Low Res Outlaw

By Troim Kryzl

The ultimate episode of the first season of the 1kYears series closes the MMA chapter of the action. Tough choices have to be made, police and prison loom large, rough moments have to be endured, by a cast of familiar heroes. Will Abeo escape? Where is he going to head? Will the big boss get cornered, or worse? Will it all end in tears, meatspace and/or virtual ones? The first season of the 1K Years saga delivers some answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troim Kryzl
• Release date: Dec 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463151761

Troim Kryzl

Not providing a photograph and writing under a pen name for professional reasons. Please refer to my website and LinkedIn profile for as many details as can be made available under my current career circumstances.Mastodon: @[e-mail]

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Low Res Outlaw

Published by Troim Kryzl at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Troim Kryzl

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

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„You‘re not going. Nowhere. I come, or you don‘t go."

Standing taller and stronger than her slender five feet, Waso blocks Abeo’s path. She has lowered her voice to a growl, and gives him the mean stare. Her me-true-killer stare.

She has made up her mind. This shrink won’t be leaving this lab tonight. He owes her, because she does the heavy code lifting. Behind their long list of successfully facilitated downloads, there is lots of Waso skill. All Abeo ever does is talking. He owes her. He can‘t just walk out.

Her coworker is a nuisance, like all oldies. Totally at odds with the modern ways, he can be very embarrassing company. But he’s still uniquely fit for collaboration. She never managed to work with anyone, of any age, for longer than five days before. With him it’s five years already. Occasionally, things get rocky, he‘s stubborn behind that smile. But not that bad.

With this in mind, and Abeo not answering yet, Waso feels compelled to add:

„Please? I need this job. It won‘t work with someone else. Either you stay, or I come."

Hearing her voice sound unacceptably girlish, she quickly adds:

„Or I‘ll fuck up the resort like no tomorrow. vAbeo is gonna hate that tail, and it will only be the beginning. I‘ll turn your ghost into a dog, Abeo, and it‘ll be all your fault!"

Doesn’t sound right. Not urgent enough. Part of Waso wants to smash something. Preferably something big that delivers loud. Or throw something at the traitor, for hurting. She searches the lab bench for ammunition. This bloody stuff is either too harmless, or too dangerous.

Too dangerous? What a stupid thought! On top of all her problems, she’s getting soft now. One can’t do might if one goes soft. She can‘t let herself slip into weak = dead. This laptop...

Abeo raises both hands just in time, like he did for the police officers yesterday. His gesture allows her to pause in her movement and listen. He goes:

„Easy Waso, no need to freak out, got the message. We need to talk. More than one sentence, if you‘re kind enough to give me the chance to explain what is going on, and what options I‘m considering. Adds up to lots of talking, Waso. Knowing you’re no fan of that, how about doing it over dinner? We go to the mall, have bite, I pay and tell, and then you can have fun calling me the names I deserve. That‘s more fun in public anyway, right?"

It‘s true. She guessed right. No need to smash a poor old laptop that serves her so well for basic brain wave pattern identification tasks that would slow down her own machine if run in parallel. Waso feels relief. It‘s an old laptop, but still good. Far too good to ruin over a traitor.

The traitor is admitting his guilt. She should be blind with rage by now, because he really can‘t do that to her. Instead, she feels better. Even wants to hear his side, know what got into him, to better find names to call him. And perhaps smash a bowl of soup.

Reaching for her always-ready-to-run bag, without so much as a nod, Waso steps aside to let Abeo lead the way. This is his show, his to figure out how to proceed for the talking.

They take the stairs, as usual. On the way down, no sane person waits ages for an elevator that might have gotten stuck again.

It‘s a concrete stairwell, like in most high-rises, grey and functional. But the floors have acquired a flair, literally and figuratively.

Two levels down, a sharp smell of disinfectant and a surprisingly clean door shout ‚medical‘. No need for a sign to guess this is an entrance to the blood sample analysis outfit. Waso checked their online presence, and is going through bouts of Ebola anxiety ever since.

Another four floors down, a not so clean door plastered with an incredible multitude of colorful stickers announces a change of industry. What Waso failed to recognize on her first day, for lack of upmarket shopping habits, are fruit import-export logos. In her early days, she was irritated to find out that their are more brands for mangos alone than for all gadgets combined. By now, she only shrugs at such weird ways of the rich. More than a bit mad, but mostly harmless.

The lingering smell of cigarettes, both conventional and of the recreationally active type, informs anyone walking by that plants and their derivatives are cherished here. And that this stairwell is either never visited by the MMA drug squad, or on friendly terms with them.

The Mehut Metropolitan Area is subject to draconic laws, with respect to all kinds of vices. In Waso‘s neighborhood, a bottle of liquor can get