Ravensdagger_Kittypunk_Cyberpunk_Kitrpg

Chapter Twenty-Two — Standing Out

Chapter Twenty-Two — Standing Out "Do you know what truly makes a person stand out above all else?" I asked Sharp. It was the next morning, and the day had started simply enough. We were falling into something of a routine already. Sharp would awaken, rush to the showers, steal some leftovers from the kitchen for the both of us, and then we'd be off to the courier's office to start our morning's work.Mark had only nodded when Sharp asked if there was any work available near the Back Bay area before giving us three packages due for Central and another near Fenway. At least one of those was right on the border where Back Bay started, so it was close enough."Being pretty?" Sharp guessed as she peddled.I scoffed from my position of honour sitting atop our last few packages in the bike's sidecar. "Don't be ridiculous. Prettiness is far too subjective. I'm certain that in this wide world there are even a few people that would find you pretty."Sharp laughed, then adjusted her fat-framed glasses. "Rude," she said, but it was not without humour. "So, it's not being pretty that makes you stand out. Is it power, then?""What sort of power? There's a hundred kinds. And I'm certain that viewed from the right lens, many of those would certainly help you stand out from the crowd. Though what I'm talking about is more something that lets you attain that power to begin with." I closed my eyes as we reached a hill and started to ride down it. The wind ruffled my fur in a most satisfactory way."Okay, so it's not power, it's not being pretty. Uh." Sharp narrowed her eyes and actually gave it some thought. "I don't know what answer you're looking for," she said after a while.I shook my head. It wasn't so much that I was fishing for a specific answer than... well, yes actually, that's what I was doing, but I was mostly trying to educate her via the old open rhetoric method."The answer I was looking for is initiative," I said."Initiative? Like moving first in a fight?" Sharp asked."That's also initiative, but I meant more the definition that includes having the power and opportunity to act before others. Look at your position now. You reached out to Paris for work, and it helped you find work. You reached out to Mark for more, and here you are, earning a pittance but actively moving across the city.""I kinda see what you mean, but not really how that applies to making someone stand out. I mean, I guess you stand out by asking people for work?""It's more complex than that. Initiative applies to more than just looking for work. People with initiative will push themselves to the limit and then beyond in searching for something better. There are some who have something similar to initiative, where they're chasing the high of seeing numbers increase. But that's a trap. More money in your bank account, more friends on your socials, more followers. It's playing into a complex algorithm and those people only stand out because they exemplify that system. What really makes someone special is the ability to see things that they want changed, and then taking the time to change them."Sharp was quiet for a while, and she seemed pretty deep in thought. "I think I can see it," she said. "That's what Edgerunners are, right? People that see something they want to change, or who see an offer out there, and instead of just working a normal job doing normal things, they take the initiative and do... uh, Edgerunner stuff?""Essentially, yes," I agreed. Sharp was a decent student, all things said.We arrived in Central and had to push through a throng of people crowding the sidewalks and edges of the roads. This part of the city had its own smell, not that I could pinpoint what that smell was, exactly. Fifteen different ethnic spices, the fumes from some old hydrocarbon cars, the sizzling oil from small food stands; it all mixed together into something that should have been foul but instead it reminded me that breakfast was several hours ago.Our deliveries in Central were all in backroads and alleys behind larger apartment blocks. The first was handed over to a group of men that didn't speak a lick of English and the second was dropped off in a bin with six obvious cameras pointed right at it, the last was simply brought to the front counter of a small pharmacy in the lower districts where the clerk signed for it and then told Sharp to scamper.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it"And that's the last of them," Sharp said before stretching her back out until it popped. "So... since we're right here, we might as well take that initiative and see about those cultists, right?""I feel like bringing that up might have been a mistake," I admitted.Sharp grinned, then picked me up and settled me on her shoulder. We found a bike locking station nearby, one with decent-enough security that charged by the hour, and locked the courier bike up. That would eat up half of our day's profit in one go, but money wasn't that much of an issue anymore.I still needed to find the time to get Sharp set up with proper banking, but that was the sort of thing we could take care of on a slower day.Finding the Mutes was easy enough. The gang was supposed to be somewhat hidden, but it was also an open secret that they lived along the edge of the Charles River. As we got closer to the river's edge, the area grew more dilapidated. The homes were older, with less care given to maintaining them, the few businesses around were all cheaper franchises and these seemed to still have human workers behind their counters instead of the more modern stores that were fully automated.Then there was the graffiti. Plenty of it covered the rest of Boston, of course, but it was particularly bad around here. Neon paints caught the light and made the narrow alleys we passed glow with a mix of tags old and new.The closer to the river's edge we got, the more tags had the word Mute on them.Sharp, taking the initiative once more, walked up to a cigarette salesman operating a cart off of an intersection. "Sorry sir, but would you happen to know where I can find the Mutes?""If you're not here to buy, then fuck off," he said with traditional Bostonian cordiality.Sharp pursed her lips, then fumbled in her pockets. She pulled out a pair of ten dollar bills. "Sorry sir, but would you happen to know where I can find the Mutes?"The salesman eyed the cash. It really wasn't much, but I couldn't imagine that business was booming out here for him either.He swiped the money out of her hands, then nodded his head back the way we came. "Return that way a block, then take a right onto Dartmouth. Look for that old red building.""Thanks!" Sharp chirped before we took off jogging in that general direction. His directions weren't all that great, in part because there were no street signs left around here and because half of the buildings were made of red brick.Still, we found the place. An older building with a pair of open garage doors on its ground level. The inside was filled with movement and the sound of older rock music. Sharp and I walked by, spying on the place from across the street. There was a lot of activity here, but it seemed more or less friendly.The Mutes, as far as I could recall, didn't have gang colours or any real sort of uniform. They stood out by flashing quick hand-signs at each other and speaking in what was almost a whispery accent that was hard to pick up on, even with sharp cat ears."Seems like the place," Sharp muttered.The people going in and out were probably not all gang members, and it looked like there might be some stalls selling things within. It was probably safe to enter, though Sharp's courier jacket might make her stand out."Seems like it," I agreed. "Come on, before the day gets old."We entered. Sharp might not have noticed all of the eyes staring at her, but I certainly didn't miss them.It only took a few minutes for someone to come over. A big man, with two cybernetic arms folded over his chest. He had two more arms, these thin and emaciated beneath. His face was pock-marked and rough but his eyes seemed gentle enough. He raised his flesh arms and worked through a few signs, slow enough that someone new to signing might have time to understand them. When it was clear that Sharp didn't understand, he shrugged, then cleared his throat. His voice came out scratchy, as if he rarely spoke. "Hello, child. What are you doing here?""Ah, hi!" Sharp said. "I have some questions? I think? Maybe you can help me out?"

