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Below will be a story that I wrote in the hopes of capturing the true
CyberPunk Edge. But I went one step further. I looked for an edge and
now, instead of writing about standing on it, I'm writing about laying
down on that razor to peer underneath the edge; despite the itchy
sensation of the razor slicing into your chest with every movement.
The cold sticky feeling of blood pooling underneath you as you stare
openly at something you dare not. You'll feel the edge of that razor
digging into you everytime you flinch. And you may even find yourself
pressing against it to see more of what lies beneath.
But if the pain ever becomes too much to bear - you can always
stand up and walk away. After all, you're only hurting yourself.
There's your fucking disclaimer. You'll know if you're not wanted.
Jerrig left his flat around 2am. It was a hot Tuesday night and he couldn't sleep. He blamed his neuralware; it had been acting up lately, giving him static and flashes. He coded his lock and walked down to the fire escape, stepping over a prone form twitching in a pool of blood admidst the trash strewn hallway. No one took the elevator anymore. The fire escape let him get a taste of the air, which is more than a euphemism considering the city smog as of late. The neon seemed to have an electrical flavor. 'Now I know this ware's buggered', he thought as he slid down the ladder and dropped to the alley. The static on impact was only a sharp burst and dissipated, but he felt like he was watching a bad 20th century film on futuristic cyborgs. The night humidity made his skin clammy and the puddles seemed too tired to reflect him as he walked down the street, not knowing or caring where he went.
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Krissen swore violently yet quietly as she made her way from her smashed vehicle. One wrong turn and not only was she in the CZ, but the access road to get out blew up under her. Biotechnica cares for its employees so the car could take it - but just. 'Damn! Damn, damn, damn! How the hell can I get out of here?!' She barely finished her silent tirade when the vehicle exploded, throwing her a few feet into a heap of garbage. She laid still in the rubble quietly, listening to the night air. Then she heard it again - a faint whistling getting louder followed by another explosion from where she had been. She had heard that zoners were warped and violent, but she didn’t realize that they would shell her. Why her? Then she remembered her latest project, tucked safely away in her mem chip closest to her neuralware processor. It was worth killing for. And she knew plenty of bastards who do it. All in the name of progress. 'Apparently I've caught someone's attention. My car's home route program was tampered with. But who? And how'd they know I'd even use it tonight?' The sound of motors came closer and she began to crawl on her hands and knees under the garbage to hide, keeping close to the wall. Her tan skirt was ripped from the shelling and one of her stockings had a few holes from the initial crash. She managed to keep both her heels, but her amber hair had slipped from its clip. She heard laughter from outside of her tunnel and the sound of clips being loaded. My God, if they kill me, then they won't get the download code. The bullets impacted all around her, flinging chunks of concrete and rock like small explosions. She ran realizing they didn't care about the code, they didn't really need her alive to pry the chip from her skull! Fear swelled in her throat like bile, mixed with horror. She fumbled for her Trauma Team card as she rounded a corner. If she could just break it, if she could just hold out for 8 minutes, she may survive this. 'IF I can get the damn thing OUT!' Behind her, Krissen heard whooping and yells. They loved a chase and she had given them one. Panic clutched her chest, but she pushed it down; concentrating on getting the wallet out of her purse - and running. Shots whizzed by her head and she knew they were playing with her. A foolish hope entered her mind that maybe they weren't suppose to kill her, but an arrow came within an inch of making it her last thought. She jumped on some cans and clambered over the fencing. The cans moved and a hand grabbed her leg. She screamed as the fingers dug into her flesh. Krissen threw all of her weight forward and managed to yank free, but now she was down to one heel. She landed in a heap on the other side. She shakily picked herself up and looked around. An L-shaped alley. Which way? From the front of her, lights blinked on, pinning her in a harsh spot light. Then to the left of her, the only other way out. They slowly moved in.
