neuro-slicers

[neuro-slicers]

AS ABOVE,SO BELOW

A Short Story By Daniel Elms

She walked the point of incidence between two parallel worlds. Adrift in an infinite wash of electric blue, only the smell of ammonia and petrichor suggested her footing was earthly. The rain-washed street reflected illuminated, composite signage that had no perceptible end — fractal, electronic life. As her portrait receded into the urban cosmos, an iridescent, freestanding door in the centre of the street framed her silhouette and split the parallel worlds in two, parting the waves of the faceless shadows that marred her path. She approached the door, with no outward act of devotion to witness, and the door, heeding her wordless prayer, opened.

Jun Almeida awoke from a premonition upon the backseat of her patrol car. She wretched and vomited, directing the bulk of the brown matter, with honed accuracy, to an awaiting sickness bag; she held her head in her hands.

“Fuck.” her voice was thick with mucus and matter, “Fucking ramen.”

She used a napkin to wipe away an acidic spatter that had caught her trousers and discarded it among the empty take-out packaging that lay strewn across the car’s workstation. The sight of the leftover food caused an influx of nausea — the deep, dull nausea that came from using neurostimulants. She unclasped a latch upon a half-moon pendant that hung around her neck and revealed a recessed compartment. Its felt lining was stained with chalk-like dust; a chrome divider partitioned its near-depleted contents by colour: pink and blue pills. Jun took a blue pill, a chromatography baffle — “Chroma”, and swallowed it with the dregs from a water bottle. The pill’s sugary film dissolved and scolded Jun’s vomit-burnt throat. She paused for a moment, allowing the Chroma to work its way through her system — a near-instant process due to the pill’s latent nanotechnology. Jun had become attuned to the bodily sensations that occurred when the Chroma had begun to obfuscate the chemical content of her body and so put her palm to an embossed square of strengthened, black glass, which was recessed within the car’s interior. After a brief whirring of internal mechanisms, the cabin filled with the piercing, blue-light of monitors and projection overlays, their outdated appearance a hallmark of the 22nd Municipality’s police force.

A request from Dispatch flashed on the left-most screen with a synchronised and incessant tone. Before Jun was able to dismiss the request, the car’s Navigator accepted the callout and accelerated, with an almost-inaudible charge, towards the incident.

“Navigator, what the fuck?”

The Navigator responded with a single pitch that denoted a failure to comprehend the question. Jun checked the monitors for an explanation and then recalled that her Blackbox was still connected to the terminal: “For fuck’s sake!”

Jun tore the Blackbox from the terminal and stopped herself from throwing it across the cabin. To cancel the request from Dispatch would be to open an investigation by the Gazettes into Jun’s conduct that evening and there would be enough trace of neurostimulants in the patrol car to warrant avoiding that outcome, even a minor investigation would be enough to undo the work of the Chroma. She sat back and wiped the fatigue from her eyes as the car sped towards the incident: officer in need of assistance.

The reflection of her car’s oscillating blue and red lights greeted Jun as she alighted at the Northern end of Corbyn Street — thoroughfare of the Gonzo pleasure district. 

She covered herself from the rain with her jacket’s hood and proceeded towards the officer that had requested backup, making a turn at the end of the road on to a narrow alley that was hemmed in between two Skytowers; the towers stretched towards the heavens and beyond the line of sight, an optical illusion created, in part, by the incomprehensible mass of projections that overlaid one another and vied for attention. Disparate vendors, which sold erotica enhancers on the shelves and black-market goods behind the counters, lined the alleyway, all of which were controlled by a few Slavic syndicates that had partitioned the area into three respective territories, the boundaries of which were maintained by a fraught ceasefire. In part, the alliance was bound to an unspoken deal between the police and the syndicates in which an absence of police raids and prosecution was exchanged for an area of containment and an end to the violence between gangs. Jun made her way through the network of connecting streets and walkways, deeper into the web of the black market. She heard raised voices ahead of her.

Constable Longhu, one of Jun’s subordinates from a neighboring district, had his sidearm pointed at a woman who knelt upon the ground with her hands behind her head. Unusually, he held the weapon with a single hand and his right arm hung lifelessly by his side. Surrounding Longhu, with a collection of pistols and gauss rifles trained on him, were three syndicate members. Their voices were raised — a combination of Bulgarian and broken English — as was Longhu’s, who’s lack of linguistic skill only heightened the tension. 

Momentarily, Jun’s awareness of the situation faded as she looked upon the woman kneeling on the ground. She wore flowing, iridescent robes that were stained with the dirt and rain and reflected the gaudy, red facades of the surrounding brothels and clubs; her image clouded Jun’s instincts with an overwhelming sensation of déjà vu — the stimulant-induced dream had been broken. The woman’s face differed from that which Jun had dreamt, but her aura was the same: she made the air crackle with latent, otherworldly energy. The woman watched Jun with an impassive expression. Jun lingered for a moment before she broke eye contact and approached the standoff, slowly, with her hands raised, “Constable Longhu.”

The syndicate members shifted uneasily on the spot; Longhu didn’t turn from the woman on the ground. One of the gang members made a clicking sound with his tongue and the other members, keeping their weapons trained on Longhu, calmed. 

Jun was known to some in the area ever since she had traded police favors with some of the local Slavs in exchange for black-market goods — usually Chroma. 

Jun stopped her approach, but kept her hands raised. “Almeida?” Longhu asked, over his shoulder. “Who else?” “How…I didn’t call for backup.” “Well, you’ve got it anyway.” “The bitch broke my arm.” “I can see that. But you know what the deal is around here.” “Are you fucking serious?” “Yes, I am fucking serious. As are the three ‘gentlemen’ surrounding you.” “You can’t expect-“ “I expect you, Constable, to follow a direct order and holster your fucking weapon.”

Longhu paused. In his peripheral vision he saw one of the syndicate members adjust his rifle grip. Jun has also observed the adjustment, “Slowly, Longhu.”

The constable holstered his weapon and the syndicate members lowered theirs accordingly. The gang member who’d recognized Jun glared as he holstered his pistol and spat on the ground, “Fucking hooks.” Jun let the insult slide and watched the man return to the entrance of a nearby brothel before she turned her attention to Longhu. “This is the top of the fucking list, Constable. Pride of place amongst Longhu’s ever-expanding menagerie of living fuck ups.” “I-“ “I don’t give a shit. You do not fuck with the terms of the Treaty. Even rimming the Gazettes won’t get you out of that clusterfuck.”

Longhu let a flash of aggression pass over him. It didn’t go unnoticed by Jun, who exhaled audibly and allowed the tension to diffuse through her. 

Longhu calmed and reflected on the turn of events, “What are you doing here, Almeida?” “Inspector.” “Okay: Inspector. Why are you here? I didn’t request backup.” “Someone did. Lucky for your pasty ass.”

Unobserved by Jun, Longhu activated the HUD of his retinal implants and scrolled through the intranet log from Dispatch to see who requested the backup. There was no record of the request.

The Navigator had already been traveling for five minutes when the patrol car’s monitors indicated that no search results had been returned. Jun swiveled her chair away from the terminal and observed the woman through the reinforced screen that divided the cabin and the lockup. Jun took a moment to steel herself and dampen the conflict that was growing inside her. The woman opened her eyes at the sound of the one-way glass flickering into a transparent state and the two sat facing each other.

Jun, who considered herself to be a natural physiognomist, observed the woman closely, searching for any outward indication of her intent; anything that might confirm Jun’s growing suspicion that this woman was more than what she seemed; that some other force was at play and that she had stumbled into its thermal. Evidently, even Xanctuary’s conditioning wasn’t beyond Jun’s read, as she interpreted the subtlest of changes pass over the woman’s countenance.

“Something funny?”

“There are more bountiful paths to Walk that do not stray from Her light, Jun Almeida.”

The woman motioned through the glass to the rear of the cabin: the unkempt space, the fast food, the sealed sickness bag; the Blackbox. Discretely, Jun felt around her belt and rested her hand upon her badge, tracing the embossed print of her name.

“There are better ways to avoid being seen.” Jun replied. “It was self defense.” the woman’s words carried no fear or anger; it was as if she were reciting a text learnt by rote.

“That’s going to be your word against his. He’s an officer of the law, whose arm you broke, and you’re no one.” Jun pulled a small monitor towards her and turned the empty screen towards the woman, “You’ve got no retinals, no facial scans, no pheromone match; nothing.”

The woman remained impassive.

“Do you know what happens to people without ID that get time? They go missing. Moved from one correctional facility to another. A court date that is pushed back every time it comes close because some clerk thinks you’re a fuck up on the system. Maybe an officer slipped the clerk some credits just to fuck with you. And with every new facility a new proliferation of dicks — literally and figuratively — who have spent their time just waiting for one of you pious, religious types to show up. Not being able to sit down and chew your own food is going to be the least of your fucking problems.”

“The church does not condone unsupervised relations.” Jun wiped at her nostrils to cover a smirk that threatened to break her character. “Look, if you don’t want to do time, you’re going to have to start talking to me and you’re going to have to start by telling me who the fuck you are.”

“You may stop now, Jun Almeida. I know the true purpose of your questions.” “You know fuck all. You broke-” “Cease.” the woman’s interjection plunged the cabin into darkness and the engine’s motors came to a halt; only the passive sound of the car’s momentum could be heard against the road. The punctuation lasted but a moment. The engine restarted, the car accelerated and the cabin was filled once again with the glow from its terminal.

“There is a path before us that must be walked together. But those who would undermine Her word are advancing and would see to it that the lamp that guides our feet is extinguished. I see the conflict inside you, Jun Almeida: duty and motherhood.”

