Chapter 1: RESTRUCTURING

2093 Q1 Day 36

The TenOp building was probably glorious, once; all sleek surfaces and minimalist flair. A shining beacon of technological innovation from the days when executives still visited their offices. Nowadays, though, it was run-down and dirty, the once-shiny floors scratched and worn over time by a sea of contractors and interns. 

I took a deep breath and slipped through the front door to join that sea. My typical corpo getup made me just another face in the crowd: UNPetrol matching blazer and pencil skirt in white and neon blue, pantyhose, Blackwater dagger heeled pumps, and rigidly coiffed brunette curls. A year ago I would’ve called it a disguise, but things like it had since taken over my wardrobe. Add in my exhausted eyes and underfed frame and you end up with a spitting image of your average contractor. The near-catatonic security desk barely even noticed I was there, let alone that the badge I waved towards them was drawn with marker. The guards had run out of amphetamine rations hours ago; they wouldn’t notice a bus crashing through the front door right now. I strode past them to catch an elevator, feeling pretty good about myself—getting in was the only part of a job that still really made me nervous, and this time it’d been effortless.

I’d been hired by the radical terrorist hedge fund Rebel Yell LLC to blow the place up. Stock manipulation bombings didn’t exactly get my blood pumping, but nowadays I’d take whatever I could get. Even if it meant listening to sponsored pop songs spewed through the elevator’s tinny speakers:

Her ass looks so good in that TenOp leather

She wants to suck me off, hell yeah I’mma let her

Put some lipstick on, girl let’s get together

Exxon cosmetics make you look so much better

Loath as I was to admit it, the music was kinda profit as fuck. At least it beat the quiet screeching they played out front to keep the homeless away. That shit gave you brain damage if you listened to it long enough. I ran my fingers through my hair, fidgeting with the neural aug hidden underneath it (now an inert hunk of metal; I deactivated it years ago but could never afford to get it removed). Stay focused, Maria. You got this. 

The music cut off abruptly as I reached my destination: floor 31. The elevator doors opened to reveal nothing but rows of server banks and maintenance equipment. 31 had checked all my boxes in planning: expensive stuff, easy to access, and no employees. Perfect. Legal or not, I tried to avoid killing interns. The empty halls and hum of air-conditioning made walking to a maintenance closet feel oddly peaceful—part of me wanted to stop and appreciate the silence while the other part was already forcing the lock with my smuggled-in multitool. Peace could wait. Squatting down between a mop and a toolbox, I popped open my briefcase (WJ Koch lab-grown mammoth leather attaché, winter collection) and got to work. Wiring, timer, explosive compound…should only take a moment to put together. The world of hardware was far and away my preference nowadays, hence my bricked neural aug. Plugging your brain into corporate firewalls got old fast.

A few minutes of deft assembly later and I had an adorable little IED. The ten-minute timer gave me plenty of time to get out; my walk back to the elevator was cool and unhurried. This hadn’t been bad at all. A few more easy gigs like this and I’d have enough for two months’ rent on hand. I breathed a sigh of relief as I rounded the last corner to the eleva—

*THUD*

I ran face-first into a solid torso, falling back onto my ass. Startled, I looked up at the torso’s owner: tall, butch, heavily auged, pink partial buzz, a tanktop painted with the words “FUCK YOU”...

They were clearly not supposed to be here. Hot, though. 

Oh, and they had a gun. Pointed at my head. 

Fuck.

“Uh…”

“You talk, you die.” They picked me up by the collar and shoved me into the nearest server room. There were two other people inside, both clearly part of the same crew: one tinkered with electrical panels while another was hunched over in the corner, their neural aug plugged into a server. The door clicked shut behind me and Buzz-cut grabbed my shoulder, roughly spinning me around to face them. “Do you understand me?”

“Uh…yeah.” Money damnit. What the fuck was this? Every gang that hit corporations had fallen apart after CETA. Yet this crew definitely fell in that category—not professional enough to blindfold me or keep me in another room, but clearly smart enough to be looking for something specific. Plus they all wore the most ridiculous clothing. Everything just screamed “hacker punks.” 

“Someone was out there? What the fuck?” asked the one poking at the electrics. They were short and goateed, wearing layers of dark green jackets stuffed with computer scrap. “Nobody’s supposed to be here. There’s nothing new on the service logs.”

Buzz-cut shrugged. “It’s fine. Probably just an intern. ” They looked down at me coolly, grabbing my chin with metal fingers and forcing me to make eye contact. “What’s your name, little corpo?”

