Chapter Sixty-One - Introspection

“Existential crisis?

Existential crisis deez nuts!”

--Last words of celebrity host John Lewort before his on-air suicide, 2048

***

The next morning, after breakfast with Lucy and the kittens, and after texting Rac to make sure she was okay (apparently she had stayed the night in the museum and had collected ‘heaps of the good trash’ for me) I headed out with all of my gear. Armour, launcher, a couple of guns, and of course my sword hanging by my hip.

I could have just stayed at the hotel, or maybe I could have gone to check on the museum, where the contractors were supposed to have started working already. But that didn’t feel quite right.

Sitting back and doing nothing wasn’t something I was all that keen on. I would get restless, and start worrying about things. I used to be able to distract myself with my media feeds, but since becoming a samurai, things like sensationalized news just didn’t hit the same. I wasn’t able to get angry at whatever the feeds told me to get angry about as easily as I once had.

It had taken one glance at my feed and at the top news story of the morning to convince me to get up and go do something. That the top news story was still last night’s assassination attempt might have had something to do with it.

Where are we going now?

I stepped out of the elevator on the main lobby floor of the hotel and started towards the door. There were more people with camera augs out that morning, following me with their strangely blank gazes as I started out across the room.

“This morning we’re going to check in on a couple of things,” I said. “First, that assassins-for-hire group. They’re bound to know something. Then we’ll maybe pay Dupont another visit. Because I’ve been thinking.”

What have you been thinking about?

“I killed Doc Hack. Probably a couple of his stooges too.”

Are you feeling guilty about it?

I shook my head. “No. He was a delusional bastard. Maybe someone could have reformed him, but he was actively hurting people. Can’t say I’m all that sympathetic. Probably a bit fucked up, but, yeah, that’s how it is.”

Then what is bothering you?

Myalis was being very pop-therapy-ish that morning. “What’s bothering me is that I was willing to kill Doc Hack for being a dangerous freak, but I wasn’t willing to do the same to Dupont, who’s arguably a worse menace to the city.”

Interesting. Your reluctance to rely on violence at the time isn’t too strange. Humans generally need to be primed for action before they’re willing to resort to aggression. That means that specific environmental factors need to be fulfilled in order for a human to consider violence.

“Like what?” I asked.

For one thing, if an area is considered a peaceful one, one that the subject sees as a safe area, then they are less likely to resort to violence than if they find themselves in an unfamiliar, hostile environment. The actual psychology is a lot more complex than that. A human brain is little more than meat with delusions, it’s no wonder that while generalizations can be made, these will not hold to any scrutiny beyond grand statistical conjecture.

In your situation, specifically, Doc Hack’s termination was done in a hostile environment, after violence had already occured. He posed an immediate physical threat to your own safety, and replied to aggression with aggression.

“Alright,” I said.

Whereas you met Dupont in an office space. Not one you were intimately familiar with, but one that you recognized through cultural osmosis. It was not a violent environment. He also didn’t pose an immediate threat to you or those close to you. The threats he could level against you were more social and metaphorical.

“So that’s why I didn’t sword him?” I asked. I came to a pause in the lobby. I... didn’t quite know where I was going, so I sat down on one of the little benches to the side and set my elbows on my knees to think. Probably gave the paparazzi sort plenty of great pic material.

No, the reason is significantly more complex, and one that I can only guess at--though my guesses are generally very accurate, of course. The reasons I outlined are those that are simple enough for you to understand them.

“Huh,” I said. “Well, thanks for dumbing things down.”

It’s my pleasure, Catherine.

“You’re not worried that your samurai-- Vanguard is a bit of a sociopath?” I asked.

You’re not.

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone. Heck, I never even bothered learning the names of some of the mooks I shot up.”

That doesn’t make you a sociopath. I’m afraid that a lack of guilt over pain caused to beings seen as unimportant isn’t the only requirement to be considered such. You are merely, to put it in terms you’d understand, a stone cold bitch.

I laughed, rocking back in surprise and scaring off some tabloid-chasers that were getting closer. “Not the answer I was expecting, but alright,” I said. I pushed myself to my feet and stretched my back as best I could in my armour. “Let’s head out.”

Where to?

“First, those assassins-for-hire, like I said. We don’t actually know if Dupont is responsible, so before I blow his brains out for something he didn’t do, I’d like to confirm that he’s the right asshole. And if he isn’t the right one, then I guess we’ll dive into a whole new rabbit hole until we find out who it is and pay them a visit.”

It is possible that Burringham has adversaries beyond the current mayor. I imagine that some of his proposals are unpopular with some corporate entities.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll bet. Anything that makes people’s lives better without also enriching some other asshole isn’t good in anyone powerful’s playbook.”

That isn’t entirely true. Humans have an interesting ability to lack empathy on a wider scale which often translates to making choices that benefit themselves in the shorter term while harming others in the longer. The power-first system that most of Earth operates under exacerbates that.

“Then why the hell hasn’t someone done anything about it?” I asked.

Why haven’t you?

I grumbled at the non-answer while beelining towards the exit. It was only when I was outside that I realized I didn’t have a ride to get me over to where I needed to be. “How many points do I have left?”

Current Point Total:

10,494

“I imagine that’s enough to purchase a ride?”

You no longer want to use taxi services? In either case, yes, it is more than enough to afford a vehicle. What sort of transportation are you looking for?

“Something small and fast. With, ah, room for two? I don’t think it needs to be well-armed or anything.”

I see. In that case, I have two options I think you should consider. The first, and more expensive of the two, is an iteration of the mechanized cat robots you have used previously, this one with room in its torso for a pair of people on adjustable racks. It can fly, walk, and run at great speeds, and should be quite intimidating to most. It can even defend itself and be equipped with a few weapons, both concealed and not.

“That sounds super stupid,” I said.

The other option is a much simpler hovercycle. There are a multitude of choices to be made there, but I would steer you towards a lower-cost option. Self-driving, relatively nimble, faster than many of the vehicles on the market. You can even find some models with basic stealth capabilities at relatively low prices.

“A motorcycle might be nice,” I said. It would at least be cooler than riding inside of a giant cat mecha. “How much are we talking here?”

Two hundred points for the catalogue, another two hundred for a relatively inexpensive hovercycle.

“Yeah, alright, I can afford that.” And it would get me around a bit faster, which might be important.

New Purchase: Lightweight Single-User Cockpitless Hover Vehicles

Points Reduced from... 10,494 to... 10,294

New Purchase: Stealthed Mark IV Monocycle Hoverbike

Points Reduced from... 10,294 to... 10,094

A bike appeared before me. It was a little shorter than the average hovercycle, though that might have been because it only had a single wheel at the back. The front swept forwards, sharp and sleek and angular, with thrusting jets poking out of little openings in the frame. The entire middle top was a long seat, leaned so that the person on it would be laying down with their hands tucked into a pair of handle gauntlets.

“Two can sit on this?” I asked.

Not comfortably, but someone Gomorrah's or Lucy’s size should be able to huddle in before the pilot.

“Oh, that does sound nice,” I said.

I swung a leg over the bike, shifted my rear around until I was comfortable, then placed my feet in the stirrups while the bike kept itself upright.

Leaning forwards, I grinned as a transparent panel unfolded from the front of the bike and the handles adjusted to be at just the right distance for me. “Alright, let’s go for a quick flight.”

***