BIT ROT: A NOVEL by Jason Baronette

Author:Jason Baronette [Baronette, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-31T23:00:00+00:00

21

The Nisei Lounge bar was dark, dank, and loud as hell. The shitty speakers on the flatscreens lining the walls howled with the sound of a hacked version of the Titans & Operators stream. The old drunks had to shout to hear one another over the commentary of Mr. Sport.

Sandra Lau was nursing an Old Fashioned at the bar top, shaking her head as she watched the waitress carry over another pitcher of beer destined for the floor. It was going to the regulars, the barflies that came in at three p.m. and knew her by name. The group of five was seated by the large yellow-paned windows, tucked into a booth with a dark wood top. There hadn’t been much that could make Sandra forget about the warehouse—about the clones in the basement—but watching these old drunks trying to drink beer with their new CDLs was definitely one of them. Every time something dramatic happened in the Titans stream, the entire group flinched, knocking beer and nachos everywhere. It gave her a sick giggle.

The waitress’s practice-perfect smile started to falter as beer bubbled up through the carpet around her black flats. She set the pitcher down in front of the guy they called Too Late Larry, and he turned toward her like a blind man looking for his friend. He asked her to fill his stein and the waitress did, right to the brim. Too full for a man that couldn’t see.

“Thanks, dear!” Larry shouted, “I still can’t quite see past the image. I can’t take these ones out, you know. They're permanent.”

This was too much for his friend in the leather with the scraggly beard. He busted out a laugh that sent spit flying—not that anyone but the waitress could see it.

“HA! What?” he said, “The latest technology, cybernetic eyes, and the man can’t even pour his own beer!”

The table erupted. Larry grinned too, sloshing beer across the front of his Mötley Crüe t-shirt.

A squat, balding man in faded flannel spoke up. “You just have to change what your retina is focusing on, Larry,” he said, simultaneously removing one of his own CDLs to work the nachos.

The table erupted again but was cut short, flinching in unison at some unseen occurrence in the stream.

Sandra twisted toward the televisions. The smirk on her face slid off. Just seeing the Titans & Operators stream pissed her off. She’d come here to hate-watch, hoping everything would fall apart without her.

The match was the bloodiest yet. Players were getting smashed left and right, hammering her delicate suits. Joel’s never gonna be able to handle that much haptic maintenance, she thought, fighting the urge to jump off the barstool. The cells in the basement flashed across her mind—help us, please—and the desire faded.

The Old Fashioned went smoothly down her numb throat, her emotions on a pendulum, swinging from dangerous and vengeful to shame and dejection. The little voice inside of her head, the one that told her the narrative of her life, wasn’t cooperating.

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