Karma

The phone buzzed on the table, lighting up the room. He awoke with a start. It was late evening, the room was dark, save for the dim glow of his phone. Outside, the neon circus was coming to life.  

It was the same dream again. It had to mean something. He was too much of realist to believe that a recurring dream was a prediction of his future, but he couldn't ignore the fact that this dream kept coming up, again and again. Maybe it was a nightmare. He couldn't tell. It always cut off at the same point; with him standing at the edge of a building, contemplating his actions. It never went further. 

He picked up his phone. It had buzzed about seven times now, not that he was keeping count. It was her again. "I need your help. I'm in way over my head. Meet me at the bar in Shinjuku in an hour. And get your gun. Can't say anymore over the phone. They could be listening. Shinjuku. One hour. Bye".

She cut the call before he could ask any questions. Not that he had any questions to ask. This kind of conversation had become common. She was always getting into trouble, and he was always bailing her out. The same routine, over and over. This needed to stop. Much like his dream.

He got up, and walked over to the bathroom. As the warm LEDs came on, he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. Helping all those people had taken a toll on him. But he couldn't stop. He knew people were too selfish to care for anyone else. And like the girl, there were far too many people getting themselves in situations they couldn't get themselves out of. The girl was a little different though. She was genuinely thankful. Unfortunately she didn't thank him the in way he wanted: By getting out, and cleaning up her life.

His body was telling him to stop. To slow down. The marks and scars, all reminders of how he had saved someone or the other from certain death. It was time to save himself as well.  

He washed up, and walked over to his closet. He grabbed his white body armor. It had seen better days, much like him, but had held up when he needed it. Hopefully he wouldn't tonight. Over that he wore a white shirt, and his leather jacket. He then grabbed his energy pistol, and tucked it into his jeans. He also grabbed a smaller snub nose revolver. He checked the rounds. It was his first weapon. It still fired case-less ammunition, instead of energy burst rounds, but, like his armor, it had been there when he needed it. 

He laced up his boots, and grabbed his phone as he headed out the door. If he had been a religious man, he would've said a small prayer. But religion and faith had failed him more times than he could count. If there was a god, he clearly had it out for him. 

He walked down the street, towards the subway. He was only a couple of stops from Shinjuku, and had the better part of a half hour. He loved the look of the metropolis. There was a certain charm to its ugliness. The giant, neon lit towers that pierced the night sky were once a sign of the future, but now were derelict, in dire need of repairs. In between, the tubes of the pneumatic trains, and the ribbons of the magnetic roads carved their way through the sprawl. In what little space was left, slums and shanty towns, made from old shipping containers, had sprung up. 

He entered the station, and made his way down the tunnels and stairs, towards the platform. It was nearly empty, save for an urchin, napping on a bench. He began thinking about her, and why she wanted to meet this time. Every time had been similar, but also different. They all followed the same pattern, but the specific reason always varied. Once it was because she had stolen drugs from the 18K . Once it was because she couldn't pay off The Boss. Various drug busts, assault and theft, were also in the mix. He knew she could change. And he still held out hope she would. He had lost enough people to addiction.

She was hooked on Mind Melts. She hooked up her mind to a digital interface, and tried to experience the ecstasy of an alternate, manufactured reality. Unfortunately the trips always ended when the money ran out, and one had to return to the grime and struggle of the real world. Once hooked, people would do anything to get a few more minutes in cyberspace. It was like a dream, but one that you remembered when you woke up. One that you craved and longed to live in. He had lost friends and family to these trips when they first came out, and didn't want others to experience the same fate, and spent his time busting out and helping people like her. The allure of the trip was hard to shake, and many ended up on the wrong side of the law, or of the mob. 

He thought about his dream again. He had tried a Mind Melt when he was younger, but had never gotten addicted. He would rather try to change his world than escape it. This dream though, reminded him of the time he had taken a Melt. It was clear in his mind. The buildings, the edge of the world, the choice he had to make. But it wasn't clear enough that he could find the building. Or remember the choice. Or why he was there.  

He got to the platform. A half dozen people were waiting for the next pneumatic train. He tapped his phone against the turnstile. He hadn't got one of those new implants that allowed him to just walk past these. He didn’t how complex life was becoming and how fast things needed to be changed and replaced. It had reached the point where people too became obsolete within a couple of years. He couldn't deal with that. 

