(SCRAPPED) This Future Sucks: Chapter 4

My abode is a hand-me-down from Buddy, who originally settled here after the Velocitards raided a rival lieutenant and flatlined him for puncturing their tyres before a street race. The stench of cat urine, rat shit and hoarded junk was so overwhelming that even for a punk, he cannot stand it for longer than a week.

At the time, he knew that I lost my previous job and bed, so without telling me the deets, he offered it to me for free. I was suspicious, but the dire need for a roof prompted me to say yes anyway.

I didn’t know about the squalid state until I first stepped into the unit. The scent jabbed my nostrils so hard that I thought I was choking on it. Fighting the urge to vomit, I ended up hiring two housekeeping robots to cleanse every surface and corner of the room until its former relative beauty was restored and the junk all gone. I was content with the furniture and didn’t do anything to replace them.

The sucky part was at the end of that month, I came back from the Shmart convenience store across the apartment to find a green holo message on my door reminding me to slot in a monthly rent of 1500 (this was now inflated to 1900). Dead bastard must be snickering six feet under.

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The footage that led me to quit my corporate life was my own recording of a veck contracted to flatline a ptitsa that stole his client’s dosh from his account.

Astro gave me a deadline to give them something. Anything more impactful than DigiCel’s previous luncheon or the latest Gerak Gasing Game episode. My gulliver was hurting from a lack of inspiration. Lack of unique topics. My relationship with my co-worker was further strained than before.

At the time I also started hanging out with the Velocitards after reuniting with Buddy while recording a seedy, hilly road of Bintang Street, populated by dingy hotels, massage parlors, blue painted tenement slabs and a few small offices of questionable background. One night after work and getting a huge earful from my co-worker, I went to see them and asked for any Dumbos, which they happened to have. There was also a guy that I never met before. He wore neither gang threads nor colors.

They questioned my dress shirt and tie. Was I corpo scum this whole time?

Suddenly, I told them everything about my job. I didn’t know why. Maybe I needed a soul to talk to. Anyone to vent out my frustrations on. I bitched about how sucky it was the longer I stayed, and that my degree didn’t matter in the end. My motivation committed hara-kiri when toxic work culture surfaced and permeated the air. My co-worker was a bitch to me. Living in the same unit was a lobotomy. And now I had a deadline to catch and my inspiration was a dried-out dam. I think I almost busted my vein when my rant sounded angrier. I blurted about fantasies of recording snuff as an Astro assignment. Blood and violence in corporate media are a norm, but they are still edited and filtered. I wanted more than that. Close-up of fatal injuries. Cut skin. Pooling blood. Spilled out guts. Exposed cartilage. Gargled, bloodied mouth close to my Lucid eyewear. An agonizing, slow journey of death.

I wanted to quit. I felt done with Astro. Done with news. Done with corporate commercials. Done with heavy editing and “necessary alterations”. Done with soulless stock music. Fucking ukeleles. Fucking guitars. Fucking synth orchestras. Fucking whistles. I screamed out a corporate vocal melody. My body and hands spazzed in the air as I yelled “BO-BO-WAY, AAAAAA!” five times.

I had to take a breather.

I looked at the Velocitards, staring at me like they just finished listening to a synthcoke-riddled sermon. Then they laughed like hyenas. They gave me some complimentary Dumbos.

Buddy stood up and approached me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I think we have someone that can pay you to do exactly what you wanna do.”

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The stranger among them was dressed in all black with a latex bald human mask on his head. The eyeholes looked a little too big to exactly align with his own, but otherwise the disguise wasn’t loose. On the black sweatshirt are red lettering that read: “LULZ”, two letters for each row.

The man never gave me a name or alias. From now on, I’ll just call him the LULZ Guy because of his shirt.

He promised me six kay for shooting his work, adding that his employer wanted raw footage and paid him an advance sum for anybody willing to be the camera or Lucid man.

Lucid eye or headgears have camera functions and quality similar to a smartphone’s, but cameras themselves still take the cake for more professional, cleaner shots. Still, I already made up my mind to just shoot with my Lucid visors. You want to inhale the stagnant vibes of amateur, unfiltered snuff? Don’t be too clean.

