by wade coleman
I go back to the sink and look closely at my face in the vanity mirror. My eyes are puffy and black and blue. Two stitches on my right cheek. But my bottom teeth are perfect. Compared to my top teeth, they look ridiculous in my mouth.
I open the door, and the robot hands me a toothbrush and paste.
“How did you know?”
“How could I not know?” the young woman’s face on the screen replies. “You’re not the first person to get a new jaw.”
I close the door. And for the first time since high school, I brush and floss.
When I finish up, I walk back into the hall and smell cooked algae cakes. A dozen motorized trays with stainless steel covers over the top come down the hallway. They go into the rooms.
When the hall clears, I go back to my bed, and a tray is waiting for me. An arm comes up and lifts the lid and places it on a shelf below. “Do you need me to feed you?” says a speaker from the tray.
“I’m good.” I survey the food. Algae shake, algae meat patties and hash browns - real potatoes.
I grab the shake and eat the hash browns.
“You may want to slow down,” the tray says. “You haven’t had solid food in three days.”
“The shake has a real banana in it,” I reply and suck so hard my ears pop. I leave the fake meat but finish everything else, even the fake pudding in a cup.
“I’ll inform the doctor you have an appetite,” the tray says and then leaves.
I pull my curtain closed and check my phone that’s sitting on the nightstand. One message from Harry292.
“Dude, are you dead?”
I text back. “I’m good. – A177”
A few minutes later the phone beeps.
“Sorry -H292”
That’s what I like about Harry292; he’s a moron.
Since I lost my crew almost two years ago, I’ve been looking to hook-up with a new one. Men automatically mistrust single males. They think you must have done something wrong to get kicked out of your old crew. When I tell them, my old gang OD’d on Flash, they look at me and ask, “Why didn’t you die with them?”
I tell them I don’t do meth and they look at me like I’ve grown two heads. Finding a crew that doesn’t do meth is like finding a job.
Harry hangs out at a local bar. He runs with four other men. They’re all big into drinking. So is my liver. It was genetically enhanced to handle the effects of alcohol and other toxins.
Harry’s sorry I’m alive. That means Harry and his crew placed a bet I was dead. If I show up anywhere near my local watering hole, they’ll cut me into pieces and stuff me down a manhole.
If I go anywhere near my flat, someone will send them a text. Then Harry’s crew will come to my home.
Technically, first-degree murder is a crime. But all wastemen are drones. After Harry’s crew beats me to death, the robocops will check the video logs and find them.
The ops will round them up. They’ll be held without bail until their trial. Six months later, Harry’s crew will be found guilty and sentenced to time served and then released. The maximum sentence for killing a citizen D is seven years.
A man in a white coat sweeps back the curtain. I put away my phone.
He pulls up a stool and sits down. “Good news. You’re jaw and teeth are all above factory spec.”
I rub my jaw and ask, “What did you do?”
“I injected nanite paste that’s a lot like tiny Legos. They form into machinery that chops up your bone, and then they make tiny tubes that excrete the old bone through your skin. While the nanites spit out your old bone, others replace it. In less than an hour, you have a new jaw.”
“I thought bone augmentation was illegal.”
“No, it’s not. It’s illegal to replace your bone with dense and hard substances.”
He uses the camera on his tablet computer to take a picture of me. “The new bone can be stronger than the original material, but it has to be the same density and the sponginess of bone. You can’t replace your hand bones with titanium and go around punching people.”
“Damn.”
He smiles. “Standard nanite bone paste costs a credit for a cubic centimeter and has ten times the strength of normal bone. We use synth bone by the gallon around here. It’s a sure cure for arthritis and bone cancer.”
The gears turn in my head. “How many cubic centimeters are in a human skeleton?”
He looks at his tablet. “Yours is 15,347 cubic centimeters. But before you go where I think you’re going, bone replacement is extremely painful. You see, bone is laced through and through with blood vessels and nerves.”
“To undergo the procedure,” the doctor continues, “you need to be under a general anesthetic. That’s why you had a breathing tube. You have to stay still. No moving.”
I smile, nod and the gears keep turning. Fifteen thousand is the material cost of a new skeleton. And as for pain, nobody can hold their hand under a lighter longer than I can. That’s another of my superpowers: pain tolerance and stealth balls.
That reminds me. I reach under the covers and check in with the boys: hanging low and lazy.
He looks up from his tablet. “You’re good to go.”
“How about after lunch? I was looking forward to a real banana shake.”
“Roger that, “The doctor says. “I’ll have your clothes delivered within an hour.”
He walks out and closes the curtain behind him. I get out my phone and check the time: 10:10 AM. Two hours to figure out a master plan that will keep me alive.
It’s not like I can leave town. Class D citizens are assigned a city and flat. And there you stay. You get caught out of bounds after curfew, and the cops will find you. Hopefully, by the robocops, the human cops are mean.
Human cops are C citizens. That’s D citizens with jobs and no curfew. Most cops play rough.
I have to be back in D District by sunset. Once inside, I can hang out in bars that never close. But I’ll run out of money, and they’ll kick me out. I can hide for a while, but eventually, I’ll get picked up by a robot patrol to escort me to my flat.
