(Short Story) King of the Stacks - Part 3: Life

 

Nanz does his best to try and deal with the aftermath. This is an original story set in the Cyberpunk universe.

At night, the Tree of the Lost felt like a graveyard where ghosts refused to sleep. It was a place of solemn reminiscing lit with paper-lanterns, surrounded by the smell of burnt SCOP and the sound of humming luminesce signs. It was a place of contrast. Life and death. Then and now. The tree emanated an eerie, almost smothering presence in the air beyond the chokehold of the SoCal city smog. Fernando wasn’t superstitious, but even he could feel it. The great haunting of man. In the ruins of Arasaka Headquarters downtown is one of the few other places in the city where this presence could be strongly felt.

To many, it could be chalked up as a fear of the unknown—the idea of omniscient watchers from beyond the veil looking on as humanity continues without them. Lost throughout, unheard in their efforts to reconnect to the totality of their past. Unheard and unfelt in all but that vague unease. Fernando wasn’t superstitious. He believed the past was best left fractured and unassembled. It’s easier for people to ascribe voices where there are none so they can avoid the one within. Still, the presence was left unexplained.

Unlike most comers-and-goers, Nanz had nothing but time to sit and stew in its wholeness while on the beat. It was undeniable. He saw every sour face and dour figure that would walk up to that tree and hammer away another shred of hope into it. He tried not to acknowledge it, but with every picture the thickness grew. The tree bark wore a mask of faces. With each knock of another nail, the fear would pound on his head until he opened the door once more to greet its reminding. 

There was indeed a haunting, but it wasn’t ghosts of the past or even the present. They were restless all the same. This fear was not unknown. It is innate—forever, inevitably, to come. It is the fuel for life.

Of the ten or so thousand people that inhabit the small district of Dogtown, there are a chosen couple hundred that operate under Colonel Hansen’s command of Barghest. Like many of the district’s inhabitants, they’re only looking for a way towards a new beginning. In a sense, a way home. At the base of the Black Sapphire skyscraper are five levels dedicated to barracks and mess halls for those fully committed to the cause. For the others, the second-lifers, a crowd of eyes and a place to clock-out.

“Got any plans tomorrow?” the soldier asks. He sits opposite Fernando; his cot is decorated with blankets and magazines. On the wall above his pillow are various photographs taken with fellow soldiers. A few in particular are picturesque landmarks.

“Eh. Got errands,” Nanz replies. His cot just is. There’s no blanket and no pillow. At the foot of his bed is a locker full of gear and his weapon, just like everyone else’s.

“Stroll the block on your day off? Bro. Have your girl do that shit.”

“Stef’s workin’. And it ain't her biz, neither.”

“Alright. Cause I was gonna say, Hansen's running another one of those fighting tournaments.”

Nanz searches through his vest pockets, emptying them of various loose ends. Guitar picks, cigarettes, chewing gum wrappers… they all come spilling out onto the cot one by one. But not this last pocket. This one, he had come to remember, had a reminder.

Nanz carefully removes the torn photograph of Lew and inspects it. He’d forgotten he even took the thing. Rather than haphazardly tossing it onto the cot with the rest of the junk, this he makes sure to keep tucked in the bottom of his footlocker. The fresh coat of paint on his vest had dried but the smell is still fresh, souring his nose. The smeared blood is almost completely absent, but can still be seen faintly at the edges. A reminder of his obligation.

The soldier shakes his leg, anticipating an answer. “What do you think?”

“Nah.”

“Why?”

“Got errands.”

“No, motherfucker, about the concept. The idea of you hypothetically, on a free day without shit to do, doing that.”

“Just seem like a waste of time to me.”

“Waste of time? For a chance to meet the Colonel? You're fuckin’ whacked. So what's your Sunday plans? Watch Watson Whore, beer in one hand dick in the other till’ Monday comes?”

“Got errands.”

“Bro.”

