Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch. 1.2 Blood, Sweat & Tears

Rylan has a face for psychological warfare. Thin, permanently pinched brows. Equally thin, equally pinched mouth. A shaved head gives a clear view of heavy cybernetic enhancement. Some are common for caps—partitions for multi-tasking and adrenal supplements for pulling long shifts.

One stands out. A silver wire shaped like a figure eight, lodged in the temple.

It suppresses the anterior insular cortex. In other words, dulls her empathy so she can treat her employees like automatons and never feel a lick of guilt.

This woman stands—all six-foot-and-three-inches of her—to shake his hand. Zef nearly overcomes his fear of heights to defenestrate himself through one of the prolifically available windows.

Because here's the thing. He lied about his upbringing. Without those lies, he would never have made it past the first interview, 'cuz his father wasn't just any war veteran.

His eight and a half years of service were for CyberSuite, Bionic Capital's largest competitor and worst enemy in the war.

It completely disqualifies Zef from the job. Would be labelled a conflict of interests on paper. In fine print, it makes him an enemy combatant capable of subterfuge, selling company secrets, the works. By all rights, Zef should have applied for a job with CyberSuite.

But he'd rather die than work for the fuckers who screwed over his dad. So, here he is. Still, he didn't expect to be getting interviewed by the CEO of the company, and this bit of strangeness has him swallowing his heartbeat.

There's another thing.

None of those interviews had been in person. On those calls, his voice was a little too high, but in a world of cybernetic body modification, that wasn't indicative of anything objective.

In person, he is five-and-a-half feet tall with badly disguised curves in places he wishes he didn't have any. He has a soft face and softer skin and no sign of facial hair.

In a word, he's very obviously trans. He doesn't pass.

And it begs a question: how, if his parents had the kind of jobs they did, and he attended the kind of schools he did, had he not so far been able to afford the myriad transition-related surgeries, body mods, or implants that could make him look less trans?

The answer could be that he'd just come out, sure. Or that he's nonbinary. Or that he likes things this way.

But none of that's the true answer.

The truth was, 'because I can't afford it,' and—more importantly— 'because I'm sure that I'm a man, but not yet sure what kind of man I want to be.'

He can't do anything about it. Just gotta hope she assumes he came out recently and doesn't prod his lies too vigorously.

He shakes her hand. In her grip, his knuckles pop.

"Zeffir Kovac," she says. "You're here for the engineering position."

"That's right. Thank you for having me."

She sits down and indicates he should do the same. "I'm Rylan Archer, CEO at Bionic Capital. This will be the final interview stage for the position of junior engineer. Some of these questions may be similar to past interviews. Simply answer to the best of your ability."

Her tone would be more welcoming if she proposed an epithet for his obituary. So, that implant did its job. Zeffir nods in understanding and hopes his thoughts don't show on his face. Because mostly his thoughts are, Not a ghost of a soul here, and, Wow, working for her is going to be a picnic. A walk in the park. Mardi Gras on steroids.