kalon name; Synthe
Music Selection (SFW - updated)
The year is 2081 - The world has declined into a smog-choked, automated wasteland of perfect, inhuman efficiency. To escape the crushing overpopulated public areas, and the vile metallic air, more and more people have fled into the virtual reaches of the internet. Some have lived their whole lives there. And Synthe is no different. He doesn't remember the real world. He doesn't even know what he looks like anymore. He was plugged in as a child, and given the universe to explore. As one of the cyber generation, he knows that his body, wherever it may be, is cared for automatically, locked away, safe from attack, as his brilliant mind is used as a gestalt to power a massive chunk of the virtual web. Giving up his brain space this way pays for all his frail body's basic needs. But it's rare he even remembers that he is living in a virtual world. To him the neon space he plays in is his whole existence. Data moving through him like a soft rippling breeze, he is master of his playground, and is a popular "patron" for other Kalons of the cyber generation. His bar - The Synthwire - is always abuzz with life, talk, music, and data exchange.
But every so often...he's met with a challenge. Someone exchanging something illegal, using HIS synapses to do it. His avatar's neon eyes narrow, listening to the music that is the data flow, and he hears it, that siren scream of something...wrong.
It only took him a nanosecond to pinpoint the signal. With a wry sort of grimace, noted the two perps leaning forward in a conspirative whisper in one of the dark booths at the bar. Both human. Not that humans were uncommon in his bar - in fact, most of his patrons WERE human. He adjusted his avatar automatically to its anthro setting as traveled in his invisible state to land before them in a softly lit collarless suit jacket, wide pants and tight fitting shirt underneath. Certainly, he could appear before them as a Kalon, but since his human patrons were so much taller than his natural form, he found this 6'1" avatar suited the situation nicely.
Especially when someone was trying to pull a fast one on him.
With a whispering sigh of the virtual construct, he appeared before the two men, like the Cheshire cat easing itself out of nothingness, and with an air of ownership, leaned on their table with a cool grin on his face. "Gentlemen!" His voice was a little louder than it needed to be, calling attention from the other patrons. He could hear the noise in the room drop. He banged his fist playfully down, activating a data freeze on their table. Both men jumped - not just from the noise, but also the physical sensation of having a freeze applied to their transfer. "What are we up to tonight?" He spun his finger, lifting the data from the hooks and flipping it so he could see.
"Goodness me!" he said, becoming animated as his patrons watched, "It's a good old fashioned private information transfer!" He laughed loudly, and the crowd joined in. It was almost childish to try and give real-life information that was not your own to other folks. "This is a little embarrassing. Doxxing in MY bar? Oh, boys...that's just insulting."
He was amused by it, but something was gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Something about the flash of the info he'd seen. Likewise, the men were looking far more scared than they ought to. For something this simple? And with his attitude, most data thieves and buyers were often quick enough to ask for lenience. But these two weren't. They both looked terrified.
Synthe's eyes darted to the side and as quickly ran through all the active data feeds in the bar and surrounding area. Nothing new. Nothing weird. But something was still bothering him. Something was off. Something that was NEVER off. If he hadn't run through his data streams he wouldn't have noticed it at all.
The stream that was missing was the feedback from the servitor-bots that cared for his physical body. They sent a ping at all times - a lifeline to say that they were still there. But now...they weren't.
With a feeling of dread, he tapped the data file before him and saw what he feared the most. This wasn't just ANY piece of private information.
It was HIS personal address.
Synthe could taste metal in his mouth - adrenaline - something he hadn't felt since before becoming a SysOp, and his panic sent the bar into lockdown. His patrons, if they hadn't been watching before, were now watching as EVERY monitor in the bar lit up to show the same image from different angles.
There was a stark cream-colored room, and in it, a state of the art cyber-crib - a resting couch for longterm hibernation in cyberspace. And within, a black, bismuth-swirled Kalon, limbs and head covered in wires and tubing. His rig was exceptionally high quality, designed for a SysOp who would be unlikely to go offline again. Normally it would have a servitor or two moving around it, cleaning and adjusting his feeds automatically. They would keep everything smooth for him - that he'd felt panic at all was a clear sign that they were not just failing to do their job, but that they hadn't been doing it for a while.
He needed a wider angle, and he looked around at all the different camera feeds until he spotted one at the bar that had the right image - in it, a human figure in black approached the crib. He wearing a long coat, gloves and a stocking over his face, and began to tap on the crib's access monitor with malice and authority.
An almost explosive echo of panicked pages filled Synthe's ears. He looked back at the bar, feeling sweat on his palms, and his heart rattling around in his chest - his REAL chest, he knew. The patrons of the bar were just as wide eyed as he was. The urgent messages flared to one side of his mind - his clients were begging for him to unlock the bar. They couldn't log out as long as he held them. For most of them being knocked back into their own bodies due to a forced logout wouldn't do much harm, but some of the less fortunate patrons might end up with damaged software and hardware if they crashed along the way.
He took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly to bring his heartrate back down. Stilling himself as best he could, he raised his hands into the air, summoning up the mass release - something that could only be triggered when he was in control of himself. He felt the soft 'click' as the room unlocked. Looking downwards, his mind flashed out to the nearest SysOps, letting them know he was about to go down, that they needed to grab and trace every straggler who couldn't port themselves fast enough. He also contacted the PD - telling them that the two traces he held right now needed grabbing - because they could be accessories to a much larger crime.
Synthe's mouth was dry - and it pained him to know it was due to something having been altered in his crib. The figure in black on the monitor seemed to have been completely unhindered by the security measures, and was already adjusting his chemical mixes. The SysOps he had contacted were now sending their confirmations. His patrons were being grabbed as ports opened on his peripherals.
Synthe heard a whimper from behind him. He whirled in rage at the men who were still locked down. His mind rippled through a dozen questions he could ask them in his fury, but he knew the most important one needed to be answered as fast as possible, "Who hired you?"
"We don't know..." the first man's voice broke - and he shook his head slightly no. "We were just told you'd be upset, that this was some sort of stupid joke that would make you freak out..."
"It was supposed to be a prank." The second one added.
Synthe felt a sudden twisting surge of vertigo. He could hear and feel the PD locking the sector around the criminals down - securing it against the crash that was possibly coming. He felt himself losing focus, and slapped at the data note that hung in the air as he lost his balance. "Please tell the...cops...tell them this is my address...they gotta send someone to me..."
His eyes rolled back. He felt a searing metallic pain across his chest, and he became dimly aware of a sound emanating from outside his tank. It sounded like laughter. He tried in vain to feel his body, to move his paws, his tail, but he couldn't feel anything, and then there was nothing but blackness and the taste of real-world smog in his lungs.
