Megumi could feel the music of the club a few blocks before she saw its entrance. Deep bass frequencies, moving through the air, through the ground, were hard, rhythmic, relentless. Blanket clad and barefoot, she crept towards the origin of the sounds, the higher frequencies of sound, known as singable music, had the musicians had a modicum of talent, pitches that were normally sung (or in this case, screamed apparently) became very audible.
Grimacing, Megumi took in the screeching, electronic gong show that was modern music. It was, at least to her sensibilities, deeply messy stuff. Lips pursed, she looked down at the cat that had followed her this and way that down back alleys of New Meiji. “What do to you think?” she asked wearily.
The cat, being at cat, said nothing, but sat down in the alley and promptly started licking its butt.
Megumi laughed. She couldn’t help it. The cat had better tastes when it came to music than the people queued up at the club to get in. Carefully, Megumi took a peek around the corner of a building so she could get a better idea of what was going on.
ごみ (GOMI CLUB)
Again, a laugh escaped her, this one though was all pithy sarcasm. “Garbage Club. How utterly accurate.” The eye watering neon signage pulsed in time with the driving bass rhythm, bathing the line of would be attendees in a sickly watercolor wash of electric purples, yellows and greens.
Poking her head out a bit further, Megumi made careful note of the young men and women in queue. Most of them looked worse than she felt, their clothing in tatters, makeup smeared. Gods, demons and SPF 50, she was baffled as to why anyone would WANT to dress like they were destitute, hungry and without anyone to turn to. She did notice that there were a few outliers, men and woman dressed like famous characters in history or theater, all of whom, based on the spatters of fake blood and bullet hole stickers had met bad, violent ends.
“So this is the noveau chic of New Meiji” she muttered. Disgusted, she thought about completely abandoning the idea of getting into the club completely, regardless of whether it had a data hub or not that she could access.
“Hey!”
Megumi’s head snapped back to attention as a large bouncer (they were still called bouncers, right?) jostled with a better dressed young man in the line. While he still looked three sheets to the wind, clad in black with torn jeans, he was better dressed than the others.
“You think you’re comin’ in ‘ere?” The bouncer (she was going with the term she knew as calling the man a club troll was not very polite) jabbed an ugly, thumb in the young man’s chest. The club’s security man was huge, nearly seven feet tall if she guessed correctly and was built like the concussion tanks she’d once seen during the civil war military parades.
(Gods, I hate parades.)
“Like that?” He bouncer laughed, revealing that his profession had resulted in some missing teeth replaced by metallic implants. It was an ugly sound. The echoing laughter made by others in the line was uglier. Some of the laughter was too hard, too harsh and she could sense that in some, there was an unnatural desire for violence to occur, for blood to be shed.
(Of course there are users there, why am I not surprised?) If there was a world that a user would love, the type of user she had been so damnably instrumental in helping create, it would be world like this one.
“Apocalypse, now, they don’ like your type.” Another hard jab. Helpless to do anything but listen and watch as the other people in line began chanting and cheering, Megumi realized that the migraine inducing cacophony of sound, metal, bass and screaming was in fact a band name Apocalypse, rather than the end of the world as people knew it. Uncharitably, hoped all the band members developed vocal nodes.
Dumbstruck, completely and utterly at a loss what to make of the situation, she glanced back into the alley at the cat, who was still completely absorbed in licking clean its nether regions.
(This is madness! What I am even doing here?)
“We don’ neither!” The young man fell down, fell back, tripping over the queue rope. Megumi took a step forward to help, then stopped herself, an idea forming, one that she liked even less than the young man’s odds for not having to get a tetanus booster for having been in this part of the city. After looking carefully at the women in the line, at least the ones who were being admitted to Club Gomi, she bolted back into the alley, her mind fixed on finding something sharp.
“There we go,” Megumi found a half-drunk liquor bottle. Not quite sure how to go about it, she took the business end of the glass bottle and swung it hard against the side of the building, schrunching her eyes shut in case something sharp flew at her face. The bottle broke, sending liquor and shards of glass everywhere. The alley cat, enjoying neither the music nor the shower of god knows what was in the bottle hissed and skittered to the other side of the alley, squeezing itself beneath a gray dumpster filled with trash bags.
“Sorry about that,” Megumi muttered, looking for and finding a shard of glass that seemed to have the best-defined edge for the task at hand. Scowling intently, trying to remember the cut and line of the clothing the club going women were wearing, she began hacking and pulling the shard of glass over the fabric of her ruined scrubs.
(Really, how much different can making an outfit be than sewing someone up?)
15 Minutes Later
Megumi looked down at her “outfit” and nearly started to sob in mortification or laugh hysterically and bonk her head repeatedly on the dirty brick façade of the club wall.
“I look like…” There were no words. Not words at all. She glanced down at the tattered remains of the her only clothes. Her bottoms, well… they were nearly on level with HER bottom, the uneven cuts and undone seams leaving very little to the imagination. Embarrassed, Megumi tugged at what left of her pants, hoping that her efforts at fitting in with the club goers didn’t end up with a trip to the pokey for indecent exposure.
Her top was no better, though she’d a little more skilled at using the broken liquor bottle fragments to fashion something resembling a tank style shirt. It was a bit too low in the front and a bit too high in the back, but nothing that tended to be on the buxom side of her anatomy was in full display (not quite) and for that she was grateful.
The cuts on her fingers from using the bottle shards had healed up, but she didn’t wipe the blood from them. Apparently, the twits who dressed like this on purpose found applying faux blood to be very in vogue. It disgusted her. This disgusted her but had to be done.
Using strips of her scrubs, she’d bound her long, black hair up into two very messy braided buns. Some of the women in line had been sporting something similar and Megumi hoped that her efforts would be enough to get her past the meat locker of a security bouncer and into the club.
She wondered if her being barefoot would cause issues. From what she had seen, most of the morons in line had been wearing synth spikes or tattered military boots (as if they would know anything of war...the twits)
Clubs had data hubs. Clubs had people who had access to, and the funds to use said data hubs. Ergo, she had to get into the club. No matter what. There was, especially now, no other way for her to try and access her banking information.
She wasn’t sure how long she’s been standing in the cold, hidden in the shadows of the alley, trying to summon up her nerve. It was getting cold. She could feel the pads of her toes beginning to freeze.
The music was jarring her, making her head ache, setting her teeth on edge. Megumi looked up, exposing her face to the elements. Grey snow was falling down, catching on long lashes, settling on pale cheeks. And it was in the settling that Megumi realized that it was, in fact, not snow at all.
Curious, she held a hand out and watched as the small grey particles landed on her hand but did not melt. It was no frozen gift from the sky but polluted particulate matter. Perhaps a factory was nearby. Megumi looked up at the sky again. Even if it had been clear, the light pollution had long since smothered the stars. Though late, she could see that the clouds were dark and ugly things, blocking out the full moon. The tall buildings that poorly sheltered the space where she was hiding were dead, industrial redwoods, their branches of rusty, metal stairwells and antiquated power lines no more capable of sheltering her from the elements than blossoming come spring time.
The thought of spring time made her think of Kenshin and the promise they’d made to meet under the sakura. At the time, the resolution had been filled with hope and reasonable, something to yearn for and work towards. Now, it seemed like a fool’s errand for a fool of a woman. (I don’t have a choice…not if I want find a way to keep my promises) Despite her misgivings, there was a pinky swear and a dream of sakura to try and honor, a faceless though no longer faceless girl to honor though living.
The rubbish bin rustled and a grumpy sound could be heard from beneath the mess.
Clearly, she had priorities and responsibilities, whereas 24 hours before, she had not had any, not to anyone or anything, and standing her freezing her very nearly exposed behind off wasn’t going to make them happen.
(Evolve or die. Adapt or perish)
Her father had taught her that, over and over and over again. Megumi shuddered, nearly wretched, and then became still. The most brutal interpretation of Darwinian Law was a way of life for her growing up and, despite her best efforts to be the daughter that was both needed and wanted, she had failed, to devastating consequences, not just for herself and her brother, but for many innocent human beings.
(I am my father’s daughter…but I can try and evolve) Adaptation didn’t stop, no matter how evil men men and misguided daughters meddled with it. Evolution wasn’t just at the cellular level, but could take place in the heart and mind as well. Right?
(Right)
Megumi took a step forward. She made her way into the line, trying to fit in. While most of the clubbers looked worse than she did, she did spot a couple of creative souls who she identified as historical movie stars, in various states of decomposition. (Is…is that Charlie Chaplain?)
(THE BOUNCER, AKA AITOH-SAN, AKA THE LEAD LINE FLOW COORDINATION SPECALIST)
(Being a line flow coordination specialist isn’t easy work.)
Aitoh-san, known by most as the bouncer, some as club security, and by many as a right mean bastard of a man, pinched the brow of his nose as he tossed another brat out of the queue. That was the 16th one this evening.
Supporting the arts has never been an easy undertaking. Aitoh-san had learned this while majoring in Art Hitory (and minoring in creative dance).
Still, someone had to make sacrifices and it was his lot to stand out in the cold, dealing with privileged little shits who thought they had every right to waltz right in and attend an advertised musical event, but at their core lacked the sophisticated tastes and musical palates to really appreciate the complex orchestrations and lyrical compositions of bands such as Apocalypse. Yes, like was difficult, but such was the fate of a true connoisseur of the arts.
And so the long, cold night went. Scuffle. Toss. Scuffle. Toss. Toss. Toss. Toss.
And then, she appeared, a post-modern, deconstructed Melpomene, the Muse of Tragic Poetry. Devoid of frippery and finery, the young woman stood before him, bared to the music and the elements as well, not only free of artifice, but also bra as well. Aitoh-san’s split lower lip would have quivered had he not been such a professional.
“You…” he motioned at the young lady, noting with approval that the blood spatters on her exquisite outfit were real and not fake, something that a true aficionado of Apocalypse would take the time to do right. How thoughtful. “…wan’ to go an’ listen?”
Megumi nodded, mesmerized by the man’s ham-hock sized fists. “Yes,” she smiled and added, “please?” (What the hell – there’s no harm in good manners, is there?)
Aitoh-san was touched. TOUCHED. And look, her feet were bare as well, so true a pilgrim to the shrine of death metal, was this maiden. “Which song d’ ya like best?”
