The Pacific-Capital: A Cyberpunk Story

“Weather report, 90% humidity, 30 degrees celsius, 100% chance of rain. REDACT previous Rain report. 100% Chance of a Rainstorm. Wind speeds at 20 Kilometers. Have a safe patrol Arbiter H-6.”

The AI’s hologram dissipated, leaving the already dimly lit room in total darkness. The Arbiter stood by the window, staring down onto the city below him. Domed Arcologies sat peacefully against the raging elements while the smaller riverslums and platformed spires dotted the surroundings with holographic advertisements snaking across their malformed architecture.

The Airship barely moved at the pull and tug of the storm, it was designed to be that way. The ever foreboding presence of the Law, that even nature would bend to its will. Well most of the time at least, nature did like to remind the Law that it was still master of all. But for the daily storm that was common to the city’s atmosphere. It was nothing new.

H-6 tightened the wraps on his fists, though the armored glove coupled with the exosuit did most of the work. Didn’t hurt to be prepared. He tapped each of his knuckles three times before putting on the rest of his armor, a superstitious habit he learned from an old friend. Once the exosuit was on, he checked if the shoulder weapons were working.

The smoke bomb launcher whirred and buzzed as it pumped from the backpack to his right shoulder while the grenade launcher did the same on the left. “This is H-6, beginning software check” he commanded the room’s AI to plug in to his systems to check for viruses, glitches, decay and such. “Software Check complete. System integrity at 500% Have a safe patrol Arbiter H-6” the machine replied

The Arbiter put on his helmet and left his quarters, while walking to the hangar he rechecked crime statistics and case files that were still under wraps. As always, Crime had skyrocketed. There were over 30 cases to be handled in the his 20km Grid alone, and he could only respond to 10 at the most but if any of those involved gangs or gunfights that number dropped to four maybe even two .

“Good morning Rex, sorry your helmet’s on. I should be calling you H-6 ” his colleague Frank greeted him while he chewed on a hotdog covered in what appeared to be a mayo mustard mixture with bacon bits.

“Is that real meat?” H-6 asked, “This? In a way. It’s not beef that’s for sure” Frank said as he finished the thing.

“Sure our pay is good but 80 credits for a half beef hotdog is too much, besides these algae protein mixes work well.” H-6 gagged at that, he hated the texture of extender filled processed meat, he’d take a giant rat over algae protein any day.

“Case work?” Frank asked “No, patrols. Did my case work during the desk period” he replied.

Frank was a lot more lax than the other Arbiters, he liked to enjoy the benefits the job brought. High pay, free food, free lodging, big bikes and of course the authority to protect the innocent and condemn the guilty on the spot. H-6 and Frank had been Arbiters for as long as four years, but Frank handled mostly petty and corporate crimes.

H-6 handled mostly street fodder and corruption along with all the murder, death kill cases that the Arbiter’s Court was made for.

The two entered the hangar, the storm howled through the mouth of the airship. Skycars, airbikes and scout drones scoured in and out of the Herald while the engineers, auxiliaries and arbiters prepared for the midshift.

The storm was powerful, enough to make the the two Arbiters a bit nervous, but the ship’s balance was smooth and solid. The Herald simply rode the weather’s rage, staying its course forever hovering above her charge. Manila -Pacific Capital. The City of Domes and Floods. “Arbiters, ready to serve the city?” an upbeat tune sprang from a nearby armory, a service bot’s eyes shone as bright as the sun directing the two towards the ammo dump.

“Hello Tommy” groaned Frank, the drone was obnoxious. “What should I set you up with sir? Let me guess, Fusion cutters? Lightning guns? How about a .75 cal puncher gun?”

“Just scan what I have Tommy!” Frank reacted, the bot having some modicum of emotions programmed into its being attempted a sad look, as it loaded the arbiter with the necessary load out.

“I’ll have the same as him Tommy, whatever is in my rig” H-6 replied, patting the machine in the back. The engineer who managed the ammo dump waved at the two, his eyes glued onto his holo screen as he managed his exhaustive inventory. “Good morning to you too Tommy Prime” H-6 greeted him. Once they were set out and loaded, the Arbiters mounted their airbikes and set a flight path, H-6 and Frank fist bumped each other before energizing the Helium in their vehicles.

Switching off Road mode, the bike’s wheels folded inside the body while side boosters opened up. The Arbiters then boosted out of the Airship and into the raging storm. Frank and H-6 dove their craft onto the nearby Dome dubbed Sector 6. Relatively a mixed class sub-city where 80%% of its 20 Kilometer radius was owned by Megacorporations, Old Nobility while the 20% belonged to a mixture of slum housing and residential blocks.

The two split ways heading to their respective grids to patrol. Frank flew off to his peaceful route that consisted of shopping areas and tightly wound apartments. Though it lacked the usual psychopathic gang scheme or overconfident Megacorp executive, it was a quiet patrol considering that Manila Pacific Capital held a congested 50 million population within a tiny 1000 Kilometer length. Sky high rate of violence, constant storms, Poverty rates incalculable, 70% unemployment rate and not to mention Gangs, warring Megacorporations and the Old Nobility competing for control and profit. It was through sheer force of intimidation and discipline that the Arbiter’s Court still wielded its scowling shadow over the city

“Good hunting F-8” H-6 told his friend.

H-6 set the Helium’s energy signature to its weak hover setting as he let his ride’s boosters do most of the work “Arbiter H-6, there are 45 crimes in progress within your 10 kilometer Grid section, Please choose an area of concern” The computer reported in before he even told it what to do, displaying the myriad of felonies close to him.

The red lines slowly turned yellow as other Arbiters in his grid responded to the calls, in that case he’d be choosing the closest one.

“AI, Route to closest confirm response” the case file pulled in on his visor it said “Unlawful arrest in progress. Unauthorized Priv Sec personnel are conducting an arrest of an individual without warrant or authority. Reported in by relative of the Victim” the computer showed a picture of a woman of caucasian descent, Stephan Tiago-Villalobos, the Victim is her brother, Ronaldo Tiago-Villalobos. Location a nearby cooking school lazily named “The Culinary”.

The gastronomic arts was something mostly reserved for the rich given the rarity of food that wasn’t algae protein or mass fungi growths. H-6 sped up his bike, through the hologram lit skyline of Sector 6 slowly descending his machine onto the road. Arbiters who patrolled the domes had to frequently switch from the wheeled ground mode to the hovering bikes depending on the situation.

A quick read of the scene of the crime showed that it’d be tactically safer for him to arrive from the road since that way his bike could hold more armor. Soon the pods under opened and dropped his machine’s wheels, powering through traffic as his sirens blared. He didn’t wait for the cars to move aside for him, but instead quickly cut through them taking advantage of his vehicles superior handling.

“Guns optimal” piped the AI, seemingly reading his mind. The armor casing lifted itself to block his person, a video screen showing the road was all he needed to keep driving. As he neared his location the scanners marked several threats at his arrival point. “Sirens on, prime guns.”

The Culinary was a landmark in the district, it was an object of pride for many. Standing as a defiance to the ever present shadow of food shortages and increasing prices for fresh ingredients that weren’t made from processed algae or overpriced home raised chicken. The pyramid structure represented the hierarchy of the institution, with the base for the new blood and with each corresponding level representing growth and expertise in the craft. The holographic signboards glared upon the mess of humanity that congregated at the wide entrance of the Culinary, emitting a green and reddish glow on the assailant’s faces.