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Chapter Twenty-Three — Muted Questions

Chapter Twenty-Three — Muted Questions Our new four-armed friend eyed Sharp up and down, then nodded. "You look like the sort," he said."What sort?" Sharp asked.He grinned. "The sort that someone else would send to ask the questions they want to ask."Well, that was suspiciously close to the truth. I shifted a little on Sharp's shoulder. If I had to launch myself at this man, then I wanted to be ready. But then he chuckled and gestured deeper into the room, past a small bar and a row of store mannequins with extra limbs taped on all wearing garish clothes and traffic cones. "Go see the Cunt," he said. Sharp choked. "The what?" His smile only grew wider. "Just down there, behind the beaded curtains. There's a little old lady. She'll tell you what you want to know. But don't mess around with her. She's earned her title.""Um, thanks," Sharp said."Let's keep an eye on the exit," I said. "We don't want to be caught off guard and hemmed in. And please, remind me to get you a gun at some point. Being unarmed like this might lower these sorts of people's guards, but it's making me feel rather naked.""You are naked," Sharp hissed.I smacked her ear for her cheek and to encourage her to refocus on the task at hand.We crossed the room, the bassy old school rock only getting louder as we walked by a pair of tall speakers where some younger Mutes were hanging out. They were laughing, but not saying anything. At least, not out loud. Their hands were gesturing rapidly and sloppily, almost as if they had a bit of a laissez-faire accent with their signing alone.The beaded curtains were right where the greeter had said they would be, a small wall of them hanging in the way into a nook. We pushed past them with a tinkle of wood on wood, and immediately there was an electric tingle that ran along my fur. The sound of the music behind us cut off. Not completely, but definitely far more than a simple beaded curtain would warrant.The room was rather small, the floorspace taken up by several large circular couches and ratty old cushions covered by quilts. A woman lounged on one of those sofas, smoking a cigarette. She tapped the cinders on the end into a yellowed glass bowl, then eyed the two of us. I didn't like the way her look lingered on me.A second woman, much younger, wearing roughed up leather and old jeans and looking like the picture of a teen at the end of her rope, sat on the very edge of a second couch. "What're you here for?" the teen asked."Um," Sharp began. She glanced to the side and gave me a look."I'm guessing that this kind lady would appreciate forthrightness. Look at her in the eyes and ask her to tell you what she knows about the cult." Being honest was also being quick, and I felt like this place was crawling with unfamiliar magics."Hello, ma'am," Sharp began. She bowed very slightly. "My name is Fasmine Sharp. I'm a courier, mostly. And I was sent here to find out what the Mutes know about the, ah, cult messing around in South Boston."The old lady took a pull from her cigarette, then let it out as a column of smoke above her. Then she spoke, only it was through tight, almost sporadic gestures of her gnarled, smoke-stained fingers. The cigarette left trails in the wake of her signs.The teen translated, though I had the impression she was adding her own snark to it. "They're trouble, she says. She also says that you're an idiot if you're trying to get involved. Cults are always a bad deal, and magical ones moreso.""So there is magic?" Sharp asked. "I think I felt it, when I was close. It was a weird buzzy feeling."The woman frowned, then nodded and signed some more for her translator. "Yeah, there's magic involved. She wants to know why you're poking your nose into that, and why you're bothering us about it."The woman shifted on the sofa, and I realized that her legs were far too short for the rest of her body."I'm not planning on getting involved, but they did shoot a courier. He lived, and he'll be better, but the cult or whatever they are... they're dangerous. I just want to learn what I can. And if there's stuff you want others to know about them, then I can spread that around for you, at least a little."Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.The woman stared at Sharp, then snuffed out her cigarette. She pulled out another from the pack with practised ease, lit it with a match, then took a pull, leaving it on the end of her lips as she signed some more. "She says that that's not a terrible reason for a jumped-up street urchin who doesn't know better," the teenager said. She grinned. "She also called you a dumbass. Anyway, she says that the cult follows a man called... the Grandfather?" The woman nodded after having signed what looked like a series of letters instead of plain words. "The Grandfather?" Sharp asked. "I remember listening to them a bit. It didn't sound like they were talking about an old man."The woman signed faster."She says that if you were listening, then you're an even bigger idiot than what you look like. You're lucky you didn't get taken in by his words. The man though is the Father, who isn't the Grandfather... obviously.""Right," Sharp said. "And they're magic?""They have magic," the teen corrected. "She says that the cult is a step away from the divine? From God? Something like that. And she says that... hey, old lady, if you want me to translate for you, then stop talking shit."Sharp leaned back as the two argued back and forth for a moment. The teen grumbled, but continued a moment later."The cult has some sort of ritual magic stuff going on. It might not work if you're not already susceptible to their message. If you are, then they'll sound really reasonable, and the more you listen, the weaker you'll be to their pull. It's some fucky ritual magic. The kinda shit they used to use in ads before it became illegal.""Can we do anything about it?" Sharp asked.The teen snorted. "Poke your ears out?"That wasn't exactly a viable solution, but I'd keep it in mind. "Oh, there's more," the teen said as the old woman signed again. "Ah, yeah, that makes sense. She says that they use gang magic. The kinda shit that a lot of corps and gangs use? It ties all of the members together so that they recognize each other, even when they're zooted outta their minds. It's how orders and stuff are relayed from the bosses down the chain.""That's terrifying," Sharp said."Happens all the time," the teen replied with a shrug. "Anything else you wanna know? I figure you've got half a cig before her patience runs out.""One last thing," Sharp said. "Are the Mutes enemies of the cult?"The teen snorted. "We're no one's enemy, unless they try to mess with us.""I see, um, well, thank you. It was nice meeting you both," Sharp said with another bow. We were almost out of the room when the teen called out to us."Wait!"We turned to find the old lady signing again."She says... watch where you go, both of you. You're not strong enough to tackle this kind of thing yet. Old lady, are you talking about the cat?"Sharp nodded once, then darted out of the room. The moment the beads were behind her, we were hit by a wave of sound. There were more people around, chatting and minding their own. Sharp and I still stood out, but we didn't intend to stay.She moved for the exit and soon enough we were back in the cooler air outside and Sharp started to retrace her steps back. "Back to work," she said."Indeed. We have both much and very little to report to the girls.""Do you believe the cult stuff? That it's mind control of some sort?" she asked."It wouldn't surprise me, and it fits with what we've seen so far, which gives me even fewer reasons to doubt it. Whatever is powering that cult, it won't be just human. There's more to it than that.""An Eidolon?" Sharp asked.I considered it. "Let's hope so."If we were lucky, someone else would step in and take care of things. If we were less lucky, then the cult's influence would spread and we might have to move on earlier than I wanted to. A good assassin never tried to take on more than they could.

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