1 - Datajack
My name is Samantha Thompson and I'm addicted to cybernetic augmentation. I've been a cyberfreak, chrome-slut, metalhead, whatever you want to call me, for eleven months, two weeks, and five days. During this time, I had most of my body replaced by variated artificial prothesis, and had my very conscience altered by software. These things don't bother me anymore. What's terrifies me is that I'm beginning to love it.
I never had expected to become a whore, but at twenty-six I was once again unemployed with hardly any money for my name and no relatives nearby.
I was laying on my back on a foldaway bed. Neon lights bathed the dark apartment as the advertising billboard on the other side of the street flipped its messages, announcing half a dozen different products in quick succession. I had my old datajack connected to my computer, so I could navigate the cyberspace directly through the mind link. I browsed through dozens of sites looking for any freelancer work that could pay enough for rent and some food before the end of the month.
The alternative would have been to go back home, where my parents would be waiting me with a smug smile. Or I could go live on the streets, I had heard that the tent city on Ibirapuera Park was getting pretty cozy this time of the year.
Dominic, my husband for the last two years, approached the bed. He yanked his black shirt and pants off. His muscular body quickly moved over me, opened my legs and pushed his cock inside me.
I gave an exaggerated moan and relaxed as Dominic pushed my legs further apart and then lifted me up by my ass, getting a good grip so he could thrust harder. I faked another moan as Dominic increased his speed, thrusting deeper and faster.
Oh yes! Finally, I found some half-decent job. The pay was still way below the market standard, but it would be enough for rent and some food.
Dominic kept sliding his cock in and out as I anxiously filled the contract for the job. The work seemed easy enough, design a web site for a small company, if I pulled a few all-nighters I could finish it before the weekend and receive the money just in time to pay the rent.
Dominic groaned in anticipation of his orgasm. I turned the music up, attaching a copy of my portfolio to my slim resume, and muttering a small prayer as I sent it.
Dominic came inside and then collapsed on top of me. He stood there for a few moments, gasping, then rolled off and went to the bathroom. I just stood there, impatiently checking my email, hopping to receive any answer at all.
I checked the time and cursed under my breath, I had agreed to go shopping for groceries with Sophie today. I moved forward and then screamed. I'd forgotten to unplug myself from the neural uplink. The jack in my skull yanked sideways as the cable reached its full extent. I pulled the jack out and the streaming images in my eyes disappeared. Now, they existed only in the screen of my computer.
I tenderly rubbed the port just under and behind my ear, spewing a torrent of silent curses. Dominic hated when I cursed, so I had grew used to cursing silently to avoid making him angry.
As usual, Dominic was of no help to pay the rent. He doesn't work, except for his VidTube career as a fitness guru and eventual restaurant critic. He claims to have low back pain, though this doesn't stop him riding his motorbike or having sex with me when he wants. Or almost obsessively using his dumbbells to maintain his form.
I quickly washed my pussy and put on some fresh underwear. I picked some old denim, and a faded t-shirt. Dominic came out of the bathroom, rubbing his cock on my towel.
"What happened to your towel?" I grunted.
"It's wet," he whined.
I sighed deeply. "Put it on the washing machine, I'll do the laundry when I'm back."
"God, yeah, don't need to be so shrill," he said, heading for the kitchen.
"While you're in there can you clean the dishes for once?" I shouted as I left. His reply was lost as I slammed the door shut.
I clenched my tooth and took a deep breath. As I rode down the elevator, I tried to think where things had started to gone wrong. Was it when I decided to go to college? When I moved out of my parent's house? When I started dating Dominic? When my parents decided to have a son, but got a daughter instead?
Things should have been different.
I looked around as I left the block of apartments, closing tightly my jacket to protect me from the constant drizzle, making my way through the sidewalks that were almost dominated by dealers, peddlers, and beggars. In the distance, shining in the night sky against the dirty drizzle and ash, I could see the gleaming concrete and glass towers of New São Paulo behind their high walls.
I meet with Sophie outside the street market. She was an odd woman, when I had first meet her on Ol' Jack's grill shack I was certain she was some rich kid playing at being poor. Now and then some kids of the walled cities decided to come downtown to see what 'real life' is like, they would eat our crap food, take on some drugs, end up pissing off someone they shouldn't, and run back to the security of their walls at the end of the day.
