A lot of you will have read tisoz's last fiction competition, of which Dark King was my entry. It was actually something I had written some time ago and was intended to be the first of three parts. I've now almost finished the first draft of part two, and I should be ready to post it in the next day or two. So I'm starting a thread for the story so that ultimately all three parts can be together. (Though they're are meant to be read as a serial, rather than in rapid succession).

When I have all three parts done, I'll look at combining them into a PDF.

Comments and feedback on all parts are very much appreciated and are a big part of the reason why I write up my stories for the site, so please let me know what you think. Obviously a lot of you will have seen the first part already, of course. I thought I might as well start things off, however as feedback will help motivate me to complete part two.

Thanks,

Khadim Nasser.

EDIT: If you want nice PDFs to read instead, they can be found here:
Part One
Part Two (first installment)

I thought I was alone.

I'd outlasted the other management-wannabes and the little red clock in my retina read 01:00 hours. The building was silent except for the dull battering of rain against the windows. The ever-recording cameras were my only company.

In my mind, a window opened right on time. It floated green-framed above my desk and a mercury-red devil grinned out of it. “Hoi, corp-man. Buying?� Non-existent firelight shone from its bald red pate, reflecting an environment that was somewhere else, not here.

I tapped a few fingers on the hard empty desk, hitting icons only I could see, Yes.

“I can give you another week-license, corp man, but the price is up. 'S'my way of saying I'm concerned for your health.�

I didn't believe that for a moment, but when the devil demanded 300Â¥ I meekly took it. I had no choice. I was only thankful that the street dealer had no idea what I actually earned. I'd keep playing the outraged addict while I could. A chime sounded in my head signalling the arrival of new codes to unlock my chip for a little longer and I was grateful. The me I was when I had the chip didn't really like the me I was without it. I became weak and unmotivated without my little helper. Deal done, the devil rolled up the window into nothing and vanished. A small iconographic trick.

With the window and its occupant gone, the last artifice was stripped from reality and I was left in the silent rows of furniture. Paradoxically, the office seemed even more unreal when bare of the usual arro bedlam. I glanced around, feeling as though I was being watched, but I knew that had to be the paranoia of the criminal. Even if someone had been sitting next to me, they would not have known about the encrypted transaction that had just taken place. Still, I was uneasy. And I was tired. I decided to get going. Nobody who seriously wanted on the management track in Ares didn't have a sleep regulator implant, but even we need to crash sometimes.

I stood and rubbed my eyes, making the little clock in my vision dance. Then just as I opened them I saw movement from the corner of my eye. I jerked around, trying to see who was in there with me. I saw only the lines of desks and terminals, but a chair two rows away span round slowly. There was no reason for that which I could see.

My thoughts flipped back to a security trid I'd had to watch the month before “What to do in the event of hostile intrusion.� Crap about concealment and escape. I'd slept through it and now I cursed myself. I didn't want to take a single step closer to that chair. Knew that ordinarily I would run at this point. But I was chipped-loyal to Ares and that loyalty over-rode everything else. An insane fantasy of foiling dangerous intruders was playing through my imagination. I took a first step towards that chair, then another. With each step my heart beat louder in my ears. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a cleaning drone zipped from under a desk and nudged against my foot. It bleeped apologetically at me and quietly rolled away like a fat silver pillbug.

The drone must have nudged a footrest. I sighed out loud, but went to the chair anyway. I stared at it for a moment, not comprehending what made it look odd. And then I realised that the fabric covered foam of the seat was pressed down by an invisible weight. Someone I couldn't see was sitting there right in front of me, silently watching. While I stared, the foam decompressed as the unknown thing rose to stand. There was an exhalation of breath from something in front of me and panic brought me back to sanity, and I ran.

I shot out of the building into the compound and carried on sprinting through the downpour, glancing backwards to see if I could spot any odd patterns in the rain, a moving vacancy amidst the drops perhaps, coming after me. I could see nothing but I fled across the compound heading for the residential zones as fast as I could.

Eight minutes later, I let myself hurriedly into my apartment with the quiet click of the maglock. Even as I fell back against the door, the sick rush of energy that fear had leant me was failing – I didn't have any reserves at all these days, and it was everything I could do just to not sink to my knees there in the hall. I massaged my temples, trying to focus my thoughts.

I knew I should call security right now. Ordinarily I would have alerted them immediately. But the horrible thought of what I'd been doing at the time terrified me. There wouldn't be any reason to go through my access history during the incident. But if they did... I was terrified of being found out. I could lose my job. And the longer I left it, the more suspicious I would look. Logically, I knew I should raise an alert right now, but logic wasn't in control. The risk was too terrifying and I was chip-frightened of being fired – an agonising, paralysing terror. I just couldn't get past the fear of jeopardising my job. I sat there slumped against the door wrestling with my feelings until I was finally too exhausted to try any more. Against my better judgement, I bowed to my feelings. The moment I stopped trying to persuade myself to contact security, the fear stopped. Nobody should have mood changes that sudden and that complete, but then my personality wasn't exactly the most psychologically plausible combination of traits.

Exhausted, I dumped my jacket on the couch and tore my shoes off. My wife had precious little enough to do with her time. She could put them away in the morning. I headed up.

