In the year 2085, the Corporate Wars ravaged the planet. Powerful CEOs had turned their fortune 500 companies into their own private armies and sought to gain both economic, political, and martial control of the planet. While their war raged for years, many civilians were left in the crossfire; leading to wide-scale displacement, famine, pandemics, and in extreme cases: total annihilation. When the dust finally settled, the remaining world governments needed to find a way to safely re-build humanity from the ashes. This was the rise of the Megacities.

The Megacities were massive technological marvels that spanned wider tracts of land than most small countries. Survivors of the wars were ushered inside, and offered a new chance at life: Advanced cybernetics, well paying jobs, food on the table every night. Eventually, the Megacities claimed 90% of the world's population. Those who joined the Megacities were implanted with Neural Bracers, allowing them access to the Infranet, or simply called The Net. This new tool allowed for streamlining the communications within the cities and ensured that every citizen could be accounted for at any given time. In spite of this, there were those who rejected this way of life. These were the members of Sk8te.

As the morning sun rose over Megacity-Delta, or Delta City as it was commonly known, Billy 'Blaze' Morgans breathed a deep sighed as he looked out from his perch. He could never understand why anyone would think living on the bottom floor of Delta City was worthwhile when they missed out on a view like this. It had become a sort of ritual for him to climb the radio tower and watch the sunrise. Billy was the leader of the Sk8te cell 'Afterburn'. Like the rest of the cells across the city, Afterburn sought a refuge living outside of the security provided by the system. Disconnecting themselves from the Net, Sk8te members made their homes in the rooftops, crevices, and otherwise abandoned sections of Delta City where no Heir or Cred would dare to venture.

Adjusting his seating, Billy took one last look at the rising sun before picking up the hoverboard that was his main tool for traversing the skyline of Delta City. The rest of Afterburn would be waking up soon and he'd want to check in with them after last night's 'event'. Elsewhere in the city, there had been reports that a Sk8te courier had been found dead. Couriers always ran a chance of getting arrested for transport of illegal goods, but murder was something not to be taken lightly. Something was amiss.

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Tait follows the flow of foot traffic, Creds surrounding her like a school of dry artifish. It would be easy enough to slip her fingers into the long coats of some overconfident alley péngkè; she would know, it's what she grew up doing for as far back as she can remember. Problem is, they are small fry now. Anything she can pick could place her in hot water and, worse, physical confrontation. No pocket credit is worth the trouble at this point. After all, she has a roof over her and Cali's head and has stocked up on soy noodles to last her geek of a sister months without having to leave the Blue Room. And she has done that before.

Technically, Memo:Re can be turned off anytime. At this point, Tait has felt that her safest recourse is to leave it on in case someone randomly (or not-so-randomly) plucks her off the street for some snuff AR. She can do her best to pull off self defense maneuvers to escape, but her strongest feats are the ability to run and hide, she just needs to have enough warning or awareness to vanish from sight. Up the alleyway gutter; blending into a crowd; finessing her way into strangers' conversation. All tactics she has at one time or another employed to escape suspicion.

Waylaid by intrusive thoughts of what a place like Delta City is capable of, she catches herself following a woman wearing a transparent raincoat, wearing bare minimum clothing beneath it. Cybernetics follow her spine, arms, and legs, clearly showing off the work and resources put into her body. A working lady, Tait thinks. Too early to be going in. She must be on her way home from a shift. She slows her own pace to distance the two of them, finally looking around to where she's at.

Electric Sheep Motel. "Lucky!" She says aloud excitedly, pumping a fist in the air. At some point, she had stopped paying attention where she was going. Turns out she is at the foot of the building that will lead her to a fresh mystery nearby. Information is power, and she intends to learn what happened to the Sk8te to see if any cells need to be warned. Her fingers gently pick at the 1337 patch on her jacket's breast and eyes the tall, ugly building as she ponders her next move.

The ice was cold to touch.

A redundant statement of course, ice is cold, especially when you touch it but in Livewire’s case something like that was important to him. Pain editors. For all their value in his line of work, they reduced the feeling of almost everything, dulling nerve sensations to the point where only the most potent of things got through.

Then there was something about the sound that added to the experience, the clinking and cracking of ice, all so cool and relaxing. Livewire’s eyebrows rose as his bottom lip turned up, swirling ice around a whiskey glass with his index finger was surprisingly cathartic.

Slam.

The balled up of fist of a well dressed, greasy looking corporate stooge sent reverberations through the bar. Effing and blinding, he threw accusatory finger points towards the semi-renowned shop owner. Livewire grinned, looking up as if to gesture ‘Get a load of this guy?’ at someone bartending his private office boozer but it was just the two of them. The self proclaimed King of Grindwood liked the feel of pubs and bars, just minus the people. So he built a small setup in his office corner where he’d spend some time kicking back and cooling off.

