First Breath: A Cyberpunk Novelette

First Breath: A Cyberpunk Novelette
Laszlo Myles
Published by Laszlo Myles, 2015.


This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
FIRST BREATH: A CYBERPUNK NOVELETTE
First edition. October 10, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 Laszlo Myles.
Written by Laszlo Myles.


Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9


1
THE REZ WAS A STROBING mass of lights, lasers, and mirrors tuned to the heavy bass lines and syncopation. The floor shook with the beat and bodies moved to it, fluid and sexual, fingers running down sweating backs. Two girls stared into each other’s eyes before one let out a breath that sent the other into a fit of ecstasy. Hardy’s wetware mod ached to join them, feeding him shadows of breath—the latest drug craze that turned a faint mist of DNA into an electric stimulus.
His attention turned to the other side of the sea of glowing dreads, bare skin, and fluid motion. The girl at the bar-side table had been watching him since he’d arrived. Her gaze followed him from the door to the bar, then to his usual seat against the wall. She was familiar, but not by the pink lines that glowed in her hair, or the nearly transparent synthetic that clung to her body.
She wasn’t in his memory, but she had been once.
That kind of familiarity was a thing he had learned to fear. When you’ve spent any time working for Jack, you learn that the people you can trust the least are the ones you’re familiar with.
The hot breath lingering in the room touched at his mind, giving him just a taste of synaptic euphoria. Those synapses sparked, calling him to the dance floor, and his eyes heeded them, taking in the reflective, glowing mass. He drew his attention away, back to the bar-side table.
She was gone.
“You just gonna watch?” The voice came from beside him, smooth and sensual.
He didn’t turn his head. “I thought I might sit this one out.”
Her hands reached over his shoulder, teasing over the thin cloth of his shirt, and he inhaled just a hint of her breath as she whispered into his ear, “That’s not how this place works.”
Synapses fired, and he tilted his head back, letting her fingers graze over the skin of his neck. He laughed, the sensation washing over him more fully than ever before. He’d gotten the breath mod days ago—an open-source derivative of the one that was already sweeping the party capitals. This was different, though. He was a slave to its need. That need made him stare after her as she walked to the floor; it made him stand, and it made him follow.
Bodies undulated against him, but there wasn’t room for them in his mind. He followed the curves of her hips and shoulder blades as she dragged him to the floor by a leash of ecstasy.
When she stopped, he was right behind her, hands on her hips, turning her to face him and give another taste of the breath he already ached for.
She smiled, and they danced. He let his high carry him through the unchoreographed motions and excuses for skin to touch. He was immune to the cloud of breath in the room as others breathed into their lovers, or to strangers, and rode the high together. Only her breath mattered, and the dance became a means to taste it again.
She put one arm around his neck, hanging down to scratch a long nail along his spine, and raised her face to his. He stared into her, and she breathed into him. His mod captured it all, translating her foreign DNA to impulses that made the lights glow like flames. His skin felt every body thrashing against it, and he threw his head back as if gasping for the air that would keep him from drowning.
He lowered his eyes to hers—the eyes of his new, perfect drug.
She was gone again.
The space where she had stood filled with others, and their breath hung around him in a haze, but it meant nothing. He looked around the room, trying to pick out the pink of her hair, but it was lost in the neon glow. He sighed, closing his eyes.
And there she was. A white silhouette on the black of his eyelids, fifteen feet away. The silhouette reached a hand out, and he opened his eyes, fixating on her position. Her hand was on the doorknob, and she glanced back at him. She smiled, then stepped into the night.
When the door closed behind her, he moved to the edge of the pit, away from the dancers. He thought about going back to his table, to ride what was left of her high, but he saw her again when he blinked, and his craving nagged at him.
Taking his coat from his chair, he ignored the fear that tried to rise up his spine. Maybe she worked for Jack. Maybe she didn’t.
Either way, he had to follow.


2
HER SHAPE FLASHED WHITE in front of him every time he blinked. She had done something. The euphoria had settled enough that he could see reason. At the very least it was a tracking hack, in tune with something on her person, or even her DNA. In itself it was harmless, but he couldn’t know that was all it was.
She’d gotten into his head, but he didn’t know how—she had hardly touched him. A wireless connection? Maybe something in the breath? His desire for that feeling had become an ache in his mind—a need he would have to satisfy. He’d followed her for half an hour through dark streets and darker alleys, and all the while the need grew.
What was worse, he knew where she was going. Every step took him closer to Jack’s place.
Jack had money. Lots of money. The tech he dealt with was expensive, and his clients paid him well. He could afford a place in the city proper, but he set up shop in the slums. Authorities didn’t bother him,