dark future short stories Novel
Dark Future short stories - First - The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You
The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You
The night came after a strong red sunset. Red. Red like blood. This little town was his safe place and a trap. The world had gone to shit quicker than everyone expected and now it was all against all.
Contract wet work was bad money, but there was no better around. The super city had plenty of jobs to offer and was just about an hour away. Most of the jobs were done inside that sprawl, so.
He was known as the Black Striker, because of his black motorcycle cloath and his attack tactics striking like a crazy suicide killer down onto his target.
This time it was the first time someone came seriously after him with a proper head money. Usually, a job was revenged to the targeted party, sometimes even by buying over the hit man. Who pays most gets the loyalty.
This little town was taken over by a local sect of religous fanatics during the downfall and they drove out the old church, took over their positions and buildings. They were dysantrop and who did not turn junky or committed suicide by the age of about 20 was send to the former capital to enforce their interests. This was their breeding and training ground. A little town way past its glory with no reason to stop by for anyone travelling, especially since all motorways were interrupted by blowing up the bridges and no trains came anymore for a long time for the very same reason.
There was an unspoken deal between Striker and the sectarians, they would not enter the even more little valley bothering all his collected stray dogs and he would go for no more rampages through a town his family ruled centuries ago.
The last job was taking out a banker with a known track record for charging flexible interest rates using his small but powerful investment company. That was not too unusual, but he had pushed his synthetic drug consumption to most stupid levels and tried to go for war against his major big brother by hiring the most feared contractor.
Unfortunately, for him that contractor did somehow mind dying and got double from that big brother while keeping his down-payment to hit stupid instead. Black Striker was in business long time for a reason.
So he did. They all leave the safe zone of the sprawl some time, but this time it should be a bolt statement of power, strength and position and it needed to happen straight in the very safe zone, the holy grounds of the post downfall financial industry, a job based on an interesting bonus. One could not say no to them anyway, yet they always pay big money.
The night had come and the electronics of his camera system on the surrounding mountains were on high alert and would send out recon drones to check out approaching vehicals of a possible second wave.
It appeared that his violent death was supposed to be part of the bolt statement and a tactic to cover up the dispute of their most profitable little brother financing all kind of projects in the shadows of a society that had rather limited sunshine and hardly any growth in the spotlight while “the streets” promised constant high profit.
He’d try to find out what the actual plan was sometime soon and wondered if they thought that a hit in the safe zone was actually possible.
The safe zone had three parts and was connected by high security fast ways and a subway system.
First was the airport with high class hotels and as high class office buildings. This area exploded in importance after the downfall, because it guaranteed safety and an international gate to the rest of the tumbling world in which the always and new poor could be easily ignored and all the shiny neon light turned the complex structure into something like a space station.
Second were the high risers that got some more company and had been connected by additional tunnels connecting them and a few nice open air spots at the river and former market squares that were surrounded by walls without gates to keep the striding poor out and in the old street system and its dirty, anarchic buildings. They just digged into the existing streets deep and closed them again, they build up massive steel enforced concrete walls to block view and access and if necessary pulled down an old building to not give any sniper position against the rich and powerful of the new society after the downfall creating a world within the world.
The third part was an office quarter, turning the airport - city center - office quarter safe zone system into a the bling bling triangle ruling by money and guns what was left from the old Republic. They just build a concrete and fence system around the existing foot print of the quarter and refurbished the old railway to the city center with guiding walls and security towers along with a new build fast-way road that cut straight through actually not so abandoned old quarters from a past, but then stable world. This was the world of the lower ConMen, the suits, the office slaves glad to have not dropped down into poverty, but constantly threatened with downfall if not compliant. They usually had little houses in guarded communities further outside the sprawl that got regularly under attack by violant hordes of armed stupids on drugs. They had every morning a some few hours of fear on less high secured roads to make their way into the safe zone that constantly reminded them of the consequences of not compliance. They were binded down into the system by a credit line to pay of the house and next vacation flight and if the hordes tried to break through the fences and walls of their guarded community in which they gave birth to their born a ConSlave kids they heard the gun fire stakato of the security forces fighting them back. Another company force going after a manager or department usually was better organised and triggered heavier noise from intercepting jets or helicopters. The airport ensured highest levels of security and they had to be glad to be within the chosen grounds of power.
The target had its office in the second zone on a mid level floor of a high riser and his two floor apartment in another one next by. The air port zone was off limits anyway, officially to tightly secured but a leathel attack even in the second zone would have caused major debates at the council and therefore the attack was most likely not ordered by the council head and possibly not annouced neither.
The third was out of question, just because the target never went there and so it must be the high risers zone. Considering a missing rest and bonus payment, but a company security commando dead and ripped apart by Strikers dog's food they had underestimated him. But where and how did they figure out this place he considered to have to give up now for ever?
Most contractors worked with sniper weapons from a safe distance or bombs, but the Strikers special signature was an infantry attack using a drum fed Tec-9 sub machine gun from close distance and a fast motorcycle somewhere close by to get away. This was a new level of contract. An opportunity. High pay, high level of difficulty. There was no way to get out of the safe zone due to the massive presence of full auto armed security forces, check points and the weight of RPGs and high velocity ammo needed to shoot his way out into the anarchy of the sprawl that would secure him, but kill the ConSecurity in their fancy uniforms.
They had understimated his creativity and connections. The anti aircraft guns of the safe zone were not able to shoot down a tiny mid range rocket fired from 20km away and pretty much everyone had enemies. More than one. After taking the counter-contract, which he was able to do without entering a saloon in the lost quarters of the sprawl as the first one he had countered, which would have forced him again to pay his respect and tribute to a club or organization of some kind in arms dividing the anarchy of theses streets and buildings in a chaotic system of over population he found a hacker that was an enemy. Just a few text messages later after leaving the dark net confernce room Striker had found that hacker that for a reasonable amount of cash would provide him with a live stream from the safe zone security cameras and gave him a shout as soon as the face recognition would ring indicating a match. A week after the first ring Striker had a profile. Their biggest source of strength was also the ConMens sweet weak spot: Dedication to routine.
Collateral damage was no option as the client pointed out and it also could have caused unpredicted actions of revenge. The rocket was tiny and guided and the time window of 30 minutes at his most favourite Cafe on Saturday in the open sky, always at the very same place, was perfect.
The strike went down as planned. The target was killed with a cup in his hand shortly before leaving to the gym by a self build tiny rocket that hardly was bigger that a .50 projectile launched from a forest 19.5km away from the hit point and did its job without any collateral damage. Well, physical collateral damage. The rocket had so much kinetic energy that it ripped the torso apart and spread a few litres of blood and meat all over the other guests. It struck from above straight down through head, chest and stomach exited through his ass and must have further driven itself into the concert below his chair. A perfect hit.
Striker checked the hit following the live pictures provided by a hacker that liked to see his target dead, too, from using his VR glasses sitting on his motorcycle after er launched the tiny rocket and just waited until he could slowly drive away back into his valley making sure he had not to cancel the hit by a long range emergency signal, if anything unsuspected would come across, to destruct the rocket. He was in business for a long time and be able to take the highest contract cash for that reason: He was in cold blood on a job.
Back in his valley it was all as normal. He fed the dogs with some more additional food than the constant rat stream that tried to also conquer his valley coming from the little town could provide, where they considered these rats holy like the Hindus cows and their deseases just helped to divide the weak from their strong, when about 12 hours after the strike no money was in yet, but he started to sense along with his dogs, a threat approaching.
That has not happened ever. Not that strong. No way the townies had a bad patch of synthetic drug that made them try funny and stupid against their unspoken agreement.
He had turned the valley and its two mountain tops into his safe place to store his equipment and from time to time hide an exit person or family until further passage was safe to a place far far away inhabited by runaways called Punks that lived with, instead against each other.
Almost all houses from that abandoned village were empty, some had his spartanic private rooms, there was a garage and workshop, a few were turned into grow houses to provide with food and the only high he was ever interested in, places for the dogs and their breed, storage of food and stuff he took from the Con world that was useful such as all kind of electronic equipment, clothes for undercover operations and gold and silver coins to pay of the old school organizations still active in that chaos that was the new reality after the downfall and that so much missed their lost powers and positions.
He had taken good care that both access ends of the valley were blocked with difficult to recognise but movable gates and even had removed parts of the old road to keep anything that was not off-road, like racers or go fast smugglers out. The houses had a system of booby traps and autonomous guns that would, if the hidden security cams and moving sensors connected to a military grade artificial intelligence defence system suggested, go live and be able to take out an entire division, but an old school division from way before the downfall. They could came in with a platoon of those tanks that he had collected shortly after the downfall when the soldiers gone somewhere, leaving even the light equipment behind, and that were incorporated into the valley’s defence system without a chance.
On both mountain tops the long and mid range camera systems kept an eye on the little town and its villages surrounding while to the other mountain sides a system of traps, barb-wire overgrown by dense spiky berries ensured that getting up the steep terrain through a wood full of rats was no option. He was surrounded by an enemy that he would not hesitate to play against any sprawl force. Usually they looked for him down there in their town after a contract gone bad which hardly ever happened, but most there did not even remember that he existed or his valley so cloase as it was just another abandoned part and not even the most spooky one and these religious freaks never really left their usual paths and certainly not their own company constantly on drugs.
So, it was a pity that he could have to give up this place soon.
They came on bright day light on a Sunday and therefore were not forces from the old church still having their foot in the wider region trying to enforce an old sentence for being a heretic that came after a few of their sisters decided to leave church prison with some help from the outside.
All dogs felt it and looked with him in the same direction. Darkness was about to come too close. He went into the bunker next to the garage and his private rooms to get into his combat suit and linked his VR to the camera system controlled by the AI. He usually could feel danger before the AI rang to indicate a threat.
The bunker would also be his last line of defence and was able to take artillery shells not in use any more carrying mini nukes.
There they came. A convoy of street cars, armoured, dark windows showing the signs of the security forces of the clients company. Big brother of a greedy finance specialist trying to take out the contractor that had sold out the little man.
They did not pass by further to town but stopped at the southern gate system. So they were up for him and had pretty good information. For them outside the area only showed the ruins of was once was an industrial complex, quite tiny compared to those they protected. All was overgrown with fast growing plants. The former road deeper in the valley was blocked by a crator from a 10kg TNT explosion, scrapped trash buses and trucks that were supposed to create the impression of being remainings from a military grade attack on a brigade taking base there some time ago. Rats were all around and a mine warning sign should keep of everyone that still could think straight and had chances to survive a certain attack by the rat population.
This was as far as their cars could take them. A drone lifted off their convoy and flew into the valley in good sight by Strikers defence system. There was still hope that they would turn around. The valley had too many densely planted small trees to give a standard recon drone like this one any chance to do its job and figure out what was hiding there.
Instead it looked like an old battte field of the nearby military base against a militia as they regularly happened during the downfall.
They had no spider recon robot and therefore leaked patience or were up for a quick and dirty job.
The drone started hovering and they stepped out of their cars. Two platoons, 12 wet targets in light body armour carrying standard high end security weapons ideal for house to house combat.
The problem was who told them where to die?
They slowly entered the valley and made their way deeper into the compound.
They did not know what they were facing. They were a reconecance team, only. Hopefully. Black Striker was always exaggerating a bit and stayed alive by expecting the worst.
They got further and the first one was attacked by a rat a few meters in. These rats got bigger after the downfall and gave the dogs quite a fight brining up to 5 kilos into the death match. The road into the valley was a motorcycle road only, he had no use for cars and used an old Huey helicopter to get out human load or supplies and into his valley.
So the space the little path gave was maximum two meters wide and high, hidden always below trees, winding like a snake deeper into the valley, using the remainings of the old road while being interrupted by movable blocks controlled by the AI.
The leading ConSec Commando climbed over a car wreck and got to close to a waiting rat hunting. Country side rats were bigger and these under the constant threat of the dog pack in the center of valley also way more aggressive than those somewhere in the underground of the sprawl they came from.
He freaked out and lost. Screaming his lungs and sould out as soon as the animal had its first bite into his uncovered flesh below his head he tumbled and pulled the trigger pushing full auto fire into two of his following soldiers close behind him. Three others flanking the advance started firing killing the rat and the men with targeted bursts as Dysantrop Soldiers usually did instead of trying to survive they punished who was weak.
The teams stopped, looking at each other in fear not knowing what just struck upon them. The rats were not even part of the defence system now on high alert, but food for the dogs as soon as they made their way past the gate system.
They stopped and heard the squeaking high pitch sound of the other rats that did mind loosing one of them. The AI indicated that their puls levels started to get out of control and based on their eyes their adrenalin reached new levels of uncontrollable heights. “Welcome to the garden of hells kitchen” Striker thought while walking through the virtual 3D space the AI had created for him awaiting his orders. The orders were “Hold. Stay invisible” and hope came back that he might keep his place for some more days.
