Created G.H.O.S.T. System - A Cyberpunk Story

"It must suck for anyone without a proper trailer," Trace muttered as they slowed at the opening in the wall around the city. "The robots had us loaded up within a few minutes, packed completely full, and even sectioned properly. All the other groups with regular trucks were being forced to load everything themselves."

"Well, yeah, but they can also only carry a fraction of what we do," Monroe said as he accelerated slowly outside the city.

This was the first time he had driven the truck and trailer with it fully loaded down like this. None of the past times had it been quite this heavy or full. He didn't know how it would handle, and with the terrible condition of the road didn't feel like pushing it at the moment either.

"First stop is the scarpo town of Lonetree, then we head east a bit to Parker." The driver said.

Trace nodded. "Make sure you stay south; we don't want to get too close to the pit and the corpos swarming it."

Calling it simply a pit now was doing it a disservice, as they had caught the occasional far-off glimpse during the past few weeks. A massive dome had been constructed over it, hiding the site from view. What was visible was the constant stream of unmanned trucks full of dirt that were always entering and leaving the dome. The corporations who had taken over it were doing their best to widen the tunnels, making them large enough for their vehicles.

"I know, this isn't my first time," Monroe glanced over at the younger edger. "What's going on with you? You never remind me of things that I already know. You know I hate that."

"You're right, sorry," Trace said with a sigh, his head pressing against the headrest. "I guess. I'm just worried at the moment, and it has been starting to build up a little bit. There has been a lot going on, and Atraxia and G1gl3Myte have just vanished, which is making me more worried than normal. I'm worried, you know?"

"Yeah, I can see how that would be a lot. You've been handling it well up to now though."

Trace chuckled sardonically and shook his head. "No, I haven't. I've just been hiding it from everyone, especially Ko. The truth is, I've hardly been sleeping. Every time I close my eyes for more than a few minutes, I begin to dream about how easily I was taken. Then it morphs into a nightmare about G1gl3Myte. The man has become my own personal boogeyman."

"That can't be healthy. You need sleep, man."

"Yeah, I know. I've been working on my projects each night and just falling asleep for an hour or two at my workbench." He suddenly yawned and looked to the side at the old ruined buildings standing next to the highway. "It wasn't the pain; I could handle that. No, it was the utter helplessness. I haven't felt that since I was a kid, and something I swore I would never feel again. Except, there I was, under the thumb of a corpo yet again."

"You don't really talk about your time as street meat."

"Nor am I going to," Trace said, quick to shut down that line of questioning before it could even begin. "I don't like to dwell on it."

"Well, you have to talk to someone about it. You need to get some proper sleep, man." Monroe told him, clearly worried about his health.

"I…" He ground his teeth, knowing the man was right. It just wasn't that easy for him to open up to someone to that degree and talking to someone without trust and fully opening up was pointless. There was another option, one that he had thought about exploring, but there was a part of him that kept rebelling at the thought.

He could use the Mental option in the menu of the G.H.O.S.T. System. There were options for everything related to the mind in there, and therapy was one of them. Even he couldn't say why he was so hesitant to select it, as it was the best option, without a doubt. Maybe it was because it just felt as though he was giving up another form of control. It sounded stupid, even to him, but that was the only idea he could come up with.

"I'll come up with something," He said at last. "Anyway, let's change the topic. Now that you have paid off all your debts, what have you been doing with the money?"

Monroe jerked the wheel to the left as he began to laugh. "Who said I had paid off all my debts?" He snorted and ran a metal finger underneath his nose. "Well, I mean if I had put all the money I had been bringing in toward paying them off, I would have. But I haven't been doing that. They have been knocked down by a hefty chunk though."

Trace looked over at him and prodded him. "So, what have you been spending the money on, then?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Equipment and upgrades, what else?" The large man asked in amusement. "I've found a new gun I want to buy, then this baby needs some work done to it before it can handle a mobile fortress." He felt at his chest as a hint of uneasy pain flickered across his face. "I've also gotten some subdermal synthweave armor directly over my heart. That was by far the most expensive item. It's also rather uncomfortable. It's a little tight and makes breathing hard at times."

Trace whistled in appreciation. "Shizz man, what grade did you get?"

A shake of the head was the only response for several long seconds as the truck began to slow at their exit. "Nope, not telling. Some things should remain secret, even between partners. Only Sabrina and my mender know."

"You didn't use Sevorah?"

"Nah, she does great work, don't get me wrong. It's just, for some things, I prefer my old guy."

"Righttt… This wouldn't happen to be the same person who did your arm, would it?"

