Day 2: Curb Stomp

8:00 am

Just got the fuck home. I got picked up, by the Chasers. Got the good old shakey shake shakey down. Took me to holodeck, took my mierda, took my bag. Flash got dropped off first thank the fucking prophet.

So I come outta the Red Tiger, the rain was fucking hitting the ground like a mother fucker. Pulled up my hoodie, started to do my blending. Supplies empty, my own flash in my pocket. Heading to grab some grub from Wei Wei noodles, best ramen in the block.

Feel a tap on my right shoulder, next thing I know I'm on the ground. Aint' been grabbed liked that for a hot minute. Looking up at the Chaser, Lead Chaser McConnell. A right fucking cunt.

Long red hair, a face only a grandmother with fucking cataracts could love. Broken jaw, missing teeth from punch ups, and that fucking leaky nose of a real Pirsua addict. A fine little jagged snort the chaser sniff up der cause, they think it makes em sharp, just makes em like blood. He is sniffing like a mad fiend, ya know he takes triple dem boyos of his do, it makes em the sharpest meanest, killing fucking chaser in dis sector.

So looking at Chaser McConnel, man has had it in for me and my brother. Since before the end, he let my brother off his shit list, cause he is in that big dogpile in the sky. Me, I'm still here so I take all dem looks and glances, and grabs and hits. He aint' found me in 4 months, been off his fucking radar. How the fuck he find me the fuck now.

So lying there, I'm ready for the beating of a lifetime ya know, ready to see my blood on the pavement, to see my teeth and my soul leaving my fucking body. Before, he drops me at St. Bethany of the blessed little death. The only place that will rez, little broke-ass shit like me, just check dem organs make sure ya got em. My plan has always been to tell the good sisters of the blades, I'll do a run for em if they patch me, they ain't forget yet. So, I guess it's working out for my ass.

All he does though is pick me the fuck up, throw me over his shoulder. Taking me down to the questing and questioning room.

Sitting der in the dark, waiting for my turn to speak. Waiting for the answers to flow, while the fist doth fly and my jaw doth ache. They ask me about my biz, and my chummers, my world views on the nature of street crime.

I give em spit blood, and hate, a little vomit. It's a good fucking time, and aint' talk not one fucking bit. I giggle, and I moan, I laugh, I bleed. Aint' what they want, but for 8 hours of good work they take it, throwing me back out on my ass with my gear.

Aint' like I keep it ya know. Chaser, chase through bugs and lines, from the stuff they drop at your feet when they release ya. So this is a brand new rig, my old is at the bottom of the river. Got it from Old Crazy Eyes, and the fucking brute squad.

They raided my old shit, told me it was dirty forced me naked, scanned my body, ditched my clothing, and my gear. I aint' got nothing but this new rig, lucky for me it's better den the old one. Unlucky for me, I'm broke as a fucking joke. But I made it home, another night in the Dome city, this one went my fucking way almost.

Fuck mate, that was not a good one. I'm lying my fucking head down, bleed into my pillow. Maybe, watch a holoflick of that hot chica, Mary Mary, she got a new PPV show up and I'll jack in and jerk off ya know. Tomorrow, I got a run a major one or Old Crazy Eyes, maybe it'll fucking pay good. Logging out.