Then someone will text Harry’s crew, and they’ll visit me.
I need a place where I have room to move. Harry’s crew are big drinkers and got big guts. They can’t run worth shit and get around in Segways.
The Gov closed Stratford Depot Station for some native frog. The water and power are shut off, but people hang out there anyway.
Stratford Station is neutral ground. Harry and his crew won’t have their friends to help them out. So instead of its being thirty to one against, it’s only five to one. I just need to figure out how to get their fat asses off a barstool to follow me.
CHAPTER 3
I finish my extra thick banana shake and eat the last of the fries.
“Why don’t you eat your meat?” the tray asks.
“If you’ve ever eaten meat or seen meat, you know it’s not green. These patties are compressed algae cakes.”
“According to the dictionary,” the tray says, “those patties are meat.”
“Then the dictionary can eat them.”
The tray erupts with canned laughter followed by applause.
“Are you laughing or being sarcastic?”
“What is it with you humans that something has to be one thing or another?”
I try to think up something smart to say, but I’m distracted by almost certain death. I finish lunch and hop off the bed. I’m ready to go. I just need to put on my low top boots.
While I tie them, the tray leaves. All I have is my phone and the clothes on my back.
I have figured out a plan to take out Harry-292 and his crew. A lot of people let themselves go when they’re on an allotment. Beer has lots of calories, so drinkers get fat. Meth heads don’t eat and get thin.
I used to go to the gym with my crew but now I just… I don’t know; I’ve been drifting for a few years now. I lost interest in people. I think that’s why I can’t find a new crew.
>
Nothing like the threat of being beaten to death to get you interested in life again.
I leave the ward and walk down the hall to the pay station. The hospital charged me twenty credits for toilet items. Otherwise, my three days at the Royal London Hospital was free.
I go down the steps and merge with the foot traffic. In a few blocks, an electric trolley passes and I hop on.
The buildings are all four-story brick. It feels open and airy. D-block is all forty story high rises. You never see the sun. Life is one long night.
I shake my head and dispel my thoughts. I have to get my head in the game.
Harry’s crew are drinkers that got fat. They couldn’t chase me around the block. That’s why I know they’ll wait for me to come home and trap me inside so I can’t run away.
I have to think up a reason to get their asses off a barstool and chase me twenty blocks to Stratford Depot.
I get off the trolley close to my favorite bar, Last Stop. I find a place to rent a Segway and get a large coffee to go. I lean against a pole and drink. The key to the whole plan requires a full bladder.
Ilford District is a sold mass high-rise apartments for class Ds. A hundred thousand people live in one square mile. It’s a shit hole, but it’s home.
After I finish my coffee and it works its way into my bladder, I hop on my rented Segway and drive the few blocks to the Last Stop Bar.
I pull up to the Segway parking lot and find Harry’s Segway. I piss on the camera mounted to the front. Then I piss on the rest of them.
Before I finish, I hear the door open behind me. “Fuck you, you fucking fuck fuck!” Harry yells.
He’s already out of breath, so I leisurely get back on my Segway and drive away slowly.
Once the five-man crew catches up to me, I accelerate to full speed, 20 kilometers per hour.
“On that rental, you’ll run out of battery before we do!” Harry yells from behind.
“Not with that wide load you’re carrying,” I yell back.
There are so many fat people in London that they have their own Segway lane. Their machines is better than mine. But the computer program built inside won’t let you exceed the speed limit or get too close to another vehicle. So the five fat asses follow a few meters behind.
Segways are cheap. Class C and B citizens spend their money on clothes and toys. Around here we call them the “Beautiful People.” A new model of anything and the Beautiful People get it. You can pick up a good stereo, TV, camera or other gadgets cheap in second-hand stores. They’re like bars; there’s one on every block.
I weave in and around the other drivers. I think the lightest guy on Harry’s crew is three hundred pounds. My skinny ass is a light load going up hills. I slow down so the fat asses can keep up.
I lost a lot of weight when I cut down on the drinking. After a few years of watching TV and getting drunk, I was bored. A while back I decided I needed a new crew. That was six months ago, I think. The last few years are a blur drinking and binge-watching TV.
I make a left and head into Stratford Station. I zip around to the Segway parking and get off.
The fat boys pull up as I walk towards the main entrance.
Pilled in the street and Barricades and No Trespassing signs. People walk around them and into the station.
Festive music is playing in the distance.
I spot Harry’s crew, and they see me. They’re grinning and showing their teeth. Man, are they mad! Zane1 from said that was my best super-power, pissing people off.
I walk past booths set up in the railyard. They pulled out the tracks when they moved the trains. Now the railyard is a dirt road with booths set up on each side. Tattoo parlors, fortune tellers, video game arcades and there’s always a reality TV booth. Some guy with a camera and a YouTube channel is looking to make it big.
I’ve watched a lot of TV, sometimes up to eight channels at a time. I spot a banner; Reality Show Sign Up Here.
I walk over to where the arrow and I look up at a man with cyber eyes. You can tell by the perfect whites of his eyes; they have no blood vessels. I notice little things like that.
“What’s your angle?” Cyber-eyes asks.
