Hugo

Introductions

Zedric opened his eyes to the blatant sun peering through his apartment window, rising from the edge of the Ring above silhouettes of city skyscrapers arrogantly reaching into the inky darkness of space. 
He was comforted by this lucky sign as he dozed back off to sleep, ignoring the various piles of clothing and unfinished projects that lay around the room. Machinery hummed in the background, patiently waiting to produce some sensational invention, if only such an alert, intelligent visionary were conscious and present.
Of course, our would-be Da Vinci was rudely roused by a bang on the door, followed by a crunch of wooden splinters and a hit squad.
Zedric barely registered the fact, scrunched up against the wall in fear, before they shoved a bag over his head, zip tied his hands behind him, and began marching him down the service staircase. He dimly realized he was in very real danger of becoming a non-citizen and fought weakly to escape their grasp, catching a shockstick beating for his effort. And then he was shipped off in an unmarked van, nicely locked in a personal cage.
The head collection agent clapped his hands, smoked a cigarette with the crew, and then proceeded with his collections quota. It had been overall a very uneventful morning, and he planned on keeping it that way.

It was a few chilling hours before he was marched further down into a basement and handcuffed to the chair.
"Bag. Classic. Of course."
They pulled the sackcloth from Kemmerich's head, so he could truly admire the ancient concrete torture chamber, complete with string light and ominous stains. They may have been in space, but 200 years later, the secret police never changed.
"Kemmerich, Vlad," the shady figure said, halting, imposing, and deliberately inhuman. A voice to evoke fear. Zed had the small comfort that at least they didn't have his real name.
"You are an important figure with some experience in the dirty work," the figure said with an unimpressed smile.
"Yeah-"
The interrogator waved him off. "It was not a question. In the past, you have worked for certain interests against us. We have multiple recordings of your crimes, including the December data breach, the doxxing and targeted attacks on Senior Councilmember Stasi, and most notably," he paused, "your connections with the Ui'Raxa."
"You don't need to read me my resume," Vlad laughed nervously. "And I really don't have connections with the Raxa. If you know me, you know I don't keep company."
"Since the Tang fell?" the interrogator said with almost a hint of compassion.
"Since the Tang fell," Vlad said bitterly. "Look, buddy, I love to chat, but I have places to be."
"Of course."
"I've seen a dozen interrogations like this. If you wanted me dead I'd already be in a body bag. What do you want?"
"The problem is very complex."
"Fine. Am I getting paid?"
The interrogator said nothing.
"It's a matter of principle."
More heavy silence.
Vlad sighed. "Fine. Since you asked so nicely. What do you want?"
"How did you get access to the Shinso Corporation Tower?"
Vlad went pale. "Oh no. You can't... I can't go there."
"Why not? We have other agreements of course."
"I... uh..." Vlad struggled for composure. "A magician never reveals his secrets."
"Can you do it again?"
"... Yes," he said, dragging out the word.
"Why the hesitation?" the interrogator laughed.
"It's a big ask."
"I told you it was complex. Here is the drive. You know what to do."
The interrogator rose from the table like a mountain of muscle, neatly checking his cuffs while speaking off-handedly. "My assistants will need to give you a proper appearance before you leave. You will understand. After all, it is just a matter of principle. Goodbye 'Zed.' I hope I never have to see you again," the man said cheerily as he closed the door, leaving "Vlad Kemmerich" to a cold realization and a sound beating.

Zed sat still in his chair, jittering his leg up and down in place while he drank in the scenery. He didn't really want to go outside and he thought the car would take a minute to arrive anyways.
The Electric Cafe where he was seated was an eclectic mix of rich colors, mostly garish oranges and reds with posters covering the walls, a backdrop to the main attraction which was the supposedly secure computer lab. The place was a semi-anonymous hub for privacy-minded individuals which meant it wasn't truly secure, but it was the closest haven he knew.
Having wasted enough time, (and beginning to catch the clerk's evil eye; the place was paid for hourly) Zed exited the apartment business and made his way to the street. Out in the dark streetside, peddlers accosted his attention with neon signs and odd pitches while the crowds tore furiously on. He turned from the hot mess to crack a Soma crystal in the alley. Blue light puffed out in breath against the ghostly alley, monochrome with filtered neon moonlight and steam.
He took the moment to think about his conversation earlier.
"Mitch, it's me, Zed. I don't know how, but they found me. I need help man. I'm fucking fucked!"
"Who is this?"
"It's me, John Fucking Malkovich, who the fuck do you think it is?"
"Calm the fuck down. Jesus, you're giving me a headache."
"..."
"Alright, look, what do they want?"
"The russkis want me to crack the tower."
"..."
"Hello?"
"Let me get this straight. They want you, a fanboy, to crack the tower?"
"Yeah, yeah... they thought I had connections. I don't know, I thought I'd call you."
"... Where are you?"
"I'm at the Electric Cafe on 39th."
"Where did they drop you off?"
"Just a few blocks away."
"I'm going to send help, okay? Just stay where you are. What are you wearing?"
"Orange sweater and jeans. Oh, and a cap."
"Good. Stay there."
"I don't know man, I'm fuckin' scared, they already bagged me and I don't know what to---"
The phone hung up.
"Just fuckin great," Zed muttered.
In the alley, he leaned against the wall by the vending machines, chugging nervously on the Soma device. It would be alright, he thought. Mitch would know what to do. He felt the nanites crawling across his back and face, stitching back together and warming the areas where he had been beaten before. That bastard. Someday, Zed was going to get even. "Fucking matter of principle."
Out of the vapor, a black Oldworld Mustang pulled up behind him and rolled down the window.
"Are you Zed?"
Zed couldn't believe his eyes as he let out a wide grin. Man, Mitch must've been shelling out.
"Yeah."
A hand appeared from the dark holding what looked like a cylinder and pointed it at him. Two pops later, Zed was missing half his cranium and laying in the gutter.
The vintage car rolled back into the steam silently. 
The street sweepers discovered the body the next morning, ID'd it with a quick DNA sample, then dumped the carcass in the back. One of the street sweepers purchased a can of recycled piss from one of the adjacent vending machines; there was only so much water on the Ring anyways.
    

