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[NULL] Login: Rostam [R1]
You walk into your room well after the stroke of midnight. You are in peak physical condition, but it has been a long day of putting your tempered body to work, and it will soon be time to sleep. Out your window you can see an advertisement for Al Emaar's new line of clothing: "AEX," the hypersexualized blonde touts – she's staring directly at you, and blows you a kiss that flutters across the air and fades on your window. "Wear your passion," she says with a wink. In the streets below you can hear cars roaring by, and sirens off in the distance. The walls mute the sound slightly, but the city insists itself upon you.
Walk me through your living conditions, Rostam. How does being the most trusted courier of Osprey Bionics treat you, in the way of personal comfort?
Walk me through your living conditions, Rostam. How does being the most trusted courier of Osprey Bionics treat you, in the way of personal comfort?
Comments
"Darken windows." I say that, hoping that this ... my place's expert system will respond to my voice. It's about 70/30, really. It's a limited AI, not self-aware. That "upgrade" cost me more than makes any sense, as it's really a "downgrade." The sounds of the city bear down, but I am used to hearing them, day and night. Constant, humming, sometimes aggressive. Like a hive of bees (long-extinct, of course, but still a valuable metaphor) just outside the doors of my awareness. I strive to find inspiration from the Prophets, look to my antique wood-pulp collections of Rumi and Hafiz and Vonnegut and Idries Shah, but the buzz is too much for now.
'Most trusted' is a lovely concept, and I'm paid well for it, but my needs are simple, and this place reflects that. A bed large enough for two (but rarely so occupied), a small kitchen retro-fitted to allow me to cook my own food without intervention. And my greatest luxury, a bathroom that includes a shower with four nozzles finely tuned to my body temperature and that of the ambient atmosphere. My concession.Do you live alone? Someone's in the hall behind you. Is it a roommate? A neighbor? One of these infrequent visitors you alluded to?
I do live alone, but I gave my neighbors a code to the apartment when I had to be gone for a week or so. Someone has to water the plants... They're a trio of older "independents"... they call themselves Citizen Archivists, but I know they're not working for the love, not if they can afford a unit here (even with three of them). Turned out, they're very social and not really big on ringing the doorbell.
Regardless, I can tell it's not Groucho or Chico behind me, because they're not likely to have been quiet for this long. Without turning around, I say, "Hello, Harpo.
What can I do for you?" He may be just the advance team for a full invasion, but that doesn't bother me tonight.
Either way, his high-pitched old voice answers quickly. "Hello, Rostam. I was just coming back from a walk, and saw your door open. I figured I'd drop in and be neighborly!" You hear him smack his lips, an involuntary habit he has when his neurochip is working hard. "How's tricks?"
Are you a socialite yourself? It sounds like you enjoy your privacy most of the time...
I do have a set of glasses with a retina display, a pair of gloves with haptic response, and an earpiece. And on the wall, under a picture of ancient Isfahan, are three little lights that blink when I have a message to check. Left to light: Osprey, personal, and the rotating code I use for moonlighting jobs.
"Come on in. Sure, I've got beer." Sadly, I'm out of the cheap stuff. All I have in the cold box is the second-to-last case of Cloud's Nest Imperial Stout, which should be sipped, savored. With a mental shrug, I move to the little kitchen and grab four, along with glasses. "Been good, Chick. Didn't have a run today, myself, so I just relaxed."Tell me about your Osprey contact, Rostam. Who pays your bills?
I ignore Groucho and Chico for now, even though the "ain't bad" from Chick makes me want to launch into a rant. "Yeah, Harpo... sort of. That was Salomé. It makes them nervous when I come into the office, because they can't track me the usual ways. She's my... handler, I guess you'd say. I make her nervous, too."
This is Salomé, if you're curious:
She pays the bills on this place and puts creds in my account. Also, she tells me what needs doing. Today was more a "courtesy" visit... I'm actually not sure why she stopped by. Talking to Sal (she hates it when I call her that) is always a little difficult, unless she has a specific goal in mind.
I should add that Chico is really only able to do Tai Chi. He's OK at it, given that he started out pretty late in life. He relies pretty heavily on his implants to make up for his age, and lack of experience – hence downloading all his forms from the veil.
You walk through the late night streets, your three cheerful neighbors chatting and laughing the whole way. Tell me about the area of the city you live in. What is this neighborhood known for? Eventually, you make it to the Neon Pagoda, whose dojo you've been accepted into, as a testimony to your skill. Tell me about the dojo – who runs it, and how did you get in their good graces? What do you owe them?
