Tevun-Krus #8 - Dystopian SF

CyberPunk Wins!

Congratulations to @jewel1307, the winner of last month’s CyberPunk contest. Want to read her winning entry? ‘Course you do, which is why we’ve put it right here for your beady little eyes…

Art stood at the edge of the Abyss, watching for some sign that the virus had made it through the city's defences. Everything looked as it should; pale green threads connected each conscious being in a spiderweb of pulsating light.

He scanned the Chord that led beyond the city limits, reaching only as far as the firewall before it stopped him from advancing further. Prodding and jabbing, he used virtual strength to push against the field, testing it for weakness. On finding none, he sought his wife's beacon, and those of his children, to ensure their wellbeing before retreating back into his own mind.

"The shield is intact," Art said upon opening his eyes. "Whatever caused the alarm is nowhere to be seen."

"You're sure nothing got in? According to the data the shield was down for a fraction of a second."

"There's no evidence of a breech," he confirmed. "But I will reiterate that the only guarantee is to disconnect from Mainframe completely."

Max shook his head vigorously. "It's what keeps the monsters at bay, Art. Without the Chord, we'll revert to type. I, for one, don't want to wake up and find I've slaughtered my family like my great-grandfather did. Surely you see that?"

"Your ancestor was a psychopath."

"The psychosis is genetically inherent, just like the cancer that ravaged your ancestors. If you leave, you'll die and your children will die."

Art sighed. They'd been over this same argument a million times since news of the virus reached them. "The virus is causing mutations in our DNA. If we stay connected, you'll wake up as something other than human."

"Better that than a monster."

With a final, disbelieving shake of his head, Art left the office for the last time.

His wife greeted him at the door of his home. "Well?"

"He won't do it, Grace. We're on our own."

Grace placed a consoling hand on Art's chest and leant her head against his shoulder, offering comfort.

Strong arms enveloped her. "Is everything packed? We need to leave tonight."

It’s got everything, hasn’t it? We here at FP think it’s a pretty damn awesome micro-short and would love to see it expanded upon! What d’you reckon, Jules? Gonna’ give us some more of this story?