The two teams freaked out when the rats attacked in a pack. About six big ones attacked two in the middle of the corso from below biting into their boots and trousers that were way to soft to withstand their sharp teeth and strong chars.
That was it. Along with them screaming in pain and fear and uncontrolled fire arm use more and more rats attacked to have lunch.
The last car waiting outside reversed with screaming tyres. That must be the commando car collecting the video footage of the body cams. That car got a tiny tracking robot that would rest in silence and after about a week use the first opportunity in open air to come back into transmission range to send a full tracking history.
Now. It was time to wait after giving the hacker a warning that the Con might be on the lookout.
Maybe, he’d figure out who pointed them to his place....sometime...
Dark Future short stories - Second - A Tight Pussies Perspective
A Tight Pussies Perspective
Squeezy had her name for a reason. A mean one. She was making her way in the anarchic parts of the sprawl right in the shadow of a few high risers and pretty much next to the old rail way station that lost its original use and turned into a slum with a constantly changing chaos of barracks, tents and boxes that gave shelter to those that failed with coping with the constant drug levels of the society after the downfall.
The name came from her implant that combined with elite force level training turned her into an assassin of very special kind. She had her vagina upgraded to another level beyond believe. She was part of the blood squad to the prostitutes that got independent from men by making use of a Sten Gun version and cheap ammo that flooded the streets during the downfall.
The construction was simple and based on a very old design, but upgraded with a 3D printed pistol grip, loaded from the bottom instead of sideways and came with or without a laser pointer or basic optic. That was some time ago and the guns were still around, but she made her way further up. She was born when these guns had their peak in use and the women of the trade took independence by force against their old pimps and especially the police forces everyone ripped into pieces anyway, in these years known as the downfall when society crashed hard.
They owned a few streets in between the secured high risers and the old railway station. It was also the party centre for the anarchic parts of the sprawl full of synth drug dealers that had to give them their share and bars, clubs and restaurants serving the shadows.
She was not part of the ladies security squad that still used the Sten Gun version, but had a rooftop appartement with her wife and another couple of the same status and trade.
They dealed in information and secured those few streets against the ConMen that too often were tempted to pay their bills brute force instead of as agreed.
Someone managed to do the impossible and ripped the shooting star of financial entrepreneurs that just recently made it onto the most important manager magazine front page into minced meat creating a few dozen clients for the psychologic and mental health doctors of about a dozen companies. Someone got way too loud for his own good. Someone that was already shit scary known as the Black Striker. Someone that no one would have believed to be capable of such an sophisticated operation. Someone nobody knew more about than that he was riding a black prehistoric fuel based motorcycle, in an all black bullet proof combat suit on military level that never spoke, but indicated yes or no with his head only and would always create a mess, a real mess when terminating a target charging the highest rates and collecting them.
Someone that killed some years ago an entire slave owner village deeper in the woods north west and left a message for the ConMen that took advantage of the slaves on pretty ugly synth drugs. He crucified the three leaders and burned the crosses live streaming all of it onto the video screens of the bars down in Squeezies streets on a Saturday night peak when the ConMen freaked out in the VIP lounges of these few streets and those with cash from the anarchic parts blew it all over the place freaking out even more.
There was no more freaking out any more this evening. It costed them a little fortune.
Nobody knew where the dozen slaves went to and why this guy even left a pretty nasty puzzle of effective booby traps.
Actually, nobody knew for real that it was Black Striker, but Squeezy was in the information business and the Con Squad leader that was sent to check if any of their managers survived loosing almost all of his men was a reliable customer addicted to her pussy and that very special performance enhancing cocktail they would offer along with her special services to shoot them away from this earth and reality into a space of sexual high only gods were able to enter. That’s what the flyer said.
He also did not directly mention it, but all of this happened after Black Striker was hired for a job to take out a ConMen that started to miss the appropriate doses of a very different synth drug than the ladies cocktail and considered his secretary an appropriate object to turn his sadistic desires into reality right within the HR office he was head of.
She died a painful death. He than went on the run and managed to get out of the safe zone into the old railway station. Black Striker was hired to make a point and to restore confidence within the lower ranks of the office staff. Those that did the actual work.
The thing with Black Striker was that he always kept waving his hand in the pub he entered if a direct meeting with the client was needed and the dark net conference room did not suite him for any reason to get more information. The ConMen hiring Striker gave Striker a full picture and even mentioned the village, which he actually should not have done, especially he was a regular their, too.
First, Striker killed the ConMen on the run who was hiding in the upper floors of the old railway station in a former fast food restaurant and along with him the gang that until then run the railway stations synth drug supply using military grade hand grenades, a few rockets and finally, as always, about a thousand rounds in a heavy rain of bullets to wipe out the gang he actually had a meeting with to talk about the ConMens head price. They should have known that Striker was not the chatty type of person upfront. Unfortunately, they also used their own product, like everyone.
Striker rose prices afterwards, quite successfully.
He than caused, but also finished the most violent and shortest, but a rather small gang war in the sprawl. After the second synth drug gang he took out using a flame thrower before emptying the full auto gun the others decided to stop hiring him and sorted their disputes out in person directly from now on.
So, he was back being a ConMen exclusive again for everyone in and outside the safe zone afterwards, while inititally actually a ConMen had hired him to take out one of the gangs and this beast of a crazy freak also had their biggest rivals pay him, beside stripping the gang from all their valuable assets. Gold and Silver coins where the preferred pay for their cooks and a hacker stripped their dark net accounts while the flame thrower burned down their place.
The second gang was that biggest rival that thought they could ambush Striker on payday. They lost their pub underestimating his combat suit that easily withstand their 9mills. A suite that was developed for elite military units shortly before the downfall, that was not available anywhere and Squeezy was looking for - for ever, ever. He just reloaded two drums and walked out five minutes after he had beaten the president dead by breaking his skull under his combat boot.
It must be him. Another time pushing his price up and with this impressive showcase of his extraordinary capabilities someone to save some digital and gold coins for to acquire his services in the near future.
If he dared to take out an entire board of a Con. A board known for opposing sexual pleasures being a constant pain in the arse to the ladies, yet powerful and influential.
Mmh. Let’s wait and see if he managed to survive the councils retaliation attempts. And what his price would be afterwards....
Dark Future short stories - Third - A high tower perspective
A high tower perspective
Johann looked down into the streets below his top floor corner office in a new building erected after the downfall as the highest of the sprawl to rule from here world wide.
First time ever he felt vulnerable here and wondered if he cut be struck here, behind high protective glassing an anti rocket system and a hundred elite con soldiers.
Neither their AI nor the humans in the strategic military enforcement think tank considered possible what just happened. There was no explanation.
Humans had mutated and those mutants were excluded from the con world, at least in this part of the world they were practically running.
“This insect..”, he did not turn around, no music was playing and the sparkling wine remained untouched. There was no reason to celebrate. “This insect” he mumbled trying to hide his fear of what was to come there.
The board members stood in silence trying to predict Johann reactions.
Johann looked up and set his eyes onto the horizon watching the late afternoon sun.
Johann was from a very old blood line ruling even before the downfall and Black Striker was no unknown, but the biggest pain in their families ass. For generations them and these pig farmers and beer brewers had been in battle. Centuries ago they belonged to the same knight order and Strikers ancestors killed his ancestor in a clan war over tax.
From than on his ancestors were expelled from their soil and the bloodline of Striker kept changing names, possession but never ever attitude. They stuck to no law, were rebellious and never shy of a conflict against whom ever they considered “an asshole”.
Johann was a “vom Felsen” the Strikers were once “vom Felde” and even gave up their aristocratic title interbreeding with the lowest of the low women possible.
During the downfall his father, in a genius coup, took their ancient town back, the last of the vom Felde gone away. Nobody really new what he was doing or were her was gone and all for a sudden a few years after the downfall someone broke into the prison and freed their slaves brute force. Not one of the guards stayed alive, the director was even crucified after having had his teeth beaten out in the prison court.
Now he sat down in the side valley on top of the old military tunnels build for a war that never happened way before the downfall and turned their mansions pool into a fish farm, because he also took the surrounding hill tops.
With the prisoners and military grade pioneer robots he turned that valley into a modern castle and the major continental hub for rejects, a hide out for mutants and centre of terror activity in the uncontrolled spawn quarters, so the official Gremium statement.
They tried artillery attacks and rockets from interceptors and lost them all.
It took Johann a little fortune and a deal he considered disgusting with the prostitutes of the sprawl to figure out that the Black Striker was the last of the vom Felde. Florian Charles de Terre and what happened.
Johann turned around and took a seat behind his massive dark oak table staring at the board members in front of him.
“This mercenary....”
While Johann family rose over the centuries to become way more powerful and a global player after being kicked out of their ancient castles the vom Felder turned looser, renegades, mafia and at some point even terrosists. They lost all their land and enterprises bit by bit, step by step, generation over generation. But instead of fading their faith gone stronger and their strikes more and more dangerous, brutal and devastating, their influence within the low lives and expelled from society at peaks reached god level having them rise against fearing the vom Felsen Clan. During the downfall he managed to escape his prison and took part in the most dangerous and fierceful conflicts of the world order collapse known as the downfall. He was a hunted war criminal that knew now mercy against hired guns or anyone that did not serve the people sticking to their moto “bon a protege, mal a mort” over generations. He did not go to war, but had been on a crusade against everyone that was using military strategies for profit, finally striking against those hunting him as a war criminal by blowing up the court and entire office complex an attack only a very few knew that he had exectured - and know he is back and up against their universal ruling live.
“This insect of a mercenary just turned himself into top priority of all our efforts. He will go down. He will die.
I need a full status report of all our military capabilites and an estimation of the capabilities of our allies. We will prepare a devistating strike against his position, his facility, with all we have got, with all we can bring to the battle ground. This is a declartion of war of total war”, Johann stood up, took his sabre from the desk in front of the window, opened the bottle with a smooth well placed stroke and drank having the expensive limited edition sparkling wine from their wine yards run all over his face and down over his suit.
The board cheered, shouted, screamed and in one voice broke out their uniting moto “Salve Dictus Emperator”
While the board shot themselves off this world plundering the open bar equipped with the fines of spirits and psychoactive drugs, Johann stayed sober. His ancestors all were straight edge and never used any substances changing the persistence of mind. Tonight he would give the gods a sacrifice. A dozen of the secretaries would do. Their pain would wake the demons he will need in this war and tomorrow, based on the numbers coming in, he would develop a strategy. One he will execute in person.
That very moment strikers dogs stood still and looked west, while he looked down feeling a glimps of hell crawling up onto him again. “Ayyyyyeee” he mumbled darkness awaiting.
Dark Future short stories - Fourth - The Rival
The Rival
It was late in the evening and Josef enjoyed the slow but continuous puffs from his pipe filled with a vanilla tobacco mix accompanied by small zips from a 19 years old Scotch he carefully selected. His wife was no smoker and enjoyed a heavy, thick and very fruitful Rioja next to him in the house garden that was all of her pride and joy a few kilometres away from the financial capital they based their family wealth on.
For generations they were private bankers internationally well connected and the downfall was their ticket into the very elite of world banking. They ran a rather small, but influential investment bank that got into the rows of the super rich by connecting their investments, by networking creating an impressive conglomerate of enterprises, yet stayed out of media coverage completely and sub radar of pretty much all those using military tactics as a business tool.
Before the downfall they managed small but secure assets of mid-level income employees and small companies with a long term investment strategy and did the book keeping for an old, actually very old mafia.
Their organisation dated back to the crusades and was founded as a resistance against a local middle estern dictator in ancient Baghdad. Today, Baghdad was again a religious centre, but full in arms, the main market place for the different people populating the two river country, yet with no state in place, run by a Kalif and his guard.
Fossil oil lost its importance during the downfall and was only used in the chemical industry to produce high tech fibres, so the prices sky rocket while simultaneously the system of nations fell and gave birth to a chaotic constantly changing system of towns and regions in pretty much constant conflict with as many written and spoken treaties in between rich and powerful enterprises and millions of different nomads.
No way to count them all, no way to name them.
During the downfall population world wide exploded and this within the largest, most widespread military conflict, everybody against everybody, that this world ever saw on all levels from cyber warfare to even nuclear bombs being dropped again. This being said, most of the battles during these wars saw small guns, only.
His blood line was used to live in between others, being surrounded by people living different values giving them an exclusive perspective that only a nomad can experience, but them being settled for generations in many, many places blending in almost perfectly, almost to all times.
The downfall in this area changed this and they needed to use targeted assassinations, violence and extortion to survive and secure their clients they took responsibility for.
One of their biggest allies, someone that hell must have sent to get those daemons back down that stood up against them and their loved once, struck.
He put fear into the hearts of their enemy and they both could feel that a major new battle in this time of constant war and this war of wars just started. They’ll take part.
They looked at each other, listening to an old Jazz record and could read each others thoughts.
