She is immersed in a Chinese fragrance, phases of rich food appropriate for gods almost burn away her olfactory receptors. Next to her is a whore and the rat paying her in pure cocaine. “You’ve got a little dust in your eyes,” he says. Mercia sees the whore’s cyclic galaxy eyes blinking away white powder from her curled eyelashes.
A cold shot of disagreeable sound reminds Mercia that she is no longer a mammal but rather cybernetic property with superiors who can stream their croaking voices into her mind. “Did you kill the monk,” the electronic whir asks. “Noooo. But I killed another member of the Sangha, and it seems you were really onto something.” “Well where are you now?””Ah that’s right, ever since you removed that tracking device from underneath my wrist, I’m truly incognito.””Damn it. Stop playing games. All our minds will be wiped empty if that monk isn’t killed right now!””Well if you big shots can’t find him with all your fancy toys, I figured I would get his whereabouts from someone else.” “And who the hell would that be?””I know just the right Muslim terrorist that’s been on baldie’s ass for quite a while. He might know.” “And what makes you think he’ll cooperate with a godless, money-worshipping corporation like us?” “I didn’t reincarnate into this teenage Japanese vixen’s body for nothing you know.”
A holographic representation of the man beams into her visual cortex. Firewalls to block religions were held in most cyberbrains by now, the fact that not just Buddha but also Allah and his messenger had gotten access to central nervous systems made her sing a children’s song. Nothing compares to seeing a metropolis rot.
The in-vitro blood and lab grease slide off her almost android-white fingers and slither down her tongue to her esophagus of gold.