“And then, yeah, till’ Monday comes. Sure. I like that show, actually.”

“What would Stef think?”

“She likes it too.”

“You don't think that's a waste of time? Even for a promotion? Show you’re really in the cause.”

“In the cause?”

“Yeah, you know, the go-getters, the firestarters. Hansen don't want hounds with no dog in them.”

“I ain't got nothing to prove.”

“That's whacked, man. No way you was this pussy back in Heywood. Y’all bangers slung lead, no way you wasn't throwin’ hands too.”

“I slung pills, mang.”

“Sure. Dime bags and safety caps. That's what landed you in D-town? Actually, why did you run from the ‘Tinos?”

Nanz lifts the bulletproof vest over his head and tosses it into the footlocker to his right. It lands with a thud, half of it hanging out of the black plastic container. He eyes the soldier across from him. The two stare at each other, but one is noticeably more shifty than another.

“You see me handing in my tags?” Nanz says softly yet sternly. “I ain't got nothing to prove. Ain't going. I can still show you I got fight, though, if you want. For the cause.” 

Then, after a deep inhale, he lets out an exhale through his nose. His t-shirt is still matted to his torso from accrued sweat. He stands and pulls the edges of it out from under his waistband, letting it hang loosely.

The soldier opposite Nanz gives a half-hearted smile and hesitantly goes back to untying his boots.

“Just seein’ if you're still in there. D-town's changing ‘ya man.”

“Dogtown ain't change me.”

“All the worse, then. Complacency in a dangerous life… you know.”

“Nah, I don't. Keep that guard up, fool.”

Nanz still couldn’t help but feel like a transient every time he left the tower, green duffel flung over his shoulder. Sure, dozens of others also had their own places, but he couldn't shake the feeling all eyes followed him. It wasn't ego that sustained this feeling. They followed him away from the epicenter, its beating heart, until he was barely within grasp at the fingertips. Away, to his home away from home away from home.

In the Stacks, exiting Apartment Block 7 Room 302, Fernando has lost all pretense. He wears a faded, dark red Fingers and the Outlaws t-shirt with navy blue jeans and tan work boots. His Sunday best. Outside of a pistol strapped to his hip, his only reminder remains dangling around his neck. Printed: Name, Blood Type, Date of Birth, Service ID, Field of Work.

Stretching down his left arm is a sleeve of various floral, musical, and Christian themed tattoos that reaches to the base of his fingers. They’re semi-faded with a vibrant range of colors. His right arm has a similar styling, but the sleeve abruptly stops slightly below his elbow. The only thing that’s there on his forearm is an unfinished black outline of a wolf gnashing its teeth.

The Stadium always filled Nanz with wonder whenever he approached it, doubly so at night where all the multi-colored hologram adverts covering its walls shoot light out onto the strip. By day, its luster is dulled. Most travellers and big spenders avoid seeing the grim reality of Dogtown uncovered by the sun. They'd rather the bright artificial colors guide them to their money pits in blissful ignorance. 

“Welcome to the preemest netrunning shop in all of Dogtown! What can I do for you?”

Sammy looks up at Nanz with an entrepreneurial glint in his eye, almost like the sun's reflection off a sniper's scope. There's a frown on the face of Nanz. He's clearly unimpressed by the child's sharpshooting. 

“Got a bypass here for the Barghest airdrops,” Nanz says, “little toy you be selling to unsuspecting hotshots. Figure you'd take it back.”

“Toy? These tools are single-use. The code self-deletes. No refunds.”

“Ain't been used.”

“Policy still stands; no refunds. Besides, I know you didn't buy it. I'd point out that those airdrops, wherever they come from, aren't officially claimed to be by or for Barghest. My tool runs a universal shade-32 decryption algorithm that…”

“Yeah I don't care ‘bout all that. You know who they're for. But if we're getting official…” Nanz reaches under his collar to pull out his dog tags, jangling them like keys for a cat. Sammy is forced to play. There’s a strange comfort in commanding authority from civilian clothes—working both sides. It’s a hidden dagger, albeit dulled by hesitancy.

