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You are Jona H. Moraan. Just another soul in the sleepless city of Kyerong.
You used to work in Qun-se industries as a genetic engineer but it got shot down when Cloning was abolished. You and thousands of men,women and Aionics lost their jobs in the process.
You had nothing but your job, No friends...no family...etc. Your idol has been scattered leaving you in disarray.Credits weren't the issue, you had plenty of those. You felt...empty, hallowed from inside.
Rich, fit with a good looking face and yet you haven't touched a man or a woman - or an Aionic for that matter. You haven't tinkered yourself with augs either not because you were against the idea, it was because you found no need for it. Your previous job demanded mental strength rather than a physical although your boss(es) always recommended one of those shiny PUs.
In the leisure of your house, you scurried through the latest news. One caught your attention:
A Liǎng-bǎ-yǐzi (or a two-chair club) has opened just a few hours ago. As tradition dictated, stating its name in the first couple of weeks is considered bad luck. so Liǎng-bǎ-yǐzi would do for now.
You felt a surge rushing through your body. This was it. A new opportunity to meet new and strange people. You would rot in your place no more.
Time to go.
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You configured your Pieo car to head to the Liǎng-bǎ-yǐzi. You sat back and relaxed as a hologram of Luna and some star for flavor orbited around you.
You had no idea why you like this now-destroyed rock with all of its craters disfiguring its surface but it always soothed your mind. Whenever you felt tired after work, you would just fire it up and relax.
Paying 30k per months of the Pharos path was a privilege you cherish. About 10% of the population owned a small portion of the street- perfect for avoiding the common folks that you were ironically about to mingle with.
You had a goal tonight. You were to leave the Liǎng-bǎ-yǐzi with someone then to your home.
Loud, Obnoxious and highly unhygienic were the first thoughts running through your mind. You quickly dispelled these thoughts, you were looking for the new you.
The name Liǎng-bǎ-yǐzi came from the vacant tables with two chairs away from the dancing floor. Usually, someone would idly wait there for another to come by, share some stories and a couple of interests and so on....
Rejection still existed but you didn't care at the moment.
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You had a couple of options available.
You could try your luck on the dance floor but you weren't fond of exposing your mad non existent skills to the world.
You could try to order something from the bartender, have a drink...that sort of thing.
Or you could have a seat in one of these vacant chairs.
Four individuals sat by themselves waiting for what could be yourself:
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A clone, a woman's clone. That you could tell via the bar code at her forehead. Coding was indeed obsolete by now since they are more advanced ways of identification (and tracking) but it was used nonetheless to brand these clone and to give them the impression that they are nothing but property.
She was GEN 2.1 or higher. Clones below GEN 2.1 had a glaring defect- No hair.
You were among Dr.Ferdrick Bulmark's team who managed to break this curse. that was for the customer's pleasure of course. The old coot basked in all the glory five years ago. Clones had various uses; fodder for the army, fresh livestock for organ harvest and both a work and a literal slaves for some. There was a high chance that you created this clone or at least your company sprouted her in this world.
As for the clone, she had a blazing red hair and a pair of mystic eyes. She would occasionally look at the dancefloor but none caught her eyes. She wore light and revealing clothes.
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A woman, who disconnected herself from her surroundings via the Koawi astral projection. Expensive, but it would mask your face with some random generated one. It used to be a thing in high stakes robberies and other mischievous deeds but Koawi had to spill its secrets to the government to counter it. This was ten times better than outright shutting down the product.
It was a shame that her long black silky hair is not real. Same went to her glossy lips, why she was hiding her face though?
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[Green] A man, a troubled man. he looked somewhat underfed for some reason. He is a tapper for certain; a man with a wanderlust in the digital world. His C.C.C rested on the table, This Console command Case was a military grade modified to suit his tapping need. Illegally it was but it mattered little to the man, he had to be a freelancer working for the highest bidder.
He was brimmed with Augs to ease his job. He dressed like those Union 'Hipsters'. He clearly stood out from the rest of folks here. [/green]
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An Aionic mimicking a woman. These AIs had one peculiar history. About 300 years ago, The union developed a powerful AI (Codename: Milestorm) which got out of control. It was capable of exterminating the human race but it chose peace and independence instead. It wanted to experience life if that made any sense and so it founded a city called Ava where it would randomly discharge unique personality matrices which would form the Aionics.
Just like clones, there has been 'Gens' of these Aionics. However, The first Gens are treated with respect by both us and the AI because they would act as emissaries furthering the ongoing relations between Aionics and humans.
Every Gen is connected to the Milestorm but the AI always gave its children the chance to sever this connection because it believed in one's freedom. It wasn't a surprise to see many Aionics disconnecting especially those with a human contact.
Back to the Aionic, it or rather She paid a lot of credits to appear human. It was an obsession to some, really. they would spend fortunate but in the end they would never achieve their goal. 'She' was silently eyeing everyone around while tapping on the table in anticipation
>The dancefloor
>The Bartender
>The Man
>The Woman
>The Clone
>The Aionic
>The Exit
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>The Bartender.
Lets get some drinks first, to loosen up alittle.
Also are we are Man or Woman? I am thinking Woman, but I can't tell..
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>>453746
You approached the bartender. A man with sun-kissed white skin. He looked grim, not friendly at the first glance. His name was Ol-Yeniel. Strange.
He had a most peculiar accent "What will it be, Kazhlam?" the words were almost poison to your ears.
>Single for yourself [Cheap, So-So or expensive?]
>Double for you and one of the fours [cheap, So-So or expensive?]
>Inquire about the name
>Inquire about the accent
>Kazhlam?
>Say something else to the Bartender
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>>453765
>>Single for yourself [Cheap]
>>Kazhlam?
>>
>>453765
>Single for yourself [Cheap]
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>>453857
Ol-Yeniel brought you a glowing drink with a pungent, distinctive smell, you drank it in one go. It gave you a fuzzy feeling you haven't experienced before
"200 credits." he said nonchalantly. A bit expensive for a drink but you had a feeling that this was indeed the cheapest drink around.
You inquired about what he called you. He gave you a stern look "A Kazhlam. Something we say in the eastern parts of the union...A Tar-riddled mutt in my old man's tongue. You worked for Artici or Qun Se or Eli Genetic haven't you? My mother was a clone and a slave for my father for twenty years until she offed herself. You figure out the rest..."
Even after you were discharged, you still wore a digital signature around your left wrist as a sign of your place in Qun Se. Most of the vital information was erased the the dismantlement of Qun Se but your profession was still written.
>Sympathize
>Demand an apology
>Change the subject
>Confront
>Leave
>Say something
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>>453888
>>Leave
>>
>>453890
You didn't come here to spoil your mood. You immediately left the pesky bartender and looked around.
The four chairs were still empty. None were yet to arrive, everyone around was busy on the dance floor.
>The dancefloor
>The Man
>The Woman
>The Clone
>The Aionic
>The Exit
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>>453904
>The Aionic
>>
>>453904
>>The Clone
ask her to dance
>>
>>
>>453904
>>The Clone
Thread posts: 19
Thread images: 8
Thread images: 8