She would sent her house staff to were most of them came from to ask for their support, the support of the Amazons as they called them. The armed prostitutes of the region that ruled major parts of town since the downfall and for them they always had a job or a place to stay if they were willing to change life and a monestry was not the right place for them, She would ask them to hold their fire and wait for the go, to prepare to wipe the enemy out in one well placed strike later in the war being part of the main and last battle.
He’d call two meetings. The first one was one in his business club to get their enemies bank into financial turmoil. The other one was of their secret society to get out side assassins into the war.
The bank had as most major enterprises their own currency and now it became time to use the forging key they had ready, to interrupt their secure communication and have first their stock market investment arm buy registered but actually bogus stocks. Price would rise first showing major gains and a virus would make sure that the window bottom left on their screen set up would show the options securing the stock investment inverted in greyscale.
The bank was the centre of a system of enterprises and companies of all industries most of them run by old slave owner families that kept their rows clean. They had their own supply of food, restaurants, clothing and even vacation resorts, were busy in manufacturing and services from mobility to security and financing. Their constant need to control and addiction to micro managing would not withstand a major stress test.
The media outlets would soon receive propaganda on accidents caused by design flaws, their tight centralised logistics and purchasing department would buy stuff they would not need for hundreds of years and could never store while their basic materials most needed to keep production and timelines would be delivered anywhere but most certainly not were actually needed.
The offshore hedge funds driven by AI would make billions betting against these companies and the entities of the business club would buy the scraps with a discount stripping them off everything that was dismountable without TNT.
Shortly, after the management would start to focus on counter measures the assassins would start hitting their out side branches and take out the slave drivers on upper management level easiest first quickly swapping to prime targets keeping their security busy adjusting to a changing attack and victim profile.
Their outskirts would be up in flames, their financial core under major attack and Striker...he had his feast - finally.
“May god have mercy with his soul” she said. “We’ll light a candle and pray for him”
Dark Future short stories - Fiveth - A Burning Cross
A Burning Cross
It had been a week since the attack. A dark shadow was constantly present from the direction of the Sprawl, but it kept hanging there.
They were preparing. They took their time.
The longer they prepared, the harder they’d hit, with more force and power used.
They shouldn’t be too comfortable, Striker decided and dove into the new net using a virtual reality interface.
New net was a communication network that followed up the internet and established itself during the downfall. Before the downfall the internet was already several parts and most of the users only used about ten web pages of it, which was the most tiny possible fraction and beyond imagination small compared to all on computers stored information out there.
All of these ten pages were part of the world wide web, which was basically the public commercial part of the internet and anything but a web. Actually, the WWW was based on a few major hubs located strategically supporting national interests being rather easily controllable by the national law enforcement and security bodies. Almost all major traffic was handled by these few server farms creating for the common people the illusion of a real connected web covering the whole planet connecting all mankind to make everyone feel better.
Than there was a more complex structure of company intranets that spread out over national borders using routing servers to connect different branches of an enterprise that was accessible from the WWW only by password protected access software restricted by the companies IT security and many parts being off WWW access at all.
Than there was still the scientific root network of the WWW that took off when HTML was published connecting university networks covering super computers for scientific research, online libraries of digitalised books and all kinds of publications and of course the socialising grounds of the students kicking off porn-site start up business based on fraternity file swapping servers and music streaming based on sharing servers that created a major trial on property rights and music distribution way before the downfall.
All normal households connected to all parts of that long gone internet using standard already existing land line or cellular telephone systems by establishing connections from their home computer to a routing server run by one of about five different internet provider companies. Those were located in pretty much all major towns depending on size by the dozens and routed the traffic over those few major hubs most of the time.
So, if you met your neighbour next door all traffic would be routed over one of these hubs, no matter if it said Peer2Peer or not, but your computer would not connected directly through the separating concrete wall using a direct connection or just the routers Wi-Fi even so in range.
That had changed.
Beside cyber attacks also conventional war fare and the basic greed of a few major mega cons shut down by virus attacks, bombs or sky rocking bills the old, well established, well serving system that was known as The Net.
The downfall manifested differently in different parts of this nation and all parts of the world. None was not effected, but some turned nuclear wasteland while others flourished keeping Almost all of the old structures alive.
Companies quickly established new server hubs off the old network by either contracts with the existing major telecom companies or by building up their own satellite and even cable based hardware infrastructure.
Towns that turned Free Towns getting rid of national control created mesh networks that routed based on all business is local all traffic between the tight network of Wi-Fi routers present in pretty much every flat on every floor of every building.
Universities walked a path in between connecting their student homes, student flats, serving themselves or the town or region or enterprise conglomerate they belonged too, with each other and affiliated networks of other universities, companies and towns.
Other organised players in the downfall hijacked those structures for their own purposes being in a constant cover up, hide and avoid game with the actual official owners.
Basically, the well structured internet broke up, turned chaos and exploded in stored information in connections and bypasses, loop wholes and turned like a biological brain into a neural network of constantly changing knots storing information.
The singularity turned real. The connected information thought, so it existed.
Striker owned his live to the singularity.
The singularity relied on sharing and collaboration of information, knowledge and actions. It turned live by connecting information and was not programmed like Strikes military AI securing his premiss.
Striker ran into an ambush somewhere deep in the African jungle on the hunt against drug plant farmers. The cultivated a genetically modified parasite plant and after harvesting it extracting in their labs a substance with incredible strong astral powers in effect. Th drug has many names, depending on the dealer and was the top choice for all toxic magicians that needed drugs to enter the astral space in which magicians did what they did. With this particular drug they were able to be awake, move and still access the astral space being able to perform war magic.
They will fry your brain like a street samurai using a micro wave weapon, just by staring at you, just by focusing on you on higher doses.
Side effect....they go mental. Crazy. Turn God Kings. Loose it and get usually killed.
Striker was an all natural empath that could feel danger and connect to its surroundings. He had found the main secure facility of the Kartell running their farms in the African jungle following the blood path of their mercenaries further deep into the jungle and located the exact position with his AI driven drones hiding below full cover of trees.
Slowly sneaking closer bypassing counter sensors taking days to move based on his connection with the fauna of the area he felt sudden relief. The birds started singing, the monkeys shouting, the spiders checked and rested for a few moments. The jungle was having a party.
Striker was so surprised about the euphoric emotions he received from all around him that he stood up in his full body armour leaving his sniper gun on the ground taking his helmet of.
He had a deep breath and focused on the premiss still a few kilometres away. Nothing. No darkness.
He moved on almost forgetting his gun.
It took him only a few hours instead of another week to arrive.
All gates open, everybody dead.
At the gate he first time got into touch with the singularity. The singularity had killed everyone in the premises using their own counter measure defence systems including overdosing the drug of the toxic magicians that forces Striker to slow down to go undercover to them by melting in with the animals.
“Hello” the speaker at the gate Striker stood wondering what happened said to him.
“Hello”
“You had a 10% survival chance based on your previous actions. They had a 65% success rate in taking over the cost town with their toxic magicians. This is not only their Villa, it is their training facility for their magicians. It is the dark orders main training ground. You would have died!”
“Who are you?”
“I am ...” the voice paused ”I Am!”
“As in?” Striker was sure he did not know that person yet ”a name?”
”I have no name. I am based on linked digital information. I would have been called the singularity.”
“Ayyye” Another prophecy had come true for Striker.
Today the facility was run by the local tribe of the people that settled in this part of the African jungle and the dark order would not get it back any time soon cultivating tomatos.
Striker was not using a direct brain link to connect with the new net. Those were quite expensive and needed a trip in one of the free towns that were home to major bio tech companies to survive the operation without risking of catching a biotech virus, brain damage or death in an underground clinic, beside mega cons would not take a single crypto coin and no gold for sure from him.
Instead he used a monitor in form of VR glasses, a head set, microphone and a keyboard appropriate to his age looking like a grandpa if he turns on the prehistoric equipment in public. Just, it never crashed and if he hacked he used scripts, pre-written based on proper planning, based on research instead of jumping in relying on computational power and a major bet against all odds, yet being cool.
He needed to find a monk or priest of the dark order busy in sprawl. He had an idea, but was not sure yet how to find a route through computer connections based on routers and bypasses.
He started a script that would search through most locally based university publication outlets looking for headlines that would indicated a dark order magician being active, like increased cancer rates or increased mental illnesses. Another script would check normal news outlets for reported outbreaks of brutal violence and increased gang activity. The last one would hack police records of company security forces, free town police and church guards. Finally a communication AI would start asking in forums and chat rooms for dark order activity.
It would take a few hours to days until the analytics software would have connected the dots and presented him a summery, hopefully with a potential location.
Side effect ... creating new connetions for the singularity.
If he’d get him, he’d end at a burning cross on display at the river bank at the main highway from the new woodlands into the secure zone of the sprawl screaming his lungs out dying.
Dark Future Short Stories - Sixth - The Climax Truth
The Climax Truth
Squeezy almost had him. Just a few more minutes and he’d be in a deep sleep, but climaxing. The Chef of the banks security forces that was all about going against Striker was below her having a ride. The drug mix was working and his brain was stimulated further using his high-end direct cyber-link into his brain. He was not the active guy and liked being served in exquisite leather dessous complimenting her trained curves. She was a perfect upper class blond mistress servant in every respect. She had him deep in her and her cyberware upgraded vagina was working on max level. The drug mix was as usually taking by glass of Champaign and she started undressing to give him a lap dance to than undress him. She took him in and started riding him gently increasing the pressure around him using her implant. Along with his heart rate measured by her finger tip sensors, a sex bot AI calculating the perfect mixture of all stimulants, she quickly, but of course not too quickly, shot him into another sphere satisfying his addiction to the strongest and most pushing drug in the post downfall world: a proper Cyber Climax.
She stopped the up and down movement, pushed the pheromone level in her sweat to peak level and started to give him a wet, deep French kiss pushing her tongue deep into his mouth just to release this time an extra drop of a concentrated aphrodisiac that was kept a secret. She could see his heart rate jump and pushed her vagina activity to the top level. He turned climax. She controlled his breath to keep him off a heart attack using mouth to mouth and would keep him there for the next six minutes. The mistress that was still next to him on a Platin chain trigged the bio hack software to attack his memory through his already established direct link cyber connection that was stimulating his happy and stress receivers to kick him into endorphin and adrenalin levels most animals would not survive.
They created a copy of the electronic parts of his brain that were part of his corporate hardware implemented into his brain that came along with the job of securing the bank. Data that he was not supposed to be forgotten which might happen using only his brain cells to memorize.
A full scan of his brain to recreated his biological memory based on his brain cell connections and interacting chemicals was also possible, but that would needed a few more minutes and could not be done while the software copied his cyberware implants, plus they would had to send the scan on a physical device to Macao to have it turned into a readable database and that would take time, time and lots of cash.
She stopped the heavy, deep moaning and encouraging dirty talk while he was caught in a epileptic like movement grabbing her double DDs tight. It actually looked funny. His eyes were wide open and she pushed himdown into the lounge chair which was way no easy task to keep his climax under control. He also was making unmet bass noises constantly ejaculating into her and her vagina upgrades were quite busy cleaning his seed. He’d be quite empty and would need quite a bath.
Part of the deal was a night in the Spa along with an all naked breakfast with another go with the twins. They’d wash him, put him to sleep like a baby, layed next to him and gently woke him up next week curing him from the side effects of the sexual overload that would keep him busy with flashbacks for about a month.
That service was paied by the bank and not on the cheap side. The only more expensive version available was the same deal, but in the Mediterranean on a especially prepared yacht that was also quite save against pirate attacks. The Algerians found back to their ancient routes and sometimes a few of her stuff stayed away turning into a harem lady in a desert oasis villa leaving into a different world.
They needed to know what they planned against Striker. It was time to pay back against a common enemy. The bank was known for occult and lethal rituals against woman and those that managed to survive them were usually found in their streets half dead with severe mental problems some never overcame. She managed to keep her women off their list, but they were regularly busy with their own employees ruling them buy fear way worse than the long gone lover boys that tricket her during the downfall into a job she stuck in, but excelled in, too.
During the battles of independence from pimps and corrupt police officials he had given them an urban gurillia training AI supported by a student monitoring database and a oponent success predicition logic based on camera footage of any human or animal moving that was running on standard VR systems including an appropriate CPU that later turned into the core of the denfence system and he had taken out the Nomads and SWAT using nothing more than an axe and a rapier and a military grade body suit. She never had seen a sword like that. It looked like those swords she knew form the old cheesy musketeer 2D movies that made her dream of being a princess when she was a happy child. Just, the hand guard was filled with spikes and he did not hesitate to punch them into a face in range. He guided in his left hand an axe in a short grip using both shaft and blade to cut through the men that met with him on a meeting they thought that was meant to talk.
He did not state a single word, but showed up and immediately after locking the bar started cutting through the flesh of all men no matter if Police or Rocker.
