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

something. “Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say she's quite the unique character.” he chuckles ominously at something He glances at me and hesitates in his steps before continuing. He laughs louder.

“What's so funny?” I demand.

He shrugs, “It's nothing about you, Petite, it's just that you're dressed as a Curse and I'm a Pure, and we're walking down the street like long time friends. If anyone sees us, we'll be automatically be reported to the Law. After that, it's a short wait, a lot shorter than it is in your time line, before the geniuses actually show up to arrest us both. You because you're in Pure territory, me because I'm associating with a Curse.”

“Don't see how that's funny.” I grumble. Chase doesn't reply. “Shouldn't we at least try to hide then, find a place to lie low or something?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because it wouldn't do us any good.”

His tone implies that he doesn't want me to ask any more questions, but I can't help but ask one final query,

“Why wouldn't it?”

He glances at me, but before he can reply, a pigeon swoops down to land on his shoulder. Chase blinks in surprise as he slips the small paper off of the pigeon's leg. Message delivered, the pigeon takes off to join some other pigeons pecking around the cobblestone path. Chase squints at the paper. “What is it?” I ask after waiting for him to say something.

“Just a message from Skip.” Seeing my confusion, Chase quickly adds, “He's the leader of our little team. Counting you, now there's seven of us. He's the boss since he's been doing this a lot longer than any of us. Although, I don't see why he'd use a blooming pigeon. Where would he even get one?”

“Well, what does it say?”

“He's just blasting me for disappearing. Apparently, Jesse hasn't made the rendezvous yet, either, so he has no idea that you're the reason why our little Link-up won't work.”

“Link-up?”

He waves it off, “I'll explain it some other time. Your brain must be threatening to crash with an overload of information. Mine did. It's a lot to take in at once, so I don't suggest you try. I wonder if that pigeon would be willing to send a message back for me.”

We both look at the pigeon, and Chase mutters something under his breath as another pigeon chases it away. The messenger pigeon takes off, the little band still wrapped around his ankle. “Aren't messenger pigeons only able to take messages one way, anyways?”

Chase smirks, “Yeah, but I thought that I might be able to talk it into making an exception.”

“But messenger pigeons are trained to fly to a specific area, not to certain people.”

“Yeah, Skip messed with it's brainwaves or something. Remind me to never let you be with Skip alone. He's the boss, yes, but he's probably more lethal to your health than even Ky, and when you meet her, you'll know that that's something.”

“How could he do that though, mess with it's brainwaves, I mean.”

Chase laughs, “Nah, I was just kidding about that. But seriously, never be alone with Skip. People get on his nerves easily.”

“Then why is he the boss?”

“Because he hates people so much,” Chase grins at my expression, “It's actually nice to have someone who hates everyone, without having a bias about people. He's not judgemental, he just thinks that everyone is a scammer. I guess he's justified. After all, Jesse is a thief, and I'm something of a smuggler. In fact, what can you do?”

“What?”

“What's your skill? You a ninja? Marksman? Some sort of assassin? You know how to build bombs out of anything? Fly planes?” He runs out of things to list and looks at me expectantly.

“Um... no.”

“You've got to be good at something. That's one of the things all of us got in common. Except for Skip, we've all got some sort of skill that borders on illegal, or can be twisted so that it can be considered illegal if used in certain situations. So, what can you do?”

“I work with computers,” I start slowly.

“Oh.” That sure stopped him in his tracks. “So... you don't have anything else up your sleeve? Any psychic abilities, unusual quirks that set you apart? Are you a gypsy?”

“No?” I end it with a question, “I hack computers. Just regular, binomial systematic hacking.”

“Oh.” He doesn't seem to know what else to say. We walk in silence for a little bit, neither of us sure of how to change the subject. We cross blocks, without coming across a single other soul.

The thought strikes me as we pass another run down car, “Where is everyone? Like, this is New York. There should be people.”

He shrugs, “No one really wants to live in the area. Contamination, stuff like that. This is one of the areas where Curses seem to come out more frequently. Case in point,” he breaks off, nodding towards a subway tunnel, “The rails are one of the things that connect the Cursed territory with the Pures'. No matter how many Laws they send in there, the Curses always break in. The Pures that stick around are here more for the cheap rates than for proximity to anything. Anyways, I guess we've wasted enough time. We might as well track down the others.” He stops in his tracks, looks at the ground, and holds three fingers to the side of his head. His whole body goes rigid, all of the muscles locking up. A moment later he opens his eyes, “Come on,” he says, walking towards the subway entrance.

“Where are we going?” I ask, fast-walking to catch up.

“They're in a stupid underground club. I don't know why, but that's where they are, so that's where we're going.”

“What others?”

He turns to look at me, startled, “The rest of the gang, obviously. Skip and the rest of them. Jesse might be there by now, too.”

