Tommorrow People, playing Saturday 11th Febuary 2040 at KluB RotterN. Cover charge 2,500¥. Starts 11.25PM.
Priss looked down to the green LED display on her bikes console. It showed the time at 10.57 43:856 PM and rising fast. She didn't like the milliseconds counter that Mackie had installed. It was overdoing the function of a simple piece of equipment. Something that Mackie the boy-genius excelled at. Something he deffinatley shared with his elder sister Sylia.
A horn blared loudly behind her. Her hand holding onto the back of her seat she turned around. "Get off the damn road!" a crew-cut square jawed head shouted at her from the car behind, a souped up speedster. The back of the speedster was a foot above the front and sporting an airdam. Orange and red painted flames licked around the black chassis.
Priss stared for a moment. Her eyes narrowed when she did this. A habit she had picked up from old gunfighting movies. Someone had called it a "Sergio Leone". Her helmet covered her face. Only her eyes were exposed through the visor.
"Hey, are you deaf scooter boy?" crew-cut shouted again this time adding an anrgy arm wave.
"Fuck you jerk!" Priss shouted back and gave him the finger.
Crew-cut halted for a second. His head dipped back into the cabin. More horns from down the road honked.
Priss reved the engine of her bike and thrilled at the deep hum and vibration that it sent through her body. It was like the bike was alive and communicating with her when she rode. She could tell when it was performing well or poorly by the feeling it gave her. Kind of like some telepathy or empathy.
Empathy with a machine? Where did that thought come from! A machine was a machine she reminded hereslf, whether a bike or a Boomer.
The head reappeared and started shouting some more but fell upon deaf ears. Priss yanked the bike around, it was just a bike- a machine and she could do what she wanted with it, and passed down the middle of the road.
As she passed the speedster she kicked out dinting the passenger side door and then gunned the engine. The reverberations started at her thighs and hands and raced up her limbs to fill her mind and heart.
+++===+++
KluB RotterN was an alternative joint. Outside thronged a very atypical crowd. Black, leather, tartan, spikes, mohawks, chains were de riguer for the clubs cliente. It was off the road down an alley way that could only be taken by foot. Priss parked her bike along side many others and swipped her credcard through the boomer-attendant's eftpos. The boomer had a shocking make-up face painted on it like some child would have done playing around with mum's cosmetics. Otherwise it was a standard issue waiter type in a tux. As she passed it by she saw that a paper sign saying "Kick Me" was stuck to its back. She chuckled.
Priss hadn't been to RotterN in a long time. The last time was a gig, well before Hot Legs had become her place, when the band was trying to get established. It hadn't looked like much had changed. The crowd still looked the same. The dissafected, depressed and rebellious Only After Working Hours Workers, students and those oldies who still thought Punk or Goth was alive. They were the aged and wrinkled, nothing like the deathless they sought to emulate. None of them held much appeal to her but sometimes a genuine rebel could be found.
Priss pulled up by the mouth of the alley and pulled out her phone. Leaning against the wall she quick dialled Linna's number and continued to watch the crowd until Linna answered.
"Hello?" a semi-sleepy Linna said.
Priss smiled, she could imagine a half asleep Linna on the other end of the phone.
"Hey Linna,"
"Oh hi Priss."
"Did I wake you sleeping beauty?"
"Not really. Although I was getting
ready to turn in."
"This early on a saturday night? C'mon what's gotten into you?"
"I had to do overtime today. Do you have a gig on or something? You didn't..."
"No. I was just calling to see if you wanted to go to a club? But if you need your rest..." Priss let the last hang. A challenge. Ever since Linna had announced that she wanted to take over from herself as the #1 Knight Saber, she'd started to bait the country girl all the time. It had produced a bond of comraderaie between them that she didn't have with Sylia or Nene. Like that of a sibling.
"Where are you now, it sounds noisey."
The sound of punk/rock/shock/alt.music was heavy in the air.
"KluB RotterN. Have you heard of it?"
"No."
"Well?"
For some reason Priss was biting her lip as if she wanted the company. Being a lonewolf was one of her prides and this need disturbed her somewhat.
"Thanks but no Priss, I think'll give tonight a miss. I'm exhausted."
Dissapointed- for a second before she brushed that aside with 'I dont need company to have a good time, i didnt before so i dont need it now' Priss finished with "Ok. Some other time" with a "Sure" as the reply and the she clicked off.
The phone was pocketed and pushing off the wall she went down the alley.