Angel

Angel closed the car door softly on the vintage Mustang, drinking in the quiet night air of the Bio District. He headed towards the cabin-style diner surrounded by worn automobiles and Oldworld trees, except for a single cherry red Ford with the top off, now darkened to an ominous hue. A two lane highway wound off just out of sight.
Light shone from the doorway gratuitously and he saw a blonde-haired woman in a fur coat struggling to light a cigarette with a match outside. Angel profferred a lighter without a word, and the young woman gratefully accepted.
Then she saw him.
She coughed pitifully before drawing a racking breath.
"... You know, I don't usually smoke," she said, avoiding eye contact with the man in the suit.
"I know."
They both stood in the blue darkness while the orange glow crumbled in her hand wistfully.
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Then do you want to come in? I already ordered."
"I can't see why not."
Holding the door, he followed her into the diner. Along the bar, weary workers eyed the well-dressed newcomers warily. Money meant trouble.
As they sat at their booth, a matronly waitress brought dishes of State Breakfast. The waitress looked dour and tired. The young lady smiled like a dead rat. Angel ordered a coffee.
"So are you going to kill me or not," the lady said as she fiddled with the food on her plate.
"Mr. M said to bring you back." Angel left out the implications.
She snorted. "Fuck that guy."
"He's your father."
"You fuck him then."
He couldn't help but mentally blaspheme something about women while sitting across from pouting Mary.
"You need to come back."
"Why?"
"It's not safe for you."
"It's not safe because of my ganglord dad. Who is so concerned about my safety that he sent one of his goons to fetch me. Oh, sorry, I meant head henchman Angel. Well guess what? I don't need to and I don't want to go back to that hellhole of an ivory tower. It's riddled with bullet holes and bloodstains."
"You're being difficult."
"Oh, sorry, guess I should consider that the goon's 'just doing his job,'" she sneered. She sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not-I'm not mad at you. I just want to leave... be normal. Not live at an empty dinner table twenty feet long." She seemed on the verge of tears, choking on the words.
He felt uncomfortable proceeding. "You won't make it."
"Why, because I'm a spoiled brat?" She raised an eyebrow.
"No. Because it's harsh. And full of harsh people like me and your father."
"Huh."
They sat and ate quietly.
"Hey. I... want to talk."
"What about?"
"I don't know."
"... Oh. How about we pretend like we just met?" She awkwardly offered her hand over the plates.
Angel, of course, shook it firmly.
"You know, my dad used to take me here for proper American food."
"I can imagine."
"He said it was important to remember your roots," she said somberly, before perking up with a playful voice. "So. Mr. Angel. I'm Mary. What do you do for a living?"
He had the feeling that he was playing tea party. "I work for your father."
"Mmm. And what do you do?"
"Management. Of people."
"So Human Resources you might say."
"Indeed."
She thought. "You know, you're not like the other guys. You're more... refined."
"Benefit of Seniority."
"Exactly! So I've always wondered... what is it like to... you know. Kill a guy."
Angel turned cold at the thought. "I'm not sure that's appropriate."
"Oh... But won't you make the boss's daughter happy?"
"If I must... It's, well, very personal. I guess you get used to it. But you're always on the edge. If not, you get careless and sloppy."
"Food for thought. What's the worst thing you've done to a guy?"
He seemed to think, found an answer in the clouds, and said firmly, "I don't want to talk about it."
"You sure?"
"Yes," he said, in a tone that was absolute.
"Do you read?"
"I have one book."
"Oh, really? Which one?"
"The Bible. My father gave it to me."
"What's he like?"
"Dead."
"Oh. Sorry. I guess we have that in common."
"I don't have any family, that's why I work for your father. It's common for the soldiers."
"I never knew that."
"Among other things."
"... I really don't want to go back."
"I understand."
The conversation died again.