“....Let me see it,” Sammy says.

Nanz slides the doodad across the counter and the boy inserts its personal link into a computer. Then, he begins tapping and typing away at an unseemly rate. 

“Ah. I remember. Bum kid. He was here a couple weeks ago. Guessing his wings melted, then?”

Nanz tries not to entertain the question. Sammy unplugs the device and rests it somewhere off to the side, on a small table. 

“Right. Discretion. That's what customers usually pay me for.“

“Hey, imma pay this shop another visit if you don't quit runnin’ your mouth, güey. Be a lot less discrete then. Where's your parents, anyway?”

Sammy gives Nanz a look—just a look. Nothing can be read from it, but nothing needs to be.

Where’s yours? The boy nearly asks, eyes glancing at the dog tags. He holds his tongue. The electronic safe is tucked directly in front of him underneath the counter. He drops to a kneel to open it, and in doing so, hangs his proud head low.

In Night City, it was recommended to carry a loaded gun at all times. In Dogtown, it was a requirement. Even bearing the tags, even being the man, Nanz knew his life could be over in an instant. Street cred don’t stop bullets, as if Nanz even had any cred. Not anymore, not here. Only what's assigned. 

Tucked under his left arm is a box of brand new Sky Highs. Usually only pre-owned designer junk could be found in the stadium, but not this time. This time, these B-Ball jumpers came fresh off a stolen truck. Too many people would kill for these. That’s why Nanz’s right arm hangs low, right beside his pistol.

Distant gunshots startle him. They’re close, maybe a block away behind the casinos. One of the Barghest patrol cars creeping along the strip quickly spins into a 180 and turn its sirens on. He could make it, if he was quick. His hand’s gripping the gun now, ready to yank it out of its holster and unload it if necessary.

But it isn’t necessary. Today is Sunday. He has a life yet to live. Nanz relaxes his arm and keeps walking, head on a swivel to protect his box of brand new Sky Highs.

   

It's a peaceful respite for Nanz, being at the orphanage. Sure, you could look at it as a struggle: begging loudest for scraps among the flock, lacking stable parental figures to weed out the growing inner troubles. That's only glass half empty. Half full is the roof overhead.

“Look what Mr. Cervantes brought you,” the warm, nurturing woman says. Walking up to her, slightly limping, is a clean cut and prim child. Replacing tattered tank tops and shorts are freshly washed t-shirts and jeans, not too unlike Nanz's current attire.

“Sup lil’ choom.”

“What is that?” Lew asks. The lady takes the lid off the box, revealing two shiny white shoes. Flex foam. Red detailing. Too new.

“Sky High 13s,” Nanz professes proudly.

“Woah…" Lew takes the shoes out of the box. Without another word, he heads off into another room to put them on. 

“Lew!” the woman yells, to no avail. She turns to Nanz, “I'm sorry, he's… I'm sure he's grateful.”

“How's the leg?”

“Just fine. I can tell he still has a bit of pain from how he walks, but… he acts like it never even happened.”

“Hey, I been meaning to ask, actually, you mind if I took him out to grab a bite? Ain't leaving the Stacks or nothin’, just wanting to check up on him.”

The woman looks at him suspiciously, her gaze speaking for her as she looks over his tattoos. Nanz's actions speak for him, too, and they're louder. He’s a savior.

“I'm sorry—of course!” she says. “It's just… it's rare to get someone who actually cares for once. We don't get actual policing around here, and…” she bites off the last bit of that statement. He is still Barghest. She doesn't want him to start biting.

The white shoes are a shocking contrast of pristine as Lew walks around the corner, almost comically blinding in that sense of fashion and flash.

“How do they feel?” the lady asks. 

“They’re big. My feet slide around in them.”

“Well, they have to be a little bigger so you can grow into them.”

