Published on June 20th, 2014 | by Michaela Buckley2
I like experiments
“Sure, I don’t mind needles…”
It’s how every story of a downward spiral starts,and it is also how the story of Vince began one day 2 years ago.
“Don’t talk or we’ll feed you to the Karkians…” Yuen Kong said, leader of the Red Arrow triad, controlling family of Hong Kong and shrewd owner of the Lucky Money club in the downtown Market.
Somehow a rather average, leather-clad punk had wound his way into the underworld, standing like a stiffened mannequin in the presence of the most powerful man in Hong Kong, but unlike any other sad, destitute junkie, the discovery of a malignant tumour forced his hand. But Vince was different, he had a deal with Kong. Become his guinea pig and be set for life and he was, for a little while.
“Tumor shmoomer” – Vince
Multiple Nano augmented transcriptions tore into his body, yet somehow he looked completely fine, creating an artificial respite to the impending death – but with a cost. With each treatment the drugs and genetic imprints rewrote his brain, leaving him a husk, a worn-out shadow of a man found drinking or scrounging at the Lucky Money bar. He was even there that fateful day in Hong Kong Market.
Isaac was tending the bar as usual when a guy he’d never seen before walked up to him, later Isaac recalled that throughout his time there he didn’t ask for a drink at the bar, “He started talking to a few of the regulars, but it was kinda late, they were all pretty pissed by then, he didn’t even ask for a drink at the bar”. After disturbing some of the patrons and rearranging some of the furniture he approached the bar, “I’m not sure what he wanted but he was talking about how UNATCO runs the joint over in New York City, started dissing Hong Kong, I asked him if he would like anything, he just went right around back and took off without even asking for a drink at the bar”.
“Experiments… I like experiments.” – Vince
Eyewitness accounts described what happened next as “somewhat shocking” and “the most scared I have been awake” or even “I didn’t even notice”, not long after the unusual man entered the staff area a number of mechanised cyborgs burst in and began to open fire without discrimination at the patrons. The chaos consumed the club and gave way to what has become known as the greatest disaster since the 2044 Olympic massacre, dozens injured and many more left traumatised from the sound of weak stomached people screaming at the sight of blood.
In the ensuing bedlam no-one had time to see Vince as he finished up the dregs of his beer, perhaps it was because he always kept to himself or maybe because they were running for their very lives, he was entirely unaware of the mania metres away and never thought that in mere seconds his life would be snuffed out.
He wasn’t found until the violence and dust had come to a stop, a bullet embedded in his torso, no longer able to fight the disease festering inside. Dead.
He was a gift to science, a gift to us all. And now he is gone. No longer will we be graced with his insightful observations of the cruel world that he inhabited, or sudden inimitable declarations of love for the simpler things in life.
God rest your soul buddy, I hope “that’ll do the trick” for you in heaven.
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