Mornings are dismal affairs. The extended stay capsule hotel Ryker stays in is hardly the most comfortable space, clearly designed for someone a lot less bulky to occupy, and even then not comfortably. The moment their eyes open, the daylight simulating bulbs begin to expedite their boot up sequence and steadily brighten to match the mid morning light outside the windowless “room”.
The screen on the roof of the capsule directly above Ryker’s face tells them that it’s 9:56 AM on a Thursday. Weather is expected to be rainy with a low smog indicator.
Bullshit. There’s always smog in the Skylock ward.
The screen flickers and a pop up window overtakes the display.
[Your checkout time is: 10 AM. Would you like to renew your stay?
Ryker taps “yes” on the grimy screen.
The screen goes dark with white letters stamped across.
[Oops! An error occurred. Your request cannot be completed at this time. Please see the front desk for assistance.]
“Fuuuuck…” the word is growled more than groaned. The capsule’s lights goes out. “Fuck!”
Ryker is left groping for their phone, and, upon locating it, uses the light of the cracked screen to see well enough to scoop up their duffle-bag of possessions before kicking open the hatch-style door at the foot of the bed. With some effort, they scoot themself out into the hallway, leaving the door open as they reach back in to grab their clothes. When they first got here they had attempted dressing in the confines of capsule, but that stopped pretty fast and with the state of the communal bathroom on this floor, they gave in and began dressing in the hall. Not like any of the other residents give a shit.
Shouldering their duffle bag and heading towards the stairwell, Ryker finishes swapping out the filter of their mask on their way down to the first floor, fitting it into place over their nose and the lower half of their face. The magnetized edges seamlessly clicking to the hair thin bands of metal implanted along the underside of their jaw, below their ears, and up over their nose and cheeks. At least that’s still useful.
Their heavy, booted footfalls announce their descent to what passes as a lobby down the enclosed concrete stairs. The chalice-shaped structure trembles with the distributed vibrations of some landing craft on the flat roof high above. When they had first arrived the sensation has them on edge, barely sleeping with the nagging anxiety of the thin stem snapping in the night, but they hardly bat an eye now. The brutalist architecture is sturdy and has withstood its use as dual living space and landing pad for far longer than they’ve been around.
They keep their head down as they approach the desk, passing four new arrivals waiting for an elevator that’s been broken for two months.
“Staff should put up a damn sign if they ain’t gonna fix it….”
The front desk is little more than a glorified slab of concrete with a piece of imitation wood on top. The whole thing is covered in scuffs and graffiti and they learned the hard way the underside of the patron-facing edge is a graveyard of discarded gum, some more fresh than others.
A lanky, acne riddle young woman with a mop of brown hair in a ragged pixie cut is sat behind the counter, ratty sneakers propped up as she leans way back in a desk chair. She is biting her lower lip, eyes closed, and with the VR crown on her head Ryker would bet their rapidly depleting savings on the content she’s wrapped up in.
The green glow of the sign on the wall behind her dubs the hotel “The Pharmacy.”
Fitting name for a place full of capsules and desperate, strung out people all looking for something to take the edge off.
“Yo.” They rap their knuckles on the counter hard enough to alert the girl to their presence. She heaves a sigh and tips the crown up to glower at him with one blue eye.
“Bell’s there for a reason.”
“Yeah the fuckin’,” The girl looks towards the end of the counter then groans. “Aw shit…third one this month…”
The crown slips back down over her eye. Ryker grits their teeth in frustration. “I’m tryin’ to renew my rent. Damn holo glitched when I got the checkout message.”
“Huh. Bummer. Yeah I’ll ring ya up. You’re capsule 5-103?”
“Cool. Price went up by the way. Three null a day.”
“Three?!” Ryker slams both hands on the counter and leans forward. “You fuckin’ cracked?”
“Look man, I just work here!” She throws up an exasperated hand in their general direction, flicking away the outrage like a buzzing fly, “Take it up with the boss if ya got a problem!”
“Fuck’s sake!” Ryker’s fingers drag through their hair, pulling strands free from the hairtie holding it back in their agitation. “Can I at least get a capsule with a working holo screen?”
“The rest are all booked. Or down and out. Got a few stiffs up there for sure and I ain’t up for dealing with the cops just yet. So you bookin’ for the month or payin’ by the day?”
Ryker grimaces behind their mask. “By the day.”
“Cool. All set.” The check in confirmation buzzes on Ryker’s phone as the girl leans back. “You know the drill, vacate the pod for cleaning and give three hours before ya move your shit back in.”
With that, the crown drops back down over her eyes and the girl falls silent again.
Three hours…. Ryker glances at the “No Loitering” sign stuck to the front window by the door. Beyond it, the street is rushing with traffic and water from the deluge of rain pouring down from burnt clouds. Hell of a day for a walk.
They pull up the hood of their transparent poncho and step out onto the busy sidewalk, the street awash in a neon dawn. Rain patters on their poncho and they are jostled on all sides by the crowd. With no particular destination in mind, Ryker lets the flow of foot traffic take them a few blocks before they make use of their broad shoulders to push their way to the side and step off into an alcove that is miraculously free of crashed out junkies.
Planting themself firmly in the space and leaning up against the wall, Ryker pulls out their phone to take stock of just how close to rock bottom they are.
The realization that they are thirty null shy of bedrock makes them shut off the phone, tipping their head back to touch the wall. Raindrops fall on the exposed upper half of their face. Ten days. Ten days left with a roof over their head. And that’s if they don’t eat.
“‘Bout time my luck ran out….”
Maybe they can go back to the ripper-doc they’d worked for last. If he hasn’t gone and gotten territorial with his clientele between this week and last. People don’t trust newcomers in this ward and it’s rare to find steady work that stays steady.
A notification buzzes the phone gripped in their hand. They glance at it out of habit more than interest, but the display holds their attention.
[Ryker! Sorry to hear about your rent, but you know better than most how pricey Pharmacies are nowadays!]
Eyes narrow. A nail picks at the cracked edge of the screen.
[Ha! No. I don’t think so. I’ve got exactly who I’m looking for. You’ve got an impressive resume. PanInc certified paramedic, trained cybernetic technician, Panic Squad Security lead. You’re smarter than you look. Shame those credentials won’t do you any favors here.]
[Again, wrong number. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Let’s keep it that way.]
Ryker is already swiping over to block the unknown contact.
[Look, I get it. Times are tough! And some people aren’t cut out for life on these streets.]
[If that’s you, that’s fine, you won’t be the first to let the city swallow you and you definitely won’t be the last.]
[But if you finally feel like putting your talents to real use and stopping that free fall you’re in, we should talk.]
An address immediately follows.
[Ask for Kazamir. Talk to you soon, Ryker.]
The phone is shoved deep into Ryker’s pocket without bothering to respond. Folding their arms, they glower at the opposite wall of the alcove over the top of their mask, brow knit and mind racing.
So their name’s gotten around somehow, and gotten to someone with the time, resources, and, concerningly, the interest to run down exactly who they are. Not good. Definitely not someone they should involve themself with….
But they need the null. Need something to help them get their feet under them again.
They’ve got a few hours to kill anyway.
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