On the landing I toyed with sticking my head round my daughter's door to see if she were sleeping, but a quick query to the house node confirmed that she wasn't there. The little bitch was almost certainly still out at wherever the Hell she went, embarrassing me and damaging my career. It was a mixed blessing that she'd finally grown out of causing trouble in the youth facility that Ares generously offered and had taken her silly rebellions off-site where she probably got into worse trouble, but fewer people found out about it.

I slipped into bed beside my wife without her waking. I looked at the clock in the bottom right of my retina. I'd pulled 17 ½ hours straight. A big part of me was proud of that. But it wasn't a real part of me. With a muttered curse I slotted the personafix chip from my datajack and let the doubt and despair come washing back.

I hated this part, when my whole career and work seemed meaningless. It was even worse tonight. Usually I just had to look back on what a single-minded ass I had been during the day. But now I glumly contemplated my irrational behaviour in not calling in the security breach half-an-hour ago. I knew that I had taken endless precautions in my purchases. I would have been fine. But that other personality, the one I carefully placed in the bedside cabinet each night, threw fits at the mere suggestion of risk to my job. So now, even if they didn't investigate what I'd been doing, I'd still merit psych-examinations for my prolonged hesitation and that would be dangerous. My career would be set back just when promotion was almost in my grasp. I looked at Jasmine beside me, her delicately tapered ears showing between wisps of white-gold hair, sleeping softly on the freshly laundered sheets. Without my work, what would we have? I would have to go with my initial reaction, no matter how dumb it had been, and hope nothing came of tonight. Troubled, I fell into a deep sleep. My last thoughts were the image of that seat rising as an invisible weight lifted from it. I wondered what had been in that office with me, silently watching me and for how long. The world was suddenly larger and darker than I'd known.

* * *

I woke alone. A few precious moments of grogginess held off reality before it came crashing back at me. The little clock in my retina had woken me with it's flashing. 07:30 and “Time to Get Up� icon. Some of my colleagues would already be in the office it was true, but none of them had the average hours that I did. Our productivity rate was also monitored by various means such as file activity, and I was confident none of them could match me there, either. Alan Morn – perfect employee. It was just that I wanted to scream and burn the place down sometimes.

Of course, I had a cure for that, I thought blackly. I pulled open my bedside cabinet and picked out the chip. It was a plain, charcoal-grey little spindle the length of a fingertip, designed to slot into my skull socket. Nothing suggested the illegal persona-fix technology it ran. Workaholic was the program that it held. Company Man. Bad Husband. Absent Father. I hated myself, but I knew that shortly I would want to put it in if only to make the loathing stop. And really, what choice did I have? The apartment we lived in was Aries property, my wife's clothes and jewellery were bought with Aries pay checks. My wonderful daughter's wasted schooling was paid for by the Aries family education benefits program. When I got the promotion, I'd be able to stop using the damn thing. Or at least cut back. Right now though, the chip-forced loyalty to the company was the only thing that kept me from a breakdown.

My wife had laid out my clothes for the day and more from habit than will, I dressed and slipped the chip into my trouser pocket.

Her and my daughter were already up, which was unusual for one of them. Jasmine passed me a glass of nutri-sweet and a plate of soy-bacon. She was smiling which reminded me just how beautiful she was. My daughter was glaring at me with ugly contempt though, so it all balanced out, I guess.

My daughter's mood shattered the brittle cheerfulness that Jasmine was trying so hard at.

“Have you seen the careers consultant, yet,� I asked?
“They wont have anything for me. Not qualified.� My daughter said it with pride.

My wife gave me a pleading look. It was out of place on her slim, elven face. She still didn't look an hour older than the day I'd married her and not for the first time I had a dark premonition of our future together that made me feel cold. I knew she wanted me to let the subject drop, but I was tired and angry.

“Would you like to tell me again how you failed your exams? You're always reading. We assumed you were studying.�

“Don't need certificates,� she said. “Gonna be an artist.�
“I've seen your artwork and it's shit,� I replied, the ever-present anger bubbling to the surface once more. I spoke slowly as if to a five-year old. “It's creepy and it's disturbed and no-one in their right minds would want those faces on their wall. Get this straight, Melanie, no-one will ever pay you for those holos.�

Her answer was an arrogant smile, as if at sixteen, she knew so much more than I did. I swore at her. I shouted about how I provided for her, about how she didn't understand what the corporation did for us, I don't remember the specifics. It was just the same argument as always. She sat there and smiled while Jasmine bustled brightly, asking if we wanted more juice. My daughter's miserable rejection of all I did for her and my wife's falsetto smile - I couldn't bear either any longer and stormed out, leaving my breakfast on the plate. That wasn't unusual these days, either.

Our apartment was on the compound. As I walked towards the offices, I discretely pulled the chip from my pocket. If I was this much of an ass hole by myself, I didn't see that the chip could make me much worse. It slipped into my skull where it settled like an old friend. There was a moment of perfect emotional numbness where nothing meant anything, and then my mind filled with a blissful joy at my role in life. The worries and anger were still there, floating along like ghost emotions, but drowned in the 70 millivolt waves of electric dedication to my job.

