The Real Doctor of The Hanging City

“Guns an’ sex an’ ‘explosions an’ drugs an’ noise…. feckin’ loud noise. That’s how my bloody weekend went. And wing shark testosterin’ can’t forget that shite. Can still feel the feckin` bruise from the needle. That cunt Billy told me it’d be like nothin’ and ‘ere I am cupping my damn balls like they ain’t bloody attached no more. Sorry if you were expecting something different, Doc, but that’s how she wrote it.”

“I see, it’s the standard rate today then.” I had spoken firmly to the lunatic in my office “And with the infecte-“ I added before being interrupted

“Well you see Doc, the thing is that cunt Billy buggered up the whole show. We came back limpin’ with empty pockets and almost a pound ‘eavier in lead I’d say. Almost lost me damn life and I’m in pain ‘ere…” He groaned on

“Get to the point” I said with a bit more passion

“We ain’t got any bloody money for the med expense” The nutcase insisted “but we bloody well need it if we gonna hit our next job, mate.”

A bald sunburnt oaf stood in front of me telling me about his weekend. Informing me how he has no money and was expecting me to care. Something radiating from him had smelt very bad. He spat his words out loudly with his lips smacking and his tongue clicking. And worse yet it seemed his testicles were infected…I usually charged extra for that. Wing shark testos had been becoming way too popular. I sat back in my chair and looked across my desk at this creature. Professional runner it seems, dangerous work, and bipolar wages. He was stinking my office with the smell of grease from his bootleg bio-mods. It’ll probably cost him a solid three for this including the delicate work. Far too much to ask on credit.

“How much do you have? Tier three med tech isn’t cheap you know” I said to him

“Well…ain’t got much right now but we’ll get BIG after the next job I swear this one’s a feckin` gold nugget, it is!” His pupils dilated, his jaw recessed, my patience waned.

“How much does it pay?” I asked. Not that I didn’t think it’d be too little. However, If the payout is big enough, he’d just skip town or worse, hire someone to kill me and knock the debt.

“FIVE BIG ONES” he said with a big toothless grin.

Not enough to skip town and any runner worth that much would drop easily. My next issue was if I thought he could pull off a job that big. Working in this business you get a feel for clientele. Some give off more promise than others. This one I would say was a gamble. Too much of gamble.

“Give me the keys to your wings and we got a deal, you get them back when you can pay, how’s that?” Collateral is never a bad option I thought.

“Oy mate you see…that cunt Billy…” he said sheepishly

“I don’t fucking care about Billy!” I retort, patience now lost.

“His ride got buggered in the last one, mines all we got for the job and we needs it…” He said quietly

Evidently this man is going to lose his fucking balls because I will not be helping him for free.

“But you know what! I got this locket! Yea yea…worth lots of money, it was me mums. Real gold! From The Ground! Priceless really!” He said excitedly.

I’m going to assume his mother is dead and if it is real gold as well as pre-war it could be worth enough. Would sell quick too if this oaf bites it…

“Let’s see it.” I said with finality.

He pulled it from under his shirt right off his own neck. This runner was covered in dirt and dressed like a human pig, but that gold locket was shining like a true diamond in the rough. Clearly well taken care of, clearly valuable, sentimental or otherwise.

“All right, it’s a deal. If you are not back here with the money before 306 I’ll consider you dead and the locket sold. Understood?” I proposed.

He started to look nervous, shy, boyish almost.

“Ay…just make sure…if you do sell it, don’t be getting it to one of them Cap fuckers. Me ma wouldn’t have had it that way…” He said slowly and softly

He did not like the Caps it seemed. It made sense after all, his “Ma” could have likely died because of them. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. The Caps may have been incomprehensibly cruel and inhumane, but they are good for business.

“There” he said placing it on the desk. He looked quite sad staring at it. Maybe it was his good luck charm.

“Perfect, wait in room 3 the nurse will bring you the anesthetic and I’ll get to work shortly after” I ushered his stinking figure out of my office.

The work went by quick, and the sunburnt fool walked out of my clinic right before closing. I returned to my desk and remembered the locket. I decided to inspect it some more out of curiosity. It was quite beautiful. Fashioned into the shape of a heart with an intricate pattern reminiscent of times past. Truly something from a bygone age. I remembered distinctly that the difference between a locket and a necklace was the promise of something within. I decided to open the locket. A tough nut to crack, however. It took a few of my tools but I managed to pry it. Inside was something quite special. A true polaroid photo of what I assumed based on appearance was my clients’ parents. The photo had to be taken pre-war. Not many remembered how analog worked so that kind of tech did not come by easily. Something like this was very cool but also very worthless. Yet even I was somewhat moved by its antique luster. Still probably would have tossed it if I got to sell the damn thing. Real gold, huh.

