Culture Vulture

It starts off as a joke. An idea Rigby can't possibly take seriously. The type of idea that is so spectacularly stupid that no one, I repeat, no one, might ever even consider it. It needs to not just be dismissed out of hand, but dragged out into the street, hung up by its conceptual grounding and shot in the head. That's just how bad of an idea it is.

Of course, that's exactly the type of idea that Rigby can't let go of, and the idea visits him at night, a specter that haunts his dreams and incepts the potential for an intention to synthesize an objective. An objective so insidious that Rigby slowly becomes obsessed with the punchline to a joke so audacious that no one would dare tell it. The punchline is he has spent one billion yen, and it results in the biggest story ever sold in Horizon City.

The biggest stories in Horizon City involve either celebrities or corporate employees. The obvious target is Mayhem, the lying sack of shit, and his brain-dead entourage. It would be so easy to just manufacture a video of him doing something incredibly illegal. Better yet, treasonous. And that's why Mayhem is off the table, and that means taking on some big corporate employee. This needs to be so fresh it makes the main feeds and gets priority ahead of Mayhem. No, this needs to be so blaze that it makes Mayhem drop out of the tops forever. The idea is rule-breaking at its core, or it isn't the same idea. Rule breaking happens to be Rigby's favorite pastime.

With the idea of prying a corporate employee firmly planted, there is a selection process for the corporation in order to carefully maximize the damage. It is a tactical decision to target Vatgrown International. They could feed the population so quickly that it would change the city in less than a cycle. All it would take is a little charity and everyone would have enough food to live comfortably without ever having to go hungry. Sure, it would be vat pills, but when you are starving, vat pills can actually be the best thing for you, because of their ease of digestibility, a feature advertised in their commercials. "19 out of 10 doctors and dentists recommend Vatgrown International Vat Pills because they're easy to eat and digest!" There simply is no truth in advertising.

This further narrows the scope. A sex scandal is absolutely a buzz-worthy piece, but it doesn't actually produce results that are worth writing home about. Once everyone has discussed the embarrassment until it is cringe to even bring it up, it is status quo all over again. This requires something more upmarket. Something so bonzer the whole dynamic shifts in such a way that it leaves a vacuum that could be filled by a zippy go-getter who could actually enact change. This requires the mother of all headline-worthy offenses: corporate espionage.

Espionage is an international industry, and Horizon City is ground zero for it. When the high muckity mucks are running the show with their money-backed influence, and most of that show comprises a cast of characters so ruthlessly profit-focused they would sell their grandmother for vat research to improve their feed ranking, it is inevitable villainy would become part and parcel with doing business. It is just another way in which Yen flows. It is a classic game theory problem called the Prisoner's Dilemma, in which no one is incentivized to act good knowing everyone else will be evil. Prisoners are exactly what they are. Prisoners in a captivity of their own making.

With the idea half-baked over several days of bathroom sessions, the location where Rigby does his best work, he feels it has run its course as a joke and files it away in the mental cabinet of things he wishes he could do to his editor and goes about the rest of his week.

Rigby hasn't planned to go to the Shitcan that evening. He isn't even heading to Red. In truth, he isn't sure where he is going. He just picks someone in the express tubes who looks like they know where they are going and follows them. It is something he does when he doesn't know of something better to do, and it almost always results in giving him just that.

Rigby parks his Holden next to the Koi he is following, noticing you could fit about two Honda-Mitsu Koi's in his Holden and still have room left over for a joygirl. He gets out and walks over to the entrance when he hears a noise. "Pssst. Hey."

"Oh, for the love of fucktastic duck sticks, another RigDig," he thinks. He turns his head with a scowl on his face towards the guy at the building corner and raises an eyebrow.

"You wanna buy some stim?" The old man has long salt and pepper hair covering his tan face, and the skin hangs loosely on his exposed, frail arms and hands. He has set up shop just beyond the edge of the building with a filth-covered blanket. Rigby eyes the darkness beyond with distrust and motions the guy over to the door. The old man obliges and ambles over, holding out a handful of pills of different shapes and sizes.

Rigby eyes the pills with distaste, and asks, "Frag's that?"

The frail man pushes his hand up towards Rigby again and says, "Nanostims!" He points at each one and says excitedly, "Dex! Beta! Blatt! Demi!"

