View Full Version : A Runners Dream

Manuel Moonez
24-05-10, 06:45
He woke up to the familiar silence of his appartment. He had worked hard to achieve those amenities, like the huge appartment in Neocrons finest district, Via Rosso. Or the big car, the drugs. The Strippers he got from his many friends in Pepper Park. Yes, he had many friends.

As he slowly rose from his bed, he thought about the definition of friends.
Surely, there had been many people helping him get to this point. Business partners which helped him make his first million - and then some more. But they always profitted, too. Waking up was a hard task for him today. And altough all his success was built on him always being the first man up to the task, he rose sluggishly from his bed this day. It was the tiredness of a runner who had everything already, and he didnīt felt like getting any more of all those things was a thing he wanted.

His life of fighting and drug abuse showed its ugly side once more.
With a huge headache, he felt for the pain pills on his nightstand. He got a hold of the box and fumbled two out, washing them away with some Powerbooze laying on the floor next to his bed, just waiting for him to abuse it once more. The years of injecting nanites into his body to heal his many injuries, many fatal if he hadnīt poked some into his veins in some dirty street at night took their toll also. The commercials always promise that using those poses no harm. Itīs not true. If you take them for years like he did, and repair even the most gruelsome injuries with them, they alter your body. They cant repair everything to a perfect state. They slowly mutilate your body, leaving a small scar on every patch of skin they repaired.

Sometimes, he dreaded himself, when he was home alone and looked at his body, so malformed by time and violence. The bottle became his best friend over time.

He finished what was left of the booze and got dressed. he left the appartment, alone. And he was alone when he walked through the little mazes at the feet of the huge towers that formed the Via Rosso and Plaza Sector of Neocron, those alleys brimming with commerce and the people looking for runs and the way to the top.

Tiredly, he arrived at the Medicare at the Plaza-Sector 1. He went out with the idea of buying some more stuff which would get him through the day. On his way to the counter he saw some familiar faces; some greeted him from a distance. He vaguely remembered those faces. Some belonged to those he fought with on the battlefields. It brought back images of blood, gore and glory, but also of those who couldnīt tell their stories anymore. Some he pictured in those clean and elegant offices on the higher floors of the huge office buildings, making deals with him that would bring him his fortunes. Not in a particular mood to chat, he acknowledged them with a faint smile and went on, into the MediCare.

He got his usual package: A mixture of something to keep him awake, to keep him happy, to keep him from failing when he pulled those ladies from the Park into his bed, something to keep the pain away from every bone, every tissue of his body, and finally, something to keep him sleeping when he was done, done with the mess he made everyday, the mess that had became his life. He went out and passed all those who wanted a life like his, offering their services and their muscle to anybody with the right amount of credits in their account, just slaving away for the next quick fix of pleasure or the breakthrough, whatever would come first. He looked at them with a mixture of ridicule and sympathy; he was once like those people, but he made it. Only a few of them would actually make it, he thought. He had seen too many go down in flames.

He took the Subway back to Via Rosso. The rotten stench of piss and trash was disgusting him. It was something he would never get used to, even after living in this city all his life. He had seen all parts of the Wastelands. He even fought in the gloomy corridors of the Dome. He had lived a long life, and had seen every abomination of this world, and every horror. But the life in those lowest parts of the city still sickened him to his stomach.

A soft breeze of salty air welcomed him when he stepped out of the subway entrance to the Via Rosso district. The sky was clear and he could see some birds resembling seagulls from the old age flying in the sky. He knew that because he was well read in history; something he was very fond of. Almost all of his now exclusivly spare time he spent enhancing his knowledge about those times long gone. Something kept him from beginning his usual routine of forgetting. He walked to the glass wall that overlooked the sea from high above on the walkway that came out of the underground. Beatiful memories graced his mind. Of the day the war was over, and he wasnīt destroyed as it was planned all along.
Of days untarnished by violence, when he could be just a human being, if you want to go so far and call him that. Out there in the distance, there were other Cities, too, with people, just like him, wanting more, and sometimes stepping over other people to get what they want. Everything money could buy waited for him in the place he called his appartment, but he just stood there and looked out at the sea, entangled by those episodes from his life. They say that people like him are emotionally dysfunctional. He Disagreed with them: He was very different from all the others, yes. But he still felt. His view wandered to the ground, shortly, just to return to the infinity of the water one second later. He closed his eyes and smiled, and felt.