After he was finished he used the axe to decapitate them, put the heads into a white bag with a red cross on and left that at the first step of the old Dome that had no use any more, but give shelter to a few homeless people.
This massacre was the day of independence for the prostitutes and with the help of the mafia they financed what they had build today: The party centre of the Sprawl. The biggest gambling, party hard, sex adventure, VR World, food place, Spa society that spread out over three major roads all secured by the finest systems international connected mafia syndicates could provide to keep things ... “clean” is the wrong word so.
He could not remember anything unusual when he left next noon all happy and incredibly relaxed, calling in sick being busy with his hands and imagination for the rest of the week, beside stressing the follow up escort service on a few evenings to their limits.
They’d check data as soon as the analytics software was done creating a summary. Coffe time...
Dark Future Short Stories - Seventh - The Ghost Legion
The Ghost Legion
Legion Nostre Patria Resistance Nostre Fortuna.
The downfall struck everywhere differently, but everywhere had existing structures collapse. Every order that did not served its very people tumbled and crashed. In many areas brutally. For the time of the downfall the dark mid ages came back to live and towns sorted out old competitions violently.
Shortly before the downfall became visible to most, Striker needed to escape from a murder trial and went on the run. Both head of Police and the prosecutor remembered him too well from back in the school days when he regularly beat up both bully gangs. Both only turned law enforcement to better cover up their drug deals and managed to do so perfectly. They had turned God King status and were the main financiers of the local sect.
At some point they decided to declare the wanna be soldier and skaterboy that Striker was as a teenager their personal enemy number one.
When striker left his favourite Pub one of the local gangsters tried to strip him off his Jacket was knocked out. Striker was sure that he was still alive when he carries on leaving him in a side street next to the Pub. The Police had a different story and so Striker went on the.
Even so he never was caring a Capi Blanche on his head, he never even tried to join the Legion, because he was to old he quickly got in touch with Legionnaires and turned an affiliate.
He always was good with the Guitar for the girls and even better with fists and legs for their stalkers. About a week after he managed to leave the back than still powerful national control to hit street live far far away south west a short, but intense war broke and kicked off the downfall.
The old super powers, run by even older in mind men, decided to once for all settle their unhealthy rivalry by brute force, but this time in direct conflict. There was not even a proper reason. There was only an order to attack.
An order that turned the northern hemisphere into pure chaos and along with it the other part, too.
Some pretended to not have received their orders, other straight forward denied them, others called the high courts fighting the order legally, others got their white flags out, some went straight for executing their orders and got faced sever now not that friendly, but quite targeted fire, others tried to enforce the order ending in major shoot outs with their own batches. Old treaties broke up, old friends attacked each others. It was pure chaos on all sides.
A few weeks in in became clear that the old centres of power had lost control. Capitals had become incapable to enforce their will onto the rest of the nation.
In Marseilles Striker was a street musician back than that kept couch surfing from a tourist bed to another. The French Army leadership rejected the attacks plans and so some Generals went for a coup. They were supported by foreign forces and created the first major urban street battle of the downfall in Paris in attempt to take over the Elysée Palace. The conflict took weeks, months and actually never completely ended.
The Legion based in the south lost contact to Paris first day and their scouts did not come back so they decided to secure the southern coast line towns in cooperation with the Gendarmerie and Naval forces.
At some time the first refugees from the woodlands from the southern Rhine arrived south and reported from a very bloody civil war everybody against everybody in southern Germany that burned down the bilingual parts next along with it.
The southern French forcers could not spare any units, because they were busy fighting gangs that used guirillia tactics to take over parts of towns and tired to ensure their drug rout safety towards the rich men’s junkies areas delivering completely new unknown substances no one intended to try that had any sanity left.
The first area that regained stability in Paris was La Defence by using hired guns about half a year into the street battles of Paris and Ile de France. The first strike against the French orders to stay and not join the war way east was against the communication systems. Now telephone, no internet router was working any more and the Police and military transmitters were useless.
The industrial centre of the once proud French nations managed first to fill the vacuum that an incapable old bureaucratic system created and establish stability. Quarter by quarter they reconquered all of Paris over the next few years and established successfully what Universities would later teach as the French Capitalism.
Striker grew up in an old family that dated back to the crusades and education of the children was for generations task of the grandparents. He had learned from cooking to fighting everything a rural knight would have needed to know if they still had their title and status. It was also quite helpful with the woman.
During the downfall and the war that kicked it off, major biochemical military laboratories were hit and the genetically modified viruses hit nature. Within a few years mankind started mutating. Striker, always quite sensible to his surroundings turned empath, could see at night almost as it was bright light, could read and predict other humans steps and words, beside becoming physically and mentally stronger without growing kilos of body weight.
He was lying in an unused vacation flat for about three month with high fever slowly running out of food from the storage room when suddenly felt better. After a shower he went onto the balcony and first time his empathy kicked in. He realised in split second that someone was having built up an ambush in the street he looked at.
Right in the balcony below him a sniper sat and five others were hiding badly strategically in a few other buildings. Next moment a light off road car of the French foreign legion turned around the corner and entered the road. He could see that the guy on the machine gun was the guy that regularly dropped him a few coins.
“Fuck” and off he went. Striker first time just acted, had made like never before an attack plan and went straight to executing the plan. He took the small French Bistro table next to him, leaned over and shouted down to the sniper getting ready “Hey, Ca va?” just to smash the table at the guy.
Next he climbed down , actually jumped, grapped the semi automatic hunting rifle and took out the other five in full surprise.
He had new friends now. He became part of what turned to the most respected and feared depending on your attitude, internally operating, interconnected, highest motivated, best trained and most precise military special forces level operating force responsible for SOS missions during and after the downfall known as the Ghost Legion.
The Ghosts were part of the New Legion Entranger and basically their Ninjas that specialised in freeing slaves from terrorists, militias and Mega Cons all around the globe. After a few years he build up the retaliation brigade within the Ghosts known as the Deadheads. They made sure by force that now more slaves were taken by whom ever they went up against.
The banker he was up again now had no idea that he was more than a mercenary and that all these hired gun jobs were all about gaining information to clear assassination targets.
A monk would be next. A convent after. A monestry follow up and than the Devil would know ....
Dark Future Short Stories - Eight - The Monestry
The Monestry
The search algorithm based net crawlers did not need much time to find traces and hints of a dark magician being active. The AI based on data analytics software even suggested an dark order Pontius active close by the Sprawl.
He rememberd that he took out a village of slave hunters with a serious misconceptions of the devils responsibilities in the area some time ago.
The Devil is in charge of hunting, prosecuting and keeping the bad boys in hell. They managed to call in their judge and torturer in this world already.
The village was in the new woodlands north of the Sprawl. During the downfall genetic manipulated plants made it out of the secret gene labs of the old international agriculture companies and spread out, mixed up and mutated further. Many areas turned greener than green. New plants from trees down to flowers spread out in unmet speed and turned all abandoned areas that were not used as farm land anymore during the downfall into a new from of nothern hemisphere rain forest more like jungles than a forest that than again gave shelter to runaways. The green cover was so dense that modern surveillance technology was not able to hit through the tree crowns into houses that were fully covered by plants. Using mixed crop and vegetable fields made recognizing small farms impossible and the woods were full of wild rats and rabbits that ensured the meat supply. The roads turned rivers and moores as they were broken up by roots and stronger rain forcing everyone into good boots willing to enter the new woodland.
Looks like the dark order had taken over a free land region, because more and more surrounding gated villages reported missing persons, cattle and animals crossing over from the woodland into the open agricultural farm land.
The AI suggested based on the profile Striker created by keeping good record over the last decades on the dark orders habits that they most likely had taken over a small valley close to the farm land and the analytics AI provided a quite up to date picture from an old forgotten, but still running espionage satellite.
The fields north of the woodland hill tops were populated by three to four meter high crops of different kind accompanying each other similar onyl in colour and what looked like villages were actually ruins overgrown by flowers and bushes giving an idea of how the area was popluated before the dowfall and nature turning mutant taking over. The roads turned lakes, stream and moors and where not usable anymore. Noon could relay tell where the hidden farms were, especially because on a first look it all looked like before the downfall. Looking closer one would understand that there was a new scale in charge.
Just one thing was for sure. A Pontius needed a monetary that hold a minimum of ten cohorts each of a hundred monks. It was massive and needed a massive supply of drugs. Since there was no road they needed to have a constant stream of airborne vehicles.
Noon could just jump into a dark order monestry. Not an assassin and no army. They were too strong in a group. They needed to be cut down bit by bit. First their supply needed to go being the basis of their power.
Striker started a profiling reconnaissance script that would analyse the satellite picture stream to find the air born vehicle stream. The ant road. As soon he’d new, if it was helicopters or planes they would be intercepted. The best way to cut down an airborne ant stream is to take out the airfield and striker still had some mid range pre-downfall war heads on rockets ready to fire. Otherwise the jet would do or dropping anti-aircraft torret robots, would do too. It would just take longer.
Afterwards, they needed to be cut of from connectivity and their information stream ensuring communication. To do so Striker lunched a military grade reconnaissance drone that would land close to the valley and start scanning all frequencies to understand, if the monestry would use radio frequency communication based on terrestrial or satellite communication and scan the sky for satellites creating a catalogue. To be on the save side spider robots would spread out crawling through the frontier of woodland and farmland to search possible cable connections based on likelihood calculated from captured engineering field books of the dark order and cut them.
He also needed to get back into the simulator getting familiar again with the tiny stealth attack chopper and have the workshop AI get the swarm drones ready. He would need them anytime soon.
War was up and running. Reconnaissance phase.
Time to meditate and pray, time to train, time for blood, time to ask for forgiveness in silent prayer, time for the next demon to be put back into hell in this world or whatever there is after.
Dark Future Short Stories - Nine - A well placed hit below the belt
A well placed hit below the belt
A good Buttler is worth a fortune. A good Buttler, especially, working in third generation for an ancient banker family is actually part of the bloodline even so from a different blood line and has his very own alumni service.
Alfred immediately changed his professional neutral face expression to a sattle smile with sparks in his eyes when he heard that it was open season against the big bad ugly as he personally liked to call the very old banker enemy. It was time to turn an old plan lying ready in the bottom drawer of his desk to another position in the middle drawer of the very same desk he organised the family house hold assisting the lady.
The banker had affiliates all around the globe. One of his best cooks told him decades ago about him and his family having to leave their home when a real estate shark decided to take over the neighbourhood his family lived in 6th generation continuously, to fill a development gab between city center and the mountain weekend lodges just recently build turning the area into an upscale mid class living estate for the desk slaves in those few high risers close by. Just, they first buried their youngest daughter, who became victim to the gang violence created to crash real estate value even further down.
Gods ways are mysterious and just a week ago he watched a short clip on the most exclusive penthouse for rent right in the middle and on top of the high risers, unfurnished, having him adding a note on that old plan.
It would take some preparation and upfront investment. The crew was easy to be found. They will first rent a first floor restaurant space and shake up the resto scene of the secured corpo estate that had become even more arrogant and over confident in recent years.
The trick was to use their connections into the free world, called the wild world or new jungles way off any corporate grip, to search for the blind, stupid rich and strip them off their assets by shiny, shiny bling bling.
In the workshops already busy with creating counterfeit luxurious products on a perfect copy level to put them in between originals, that way keeping beside the retail profit also the production profit, low material, but shiny resto equipment would be ordered. Basically, painted plastic over ceramic, grails instead of glasses and even the cutlery would be from recycle material in a nice paint finish for sale with 10000% profit, incl exchange rate and avoided customs and taxes, in the online shop that came with the resto.
The food would be cat foot cans, washed and having added the finest artificial tastes, but perfectly arranged and stored in luxurious import labeled boxes, as well as all spirits filled into expensive bottles making sure everyone with still some taste untouched by chemical lifestyle substances won't even be bothered just considering coming by, by accident ever.
The important part were the hidden security cams on the toilettes connected to a face recognition database feeded with a years worth of information from the local low level tabloid to add a name to the Koke head nose busy snoring.
They all would get as soon breaking point of victims was reached an invitation to the owners kick off party in that just recently rented new place using the time until the furniture arrives for a very special, exclusive and private party for the entire week in mid-summer peak...
...giving enough time to have the movers clear their garages, ware houses, flats, houses, offices, the hackers to give all their employees extra vacation on the moving and follow up days, with time to hack all disks to identify their private, company, trust and especially hidden accounts, clear them and evaluate further data for possible post-hit extortions along with checking their medical records to identify organ and implant donators and stretching their credit line beyond possibly imaginable realities that way hitting the actual target from the side line, but hard. Like real hard.
Alfred picked up the phone. "Hello, Keyla. I am Alfred a friend of your dad. I hope you and your mum are fine. Is Jefferson in and would you ask him, if I am calling in a convenient moment, please, my dear? We haven't had a boys night our since ever."
