"Frank."
Frank opened his eyes. His pupils adjusted to the dim light with a faint whirr. He looked down and saw a short, rotund man lying face-down on the floor of the dingy apartment. The First Directive activated and he knelt down to inspect the body, pressing two cold fingers to the neck.
"He's dead," Frank said. His First Directive twinged.
"I know. You need to move the body."
Frank knelt further and scooped the crumpled form up in his arms, then hefted it over a broad shoulder. A card dropped out of the body's jacket pocket, and Frank's glass retinas scanned a name - Ken Wilson - before it hit the ground.
"I'll take care of that."
Frank nodded and went out of the back door of the apartment onto the tiny balcony. It was raining in New Angeles. Most people were asleep now, or at their night shifts. Nobody was watching in the tower complex opposite, and nobody was on the street below. An automated street sweeper gnawed through the layer of trash that covered the sidewalk below him, leaving the damp slabs exposed to the acid-yellow lighting above him. Frank waited until the street sweeper had passed and its cameras were out of range before hefting the body over the balcony railing. It landed on its head. A pair of plus-sized underwear dislodged themselves from a makeshift clothes line behind him and spiraled down after the dead man.
Frank went back inside. Boss was reloading his guns. Frank didn't see the card on the ground. Behind Boss, on the filthy kitchen worktop, was a console, weakly flashing in red and green numbers Frank couldn't decipher.
"What next, boss?" Frank's Second Directive wanted orders. Boss holstered one of his guns and kept the other loose in one hand.
"Clean."
Frank looked around. There was a lot to do. He saw a half-eaten cup of instant ramen next to the console. He gingerly picked it up and put it in the trash. He did the same for a cup of cold coffee. He rolled up the bloodstained rug and managed, with some difficulty, to feed it into the incinerator chute. He cleaned the spray of blood from the cabinets. He saw the console's lights turn off and closed the lid on the old laptop device.
He was done. He looked around.
"What now, boss?" Frank already knew the answer.
Boss nodded.
"Thank you for your service. Sleep mode."
As Frank powered down, he thought, not for the first time, that Mr Stone was the best owner a bioroid could hope to have.
---
Smoke logged into chat
PunkRokka: eyy baby girl you heard the news?
Smoke: Should I?
G13ST: Whizzard bit the dust, his console went dark fifteen hours ago
Smoke: I don't know who that is.
PunkRokka: yo show some respect, whizz was old skool
G13ST: Cops found his body outside, said he'd topped himself. Obvious horseshit.
PunkRokka: yeah whizz was fucked up but he wasn't suicidal
G13ST: What was that about respect?
PunkRokka: look he was into weird shit is all I'm saying
Smoke: So who did it?
PunkRokka: big w duh
Smoke: Oh boy, what did he do?
PunkRokka: oh man bbgurl sit ur ass down for this one
G13ST: He went on a run last week. Full immsim out into Gagarin remote servers. Came back with a file saying he was tagged and he couldn't figure out what he'd found
G13ST: Guess he didn't manage to shake the cleaners this time
Smoke: NBN scrambler? Did he have a misdirection module?
PunkRokka: Lol nobody uses big brother tech since they downsized, nobody trusts their baby bitch ice anymore
G13ST: He says he didn't know what tagged him but for a moment his connection was hijacked and he couldn't jack out, might be something new W's trying
G13ST: Anyway he said the files were in code or something, something about dimensional travel or some shit.
PunkRokka: yeah he figured it was a reference to some nerd show he liked
Smoke: Hmm.
Smoke: You still have the file?
G13ST: Well I couldn't sell it on, it seems pretty worthless and if it's a hot potato I don't want more clean ups on my hands
Smoke: Bounce it to me. I can take care of it.
G13ST: Hey, your loss
PunkRokka: oh shit bb what u gonna do?
Smoke: I know a girl who knows a girl.
Smoke: Sit tight, fellas.
Smoke logged out of chat