I asked LULZ Guy what he was gonna do soon as we started walking down the sidewalk while being briefly interrupted by a holo model in a blue suit promising the first free ten minutes of his get-rich-quick courses. LULZ Guy mentioned his contract living in one of those blue residential walls, right here in this red-light district of Bintang Street. This contract was a sloppy jockey that snuck in and stole the employer’s creds from his bank account, leaving a trial in her escape. That was reason number one.

Reason number two was that she was his former worker before she bailed on bad terms. He was paranoid that she will snitch on him to the authorities.

I looked at LULZ Guy’s hip and hands for any weaponry but couldn’t take a good look while we kept walking.

“How long have you worked for Astro?” he asked after minutes of silence.

“Shoot, three years? I was one year away from reaching the first half of my 20s when I got my degree. Interned in Astro, got absorbed straight after that. I…it….”

I almost stammered but kept going.

“It wasn’t so bad, really. Got to do what I studied for. Pay was nice. At first I breezed into it. Had a nice room too. Halfway through my second year, maybe I didn’t notice it earlier, but I gradually felt the toxicity of the workplace. Work pressure was increasing. I have this co-worker of mine. Frack me…she’s always a jerk, but we still got along well and worked together in that first and second year, you know? Hell, I thought we would be best friends for good. I genuinely liked her. I really do…”

I frowned while LULZ Guy kept looking at me through his latex mask. I continued, remembering the familiar face crowned with shoulder-length black shaggy bangs and green eyes.

“She turned out to be a softie too. Thought her pride and fieriness are her normal character, maybe they are something that hide her true emotions or whatever, so I endured. But then we fell apart. Whenever she’s pissed or miserable, she relieved them on me. As much as I gradually disliked her for that, I still stuck to the believe that it was just her way of expressing her emotions. Lately I thought maybe it’s bullshit. I don’t know anymore…I think I’m going to move out. This sucks.”

No response from LULZ Guy. Just us walking and keeping our mouths shut after that. The crowd is thinning out as we approach a pathway off the sidewalk.

“So…I’m a cameraman. Is it fine if I ask your client for maybe a higher fee? I believe I can really get this up close, you know?” I asked.

LULZ Guy shrugged.

“Footage first. I’ll still pay you, but no more higher than six. Whatever he feels about your work is up to him alone.”

“Can you at least mention my career? I’m also thinking of leaving Astro, like I ranted before.”

“Sure.”

“Cool. Want my number so you can send it to him?”

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My green, round visored Lucid was set on record. We were standing outside a door on the third floor. Unit 304. Choice of liquidation: a silenced, laser sighted XAR Mark II. Hollow point. LULZ Guy gently planted a small, solid black circular object with four flaps onto the lock of the wooden door.

Loud but muffled, upbeat Chinese Pop music was blasting inside the unit. The corridor reeks with the familiar stench of waste and rats. Concrete floors are slightly wet from a few leaky pipes in some spots. No security to be found. Anybody that we passed was probably wise enough to not question our presence and minded their own biz.

Still, I was nervous of pooshka-totting residents. I remarked this quietly to LULZ Guy, who told me to just stay close to him and take the nearest cover.

We looked at each other, half of me impressed that his latex human mask still held on. A small nod. Pressed the black circle. A red ring. Rapid beeping into a singular tone. The ring turned green. Lock picked.

LULZ Guy quickly kicked the door open and took aim. I took a Dumbo earlier before we stepped inside the building. The female Chinese vocals and cheery instrumental drilled into my ears. I didn’t think I can hear anything else. Not even the shriek of a buzzcut woman when she realized our entry. A flat monitor was sitting on a low table in the living room. She just dropped her Lucid CyLink headgear.

I zoomed in just in time to see her body dropped onto the carpet in one shot before she can reach out for her pooshka on the table. I quickly closed in before LULZ Guy, scanning her entire figure. One entry wound on the neck. Her wheezing was drowned out by the music. That or it was still the intense volume in my Dumbo-filled headspace.

