Loud Thumps and Harsh Bumps

by AtlasAbove

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Adventure, Human
Length: 1945

Lower Canterlot, dark and seedy cyberpunk, people struggle to live in the shadow of opulence.

The rich get richer and the poor stay poor. Life goes on for a while before a chance call destroys the delicate equilibrium you've carved out for yourself

It's worth noting that I haven't watched the show since the end of the second season and will just be using my memories of the characters to shape their thoughts and actions here. Also worth noting is the likelihood of me updating or finishing this. The likelihood is not likely at all.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-03 15:03:48 UTC

As Bullets Pass Behind your Back

     Neon lights covered the street like a canopy of glowing treetops. Throngs of people passed by open shop doors and blaring music from clubs reverberated around the street. Above, vehicles shot through the sky between streets marked by floating lights and symbols. Occasionally a human silhouette might break through the screen of lights, cars, and precipitate, but only for the shortest of seconds. The lower cloud layer was laden with heavy contaminates blocking most of the natural light from reaching the floor of this urban jungle. People filtered in and out of the doorways like schools of fish through rock formations on the bottom of the ocean, some seeking shelter from the rain, others interested in the actual contents of the door they entered. Lights flashed, credit sticks changed hands, trades were made, voices were raised. The hum of humanity providing an orchestra for the street to dance to.

     I broke away from the crowd and slipped into a side alley, leaning comfortably against the wall. I was wearing the usual get-up for nights like there: dark heavy jacket and hood covering the upper body, jeans and a pair of boots, neither of which were made from real leather. The scarcity of the material alone would have made the piece of clothing cost thousands of bits each. I came in at an impressive six foot something and I liked to think I put out an intimidating air, tensing the muscles in my arms and legs to work out some of the stiffness.

     I tossed a nod at the two forms that slid up next to me along the wall. The rain pattered softly against my hood. It rained pretty often down here, sometimes a depressing downpour and others a  refreshing metronome to set the city's beat to. I sighed as I checked my timer, waiting for the last overhead patrol as the guards preformed their last perfunctory sweep of the lower hab blocks. Everyone knew the lower wards belonged more to the people living there than the high council miles up the city. Canterlot may have started as the royal capital, but now it was sprawl. Buildings scraped the sky nearly a thousand floors high, separated into castes based on location and opulence. Or lack thereof. You could live your entire life inside the classier megahabs without ever needing to step out into the light or venture to the lower ward slums.

     The whump whump of displaced air signaled the last patrol of the night headed back to command. Time for work. I nodded again at the closest of the two figures while I drew the compact forcehammer from my back. The stock expanded from a short few inches to a three and a half foot handle as the soft whine from the head started to fill the alleyway. I stepped off the wall, readied myself, and brought the hammer around in a tight swing into the opposite wall. The cough 'krump' of force blowing into the wall and past me was always my favorite part of swinging the thing.

     A four foot by eight foot section of the wall blasted inwards, the crystals in the head of the hammer firing cleanly. I drew a small slugthrower from my belt and stepped into the hole as the two men followed me in. The security guard to my left was still trying to stand up after the small explosion. Two, three shots stopped him from ever standing up again. The first figure to follow me into the breach torched the only other previous occupant of the room. His screams stopped after a few seconds as the remaining bones and ash fell into a pile on the floor. The first figure, who I now noticed was a fresh faced drop out unicorn, turned to his friend, who had pulled out a larger slugthrower, and the two continued on through the building.

     I didn't know who they are or what they were doing, only that they paid me to open the wall and wait fifteen for them to get back and out. I stepped back out into the alley, hammer across my shoulders. I shoved the piece back into my belt and lit a bacostick.

     The second figure was the only one who came back.

"Where's the uni?"

"He's not coming," the figure deflected. "Let's go."

     I collapsed the hammer back into the small of my back, stamped out the bacostick, and threw the hood back over my eyes. The figure handed me a bitstick and I stepped out of the alleyway, walking into the night as the building behind me torched and sirens wailed. The last patrol of the night flew overhead, returning to the building. The crowds were already surrounding it. Crowds always do. I don't know what they expect to see. Boards and bodies all burn the same way.

     Thirty minutes later and the sirens hadn't stopped. I stood outside a habunit a few hundred stories high. The slate grey outer walls extended as high into the cloud layer.  Stepping into the deserted lobby, I lowered the hood and walked to the nearest magilev. It's shield rose into place providing a safe bubble as it hurtled at break-neck speeds up the innards of the complex. Stopping on a lower middle class floor, I strode out of the magic bubble and into the market and commons area of the floor. I turned, heading down the eastern hallway to the living sections.