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Working the graveyard shift had its advantages. For Catherine Biggs, it was the Net. Being the only night sysop gave her full run of the Biotechnica site. Admittedly, she was still the equivalent of an electronic janitor, but she didn't mind. Her pet daemon, a black icon of a kitten with batwings named C@, followed her through the employee list and watched her pull names and files for deletion. Catherine paused at the end of her list. Only 4 terminations, one resignation and a death. But the death one bothered her. ">C@, goto inbox and fetch list 071614<" she said as she deleted the one before her. This couldn't be right. C@ scampered off while she backed up the deletions. This was a big no-no and more than just a mere firing offense. When employees are no longer with the company, their files and access codes are to be erased, but Catherine always made a back up copy through the Net to a diskette in a computer across town and in her email box. Her reasoning is because you never know. Know what wasn't always clear, but she kept doing it out of habit and it had come in handy in the very rare times she accidentally took the wrong person out, but what else it was good for she could never tell. C@ returned with the list and Catherine went over it again. Same as before, and the death was still the same. Noel, Krissen. Time of death 6pm. She didn't know Krissen personally - but she did know that Krissen logged off only 30 minutes ago at 7:30pm. Catherine sat there for only a moment and then deleted Krissen's profile and records from the system. She threw all of her work files and research into the bin, and then sent C@ to go get it and take it "home". She also left the access codes active because you never know.
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A hand struck her in the face and Krissen went sprawling admidst bottles. She thought they would kick her the minute she tried to get up, but the guy with the green mohawk didn't wait. He drove his steel toe into her stomach twice and then backed off as she folded up. The tanned woman in red with shades picked Krissen up by her hair and stood her up. The LED visor was scanning her face when Krissen's fist shot out, nailing the woman square on the nose and knocking her back. Krissen hit the ground running, taking advantage of surprise. She got her hand on the wallet and punched through her purse, a black man in white skullface scrambled for his visor as it was knocked off his face. A feeling kin to madness made her nearly superhuman in speed. As she left them behind, hope came back as she worked the card free. Suddenly a trench coat came from around the corner and held out his hand. Lightning hit her square in the stomach and down she went. Almost in slow motion she saw the card slip from her fingers. The trench-coat caught it and smiled. Krissen laid on the ground stunned from the electroshock. "Hey," he said to the gathering crowd as they caught up. He held up the card, "Keep her alive as long as possible." The steel toe caught her in the front teeth as the green mohawk said, "No problem. This'll keep her from doing that tongue biting thing chink-chicks do." Blood flooded in her mouth and down her throat. She felt herself yanked up by two people and held there. The woman with the shade still had blood on her nose as she stood in front of Krissen. She pointedly wiped it and then flexed her hand. Blades like ten penny nails came out from her fingertips. She paused for a moment, then slashed downward. Krissen's blouse was sliced open and her skirt held on only by the waist band. The two people holding Krissen began to laugh. The purple haired borg remarked, "Look, she an artist - no mark on flessssh" The woman murmured, "Yet" and stepped away. The green mohawk stepped and yanked Krissen down to her knees by the bra. "I wanna try this - you hear so much about it!" He unbuttoned his pants and shoved his dick into her face. Krissen tried to clamp down her mouth and move her face away, but the woman grabbed her hair and held her head still as the man slowly pushed his penis through her lips and past the wreck of her front teeth. "HeyHey! A little crunchy but not bad! I'll steer from here." The woman let go and he grabbed Krissen's ears and hair. He slid in and out very slowly, delighting in the tears coming from eyes clenched shut. "I wonder what emotion those tears come from. FEAR because you are being, well, RAPED? Maybe it's sorrow. Or it COULD be PAIN. THAT would be underSTANDable," he said, punctuating with a thrust each time. He pulled out and looked at her, blood and saliva dribbling from her lips. "I bet I know what it really is." He pushed into her mouth again and began thrusting faster, "It's frustration because you can't stop me from coming into your mouth! Watch!" The electric pain and coppery taste of her blood mingled with salty semen being shot down her throat as the cock pulsed across her wounded gums. She gagged and vomited all over his boots as he pulled away. "The Bitch!" he backhanded her so hard the two people holding her were pushed. The woman in the shades grabbed the guy's arm. "Hey," she said in a flat tone, "if she dies now, everyone else will be a little disappointed." "Yeah, she can't help if she can't stomach you. Not many can, Ulster", a dredlocked Filipino laughed as he stepped up. "Her face is a mess." He unzipped and pissed in Krissen's face, trying to aim at the mouth to rinse it off. The acidic urine stung her gums and she heaved violently, bruising her arms against her captors. "Phlap! That's not nice, no one else wants to smell that," the woman in shades said as she walked over to the wall with a bucket of drain water. "Stand her up," she commanded. Krissen was pulled back up and her legs were lashed to the cybernetic limbs of her captors. As she hung there spread-eagled, the woman dumped the water over her head and then threw the last of it in her face. "Don't fall asleep. The introductions haven't even been finished. And they have to be before the party can really start."