“Harry’s fuckin’ on one today ain’t he?” Livewire thought as he swiveled the barstool to his right. A fleck of spit fired forth as the man in the suit continued his tirade, face turned red. The shop owner sighed, resting his elbow up on the bar, using his hand to cradle the side of his head. He was being a good friend you see, everyone needed to blow off a little steam now and then, it was a purgative action of release. But as Harry droned on Livewire couldn’t help but be distracted by almost anything else.

Like that tie. The knot had been loosened and the pin holding the tail in place had been long lost. It flapped back and forth in a mesmerising yet monotonous way. Like watching a metronome to pass time.

Slam.

“Are you even listening? I said that you are just like the rest of this scum here. Nothing but low life leeches, feeding off our bodies for fucking scraps.”

Livewire chuckled, nodding his head as he turned to have a sip of whiskey. “I wonder what Ma’s making for lunch today?” He thought, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. “Eh, it’s Ma, she always makes something good.”

Harry, perturbed by the sight of the apathetic man, continued. “You fucking lying piece of…”

Interrupting, Livewire’s hand shot out as fast as one could without the necessary nerve mods, grabbing the man’s tie and yanking it down.

Slam

Harry’s face bounced like a ball off the bar before falling ass backwards onto the floor.

“A fuckin’ liar?!” Livewire hopped off the barstool, standing tall over the Corpo. Now it was his turn. “Here I was, kind enough to give you a free therapy session and this is how you repay me?!”

“Wait, no…” Harry shook his head as much as his concussion would allow, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt to block his face.

Livewire grabbed his tie again, yanking the man’s torso up towards him. “Harry you’ve been a customer of mine for a long time and if there’s one thing you should know, it’s that I’m no fuckin’ liar.”

The Corpo sniffled. “Yes, I know, it’s just my job. You know how working for these corporations can be, if I don’t hack into…”

The back of Livewire’s hand tore through Harry’s flimsy defence, striking his cheek with a rock-hard slap. “Fucks sake! And now you’re breaking my second rule!” Bringing back his hand, he slapped the Corpos face the opposite way. “I don’t wanna know shit about shit Harry.”

Harry coughed, spitting out what he thought was blood but what was really just a panicked build up of saliva. Shakingly, a hand rose up to the red raw side of his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just stress, I…”

Livewire let go of the tie, causing Harry to hit the floor with a solid thud. He went to speak but the shop owner held up a silencing finger as he stepped away. Slicking back his hair, he took in a deep breath before releasing it out with a venting sigh. “Fuck this.” He poetically thought. “Same shit day in, day out, it’s all so…” A sharp rap at the door interrupted his train of thought. “Boring.”

Odd. Everyone knew not to bother him while he was entertaining guests. Livewire grimaced as his brow furrowed in thought. “Delivery? Robbery?” His hand gripped the door knob with his oversized powered fists nearly denting the brass with anticipation. Ready to activate his adrenaline pump, Livewire flung the door open.

Standing in front of him was a woman covered head to toe in a gold plated alloy. She wore a cropped jacket, a cap and not much else. Opening her mouth to speak, her words were cut off by an old man seated in the corner of the shop. “Why you going to see him for? I’m right over here darling.” A belchy laugh rung out of the decrepit, overweight man.

“Fucks sake Dad,” Livewire pointed sharply. “Turn that crusty mug of yours ninety degrees towards your old lady and leave this nice woman out of your shit!” Turning to his wife, Livewire’s old man gave an apologetic shrug as she rudely gestured back.

The shop owner shook his head, catching the tail end of an eye roll from the golden woman in front of him. “Where is it?” He asked firmly.

“Someone was killed.” She replied, causing Livewire to raise an eyebrow. “Not your guy but it looks like it’s rocked their boat. Package will be here tomorrow.”

The man gave a polite nod, spinning around and shutting the door almost too enthusiastically. Striding by the Corpo still floundering on the floor without so much as a glance, Livewire sat back down on his barstool. “Harry, package will be here tomorrow.” Grabbing his glass, the man sucked down the rest of his whiskey and melted ice. “Now fuck off will you?”

Nodding profusely, Harry scampered across the ground and out the door like a rat returning to their hole in the wall, leaving an upbeat Livewire to pour himself another. He thumbed through a few bottles, looking for the celebratory whiskey and passing over the generic ones. Someone had finally got to Sk8te. “Shit’s about to get real interesting.” He smiled.