I stood behind the woman’s head, looking up to LULZ Guy when he approached and pulled her up by her shirt. I climbed onto the sofa, zooming onto his next handiwork. His free hand gripping onto her short hair. Horrified eyes rolled back as cartilages and muscle were caved into her face, violently rearranged by the solid impacts of a chain of pistol whips. A trail of painful groans escaped her lips. Energy ebbing away from blood loss, oozing out of her deformed nostrils.

Watching the kill up close felt longer than it really was. I caught specks of tiny blood splatters glistening in the air for a long nanosecond. My glazzies behind my Lucid visors stared in awe of the beautiful spectacle, every angle of her mangled visage captured in my first ever snuff. Personal. Unclean. Visceral. Orgasmic.

LULZ Guy had enough. I was standing on the sofa now, still zooming onto the woman’s face. A part of the neck was coated by a stream of blood oozing from the bullet hole. The silencer was placed on the forehead. Trigger pulled twice. She dropped like lead. Two fresh holes leaked both blood and some brain matter. Her eyes remained open. The inwardly twisted nose no longer recognizable from its original form.

For a while, time felt static the longer I focused on the woman, closing into her mortal wounds and necrotic eyes. In the footage, it only took three minutes before I heard LULZ Guy calling me. As much as I wanted to scour for any gold or gizmo, we took nothing from the unit. I stopped recording as the door was locked from within and shut.

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As promised, I was paid six kay by hand in return for my footage, which I shared to his phone via BlueTooth. I later transferred five into my MayCimb account. LULZ Guy only nodded when I reminded him of my number. I didn’t expect to be called back, but extra creds aside, I still wanted out of Astro regardless.

There was nothing to return to the studio as I never really kept any borrowed work equipment in my room. Only my Astro ID remained, and it was still sitting on my table when I returned to pack my belongings.

Co-worker was talking in her phone or Lucid inside her room, her voice audible from outside. It was the last time I ever hear from her. As quietly as I can, I zipped up my bag, placed my apartment keycard on my ID at the table, and slipped out while she was still in conversation.

No fracking way was I going back to HQ, nor will I ever share my footage. Took the nearest train I could catch. An LRT to KL’s central transit hub, then an MRT to Cochrane. I narrowly avoided a riot in the MRT subway between fans and opposers of non-fungible celebrity tokens. The news later reported that it ended in a clusterdrokk of gunfire. Many died on the spot.

I rented a cube for a couple of days, which was conveniently close to a mall. In my laptop, I closed my work accounts and typed out a resignation letter addressed to my superior and HR, adding that my ID and keycard can be found on my room’s table and that I give zero drokks if I am entitled to my final salary or not.

After sending the letter, I suddenly felt fear tingling in my nerves. What if Astro will send somebody after me for whatever reason? Demand for a clear explanation? A barrel to the face? Breach of contract?

I peeked through my cube’s peephole. Nobody was outside. Hurriedly, I took a dose of Dumbo and grind my teeth together as I pried for any arms shops online.

Gun. I need a gun. I’m officially no longer a corporate citizen. I am a meatbag like any other in the streets. I felt my heart beating faster for a moment when I think of a worse scenario: Astro hiring VaS to fuck me over.

All that for one cameraman. It’s possible. Rely on the big cheese instead of your own corpsec. Flex your muscles. Be hard. Use credits to exercise power. Exercise fear. Exercise warnings. Execute.

Frack it. If I will be full of lead soon, I might as well sign off in a climactic gunfight.

I found a decent store and decided to settle on a XAR Mark II like LULZ Guy. Came with a complimentary hip holster. Priced at 10k. Extra two for two additional clips. Soon I will be left with around two kay. Expect delivery for 24 hours.

Suddenly my phone and Lucid visor rung, the latter sitting on the carpet near my legs. It was an unknown number. Looking through the peephole, I picked up my phone.

“…who is this?” I asked.

“Am I speaking to a cameraman of my recent problem solver?” A voice of indetermined gender. Distorted. Guttural. But still somewhat clear.

“…what did the footage show?”

