Cyberpunk Cowboy

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Original poster
It was a world of waste whether it be the land that they lived on, the resources they were using, or the lives that were being taken each day. One of the darkest deeds done in this time was the act of murder. Unfortunately there was no consequence to go along with it. Making your own justice was just the way of the two cities. West City and Lor both very populated and focused on the sole problem of depleting resources. The cities could no longer expand; new cities were not feasible as the only earth for possible vegetation was in and around the area of the civilian zones. What Jeremy could not understand was how this world worked? With the ever expanding population there was bound to be some kind of shortage but how did this place work so well over the hundreds of years it existed?

In the car stolen from Jeremy's garage, his fellow gang members road the wastelands in the dead of night. The bumps made them almost hit their head on the top of the car. Quivering he clutched onto the device that his brother had given him. He turned his attention to it as he did not want to speak to anyone right now. It looked like some kind of bracelet, a large one at that. It would fit around his fore arm and opened on a few hinges that allowed it to clip onto the appendage. His curiosity got the better of him as he put it on his arm. As soon as it clipped on it locked. "How are you doing back there?" The driver asked. He was wearing a cowboy hat and from the looks of it he was in the group for awhile. There were several bullet holes easily seen.
"I'm doing alright. I mean he could still be alright right?" Jeremy answered as he fiddled with the item attached to him. The silver plating almost mesmerized him as he tried to find a button to unlock it. There was a pad on top with several buttons designed to be accessed by his left hand. He took a brief moment to look up and he saw the city lights of West City. "Where are we going?"
"We have business in West City, I hope you don't mind but we are short on people. The boss will let you have time to rest after we get back to base." Jeremy knew that the decisions of the leader could not be argued. Sitting in the back of the car he looked out the window running his fingers through his black hair.
The table quivered profusely under the force of a duel of strength, two fists clenching, weaving back and forth in a crude ballet. The hands pinned to the eastern edge of the table forcefully. "That's another one for me." Louis Alder spoke pridefully. "And another for me!" His opponent said, as he downed another shot of an old bottle of whiskey. A few ruffian men wagering and arguing at the nearby seating, barking insults at the supposed Victor of the wager. "I'd better get going, Harris." Louis said to his opponent. "Already? I'm only barely drunk yet." Harris replied. Loius took a final swig from the bottle of whiskey. He scratched his beard, and said with a smile "Got some work tomorrow. Wouldn't want a hangover for it." He stood up with a bit of a stagger, picking his hat off the table. He ran his fangers across the top rapidly, dusting off the depicted silver bird, and finally placing it on his head as he stepped outside into the baking sun.
The Highland bar. A small dive that sat just off the main drag in West City. At first glance it looked like a rundown building that might have once been a Deli or a small corner store. Its windows were boarded up and the large steel door showed no "come in were open" sign, but the few notorious patrons of the Bar knew it never closed. A red neon sign hung just above the main entrance that read " Hi and Bar" due to the fact that half the letters had long since burnt out. It wasn't the type of place that people went to enjoy a few drinks after a long day at work, but more a place that shady individuals might go to discuss business.

"What do you mean You cant give me the routes?" Said Caine, A known member of the vicious street Gang The Desert Outlaws. Across the table from him was a short, balding man. An off duty police officer, who despite his dedication to the force, made extra money by selling information on supply routes to street gangs.

"I Mean I can't give you any more info on the resource supply routs, I'm already facing an inquiry at HQ. Anymore stolen trucks and I'll be up shit creek." The man took a deep breath, knowing he very well may have just signed his own death warrant.

Canine Westwood ran a rough hand through his long back hair, a little hint of a smile forming at his lips.

"Captain Morris." He said to the crooked cop " I would hate to think you've outlived your usefulness to me and my organization. Especially after all our long years of partnership." He lifted a highball glass off the table and to his lips, the strong drink burned as it touched his tongue and spilled down his throat. With that he stood up, pulling his red and black pilots coat off the chair behind him. Across his waist a red sash caught the attention of a near by drunk who recognized him as a ranking member of The vicious street gang; The Desert Outlaws.

With a flick of his head, Caine signaled over one of his fellow Gang members who had been sitting in the shadows. A young Outlaw named Flinn walked over with a hellish grin plastered across his face. Caine leaned towards the Cop once more. From an inside pocket of the coat he pulled out a small flask containing gasoline.

