Ro (A Cyberpunk Retelling of Romeo and Juliet)

17

Ro Montague

I wade through the crowd, but I cannot move fast enough. It feels like the waves from my dream, fighting against me as I struggle to breathe for air.

One of the guards pulls me aside, a man with a buzzcut and an array of weapons at his belt. Let him try and kill me, I dare.

"Who are you? Show me your ticket."

I turn back with a glower at the individual who dares hold me back from the one covered in roses. "Who are you?" I retort with a growl.

The woman standing beside the beauty takes notice, the red scar over her eyes cowing even my sarcasm. She walks over to the guard, who obediently lowers his gaze, even though his hand claws at my arm. "Tibbs let her go." Her pale eyes don't leave me as she sips from a flute of champagne, a glass that refills by a serving drone as soon as it empties.

Tibbs narrows his eyes at me, flaunting his weapons. "I recognize you. Your picture was on the news, wasn't it?"

The woman holds out her hand, rising above all of us in her platform heels. "Show me your ticket." I oblige, tapping a code and sending over a scan of my fake identity to her. She smirks, tapping her fingernail against her lips in a way that shows me she sees through everything. "Interesting." She nods to the crowd. "Have a good time here, Emma Rose. You are a guest after all, and Tibbs will harm no guest of mine. Especially with the orders of Emir Prince and his call to peace, and the illegality of anything otherwise."

I stare directly into her icy eyes. Ah, so this must be Lady Capulet. The owner of the casino brand. The one who built an empire of gambles and shattered dreams, who banks credits on just how much saps will pay to get out of the southern sectors and enter the glory of the corrupted north. She doesn't look like the one who'd put a hit on my mother, Ichika, all those years ago. But then again, I don't see a murderer when I look into a mirror either.

I nod. "Thank you."

"I hope we don't see each other again." She calls, the words like a bullet to my back.

I wade through the crowd, finally resting my hand on the bare shoulder of the revelatory beauty, the roses parting so I touch their sepia skin. Their shining eyes turn to mine. When their eyelids flutter shut, I'm captured by the rose prints drawn onto their lids with the precision of a painter in ancient times.

Those eyes lock onto my face, a gentle hand steering me none too gently inside the halls. "It's you, from the dream, isn't it?"

We walk in together, away from the prying eyes of the lottery crowd. "At your service."

***

Hey, it's Ro Montague here. Don't forget to vote and comment... or else.

Your daily wisdom for the day?

Nobody looks like a sinner, until you look within.