Hot Carbon: Tales of a Cyberpunk Futa Girl: [Run 2.0: Ecstasy Angel] by Amanda Clover

Author:Amanda Clover [Clover, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-25T05:00:00+00:00

Hell and Its Mistress

The goon squad drove us me and Relay in the back of a ground van with bad shocks. We jostled on the back bench and I could make out lights whizzing past through the bag over my head. I turned in the seat so that I could feel with my bound hands. My fingers touched Relay. He was breathing heavily, seemingly unconscious. I touched his fingers and he woke and wiggled a reply.

“Don’t talk,” I whispered.

It was good advice, they were definitely listening to whatever we might say, but the weird part was none of our captors talked either. They might have been on a private wireless network, chattering away to each other, or they might have been zombies controlled by Arkangel. No way to tell for sure, but I knew never to underestimate the ruthlessness of a rogue AI.

We passed out of the down sectors of Sprawl City and into one of the dead zones. The lights of old industry winked out and the air took on a heavy, chemical tang. The van we were in slowed and turned down poorly-maintained industrial road, the vehicle bouncing and shaking with every pothole. It finally approached a structure that I could sense more by the absence of any light visible through the hood. It was big and dark, possibly derelict.

“Out,” said a harsh woman’s voice and we were wrestled out of the van.

“Keep talking to me,” I shouted to Relay.

“I’m still here,” he said. “Don’t know where they’re taking us.”

“She is waiting for you,” said the harsh female voice again.

The floor creaked beneath us and we were practically dragged through a hallway full of debris. I glimpsed doors yawning dark through my hood, the swing of flashlights, and with the help of my cybereyes, the faint tracery of active power conduits.

“They’re taking us downstairs,” said Relay.

“A lot of electrical down there,” I warned. “She must be there.”

“She is,” said the woman doing all the talking. “She wants to see you again, Magdalena.”

“What about Relay?” I asked.

There was no answer.

We followed the glowing conduits downstairs and into a basement that smelled of rust and gasoline. Somewhere, possibly on the floor above us, generators were running and feeding power into the sprawling computer equipment in the room. This pulsed faintly with amber light through my electromagnetic-detecting optics.

“Sit,” barked the woman and I was shoved into a chair, my bound wrists shoved through the back so that I was sitting awkwardly.

“Still there, Relay?” I called out.

“Still here,” he grunted, a chair squeaking on tile or maybe hardwood. I imagined him being shoved down into it.

The room fell silent other than the sound of Relay’s heavy breathing and the faint clicking of computer equipment.

“Is she going to tell us what she wants or just leave us in the dark?” I called out, my voice seeming painfully loud and echoing in whatever sort of room this was. I had the faint impression that I was in a drained indoor swimming pool.

I did not receive an answer from our captors, nor did Relay when he shouted, “Untie us, you motherfuckers.

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