Some rational part of me, some part that really was me I was sure of it, kept telling myself that I mustn't report what happened last night. If I reported how I'd behaved I'd be investigated and taken off the project. And then the project would suffer and that must not happen. I repeated it over and over like a litany, determining that my sudden surge in loyalty to the corp wouldn't suddenly throw the truth about last night out my mouth. It seemed to work. It wasn't that different to the way we usually lie to ourselves, after all.

***

Work went well for the morning. And no security alerts went around, no reports of a break-in last night. I'd half convinced myself that I had imagined that invisible presence waiting in the silent office. In the busy bustle of the day, the world seemed too solid and real for the intrusion of magic. Most of us sat in comfortable chairs with AR windows floating in the air above our empty desks. Usually they were set to public so we all had an idea what each other was working on. Networking multiple screens together was as simple as sending a link between them and numerous little pipe works of different colours hovered below the ceiling tiles, extending downwards to those screens they linked. In some offices, turtles would make do with physical terminals and actual keyboards, but no-one would ever have been appointed to our project group without having had a datajack fitted. No turtles amongst us!

At 11:00, it was policy that we would take a break. Official ruling was that we would put our work aside for half an hour. The unspoken assumption was that we'd shave half of that off for fear of looking unenthusiastic. And often the break we did take was filled with work chatter. I was reluctant to break off my work, but I was respectful of Aries policy. How could I not be? I disengaged myself from running stress simulations on the material our labs had been cooking up, and strove for something non-work related to talk about with my colleagues. On a sudden impulse, I pinged a co-worker called Drew to get his attention.

“You know my daughter does art,� I asked?
The response was a non-committal grunt and a slightly raised eyebrow. The fact that the daughter of one of the chief engineers had grown up a drop-out was a bit of a taboo in the team. For several years now, she had been a tremendous embarrassment to me, rejecting the normal peer groups in the corp and raising all sorts of Hell. And starting from last month, a rumour had reached me that she'd been seen hanging out in some of Seattle's worst nightspots with some deeply unsavoury people. The topic was normally avoided where I could overhear.

“I want your opinion on this,� I said. I patched our private channel into my home node and linked to a holo my daughter had on her wall. Of course she had locks on her room files, and of course I could bypass them. With a mental nudge, I replicated the AR version for Drew's filters.

“I don't see it,� said Drew after a moment.
“Wait,� I said.

Suddenly he jumped, turning to his left just too late to see a face fading back into the white wall. He only caught the lines of a misshapen head sketched in the plaster, fading quickly away like ripples. After a few moments, he somehow became aware that something was watching him. Turning, he thought he saw a hooked, not-quite human head draw back into the wall but again it was gone. The expression was malevolent.

“That's pretty creepy, Alan,� he said after a few more almost glimpses.
“You should try running it over your whole house at night,� I said. “But is it art?�
“It's clever,� he said after a moment. “Can you ever actually catch it?�
“I'm not sure. It times itself based on where you're looking. The routines are simple enough, but the proportions of the head – there's something not human about it that I've never been able to put my finger on.�
“Yeah,� Drew agreed. “If that were actually modelled on someone, I wouldn't want to meet them. It's something out of a bad dream. Does it have a title?�
I checked the file - “She calls it 'The Dark King.'�
“If it's got a fancy name, then it's art,� said Drew confidently. “That's how it works.� And after a moment, he added, “could you turn it off now, please.�

The rest of the day passed normally. The only part that worried me was the late-shift security coming on-line in the evening. Michael, a security guard who'd been with the corp since the 40's, patched in to comment on my abrupt departure the night before.
“That was some speed you put on last night there, Dr. Morn,� he said.
“Yeah,� I replied casually with my heart pumping in my ears, “how about that rain?�
“Yep, quite a downpour. Can understand you not wanting to hang around. You scared the dog brains, though. All the motion sensors were bleeping at us – thought your behaviour was out of character for your RFID signal.�
“Drones don't care about getting wet,� I joked.
“That they don't Dr. Morn, that they don't. One more advantage they have over me,� replied Michael sadly. “I wonder sometimes if I'm going to last until retirement the way they're replacing us with those things.�
“You'll be fine,� I said. “You'll be fine.�

***
“Dad, it's me.�

I was working down in the labs tonight. Once more, proud to be the only one left. Outside the window was nothing but shadows and black.

My daughter had no data jack or sim-implants. She'd refused them despite we could afford them easily. Her voice came from a little stylised icon hovering in the air next to me, like a serpent with spines. It was 00:34 and I expected her to have gotten into some sort of trouble if she were calling me.

“I wanted to talk to you,� she continued.

I stared at the materials samples on my worktop, clinched between stress-guages under the electon microscope. The p-fix me really, really wanted to get back to my analyses. “So talk,� I said with great reluctance.

“I mean in person, dad. It's real important.�

I sighed. “Come on over then, I'm in the labs. Wait for the guard. The motion sensors will go ballistic if they pick up someone in this area unaccompanied.�
I patched through to security and got Michael again. “My daughter wants to see me,� I told him. “Can you go walk her over, please?�
“No problem, Dr. Morn. Be there in five minutes,� he said.

