Race 2.0
Spread on the general court the story of the cyber-punk future. The plot is my dream, having a dream twice with a break of a couple of years. Seeing the final on the second attempt, recorded. The illustrations are also mine. I hope you will like it. Criticism, advice and farewell are very, very welcome!
The story is under the cut, for those who like racing, cyborg and justice ... and a little romance.
The movement of the muscles is different. Powerful and sluggish, sharp and smooth, mechanical and natural, cybernetic and fabric, soaping sides and melting metal. The rules of the race were only two laws - the limit on the number of horsepower in harnessed animals, the number of 2 pieces and the presence of a rider without a weapon. The track circled the entire city, being close to the coastline of the island. Perhaps that is why this city was called - Race.
Morning. A languid, damp and quiet morning. But on the track - the sweat and the movement of rabid animals. Natural horses, cyborg horses, techno bots, genetic horse, and even mutants were harnessed. Riders themselves were like animals, driving these creatures. The crowd was raging, because it was all for money. Everyone put, everyone wanted more. In the crowd there were people of different colors, beliefs, and in general not quite people. Cyborgs, mutants, genetics, hipari, Gopnik, engineers and elites. All stood there, bleeding from the excitement and the already scorching sun.
And I flew over all this anthill.
The race continued. All screens of the city showed its movement, as if nothing else had happened in it. Thousand-storey houses filled with people breathing in a single rhythm and excitement. In one of them, a man with a spine of a seven-digit rate stood at the tinted window on the 76th floor and was intensely looking at the monitor. On the spine was number 7.
How all this is petty ...
And in the little room on the second floor of a neighboring gigadom, a simple kid was kneeling. He was tattered not in fashion, but in lack of jeans and in trampled sneakers (which his elder brother had demolished 5 years ago). He stood, kneeling in front of a simple, pretty girl in a simple silk sundress on a bare, not bad, little body. These are ladies who work in McDack and are genuinely surprised, wondering on the daisy.
- I understand that this flower (no matter where the cornflower came from, is one and inopportunely within the city limits) it is not a bouquet of roses and there must be another ring ... but I promise it will be! I collect money, honestly, I will earn, and you will have a ring! But I will not go to the bandits, forgive me ...
- Do not go to the bandits! I need you alive, without money, without power, I myself need you, alive and unharmed!
“But we will have everything we need, I promise — both the ring, the house, and the money ... everything — everything ...”
- Yes, of course it will, just be ...
They hugged each other and wept with happiness. There was no race for them. They had them.
In a corner a piece of wallpaper sagged and strove to fall, in some places the parquet was not lying in its place. From above, someone shouted in a foreign language, so that the plaster fell. In the street, sloppy movers clanked ... and the guy and the girl were happy.
I was pleased next to them. I approached and began to look at them, at their tears, at their verbal nonsense, having no connection and order, but having feelings. Substituting one palm under her tears, dripping from her chin, and the other under his tears, I gathered their feelings into a small cluster of happiness and then sprinkled a blessing on them.
The girl shuddered and said:
- Here is an angel!
He pulled back and looked at her.
- It's you!
The couple continued to hug, and I again rose above the city. For such moments worth living. And I felt a little ashamed - I'm not an angel, as she said ...
The race was nearing the final, a man on the 76th floor looked numbly at the screen, cold sweat poured over his back. The crowd was raging, the sun was rising higher and higher than the unnerving crowd. And here's the finish! The cyborg racer number 2 was defeated. He jumped on a pedestal, climbed even higher, and the wagon remained below, under it. In the crowd, here and there, they exploded with rage, happiness, confusion of a cluster of creatures, everywhere there was movement and a cry. On all screens, the number 2 was shining like on a racer's clothes, his cyborg and a carriage.
On the 76th floor next to the spine with the number 7 lay a corpse with a smoking revolver in his hand.
In the crowd, something quietly banged and number 2 fell. Like a sack of potatoes, the racer fell down from the pedestal, onto the wagon, onto the parapet, onto the asphalt, and went limp on the track. The crowd roared. The panic began.
Behind the crowd, a man in black jeans and tankers calmly walked out onto the beach. Steel overlays on shoes shone in the sun. From behind the collar of her shirt a tattoo peeped out, poorly visible on dark skin. He smoked peacefully.
Why did he kill the rider?
He was looking at the horizon. Then he turned to me and said:
- Number 2 is a liar. I do not tolerate lies. Will inspect the crime scene. There is a crack in the wheelchair where it fell. They will detect the power wrap module. A liar is worse than a murderer, believe me.
I do not know how he saw me. I do not know why he answered.
The screens showed the moment of death, turmoil. The cracked edge of the stroller has been tampered to carry the whole mechanism. Discovered a hidden part - doping for cyborgs. All the columns shouted “In view of the falsification, the winner is the one who came second and this is number 7!”
Sorry for a man of 76. A guy from the second floor is knocking on his door, his younger brother. Now they - the naive couple in love - will get the prize on the lottery spine. The fate of a strange thing.