Megumi inwardly wanted to scream and pull her badly plaited buns out. Song? These were supposed to be songs? Was this a test? A Trick? She wondered if the right song was a password that would grant entry, while the wrong one would earn a beating (or worse). People were looking at her. The Club Troll was looking at her, though not with the unconcealed menace that he’d looked at other club-goers before tossing them to the wayside.
“It’s…. it’s so hard to decide,” she offered, biting her lower lip as a particularly dissonant wail began to reverberate through the speakers. The lyrics were profane, the pitch not even close on center. Here eyes began to water, and unlike Aitoh-san, the tears were not due to musical appreciation. “But I would have to say, that this song,” she motioned vaguely at the pulsing speakers that were blaring a verse about engaging in highly illegal (and certainly unsanitary) activities with a recently deceased goat’s head. “This song has a very, special place in my heart.”
“This un?’” Truly, his sacrifice this evening had been worth it. “Abomination of Filth and Despair” was his favorite song as well. Such a classic. She nodded and smiled up at him. He smiled back, his metallic tooth implants twinkling. What a nice girl. The sort of girl you’d take home to mother on a lovely Sunday afternoon for tea. “Well, go in then. Hav’ a nice night, Miss.”
Gallantly, he pulled the queue rope back and motioned for the young lady to enter. She thanked him and then disappeared, her blood splattered form fading into the darkness that was Gomi Club, a veritable blood-stained Persephone descending to the home of her lover, Hades. Gods, life was so beautiful.
“HEY” Aitoh-san was torn from his poetic reverie by the shout of an ill-mannered young man. (Who was wearing shoes AND a fake nose ring) Aitoh-san shook his head, displeased to say the least by this most unworthy pilgrim to the shrine of Apocalypse. “You didn’t even charge that bitch overhead!”
Aitoh-san sighed and resumed the hard and lonely work that a lead Line Flow Coordination Specialist must, and calmly punched the uncouth youth in the face, sending him, and a few flying errant teeth back into the cheering crowd.
INSIDE CLUB GOMI
Megumi stumbled into the club, immediately assailed by an impossibly louder sound of screeching. Grateful for the first time in a long time that her eardrums were capable of regeneration, the physician looked around, wide eyed at her first glimpses. It was dark inside, save for laser lights that flashed this way and that, creating color popping patterns on the dancers writhing on the floor. She inhaled, grimaced a bit and gingerly made her way down the stairs towards what she assumed was the main dance area. The air stank of stale smoke (of many varieties) the sharp tang of perspiration and the more subtle hint of something she couldn’t identify.
Someone bumped up against her, letting the contact linger for longer than she was comfortable with. She jumped, yelped and then skittered away, glad that her red, embarrassed face wouldn’t be seen in the dark. Taking another two steps down towards where most of the people were dancing, she looked around.
(There)
On the other side of the dance floor was a data hub, a VERY NICE data hub if she was any judge of the cable lines coming through the roof. While wireless technology was free and easily accessible, physical velocity synth lines were where the speed and access was to be found. Megumi looked this way and that for a short cut to the data hub. There was none. For a moment, the abominable music stopped. The roiling sea of human bodies dancing became still for a moment and cheers went up.
Megumi bolted forward, sensing this was her chance to make some headway but before she would get very far, a new song started up, which, if the opening stanza consisting of nothing other than a work that rhymed with luck was any indicator, was going to be worse.
Immediately, she was crushed, her body pressed up against another’s. She tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to pull back to. Jostled, she tried to move forward, towards the data-hub, struggling to even see which was it was due to the incredibly packed dance floor. Gasping, she slid past the first body, then collided with another, a thin, unwell looking man with dark hollows under his eyes. Relief became alarm when the man reached out and pulled Megumi tightly against her, his nails digging into Megumi’s back.
“First time, huh?”
Megumi gasped and tried to wriggle away. “No, I come here quite often, thank you very much,” she said, her attempts to be urbane and sultry utterly failing.
The thin man laughed. Nastily. “You’re new.” His hands moved downward, past her back, lingering over the curve her hip till he had a grip on her bottom that was becoming painful. “I can smell it on you.” He leaned closer and actually sniffed her, his beak-like nose grazing the hollow of her throat.
“I’m surprised you can smell anything at all.” Heart in her throat, shaking from a mixture of anger and dismay, Megumi brought up her hands between them and pushed. Hard, her fear making her bolder than she normally would be. “Considering that you reek of liquor and desperation,” her pale mouth curled into a sneer. “Get your hands off me.”
This time, she didn’t say please. She pushed the man again, unbalancing him, and then quickly twisted herself away from where he couldn't reach her, away from the man, from the hungry look in his eyes. (I can do this…) Lips dry, she wet them with the tip of her tongue and continued to try wriggle her way towards the data center, one bump and grind at a time.
(This…this… isn’t so different from the military base. Right?)
While she had been extended a measure of protection as a scientist (to say nothing of a certain scientist’s daughter until she was no longer useful in that regard) she had existed as one of very few women in a violent world dominated by men who were not used to taking no for an answer.
There, like here, there had been grasping hands, unwanted advances, leers and propositions. (I kept them away then) Pivoting, her bare feet giving her surprisingly good traction, she raised her arms above her, sliding past a couple who wanted her to join them in their gyrations. (I can keep them away now).
For a moment, the earlier memories of the afternoon played through her mind, of laughing, sharing, dancing, of being gently held, smoothly guided across a dance floor. (There are no good men here, you sentimental twit!) she told herself sternly (no honorable offers to save you from your father, or anyone else for that matter). She felt a sharp pang of what might have been. It faded just as quickly.
(Adapt or perish…) Megumi closed her eyes and tried to listen to the strange, violent music, past the screaming, past the shouts, the panting and groaning of the men and women moving around her. (Evolve or die)
There was a beat to this song, driving. Hard. Fast. She opened her eyes and looked around the room, watching the club goes move and writhe like uncouth eels against each other. (Watch. Learn. Mirror. Match.) Using the a couple of woman as an example, Megumi began to make better headway through the crowd. Rather than stiffening whenever she was knocked or jostled, she tried to relax, willing her frightened limbs to be soft, pliant, like water moving around an obstacle rather than dashing against it.
Swaying, bending, she wove in, wove out around larger masses of men and women, avoiding grasping hands when she would, enduring it when it was unavoidable. She’d endured worse, after all. She would and could do this. (And not get Hepatitis in the process)
Twisting sinuously, this way and that, the blue-grey bloody scrub ribbons in danger of becoming undone in her black, plaited hair, she was able to cover more ground, making note of each pulsating tile that she maneuvered over. (Five meters) The previous song ended, a new one began. Like the previous one, this also had a driving, hard beat, that reminded her of the motions she'd seen between the street prostitute and the man paying for services.
(Perhaps I am becoming used to this.)
Megumi gyrated her lower half, her partially exposed hipbone grazing the lacquered finger tips of a club patron. (Three meters)
(Perhaps I’m going mad)
To her right, she caught a glimpse of one of the musicians (and she was using that word VERY loosely) take an electric guitar and begin systematically smashing it on the stage, before setting it on fire.
(Perhaps I’m going deaf)
Megumi glanced away from the burning guitar, smirking as the band member catches his pant leg on fire in the process, and covered two more acid colored tiles.
(Two meters)
She was so close, so close to the data hub she could almost feel the velocity synth lines reaching out to her in return.
Not even caring that a sigh of relief escaped her, she leaned heavily against the data hub counter, trying to catch her breath and center her thoughts. The crowd let out a terrific shout and surged towards where the band (achieving her goal of getting to the data hub had made her feel generous when again when it came to musical designations) was finishing up the set. She noticed that the idiotic band member who’s pant leg had caught on fire had properly extinguished himself, or rather a roadie had with a fire extinguisher had done it form him.
(This place is a mad house...) Megumi bit her bottom lip, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that whispered that what she was trying to do made the concert goes seem far saner. (Let’s see what we have here.)
Covetously, she looked up at the thick velocity synth lines. The cables were as thick as a man’s leg and when she put her hand on the hardwood extension for patrons using the hub (which was black…like everything else in the damn club) she could feel the power of the connection, moving through the wood, through the club goers. (I can’t begin to imagine how many credits went into this installation – this is nearly on par with the military!)
She wasn’t sure whether than realization was encouraging or not.
A seat nearby seat opened up, the club goer staggering back into the melee that was the dance floor.
Megumi quickly took the spot, sliding into the chair with what she hoped was a measure of aplomb. “I Beg your pardon?” Catching the glimpse of an employee (name tag and all, just like the bouncer) she motioned to the monitor. “Is there a usage fee for using a hub?”
The employee blinked. Blinked again, his expression torn between surprise and bemusement. “Not for the first five minutes, Honey.”
“Ahh” Megumi said,all too familiar with the way things appeared to be working. “First hit is free and the rest is going to cost me?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Got it.” Boy did she ever.
Not wanting to waste time, she immediately opened a data port and began to type.
“You want to jack in?” Once again, the employee was giving her that look.
“No thank you,” Megumi said, her fingers flying across the pressure pad. The last thing she needed was a online cerebral imprint where anyone could find it. She made a mental note to wipe the pad clean when she was done, just to even up the odds a bit in her favor.
(There) moving through the hub at a terrific rate of speed, she quickly found the bank access portal. (I don’t dare risk logging in directly, but there should be no harm in checking the portal validity.) Unlike the account section, the oft used portal entrance was open domain, filled with information, advertisements and offers for loans of all shape and sizes.
Nothing, it seemed, had changed since she’d accessed her account a little over a year ago.
After a moment’s hesitation, she navigated to the account section but didn’t dare enter her credentials. While this bank was open to all New Meiji citizens, it was used predominately by large corporations. It was the bank her family had used for years, as they had been members of the medical community since who knows when, many of them professors like her father and mother had been. It was also the bank that the Japanese government had set up nearly two hundred years before, one that was used by the military.
Megumi pursed her lips, frustrated at how close and yet how far she was to having a chance at living an independent existence for this first time in her long, adult life.
BING…
BING…
Megumi closed her eyes. Her five minutes was up.
“Time's up! My turn!"
Megumi turned and looked up at a slender woman, initially shocking in her appearance. Like many of the club-goers, she seemed hellbent on embracing the idea of death and suffering, though her choice of clothing was more classical in its line rather than a mess of tatters. The woman was wearing a jaunty beret at an an angle and was clad in a black skirt and blouse with a grey cardigan. Her make up was black and white, as if she had tried to transform herself into a historical black and white photograph of someone famous. Megumi took note that the woman had bullet hole stickers pasted nearly everywhere. As she took note, she also realized that there was a name badge on the woman's sweater and that there was a headset half hidden in pin curls beneath the beret.