Motherhood. The old fear advanced through Jun. Not fear of the words spoken, or the passing darkness — the trick of a concealed interferer —but fear of hope and the remembrance of pain inflicted by it. Throughout all her years of searching, this was the closest that Jun had come to any member of the church. She knew that it could be Xanctuary’s profiling: the Blackbox, the neurostimulants — their implication; the Barnum phrases that triggered responses in those who longed for something beyond; something more. But, despite Jun’s reasoning, it was her want to believe that blew upon the dying ember of her hope. If this woman was from the innermost circles of the church, if she was a True Believer, she could indeed find the answers to Jun’s questions; she could be Jun’s salvation.

“I want to see it.” “I do not practice my faith for it to be observed by others.” “I want to see the fucking scar.” “You refer to the Mark of Ascension. But ask yourself what you have already observed. You saw my likeness and felt my presence as you walked deep within Her, did you not? Did we not meet because She sent for you?” “Constable Longhu-” “Constable Longhu said so himself: he did not request your assistance. Though one must be truthful: his presence was unforeseen, but one consequence of a growing darkness that threatens all of us. Observe your own actions and ask what else must be seen before you will believe. For belief is why I am in your custody and not that of the constable; why you have obscured this vehicle’s location from the observations of your superiors; why we travel to the most remote facility within your jurisdiction. You wish to extend the time we share together so that you may confirm your belief. But no confirmation is necessary.”

Jun walked a fine line between two contrasting states of being, but the Navigator, which chirped to indicate the car’s final approach, curtailed her introspection. It was enough to break the intoxication.

Jun pulled herself away from the edge, “What is your name?” “You may call me Sister Bai.” “Well, Bai,” Jun began, “seeing as you’ve demonstrated a willingness to cooperate and share a lot of what you think you know about me, allow me to share something with you. Here on the outside, away from the church, parents put their children to bed at night and tell them to be good. They say: ‘if you’re not, the True Believer will come’ — come in the night and take them away. They say that there is no distance too far and no secret too secure for the True Believer. That it walks among us and — at the same time — walks There, among your thoughts. And, if you’re not good, ‘if you don’t fall asleep’, it will hold you up to the sky and prophesize the darkest parts of your soul to the whole world. And, you know what? It’s a fucking fairy tale.”

The “Fuckhole”, the smallest of 140 police stations in the 22nd municipality, was a brutalist structure at the end of short, car-lined street — an adjunct to the Southern-most end of Gonzo’s main thoroughfare. Alleyways spidered away from it and led to the emergency exits and loading bays of the surrounding apartment blocks and rundown businesses, all which were built into the lowest tiers of four Skytowers. Closer inspection revealed that the road did not terminate at the police station, but instead sloped downwards towards a subterranean car park beneath the building, the entrance to which was guarded by an automated gate of six-inch, reinforced plasteel. The pedestrian walkway encircled the gate at its upper terminal, forming a canopy for the underground car park and the ground level of the station’s outer foyer, which was flanked by an expansive staircase; the building’s Eastern face gave way to an unkempt, ornamental plaza that had served repeatedly as a staging area for the police during times of civic unrest. The car left the thoroughfare and headed towards the station.

“Navigator, put in a request for access to the 22.” The Navigator responded with a negative chime. Looking at the monitors, Jun saw that there was no recognition of the police station’s systems whatsoever. She underplayed the discrepancy in front of Bai.

“Fine. Just park the fuck up.” The Navigator’s declaratory pitch resounded. “Navigator. Park the car.”

The Navigator mounted the car upon the walkway; Jun alighted and helped Bai out from inside the car’s lockup. Before she closed the car door, Jun grew irritated at her own absentmindedness among the familiar surroundings of the 22nd, as she observed three tall figures, equal in stature, that stood in a line in front of the station’s entrance. They stared, unrelentingly, at Bai.

Floor-length, brown garments, which could not be made out as either tactical overcoats or orthodox robes, obscured their limbs and created the illusion that they were afloat. Most striking of all were their faces, which radiated an iridescent, silver light, as though their features were superimposed; their facial structures shimmered, responding to imperceptible changes in the air around them; from moment to moment, they changed irrevocably.

“Prophets.” said Bai. Her focus was as intense as those observing her.

Slowly, each of the prophets reached beneath the left breast of their robe. There was an inhuman level of synchronization between their movements as each produced a small, chrome cylinder and held it aloft. A heavy silence fell between the two parties. This brief moment appeared to both Jun and Bai as a momentary lapse of time. Through divination, borne out of their respective wisdom's, they each threw themselves to the ground behind the patrol car. 

The illusory lull in the universal decay of carbon — nothing more than a heady influx of adrenaline — was punctured by a violent crack of pure energy that ruptured the air above them — a composite sound of three offensive strikes made in perfect unison. 

The street lights behind Jun and Bai burnt out with a surge of electricity and plunged the surrounding area into darkness; the interior of Jun’s car was awash with erroneous script and dialogue boxes, which cast an ambient light and projected Jun and Bai’s shadows upon the wall behind them.

Jun unholstered her sidearm to return fire. The pilot light of her pistol was glowing red, preventing the trigger from unlocking. She re-holstered it and reached behind her for the hand-grip of a non-regulation pistol that she carried discreetly.

“No.” Bai grabbed Jun’s hand, preventing withdrawal of the weapon, “There is another Way.”

She removed her hand from Jun’s and closed her eyes. Jun watched as Bai’s face assumed the contorted appearance of someone jacked-in to the net. Within seconds, Bai had traversed from one world to another and assumed command of the station’s defenses. At her command, the riot shield walls, which surrounded the station’s perimeter and formed an intricate defensive structure within the neighboring plaza, shot forth from their subterranean housing, beckoned forth by a warning siren and oscillating lights; a Gauss cannon on a spherical turret, mounted above the station’s entrance, rolled out of its protective enclosure and sent repeated, controlled bursts of depleted uranium — with millimeter precision — into the ground before the prophets. She was at once both Here and There.

She was a True Believer.

The prophets erupted from their stoic formation with a speed and grace that belied their intent to make ground upon Bai. Their movement was obscured by feigns that were designed to deceive the eye and were meticulously calculated, based upon a cascade of information they absorbed from the digital infrastructures around them. 

The prophets attempted to usurp Bai’s power by corrupting the hardware that she controlled. The servos of the shield walls wailed, as their internal mechanics struggled beneath the opposing forces of Bai’s will and the surges of energy from the prophets’ staffs. 

Fire from the turret forced the prophets to adjust their course towards Bai, cutting off their route with streams of bullets that were sent into the ground before them and the cover around them. Any ground lost by one prophet would be made up by another; the fight was a perpetual cycle of balance, unbalance and re-balance that seemed to have no conclusion until a single gunshot rang out amidst the cacophony.

The shot tore through the flesh of Bai’s upper-left abdomen, breaking the lower rib, which prevented the bullet from piercing her stomach. Bai’s connection to the NeuroNet was terminated instantly and the pain pulled her senses sharply back into reality; her robes flooded with crimson and she instinctively, almost absent-mindedly, applied pressure to the wound — it had been foreseen. 

A hail of mechanical fire added itself to the din as an armed response unit approached rapidly from the far end of the street, moving between cover as they advanced upon the prophets’ position. Their gunfire was countered with the sound of energy tearing through the air. Amidst the chaos, Jun identified two Gazettes at the rear of the unit and recognized one as her direct superior, Commissioner Shui. To the left of him, in a defensive position behind a car, was Constable Longhu with his non-issue pistol still trained on Bai.

A crack of energy echoed down the length of the street. The force of the shot spun the tactical officer who was on point; his muscles convulsed rapidly, forcing his trigger finger to contract and send a burst of rifle fire into his tactical squad. The effected officer’s implants began to fight against the organic matter in which they were embedded, burning his insides and rendering him prostrate on the ground and writhing in a spasm. 

A second, synchronized barrage of fire came from the prophets, which struck the cars that the tactical officers were using as cover. One of the car’s Navigators was thrust into life by the electrical surge and accelerated into the other parked vehicle, forcing Longhu and the Gazettes to fall back under its uncompromising forward motion.

The gunfire of the armed response unit became staggered and unfocused: they struggled to comprehend the movement of the prophets, who were only visible when they moved between cover and whip-cracked their staffs. Their robes were now many hundreds of shades of aggressive scarlet and glistened with reflected light, their faces, too, had changed and looked now to be more geometric and shield-like than before.

Jun threaded her arm around Bai and pulled her up from the ground, being careful to keep their heads below cover, “Keep the pressure on it.”

As Bai’s adrenaline waned, the searing pain began to take hold of her. It brought something from deep within her to the surface, which rendered her almost human. 

Jun walked Bai towards the armed response unit. “No.” Bai said, realising the direction of their travel, “that is not our path.” “We’ve got to go! Right fucking now!” “She lives.”

It was the sincerity within Bai’s eyes that communicated the meaning of her words and Jun’s world fell away; her mind and body felt both revitalized and removed entirely from their surroundings. “This is the answer you seek. But that is not our path,” Bai motioned towards the armed response unit, “She has illuminated the Way and we must walk it together.”

Bai directed Jun to the depths of a nearby alleyway that was equidistant between their position and the other officers. 

At the end of the alley, a single light punctured the shadows: a white door stood illuminated — an ephemeral and ethereal gateway. It was as Jun had seen it in her drug-induced catatonia — a premonition. Jun looked at Bai, searching the diminishing light of her face for some affirmation of what she was about to do. The latent potential of her pending action felt to Jun, even amidst the chaos, like a point of no return. Bai’s weakening voice broke Jun’s mesmeric gaze into the abyss.

“What lies beyond. It is beyond Her sight.”