+++===+++
The Bouncer was not a Boomer. Thankfully. Priss had felt the stares from all the goth/punk/vamp eyeshadow crowd on the way to the entrance. She wasn't dressed like the rest. She was in what she normally wore, leathers and necklace. Suitable for Hot Legs and Sodom ward but deffinately out of place here. That suited her fine. She felt out of place almost everywhere.
"Well well, if it isn't lead vocalist of Sekiria." the Bouncer, a tall large micronesian looked down at her.
Priss hands of her hips looked right back up.
The Bouncer laughed. "You can go right in."
Priss grunted and stepped over the threshold to the amazement of the line outside.
Instantly her senses were overwhelmed. It became black then a turn to the left turned that about as dozens of bright coloured lights flashed into her eyes and a piercing wail struck her ears.
It was almost painfull.
Then came the smell.
Like something had died and was decaying where she stood.
Eyes squinting, hand over her mouth she wondered why she had come.
Bumped from behind she stumbled out of the corridor. "Hey, watchit!" she yelled.
A pair of black red and green punks laughed and passed by without taking notice.
Priss moved further out of the way. With each step something underfoot scruntched or squished. She bent down and saw that it was fruit and vegetables. Rotten ones.
"This was deffinately not here last time," she said to herself. Although last time she was on the stage and this was where she made her way.
She weaved her way through standing throngs of Goths and Punks, past lounges where the seats were piles of decaying food covered in clear plastic. A wierd form of bean bag.
Music screamed from speakers mounted on every piller. It was tape music. She saw the stage was set up but Tommorrow People were still about ten minutes away. Even so the floor infront was a seething mass of people. They reminded her of seaweed swaying in the current.
The bar was her next destination. Thankfully free of rotten food she elbowed her way to a dark wood bar. This she remembered. A few painted faces grumbled but her "Sergio Leone" silenced them.
"Hey, beer!" she ordered over the music to a barman facing away.
"There" came a soft voice. She turned around and almost screamed. The barman, a boomer, had the face of a rictus and hollow eyes. She just looked at it until its softeness spoke again "Card please." the 'se' came out extended like a hiss.
Priss snapped out her shock and fumbled her credcard over. She tooker her beer, card and the boomer went on to serve the next customer.
A tartan'd punk leaning against the bar nursing a half empty glass spoke, "Haven't been here before have you? Yeah, the staff around here can be pretty shocking. Don't favour it myself,"
Priss gave the punk the once over look and leaned back against the bar scanning the interior, "Been here before but a while back. It had changed a lot."
"New owners four or five months back. Didn't smell as much before then either no matter how many people threw up on the floor."
"Yeah. What is with the scraps?"
"I'm sure you can put the connection with the name and the garbage so I wont demean either of us by pointing that out,"
Priss almost snorted her drink, "You just did,"
The punk shrugged, "Bollocks." he held out his hand, "The names Roger."
Priss took it with a smile and hard shake, "Priss. You a regular here?" she pointed her a jerk of the head.
Roger took up a position similar to Priss', "You could say. So what brings you back?"
"The band." which was the truthfull answer. Tommorrow People was a very alt.music band out of the US. A combination of punk/death/thrash Priss had heard some samples over the net and had decided to check them out when they came over.
"Don't know much about them, but I'm sure this place'll go wild unless they are shite."
"They're OK. I've heard some of their stuff. Should suit you fine." Priss took a long draw on her beer. The beer was dry and chilled her guts.
The pair continued with small talk, Roger showing increased interest when Priss told him that she was a singer too.
They drank and Priss felt the buzz work over her body.
+++===+++
The tape music died down and onto the stage walked a regal thin man with a tophat and cane. He stopped at the microphone and raised his arms.
"Posthumans!" she shouted and the crowd which had gone silent errupted. The man of gaunt face smiled and waved for quiet again. "Tonight we give you Tommorrow People. They have come a long distance from The Degenerate States of America. This is KluB RotterN's first foriegn band so give them a warm welcome!" and he jumped into the crowd and the club exploded with light and sound.
"Woohoooooo!" Roger waving and jumping headed for the floot, "C'mon Priss, it's time to rage!" his face glowed.
Priss followed and on the stage Tommorrow People took up position and the controlled riot began.
Surrounded by a mass of moving bodies Priss became one with them. Her limbs jerked, her head shook and banged and she screamed.
Bodies pressed up against hers. Strangers. They had no faces to her. They were the mass, the crowd, the feeling of the moment- frenzied and incoherent.
Priss let herself go loose and let the power rush into her.
Through the mass she twisted and swayed. On her own will or being taken along in the current. Black, colour blended in her eyes. The throb of the bass raced up her legs to pump her heart. Sweat beaded her skin and flew from her as she danced.
