#we love a pathetic failhusband

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #3, Extra Credit: Morass

“Walker.” He ignored the warning. The name. His name. They wouldn’t know it soon, anyways.

The daemon was running through their database. It’d deliver its first payload before he even made it back to his office. He’d be nothing but forgotten garbage in their lists before he could pick up his bag. Their security would be down by the time he hit the button in the elevator. Not the first floor. The roof. He waved his greetings to some coworkers who hadn’t checked their terminals yet. He held the door for another. He slipped by the last to hustle into the elevator before it closed. He’d made good time. He might even be early. He always liked to beat the projected schedule. Rain greeted him with a light wind as he stepped out and stared into the skyline- What little of it was visible in the cramped cityscape. But the neon and LED signs burned holes into his retinas in a way far more satisfying than starlight ever could. He breathed it all in. Like a cure. He was over the railing and staring down at the streets below by the time the daemon hit its stride. Database junked, outward connections terminated, hundreds of linked systems all going red. A screaming halt of commerce from a business that never thought they’d be a victim. Never thought they’d see the day. Well when your company-sponsored optics and biomons were all getting fried inside of you- You didn’t see much of anything coming. He watched the progress with an interest more fit for a stock ticker. Just a little bit longer and he’d have to disconnect from their internal network- The last thing the daemon would take down. The last thing on the list; fry everyone connected that it could. He wished he could claim it as a personal touch. The door slammed open behind him. Guns cocked. Security getting its act together? He turned to look. To watch, really. They fell as their implants burned through their flesh.

“Walker.” Came a voice this time. A call. Terse. A handler. “Time to go.” He sighed. He terminated his connection as he watched the datacenter go up in flames. He stepped into the neon-burnt air.   The rush of wind and rain as he fell with it now brought everything from circuit to bone back to life in him. Trapped for months in an office with shitheads and shitheels everywhere he looked. On orders to play nice, on orders to become integral. He did it. He always could. They’d lean on him and he’d be the cornerstone for their day to day. He’d be the cog in the machine that was barely running. He’d slave away to keep everything shiny and golden. He’d play the game. It was only made up for by the sight of the flames. And the fall he always wanted. Blades kicked out from his hands, from his feet; gripped tight and swung as he reoriented. The first dug into the concrete wall, the next into glass, his feet slamming in time to drive him completely into the building’s side. A stop sudden enough to kill even the most prepared of jumpers and more than enough to rip the limbs off of anyone else. But this was his drug. The daemon might’ve done its job, but the devil had one thing left on his list.

The blade crushed the reinforced glass as he twisted it. The pane destroyed with another thrust before he could force his way into the building. His hand bled as he stepped in once more.

He was already heading towards the executive suite. Dead center of the building. The board would be dead by the time he got there. He’d find the stragglers burned up from the inside before he even had his hands on their datashards. But there was still one more. The one sensible freak amongst the whole of this shitfest. Not an implant in his head. Nothing connected to local networks. A real stranger in a city full of chromed up psychos. His bloodied thumb drifted along the edge of the metal that adorned his temples. Yeah. Chromed up psychos. He kicked in the door. A bunker two floors down hidden behind a false wall. Not listed on building schematics but found through a housekeeper who’d accidentally triggered it years before. They’d been scrambled and discharged. Left to rot. He found them. Tore the info out of them. He remembered it well. And here he was to repeat the act.

That was months ago. His hand was still scarred from the window. His knees didn’t bend quite right from catching himself. His blades didn’t quite leap from his wrists like they used to. His head hurt trying to recall his life. And he was suffering from it all in the back of the cheapest pickup he’d ever seen.

He’d always craved the fall. Going from the highest highs where he knew he didn’t belong. Back down to the street, back down to the sad reflections of faded stars and neon lights. But sitting in the back of a truck out in the wastes, out in the junkyard? Walker lifted his hand as he racked his memories. He wasn’t sure he’d ever fallen this far. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. He laid back down in the truck bed. He breathed in the dusty air. Night City stared down at him- Like it was checking on him. Wondering if he’d had enough. As if to ask him if he’d had enough high-flying.

His middle finger greeted the sunrise backlit by a neon sky.