"I'm sorry officer." Said Caine his smile growing wider as he spoke " But I think you have burned down your bridge with us permanently. With this he splashed the open flask onto the shaking Off duty cop, who didn't even try to resist as the gas soaked through his clothes. Harsh fumes filled the small bar as Flinn came up behind him with a lit match.


As the two outlaws exited, screams of a dying man filled the night. Inside the Highland Bar flames danced on the charred remains of what use to be The Desert Outlaws number one police informant.

The two Outlaws walked a short distance to where their motorcycles were parked. Caine Turned to Flinn just before kicking his bike to life.

"Now we have no clue where the next Resource route will be." He stared back to the flames inside and at the few drunks who had been slumped at the bar as they fled out into the night." But at least now there's one less cop on the street." With that Caine started his bike and peeled off.
"Its me again and do I have new for you this time... Seems a explosion happened right in the city and that confirms the blue-green letter that Lazarus decoded, which so I think we can trust the other contents of the letter too so we all know what that means......

..... Our brothers on the coast are saying they might have another circle for us to look at, so hopefully we'll have that to you next time, but for now, remember, the truth is right here, they cities are under one government and they are using fear to control you and their pawn the cowboys are watching everything you do."

He turned away from the keyboard and picked up a day-old slice of pizza as the article was uploaded, the world made his shudder, but at least he had his voice, and no one could silence it.
West City, a place brightly lit up by street lights and late running businesses. Buses around the city seemed to never stop as talk of a subway system had ended with the problem of resources. The car that Jeremy was riding pulled in front of an old bowling alley, one that had been condemned, boarded up, and left for dead. "What job is here?"
"Boss called it a supply run, details though are a bit sketchy. Inside should be a few computers being used by the DO's. Supposedly they found something the boss is interested in." The man in the driver seat explained. He gripped his hat as he unlocked the doors and got out. The man in the passenger seat grabbed his hat off the floor and got up to reveal a heavy black trench coat. Jeremy joined them outside the car, he had no weapon on him at the moment so he was just going to follow them inside. He knew being together was much safer than staying in the car especially with this gang.
"Infiltration kid, take off your shoes and hide them when we get in." Jeremy nodded once again as they started walking toward the building.

It was not long before they were in, the bowling alley looked more like a haunted house. There were cobwebs everywhere, dirt tracked in on the ground, and the unwaxed wood had begun to rot. They reached the basement door as they heard voices from below. Just a little banter between two people and what flavor their coffee was. They were entering hostile territory and no doubt having a weapon would be useful.
Louis walked slowly, slightly staggering up the darkening alleys. He stopped for a moment under a flcikering street lamp, pulling a cigarette out of his front pocket along with an old lighter whose weathered wording could no longer be read. He stood for a moment, inhaled, and began walking again as his buzz wore off.

He came upon the back of the old Bowling alley some of his "Colleagues" would use on occasions as a meeting place of some sort. He wasn't ever entirely involved in these things. Coming around the front, a car was parked out in front of the building. Strange, since most (If not all) of the DO's use Motorcycles to get around. Suspicious, at best, and not something to get involved in. He tapped his cigarette, and small flakes of ash encircled slowly to the pavement. Louis kept walking back to his shack, his head turned still towards the old Bowling Alley in slight curiosity.
En Route

Caine and Flinn tore off into the night. The strong, pungent, smell of burnt rubber and gas trailed behind them as they sped away from the crime scene. About a half a mile down the main drag and a sharp left down another street left them a safe distance away from the Highland bar and more importantly prying eyes. Although murder was a crime Caine had committed on several occasions, the scene of a recent crime was no place for him to be seen at...especially when the victim was an officer of the law.

Caine came to a stop and placed his foot on the ground, thus balancing his bike. He next reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He placed the end between his lips and bit the tip off, spitting it onto the ground. He looked over to Flinn, who dispite being a very young member of the Outlaws didn't seemed shaken in the least by the recent events. It was a good sign, thought Caine, nervousness and crime never mixed.

"so, where to now?" said Flinn, looking at the elder member of the Gang questioningly.

Caine shrugged as he drew deeply on the cigar. "For now, we lay low." With that he juiced the engine on his bike and proceeded towards the old abandoned Bowling alley.