I searched their eyes for suspicion but didn’t find any. They thought I was an employee—I could work with that. “L-Lisa. Customer service. I’m new, I…I got lost, I don’t know what’s happening here, I—”

“Quiet. You say nothing, keep your head down, and you’ll get through this just fine.”

“Ok, ok. I can do that.” They pushed me down onto my knees and faced me toward the corner. For what it was worth, I believed them; hacker twerps like this rarely killed low-level workers. That meant all I had to do was wait them out, and then the bomb would—I blinked. The bomb. Right. 

Double fuck.

Fine, no big deal. Just need to bust out the charm offensive. I shifted slightly to face Buzz-cut, who was diligently watching the door. “E-excuse me, I have to—"

Buzz-cut kicked me in the face. At least I assume they did: I saw boot, smelled boot, felt pain, then flew backwards. They casually knelt down next to my prone form, gripping my hair and looking me in the eye.

“What did I say about talking? Huh?”

“…gnuh.” Blood spilled out of my nose and over my lips. In spite of my profession, it’d been a while since I’d taken a solid hit like that. Didn’t feel like an auged leg, either; Buzz-cut just had kicking chops. They opened their mouth again and then paused, something catching their eye.

“Is that an aug?” asked Goatee, peering at me from across the room. Buzz-cut had accidentally pulled the curls away from my neural aug, exposing my skull’s shitty metal roommate. So much for the intern story. Not that these meatheads would know what they were looking at.

“That’s a bootleg aug.” Buzz-cut let out an appreciative whistle, their fingers running over my temple. “Totally unregistered. Looks like Underground tech…” Money fucking damnit. Of course they were fucking Underground historians. All the wannabe rebels left were fucking nostalgia fiends. Alright—time to go loud. Buzz-cut was busy fawning over the museum piece in my brain, giving me an opportunity to subtly reach for my thigh holster…

Their eyes went wide just as my fingers grasped cold metal. ”Holy shit. You’re—”

*SNAP*

The smell of ozone filled the room as I jammed my prod into Buzz-cut’s ribs. They slumped over, giving me space to pluck the gun from their hand, stagger to my feet, and hold up the crew. They weren’t much to look at: Buzz-cut was writhing on the floor and cursing through clenched teeth, Goatee just stared at me boggle-eyed, and their third was plugged in and blissfully unaware. It was time for me to go—they wouldn’t chase me while I was armed and the bomb would take care of them if they stayed. Good riddance. I swung upon the door, sparing one more quick glance back. Buzz-cut’s eyes followed me in spite of their locked-up muscles, expressing something between awe and fury. Just leave, Maria. Leave and don’t say a word. Goatee’s mouth was wide open. They couldn’t be a day over 20. They’re competition. Be a Rational, Self-Interested Actor. I couldn’t get a clear look at their third, hunched over as they were. Plugged into a network is a shitty place to die.

Triple fuck.

“there’sabombgoingoffinfiveminutes.” I blurted, sprinting out of the room. My heels made running precarious, but I managed to trip into an elevator nonetheless. Deep breaths, Maria. You’re out. You did it. They aren’t your problem anymore. 

The elevator descended, flooding once again with song:

Maybe it’s the Xanax and champagne

Maybe my neural aug is rewiring my brain

You are reading story Human Capital at novel35.com

I started pacing back and forth, gritting my teeth. Money damned punks. Who did they think they were fooling with this self-righteous shit? Who the fuck hit offices without a license? And why the fuck did I warn them about the bomb?

But babe I swear I want to make you a long-term asset

You’re a golden opportunity and I don’t wanna pass it

By the time I reached the lobby, I just wanted out. It must have been quite the sight, me booking it out of the front door with mussed-up hair, wild eyes, and dried blood caking my lip. Certainly a chorus of alarm bells for any half-decent security camera. Whatever; that’s what I'm licensed for. They can all fuck right off.

***

I was sitting in a noodle shop several blocks away when the bomb went off. A glimpse of my handiwork was visible through the window—smoke and flame blooming out of the TenOp building’s newest gaping hole. My eyes trailed the arc of some burning debris, watching it streak across the sky and tumble down towards pavement. Pretty. Sighing, I leaned back into the ratty cushions of the booth and closed my eyes. Sometimes you just had to let The City wash over you; had to let the sounds of traffic, sirens, and helicopters blend together until noise lost all meaning.

