Cyberpunk Radio SF #65 - _Cyberpunk _th3_3scap3

The Escape.

Citizens think my job is easy. Easy. Jacked into the Matrix- a highly paid operative, controlling myriad agents in various virtual realms. But lets get this straight right off- It’s not “games” where I make my mark and my money. This is no World of Warcraft gold mining operation. Not that kind of game. The virtual space my minions inhabit include global Stock Markets, financial networks, insurance and real estate grids, and of course the government- NSA and military net zone cracks being my personal specialty.

Needless to say I keep a low profile. Shit, I bearly even leave my lair except to score liquid sunshine and maybe rent some flesh. So, back to my point- people think my job is easy, but it ain’t. I was jacked into a protamod console in the last throws of cracking BankCorp’s main systems, and yep- nothing on but my boxers, and my katana. My VR set signaled a disturbance alarm, coloring the edges of my virtual workspace a deep throbbing crimson hew- triggered by the crunching sound of a swat team battering ram on the reinforced steel apartment door.

I backed out of the BankCorp network, leaving a digital bread crumb trial to ease my reentry when, or if, I returned. Just as I was pulling the fiber optic neural bridge from the base of my skull, the door finally crashed open, falling from twisted hinges, and 3 black masked shock troops rushed in, forming an arc in front of my seating figure, snub nosed machine pistols trained on my sternum. That was the first time I saw the RC. When he stomped through the door, the shock troops parted and fell back a few steps into the shadows. RC was like some modern day mash-up of half machine outlaw biker cowboy samurai. The most striking feature was what I had been told was a titanium skull helmet- imbedded into his skin, making his head look vaguely egg like. One of his eyes glowed green while the other was covered in some sort of communication monocle. The rest of his form was covered in what looked like armored black leather. I was pondering the function of one of the more sinister looking gadgets hanging from RC’s belt when he intoned with mechanical detachment “Jerom Zegal, you are here by charged under the general cyber criminal code and will be incarcerated until you are brought before the judicial for judegment”. At this point, your average cyber thug would be piss’n their pants at the thought of doing hard time in a meat cell. Me, I had no intention of being caged. My chair was a dead man’s switch- when I stood up, it would trigger a combination electromag pulse blast/flash bang. This combination first zapped all the electronics within 10 meters, then blinded all the IR and Viz sensors those mil types depended on for situational advantage. Not today. RC seemed to sense my calm, and cocked his head slightly. I think he presaged his demised a millisecond to late.

As I stood, RC actually started to back away a half-step. While his foot was still in the air the EMP/Flash combo went off. In a single blurred motion, I reached over my shoulder, gripped the handle of my nano carbide katana, and arced it forward and down between RC’s collar bone and neck. The subsequent spray of blood and gurgling exclamation confirmed his mortal wounds. Momentarily, his armor kept him stock upright, but as he drained, the body teetered, and then fell backwards as I was already rolling to the side wall so that by the time the shock troops opened fire, I was edging behind them in ghost mode, a shadow angling away towards the door and freedom.