“My former girl being pistol whipped to the face. Your close ups and angles put me in a cheerful mood. Excellent shooting. I was told you wanted an extra price?”

“…yeah. I want an additional six kay. I also want to talk to you face-to-face, meatspace or Lucid. I want to know more about whatever you are the leader of. I want to know if you are offering a position too. Is that all okay?”

Silence. And then the voice chuckled.

“Let’s talk in Lucid.”

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VisceReality Pictures’s link is non-existent on the surface. You only get it from the manager himself or any of his few workers. If you can find em, you also must reach out or get contacted like me. Registration is required upon first entry. The link is only accessible through the so called “dark areas” of cyberspace, which you can only enter through a few certain networks.

The space looks and functions like a forum. Videos are either leaked or self-produced. Only some are free, as the site mainly runs on a pay-to-view business. You can earn negotiable fees from submitting your original footages, but you first must pay two kay and apply for a “lens badge” in your membership.

We talked through a video call in our Lucids. He still spoke in his distorted, guttural voice, but the manager also obscured his face with a paper plate mask, the bizarre imagery further enhanced by his red glowing cyber optics. As scary as it sounded, his appearance made me giggle, which amused him.

I talked about my career and academic history. I told him that after working with LULZ Guy, I just left Astro quietly and sent a resignation email. I turned my back on corporate life. I asked if he could welcome me as his new cameraman, and if there was any KPI that I had to fulfil.

He said there were none, and that I was free to submit whenever I can while encouraging me to be more active in the streets. After asking about my bank account, he also paid the extra four out of six kay, as the other two will be spent on my “lens badge” after my new account existed. No problem.

“Looking forward to your future works. Welcome to VisceReality Pictures. Chuck yourself into the deep end.”

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More than a year passed since that Lucid video call. When it is time to go to work, I simply wander the streets. Chase any worthy, developing headlines. Follow the sounds of human impact and screams. Maybe ask the manager if there are liquidation “films” I can shoot. So far, I only had two chances, but it was still worth the creds.

Sometimes I’d ask Buddy if I can run anything for the Velocitards, usually drugs or gear. Otherwise, I don’t always see them as often as I did before I quit Astro.

If you are asking how I can sustain myself with this freelancing business that focuses on ultraviolence, you must either be a corp citizen or you are living under an AIDS riddled manhole. True, life may be relatively uneventful for you, even in the slums.

But remember 24/7 that violence can erupt at your face when you least expect it. This is common street knowledge. Kuala Lumpur is a huge metropolis. Shit happens all the time, chum. You find that very often in news. Social media. Forums.

In one corner, a riot is going on. In that building, someone died from a familial quarrel. Oh, and the block over there? It just got clean housed by VaS Apostles.

A corpsec liquidated some poor schmuck in his own home near your mall haunt. An explosion just occurred at an LRT station that you rarely stop at. A gang fight was erupted over a territorial dispute. At the same time, a cyberbike accident was reported by blue uniforms. The starving were dying on a staircase in a crumbling, decrepit building. A team of ripperdocs botched a surgery when they are all high on narcotics and couldn’t keep their rookers steady. In a corporate arcology, another liquidation was just carried out in a penthouse. Shares plummeted into a freefall as a senior executive flew out of the window. A salaryman had gone postal in a DigiCel branch. Apostles summarily executed a murderous scumbag. A bunch of tourists learnt the permanent lesson of not remarking a professional’s uniform as “stupid” and “tacticool tier.” An influencer initiated a mass shooting in a convention after losing her sanity from the loss of her crypto investments. A Vtuber streamer demonstrated a good example of saving creds on food by butchering and eating a stalker that she purposefully invited into her own home.

I could go on and on. The list is endless, but you should get the idea by now. Nowhere is truly safe, not even in corporate settings. Keep your wits up. Walk safe. Be friends or love somebody. Prepare for imminent backstabbing. Be armed. Be fit. Upgrade your meat with cybernetics. Show no mercy. Endure your miserable existence. Immerse yourself in cyberspace. Stop taking life seriously. Punk out. Party hard.