The Diamond in the Sickly Green Sky
Michael Aaron walked out the door of his parent’s home on Gratiot Avenue, the squeaky screen door slamming shut behind him. Cool wind met his face and whipped his iridescent trimmed motojacket. The hazy starless sky was a harsh dark green like a grumpy muppet you would see on a kid’s public television show.
He had full netwear on his person tonight. His robotic spider, Uttu, strapped to his back in sleep mode. Aaron commanded his multiphone to set his glasses to heads-up display, instantly logging him into the public mesh network overlayed by the municipal GLADnet. Aaron’s surroundings were now transformed by colorful simulated trees, flowers and corporate advertisements.
As he walked north down the sidewalk, Aaron found himself wading almost waist deep in a vast assortment of purring kittens, unicorn heads, and busts of a famous pornstars. It was probably all some poser artist’s idea of political hacktivism or just some noob troll’s way of getting his jollies. It was hard to tell the difference these days.
Aaron finally sifted through the dense spam hack and found himself staring a group of barefooted Ludds right in the face. He shut off his HUD display, since it was useless at this point; the Ludds didn’t wear electronics and were fixin’ to beat his techno ass to a pulp.
“Jinkies! Looky wooky what we have here young buds. Found ourselves an ooglay blerd!” said the tallest, bleach-haired one of the group of three. Aaron immediately felt a blow to his stomach, and landed on his side. A short and stocky Ludd with missing teeth was holding a hefty wooden stick. Aaron could hear his robot spider on his back whirring and beeping out of sleep mode. Aaron didn’t want his pride and joy to get smashed into pieces along with him, so he ordered her to go home. “Uttu, home, now.” he barked. The dinner plate sized spider unstrapped herself from Aaron’s back and scampered home faster than the Ludds could bother to chase.
Aaron felt another blow, this time to the head. His glasses smacked clean off his face. Eyes blurry, and ears ringing, he could barely make out what was happening around him. But one of the Ludds had apparently tripped over him. The Ludd’s face thudded hard against the curb. Aaron could hear the other two Ludds growling in rage, scuffling with an unknown assailant. He looked back, his eyes slightly more focused. He saw the attacker’s blurred leg give an immensely powerful kick to the jaw of a second Ludd, whose blood and teeth splattered a bit on Aaron clothes.
With two Ludds on the ground, unconscious, maybe dead, the third bleach-haired one was running away so fast you’d think he was being chased by a missile. “Fuckin’ dipsticks.” said the familiar female voice in the cutest manner you could possibly say those two words.
“Larissa...” said Aaron, half thankfully, half grudgingly as he eyed up her endless muscular legs towering over him. He finally met her Japanese-Brazilian face and long dark brown hair wrapped in a side ponytail; a glowing diamond framed against the sickly green Detroit sky. “Yeah-yeah, you’re welcome, barf bag. Let’s get you to a hospital.”
