Color Up

I see the swarm cloud in front of the reflected smog. I shouldn't be able to, but there are tricks to it. It's like starlight, I assume. Glittering dust churning in a nonexistent wind, amorphous and blanketing. It's thick tonight as it gazes down upon us all. It knows what's in my pockets. It knows my thoughts, It knows what I'm planning, but since it is not an action, it can't do anything other than watch. It even knows what messages are being beamed right into my head. Lenny's still a bit salty that I'm not helping with his Classical Gas routine. Novak Condos is issuing a notice that my rent is past due, and will be charging an appropriate late fee. The swarm knows all. Then it gets bored and swims along to richer waters. Shame it's not a scavenger. I push it from my thoughts and go to work

"You all know the game," I say with my best bit of amateur theater, "You've seen it in movies. You've seen it in games. You already know the rules. Just pick the red card. It's totally not hard."

Decent crowd this evening. The Hornets v. Shadows game tomorrow night has pulled in a couple of bored die-hards who took a long weekend. The Friday night slackers who clocked out early are drunk enough to lose a bit of their reason. And the tourists who want to see the technological marvels of the city make up the bulk. Might not have the deepest pockets, but I have a good crop ahead of me.

The neon lights are on. They never turn off. I've roosted under a swirling logo for a pharmacy but out of view of the main window. The proprietor would probably be apathetic to my presence, but the controller corporation has a very specific tolerance level for con-artistry. But the higher powers do not know that. They cannot know that. The ever-present swarm, the corporations' little bugs, are off flitting in other parts of the city, buzzing against other neon signs, spilling other secrets, harvesting other bits of data to collect and categorize. I make another call out to the milling crowd and snag a few more in my net.

And I have a brave face front and center, eyes alight with opportunity and what looks like a stock ticker beamed straight to his cortex. Something goes up, something goes down, but it's all in the pursuit of a higher and higher number. And I am just one more avenue to that end.

The first hand is not honest, but it is helpful. The first show is the proper mix, one red, two black. The second is as well. Trickery comes in to play with the shuffle. Two black disappear and two red take their place. He doesn't notice it behind the mountain range of his positions. None of the others do as well. We all come to a stop and just wait for him to pick and choose.

"10 on right," he says as he adjusts that thin noose of a necktie.

"Are you sure," I ask because I have to be a bit of a bastard about this. It doesn't work if they love me. They all want to pay to shut me up. That's where the real money is. He nods and I see a dancing number go up and up and up.

I flip the cards and the world works as it should. He gets a red card and a fun little bump to his walking around money.

"Would you like to go again," I prompt. And the fish is off the hook with a shake of his head and a smug smirk. He might be the smartest man in the city right now, even smarter than me. But I gesture to the crowd and we get another on the line.

I play this one completely honest. I know it's the left, but the woman in the tight dress picks middle. I pick up the difference and I am slightly richer. She wants to play again and she can't seem to find the one thing she needs. It was in my sleeve. Shame she picked one of the black cards. I'm slightly richer now. She's slightly poorer, but judging by the gold embedded into her pores and the underlying circuitry, she deserves it.

It's amazing really. All those steps along the path to a transhumanism apotheosis and I can still just fool the bloody meat completely with a twitch and a wave. I'm sure that a few of the onboard computers even pick it up. Shame that the wetware can't interpret the system notices. I take another hand and I feel the crowd turn against me, just as they should.

I get another brave soul and I can feel the reason slowly ticking away in his nerves. This is the hand. If he loses this hand, then the game is actually rigged and no one should play. He'll expose the fraud and be lauded as a hero. I do like his jumper, that thick weave and heavy buttons a quarter a way down. He puts a full five hundred on the table, hanging on a knife's edge in the air between us. I can match that without even dipping into the reserve.

I force the hand and give him a black card. A look of fury crosses his face, but it is not quick enough.

"Fucking bullshit," says a voice from the back of the crowd. A few others even join in, voicing their own frustrations with even odds.