Rigby looks around to make sure he isn't about to get jumped from behind while his attention is distracted by the pills. The parking lot seems quiet and empty. He looks down at the pills again and says, "Chummer, that's not Beta, that's Keystone. Feels great, but not a stim. That's not Blat Blat, that's a Ben. Ben's a downer. You take that and the Dex together and you'll give yourself a heart attack. And that?" He picks up the last pill the bum pointed at and squints at it. "That is cold medicine." He tosses it over his shoulder. "But that? That's Dexterity. How much?"

The bum says, "Two kay."

Rigby laughs and says, "Six face bills, mano. All it's worth."

The bum shakes his head and says defiantly, "One kay."

Rigby eyes the bum after checking his six again. "Dex and Key. One Kay."

The bum sighs and nods, handing Rigby the two pills. Rigby pays, dry swallows the Dex, pockets the Keystone, and heads inside as the bum goes in search of the cold medicine. Rigby calls to him over his shoulder as an afterthought, "This shit had better not be tricked out either."

Only a bar by name, the Shitcan is a dilapidated building behind a warehouse in the southeast corner of red. The place has been hastily thrown together using whatever scrap material was available to be drug in. It is run by an old mixer who looks like his face and a vat of acid had an argument, and the vat of acid won.

The crowd is light tonight as Rigby weaves through the lightly populated tables to the bar. The bartender notices Rigby's arrival and wanders over. He looks at Rigby's white button-up shirt with the brown stains on it and says, "Getchu' summin'?" and glances down at the crates of liquor on the ground.

Rigby nods and says, "Dumpster fire and leave the bottles." His skin starts to crawl a little, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and feel a bit tingly.

Hookie grabs two bottles and mixes a drink in a glass, then slides the glass across the bar to Rigby and says, "Two hunda'." He puts both hands on a bottle and says, "Can't leave these unless you pay for 'em. Three Kay."

Rigby shrugs and takes out some notes, flipping them across the bar. "So whatcha do for fun around here?"

Hookie counts and pockets the money, then slides the bottles over. "Depends on what kinda fun ya lookin' for."

Rigby glances around, his bones feeling the familiar ache of the stims, then says, "I dunno. The interesting kind. I'm feeling dangerous today."

Hookie studies him a little more carefully. "Ain't I seen ya before?"

Rigby shrugs and gulps on his drink a little. "Never been here." He involuntarily grips the glass in his hand, squeezing it.

Hookie says, "Den I'd say ya ain't cleared fer dat kinda fun."

Rigby glances up, interested. "Didn't realize you had to be."

Hookie nods and says, "Wut, you think I'm jus' let any joe 'n blade come here 'in act like they own da' place? Good way 'ta get creased on yer first visit."

Rigby nods appreciatively and asks, "And if someone wanted to get to know you better?"

Hookie grins, exposing a mess of rot and failed dental work, and says, "I'd say ya weren't speakin' da right language." He rubs his thumb against his two forefingers.

Rigby gulps down the rest of his drink and mixes himself another. His skeleton is vibrating in his meat sack as he flips a stack of cash over the bar to the bartender. Hookie counts it, trying to hide his reaction at the amount, and says, "But now I can understand ya whiz."

Rigby tries to relax, but his attention is hyper-focused and his vision is a long, dark tunnel. "So tell me how it goes around here. Who is the big cat that everyone fears?" His own voice sounds like it's a mile away.

Hookie says, "Johnson's da one who says what flies an' what dies. You sure I ain't seen ya before?"

Rigby's bones are starting to feel like molten quicksilver. "Who's that? Some whiz hot thrasher?"

Hookie snorts a laugh, "Not even close. He's a corpse."

Rigby tries to stop gouging out pieces of the metal door that serves as a bar as he speaks, "A corpie? No shit! And he pulls the strings on the mixers in this shithole?"

Hookie is quick to correct him, "ShitCAN. And he's got da money ta spread 'round, so yeah. Got more mixers gainfully 'ployed doin' his biddin' n' shit work 'round here den most biz places."

Rigby looks directly at Hookie and asks, "And you said he was a corpse? Like on Gold? Where?"

Hookie considers for a second, then remembers the tip from earlier and says, "Vatgrown. Directa' o' somethin' or t'other."

