Here’s my entry for SFF Saturday! This is the opening chapter from another cyberpunk story I’m writing. Bo, a Chinese-born man with American parents works as a freelance IT guru. But the Chinese government is about to take interest in his work:
The scent of stale Tsingtao and rancid urine forced Bo to crank open an eye in half-hearted reconnaissance. Iron-framed lanterns hanging overhead told him he had fallen asleep on the living room couch, confirmed by the twinge in his back caused by the second-hand temperfoam. Memories flitted across mental landscape—a big project with a big percentage…big celebration.
Data display in his periphery blinked a 43.5 percent chance of getting back together with Mei, based upon last night’s conversations and pheromone output. A higher than usual chance, he thought. He winked off the display, anything beyond offstream proving to be information overload.
A hangover nagged at the edge of his consciousness, a feeling quite familiar. He rolled off the couch and onto his knees, letting the vague pain take center stage before clawing his way to vertical. He hovered over a pile of empty kuji pacz, then found his center of balance. Shambled toward the kitchen, led by the slivered rows of light from the blinds stenciling the floor.