“How do you know where they are?”

“Because, I linked up. Linking up gives me the opportunity to find the others, and talk with them. But we're too far away to actually talk to them, so all I can do is find them. You know you're going in the right direction when you can start talking to them. Otherwise, you have to physically link up again. With you around, it doesn't matter how close we are, our little Ghost Network, as we like to call it, won't work except for as a guide to the others. And finding you with it is impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like Jesse mentioned earlier, you're leaking black.” Seeing my expression, he sighs, “This really isn't the kind of thing we should be talking about out in the open.”

“Why not? It's not like we're gonna stay here for the rest of our lives.”

“It won't do us any good either if we end up in separate rooms that are nothing but soft white walls, floor and ceiling. And then the nice men in white will come and give you medication, and then the even nicer doctor in the white coat will ask you questions about your delusion of alternate time lines. That might sound like fun to you, but I've got a reason to live. I like my life, and I like being able to be outdoors in the middle of the night if I feel like it. It's a little thing people call freedom, and most of us take all we can get, because it seems like there isn't enough to go around so that everyone gets the same amount.”

We both stop talking as we descend the stairs to the abandoned subway terminal. Empty vendor's stalls, pieces of garbage littering the concrete, cobwebs and dust inhabiting the cracks and corners greet us as our feet crushing the garbage stirs up the stench of age, mold, and something I really don't want to guess. I wrinkle my nose, but don't cover my nose to try to protect my senses from the smell. Not in front of Chase. I sneak a glance at him, and see with little surprise that the stench doesn't seem to affect him at all. The last thing I want to do is make him think I'm weak. It's bad enough that he doesn't think anything of my hacking skills.

And what was all that about- his little speech about freedom? Everyone getting the same amount of freedom. Obviously that's never going to happen. Criminals deserve to be in lock up, just like people who haven't committed crimes are allowed to keep walking around and getting on with their daily lives. It's the way of the world.

Chase reaches behind him into his backpack, pulls something out, and clicks it on. A small flashlight, but it gives off an enormous beam of light that shines down the steps as we walk to the sides of the tracks. The deserted platform smells of old cement, and a cold wind howls through the tunnels. “No one's been using the subways since the whole Pures vs. Curses got started,” Chase mutters, more to himself than to me, “I don't even know how the whole idea got started in the first place. Dutch started Sliding with us before, in his time line, 1945, so who knows if he was actually a Sixer or from Seven. We just assumed he was a Sixer, because the Americans weren't involved in the fights, but that doesn't means it wasn't actually Seven messed up times ten to the power of six.”

“What are you talking about?”

Chase blinks and jerks his head back, as if awakening from a stupor, and glances at me, as if seeing me for the first time. "Sorry, just thinking out loud again. I tend to do that a lot, so you should only pay half of your attention to me, and worry about other stuff in the mean time. If you drop everything you're doing to hear me, more often than not you're gonna wind up disappointed.”

“Um, okay.” My brows furrow as I try to figure out what he means.

"Heads up, we've got company,” Chase mutters, “Looks like they got tired of waiting.” He hops down form the platform onto the tracks.

I stare at him, “Aren't you worried about the off-chance of a train coming?”

“Nah, like I said, they haven't used this system since they invented hover crafts.”

“What?” I exclaim, hopping down after him, “You never said that. You said that it hasn't been used since the whole Pures vs. Curses fiasco started. They have hover crafts?”

“Flying saucers, if you ask me,” a surly voice rumbles from the darkness ahead of us.

I search wildly for the voice and can see the dim outline of a large man. But Chase's flashight, as it searches the tunnel, shines right through it. “Nobody asked you, now did they?” Chase sallied, “Where's everyone else?”
The voice pauses. “Shit,” He grumbles, “Can't find them. It's like I'm in the dark or something. If you're in my head, smuggler, I'll...” the voice trails off, and I hear some liquid swirl and a loud gulp.

“You'll get piss drunk and forget all about it,” Chase finishes for him. Chase turns to me, “Dee, I would like to introduce you to Dutch. Unfortunately, I can't, because the guy won't make himself visible.”

A larger, burly figure steps into Chase's flashlight beam, illuminating ragged clothing, a dirty beard, and deep-set eyes that blink rapidly in the light. In one hand, he holds a large dark glass bottle, in the other he holds a black back pack like mine and Chase's. “Would you turn off those headlights?” he growls in a deep voice, “Can hardly see with you shining all those watts in my eyes.”

“Just how drunk are you?” Chase asks, angling the flashlight away form Dutch's face.

“Sober enough to walk, not much else.”

“So I take it that this place has been deemed safe enough for you to consume alcohol? We're not going to force it anytime soon?”

“I wouldn't know. No one tells me nothing.” He takes another long swig from the