Salvi focused on the images of the gang fight again. Thinking about the recent cases, she noted that only two involved guns; the Kelto’s Diner case and Randy’s Retrotech, the store in the Mission. All the other violence had been committed with the perpetrators’ bare hands. Of course, fifteen years into the tighter gun laws in California, this was not surprising. It had taken years to get the guns off the streets, and although there was still a strong black market trade, the numbers had been reduced significantly. Still, there was something about this Fyte drug that made people want to use their bare hands. And if it wasn’t their fists killing people, they were using extensions of their fists; knives, bottles, bricks and the like. Of the footage she’d seen, all the perpetrators appeared very confident. Invincible even. They seemed to have an overwhelming desire to inflict pain, as their molten fury burned out of control.
She sighed and moved the data pane aside, then turned on the news channel, eager to see the latest given her conversation with Beggs. A report was airing. Some skinny teenager was being led away by uniformed officers. The scrolling headline read: Teen seeks bloody revenge on bully jocks. Salvi saw no marks on the kid’s temples but upon hearing the description of his crimes, she knew straight away this kid had somehow got his hands on Fyte so he could stand up to those who made his life hell. She knew he would be the first of many.
She flicked the channel and saw a debate playing out on a talk show. A psychologist, a reverend who was also a member of the anti-tech movement, a pro-tech expert, and Senator William Aitken were discussing how to tackle the crime wave and the risks of bringing controlled neural tech back onto the market to stop the black market tech that was now leaking onto the streets. Only the pro-tech expert saw the benefits. While the senator was relatively neutral, the others were vehemently opposed, citing that neural implants were harmful or the work of the devil, and nothing good would ever come of them - The Crash had proven that.
She flicked to another channel and saw an ad for the latest massage tool: a pair of robo-hands that sat atop your shoulders and worked your muscles for hours on end. She watched as various people used the device throughout their day: a businesswoman working at her desk had the hands perched and massaging. A man sitting down to watch tv, exhaling with comfort as the hands did their thing. A grandmother watching her grandkids while the robo-fingers kneaded her tired muscles.
She flipped the channel again and saw an ad for a dating website exclusively for young, handsome people wanting older, wealthier dates. She flipped again and saw a live video game tournament with viewing stats in the corner: 20 million people were watching while two competitors raced to the top of a mountain fighting all manner of ghoulish creatures that they eviscerated with their cosmic weapons.
She flipped again and a live stock market report appeared. The crime wave was apparently continuing to send stocks in security technology companies spiking to all-time highs. She flipped again and saw a robo-chef running its own cooking show. She watched in awe for a moment as the robo-chef executed its tasks with speed, efficiency and accuracy. Never before had a cup of flour been measured so precisely.
She turned off the tv and went back to her data pane, searching for sites aimed at the young, rich, beautiful and technically savvy. She found links that led her to the more kinky sites and explored them, wanting to be up to date with what the affluent people were getting up to in their bedrooms these days. She wondered whether those in the clubs used online VR sites like U-Stasis; the place where the Bountiful killer had found some of his victims.
An advert for robo-whores popped up and it made her think of the ‘Sation again, and the tech and sex stores that sat on the border between the Sensation and Transmission. It suddenly made her want to take another stroll of the ‘Mission and maybe visit the scene of Bronte and Hernandez’s case, Randy’s Retrotech, to see just what tech they were dealing in exactly.
7: THE ‘MISSION
Salvi sat on the Cylin train, headed toward the ‘Mission neighborhood. The Cylin was quieter than usual, and she noticed the other passengers eyeing each new person entering their carriage suspiciously, as though keeping watch for potential trouble. Where once they would be so absorbed in whatever device they had with them so as not to notice the people around them, now they were the opposite. The city was starting to get scared.
She noted the suspicion and alertness would soon fade after a few minutes, though. When the passengers realized the newcomer wasn’t going to cause trouble, they each turned back to their devices; their phones, their data-panes, their VR and AR glasses, their headphones. Anything to avoid having to speak to those around them. No one had time to make new friends or polite conversation with people they would probably never see again. Many were wary of strangers. Salvi wondered whether this was intentional or if perhaps they’d simply forgotten how to interact with them.
As she stepped off the Cylin and made her way up the transport chutes to ground level, she was surprised to see fewer tech-heads at the entrance with their hands out for donations than she normally did. Even they were scared of a beating from the spike of violence in the city and had made themselves scarce. As Salvi moved along, she pressed her arm against her holstered gun, beneath her coat. She’d thought twice about bringing it, but now she was glad she had.
She perused the windows of the stores
