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Race 2.0 / SurprizingFacts

I spread to the general court a story from the cyber punk of the future. The plot is my dream, dreamed twice with a break in a couple of years. Seeing the finale on the second try, I recorded it. Illustrations are also mine. I hope you will enjoy. Criticism, advice and parting words are very welcome!

History under the cut, for those who like racing, cyborgs and justice … and a little romance.

Race 2.0

The movement of muscles is different. Powerful and sluggish, sharp and smooth, mechanical and natural, cybernetic and fabric, soothing sides and melting metal. In the rules of the race there were only two laws – a restriction on the number of horsepower in the harnessed animals, the number of 2 pieces and the presence of a rider without weapons. The route surrounded the entire city with the ring, being close to the coastline of the island. Probably, that's why this city was named – Race.

Morning. A dull, damp and quiet morning. But on the road – the sweat and movement of rabid beasts. Natural horses, cyborg horses, techno-bots, geneticist horses, and even mutants were harnessed. The horsemen themselves were like animals, controlling these creatures. The crowd raged, because all this was for the sake of money. Everyone put, everyone wanted more. In the crowd were people of different colors of the skin, beliefs and generally not quite people. Cyborgs, mutants, genetics, hippars, gopnik, engineers and elites. All stood there, then bleeding with excitement and already scorching sun.

And I flew over all this anthill.

The race continued. All the screens of the city showed her movement, as if nothing more had happened in him. Thousand-storey houses filled with people breathing in a single rhythm and excitement. In one of them a man with a seven-digit stake had a stained window on the 76th floor and was looking at the monitor tensely. On the spine was number 7.

How all this is petty …

And in the little room on the second floor of the neighboring gigadoma, a simple kid stood on his knee. He was not in fashion in fashion, but in moneyless jeans and worn-out sneakers (which his older brother bore down about 5 years ago). He stood, kneeling before a simple cute girl in a simple silk sarafan on a naked, not bad, little body. Such are the ladies who work at McDuck and are genuinely surprised at guessing at the chamomile.

– I understand that this flower (no one knows where the cornflower originated, one that is inappropriately in the city) is not a bouquet of roses and should There's still a ring … but I promise – it will! I collect money, honestly, I earn, and you will have a ring! Only I will not go to bandits, you forgive …
 "Do not go to bandits for anything!" You need me alive, without money, without power, you are to me, you need me alive and unharmed!
 "But we will have everything we need, I promise – and the ring, and the house, and the money … everything, everything …
 – Yes, of course it will be, only be …

They hugged each other and cried with happiness. For them there was no race. They had them.
In the corner hung a piece of wallpaper and tried to fall, the parquet in places lying not in their places. Above, someone was shouting in a foreign language, so that the stucco was pouring down. In the street clanking sloppy loaders … and the guy with the girl were happy.

I was pleased with them. I approached and began to look at them, at their tears, at their verbal delirium, having no connection and order, but having feelings. Having put one hand under her tears, dripping from her chin, and the second under his tears, I collected their feelings in a small cluster of happiness and then splashed them with a blessing.

The girl shuddered and said:
 – Here is an angel!
He stepped back and looked at her:
 – It's you!

The couple continued to cuddle, and I again rose above the city. For the sake of such moments it is worth living. And I felt a little ashamed – I'm not an angel, as she said …

The race was approaching the finale, a man on the 76th floor was staring numbly at the screen, a cold sweat poured down his back. The crowd raged, the sun rose higher and higher than the crowd was nervous. And here's the finish! The driver won the victory in cyborg, number 2. He jumped on the pedestal, scrambled even higher, and the wagon remained below, under it. In the crowd, here and there, they exploded into fury, happiness, confusion of a clump of creatures, everywhere there was movement and shouting. On all the screens there was a figure of 2 as on the rider's clothes, his cyborgs and wagon.

A corpse with a smoking revolver in his hand lay on the 76th floor next to the counterpart with the number 7.

There was something in the crowd Quietly bang and number 2 fell. As a bag of potatoes, the rider fell down from the pedestal, onto the wagon, onto the parapet, onto the asphalt, and went limp on the track. The crowd roared. Panic began.

Behind the crowd, a man in black jeans and a chest-leg walked calmly to the beach. The steel lining on the shoes shone in the sun. From behind the collar of her shirt looked a tattoo that was barely visible on the swarthy skin. He smoked peacefully.

Why did he kill the rider?

He looked at the horizon. Then he turned to me and said:
 – Number 2 is a liar. I can not stand lies. They will inspect the scene of the crime. On a racing wheelchair, the crack is where it fell. They will detect the power swapping module. The liar is worse than the murderer, believe me.

I do not know how he saw me. I do not know why I answered.

The screens showed the moment of death, turmoil. The cracked edge of the stroller was tampered with to blow the whole mechanism. Discovered a hidden detail – doping for cyborgs. All the columns shouted "In view of the falsification, the winner is the one who came in second and it's number 7!"

A man from 76 is sorry. A guy from the second floor, his younger brother, is knocking at the door. Now they are a naive couple in love – they will get a win on the back of the lottery. Fate is a strange thing.

Written before 2012, last revised July 2015.