Chaos and Poverty

New Osaka- June 15th 2233

The spiders were quiet, finally. Ichijo Hajime rose early, ate nothing and walked five miles to the 7-Fifty-Seven convenience store alone. He made sure to pass under the pulsing data tower that made his face hot and his skin itch. Next, he crossed through a neighborhood the New Japan government had cordoned off due to radiation. Those two rituals accomplished; he clocked in with a flick of his wrist on the chip-scanner. Then tucked his shoulder-length black hair under his hat and stood behind fifteen centimeters of ballistic-grade glass to watch the world walk by.

His job was essentially a robot babysitter. The cashiers were bright, cheerful screens with spindly white claws that were barely strong enough to lift a crate. Small pill-shaped robots scuttled along the floor scanning for debris. In the backroom, where even he wasn’t allowed, large robots brought in the freight and sent them down tubes which would spit items out onto their shelves or into the refrigerators, perfectly fronted.

He was the sole human at the establishment and that was how he liked it. He would sooner die than breathe the air of another human again. Not that it was likely to happen anytime soon. His position was one of obligation more than necessity since New Tokyo policy penalized storefronts that consisted of 100% automated workers. Plenty of people like him were employed all over, though they rarely saw the light of day or even the face of another human.

His store had blessed him with a one-way mirror allowing him perfect anonymity but with unlimited access to the greatest show on earth, the human race. While he didn’t wish to speak with any of them directly, watching the teeming masses pour through the front door was fun to him. To observe and not be observed, that was best especially in his situation.

The usual suspects came and went. An old man with a colorful shirt arrived and grabbed a bottle of artificial milk. He took a download of the morning news using a chip in his wrist and was out before anyone would notice. Not a single item out of place.

In the afternoon a group of schoolkids marched in. A mixed lot, mostly Japanese but a few more “gaijin” than there would’ve been on the mainland. But given that New Japan had been built on the bombed-out ashes of California, it was to be expected. Japan had legally purchased the land from the United States following World War IV, but integration had gone smoothly overall. In an American styling, all who lived in New Japan were called Japanese.

The kids messed around the hologaming booth in the corner before knocking over a single prepackaged sandwich and rushing out without paying for anything. Hajime directed the pill-bots to the spill.

Next came some businessmen hurrying through their lunch. Each of them had their left sides augmented with many spider-like appendages that balanced small screens while their bodies gathered sustenance. Their mechanical left side faces flitted around between tasks rapidly. And in their haste, they knocked over a great deal of items. Ichijo wondered how anyone would ever marry such a monstrosity. Sure, the limbs would be useful for all kinds of mechanical interfaces. But who would ever love such a face?

Nevertheless, men with such augmentations were surprisingly a hit with the ladies. This was likely due to the burgeoning industry of romantic-styled half-masks to wear at social functions. Men in good standing with half of their face disfigured with augmentations were surprisingly considered a catch these days. One of the suits stopped to admire a vending machine with various masks displayed within. These were all cheap, nevertheless the man purchased one before sliding out the door.

Ichijo was creeped out (and a tad jealous of the businessmen) but those paled in comparison to what came next.

Every so often they would swing through. They were gaudy, wearing clashing colors and artificial hair usually made of recycled wire and trash. They often wore next to nothing, though their outer shells had been ravaged by “enhancements” to the point of overkill. You wouldn’t know it, but they were often nationalists too. “Shin nihonjin” they called themselves, the “New Japanese”. And everything about them made Hajime’s skin crawl.

Everyone had modifications but these people were each a walking “ship of Theseus” in a country whose entire culture felt the same way post WW4. Today, a 7ft tall feminine type model had wandered in wearing a shiny yellow overcoat that struggled to contain their metallic bosom. Their hair was black and white cables that had been styled to appear like dreadlocks. Their skin was ribbed and metallic silver and black in intricate designs. Their pants, if something so short and revealing could be called such, were a bright yellow accented by thick black stripes.