(She's an employee here)
"You like?" The woman whirled around, laughing wildly. "Bonnie Parker, from Bonnie and Clyde." Still laughing, she sat down beside Megumi and gave her a frank appraisal. "So, what's with the long face?"
“So much to do, so few credits.” Megumi primly crossed her legs at the ankles and gave the strange woman a bright, brittle smile. “I bet you hear that all the time.”
“Indeed, I do.” The woman, Bonnie, smiled back at her, with a lopsided grin. She leaned over, He leaned down, putting both hands on each side of the chair where Megumi was sitting. “We do offer some of our clientele a credit line, if you are interested in applying?
While Megumi wanted to slide out of her chair, and bolt, she made herself stay put. (I have no other options at this point. None.)
“That would depend, I suppose, on what the application process looks like.”
Rather than shrink back, she leaned forward, till she was nearly nose to nose with Bonnie and her manic, lopsided smile. She could smell alcohol on her breath, but her eyes were clear and piercing. While the gangster clad woman looked young her eyes told an entirely different story. "Let's say I'm interested, just for the sake of conversation."
"Oh, I like you!" Bonnie laughed again. Her teeth were sharp and white in the pulsating light. "Let's chat then. Girl to girl." She reached over and game Megumi's leg a squeeze. Flustered, Megumi slapped her hand away, which only made Bonnie's laugh ring higher and louder.
“Would you care for a drink?” Still giggling, Bonnie motioned to the well-stocked bar behind the data hub.
Curious, Megumi looked at the bar, surprised that there was enough creativity in the world for so many different types of liquors and spirits. (Gods, some of them are glowing!)
“It’s on the house,” the dead gangster woman said, chuckling at the smaller woman’s skeptical expression and clear interest in some of the psychedelic liquors that were so popular among the regular club patrons. “I’m feeling rather generous this evening and you are, after all, lacking in credits at the moment.”
“I think I'll pass." Megumi turned away from the bar, part of her brain still figuring out how they managed to incorporate edible phosphorescence into an alcohol- based solution. “However, I sampled alcohol once, and did not find it to my liking.”
Bonnie blinked. “Once?”
Megumi held up a finger, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Just once, and it was more than enough.” She’d had such high hopes for the champagne that had been handed to her by a server, so many years ago. The memory of a sharp taste of bubbly vinegar and the resultant roar of laughter from a certain decorated officer, had not dulled with time.
“I have a teetotaler sitting beside me. Oh, my dear, you are a delight! So polite. So formal.” Bonnie was laughing again."Why, you should be dressed up like a 1930's Moll, not me!" She then glanced at Megumi. "Let's trade!"
Megumi wasn't sure where the conversation was going. "I beg your pardon?"
“Normally, you'd be SOL since you're credit-less. Lucky for you, I'm bored. You're funny and I am totally keen on trading costumes."
"You can't be serious." Megumi peered at Bonnie and decided that the woman's beret was cutting off the blood supply to her head.
"I'm never serious, but if you want this conversation to continue, you'd do well to entertain me. Since we are, for the sake of conversation, of course, having a discussion about a theoretical line of credit, we can afford to be a little more down to earth. She looked at her expectantly, too bright eyes shining. "So, what's your name, Miss Prim?"
“Rin,” Megumi said without hesitation. My name is Rin.”
“Just Rin?” Bonnie gave her a sly look.
“Just Rin.” Megumi looked back.
“Very well, Just Rin.” Bonnie said, "Do we have a deal?"
Megumi stared at the woman, boggled. "If we switch...er...costumes...then you'll help me?" This was nuts.
"I'll consider it." Bonnie gave her a wink then motioned towards her tattered scrubs. "I'm mad for what you're wearing. The look is seriously grim-dark."
"It is?"
"Totally."
Megumi cautiously slid off the chair, wondering what grim-dark was and why she was even considering the swap. "Um. Your outfit is very nice as well."
Bonnie chortled and jumped off the chair, her laugh so wild that Megumi suspected that there were bats in the woman's beret topped belfry. Bonnie caught her by the hand and led her past the data bar, winding through the pulsing crown with enviable ease.
"So, what inspired your look?" Bonnie asked, weaving too and fro.
"The dark side of medical research?" Megumi lamely offered. She felt like Alice falling head over heels down a very strange rabbit hole.
"SORDID!" Bonnie said, as if the word were a compliment. She came to what was clearly ladies bathroom and motioned for Megumi to go in. "Where did you get if from? I got this..." she twirled around, nearly clobbering a club goer leaving a stall. Megumi noted with professional displeasure that hands were not being properly washed. "...from Mad Rags. It's on North Side of course!"
"Of course." Wishing that she was not in bare feet, Megumi poked her head into a stall. (Ew) "I made it myself. Used my own scrubs."
Bonnie squealed and clapped her hands, as if she was a child with way to much sugar in her system. "And the blood? What did you use?" She motioned to the dried and fresh bloodstains that marred the continuity of blue on the other woman's outfit. "Chicken?"
"Human," Megumi said flatly. "I'm very big on authenticity."
"No. Way."
Megumi smiled thinly. "Yes. Way."
"GRIM-DARK!" More squealing on Bonnie's end ensured. Megumi wanted to slap the woman silly, but instead slithered into one of the other stalls that was a bit cleaner and quickly shut the door. A trade was made and before Megumi could catalog how many STD's were lurking behind the toliet seat, she was clad in the garb of a bullet ridden gangster, beret and all, and a scrub clad Bonnie was bouncing about happily, braiding her hair up into a very messy bun.
"You like?" She asked Megumi again, clearly pleased with the exchange.
"I...I do." Megumi glanced down, thrilled to actually be properly clothed. The made a mental note that if she made it out of this insane asylum in one peice the bullet-hole stickers would have to go. "Thank you."
Exchange made, she was once again merrily led back to the data hub, stumbling in the too high heels she'd just inherited. (Bonnie was barefoot and having a blast)
"Akira! Look we traded!" Bonnie called out to her fellow employee, the man managing the data hub.
"SORDID." The man nodded and made some sort of hand sign at his fellow employee.
"Isn't it though?" Bonnie (who wasn't anymore) whirled again, a dervish in blue tatters. "Get this, Rin here, she used REAL BLOOD."
"What can I say?" Megumi made the same hand gesture, hoping it wasn't of the obscene variety. "It's...um...Grim Dark."
15 MINUTES (and much annoying laughter) LATER
"So, let's hear what you want, Rin-chan!"
Megumi thought for a moment, as she had no idea what the going rate for a hacker was. (What the hell, I’m in way over my head as is…) “Theoretically speaking, of course, I would be interested in obtaining enough credits to secure the services of a discrete, proficient individual who would be able to help me regain access to a banking account of mine.”
“Oh, how interesting.” Bonnie said, “I assume you have the bona-fides to prove ownership of said account?” She gave her a side glance. “We wouldn’t want to do anything illegal you know.”
Megumi nodded. “I do and no, committing robbery isn’t on the mind.”
“Pity. You ARE supposed to be a bank robber, after all!" Bonnie pointed out. “Would you care to tell me why you have lost access to this account?”
“Family squabbles.” Megumi tried to sound coy rather than clueless.
“Did Daddy cut off your allowance? Is that it?”
“What can I say? He’s of the opinion that I misbehaved.” Megumi shrugged, though her eyes flashed with a hint of anger when the woman sitting beside her laughed again. It was getting to her. “Look, I’m not some trust fund brat, if that’s what your thinking. The money in that account came through hard work and gainful employment.”
“How?” Bonnie chortled as she looked the slender woman over. She was young, barely out of her teens and into her early twenties if he was any judge of age. “Babysitting?”
Hands fisting, Megumi struggled to keep her temper in check. While her father had been a prominent physician, she’d earned her degree on her own merit, attending a university where her father was not a professor. Scholarships, earned through academic merit had supported her, as her father was not one to coddle and she was not one to accept his assistance. Even during medical school and her residencies, she had done her best to stay clear of his shadow. She opened her mouth, a sharp retort forming, then closed it just as quickly as she realized that going into such detail was unwise and that she was being goaded.
She took a deep breath, then another.
“Don’t dismiss, babysitting. It’s a good gig.” Megumi said, her tone syrupy with a good pinch of sarcasm. “Awful hours though.”
“I can only imagine.” Bonnie winked again, pleased that her teasing had proved so fruitful. “This account, Rin-chan,” is there anything that a discrete and proficient individual would need to know before trying to ahh….liberate your hard earned babysitting money?”
(And now we’re to the crux of the matter)
Megumi nodded her expression uncomfortable, for she was sure that the strange woman sitting beside her already knew the answer to his question. “More likely than not, it will be monitored.”
“Ahh. You really must have misbehaved for Daddy to be so determined to keep you from your allowance.”
“Yes, terribly.” Megumi leaned back in the hub chair and looked at the ceiling for a moment. (You have no idea…)
She was tired, and the protein bars that she’d taken with her from Ken-san’s hideout would be gone by morning. She knew from experience that she couldn’t technically starve, but days going without food was painful and taxing. Still recovering, the innate fat and energy stores in her body were not properly replenished, at least not yet.
“Now, now, Rin-chan, don’t pout." To her mounting frustration, Bonnie laughed again. Megumi was half tempted to point out that that the woman's make up no longer matched her outfit, but decided to hold off despite her confidence that anything productive would come from this conversation, was plummeting.
(What are you going to do? Up and leave? Live your life with a cat in an alley with no food and a blanket to call your own?) How could she live for Rin if she had no life, no opportunities, no home?
“Discreet, professional individuals who have the expertise to liberate your babysitting money aren’t inexpensive.”
“I see.” Megumi kept her face neutral. (What. A. Surprise.)
“If such a professional was able to secure your funds, assuming of course, that you can provide acceptable credentials to even access the account, there would be, naturally, an up-front fee of course, a flat percentage of the funds secured on your behalf.”
“Naturally.” For the first time in the conversation, a filament of hope began to expand in Megumi’s chest. She sat up a little straighter. “And the flat percentage fee? What would that be? Bearing in mind, of course, that you are still feeling generous this evening.”
“Oh, I am, Rin-chan. Very much so, especially you were so willing to trade costumes with me. 50 percent of the gross account value, transferred immediately upon funds being secured.”
