by Nathan Lunn
“Piece of shit AdBlock, why does it never work?” A scantily-clad woman to his side crooned as he walked past, whispering messages of depravity in his ear. He felt a tug on the crook of his elbow and he shook it off, quickening his pace as he got closer to the corner of the street. When he reached the crossing between the footpath and the road, he stopped, waiting for a chance to slip between the constant flood of hovercars and PubliCabs, doing their best to take the fastest thoroughfare out of the terrible area. Missing out on this luxury, Kye saw his opportunity and jogged across the road, reaching the far end of the front street and arriving at the Sellers’ Market. Wasting no time, he spat to the floor and delved in.
A wide courtyard space ran for a mile in each direction, surrounded on its North, East and West entrances by tall overhanging buildings, casting deep shadows over the entire space no matter the time. Much like the Night Zone, the Sellers’ Market had leaned heavily into this trait, providing the perfect breeding ground for spawns of capitalist bacteria – bootleg tech stores, knock-off clothes vendors, and stolen or discarded foodstuff carts were arranged in a loose grid, cramped together and suffocating Kye as he pushed through the hordes of desperate retailers. A damp, slick coating lay on top of every surface and hung in the air, choking its way down his lungs and sporadically throwing him into tough coughing fits. After passing a steaming foodcart, and a screaming seller, all five of his senses had been simultaneously assaulted, and Kye had reached his boiling point. Stopping at the next food vendor, he passed over one of his credit chips and was handed a hot slab of food in return. He swallowed the disgusting rations as he moved away, wiping his hands on his coat and people who passed by. He consulted his list once more, walking down the main pathway until he reached the tent he was looking for. Kye passed inside, under a shoddily-made sign that read: Glennon’s Pharmaceutical Wares.
The canvas in the tent was thick, blocking the sounds and smells from the Sellers’ Market outside, but Glennon’s choice of interior design gave the area its own uncomfortable atmosphere – one that Kye felt almost as soon as he walked in. The cyclical design of the tent had been utilised appropriately, with a plastic bench for work and sale running perfectly around the central pole; scurrying busily behind the bench were the two workers, one of whom Kye knew was Glennon. They were both similar in stature and height, both dressed in the same grimy and oiled overalls. Glennon was busy writing on a pad of dirty brown paper, restlessly jittering his stub of a pencil across the page; the other man was standing by the other side of the tent, near the entrance, to greet any new customers. He was clean shaven and bald, and a repeating pattern of tribal tattoos ran up from his hands, up past his neck and over his entire face. Body modifications covered a similar area, little bumps in his skin that raised and dipped in relation to the body paint. He smiled shrewdly, small pale yellow teeth moving as he spoke to Kye.
“Welcome to Glennon’s Pharmaceutical Wares. How may we help you?”
Kye responded fast, closing the tent flap and speaking firmly, “Cut the crap, Elroy. I’m just here for a top up, and no one else is in the shop.”
Elroy – the tattooed man – smirked wider, as Kye heard a chuckle from Glennon at the back of the shop. “I hear you, Glennon. Get out front.” The man moved around to Elroy’s side of the bench, scribbling on his pad as he did, only stopping when Kye gave him a light cough out of politeness. He smiled like Elroy had, though in a more professional manner, speaking softly to a clearly impatient Kye.
“A top-up, did you say? We can sort something out, though our stocks have been running low since that whole debacle at the Gallant – nothing spare coming out of the hospitals. The shit people do when they’re worried.” Kye huffed, bringing up the list in his Commlink, noticing a notification pop up as he did so. His eyes glazed over as he read the pop-up: Eddie had sent a private message asking Kye to add two vials of E-Drine to his shopping purchases. Tapping it away, he directed his attention back to the waiting seller.
“Yeah. People are crazy. Listen, I can show you my list – you wanna check what I can get from you?”
Kye spoke, tapping a command to share his list over the shortwave network to Glennon, who’s eyes glazed over as he read it. “I’m really only here for the Retinal Pigment right now, I can get Douglass to pick up the scraps later.”