Honeybee was the first thought that came to mind, as the person shambled in, leering at the various items on display. They wandered for a while, tediously careful not to touch anything until they arrived at the refrigerator containing alcohol. Or, more accurately, a fridge containing the kinds of “alcohol” that could help a cybernetic person get drunk. Usually, it came at the cost of some harsh chemical only an augmented person could digest. Each rack was given a toxicity rating in ascending order starting at 1-100 and ending in 1,000+.

The person grabbed two large red cans from the 1,000+ shelf and wandered in Hajime’s direction. He hovered his hand over the “report” button, his only power if a customer were to behave in an unruly manner.

“Come on, make my day.” He said to himself.

The feminine machine scanned each item themselves, ignoring the cash-automaton’s pathetic attempts at assistance. They unplugged a massive lock of hair and swiped it across the chip-scanner before plugging the follicle back in. Hajime sighed, it wasn’t illegal to have payment chips in places other than the wrist. It might’ve been a bit suspicious, but suspicious would mean his report button was useless as he’d have to file a report with city hall instead. And at the end of the day, he’d rather not spend so much time trying to snitch on a “New”.

“Whatever,” he relaxed, and the person lifted thier eyes and peered through the glass at him. The eyes were magenta, ringed with pure white and they glowed in the faint shadow of the early morning. They must’ve had thermal imaging implanted behind them, that, or they were guessing perfectly at where he was and where his eyes were looking. He waved politely, trying his best not to cringe at the sight of them violating his privacy. They waved back, then marched out wordlessly.

If Hajime were employed in the 21st century, his manager would’ve chewed him out for the scowl he wore for the next two hours. He never fancied himself a religious person, but deep in his gut he couldn’t shake the feeling that augmenting oneself to the extent the “New Japanese” did was tantamount to sacrilege. How could someone accept circuitry, wire, and artificial muscle in exchange for a human body? In exchange for flesh, blood, and real sensation borne from the primordial soup, what could be gained?

While he himself had several solid-drives implanted in his brain mass he could never cross the threshold as some did. To replace the brain-stem, the Amygdala, the prefrontal cortex. It just didn’t sit right with him. The brain was sacred, replacing it over anything else, was all kinds of wrong.

The day shuffled past in a blur, more people passed through, some flamboyant but none as gaudy as the honeybee. 8 hours into his shift, Hajime peeled the skin on his wrist and extracted the chip inside with a thin metal device. He swapped it for another ID chip from a small carrying case in his pocket then sprayed the open area with flesh glue and reapplied the skin.

That was illegal, but thankfully, his employer desperately needed to several people on the payroll and Hajime was willing to oblige with various aliases. Once one shift ended, he would swap IDs and start another shift with a new name. He even had permission to modify or delete security footage as he saw fit. He got creative sometimes and even dressed in different outfits when he came and went for lunch.

Before he could complete the shift change with Hajime’s ID he forgot himself as he looked through the glass. The goddess appeared in the shop. He didn’t know her name, her age, or anything else about her only that she was the sole source of joy in the entire world. That the sun and the earth sang her praises wherever she walked.

Hajime sidled up to the glass, his nose pressing against it, glasses scraping against the silicone, his eyes feasting. She was modestly taller than the average but not freakishly so with short black hair that curled around her head like a helmet. Her skin was milk chocolate, her eyes dark with the faintest brown that almost seemed red in the light. She must’ve been afro-Asian of some stripe or a mixture of many other races entirely. Her parentage didn’t matter so much as what she was… human. 100 percent human from stem to stern.

Today she dressed in a form fitting suit and a modestly long pencil skirt. The accent of black and white gave her a sophisticated aura that was irresistible. She must’ve been on her way to or from an interview. A proper lady, she avoided wasting time and grabbed the two items she got every day a water bottle and a low-fat sandwich.

Ichijo went to the controls of the cashier bot and personally assisted her with scanning and bagging the two items. Like an expert at a crane-game, Ichijo delicately handled each one, placing them in a small bag then tying the handles in a cute little bow. She purchased them with a chip on a keychain rather than her wrist. “So perfect.” He whispered.