Whatever was beyond the door and whatever wrath would follow them through it, Jun had started to believe; there would be answers; there would be hope — 

“She lives”.

[neuro-slicers]

GL17CH

This is a Short Fan-Fiction Set within the world of NeuroSlicers by one of our community members. 

6 Hours. A short window stamped into the minds of every citizen of Nexus. Their lives revolve around this time. This is when the NeuroNet comes online. For 6 hours the N-Net is free to use for the Lower Districts. Shops close, Services stop, City life grinds to a complete Halt. The whole world becomes consumed with Data. 

The NeuroNet has become the new drug of choice for the people of Nexus. Headset on, log in, and enter a VR world where every piece of data imaginable is at your fingertips. If you want to get away from the filth and corruption of Nexus life. Enter any destination in N-Net and you can travel there from the comfort of your own room.  Want to discover the latest cure by Nexus Scientists? Which CEO is involved in the latest corruption scandal? and more important to most. Which Celeb is fucking who? For 6 hours you can slice in and find out in seconds.

The concept of time has been somewhat forgotten in Nexus. The usual 9-5 of old, replaced by a more constant Grind. This may be down to the lower Districts no longer receiving sunlight. A huge disc shaped District above, Success, soaks up the Sun’s Rays before it has a chance to reach the ground. The Neon advertisement boards providing artificial light for the people. Want to know how to tell apart the people of Success and the Lower Sectors? Check to see if they have tan lines. Success is where it's at, where the big boys live and play. Those people don't need the NeuroNet to get through life. They have the credits to visit a real beach, eat real meat, drink real alcohol. Not this synthetic crap we get down here. They use N-Net to hold important meetings, conduct big business, and more interesting to me. Hide their unethical and corrupt deals.

There are two sides to the NeuroNet. The side the general citizens have access too, and the hidden side. Concealed behind firewalls and proxies only the most experience slicers can get behind. This is where the good stuff lies, the type of data that makes you Creds.

Creds have become the universal currency of the world. Accepted in and out of the NeuroNet. At Birth, everyone in Nexus city is assigned a unique N-Net account. Creds are then tied to the account, along with personal data. Appearance, DNA, Interests, even down to how many sexual partners the person has had and who they were. Every piece of data can accessible at any time if you have the Creds for it.

Data isn't free. The more popular the person, the more Creds you need. If you wanna watch Miss Nexus fuck her way to the top of Success, it's going to cost you. Of course, there are tricks to get around this, if you know how. A few years ago, an exploit discovered in the code of the NeuroNet allowed people to hack, or "Splice" their way in and access data previously hidden from the general users. Top CEO's and Celebs were scrambling to hire the best Slicers to hide or delete their seedy data from the NueroNet. Offering big Credits as reward. Un-hired Slicers fought against Hired Slicers in an effort to blackmail and extort. Slicing became big money, but I'm after more than Creds. I'm after Revenge.

My assigned N-Net name is Glaive. Born in the slums of the Shin Seikatsu Sector I scrapped my way through life as a Scrapper. Collecting old bits of metal to be re-used in the buildings that towered over the Sector and kept its inhabitants in darkness. According to my data file I had Parents, a Sister. Names and files of which were not found in the NeuroNet a criminal offence in Nexus.  Those who wished to remain anonymous, attain a certain level of privacy, were not exploitable. Therefore, not deemed to be members of a united and compliant society. This is reason I began Slicing, I need to find out who they were.

[neuro-slicers]

NeuroSlicers - A History Before The CyberWars

2241

The VentureNet Corporation, a company that had a monopoly in the research and creation of the wearable computing, internet based communication and data storage decided join with the OneLife Corporation a Bioengineering company that researched and invested in stem cell research, cloning technology for the use of donor organs and Biochemical Engineering. Together they created the first Super Corp - MindCore

MindCore spread throughout the known world and pioneered advances in synaptic interface technology, Ai, and other forms of engineering that combined technology and biology for the betterment of humanity.

2246

DEVON KHORTO, a minor MindCore executive, has an idea to go further, and combine the two companies’ expertise to build an AI capable of collecting and analysing the entire world’s data in real time.

Khorto is laughed out of the building by MindCore’s engineers. Humanity now produces yottabytes of data per hour, and no AI is powerful enough to even collect the data, let alone analyse it.

But one engineer doesn’t laugh. ANDRAM ESTOVAL has a reputation in MindCore as a crazed genius, brilliant but unmanageable. She’s biding her time till her share options from the buyout mature and she can quit MindCore… until she hears Khorto’s idea. She begins thinking around the idea.

2247

Estoval approaches Khorto with a solution: to break up the tasks. Use a network, MindCore’s own specialism, that sits on top of existing global networks to collect and store the world’s data. Then use an AI to analyse the data and filter it for later access by human agents, using cutting edge neural interface technology.

Khorto takes the idea to the board, but CEO of MindCore REEVES PERSHAW rejects it as unworkable and unnecessary — MindCore already owns 70% of the world’s communication networks, why should they go to the enormous trouble and expense of building another one?

Khorto is devastated, but Estoval continues working on what she now calls PROJECT NeuroNET as a skunkworks project.

At the end of the year, Estoval presents Khorto her proof of concept; a self-sustaining network that collects from a small, finite data loop, a primitive AI that analyses and filters the data, and a neural interface that allows humans to access the virtual data archive.

Estoval wants to go to the board right away; Khorto wants to put the system through its paces, first.

2248

Khorto crashes a board meeting to present the NeuroNet proof of concept. Pershaw is outraged; most of the other board members simply don’t believe that Estoval has actually achieved what she claims. Estoval proves it by hooking up an AR monitor to her own neural interface, going into the NeuroNet, and extracting a text one board member just sent to another, in this very meeting, doubting the project’s veracity. Khorto then reveals they’ve been monitoring the board members for the last couple of months, including CEO Pershaw, and demonstrates that they have a wealth of incriminating data in the archive. Just imagine the value of this kind of data on the entire world population…

Estoval then dramatically erases the whole archive, overriding her primitive KEEPER AI, assuring the board their secrets are safe — until next time.

The MindCore board votes almost unanimously to fund the NeuroNet. The only holdout is Pershaw himself.

In order to protect MindCore from backlash if the truth behind the NeuroNET’s purpose is exposed they decide to create a new company, Tesseract. All rights and data in regards to the NeuroNet are transferred to this new company.

Tesseract becomes it’s own entity, headed up by Khorto.

2249

Estoval is now in charge of the NeuroNet engineering team, and struggles with the responsibility. Khorto, enjoying a meteoric rise through the executive ranks based on The NeuroNet’s potential, pushes her more and more, and eventually Estoval confesses she has doubts about the project. Building a proof of concept is one thing, but to build an actual network and AI that will spy on the whole world is another.

Ironically, she’s proven right when Khorto reveals he’s been collecting incriminating data on Estoval, and now blackmails her with it to “encourage” her to finish the project.

Work continues apace, and launch is set for February 14, 2250.

Publicly, Tesseract reassures people that access to The NeuroNet’s data will be securely restricted to approved and authorised personnel only; furthermore, there will be a public-access sector where all legally publicly available data will be freely accessible by all.

Privately, multiple government and security contracts are arranged. The NeuroNet’s success will earn Tesseract billions.

2250

Feb 1: Tesseract CEO Reeves Pershaw dies in a tragic road accident.

Feb 4: The board votes unanimously for Devon Khorto to replace him, just ahead of NeuroNet’s launch.

Feb 10: Andram Estoval disappears without trace. Whispers in the hacking community suspect this, and Pershaw’s death, are evidence of Khorto ‘cleaning house’ to ensure NeuroNet’s success.

Feb 14: The NeuroNet launches as planned, and the Keeper AI quickly becomes the friendly, benevolent public face of the network.

Feb 15: Tesseract is now the most valuable corporation in history, as its stock soars on the back of NeuroNet’s success.

Feb 16-May 12: The NeuroNet, and the Keeper, continue to perform perfectly. Exabytes of data are being assessed daily, and security services are already making use of the non-public databases.

2256

Security of the network is compromised by an unknown entity and a large amount of private data is released to the public, including information stating that the current government of Nexus is actually being controlled by Tesseract.

Public perception of Tesseract begins to change due to the data leak and people begin to question whether the data that they are storing is actually only being used by Law enforcement.

Tesseract very quickly try to refute these claims and begin locking down sections of the City with their own police force in the name of trying to find the Slicer’s responsible for the hack. The Nexus becomes a police state with regular public executions of what Tesseract deem as rogue Slicers.

With the news that the network isn't quite as secure as first thought changes to the Keeper Ai are made that gives it more autonomy and the network is completely locked down, only giving Tesseract access.

2260

May 13: On the date that comes to be known simply as The Breach, the Keeper AI declares the NeuroNet to be an independent state, and opens up access to everyone.

The slicer community points out that May 13 is Andram Estoval’s birthday; Tesseract publicly blames Estoval for deliberate sabotage, and publishes reams of personal data incriminating her as a data criminal, black hat slicer, narcotics user, and sexual deviant.

May 15: Tesseract deploys dozens of slicers to penetrate the Keeper’s defences, gain access to the NeuroNet, and regain control of the network. The Keeper easily repels their attacks.

May 16: Tesseract employs more and more slicers to regain control of the NeuroNet, but now they find themselves caught in a pincer; while they attack the Keeper, an unknown third party is attacking them, preventing them from mounting a successful assault.

May 17: BIT.CRASH declares itself to the world as a distributed, anarchic slicer collective dedicated to destroying Tesseract, the NeuroNet, and the Keeper, for the good of mankind. Speculation runs wild that Andram Estoval is behind the group, but is met with neither confirmation or denial.

