Algocracy's Underground Concert (Act 2)
I channeled current from my fingertips through the multitool glove, supplying power to the lighting rigs and fine-tuning the frequency to keep it in the visible spectrum without straining the eyes.
Zzzzt.
Whoosh.
Then I pulled the lockpick from my jeans pocket, quietly popped open the large lighting fixtures, and swapped them out with my modded LEDs.
Click.
Click.
"Nice. Ever since the Minister and his aide hooked us up, we've got way better gear."
"Yeah, Ermi. We used to just have a flyable motorcycle, basic black leather jacket, jeans, a suppressed double-barrel shotgun modded for electric shock rounds or EMP shells, and tools like monkey wrenches or big adjustable spanners. But now these tools have separate laser cutters and shock functions—no more skimping!"
"Totally, sis. Bonus: the shotgun grip has a gene lock, so only I can fire it."
Sokoa used the multitool glove's gravity control to remotely position the chairs one by one as she spoke.
"Ermi, got it, but with better gear, can't you speed it up a bit?"
"Sokoa, we gotta do everything with care and precision! That's our creed."
"Heh, so you're even more meticulous than before? Bet you end up grifting the Minister and his aide for 'extra precision'—wanna wager my pinky on it?"
Algocracy folks might call that out as empty talk and pretend to mean it, but I fired back smoothly.
"Oh yeah? If I 'precisely' craft these tools, that wouldn't count as grifting, right?"
"Uh... wha... y-yeah, Ermi."
I smirked faintly.
"You know I know my limits, so that's why we're chatting while I work. If you're gonna mess around, don't just target your friend me—try it on my sis and her friends too!"
"Hey, that's..."
"Whoa, what?"
"Ermi, Sokoa, ease up."
Beep.
Chemeri unni pressed the activator on her biker helmet with its AR display, and a screen flared up before her eyes.
"To make the most of our gear, let's review what we've got. Starting with these black jackets: built-in HUD display and mini sub-computer. Ultra-light ballistic fibers inside—stops pistol rounds easy, even rifle fire. Temp control too, so wearable in scorching summer or dead winter. Dehumidifies to kill sweat, 'cause nobody likes onion-stink charm."
"Yeah, I know that much..."
"Exactly. So loosen up your speech. Sokoa's a year younger and you treat her like a pal, but four years older me gets all the formal crap? Where's the freedom in that? I don't need respect—I want regard and popularity."
"Uh... y-yeah, Chemeri...?"
"That's right. Don't let fake reverence cramp our vibe."
"Anyway, let's get prepped."
Vesper pulled out the portable harmonic speaker, tweaking bass waves to set the mood.
Woooong.
"Humans these days only care about money and success. Sure, pleasure-chasing hippie terrorists didn't do much right either."
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
She donned her bike helmet and fired up the voice modulator, suddenly mimicking my tone.
"Ermi, you know your voice is the only one that really grabs people, right? Talking like this might draw in your fans..."
"Think I don't get that? The helmet keeps your voice steady, but fans come expecting something fresh."
"Mini recon drones ready too." (Controlling via multitool glove.) "They'll glow rainbow-bright, lighting us up from the same angle as the hyped fans' stares."
"Good. Stage setup's done... everyone remember the song?"
"Of course. How could we forget? We debuted it just for the Minister and his aide, then the crowds poured in."
"Ha... yeah. Lucky this company's letting us use their abandoned factory zone indoors. Echoes will carry perfect."
"Right. Now, position the speakers, grab our instruments from the bike sidebags. And honestly, Chemeri, foldable drums? You're not planning to cyborg us just to summon 'em on demand, are you?"
"Or beg the Minister and aide not to atomize us into capsules for storage, Vesper!"
We bantered like idiots while working, and it made things way smoother.
Physical labor's easier now, sure—but this is our first go, so no experience means old habits linger, leaving me a bit wobbly.
Still, I won't hand it off to AI. We modded these bikes ourselves; pride demands we stick to it.
Algocracy drones frown on this anyway—prefer us deluding ourselves as the smartest, hawking sob stories to build society.
But we're not cowed by threats like the Minister or aide. We do what we want.
Inefficiency? That's just their gaslighting trapping us in paralysis till we crash.
Dialectical materialism says communism needs hyper-capitalism first—yet they bash it blindly, preaching collapse like deadbeat parents with dogshit philosophy.
Capitalism's edge isn't total devotion to one task, selling your soul for it as peak human will—that's totalitarian spirit-worship.
No: it's climbers who know the frog well but grasp the ocean's breadth, then carve their own realm.
Opposed to 'economy fixes all, hate the rich 'cause money rules' commie gold-worship—Algocracy's dual curse.
Conspiracy nuts rant about Jewish finance ruling from America, yet fangirl US surrendering to their nation in a show. Only diff: they don't kill people.
The masses' dictatorship is just mob death votes—no difference.
They play victim, bully with numbers like the 'strong' they decry.
Even I, no transcendent mind like the Minister or aide, sometimes let their nonsense rattle my head mid-precision work, slipping inefficiently.
But fighting it is the point—effort to overcome, win or not.
For kids like me, they demand protection till adulthood, block it, then blame us fully—hypocrites waving social woes when numbers suit, claiming victimhood.
Their tales justify crushing weaklings once strong; excuses for one-sided thuggery, gaslighting kids to 'find peace yourself' while enforcing mob 'peace' and debating their saintliness.
Evil: gaslight weak, dump blame, make judgment impossible—victim or law—then force it while moralizing.
Everything wrong? Yeah, all of it.
People don't change 'cause methods sucked. True change means no glee tormenting, admit strong/weak inescapable, align true beliefs with desires.
Else? True cruelty, emotionless inefficiency.
Vrooom.
"Alright, looks solid from up top."
"Don't ride the bikes too long—we need 'em. Our headlight's brighter anyway. Wasted time..."
"At least no reverb tweaks needed. Saved time. Factory echoes great."
Sokoa fired up the bikes staged beside the platform, exhausts spewing fierce flames that painted the factory blood-red.
The mix of passion and raw exhaust nailed the vibe.
"Mic check, one two..."
"Good enough. Rehearsal, then call the crowd!"