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n3m3sis43"This is gonna be fucking epic!" Devin yells, bursting into the room.
"It better be, dickcheese," Wes grumbles, pulling off his SimFighting headset with a glare. "You just made me die."
"Riiiiight," I snicker, "What's your excuse for the other six times I beat you today, then?"
Devin clears his throat and we both turn to look at him.
"Don't you two losers want to know what I found?" he asks, holding out his cupped palm to reveal a silvery nanochip.
"Looks like an IdentiChip," I say after squinting at it for a moment, "but whose?"
"Mine," Devin replies. "Met a guy from the Splinternet who makes them - impossible to distinguish from the real thing. With this baby installed, not only am I officially born in this City, I also have security clearance."
Wes lets out a loud sneeze that sounds suspiciously like the word "bullshit".
"Ought to get that cold checked out, buddy," Devin says, cocking an eyebrow in Wes's direction. "Anyway, once I install the IdentiChip, the possibilities are endless. I can get a job anywhere. We can fight the system from the inside!"
"Well, Kalen, what do you think?" Wes asks, still dubious.
For whatever reason, both Wes and Devin treat me as their leader. Although I find this ridiculous, given the fact that my famous act of heroism was a complete accident, I do the best I can. Now I consider Devin's words. While he isn't known for his street smarts, he's a genius with circuitry. With the proper identification, he'd be an asset to any military research team.
"It's kind of insane," I finally say, "but it just might work."
* * * * *
Wes is helping me put the finishing touches on a new, more humanoid body for CallaBot when the front door slams so hard we both jump. Devin walks into the living room, anger clouding his features. Pulling off his white lab coat, he tosses it on the floor and collapses on the couch.
"Who pissed in your VitaFlakes, dude?" Wes asks him.
Shooting me a sour look, Devin undoes his dark hair from its "professional" braid. He rakes a comb through it while staring moodily at the wall. Dress code at WeaponsDev isn't even supposed to allow long hair. However, after his performance on their technical tests, I wouldn't be surprised if they let him show up to work stark naked.
"Hey, pretty princess," Wes says, "What's wrong?" Devin grunts and points at his lab coat, still lying in the doorway.
"Oh, so now I'm the maid? You'd better buy me a pretty dress, then!" Wes begins strutting around the living room with an exaggerated swing of his hips. Devin sighs, and I retrieve the garment myself. I'm heading toward the coat closet to hang it up when Devin finally speaks.
"Inside pocket," he says.
The large pocket feels empty at first, but I feel around inside it anyway. Finally, my fingers close around a tiny capsule. Holding it up to the light, I examine it. It appears to be some kind of medication - one half is pink and the other is white, printed with numerals I can't quite make out.
"Ohhhhhh, I get it," Wes says, "You forgot to take your meds today. No wonder you're in such a funk." That, at least, gets a laugh. It's dripping with bitterness, though. I've never seen Devin in a mood like this and it worries me.
"Squeeze the top and bottom."
I comply with Devin's directions, and the pill's two halves separate, revealing some sort of mechanical device inside. A tiny pink laser shoots from its center and I nearly drop it in surprise. Devin laughs; it almost sounds genuine. He points across the room.
Projected on our living room wall in stunning detail are several sets of clothing. There's a formal dress, a men's suit, and several male and female outfits of the more casual variety.
"They've got you designing fashion?" Wes screeches with glee. "Dude, I knew you should've cut that ponytail."
"I'm assigned to work on the neural interface for it," Devin's voice is bleak and he's still looking at the wall. "This is the point where you should ask yourselves why a cocktail dress needs a neural interface."
"Don't look at me," I say, "I'm clueless about fashion."
"It's not about fashion, Kalen," Devin's eyes are hard. "Well, actually, it sort of is. They're explosive outfits for suicide bombers, undetectable by any existing security devices."
"So... they're for undercover agents, then?" I ask. I'm still not sure why he's so upset.
"Not exactly," Devin sighs again. "They're going to be marketed to the general public."
"What?" Wes and I shout in simultaneous disbelief.
"They wouldn't," I say, my heart sinking as I realize I don't even believe myself.
"Come on, Kalen," Devin says, "You know better than that. Fighting squads have waiting lists of a year or more, and the qualifications for soldiers are pretty stringent. Your own brother was disqualified from the military; he's by far not the only one. And he's not the only one who'd risk death to fight anyway."
"If our government is willing to go this far in the name of the War," I say, "we'll never be able to stop it."
"Exactly," Devin replies.
"Are you sure this is really what they're planning?" My stomach is churning.
"They're already putting together the preliminary ad campaigns. Full-page spreads in the neuromags. Marketing team's even come up with a slogan - 'Go Out In Style'."
* * * * *
"Are you guys sure I'm the best person for the job?" I ask my friends for the millionth time as I pull on my InvisiSuit. "I'm not so great under pressure."
"That's like saying Wes isn't so great at SimFighting," CallaBot snorts.
"Hey!" Wes protests, punching CallaBot in the arm with a loud clang. "Ow!" He rubs at his knuckles.
