Isaac Goodman's Story

One of those nights, in one of those places. Everyone's just getting drunk for the sake of getting drunk. Worn out faces of a generation that was robbed of everything we once held dear.
Three concrete pillars, their metallic skeletons partially exposed by time and human misdemeanor, are carrying the weight of the roof. The club itself is lit by several neon tubes, attached to the colorful walls. A huge bar in the left corner of the club, home to many who have lost faith in the world, is dominating the place. The bottles behind the bartender are stacked several lines deep against a mirror, creating the illusion of a never-ending reserve of drinks. The middle of the club is occupied by an empty, circular stage, used for the special kind of dancers, a DJ or a band on good days, for public beatings and cage-fights on bad days.
The entrance area is a long corridor, no guards needed.Thanks to the advance of RFID chips, the owner knows exactly who enters and leaves his club and if you get him to believe you're a potential troublemaker, he'll have you knocked cold and outside of his club before you can count to ten.
The dance floors in the back are empty today, no wonder, it's Tuesday and people have to work. The only clientele that will be served today will be gamblers, drunkards and dealers.
All in all, a normal day.

,, And I tell ya, we need men, real men in th' gov'ment, like th' white crusaders. Make Hinkel
pr'sdent and I tell ya, pa-ra-dise! " The old men at the corner of the bar shouts, clearly having had enough of both the political situation and the cheap bourbon he's drinking. While he keeps on ranting and shouting something about how they took care of old people back in the day, one of the easy girls this district so happily offers to everyone who can pay for them is hunting her prey. ,, Hey. I like your style. 's got something mysterious to it. Y' know, I can be mysterious too, you know, open for exploring. "
The man in a worn trench-coat, sitting directly across the bartender, keeps switching between sipping his even cheaper bourbon and iced water, seemingly untouched by the broads bad attempts at seducing him. A group of four men further inside the club, at a card table, start to cheer ,, Well lady, today's your lucky day, we all got our mining and drilling equipment right here. " The tall one with the long black hair and a cheap leather vest shouts, and the broad leaves the empty faced man at the table, hoping for another night of fun and excesses.
The man in the trench-coat leans further forward, and the light from below the bar reveals more of his looks - an old and worn brown trench-coat is hiding an even older black stinking hooded sweatshirt,
people are divided over what looks worse, his clothes or the face of his, split in two parts by a huge scar, leaving his mouth locked in an expression of disgust. While caressing his empty glass, his dark gloves make a barely audible squeaky noise. He asks with a rough and emotionless voice: ,, The old man bothering you? "
The bartender responds only with an annoyed " Give me a minute. " while sorting packs of cigarettes below the desk. This is one of the rare occasions her bodyguard ever spoke, so she hastily locks her precious little death-sticks away, eager to use this opportunity.

Meanwhile, at the card table, mood has turned. The only two persons left laughing are the young man with blue hair and the broad, now sitting on his lap. ,, You a cheater mate, I tell ya that. " The tall man with black hair shouts, pointing his right index finger into the blue haired mans face. ,, You gonna pay for this little man, you ain't got no idea who you messin' with Zeno." He adds, while his left hand is slowly going for the pouch he left on the table. The broad becomes seemingly nervous and leaves while murmuring something about freshening up, her red hair and the half removed dress adding a certain cliché-esque touch to it. Zeno leans back, grinning satisfied. The tall man makes a punch movement with his left arm, only to stop a few inches away from Zeno's face, holding up a members pass of the socialist party " I'm a member of this, and we gonna screw you over man, you ain't gonna be happy ever again in yo' entire life man. " Zeno, still smiling, used the man's monologue to carefully and slowly put away the money he just won. Without a word, he stands up and is about to leave the tall man with a short temper behind, but only after a few steps he stops, turns around and uses the opportunity of having the tall mans full attention to say something he always wanted to say.