“They're really cool though, thanks,” Lew says looking up toward Nanz. 

“You still reading that book you had?” Nanz asks. 

“What book?”

“That war book, ‘bout that ‘Saka mang.”

“Oh, uh… no. School stuff.”

“You back in school now? No, that's good, though. Bet you'll be schooling fools at ball too with them new kicks, soon enough. Spent enough time just watchin’.”

A smile lights up on Lew's face, one that hasn't been seen by anyone in weeks. Growing pains, perhaps. Nanz can tell he feels out of place here. But anywhere's better than a gutter.

“Lunch is on me, dawg. Where you wanna go?”

The smile grows wider. 

Lew wasn't actually sure he'd be let into Marlon's until he arrived. He’d already been shooed off a half dozen times before. It gave him great satisfaction knowing he wouldn't have to beg for service this time. In fact, with a Barghest soldier accompanying him, he felt like he was sitting in the presidential suite.

“You ever eaten here?” Nanz asks, sipping his AllFoods latte.

Lew hesitantly nods, his gaze shifting downward. He wouldn’t be able to answer anyway. His mouth is full of food, and he’s having trouble topping it off at this point. He shoves another hot french fry into the pile nonetheless.

Nanz takes a fry and begins dipping it into his milk drink. “Pretty good. Don’t get to eat out much, Stef usually packs my shit. Sure beats fuckin’ SCOP sandwiches, though. Can thank your little revolver stunt for that.”

Lew sucks in a deep breath, finally swallowing all the food, “You sold that? What about my money?”

“Your money?”

“For the airdrop thing. The tool.”

“Gave it to Jennifer.”

“What? Why?”

“Coz she’s gettin’ you somewhere, choom.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Doesn’t feel like it?”

“Those were my eds.”

“Nah, you spent those eds with a purpose. Only coz God are you still breathing despite that. They gotta stay gone, dawg.”

“No, that's fucked up. That's not fair.”

“They're gone. You paid, you played, you lost. Now what's your prob with Jenn?”

“She has my eds.”

“They're gone,” Nanz repeats.

Lew scoffs, “She treats me like I'm a gonk. All of them do.”

“The other kids?”

“Sometimes.”

“The fuck they got to say about you?”

“Nothin’, they try to act like they're smarter than me. Talk down to me, act weird to me. But they got nothing, no kinds of wants. They're happy sitting around being babied, so of course I'm the bad guy. Most of them can't even cook for themselves, and they're pretending they're tough or something.”

“So what do you want?” Nanz asks. Lew shifts uncomfortably in his chair, trying to put on his best face. It's one of thought, but pointed forward.

Nanz rephrases, “You ain't got dreams?”

“I got dreams!”

“Yeah? You think about them a lot?”

“Obvi. All the time. Wanna mega sweet penthouse. High up, all kinds of windows.”

“What, really? Why?”

“I don't know. For the view.”

“You think about everything else?”

Lew gives him a puzzled look, clearly intrigued to see where this is headed.

“Life,” he continues, “the shit that gets you there. Ground ‘neath all the clouds. Life is here, right now. You think about life?”

Lew shrugs. 

“I ain't gonna say those kids're smarter than you, just that scavving an airdrop ain't smart. That ain’t a life move, that’s a death move, you feel me? You wanna reach your endgame? Find a safer, more legit hustle. Put some legwork in. Want respect? Stack them eds respectably.”

"I already got this talk."

"Yeah but you ain't got it from me."

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“I'm just saying. That's, like, hyper… hippercritical. Barghest's not safe.”

“Is for me.”

“You're gonk.”

“Nah, compared to what I was doin’? It's nothing. ‘Cept when you got me runnin’ the damn block.”

“But my point is you’re a soldier. I don’t know why you get to lecture me on what’s safe when you coulda just got a normal job.”

“You keep reading books, you'll know books. Streets was all I knew. Shit, still is. Tryna steer you away from mistakes I made.” 

