Sir ChickenBurger
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Prey- Chapter One
🕑 Added 2024-03-28 22:30:01 +0000 UTCAs mentioned in my earlier post, here's a little something to tide you all over before we resume our regularly scheduled Killer Kittens.
Synopsis:
In a not so distant future, the advancement of technology remains unfettered, propelled onwards by the deep pockets and ruthless practises of enormous megacorporations. Beneath the neon signage of Kingdom City, Jace and his sister Mouse rely on a unique set of skills to put food on the table; donning the skins of exotic, largely extinct animals to compete in a popular full-dive video game called The Hunt.
Their clientele are willing to pay handsomely to experience a very specific kind of thrill. But both the game and everything that surrounds it is shrouded by a host of hidden dangers.
They're very good at what they do, even if what they do might be killing them. Especially Jace. But that's okay, because it's not like he's never died before. On the contrary, he might be getting used to it.
Run.
The nails of his front feet tore furrows in the damp ground and ripped a clod of earth out from under his chest, flinging it back behind him in a spray of cold dirt. Blades of icy grass crackled beneath his paws and the cold air cut like a knife through the bottom of his lungs as he tore across the sod.
The wind had shifted, and not in his favour.
A crashing of brush from the far side of the field split the night air, and he cursed internally. The Fox was coming.
No time to look back. He had to hope that the head start would count for something.
A familiar heat rose in him, a surge of adrenaline and fear, primal and red that propelled him onwards, lungs heaving and ears flat across the velvet of his back. Not for the first time, he cursed his bobbing white tail behind him; it would be a beacon in the half-moon light.
Over the log.
A sharp scrape on his shoulder, pain washed away by an epinephrine rush. Fur pulled away from flesh and hot blood welled up to spill in burning flecks to mark the grass behind him. Then the sharp stabbing intensified into a deeper ache that grew with every galloping stride. A splinter. That would slow him down.
Where the hell was that burrow?
Under the bramble bush. That might slow the Fox. There was no entrance to the warren here, he couldn’t stop. Another crashing sound broke through the night, followed by a muffled yip of annoyance. Keep running, out the other side.
A field. Pelting across open ground now, and he could hear the slavering pants as the fox picked its way across the momentary obstacle. On the other side of the clearing was a copse of trees that hid the nearest tunnel. It was a straight shot to safety.
Legs hammering, he hurtled over strands of grass and meadow flowers that whipped at his belly, taking the final straight at a dead sprint. Even as the trees drew nearer, the thundering of paws behind him came closer, growing louder until it resonated with the thrum in his chest, becoming all-consuming.
He rounded the first tree, and zigged, spearing off to the left, and just in time as a sharp snap sounded behind him, and he felt hot breath on his back as the Fox’s jaws closed shut on nothing but a tuft of tail fur and the beast pivoted, angling after him in another frenzied charge.
He spurred himself on, a final burst of energy all he had left in the tank as the Fox speared forwards again, jaws stretching as wide as the burrow entrance that finally opened in front of him. He dove, and the Fox’s jaws dove with him.
Safe! The welcoming embrace of soil and roots closed about him as the Fox slammed down on the mouth of the burrow with a loud thud, and trickles of sand ran in rivulets about his body where he lay shivering in the tunnel. Dirt, cool and comforting hugged him like a familiar blanket.
For a few glorious seconds, he lay still, his chest beating like a drum, body wracked and shaking with exertion as adrenaline coursed through his system. Finally, the Rabbit brain came to the realisation that it was safe, and his eyes rolled back.
Pure pleasure filled him; a light-headed rush of chemical bliss as endorphins filled his brain to mingle with the adrenaline dump. His legs straightened out like boards, sticking out at odd angles as he twitched in ecstasy. Escaping death was a better feeling than any drug, and Jace basked in it for a full minute, until the darkness came creeping at the edges of his vision and a celebratory chime echoed throughout the clearing.
Game Over. Prey wins!
Slowly, the fuzzy haze of victory and the warmth of the burrow were replaced by the cool caress of night air again, and his surroundings faded away to leave him standing, on two legs now, in the middle of a clearing beneath a bright half-moon.
That’ll put Mouse in quite the mood, he thought, and then grinned as he imagined the look on his sister’s face. Time to call it quits for the day.
Pinging off a few quick mental commands, he powered down the Shellbox, and any awareness of his virtual surroundings fell away into a deep pool of dark blue nothingness. He floated for a while, suspended in cushioning silence as the machine powered down.