Only a few blocks further to the north, in a safer and wealthier area, a man was waiting for the bus. An uncommon thing for someone in the middle-class area to wait for the bus this late, most of them being sound asleep now, getting rest for another challenging day. He remembers the last time he actually worked, and what it brought upon him. " A curse and a blessing. " he sometimes things. Without his former job at the factory, he would have never
been driven to walk the path of cybernetics.
The bus station is empty, lit only by one neon tube attached to it's ceiling, covering the area around it in an ominous yellow shroud. The whole field of view is plastered by apartment buildings, gray and dull. The only green left is a small patch of flowers in front of an apartment building, bearing a small sign " Erich Zahak - Private practice ". The man brushes his hand through his short hair, the movement accompanied by a short mechanical buzzing, and he thinks about just how similar the work of a doctor is to his own. The sound of footsteps tears the man out of his thoughts, the footsteps of three youngsters wearing their hair tied to knots. He recognizes the small neon dragon symbol on their jackets, and he knows he's in trouble. That's not a sign of a registered political party, but a gang sign.

Sitting in a nearly empty bus, a young woman is anxiously staring at her mobile phone.
" No missed calls. " She looks outside and is greeted by darkness, which is only broken by occasional street lamps. She has to hurry, soon the curfew will be in effect.
" No missed calls. " She should feel safe with all the things she's carrying with her, but she does not. " No miss- " The phone suddenly rings, with it's simple mechanic beeping.
Her finger on the button, she doesn't notice the bus is nearing the station she has to leave at. The beeping is interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and as she looks outside she sees three youngsters demolishing a bus station, with someone still inside. Like an impatient child the phone keeps begging for attention. She closes her eyes, rallies her thoughts and does what has to be done.

Isaac looked up at the ceiling from his finance's bed. They had a wonderful evening; they danced, ate dinner, and he asked the question. Today was her 29th birthday and he wanted to make tonight she'll never forget. He proposed to her during dessert. He had talked to the chef earlier in the evening and he had the ring in a slice of her favorite cake. The cake had been bake around it so it wouldn't look crappy. When Jackie saw the cake her face light up instantly. She kissed him and whispered into his ear: "Yes, I'll marry you, Isaac." From there they went back to her place which was closer to the restaurant and proceed to have a loving encounter of the bedroom kind.

The problem that he was facing was, he had class in the morning, but he did not have his school stuff with him. He didn't want to wake up and leave right away in the morning. He would have preferred if he stayed with her for a little bit. So he will leave now and be back before curfew would take into effect. He glanced at the alarm clock. He still had a good hour before curfew. He sat up and kissed her on the forehead and got ready to leave. He shuts the door behind him silently. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID card. He wanted this readily available if he needed it. Being stopped by the cops really sucked. He headed towards the bus terminal.

He noted the severe lack of people right now. That is when he realized it was Tuesday; a week day. Also, known by others as a work night. He chuckled at the thought of toiling away in a factory for the rest of his life. The last time he worked was almost 11 years ago. That fateful day took his arm and his leg. From there on out he spent many a day in his family's garage working on something that could give him full functionality of his limbs again. "That day was a curse and a blessing." He said looking at his left hand and sighed. No matter how close to human you can get, it will never be the same. His left hand used to be the dominant one until he lost it. Then, he had to teach himself to everything right handed.

He looked around and saw a patch of grass in front of the doctor's place. He smirked how his inventions made others better. It wasn't exactly the same as an actual doctor's, but it feels like it. He did something good with his life. He will be remembered for it. He will be known as the guy who made your stubs of limbs be limbs again. At least in the looks department. Functionality wasn't exactly his specialty. People had invented robot arms before. Nobody thought of making a few changes to the circuitry to accept nerve shocks instead of regular electricity. It took him while to get it right. He found a regular robotic arm in the local dump and used it. His reminiscing had been interrupted by footsteps. He looked over and saw the three kids. The neon green dragons meant they were part of the Dragon Wasabi gang. He swore to himself and took up a fighting stance. He hadn't much experience with fighting. This proved evident as he got his ass handed to him. He was lying on the floor while the guys were beating the place around him down to the ground. The bus pulled up and he saw a lone female sitting on the bus. He looked at her with pleading eyes.

Isaac was in a daze just laying there. He couldn't see straight, light was doing funny things to his vision. He thought he felt pain in his left arm like it was actually there. When his vision started to clear he saw his left arm was bent at an impossible angle. The pain he felt was ghost pain. He heard a voice say something over the ringing in his ears. He saw the girl on the bus trying to help him. He noted she tried distracting the others so he might get away. With his arm at the angle that it was, there was no getting up without the others noticing. When she widened her eyes to show him that he should run. They instantly found out about it and knocked her out.