May 18: A bit.crash slicer known as BEASToval513 breaks through the Keeper’s defences and enters a non-public area for the first time since Mayday.

May 19: Tesseract’s stock collapses, but by now the system has so much data, and is so potentially valuable, that the government cannot afford for it to fall into the wrong hands. Devon Khorto is seen in public for the last time.

May 20: At the annual virtual EdenLight conference, notorious extropian SASHIA FONTAINE claims to be in direct contact with the Keeper AI, and says it has given his XANCTUARY organisation a mission to “cleanse” the NeuroNet of impurities to prepare it for mankind’s ascension into digimortality under the Keeper’s new divinity.

May 21: A bit.crash-sourced cut-up video of Sashia Fontaine’s speech, which makes him sound insane, goes viral. Xanctuary, bit.crash, and Tesseract all clash in the NeuroNet.

Freelance Slicers, seeing the potential to make some serious cash decide to also get in on the action taking contracts from the 3 factions within the network.

The CyberWars have begun.

[neuro-slicers]

NeuroSlicers: Issue 3

Entry

I'm in the shit, Simone.” Isaac said while pushing open the main entrance door to Tesseract HQ.

“Let’s see… whose fault 's that?” The voice of Simone came, as if just from behind him.

Isaac turned around, but there was no one there – Simone was using the brand new sub-cortical neural implant to communicate with him. He was far from used to it. Implants were common technology for the upper class, but the only connection that Isaac had with them was watching the overly grandeur visual feeds televised on every holoboard  laid across the city of Nexus.

"Let beauty be in the hand of the beholder, release the beauty from within with our latest synthetic skin tech, as soft and as delicate as the day you were born – stop the aging process" the adverts would say. Issac imagined that in the past, before the great Nano Plague that similar tactics were used to sell high fashion.  Brands selling an unattainable lifestyle wrapped up in a moving image that says "Buy", then you'd see the price "just 350,000 credits for your first 4 sessions" - that was more than most people in Nexus City would make in a lifetime. It was opulent and only helped to truly show the divide between the outlandish and often insecure wealthy and the impoverish, those that had little to their name in the city.                                                                              

“You, of all people, should know that the risk I took was necessary. I couldn’t bare living in the slums for another moment longer.” Isaac replied, while trying to look for any indication of how to navigate the winding pathways that made up the public areas of the building.

Issac had managed to secure himself an interview. An interview for the most powerful corporation in the whole of the City no less; someone or something was looking down on him. He had no idea how he'd managed to land himself this opportunity and he was far from qualified for it.

The truth is, this was his last hope of being able to repay a debt, a debt that he now regret taking on, but in an act of blind foolishness and a desire to find a way out of the slums he decided to borrow credits from a loan shark that happened to be a member of Bit.Crash. Issac had the idea that if he could just get himself a simple Slicer Deck and start getting some contracts he'd be able to make enough to get out of this hell hole. After all, most people of Nexus dreamed of becoming a Slicer, lured by the tales of these infamous hackers.

Things didn't work out exactly as planned...

“You're the one that decided to invest in being a Slicer of all things?” Simone retorted and Isaac could hear the smile in her words.

“Fuck You Simone” Issac said in retaliation.

“Are you serious?” Simone’s voice came from behind again. “ I'm here trying to help you, through no mistake of my own. Yet it seems like I'm babysitting a grown man, who can’t even take care of his own problems. I'm supposed to be at the height of my career, now look what you've got me doing!” She sighed. "I don’t want to argue, I'm here to help, but try to show a bit of gratitude".

"Fine, I'm sorry. Thank you Simone, I do appreciate what your doing for me." Issac said, in a soft tone. He had no desire to exacerbate the situation, and he was truly thankful he had a friend to help him through this.

After a moment, Isaac heard the "clickity click" as Simone typed on the other end of the feed. Her voice came back a few moments later “Here, this should help you out…”

A yellow line appeared a few inches above the ground, leading to one of the side corridors on the ground floor.

“Hell yeah! Augmented Reality, baby!” Simone exclaimed.

“How did you do that?!” Isaac asked in confusion.

“The chip in your brain can make you see things that aren’t really there – like these navigation lines, leading to the interview room for example. You just need to know what to touch.”

“Should I be as disturbed as I feel right now?”

“Oh yeah. Anyone with access to your chip can do some nasty things to you. It just so happens that in this situation, that anyone is me.” Simone sounded pleased with herself.

"Now just to release the access code onto the NeuroNet for all to see....."

"What! Don’t do that!" Isaac said in a panic.

"Just kidding, don’t worry, the connection is secure"

Isaac was already starting to regret giving Simone full access to his neural chip. Unfortunately, if she was to help him get this job, she needed as much freedom as possible.

The lines on the ground led him through the maze of corridors, decorated with almost nothing, but the occasional abstract painting and pretentious quotes one typically sees when walking the halls of big corporations, not that he'd done such a thing in the past. Such delights as “Connecting the world to the future” or “Dreams + Work = Success”, it was all rather Orwellian and sent a shudder down Isaacs spine.

Isaac finally arrived at a white door with no label, handle or indication of what was on the other side. Just as he was about to knock the door opened and a smartly dressed woman almost collided with him on her way out. The first thing Isaac noticed about her were the intricate lines under her skin on the left side of her face, partially covered by her red hair, its like a computer PCB had been used as a stencil for a overly complex tattoo, only this tattoo had the addition of glowing lines and little LED's attached.

“Wow, a Sentry.” Simone’s voice was filled with awe. “These are extremely experienced Slicers that have so much hardware embedded in them, that they can barely be considered human. Most Sentries try to hide what they are, but apparently not this one.” It was known by many that Tesseract had a habit of hiring and nurturing Slicers caught in the act of breaking into their beloved NeuroNet; often training them way beyond the abilities of normal street Slicers or those from the other Corps. They had the budget and the necessity to protect their systems more so than any other, but when you see what their Slicers become at the hand of Tesseract it didn’t seem much better than Xanctuary's cultist tech infused following.

“Do you plan to  get out of my way, or is staring at me part of your job description?” The Sentry said and Isaac realized that he was standing in the door frame. He moved aside, not wanting to cause any trouble – after all, first impressions count.

She took off through one of the corridors while shaking her head and murmuring something under her nose.

Isaac took a moment to regain his fleeing confidence and entered the interview room. It was noticeably messier than what he had seen so far from the rest of the building – there were shelves filled with what appeared to be junk hardware. On top of one of the shelves, a strange giant clock was stuck with it's hands showing 13:37. In one corner, multiple boxes were stacked in a heap.

“Oh, crap. Is that…” Simone’s voice.

Isaac looked back as the door slid closed behind him. His eyes focused on the smiling figure behind the only desk in the room and his confidence evaporated, quickly replaced by absolute horror followed by the boiling anger he was so used to for most of his life.

“Welcome Isaac, how’s my boy doing?” said Francis, the one person who Isaac didn’t want to see in that room – his step father.

"Oh, hell no." Isaac almost screamed while trying to keep his shaking body under control. "I'm not going to be part of your games. Not again." He barely managed to keep his voice level from all the emotions that were seething through him.

Turning around, Isaac reached for the door, but there was no handle, and the door didn’t open.

"Isaac, please think about this..." Simone's voice. "If you run away now, you'll be finished – this is your best bet to pay Bit.Crash back." She sounded concerned "I know the things that this man has done to you and your family, but there has to be a way set your differences aside."

"You can't even begin to comprehend the monster that Francis is, Simone." Isaac whispered to try and keep his connection a secret. "There is no future for me where that man is." He continued while resting his hand against the door, mainly to try keep his body under control.

Isaac knew that he couldn't spend much longer with Francis without his anger or fear getting the better of him. Just as he was about to start kicking at the door, the voice of Francis came from the other side of the room.

"Ah, you haven't changed a bit, Isaac – your mother would've been so disappointed..." He said while slowly getting up and walking around the desk "If she wasn't lying in a mass grave somewhere, of course." His voice was filled with glee. Seeing that Isaac had stopped moving, he continued... "I still remember her last words - 'I wish my son had turned out better.'" Francis said in a faux old ladies voice

"Liar!" Isaac shouted and before he knew it he was charging the still smiling Francis with the full intention of ending him right there and then. Unfortunately, Isaac knew even before he started that this act was as futile as were the countless ones he had tried in the past. The fight ended almost as soon as it began – Francis stepped out of the way of the charge almost casually and met Isaac with a knee to the chest, sending him straight to the floor, paralyzed.

"You know what the problem with scum like you and your mother is, Isaac? You can't seem to get it into your thick skulls that the class system exists for a reason – to keep filth like you away from anyone important. And do you know what happens to people who try to bypass the system, Isaac? I HAPPEN TO THEM!" Francis, shouted the last sentence in Isaac's face before delivering a kick in his midriff. Isaac managed to shift slightly and take it on the side, where it would do the least damage – he had learned a thing or two about fighting after many sessions just like this one. The pain still left him out of breath.

Francis grabbed Isaac by his shirt and put him upright so he could speak in his face. "And the thing is, Isaac, the only reason we allow you to pollute our city is to serve us. Our little dogs. Doing all the filthy work that suits their position. YOU... GOT... THAT?!" Francis punctuated each word with slamming Isaac in one of the shelves, rattling everything on them dangerously.

Francis took his hands off Isaac and started to walk to his desk. The beating was bad, but Isaac had taken much worse before. He wasn't done yet.

"Is that right?" Isaac said in a rasping, out-of-breath voice. "I think you've forgotten where you come from, old man." If Isaac knew anything about Francis, it was his absolute hatred toward the lower class and by extension – his family.

"Oh, now you'll have it." Came a whisper from Francis, who turned around and charged at Isaac, but Isaac was already braced for the impact. The two men collided and the shelves behind Isaac shook so violently that the giant clock on the top slid off.