Dark Future Short Stories - Ten - A boiling bath tube
A boiling bath tube
The sun hit hard all and everything exposed directly, the rest just sweated. The street sport gangs ruled the biggest Sprawl of the world that most did not even understand it was a Sprawl. The Mediterranean, called by them the bath tube, because of its tourism past and its coast line had in about 5km away from the shore a house next to a house al along. The Sprawl got denser and and more spread out, but it was a super large Sprawl with thousands of most different organisations from gated MegaCon offices and recreational estates to free villages and large cities to rural stretches it span all around a small ocean that had three small entry points from other oceans and hundreds of rivers ending into it.
Street sport gangs united during the period of turmoil that restructured all social systems of this earth and united almost globally against the toxic gangs. You don't skate or bike on drugs, but you eat the dirt of tarmac, sweat through heavy duty T-shirts and wear even in summer peak baggy long heavy trousers to protect against sun and solid concrete. Street sport teaches to fall on most hard surfaces in soft grace to get up and going again. They turned from the cool tough to the hardcore within in a few years winning the streets there taking on street sport refugees form sprawls further north where they got outgunned by the toxics.
This was Marseille and France looked since a few days regularly north east into the far distance through buildings and mountains. He saw a dark cloud far away and the urge of heading north grew stronger, but than he knew it was better to trap what ever was building up there. The others watched him and knew another street war was about to hit.
The message of France the Witcher seeing darkness spread and all prepared for the known unknown. Streets in arms...
"Mmmmh...."
"And pick up the gotcha sessions again, hardcore"
"Mmmmh...."
"They'll come in as rich boys. There is bling"
"Gliders up than."
"We need more. I had a dream. It is time to pile up the air game."
"What you thinking?"
"Did you ever consider sitting in a remote controlled scale helicopter? Big small fighter air borne"
"Not exactly. But I like it. Skating Marseille in five meters above ground just sitting in and no VR picture?"
"You got me..."
"Let me see who knows whom, how since when"
Dark Future Short Stories - Eleven - All under Angelo's palm called for action
All under Angelo's palm called for action
"Yes, Sir, consider it done." Angelo hung up. He was standing up as soon as he felt who was calling even before he answered the call in his back office in the most exclusive of all table dance venues in pretty much all of Europe. He was the loyal servant of the boards of corporate world and in opposite to the biggest of all sprawls sitting in a pocket surrounded by chaos in which he kept up order.
The City of London was divided in the part he ran and those that did not entirely separate from the trash. They even played squash, a form of tennis played in a closed room that was first played in the old dock lands and prisons, an aggressive, fast game without mercy for bad condition or a lack of coordination, as no other no contact sport, - with them.
Those, his venues, the Gold Pot Clubs, not only had the most exclusive combination of interiors, bars and DJs, but required an enterprise level ID to get in. They were only located within the closed parts of MegaCon world and who came was called a ConSlave by those living in the chaos that took the world during the down fall. Most lived between gated communities in their small houses and villas with a garden, high risers they worked in and airport hubs they travelled from, beside especially protected vacation beach and mountain resorts. They even controlled a few historic small towns, but most of this earth was lost to chaos and run by gangs. A situation that could just too easily be ignored from within his world of order.
The call he got was an order call of action. It was war again and this time they faced the most scary of all possible enemies. He would have way preferred to go against his biggest competition, the clubs and night time go out places of the chaos that had contracts and agreements with the MegaCons he belonged to, but ... it was a personal vendetta he got ordered to take part in. And that was always and ever bad for business.
These two assholes, the boss of the biggest bank and this freak in all black swinging an axe when ever he could, were up on each others throats since he could remember. Every time the boss made a hit against the freaks affiliates he could buy a new coupé from the money he left in one of his places and every time the freak created a massacre in between MegaCon world someone needed catering for a large funeral. It still was no good for business, because both occasions tended to be excessive beyond any profit.
For a decade he and his special occasion security army stood with eyes wide open next to the constant conflict of bombs and bombing runs, assassinations even in high security spots, hacker attacks wipeing data and really important records and closed coffin funerals, in a war nobody understood what for, fearing to one day having to become active in.
Angelo took a seat to look at his first officer: "A whisky." While the officer passed on the wish to the always waiting in silence stripper waitress exclusive to his needs and those of is first office staff, he changed to "a triple Vodka, in a Russian glass" which was a medium sized water glass turning the single shot into a 4cl one.
As soon she left the room to the home bar room next door, he said to his officer what they would do now:
Angelo: "We are going to land from the island back again at the beaches of the poor south beaches. But not directly north of the vacation island. Instead he just told me to attack straight into the harbour town, wiping out every street sport activity, flooding our party pills on discount and taking over all places in the old quarter."
The officer took his phone and called the waitress still in the other room: "Make it two glasses"
Angelo: "Does this crazy asshole know who is buying our product?"
Officer: "He does not care. Ever. Things have to happen his way."
Angelo: "He is using us. He must know that this is a suicide mission, when pushing us straight into their main town. Marseille is basically their capital and biggest small trade hub. Every run away runs to Marseille. No run a away ever was kidnapped back by any contractor from Marseille. Instead Marseille sends them back to us in always 13 boxes. Each body cut into 13 pieces. Always."
Officer: "Mmmh. I can make a list of some we can exchange easily and keep the losses down. Maybe we should push some of the over ambitious lower managers that are up for action in there two. You know. Those were asked to get on the needle to keep them compliant on their floors."
Angelo: "That's a good point. Them with some junky hit units. Lets check for hotels we can book entirely and have them drive down stacked with pills and powder. Than we see how long they make it and watch by their mobile phones. That's a good first wave. 20. Nah. Lets make it 30"
Officer: "I create a list"
The waitress came back just to hear the last few phrases and would send a message to the woman she cried out at the weekends to, as soon as possible, already hoping that Marseille would run out of boxes quickly.
Officer: "Did you see their latest toy? The street sport divisions' ?"
Angelo: "No. What is it this time? Bungee form high risers or helicopters?"
Officer: "Haha. Check this vid. They uploaded onto one of the channels in the P2P network they run, a vid from a hovercraft the size of a snowboard a guy is standing on. It's got a mini jet engine creating forward momentum and if it jumps it can actually fly for some meters. Like a hundred. That thing got so much power it vertically lifts 20 meter straight up"
Angelo: "And our soldiers need a double shot calmers when just mention parashoot low altitude urban ..."
Officer: "The vid is from Palermo, the analysts from security said and they have had it extracted from one of our girls who had their hidden app on her mobile phone to access the P2P network."
Angelo: "Peer News Network....what a pain. A free network from a free world. PNN. Peer News Network"
Officer: "Yeah. pathetic"
Angelo knew where this phrase came from and he was not sure what scared the shit out of him more: The chaos that with their constant references to the world before the falldown, like to a public radio station in cold war Berlin, the fact that in his world nobody seems to remember what was before the downfall or that nobody knew who actually did understand here- but kept up the lies.
Angelo: "What are you waiting for?"
The officer drowned the glass and walked off reaching for his mobile phone.
Dark Future Short Stories - Twelve - Old School Rockers
Old School Rockers
Geronimo, the chef tain of the Satan's Robbers was still in a hang over when he heard the news. The other club, that during the downfall went straight into MegCon asses ruling their party and drug supply and all dirt work based on a solid revenue stream going richer than ever, was about to ran trigger happy into a major war.
He closed his leather biker trousers and crawled out of in between the four groupies that still slept deep after the appropriate ending of a rockers festival making it up to the chef tain's private rooms here deep in the woods of what is still the darkest of all forests.
During the downfall nature claimed back a lot of territory and many villages were wiped out by either the diseases that spread or by all and everyone moving out and away to look for a more prosperous future in the now in population exploding sprawls. Basically, the territory from the Rhine and just south of central Europe's biggest sprawl, straight down to the big lake and to the east hitting the old motorway lost about 90% of its population and agricultural industry.
Somewhere in the mid mountains next to a ski slope hill they took their ground when they had to retreat out of the sprawl that now was ruled by a group that everyone called The Rhinos being known for toxic drugs only. The Robbers where as their name stated living of robbery runs through the gated communities of the rich corporate world gated villages, pushed fine quality out door grown from their protected farms all around the castle village they had build up and kept expending, they were running a ski slope system in winter and several major festivals giving all those living next to corporate world a few days out and off the concrete and tarmac world. Raiding deserted German and French Army barracks and taking over a small arms factory during the downfall ensured along with their military knowledge from a very different time that even corporate forces thought twice about even considering trespassing their territory.
Geronimo rolled up from their indoor grown high quality and before firing up prepared a nose of some powder that was Satan's Robbery special. It was a stimulant and extracted from a plant growing at the equator, but in no way as strong or toxic as most other substances. A toxic from the sprawl would not even feel any impact, but their supply guaranteed a fragile peace and steady source of goods out from the sprawl. Business is business and personal is personal.
He sat in the rebuild shed of the farm that was in the center of the village half way up the mountain that was surrounded by several new walls, little towers and had received a full upgrade turning it into a rockers club house dream come true. The large bed, ready to take on a harem of women, was well prepared to welcome party hungry women all up for pleasing the bad boys needs and desired of pleasure in all white with mosquito nets, even so no mosquito was seen around ever.
The table was a full sold gold plate and Turkish style cushions created the chill sofa surrounding it. The ceiling was high and had large windows along with a huge fire place a bit away and thousand of candles no woman coming in would be able to resist the chef tain and his officers. At the wall a few private rooms would help to persuade the shy, but willing and both bar and kitchen were as open as the huge jacuzzi and shower bath. Just a Turkish steam bath like Striker had in his Sahara home he visited when he cleared the deal for the purple powder supply, was a bit too much. Oil and two hours to heat up an area that has at noon 45 degrees 0 humidity onto about 70 and 100 was .... like Striker....
She drove down to tell him in person. Squeezy had a crush on Geronimo and his blokes since god dam ever. They were allies and lovers. Best friends and sometimes siblings. The message made it from a stripper working as a half naked waitress in the top dogs prime club and biggest competitor to the squash place of the street sport division and through a private Peer News Network channel right onto her roof top office screen.
They will attack Marseille.
Geronimo kept staring at her and she was not sure if she should repeat it. He sat there. Had a good morning nose, fired up the joint, leaned back only wearing is trousers, inhaled and still did not say anything. If he would not start speaking, squeezy would be all about jumping at him making sure he would not get a full phrase formulated, except dirty talk, for all of this Monday.
Do you...
Yes. I do. --- I just wonder, if Striker will this time use the howitzer battery that we helped him hiding in range from the banks main tower. He said it was for a special moment.
Howi..??
Cannons, pre-downfall build, 150mm calibre, 50 kilogram high explosive shells. Six of them with 100 shells each in hidden bunkers and he upgraded them practically full auto remote controlled, military high end tec freak he is with a favour to fucking out of mankind minds overkill when ever he just fucking can. They are sitting already aiming in a lost village that he said he would have secured by breeding genetically modified rats, that he would also have to control by a system of traps in a circle around the village.... As soon we are back gone out on our way home and stressed to not come back as in ever - ever.
Uaahhg. The 10 kilo monsters?
Yeah. Good leather he said. Good meat he said. And the teeth he can sell as Chinese medicine he said.
Puuah.
I wonder if he actually understands that this is real earth, not a biblical place known as hell, that is clearly not on this planet according to the book he keeps referring to in the weirdest moments.
So....
We wait and warn the bathtube. Maybe they trespass on the old motorway and the toll business could need a new spark, really. ---- But, how are you? It's been while...
I wondered, if you'd never asked. Who is that red head there?
I introduce you.
No. Let her come, she won't need a lot of time.
Mmmmhh.....
Squeezy slowly opened her blouse and came over having and enjoying their impact.
Dark Future Short Stories - Thirteen - The King Diggler
The King Diggler
They were the masters of double meanings and pushed Cogney onto another level of total security, in opposite to the military recruits who went into sounding like trash talk joking, from whom they adopted that form of communication.
Cogney was more than an accent, it was a way to speak in double meanings that ideally would be only understood by the counterpart in the conversation based on common knowledge using common references based on the shared experiences relative to the situation. If they talked about another person that person had in different conversations hardly ever the same nick name, but one relative to the actual topic.
King Diggler was the most secret of all Kings that rose after the downfall into power in the shadows. Even before the downfall gay men were corporates world most favourites. Willing to do extra hours, elegant and well mannered and they won't take maternity leave every, every manager had them on the carrier path in pole positions, right after himself.
So, KD made it up onto Senior Partner level of an international law firm and head manager of the three floors, 200 employees branch located in the Rhine Sprawl centre. He worked with the two other managers of two more branches in the Sprawl usually using a virtual meeting room, in which he of course always had the most sophisticated and impressive Avatars with never the same accessor, thanks to the creative partners from his little more than dirty secret of being King. A king as gay a gay king of gays can be. Promiscuous beyond recognition that even if someone would step sober into their King Dinga-Long Club, they'd in no way recognise him in those few moments he'd be fishing for others to guide them in to the dark room labyrinth below the place that was main meeting point and most legendary gay party place in at least Europe.