"That's what you get for hitting a lady," CallaBot snickers.
"Come on, guys, let's stay focused, okay? Kalen, it has to be you. You're the only one who's agile enough to get past the security lasers protecting the prototype." Devin hasn't been the same since he found out about Project FashionXplosion. His months of work on the project have taken their toll. Not only has he lost his sense of humor, he looks exhausted. His olive skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes.
"It's just... I'm worried about messing up." After the incident with the bomb, no one can really blame me for that.
"You'll be fine," Devin says, with a smile that's a shadow of its former self. "Just don't sneeze."
"Let me just make sure I have everything straight. The security nanochip you installed in my neural implant should get me into the building. I just walk in through the back, right?"
"Exactly," Devin nods. "I stole that chip from a custodial robot. It'll give you access to any door or EleTube in the building. Once you reach the area where they keep the prototype, my modifications should also allow you to see the security lasers."
"Okay," I say, "I guess this is it. Wish me luck."
Turning on my InvisiSuit, I step out into the night. Its added bulk makes running harder, but I do it anyway. The sooner I make it to the WeaponsDev building, the faster I can steal the prototype and get back home to safety. As I run, my mind churns with questions.
What's the point of any of this? If Devin's right and we'll never stop the War anyway, how will stealing this prototype help? They'll just make something else even worse, won't they?
I know I can't just give up, though, so I keep sprinting. Nearly a year of living with Wes and Devin hasn't been conducive to staying in shape. I have to pause to catch my breath once I reach the back of the WeaponsDev building. Once I'm no longer huffing and puffing, I step toward the rear entrance, half-expecting to hear piercing alarms. Instead, a green laser scans me and the doors slide open.
So far, so good, I think, walking to the first EleTube I see and punching the button for the 69th floor. Turning right out of the tube, I force myself to take slow, measured steps. Invisibility won't help if someone's here working late and hears me crashing about like a wild beast. When I push through the double doors at the end of the hallway, my stomach drops.
Nothing Devin's told me could have prepared me for the sight of the security lasers that surround the prototype. Crisscrossing each other in a glowing network of red, blue, and green, the lasers form a complicated latticework.
No way would any of the others be able to slip through here, I think. I'm not even sure I can.
For a moment, my thoughts whirl as I try to remember the endless hours of floor routines my Combat Gymnastics instructor made me practice. Then I take a deep breath and turn my neurovision implant to the dance music channel. If I'm going to make it through this, I can't think too hard. Bending my knees, I leap into the air and dive through a gap in the lasers. I clear my mind of everything but twisting and flipping and hope for the best.
"It better be, dickcheese," Wes grumbles, pulling off his SimFighting headset with a glare. "You just made me die."
"Riiiiight," I snicker, "What's your excuse for the other six times I beat you today, then?"
Devin clears his throat and we both turn to look at him.
"Don't you two losers want to know what I found?" he asks, holding out his cupped palm to reveal a silvery nanochip.
"Looks like an IdentiChip," I say after squinting at it for a moment, "but whose?"
"Mine," Devin replies. "Met a guy from the Splinternet who makes them - impossible to distinguish from the real thing. With this baby installed, not only am I officially born in this City, I also have security clearance."
Wes lets out a loud sneeze that sounds suspiciously like the word "bullshit".
"Ought to get that cold checked out, buddy," Devin says, cocking an eyebrow in Wes's direction. "Anyway, once I install the IdentiChip, the possibilities are endless. I can get a job anywhere. We can fight the system from the inside!"
"Well, Kalen, what do you think?" Wes asks, still dubious.
For whatever reason, both Wes and Devin treat me as their leader. Although I find this ridiculous, given the fact that my famous act of heroism was a complete accident, I do the best I can. Now I consider Devin's words. While he isn't known for his street smarts, he's a genius with circuitry. With the proper identification, he'd be an asset to any military research team.
"It's kind of insane," I finally say, "but it just might work."
Wes is helping me put the finishing touches on a new, more humanoid body for CallaBot when the front door slams so hard we both jump. Devin walks into the living room, anger clouding his features. Pulling off his white lab coat, he tosses it on the floor and collapses on the couch.
"Who pissed in your VitaFlakes, dude?" Wes asks him.
Shooting me a sour look, Devin undoes his dark hair from its "professional" braid. He rakes a comb through it while staring moodily at the wall. Dress code at WeaponsDev isn't even supposed to allow long hair. However, after his performance on their technical tests, I wouldn't be surprised if they let him show up to work stark naked.
"Hey, pretty princess," Wes says, "What's wrong?" Devin grunts and points at his lab coat, still lying in the doorway.
"Oh, so now I'm the maid? You'd better buy me a pretty dress, then!" Wes begins strutting around the living room with an exaggerated swing of his hips. Devin sighs, and I retrieve the garment myself. I'm heading toward the coat closet to hang it up when Devin finally speaks.
"Inside pocket," he says.
The large pocket feels empty at first, but I feel around inside it anyway. Finally, my fingers close around a tiny capsule. Holding it up to the light, I examine it. It appears to be some kind of medication - one half is pink and the other is white, printed with numerals I can't quite make out.