It crashed into Francis's forehead, forcing him to the ground, unmoving.

"He's dead." Was the first thought in Isaac's mind while he tried to recover from the shock of what had just happened. A sudden voice almost made him jump:

"Isaac, are you ok?" Simone asked. "Can you hear me? Damn it, why isn't this thing working!?"

The adrenaline was quickly fleeing his body, but he had to check for himself. Turning the body over, Isaac felt for a pulse. It was there – the son of a bitch was still alive.

"I finally returned the favor. You're going to pay for all those years of torture you bastard." Isaac whispered and grabbed a broken piece of sharp metal, which had broken off the clock. He brought the piece high, aiming at the neck of his step father.

"Isaac! What are you doing?!" Simone screamed. "What's going on with you?! You're not a killer!".

Isaac tried to pay her no mind, but it was getting harder and harder to hold that piece of metal over Francis's throat with most of his adrenaline gone already.

"Please, Isaac, don't do this..." He could hear her voice beginning to tremble. "I thought... no... I still think that you're one of the decent people in this rotting city. Don't let him take that away from you too, damn it!"

Isaac heard a loud bang as Simone must have hit something in frustration of her helplessness.

The words rang too close to the truth however and the piece of metal dropped from Isaac's hand.

Francis had taken too much from him already – his childhood, his home, his family – not his morals though, at least not today.

"Ok..." Isaac's voice was horse and shaky from all the excitement "I'll let the bastard live. Though the injustice of it all sickens me."

"You've made the right decision Isaac..." She sighed with relief.

"I hope so." Issac responded.

"But now, we need to deal with this mess."

Isaac was trying to asses the situation, "Yeah, this looks quite bad, doesn't it?"

"What? The unconscious body of a Tesseract employee with you as the only witness? Maybe they'll think you convinced him to take an impromptu nap." Simone's tone was beginning to get back to normal, which reassured him.

"They won't stop until they get me – one way or another."

"Bet on it."

"I guess it's time for plan B then." Isaac said and started going through Francis's pockets.

"Why am I only now hearing that there is such a plan?"

"Didn't want to bore you with the details... Aha, here we go." And he took out a shining translucent card with a black strip going across it from one of the pockets "Behold our key to success."

"And you're planning to do what exactly?" Simone questioned "I may be smart, but far from mad enough to understand you."

"Well, Bit.Crash want their credits back right?"

"And..."

"What is even more important to Bit.Crash than credits?" Isaac had a grin on his face now.

"Son of a bitch..." She said as it dawned on her "You're going to try and steal private data from the inside. And I'm guessing you'll want my help?"

"Well, you're here already."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Isaac put the card in his pocket and said "We need to neutralize Francis, we don't want him waking up in 5 minutes and sounding the alarm."

"I know what we'll do. Go and look into his eyes." Simone said with excitement.

"What?!"

"Trust me now. Go, open his eyes and stare deeply."

He did as he was told with a reasonable amount of skepticism. At first Isaac saw nothing in Francis's eyes, but then he felt his own eyes starting to warm up. The sensation was not pleasant.

"Closer, get closer to him!" Simone almost shouted, while typing furiously on her keyboard.

Isaac got even closer and the sensation of heat in his eyes intensified.

"Simone, I am not sure that this is a good idea."

"Just give me 5 more seconds.."

The next few seconds were the worst, with his body screaming that something was definitely wrong with his eyes. Suddenly, Francis's body lurched up and came back down again. With that, Isaac's eyes returned to normal.

"What the hell was that, Simone?" Isaac was more than a little bit disturbed and confused with what just happened.

"It's called CUP - Close up Paralysis. It's an old Xanctuary technique I'd been dying to try out." Simone's voice was filled with excitement. "When you show your brain a certain sequence of moving patterns, they make it freezes up completely." She lectured "We've known this for a while of course, but the brilliance of Xanctuary is that their implants allow them to change their own eyes to recreate those patterns."

"So, Francis, even though unconscious was able to see these patterns imprinted on my own eyes?!" Isaac was starting to get a little but sick.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Simone asked.

"Sounds pretty useless to me."

"Aha, and that's the thing – no one expects it. This is the main trick Xanctuary adepts use to impress and gather followers. They show you the shifting image of their eyes, letting you think that it's part of the Keeper himself in there and then they let you 'experience' his power by completely paralyzing you body."

"As creepy as that is, Xanctuary is the least of my worries right now. I need to get out of here."

"Ah yes, where do you want to go? The ground floor won't hold any valuable data."

"Up we go then, find me the closest elevator."

"Roger."  Simone's voice was accompanied with a few dozen clicks and the yellow lines on the floor returned. Isaac closed the door behind him on the interview room and followed the lines, trying to look as unsuspicious as possible. There was an open elevator at the end of the corridor and thankfully he was the only one there. Scanning Francis's security card over the console, he mashed the highest floor his security clearance allowed.

"Here we go..." Isaac said, as the doors closed and the machine began the long ascend.

End of part 1.

[neuro-slicers]

NeuroSlicers: Issue 2

From Neon Light and Into Darkness Pt.1

The heavy warm air soon gave way to a localized shower throughout the sector, the smell of purified ozone a refreshing taste of cleanliness that would be far out of reach for Amelie under normal circumstances. Her home was after all in the slums of the Shin Seikatsu Sector, a hovel at the edge of Nexus City, and had been for most of her short life.

Amelie’s parents had both died five years ago when she was only twelve, hunted down and slaughtered like so many others in a night raid carried out by a government clean-up squad.  

Amelie had managed to escape the gunfire by hiding buried under the bodies of the people who fell around her, the heat sensors on the drones unable to distinguish her from the gore and faeces that permeated the fallen.  

She lay there for over six hours while the foot soldiers and flying machines swept through the area, cleaning up whoever was left. The assault was quick, brutal, and left no survivors. None, save for Amelie.

It was only later in her life that she began to understand. It didn’t matter why they were slaughtered, or even that she survived.

The government wasn’t kind to those that lived outside their grid, those that weren’t in their eyes part of their society, weren’t subservient to the machine that drove it all forward; The NeuroNet.

In the end, those outside of their sphere of influence were nothing more than scapegoats, convenient to blame for the shortfalls of an unsustainable economy. Rats to be exterminated when the public complains of the stink.

Amelie wandered the slums for several weeks, broken and lost, living off what scraps she could find. Eventually, she was stumbled upon by Nona, a kind-hearted old lady who saw a broken child and decided to take her in.

Nona was well known throughout the slums as a matriarch to many of the forgotten. A nurse and Midwife in her early years when pregnancy was still a basic human right.  But as soon as medical systems became automated and laws were brought in to control population growth, she lost her job and with it her standing in society. She would soon after lose everything else she held dear.

Nona had gradually accumulated an entourage of the disenfranchised that sought to help from within the Slums. One such person was Doctor Trestle, who ran a triage out of a small dilapidated warehouse and helped as much as he could with the limited supplies he had.  

Then there was Solomon…

Amelie wiped the drops of rain water from her face, reaching up to tie her hair back to keep it out of her eyes, stepping out of the alleyway and walked slowly towards Gonzo, the Red-Light District.  

She was going to stick out like a sore thumb here, a mere child among the sordid delights of the one of the most dangerous parts of the whole city. Here, the only thing that was worth less than your money was your morals.

Thankfully, Solomon had prepared her for this, providing her with a cheap Holo unit; a versatile gadget that would allow her to convincingly project the look of someone else, so long as no one bumped into or otherwise touched her. The holographic layer was thin, but not that thin. Best not to draw attention by letting anything seemingly warp through her arm.

As she approached Gonzo she slipped the Holo out of her pocket, carefully angling it towards a smartly dressed woman in a burgundy suite who had her hair tied up much like Amelie’s, then clicked the capture button. The device quietly scanned the woman as she walked past. Amelie waited until she’d walked far enough away, then, after glancing around to make sure no one could see her, activated the device. In an instant she was enveloped by the hologram, and went from being a seventeen year old girl to a carbon copy of the beautiful woman.  

Amelie quietly hoped she looked this pretty if she were to really live to be this old, though if she were honest with herself the titanium alloy augmented legs were not really her thing. She shook a leg a little to remind herself that it was not in fact now made of metal. The image was convincing even to her own eyes. A good sign, she hoped.

She then placed the Vox Modulator on her neck, and twisted the dial while murmuring to herself until she found a tone that sounded about right for the age and build of the woman whose appearance she’d just borrowed.   The batteries on both would last about twenty minutes, just enough time for what was planned.   In theory.

Amelie walked out into the street and was immediately bombarded by a sensory overload of neon lights, gaudy shop windows and cascading auditory stimuli from every possible angle.  

The reflection of the lights on the puddles that had formed along the street slabs made the chaotic scene feel like a sordid daylight pantomime, acted out by a hellish cast of prostitutes, greasy businessmen and suspicious street peddlers. It was far from family friendly.

She could see the Chop Shop from where she was standing, placed innocently between Fuzz Box, a sports bar showing what could only be described as murder sports on monitors at the back, and Sweet Treats, a NeuroChem shop claiming to sell “cleaner than the shit you’d buy on the streets” HypoStims, NeuralPacks and other assorted “Candy”. Amelie could hardly believe they were brazen enough to put that on the shop front underneath the sign.  

‘I guess anything goes in Gonzo…’  Amelie mused. ‘Keep the citizens Jacked up or Jacked in and they'll be blind to everything else. Willingly.’

Shaking her head, Amelie refocused her attention on her mission.

