Glitch in the God Complex (AmpCore #1)

01 - Devil from the Dark Shores

What would hell be without a little music?

Piper found herself musing on that thought, bumping her heel against the metal crate she sat on. Around her, the sweltering dockyard of Hadrian North's riverbank boiled with a noise despite the late hour. Fat, steam-spewing cargo ships crawled by like beetles on the murk of the river, its waters sin-black from decades of pollution. They had to add extra sheets of galvanised armour to the hulls just to get through in one piece. Cranes groaned and engines sputtered in the neon twilight.

Cutting through it all was the jaunty dance of Kirk's fiddle. She bit absent-mindedly into the greasy meat kebab in her hands, eyes sliding to his nimble figure as he pranced and whirled on the edge of the jetty. His right hand moved with the savagery of a saw as he played, a wry smirk plastered across his features, fire-red hair flopping and flailing in all directions.

Passers-by tapped their wrist bands and globecards against the little receiver set up in the metal violin case at his feet, transferring a dribble of crypts into his account. Piper chewed, watching and examining.

No great shine of Hadrian's mega-corporations at this end of dock slums, just a sludge of greys, blacks and browns; all trench coats, heavy boots and ragged clothes. Thick whorls of cigarette smoke formed a smog above it all. Piper watched the flow intently – she wasn't just here to admire Kirk's finger-work. Somebody had to be his spotter, just in case some asshole cutter tried to rob him blind while he played.

Today wasn't that day, happily. Kirk finished off the rapid jig and gave an enthusiastic bow to the small group that had stopped to watch his performance. Piper shifted along the crate to make room for him, sweeping errant locks of ink-black hair back behind her ears with her free hand. Once he'd finished packing up his gear she beckoned, patting the space beside her.

"Not a bad catch," Kirk said brightly, still panting from his exertions. He slung the violin case across his back and hopped up onto the crate to join her.

"That's my little dancer." Piper gave him a coy smile, shovelling her fingers through his tousled mass of hair. "How'd we do?"

Kirk flashed the screen of his wristband to her and didn't manage to maintain his smile. Her face dropped as she stared at the number. Low. Too low for them both.

"Tight bastards out tonight?"

"I guess." His mouth twisted awkwardly. "Everybody's getting squeezed a little harder these days."

"It's not enough."

"Yeah, I know." Kirk's mouth twisted awkwardly. "We'll split seventy-thirty tonight. Make sure your folks get some food."

"But-,"

"I'll be fine tonight. Dad's still got some waterscrap to drain out. Should get us a few crypts once it's cleaned and polished."

"Kirk..."

He shook his head. "Piper, I'll be fine."

"Thanks," she said after a moment, unable to keep the sadness out of her smile as she handed him the kebab. "Then get some of that down you."

Kirk sighed, and swayed over to kiss the ghost-pale skin of her cheek, before ripping a hunk out of the kebab with his teeth and chewing voraciously. His own skin was flushed crimson after two hours of non-stop dancing and playing.

"S'not bad," he muttered around the mouthful. "What'd they have today?"

"Probably better if we don't know what's in it," she replied with a wry smile. "But it better be good. Skimmed me ten crypts for it."