Hard Wired Trilogy DeAnna Pearce (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📖

pulled out of the program and woke up in the piss-stained joint he should have never walked into. Quickly pulling out the cable from the base of his neck, he jumped out of the chair and spun around. Only a couple other strung out junkies were still plugged into their program. The desk at the front of the room was empty, the attendant missing. Granted, the tweaked-out attendant could be out for a smoke. Even though it was against regulations to leave people in the VR unattended, it happened in places like these. But what if it was something else?

Marco brushed back his hair and tucked it behind an ear, a constant habit since he was too busy for a haircut. Turning in a slow circle, he surveyed the dank basement with a dozen dirty chairs for VR plugins. No one else was here except the two unconscious men. Marco had hit a lot of VR stores, but this by far was the worst. It was hard to find programs that could reach out of country and remain off grid and unseen by government officials. He either had to pay a ton or pray the dirty places didn’t give him some disease, and for convenience’s sake he ended up here.

Marco had learned to live in the shadows for several years now. Since the government regulations had increased, there was a huge market for off grid tech and programs. A market that kept Marco employed. But since his sister was wanted by the government for abandoning her contract, the pressure on him had been worse. His sister had fled the country, leaving Marco and his mom behind, at his request. After spending years creating connections for his business, he couldn’t give that up and beg for scraps from his sister in some foreign country.

The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end, signaling time to get moving. He headed towards the door and noticed a cig on the counter. Guess the attendant forgot his smoke for his break. With a touch, Marco could feel the light warmth on the electronic pipe from recent use. As he moved to the base of the stairs, his gut told him he was walking into a trap. With a quick glance around, he realized he didn’t have many options. Looking closer at the exit at the top of the stairs, he saw shadows dance behind the dirty glass in the door. It didn’t matter how bad his options were, he was not going through that door.

He turned back into the room. They had to have another exit. Even a disreputable dive like this should have two exits in case of a fire. A fire… One way to block those at top of the stairs. His mind spun with ideas as he searched the room. There was a closet with cleaning supplies that were obviously never used, a large cabinet, and an old desk. Going to the cabinet, he noticed a sliver of light around the edge. He moved to one side of it and gave it a shove. It moved an inch. At nineteen, he considered himself fit for the most part. Running goods on the black market demanded that. But strong or not, he wasn’t going to move that cabinet by himself.

Glancing at the two unconscious men still plugged in, Marco knew he wouldn’t get out of there without help. And help wasn’t always easy to get, especially from random addicts. Marco strode over to the remains of the attendant’s cig and picked it up. His plan was stupid, most of his were, but that’s why they worked. No one ever expected them.

There was nothing flammable on the desk, so he hurried to the closet full of chemicals and rags. He broke open the electronic smoke. With a few minor adjustments it turned to a small lighter. Not enough to produce a flame, but a flicker. A nearby old rag had no problem catching fire. Marco tossed the rag deeper into the closet and shut the door, hoping his plan would not only help him escape but cover his tracks.

He rushed back to the unconscious men and turned off their programs. They sluggishly woke, not happy about returning to reality. Marco really didn’t blame them.

“Fire!” Marco shook one man by the shoulders. “The cops are outside trying to smoke us out.”

“Then what’s the rush? Better to die by smoke while inside.” The older man slapped Marco’s hand aside.

Stupid friggin’ addict, Marco thought.

The other man stood up, apparently more motivated by death. His bloodshot eyes looked frantic as he pulled out his cable. “Where are they?”

“Upstairs, but I found a way out. We just need to move this cabinet.” Marco motioned to the heavy piece of furniture.

They pushed against the metal side with their shoulders, and the cabinet slowly scraped along the floor. It hid a broken window the owner never bothered replacing. Between the taped cardboard and shards of glass, the opening was just big enough for a person to squeeze in.

Marco crawled through to a window well, a small concrete hole, maybe four by four feet, littered with leaves and other garbage. Above them, a metal grate blocked the way up to the alley. He hurried up the metal ladder as the other man followed behind. Marco reached the grate, but it wouldn’t open. There wasn’t a lock, but a metal slat that looked rusted over.

With his head tilted at an awkward angle, Marco pounded the metal slat with his bare hand, grateful for his long sleeved hoodie that protected his arms from the rusty grate. “It’s stuck.”

Smoke drifted into the window well, telling Marco they didn’t have long.

“Here.” The man handed Marco a small metal pipe of some type.

He slammed it into the metal slat, once, twice, swearing at the rusted piece of junk. Shouts rang out from the street. The smoke must have reached the main door. His pulse pounded with adrenaline.

Finally, the slat gave way. Throwing the grate