Short Story - Ash, 2020

Dear Reader,

This is a Cyberpunk 2020 short piece I put together about a year or two ago after playing the TTRPG. I tried, in places, to pay homage to the ethereal writing style of William Gibson's Neuromancer. I hope you enjoy. 

~H.J. Buck

Neon lights flickered in a field of darkness, cascading off of floods of dancing pedestrians. Throughout the room, the buzz and hum of modern music berated what little remained of their eardrums. The nightclub smelled like must, booze, and second hand smoke. Ash, NCPD Detec, sat at a rust-stained booth. He was a complete contrast from the partying denizens; blinded by their revelry. He had been there for a haze of time, watching with cybernetic eyes and waiting patiently.

“You’re a cop, aren’t’cha, baby?” A female voice called over.

“How’d you guess?” Ash responded in a monotone voice. He turned his head. The voice was a young woman standing at the edge of the crowd. Pretty, he noted. She wore colors which rivaled the neon lights. She was dramatically augmented, almost enough to the point that “cyborg” wouldn’t be an insult. Ash was one to talk, though, with his augmented eyes and cheap metal arm. The lights reflected off of the woman’s chrome cybernetics, making her look like digital distortion.

  “Because cops are boring, and I can tell you’re no fun.” Her voice had a playful gleam. Ash couldn’t tell if her edge was taken off by bliss or booze. Maybe both. 

“How do you know I’m not fun?” He asked, meeting her glowing gaze. 

“Because there’s a fucking bitchin’ party and you’re sitting there all alone like an asshole.”

“I’m working.”

“See? No fun, asshole,” she stated, saying that last word with a playful giggle before turning around and disintegrating into the crowd. She was right. This, among many reasons, was why Detective Ash hated parties. 

Ash disliked this party in particular, with its indistinct pandemonium of drugged up punks and abrasive music. He wondered if it was his nomad roots, but he hadn’t lived in the badlands since he was a kid. Night City was his home now, whether he liked it or not. 

The detective sat there quietly for a few more minutes before suddenly, he was joined by a spindly man and his burly bodyguard. Ash looked at them both, his bright blue cybernetic retinas scanning them with an untrusting gaze. He knew them both. The bodyguard was Rage; hired muscle who worked for different gangs on and off. The gangly one was called Bisby Bracken, a low-tier fixer who was as likeable as radiation dust. He wore clothes of countless colors. Kitsch, they called it; all style, no substance. 

“Didn’t think you were gonna show your face, Ash.” Bisby said, grinning wolfishly with gold teeth. Ash could smell cheap moonshine on his breath. 

“You’re the one who’s late.”

“Fashionably, fashionably,” he responded, flicking away a cigarette butt. “Besides, I’m the one who called this little meetup.”

“Was the party your idea?” Ash asked in a monotone voice. 

Bisby scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You see, Ash, that’s your problem. You can’t ever have fun.”

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” Ash grumbled. “Get to the point, Bracken. Why are we here?” Ash was hoping this would be worth his while. Bracken was scum, but he was connected. That could be useful.

“What’s the point of you guys anyway?” The Fixer was distracting again and it was old before it began. “Private cops are so much more efficient. The NCPD is old news, man. But you; you’re the most obsolete.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because you still think it’s about good guys and bad guys, man.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” Ash was getting uneasy. “Just to tell me you don’t like me very much?”

“Naw, man,” Bisby said as he lit another cigarette. He puffed it and exhaled the smoke into the musty air. “I don’t really give a fuck about you, Ash. But my boss? He’s a different story… and he’s got a message for you.”

Before Ash’s heart even had a chance to beat, Bisby pointed a pistol at his face and moved his finger to the trigger. Ash only had a millisecond to respond. He jerked his head to the left, sending him to the side as the bullet burst through the back of the booth. Before Bisby could reload, Ash kicked the table into the thug and drew his own pistol.

“Fuck!” Bisby cried before Ash’s bullet ripped through his chest. He died immediately. 

Ash was so dumbfounded that he did not even realize that Rage had picked him up. The hired muscle lifted him with ease and threw him into the crowd of party goers; most of them hadn’t even noticed or cared. 

Ash quickly sat up and shook his head. He was still in a daze when he turned to finish Rage the same way he had killed Bisby, but he realized that his gun was gone. Damn it.

Rage did not even say a word as he drove his boot into Ash’s face. The detective shot blood from his mouth and nose as he went back down. As he was lifted again, he made eye contact with his assailant. There was a reason they called him Rage; he liked this work. He’d rather kill Ash with his bare hands than use the gun at his hip. He rammed his head against Ash’s, sending his consciousness halfway through cyberspace. He did it again, then again, and then… BAM. The two of them crashed to the ground. 

This time, it was enough for the partiers to scatter. On the dancefloor, the neon lights still flickered, the music still blared, but there were no dancers to be seen. Just Ash and the dead body of the man he had just shot with his own gun. 

This was just another day in Night City. The detective wiped his face absently, smearing the blood. Rage had done a number on him. But whoever that boss was would have to be disappointed… for now. As Ash got up and left the club, he could not help but think how bad he was at parties.