Wired 2

[Mac Sirloin]

As the bus slalomed down one of the dustier hills leading to the harbor-burrough of Dock Furke, Barry felt a strange sensation emanating from the middle of his skull. Between the hemispheres of his brain, it could have been. Wrinkling his brow, he tried to crack it like he would his neck, subconsciously cracking his fingers as he thought about it. Barry guessed this was his headgear realigning itself to the Dock Furke network, but it could just be a side effect of the special cigarellos he got from the driver. His nerves felt rattled enough.
“God.” he mumbled. “I hope this doesn't happen every damn time I take the bus.” He pulled his hat over his eyes and sank back into his chair a moment.
As the hardened rubber wheels of the bus shook down the rough dusty road, Brit ignored Barry as a gap between the low-cost housing and fish markets widened into a flattish stretch of sandlot overlooking the harbor. Enormous, horizon-straddling cargo ships hovered over the water steadily, a slow nonstop rumbling just barely detectable over the din of the rattling thin walls of the bus all that gave them away apart from their unquestionably large size. Brit watched a ginormous loading crane pick up a transport pallet the size of a bungalow and maneuver it into the hold of one of the ships, just as her view was cut off as the bus made a turn down a street already lit up with the neon night. She sighed and smiled.
'There's a reason all the good people moved out here.' She thought.
Barry stirred as the light flashed over him and calmly grabbed for the 'stop' lever above his head, heaving himself up with it and massaging his eyeballs with his thumb and forefinger as a soft 'ding1' chirped out of a speaker behind the driver. Suddenly, he felt a twitch and loud pop emanate from in his head and fell back into his seat, plucking his hat off and rubbing his temples.
“Oooh...I heard that, Barr.” Brit said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Barry made a small nod, then stood up quickly, his face erupting into an anxious grin.
“ThiszszourSTOP!” he shouted, surprising the bus driver who made an effort to slam on the breaks to knock the lumbering Barry off his feet out of spite, but it slid to the same easy, comfortable stop it had made every single time prior. Barry dance-sprinted to the front of the bus and wordlessly tossed some change into the driver's tin.
“You're still tactless!” he called behind him, jerkily prancing into the street. Brit calmly stepped out, nodding at the driver and smiling halfheartedly. He shrugged his flabby shoulders and pretended to polish his sunglasses. As the bus rolled away, the old woman near the driver perked up and shambled into the aisle, watching her footing and grinning at the driver through his mirror.
“We were just as bad.” She quipped.
The driver kept quiet.

Brit made an effort to walk as calmly as possible as Barry twitched along beside her, the pocketwatch chain hanging from his pants rattling around noisily. The few people on the street made a deliberate effort not to get in his way.
“Och, what're you doing, Barry?” Brit asked, keeping step. Barry paused, and jerkily straightened out, trying to walk properly.
“It was them jump-darts what the drivah had.” He rattled in a kentucky drawl.
“No, it's your damn gear not resetting to the network.” said an irritated voice behind them. Brit and Barry jumped and turned around, Barry landing rather awkwardly all over the ground and Brit catching herself on a signpost.
“Aw gee, boss.” Brit said apologetically. “We didn't mean to be late.”
Ron “Ruck” Rickerton stood behind them frowning. His tool belt hung just visible on his left under the “Furke Fracturer's” coat which sat open in the light spring air, an article of clothing he made himself as a wearable advertisement to his self-owned manufacturing plant. A pair of wrinkled work pants scraped unhemmed on the sidewalk below him. He scratched his dirty blonde hair and scowled.
“You're not late. I just got a message from Barry...well, about Barry saying he got his headpiece put in. I'm the only person you know who can actually realign you to the Dock Furke network. Otherwise you just get shit like this all the time.” Ruck gestured at Barry's spasming frame.
“Ya d-d-don't say?” Barry pleaded. “Ah god, I feel like I'm about to break somehow. Reset me up. You reset me up! Rated 'R' for reset.” He babbled.
Ruck wordlessly pulled a media player out of his pocket and disconnected the headphones hanging from his neck to reattach it to what was called a 'Frequency Allocater', but was really more of a ranged, almost unnoticeable tazer.
“Line in.” he said, looking at Barry plainly. Barry yanked a clickety-clacking wire out of his headgear and lodged it into a second wire hanging out of the Frequency Allocater.
“Awright. This is going to look and feel pretty stupid.” Ruck said. Some passersby looked with mild curiosity as Barry yelped in surprise as his mechanical components all synced up with his headgear.
“I can't believe it took you this long to get something that has network support.” Ruck grumbled. “Cocks!” he added quietly.
Barry stood still a moment, steadying himself bow-legged as all of his parts began working in-synchro.
“Yesssssssss.” Barry said smoothly.
“Cool.” said Ruck. “We done here?”
“Uhhh, I guess.” said Barry. “Brit?”
“I don't have metal parts jutting out of me. I'm pretty okay in general.” Brit responded, crossing her arms.
“Alright, good.” Ruck smiled. “Be at the north plant in ten minutes or you're both fired.” He then climbed into a Taxi, continuously giving them the middle finger through the window as it rolled away and turned a corner.