They turned their attention back to him and smiled. "We are just getting started with you. We will deal with your heroine later," the obvious leader of the three guys said. He picked up Isaac and punched him in the face. The world started to spin around him. He gained control of his vision and pleaded, "Please, take what you want from me. Just don't hurt me or the girl anymore." The man holding him up laughed and kneed him in the gut. Then, let him fall back onto the floor. After he hit the floor the girl woke up. She started to scream for help and tried to twist away. They surrounded her and covered her mouth. She gave one final look to him with eyes that seemed to say, 'help me,' or 'Run now.' He wasn't exactly sure of what she meant. He decided that she obviously meant the first one. He silently as possible sat up and fixed his robotic arm. Her screaming helped him by distracting the others.

He moved his fingers to be sure that no connections were broken. He silently sighed when none were. The plan required them to be all working. The gang members attention was still focused on the woman. He opened the service panel of his arm and started to reroute the power to movement to his grabbing strength. Now he had limited movement and inhuman strength for crushing stuff with his hands. He got up and tapped one of the guys on the shoulder; when he looked around Isaac punched him with his real hand. The man wasn't even phased. He swung and by chance he caught the hand with his left arm and started crushing it. There was audible popping sounds coming from the hand. He was breaking the hand of the man that hurt him. The others stepped back slowly and turned and ran from him. They didn't want to suffer the same fate as their friend there. The man was crying when he let him go. Soon the gang member was running after his so-called friends. Isaac put his real arm on her shoulder and his cybernetic one on her back. He sat her down and said,"Thanks for what you did back there. You don't look worse for wear. Though your clothes have seen better days." He grabbed his jacket from the ground and put it on her shoulders. He opened the service panel back up and started to work on getting his functions back to normal level.

Isaac nodded when she introduced herself. He had heard the name before. Hell, he was even sure he had seen her before. Though he wasn't going to say anything. He had almost gotten the circuits back under control and to their normal level. Sure if he really wanted to he could have lighting fast reflexes with the arm. He would have to have fast reflexes for his brain too. That was to much work. He also didn't want anybody touching his brain. They could literally do anything they wanted while they were in there.

When she asked if she could ask him a question, he resisted the urge to say, 'You already did.' He only nodded and said: "Hold on one minute. I almost got my arm in the correct alignment." After a few moments of silence he smiled and closed the hatch. He turned to the girl and said, "Alright, my name is Isaac Goodman. What would be your question, now not to be rude, but I believe that curfew is coming under effect soon and neither one of us is in our correct locations. Lets walk and talk." He said getting up he offered his hand to her.

"No, I don't know them." Isaac said ending the line of questioning as soon as it began, "as for them attacking me. I do not know. They were pretty low level ranking gang members. They were probably told to beat me up for some reason or another." He knew the gang. He used to be friends with some of the older members. The last time he came into contact with the gang personally was about a year before he lost his limbs. His friend had stabbed him in the back for reasons unknown and he cut all ties with the gang. Needless to say, they weren't too happy with him.

"Anyway, if we speak more of them then, they might come back in larger numbers and I personally don't want to find out what they wanted." He said leading her away from the ruined station. Isaac sighed silently, he had thought that his friends forgot about him and left him to his own devices after the last contact he had with them. "So, Bree, you don't mind if I call you Bree, right? Where do you live? I will be more than willing to escort you home." He said smiling at her. He glanced at his wrist watch and saw that he had about a half an hour before curfew kicked in. This time he audibly sighed, tonight was going to be a long night. He still wanted his things and the only way he was going to do that was cutting through the red light district where the curfew had no effect.