I stared at the apparatus in front of me. I still had a strong desire to lose myself in my work but I'd now pulled down over sixteen hours. My hunger for work was at least partially sated. I could be proud of myself. And I was – I was filled with a sense of satisfaction better than any drug. I could spare my daughter a few minutes. Maybe she wanted to reapply for the Ares certification program, at last.

The door to the lab slid open with a quiet whir and Melanie came in. I was mildly surprised not to see the guard with her, but he might have left her once he'd brought her through the motion sensors outside. She looked very pale. More than pale, she looked dreadfully ill. Her face was glistening with sweat and her hands were ghastly white. I rushed towards her, frightened she was about to collapse. Her slim 16 year old frame fitted into my arms like a doll and her body felt cold beneath the black synthleathers. She looked up at me and smiled. But it wasn't warm. It was the smile of the face from the holo.

Melanie let out a little sigh of release and the air shimmered. Two figures appeared out of the air beside me. A large, Caucasian ork and a black human. The human's fist slammed into my gut and then his backhand knocked me sideways. It felt like my cheek had been struck with a baseball bat. I sank to my knees and the ork stepped behind me, dragging me backwards away from my daughter. The human followed, staring down at me. He had a beautiful face, but cold, dead, cyber-eyes.

It was only then, looking back at Melanie that I realised that she had brought these two strangers here willingly. And the implications of how she had brought them here were simply too big to take in.

The human wasn't as big as the orc, but his muscles were dense knots and he grabbed my head and hoisted me upwards. I scrambled to support myself before my neck was dislocated. He slammed me back against the wall then, and I felt a terrible pressure across my temples as his smooth hands gripped my head on either side.

“When I bought these muscles,� he told me in a voice as soft as an idoru's, “I said to the doc I wanted to be able to crush a man's skull between my hands. I've tried it and I can. If Mr. Corp Scientist doesn't want a demonstration, he tells me where the samples are now.�

Behind him I could make out the ork's face, neutral. This wasn't his thing, but he wasn't going to interfere. He had one meaty hand on my daughter's shoulder, supporting her. My girl's face was a fixed smile, but I could see the doubt in her eyes. She looked... haunted. And I wondered if I wasn't the only member of my family with a demon.

“Samples,� I said to the man, “let me get you samples.� The pressure was released and I staggered to a store-cupboard to get a sample tube. An insane part of me kept worrying about the project, about my test schedules. That was the chip part of me babbling like the worst case of obsessive-compulsive syndrome you could imagine. I kept wanting to crawl back to my desk and continue stress analyses like needing to scratch an itch, but I didn't dare make one false move under the cold chrome eyes of that stranger.

I pulled a plastic cylinder out of the cupboard and unscrewed the lid, holding it towards the man so he could see the dull grey strips inside. “Should be plenty to make Boeing happy,� I said as I put the cap back on. Suspicion filled his face. “How do you know we're working for Boeing,� he asked looking at my daughter. “I didn't,� I said, “but I do now.� It was the chip talking, getting away from my control for a moment – the loyal company employee fantasy it provided making me glib. The man's kick knocked me down before I even registered his movement. I gazed up blearily as he raised his gun towards me.

Everything happened quickly then. I was aware of my daughter straining against the orc's grip, screaming 'no!' I saw the psychopath's smile as he savoured my terror, and a yellow framed box appeared in my lower left vision reading 'Ares Security – Connect?'

With a thought, I transferred the image to a wall-display unit, where it blinked – a bright panel of off-on colour. It was accompanied by the tonal pinging of the connection request. The barrel of the gun was hovering two feet in front of my face. I looked up at it and at the man holding it.

“If I don't respond, you'll have a full Ares drone squad here in under a minute. At least that's what happens in the drills.� I started to get up and was yanked to my feet by the human.

“Tell them,� he began, and then paused, unsure. He couldn't think of anything. He stared dumbly at the welling red patch on my face where he'd slapped me.

Ping Ping.

I was suddenly angry. Ridiculously so. This psychopath, all muscle and murder, had used my daughter to gain access, without any real planning. I was willing to bet that even the idea of having the two invisible intruders walked across the sensor field by a guard was my daughter's idea. For all his tough action and scultped features, he was just some cybered thug. I shrugged his hand off me, I was that furious. “You are not going to get my daughter in a re-education camp because of your stupidity,� I hissed. I strode to the wall panel motioning for the shadowrunners to drop down out of sight. The human looked at the ork who was looking close to panic. There was no help there. Numb and rudderless, the runners obeyed. My daughter's eyes were wide.

I faced the screen, only ten seconds or less had passed since the connection request, but I expected drones were already warming their motors. I swallowed. How can I describe the conflict between my chip personality and the buried remnants of who I was? It was like walking away from your ultimate fantasy, it was like going against your deepest desires. Think about hurting the one you love – p-fix guilt feels like that.

I made the connection to security.