The seller perked up at the mention of Douglass, a new air overtaking his professional mannerisms with a glint in his eye. “Ah yes, that may be best, Kye. Let Douglass come pick them up from me, I’ll have it all ready for him when he comes.” He pursed his lips as Kye winced and moved to the far end of the bench. Glennon followed him around like a tracking camera, leaning over the desk to speak closer to his ear. “Did he ask you to come here?”
Kye moved back, shaking his head as he abruptly spoke. “That’s all, thank you! You have the Retinal Pigment or not?”
A snuffed laugh split from Elroy, who lifted the bench and moved out to the retail area of the tent. He slapped Kye on his back and headed to the edge opposite the entrance. “Yes, yes we have your Retinal Pigment. Can’t I ask you questions?”
Kye stayed quiet, watching as Elroy tapped a code into the secure safes behind him. The door rolled open, revealing the super-cooled goods inside – a shadowed blue tray slid out and Elroy picked up three dark purple vials from the centre. He moved to the fourth in a row of eight vaults, unlocking it with ease and plucking a handful of MediCare packets from the basket at the bottom. Kye shivered at the chill given off from each of the units, doing his best to ignore Glennon’s chatter until he asked him his important question. “And how are you and Julie? No? Well, this is just so polite of you!” He had started to take offence at this point, a tone of irritance seeping into his words. “Kye, let us talk.”
Exasperated, Kye spoke, sighing through his words. “Glennon, I’m sorry, but I’m not in the best of moods right now. I just need to get back to the workshop.” He pouted and nodded, resigned mainly to silence.
“I see. Very well, we will get you your top up. Do you need a bag?”
Kye nodded, leaning over the bench to talk more privately. “Listen, Glennon. Can you give me any E-Drine? I’ve been tasked with getting two vials.”
Glennon looked shocked, then confused, before he finally spoke. “No. We have none here. You know the hospital run-off only includes legal drugs. Ah, Elroy!” Elroy had closed the final vault, and walked his massive frame over to the bench, dropping the load with a heavy thud. Kye whirled around, as Elroy smiled once more, packing the purchases into a mesh rucksack. He spoke, having clearly overheard what Kye was talking about.
“You know, if you need E-Drine you can get it in the Sellers’ Market. Just have to go to Flea Corner.”
Kye picked up the bag and reached into his pocket to pull out some credit chips, questioning Elroy and Glennon as he passed them over. “Flea Corner? I haven’t heard of that?”
Elroy laughed, his face bumps and tattoos rippling. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Far too clean.”
Glennon laughed as Elroy teased Kye. He scowled again, dropping the credit chips into Glennon’s outstretched hand. He paused, before rolling his eyes again and asking, “Well, where is it then?”
Elroy tapped his temple, eyes glazing over before he looked to Kye once more. “Sent you a map. Follow it to the letter. Ask for Alfie, tell him I sent you. You got protection?”
Kye patted his side pocket where a handpistol was sitting snugly.
Glennon spoke, worried. “Do you really need to get E-Drine, Kye?”
Kye nodded as he turned to leave the tent, a sigh slipping through his lips.
“Who knows? Worth a try though, huh?”
Glennon nodded, tapping at his temple and speaking a final time before Kye left.
“Yes, I suppose. Stay safe. Do tell Douglass I asked after him.”