The crowd parts as another man cuts through. He's cute when he's mad. It doesn't help that he's shorter than me, a few pastel streaks cutting through his blond hair. His hoody's oversized and covered in paint stains. That's a bit of a mistake, showing his colors a bit too much, but I don't think anyone catches on. He's too much of a hero right now to have any such affiliations. I throw up my hands and give an apologetic smile. I put distance between myself and the table as he stalks right up to me, glaring and glowering and trying to be intimidating.

"It's luck," I say, "One in three. Those aren't the best odds, I admit, but not impossible."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," he says. He's put on his favorite makeup today, heavier on one eye with a sharp drop like a sad clown. He's also wearing my favorite lipstick, but that is truly chance.

I gesture to the table. We all hold our collective breath like a crystal as he reaches. The first he turns over is black. The rage spikes and I get another sharp blade to the heart as he turns against me one more time. I mask the rising panic as he reaches for the last one.

It's red. He turns it over and there's a red queen gazing up at the bewildered faces, the neon lights, the flitting drones, the invisible beams of raw data telling everyone everything all the time. The odds weren't in the man's favor, that's all. I can't control everything.

But the instigator keeps glaring at me like I did something wrong. I haven't tampered with the cards since I stepped away from the table. He batters the crowd aside again, taking their frustration with him. And my gaze on his ass as he sways it back and forth for me. Maybe. I think it's actually a ploy to get me to look at his hand with three fingers extended. That's enough time to get a good little payday out of this. We'll be long gone by the time the swarm decides to collect again.

---

I look at my ghost account and like how full it is. I probably could fit some dessert in there if I cram it in, but I don't want a tummy ache. The cards are in my pocket, my jacket's pulled up tight and I am happy as a clam as I just wait on a new street corner on the other side of the tracks.

It's a cool night for once. It's hard to say where one heat wave ends and another begins most of the time, but a few get a shock of cold before winter rolls in. Then we get one true snow fall before another blast of the furnace melts it all away. I hate it. I want more snow. Then we can all wear huge coats with pockets, easy for picking. But I make do, even with the eyes always on me.

Every official statement says you can't actually see the swarm. It's trillions and trillions of microscopic machines, cleaning our air, washing our windows, giving us the necessary tips and tricks to make life seamless as we navigate towards our synergistic future, hand in hand, meat and metal infused with one another. I believe that they believe it. But I can still taste it, feel the little bits of metal scrape against my teeth, a few of the more unfortunate ones crunch under my bite like a mouthful of sand. My tongue can't pick up their taste. My fingers can't feel their needling probes. But I make do. I snap my gum and catch a few more of the thinning herd. My secrets stay with me. There is no suspicious transaction. There is no thought of illicit gambling. A bunch of strangers just decided to give me random increments of money over the course of about 3 hours.

I'm sitting under a new piece of graffiti, still sticky and wet. It's a head, carved open at the back, with puppet strings trailing off to a drone. It's not subtle. It's not supposed to be subtle. There's a good use of color and composition, the pink of the brain meeting a cool blue metal of wires and plates. I don't like it. But it is prominent enough to work as a landmark and it does that work very well.

I see my partner round a corner and brighten up. He's carrying a plastic bag as well, no doubt an attempt to win my affections with sweet treats. I kick my feet against my perch like a giddy little kid and he has to try and play it cool. He can't hide his smile. He also can't hide much in those painted on jeans, but that's also a plus.

"And there's tonight's star, ladies and gentlemen, the lovely, the talented, Diss," I say, projecting to the back row. Nobody claps. There's only a white cat perched on a balcony a good 5 stories up. We get a flick of the tail before it decides that we are not important.

"Oh, shut up, Sal," he sighs as he starts rummaging in the bag, "and you don't have to call me that here. Danny works just fine. I don't call you Shrapnel when we're alone."

"You don't and I forgive you. But you were still fantastic. You were really struggling with the card trick."

"My teacher sucks ass. As soon as I could figure it out on my own, then it started to click. I got you the orange one."

"And you even know my favorite. And the voodoo chips?"

"And the voodoo chips."

