As midnight approached, I prepared to descend from my rooftop perch. My backpack secured, I leaped to the neighboring building, landing in a cloud of dust. The momentary calm shattered as my neural implant delivered a message, projecting a notification directly onto my field of vision through my cybernetic eyes:

  

  Target Name: Harvey Whitaker

  Target Address: 715 Augustin Street, Apt 189b

  Target Distance: 4.128 Km

  Target Subscription: Tier 1

  Couriers Contacted: 3

  A job opportunity. The mini-map overlay appeared in my vision, a digital path laid over the physical world. I made my decision immediately, activated the overdrive function in my leg enhancements, and surged forward with unnatural speed.

  I traversed the cityscape like a ghost—leaping between rooftops, grabbing ledges and cables with practiced precision. But soon I faced a gap too wide to cross, forcing me to descend to the dangerous streets below.

  Before making the descent, my hand drifted to the weapon holstered on my thigh—a fifteen-centimeter blade of dark metal. I pressed the small button on its handle, bringing it humming to life with a pulsating crimson glow. At 2000 vibrations per second, it could slice through reinforced metal effortlessly. I verified it was functioning properly, then returned it to its sheath. I hoped I wouldn't need it.

  I landed on a heap of garbage, drawing only fleeting glances from passersby. Such sights were hardly unusual in our city. The streets teemed with life—a chaotic symphony of pedestrians and erratic vehicles moving through the urban decay.

  I began sprinting immediately. Two other Couriers had been alerted to the same target, but my strategy was simple: arrive first and avoid conflict altogether. Once a Soul was secured by a Courier, there was no known way to extract it safely. Attacking a Courier carrying a Soul would bring swift and merciless retribution from MainFrame, usually destroying any possibility for the attacker to ever work again—or live. The game was simple: first to arrive wins.

  I navigated the labyrinthine streets, obstacles blurring past. Approaching the old Telecom Tower—once a hub of corporate activity, now repurposed into budget apartments—I saw an opportunity. Scaling the tower would provide a shortcut. My enhanced limbs responded with fluid precision as I leaped onto concrete edges and climbed to one of the tower's balconies. The soundtrack of sirens and distant gunshots never ceased.

  My mini-map showed I was just two kilometers from the target. I engaged my leg implants' overdrive once more, launching myself toward a rooftop below. As I landed, I realized too late that my weight was more than the ancient structure could bear. The building's weakened surface couldn't withstand the impact—its structure gave way beneath my feet, plunging me through two floors in a cascade of debris and dust.

  I emerged with only superficial scratches, a testament to my augmentations' durability. Through the settling dust, I noticed two figures sprawled across an aged mattress. Initially, I thought they were corpses, but one stirred with languid movement.

  A young man, barely recognizable as human beneath grimy, oil-leaking implants. His skull bore disfigured sores, his mouth—devoid of teeth—oozed dark stains.

  A Dream junkie.

  Some in this world abandoned the pursuit of digital afterlife for chemical paradise. The synthetic substance called "Dream" prolonged the REM phase of sleep, trapping users in vivid, perpetual reverie. Waking them could trigger violent, unpredictable reactions.

  Both figures began to stir. Their Dream-induced slumber currently kept them docile, but not for long. The first raised himself from the mattress, eyes vacant, mouth drooling. A single cybernetic eye protruded from the center of his forehead, while his natural eye sockets gaped empty and bloody—crude evidence that he had sold his organic parts to Neon Underground's unlicensed doctors for cheap credits, a common practice among Dream junkies desperate for their next fix.

  I leaped upward through the hole I'd created, making my way back to the rooftop. The distant screams of awakened junkies propelled me forward with renewed urgency.

  My feet barely touched each surface as I continued my sprint across the rooftops. Time was critical now—those Dream junkies had cost me precious seconds, and in this profession, seconds determined success or failure. I pushed my leg enhancements to their limits, the motors whining in protest as I bounded across the cityscape, the mini-map guiding me ever closer to my target.