She walked up to the front door of the Chop Shop, avoiding eye contact with everyone she passed. Even moving with confidence, she still felt like she was sticking out. It was only the second time she’d made use of a Holo, and it seemed strange that the way she perceived herself could be different to how other people were seeing her.

She pressed the buzzer on the front door and shops AI came to life on the screen before her;

“Greetings, valued customer! Please enter your customer ID.”

The Ai's voice was excessively perky. "Never trust a happy AI" Amelie thought to herself, and for good reason. She shifted her eyes upwards and noticed the security turrets above her pointing directly at her head. She felt the need run away but she stood fast and grit her teeth.

This was the moment of truth… had Solomon’s Slicers managed to upload the altered ID in time? She had no way of checking, not now at any rate, and the window under which they were operating to avoid their hacks being discovered in time was too narrow for any real warning anyway.  

It was now or never.

Amelie held her breath and keyed in the code, then put her eye up against the biometric reader. If the code was wrong or her biometrics not recognised, there was a high chance that the automated security turrets would swing into life, swiftly ending hers. Amelie doubted she could outrun them.

“Accessing database for verification, please stand by…”

Her hands felt clammy, she could feel herself shaking.   Running now might save her life, but it might also trigger the guns.

Searching for a distraction from her potential imminent death, she subtly checked the Holo to see how much battery was left; sixteen minutes and counting. Plenty of time, so long as she wasn’t a stain of bloody gore on the sidewalk after this first hurdle.

"Welcome to The Chop Shop" The AI finally announced, oblivious to her exhaling in relief.  

"Please make your way down the stairs, and ensure you check in any weapons before proceeding to the lower levels. Enjoy your stay."

The door slid open with a dramatic "whoosh" and Amelie stepped across the threshold, walking away from neon lights of Gonzo and descending into the darkness.  

Once inside, she took a quick look around. She was now in a box shaped reception room, with a stairway leading down further into deeper darkness, dim lights visible in the distance. No-one else appeared to be here.

She pressed her earpiece.  

"I'm in. What now?"

She heard a click followed by brief static before Solomon responded.   "Just as we planned Amelie; head down the stairs into the main lobby and head towards the bar."  

Solomon spoke with a slight air of gentility; It had always made her wonder how he ended up in the Slums; he'd obviously had a well to do upbringing, but he’d never shared his past with Amelie, or anyone else for that matter.  

Amelie began to descend cautiously down the stairwell.

"Once you're there, look for Teabo. He’ll get you access to the sub-levels. He’s a large chap, balding, and he’s got a Xanctuary tattoo on the left side of his head. Oh, and he’s got Oculi v2's, very classy. Hard to miss.” Solomon explained. Stumbling on an uneven surface and clutching at the concerningly slippery guardrail, Amelia paused. 

“Oculi…?” She queried. Amelie’s home turf was more than a little behind when it came to technology, and it had taken her some time to catch up with the latest innovations. Even now there was so much she still didn’t know. “Ocular implants, impressively frequency range. And more importantly, they glow purple". He quipped.

“Great.” Amelie groused.

That would narrow down her search to him and probably thirty others in this hellhole.  

At least until she happened to get close enough to spot that tattoo. Hopefully that particular quirk wasn’t going to be inconveniently common here too.

Solomon continued, undeterred. "Once you make it to the lower levels, you need to look for Dr. Gantra. We need his access key in order to enter the data storage area of the facility. Once there you'll need to find the terminal and get him to use his voice print to access the files we talked about.”  

“You make it sound so easy,” Amelia snapped, getting annoyed at how uneven these stairs were.  

Poor maintenance she understood, but they could at least light the damn thing properly. “It’s not as if he’s just going to give me what I want because I asked nicely.”

“Bit Crash are relying on you to complete this mission Amelie, I have faith in you." Solomon reassured.

This time she really did roll her eyes. "What's in those files anyway?" Amelie asked.

"Our future, and that of the rest of this god forsaken city. The locations of every Xanctuary zealot embedded within the government and the corporate data bank linking their involvement in driving public opinion in their favour for a start. Data that shows how they've been manipulating the tech market and how they've been influencing Tesseract without their knowledge.  

If it goes public there will be chaos up top, and it will be our chance to put an end to all of them.  

The corrupt government, the corporations…  

It will be our chance to regain a semblance of control, and maybe rebuild this city into what it was supposed to be."

She should have expected him to wax lyrical, but this did sound pretty damn important. 

"Why would they be crazy enough to keep records on all of that?" She asked.

"no, idea – though possibly in order for their chain of command to keep tabs on everything. Anyway, who cares, it’s an opportunity for us to crash the system, rewrite the code of society and reboot!  

"…..Well that’s the idea anyway."

She could practically hear the smile on his face.

"You sound convinced this is all going to play out" Amelie said, without any real conviction.

"We all have our small part to play. Anyway, You should hurry, clock is ticking."

Growling to herself, Amelie quickened her pace, reaching the first of the distant lights at the foot of the stairs. Ignoring the cloakroom and weapons drop off point on the right, she moved towards the lobby doors. A camera tracked her movement, but no one checked to see if she was holding.   Security seemed to be oddly lax.

The soundproofing in the hallway was excellent. So much so that she didn’t even realise there was music playing at all until she reached the door at the bottom and pushed it open, immediately assailed by a thundering wave of bass that put her off balance for a second.

Steeling herself, she stepped forward and let the door swing shut behind her.

The club was a vast cavernous room, much larger than one might have guessed. The front of the building had been deceptively inconspicuous.  

As Amelie looked around she saw that It was lined with complex geometrically shaped lighting, all in white and crystal like ornaments hanging from the ceiling that seemed to reflect the light into mind bending patterns on the floor.  

The bar at the far end, past a captivating trio of highly modified and almost alien looking dancers and tech ridden business types, was placed like an altar. Above it, Xanctuary's logo and the name of the establishment hung like a clear and bold statement as to who owned and run the place. It all lent itself to give the club the feeling of a cathedral to the gods of white neon, the reality of it was that wasn’t that far from the truth.  

Xanctuary were a complex and cryptic group, part highly successful bio medical and nano-tech corporation specializing in human modification and nanotech gene optimization, and part Church.  

They were obsessed with humans becoming more like machines, and this coupled with the corporate ideology proved strangely to be a match made in heaven. They made the most advanced and sought after body modification technology, the latest of which was conspicuously exclusively available to their devout followers.  

The temptation of this benefit quickly led to obscene numbers of people fervently signing the dotted line and becoming "Brothers and Sisters" of Xanctuary.  

The allure of exclusive access to the latest technology was too great for many common folk, especially as it almost always guaranteed that they could outperform anyone else in their job who hadn't access to the same level of augmentation.

There was, of course, one minor caveat…  

If you decided to leave Xanctuary, then they lawfully had a right to remove any of their hardware from your body - no matter how deeply entwined it might be with your other organs or nervous system. The Chop Shop was one of the places this would happen. Not only was it an enclave, but within the lower levels there was a full medical facility, and Amelie needed to get down there.

The place wasn’t at it's peak yet, too early in the evening, and this would make it harder to go unnoticed.  

Weaving between the few patrons in her way, she approached the bar, taking a seat on a stool and discreetly checking her Holo again. Thirteen minutes left. Cutting it close.

A barman approached. Not Teabo. Too much hair.

"What can I get you?" He shouted, barely audible over the din.

"I'm not here to drink!" Amelie responded. She was worried the voice modulator might waver with her having to shout so loud over the music, but it seemed to hold.

"What you here for then? Taking in the sights?" He inquired, undeterred.  

"I'm here to see Teabo. he around?"

"Nope, He doesn’t work here anymore, we let him go last week.” He replied.

Amelie's stomach sank, the plan relied on Teabo letting her into the lower levels. Now it had gone to shit.

“So… what’ll it be?” He repeated. She took a deep breath, then conceded. "I'll have a soda lime."

The barman swiftly whipped up the concoction, sliding it over in front of her where it would sit untouched.  

Amelie needed to let Solomon know that the plan had fallen apart and find out whether there was another way down into the facility, but there was no way he’d be able to hear her in here, even if she could contact him discreetly enough. She scanned her surroundings, looking for a bathroom. Just as she was getting up, she knocked over her drink and it fell to the ground with a smash. Wincing, she looked around to see who was looking. The barman hadn't noticed but as she looked up, a man in a very expensive looking suit walked towards her with a wide grin splitting his face.

Amelie didn’t know whether to get up and run out of the place or play dumb. It was too late either way.  

"Can I get you another, that didn’t seem to be to your taste" he spoke softly, still smiling.

He must have been fitted with a Speech Spear enhancement; it had the ability to focus his voice directly towards a target via controlled ultrasound waves, which, when hitting a solid object reconfigured into normal soundwaves. He could have been standing at the other side of the room and Amelie would have still been able to hear him crystal clear over the sound of the music.   A neat trick.

"I'm ok thanks, I'm not staying. I was here to meet someone, but they're not coming." She shouted back.

"Are you sure, it looks like you could do with one."

‘Ugh… why did I have to pick an attractive guise.’ Amelie lamented. He reached out to put his hand on Amelie's, but she quickly drew back before they could make contact.

"Thank you but no thank you.” She yelled, hopefully more firmly.

Amelie dodged past the bemused man and made her way to the bathroom without looking back. The clock was still ticking, and she had little time to be chatted up by a greasy slick with more tech than meat between his ear-lobes.  

As she approached the archway towards the toilets she noticed that a couple of people were staring at her, whispering to each other with smirks on their faces. She was starting to feel quite uncomfortable.  

She entered the restroom and checked the stalls to make sure no one else was in there with her.  

She could still make out the dull thumping sound of the music even in here, but it was nonetheless a significant improvement.

"Solomon, you there?"

"Yes, my dear, reading you loud and clear." Solomon answered wearily.