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Jerrig walked down the streets, analyzing his financial situation, his love life, his lack of both, and the ironic loose wiring in his head. Explosions in the distance barely registered in his thoughts. It's just life in the good old CZ, he thought as he walked past a demolished data term and crossed the street; splashing his retro boots in a puddle of stagnant water. The pink-orange haze of distant burning buildings and neon signs lit up the overcast night sky. Jerrig found nothing poetic in it. He often wondered why he bothered to look. A cat came out and looked at him cautiously, he eyed it back. They passed each other and went about their business. Jerrig tried to decide if he needed a drink or a tattoo. ‘What you really need is a personality, Enahj told him as she walked out the door, You just don't care.’ What was the point in caring? It just led to fights, heartbreak, depression, lost keys. They say not caring leads to suicide. Not really. Caring too much is what gets you there in the first place, he surmised to himself. He did miss his Disc-Man, it helped kill the loud quiets. Another explosion boomed from the distance and he understood the gangers a bit more. Right now, he couldn't hear anything. No wind or rain or music. Even the trash on the streets remained still. An eerie silence that seemed to swallow up all the other sound. Suddenly he hastened his pace. Jerrig needed to get to a place. Any place. He needed some noise. The CZ was too quiet. It reminded him of lower London after the plague. Where you could almost swear vampires watched you from the darkened crevasses. But even then there was always a little noise from the distant freeways. He passed by a large alley where the muffled cries of a victim caught his ears. He glanced down and saw that a booster gang had caught some up-town trash. Probably slumming. He lingered and watched. Two borgs held her arms and legs while a large black guy with a white skull face took her from behind and a small Anglo with a black chili bowl haircut took her from the front. They were thrusting in a piston like action while the Anglo kept saying, "Pleased to MEET ya!" One of the cyborgs reached over and tore off the remains of her bra, revealing smooth white breasts; firm and shiny from the sweat. The Anglo put the bra in the victim's mouth, effectively muffling her cries. The black tied the bra behind her head and began to use it as a reign. They changed rhythm and began slamming together in unison. Jerrig realized he was getting hard despite the brutality. The two gangers stepped away and her head fell forward, her face shielded by amber hair. Her head remained down but her eyes slowly raised and looked at him. Jerrig couldn't help but notice the semen trailing down her thigh. A woman with copper shades walked towards him. She stopped in front of him and pulled out a cigarette. He pulled out his Zippo and lit her cigarette. She nodded a thanks and went back into the alley. He took his warning and went on his way toward the bar district.
