Stories written by Poker

Mr Double's Palisades

Awakenings 2039, part 1
Written by Poker

Alex hobbled slowly along the crowded street. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, somewhere in the Soho warrens was all he knew. The bright neon lights reflected back from the rain soaked pavement, giving the street a fairground feel. His left arm was pressed tightly against his ribs; beneath it, his antique Mars Landing tee-shirt had grown another patch of red.

Alex new the Razorbacks were still there, following him, waiting for him to move off of the main drag to somewhere less conspicuous. Somewhere they could finish him off. The largest of the Razorbacks already had his credit bubble, he'd slash and grabbed it as Alex had come out of the Gun Mart. The only reason to follow him now was payback. Alex never walked down the street without his micron blade welded to his wrist, it had saved him on a number of occasions, but today his tweaked reflexes had let him down. Still hyper after dropping off the Krysmec at the Gun Mart, he'd automatically retaliated, severing the hand of one of the clan, before he knew what he was doing. The Razorbacks were not a clan you fought. You gave them your money, took some of their abuse, and survived. Now, here was Alex, klicks from home, with seven or eight angry Razorbacks behind him. And he'd lost his profits anyway. As Alex stumbled along the road, the early evening crowd of freaks and misfits parted before him, they knew that glazed look in a Cit's eyes. They knew trouble when they saw it and were staying well clear.

Alex knew that he had to do something. He was steadily losing blood and, every minute, the Razorbacks were getting higher on glanded drugs, building to an amok frenzy that would end in Alex's drained body floating in a sewer. Alex tongued his uplink tooth and projected a heads-up display on his retina. The open link was slow, but fast enough to reward him with a schematic of the Soho levels. Alex saw that there was a tube entrance not far away, on Oxford Street, which ran parallel to the side street he was on. Immediately, Alex darted to his left down a fetid alley. He was slowing and knew that this was his only chance. Halfway down the alley he heard the whoops of the drugged Razorbacks as they closed in on him. Alex knew he couldn't make it. Accepting his karma, Alex stopped and turned to face the clan. He extended his micron blade and, crouching slightly, waited for death to take him.

The Razorbacks slowed, loose grins spread across their vacant faces. They knew they could take their time in discontinuing the stupid Cit who'd fought back. As they shambled closer, two figures stepped out of the shadows. One, tall and lanky, the other short and squat. both were sharply dressed in microweave greatcoats, all shoulder pads and plastibrass buttons. The lead Razorback stopped. "Hey prettyboys, dissipate. 'Less you want what he's getting."
The two men remained silent. As one, they reached into their greatcoats and pulled out matt black Krysmecs. Silently, high velocity carnage pounded into the seven gang members. Before they could even react, the Razorbacks were lying in bloody heaps in the dirt. The tallest of the killers stepped into the shambles and turned the leader over with a plastibrass tipped boot. The teenager lay awkwardly, the tip of his grafted plasteel shark's fin dug into the ground. Blood spurted from the holes clustered in an impressively tight group in his chest. He coughed and bright blood spilled from his mouth. With a gurgle the clanboy died. Beanpole bent and retrieved Alex's credit bubble. Standing, he slipped it into his pocket and strode over to Alex. The killer's dead eyes looked straight through him. "Come on. Nero wants to see you."
Alex wasn't going to argue. Still clutching his side, he hobbled after the tall assassin. Looking back, he saw Frog finish off a couple of the wounded Razorbacks and then turn to join his partner.

Chapter Two

Alex woke up and groaned. He was in a lavishly decorated bedroom, but he couldn't remember getting there. The last thing Alex remembered was staggering, weak from loss of blood, into a big, black, gas powered Zil with the two assassins. He sat up and winced, the wound in his side had been dressed, but it was tightening up. Alex eased himself over to the washbasin and threw some cold water in his face. Standing, leaning on the cool porcelain, he looked in the mirror. He'd seen better. Alex was thin at the best of times, now he looked positively gaunt. The tight white skin of his face was marred by the two ugly dark patches beneath his eyes. In truth, his eyes were pretty shocking too, bloodshot and watery. His long brown hair hung limp and lifeless over his shoulders. Cupping his hands, Alex took a long drink of cool water.

The room must have been watched. Beanpole walked in, unannounced, and threw some clothes on the bed. "Nero is tired of waiting. Get dressed."
For the most part, the clothes were Alex's own, freshly laundered. He pulled on his boxers and then the imitation leather work trousers and his low slung boots. Over the trousers he clipped an ancient tool belt, hung with a variety of tools, they were modelled on those of a twentieth century handyman, but were much more specialised than they seemed. The shirt was similar to the one that had been ruined by the Razorback knife and Alex's blood. This time the tee-shirt advertised the fortieth anniversary of the first moon landing. It looked genuine; if it was then it was worth at least 400 euro.
.....(cont)

.......Download the entire Awakenings 2039, part 1 ....written by Poker.

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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

	*"MrDouble's Palisade"™ A MrDouble Production: mrdouble Changes last made on: Friday AM, January 08, 1999*
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