“You call that generous?” Megumi was indignant.
“Unbelievably so,” Bonnie said sweetly, her high soprano even, but as hard as a rock, any hint of bemusement gone. “As you stated, Rin-Chan, you lack access to these funds. I have the ability to access them. Therefore, as an employee of this club and a professional in my own right, I own this aspect of the negotiation, would you not agree?”
Megumi thought for a moment, mentally calculating what she’d have left when…if…the transaction went through. Losing half her life savings would be a blow, but one she could recover from with hard work and time... and she had time in spades.
“If I agree to those terms,” Megumi turned in her chair so that he was facing Bonnie. “What assurance do I have, that I’ll have immediate and untraceable access to what remains?”
“Because I’ll do the transfer right here, Rin-chan.” Bonnie said, executing a little bow.
“You’ll do it?” Megumi was incredulous.
“You wound me with those doubts, Rin-Chan.”
Megumi shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She motioned to the data hub. “This isn’t a very discrete place for a financial transaction.”
Bonnie threw back her head and chortled, her bound curly hair bouncing. “You would speak to me of discretion?” she teased. “Fine words coming from a silly billy who has the gall to ask a complete stranger to assist her in hacking into a bank account, an account she has no yet even established is her own.”
Megumi’s winced as the barb hit home. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“No wonder your babysitting funds have been locked up. You’re a reprehensible brat.” Bonnie was back to teasing again. “Still, since we're best friends now, I must do what I can.” She swiveled in her chair and motioned for the hub monitor to come over to her, then whispered something in the man’s ear.
Moments later, the data hub was empty, save for Megumi and Bonnie. “Discreet enough for you, Rin-chan?”
Cowed, Megumi nodded once. “Thank you.”
“I’ll accept your thanks when I have my cut of the money.” Bonnie smiled and then he went to work.
Megumi watched, leaned over Bonnie's shoulder and watched as the code cracker moved over the pressure pads like a musician might a piano. She wanted to ask where the other woman had learned to do this, but wisely refrained, watching instead the reflection of data scrolling across her heavily made up face.
“Initial authorization key.” There was no teasing, no silliness now, just business. Quietly, Megumi provided it.
“And now the second, if you would be so kind, Rin-chan.” Bonnie's green eyes quirked up when the second code was given. To her surprise, the account was an independent one and not the sort that an all too serious woman would be using to engage in retail therapy. She became cautious then, and rather than accessing direct systems, immediately switched to a proxy ghost, one that she knew from experience was much harder to trace. (Well, well, well!)
“What do we have here, Rin-chan?” Bonnie muttered as she dropped down a level, adding customized code that would tail her electronic path and destroy the data trail, albeit a very small one, that any such activity always left behind. As her fingers moved rapidly across the pressure pad, she looked over at the young woman standing beside her and noticed that the woman's expression had gone from being quite interested to absolutely terrified, her coloring bleeding from her face as if she'd been stabbed,her already pale features began to mirror her own, albeit without the aid of cosmetics.
Whether it was the other woman's expression that made her extra cautious, or natural instinct, Bonnie bypassed the secondary systems of the transfer system, and went into the back end of the banking mainframe, to the old, antiquated infrastructure itself that had, over the course of hundreds of years been hobbled and coded so as to remain functional. Navigating a system like this was extremely cumbersome but much safer than accessing even two data layers above and as she continued down this increasingly interesting set of breadcrumbs, safety was moving to the forefront of her mind.
“Do you have your personal authentication access code written down?” The penultimate access code needed to complete a transfer was a long, untruncated string of, at a minimum, eighteen characters in length. The character strings were complex, and rightly so, they verified that an individual did in fact has the right to access the account in question.
"Information like this is better left inside one's head." Megumi leaned closer to this most unexpected of hackers and whispered it in Bonnie's ear, grimacing when the other woman giggled.
Bonnie took her time now, seeing the first hints of the nature of the account, though the personally identifiable information was still several layers down. As the straight laced priss had warned, the account was being monitored, closely. (Damn. Daddy has some serious control issues...) While bypassing the monitoring programs was easy, reconciling the high-level account data was proving difficult. Bonnie could see rudimentary deposit data and hardly any withdrawals, years and years of deposit codes, reaching over a five, ten, fifteen years back. Some were even older than that. To add to her confusion, she saw that the deposits were initiated by non-private entities, not personal transfers, as she had assumed, like from a father to a daughter. Additionally, as time passed, the deposit amounts increased, indicating that anything but babysitting had taken place over the course of nearly two decades.
"Rin-chan, either you gave me someone else's banking info or you've got some serious explaining to do." The deposits for the past three years were regular, like clockwork, until nearly a year ago when they stopped, when everything stopped transaction wise. Bonnie looked at the account numbers, the transfer protocols. She recognized them. Anyone in her line of work did. (She's been working for the military!) If the payout had been any less, Bonnie would have stopped right then and there, but this was a good haul and she as a very, very good code cracker.
“Final personal authentication access code, please.” Bonnie said quietly. This would get her into the account and allow her to initiate an untraceable funds transfer to one of the highly secure accounts used by the club, and other such enterprises when financial transactions had to be on the down low, in this case the VERY down low, the security high enough that even the goons who monitored these electronic byways wouldn't follow it. She waited for her response, then frowned when instead of a long, complex string of characters whispered in her ear, a slender pale hand stilled hers before he could go any further.
“Stop.”
Megumi tightened her grip on the Bonnie's wrist when she moved to continue. “Please, stop.”
“Having second thoughts about getting your allowance back, Rin-chan?” Despite the words chosen, Bonnie's tone was anything but teasing. While the funds she could see were but a trifle compared with the flow of money and resources she was used to handling for the club and the syndicates that it laundered money on behalf of, for a regular, boring person living a regular, boring life, there was enough funds, that even with her well earned pre-requisite cut accounted for, so that the woman standing beside her could enjoy, if managed properly, a simple yet comfortable existence, a state that not many citizens in New Meiji could hope for. “I thought you wanted this money.”
“I do. So badly.” Megumi’s voice cracked. Embarrassed she dropped her gaze, fixing her burning eyes on the pressure pad. “I thought that if I could access my account, I could go somewhere, live a normal life." She could well and truly become Rin rather than her father's daughter. Megumi pulled at Bonnie's hand hand again, until it was well away from the pressure pad. “I’m afraid that if you finish the transfer, it will be traced.”
“Again, your lack of faith…” Bonnie began to tease again, but stopped when a static flicker moved across the panel, as if a split second disconnect from the synth velocity cables had occurred, followed by a massive resurgence of data flow.
"Oh, shit!" Bonnie immediately began backtracking, shocked that despite her efforts, something had triggered a security alarm to go off on the account. (This isn't possible!) She hadn't initiated the transfer. Why was this happening?
"What's wrong?" Megumi asked, her concern spiking when she saw the expression on Bonnie's face.
"This deal." Bonnie swore again and began entering code strings, long strands designed to obscure where she'd electronically trod. Her heart was pounding. "I don't know what you're playing at, Rin-chan, but I'm done with it and with you."
"But I didn't do anything!" Megumi protested as Bonnie began entering some sort of code into the data hub that caused all of the systems to blink out and then back on as if doing a hard reboot.
"You account was triggered for an auto-trace. Civilian accounts don't auto trace." Bonnie looked over her shoulder at Megumi. Gone was the mirth and laughter, leaving behind bald anger and fear. "So why don't you tell me who you really are and why you think screwing me over and the people I work for is such a good idea."
"I told you..."
"You lied to me, Rin-chan." Bonnie pressed a button on her head set. "Such rudeness is appalling coming from such a nice, polite woman, such as yourself." She glared at the woman, who was a damn plant that had pulled a serious scam and was was either working for another syndicate, the police or the military.
Bonnie's headset beeped. She quickly pressed the button again."Security, we need you at the data hub."
Megumi gasped and backed away from the data hub. "That's my account. I promise!" A commotion could be heard from behind her. Megumi whirled and saw three men, all of them as burly as the bouncer had been, wading through the sea of club goers, their expressions severe.
Bonnie tried to catch her by the arm. Crying out, Megumi wrenched away and staggered back into the surging crowd, the unfamiliar heels on her feet slipping on the sweat slick dance floor. She fell back and was swallowed up and stepped on by the dancers.
"Find her!" Megumi could hear Bonnie shouting and looked around wildly, twisting until she was on her hands and knees and in less danger of being trampled. The brightly lit tiles were blinding, their pulsating colors nausea inducing. Going on blind instinct, Megumi began crawling away from the sound of Bonnie's voice.
For a second the music stopped and Megumi froze, sure that she was seconds away from being caught. The crowed around her became still for a second, then began roaring, demanding another song, their combined voices deafening. Apocalypse obliged and in moments, the club was once again filled with the sounds of screaming, blaring guitars and a thundering base that boomed through the tiled floor with enough force to cause Megumi's teeth to chatter.
Bonnie's voice was growing fainter. Still crawling, Megumi tried to peer up from between the legs of the patrons.
(There) She spotted a red emergency exit and was half-tempted to bolt for it, then quickly reconsidered. (They'll spot me) Crouched down, the black skirt riding up the back of her legs, she thought for a second, then skittered towards the wall, not sure what was louder, the sounds coming from the stage or the beating of her heart.
Trying to still stay down and out of sight Megumi reached up blindly and felt around for what she was looking for, a glass encased fire alarm. Gritting her teeth, she made a fist and smashed the covering as hard as she could. The glass cracked and she hit it again, then once more before it shattered, sending shards of glass into her clenched fist. She cried out, the pain sharper than expected, but continued, her bloody fingers fumbling and then finding the alarm lever. She pulled it.
A claxon sounded. Red emergency lights blinked into blinding existence and fire sprinklers lowered from the ceiling, then with a sputter and hiss, turned on, sending suppression foam flying.
All hell broke loose. The club patrons, who initially thought that the change in atmosphere was part of the concert, quickly realized that an alarm had been triggered and, as Megumi hoped, began to panic.
In seconds an undisciplined pack of frightened human beings surged and spread out, men and women desperately looking for and running madly towards any red lit emergency exit. Slipping again on the slick floor Megumi staggered to her feet and tried to keep moving. A man slammed into her, sending the beret she was wearing flying and nearly knocking her back down to the floor. She recovered and, keeping her head down, she pushed forward, shoving and pushing as hard as anyone to get out of the building but for very different reasons.
