They Don’t Make ‘em Like This Anymore

Ched read the memo one more time and grinned; the blood was in the water, and he’d be the first shark there. He was in Acquisitions for MemCo. the finest purveyors of quantum VR entertainment. They were also now the first and only company able to extract and re-construct memories from persons with brain damage. On the PR side they were already running ads of Alzheimer’s patients watching their own memories, holding hands with their loving families. He wasn’t here for that fluffy bullshit. He wanted blood. Tears. Gratuitous nudity – the stuff that shocked, turned heads and moved volume.

He was sitting not 100 feet away from his next meal. ‘El Toro’-- the best Ultra-Heavyweight boxer in the last thirty years. The only Latino to defend that title five times. Ched had grown up seeing ‘El Toro’ trample anyone misguided enough to get in the ring. Then he would leave the arena with beautiful women on each arm, jump in to his Averro Fairlight Convertible and fly off. Ched had wanted that and now looking at the squalid apartment ‘El Toro’ lived in he might get that moment, at a discount.

He was let into the overtly Catholic apartment by a strung-out sex worker. He scanned and noted that her profile info was private. His software was past her firewall in moments, and he had her rates, client reviews, where she frequented, and her financial records. It gave him a rough gameplan. Part-time caretaker, part-time hooker, full-time daughter—money would work with her. He introduced himself and offered one of his pale flawless hands. Her dark and rough palms met his, robotically, and shook.

Her name was Maria and she wouldn’t sell her dads ‘soul’.

“I know you need the money, let’s not play around here.”

“Money comes and goes.”

“Sometimes it just goes. You’re sitting on a goldmine. You don’t need to live like this.”

“My father is not for sale.”

“I don’t want your father. I want ‘El Toro’.”

She turned away, flinched in fact. The name that had adorned billboards and sold out arena’s spiked her adrenaline. She turned back after a moment, composed. She opened the door to the adjoining room.

“Here he is.”

“Christ, he’s still fucking huge.”

‘El Toro’ lay in a Lifeline support unit, his enormous frame barely contained in it. His eyes were drooping, half closed. At his prime he weighted in at 400 lbs of steel cable like muscle. He’d looked more like a gorilla then a human being.

“They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”

They didn’t. Size had been a fad for a while, muscles had been in style. Now if you went around with cannons someone might make you use them.

“Let him have some peace now.”

Peace? The man’s brains were more scrambled than a five-egg omelet. Ched had no logical explanation for Maria’s behavior. He blinked, tuning out all the Catholic, socio-economic and other bullshit from his display. He made small-talk, nothing. Asked about her job, nothing. Asked about ‘El Toro’, her read-out fucking spiked. He had had it all wrong. She wasn’t the dutiful nurse. She fucking hated him. Whatever motivation she had; love might be part of it. But it was twisted up in darker emotions.

“Well Maria, with this new technology it won’t just read his memories. It could fully heal his brain. No soul-stealing and he could have his life back.”

It was a lie. They were decades from that. Not where the money was. But her fear was through the roof.

“Honestly miss, if not us now, the government might do it themselves. He’s only your ward if he’s an invalid.”

He could see her mind racing. He’d started a ticking clock. He didn’t need to push any harder.

Readying his hand sanitizer as his shuttle purred to life, he began his walk away. Then -- her voice.

“Wait.”

Ched grinned, he was going to ride the bull.

***************

Ched’s apartment was trashed. Once white, full of expensive art which was mostly spheres (spheres were the new triangles) it was now a small warzone. Tequilla and beer bottles littered the floor. A television had been installed on the wall. This was odd, when Ched had a perfectly functional ocular display. It blared porn on a 24hr cycle. Ched didn’t watch it, he was too busy jacking in to jack off. Over six months he’d gathered all of ‘El Toro’s’ memories. It had cost him his operating budget for the quarter, but it was worth it. He came up for air, drank, injected steroids and set his nano-muscle bots to a higher setting. He looked in the mirror. He looked weak.

He’d paid premium creds for his tan, but it had none of the rich Latino hue to it. The mirror’s readout said he was 267lbs, flashed a warning regarding his weight relative to his 5’9” height. He dismissed it. He’d also dismissed the summons from HR. ‘Assault and Battery’ sounded so dramatic for him putting a ‘puta’ in their place. Some pencil-pusher from accounting had accused him of mishandling his acquisitions account. Ched had tried to explain how he was like ‘El Toro’ coming into the third round.

Everyone thought ‘El Toro’ had just been a slow starter. But it was part of the game within the game. He had to get a little hurt. Let the other guy get a little cocky. People said ‘El Toro’ saw ‘red’ in the third round and that’s when he started dishing out punishment. But he was always seeing red. That’s what the puta’ didn’t get. He’d had the balls to ask “Who’s El Toro?” So Ched had hit him, hard.