Then, in a burst of pins and needles, he became aware of his fingers and toes again, and bright spears of light pricked at the backs of his eyelids as his own flesh and blood body awakened back under his control.
One of the biggest hurdles that full-dive technology faced in its infancy was that the human brain did not cope well with full sensory loss. No matter how much work had been put in, the transition from biological body to virtual shell and back was an abrupt and uncomfortable experience.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck he recited to himself as the all too familiar feeling swept over him.
The urge to move and shake off the itching and tingling wasn’t even one he could succumb to— inhibitors designed to prevent user injury remained in effect until the Shellbox was completely powered down, and that was a process that couldn’t be rushed. The most he could do right now was move his eyes behind their heavy lids and scream internally.
Which was fine. He was used to it.
A cold sensation, like a trickle of ice water ran down from the top of his head to the base of his spine, gradually growing warmer and warmer as the tingling intensified and true feeling started to return to his body. He waited until he could twitch a finger, and then another ten seconds before slowly parting his eyes and reaching up and behind his head to flick a small switch on the inside of the capsule.
The Shellbox whirred softly as the screen above his body slid aside. He stretched, toes almost reaching the bottom of the capsule and stifled a grunt as thousands of nerve endings flared back into life. He worked his arm and fingers slowly, flexing and rotating as he pulled himself up to poke his head over the top of the pod.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of neon RGBs and a sliver of light from the closed window that fell halfway along the PsychoCop poster on the wall— morning had come. As he peered over the side of the capsule, a loud shuffling and a series of muffled curses broke the silence.
“Goddammit Jace, those brambles fucking hurt.” A tuft of bright red hair and a face flushed with annoyance poked up from a second pod against the far wall.
“Precious predators,” he glibbed back, working his jaw up and down until the numbness went, and he could manage a smirk. “Getting all worked up over a few scrapes. You know you ripped my throat out literally twenty minutes earlier, right? You should try choking to death on your own blood and then get back to me about the thorns.”
“Fucking weirdo,” Mouse groaned, hauling herself up over the side and practically tumbling out of the Shellbox. “I’ll never understand prey players.”
“And I keep telling you it’s all about the win,” he shot back. “There is no better feeling than not having your throat ripped out. It’s the ride-alongs that freak me out. Some of them are actually disappointed when I survive. They reckon they’re missing out on all the good bits. All that negative feedback sours the win sometimes.”
“Ugh. At least mine all agree with me. Victory is meant to taste good.” Mouse grinned toothily, stretching her legs out.
“I’m just going to ignore the implication that it’s me you’re enjoying the taste of and move on.”
Mouse wrinkled her nose. “You’re my brother, don’t make it weird.”
“It is weird. We’re weird. Pretty sure there’s no arguing that.”
“Okay, but you’re weirder.”
“Whatever.” He sighed, then grimaced as his stomach growled. “I’m hungry, gonna go heat some packets. You want one?”
“Didn’t we make enough last week for some real food? I want ramen.” Mouse whined, as she pulled a skirt up over her skintight Shellsuit leggings and then peeled them down.
“Debt first, you know that. And go get changed in your own damn room.” Jace scowled with annoyance, averting his eyes as he picked his way across the cluttered room towards the rehydrator.
“Just don’t look, weirdo.” Mouse grumped, and he heard a rustle of fabric as she peeled the top layer off too. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me in underwear before.”
“I’ve successfully purged anything I have seen from my brain. You’re my sister, you’re meant to care about your privacy.”
“I’m not risking damage to my suit for your comfort. Besides, I just tried to disembowel you. I think we’re past being too precious about boundaries.”
“Well, how about my boundaries? I’d rather not have to bleach my eyeballs today.” Jace swung the cupboard door open and rummaged about. “Shit, we’re running low. Gotta restock the pantry sometime soon.”
Mouse gasped in mock horror. “I knew it, I’m hideous.”
“You’re impossible is what you are. Packet?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Jace pulled two small foil shrink-wrapped packets down from the shelf, looking them over with a frown. “You want fake bacon or fake beef?”
“Anything but fake bacon.”
Jace sighed, rummaging for a second packet of beef but coming up short. “You know what, you’re right. I’m sick of packets. It’s a Saturday, so maybe we should go see Hamish tonight. See about us getting some action. Once we’ve landed ourselves a win we can go for that ramen.”
Mouse snorted. “Fuck that, I need sleep. Plus,” she wrinkled her nose, “I hate Hamish. He’s as dirty as his money, and I don’t even want to know where half of that comes from.”