He tosses me a tall aluminum can and a crinkly bag of cellophane, both just as obnoxious as the mural behind me. Danny joins me on my little brick perch, his own can of strawberry sludge and wasabi peas as his own treat. He keeps glancing back up behind us.

"That's a really good piece," he says, "I think that's one of Jordan's. She said she put something new up around here."

"I'm glad you like it," I say, through my first sip, "I'm getting better at finding your guys' work. Still haven't found one of yours."

"I don't put mine up in easy to find spots. That's my point. It can be anywhere. There are a lot of barren corners of this city, and people should take the time to actually seek them out. If I have to be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow then I can be that. You just wanted to hear me monologue about art theory again didn't you?"

"No, but you need to let that out every so often. I liked the ones where you saw it as bringing hope and light to the forgotten places, making sure that each and every brick knows that it has been accounted for."

"You remembered. That's so sweet."

"I try."

He leans back against the wall and his hoody now has another set of speckled paint flecks added to its armor. Danny likes the colors. He likes the way they poke and swirl. He likes the way they pull at his clothes and connect him to a physical world that just does not have the same presence as the invisible threads. He shifts closer, still sipping strawberry scented sugar water. I take a chip and taste the citrus savory salt blend that is unlike anything natural on this planet.

"That was so fun," Danny sighs after a long comfortable silence. And I am reminded that I have been a terrible business partner. My eyes flash with a thought and his respond with a little bit of recognition.

"You don't have to do that," he says, "We've talked about this."

"I am an honest business partner," I say, "You did your work. You get your cut. That's what I remember from the talk."

"And I remember just letting this happen because this is the one thing you will not budge on, despite the fact that you need it more than I do."

He shifts closer and stares at me with those same soft eyes.

"And I remember that this is always something that ends with one of us just saying forget it. So, forget it. Thank you," he finishes as he places his hand on top of mine. My hands are just a bit larger, but the slenderness and softness of his fingers eclipses me for a moment. My shoulders drop. I didn't even know I had them raised. But at least this round didn't end with us shouting at one another. That is a victory in and of itself.

"No," I say, "thank you. I don't think I had it in me for a fight. I'm too amped up. We just had a good score. And it was your first con. That's a big step for you."

"It really is. And I feel amazing."

I put my head on his shoulder taking in the scent of warm paint, that industrial drug woven into the threads. He's intoxicating. Then he stacks his head on mine.

The swarm's still leaving us alone for the moment. I don't have the buzz in my skull, other than the general atmosphere of the night. I don't need them to keep me awake. The energy keeps bounding and rebounding, no doubt spurred on by the caffeine and sugar. The internal clock doesn't even show midnight. There's a whole night ahead of us and we're spending it slowly interlocking beneath a brick wall stained with dripping color.

I feel Danny's skull buzz for just a second and something clicks. I can feel a soft bolt of surprise run down his face and drip onto mine.

"Some of the crew's gotten together a few blocks from here for a session," he says, "do you want to swing by?"

"Will there be drinks?" I ask.

"What do you think? There's probably going to be some cartridges too."

He always knows exactly what to say to me. It's a shame that he also has to hop off the perch we share. But he fumbles with the plastic bag, quickly stashing it in his pockets as I clamber down. Danny has another surprise for me at some point in the future, but we'll deal with that later. Right now, he's snaked his hand into mine while I run in circles about what the gift could be. He squeezes my hand. That always brings me into focus.

---

We wander through the streets for a few moments, just keeping to ourselves. The drones are more like birds, mindless things walking in the wind and giving nothing else to anyone. A few more touches, a few more glancing moments where we are just close to one another. Some windows are alight. Some are dark. A few have broken shades on the other side, askew lines letting in more of the outside world than they were designed to do. And a few more stray cats hugging their own little corners of safety and darkness. Danny points them out and tries to get their attention. They ignore him. He does not have food, so he is so far beneath their notice. I have to tug him along so we can actually get to where we need to be. He complains the entire time, forgetting that we have his goal in mind.