Rigby breathes, "You're shittin' me," and goes to pour another drink, but his hand is shaking like a teenager with a feelie, and he instead sends the bottle onto the floor with a crash, spreading broken glass and liquid under his chair. "Fuck a buck! That Dex was completely tricked out!"

As Rigby stands up and stumbles out of the bar, Hookie yells after him, "Wait a tic. I have seen ya before! Yer ah 'ate it 'ere! Everyone, it's ah 'ate it 'ere!"

Another patron shouts, "We all do Hookie! Now shut the fuck up!"

"In short, Horizon City Sanitation is just letting the corpses pile up on Red, so if you report a dead body, expect them to tell you to fuck yourself. I'm Rigby Barclay, and this is why I hate it here."

Rigby waves a finger at the floating NLM EyeCandy orb, which recognizes the gesture, and ends the cast. Another gesture and it's automatically edited to remove dead air time and camera command gestures, and posted on the screamfeed market for recast. Within seconds it will have recasters driving up the price, but his heart isn't really in it. He knows he is just going through the motions, not making tops-worthy content.

His career has been unexpectedly thrown into sharp contrast; there is the benign sensation piece and mundane character assassinations, and then there is the holy grail that he is questing for. He has taken out the job on Johnson using a go-between he trusts who will sell it to someone else, who will sell it to someone else, each taking their cut, but ensuring it won't be tied to him. Twenty-five percent on top is the ultimate price, making the total one billion, two hundred fifty million yen, which he has used his corporate cred chip for and expensed with supreme satisfaction, yelling curses at the keyboard as he does. It is his city-sized middle finger to Horizon and everyone and everything in it, and he relishes it with gusto, basking in its glory. He trusts the money will be well spent; go-betweens, and the ones they trust use reputation as currency. Failing to earn your pay is to never work in Horizon again, so everyone is very well incentivized to complete their part of the job. His editor will spit bullets when she sees it, but he usually has a week or two before she gets around to it, and by then he will be riding high.

The job description is straightforward: Frame Richard Johnson, director of operations for Vatgrown International, for corporate espionage, and send the evidence to an anonymous tip line that goes to Rigby's inbox. There are a few non-critical suggestions for who else to involve, such as ToxPower, Genetek Revival, the Judges, Mayhem, and anyone else he has a personal grudge against, but their involvement is strictly optional. The idea is to catch him with his pants around his ankles, selling corporate tech to the competition. Something that will ruin his career and generate a story of corruption so big it is all the market can talk about. He will tie it all back to his extracurricular activities on the Red level, and nuclear furnace him to smithereens. It is genius, and Rigby is riding high on the idea of being on top again, but now it is time to hurry up and wait. He doesn't know how long it will take, but a billion yen tends to achieve auto-ignition fairly easily. It's the type of money that can change lives. There is a tiny part of his heart that actually allows itself to feel... What is that sensation called again? Rigby is sure it isn't happiness because he doesn't feel that anymore. No, this is revenge, and revenge is a dish best served cold. Satisfaction. That is it. He decides to allow himself to feel satisfied with himself. He is going to be on top of all the tops. He is going to be on top of Mayhem.

It has been a week since everything was set in motion, and today is no different. The bartender that night at the Chez Bon Bon has been working there long enough to know what Rigby drinks, but doesn't recognize the tall, slender Asian woman with pale skin who sits down next to him. The bar is crowded, and there is no other seat, so she has chosen it, not knowing who she is sitting next to. When she orders whatever he's having, he assumes it is an ill-advised attempt at engaging with him. "Don't want to be bothered," he growls at her.

The woman glances over at him and speaks very softly with a thick Japanese accent, "Me neither. It just looked good."

Normally Rigby would go back to sulking, but something in him is different today. The seething anger just doesn't pack the punch it needs for him to be that asshole. He turns to the Asian woman in the kimono with a waterfall gently cascading down it into a koi pond, and says, "That was rude of me. How about I pay for that one, and we call it even?" She shrugs in return, and he motions to the bartender, "On my tab." The bartender nods.

For a while, they sit there in silence and sip their drinks. Eventually, Rigby feels like maybe he should say something more. "What brings you to Chez Bon Bon? Business or pleasure?"

She puffs softly, "Biz."

Rigby nods slowly and offers, "Me too."

More silence and drink sipping ensues. Rigby eventually finds the courage to speak again. "Are we scheduled for rain on Green tomorrow?"