* * * * *

2090 Q3 Day 55

3 years earlier

Flashlight beams swept across the Underground tunnel, peeking through rust-eaten holes in the corrugated metal shacks. They hadn’t found much yet—mostly just garbage and rats. Nonetheless, Helix diligently checked the next structure, seeing nothing but the bright outfits and piecemeal tech of her teammates.

“You see anything, Vi? Redo?”

“Nope.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Helix frowned underneath her breathing rig, glancing around the shanty town.  “Where’s Ghost?” 

“Dunno,” replied Violet. Redo just shrugged.

Of course they didn’t know. They had both checked out about two hours ago. Despite the range of talents in Team One, Helix seemed to be the only member capable of discipline. She sighed, leaning up against one of the dirty metal walls and closing her eyes. This was not the kind of job—task, she reminded herself—that she liked returning from empty-handed. There was no getting around it, though; they had to call it a night. Ghost wouldn’t like it, but Helix could handle Ghost’s pouting just fine. She slowly stood up straight once more, exhausted legs trembling only slightly. 

“Alright. We’ve done all we can for today; let’s head back. Tomorrow morning we’ll sweep the G tunnels again. Then maybe we can—”

“Seriously?” moaned Violet, crossing her arms and glaring at Helix. “No offense, but this whole thing is a waste of time. Instead of mucking around in literal shit for some little junkie, we could be topside fragging execs that we actually know how to find.”

There was a long beat of silence as Helix thought about how much she really didn’t want to deal with Vi’s attitude right now. But she knew nobody else would respond; Ghost was who-knows-where and Redo was busy seeing how far he could kick a big rock.

“It…I know it’s frustrating, Vi. But this is important. The Underground isn’t just about killing corpo scum; it’s about doing right by our people. And the ‘little junkie’ we’re looking for is named Kaya. They’re a part of the community, same as you and I. So just… fucking cool it, alright?”

Redo looked up from his rock, excited for potential drama. None came, though; Violet bristled for a moment, then thought better of it and went back into her usual slouch. “Sure, boss. Whatever.”

Helix exhaled in relief. “You know I’ve got your back, Vi. And we will frag execs soon. I promise.” 

That got an eager nod from Vi, at least.

The sound of rustling echoed down the tunnel, followed by an excited shout. “Over here! Got ‘em!” Helix shielded her eyes as Ghost’s eagerly twitching flashlight beam shone at them. “Come!”

The rest of Team One trudged towards the light, passing through the center of the shanty. Helix frowned as she took in the view—before they’d built up Central, the Underground was pretty much only miserable shit like this. The fact that Kaya had made it this far out suggested they were either seriously tripping or seriously lost.

Ghost waved as the group got close, cradling Kaya in her arms. They looked like shit—sickly, thin, and covered in filth. Ghost had put her breathing rig over their mouth and nose, covering her own with a spare strip of cloth. 

“Hey! I got them! Wandered off into a service tunnel. Sneaky little fucker, eh? No worries, though! Doesn’t look too bad—nothing a couple of days in medical can’t fix. I think.” Ghost stood, hoisting Kaya up with her. They groaned at the motion, unfocused eyes opening slightly. 

“Shh. Cool it, yeah? We’ve got you. You’re good.” Ghost murmured, grabbing a hold of Kaya’s limp hand. Helix couldn’t help smiling at the sight.

“Well done, Ghost. Now let’s get out of this shithole.”

***

By the time they got back to Central, Team One had been awake for well over 24 hours. Helix dismissed the group as soon as they dropped off Kaya at medical. “Night everyone. Good work today. See you tomorrow.” 

Everyone split up—Redo towards the barracks, Violet to the bar, and Helix and Ghost to their shared apartment. The couple lived in one of Central’s many converted subway cars. It’d been rather Spartan back when Helix lived alone, but since moving in Ghost had filled the space up with all kinds of stolen furniture, stolen pillows, and stolen experimental weapons tech. Despite her initial objections, Helix had to admit that it was…cozy. The pair went through their nightly routine in silence, peeling off their filthy gear, holding each other up through a quick cold shower, then collapsing into bed.

All was quiet save for their breath and The Underground’s familiar drips, groans, and creaks. Ghost rested her head on Helix’s shoulder, looking out the window at the sparse lights of Central.

“Pretty fuckin good day,” she whispered.

“Yeah. S’good.” Helix wrapped her arm around her partner, eliciting an appreciative grunt.

“I love you, Claire…” Ghost murmured, already half asleep.

“I love you too, Maria.”

* * * * *

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