The inherent contradiction. King of nothing, speaking from a place of authority he has yet to reach. Change;the unchanged. 

“So, why'd you leave?” Lew asks in between the handfuls of fries. 

“Leave the streets?”

“Leave Heywood. Your chooms.”

“I didn't leave.”

“...But you're here. Did you piss someone off?”

“Someone. Too much, not enough. Depends how you look at it. I was a nobody.”

“They betrayed you?”

“Nah, I don't know. Part of the game. I had my music thing going, so I guess they thought I had one foot out the door already. Shit, they put bodies on me I ain't even know existed.”

“Like a… fall guy?”

“You know the thing about Dogtown? It's that type of change only city folk seek. Like… NC is all I know, right? So I gotta skip town, but fuck am I gonna do in Colorado or whatever? Shit, bro, head my ass down to Mexico? They're my people, but they're not my people. I don’t know. Right here, right now, this is the closest I'ma get to home.”

“Heywood’s not that far away.”

“It’s far enough. Like that penthouse of yours. Just gives you a better view of the shit done gone by.”

Lew reflexively scowls at him but then collects himself and looks ever so slightly apologetic. Nanz does the same, fidgeting in his chair as he pivots his approach.

“What was he like, your pa?” Nanz asks. Lew rolls his eyes. Of course she told him. And still, despite his bluster and will, he can’t help but look wistfully at the soldier.

“Mean.”

Nanz nods, “Yeah, mine was too.”

“Not in a bad way. Like…”

“Good mean. Stern but caring.”

“Yeah.”

“Like you’d wanna win his respect. What about your ma?”

Further back, years back. Lew’s at the playground, and he’s fallen off the monkey bars. Knees are abraded by the mulch. He’s fine. He can stand, but she’s still there, running right up to him. Just in case. 

His face begins to give; his eyes begin to water, but he stays strong—for them.

“She was… very nice. Very…” Wholesome. Nanz doesn’t answer for him this time, but he can almost tell exactly the kind of person she was. He doesn’t need to ask any further, either. He already heard the story. Shot dead on Pacifica Blvd. Wasn’t even gang affiliation, just desperation and aggression. They would have left the crime-ridden district years ago, if only… what? Was it curbed ambition?

It slips out. “I miss them,” Lew says.

“What happened to your pa?”

The boy looks out the window once more. He then turns his head toward the inside of the burger joint, scanning over the row of people at the counter and far away from the overbearing window to the beyond. Beyond the wall, or beyond the city? Perhaps further still. Nanz has no words of wisdom to impart on the young boy. Not now. His mind is far beyond just the same.

The roar of an AV's thrusters echo throughout the district. For the day, last call. Red smoke from the care package begins to loom over the stacked containers, and from its position, it's mighty close to the entrance of Terra Cognita.

By night, all the opportunists would come flooding out onto the streets—hustlers and high-rollers alike. Crime was controlled during the day, confined to ambitious scavs and the drugged up degens. Everyone knew the watchful eye of Barghest had their number. Not at night. A lot of Barghest by night were redesignated to the casinos, either on-duty or after-duty. The Stacks stayed lively, but only by the thrumming heartbeat of fear for what laid beyond.

It wasn't night, not yet, but it was close. Last call. Lew eyed the holstered pistol as Nanz escorted him back home, wondering if it'd be enough to stop anyone who attempted to trifle. He would read passerbys, create his own little ranking system of safe to screwed. The odds haven't been in his favor so far. Nanz was a soldier, sure, but to Lew he didn't seem much of a fighter. It'd be another mad dash come trouble.

“I'm just saying,” Lew says, “It doesn't even have to be, like, official. If I had a radio, some binocs…”

“What was we saying about this?”

“I’m not chasing airdrops or anything, though, just like… lookout work. I’m good at it.”

“We had that same kinda shit ‘cross the bay. Un chico ligero. You ain’t no corner kid. Ain't no Barghest hound, neither.”