An even bigger secret was that they were the most important diplomatic group, in the sprawl that lived in constant conflict, between the groups always aggravated by the big bank aka BB aka The Paintballer aka the lender aka context baby.
In opposite to all other groups busy in the chaos next to the ordered and structured MegaCon world The Pinks, as the were called officially, they did not make 'em bigger, but first tried to sweet talk them selfies out and if this did not work...well, promiscuity can be way more fun being fit and able to move, like dancing or combat sports and since most of the members had jobs, they well could afford an impressive arsenal and major high-end level job on an active security system including AI autonomous recon and armed air and ground based drones. But most went into the furniture for pleasure.
Against a fee they would turn judge for any dispute between the thousands of little gangs in constant struggle in the sprawl and also be able to enforce the sentence, if required. Just the big players took care of them self. From all girl bikey gangs that were mainly busy as motorised couriers in a world that had no laws anymore to gym testo cooking all men gangs power lifting until the infarct and everything else like small grocery shops that had hired the local gang running half the block pushing weed to protect against robber gangs looking for pray, all and everyone knew them and was willing to pay, if the other side also agreed to use their services. They were known as fair. Not cheap, but fair and worth their price being the solution to avoid to much losses in blood and cash.
Even so no one had heard of anyone doubting their neutrality in the Sprawl, there was a certain risk that their position of being on the pay role of BB in heir real lives and having had past and present business relations in the shadows with the Black Stallion might become difficult as both sides tend to loos their good countenance granted and always when ever they went directly against each other having all others run for cover as fast as possible. What ever had happened in the past, both are not over it yet and far of being forgiving or shaking hands in not even that stupid press as hard you can press game, some went into making sure the sentence will have to be enforced.
-You remember, I borrowed some time ago to invest into a protect small car.
-MMmmh? The red one?
-Yes. But I have changed color to a super sexy shiny black just perfect for a security car.
-Ohh.
-Yeah, I am afraid the lender won't like it, even so it looks amazing.
-Yeah. So many don't share our obsession. How was he last time you met?
-As always. No big deal, realy. Calm and easy. nice chit chat before the business. He made me some offer on a new investment plan. A real estate complex further south. Vacation rentals. I am sooo not sure.
-Maybe wait a bit and sleep over it. Such decisions must be made with confidence, darling.
-You are the best. I thought so, too. Uuugh. Coffee break is almost over and I stil have to check with Gina, her mini skirt is from another planet.
Fuck me, he had no other car, but a convertible and there was no Gina at all, beside he relied on a pension fond and would not invest into boring real estate.
So, in real English: War was about to go off between the two most dangerous all around. One side was furious in anger and he would check with Squeezy, who was one of the big players that worked autonomously, for more intel. Puh. That was bad. Real bad. He felt stress crawling up onto him hoping the first wave would not go against Marseille, but maybe - Nice. He needed some joy.
-Hey John. You have time. No. NOW. You are done, bad boy.
BB and BS go for Big Boys Bull Shit anytime soon erupting hot..
Dark Future Short Stories - Fourteen -Darkest of all Leather Latex Fetish
Darkest of all Leather latex fetish
Here he was god. The stimulant cocktail, in his leather latex fetish suite, all his loyal boys on chain and the dozen kidnapped broken in already, now willing slaves in the cages of this all in dark red and black cellar, full of the smell of artificial moshus, in the moment when the orgy was about to break out.
The banker was not only the banker that ruled by fear and force, that took strength in torturing and sacrificing especially woman, but the grand wizard of the clan that hid entirely and fully from all and especially light.
He knew whom to persuade slowly into his ritual sex organisation of quite muscularly build, well trained toxics. No woman had, as so many men too weak, survived the cages to make it into his black and chrome chains onto a top dog position.
His erecting started to hurt, his breathing got heavier and heavier, but he had not made up his mind yet who would die tonight after serving him and shooting him away, climaxing on a drug cocktail that was so strong he needed regular kidney cleaning therapy, at the moment after he came.
It was an honour to be killed by him biting out the prime servants throat towards the end of a part of the orgy in which one in the cages would take the open position, all open and willing to serve with absolute loyalty his direct orders and to be the enforcer in the chaos all around his MegaCon order.
These men were all a part of the generals of the con forces special operations, and each commanded a hundred con soldiers. They had build the most dangerous and lethal force that ruled all gangs by fear and mayhem. You would only nod and do as told, if you managed to be visited directly by one of the soldiers and no one would survive laying eyes on a general.
The soft version of these men ran a network of clubs called irreversible, known for drug influenced fetish sex parties that regularly got our of hand and ended it sheer excess. Actually, not too many died in those clubs, but many broke mentally. It was a rapist place with its very own rituals that turned gang rituals from before the downfall into childs' play.
And there was no music. Only, an algorithm based mixture of human and animal sounds based on a heard beat rate scanning microphone system, to make all sane, but drunk lost turn around before even closing the door, if they have not heard yet what everybody knew in the sprawls.
After the dark occult ritual he showered and went to the spa part of the villa, to in a few days come back to sun light and go back to the office like his servants would with him. Only the slaves stayed back going further in their toxic and genetic therapies receiving implants awaiting their position.
It was time to stream line and recruit cannon fodder from within the sprawl to push them against the south beaches and he was curious to see the first plans on his table with numbers and calculations from his intelligence think tank.
But, know he would pretend to enjoy the morning sun being driven in his escort of top end luxurious wheel tanks, today saver than planes in a world that changed all rules and form of living during a total system collapse that created this world he was claiming to be a god like creature in which his will is. Most of the time it was better to be firm but nice, but soon he would directly attack commanding his tank division this cockroach hiding right next to his empire to crush him for ever.
Dark Future Short Stories - Fifteen - The Real OG
The Real OG
Striker had used his ultra-light jet to exit his stronghold and landed just a bit north of the banking centre of the sprawl to check on the latest news and to prepare a hit against the hidden dark monastery he had found. He had a save house and switched to a motorcycle to enter the sprawl. The ultra light plane did not need any recognisable track to land and would take off on a 10 meter strip easily.
He was in good touch with one of the most dangerous, yet rather small neighbourhood gangs in the sprawl and they dropped him a message through the astral space called dream world that, became even more important during the downfall.
Striker was a lot older than most would believe and changed more than most during the downfall even further pushing the effect of the human mutations triggered by several virus diseases that cut through mankind by gene therapy. Beside being in Marseille he also was, as he never told anyone, a major OG. A true original gangsta being part of a seven head high-profile gang busy in ripping of racist groups, bank heists and pushing containers of high-end weed that sold only per kilo and for ridiculous high prices into a major chain of affiliated underground coffee shops all over Europe.
Yet, the turmoil hit so hard that he turned homeless during the downfall.
He knew Gangs from the inside out and more than one copied his way to walk. Back than they called him the Panther and even being a master of all trades in a gang that had no leader or real head his actual expertise was closed quarter small arms attacks and driving everything that moved. He was a master of movement that also had the talent to ask the right questions making their hackers jump up and run to the computer equipment regularly dropping all and everything.
The crew had made it all on their own, splitting up when pressure got to high during the downfall and are today just a dropped message away all having new lives even in corporate world as a banker. Corporate Face, always was a charmer.
Internally they had given themselves nicknames from an old TV show, but always relative to the job. He was usually either BA or Baracus or Crazy Inmate or Murdock depending, if violence, extreme violence, freaky distraction or just driving was required to get the job done.
The piles of cash they generated were not spend on a luxurious lifestyle and even before the falldown authorities not even had ever a real grip on them, they neither did see a motive nor did they when coming to close actually feel any motivation to take 'em out. The Robin Hood strategy worked and they were in for the challenge of strategic planning, tactical execution, adrenalin high, the satisfaction of hurting ambitious bullies and the smile of those they invested in using an international system of cover bank accounts and companies enabling them to directly and quickly keep even millions in cash move without the need to create stock piles of bank notes lying around in storage as their toxic drug victims.
The trick was to bring the cash to areas way out of the sight of law enforcement and organised crime looking around themselves where business was still cash business and a Dollar moved a lot more than in the rich world, while using only a tiny fraction on top of the cover business living a small profile, but sleeping so much better knowing that the last heist taking out an underground toxic party pills factory without leaving any witnesses or trace just created several hundred small shops and workshops by small investments of no more than a hundred dollars in cash each. The tiny companies anywhere from the poor quarters of Lagos, Abidjan, Cairo to Mumbai and Jakarta European law enforcement would not enter fuck ever bought stuff considered trash here and create profit of which they would transfer a small share in a set of investment companies that themselves were owned by companies registered in save harbours with little taxes.
Sometimes it is quantity over quality, if you can ensure the quality is not impacted.
There was nothing a rich wankers villa did have they could not sell. From the watch collection in a Bangkok small, but exclusive jewellery, to the furniture in a Cape Town exclusive used interior design shop, to the cars in a used car dealer in Buenos Aires and the wardrobe in Abidjan and Nairobi second hand shops, there was a place, that would keep many hands busy and many mouth feeded.
The gang he met was a locals gang that controlled a few streets and was living on a small tax they charged for the provided security and safety, selling MegaCon food truck loads to the inhabitants beside running a few not that underground, but well secured coffee shops where many of the neighbouring MegaCon gated community kids would spend their Sundays.
One of the coffee shops was the meeting place and Striker would spend a few hours having a smoke to only ride back after he was almost sobered out being of the high, but still in the calming effect of the hemp. They played a tape of a neighbourhood indie band they also promoted and had the corner lounge area reserved, just so the other guest could see them a bit creating more gossip good for the business all wondering who that troll of a mutant was that walked like a panther on his toes, had real horns and fangs like no second mutant all around as an effect of the gene therapy rather than the virus mutations.
The coffee was also real good and appropriate to the ConSlave kids standard beside a great, but cheap classic hamburger.
He'd drive back after the night before dawn being all up to date about the recent movements in the gang world of the sprawl and predictions. The junky gangs got message to pick up guns, but to keep the peace. So, they either expected a major attack onto the local turff or an expedition corps was about to be created. Word goes, they'll hit the beaches.
Dark Future Short Stories - Sixteen - The Fish'n'Chips take away
The Fish'n'Chips take away
All and everyone called him Jon even so his name was not Jon at all. He arrived in the worlds biggest mega city a few years ago getting a get a away ticket out of an underground war on the other part of the globe that got stuck in a constant mainly covered war.
This was the Lagos Bay that faced an incredible explotion of population. The old city and the slum in the water remained untoched, the rest turned a hyperstructore harbourung possibley 300 million humans in an all connected mountain like building that was created based on chaos theory. It had grown by decentraliced, but connected planning like an ant hill or termite kingdom in an unwreckable and also unrulable empire of freedom nobody would ever find him coming to look for him from far away.
On several decks differnt magnetic rails connected the bay area and roads where routing in tunnel like structures along with elevators and stair cases from halls to narrow side ways in a structure reaching the hight of Hong Kong and New York skyscrapers, but it created no spikes and instead a high plateu cut by some valleys like nothing else.
Lagos did not even had a Police force, and only a majors office overlooking the different voted cubic cell parlaments. It was actually anarchy by an uncontrolable complexity attracting only a certain kind of human.
In the Rhein Sprawl he owed the wrong gang and even after the gang was taken out his nightmares and fear continued to rule his live. so Striker made an offer.
Leave and never come back.
He was happy first time.
Sometimes others would come to his shop and he'd give em the same parcel he had given to from a chinese pottery shop a few miles away. An address and a key all prepered by their community.
The untouchables.
Dark Future Short Stories - Seventeen - The Mexican way to party
The Mexican way to party
Mexico these days had no government anymore, it was no democracy, but an anarchic republique in which all parts constantly competet, arranged and attacked each other. Mexico as a nation never recoverd from the rule of the Kartells, but only the national tax collecting system lost. All others gained ground. The toxic substances livestyle of the Kartells based on cultivating coca plants, poppy seeds and running chemical labs to make designer drugs found its place as much as day kidnappers and rich kid party heads looking for excessive drug use and hardcore sex experiances right next to chilling places for the calm and easy sheep of corporate world along with the real Mexican these days all in arms living inbetween the different gated comunities, CCTV private military secured tourist centers and Kartell strongholds their lives of what them forigners dropped of their tables.
Most never left their own spots, except the real Mexican being the workforce as Kartell drivers always sober and reliable, room service employees always clean and never steeling for the corpo vacation resorts or selling small handmade products in the tourist city centre spots offering never the same vacation memories, but all armed with simple, cheap but reliable guns, ready to retaliate hard and quick and by knowing the territory a force not to fucked with, but payed fair by those trying to get rich in enough trouble with each other already.
All major corpo players had their spot for small to big earners serving different demands of luxirous income levels.
