Reality Heist by Geordi Riker (e manga reader .txt) 📕

It's all stuff from the Black. Our own little survival kits, filled with stuff we might need, general stuff along with a few personal items. My tablet, Dutch's drinking bottle, stuff that's supposed to keep us happy. “Piece of shit,” I mutter.

Someone sits beside me, reaching behind him to retrieve the tablet. He shifts his weight as he gets into a comfortable position, studying it for a moment. He gives a low whistle, “You did a real number on this one, kid. Screen 's shot.” He starts to hand it back towards me.

“Keep it.”

He pulls it back to himself, “You don't want it?”

“No.”

“Well, why not sell it then? At least make back some of the money that you paid for it so that it's not a complete wash.”

“Didn't buy it.” I glare at the pavement, wishing he would just leave me alone. Didn't any of these people ever hear of the rule 'don't talk to strangers'?

“So sell it and make some money off of it. The screens cracked, but I'm sure there are people out there who would buy something like this and get it fixed up. I hear that it's a hobby some tech whizzes enjoy, fixing things that most people would either throw in the garbage or ship off to the manufacturer if it's still under warranty.”

“Well, why don't you go find one of those tech whizzes and sell it to them, if you're so for that course of action.”

“Alright.” He turns around, as if he's looking for someone. He turns back to me and holds out the tablet, “A friend of mine doesn't want this anymore, but she thinks it's a shame if it goes to waste just because of the screen. You look like someone who enjoys fixing things, maybe you could do something with it.”

“That has got to be the worst sales-pitch I have ever heard. Now leave me alone.”

“Come on kid, it was fine before you chucked it. What's the computer ever done to you?”

“Reminded me of a pile of crap,” I snap, “Buzz off.”

After a moment he says, “You know the bus doesn't come for half an hour right? Not really popular in this area, and all that.”

I shoot him a look. He smiles, the movement causing wrinkles to form in the corners of his brown eyes. His brown hair, a moppy-looking thing just an inch short of being a full-blown mullet, is a few shades lighter, glinting in the light. “You intend on sticking around for the next half-hour?”

I stand up, kicking the bag further away from me, “Forget it. I'll start walking.”

He stands up too, grabbing the bag and tucking the tablet under his arm as he tries to catch up to me, “What do you all got in here, kid?”

“Fake ID's and C4,” I snap, “Better drop it somewhere, the bomb's set to go in a couple of minutes.”

That stops him cold. “You don't look like a terrorist to me.”

I spin around, arms crossed, “What? My skin not dark enough to qualify? Should I have my face covered? Will that suit your stupid bias that I have to be Middle Eastern in order to blow shit up?”

He raises both hands in the air in mock defense, dropping the tablet in the process. He manages to catch it before it hits the ground again, and raises his hands in the air again, the bag hanging from the other hand. I shoot him a look of disgust before I turn back around and start walking again.

The rattle of equipment makes it obvious that he's following still. We walk in silence for a few minutes. Maybe he'll get bored and leave me alone.

“You know what this looks like? Like you're some rich kid and I'm your escort.”

“No one made you pick up my bags and follow me.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn't just leave the bomb there. Some old lady might die. Besides, you're interesting. I want to find out more about you.”

“You're a creep. Stop following me before I scream at the top of my lungs. And believe me, I can scream pretty loud.”

He rushes so that he's keeping pace with me, shooting me a cheeky grin. “Stalkers follow behind people, right? Then this is okay.”

I groan as I snatch the bag from him, opening it mid-stride, and shove the tablet in. He watches me with some form of amusement. “Now you can leave me alone,” I snap as I heave the bag back on my shoulder, the weight feeling the same as if all I was carrying was a condensed pool noodle.

He shrugs, “Aren't you forgetting to deactivate the bomb?”

“I'm impervious to explosions. They pass right through me,” I snarl.

“What did he do?”

The question is so abrupt and unrelated that I have to pause for a moment, “Say what?”

“You're in a bad mood. And you're cute, so there's got to be a guy involved. So what'd he do?”

“You mean other than keep secrets and be an ass? Not much.”

“Mmm, I know what that feels like.”

I shoot him a sharp look and he elaborates, “She was way above my class, made me feel special, but lately it seems like she's just wrapping more and more cloaks around her to hide her true intentions. I know that that's natural because she was a former assassin, but I mean, come on, really? I've been by her side for years, and here I am, out in the cold again.”

“Assassin?”

He looks at me, “Oops, did I just say all of that out loud? Sorry, we were talking about your guy troubles.”

“Whatever man, just leave me alone.” I turn my attention to the sidewalk and keep walking.

“Maybe there's a reason.” He muses as he keeps pace.