“Dr. Morn,� said the night security captain on the other side of the screen, “are you alright? We have a security team on its way. One of our guards is not responding.�
“Might want to cancel that,� I said grimly. “The reason you can't raise your guard is because I just punched the old pervert out.�
The guard captain's face at the other end was stunned confusion. “What,� he managed after a moment?
“Your guard just tried to touch my daughter,� I hissed. I absent-mindedly rubbed my knuckles as an afterthought, every inch the outraged father. The captain hesitated unsure what to do. He took in my reddened face, my daughter looking frightened in the background. I guess he didn't want to send a security team into the middle of something he'd rather keep off the records. I gave him another nudge, taking control: “I think you and I should have a quiet little chat about this first, don't you? And I can have a think about how I want to handle this.�

“I'll, ah, come right over,� said the captain. A cancellation notice for the alert that had gone out scrolled across my view even as I saw him tapping at his AR interface on the screen to send it.
“You do that,� I said and flicked the view-panel off.

I turned back to my daughter and her 'friends', but it was only my daughter I was interested in. I wanted to laugh at her open mouthed expression. It was bizarrely funny that she somehow knew I could head up a nano-materials research project and yet was still surprised I'd have the brains to outwit a security guard. But it wasn't the time for funny. I'd probably bought her another five or ten minutes and no more.

“Let's get going,� I said. “You're going to need me to get back through the sensors.�

At the perimeter gate, Melanie stared up at me in exhaustion. On the trid shows that I never watched, magicians were always mighty and powerful. I had never considered that my little girl could be one, and I could see from the strain in her face that it cost her much more than the trid shows suggested. The relief showed when she released her spell and her two companions reappeared. There was little use in subtlety now. The perimeter fence was electrified, but the ork cut out a doorway in moments with some sort of laser tool and we all passed through. Three lonely bikes were parked across the street.

I became aware that the human had a gun trained on me, discretely held at his hip. To my surprise, the big ork reached across and laid a restraining hand over his. The man looked angry for a moment, but put the gun away. He mounted his bike, clearly impatient for Melanie to join him.

I knelt down, and stared into my daughter's face. “I'm sorry,� I said. “For everything.�

If we had had time, perhaps there would have been a reconciliation then. But the human motioned her onto her bike and moments later they were gone into the night. The life I'd known was over now, too. What was left of it was riding away forever. I followed Melanie's icon on an AR street map for a moment, and then it winked out as her comm was turned off. And that was it.

The fantasy of being a perfect employee was still playing in my mind like an endless longing, tempting me back to a forfeited job. I pressed in on the little bud of the chip and it sprung out, leaving me empty. I turned the P-fix over between my thumb and forefinger. The plastic casing was too hard to break. Instead I tapped the gold contact panels to the electric fence, enjoying the shock of real pain that ran through it, frying it and jolting my arm.

And as I heard the first security drone rising up over the compound, coming for me, I let my old self fall from my fingers, burning, to the grass.

My name is Ishtar, and I'm not sure I'm alive.

There's a stack of Stuffer Shack Snackpots that I keep staring at. They're piled against the wall and I've lost count of how many I've eaten simply for something to do. I feel sick from them. There's a window in the living room. It's so covered in filth blown over from Puyallup you can't see out of it. It's a just a square of yellow light. It's never been cleaned. By night, I have no light. I daren't turn on a battery-lamp in case the light leaks out. I imagine that yellow rectangle hanging in the Redmond sky like a signal - There's someone up here. Come! Find me! I'm alone.

I sketch to fill time which is like filling a valley with pebbles. I trace images in the air with my commlink, AR-gloves and the crappy little trid projector Crucible has up here. The first morning here I was afraid, but I drew a portrait of Crucible to keep from thinking about the night before. And I thought it might please him. Probably not. I should draw Seven - he'd appreciate it. I drew people from memory or from stored trids, because there weren't any real people around. I drew my father, as I he was in the old pictures on my comm from when he was more fun when I was little. As he was later when I hated him. And I tried to sketch him as I had last seen him, staring at me from the roadside with that strange look on his face as Crucible took me away. But that was painful.

And I drew Ishtar. I knew when I read the myth that was the name that I wanted. Death and rebirth. A sorceress like me. The streets are full of wannabe shadowrunners called 'Shadow' and 'Blade', Crucible laughs at them. But Ishtar had meaning. It called to me.

I projected the picture of Ishtar I drew on the wall, looking down at me protectively while I slept. But when I woke sometime in the night, the picture was different. HE was there, standing behind her. A pale crown was on his head, his hand was seizing hers. I didn't remember drawing Him. And Ishtar's face was my own, frightened and young. How could I have drawn that and not known I had drawn that? It scared me badly and I've been afraid to sketch anything more. And so, I sit here waiting, afraid, trying not to think. Occasionally recording this onto my comm. Maybe the files will be found one day like that unknown woman on Yomi's diary, becoming some macarbre morality fable for people to listen to. What have I done? Please don't let me die here! Please don't let me have died here.

