The Expandables - A Post - Apocalypse Cyberpunk Adventure

As Riley walked past a dark alley, a large hand clamped on his neck. An oily, sweaty smell filled his nostrils as a voice spoke into his ears.

"Took you long enough, Romero!"

Two powerful arms dragged him into the alley. When he was pinned to the wall, Riley took a good look at the aggressor. He was a large Caucasian man, at least 190 cm tall, with plenty of muscle and an unhealthy amount of fat slapped on for good measure. His bald head glistened with sweat as he scowled at Riley. Behind him, a shorter and leaner man stood with his arm crossed over his c.h.e.s.t.

"Who are you guys?" Riley asked.

"Who we are don't matter. It's who YOU are that matters!" Baldy snarled, baring his yellowed teeth. "Your name's Romero, yes?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, Romero, your old man owe Mr. Jack money. That means you owe Mr. Jack money. Sins of the… erm… father and whatnot." Baldy spoke. The last sentence was uttered with some uncertainty as if he didn't know what the words mean.

"My old man? Richard?" At the mentioned of his father, who went missing five years ago, his breath quickened, of rage if nothing else. That bastard! Not only did he abandon his children, but he also left them with this debt!

"Well, how many fathers do you have? Stop playing dumb!" The man's large hand drew back and punched at Riley's abdomen. Riley saw the attack coming a mile off and clenched his muscles, dispersing the force of the blow.

Seeing Riley's unfazed expression seemed to make Baldy lose some steam, but he tried to hide it. He kept talking, though with much less confidence.

"Your father owed Mr. Jack 5 grand and a half. Now with 5 years of interest plus, uh, inflection, you gotta pay 20 grand."

With a vulgar laugh, he added.

"Don't even think you can get out of this! 'Cause I hate to make your sister even more crippled than she already is! Oh wait, in fact, I don't hate it. Ha ha ha!" The lean man behind him scowled in distaste at the threat.

Something in Riley snapped. His mind went blank with rage. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his heart beating faster and faster. His vision was entirely focused on Baldy.

"What did you just say?" Riley asked. It must have been something in his voice or on his face, as Baldy seemed unnerved and stopped laughing.

Not waiting for an answer, Riley made his move. His left hand lashed out at Baldy's throat, partially crushing his windpipe, as his right hand fished out the flick knife from his pocket.

Baldy let go of Riley, wheezing for breath. Extending the blade, Riley aimed for a stab at his fat neck. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right wrist and the knife leaving his hand. At the same time, a palm hit his c.h.e.s.t with the force of a sledgehammer. He fell backward, landing next to the knife.

"Enough!" Shouted the lean man. Riley looked up at him, returning his gaze. His hand reached for the knife and picked it up.

"Vern was out of line, and you made him pay for it. No need for more violence!" The lean man said sternly.

"Strange choice of words for a bunch of thugs!" Riley spat out.

"Believe it or not, not all of us enjoy hurting people. Now be on your way. But your father's debt must be paid. Mr. Jack doesn't joke around! You're of legal working age now, so better get to it!"

With that said, the lean man said and helped Baldy up with surprising ease. They walked deeper into the alley, rounded a corner and was out of sight.

Riley stood alone, his wrist, c.h.e.s.t, and stomach faintly hurting. It took several minutes for his breathing to slow down to the normal level. Great, just what I need on my examination day! He thought bitterly as he picked up his dropped backpack and left the alley.

------------------------

His mind a mess, Riley shoved and pushed his way through the crowd to the subway station. He could barely have the presence of mind to call Ivanka and warn her to keep the door locked. He wasn't too worried about the thugs breaking into their apartment, as such crimes were treated seriously.

As he stood on the underground train, Riley alternated between cursing his absent father, to worrying about how he was supposed to pay back this "Mr. Jack." He repeatedly tried to tell himself to stay focused on the tasks ahead, but his mind drifted away on its own.