The dojo manager is an interesting case. Their first resleeving was probably before I was born, and they've been through a few since then, both male and female. Seigi, they're called now. "Justice." I got in their good graces the traditional way... hard work, humility, and the occasional flash of brilliance. But... I owe them for more than time in the dojo, more than their training. I was bleeding, bruised, near dead from being overwhelmed by a nearly mindless "marching society" all connected at the neurochip, that was directed to grab what I was carrying by some opportunistic virus. Seigi happened by in all their retro glory and pulled me out. I don't entirely remember how.
This is Seigi:
The four of you enter the Pagoda proper, into a large open hall. The walls stretch up several stories, and the floor beneath you is a thick glass, overlooking the nightclub on the level below. The dance floor is crowded with people, and you hear the loud thrum of rhythm and bass reverberating through the walls. You make your way across the great hall and into an elevator, which brings you up two stories to the dojo proper.
The pair bow to each other, and Kai looks over his shoulder at the group of you, before disappearing out the side door of the dojo, opposite where you entered.
Seigi smiles when he sees you, Rostam, and he claps his hands loudly.
"My star pupil! I wish I could say I was surprised to see you here, but somehow I knew you'd come. Enter! What brings you here at such an hour?"
My smile becomes a little ironic. Sensei knows that the truth is that I'm testing myself.
What do you do? How are you treating this match? Light-hearted friendly, or are you legitimately testing yourself here?
It becomes evidently clear to you that you're not fighting Chico — you're fighting an AI controlling Chico's body; and while it's certainly challenging, no skilled martial artist would consider Chico victorious if he somehow managed to slip one in past your defenses. You gradually ramp yourself up to match his newfound "skill", and you quickly find yourself stalemating the AI. Every punch you throw is countered with a redirection, every grapple he attempts slips from his hands at a critical moment. You're all over the mat, and his roommates are roaring — Seigi is shaking his head, amused by the whole display.
What do you do?
(Rolled: 2d6+0. Rolls: 5, 1. Total: 6)
He looks up at you, dazed from the move, and you can feel him turn off the "sport" mode of his sleeve. He throws his hands up in defeat."Yeah, I'm done... Sheesh you're fast, Ros! What was that last move?"
You spot Groucho begrudgingly handing Harpo, and Seigi, a stick of creds.
Seigi puts a hand on your shoulder, and guides you over to the elevator. It seems the trio will either join you at their own pace, or not. "Are you not getting bored with these mundane challenges, Rostam? Ferrying litteral ambrosia from one wealthy hand to the next, and never once taking a drink? Life takes on a whole new meaning when we shed the shackles of our mortal bodies..." The elevator opens as he approaches, without input, and he steps inside. "Think of how boring my life will be when you're unable to entertain me with your little skirmishes!"
Why I don't have any... enhancements, in the first place is a long story. Childhood illness, some mutated strain of Scarlet Fever, so I didn't get the implant at the age most kids did, and by the time it was deemed safe, I just flat refused. Eight years old, staring down my father and the so-called doctor, shaking my head. I'd seen mâmân die by that point, lost in the Veil, unable to come back to us, to sing lullabies. An "anomaly," but I knew I didn't want to get lost.
And since... it's not religious, or even philosophical. It's personal. I've gotten along, even done well so far. A lot of sunk costs in being who I am, you know?
Seigi takes you into the bar proper, and leads you into the center of a crowd surrounding the Daimyo's son. He pushes his way to the front, and embraces him — which is a shock to everyone in attendance but Kai's honor guard. Seigi leads him over to you, and says, "Kai! This is my star pupil — Rostam."
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 4. Total: 11)
What, if anything, seems out of place?
Which enemy is the biggest threat?
Is this going to get worse before it gets better?
The crowd is watching as Havana drags a young man out towards the washrooms, and the Daimyo's honor guard moves to intercept them. The Daimyo's honor guard shaking people down isn't an odd occurrence. Heck, even the Daimyo's son being present at a corporate convention isn't a big deal... But something in the darkness, up in the rafters of the bar, catches your eye. Nobody else seems to notice it, or even seems interested in looking up there — but your keen and untampered senses pick it up immediately:
Someone is watching the man that Havana is dragging to the washroom. Whoever they are, they do not belong here.
Which enemy is the biggest threat?
Those honor guards, if turned against you, would be your biggest threat – without a shred of doubt – they are trained killers, with the best bionics money can buy. That said, until they view you as a threat to the Daimyo's son, it's whoever is up there in the rafters.
Is this going to get worse before it gets better?
Yes. He's moving through the rafters to get a better vantage on Havana and her companion.
What do you do?