***
Kye arrived at the location given by Elroy: a twisted caricature of the Sellers’ Market – somehow darker, dirtier and more cram
ped. It had been a shorter walk than he had expected, but he was thirsty by the time he got there, and decided to look for another foodcart. He pushed past two burly gentlemen, muttering an apology as he moved out of their way, head cast towards the floor. A bootleg hospital, far too dirty to be sanitary, was advertised on his left, its red neon cross flickering feverishly. Nearing a busy corner, he noticed wisps of steam rising into the cold air, and made for what he assumed was a foodcart, only realising when he reached it that it was actually an illegal smelter and refurbished upgrade station. He stopped just shy of the storefront, watching as the scores of workers clad in protective gear moved around the tight areas, busying themselves with their various tasks: phosphorus fires burned, liquid silver metal poured, cooled casts hung from thin wires, coders physically plugged in and typed away. He walked on, to the far left side where a stream of customers were busy queuing and interacting with the vendor. Kye passed by the line, overhearing snippets of conversations about ‘the integrity of their eyepieces’. Kye stopped for a moment, debating buying a cheap ImitaSuit eye as a joke gift for Danny, but waved off the idea when he noticed the price listings, deciding that the only one who would get a laugh would be his regular loan shark. The moment he arrived at the actual foodcart (a little down the pathway) he was stared down by the bar’s patrons, chugging at their weak yellow flagons and throwing back both clear and orange shots. Doing his best to ignore them, he moved to the other side of the bar and raised his finger at the barman to indicate for a single shot. The barman spat into the sink, scratching at his rough stubble as he turned to grab a streaky glass from the shelving behind him. Grabbing an equally streaky bottle, he forcefully cracked the lid off, breaking and subsequently short-circuiting the self-coolant seal on the CAAF vodka he had chosen. Serving Kye a lukewarm drink brought some snickers from the bar, but he handed over a credit chip, dropping a second as he spoke, walking away from the bar.
“Second is for the glass.” He didn’t bother to wait for their reactions, throwing back a mouthful of the foul liquid as he moved closer to the edge of the market. As per Elroy’s instructions, he was moving through quickly, looking out for the red fabric tent, which he knew was in the outskirts thanks to the GPS map he had also provided. He kept his spare hand in his pocket, loosely wrapped around the handpistol.
The ferocity of invasive adverts had increased as he had passed the threshold into Flea Corner, and his blocker seemed to be working overtime. Nevertheless, he was still forced to manually tap away some of the more attention-seeking ones, his eyes drifting out of focus as he concentrated on the time-consuming task. Kye ended up too distracted to notice the physical advertisement he walked into, stopping his blocking spree short as the man placed a smooth hand on his chest.
“Why, young sir! You should look where you’re going!” he spoke, the words falling out of his mouth effortlessly.
Kye gripped his pistol, looking up and apologising as he tried to move to the side, “Sorry. I’ll just get out of your–”
The man’s smooth voice interrupted him, wheeling an arm around his side and spinning him to face the store front. “Nonsense! You shall come in with me.”
Kye shrugged him off, waving his glass around and uttering excuses, “No, that’s okay. I’m not looking to buy today–”
The man cut him off again, still pushing ahead with a smile and smooth voice. “We are in the Sellers’ Market, and you are not here to buy? This is unbelievable!”
Kye started to speak again, the grain drink in his hand taking effect. “No, listen, I’m–” The man pushed on his arm, leading him into the store as he spoke.
“Interested more in these digital worlds than the real one.”
Kye spluttered, as the man gave him what he thought was a knowing look and nodded. “This is no problem. We see ones like you all the time, why do you think you walked into us? Let me hand you over to my lovely assistant, here.” Kye’s arm was passed to a woman waiting in the shop, who brought him to the chair in the centre of the room. He sat down, placing his glass on the small table next to him and trying to shake his head clear. He sat up a little, speaking as he did so.
“Wait, wait. What do you guys sell here? And how do you have my personal information?”
The woman placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back against the cushioned chair as a light beamed on over him. She shook her head slightly, speaking quickly in a reassuring voice. “Oh, honey. We don’t take any personal information.” She bent over further, flashing her cleavage in his face. “But you can get mine if you want.”
He pushed her back, persisting with the questions as he scrambled to sit up properly in his seat. “What do you sell here?”
She smiled, bit her bottom lip, then looked him in the eyes and answered him. “I’m surprised you didn’t get any of our adverts. We sell hacked PseduoReality consoles. Modded right from the market for user input and necessity.”
Kye stopped, his face going stern as she nodded. He stuttered, “Modded, like… what?”
