I wrote chapter 22 of my book when i was really stoned on the marijuana stuff...when i read it the next day i loved it (still) but it needed to be restructured...a lot!
Hope you dont mind me posting it...but i guess my point is...i would never have captured the intensity portrayed through the character (Marlow) if i hadn't been left with some grass...!
Now Marlow has got a neural-net cap on his head and is interfaced to a cyberspace game, where reality is projected as perfectly, as, well...reality...year 2105
Marlow was only three minutes into the neural-net game named The Alpha-Bet, the underworld of the Amsterdam cyber streets. Two hours and a bar stood in front of him from which to make as much money as possible. Nobody's walking into virtual clubs and taking stuff, liquids anything you want for your own personal experiment. Inviting glassware, soothing colors and the taste etched to perfection.
Marlow gazed at the strange concoction now positioned on the bar.
The barman grinned in anticipation. “You wanna fry a little, friend?” The man laughed and added, “You won’t rip from this trip!”
The drink glowed blue, swirled and sparked as if embodied with electrical static charges.
“You done it?” asked Marlow.
“Three times. Freaks the shit out of me. You know when you know,” said the barman rubbing his nose and adding, “I’m Lazareth, twenty-eighth on the leaderboard. You won’t get near that score with these other drinks. Only a FOX can get to that level.” Lazareth then held a fist up to Marlow and said, “Chin chin.”
Marlow raised his right hand, clenched his fingers and tapped Lazareth's fist. He then slowly lowered his hand and took hold of the shot glass.
“You gonna go sick! Sick!” yelled the barman unable to contain his excitement. “Pupils, that’s all we are!” he said pointing two fingers at his eyes, “Pupils of the light.”
Marlow threw the Fact-Or-X shot into his mouth, tilted his head back and swallowed. The cold came screaming through every nerve sending a burnt message. Chill factor X. His mind warped to super analysis then an epiphany. Words rang true and now he understood them. X was superfluous, beyond understanding. The chill was real and beyond death to the point of X. Like a drug, any drug—all drugs, receptors fine tuned to its perfect caress. A fatal belief in the masses, that their brain could ever fully recover, that they would one day continue, normal without its injection, satisfying aeons of evilution, the Yin. He needed Yang, more drugs or a fucking good psychstim. He'd do a job, any job—plug someone for a hit and there was plenty of work.
Space and time condensed into matter. Light such to be nothing and more powerful than anything. A fix of some kind, any kind—but seemingly impossible. He stumbled into a street that was dark, shiny and damp.
A cockney accent called out, “Fox! I got the antidote—the fix you crave—but you gotta do a job. Don't fuck it up, or you'll be craving for two hours instead of two minutes.” The man offered Marlow a gun. “Head up the street into a club called the Let’s Go, tell Tony on the door Darian sencha.”
Marlow took the weapon and did as instructed, arriving at the entrance cyber sweat dripping from his chin.
“Who wants to know?”
“Darian sent me.”
“Is that right—a FOX?” The Dutchman laughed then bent down to Marlow’s ear and whispered, “OK you got two minutes. Inside there's a bad ass, a big black mother fucker pimp called Willis, another FOX wearing a red tracksuit and surrounded by whores and muscle. You won't be able to get near him for a clean shot, you won't be able to look at him without being belted, let alone raise your piece. You clip him, you jump behind the bar and a safe will open, inside cash—forty thousand and an antidote. You got the balls?”
“Out the way…” Marlow placed his right hand on the gun and pushed through a poorly lit crowd.
It wasn't long until he found what he was looking for, another player.
“Hi Nouno Urho, I'm Liz.”
“What? You one of Willis's whores?” quizzed Marlow.
With that Marlow grabbed her by the arm and dragged her through the crowd towards a corner where he could see the likely muscle. An obelisk sized character turned around to face Marlow. Marlow caught sight of the flecks of a red tracksuit.
“I need to speak to Willis, this bitch just tried to pull one over on him.”
The muscle frowned in confusion and made a fatal mistake in stepping back and turning around to Willis. Marlow lifted the gun and shot at the tracksuit square in the chest, he then stepped backwards with the girl in front using her as cover. Bullets tore into her as Marlow dove over the bar. The safe was there, the cash and the antidote, and beside the antidote another concoction labeled, God Mode. The bar was still being shredded by bullets so Marlow drank the God Mode and gave it a test, standing up into a hail of bullets and returned fire until his piece was all that made noise. Of course it was a test, he could have just gone straight for the antidote, but that would have been game, set and match. Game over for some.
Helix, meanwhile, observed Marlow in the flesh, flinching on the sofa as if in the middle of a crazed nightmare. He watched the scene unfold on the screen, watching Marlow take himself to extremes that most men hadn't the bottle. It was only while viewing Marlow in cyberspace that Helix could ever come close to understanding what dwelt within. Years of a Fire Zone upbringing embodying a hardcore reality, for Marlow the virtual was an escape for what still burned inside.http://www.androcies.com/cbp_art.html