The Asian woman squints her almond-shaped eyes, and nods ever so slightly in response, not looking over at him.

Rigby cannot handle the silence and crumbles under the pressure of her intensely feminine presence. "Want to fuck?"

The woman glances ever so briefly in his direction and says quietly, "No."

Rigby realizes he's made an ass of himself and turns to go. If the girl notices, she says nothing to stop him. Satisfaction has been replaced by a crushing sense of pain, loss, and inferiority. It is a mistake to even entertain the idea that he could be happy.

Rigby sulks off to locate a hooker and take his frustrations out with a good old-fashioned marathon shag. Fortunately, his regular is waiting not far away, which is how he finds her to begin with. They are smoking cigarettes and watching the screamfeeds in bed together, having been at it a few times by this point, and Rigby is talking about how bright and happy things are with him, like usual, because he's just that kinda bright and happy guy.

"Whole fragging city's gone to shit, Pae Pae. Unemployment's hit a new peak, bodies everywhere, they should bulldoze the entire city and start over," Rigby laments, pausing only long enough to take another drag. "Girls don't even like me, Pae Pae. I tried to hit on one today back at the bar. Total devastation. I'm talking canceled out. Flatlined right there on the operating table. Zeroed."

Pae Pae puffs away on her own stick, and says, "Oh, but I like you, Mr. Hate."

Rigby waves his cigarette around expressively as he speaks, "Yeah, but that's, you know, I'm paying you to do that. Doesn't count."

Pae Pae shrugs, and continues smoking for a bit, then says, "So why not do something about it, Mr. Hate?"

Rigby glances over at her and says exasperatedly, "I try, Pae Pae! I really try. I do my best to educate people about how the city actually works. I explain to them how they perpetuate the problem by supporting corporate wealth, but they don't listen. I tell them how the cloning system is being exploited, so what do they do? Get updates more often. I say education is key, so they put their kids in front of the feeds more. I say Judges are the enemy, and they glorify them. It's like no matter what I say, they just do the opposite. The entire city is just a pretty hate machine, and it's chewed me up and spit me out with the waste." He shakes his head. "No, Pae Pae. The city has spoken. I will not be the one who changes it."

Pae Pae looks over inquisitively and says, "So what would change it, Mr. Hate?"

Rigby glances over at her and realizes he doesn't have an answer. "Well, I'd have to think about it." He uses his old cigarette to light another and puffs on it for a bit, his intellect unexpectedly engaged. "It would take a miracle, I guess. The people would need to demand fair representation. Then they could enact genuine change. Get rid of the clone death penalty for starts. Put some regulatory limits on the corporations to stop the hemorrhaging of money from the people. Get prices under control, spend more on health care and less on security, and just banish Mayhem from the city. Even that's too good a punishment for that slime-sucking piece of crap. You know I wouldn't piss in his mouth if his teeth were on fire? In the land of witless, that guy would be the Grand Puba. He could exhaust his entire vocabulary in a single monosyllabic sentence." He puffs more on his cigarette, feeling like he is on a roll, and he should flow with it. "You know the fact that people can barely understand you doesn't make you an artist. It's literally impossible to underestimate him. If his brain was plastic explosive, there wouldn't be enough to blow his own head off!"

Pae Pae gets up and wanders into the bathroom, but Rigby doesn't seem to notice or care. "I mean, give me a moment, I'm trying to imagine him with a personality, because at this point I've forgotten more than he ever knew, and his new songs prove it. Absolutely vapid dribble from a gibberbunny with a god complex big enough to fill the dome!" Rigby, having built up a full head of steam, stands up in the bed and begins to stomp around the mattress, his member flopping about as he does so. "I'm Matt Charadon, and I sound like a llama being strangled with a dildo when I sing! Everyone look at me! I'm on TV! Kill smash! Die pain! I'm the biggest, most important thing in the entire city of Horizon, and I... get... to..."

Pae Pae has returned from the bathroom to see Rigby stomping around angrily, but he's suddenly run down, and now is just standing there with a look of horror at the HoloVid. She looks over at the wall with the HoloVid, where Mayhem is practically screaming. "...director of operations at Vatgrown and his wife have been shot in their homes! Some sam musta really wanted them dead! Seems he stole some high-tech shit from his sister corp, Genetek Revival, and now his clone is gonna find out about it. That is, of course, if the street sam doesn't get him first. Better watch out! In other news, ToxPower is reporting a massive hack resulting in the loss of mission-critical data. Are they the target of corporate espionage? More on this rapidly developing story as it becomes available. In other news, the rad levels are waaaay up..."

