Feb 19 14:56:11 108 PA - Fleshy Techy Talky
From Chronicles
Feb 19 14:56:11 108 PA.
THE IVORY LADY
Monday afternoon at the Ivory Lady isn't exactly when management throws out its "A-game." Sure, the women of various species are attractive, but if you're sitting close enough to the stage, or one of the randomly placed pole-tables, you will occasionally see a C-section scar or even a bullet wound. In fact, Monday afternoons are little more than a time to hook up with a hooker plying these waters when things are otherwise quiet. Gabriel is sitting far off to one side, away from any of the flesh, indeed, his back is even turned. There are four brown, translucent bottles on the table before him, and he's nursing a fifth, leaning back in his chair, perhaps deep in thought. Or not.
The door swings open, and Terrance walks in, clad in a simple black outfit, designed to allow freedom of movement. He grins upon seeing you, a smile which fades as he looks past you, seeing the formerly attractive women making sleazy love to the dance poles. No real rhythm, just grinding against it like it's their last lover's leg. He shakes his head, as his vision tells him one of the dancers against the far wall has a prosthetic leg, sheathed in synthetic flesh. He approaches and takes a seat next to you, "Fine place to meet Gabe.." He tells you dryly.
"Eh, I come here once a month just to keep myself grounded. I'm not here for the flesh, really, I'm here to see how the other men - and some women - react to it. Personally? I think it's disgusting." Gabriel nods firmly, and seems genuinely disgusted. "Women are to be cherished. You honor women, you don't use them for your own sexual amusement." He waves an open palm across the table. "I raised twenty-seven girls, and had a beautiful, brilliant, loving wife. I won't go into details, because it's personal, but I have a special place in my heart for people who take advantage of women like this. It's not a happy place." He then points to one of the bottles. "I get it that you don't eat, but do you drink? It's only soda."
Terrance shifts his gaze for a moment past you, eyeing the woman on the stage. The one who had the 'queen of the trailer park' thing going for her. Vaguely pretty and flashing too much flesh to really make it worth while to get to know her as you could see all she had and didn't have.. from across the room. She smiled and Terrance frowns, making her look elsewhere. "I can't say I'm that noble, as women are free to make their own choice. If that choice is to work someplace where men ogle their goodies for cash, then there's not really anything I can do. Know what I mean?" He asks, his gaze shifting back to you. "And no.. I don't drink either. I don't have a stomach to hold anything. My heart, stomach, and all internal organs aside from my lungs, were removed to make room for the power source keeping me alive and fueling all my little built in extra's. My lungs were left simply because my brain requires oxygen like yours does. Different is, my lungs have built in filters, and can have an internal storage tank good for around three hours." He tells you with a grin, apparently trusting you enough to give away a few more of his secrets.
Gabriel holds out a hand, then sips from his bottle that displays the title, "Donovan's Fizz." After a few moments' consideration, he asks what seems the obvious. "So why not put in a mechanical and chemical filter and a SCUBA tank? Even I had those, and that was back in the '50s. Re-breathers. Seems a little, I don't know... missing something."
Terrance offers only a shrug at that. "Couldn't tell you. I was dead when they did everything. At least I think I was. I don't have the whole story just yet. All I know is I was on mission for the CS, sabotaging a boat that refused to identify itself in CS waters.. Someone switched out my explosives.. and the ones I used to waaay too powerful for the job. They detonated early and I was caught in the blast. Killed. I was rebuilt by... someone, I don't know his name and I never saw his face.. Rebuilt in the interests of war apparently, as this body is a helluva lot better than the one I was born with. and it comes with all kinds of nifty little built in gadgets."
"Nifty gadgets, huh?" Gabriel sips again from his bottle, then has some kind and hopefully helpful words for a young prostitute who comes around, various ways that she could improve her station in life. It might make him feel good, but she doesn't seem amused. Still, she moves off. "Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that I should have metal implanted. I think I'm going to have to get a gyro-compass installed, just so I can fly my Falcon. Beyond that? Eh, I don't know. Not sure that I'd like just being a brain and a collection of nerves." He angles the neck of his bottle toward Terrance on the other side of the table. "No offense." Then, "Let me guess, you're just one more thing that I can't fucking kill like the good ol' days, bullet to the skull?"
Terrance laughs at that, and shakes his head. "A single bullet.. probably not. I'm too well armored for that. But so far as I know my brain is in my skull casing.." He says, tapping his temple. "I'm built to look natural.. there's no extra room in me for a brain box within the protection of my chest. "Honestly.. if it's done right you wouldn't know the difference. Only real difference is that you can feel things I can't. Having my body replaced.. or even having a part replaced.. you lose some feeling, no matter how good the sensor, you can't feel things the same way every again. It's like touching the world with a pair of gloves on, permanently. But a few implants here and there might do you good. I'd suggest the compass, maybe a language translator.. And You might even want to spring for the 2 way radio, so you're never out of contact. All can be put in under the skin. Unobtrusive." He tells you shrugging. "Me personally.. I've got all that and more."