When she was done, he raised one of the claws and waved it back and forth. She waved back cutely, then glanced at the glass and waved in his general direction. He knew, unlike the honeybee, she couldn’t see him. She wouldn’t. Unlike everyone else in this sick world, she was human, she was real. And just being in her presence made him gleeful.

As she walked out with a skip in her step, he felt a sense of relief, a feeling that he could continue one more day. He swiped his new chip to start the next shift then stepped outside to have a smoke.

The sweet smoke filled his lungs and burned as he exhaled, filling the alleyway with a thick cloud of ash. He savored the taste, the smell, the noxious feeling it gave him. Lately it was getting harder to get a real cigarette, so he’d begun to ration them. The last cigarette he’d had was five days ago and he’d been saving this one for a good day. The sweltering heat combined with the smoke made everything blend in a watery haze. Bliss. As the mirage in the corner of his vision cleared; he realized he was being watched.

Across the street in the shade of the net café was his goddess. Unaware of himself he waved shyly, and she returned the favor in a single graceful nod. She was sweaty, but the heat of the day had come from her. She stood alone, her overcoat slung over her left shoulder, three buttons on her white blouse undone revealing the beads of sweat cascading into the ravine. She held up her right hand revealing the water bottle, full, wet with condensation.

She removed the cap with the flick of her thumb then wrapped her lips around the opening making eye contact, showing him. She maintained this gaze as she swallowed the clear liquid in thick gulps until it was gone. She threw her head back and gasped so loudly it echoed across the street and down the alley. She smiled and dropped the bottle on the ground with a clatter.

He covered his mouth in shock, hastily dousing his cigarette on the wall, averting his eyes. He had scarcely overcome his confusion when he heard the sweetest voice calling after him.

“You’re the cashier, aren’t you? From that store?” He looked up at his goddess standing mere feet from him in the shade.

“I uh, I don’t know what you mean?” She looked him over then stepped forward and knocked the 7-Fifty-Seven hat off his head, playfully.

“Oh, my mistake!” She said, flashing her perfect teeth as she giggled. “I must be mistaken. But while you’re here…” She she stepped close enough to touch her nose to his. “Do you want to have some fun?” She asked, gingerly stroking his face with the back of her fingers.

He froze, so many things racing through his head, so many things he’d kept secret, kept hidden, about her about him, about the things he wanted to do. I love you, I want to kiss you, I want to hold you, I want to sleep with you. All he managed was a nervous gasp.

“That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me…” she cooed, dropping her hand to his chest and digging her index finger into his sternum. He slid back into the doorway as he let go of his precious cigarette, forgotten in the mess. Around them, sparse amounts of humanity marched by, but none seemed to take no notice. She breathed on his neck and melted into him. Her overcoat dashed to the ground as she worked her left hand around the small of his back under his shirt, stroking the base of his spine up and down.

“Aw, hell.” He wrapped his arms around her body. Their heat and sweat began to mis as they mulled together in the alley. She cupped his chin and dug her tongue between his lips. Her kiss washed away the taste of tobacco. The sensation of holding her so close overwhelmed his senses.

“Why don’t we take this someplace private?” She asked when she came up for air. He opened the door and gestured into his office. His goddess stepped back and raised an eyebrow, forcing him back to earth. His brain fog began to clear as he realized just how impossible this situation was. What was he thinking? What was the right thing to do in this situation? He stammered, trying to come up with something to break the tension. “I’m so sorry!” she said, “I forgot. You’re at work, right?”

“Uh… yeah?” He managed.

“Well, hey… can you get off early?” She asked, replacing the hat on his head.

“Sure.” Taking a half-step inside he swiped his wrist at the chip-scanner to clock out his second alias. Hastily, he shut the door and reached out for her again. She had stepped towards the curb, looking down at a smartwatch on her wrist. Behind her, as if from hell itself rolled a long black vehicle with tinted windows. The rear doors split open with a hiss releasing a cold breeze from the air conditioning inside.

He hesitated, suddenly having the good sense to be suspicious. She grabbed his hand, reminding his other head to do the thinking. “Come on. We can take my car.” She insisted. He followed her into the black limousine without resistance.