Leaving the station, his legs kept moving on autopilot, dodging people and traffic. When he shook himself out of his thoughts, he found himself in front of Grammaton Academy.

Grammaton Academy was one of three military academies in Arcology-1. Unlike regular academies and high schools, these military academies offered only a limited number of normal subjects, and instead strongly focused on training combat-capable civilians and potential military recruits. The courses were grueling with plenty of physical training, followed by a harsh curriculum of various military subjects such as firearms training, hand-to-hand combat training, tactics, and strategy. A graduate from such an academy with decent grade could easily find a well-paid position within the megacity's ever-growing armed forces.

However, Riley didn't care about all that, as he was not an undergraduate.

The tuition fee for a full 2-year education was anywhere from 50,000 to 65,000, far more than Riley could ever hope to make with his part-time jobs. He had applied for scholarsh.i.p.s several times, but it seemed bureaucracy and favoritism still existed despite humanity was on the brink of extinction. Most of the scholarsh.i.p.s were awarded to children of already affluent families.

Riley's career path, he decided long ago, would begin with Armed Freelancing. And to qualify for that, he would only need to finish a crash course.

------------------------

A"crash course," formally known as "High-Intensity Training Curriculum," was a highly compressed version of the Academy's official curriculum. Stripped off all the "non-essential subjects," the crash courses were designed to transform most civilians into combat-capable individuals as fast as possible within two months. It only cost a fraction of the full-time course. However, it required a great deal of self-discipline since the attendees will spend a majority of time training with each other instead of being supervised by instructors. In the end, depending on the course, attendees would be required to complete an examination on the field, with a supervisor who would judge their performance and determine if they pass or fail.

Passing the course would grant the attendee the title of "Armed Freelancer" and qualify them for a large number of perks and jobs. Such jobs were generally more dangerous as they involved using hot weapons but paid much better than those offered to title-less citizens. Depending on his performance, Riley could even catch the attention of some organizations, who might hire him full time.

------------------------

Riley walked past the front gate, ignoring the sneering gazes of the full-time undergraduates. He was no stranger to the enmity between the "full-timers" and "crash-coursers." Many full-timers considered the other side penniless plebians who took shortcuts to earn money, while crash-courser thought the full-timers were a bunch of spoiled sissies that needed two years to learn what they could in two months.

Riley entered the Building labeled "Department of High-Intensity Training" and headed to the locker room. There were a few attendees getting changed. He gave them a brief nod and headed to his own locker, opening it with his keycard.

Within the locker was a set of basic riot gear, including body armor and a baton, a set of vision-enhancing goggles (VEG). Last but not least was a medium-caliber pistol in a leather holster clipped to a belt along with several magazines.

Riley changed into the riot gear, attached the VEG to his helmet and secured the pistol belt to his waist.

He took the pistol out of his holster and inspected it. Immediately a transparent screen hovered next to the pistol.

------------------------

> B-93R Autoloader

> Category: Firearm - Pistol. Legality: Legal (standby)

> Capacity: 12+1. Caliber: 12 mm

> Weight: 1.5 kg.

> Muzzle velocity: 900m/s

> Description: … [more]

------------------------

The screen was part of the head-up display (HUD) implanted in Riley's cornea. From the age of 13, every citizen of Arcology-1 is eligible for a set of neural and corneal implants (NCI). The neural implant gave them a direct link to the central civilian database and functioned similarly to a smartpad, which is a communication, entertainment and task organizing device rolled into one. The cornea implant provided users with a HUD that augmented the users' vision with information retrieved from the central database (such as information about people and objects, navigation, weather, traffics) and a collection of their customized notes (like task list, contacts) to aid them with everyday tasks. It could be said that to most people the NCIs were about as ubiquitous and vital as oxygen.

Dismissing the information screen, Riley holstered the pistol and closed his locker. He shouldered his backpack, held his helmet and leave the locker room.