     I stepped into my apartment and locked it behind me, sliding the old fashion chain and bolt into place before arming the e-lock. The infoterminal's message light was beeping, but I wasn't answering. I threw the wet jacket into the laundry, took off the old fashion jeans I had on, and undid the hook on my bra, letting it fall to the floor. I sank into a recliner and turned on the news for background noise. The news anchor was a beautifully fake woman droning about the latest incident in intergang violence. Twelve dead, scorched building, now here's someone else with the weather.

     The uni had probably been just some mindwiped druggie, but he had still been just a kid. If he had made his payments the gangs wouldn't have blanked him and he wouldn't've ended up a scorch mark in a burned out husk of a building.  In a city with a couple million inhabitants, what's one druggie kid. The other parents will all point and say "Do you want to end up like this boy? Stay in schools, don't drop out and be a uni."

     I guess it all averages out in the stack. Living above so many people must really give you a feel of superiority. Y'see, the world is split between the races. Us normals don't really have anything special about us. We make up the biggest demographic in the slums, but we're also spread throughout the rest of the classes. We receive a basic education. Next up is uni's and casters. They're the ones smart enough and with enough of a grasp on magic to keep going. Uni's are dropouts and dead-beat casters that couldn't make it. They're better than the average slummer, but most are just lookin' for their next fix or payday. Casters are the real deal. They're commodities, thinkers, and do'ers. Casters create and are the center of the magical and technological base that our lives sit on. If it beeps, whirls, or clanks then a caster made it. Kings of the stacks are the angels. They're the face behind politics, business, and quality of life. It'd be a cold day in hell before you saw an angel anywhere lower than the 500 divide without an armed escort. The lower 500 divide is the split between middle class and higher society. Every five hundredth floor in every build in Canterlot, the materials change, the designs change. It's where the real money is.

     The infoterminal beeped again. I turned off the screen and closed my eyes. Whatever the message is, it can wait till tomorrow.

     I rolled off the chair with a grunt. Tiled floors and off white walls spun around me as I stumbled to the shower. Turning the hot water on, I plopped down hard on the can as I waited for it to warm up, catching another few precious seconds of shuteye. Steam filled the small confines of the bathroom. I stripped and slid under the scalding water and let it cascade over me. I don't know why the uni had bothered me so much. People turn up dead every day and one streetpunk isn't going to make a rustle, no matter how baby faced he is. Everyone's got parents that wanted them to be something when they were little. Seems these days, kids do good just not winding up in the gutters in a pool of their own blood. Be a real god damn shame to die for the fifteen bits you got in your pocket just so some burnout can get a fix. I turned off the water and dried off. Bare feet slapped against industrial tiling as I made my way to the kitchen. Coffee first, life second. The machine's whirring was music to my ears. Cup in hand, I snagged the bitstick out of my pants from the night before and sat down at my infoterminal. I slotted the chip in and deposited the money into my personal checkings. It's nice watching it go from a big ol' goose egg to having a fair bit of pocket change for the next few month. I sipped on the coffee. Easy nights with large payouts worried me, but that was a job I couldn't refuse. I shivered and took another sip.

    I thought back to the guard of the building I helped torch last night. The building itself was gang marked, as were most of the people inside it.  They're all trash to me, even if they do pay good. It's a lesser of two evils and it puts coffee in the machine. Pop a banger or not, when it comes to jobs I'm not going to regret doing what I have to do to make it home at the end of the day. I sighed and took another sip. Here I am justifying things to myself. I'm getting soft.

     I pulled up the call that I'd noticed the night before. A familiar face appeared on the screen. Deep purple hair, matching eyes, matching half moon scars on either cheek. The panic wasn't a new look, but it did grab my attention.

"Hey, long time no see. Sorry to call out of the blue but," gunfire echoed through the recordings audio, "I'm in a bit of a mess. When you get this, if you're up for it, I could really use some help with a job. This is big. A lot bigger than anything you and I have ever done, but it's worth it. Beep me if you're down and I'll meet you at the old safe house."

     The message ended abruptly and didn't clear much up. I'm not really big on jumping into jobs with no explanation, but I don't have too many friends anymore. I'd prefer to not lose anymore. I poured the rest off the coffee out and set the cup on the counter. Throwing my clothes on from the night before, I grabbed my hammer and slugthrower, opened the door, and stode out into the dim afternoon neon.

     Outside I could see it was still raining.