"Ohhhhhh, I get it," Wes says, "You forgot to take your meds today. No wonder you're in such a funk." That, at least, gets a laugh. It's dripping with bitterness, though. I've never seen Devin in a mood like this and it worries me.
"Squeeze the top and bottom."
I comply with Devin's directions, and the pill's two halves separate, revealing some sort of mechanical device inside. A tiny pink laser shoots from its center and I nearly drop it in surprise. Devin laughs; it almost sounds genuine. He points across the room.
Projected on our living room wall in stunning detail are several sets of clothing. There's a formal dress, a men's suit, and several male and female outfits of the more casual variety.
"They've got you designing fashion?" Wes screeches with glee. "Dude, I knew you should've cut that ponytail."
"I'm assigned to work on the neural interface for it," Devin's voice is bleak and he's still looking at the wall. "This is the point where you should ask yourselves why a cocktail dress needs a neural interface."
"Don't look at me," I say, "I'm clueless about fashion."
"It's not about fashion, Kalen," Devin's eyes are hard. "Well, actually, it sort of is. They're explosive outfits for suicide bombers, undetectable by any existing security devices."
"So... they're for undercover agents, then?" I ask. I'm still not sure why he's so upset.
"Not exactly," Devin sighs again. "They're going to be marketed to the general public."
"What?" Wes and I shout in simultaneous disbelief.
"They wouldn't," I say, my heart sinking as I realize I don't even believe myself.
"Come on, Kalen," Devin says, "You know better than that. Fighting squads have waiting lists of a year or more, and the qualifications for soldiers are pretty stringent. Your own brother was disqualified from the military; he's by far not the only one. And he's not the only one who'd risk death to fight anyway."
"If our government is willing to go this far in the name of the War," I say, "we'll never be able to stop it."
"Exactly," Devin replies.
"Are you sure this is really what they're planning?" My stomach is churning.
"They're already putting together the preliminary ad campaigns. Full-page spreads in the neuromags. Marketing team's even come up with a slogan - 'Go Out In Style'."
"Are you guys sure I'm the best person for the job?" I ask my friends for the millionth time as I pull on my InvisiSuit. "I'm not so great under pressure."
"That's like saying Wes isn't so great at SimFighting," CallaBot snorts.
"Hey!" Wes protests, punching CallaBot in the arm with a loud clang. "Ow!" He rubs at his knuckles.
"That's what you get for hitting a lady," CallaBot snickers.
"Come on, guys, let's stay focused, okay? Kalen, it has to be you. You're the only one who's agile enough to get past the security lasers protecting the prototype." Devin hasn't been the same since he found out about Project FashionXplosion. His months of work on the project have taken their toll. Not only has he lost his sense of humor, he looks exhausted. His olive skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes.
"It's just... I'm worried about messing up." After the incident with the bomb, no one can really blame me for that.
"You'll be fine," Devin says, with a smile that's a shadow of its former self. "Just don't sneeze."
"Let me just make sure I have everything straight. The security nanochip you installed in my neural implant should get me into the building. I just walk in through the back, right?"
"Exactly," Devin nods. "I stole that chip from a custodial robot. It'll give you access to any door or EleTube in the building. Once you reach the area where they keep the prototype, my modifications should also allow you to see the security lasers."
"Okay," I say, "I guess this is it. Wish me luck."
Turning on my InvisiSuit, I step out into the night. Its added bulk makes running harder, but I do it anyway. The sooner I make it to the WeaponsDev building, the faster I can steal the prototype and get back home to safety. As I run, my mind churns with questions.
What's the point of any of this? If Devin's right and we'll never stop the War anyway, how will stealing this prototype help? They'll just make something else even worse, won't they?
I know I can't just give up, though, so I keep sprinting. Nearly a year of living with Wes and Devin hasn't been conducive to staying in shape. I have to pause to catch my breath once I reach the back of the WeaponsDev building. Once I'm no longer huffing and puffing, I step toward the rear entrance, half-expecting to hear piercing alarms. Instead, a green laser scans me and the doors slide open.
So far, so good, I think, walking to the first EleTube I see and punching the button for the 69th floor. Turning right out of the tube, I force myself to take slow, measured steps. Invisibility won't help if someone's here working late and hears me crashing about like a wild beast. When I push through the double doors at the end of the hallway, my stomach drops.
Nothing Devin's told me could have prepared me for the sight of the security lasers that surround the prototype. Crisscrossing each other in a glowing network of red, blue, and green, the lasers form a complicated latticework.
No way would any of the others be able to slip through here, I think. I'm not even sure I can.
For a moment, my thoughts whirl as I try to remember the endless hours of floor routines my Combat Gymnastics instructor made me practice. Then I take a deep breath and turn my neurovision implant to the dance music channel. If I'm going to make it through this, I can't think too hard. Bending my knees, I leap into the air and dive through a gap in the lasers. I clear my mind of everything but twisting and flipping and hope for the best.
