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    Chromed: Meltdown: Future Forfeit City Stories, #3
    Chromed: Meltdown: Future Forfeit City Stories, #3
    Chromed: Meltdown: Future Forfeit City Stories, #3
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    Chromed: Meltdown: Future Forfeit City Stories, #3

    By Richard Parry

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    About this ebook

    It's 2150AD. Metatech enforcer Mike Takahashi's vacation is off to a bad start.
    When Mike wakes on a slab, a bone saw a handspan from his arm, it's all the confirmation he needs that someone is harvesting Metatech operatives for spare parts. Naked and weaponless isn't the best way to start a break-out of a top-secret research facility, but Mike feels he has the right incentives to get the job done.
    Cut off from company support and hopelessly outgunned, Mike needs to escape. His 'adventure holiday' turns terrifying as Amsterdam's nuclear reactor shakes the city. If it explodes and triggers an earthquake, millions will perish.
    Mike must flee Amsterdam or die.
    Megacorps. Cyborgs. AI. Gene-spliced monsters. Syndicate enforcers. Off-grid illegals. Supersoldiers. Rock music. Violence. Einstein-Rosen bridges. Liquor. Enhanced reflexes. Power armor and energy weapons. Full body replacements. Swearing. Mind control. Telekenetics. G-Men. Drugs. Neural links. Orbital cannons. THIS IS CYBERPUNK.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMondegreen
    Release dateNov 12, 2018
    ISBN9780995114821
    Chromed: Meltdown: Future Forfeit City Stories, #3

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      Book preview

      Chromed - Richard Parry

      Chromed: Meltdown

      Chromed: Meltdown

      A Cyberpunk Contingency Story

      Richard Parry

      Mondegreen

      Contents

      Stay Primed

      Bodyshopping

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      About the Author

      Also by Richard Parry

      Glossary

      Acknowledgments

      EXCERPT: TYCHE’S FLIGHT

      An Easy Mark

      Chapter One

      CHROMED: MELTDOWN copyright © 2018 Richard Parry.

      Cover design copyright © 2020 Mondegreen.

      All rights reserved.

      ISBN-13: 978-0-9951148-2-1

      First edition.

      Future Forfeit Reading Order

      No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Piracy, much as it sounds like a cool thing done at sea with a lot of, Me hearties! commentary, is a dick move. It gives nothing back to the people who made this book, so don’t do it. Support original works: purchase only authorized editions.

      While we’re here, what you’re holding is a work of fiction created by a professional liar. It is not done in an edgy documentary style with recovered footage. Pretty much everything in here was made up by the author so you could enjoy a story about the world being saved through action scenes and witty dialog. No people were used as templates, serial numbers filed off for anonymity. Any resemblance to humans you know (alive) or have known (dead) is coincidental.

      Published by Mondegreen, New Zealand.

      Stay Primed

      Get updates from Richard Parry:

      https://www.mondegreen.co/get-on-the-list/

      You can find out more about him at:

      mondegreen.co

      For Alan, Captain McDonald, and the crew of the good ship Mercenary.

      Bodyshopping

      T esting new weapons for the syndicate makes me uncomfortable. Mike squinted at the sky, the clouds raked by Seattle’s night lights. Hues of indigo, hot pink, and pure white vied with the dour glare of a storm waiting to ruin his Brioni. I hate missions in the rain, too.

      You’re a manbaby. Sam’s voice wasn’t even a little conciliatory, the link hissing in agreement. Are you likely to shoot someone tonight?

      Mike lowered his eyes to the alley. The lights were out. His optics zoomed, showing all bulbs smashed, broken glass mouths like a dentist’s horror show. Not that there were a heaping helping of lamps. This raises alley standards all the way to eleven. The darkness didn’t bother Mike. They were old friends. What bothered him was the four bodies riveted to the wall by a big metal loading dock at the end. They hadn’t been there long enough to rot, but not recently enough to still leak red. Mike expected to see automated defenses along the alley walls, but these assholes didn’t need ‘em. Maybe having four dead guys nailed to your wall is enough of a warning sign. I figure it’s almost a hundred percent likely.

      And Metatech’s offered you a brand-new toy, right?

      Mike sighed, staring at the alley puddles. They’d ruin his A. Testonis. You should have gone for the armor and boots, Takahashi, but instead here you are wearing Italian leather shoes and a wool suit made from gene-spliced sheep a hundred years extinct. Your priorities are all mixed up. It’s so brand-new, it doesn’t have a name.

      You get to set the records, Mike. He could imagine Sam’s smile — quirked lips, like she knew things he couldn’t ken — and raised eyebrow both. Show the R&D wonks how their weapon performs.

      I’ll also be the guy with, ‘Gun misfired on routine mission,’ as his eternal epitaph. Nothing for it, Takahashi. Get in there. Mike walked into the alley, soft soled Testonis holding their peace as he padded in. The city noise waited behind, fading out as tall building walls loomed above like judgmental parents.

      Hardly routine, Mike. The trail ends here. The trail, I’ll remind you, full of lost Metatech enforcers like you. Sam’s tone turned serious for a moment. Try not to fuck it up and die, okay?

      Your concern is touching.

      My bonus is linked to your performance.

      Your concern is also self-serving. Mike grinned even though she couldn’t see it. Sam saw everything through his eyes, so unless he passed a mirror she’d never know. I like the transparency in our talks.

      It doesn’t matter either way. I’ve got a pool running, Mike. If you win, Metatech pays the bonus. You lose, and Ruben in Investments will cry while I’m drinking free for the rest of the month.

      What are my odds?

      You're running a modest three to one, but I’m thinking of pushing it up to five to one because your damn sidearm is still in its holster.

      Mike made the loading dock’s base. He stared at the four dead people nailed to the wall. Two of their faces were whittled to the bone. Looked like an industrial accident with a metal polisher, not solvents. The others had serene expressions, like they might have died in their sleep.

      Eh. Could have gone down that way. The Green Mammoth Salvation were professional in how they dealt with their enemies. The assholes at the top of the gang wouldn’t blink at holding your face to a belt sander, but they also believed in efficiency. It’s why Metatech figured them for selling black-market bionics from the syndicate. Cheaper and easier to find a company asset, strip-mine ‘em for parts, and sell the leftover meat to an organ bank. The two sleepers on the wall didn’t look harvested, though.

      They looked dead.

      I don’t need my gun. There’s no one here. Mike padded up the steps beside the loading doors, careful to not touch anything. He had no fear of leaving fingerprints. The police were bought and paid for. This was plain ol’ concern for his dry-cleaning bill. I’ll knock, no one will answer, and we’ll head into the city for a night of partying. A panel next to the door sported red, sullen, uncompromising lights, the kind that said no way you’re getting in here. He reached for it anyway.

      Is that why you’re all dressed up?

      Mike’s hand paused, a span from the panel. I’m not dressed up.

      You’re wearing a wool suit worth more than a year’s wages and shoes made of illegal leather. Sam sounded smug.

      Sam, have you been in my apartment?

      No, I’ve been through your credit receipts. For the cost of your silk tie alone, you could—

      My receipts?

      Yeah. I worked out my entire year’s clothing bill is less than your damn tie.

      Mike pressed the door panel. It didn’t make a noise. The lights stayed red. But it’s a good-looking tie.

      Want me to get the door?

      If you wouldn’t mind.

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