A year ago, and he would’ve been on his guard. Terrified at the situation he would have immediately become suspicious. Eleven years ago, he wouldn’t have let things get this far. He would have turned her down. But that was a lifetime ago, before he was Ichijo Hajime. He was lonely now, desperate, but worse than that; he was in love. He just didn’t care anymore.

The doors clicked shut and the dim blue lights overhead showed very little. His eyes locked onto his goddess in the dark. She held his face close to hers and whispered. “Why’d you start working in such a dump, cutie? You could do so much better.”

Still in lalaland he answered without hesitation. “Anywhere would do. I just needed a place is all.”

“Really? A man with your talents could work anywhere, Joben. Why waste yourself on a convenience store?”

His considerable excitement finally subsided as the missing pieces clicked together. Ichijo slumped against the limousine door and sighed deeply. “What gave me away? Hell, how long have you known?”

“Oh, since you first started working where I get my breakfast.” She admitted. “Just a bit of bad luck, really.” He paid attention to her eyes, finally. They glowed red in the dark casting shadows on her perfect face. But they had looked so perfect he never would have suspected they were enhanced.

“Yeah, that tracks.” He sat upright. “So, what can I do for you?” She smiled, sliding her hand along the seat until she reached him.

“The organization I represent has a need for a mind for body-hacking, ID-spoofing and the like. And well, who could be better than the man that ripped off the whole country while I was in Middle school?” She removed his hat again, running her fingers through his hair as she continued. “I practically knew you the moment I stepped in the shop. You can’t imagine the thrill I felt when I saw you sitting there like a good little boy slaving away. Ahhh.” She trailed off, losing herself in his unwashed hair. “I asked if I could get you a long time ago, but I only just got the approval.” He relaxed considerably, not with the government at least.

“Lucky me.” He breathed with a hint of sarcasm. She chuckled.

“I have a short-term position open for you. If you’re willing, I can make it more than worth your while, of course.” Ichijo studied her, looking for anything that might give away her game. As was consistent with her behavior up till now; she was so sexy he just couldn’t tell.

“Fine!” He yelled. “I don’t care anymore!” He threw himself on top of her reaching for her lips with his. Between the kisses she revealed her next step.

“Oh- Good-“ She breathed. “I’m just- mwah, so glad you could join us.” She gasped loudly as he released her, attacking her neck. “Oh Joseph!” She yelled. “Get this man the employment contract, please?”

Three loud footsteps pounded against Joben’s ears as a massive shadow bounded up to him from the darkness. A giant’s hand wrenched him free of the heavenly embrace of his goddess and forced his face into the floor. A half second later, pins and needles exploded across the back of his neck and across his skin as 50,000 volts crashed over him.

Voices came and went, a beautiful laugh reached his ear the likes of which would make a grown man blush and then; nothing.

Oh well. He thought. Wasn’t planning on living much longer anyways.

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A short boy sat across from him at a table. He’d been loitering about the house all day making it seem to grandpa that he was a friend visiting. Joben didn’t bother correcting the record. If the kid wasn’t trying to pick on him, he didn’t care if he was pretending to be his friend. As Joben played with his video game the kid leaned over and whispered to him; “Hey! Is it true your grandpa saved the Prime Minister?”

Joben looked up from his game, finally acknowledging the interloper. “Yeah, he’s a neurosurgeon. Probably the best one in the world.” Joben wasn’t exaggerating as far as he knew. In the study where the two boys sat alone there were twenty plaques on the wall that belonged to the old man. Contributions to science, special honors and so on. Joben’s grandpa was so dedicated to his work he’d made it a point to ask his grandson daily if he’d like to learn surgery. He'd turned him down every time, but he had no doubt that if he learned from Grandpa, he’d be one of the best.

The short boy scratched behind his head nervously. “Do you think if I ask nicely, he would mentor me?”

“Yeah, probably.” Joben decided, and the boy smiled widely, revealing several missing teeth.