Sarah-Lisa was doing some material for her blog on her private computer in a bank society owned real nice party spot at the coast of Mexico enjoying tanning, some nice none-alcoholic drinks that would get exchanged by some coctails later the evening when the day club turned the roof top part of the beach club registering and anaylsing the banks staff behaviour for future career options and also used the approximity to a hidden short range responder next to her spot to transfer her bosses entire calender and travell arrangement since she started slowley, but reliably to someone that would retaliate her best friends tragic death in a car crash the brutal way as he said only once.
It was a great vacation and she was sure to be save. Striker kept his word having a repuation in the local party spot all around the banks HQs and she waited a year for this trip to help ending von Asshole so her friends ghost could rest and would not visit her anymore every week in at least one dream.
The AI war start up
AIs were powerful tools in this dark world. They were running entire banks as AI CEOs having full control of all branches of virtual online banks that humans could meet at a counter hall in corpo world, have online meetings on their investment and savings portfolio, they were assisting security departements on securing entire real estate portfolios and some gave you a dirty talk of most nasty kind, if you hit the dirty places while getting sucked off by a machine head, if in real hardcore need also with a drug cocktail pushing you into climax levels that will stop everyone from throwing party pills, granted. Just like Heroin cured the Cocain addication in the early 20iest century.
Some off these AIs turned mass products, like the digital nanny, checking your corpo kids homework or the African Congress Teaching AI bringing university level education in even the most remote areas of the united continent creating an opponing elite educated state of mind than old colonial Europe had shown them.
Striker was using military standard AI, just like The Banker did, to value gathered information. He knew The Banks security would use all intel collected by the failed assault to suggest better tactics and fail again. Beside him having all available copies of every commercial AI he was also using underground homegrew systems from a different breed of human. TIE. This Is Europe and during the downfall of society the rich elite could not keep undercover that US ghettos, Bangkok syndicates and even the darkest of Favelas were kids playgrounds compared to European streets in which everyone and all sides kept their war secret, Top Secret.
Some areas that where always known for being lost and troublesome in which occationaly national Police shot some youngsters dead to provoke justification to either pull down the entire social wellfare ruled complex or make a point that the locals had too much fun off the liking of the well educated future nine to five national protected citizens, also had their own ways of education based on the rich worlds available literature, libraries, manuals, trash and stolen goods and cheap second hand products from internet to accessable university libraries and chat rooms, news boards, that could be both hacked and social engeneered just based on wearing the appropriate fit-in pair of trousers of the skater baggies and cutting the slang speach.
The Ghost Legion supported those areas that were home to Europe's Real Mafias protecting their own against the nation trying to keep their low incoming future labour force at bay, and they returned some of the finest well kept secret social profile AIs, pattern recognition systems and drone control units the world did not know about created by street sport freaks that ran their lungs out from shortly past noon to the late evenings and when enjoying the satisfying muscle pain hacked computers and neighbourhood networks and clusters based on open source or pirated software for the fun of it, bevore the good night joint instead of corpo world late night drink.
The strongest hacker crew was meeting only online and had created an intelligent routing software to establish an underground network connecting the centers of Europes lost from Algier to Palermo to Marseille to Paris to Rotterdam to London to Glasgow to Dublin and Lissbon that was save, undercover from national and corpo control and free of charge as a bonus pay out place for all in corpo minimum wage club and beyond.
And it worked.
These days the self created content outweight, outnumberd and outmatched the pirated content by far, bypassing the corpo world kids sight and making fast food chain kitchen work actualy enjoyable beside delivering the most hardcore street ball matches from even LA play grounds far away, online Cyberpunk Music live DJ playing parallel in Marys Cork basement to secured factory hall mafia clubs in Palermo, now pretty much world wide pushing streams based on safety first through hijacked corpo networks by a network of installed AI software parts and even tiny littly sniffers by the cleaning staff and loyal frenchaise corpo trash employees, as far as Billies New Orleans Delta Blues bar back room and HongKongs sleep silos right next to the financial corpo towers.
From there the crew known for working only text based instead of full VR like their corpo counterparts not even being aware of their existance created a tool Striker was now feeding to get a second opinion on The Banker.
Profiler.
To keep a long story short, the crew basically turned the Police Academy teacher of Profiling into an AI, but with actual brain power.
While The Banker was having a team ready to get into the VR training ground to run through a set of possible and likely scenarios to hit Strikers castle again, Striker was feeding Profiler with different sets of prequalified information to create a virtual copy that would assist him to predict The Bankers next strategic move and even tactical moves when he was up to put a bullet through his brain in very person to be displayed on his AR helmet screen.
Profiler was combining to forecast his next travel arrangement the calender data of the last ten years, even understanding and cross checking possibly fake records, adding his flight route of both his reserved first class airliner seat for short notice trips and usual private jet flights right with notes from media records on official meetings and some red light district parties CCTV footage.
Profiler was creating an augmented reality avatar based on all available security cam and official media video footage like from within his fencing club, sailing trips and even him jerking off on the office loo to help drones and Striker predicting his moves when facing finally him and his security officers corpo uniform to Ghost Legion assassin black combat suite.
Profiler also suggested to create a social bot to start an online relation ship based on a devote mistres hotty creating a possible trap with a LadyBoy having a strong tendency to high functional toxicomaniac masochism based in Siberia, as it turned out to be most promissing on the given data sets calculation, which had even Striker wonder and get in touch with the creator crew...
In a secure chat room.
Siberia. A doll.
...
I thought ... actually I never ever thought about his preferences.
A doll in Siberia? That is ...
Weired?
Mmmh. Actually it makes sence. You are looking for a place providing both most security for yourself and most liking for the prey. Did you further check the suggested plan?
Dude, Doll, Siberia, so No.
You should have. Profiler suggested that the trap is an underground place in a former Sowjet nuclear town that went indipendent during the downfall and specialised in human genome research based on the Sowjet and Russian nation's research on radiation impact on the human genome. So, Vaneshka, is a professional Doll working in that town and is a transexual human from a genome experiment from a lab breeded biologic man that has a central nerve system, but no feeling in most parts of the body, due to genome radation modifications. Hence the pay for real weired staff is extremly high, the local hospital is still on a military pre-downfall level, the entire town is living off the dark of society selling mainly biological weapons like highly aggressive rats, spiders and alligators, and rents street samurai merceneries with genome modifications on maximum monkey level intelligence, but rat aggressivity, loyal as a dog if just feeded well, with a leasing full coverage financial plan to pretty much everyone that can handle what they will do, if just given comand, it kinda makes....I dont wanna say sence, here...you know??
Yeah...I get it. Does that place exist?
Yes, But he does not know about it and they are the very defenition of corrupt. So...
I get it. Thanks. How is the Futsal League?
Top Team. Next game meeting Sao. Will you watch?
Hehe. I did not miss a game in five. Might be a record so.
May the force be...
with us!
Dark Future Short Stories - Eighteen - Mobsters sudden appetite loss
Mobsters sudden appetite loss
Most criminal organisations made it past national rule and hooked up either on their ancient resistance roots protecting the poor or turned security force for the stronger than ever international corpo world providing the sexy bad boy image places and mercenaries for their from nations adopted way of securing contracts by fire power, fear, murder and theft.
Such as the different flavors of the Mob.
The Mob, as an organisational structural classification, was a form of a Mafia, but less based on tight family ties and instead based on usually historic connections such as being Irish, from a certain village or region some hundred years ago or deriving from a set of united gangs from a part of town voting their combining King among them.
They were quite powerful and got always mixed up with the Real Mafia, which was basically an ancient knight family still in negotitions with the local lord on taxes the militant way, and these Mobsters counter parts deriving from farmer revolts against drunk ass lords running a castle against the locals in the valleys close by some centuries ago in Europeans mid-ages, where on the other side of The Mob structures.
They did not change much and the real deal tended since the downfall to even more cut down on frenchaise real estate the petrol bomb way, if the managers wondered too loud on the cut they took from coffee to sandwiches to burgers to electronics for also others than just the staff in the area.
It droped or you drop, was not negotiatable.
The others where running mainly corpo restos with a unique individual and appropiatelly excuisite price tag, music venues and bars from sports to strip to hard core excess all over the world with the undecleared center of negotiations in Las Vegas, at leas for the US in which The Mob as a structure was most prominent world wide.
While South Las Vegas was still home to the low and minimum wage cleaning staff and all those that populated the back yard and side street business, usually unseen and unheard from the shiny corpo amusements, the suites with extraodinery services became even more profitable in a world that did only fuzzily remember national and state taxes or law enforcement and both lived most of the time in need of each other and rather quitely in parallel universes.
For one part a storm was approaching and the first wind was felt by rumors that made all and every mobster from LA to LV to NY order a spirit, double.
McKenny, Herman, Estiente sharing the remainings of the United States among them as the most powerful Mobstes that were known as private securtiy companies based on East, Central and West had a converance call as usal in their favorite restaurant, at a big VIP table, all their most important and most impressive entourage close, speaking with a hologram prjector the size of the chandalier on the table and made that mistake.
They usually presented their big King conversations to their closiest Lords and Warriors and made sure that at least their faces and body language was seen by the heard of corpo managers.
So, they all saw and quickly spread the news, that the big Kings dropped to blank white, sweating scared to death, shaking hands like something else unseen ever before in on that chair of the all confident super big players when the holo gram person showed a picture of a man dressed in a black military combat suite.
Quickly the word spread that The Europeans where up for blood, those known for not taking prisoners nore having any mercy in war and even so nobody new who the black combat suite belonged to, they all knew corpo world would have some funerals some time to come.
Business might struggle from brutal unseen violance TIE world wide.
Dark Future Short Stories - Ninteen - The Wanderers first to strike
The Wanderers first to strike
Charly LeRoi Red Beard hung up his hologram call with Strikers strategic AI and checked the intell feed to his strategic planning AI. Charly was King of a secret people that hardly anyone beside themselves understood as a united and well organised world wide spread people. They were The Wanderers living as nomads striving through either a large terretory or travelling on certain fixed routes on motorbikes, cars, trucks, boats and even planes being their constant home.
They came back during the downfall when national boarders disappeared and cleared free passage for all those on the move again since barricades were done somewhere in the middle of nowhere based on a map and concrete instead by nature as rivers or mountains.
Again they were armed and extremly defensible using their ability to move to stay secure first, but being also known for retaliating every attempt of theft or betrail the most harsh way.
When the downfall came to a bottom end, they quickly reunited and this time created a network of spots, strongholds and castles to travell inbetween like Charlemagne did being known as their greatest ever living King. Because of him Charly coloured his beard red.
From even underwater submarine harbours on old oil platforms to reoccupied New Orleans and Free Haiti to Shared Akko and the Jakarta harbour they took their land back to rebuild world wide trade and transport of goods based on free will and chaos. Deal or no deal?
Quickly they also established their own language with two main dialects; inbetween the Atlanitc a wild mixture of Spanish, French, Italian and English and inbetween the Pacific a wild mixture of Spanish, Mandarin and Thai, while maintaining a set of keywords that made sure all would understand each other enabling what they do.
All doings trade and trade related.
The Wanderers were under constant threat by Bandits and therefore had established a Pirates called elite force of knights that would retaliate and steel back all Bandits stolen, making sure that blood was payed in blood and the good returned.
They financed themselves from ripping down the Bandits belongings completely and keeping the tenth of all goods retaken.
Only the investors that travelled around to invest in farms and companies on a participating basis were richer in a world that was based on constant conflict of thousands of different groups in which only them were in the millions all connected in harmony based on their love to travell, financed by trade, transport, music and connecting, beside running secured travell stops, hotels and markets next or in main centers of the post downfall civilisation and all routes connecting them.
As much as the local villagers in the Sahara mountains loved rice and good night blues sessions when the convoi secured by trailer mounted guttlings, attack helicopters and surveillance gliders came exchanging goods from the ports of Lagos and Soudan against hand made Sahara glass art work and gemstones, the corpo world woman enjoyed a sunday out in New York or Hong Kong when a fleet of carbon fibre offshore trade boats secured by rocket systems, submarines and submergable jets stopped to allow access into the sloop mall hulls offering unique hand made jewelery, carpets, bags and pottery from a part of world their employment contract strictly and explicitly forbid them to ever travell to, except in their globe exploration VR app.
The Wanderers worked only to finance their secure passage and style of living constantly on the move, and therefore had hard to beat prices on special good.
They had on all continents and all oceans Spots that where hidden and some times empty to have a sleep over and refill all needed to travell, Strongholds where locals turned contractors to run secured hotels, gas stations and restaurants next to main routes and Castles that all had markets and training and recruting facilities strong enough to deal with even the biggest of all corpo armies, yet they never came and instead jumped only on route.
And it was always the same. Unmarked Bandits or Fake Colours.
Charly would cut down and have first leave the main routes towards The Bankers HQ hosting town and region keeping only the security AI controlled robots in the small, but well armed castle, to start a rocket attack from close range against the main building.