Gabriel smiles and ticks off items on his fingers. "I own a small communicator, a two-way radio with twenty-five miles range, and environmental body armor with a built-in directional signal." Another finger goes down. "I've been using a military-grade lensatic compass for the last thirty years, and have no trouble navigating on the ground." Third finger down. "Binoculars. Thermal-imaging, night vision, body armor..." his voice trails off. "Not saying I'm better. Sure you could kill me without a thought. But I also figure that I have what made me one of the best in the Company - I don't exist. I'm normal. There's nothing that makes me stand out in the crowd. Makes it easy to get close to people, eliminate them, and disappear. Or even play the part of the shocked citizen or soldier. Not that I care for this place, really. Every rifle is a cannon. Every shot can kill an un-armored body. Wounding? That's better, for any number of reasons." He sighs. "Just different I guess. I can buy and use equipment that I need. You are already all of the equipment you need."
Terrance nods. "Difference is.. all of that can be taken from you. Or lost. You get into a firefight.. did you remember to put that radio in the same pocket you took it our of before the ambush? You say you HAVE military grade equipment? I AM military grade equipment. Military of this world. I'm not saying the tried and true soldiers like yourself don't have a place.. but I can run flat out at ninety miles and hour for days. I can deadlift nearly half a ton. My eyes have a 4 by 30 magnification zoom, up to six thousand feet I can see as clearly as I see you right now. I have a 2 or 8 times zoom as well, microscope function. Passive nightvision, thermo imaging, light filters to remove the glare and flash from weapons fire and ambient light sources as well as a targeting enhancement upgrade which superimposes a cross-hair over my target. My hearing is nothing short of superhuman. I can hear ultrasonic frequencies like a bat, or hear whispers or a pin drop from a thousand feet away. Should I continue?" He asks. He's not bragging, at least not by his tone.. he's simply telling you.
The older man shakes his head with a smile. "Yes, yes, I've been getting a lot of that. Everyone has some kind of super-power over me. You're made of metal and have machines that make you a physical weapon. I have friends who can cast magic spells that make things happen out of thin air. Psychics who can squash my head and I'd never even know it was coming." Gabriel grins. "Like Odysseus said to Achilles at Troy: You have your swords. I have my tricks. We play with the toys the gods give us."
Terrance ponders that for a long moment before he speaks. "Yeah.. but you have to realize.. I never asked for this. Sure it saved my life, but I never asked for, didn't want it. Your.. gods.. decided to change up the hand I was dealt. All I'm saying.. in the big picture.. is that baseline humanity needs an edge here. Some people are born with it, like psychics.. other people train for a lifetime like magic users. Some people take the quick road like juicers and cyborgs.. You have your training. I have my training and a body built for warfare. I don't need to wear armor, I choose to because it helps keep me safe. Just like you."
"Heh, yeah, those people who fuck with their bodies on purpose. Don't get 'em. I mean, sure, in dubya-dubya-two they gave the front line grunt infantry amphetamines to keep them awake, but that's different than getting yourself addicted to the Juicer shit." Gabriel shakes his head as he's momentarily silent, drinking. "And those guys with metal rods in their head? Jumping around like fucking morons who know nothing beyond being told what to kill? Stupid. They're hurting the cause of humanity just as much as anyone else." He has more words with a passing prostitute, then returns to Terrance. "So what brought you to this rathole, anyway? Kingsdale, I mean. Not this place." He waves a hand to indicate the Ivory Lady.
"I dunno.. Being a juicer has been compared to being a god. Compared to regular people. I read this book once, describing a Juicer in combat, by the juicer's own words. Though how he sat still long enough for the interview.. I'll never know. He said it was as if time slowed down for him alone. His enemies were pulling weapons, and he had time to pull his weapon and drill one guy between the eyes, watch the birds flying by above them, think of a witty comment.. all in in the time it took for the second guy to pull his gun. He beat him by punching him in the head, and nearly ripped it off. According to he book anyway. Now.. even with all my machines and upgrades I can't match that.. I can do other things they can't.. but I can't do all that." He tells you shrugging. "I came to Kingsdale to get away from the CS. They think I'm dead, and that's the way it's going to stay. Easier that way."
"Well, even if I never do anything else 'important' -" Gabriel leans on the word ironically "- I plan to live a long, long life doing what I hope are good, helpful deeds. My mother's mother lived to be one-hundred and three, and she was born in a previous century, eating what they ate out of a collection of small farms." He smiles, knowing that at forty-one years of age, he's already one of the oldest humans around, in an era where many are lucky to get into their thirties. Almost no better than the Dark Ages. "On the other hand, if I die, I die, and it's my time to go. When God calls you, you can't tell him 'no.'" It may be seen at this moment, just because of how the man moves that he's wearing a small silver crucifix around his neck - and it looks like the genuine article, too. The religious kind, not the anti-vampire kind, in primary purpose.
Terrance offers only a shrug. "I dunno man. Being made of tempered steel and chemically treated synthetics.. has made he take a longer view on life. Assuming I don't get blown away in a fire fight. My systems will last a hundred years at least. My power suppy will keep me going for two hundred years. And I've heard a rumor of some demon.. or angel.. in another part of the world that has implants to keep the brain from decaying, making me essentially immortal, barring violent death. Not sure about that though. BUuut. I need to go, there’s a call coming through on my private frequency, I need to take it. Enjoy the ladies." He tells you, thumbing backward at the Ivory's B-squad."
The older man nods as Terrance abruptly rises and exits, only raising his bottle in salute, then going back to his philosophic contemplation of the problems facing women in today's society. It won't be long before he leaves for home, not to return for another month, as regularly scheduled grounding demands.