Iam no native english speaker so please excuse any shortcomings in my language. :)

24-05-10, 14:32
Nice story, a litte depressing though ;)

br morph

Manuel Moonez
24-05-10, 17:56
Not everything in neocron is shiny and beautiful, in fact, almost nothing is ;)

28-05-10, 03:39
Awesome story:)

Manuel Moonez
03-09-10, 03:04
He was forcing himself to go home. All those feelings, painfully remaining him of the past made him uncomfortable. He quickly walked to to his appartment elevator, a barrier that kept all the dirt of the city outside. With a feeling of relief he pushed the button to his private floor on the 76th. A second later he stood before the buzzer of his luxurious suite. He swallowed about a half of the bottle he brought with him, then activating the retina controlled doors. Now he stood in an empty atrium filled with too much expensive furniture.

After a quick shower and the rest of the bottle, he started his usual routine.
Five minutes later the doorbell rang. He became oblivious of the others when she entered.

Doc Holliday
03-09-10, 05:06
Awesome story:)

quoted for truth. great piece.

Manuel Moonez
03-09-10, 09:35
Hey, thanks! Iam now trying to add something more often. I only write when iam drunk, so that limits my posting times to early saturday or sunday morning ;)

Manuel Moonez
29-01-11, 07:01
What an unnerving atmosphere. The hookers sat in his lavish living room with all the colorful pills laying around. He hated the sight but could not do anything about it; altough he had the muscle his body was weak. The girls gulped down the synthetic drinks he offered happily. Sometimes he felt bad about ordering them to his home. But then he reassured himself that time spent with him would certainly be better for them than ghastly washing against a sewer grate. His performance was sub-par anyway. Before the enhancers kicked in, he talked to the two. It was mostly bad chit-chat, the kind of bullshit people talk before fucking for money. But she made it somehow different. After some spoiled attempts he kicked them out, throwing some clutter and insults after them. The eery silence that followed made him realize his mistake. He let her go, the jet-black haired beauty he fell in love with when she boringly entered through his titanium reinforced door.

He had to find her. A call to his īguyī didnīt offer much more information, so he crawled through the nightclubs, the whorehouses, the back-alleys. For days. Sometimes he approached people, only realizing afterwards that their wrinkled faces belonged to someone he once knew.

He was tired of this whole fucked-up routine. Sure, he could just shoot a bullet through his head, and he had a lot of those, and the means to propel them. In those searching days he sometimes wondered why he wouldnīt just do it to get it over with. But he wanted to see her again.
Finally, he found her.

The men now laying on the ground, their faces engraved forever with this disgusting smirk.

"Whatīs your name?"

His scarred face formed some kind of friendly smile.

She smiled, too.

Doc Holliday
16-03-11, 09:32
just stumbled accross the next part. you need to keep writing this its great.

Manuel Moonez
27-03-11, 22:42
Fan Mail! Thanks!
Ill try to write more, so get me ale!

Manuel Moonez
09-04-11, 04:35
"Thanks...for that."
The red neon lights of the shitty watering hole danced on her pretty face.
One of the figures laying on the ground seemed to move; it was just a reflex of him to lift his foot above the bloody egg-shaped thing that protruded from a human body.
"Make sure theyīre dead." Old habits die hard.

"Please, donīt kill him!"
He looked at her with his foot still above the guys face,on his a naïve disbelief.
The man laying on the floor wasnīt so good at forming an expression anymore, a huge boot hovering over his face and all.
"Why? Those pigs tried to molest you. They wanted to rape you. But i want you to be safe."

She looked so scared. He wanted her to feel save, now that he finally got to her.

"You want to kill them, but one of these men is the son of someone very influential around here; weīre both in enough trouble as it is. Please, i beg you, spare him! Maybe the others are still alive too! Letīs just get out of here, please."
He knew that the rest of them couldnīt possibly be alive anymore. His hand was made from about 65% of steel. He didnīt felt like scaring her anymore tough. He just took her hand and they ran through the lights, finally arriving in the darkness.