On my way home its usually still dark. The wind likes to howl at night as it cuts through The Hanging City. They call this part of town ‘the rafters’ and it dangles at the lowest point making the wind feel extra sharp.

‘A city in the sky’ I thought to myself. Must seem glamorous to the earth-borns who designed it. Closer to God supposedly but I never believed in that stuff. They wanted to get away from the war and they damn well succeeded. Only ‘God’ knows what is left down there after all the havoc. And what’s up here is sure not close to anything divine. It is the same humanity that is comfortable killing itself over and over again. The “Hanging City” is the perfect name. It hangs… it does not float.

When I got back to my house it was almost morning. MedTech business is usually only good at night. Hospitals are for day-folk, and I’m no real doctor. Regardless of the hour though it was time for sleep. I took a moment as I went through my things to inspect the locket again. How the fuck does a grungy runner like that have something so valuable? I placed it on the nightstand next to my bed. Almost felt like it could have been my locket the way it glowed in the dark room. Not like I got anybody’s picture to put in it. Still, it felt precious. I turned on the holoscreen to let the white noise lull me off. They were saying something about gang war in the brume…My eyes started to weaken...Some 28 dead from gunfire…eyes closed…mayor wants retribution…

It was day 305 and I was sitting at my desk. Work was slow and I was thinking about the sunburnt oaf. If he does not show up by the end of tomorrow, I should start thinking about who to contact for the locket. Honestly, the caps are the obvious choice. A bunch of them collect these types of things and are always willing to pay upfront with cash. Might want to make sure the runner is dead though. As I thought that I noticed the locket and felt sort of weird.

“No…not the caps.” I thought. A grudge is not good for my work. As I was idling in thought a nurse busted through my door very startled.

“It’s a runner, he’s critical, says he has the money upfront!” She said earnestly, my cue to get busy. I stepped out into our emergency room and was surprised to see “Mr. Fun in the sun” dumbass laying on my operating table with six bullet wounds in his torso.

“Critical? Shelly, this man is fucking dead already.” Part of me was quite angry for some reason. She looked at me with confusion and distress.

“He’s got five on him and if he dies nobody will blame us.” She urged under her breath. Sound logic and standard day practice in our business. I’ll use the cheap stuff and when he bites it, I’ll get a big payout. Rather simple. But I remembered, the locket. Guess it was his good luck charm after all.

“Doc...” He wheezed, “The locket…I need…I got the scratch…” All the sudden it made sense to me. Of course he knew how fucked he was. He didn’t come here for MedTech he just wanted the damn locket, so I don’t get to sell it…fucking idiot! How could he be so careless with his life and then get so damn sentimental!

“Listen here asshole…I can use tier 4 and give you a chance. But if you live and try to sell that locket again, I will find you and reprogram your bio mods to tear your head off!” I was shouting now for some reason.

“Please…doc…” He whimpered. He looked like a damn child the way he was laying there. Why did care so much. I hated that kid.

“Shelly, get the tier 4 ready” I looked at her with intensity. Almost sounded like a real doctor the way I barked those orders.

“B-but why?” She was very confused now.

“Fuck, just do it.” I yelled.

I then proceeded to sweat over that kid’s body like a goddamn maniac hustling my ass like crazy trying to keep him alive. I gave him everything I had. Chems, stims, adrenaline, and worked the MedTech with a passion. For some reason I kept thinking about the locket. The picture. The old world. A family. Things I never had. I was so angry with him for throwing that damn locket it away. Felt like his dad.

In the end the kid bit it. He died with six pieces of Caps lead in his chest. One pierced his right superior epigastric, another his left intercostal. A piece of shrapnel I had not noticed was lodged in his Celiac trunk. Even with tier 4… I should have known. His body would get taken to the undertaker’s office and be cremated. They would scan his chip, inform any of his relatives, and then wipe him from all the registries. Another dead runner. Wouldn’t even make the news.

I went back to my office, sat down and stared blankly. This is how a doctor would feel, huh. I pulled the locket from the drawer it was kept in. Opened it up. This is what the old world was like wasn’t it? People cared about people. Sentimentality…it hurts. I had forgotten.