***

I can't stand hiding in this little apartment any more. It's been two days of hiding, waiting for Crucible to come back with my share of the money. Something has happened to him. I could leave my body and seek him out, help him maybe, but He's waiting for me on the other side. I know it. It makes me sick thinking how paper-thin the world is. How easily I can lose my grip on reality and lose the world I know. I'm scared I'll never find my way back. [/i]Never find your way back...[/i]

Not all my thoughts are mine. I catch myself thinking His sometimes. It takes me a moment to realise sometimes that the colours of everything are changing to the Astral, and then I have to wrench myself back to the mundane before He finds me. I'm recording everything. I have this idea that I'll play it back and there will be all these gaps where I thought I was talking but I'm not. Or worse, there will be a voice but it wont be mine. It's enough I hear it in my head. I don't think I could stand to know it's real. I'm going mad, now. Schizophrenic. Maybe. I could have seen someone when I was at Ares. But there's the magic. Who can promise you something isn't real when you can control people's minds? No-one knows anything anymore. Everything I touch, the crappy furniture, the walls... everything I do and hear and feel, it's so paper-fucking thin, just a mask for the real reality behind, that I don't want to see. Want to see...

***

It's my first time out of the apartment. I'm terrified that Crucible is going to come up those stairs at any second and find me sneaking out. When he tells me to do something, he means it. He's never hit me before, but I know he would. At least if Seven wasn't there to protect me. I wonder where the big ork's got to. I liked having sex with him. It wasn't as exciting as Crucible, but it was much more playful, more like sport. But even if Seven came back with him, I don't think he'd stand up to Crucible. Not unless Cruce was actually injuring me.

This landing looks abandoned. Even the trash looks old. There's cold sunlight and colder air from an empty windowframe at the end of the corridor, it's shadowy enough for the graffiti everywhere, nanim and static, to glow a little. A couple of the other doors here are still in place and the maglocks have little red power-lights on, so maybe there are others up here. I can hear a porno playing somewhere, but I can't tell if it's this floor or another. I go to the elevator and my voice is almost a croak when I call it. I clear my throat and try again more clearly: "Elevator." But the panels look dead and I don't want to make more noise, so I creep to the stairwell.

I count eight flights before I find anyone else. Three kids are playing a trid game on a landing, I can see the tiny little monsters battling each other in the middle of them. They're filthy and bald and the little girl has a pistol which she points at me using both hands. "Where you go?" I honestly can't understand her accent until she repeats it.

"Uh, out, please," I say, listening in horror to how scared I sound. All three children snicker. One of the boys, a stocky little ork who looks about eight, graps his crotch through his flats with stubby fingers and grins at me. "Maybe you pay first," he leers, probably emulating an older brother or other male. It's horrible. The little girl is looking at me, thinking in the obvious way that children do. "You Crucibles slot," she asks?

It's horrible to be called a slot by these gross children, but the name is safety. "Yes!" I almost shout it in relief. "I'm Crucible's".

"He a big man" says the chunky little ork. Almost like a AR button had been pressed, the children lose interest in me. The girl puts the pistol down by her side and I hurry past. I feel disgust with them and with myself for saying I belonged to someone. And for feeling so grateful that I could. But what else can I do? What else can you do? I'm aware of the voice again. Sometimes at Ares, at Dad's, I'd hear the voice all day. But I could shut it out if I tried. An empty doorway was in front of me and sunlight poured through it. Outside was the Barrens, but it was a real, physical world. Inside were pariodies of children in shadowy stairwells and that mishapen face with the pale crown that appeared whenever I was alone. I chose the unknown and stepped out.

The Barrens... It wasn't as bad as I thought, but it wasn't better either. It was different. On the trid shows, the Barrens is a dark wasteland with murderers and ghouls hiding in each alley and the show's sidetrack always goes into heart-pumping terror. It was the place every good salaryman was terrified they would end up if they lost their job and the news always talked in shocked delight about the murders and the rapes that took place their nightly. It had been exciting knowing that Crucible and Seven had a hidden safe house there. But I was looking at morning in the Barrens. It was bright and the Sun was high, the tall buildings cast long shadows but the gaps between them striped the wide street with fierce light. As my eyes adjusted to the contrast to the gloom I had emerged from, I took in the details of my surroundings. People walked along a street littered with pot-holes and sided with occasional burned out cars. The buildings themselves were almost colourful in the graffiti that covered the lower parts of them, emerging into drab greyness as the height rose, like gravestones emerging from grass and flowers.

Trash was heaped periodically on one side, piles of it around my height. But I guess the people here made less trash than we did at the enclave. Looking at the people, I didn't think they ever threw food away or clothes that had gone out of style. They were all races, but thin and dirty. A troll lurched past me, only seven feet tall and his muscles were lean and visible. He wore a ragged old t-shirt so faded I couldn't even make out what the picture on it once was. And dirty shorts showing off legs that reached to my breasts but that I could have wrapped my hands around. He clutched a bag in his hands like it was everything he had and didn't even glance at me as he passed. But others did. Filthy people with hungry, suspicious faces. I was suddenly very aware of how corp, I looked. My body was slender, but I filled out in all the right places, my skin was clean of marks, I had long blonde hair and my outfit... on the run, I had chosen to wear a tight, black synth-leather cat-suit. To my mind, it was what a sexy runner wiz-girl wore. I ran a finger self-consciously along one dark ridge along my thigh and remembered buying it at the Pike Place markets for 400Â¥. That was more than what any of these people saw in a year.