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The guy walked away and Krissen's heart sunk a little. There wasn't much he could have done, her logical side said, but that mattered little to her as a whole. She burned inside, her rectum felt torn and bleeding. Those bastards were taking their time. Just kill me! Just kill me, please, she thought over and over again. "Well, that just about everybody. Now, what do you say we start the party?" the woman said. Tears began to flood again from Krissen and she was ashamed of them. She wanted to spite the bastards, but they were winning. "Awww, she doesn't look like she's having any fun," the woman said, holding Krissen's chin up. She snapped her fingers and a girl with bright red skin wearing only fishnet from her boots up to her neck stepped forward. Zippers adorned her breast and crotch area like an obscene bikini. "Daymon, please help her enjoy the party." The demon girl pulled out a large bumpy strap-on dildo and began to smear a gel on it. One of the bald girls asked, "Shouldn't you be using gloves with that stuff?" "No sense in only one of us enjoying the time," she smiled as she licked her fingers with an elongated tongue. "Chewy - get the camera rolling for the client," the trench coat man said. "Do we have ta? 'takes the romance out of it," a small Asian with facial tattoos complained as he began to dig through a bag. "We do as we paid to do," he replied smoothly. "Sheeeit! We do for FREE every Sunday!" said the skullface, "Just like Church." He merely glanced at him, then a hand touched his shoulder. "He's right," her voice was as smooth and dark as her shades, " Besides, I don't like cameras. They're called evidence." She fired of the last word like a shot. He gave her a reassuring look, "Like anyone is going to come down here and press charges." He moved her hand and walked out of the alley, saying over his shoulder, "I'm off to get the rest of the supplies. Keep her entertained." The woman watched him go, then turned to her gang who appeared to be waiting; the demon bod-job poised behind Krissen. "Do her." she stated flatly and opened a Coke as she leaned against the wall. "ROLLING!!" Chewy yelled and Daymon made a big show of spreading Krissen's pussy lips from behind her and slowly inserted the over sized dildo. Krissen let out a scream that could be heard for a few blocks. Daymon then slipped her hands in front and began to fondle her nipples, pinching them hard and yanking. "Don't worry so, dear. Soon, that Kink Ointment will begin to work wonders on your poor little cunt. Of course there are side effects, but you won't be around to enjoy them," she whispered in her ear before biting Krissen's neck hard. The blood trailed down her front and between her breasts, dribbling off near her navel. Daymon had worked the entire dildo in, then gave it an extra hard thrust and Krissen screamed again. Daymon lapped at the blood while Krissen tried to regain her breath. She began to run her palms across Krissen's nipples and felt them harden despite her torture. Then she began to fuck her hard. Krissen's spread-eagle body jolted in time with the thrusts, she could no longer scream; only cry out. "AH! AHA-UH! N- UH! NO! AH-HAA! UN!" She was sobbing when Daymon pulled out. The borgs brought Krissen's knees to her chest as Daymon stepped around to her front. Chewy got closer in and watched as Daymon began to systematically stuff a bike chain into Krissen's abused vagina with her finger. Krissen looked in fear at what she was doing and Chewy zoomed out from her face to show that Daymon had positioned the tip of her dildo against Krissen’s asshole. "Now we're going to play a little game. I'm going to pull this chain out and the minute you make a noise I'm going to go in. Each time you make a sound, you get an inch. A 20inch bike chain versus a 16 inch dildo means 4 thrusts if you're really lousy at this." She began to pull the chain slowly out. Krissen tried to bite her lips, but she ended up crushing her broken teeth against her damaged gums and she muffled a grunt. Daymon pushed in and Krissen cried out at the penetration. Daymon grabbed her breasts and dug in her nails, "Now, now, the first inch is always the worst. Just ask any alter boy." Krissen managed to quiet down and Daymon let go, trailing her fingernails down her body so hard she left red welts flecked with blood. She started to pull out the chain some more. A kink pinched the inner vulva and Krissen gasped. Daymon thrust another inch in. Krissen stiffened and threw her head back but couldn't keep from whimpering. Daymon snapped her fingers at Chewy, saying to Krissen, "You must like this game. The last person didn't make this much noise." One of the borgs grabbed Krissen's hair and kept her head back. Her mouth opened from the pain and Chewy, standing on a trashcan between them, shoved his dick into her mouth and filmed its penetration. He panned along her neck and down her torso to where Daymon was waiting. She began to pull out the bike chain again. "Oooo, she's quiet now. And loose, too." Chewy laughed and began to thrust in and out of her mouth. Krissen began to protest and got 4 inches from the other end. Daymon piled the retrieved bike chain on top of Krissen's stomach and scratched her nails across Krissen buttocks. Chewy came in her mouth, the force of his thrusts knocking the chain off her belly and onto the ground. The resulting tug yanked the rest of the chain out of her and she cried out, gagging on Chewy's semen. Daymon shoved all the way in, causing her to choke and squirm. Chewy clambered down and got a full shot of it.