“Yeah, 'cause there's a reason to tell me not to say anything about a group of people I ran into, and later when I ask him why, he just brushes it off, giving me an answer that's absolute bullshit. And then, he goes nuts on me for not taking this crap seriously.”

“What crap? School?”

Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm telling him everything. Sliding, Pressure, our Kinetics, all of it. I leave Hiyori out of it, skipping right over how my Pressure's weird. To his credit, he doesn't interrupt me, even though I know I'm rambling by the time we enter a busier district. We stop at an ice-cream stand, and he buys me a chocolate shake. “... And that's why we're here now. Jesse had to do something he calls 'forcing it' to get us out of there.”

“When you call this woman creepy, what do you mean?”

I take a slurp of the shake, “Creepy, like the faces on the Creepers in Minecraft. I felt like she was trying to kill me telepathicly or something. Her Pressure was moving as if she could actually control it.  And she had this creepy smile while her eyes narrowed to really thin slits, it makes me think of a snake.”

“And what's Pressure, exactly?”

I shrug, “Mumbo jumbo to me. It's like a glow that surrounds a person, if they've got enough of it to show. The gang thinks that everyone has it, some are just stronger than most. They think that when we have enough, we start to slide when we come into contact with a 'catalyst'.”

“And you think that this organization... I'm sorry, what did you call it again?”

“The Black.”

“Right-”

“It's just a nickname, though,” I interject quickly, “It's probably not what they call themselves.”

“Well, these Black also have Pressure?”

I nod, “Yeah, but it's totally different than a normal person's, or even a Slider's. For one, it's black, while most people have a certain colour. And it doesn't move around them the same way. They're like ribbons of Pressure, emanating from them like tails, twisting around as if they were alive. It's really messed.”

He snorts in response, “You're telling me. I'm starting to doubt your sanity a little even.”

“You and me both... sorry, never caught your name.”

“Oh, sorry, I'm Damien Ford, but most people invariably call me Jinx because of some stuff I used to do back in... highschool.” He holds out a hand, and I shake it.

“Brandee, but most people call me Dee.”

“Nice to meet you, Dee.”

“You as well.”

He grins, “I have a serious question for you. If given a choice, would you rather keep on sliding for the rest of your life, or, if it were possible, would you rather go home to your family?”

That's simple: go home. But before I can tell him that, he holds up his hands to keep me from replying. “Don't answer that right away. Think it over. And next time you and your team are in town,” he digs out his wallet and liberates a business card to give to me, “Give me a call to tell me what you've decided.”

“Why?”

He grins a little sheepishly, “I'm a writer, and your story has some real potential to get published. I want to be the one to write it. And right now, I'm not sure about how the story should end. So I figure you should decide it. And when you know, give me a holler.”

“You do realize that I might not come back here ever again. I'm pretty sure we only come here if we force it, and even then we only do it in emergencies, from what Jesse's told me.”

He shrugs, “Well, if I haven't heard from you in ten years from this date, I'm pretty sure I can guess what your answer was.” He glances at his watch, “Aw crap! The missus is gonna kill me.”

“You're married?” I ask as I glance at his ring-less left hand.

“Nah, the missus is my landlady. She makes meals for everyone in the building, but we have to be there by seven sharp else we get an earful from her. She treats us like we're her kids, but it's alright, most of us don't really have anyone else, y'know?” He grins, “Nice talking to ya, Dee. Hope it all works out. And, if you don't mind taking the advice of an old man who you barely know,” he leans closer, covering his mouth so that other people can't read his lips, “It gets better.”

I blink and glance up at him, but he's gone. I spin around, trying to pick out his bright red shirt, but it's impossible in the midst of all the other colours. “Hey!” I holler at the top of my lungs, “Jinx!” All I get are a bunch of stares as people turn to see who's yelling. I shove my hands in my pockets. “Great,” I mutter as I start walking, “Just great. Just what the hack does he mean 'it gets better'? What would he know? It's not like he's...”

One of us.

“Shit!”

I am the biggest idiot on earth. I just told a guy from another group of Sliders everything, our strengths, our weaknesses, how many of us. It's like an open invitation, “Here, come on over and beat us up.” And to top it off, I didn't get a stitch of information in return. Jesse'll freak if he finds out.

What's another group of sliders doing here anyways? Is this place a default for them too, or just another 'pit stop' as Ky calls them? I gotta track them down, find out something about them that we can use, otherwise I'm dead.

I focus on the Pressures around me, but nothing stands out. A drone fills my ears, causing all other noises to fade away. Not so much a drone as an orchestra prepping their instruments all at once, some instruments louder at times than others. A man in a business suit with blue pressure walks by, and a violin plays above the noise, just from the few notes I catch I know that it's a sad song. A boy and his mother brush past me, accompanied by the duet of