After what seemed like an eternity, cold, dirty air hit her face and filled her lungs. She was outside in the alley behind the club. (The journal!) Megumi threw herself towards the overflowing trash bin, fighting against the flow of bodies pouring out. Scrambling, she was able to reach under the bin and find the journal where she'd hidden it. The blanket she left behind. Tucking the journal under one arm and holding her shoes with the other, she took off, vanishing into the swell of club goers who were still streaming out of the building and out into the night.
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Date: 2019-05-08 08:22 pm (UTC)Grimacing, Megumi took in the screeching, electronic gong show that was modern music. It was, at least to her sensibilities, deeply messy stuff. Lips pursed, she looked down at the cat that had followed her this and way that down back alleys of New Meiji. “What do to you think?” she asked wearily.
The cat, being at cat, said nothing, but sat down in the alley and promptly started licking its butt.
Megumi laughed. She couldn’t help it. The cat had better tastes when it came to music than the people queued up at the club to get in. Carefully, Megumi took a peek around the corner of a building so she could get a better idea of what was going on.
ごみ (GOMI CLUB)
Again, a laugh escaped her, this one though was all pithy sarcasm. “Garbage Club. How utterly accurate.” The eye watering neon signage pulsed in time with the driving bass rhythm, bathing the line of would be attendees in a sickly watercolor wash of electric purples, yellows and greens.
Poking her head out a bit further, Megumi made careful note of the young men and women in queue. Most of them looked worse than she felt, their clothing in tatters, makeup smeared. Gods, demons and SPF 50, she was baffled as to why anyone would WANT to dress like they were destitute, hungry and without anyone to turn to. She did notice that there were a few outliers, men and woman dressed like famous characters in history or theater, all of whom, based on the spatters of fake blood and bullet hole stickers had met bad, violent ends.
“So this is the noveau chic of New Meiji” she muttered. Disgusted, she thought about completely abandoning the idea of getting into the club completely, regardless of whether it had a data hub or not that she could access.
“Hey!”
Megumi’s head snapped back to attention as a large bouncer (they were still called bouncers, right?) jostled with a better dressed young man in the line. While he still looked three sheets to the wind, clad in black with torn jeans, he was better dressed than the others.
“You think you’re comin’ in ‘ere?” The bouncer (she was going with the term she knew as calling the man a club troll was not very polite) jabbed an ugly, thumb in the young man’s chest. The club’s security man was huge, nearly seven feet tall if she guessed correctly and was built like the concussion tanks she’d once seen during the civil war military parades.
(Gods, I hate parades.)
“Like that?” He bouncer laughed, revealing that his profession had resulted in some missing teeth replaced by metallic implants. It was an ugly sound. The echoing laughter made by others in the line was uglier. Some of the laughter was too hard, too harsh and she could sense that in some, there was an unnatural desire for violence to occur, for blood to be shed.
(Of course there are users there, why am I not surprised?) If there was a world that a user would love, the type of user she had been so damnably instrumental in helping create, it would be world like this one.
“Apocalypse, now, they don’ like your type.” Another hard jab. Helpless to do anything but listen and watch as the other people in line began chanting and cheering, Megumi realized that the migraine inducing cacophony of sound, metal, bass and screaming was in fact a band name Apocalypse, rather than the end of the world as people knew it. Uncharitably, hoped all the band members developed vocal nodes.
Dumbstruck, completely and utterly at a loss what to make of the situation, she glanced back into the alley at the cat, who was still completely absorbed in licking clean its nether regions.
(This is madness! What I am even doing here?)
“We don’ neither!” The young man fell down, fell back, tripping over the queue rope. Megumi took a step forward to help, then stopped herself, an idea forming, one that she liked even less than the young man’s odds for not having to get a tetanus booster for having been in this part of the city. After looking carefully at the women in the line, at least the ones who were being admitted to Club Gomi, she bolted back into the alley, her mind fixed on finding something sharp.
“There we go,” Megumi found a half-drunk liquor bottle. Not quite sure how to go about it, she took the business end of the glass bottle and swung it hard against the side of the building, schrunching her eyes shut in case something sharp flew at her face. The bottle broke, sending liquor and shards of glass everywhere. The alley cat, enjoying neither the music nor the shower of god knows what was in the bottle hissed and skittered to the other side of the alley, squeezing itself beneath a gray dumpster filled with trash bags.
“Sorry about that,” Megumi muttered, looking for and finding a shard of glass that seemed to have the best-defined edge for the task at hand. Scowling intently, trying to remember the cut and line of the clothing the club going women were wearing, she began hacking and pulling the shard of glass over the fabric of her ruined scrubs.
(Really, how much different can making an outfit be than sewing someone up?)
15 Minutes Later
Megumi looked down at her “outfit” and nearly started to sob in mortification or laugh hysterically and bonk her head repeatedly on the dirty brick façade of the club wall.
“I look like…” There were no words. Not words at all. She glanced down at the tattered remains of the her only clothes. Her bottoms, well… they were nearly on level with HER bottom, the uneven cuts and undone seams leaving very little to the imagination. Embarrassed, Megumi tugged at what left of her pants, hoping that her efforts at fitting in with the club goers didn’t end up with a trip to the pokey for indecent exposure.
Her top was no better, though she’d a little more skilled at using the broken liquor bottle fragments to fashion something resembling a tank style shirt. It was a bit too low in the front and a bit too high in the back, but nothing that tended to be on the buxom side of her anatomy was in full display (not quite) and for that she was grateful.
The cuts on her fingers from using the bottle shards had healed up, but she didn’t wipe the blood from them. Apparently, the twits who dressed like this on purpose found applying faux blood to be very in vogue. It disgusted her. This disgusted her but had to be done.
Using strips of her scrubs, she’d bound her long, black hair up into two very messy braided buns. Some of the women in line had been sporting something similar and Megumi hoped that her efforts would be enough to get her past the meat locker of a security bouncer and into the club.
She wondered if her being barefoot would cause issues. From what she had seen, most of the morons in line had been wearing synth spikes or tattered military boots (as if they would know anything of war...the twits)
Clubs had data hubs. Clubs had people who had access to, and the funds to use said data hubs. Ergo, she had to get into the club. No matter what. There was, especially now, no other way for her to try and access her banking information.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-09 03:19 am (UTC)The music was jarring her, making her head ache, setting her teeth on edge. Megumi looked up, exposing her face to the elements. Grey snow was falling down, catching on long lashes, settling on pale cheeks. And it was in the settling that Megumi realized that it was, in fact, not snow at all.
Curious, she held a hand out and watched as the small grey particles landed on her hand but did not melt. It was no frozen gift from the sky but polluted particulate matter. Perhaps a factory was nearby. Megumi looked up at the sky again. Even if it had been clear, the light pollution had long since smothered the stars. Though late, she could see that the clouds were dark and ugly things, blocking out the full moon. The tall buildings that poorly sheltered the space where she was hiding were dead, industrial redwoods, their branches of rusty, metal stairwells and antiquated power lines no more capable of sheltering her from the elements than blossoming come spring time.
The thought of spring time made her think of Kenshin and the promise they’d made to meet under the sakura. At the time, the resolution had been filled with hope and reasonable, something to yearn for and work towards. Now, it seemed like a fool’s errand for a fool of a woman. (I don’t have a choice…not if I want find a way to keep my promises) Despite her misgivings, there was a pinky swear and a dream of sakura to try and honor, a faceless though no longer faceless girl to honor though living.
The rubbish bin rustled and a grumpy sound could be heard from beneath the mess.
Clearly, she had priorities and responsibilities, whereas 24 hours before, she had not had any, not to anyone or anything, and standing her freezing her very nearly exposed behind off wasn’t going to make them happen.
(Evolve or die. Adapt or perish)
Her father had taught her that, over and over and over again. Megumi shuddered, nearly wretched, and then became still. The most brutal interpretation of Darwinian Law was a way of life for her growing up and, despite her best efforts to be the daughter that was both needed and wanted, she had failed, to devastating consequences, not just for herself and her brother, but for many innocent human beings.
(I am my father’s daughter…but I can try and evolve) Adaptation didn’t stop, no matter how evil men men and misguided daughters meddled with it. Evolution wasn’t just at the cellular level, but could take place in the heart and mind as well.
Right?
(Right)
Megumi took a step forward. She made her way into the line, trying to fit in. While most of the clubbers looked worse than she did, she did spot a couple of creative souls who she identified as historical movie stars, in various states of decomposition. (Is…is that Charlie Chaplain?)
(THE BOUNCER, AKA AITOH-SAN, AKA THE LEAD LINE FLOW COORDINATION SPECALIST)
(Being a line flow coordination specialist isn’t easy work.)
Aitoh-san, known by most as the bouncer, some as club security, and by many as a right mean bastard of a man, pinched the brow of his nose as he tossed another brat out of the queue. That was the 16th one this evening.
Supporting the arts has never been an easy undertaking. Aitoh-san had learned this while majoring in Art Hitory (and minoring in creative dance).
Still, someone had to make sacrifices and it was his lot to stand out in the cold, dealing with privileged little shits who thought they had every right to waltz right in and attend an advertised musical event, but at their core lacked the sophisticated tastes and musical palates to really appreciate the complex orchestrations and lyrical compositions of bands such as Apocalypse. Yes, like was difficult, but such was the fate of a true connoisseur of the arts.
And so the long, cold night went. Scuffle. Toss. Scuffle. Toss. Toss. Toss. Toss.
And then, she appeared, a post-modern, deconstructed Melpomene, the Muse of Tragic Poetry. Devoid of frippery and finery, the young woman stood before him, bared to the music and the elements as well, not only free of artifice, but also bra as well. Aitoh-san’s split lower lip would have quivered had he not been such a professional.
“You…” he motioned at the young lady, noting with approval that the blood spatters on her exquisite outfit were real and not fake, something that a true aficionado of Apocalypse would take the time to do right. How thoughtful. “…wan’ to go an’ listen?”
Megumi nodded, mesmerized by the man’s ham-hock sized fists. “Yes,” she smiled and added, “please?” (What the hell – there’s no harm in good manners, is there?)
Aitoh-san was touched. TOUCHED. And look, her feet were bare as well, so true a pilgrim to the shrine of death metal, was this maiden. “Which song d’ ya like best?”
