Chapter Three – Strange Animals

Chapter Three – Strange Animals

“No one wants a career! Do you think you want to work for the same bosspunk for 30 years of your life?

Gigs are the way to go! Work for more credits, work when you want, if you want! And the day your boss steps on your toes? You’re off to the next gig!”

–Gigs-R-Us ad, 2031

***

I wasn’t sure if I liked the Barber Shop. The music was weird as hell, and while the chick with the fox tails had a killer voice, I could still pick out the synth notes when she started to croon. I suppose that was one of the downsides of having really good cybernetic ears.

Plus, the place had too many people wearing too much faux-fur for me to be comfortable.

And Rac thought I wasn’t cool? What the hell?

At least I wasn’t wearing fur.

I’m sensing that you dislike the aesthetic.

“Mhm,” I muttered. Rac glanced up at me, and I waved her concern off. “Show me to your friends, Rac. I’ll try not to be too uncool around them.”

It probably shouldn’t have bothered me so much, but it did anyway. Maybe my ego was a little more fragile than I’d like to admit. But… well, fuck it. It wasn’t cool to be so worried about what others thought about you anyway, so I made an effort to let it go.

It’s just that I thought, for some reason, that at least in Rac’s eyes I was the badass older sister she never had who could solve all of her problems by blowing them up. I guess I wasn’t quite there, though.

Sucked, but that’s what it was… at least for now. There was still time to impress the brat, even if it really, really didn’t matter.

“Don’t be weird around them,” Rac said.

“I won’t be weird,” I growled. “Have some faith in me.”

That would be misplacing her faith.

“Oh, shut up, you,” I muttered. Rac gave me another look, but I ignored it. Myalis was being extra sassy right now, probably because she knew that this was embarrassing for me, and she knew that I knew that it was silly to be embarrassed about it to begin with. She loved this kind of circular thing.

Rac led me to a booth some ways into the bar-slash-club, where the music from the dance floor wasn’t quite as loud. There was a wall cutting off some of the noise, and a row of fake plants along the other walls partially hiding some of those foam sound buffer things that cut off vibrations.

The booth Rac led me to had two people sitting at it already. One was a massive woman with a plastic half-mask on her face that made her look like a gorilla. The look was only improved by her arms and upper back. It looked like she’d had some pretty extensive cybernetic work done on her. Her shoulders were huge to compensate for the size of her arms, which were also massive. They ended in hands that looked like they could crush melons with no effort. Or a person’s head.

Those are interesting. A human design, but based on a Vanguard’s discarded prosthetics. They’re about ten years behind the current technological trend, mostly used for carrying heavy weapons.

So, she’d gotten her hands on military surplus? Or, rather, her hands were military surplus.

The guy next to her was a lot less daunting to look at. A skinny runt of a guy, maybe a year or two older than Rac and a bit younger than me. He had a skintight suit on with a leather jacket thrown over that. He was wearing a full-faced mask, with little mandibles and some hints at more ‘eyes’ on it.

Not cybernetics, just a customised piece of hightech gear that gave him a bit of a spidery look. He gave me a peace-sign with a freakish hand. Too many joints, fingers that were too long, then scooted over so that Rac and I had room to sit.

“Guys, this is Cat, she’s… sort of like my big sister, I guess,” Rac said. “Cat, this is Coco, and that’s Jerusalem.” She gestured first to the gorilla woman, who shifted to the side to raise an arm up and over the table so she could wave (she had a banana peel decal on her inner arm), then to the spider-looking guy, who gave me a thumbs up.

“Yo,” I said. “So, is this the whole crew?”

“Nah, Garter’s not here yet,” Coco said. Where is he, anyway?” That last was directed to Jerusalem, who tilted his head to the side, then he made a trio of quick gestures, ending with a ‘three.’

“Does he not talk?” I asked with a gesture to the guy.

“He’s mute,” Coco said.

Jerusalem shrugged, and I guessed that he was used to the question. Then he continued to stare at me for a while before he recoiled back, and I had the impression, from his body language alone, that he had just been shocked.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“What is it?” Coco asked.