171 lines
9.1 KiB
Plaintext
171 lines
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Fortune Smiles
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by Obscure Images
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>>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
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|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
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Three AM on the corner of Belmont and Clark in Chicago, there was a foul
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smelling mist in the air. In the old days, when I was a kid, the air was
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pretty bad, but it was still somewhat clear. In the old days there were many
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different things. He was standing in the rubble where the Dunkin Donuts used
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to be.
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There is always change, I'd read when I was still looking to the distant
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future. Yeah, change, that's true, but usually for the worst. I was pulled
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from my nostalgic reverie by a little rasta who called himself the Crasher.
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"Yo, Jonny, what's goin' on?"
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"Nothin' man, nothin' at all."
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"You hear about Seth taking the 6?"
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"No, what happened?"
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"The way I hear it, Seth was doing some biz with Joe.... You know, the
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fat geeze that's running the 'dorphins down on Fullerton? Well, anyways, Seth
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was lookin' to score some to sell to the burbies, but he didn't have the cash
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to do it straight, so he planned a meet with Joe, and when he got there he iced
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the fucker and made off with the goods and the cash."
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"What a fucking idiot, everyone knows that Joe was a company man. So Seth
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is Deep-6? The fucker deserved it for being so stupid."
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"No shit man, you don't fuck with the company men."
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"What's the deal with the G-brains, Crash man. They still on?" I asked.
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"Yeah, those crazy assholes are still wanting you around for some reason.
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They tell me that you can do something for em. Personally I'd stay away from
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the G-brains, man, they're too fucking strange," he said.
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"Where's the meet?" I asked him.
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"They said that they'd find you when they wanted to talk to you, so watch
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yourself. Anyway I gotta get movin' got some deals down Clark to attend to,"
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Crasher said, and started down the block.
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I was confused about the whole situation, wondering what the G-brains
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would want me for. I'd tried to keep a low profile, always staying away from
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the high risk deals... just enough dealing to make it look like it was my only
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source of income. The G-brains had more than their share of resources,
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however, so it would be possible that they could know who I really was. While
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I was pondering the situation, I'd walked a couple of blocks to an ancient
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building down on Seminary and School. Used to be a dance club there when I was
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young, but it went under, and I bought the place when I was still in my 30's.
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I left the dance club motif, for the most part, mostly because it was amusing,
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partly because it was unsettling to visitors, most of whom were far too young
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to remember the place.
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When I walked into the building, disarming security for a moment, I had a
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feeling that something was wrong. Nonetheless, I climbed up the stairs and
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found some visitors.
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There were three G-brain representatives lounging on the couches in the
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lobby area, all looking vaguely vacant. When they noticed me standing there,
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the life seemed to come back into their eyes. Not a real surprise, though.
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The G-brains were something recent in the culture, but the idea had been around
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for a long time before I was born. Thanks to modern technological and
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psychological breakthroughs, the G-Brain clique could achieve a somewhat
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technologically-based telepathy. The other feature of the G-Brains was that
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they are all surgically modified to look exactly like each other. It appeared
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as if I was in a room full of pale skinned black clad clones, but I wasn't
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really afraid.
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"Nice to see you, Jonny, we were wondering when you were going to come
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home," said G.
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"I had some biz to take care of, G. What brings you into my home?" I
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asked.
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"We know who you really are, Jonny, or Mr. Braintrust if you prefer,"
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stated G. with a smile on their faces.
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"I prefer Jonny, G. What's your point?" I questioned.
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"We need some work from you, and we can pay you adequately."
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"What makes you think that I want to work for you."
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"You will want to, Jonny, you will," said G, and the three of them walked
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down the stairs and let themselves out.
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I got out of my street clothes and lowered myself into bed. I couldn't
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sleep. I'd have to move in a few days, before the word got out. I'd be
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swarmed with people bothering me all day and night, people throwing themselves
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at my feet as if I was something more than human. It makes me sick to think
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about it. They were right on the money about who I was despite the clever ways
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I hid myself.
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My real name is Terrence Braintrust, it was something else before that,
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but I had it legally changed when I was 23 years old, so there is no record of
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whom I used to be. I am a writer. I tell stories, and I sell them. I am an
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artist, I do my works, and then I sell them. I was lucky, I hit a nerve in
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society, a nerve that I exploited ceaselessly for many years, until it began to
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get stale. I found another niche for myself, and kept going. When I was 54
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I was the most famous author of my day, even the usually rabid critics were
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beginning to find significance in my work. None of it was of any consequence
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to me. I had been married, and then divorced once by that point, I hated my
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fans. Around the same time, corporate scientists worked out a way of using
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nano-tech to rejuvenate a person. Eventually, I talked myself into using the
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process, which was very expensive, and said goodbye to everyone I had known
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before. I wanted a new life. I came out of the process looking like I had
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when I was 25 years old, but feeling every year of my actual age. After I
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recovered enough to leave the hospital, I disappeared out of the public eye,
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living wherever I wanted to for however long I wanted to stay.
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I still wrote paying material, although I spent most of my time either
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working on my secret project, or wandering the streets and committing minor
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crimes. Once again, thanks to the streets, I began tweaking nerves in the
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people again. Since I began on the streets, about a hundred years ago, I've
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been eight different people. All killed off eventually, thanks to modern
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medicine and plastic surgery. Soon it would be time for a ninth person.
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A message flashed on the terminal screen next to my bed. It was from the
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G-Brains. The message described what they were planning to do, and what part I
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would play in the whole thing if I decided to join with them. They had been
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working on a different model of my secret project, which will remain a secret
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until it is unleashed on the world. Yeah, I had to get rid of Jonny, the time
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for running was over. I returned to being myself, Terrence Braintrust, nobody
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else.
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I can't tell you about what I did right now. It is not ready to be
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disclosed. My function in the society above was finished, it was my turn to
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sink into the iridescent pools of the land below, the land within. The
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G-Brains finished hooking me to the device, and stood waiting for the procedure
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to end. Moments later they picked up my empty body and threw it down a shoot
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to an incinerator. I don't care. I'd already left.
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_______ __________________________________________________________________
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/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
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((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
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[ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/468-5802|Lunatic Labs........213/655-0691|
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\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Ripco ][............312/528-5020|
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(' ') |ftp - zero.cypher.com in pub/cdc |ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
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(U) |==================================================================|
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.ooM |Copr. 1993 cDc communications by Obscure Images 12/30/93-#243|
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\_______/| Save yourself! Go outside! DO SOMETHING! |
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