But we get to the point where his eyes flash with another bit of recognition at an abandoned alley hidden from the neon lights. My vision shifts as the addons I've stolen flick through the spectrum and allow me a glimpse. Danny's pulled away from me. He's rushing towards the fire escape, dragging a trash can with him.

He's up so high before I can even do anything. I sprint forward as he teeters up and plants himself on the metal lid. And he's already falling. The lid wasn't locked down and now he has one foot in the grave as the other kicks up and he starts a clean back flip.

I'm there to break the momentum. I don't do a good job. We tangle and lock and both come crashing down to the pavement, Danny knocking the wind out of me. I hack and cough. He whimpers as something on him landed the wrong way, but he doesn't do the important thing of actually getting off. He just kind of turns and inspects the scene, looking for whatever could have possibly gone wrong. I just suffer. It's all I can do.

Danny keeps putting his weight on me and that just makes my life hell. He knows that. He has to know that. Whatever shock to his system does not compare to my eternal suffering. But I do get to feel him again, different parts of him working towards me. His ass just so happens to mimic a lot of motions I've come to truly appreciate. I would love it even more if he would get the fuck off of me and do something about it.

I have to take it into my own hands. I shove and push and manage to even squeeze in a few gropes for my own pleasure until he's off me. I'm slowly gathering my breath back and settling into a bit of circadian rhythm again.

"Are you ok?" he asks, patting me down for anything broken.

"Yeah, yeah. Please don't do that again," I huff, "I can help with things."

"I know, but the ladder's right there. I can probably jump it."

He tries. And he gets pretty damn close, so I don't even know why he bothered with the trash can in the first place. I slowly put all my parts in the proper orientation, feet under ass, head on my shoulders and completely upright. I dart forward, grabbing Danny's waist and lifting. That is one of the things he can't quite match on me. I'm strong enough to lift and get him on my shoulders once he realizes that he can climb into the right position.

In this arrangement, I like his weight. I like this softness of his thighs pressed into my shoulders. I like the way his slender fingers weave through my hair. And I love the way he can bend his spine and kiss my forehead. He manages to get the ladder and it hits the ground with a loud clang. I introduce him to the metal steps of the fire escape and we both start moving up and up and up. And once again he's arching his spine and turning my attention to much more private arenas.

I hear the music start to ring out through the rusting metal. Acid hypno, and that's the first sign of where the night's actually going. I shut down the grimace and focus on the ass in tight jeans. That's important. I will remember every curve and turn of that facet of reality. I will remember how his thighs slowly bulge from the tailored rips and tears. It's much better than the bland thoughtless noise.

We come to the roof and I see a plume of rosy smoke slowly rise into the air before disappearing. I smell crystalized cherry and that's problem two. One more grimace to shut down, but I will do my best to push our exit as soon as possible. The way Danny's flaunting himself, that's coming sooner rather than later.

And the final sin of the venue is the glimpse of garish pastel paint on the far wall as I crest the roof of the building. I should have expected this. Danny did say it was a session. I was lured in by the promise of drinks and that will be my muse for now.

Danny has multiplied. People all covered in paint-stained clothes, artfully disheveled to appear meticulously lazy. A few of them work on the mural. A few more crowd around a small set of speakers, endless tuning and retuning the sound to be even more forgettable. But there is a cooler and a pile of small plastic charges full of something intoxicating off in a corner. That's my first move of the night.

Danny slips into his people flawlessly. It's like any herd animal. Once there is more than one in the same habitat, they all move to accept the same and huddle defenses. He's smiling. I can't help but notice how straight and even is teeth are. He went for an afternoon treatment when he was a kid and any of the bad effects simply didn't happen. I rub my jaw and think of the selections. It's all the canned fruity stuff. I don't mind that, but I've already had that tonight. I would prefer something bitter to cleanse my palette. They don't even have any water. That's terrible. Any good bender needs a few drops of rain sprinkled here and there. It won't help anything, but it gives a facsimile of something responsible. I go for one of the cartridges instead.

"They gave me some money," I hear Danny say as he desperately tries to keep it hushed up, "It's fine, Moon."