The Unfortunate Assassination of chadz
Finally it struck. I'm going home.
The other pedestrians were giving me queer looks while hurrying to their next destination. The rain had been falling for five days and Brussels was for the first time in months at peace. Protests were an everyday phenomenon these days. There were protests against the anti-aging drug, protests against artificial limbs, protests against the first colony ships, protests against protests. Fuck, I'm glad to get out of this shithole and back home. For a second or two I wondered whether home would be the same after 44 years, but then I decided it did not matter, as long as she would be there. My low-grade optical enhancement was flickering again from disturbance caused by holo-ads. Even when I closed my eyes it flickered, but I knew I wouldn't have to put up with it much longer so I didn't care. This one last job, the job I had been waiting for, had suddenly solved nearly all of my problems.
It had all started three weeks ago when a man dressed like your standard corporate clone knocked on my door. He introduced himself, called himself Deckard, and explained that he and his associates were interested in getting through a locked door. I answered that I'm retired from that line of work but a seven digit reward and new identity quickly changed my mind. It hadn't been easy. The first thing I had noticed was that remote access to their security codes was impossible, or let's say improbable. Impossible is a word I've done away with a long time ago. However, the CEO of the company we were breaking in to was connected with a direct line to their systems from his personal computer two blocks from the office. This discovery had made my task significantly easier, but Deckard had not been pleased. He didn't like having to break in to two places at once, but convincing him had not been too hard.
So one fateful night, last night to be more precise, we went through with our little plan. It all went surprisingly smoothly. The security didn't even know we'd been there, until they found the janitor with a bullet lodged in his cerebrum in a closet this morning and noticed that all the company holo-ads were replaced with pictures of donkeys. Deckard had managed to get his hand on some highly trained mercenaries, not that uncommon these days, but they weren't cheap. They never told me what they were after, and I decided not to press the issue. All I wanted was the passport and the money to buy a ticket home and not have to work for a few years.
I stopped by a food stance to grab me some French fries one last time. I had received the money and the passport earlier and there was only one last thing to do, so I started walking along Chaussée de Charleroi back to my apartment to pack my belongings. I opened the door to my 22 square meter apartment and saw my bag already packed on my bed. I must be growing old. Even with the anti-age medicine I was considered old. Not many on the drug survived to 150 years old and I'm 152. I walked over to my bag and saw a note that said:
visitors can't see pics , please
register or
loginThe bang did not come unexpected. At least I'm out of this shithole.
My last thoughts were about my optical enhancement and how it had finally stopped flickering.