An internal Memco. memo opened up on his display “….technology considered to be dangerous for users. Schizophrenic episodes occurred in 4 out 5 patients after third round of testing. All usage of reconstructed memories to halt….”

Ched dismissed it and jacked back in.

The memory of his first win was fresh in his mind. Blood. Lights. His labored breathes. Then that iconic moment, the referee tried to touch his arm and he cocked it back ready to unload. The ref had flinched back as his vision cleared. Ched felt ‘El Toro’ come back to himself as his own consciousness reformed. A broken nose and a swollen eye were all the price he had to pay for this moment of elation. Adrenaline and adulation roared through him, and he knew that this feeling was why he had existed up to this point. To win. Not just to win, to destroy. To leave no doubt.

Cocaine helped sooth his broken nose. A dark haired, doe eyed fan sat on his lap as he put out a line for her. His chair felt like a throne. He was one of the Khan’s surveying his domain. His entourage were there partying with him. Darkness came in and with it flares of a deep pain.

Ched was in charge again as he felt ‘El Toro’ shying away. He’d run into this before, a section that the big man tried to forget.

“Sorry amigo, I paid for the whole tour.”

His vision cleared and he was standing before a screaming beauty. Pain, sharp fast. She’d slapped him. Who the fuck did she think she was? She flew into the wall. Her anger had made her brave, but terror returned as plaster rained down on her. He stepped forward, to finish the lesson. Then there was a small figure between him and her. Little Maria, her eyes wide, hands up warding him off. The bull bellowed, but he managed to pull it back. Not here. He looked up at the camera in the hall by his dressing room. He’d have to get the footage scrubbed.

He was going to go gambling. The feeling of his big win was already fading, spoiled by his idiot wife and little brat. He’d go to Vegas with the crew and win big a few times. Then he’d be home to deal with them.

MEMORY FRAGMENTATION DISCONNECT IN PROGRESS

Ched had just been getting into it when he came back into control. He found himself at a blackjack table somewhere in Light Plaza. It was hard to tell. His mods kept flashing on and off. He had no idea what time it was. But the dealer asked him if he wanted to hit or stay. He hit.

CARD DECLINED/ ACCOUNT HAS BEEN SUSPENDED

He lost time again. He was arguing with the casino security. Didn’t they know who he was? The bull was bellowing, and it drowned out Ched’s increasingly frantic attempts to take control.

He came to and he was sitting in a living room. A newly decorated apartment. His mods told him he’d lost an hour this time. He was on the other side of town. Maria walked into the room, looking clean. He felt a surge of pride that was entirely not his own. His little Maria was all grown up, she had a lovely home. She carried herself with a straight back and dark fierce eyes.

“You look like shit, Mr. Ched.”

“It’s good to see you Maria.”

“Is it? Why are you here?”

“I need you to forgive me.”

“For what?”

“I failed you miha. I tried to be there for you. To show you how to be strong. I didn’t know how to be a papi.”

“Look, I let you in because you looked like you were having a rough night. I don’t have time for whatever made up shit this is.”

Ched tried to scream, to warn her. But ‘El Toro’ was much, much stronger. ‘El Toro’ pulled out the Smith & Wesson 2049 from his jacket. Her eyes went wide for a moment as she saw the chrome, but she took a steadying breath.

“You’re drunk Mr. Ched. You need to sober up and give me that gun before you do something you regret.”

“No Maria! Can’t you see I am trapped in hell!”

‘El Toro’ motioned towards the Lifeline unit and the prison of meat laying there. As they walked over, Maria kept talking. She was calm and composed. Like a trainer working with a dangerous animal. Even as he felt revulsion looking at the limp body that had trapped him for five years, he loved looking at his little angel. He was trying to explain himself. He had to make her see. He pointed the gun to the bed.

“Forgive me or kill me miha. I can’t bear the pain anymore.”

Maria stood there, baffled. Then there was a stern turn to the set of her lips.

“No. I am not playing whatever sick game this is.”

‘El Toro’ screamed in frustration. He waved the gun in her face and stomped around. She didn’t even flinch. Why couldn’t she see this was the only way? Or was it? He pointed the gun to his own temple.

“Forgive me or kill me. It’s the only way.”

“Fine.”

“You’ll forgive me?”

“No, give me the gun.”

She held out her hand. He put the heavy chrome in her hand. She pointed it at him, squarely between the eyes. Then she shifted towards the bed and pointed it at the body laying there.

“Do it!”

Then she tapped the side of the gun and the magazine thumped to the ground. She ejected the round in chamber and threw the gun across the room.

“You’re not my dad. He would never have pulled this telenovela garbage.”

“But…”

“But nothing. You’re just some empty suit. How dare you? My father was an unrepentant bastard and a real piece of shit. But at least he was real. I turned out the way I did because of him. Now get the fuck out of here, you… tourist.”

‘El Toro’ walked out the door into the glaring light. The bull bellowed but all that came out was a whimper.

“I am ‘El Toro’…"