  I reached the target building without further incidents. Bursting through the rooftop access door, I descended rapidly through the stairwell, stopping at the 18th floor. I moved swiftly through dimly lit hallways until I reached my destination, then knocked gently.

  The door opened to reveal an elderly woman, her tear-streaked face notable for its lack of cybernetic enhancements—save for a metallic block affixed to her left temple, a memory enhancer common among the elderly.

  "You are..." her words dissolved into sobs.

  "Yes, I am the Courier," I replied, my voice steady and reassuring.

  With a trembling hand, she widened the door. The communal living area unfolded before me, several individuals sitting somber-faced around a bed positioned in the center of the room. Their grief hung heavy in the air, barely masked by the fragrance of a solitary scented candle. I checked my timer: fourteen minutes remaining—I'd made remarkable time.

  The group, presumably the deceased man's family, moved aside to grant me access. The body belonged to an older man, likely in his sixties—a rarity in our time. A mechanical plate adorned with intricate implants and wiring concealed half his face. At the base of his neck lay the receptor for my connection—a conduit installed by MainFrame engineers that remained functional as long as his subscription payments were maintained.

  With practiced efficiency, I retrieved the cable extending from my Receptacle, just as the apartment door burst open. Another Courier—a woman with fully metallic arms—stood in the doorway, her augmented limbs digging into the frame with such force that the wood splintered and cracked beneath her grip. Dark splatters covered her runner suit and traces of something oily stained her metallic forearms. Her face showed signs of recent exertion, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her skin.

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  Too late, her expression said, acknowledging that victory had slipped through her fingers.

  Our eyes locked briefly as she recognized the futility of her arrival. I plugged my connection wire into the port on the deceased body, and she departed without a word.

  As the transfer initiated, my vision dimmed, a searing migraine tearing through my consciousness. This discomfort was an intrinsic part of the process—the subscriber's Soul downloading onto my neural network, portions of my own memory dissolving in exchange.

  Flashes of my childhood dissolved as payment for the newly-created space in my mind.

  A memory fluttered—running through streets, laughter in the air, a blurry figure, a woman, holding my hand and smiling down at me.

  Another memory formed—a bowl crashing to the floor, shattering into fragments, two adults locked in angry dispute, a resounding slap.

  Then a final memory—a young girl, playing with her hair, gazing at me with affection.

  The memories faded into darkness. On my heads-up display, numbers and percentages flashed, indicating the download verification process. Gradually, my vision regained clarity.

  100%.

  The entire process had taken less than a minute. I unplugged the cable and stood to face the elderly woman. Her red, human eyes—a rarity in this age of cybernetic enhancement—glistened with tears. She extended a photograph.

  "Could you take this with him, when he reaches the MainFrame?" she pleaded.

  I initially hesitated, about to explain the impracticality of physical objects in digital transfer, but she pressed the photograph into my hands, her gaze imploring as she clasped both my hands and the image.

  "Please," she whispered.

  I nodded in acquiescence and departed as she rejoined her family, their collective grief filling the room. With the door barely hanging from its frame due to the other Courier's forceful entrance, I exited. The path to the nearest MainFrame Deposit Center materialized on my heads-up display.

  Time to get some Credits.

  The journey to the Deposit Center was mercifully uneventful, a mere ten-minute transit. The imposing edifice never failed to awe me—a massive, dark monolith at the terminus of a major thoroughfare, its severe design a stark contrast to the city's pervasive decay. The enigmatic MainFrame company wielded power matched only by its mystery, and the allure of a place in their digital Heaven captivated everyone in our dystopian city.

  The building's architecture fused Gothic and Art Deco elements, evoking a shadowed Gotham City from another era. The entrance, accessed by twenty grand steps, seemed designed for giants. Massive metallic doors stood open like a portal to another realm. Only Couriers and employees traversed this sacred threshold.

  At the security checkpoint, I extended my forearm, allowing the embedded chip beneath my skin to interface with the digital reader. The small red light transformed to welcoming green, granting me passage.