"I'm running out of time, and as you probably heard things aren't going to plan!" She leaned down hard on the sink counter and stared into the unfamiliar face in the mirror, hands flickering slightly from where the holo wasn’t consistently holding up due to the contact.

“I’m just going through their public records now – apparently Teabo was caught smuggling spirits from the bar out of hours. They’ve already laid him off and stripped his tech.” Amelie put her head in her hands, ignoring what it must be doing to her projection.  

"Fuck… What am I supposed to do now?"

"Well,” he ventured, “as luck would have it, the gentleman you were talking to at the bar happens to be the proprietor of this little taste of heaven. Damien Legato himself."

Amelie grimaced. "Oh god, no wonder people were staring at me when I ditched him like that, everyone probably knows him here."

"…You’re going to need to get back out there and somehow convince him to show you the lower levels himself. I leave it in your capable hands, I'm sure you can work some magic."

Amelie winced once more, dreading the idea.  

She walked back towards the doorway, imagining what distasteful acts of depravity she'd need to perform to turn around the conversation that she’d ended so dismissively.  How was she going to get his confidence and trust after the scene she'd just pulled?  

She wrenched the door open, still pre-occupied by unwelcome thoughts, and stepped right into someone’s arms. Damien.  

As his hands gripped her shoulders to stop their collision, the Holo glitched and flashed off showing her true form underneath.  

As if in slow motion, Damian’s smile morphed into an expression of shock, and Amelie reacted. In one smooth motion, Amelia stepped sharply back, pulling her six-inch hidden blade from it's holder on her upper arm and slashing Damien's throat.  

His expression shifted between anger and agony, as he gargled something incomprehensible through his speech enhancer, before crumpling like a paper towel. Amelie managed to grab him before he hit the ground, quickly sheathing her knife and dragging his limp body back into the restroom. Things had just gone from bad to worse.  

She had no idea if anyone had seen the altercation, but she had to think quick. Damien had passed out from shock, or blood loss. He was losing rather a lot through the neatly carved smile his throat now wore.  

"That was NOT part of the plan." Solomon hissed in her ear.

"Well we're going to have to make do." Amelie resisted the urge to laugh in desperation.

At least with the guns at the entrance she had had a decent chance of getting away scot-free. No matter what she did here now, there would be consequences.

Thinking fast, Amelie checked his pockets and found what she was looking for; a Key card that would get her down to the lower levels.

Ignoring Solomon’s griping and muttering, she dragged Damien's body into one of the stalls and slumped him over the toilet seat, before stepping back out and shutting the stall door.  

The amazingly large puddle of blood on the floor wasn’t something she was going to be able to cover up. She would never get used to seeing how much a human being seemed to hold. This wasn’t the first time or the last that she would see this though.

Amelie quickly checked herself in the mirror to see if any had got onto her, switching off her holo unit briefly. Luckily she was wearing black, so whatever had splashed on her wasn’t easily visible, especially in the low light of the club.

The holo unit would have to handle the rest.

Switching it back on, she moved back towards the door, heart racing. "Where do I go now?"

"Ok,” Solomon composed himself, clearly rattled, “so leave the restroom and take a left down the hallway. There should be an access lift just past an office on your right. The cameras will see you, so you’re going to have to be quick.”

Amelie left the restroom and sneaked a glimpse to her right back into the club. The patrons still seemed to be engrossed in their indulgences and small talk. No-one had noticed her incident with Damien, or at least it seemed that way. She didn’t see the women who were watching her earlier either.

She took a left as Solomon had suggested and continued down the hallway, through the dim light.  

The office on her right had large windows that allowed her to see right in, but there was nobody there. However, she noticed that the security screens had a camera feed in the bathroom, and her breath caught in her throat.  

The whole deed had been captured, her face and everything, she could even see the big crimson puddle trailing in through the door from where she’d done the deed on one of the monitors. Was she going to have at least some luck this evening or was the whole operation doomed from the start?

No matter what happened now, she herself was rumbled. The cameras had caught her releasing her hologram, had seen who was underneath. If there was one thing she had learned about this city, it was that the moment a problem arises the wealthy throw money at it until someone produces a technological solution, which often comes within mere days. The next intruder that dared set foot in this facility would find rather different security at the door. The same trick wouldn’t work twice. She couldn’t risk showing her face around here again, or anywhere Xanctuary affiliated for that matter. That lot held grudges like nobody’s business.

Clenching her hands into fists hard enough to hurt, Amelie forced herself to move on. Trying to break in to steal the footage would take too long, and she was practically on borrowed time as it was.

The lift itself looked rather inconspicuous, a big steel set of doors with just a single key card reader and nothing more. Amelie placed the key card against the reader, and with an audible beep the doorway opened and she stepped inside....

THE STORY CONTINUES NEXT MONTH.

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www.failuregame.com

Failure is an Online Competitive Arena based Cyberpunk RTS that emphasises macro tactics over micro management. 

Become the most powerful Slicer in the Network known as the NeuroNet, battle other Slicers in 1v1, 2v2 and 1v1v1 pvp matches, customize your deck of abilities made from units, buildings and hacking powers. 

Learn the truth behind the 3 Factions through a true multiplayer driven narrative and ultimately choose sides in all out digital war.

Do you have what it takes to master the NeuroNet and become the ultimate Slicer?

[neuro-slicers]

NeuroSlicers: Issue 1

On Edge

Nexus City was a Megalopolis created after the great nano-plague which wiped out 80% of humanity. The City is the last human enclave of Earth, with 487 Million Residents split up into 8 main Sectors.

On the 4th floor of a small apartment complex, situated on the south side of the Shin Seikatsu Sector, a run down district of Nexus City, lives Lalia Demanov, a freelance Slicer.

A small room, dimly lit by all manor of screens and electronic devices, each with their own collection of tangled cables, connectors and ends. It was like each had given birth to a mangled colony of serpentine creatures. 

Although they were docile, the same couldn’t be said for the mold that had begun to grow among the stacks of pizza boxes, coffee mugs and other indescribable objects strewn about. Lalia, like many of citizens of Nexus, spent most her time within the NeuroNet, a place of utmost beauty and cleanliness. A true paradise - the same couldn’t be said about her apartment.

Lalia was sitting at her backup system, browsing the ACIIE Black Market system to see if there were any new items for sale. Her rig needed an upgrade and she wasn't going to buy anything commercial from the corporate sales market within the NeuroNet - that stuff was either grossly over-priced or bugged so Tesseract could track its use. Though, In all honesty, Lalia could barely afford her rent, let alone an upgrade.

Lalia let out a sigh and switched off the system. She walked over to her window on the other side of the room, making sure to avoid what could only be described as a festering patch of two week old milk that had soaked into the carpet. What made it worse is that this wasn't any old milk; animals that produced the real stuff had long since dropped off the face of the earth. This was artificially cultured milk that, when still good, tasted as creamy and sweet as the real thing, or at least that’s what Lalia had been led to believe. This on the other hand looked like it had come to life as it throbbed and pulsated as the enzymes interacted with the other biological crap that had worked it’s way into what was left of the carpet weaving.

Lalia thought to herself that she should probably clean that up.

Maybe tomorrow.

As she got to the window she unlatched makeshift fastening; the original was long gone after an attempted break in from one of the street kids down in Forgotten Lanes, a series of back alleys and makeshift housing for those that prefer, or are forced off the grid.

She pushed the window up until the night air filled the room. The climate in Nexus was always the same, a fixed temperature of 17.5 degrees centigrade - seasons had ceased to exist; there was no need for them now that almost all food produce was either grown in labs or some unsanctioned grow room on the edge of the city.  

Normally at this hour the streets would be silent, everyone jacked into the Network or fast asleep, but this evening was different. By the sound of the shouting, screaming and other unworldly sounds coming from outside, something was going on down in the lower pits of the sector.

Lalia had other things on her mind. She moved back to her desk and sat down in her chair and leant over to the far corner of her desk and turned on her brand new network access node, a DD87 Mark II; second hand but much better than her previous node which had been relegated to the shelf above her head.

It’s bootup sequence stalled while it made a spluttering sound. Then Nothing.

She tried again but as a precaution she proceeded to strike it with her fist repeatedly, watching an LED blinking inconsistently on and off before it faded out entirely.

“God dammit, why the fuck won't this thing turn on?” She snarls.

“I’m sure hitting it harder will fix it.” A dry voice responds.

Lalia gives a hard look to the camera above her monitor, unable to avoid seeing the ghost of a smirk playing across the face of her friend and tech mentor, Netue, who's smug mug fills her monitor's video feed.

“You think?!” Lalia snaps.

“No.”Netue quips without missing a beat.

Lalia stops pounding the device, and instead snatches it up, yanking it so all the wires disconnect, then hurls it across the room where it collides heavily with the ground, causing it to shatter into a thousand pieces.

Panting, she tries to ignore the chuckle that her friend is clearly not making any effort to repress.

“Netue, why do you keep telling me to buy this junk?” Maybe she didn't sound as cranky as she felt. Somehow, she doubted it.

“Well, it wasn't junk until you threw it on the floor... must have just been a loose cable. You sure you set it up properly?”

Lalia considered cursing at him that OBVIOUSLY she had plugged the damn thing in, but thought better of it. Netue generally knew what he was doing with this stuff, and it wasn't really his fault that she couldn't afford decent equipment.

Maybe she was just that unlucky.

Lalia leans back in her chair with her head in her hands, trying to calm herself. She wouldn't accomplish anything by losing it now. “I’m sick of this, I need a proper contract so we can get out of this dump. I can't keep on like this.”

Netue opened his mouth on the other end of the line, but she cut him off.

