Haywire reconnaissance drone. AWOL corporate killbot. Bolted-together back-alley abomination.
Whatever the machine was, it wanted P@tr!ck. Him, a scraper with a no-balance blockchain. But it was dialed to his DNA and parted the Night Bazaar crowds with an eardrum-rupturing sonic blast. Vivisected a dealer with a blur of articulated arms. Microwaved a guard, burnt-pork reek. Came on until it had him cornered.
Bitonal chittering. Sensors sprouting, synchronized tropism. P@tr!ck jerked as a vibroblade sliced a scalp sample.
The thing snorted. Twitched. Then without ceremony, left.
And there P@tr!ck stood, unsure if the stinging was his wounded head — or disappointment.
Saturday, December 16, 2023
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9 comments:
Well-crafted sci-fi, but you worry me with stories of people who are disappointed they aren't dead.
No need to worry! P@tr!ck doesn't wish he was dead, just that he wasn't insignificant. (Also, he isn't me -- thank goodness!)
oww a scalp sample?! Good sci-fi creep out. He shouldn't be disappointed. They'll be back for more.
Might be my predilection for sci-fi, but I really liked this one, Loren.
Very nice!
I love the brevity of this. No wasted words. It's elegant but also brutal.
Yvonne: Remember that scene in Minority Report? “It’s time to ruuuuuun!”
Ben: Thank you, sir. I love cyberpunk and wish that there was a little more horror incorporated into it. It’s an easy fit.
Bart: Thanks!
Rhonda: That is very kind. Thank you. I enjoy the old hardboiled authors and would like to see more of their style incorporated into SF.
Great story. Atmospheric, and with a nice twist.
This Patrick definitely identifies with the other one.....I think. Now my scalp is kinda itchy.
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