“Modded like seamless integration with the real world – retinal overlay on existing people and items. Nothing like the boring company-friendly design, we mean to offer the full user package. The unabridged experience. How does that sound to you? Look...” She ran a hand across his thigh, as the man behind slipped something out of a clear plastic box. A shortwave connection request popped up, and instantly the woman in front of him changed, a digital overlay glossing over her face and body. She looked like an entirely different woman, though she was clearly now wearing more revealing clothing. “Interested?” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, and he stood, pushing her out of his way and knocking over the chair in the process. This fell into the table, dropping his glass to the floor with a resounding crack, spilling what was left of his drink across the filthy surface. The woman yelped as she stumbled back, and the man stopped what he was doing, interjecting:
“We offer violence packages too, sir! Anything you like! The ability to replicate loved ones!”
Kye moved out through the shop, swiftly moving past the frozen man, answering their question as he did so. “Not at all. Thank you, but goodbye.” His feet tingled as he walked, the image of sand returning below them, whilst his head was starting to go light again, that incessant viola music working its way back into his brain. He tried to shake it, walking back towards the far end of the market, as the shapes and figures blurred around him. His arm was whirring to his side, reforming smooth and rigid, jagged spikes rising intermittently out of the purple glow, slicing through his sleeve without care for feeling. He spat to the floor, feeling an acrid taste in his mouth he wanted to get rid of.
“Oi, watch it!” A man, whose shoes were now wet with Kye’s spit, grabbed him by his collar and spun him around. Kye wasted no time, and grabbed him back, purple arm flashing bright for a moment as he retaliated. Shoving the man off him, he turned and walked on, spitting in his general direction, as he made his way onwards. “Just watch where you’re going, freak.” Kye slapped at the side of his head, as though it would help dullen the aching pain throbbing in his temple. Passing by more alcoholic-centred foodcarts, a stinking tobacco den, and a brightly lit brothel, Kye finally noticed the red tent up ahead. It wasn’t a wide tent, or high at all, leaving it to be almost inconspicuous in the sea of various vividly coloured and advertised businesses. He was tipped off that it was the right place, only by the swarm of tattooed and body-modified individuals idly waiting around the outside, smoking or drinking in a tragic attempt to stave off the cold of the dark area. He cautiously moved forward, his head still pounding as hard as his heart now was. Low growls came from those around, raising in volume as he got closer to the tent entrance; Kye gripped his weapon harder, fingering the trigger lightly in preparation for a fight to break out. He reached the entrance, and was stopped with another inked hand on his chest, and some stern words.
“You know where you are?” Kye tried to walk forward, but was pushed back further. “I asked if you know
where you are, mate. Sellers’ Market is back that way.”
Kye clenched his teeth and answered. “Look, Elroy sent me here, alright? Let me through.”
Begrudgingly, the strong man moved his hand back down to his side, waving him inside. Kye stared them down as he passed by, keeping one hand in his pocket and the other massaging the top of his head. Entering the room, he was hit with a pungent smell and a sticky atmosphere, and he knew he didn’t want to stay here long.
“How can we help you, friend of Elroy?” Sat at an ornate wooden desk, tapping his manicured fingers on the table, was Alfie. He leant back after asking his question, straightening the lapels on his black, crisp suit, and adjusting his cufflinks so they shined towards Kye; his ginger curled hair bounced as he nodded to both his sides, subduing the tattooed guards that were stood with their weapons up and trained towards him. He waved a smooth hand, embellished with intricate and expensive jewellery, to the seat in front of him, which Kye took before speaking, hands still firmly in his pockets.
“I want E-Drine. Two vials. I can pay you credit chips. No, thank you.” He declined Alfie’s silent offer of a drink, and leaned back into his chair, equally confident as a result of his anger. Alfie stroked his beard, eyes glazing over as he ran through a list of their internal stock. The guards bristled a little as he was left vulnerable, but Kye stayed still and gave them no cause to be startled.