[MA]

He then climbed into a Taxi, continuously giving them the middle finger through the window the whole time.

this could quite possibly be the greatest sentence of all time.

fucking great stuff.

[Mac Sirloin]

And now something that's all over the place.

Brit took a quick glance at Barry, waved her hand, and took off down the road. As Ruck turned the corner, Barry realized that they'd been dropped off at the public inclinator, sitting downhill not ten blocks away. Shuffling his feet tiredly, Barry gained momentum within a short time's jogging. He flexed the cushioning implants in his knees and took a large, galloping leap. He landed ten feet behind a still sprinting Brit who turned worriedly at the noise. Barry stumbled forward, but maintained his locomotion and took another jump. He sprang forward as a small gang of old women with a shopping cart appeared around a corner and landed clean in the basket, carrying it forward with him. Brit leapt out of the way as the cart whined past her, Barry trying to free himself from the contents and shouting
“Hoooooooo!” as loudly as he could.

Barry threw an arm out and caught the paint peeling remains of an old street lamp. The two metal digits on his left hand screeched and burned but held the metal tightly. The cart veered into the road and hurtled towards a large group of people packing into the inclinator through a large steel gate/
“LOOK OUT!” Brit shouted. A pair of gang bangers leaning on the gate looked up at her quizzically.
“Cook out?” one said. “There's a cook out?”
“Yessss. Just what I needed.” Said the other. “I am getting my roasted yam on tonight!”
A group of people wandered by them, obscuring the speeding Barry just as he crested the road in front of them.
“NO BRAKES! CART! WATCH IT!” Brit yelped.
The taller of the two bangers saw a swath of people leap out of the way ahead of him.
“What the-” he said, as Barry thundered through the gate, latching onto a railing and turning hard onto the maintenance staircase that led under the inclinator. The wheels caught the safety rails and rolled mine-cart like down the enormous stairwell. Barry tucked himself into the cart as much as he could, piping and red emergency lamps flew above him in a blur.
Brit wheezed her way into the gate, no sign of Barry but some curious people.
“He boarded already! What a dick.” She said.

Meanwhile, Ruck directed his Taxi to park in front of the inclinator gate at the bottom of the hill, near his factory. To his annoyance, there was some kind of delay with the inclinator, as it had paused halfway down. Picking up a battered newspaper, he sat in the Arrival lounge and caught up with his stocks and the comics. Ruck hated the comics.
There was a groan above him, a loud, mechanical bang, and the sound of an enormous gearbox complaining. Alarm lights began flaring through the view window above him, tracking a straight line down the maintenance tunnel. He followed the red lights just as they levelled out to the maintenance door sitting about twenty feet away. People mumbled in mild panic just as Barry exploded through the door, his battered cart flinging two wheels into the air, dragging itself into a desk and finally harmlessly flipping itself apart into a couch. Ruck dropped his paper as Barry peeled the wrecked cart off of him. He moved his arm awkwardly and brought it up in front of his shakily. There was a large chunk his left hand missing.
“Huh. Hadn't felt that.” He said, then fainted.

Ruck paid the On-site First Aid worker fifteen hundred dollars to patch together Barry's hand and call off an ambulance, shelled out another three thousand to have a top-of-the-line replacement hand delivered to his factory office, and about one hundred dollars to the secretary whose desk had been damaged. He took great lengths to avoid bad publicity, and needed Barry intact to work. His headgear had prevented a concussion, though heat grating was dented. The tunnel was surprisingly unharmed, and the maintenance crew had to admit that the scrape that ran the length of the stairwell was cool looking. Ruck had decided that the railing, which could expand outward and contract, had simply maintained a wide, perfect rail the whole way down. It kind of made sense.
Brit arrived in the exit lounge a disoriented and battered Barry, and a tired Ruck.
“Mr. Rickerton.” She said.
“Brit.” He replied, not looking up.
“Is he...”
“He's fine. A little shaken and roughed up, but otherwise he's A-okay.” Ruck looked up and smiled.
“Well if you say sOH MY GOD WHERE'S HIS HAND!?” Brit said, her eyes widening.
“We don't know. But there's a new one ready for him. It's taken care of.”
Brit slit her eyes and looked up at the engine for the inclinator warily.
“Well sir, I think I do.” She said, jabbing a thumb at the expanse of steel above them.
“Who's ready for some climbing action?” Barry chirped.