It wasn't just that she was pretty, but there was something in the way she carried herself that was almost aristocratic. It didn't help that she seemed to always be spending way too much, despite never seeming to work for a living.
As we walked through the market, she had a bag full of choice goods and I had a few budget items. Living downtown you learn to keep to your own business, but I couldn't help but wonder how she always seemed to have money to spare.
"I need money," I finally blurted out. "I know you probably are doing some illegal shit, and I really need money."
She studied me for a moment, pursing her lips as though coming to a decision, and after an excruciating moment she said, "You sure you want to know?"
I nodded.
"I make a thousand dollars per hour's work," she said plainly.
I scoffed, she had to be joking. Not even the drug dealers in my apartment complex made so much money.
"What do you do? You are a hired killer?"
"Oh, nothing so exciting," Sophie declared calmly as she chose a pair of canned peaches, "I'm a prostitute".
"What?" I had to struggle to keep from shouting.
"Oh yes," Sophie continued, smiling, "Have been for a few years now."
"Err," my head was spinning. Sure, it wasn't an unusual career around here, but Sophie never seemed to be this kind of girl. She was tall and strong; her black hair was kept short in a side-cut. Her clothes were usually baggy and mismatched, and I had yet to seem her wearing any bra that wasn't a sports bra.
"I work in the brothel over on Consolation Street, more like a clinic in fact," Sophie continued. "I'm no streetwalker, that's loser territory. Our brothel is a certified business."
I could feel my eyes widening as Sophie kept talking. "But..."
"Oh, I get it," Sophie said nonchalantly as she picked a box of chocolate. "You don't think I look like a prostitute, right? Well, I'm not going to parade around in my work clothes. A bit too cold, if you catch my drift."
"I suppose," I replied, meekly.
"Besides," continued Sophie, "Most of the time I work as a Chrome-whore."
"What?!" I almost dropped my bag.
"You know, they pay you to have your limbs amputated and receive all kinds of implants," she said casually. She raised the hem of her cargo pants to show off the prothesis made of black polymer.
I looked at her dumbfounded, unconsciously making the signal of the cross as I tried to imagine what else was artificial in her body.
"You could do it too, Samantha, I'm sure you'd be good."
"What? No, no." I shook my head vehemently. The datajack was as far as I was comfortable to go, there were all kinds of horror stories going around about people that replaced too many pieces of themselves. The medics called it Cybernetic induced hysteria, some even said that these augmentations were a taint in the very essence of a person.
I couldn't believe what Sophie was insinuating.
"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to offend," Sophie's hand stroked down my arm, the feeling lingering long after the touch had finished.
"Well, just in case you change your mind, just give me a call. I can get you a nice job, you won't even need to have sex. We can set you up all nice and proper."
Part of me was sure I should have been asking Sophie some more questions, if for nothing else then to have some interesting stories to tell later. But right then, the only thing I wanted to do was get out of that place.
On the way back to my apartment I couldn't stop thinking about Sophie's legs. Prothesis like that were rare to see these days, most people were too poor to afford anything so nice, and anyone with enough money would demand a cloned replacement.
I tried to divert my focus, tried to think about the design job and how I could do it. Still, the image of her leg lingered, not without some measure of morbid curiosity to know how it felt.
As I walked back in the apartment complex, I took a moment to inspect the groceries once again to make sure I hadn't forgot anything. Dominic would complain because I hadn't bought beer or his protein shakers, but with money short as it was I had been luck to buy enough food for the rest of the week.
"A prostitute?" I murmured under my breath. Absurd. "I've got a career, why would I want to do that?"
I came home to find Dominic on the sofa with his datajack connected to the media center, the television turned on to some cheap porno flick.
"We're nearly out of electricity credits," he mumbled, gesturing at the display on the media center. "Got any money?"
"No, can't you put some of yours?" I murmured in exasperation.
"I'm saving to buy a new pair of weights," he said, shrugging, covering his eyes with his gaming headband.
"Then turn the media center off, we need conserve the power for ventilation and hot water," I snapped as he reached for his gaming controls.
I looked at him, his muscles, his bandana, his brand-new leather jacket. All my friends used to say how lucky I was for having him.
There was a single email waiting for me on my inbox, a refusal.
I called Sophie and asked her to tell me more.