Megumi inwardly wanted to scream and pull her badly plaited buns out. Song? These were supposed to be songs? Was this a test? A Trick? She wondered if the right song was a password that would grant entry, while the wrong one would earn a beating (or worse). People were looking at her. The Club Troll was looking at her, though not with the unconcealed menace that he’d looked at other club-goers before tossing them to the wayside.
“It’s…. it’s so hard to decide,” she offered, biting her lower lip as a particularly dissonant wail began to reverberate through the speakers. The lyrics were profane, the pitch not even close on center. Here eyes began to water, and unlike Aitoh-san, the tears were not due to musical appreciation. “But I would have to say, that this song,” she motioned vaguely at the pulsing speakers that were blaring a verse about engaging in highly illegal (and certainly unsanitary) activities with a recently deceased goat’s head. “This song has a very, special place in my heart.”
“This un?’” Truly, his sacrifice this evening had been worth it. “Abomination of Filth and Despair” was his favorite song as well. Such a classic. She nodded and smiled up at him. He smiled back, his metallic tooth implants twinkling. What a nice girl. The sort of girl you’d take home to mother on a lovely Sunday afternoon for tea. “Well, go in then. Hav’ a nice night, Miss.”
Gallantly, he pulled the queue rope back and motioned for the young lady to enter. She thanked him and then disappeared, her blood splattered form fading into the darkness that was Gomi Club, a veritable blood-stained Persephone descending to the home of her lover, Hades. Gods, life was so beautiful.
“HEY” Aitoh-san was torn from his poetic reverie by the shout of an ill-mannered young man. (Who was wearing shoes AND a fake nose ring) Aitoh-san shook his head, displeased to say the least by this most unworthy pilgrim to the shrine of Apocalypse. “You didn’t even charge that bitch overhead!”
Aitoh-san sighed and resumed the hard and lonely work that a lead Line Flow Coordination Specialist must, and calmly punched the uncouth youth in the face, sending him, and a few flying errant teeth back into the cheering crowd.
INSIDE CLUB GOMI
Megumi stumbled into the club, immediately assailed by an impossibly louder sound of screeching. Grateful for the first time in a long time that her eardrums were capable of regeneration, the physician looked around, wide eyed at her first glimpses. It was dark inside, save for laser lights that flashed this way and that, creating color popping patterns on the dancers writhing on the floor. She inhaled, grimaced a bit and gingerly made her way down the stairs towards what she assumed was the main dance area. The air stank of stale smoke (of many varieties) the sharp tang of perspiration and the more subtle hint of something she couldn’t identify.
Someone bumped up against her, letting the contact linger for longer than she was comfortable with. She jumped, yelped and then skittered away, glad that her red, embarrassed face wouldn’t be seen in the dark. Taking another two steps down towards where most of the people were dancing, she looked around.
(There)
On the other side of the dance floor was a data hub, a VERY NICE data hub if she was any judge of the cable lines coming through the roof. While wireless technology was free and easily accessible, physical velocity synth lines were where the speed and access was to be found. Megumi looked this way and that for a short cut to the data hub. There was none. For a moment, the abominable music stopped. The roiling sea of human bodies dancing became still for a moment and cheers went up.
Megumi bolted forward, sensing this was her chance to make some headway but before she would get very far, a new song started up, which, if the opening stanza consisting of nothing other than a work that rhymed with luck was any indicator, was going to be worse.
Immediately, she was crushed, her body pressed up against another’s. She tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to pull back to. Jostled, she tried to move forward, towards the data-hub, struggling to even see which was it was due to the incredibly packed dance floor. Gasping, she slid past the first body, then collided with another, a thin, unwell looking man with dark hollows under his eyes. Relief became alarm when the man reached out and pulled Megumi tightly against her, his nails digging into Megumi’s back.
“First time, huh?”
Megumi gasped and tried to wriggle away. “No, I come here quite often, thank you very much,” she said, her attempts to be urbane and sultry utterly failing.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-10 12:40 am (UTC)The thin man laughed. Nastily. “You’re new.” His hands moved downward, past her back, lingering over the curve her hip till he had a grip on her bottom that was becoming painful. “I can smell it on you.” He leaned closer and actually sniffed her, his beak-like nose grazing the hollow of her throat.
“I’m surprised you can smell anything at all.” Heart in her throat, shaking from a mixture of anger and dismay, Megumi brought up her hands between them and pushed. Hard, her fear making her bolder than she normally would be. “Considering that you reek of liquor and desperation,” her pale mouth curled into a sneer. “Get your hands off me.”
This time, she didn’t say please. She pushed the man again, unbalancing him, and then quickly twisted herself away from where he couldn't reach her, away from the man, from the hungry look in his eyes. (I can do this…) Lips dry, she wet them with the tip of her tongue and continued to try wriggle her way towards the data center, one bump and grind at a time.
(This…this… isn’t so different from the military base. Right?)
While she had been extended a measure of protection as a scientist (to say nothing of a certain scientist’s daughter until she was no longer useful in that regard) she had existed as one of very few women in a violent world dominated by men who were not used to taking no for an answer.
There, like here, there had been grasping hands, unwanted advances, leers and propositions. (I kept them away then) Pivoting, her bare feet giving her surprisingly good traction, she raised her arms above her, sliding past a couple who wanted her to join them in their gyrations. (I can keep them away now).
For a moment, the earlier memories of the afternoon played through her mind, of laughing, sharing, dancing, of being gently held, smoothly guided across a dance floor. (There are no good men here, you sentimental twit!) she told herself sternly (no honorable offers to save you from your father, or anyone else for that matter). She felt a sharp pang of what might have been. It faded just as quickly.
(Adapt or perish…) Megumi closed her eyes and tried to listen to the strange, violent music, past the screaming, past the shouts, the panting and groaning of the men and women moving around her. (Evolve or die)
There was a beat to this song, driving. Hard. Fast. She opened her eyes and looked around the room, watching the club goes move and writhe like uncouth eels against each other. (Watch. Learn. Mirror. Match.) Using the a couple of woman as an example, Megumi began to make better headway through the crowd. Rather than stiffening whenever she was knocked or jostled, she tried to relax, willing her frightened limbs to be soft, pliant, like water moving around an obstacle rather than dashing against it.
Swaying, bending, she wove in, wove out around larger masses of men and women, avoiding grasping hands when she would, enduring it when it was unavoidable. She’d endured worse, after all. She would and could do this. (And not get Hepatitis in the process)
Twisting sinuously, this way and that, the blue-grey bloody scrub ribbons in danger of becoming undone in her black, plaited hair, she was able to cover more ground, making note of each pulsating tile that she maneuvered over. (Five meters) The previous song ended, a new one began. Like the previous one, this also had a driving, hard beat, that reminded her of the motions she'd seen between the street prostitute and the man paying for services.
(Perhaps I am becoming used to this.)
Megumi gyrated her lower half, her partially exposed hipbone grazing the lacquered finger tips of a club patron. (Three meters)
(Perhaps I’m going mad)
To her right, she caught a glimpse of one of the musicians (and she was using that word VERY loosely) take an electric guitar and begin systematically smashing it on the stage, before setting it on fire.
(Perhaps I’m going deaf)
Megumi glanced away from the burning guitar, smirking as the band member catches his pant leg on fire in the process, and covered two more acid colored tiles.
(Two meters)
She was so close, so close to the data hub she could almost feel the velocity synth lines reaching out to her in return.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-11 03:47 am (UTC)Not even caring that a sigh of relief escaped her, she leaned heavily against the data hub counter, trying to catch her breath and center her thoughts. The crowd let out a terrific shout and surged towards where the band (achieving her goal of getting to the data hub had made her feel generous when again when it came to musical designations) was finishing up the set. She noticed that the idiotic band member who’s pant leg had caught on fire had properly extinguished himself, or rather a roadie had with a fire extinguisher had done it form him.
(This place is a mad house...) Megumi bit her bottom lip, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that whispered that what she was trying to do made the concert goes seem far saner. (Let’s see what we have here.)
Covetously, she looked up at the thick velocity synth lines. The cables were as thick as a man’s leg and when she put her hand on the hardwood extension for patrons using the hub (which was black…like everything else in the damn club) she could feel the power of the connection, moving through the wood, through the club goers. (I can’t begin to imagine how many credits went into this installation – this is nearly on par with the military!)
She wasn’t sure whether than realization was encouraging or not.
A seat nearby seat opened up, the club goer staggering back into the melee that was the dance floor.
Megumi quickly took the spot, sliding into the chair with what she hoped was a measure of aplomb. “I Beg your pardon?” Catching the glimpse of an employee (name tag and all, just like the bouncer) she motioned to the monitor. “Is there a usage fee for using a hub?”
The employee blinked. Blinked again, his expression torn between surprise and bemusement. “Not for the first five minutes, Honey.”
“Ahh” Megumi said,all too familiar with the way things appeared to be working. “First hit is free and the rest is going to cost me?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Got it.” Boy did she ever.
Not wanting to waste time, she immediately opened a data port and began to type.
“You want to jack in?” Once again, the employee was giving her that look.
“No thank you,” Megumi said, her fingers flying across the pressure pad. The last thing she needed was a online cerebral imprint where anyone could find it. She made a mental note to wipe the pad clean when she was done, just to even up the odds a bit in her favor.
(There) moving through the hub at a terrific rate of speed, she quickly found the bank access portal. (I don’t dare risk logging in directly, but there should be no harm in checking the portal validity.) Unlike the account section, the oft used portal entrance was open domain, filled with information, advertisements and offers for loans of all shape and sizes.
Nothing, it seemed, had changed since she’d accessed her account a little over a year ago.
After a moment’s hesitation, she navigated to the account section but didn’t dare enter her credentials. While this bank was open to all New Meiji citizens, it was used predominately by large corporations. It was the bank her family had used for years, as they had been members of the medical community since who knows when, many of them professors like her father and mother had been. It was also the bank that the Japanese government had set up nearly two hundred years before, one that was used by the military.
Megumi pursed her lips, frustrated at how close and yet how far she was to having a chance at living an independent existence for this first time in her long, adult life.
BING…
BING…
Megumi closed her eyes. Her five minutes was up.
“Time's up! My turn!"
Megumi turned and looked up at a slender woman, initially shocking in her appearance. Like many of the club-goers, she seemed hellbent on embracing the idea of death and suffering, though her choice of clothing was more classical in its line rather than a mess of tatters. The woman was wearing a jaunty beret at an an angle and was clad in a black skirt and blouse with a grey cardigan. Her make up was black and white, as if she had tried to transform herself into a historical black and white photograph of someone famous. Megumi took note that the woman had bullet hole stickers pasted nearly everywhere. As she took note, she also realized that there was a name badge on the woman's sweater and that there was a headset half hidden in pin curls beneath the beret.