War had changed and first the army than the general was an outdated concept in an all connected AI driven battle ground since Sun Tzu wrote his classic book on warfare.
These days, it was only about who'd better understand the complex system and all present connection in a world full at arms, in which a small shop robber well has to consider facing a full auto MAC-10 mounted on a spider robot connected to an situational awarnes AI attached to the shops CCTV camera and corpos had even rebuild nuclear warheads as a last argument in take over negotations, which gave base for another source of The Pirates income: Stealth Mercenary Operations usually on a too much is too much level, so the Independent Free Rotterdam Harbour stays I and F, and a Mongolian nuclear reactor running a major farm of greenhouses had fuel and Charly a new table for one of his offices in a undisclosed Wanderer Castle, beside corpo world missing a major logistics supply company for ever.
The Wanderers would strike all buildings known to them world wide at about lunch time during holidy season, while an associated Banker and old ally of Striker would hijack The Bankers finances and digital assets. It was a pitty to just destroy the real estate and all good in it, instead of strippig them emtpy. But than...he had murdered a few hundred of his humans over the years.
Time was ticking and the AI started calculating different possible strike scenarios to be discussed at The Kinghts Table of the Wanderers Pirates. Some low wagers and corpo slaves needed to be secured.
It was war time, again. The biggest this broken world has seen since the downfall.
Dark Future Short Stories - Twenty - The Pirate
The Pirate
Sean NightHawk was in comand of an old school style Submarine about 30 meters long and a crew of only 6 sailors, but two dozen spider robots onboard. The vessel quite looked like a WW2 U-Boat but was powered by extremly strong hybrid engines, had a full carbon fibre hull and rather luxerious cabins compared to the original. The shape was the same except the added wings and piped rotors to allow both water and air movement using both diving and ground effect.
The only weapon was a high power guttling gun connected to an AI aiming bot that would sink even destroyers guarding cargo vessels.
In this world cargo was protected by private security companies as contractors of major shipping companies, corporate internal forces by the biggest players and sailing militias even using sloop style sail boats riding the waves in even storms way faster than any super fright ship korvette could forced to ship around the heavey winds.
The big main routes between the remaining industrial hot spots of harbouring to the seven seas were off topic and only under fire in corporate full scales wars.
This was one going.
A major South American Corporate offered free load sale. if the load was just from a competing company with offices on land just 100 meters away.
He had hooked up to a run signing an online agreement, no contract so, using a hub at a highjacked underwater internet cable instead of using a tunneld satellite connection, because this corporate war was another level of escalation and already had seen main battles in the internet and made some street samurai runners a tiny fortune on assassine and sabotage runs.
He had received a vector to a convoi of tankers and cargo ships guided by a small air carrier and two destroyers on their way a tiny bit too close along the Indian coast line trying to reach the save Suez Channel and leaving the contractor guarding ships for a corporate internal meditarrainen speed boat protection until they reached Rotterdam.
His part was collecting the sinking containers after a land based rocket attack would have sunk the cargo vessel using his drone armada to attach preassure air cussions onto the sinking and sunk containers and then simply pull them away on a carbon fibre wire to the contractors cargo ship a few hundred sea miles away.
He would use the fact that the convoi was bussy counter attacking the land based forces, that his ship was able to avoid sonar and that his crew and him were the best trained pirate vessel out there relying on half autonomous drones. Just this time, he had not to sink the ship himself or even highjack the container ships cargo port to drop the wanted containers off board.
The crew would turn all silent in 2 days and 4 hours and had time until then to train the run in the mission simulator.
Their Phillipines home just deep enough to still catch sunlight was a week away and the remaining half plus bonus, if remaining unseen, would be in his crypto wallet as soon as the pick up cargo ship was fully loaded with all listed containers.
Time to program the simulator.
Dark Future Short Stories - TwentyOne - Codebreaker Storage Solutions Inc.
Codebreaker Storage Solutions Inc.
The Codebreaker was a legend of whom nobody knew how big the crew was. The special part about the CSS site was that they were offline and offerd a back up service for mainly bookies storing their bets and related data savely.
Betting was big business and they were a nutral partner that stopped all theft of e-cards used in betting. Some of these cards were as valuable as money. They were save and secure in terms of duplicate save. Most betting companies stored transferes between their customers and successful e-cards of good bets on horses, gaming championships and even underground lotteries turned a second currency used for serious amounts of money being super tiny compered to a full crypto wallet with millions of coins. A tiny NFT storage would do instead of a crypt stick with gigabits.
Don't loose your nail colour with polish hon! Give him the wallet so.
All it needed was a phone call to the betting company, giving your nick ID, the account and either an amount or percentage with a transfer order based on the agreed key word. The voice and stress recon system would check the voice and record the stress level for all possible later "a gun on my head" return of order requests understanding the likelyhood. The numbers kept changing and the finger print senser was heat sensitive in all dealers mobile or stationary or temp.
CSS picked up the database with a crew of a rigger and two street samurai to bring the dataset from the branch to a degger that would run the encryption software over it.
No one was able to break the code. Noone minded waiting a week to clear his savings account, too, if you did not cash in within usually 48h.
They openly stated that their system was no more than an advanced Pretty Good Privacy clone. The database was split into two parts. in the main part all most common letters were exchanged by a set of large prime numbers with a multiplier. The other part was the key. Both parts than would be encrypted by exchaning the signs of letters and numbers with the biggest known prime numbers of which number one was having 24,862,048 digest. That was the freak level part.
The entire number was multiplied by another large prime number from a top secret list of which the position was noted physically on a carbon fibre small plate stored in the Vault. That was super paranoid level.
No ex-secret service crew enriched by top payed company mathematicians would even try having hands on a data set even, if their CEO lost a bet and offered a billion on the other name on the e-card or threatend to kill all. There are better jobs around.
They'd fuck the pick up crew, they'd blow up the branch, but that was a waste of time, beside turning all organised betting companies and hundreds of mercenaries against based on what they considered holy ground of honourable debt. Worse than their mums. They'd not mention it.
They were the real untachables. Codebreaker Storage Solutions Inc.
Dark Future Short Stories - TwentyTwo - Je ne regrete pas
Je ne regrete pas
The Sahara and Sahel were since most stories reached back the real Wild Wild West of the world. During the falldown the population in that far reaching region actually rose and took on many refugees of Europe and Arabia looking for shelter in the mountains creating not that small mountain towns living from long distance trade, weapons manufacturing, but on a quite spartan level.
No man looking for luxus would even consider coming here and so, many deserteur and run a away soldiers came together forming a new Devisin of the French Forigne Legion that took control of most South France and the Western Alps. Legion Tuareg.
They all did not get any money, but only food and shelter, in opposite to their brothers in Europe that ruled the streets of all south of Lyon in a world off national order. They sleped with their guns, they shared the food and water, they lived to train the art of war and served those that fed them, The Tuareg People and all displaced people asking for save shelter.
A refugee camp was attacked and the Legionair Platoons there managed to escape with almost all refugees on the trucks heading further south deeper into the desert. They shot the treator that had a long range transmitter to give away the position to those hunting a run away son of a gang leader from central Europe trying to get out with his fiance.
Mission Romeo and Julitte was about to start, triggering the cheesy romanitc core of every men in arms being here respected for their romantism and search for heroism. The main training ground was in a Desert Mountain range and was build up to a Castle with far stretching path ways and training facilities. The Legionairs had upgraded from being a light infantry by selflessly securing good trade and protecting peacful loving humans helping them into a high tech force using active exco scellettes that turned this most motivated force into an unbeatable enemy being constantly challanged by all those that love to die up to destroy the prettiest of libraries, oasis, schools, housings the visitors called Edens. The mountain valleys were green and chilling compared to the desert ocean.
Legionairs were known to turn werewolfs and dragons by all those drugged that managed to sneak out a battleground coming back into their bars in the shadows of the fallen society. Actually, it was exo scelletons constructed by university teachers and ingeneers that found save harbour from the constant war zone of Europe and many parts of Arabia or even the Americas. The exo sceletons came in two versions. The larger once were six foot spiders build in a desert factory based on carbon fibre monoqoques, having high efficient hyrbid engines for each food, firing 105millimeter standard artillery spike shells with high explosive cores and 50millimters projectiles from guttling guns, carrying also 12millimter spear rockets. The scary part was that all barrells always pointed at one spot and that they would be able to fire several thousand rounds off each, being capable of quick reloading within one minute, if being back into a support truck, that were always dangerously close by. The Bandits coming into the Sahara crossing the Mediterrainian all got stuck in steel age, the Legion was all black carbon fibre from body armour to rides to what they would fire at every hostile intruder. The sons of the sun, yet living at night time.
The ligter once were servo supported walking machines about 3 meters in height that could run faster than every human, carrying a 50 millimiter long barrel guttling gun over the shoulderand 7.62 guttlings at one arm with a solid protection sheeld on the other and the ammo in both a rucksack and attached slide they would drop when going in face to face using carbon fibre blades to rip through infantry units before reloading or on their way to a reload.
All around would be standard infatry men on hovercrafts, small flat crab tanks and fast chain pick ups to take cover all in rifle round resistant body armour snipering inbetween their own or securing excape routes to keep the rat trap sealed.
They would not take prisoners, but also not retaliate, if anyone mangaged to sneak home against the odds.
Their satellite system showed the convoi heading into the open desert where the desert builds high waves of sand that slowely move, but move and they needed to be picked up quite some time before noon pushing the temperature to way up to 60 degrees after climate change found its plateau.
The attackers new what they were after and came in several hundreds loyal to the hurt ego of their gang boss.
The first wave of attack would be the Mirage replicas dropping bombs onto them to push them back from the open desert to the Atlas mountain inbetween the actually well defencible Berber villages that would give them no shelter and that produced the carbon fibre source materials.
The second wave would be Spitfire replicas able to fly slower to keep hitting them with their 50 cals and simple rockets, while the heavy duty helicopters would head out to lift up the trucks bringing them deep into the desert to the save home mountains.
As soon as the Spitfires retreat the exo scelleton soldiers would jump down from up to 50 meters right among the Bandit troops to fight them in close combat and as soon as running away to a refill point the Spiders would start their artillery fire closing in. In the meantime the food infantry would use parachutes or short tracks to land from staggering planes into the Berber Villages supperting their turff and to close down all escape routes the Bandits could use to survive their mistake.
When they come back to their barracks, all Europs would be dead, the traitors shot, the villagers sleeping fine again and after a steam bath and some sleep the next evening would be a feast.
Rabbit meat mainly with a lot of Couscous and thick fruit juice cocktails. All in stopped drinking quickly and most even the smoke, but noone could resist the desert sky and telling hero stories...
Dark Future Short Stories - TwentyThree - A Skater Counter Attack
A Skater Counter Attack
The Marseille Street Sport Crews had send a runner team of six skaters to Frankfurt. An attack from that Sprawl against Marseille needed a clear message back and so six of the hardcore crews where send to an Air B'n'B in one of the cheap areas to give some guys hell. Beside the places internet connection they had brought a corporate satellite system hack and hijacked an old spy satellite to look for the known bosses while staying inside, in shape and all arms on a 24h 2 awake minimium rotation to secure the spot by monitoring the drones placed on the surrounding roof tops and cooking while the tiny clusters AI did the math.
They'd go infantry and steel a car close by to attack as soon as having a spot to do the hit.
The center was the few roads around the abandoned rail way station and in opposite to their home this Sprawl's gangs were tightly connected to international mega corporations that left all of Marseille before the war and downfall.
The exit route was a rally ride in two rides under fire and they were loaded with super sonic armour piercing ammo, full passive exco scelettons they also used skateboarding, innlining or riding street races through Alpes Cote d'Azur's winded mountain roads and the narrow streets of Marseille with a pick up waiting on a long stretched country side road thirty kilomters into The Desert called country side outside of the Sprawl awaiting a two engine small aircraft that had no intention to go higher than 20 meters off ground inbetween all anywhere from Marseille outskirts, Vosgese, Black Forest and Frankfurt Countryside.
The existance of the letter was not even known to most locals nore what was coming from the sober poor that were not that poor after all nation and corporations leaving for the better.
They had about four weeks of food and payed accomodation, about 200 cars in a 3km circle to choose from and an emergency old radio wave emergency station for a worst case scenario in which the plane would need to land after a blood bath on the main street 1km away five hours of fire fight due to fly time.
Two of the drones would carry the Semtex loads dropping them onto the Local bosses restaurant spot shortly before the crew split up into one rider and two street samurais per car attacking the place to finish off all the bombs did not take down while the other gave overwatch awating back up stopping them from their AI reccon drone surveilled escape path in all Hell's fire fight.
Took them three weeks to find the place and one night to take out what the video analytics counted as 55 humans creating another undergrond video hit in Marseille and the Mediterraine. It made it to Sao Paolos top P2P downloaded music skater videos.