Some of the people glance at me out of the corners of their eyes, suspiciously. But some stare at me with a look I don't like at all. I don't know where I'm going but I'm too nervous to just stand here and do nothing. I break from the building and start walking left down the street. I'm concious of the way my outfit hugs my butt, cinches in my waist and shows off my hips. I've never wanted to look less sexually attractive in my life than I do now. I'd worn this outfit a dozen times in the mall, or in a club. I feel naked now.

As I walk down the street, there are no shops, but there are stalls here and there. A rangy old troll woman has a table where she's trading credsticks or corp scrip for whatever people need, if she has it. There's a battered board nailed to the side of a closed down StufferShack with a Food icon printed on it, and a row of seven squares underneath it. One of the squares has a big cross in it and a painted wooden arrow is above pointing to one of the blank squares. What does that mean? Days of the week? A counter to a food drop?

I carried on. I don't know what makes me realise I'm being followed. Maybe people staring at me less, wanting to avoid involvement. Something subtle like that. I turn my head and look behind me. I wish I hadn't. Three gangers were pacing me, about eight yards back. I can see the skulls tattooed on their faces and the white stripe painted down the centre of their bare chests. Two are adult - a human and an emaciated but still tall and broad ork - and a kid that looked about twelve. All of them have shaven heads, making their painted faces look even more like skulls. I turn back and keep walking, knowing they're following. I want to run, desperately. My heart pounds and my legs tremble. But I know it would be a terrible mistake. I don't want to be chased by these people. I look around at the people in the street, not many of them, and I know that these guys could do anything to me and nobody would stop them. They'd just let it happen.

I don't know how far I can just keep walking. There's an intersection up ahead. I wonder if I can find a road in use and just walk out of Redmond. Maybe if I can make it to the Bellevue wall the cops there would realise that I wasn't a Barrens person and let me through. And then they'd scan me and find I was wanted by Ares. And they'd hand me over... I don't know what I can do, I just know I can't stop walking so I carry on. But then I see another ganger ahead of me. He's pressed back in a door way so I don't see him until he's just a few yards ahead of me. He steps out. He's bigger than the others. Bigger than the ork, too. And older. He looks right at me. I can feel the sweat running down the inside of my catsuit, cold as ice.

I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. There's an ally to my left, but it's out of the Sun and I know that I'd have to face them down there in the dark. face them down there in the dark. Why did I want to be a Shadowrunner? What made me think that I was something other than just a corp daughter? Because I have magic? Because you have magic And a voice that I can't stand to listen to. Listen to me I look at the ganger in front of me. I can see the cruelty in his face, see it flicker around him - his aura is red and inflamed like an infected wound. Everything has shifted now and I can't shut the colours out. And He is standing near me, pale robes, paler hand, waiting in the shadows gesturing to me. I have no other choice. I turn left into the alley.

It's as bad as it can be - ten metres of boarded up doors ending with a chain link fence. The walls are stories high. It's a dead end.

I walk a little way and then stop. Turning, I see all four of them are behind me now, lined up. The little kid is on the end, his face painted with the same gruesome skull. There's a knife in his hand.

HE is leaning against the wall near me. HIS ugly ugly face smiles in anticipation. HE wants to see me die. HE's said so many times. "All those nights," he says. HE has a beautiful voice. "All those nights fantasizing about being a Shadowrunner. Alone in your bedroom skimming through the Matrix trying to decide what to call yourself, what name would strike fear into your enemies. What name would be spoken in the shadows with such respect. Do you remember who you wanted to be?"

I remembered. Fantasizing about how I would behave in situations like this. Finding a name that was perfect, feeling it call out to me. Choosing it and telling Crucible and Seven who I would be from now on.

"You chose a name, but you never accepted it. Accept it. Say it."

"I'm Ishtar", I say calmly to the gangers. And then I pull a robe of mana around myself and vanish. They stare in shock at first. Then a few seconds later in fear. I can see it ripple through their auras turning them to ice-blue. By the time the older one thinks to raise his gun I'm already pressed flat against the alley wall and inching my way toward them to slip past.

"Go get Hamada," says the older human to the ork. Though he has to shove him to get him moving. The ork dissappears at a run up toward the intersection. The others, except for the kid, edge back toward the street, torn between staying in the ally or the safety of Sun and the real world. Fear won, of course, and a moment later they had fled. Only the kid remains, gawping open-mouthed. I remain where I am a little longer, hidden, watching him.

He squints around the alley, trying to see me. He covers an eye and tries that. When it doesn't work, he covers the other one. Then he turns in a circle three times, whispering some Barrens rhyme to himself. I want to giggle every time his eyes pass right over me. I feel euphoric that the gangers have run away leaving only this boy. I laugh. The boy nearly jumps out of his skin. I tip-toe up to him in my form-fitting boots and bend down so my lips are close against his ear. I blow.

He yelps and claps a hand to his ear. I let the cloak of mana fall from me at the same time and it splashes to the ground disappearing as I show myself, sitting back against the alley wall. The world is mundane again, but refreshed and new.

"Hi," I say. "You're braver than your friends."
"I knew you was there", he replies. I've made him proud.
"Very clever." He beams at me. "What's your name," I ask.
He's a bit hesitant, but I smile at him and nod encouragement.
"Luke," he says. "I'm a Skull". He points at his face tattoo with pride.