The lasers of the turnstile switched off to let him through. The train arrived in a couple of minutes. Around him, everyone was staring at holograms on their phones or tablets. Whether or not they were addicted to Mind Melts, people were certainly addicted to the altered reality of the digital world. Around him, billboards called out to people. Scanning their irises and his, and scanning through their online history to identify what they liked, and bombarding them with "appropriate content". No one paid much attention, unless something inappropriate popped up. Like ads for prostitution dens, or fetish equipment. That's what it took to get people's attention. That's what the world had come to.  

He kept thinking about people. About his actions. About whether they really mattered in the end. Where would it end? And how would it end? Would he die trying to save someone? Would he retire, and live out the rest of his days listlessly? And then what? What would happens next?  A bearded man at the pearly gates? Or would he be reborn? If he was going to be reborn, he would’ve liked to be a crow. Or a turtle. Definitely not a human. Would he even have a choice, or would the decisions he made here and now predict his eventual outcome? Hopefully he would just sleep and never wake up. Perhaps then he would learn the end of the dream.

He boarded the train, and kept a low profile. It zipped quickly through the stops. A few minutes later, and he was standing at Shinjuku station. Unlike the stop near his place, Shinjuku was full. It was always full. All day, all night, the people kept going. The bright lights, and giant towers often meant they couldn't tell the difference anyway. It bore a permanent magenta glow from the neon lights around the station. This was the center of the universe.

The bar she was talking about was in a penthouse, a little off the main road. It was fairly secluded, but still accessible, and offered a view of the entire metropolis, from a hundred stories up. The buildings here were packed tight, and the next one was only a few feet away. He walked in, to the sounds of a live electro-dub act. The bar was fairly crowded, but he could see her cyan hair anywhere. He made his way through the crowd to her. It had been an hour, a minute, and seventeen seconds since she had called.

He tapped her on her shoulder, and she turned and hugged him. "Thank God you're here. I'm in trouble. Big trouble. Not like those other times. This time it's bad. I didn't know what else to do. I don't know if you can help either, but you're the only one I can turn to. This isn't some triad or government agency, or someone you can just pay off or shoot. It's much bigger than that. I've opened Pandora's Box". 

"Who is it?” he asked.

“What did you do?" He shouted over the music.  

Just then, the skylight above them shattered into a million pieces. The dance floor, and the people on it were showered with tiny shards of glass. He looked up, and then he turned to her, and he realized it was too late.

It had taken just a fraction of a second. A single shot, a shower of glass, and she was gone. She grabbed her chest, but the blood still soaked into her clothes, and she collapsed on the floor. As she struggled to breathe, she managed to let out the words: "Thank You"; and then she was gone. He couldn't stop the bullet, but maybe he could stop the shooter.

He ran up the fire escape onto the roof. He could see a dark figure on the next building. He ran and jumped across the small gap. The figure began moving as well. But it moved unlike any man, gliding rather than running. And was cloaked in a strange darkness. Even the bright neon lights of Shinjuku didn't light up its face.

It jumped over the edge, and on to the fire escape of the next building. He pulled out his energy pistol and followed suit. It ran up the shaft with ease, gliding up from floor to floor. He followed as fast as he could. He tried to shoot, but couldn't get a clean shot, and couldn't risk injuring a by stander. Before long the figure had disappeared onto the roof of the building. Seconds later he too reached the top. Below them, the metropolis glowed, above them the stars. The winds buffeted him, but he stood his ground, and slowly approached the figure, his arms outstretched, his pistol trained on the figure.

"Stop!" He shouted out. "There's no where to go! Surrender now!", trying to raise his voice over the din of the city below.  

And then the figure disappeared down the side of the building. He ran across the roof, stopping a few feet short of the edge. He looked around, and then he looked down below. He couldn't tell where it had gone. He looked around again. He had been here before. 

In the dream he was standing at the edge of this very building. What had led him here?  What had killed the girl? He had done everything he could to save her, but this time, he just couldn't. What did her words mean? Bigger than the mob, and the government? What was she talking about? And did any of it matter, now that she was gone? Did anything matter? He stood at the edge of the roof, and looked at the people on the roofs, and sidewalks below him.

The phone buzzed on the table, lighting up the room. He awoke with a start. It was late evening, the room was dark, save for the dim glow of his phone. Outside, the neon circus was coming to life.  

It was the same dream again. It had to mean something.