Jace hummed noncommittally. “People pay for what they like, M. Some people just like fucked-up shit. Like tearing the heads off innocent little bunnies. He might be a psycho, but he’s our one shot at making it in this city. It’s this or joining a crew, and I’d rather do what we’re good at.”
“I’m just saying, be careful with him. It’s our asses on the line if he thinks he can make more money out of us some other way.” Mouse’s lip twitched.
Jace sighed. “He knows we’re earners. It’s not worth his time pimping us out for anything except The Hunt.”
“Well, I still don’t like him. Have you seen how the girls he keeps around look at him? It’s like someone sucked all the life out of them.”
“His money’s good.”
“I just don’t want us relying on him is all.” Mouse huffed, sidling over to the mirror to fix her hair. It fell messily, a shock of vibrant, artificial red across pale skin. She fussed for a while over it while Jace speared the nozzle of the rehydrator into the first packet and a hiss of steam filled the room.
“It’s a bit late for that now. We owe him. Gotta go where the money is.” Jace said, dumping the contents of the packet— a pale-looking slop that smelled faintly of something that a sales representative had at some point decided resembled beef— into a bowl and slid it across the table. “Grub’s up.”
Mouse snatched it and tipped the bowl back, half the portion disappearing in the first few gulps. She leaned back and sighed. “I’m more worried about you than anything else, you know. He said last time that he makes more when the runner loses. What if he asks you to start taking the fall? That shit can’t be good for you.”
“He can’t.” Jace leaned back as the second packet hissed with hot steam. “The ride-alongs would know. If I’m not trying to win the whole thing’s ruined for them. I asked them after one of my matches, just to be sure.”
“You talk to your ride-alongs? Mine are all bloodthirsty creeps.”
“Pretty rich coming from you.”
Mouse stiffened. “Whatever. I work for my prey. It takes speed, skill, and smarts to do what I do. I’m playing to win. They just want the feeling of killing something. It’s not the same thing.”
An awkward silence fell on the pair as they finished their meals before Jace sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re not a creep, and I get it. Mine suck too.”
“Whatever.”
“I only talk to the ride-alongs because they’re the ones putting food on the table. And yeah, some of them are gross. So, are you in or not?”
“Hmm?”
“Hamish. I’m going to go see him. If you’re out, I can tell him not to bother you.”
“Like he’d listen to you.”
Jace rolled his eyes. “Well?”
Mouse sighed and sat quietly for a moment, kicking her feet out in front of her before answering. “The pay had better be good. I’m not putting up with all those degenerate fucks buzzing around in the back of my head otherwise. It’s gross.”
“It sounded like he made good money off us last time. If we made it a regular thing…”
“Ugh.”
“People pay more for a sure thing, sis. It’s better than whoring ourselves out or ending up on the gear like Kri—”
“I don’t want to talk about Kris.” Mouse said sharply, and her eyes caught his in a warning glare. He took a half step back and looked away, conceding the point.
“All I’m saying is that this?” Jace held his arms open, gesturing to the dark, cramped apartment. “It’s not a lot, but it all goes away when the money stops coming in.”
Her hand balled into a fist. “I fucking know that. Don’t patronize me.”
“Look, we’ve been practising hard. I’m tired, you’re tired, we both need sleep. But there’s no point in being good at something in this city unless it makes you money. And the only money that comes from being the best at what we do comes from people like Hamish.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Sleep on it. If you really don’t want to see Hamish again… I’ll think of something.”
Mouse scowled at him. “My hero.”
Shrugging and stifling a yawn, Jace staggered over to the curtain that separated his nook from the rest of the apartment. Pulling it shut behind him did nothing to muffle the clattering from Mouse’s side— she often stayed up well past his hours— but it did give him a tiny slice of privacy in a city that didn’t care much for the concept. Reaching out, his hands could easily lay flat against both the back wall and the curtain; there wasn’t space for anything more than the cot and a tiny desk crammed full of the few personal items he owned. Still, there was enough room for him to stretch his toes to almost the base of the bed and let the last of the pins and needles fade away in relative comfort.
Peeling back the Shellsuit was always a challenge in such a cramped space; he had to be careful not to stretch the fabric too far, or he’d damage the nodes sewn throughout the delicate synthskin. That would be a disaster— used suits were a huge gamble, and they’d been incredibly lucky to find ones in as good condition as these, even with the sizeable debt they’d taken on to get them. He had to go slow, wriggling free from it like a snake shedding its skin.
Once he’d extracted himself from it, he hung it carefully from a hook on the wall and then all but collapsed into bed, his exhausted brain barely registering the feathery touch of the well-worn pillow before the world faded away, and sleep claimed him.