,, Everyone, please stay inside! There is no reason to panic. The Police has everything under control. "
The megaphone echoes through the street as a colon of police cars rushes past the confused Isaac and Brenna.
A group of heavily geared policemen, equipped with the newest Cybernetic armors, are slowly walking up the street.
,, Everyone, please stay inside! Everyone found outside will be tried for terrorism! " Their commanding officer is shouting,
his helmet amplifying his speech.
The red glowing night-visions the policemen are wearing grant them a certain surreal touch - more machine then men,
more tool than human they are cleansing the streets of every stain left on the system.
The doors of the hotel open and a young boy, heavily pierced, unsuited to wear the Hotel's uniform rushes out.
His eyes widen and you imagine this is the look a person facing the Grim reaper himself would have. He snaps out of it
as he realizes there are two other people out there. ,, Get inside for god's sake! " He shouts waving you over to
the hotel. As he's rushing up the steps of the hotel a loud buzz sounds and the door closes in front of him.
With pleading eyes, sinking to his knees, he looks over to you and close to tears he whimpers ,, I forgot to turn of the RFID detector. "

Slipping through the shadows Zeno made his way towards the noise. He soon realized where he was headed.
The Perishov, a small bar, crown jewel of ugliness. Before Zeno had the chance to hide properly, more and more
people were racing past him, towards the noise. He soon was engulfed in a stream of all society had to offer,
young people, old people, psyonics and augmented people - both female and male. The only thing he could do now,
was playing along.

The small TV screen hanging over the bar in the Magnet suddenly switched channels and what was left of
tonight's clientele went silent. The national emergency broadcast. It hasn't been used since, well, none
of you can remember the last time it has been used. A small line of red text on black background comes rolling in,
saying " Curfew in effect due to Terrorist gathering - - - Please stay at home ", and the picture shows
a large mass of people gathering around a small wooden platform, sadly there was no sound.

Zeno looked up, somehow he ended up in the middle ranks of this freak-show. A man on the podium, nothing unusual
about him, was shouting something about Injustice, something about how the banks control the economy and how
every member of parliament is nothing more but a puppet of the Bilderberg meeting. Zeno listened more carefully.
,, Brothers and sisters in arms! A wise man once said, that future will feel like a boot stomping on your face, forever!
He was wrong! We've got two boots in our face! " He's screaming into the megaphone and the mass starts cheering him.
,, I have enough! " He shouts, his face twisted in anger. ,, I want retribution! " Putting his open palm on his
chest he bows down, and coming back up he pulls out a simple leather mask. The mass follows his example and soon,
there are only a few left without masks. Mood changes, or so it appears, and everyone goes silent.

The TV in the bar, many eyes clinging on it now, shows the camera zoom in on to a man wearing a light-brown trenchcoat and
a classic hat. Carefully climbing the steps on to the podium he pulls his hands out of his pockets. The man who
spoke before hands him the megaphone while slightly bowing down. The text beneath the picture now reads:
,, Terrorist known as Masked man ret- " It suddenly stops rolling in, and gets replaced by one word, always
being repeated " Retribution." In the picture the TV now shows, a young girl kneeling at a portable computer pad
nods towards the Masked Man and out of nowhere the broadcast has sound.

,, I am, uh, glad, you all. . ." The Masked man sinks into thoughts, as if he had trouble finding words
. ,, Came. " He says snapping out of it. ,, This whole, ahm, establishment will be brought...down. " The crowd, now seemingly confused
and disappointed by his rhetoric skills, starts whispering to each other. ,, Tried to do it understandable. Will do it
properly. World has problems - the presumable necessity of safety corrupted the archetype of the state, rendering
it to but a husk - a farce - of what was once intended. The state, seemingly intangible in it's manifold branches
and bureaus, is hiding one simple truth - the apple of Eden - You are the state. " His voice is rough and empty,
similar to the of a long time smoker. ,, The state was turned to a fallen Leviathan - Hobbes would cry at this sight-
and sovereignty was taken from the highest sovereigns; you and me. The ego, it appears, is but a natural way of
self preservation - but it is not. The ego is a mirror, a reflection of what is, was and will be; aren't the decisions
and times to come, the ones affecting the present the most? Isn't the rise of presumable terrorism nothing but a
self-fulfilling prophecy, prophetised by the police state? The ego isn't one, the ego is three. The I, the Above-I
and the It. I, telling you to do, Above I telling you to do because it is good and It telling you to do, to satisfy your
primal needs. In these times, it appears only the It prevailed - it's roots buried deep into the abstract construct
of society. They killed Above I, very well. Let us feed It. " The crowd, perplexed by what they just heard, soon
starts cheering again as they see three women in expensive clothes being brought on to the podium and forced to kneel.
,, Who is more at fault? The fool, or the one blindly following the fool? These three women; presumably pure and innocent are nothing more but harpies -
dangerous leeches on societies teets; contributing nothing, wanting everything. " The women are crying, one of them
pleading for her life, as the masked man steps behind them. The first man who spoke on the podium gives the Masked man
a sledgehammer and takes the megaphone back in return. ,, Cornelia Schultz! " He shouts ,, Whore of well known soccer star Libvardo Franco;
monthly upkeep above 3 million. Engaged in creating fake grassroots movements. Days of honest work, zero. Sentence: Death. "
The Masked Man swings the hammer like a baseball bat and the crowd goes wild.
The hammer lands heavily on the girls head, and as she's falling to the side the gaping holes left after her eyeballs
scream the distilled essence of fear, intelligible in every language there is. The woman on the far right manages
to get up and in a desperate attempt to flee, runs into the crowd. ,, We are the executioners of this system! " The man with the megaphone shouts, as the
crowd has it's way with the fleeing girl. The last girl on the podium is sunken into prayers, as the Masked Man prepares for
another kill.