(She's an employee here)
"You like?" The woman whirled around, laughing wildly. "Bonnie Parker, from Bonnie and Clyde." Still laughing, she sat down beside Megumi and gave her a frank appraisal. "So, what's with the long face?"
“So much to do, so few credits.” Megumi primly crossed her legs at the ankles and gave the strange woman a bright, brittle smile. “I bet you hear that all the time.”
“Indeed, I do.” The woman, Bonnie, smiled back at her, with a lopsided grin. She leaned over, He leaned down, putting both hands on each side of the chair where Megumi was sitting. “We do offer some of our clientele a credit line, if you are interested in applying?
While Megumi wanted to slide out of her chair, and bolt, she made herself stay put. (I have no other options at this point. None.)
“That would depend, I suppose, on what the application process looks like.”
Rather than shrink back, she leaned forward, till she was nearly nose to nose with Bonnie and her manic, lopsided smile. She could smell alcohol on her breath, but her eyes were clear and piercing. While the gangster clad woman looked young her eyes told an entirely different story. "Let's say I'm interested, just for the sake of conversation."
no subject
Date: 2019-05-11 06:28 am (UTC)“Would you care for a drink?” Still giggling, Bonnie motioned to the well-stocked bar behind the data hub.
Curious, Megumi looked at the bar, surprised that there was enough creativity in the world for so many different types of liquors and spirits. (Gods, some of them are glowing!)
“It’s on the house,” the dead gangster woman said, chuckling at the smaller woman’s skeptical expression and clear interest in some of the psychedelic liquors that were so popular among the regular club patrons. “I’m feeling rather generous this evening and you are, after all, lacking in credits at the moment.”
“I think I'll pass." Megumi turned away from the bar, part of her brain still figuring out how they managed to incorporate edible phosphorescence into an alcohol- based solution. “However, I sampled alcohol once, and did not find it to my liking.”
Bonnie blinked. “Once?”
Megumi held up a finger, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Just once, and it was more than enough.” She’d had such high hopes for the champagne that had been handed to her by a server, so many years ago. The memory of a sharp taste of bubbly vinegar and the resultant roar of laughter from a certain decorated officer, had not dulled with time.
“I have a teetotaler sitting beside me. Oh, my dear, you are a delight! So polite. So formal.” Bonnie was laughing again."Why, you should be dressed up like a 1930's Moll, not me!" She then glanced at Megumi. "Let's trade!"
Megumi wasn't sure where the conversation was going. "I beg your pardon?"
“Normally, you'd be SOL since you're credit-less. Lucky for you, I'm bored. You're funny and I am totally keen on trading costumes."
"You can't be serious." Megumi peered at Bonnie and decided that the woman's beret was cutting off the blood supply to her head.
"I'm never serious, but if you want this conversation to continue, you'd do well to entertain me. Since we are, for the sake of conversation, of course, having a discussion about a theoretical line of credit, we can afford to be a little more down to earth. She looked at her expectantly, too bright eyes shining. "So, what's your name, Miss Prim?"
“Rin,” Megumi said without hesitation. My name is Rin.”
“Just Rin?” Bonnie gave her a sly look.
“Just Rin.” Megumi looked back.
“Very well, Just Rin.” Bonnie said, "Do we have a deal?"
Megumi stared at the woman, boggled. "If we switch...er...costumes...then you'll help me?" This was nuts.
"I'll consider it." Bonnie gave her a wink then motioned towards her tattered scrubs. "I'm mad for what you're wearing. The look is seriously grim-dark."
"It is?"
"Totally."
Megumi cautiously slid off the chair, wondering what grim-dark was and why she was even considering the swap. "Um. Your outfit is very nice as well."
Bonnie chortled and jumped off the chair, her laugh so wild that Megumi suspected that there were bats in the woman's beret topped belfry. Bonnie caught her by the hand and led her past the data bar, winding through the pulsing crown with enviable ease.
"So, what inspired your look?" Bonnie asked, weaving too and fro.
"The dark side of medical research?" Megumi lamely offered. She felt like Alice falling head over heels down a very strange rabbit hole.
"SORDID!" Bonnie said, as if the word were a compliment. She came to what was clearly ladies bathroom and motioned for Megumi to go in. "Where did you get if from? I got this..." she twirled around, nearly clobbering a club goer leaving a stall. Megumi noted with professional displeasure that hands were not being properly washed. "...from Mad Rags. It's on North Side of course!"
"Of course." Wishing that she was not in bare feet, Megumi poked her head into a stall. (Ew) "I made it myself. Used my own scrubs."
Bonnie squealed and clapped her hands, as if she was a child with way to much sugar in her system. "And the blood? What did you use?" She motioned to the dried and fresh bloodstains that marred the continuity of blue on the other woman's outfit. "Chicken?"
"Human," Megumi said flatly. "I'm very big on authenticity."
"No. Way."
Megumi smiled thinly. "Yes. Way."
"GRIM-DARK!" More squealing on Bonnie's end ensured. Megumi wanted to slap the woman silly, but instead slithered into one of the other stalls that was a bit cleaner and quickly shut the door. A trade was made and before Megumi could catalog how many STD's were lurking behind the toliet seat, she was clad in the garb of a bullet ridden gangster, beret and all, and a scrub clad Bonnie was bouncing about happily, braiding her hair up into a very messy bun.
"You like?" She asked Megumi again, clearly pleased with the exchange.
"I...I do." Megumi glanced down, thrilled to actually be properly clothed. The made a mental note that if she made it out of this insane asylum in one peice the bullet-hole stickers would have to go. "Thank you."
Exchange made, she was once again merrily led back to the data hub, stumbling in the too high heels she'd just inherited. (Bonnie was barefoot and having a blast)
"Akira! Look we traded!" Bonnie called out to her fellow employee, the man managing the data hub.
"SORDID." The man nodded and made some sort of hand sign at his fellow employee.
"Isn't it though?" Bonnie (who wasn't anymore) whirled again, a dervish in blue tatters. "Get this, Rin here, she used REAL BLOOD."
"What can I say?" Megumi made the same hand gesture, hoping it wasn't of the obscene variety. "It's...um...Grim Dark."
15 MINUTES (and much annoying laughter) LATER
"So, let's hear what you want, Rin-chan!"
Megumi thought for a moment, as she had no idea what the going rate for a hacker was. (What the hell, I’m in way over my head as is…) “Theoretically speaking, of course, I would be interested in obtaining enough credits to secure the services of a discrete, proficient individual who would be able to help me regain access to a banking account of mine.”
“Oh, how interesting.” Bonnie said, “I assume you have the bona-fides to prove ownership of said account?” She gave her a side glance. “We wouldn’t want to do anything illegal you know.”
Megumi nodded. “I do and no, committing robbery isn’t on the mind.”
“Pity. You ARE supposed to be a bank robber, after all!" Bonnie pointed out. “Would you care to tell me why you have lost access to this account?”
“Family squabbles.” Megumi tried to sound coy rather than clueless.
“Did Daddy cut off your allowance? Is that it?”
“What can I say? He’s of the opinion that I misbehaved.” Megumi shrugged, though her eyes flashed with a hint of anger when the woman sitting beside her laughed again. It was getting to her. “Look, I’m not some trust fund brat, if that’s what your thinking. The money in that account came through hard work and gainful employment.”
“How?” Bonnie chortled as she looked the slender woman over. She was young, barely out of her teens and into her early twenties if he was any judge of age. “Babysitting?”
Hands fisting, Megumi struggled to keep her temper in check. While her father had been a prominent physician, she’d earned her degree on her own merit, attending a university where her father was not a professor. Scholarships, earned through academic merit had supported her, as her father was not one to coddle and she was not one to accept his assistance. Even during medical school and her residencies, she had done her best to stay clear of his shadow. She opened her mouth, a sharp retort forming, then closed it just as quickly as she realized that going into such detail was unwise and that she was being goaded.
She took a deep breath, then another.
“Don’t dismiss, babysitting. It’s a good gig.” Megumi said, her tone syrupy with a good pinch of sarcasm. “Awful hours though.”
“I can only imagine.” Bonnie winked again, pleased that her teasing had proved so fruitful. “This account, Rin-chan,” is there anything that a discrete and proficient individual would need to know before trying to ahh….liberate your hard earned babysitting money?”
(And now we’re to the crux of the matter)
Megumi nodded her expression uncomfortable, for she was sure that the strange woman sitting beside her already knew the answer to his question. “More likely than not, it will be monitored.”
“Ahh. You really must have misbehaved for Daddy to be so determined to keep you from your allowance.”
no subject
Date: 2019-05-11 07:16 am (UTC)She was tired, and the protein bars that she’d taken with her from Ken-san’s hideout would be gone by morning. She knew from experience that she couldn’t technically starve, but days going without food was painful and taxing. Still recovering, the innate fat and energy stores in her body were not properly replenished, at least not yet.
“Now, now, Rin-chan, don’t pout." To her mounting frustration, Bonnie laughed again. Megumi was half tempted to point out that that the woman's make up no longer matched her outfit, but decided to hold off despite her confidence that anything productive would come from this conversation, was plummeting.
(What are you going to do? Up and leave? Live your life with a cat in an alley with no food and a blanket to call your own?) How could she live for Rin if she had no life, no opportunities, no home?
“Discreet, professional individuals who have the expertise to liberate your babysitting money aren’t inexpensive.”
“I see.” Megumi kept her face neutral. (What. A. Surprise.)
“If such a professional was able to secure your funds, assuming of course, that you can provide acceptable credentials to even access the account, there would be, naturally, an up-front fee of course, a flat percentage of the funds secured on your behalf.”
“Naturally.” For the first time in the conversation, a filament of hope began to expand in Megumi’s chest. She sat up a little straighter. “And the flat percentage fee? What would that be? Bearing in mind, of course, that you are still feeling generous this evening.”
“Oh, I am, Rin-chan. Very much so, especially you were so willing to trade costumes with me. 50 percent of the gross account value, transferred immediately upon funds being secured.”
“You call that generous?” Megumi was indignant.