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Jerrig sat at the bar mulling over peanuts while retro-thrash sounded in the background. A girl with an incredibly high swept pony tail climbed into the seat next to him. She sat up on her knees and put her elbows on the bar. A man approached her from behind and pulled down her spandex. You've GOT to be kidding me, Jerrig thought. The guy pulled out a laser needle and began to tattoo her left buttock. The girl smiled at Jerrig and playfully snitched a peanut. He smirked at the nonchalance of American society and pondered if it was safe to go to bathroom yet. Cripes, how long can those bloody queens last? He'd needed to go, but 2 fags went in before he got up from the bar, one leading the other by a penis leash. But after 2 more beers, he decided to test his reflexes and went for it. He opened the door to the bathroom and stopped. The two men, both in white jump suits with bleached blonde hair, looked as though a grenade had gone off inside them. Entrails were draped across the stalls, blood was used like paint on the walls. Both their heads were in the sinks, a dick shoved into their mouths and the balls rested in the eye sockets. He gaped at the carnage before backpedaling to the wall, "BLOODY HELL!!" He leaned against the wall outside of the bathroom and watched the door close slowly on the scene, unable to keep the question of where their eyes were from chattering in his head. The bartender noticed him suddenly slump against the wall and walked over. "Puke IN the john, limey." Jerrig looked up at him from the floor and squeaked, "This is ludicrous." The bartender frowned, pushed open the door, and suddenly held his breath. "No," he finally answered, "This is bad for business." Jerrig pushed himself up off the floor and looked again. "Not an sound. Not one effing sound came from here." The bouncer, a large American Indian, came over. "Shit," he exclaimed, "Whoever did this took their time," and he pointed at the methodic way the entrails were draped across the stalls. "Looks like they were trying to make a cat's cradle." "Bollocks, I'm out of here. How much the tab, bar keep?" "I charge nothing if you say nothing." "Deal. If you're still open next week, I may come back." "Oh?" the Hispanic man said as they walked to the front door. "Yeah, I wanna know how you cleaned it up," Jerrig replied as he walked out the door and into the misty night that was beginning to cool down. He quickly took the same route home and realized that for once he actually cared whenever a sudden movement caught his eye.
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Catherine Biggs sat in her cubicle during her break. She watched C@ play about the net; chatting with people, playing games, reading articles. She kept out a clear eye for trouble while blowing on her cocoa. No one could tell the C@ wasn't anything else other than a human of some form. Her daemon program was so well defined that she fooled someone into having a crush on her. C@, not knowing any better, replied apropriately to the letters sent. When Catherine found out she had C@ write a letter to cut it off. But it didn't work. The man was clearly obsessed over her, thinking that she was really just a good programmer considering the fluidity of her icon. And blast it all C@ used Catherine as a description of her real self. Finally she had to call the guy over a real phone and explain that C@ was really just a daemon program based off herself with some quirks thrown in. The guy sounded crushed, and Catherine felt a little sorry for him. Admittedly, she had no boyfriend herself, but she didn't want to get involved with a man who apparently couldn't take rejection. I mean, No means no - right? she thought to herself while she watched C@ play. An email came in. It was bearing Cradle-Robber's name. Speak of the devil, she thought irritated. That was another thing. His handle bothered her. He must have thought she was 12. She looked at it out of curiosity. It was titled | For You |and had a hefty file attached. Great, she thought as she ran it through the virus checker and opener, he sent me a pic or a vid of him. Scenes of carnage flashed across the screen. 2 men, their horror filled faces as a knife entered the picture and then entered them. One was anally raped with it, then ripped open from the rectum up along the spine with its serrated edge. The message read, “I have learned. Now I can piece together a body. I want your pussy. I want my kitty-kitty.” The horror and the fear were too much and Catherine found herself vomiting into the trashcan. "Omigod,omigod, .... what am I going to do? What am I .. oh god," she asked no one. She leaned her head against her cool desk drawer and spat out the remaining bile. C@ was chirping to see if she would like to reply to this message.