  The security detail was imposing—a vigilant row of MainFrame guards stationed within the high-ceilinged corridor, each enhanced with cutting-edge cybernetics and weaponry. They wore black ceramic helmets and combat suits that concealed their identities, carried military-grade rifles, and had undergone classified training supplemented by cerebral implants to guard against wireless hacking. Their formidable presence made it clear: these were not individuals to provoke.

  A solitary desk stood at the hallway's terminus, manned by a single employee. Adjacent was the Soul deposit apparatus—a colossal metallic cylinder adorned with black and chrome elements, featuring a single eye-level input port. This represented the sole entry point into the MainFrame server accessible to Couriers. Its design resembled a monolithic artifact, crafted to impress deities rather than humans. Reflective surfaces created infinite shimmering images, while a solitary red LED pulsed deliberately, rhythmic as the measured breathing of a leviathan.

  A young woman in immaculate attire greeted me at the desk, her cybernetic implants giving her an air of sophistication. Gleaming metallic embellishments traced intricate patterns across her neck—not typical implants, but costly, sleek accessories.

  Her eyes met mine, and with a subtle wave, she directed me toward the deposit machine. I scanned the chip in my forearm again, causing the red LED to shift to green, still pulsating steadily.

  I retrieved the cable from the base of my neck and connected it to the machine's sole input. The green LED accelerated its pulse, signaling connection established.

  Then came the headaches—the familiar post-transfer discomfort as my Receptacle emptied. Chaotic numbers and progress bars flashed across my heads-up display, mingling with disorienting glitches that distorted my overlay.

  In less than a minute, the transfer concluded, leaving me with a throbbing headache, my brain seeming to vibrate within my skull. The LED had shifted to brilliant green but, in a final pulse, returned to its original red state.

  The woman behind the desk typed briefly, then looked my way. "Verification complete, Tier 1. Your payment has been transferred."

  As she spoke, my heads-up display showed the sum: 15,000 Credits deposited into my account.

  One step closer to my dream.

  With a nod, I departed, exiting the building and pausing for a moment in the night air. I tilted my head back, gazing upward at the ever-present Elite Freighter suspended in the sky, visible even through the densest fog that often shrouded our city.

  An agonizing headache enveloped me again—a common side effect of Soul transfer. I fumbled in my pocket for a bottle of pills, but my vision faltered as consciousness began slipping away. The infuriating child-proof cap frustrated my efforts, and the bottle tumbled to the ground, rolling toward the stairwell with an echoing rattle.

  A foot gently stopped its progress, and a hand retrieved the fallen container. Through blurred vision, I reached toward the indistinct figure.

  The shape resolved into what appeared to be a woman. She leaned closer, placing a pill in my mouth—the distinctive shape and texture told me it was my Beta-Blocker, specialized medication designed to alleviate the severe headaches that plagued Couriers after Soul transfers. I swallowed, and within seconds, my vision cleared as relief washed through me.

  I recognized the Courier who had arrived moments too late during my last job. Her shiny metallic arm extended, offering my medication bottle.

  "This really is the worst, isn't it?" she remarked, her smile faint but present.

  I nodded. "Thank you."

  "I was right there, delayed by a couple of awakened junkies," she explained, frustration edging her voice. "Without their interference, I would have arrived first."

  "Broken building near the old Telecom Tower?" I asked.

  "Yeah, know anything about that?" she responded.

  "Maybe," I replied as I stood.

  She studied me for a moment, and I realized how attractive she was. Despite her fully cybernetic arms, her face remained untouched by augmentation. Her features suggested Asian descent—a rarity in our world of mixed lineages. Similar to my height, she possessed a slender frame accentuated by her cybernetic limbs. She wore a dark and purple synthetic fiber runner suit, favored by Couriers for its cooling properties and freedom of movement. I noticed enhancements in her legs, causing the fabric to contour around her ankles.

  "Next time, I'll be the first to arrive," she declared suddenly, turning to leave.

  "Sure thing," I responded.

  With otherworldly grace, she darted down the stairs, her movements making her seem weightless. Before I could react, she vanished into the bustling street below. I clutched my head as the lingering headache finally subsided.

  It was time to return home.