I need to make myself safe here. While I wait for Crucible.

"And is this Skull turf?"
"Is our land, slot. All 92nd Street."

"Don't call me a slot," I say sternly. "It's not nice."
"Sorry," says the kid in surprise. I realise it's probably the first time someone has ever said that to him.
"I live here too, now." I'm careful how I say this. "But I'm new. I need someone to show me around."

The boy looks suddenly uncomfortable. Like he's caught between fighting parents. "You got to ask Butcher. He says who can live round here. I'm sorry. I'd let you."

"That's okay," I say, smiling. "Can you take me to Butcher now?" The kid nods. I take his small hand in my warm synth-leather glove and I let him lead me out of the ally and back into the sunlit Barrens. I take one last glance back into the shadows. I can see him, but I can sense his presence and his lingering voice. "Hate me all you wish," it says with satisfaction, "but listen to me."

Reserved for Part III.

F__king woot. I've been wanting to read more of this ever since I first saw it.

Out of curiosity, will the new material be following the scientist or his daughter? Or someone else entirely?

Personally, I'm hoping it continues to follow Dr. Morn, though I'm not sure how he's gonna' get out of the mess he's in.

Part II follows Melanie / Ishtar (her chosen street name). Hopefully you'll still like it and only preferred Dr. Morn because he got all the detail in the first part. Believe me, there's a lot of background to Melanie that didn't make it into the the first part and was only hinted at. And I've really been enjoying writing from the perspective of a sixteen year old girl in trouble.

I don't want to say whether the father will make a new appearance. I shall hint that he might, but things may not be what you expect.

Part II is more violent than Part I and darker. I hope to have it up later today. Thanks for the comments,

Khadim.

Awesome.

It wasn't that I liked Dr. Mourn's character better, just that he was very unusual and thus stood out more. A troubled child with magical powers is a protagonist I'm used to, I'm not used to finding myself rooting for an uber-conformist wageslave--it was the novelty of liking the guy that really drew me to his character.

That aside, I can't see any way of getting him out of the current jam he's in that wouldn't feel forced. It works better as a noir ending like this, rather than: He then magically gets away with no conceivable means of doing so, just so he can continue to be the protagonist.

I'm definitely very interested in Melanie's character as well, and the last story leaves enough unanswered questions about her to practically beg for some exposition. Anyway I'll shut up and just wait for it to be posted, if it's anything like the last, it'll be--well, english doesn't really have a sufficiently positive word for it...

...also, "more violent and darker" is generally a plus in my book. I guess the point I'm trying to make is that if you got me to care about and enjoy a story centered on a type of character I normally would loathe, then applying that same writing skill to a character and premise I'm pretty much guaranteed to like is like taking awesome and making it nuclear-powered.

looking forward to PT.II omae! love it!

I'll third that, "woot."

I was hoping this would turn into a serial. I really enjoyed the take on needing a p-fix chip to be a good employee.

I have already posted my comments somewhere else, but rest assured I welcome this space. Looking forward for more...

Cheers!

Max

So, about Part II . . .

Nice bit of writing.

Great twist.

I just got to this, but DAMN man, that's some good writing. This coming from someone who reads between 200-300 books a year, so good job!

Chris

I've read a lot of books, most of them fantasy or sci-fi, and I must say: your writing is among the best I've encountered. Consider sending in some samples to magazines, they can pay for it if you've got the time for your hobby.

As for the story...amazing. I look forward to Part II.

Thank you for all the flattery. Rest assured it is working and I will finish Parts II and III. Part II is about 80% written at present where it's been sitting for a month.

I tried really hard with this story and I was pleased with how it came out. I originally submitted it to the Shadowrun website to be published online. Part of the credit must go to R. King-Nitschke who if didn't like the original format and pestered me into cutting out the parts from the daughter's viewpoint. Presented me with a couple of problems as the second part is about her, but it still works.

Sadly, the Shadowrun site kept me waiting around for a year and through two changes of editors (one of which required me to reference the stock characters they provide). Eventually I just published it here.

But sincerely, thank you for the encouragement. I would like to write for publication and I'll try and set aside some time to do so.

Part II soon, definitely.

-Khadim.

As stated at the time in he fiction thread, Really (yes capital R) like this story. Looking foward to part 2.t

I am a bad, bad person who deserves no forgiveness.

But it is better to be a bad person and do a little good, than to be a bad person who does none. I've just spend the last hour writing up Part II of Dark King. It's not finished. It would be, but I had an idea part way through and realised I needed to re-write the entire thing.

However, we're getting closer and Part III should pretty much write itself. As a preview, I've put up the first few pages of Part II. It's still subject to the possibility of revision, but its close to final form. I'm interested in what people think as always. Part II follows directly on from Part I, but with a bit of a shift.

I said that Part II was going to be a little darker than the first. That's true. This is the beginning. It gets blacker later on.

I hope you enjoy it. If you prefer, you can grab the PDFs here:
Part One
Part Two (first installment)

I know some people liked the focus of part one and might not like the shift at first, but stick with it. It all comes together as we proceed.

Peace (and happy reading)

Khadim.

If that's bad, you should not be good ^^

Most excellent, sir.