Roger's face appeared infront of her own. It was streaming with sweat and his eyes were wide, maniacal almost, "Yeah!" he yelled, "This if fucking it!" and then he was gone, the tide taking him away.
Time evaporated.
She found herself holding up a crowd diver, a wildly screaming rocker, and passed him onwards; the attention of a lithe goth girl in a torn and frayed dress who with snake like eyes slithered over her thigh and side; head banging with kilt wearing punks one of whom in a moment of losing control raised his kilt high only to receive a barrage of scraps.
+++===+++
Priss stumbled out of the main floor. She reached a wall and took in a lung full of air.
Almost immediately she gagged, the smell of rotting food churing her stomach. With a groan she staggered to the toilets, thankfully there was no line as was usually the case for the females, and pushed in.
She leaned over a basin and splashed her face with water.
It had been intense out there on the floor. Usually the performer it had been a while since she had last let loose and completely given over to the atmosphere.
The door opened and half a dozen goths stumbled in, any trace of attempted elegance lost in the stage of their drunkeness.
Drunk herself Priss bumped into one.
"Hey bitch," the goth leered.
Priss' blood, already racing, heated up, "Get lost kid" she waved off.
The goths surrounded her and hands pushed all over.
Her fist lashed out and struck one of the tormentors on the side of the head. A space appeared where the goth had stood and Priss made for it.
A sharp pain stung her hand. She looked down and saw the needle of a syringe sticking into it. Hands gropped and held her. The goths yelled and shouted, Priss couldn't understand what they were saying. She saw the liquid in the syringe empty and felt it flood into her like a quicksilver glacier.
Priss screamed and yanked her hand away. The syringe came free. Then by reflex her hand shot out and crashed into a goth's nose.
Blood spurted out from the goth's nostrils and her head banged against the wall. Lines of red broke the chalk white face.
Her other arm bent at the elbow shattered anothers front teeth and she felt the hands slipping off. She struggled and lashed until she was free and reached the door.
She stumbled out passing a pair who entered, halted in suprise, "What the fuck happened here?" seeing the half dozen bloodied goths.
Sweat clouded her vision. She tried to wipe it away but her hands were shaking. Her legs lost strength and all sound was reduced to a single deafening roar.
Along the wall she gropped passing by the faces of ghosts and demons or were blank masks. The chill gripped her and she tried to hurry. Laughter, mocking overtook the roar.
Thought stretched out into eternity. She could see it. Like an oval it grew longer and longer reflecting nothing but the flash of light. 'What is happening?' but there was no answer, just the question that went on and on.
Happening happening happening. A highway.
There was no more wall and she fell without its presence onto a mass of black. It turned on her and pushed her off. Shrill laughter cracked her bones and the roar returned and the question raced on beyond the horizon ahead of her.
Bent over, hands feverishly clasped around her, sweat running down her face Priss took step after step until she found another wall. She leaned against it. 'Help, need help'. Fumbling her hands pulled free her phone. It nearly fell from her shaking hands. They had little feeling. Through blurred vision she pressed redial.
Linna was the last person she had called. Linna was her friend. Linna would come and help her. Help.
The tone was flat and monotonous. She could barely make out NO SIGNAL on the screen.
She looked around for a way out and saw something. Stuggling she made her way over.
It was a passageway. Few forms were in it. She ignored them. In the back of her mind she heard, "Hey, you can't go that, whoa- you looked totally fucked lady" she did not let her feet stop. If they did she might not be able to move again. She felt frozen, ice having replaced the blood in her veins. She clentched her teeth together to stop them from chattering.
She came to a doorway. Something was written onto it. She couldn't read it. Everything was a haze except for her question which still reached out beyond her.
She pushed on the door, more of a fall against it and it opened. She stumbled forward until her body hit another wall. Air free of the rotting smell invaded her lungs.
She threw up.
"Help, need help" her voice sounded impossibly weak in her mind.
She pulled out the phone again and pressed the button. There was a ringing tone. A breep that circled round and round the question and hoped onto it. The tone then vanished off the horizon.
Priss slowly sank to the ground trembling.
A click. A pause.
"Hello?" tired. Soft.
"Help..." Priss could barely speak.
"What? Who is... Priss?"
"He..." the phone fell from her fingers.
Something hard and curved pressed up against the botton of her chin and lift her head up.
"What do we have here my pretty?" a male voice echoed in her head.
She felt hands on her. Gropping.
"A nice one. Empty head too. Good." the hands pulled her up and turned her around.
"Just stay still my pretty,"
Where the hands touched her she burned. She grunted. If it were not for the other pressed up behind her she would have fallen.
The hands continued their exploring, moving down.