“No corners. I got my places.”

“Clamberin’ ruins for a slim buck ain’t it, mang. And if it's not official, who gon’ pay you, anyway?”

“I'm just saying…”

“Let that shit go, for real. Life, choom.”

Lew gazes up at the stars, not even looking at where he’s going. To our ancestors, it was a map. He’s still trying to figure out what they say to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the red smoke. His eyes instead quickly affix to the Heavy Hearts.

“Why do they have that big beacon comin’ out the pyramid, anyway?” he asks. “The club. Just goes on… looks like forever.”

“Link up with the aliens. That's why it's a pyramid. Those little motherfuckers built them things you know. Now we just paying respect.”

“Aliens didn't build the pyramids.”

“‘S what I heard. Hey, hold on a sec, someone's buzzing me.”

Nanz's stride slows to a halt as he pulls his phone out from his pocket. He reads the screen and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Sir.”

“We need backup in Terra Cog. Multiple fireteams of scavs. You’ll be briefed on arrival.”

“Huh? I… it’s my day off. I’m in civvies.”

“You'll be equipped.”

“That’s not my sector.”

“I’m your sector sergeant, Cervantes! Or do you want to answer to the Colonel?”

“...No sir.”

“What’s your current location?”

“In the Stacks. By, uh…”

“Do you have transportation?”

“No.”

“Alright, get to the gate immediately. We’ll send a car for pickup. Copy?"

“By the gate, yeah. Sound copy. I'll be there.”

Lew looks up at the soldier with confusion. Both are confused. Nanz begins pacing back and forth, his wrist shaking. "Oh... No puedes. No puedes. ¡Maldito soldado! ¡Tengo una vida más allá de tus pinches jueguitos de mierda!"

"What? What is it?" Lew asks.

“I, uh..." Nanz takes a deep breath to compose himself, "Gotta delta."

“I thought today was your off day.”

“Yeah, well…”

Nanz removes his pistol from his holster and unclicks its safety. He then checks the chamber and the magazine. It's all in working order, of course, and he doesn't particularly need to be doing any of this. It just helps.

Nanz continues, “Gonna have to go it your own the rest of the way, choom.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Scavs. Intercepted that drop up in Terra Cog.”

The sound of gunshots begins to ring out in the distance, up the hill. 

“I… fuck. Fuck it.”

“But they don’t need you though, right? You're just patrol. You said it was safe.”

“They need backup. That's, uh…” Nanz pulls out his dogtags hesitantly. “This is me.”

“But you'll be back, right?”

“Probably not tonight. But, yeah, I’ll be back.”

The headlights of a car in the distance begin to come into view beyond the imposing Dogtown gate.

“But—wait, what about your, uh, Stef? Just tell them…”

 The lights dimly illuminate the pair even from afar, and Nanz has to hold his arm up as he approaches just to not blind himself.

“I gotta delta!” Nanz yells. “Head home, choom!”

The supercharged cruiser rumbles expectantly, and the passenger door clicks unlocked once he’s next to it.

“Shouldn't be fucking doing this,” he says, squeezing into the passenger seat.

“Duty above all.” Sitting beside him is a woman with a shaved head and blue goggles resting on her forehead. But she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. Kenzie stays staring out the windshield, through squinted eyes, at Lew still standing beyond the gate. He squints back, unable to see past the beaming lights.

“Hey, I know that little troublemaker. That your kid?”

“What? Nah. You know how to drive this thing or what?”

Kenzie lets out a breathy laugh, turning towards Nanz and pulling down her goggles. “Let's find out.”

She reaches for the dashboard and flicks a couple red switches. Lights. Siren. Action. The tires squeal as the car spins itself around, its engine roaring to life and even drowning out the sirens for a moment. Lew’s gaze drops low, tracing the dirt path as he turns to walk away to his home away from home away from home. He’ll be back. He has to be.

To be concluded...