Before Rigby has a chance to fully process what he just saw, his phone rings. He hops down off the bed and grabs it, putting it to his ear as a purely instinctual act, all the while unable to take his eyes off the HoloVid.

His editor on the other end of the line doesn't wait for him to speak. "Rigby? Rigby! Rigby, are you there? Rigby! I can hear you breathing Rigby! Answer me, damnit! You expensed 1.25 billion Yen to 'Frame Richard Johnson for corporate espionage'? And Mayhem is reporting it? And Johnson is dead?!? Rigby, what the holy fuck have you done?"

Hookie shouts, "Duck an' cover er'one! It's ah 'ate it 'ere!" as Rigby pushes through the door to the Shitcan.

Rigby and a handful of regulars pipe up in chorus, "We all do Hookie! Now shut the fuck up!" and the entire bar erupts in laughter. It is a joke that never seems to get old.

Rigby weaves his way up to the bar and sits down. Hookie saunters over and says, "Usual?" Rigby nods, and Hookie grabs two bottles from the crates on the floor and pours them into a glass. "Frame anyone today, Rigs?"

Rigby shakes his head. "Not today Hookie. Poison anyone and fuck up their whole life?"

Hookie quips, "Da day's still young, chum. Leave da bottles?"

Rigby shakes his head again and says, "Factory doesn't pay until tomorrow," accepting the glass and taking a gulp.

Hookie asks, "It workin' out dere?" as he puts the bottles back.

Rigby shrugs, his arms spread wide, and says, "It's work, right?"

Hookie asks, "Yah eva' gonna tell me da entire story, den?"

Rigby takes another sip from his glass. "Would if I could, ya Bennie. Judges took it from me when they sentenced me to clone death. I hear it was a clusterfuck shit show, though."

Hookie chuckles gregariously and says, "Meteoric. Least you get residuals from the story of yer fuck up. Ya do get rezies, don't ya?"

Rigby shakes his head and frowns. "You telling jokes today, Hookie? They ain't funny. You really think I'd be at the factory if I had rezies?"

Hookie whistles quietly and mumbles, "They really did ya bad, huh? Ya get da word den?"

Rigby cocks his head to the side and says, "What's that, Hookie?"

Hookie grins, showing his brown, rotting teeth. "New boss in town. Sez she's got some needs fer workers. Funny sort, lookin' like a cat."

Rigby looks around, checking over his shoulders for something, then turns back to stare at Hookie. "Oh yeah? That a fact Hookie? An actual cat?"

Hookie grunts his acknowledgement. Rigby whistles appreciatively and fishes in his pockets. He produces some notes, and flips them across the bar, then gets out a pack of Tengus, fishes a smoke out from the paper box, and hits it with a lighter.

Hookie counts the bills and frowns. He grumbles, "Taint how this works, chum."

Rigby looks questioningly at the bartender and puffs on his cigarette. "How what works, gato?" He gulps the rest of his drink and pushes the empty glass across the bar.

Hookie frowns and leans over the bar. He quietly intones, "Only 'nuff 'ere fer 'nother drink."

Rigby takes a long drag of his cigarette, then blows the smoke directly in the bartender's face. "Yeah, you hideous fuckface. Hop to. Ain't got all night here. You need me to come around behind the bar and do it for ya?"

Hookie steps back, eyeing Rigby for a second. "So den..."

It's Rigby's turn to chuckle. "So then nothing. Last thing I need is that kinda drek in my life. I may hate it here, but I let go of the hating myself thing, you know? Life's just easier when you don't punch above your league. Yeah, I'm broke. I work 10 hours stamping out machine dies so I can spend all my money on rent for a coffin, vat pills, and alcohol. Life fucking sucks. But you know what, Hookie?"

Hookie just stares at Rigby, waiting for the answer. Rigby takes another long drag and blows rings in the air. He glances at Hookie with a grin and says, "It's kinda nice to be the best looking motherfucker in the room. It sure as shit ain't you!"