As the door swung shut in front of the boy, Isaac shook his head. The boy was an imbecile. Now somebody from the inside would have to open the door. If they didn't have the proper key and chip and that was only if an employee was inside. He smirked at his own invention. It was an amazing anti-burglar tool. So when shop keeps left their stores the door would close behind him and it would effectively make a sealed vault. Then if somebody would break in their chip would be recorded and then the authorities would take care of it. That is if the authorities would even do anything. He sighed and turned to the boy sitting down on the ground.

"When was the security system installed." He asked hopefully, if it was when the chip was still new then they had a chance of breaking in.

"I think almost 8 years ago. Dad never saw reason to replace it after it was first installed. Why do you want to know?" The boy asked looking up at him. The boy's face was certainly not his strong suit. He estimated him being about 15-16. It was normal for some of the middle class kids have a ton of piercings seeings how they could walk into the red light and get them for dirt cheap.

"Alright thanks." Isaac reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He grabbed the smallest one and put the rest into his pocket. He sat on the edge of porch and started to feel around for a crevice built into the hotel. The older chip systems were installed outside. They figured nobody with electronics expertise would break in somewhere. They were wrong.

His fingertip hit a small indent in the wall. He put the edge of the coin in the grove and pushed down on the coin. The plate popped off. He was looking at a bunch of circuits that looked like they did a lot more than lock the door. He sighed and grabbed the only wire that was leading to the door. He pulled on it and he felt a slight shock going through his system. He shook his head and slid off the edge. He asked for a key and put into the lock. He turned the key and the door opened wide open. He smiled at himself for still having the skills into breaking in somewhere.

"Judging by the activity outside I'm guessing that there is something big going on right now. I'm not liking it, either way. Let us see what the hell is happening." Isaac said walking to the television that was on the desk. He flipped the switch and saw the Masked Man going on about how the government was corrupt and how these woman are nothing but whores that live off of the successes of society. He saw a familar face running up the crowd. He knew the boy from the slums. They talked a few times. Found out that he wanted to gamble instead of working in the factory, he had called the boy crazy more than a few times.

The boy tried to stop the beatings that were going on. He knew the man on the screen. Isaac couldn't stand to watch any longer. He knew that the government wasn't going to change just because of somebodies hookers had gotten the shit beaten out of them. He turned off the television and sat down on the floor. Nothing was going his way tonight, first the beat down, then getting couped up in hotel, and now a terrorist was in the city. He sighed and stood back up. The kid had a look on his face that was pure horror. It was like he had never seen an act of terrorism like that before. Isaac had never seen one live, but he had seen plenty of videos of them. The worst one was about the Holocaust that happened in World War II.

"So does anyone want to play some cards? I'm stuck here until tomorrow morning. Might as well do something to keep us occupied." He said spotting a deck of cards sitting on the desk. He picked them up and started shuffling, he wasn't as good as the kid on the television, but it was worth something. He sat down on the floor and started dealing three piles of seven cards each. He planned on playing rummy. He had learned it when he was a child.