“You see that wall of fat coming this way? They want to kill me.”
He shrugs. “Is that it?”
“I pissed on their rides with this,” and show him my tool.
“Are you willing to work naked?”
“Yeah, if it’s important for the plot development.”
“Save the smart mouth for the crowd,” he says and shows me his phone.
I don’t bother to read the waiver since Harry’s gang is slowly closing in on me. I put my thumb in the red box and the phone beeps.
“Go inside the station, the first bathroom on the right is hair and make-up,” Cyber-eyes says.
I walk into the station. The first bathroom on the right is a women’s room. I go inside, and a man in a red wig and lipstick asks, “You Adam?”
“Yeah.”
“You ready for your seven minutes of fame?” he asks.
“I thought it was fifteen minutes.”
“People get bored and channel surf, so give the audience a jolt the beginning to get their attention. Then halfway through, shock them again. Do you think you can do that?”
I take off my pants and underwear.
“Jesus,” Red-wig says, “do you fucking pass out from lack of blood when you get a hard-on?” He doesn’t wait for my answer and continues. “Okay, so you got the audience’s attention. That means you got thirty seconds to do something shocking or they move to the next video.”
Red-wig phone rings and he answers.
“He’s here… I’m looking at it right now.” He chuckles. “No. No. He hasn’t asked.” He chuckles again. “You’re pure evil,” he says and puts away his phone.
“Alright, your friends signed the releases. You know it’s five against one?”
I shrug and take off my shirt. “It’s the best odds I’m gonna get.”
Red-wig hands me a robe, and I put it on. He puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me out the door. “Inside the surprise box is robot scorpions. Do you know what they are?”
“Yeah, best to keep moving.”
“I’ll make sure they’re slow coming out of the box,” he says. “If you move fast, you can pick them up and throw them.” He hands me a robe. “But you got to move the second the box opens.”
“What’s my cut?”
“Fifteen percent,” he says and leads me out of the bathroom. “So whenever possible, you shake your money maker,” He says and pats my ass.
We go down the hall to a ring made of velvet ropes. Red-wig stands in my corner and whispers in my ear. “The scorpion sting is filled with fish paralyzer. They like feet. First, you go numb and then your foot is dead weight.”
Cyber-eyes steps into the ring and speaks to the gathering crowd.
“Ladies and gentleman, in today’s edition of Bare Naked Justice, these poor men crave justice.” He points to the five fat men wearing pink robes and fuzzy slippers.
The ring is velvet ropes strung into a big square. Those fat fuckers would need a ramp to get into a boxing ring. Cyber-eyes unclips the velvet rope, and the men step into the ring.
People chuckle at their pink robes and slippers.
Cyber-eyes walks over to my side of the ring. “This man is a terrible, terrible man.” He unclips the rope, and I step through wearing a black robe. I smile for the growing audience.
“This man before you… I don’t know how to say this, but… He has taken advantage of these poor men.” Cyber-eyes nods in my direction.
I take off my robe and turn to the crowd. I twist my hips back and forth, and my dick slaps my ass.
The audience howls with laughter, the men in pink robes clinch their fists.
Cyber-eyes walks over to them and says, “You know the rules of Bare Naked Justice? You got to be bare naked.”
Harry’s crew take off th
eir robes while two men put a metal box in the center of the ring.
“Last man standing wins,” Cyber-eyes says. “To make it a little more interesting, we added a twist.”
“Here comes the pain!” someone from the sideline yells.
The fat guys stare at me with clenched fists.
Cyber-eyes walks over to the metal box the size of a footlocker. “And now it’s time for justice.” And he opens the box.
I run over and come to a quick stop. I look inside and grab a metal looking scorpion by the tail and flip it towards the closest fat man. I get three more out before the scorpions start climbing the foam insulation lining the box.
I grab the last one by the tail and hold tight.
The scorpion bites my hand.
I ignore the pain and grasp the metal monster tighter. While a fat guy dodges a scorpion, he turns his back to me. I run up and stab him in the place with least fat, his spine.
He squeals.
I squeeze the scorpion’s tail.
“Ouu…” Cyber-eyes says. “That’s three to five injections in one spot.” He chuckles, and the audience joins in.
Fat-guy turns around and swings.
I duck, and he hits the top of my head. His knuckles pop, and I smile.
Fat-guy holds his back with one hand and says, “I’m going to fuck your shit.”
I reply with one of my go-to phrases. “I’m going to shit in your mouth.”
He takes a step forward, and the fish paralyzer kicks in. The muscles in his back relax involuntarily, and he falls forward.
He catches himself by his hands and sits there on all fours. The other four guys are dodging scorpions, so I swing my hips back and forth and slap his face with my dick.
The audience howls their approval.
He tries to grab my cock, so I kick him in the nose.
Then a scorpion zeroes in on me and I get moving.
Harry makes a rookie mistake and tries to stomp on the scorpion. The stinger piercers deep into the arch of his foot and he falls hard.
“Ladies and gentlemen or however you may self-identify,” Cyber-eyes says, “I can tell you from experience that hurts.”
While he’s trying to get up, another scorpion stings the other ankle. They’re programmed to work together.