"Yes, yes my pretty" the voice was close, by her ear.
Priss snapped her head back connecting with the mans. He fell away and she almost collapsed. 'Away, help' she staggered away gropping along the wall. She did not know where she was going. Just away.
"Broke my nose bitch! I'll get you fucking whore!"
+++===+++
The roar had reduced to a throb. Lights danced in her eyes. She could go no further. No strength was left in her body. She couldn't feel her hands, barely see them. They looked alien. Not her own. Transparent.
For a second there was nothing and then she was looking up. The back of her head felt wet. The wetness invaded her mind. The wetness rose, further up, rising. She saw herself standing in water. She was still, like a mannequin. The water rose upwards. Passed her kness, her wait, her chest, submering her. She did nothing. Did not move. The water rose still, her neck, it reached her chin and then rose beyond until it passed over her.
The weight of the water pressed upon her. She held her breath. She didn't want to swallow the water. She didn't want to drown. She didn't want to die.
She came to the end of the question. It sprayed out and formed a wall infront her her. She beat upon it but it did not yeild. It surrounded her. She turned and turned but there wa no opening. The spinning continued speed lines racing around and around until they blended into one inpeneterable blackness.
There was nothing underneath her. Nothing around her. She fell, or did she float? She felt nothing.
The roar came back and her mind screamed.
She saw herself like in a mirror. She was standing. She had her hardsuit on with the visor up. Her self was naked and stared at her blankly.
'What is happening?'
Her Mirror's mouth opened in speaking. She heard nothing.
Then her Mirror's flesh bulged. Something was fighting to get out. Her Mirror shook and jerked and then exploded.
The red mist drew away from her eyes. There was no trace of her Mirror. In its place stood a boomer.
"What have you done to her?" she screamed.
"I have done nothing to you." the answer was directly in her mind.
She looked down at her body and hands. Encased in the hardsuit.
She tried to unlock the suit. Nothing happened. She pulled at it with her hands. Nothing happened. She tore at it. Where she tore blood ran.
Her eyes flared wide. "No!" her mind recoiled. "No! No its not"
"No I'm not" the voice in her mind, then "Yes I am."
Priss tore and tore and screamed and the world about her fell away.
+++===+++
"Priss! Priss wake up!" Linna grabbed her friend by the shoulders and shook.
Priss was unmoving. She looked terrible. Her skin was pale and feverish. "C'mon Priss, wake up, don't do this to me!" she shook harder, frantic.
"Ease up," hands pulled her back. Roger knelt down and checked Priss' pulse on her wrist. "Fuck, not good." He saw a mark and blood on her hand, "Not fucking good."
"What is it?" Linna's voice was shaky. After receiving the strange call she had checked the number and confirmed that it had been Priss'. A sense of dread had come over her, she thought she had heard the sounds of a fight or something. Immediately she had rushed out side, got a cab and headed to KluB RotterN. The scene shocked her. Everone stared at her. They would not let her in until she blurted out Priss' name.
Inside she had looked for her friend becoming increasingly worried. Her questioning had almost had her attacked by a group of black and blue faced gothics but a punk, Roger had pulled her out of trouble. He was also looking for Priss.
Outside they went having not found her in the club. They searched and searched, tears welling up in her eyes and they had found her, lying curled up like a foetus in an alley. Still and looking dead.
"Bad trip looks like it. Very bad." Roger checked Priss' eyes. They were rolled up.
"Oh my god. What do we do?"
"Head back to the club, they'll have something. Hopefully we've found her in time."
Roger lifted Priss up in her arms.
+++===+++
Priss let her self slide. Slip down the void. There was nothing for her now. The realisation had torn the reason for her being. And so she fell. Let the remnants of her thoughts flutter away like scraps of cloth. She watched them grow smaller and smaller as she sank or they rose higher. She didn't know which. She didn't care. It didn't matter, soon she wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.
Light exploded in her mind and pain followed instantly. She screamed again and again and felt herself rise with increasing pace until she outdistanced her ability to think and knew nothing.
+++===+++
Light entered her mind. She turned away from it. It was painfull.
"Priss, Priss you're awake! You're OK!" a weight fell over her. Thankfully it blocked the light.
Priss tried to speak. Nothing happened. Where her lips even apart? She could not tell. She tried to concentrate but that hurt. She gave up and relaxed. A moan came forth.
Hers.
"Oh thank god you're OK. I was so worried, I thought you might die."
It was Linna. Linna was speaking to her. Lying over her.
Something wet and cool fell onto her lips. A drop. She touched it with the tip of her tongue. It was salty. Another. She swallowed. A tear.
Crying over her.
+++=30=+++