“Of course, I can find the time. I’ll see you there.
Typical Oriyen, short and to the point.
When I get to the Mug, Poth is already fucked up and hitting on every piece of ass that’ll give him the time of day. He’s changed his hair again, lime green this time, and spiked to the point of ridiculousness. He’s always doing crazy shit. A few years ago, he upgraded his dick, multiple vibrating studs embedded just under the skin. The mother fucker is completely insane. He swears the ladies love it.
The smell of this place lands home. Brings back some memories. We used to come here every weekend back in the day. Pre-meteor music sets the mood trancing just under the light hum of conversation. The walls are littered with old pictures and holo-images of notable strangers from the old world. There’s a replica of an ancient jukebox in the corner, accompanied by a woman that’s clearly had too much to drink and her friend that clearly regrets agreeing to a night out.
“There just aren’t many vintage bars in Olympia like this one,” speaks a deep, raspy voice as Oriyen ambushes me, taking the squeaky bar stool to my left. “I mean will you just look at this bar top? They kept the original wood – not that knockoff polymer shit.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. What’s up Mr. Robot?” I turn to the bartender. “Two shots of the strongest liquor you can conjure.”
“So, you heard?” he asks.
“I hear everything that goes on in my city. Lose the jacket. I’ve got to see this shit.”
Oriyen stands and removes his black pinstriped jacket and gently places it on the back of the stool. Rolls up his shirt sleeves.
“Wow,” I utter, unable to contain my awe.
The gleaming reflection from the colored bar lights above slams straight into my pupils.
“They really weren’t kidding when they said you were trying to go full Machina, huh?”
The Machina making our drinks behind the bar cuts its robotic visual sensors towards me.
“Ah, this? This is nothing,” Oriyen says admiring his titanium arms. They’re completely metal and massive.. with compartments and slots positioned around his entire hydraulic system that I can only imagine houses the most advanced of weaponry Lethe has to offer.
“How many upgrades does this make now?”
“Well, my arms were first, then legs, both eyes, both ears, subepidermal chest plate, and of course the standard-issue neuralNet with some minor alterations. I’ve been trying to get them to install boosters under my shoulder blades. Upper management claims it’s not practical,” laughs Oriyen. “How about yourself?”
“Just the one eye for now.”
“You’ll get another. After the first one the addiction starts,” he says confidently admiring his right arm. Everyone says that. It’s like an unspoken custom people repeat without even realizing it. I suppose that makes it a spoken custom.
“So, have you done anything badass lately?” I ask as my imagination runs wild. Images of him shooting rockets out of his arm, flying around, chasing bad guys like a comic book hero from the old world manifest at the front of my mind.
“Nothing too extreme. Everyone is gearing up for the big anniversary festival. You know how people get on Olympia’s birthday. It’s been pretty quiet lately though, just a little trouble here and there from Kronos.”
“From who? Who’s Kronos?” I ask sitting up on the edge of my stool.
His expression surprised, he replies, “I can’t believe a social butterfly like yourself doesn’t know about Kronos. They’re terrorists with the sole purpose of destroying Lethe and bringing our city - our way of life, to ruins.” His face twists with disgust.
“So, they are the ones responsible for all the protests downtown lately?” I recall an explosion a few weeks ago that sent the entire city in a panic. I’ve noticed a lot of people are unhappy with the way things are being managed. Sentient Rights! they demand. Tensions are rising in Olympia.
“It’s much more serious than a few protests. These guys are dangerous. They hack your morality with their lies in an attempt to sway people towards their cause. Psychological warfare, an entirely new breed of terrorist. Many of the protestors are people they’ve targeted. Good people, who now risks banishment or worse fighting a losing cause.” Oriyen’s eyes take the inward glaze of someone accessing internal hardware.
“Why do they hate Lethe? Why are they doing this? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Still distracted he replies, “The Lethe Corporation has provided everything for these ungrateful bastards, and they still revolt. They want a revolution. They want chaos. They will not stop until there is nothing left.”
“What do you do when you catch them? Do you.. like.. kill them?” I’ve never seen the point in murder. It doesn’t solve anything. It just breeds more needless violence. All hormones.
He makes a point to look me in the eyes now. “You know as well as I do that our system isn’t perfect, but it’s the best we have. No other place in the world can do what Olympia does. We must protect that at any cost. We owe our lives to Lethe.”
We take another shot and bullshit a little before he dismisses himself with a firm handshake, and we say our goodbyes. Something about him has changed. He’s different, darker than he used to be. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
“That guy creeps me the fuck out,” whispers Poth sliding into Oriyen’s vacant bar stool. “I’ll have three of whatever they were having,” he announces to the Machina behind the bar.
The Machina stops what it was doing.
Our eyes meet.
If it wasn’t for its unconcealed transmitter, it might even pass for something real. Older model. The machinery enclosed in the rear of its transparent, plastic cranium gives it away despite the realistic, white silicone face stretched over the front. Some Machina are so human nobody can tell the difference. They move, talk, gesture like anyone else. This one’s face looks like mine or Poth’s,