He nodded. "How much of that do you know about?"

"I don't understand what you mean?" Trace asked, confused. "Do you mean the incident that led to you losing the arm, or the person who did the original install?"

"The latter."

"Um, just what you mentioned that one time about Sevorah hating how it was done. That it wasn't exactly normal."

Monroe let out a slow, shuddering exhale and relaxed the tight grip he'd had on the steering wheel. The imprint of his metal fingers now firmly pressed into and deforming what should have been a firm surface.

"That's because the work wasn't done by a mender, or a slicer," He said hurriedly before Trace could interrupt him. "It was done by a friend of my parents; he works as a corporate doctor now. Honestly, I was never clear on the details about how my parents and he met. Whether they grew up together, and he got out, or if they saved him during a job. It never really mattered. He was the sole corpo I have ever trusted, and I have never regretted it."

His fleshware arm let go of the steering wheel and rubbed his cyberware's forearm. "This arm used to belong to my brother. It's a good thing he was a pretty big fellow as well and not some tiny midget like you." He joked, sniffing lightly as a hint of moisture appeared in the corners of his eyes. "I won't tell you the full story. I'm not ready for that, and we aren't that close yet. Just know it was a bad day, and that several people died. I survived, though I was seriously injured. My older brother died on the way to the doctor's apartment. The surgery was rushed and done with minimal equipment. He did what he had to do."

Trace hadn't been expecting that, and he also knew that there was indeed far more to the story. Sabrina had let one or two things slip when they first met, hinting at the true scope of the accident.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have made you relive those memories." He apologized as their first destination came into sight.

"Yeah, anyway, let's focus on unloading their supplies." He grinned at Trace. "I want to try and finish this entire job all today if possible. I'm going to make you so tired that you'll have no choice but to sleep."

"Ugh, you are so petty," Nevertheless he felt a grin of his own coming over his face.

***

Trace screamed in frustration as Monroe fought for control, the trailer threatening to jackknife behind them. "I swear if they shoot out one more tire, I'm going to kill them all! How did we not think about this problem beforehand?"

"Because we've never had this problem before," Monroe ground out. "All the raiders we've run into in the past while in this thing have hit us from the front. This is the first time they have ever been behind us."

It was true, and it was also the crux of the issue. Unlike in a normal vehicle, there was no rear window that Trace could use to shoot out of. In the semi, all he could do was hang out the door as much as possible. He had also been considering climbing onto the roof of the truck and then getting onto the trailer.

Then the first of the tires had blown out, and that idea had quickly flown out the window.

"Just stop, I'll take them out from the ground and then we can replace the tires at the same time," Trace demanded. He was annoyed with the situation and feeling a little sick from the back and forth of the truck.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Monroe roared. "They must have hit the control cables when it jackknifed just now. I no longer have any control over it. The brakes back there aren't engaging, and the motors have turned on to, I'm guessing, fifty percent power."

"Are they running off the batteries or the truck?" Trace asked, grabbing his bag.

Monroe clenched the steering wheel tighter and awkwardly worked the display screen with his left hand. "It's still taking power from the truck. Why? What are you going to do?"

"Go up and over," Trace said as he affixed the railgun to his bag, swapping it with the shotgun. With the backpack thoroughly strapped across his chest and waist, he leaned towards the window. "I'll hop down between the truck and the trailer and then disconnect the power cable. When you feel the trailer no longer pushing this heap, give me five seconds to secure myself, and then hit the brakes. Once we're stopped, I'll hop down and shoot them."

Monroe nodded, already not looking forward to the coming repairs and tire replacements that they would need to do. This was going to extend the job by several hours at a minimum. He affixed the suit's helmet in place and grabbed the lip of the roof.

Pulling himself out the window, Trace used his fingertips to delicately haul himself onto the roof of the cab. Every ridge, lip, and light were used to their fullest. Finally, after a full minute of effort, he was on the roof and could begin crawling back toward the sleeping area. The wind at his back pushed him along as he went up the small air ramp and onto the roof of the extended RV section.

Unfortunately, once he was there, the wind began to push him even more as the flat section provided a near uninhibited section for him. Trace slid across the roof, his fingers scrabbling for bolt and fan that broke the otherwise smooth surface.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, he managed to stop inches from the edge at the back. His hand had caught on the domed fan placed above the bed. It was designed in such a way that air could still flow inside while sand couldn't, as it was impossible for the particulate to make its way through the different sloping passages.

With a grunt of effort, he extended himself over the edge, and then let go.