“Awesome!” He said, “Hey, do you think we could hang out again sometime?” The boy’s eyes were hopeful and excited. Not at the prospect of spending more time with Joben but at the prospect of spending time with grandpa. All at once the pain struck him. He felt so lonely even with someone sitting right across the table.

He dropped his video game and squinted his eyes as hard as he could to keep the tears away. As he struggled not to sob, he couldn’t help but ask “Are you okay with being friends with me instead?”

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He woke up feeling as though he’d had a good night’s sleep. He instantly knew something was very wrong. His body was wet and warm. He tried to thrash about but couldn’t move more than a centimeter in any direction. His vision was dark, and he could feel the unmistakable sensation of something shoved down his throat forcing air in and out.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Came a voice in his ear. No sooner had he heard it but his body was forced upright and he was attacked with the sensation of air exploding across the gelatinous solution around him dissolving it instantly.

Two pairs of arms fussed with his limbs then gingerly lowered him onto what felt like a metal grate. The helmet obstructing his vision was quickly removed by the same two hands that pulled the tube from his throat prompting him to gag. A stomach filled with green and yellow fluids emptied onto the grate between his knees. “I don’t remember eating that.” He commented but something sounded wrong about his voice.

“Good work.” The voice continued, this time far above him. “Better out than in, Joben.” The ceiling stretched upwards revealing a long metal catwalk. Perched atop it and wearing a white labcoat and horn-rimmed glasses that must’ve been some kind of joke was his goddess. The massive room was lined with tall blue pods glowing in the darkness. Each with what must’ve been a person covered head-to-toe in black amniotic suits. In front of them, the floor was a thick metal grate beneath which sloshed a gentle but warm current of water.

Ichijo glanced behind himself noting two tall robots that were now in the process of cleaning the pod he’d sprung from. “What is this? A cryogenic facility?” He grasped his throat, his voice sounded like a tenor and he was certain he’d always been a baritone.

“No, but I’m sure if I wanted to put you on ice here I could, Joben. Welcome to your day one. We look forward to working with you. If you’ll kindly take a look in the provided mirror, we can get started.” She gestured to a flat chrome panel three feet in front of him on the floor. He sluggishly picked it up and stared at a face he couldn’t recognize.

Green eyes and short, brown, curly hair. The skin was white with a slender neck and round ears with elegantly attached earlobes. He gasped, and the girl in the mirror gasped at the same time. He dropped the panel and tore at the thick amniotic suit that was covering him. Freeing one hand, he nearly fell over in shock. The arm was slender and the small fingers bore modest French tips.

“Welcome to your new body, Joben Gima. Though, for simplicity’s sake I’ll be calling you Kaiya Arakawa from now on.” The woman explained.

“Kaiya?” He replied incredulously.

“Yes, the very same. A good name for you, I think you’ll like it. That body is property of the organization, your new employer, and any experiences gained while in said body is also property of said organization.” She continued.

He glanced to the left of the tank he had been released from and saw the impossible. He saw himself. A 32-year-old Japanese man with long black hair sleeping soundly. “M-my…” He stuttered.

“Your old body will be held as collateral. Should you accomplish your tasks for the organization correctly you will have said body returned to you once your contract is terminated.” Ichijo began to tear at the suit again revealing a body he couldn’t believe was real. It wasn’t what was there that threw him off but what wasn’t. He couldn’t feel his manhood between his legs and as he moved, he sensed a slight delay like this body was floating around him. As the suit came off in pieces, the reality began to dawn on him. A reality that consisted of long legs, and two large breasts sagging down on his chest.

He covered them instinctively as the goddess continued her speech. “Of course, once your contract is terminated your memories of your employment will be terminated alongside it as, once again, such knowledge is property of the organization and not the employee.”

“What did you do to me!?” Ichijo bellowed.

She giggled, “I gave you my best, of course! That body of yours will serve you well in your assignment, Kaiya.”

“Who the hell are you?!” He asked, a fire lit in his gut.

“How rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself.” She said, removing her glasses and flipping her gorgeous hair. “My name is Jaelynn Amadeus. Augmentation specialist and nano-scientist. I look forward to working with you, Kaiya.”