Vaporize (cryptopunk) Part 2
I've incorporated the winner's, @mikepm74, answer to my contest in this story. I did my best to find a balance to his idea for an outcome. I hope you enjoy.
Alan sat down at the table with Roger. "Hi Roger."
Roger sipped his coffee drink. "Horror all around."
Alan was wearing a sweater and khakis. "Are we in a bad neighborhood? I haven't been to this cafe before."
"The violent, the insane, the sensual, and don't forget the successful."
Alan got up and headed toward the counter. "I'm going to get something."
"The successful; those who have arrived and don't want the others in. They are strangers that seemingly mean no ill will, but are wary of letting anyone new into what they perceive as their world."
Alan ordered a coffee drink.
"The sharp nose. The indifferent eyes. The tailored clothes and well-tended bodies. A posture or a look from them can send your mind, your willpower, rheeling."
Alan watched the guy make his coffee.
"It's not the gangsters or the mentally ill shouting at the street that burrow so deep into our psyche. The successful reflect feelings of inadequacy, failure, and doom. They are picture perfect, but it's a trick. They're a crazy mirror that you warp your own reflection to without realizing it."
Alan sat back down. "OK, what now?"
"The dregs of society in the wharf. They've essentially got their own economy. It's the wharf, but if you're part of the working order, then you've entered what they call Grackle. It's an interconnected web of individuals who run programs with vaporizers filled with liquid-nano."
"Is that what you brought me here to say, Roger?"
"The violent, the insane, the sensual, the ones who have warped themselves into what the successful would have them believe they really are. All of the pissed-on are becoming organized. What do you think that means for everyone including us?"
Alan sipped his coffee drink. His eyebrows jumped.
"It means there's a schism. It means there's money to be made for the few who know about it."
The young man watched the devil girl's eyes, a smirk rested on his face. "How much this bozo paying for your upload?"
She looked bored. "110 seconds."
"When I was five, I took a cookie from the cookie jar."
"104 seconds."
"I murdered my entire family with that cookie."
"99 seconds."
He removed a device from his coat. It looked like a phone. "Can I take a picture of you? Very nice metal work you got there. Very involved."
"No. 82 seconds."
She looked like the boredom was killing her. "If I don't give you something juicy are you going to die at the end of the count?"
"Feels that way, 70 seconds."
"What's your name?"
"65 seconds."
"That's very pretty."
She didn't say anything. He put his hands in his pockets. He liked her eyes. They were strange human eyes. Maybe South American. Maybe Japanese. Dark, menacing, dead and calculating. She sighed and the metal groaned a little.
"I remember when you were whole."
"Nice try, but those are my secrets. 20 seconds."
"You'll never be whole again." He approached. "Neither will I."
She gave him a hard look. "10 seconds."
His eyes shifted. One green, one pink. His smirk grew.
"OK, time's--"
"I'm Death."