“Unbelievably so,” Bonnie said sweetly, her high soprano even, but as hard as a rock, any hint of bemusement gone. “As you stated, Rin-Chan, you lack access to these funds. I have the ability to access them. Therefore, as an employee of this club and a professional in my own right, I own this aspect of the negotiation, would you not agree?”
Megumi thought for a moment, mentally calculating what she’d have left when…if…the transaction went through. Losing half her life savings would be a blow, but one she could recover from with hard work and time... and she had time in spades.
no subject
Date: 2019-05-11 09:43 am (UTC)“Because I’ll do the transfer right here, Rin-chan.” Bonnie said, executing a little bow.
“You’ll do it?” Megumi was incredulous.
“You wound me with those doubts, Rin-Chan.”
Megumi shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She motioned to the data hub. “This isn’t a very discrete place for a financial transaction.”
Bonnie threw back her head and chortled, her bound curly hair bouncing. “You would speak to me of discretion?” she teased. “Fine words coming from a silly billy who has the gall to ask a complete stranger to assist her in hacking into a bank account, an account she has no yet even established is her own.”
Megumi’s winced as the barb hit home. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“No wonder your babysitting funds have been locked up. You’re a reprehensible brat.” Bonnie was back to teasing again. “Still, since we're best friends now, I must do what I can.” She swiveled in her chair and motioned for the hub monitor to come over to her, then whispered something in the man’s ear.
Moments later, the data hub was empty, save for Megumi and Bonnie. “Discreet enough for you, Rin-chan?”
Cowed, Megumi nodded once. “Thank you.”
“I’ll accept your thanks when I have my cut of the money.” Bonnie smiled and then he went to work.
Megumi watched, leaned over Bonnie's shoulder and watched as the code cracker moved over the pressure pads like a musician might a piano. She wanted to ask where the other woman had learned to do this, but wisely refrained, watching instead the reflection of data scrolling across her heavily made up face.
“Initial authorization key.” There was no teasing, no silliness now, just business. Quietly, Megumi provided it.
“And now the second, if you would be so kind, Rin-chan.” Bonnie's green eyes quirked up when the second code was given. To her surprise, the account was an independent one and not the sort that an all too serious woman would be using to engage in retail therapy. She became cautious then, and rather than accessing direct systems, immediately switched to a proxy ghost, one that she knew from experience was much harder to trace. (Well, well, well!)
“What do we have here, Rin-chan?” Bonnie muttered as she dropped down a level, adding customized code that would tail her electronic path and destroy the data trail, albeit a very small one, that any such activity always left behind. As her fingers moved rapidly across the pressure pad, she looked over at the young woman standing beside her and noticed that the woman's expression had gone from being quite interested to absolutely terrified, her coloring bleeding from her face as if she'd been stabbed,her already pale features began to mirror her own, albeit without the aid of cosmetics.
Whether it was the other woman's expression that made her extra cautious, or natural instinct, Bonnie bypassed the secondary systems of the transfer system, and went into the back end of the banking mainframe, to the old, antiquated infrastructure itself that had, over the course of hundreds of years been hobbled and coded so as to remain functional. Navigating a system like this was extremely cumbersome but much safer than accessing even two data layers above and as she continued down this increasingly interesting set of breadcrumbs, safety was moving to the forefront of her mind.
“Do you have your personal authentication access code written down?” The penultimate access code needed to complete a transfer was a long, untruncated string of, at a minimum, eighteen characters in length. The character strings were complex, and rightly so, they verified that an individual did in fact has the right to access the account in question.
"Information like this is better left inside one's head." Megumi leaned closer to this most unexpected of hackers and whispered it in Bonnie's ear, grimacing when the other woman giggled.
Bonnie took her time now, seeing the first hints of the nature of the account, though the personally identifiable information was still several layers down. As the straight laced priss had warned, the account was being monitored, closely. (Damn. Daddy has some serious control issues...) While bypassing the monitoring programs was easy, reconciling the high-level account data was proving difficult. Bonnie could see rudimentary deposit data and hardly any withdrawals, years and years of deposit codes, reaching over a five, ten, fifteen years back. Some were even older than that. To add to her confusion, she saw that the deposits were initiated by non-private entities, not personal transfers, as she had assumed, like from a father to a daughter. Additionally, as time passed, the deposit amounts increased, indicating that anything but babysitting had taken place over the course of nearly two decades.
"Rin-chan, either you gave me someone else's banking info or you've got some serious explaining to do." The deposits for the past three years were regular, like clockwork, until nearly a year ago when they stopped, when everything stopped transaction wise. Bonnie looked at the account numbers, the transfer protocols. She recognized them. Anyone in her line of work did. (She's been working for the military!) If the payout had been any less, Bonnie would have stopped right then and there, but this was a good haul and she as a very, very good code cracker.
“Final personal authentication access code, please.” Bonnie said quietly. This would get her into the account and allow her to initiate an untraceable funds transfer to one of the highly secure accounts used by the club, and other such enterprises when financial transactions had to be on the down low, in this case the VERY down low, the security high enough that even the goons who monitored these electronic byways wouldn't follow it. She waited for her response, then frowned when instead of a long, complex string of characters whispered in her ear, a slender pale hand stilled hers before he could go any further.
“Stop.”
Megumi tightened her grip on the Bonnie's wrist when she moved to continue. “Please, stop.”
“Having second thoughts about getting your allowance back, Rin-chan?” Despite the words chosen, Bonnie's tone was anything but teasing. While the funds she could see were but a trifle compared with the flow of money and resources she was used to handling for the club and the syndicates that it laundered money on behalf of, for a regular, boring person living a regular, boring life, there was enough funds, that even with her well earned pre-requisite cut accounted for, so that the woman standing beside her could enjoy, if managed properly, a simple yet comfortable existence, a state that not many citizens in New Meiji could hope for. “I thought you wanted this money.”
“I do. So badly.” Megumi’s voice cracked. Embarrassed she dropped her gaze, fixing her burning eyes on the pressure pad. “I thought that if I could access my account, I could go somewhere, live a normal life." She could well and truly become Rin rather than her father's daughter. Megumi pulled at Bonnie's hand hand again, until it was well away from the pressure pad. “I’m afraid that if you finish the transfer, it will be traced.”
no subject
Date: 2019-05-28 07:55 am (UTC)"Oh, shit!" Bonnie immediately began backtracking, shocked that despite her efforts, something had triggered a security alarm to go off on the account. (This isn't possible!) She hadn't initiated the transfer. Why was this happening?
"What's wrong?" Megumi asked, her concern spiking when she saw the expression on Bonnie's face.
"This deal." Bonnie swore again and began entering code strings, long strands designed to obscure where she'd electronically trod. Her heart was pounding. "I don't know what you're playing at, Rin-chan, but I'm done with it and with you."
"But I didn't do anything!" Megumi protested as Bonnie began entering some sort of code into the data hub that caused all of the systems to blink out and then back on as if doing a hard reboot.
"You account was triggered for an auto-trace. Civilian accounts don't auto trace." Bonnie looked over her shoulder at Megumi. Gone was the mirth and laughter, leaving behind bald anger and fear. "So why don't you tell me who you really are and why you think screwing me over and the people I work for is such a good idea."
"I told you..."
"You lied to me, Rin-chan." Bonnie pressed a button on her head set. "Such rudeness is appalling coming from such a nice, polite woman, such as yourself." She glared at the woman, who was a damn plant that had pulled a serious scam and was was either working for another syndicate, the police or the military.
Bonnie's headset beeped. She quickly pressed the button again."Security, we need you at the data hub."
Megumi gasped and backed away from the data hub. "That's my account. I promise!" A commotion could be heard from behind her. Megumi whirled and saw three men, all of them as burly as the bouncer had been, wading through the sea of club goers, their expressions severe.
Bonnie tried to catch her by the arm. Crying out, Megumi wrenched away and staggered back into the surging crowd, the unfamiliar heels on her feet slipping on the sweat slick dance floor. She fell back and was swallowed up and stepped on by the dancers.
"Find her!" Megumi could hear Bonnie shouting and looked around wildly, twisting until she was on her hands and knees and in less danger of being trampled. The brightly lit tiles were blinding, their pulsating colors nausea inducing. Going on blind instinct, Megumi began crawling away from the sound of Bonnie's voice.
For a second the music stopped and Megumi froze, sure that she was seconds away from being caught. The crowed around her became still for a second, then began roaring, demanding another song, their combined voices deafening. Apocalypse obliged and in moments, the club was once again filled with the sounds of screaming, blaring guitars and a thundering base that boomed through the tiled floor with enough force to cause Megumi's teeth to chatter.
Bonnie's voice was growing fainter. Still crawling, Megumi tried to peer up from between the legs of the patrons.
(There) She spotted a red emergency exit and was half-tempted to bolt for it, then quickly reconsidered. (They'll spot me) Crouched down, the black skirt riding up the back of her legs, she thought for a second, then skittered towards the wall, not sure what was louder, the sounds coming from the stage or the beating of her heart.
Trying to still stay down and out of sight Megumi reached up blindly and felt around for what she was looking for, a glass encased fire alarm. Gritting her teeth, she made a fist and smashed the covering as hard as she could. The glass cracked and she hit it again, then once more before it shattered, sending shards of glass into her clenched fist. She cried out, the pain sharper than expected, but continued, her bloody fingers fumbling and then finding the alarm lever. She pulled it.
A claxon sounded. Red emergency lights blinked into blinding existence and fire sprinklers lowered from the ceiling, then with a sputter and hiss, turned on, sending suppression foam flying.
All hell broke loose. The club patrons, who initially thought that the change in atmosphere was part of the concert, quickly realized that an alarm had been triggered and, as Megumi hoped, began to panic.
In seconds an undisciplined pack of frightened human beings surged and spread out, men and women desperately looking for and running madly towards any red lit emergency exit. Slipping again on the slick floor Megumi staggered to her feet and tried to keep moving. A man slammed into her, sending the beret she was wearing flying and nearly knocking her back down to the floor. She recovered and, keeping her head down, she pushed forward, shoving and pushing as hard as anyone to get out of the building but for very different reasons.
After what seemed like an eternity, cold, dirty air hit her face and filled her lungs. She was outside in the alley behind the club. (The journal!) Megumi threw herself towards the overflowing trash bin, fighting against the flow of bodies pouring out. Scrambling, she was able to reach under the bin and find the journal where she'd hidden it. The blanket she left behind. Tucking the journal under one arm and holding her shoes with the other, she took off, vanishing into the swell of club goers who were still streaming out of the building and out into the night.