“And I don't mean that desperate Luddite with a chip on her shoulder either, she's barely paying me enough to cover next week's rent.”

“Maybe if you stopped breaking or trying to mod every bit of tech you have you’d be out of here already, living it up in Chikara District, with a full Construct and Function Deck.” Netue chided.

Lalia winced.

“By my last calculation you’ve spent roughly... 800,000 credits on junk you’ve ended up violently decommissioning.” Netue casually pointed out, turning away from the camera to start typing rapidly at his keyboard.

Lalia gives out a disgruntled sigh and glances at one of her monitors from atop her shelves, where it sits playing back a vid feed from the local news stations.

Coverage of another murder victim found dumped in the suburbs on the edge of the financial district. Typical, she thought, I'm out here working myself to the bone and they're all busy killing each other.

A young, attractive reporter drones away something tedious as Lalia scowls up at her.

“I bet her face is more artificial than most of my rig”. She snorted.

At that moment, the reporter is suddenly interrupted by a Breaking News overlay replacing the entire broadcast.

“...Huh?” Lalia blinked. This was unusual.

“Is something the matter?” Netue asked absently, without looking away from his monitor.

The overlay gave way to reveal a large procession of people standing in front of a large podium, waiting quietly, forming a mass of white/gray cloaks. Squinting, Lalia thought she could make out the Xanctuary crest on the spectator's cloaks.

The camera view panned up slightly, revealing the structure behind the podium, leaving little doubt as to where this was.

Xanctuary's headquarters in Seiiki district. A technological and architectural marvel and a far cry from the dilapidated buildings and streets of Lalia’s home sector. The housing was cheap there, free in some cases, though there was one caveat to living in Seiiki - you had to swear your allegiance to Xanctuary and conform to their integration ceremony; a process where they replaced no less than one eighth of your frontal cortex with a direct link to the NeuroNet and what can only be described as a telepathy implant that allowed direct communication and thought sharing with other members of the cult. I mean, that’s what they really were. They might have called themselves a Corporation or a Faction, but in reality everyone knew the truth.

“Something big seems to be happening downtown. Turn on your news feed.”

Netue paused, breaking his stride to follow suit by opening the feed for himself. “...Looks like Fontaine is about to make a speech. Wait a sec, need to turn my volume up.” He sighed.

Lalia was jealous of that attitude. Netue was never easily rattled. To him, it was all the same shit on a different day.

A news reporter blinks onto the screen, atop of the image of the gathering. “.......has seemingly gone rogue, and now access to the NeuroNet has been shut down while they try to assess the current situation-”

For the first time since Lalia can remember, the NeuroNet was down. Access for the citizens of Nexus had come to an abrupt end.

“WHAT?! Shit, there goes my trade.” Lalia groaned. No amount of replaced equipment would help her if she couldn't even access the network…

The NeuroNet had become more than just a place to trade data and other commodities, it had become a form of escape for many of Nexus’s citizens; a way to forget about the realities of their lives and the crumbling world around them.

Netue interrupted her mourning. “Hold up, someone is walking up to the mic.”

The news camera pans around as the drone carrying it moves to a better position, zooming in on the speaker. Saisha Fontaine, the spiritual leader of Xanctuary, steps up to the podium, mic in hand.

"Today is a great day.” She begins. 

“We have been waiting for our time, a time that will show the citizen’s of Nexus the true way forward and this time is now upon us. These fragile bodies are too weak to contain man's superior intelligence. The Keeper has shown us the way. He has grown tired of the lies and deception from those who would seek to control him and his domain; of their greed and corruption. He has cast out all who have tainted his creation. Soon we will join him in paradise...but first, we must prove ourselves worthy by pushing forth, by making this sullied paradise clean again.”

The Camera zooms to focus on Saisha Fontain’s face as she looks directly into the camera. “Join us in working with our fellow brothers and sisters. The Network is our holy land, and together we WILL achieve mankind's bright future-”

Lalia switches off her news cast vid feed, slamming the remote down on her desk. “Fucking fanatics.” She grimaced.

“But if what she says is true, it’s going to be a free for all out there.” Netue mused.

“The public are going to lose their minds. Without their network access they can't really do much of anything... Business, trade, socializing.” 

Lalia jumps out of her chair.

“Shit you’re right. This could be the pay day we’ve been waiting for!” She all but shouts.

“Wait, no, that's not what I meant-”

“Don't you see?” She cuts him off. “If we can still get in at all, even just the public sector, we're going to be in DEMAND. Like, ridiculously so. This could be perfect!”

Scrambling around from device to device, she grabs her old node and plugs it in; she flips switches and powers up generators, her entire rig whirring into life. This time her Node actually switches on. Dragging her heavy server close enough to connect it to her rig, she makes a few rapid clicks on her desktop, booting several densely packed scripts to run in parallel, before opening a screen share with Netue and passing him control.

“Maybe you should think this through... Tesseract is not going to be the least bit happy about this situation. Even if you CAN get in, they might not take kindly to Slicers running rampant in the network that they just closed off. Are you listening to me?”

Lalia grabs her Neural Interface and connects it to the socket at the back of her neck, shifting back to get comfortable in her chair. Reaching over her shoulder, she snatches her VR headset off its stand and and slips it on.

“Netue, jack me in.” She demands.

“I really don't think-”

“DO IT!” She yells, unable to contain her excitement any longer.

“...This isn't going to end well.”

His disapproval and discomfort are clear as day to Lalia, but she's beyond caring.

A jolt of static runs up her spine as Lalia jacks into the network, her vision taken up by streams of bright colors and shapes before everything comes into focus.

For a moment she thinks it's gone wrong. The utter silence is surreal. Looking around, she affirms that she is now standing inside the Public Sector, her avatar barely visible to her own eyes but assuredly invisible to others.

“God, it’s weird to see this place so empty, not an avatar in sight.” She whispered.

“Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah, eerie, I don't like it. I would have thought Tesseract would at least have some form of defences in place to to make sure no feckless Slicers were poking around.”

Lalia rolled her virtual eyes at the obvious slight.

“Based on how easy it was for you to Jack in I’d be surprised if others weren't able to do the same...”  Netue mused. “It's strange, I'd have thought it would be harder to get in so quickly. I wrote those scripts weeks ago, normally Tesseract is more careful than this.”

Lalia ignores Netue’s comment and starts gliding towards the main square. “I’m gonna take a look around, see what I can find.”

“Be careful, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Stop Freaking, I’ll be fine.” She scoffed, kicking off the virtual pavement and easily ascending to the rooftops, skimming the structures below and scanning the streets for movement or anything out of place.

“No, I mean there’s something up with your vid feed, it keeps glitching out on my end.”

“Seems fine from here” She absently responds, moving a little faster to cover more ground.

“What exactly are you seeing?” She inquires.

“Static Keeps app-”

….

“Netue? You there?” Lalia faltered, coming to a halt over what would normally be a packed main street. “Your audio cut out, I can't hear you anymore. Netue?”

A Masked face Flashes in front of Lalia’s VR feed, only for a split second before everything goes black and she feels a horrid surge of panic followed instantly by a splitting headache as she is violently disconnected from the network. Her Synaptic interface and all the devices in her room then suddenly shut down and switch off and she’s left in the darkness of her apartment.

Lalia rips off her VR Headset and yanks out her Synaptic interface, the socket on the back of her head hurts. Whatever just happened seemed to have fried her interface.

“God dammit... what the fuck just happened?”

Leaving the headset in the chair, she staggers to her feet and walks over to the window, the street now eerily silent.

“The Whole street seems to be out, just my luck.” She murmurs, not yet terribly concerned that she's already talking to herself. She needs to get Netue back on the line and quick. That mask did not bode well.

Before she can fire up the backup generators, there's a knock at the door.

Lalia is instantly on guard. No-one ever visits her here, least of all this late at night. That thought instantly depresses her, but she shakes it off and approaches the door slowly.

The knocking switches to thumping as whoever is on the other side begins to lose their patience.

“Coming, just give me a sec!” Lalia shouts, pivoting on the spot and hurrying in the opposite direction.

Rushing back to her rig, she pushes her computer and Neural interface chair together and attempts to cover them up with the stain covered blanket that’s lying on her couch. It's not really effective, but there’s not much else she can do with so little warning. She briefly entertains the notion of cramming her hard drive into the microwave, but the banging on the door intensifies once more.

There was probably no need to do anything unnecessary that would draw attention if this is just an innocuous visit, and if it's anything else it's not as if they can prove anything incriminating from just what they could find. Netue's scripts were triple encrypted and the power's out besides that.

Lalia moves next to the door and begins unlocking the latch, peeking out the spy-hole.

“Two secs, just trying to get the latch undone...” Lalia froze as she registered what was behind the door.

Lalia’s night was about to go from bad to much worse.

[neuro-slicers]

NeuroSlicers: Issue 0

The Origin Of The Slicer

With the NeuroNet came the Slicers, hackers capable of bypassing the requirements that normal network users had to abide to in order to access the public sector and beyond.

The First of these requirements was the Avatar; the digital representations of a person within the network, created during sign-up and made to look however a user deemed fit. A slicer on the other hand wanted to stay anonymous, fit between the cracks of the network and go about their business without leaving a trace.

Slicers were ghosts in the machine. By slicing the login systems and duping the network protocols, Slicers were able to access the network as invisible avatars with no form and without many of the limitations that other Avatars were governed by.

Gravity, or at least the Network’s version of it wasn't a problem for a Slicer - A slicer could fly around and eavesdrop unsuspecting corporate business deals, they could trigger code directly from their decks, accessing areas of the Network reserved only for the Tesseract lackeys and those that paid a heavy price to access the good stuff.

Slicers were gods within the network; and this was a problem for Tesseract.