Written before 2012, last revised July 2015.
The story is under the cut, for those who like racing, cyborg and justice ... and a little romance.
Race 2.0
The movement of the muscles is different. Powerful and sluggish, sharp and smooth, mechanical and natural, cybernetic and fabric, soaping sides and melting metal. The rules of the race were only two laws - the limit on the number of horsepower in harnessed animals, the number of 2 pieces and the presence of a rider without a weapon. The track circled the entire city, being close to the coastline of the island. Perhaps that is why this city was called - Race.
Morning. A languid, damp and quiet morning. But on the track - the sweat and the movement of rabid animals. Natural horses, cyborg horses, techno bots, genetic horse, and even mutants were harnessed. Riders themselves were like animals, driving these creatures. The crowd was raging, because it was all for money. Everyone put, everyone wanted more. In the crowd there were people of different colors, beliefs, and in general not quite people. Cyborgs, mutants, genetics, hipari, Gopnik, engineers and elites. All stood there, bleeding from the excitement and the already scorching sun.
And I flew over all this anthill.
The race continued. All screens of the city showed its movement, as if nothing else had happened in it. Thousand-storey houses filled with people breathing in a single rhythm and excitement. In one of them, a man with a spine of a seven-digit rate stood at the tinted window on the 76th floor and was intensely looking at the monitor. On the spine was number 7.
How all this is petty ...
And in the little room on the second floor of a neighboring gigadom, a simple kid was kneeling. He was tattered not in fashion, but in lack of jeans and in trampled sneakers (which his elder brother had demolished 5 years ago). He stood, kneeling in front of a simple, pretty girl in a simple silk sundress on a bare, not bad, little body. These are ladies who work in McDack and are genuinely surprised, wondering on the daisy.
- I understand that this flower (no matter where the cornflower came from, is one and inopportunely within the city limits) it is not a bouquet of roses and there must be another ring ... but I promise it will be! I collect money, honestly, I will earn, and you will have a ring! But I will not go to the bandits, forgive me ...
- Do not go to the bandits! I need you alive, without money, without power, I myself need you, alive and unharmed!
“But we will have everything we need, I promise — both the ring, the house, and the money ... everything — everything ...”
- Yes, of course it will, just be ...
They hugged each other and wept with happiness. There was no race for them. They had them.
In a corner a piece of wallpaper sagged and strove to fall, in some places the parquet was not lying in its place. From above, someone shouted in a foreign language, so that the plaster fell. In the street, sloppy movers clanked ... and the guy and the girl were happy.
I was pleased next to them. I approached and began to look at them, at their tears, at their verbal nonsense, having no connection and order, but having feelings. Substituting one palm under her tears, dripping from her chin, and the other under his tears, I gathered their feelings into a small cluster of happiness and then sprinkled a blessing on them.
The girl shuddered and said:
- Here is an angel!
He pulled back and looked at her.
- It's you!
The couple continued to hug, and I again rose above the city. For such moments worth living. And I felt a little ashamed - I'm not an angel, as she said ...
The race was nearing the final, a man on the 76th floor looked numbly at the screen, cold sweat poured over his back. The crowd was raging, the sun was rising higher and higher than the unnerving crowd. And here's the finish! The cyborg racer number 2 was defeated. He jumped on a pedestal, climbed even higher, and the wagon remained below, under it. In the crowd, here and there, they exploded with rage, happiness, confusion of a cluster of creatures, everywhere there was movement and a cry. On all screens, the number 2 was shining like on a racer's clothes, his cyborg and a carriage.
On the 76th floor next to the spine with the number 7 lay a corpse with a smoking revolver in his hand.
In the crowd, something quietly banged and number 2 fell. Like a sack of potatoes, the racer fell down from the pedestal, onto the wagon, onto the parapet, onto the asphalt, and went limp on the track. The crowd roared. The panic began.
Behind the crowd, a man in black jeans and tankers calmly walked out onto the beach. Steel overlays on shoes shone in the sun. From behind the collar of her shirt a tattoo peeped out, poorly visible on dark skin. He smoked peacefully.
Why did he kill the rider?
He was looking at the horizon. Then he turned to me and said:
- Number 2 is a liar. I do not tolerate lies. Will inspect the crime scene. There is a crack in the wheelchair where it fell. They will detect the power wrap module. A liar is worse than a murderer, believe me.
I do not know how he saw me. I do not know why he answered.
The screens showed the moment of death, turmoil. The cracked edge of the stroller has been tampered to carry the whole mechanism. Discovered a hidden part - doping for cyborgs. All the columns shouted “In view of the falsification, the winner is the one who came second and this is number 7!”
Sorry for a man of 76. A guy from the second floor is knocking on his door, his younger brother. Now they - the naive couple in love - will get the prize on the lottery spine. The fate of a strange thing.
Written before 2012, last revised July 2015.
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