Open your mind

Chapter Three - Frances: Bridge Crew 4life!

It was a long and arduous process but I was able to revive my ISE. For the 2 or 3 days that I was left without it I experienced some form of withdrawal symptoms. My head was full of incessant buzzing and my mind felt even more disorganised than usual. My attention would bounce from one topic to the next with no warning - giving me whiplash each time. If my limbs became functional, they would flail around at random or twitch endlessly until they shut down again. My minutes were punctuated by the stab of pins in every conceivable joint and ligament which set my nervous system on fire. I should've never trusted Willem. That's a story for later.
Once I fixed that infernal machine, all was calm again. I reexamined the list of people whose Brain2s I could access and saw that a couple of other names had been added to the list. In all honesty, Victor's slice had life had amazed me and bored me in equal measure. All his thoughts were 'boohoo, woe is me! I want to be rich and famous again!' and all that tosh. The world was my oyster and I was still curious. Instead I selected the name directly under his in my list of 'volunteers': Frances Hill. I will admit now that I was apprehensive about using the Brain2 of a woman. It felt perverse in some way. I shoved that thought away and simply vowed to myself that I wouldn't compromise her - or anyone else's - privacy (except for observing the world through them because that was quite different). That being said, I clicked that tantalising 'connect' button and sat back for the ride.
When I connected, the first thing that I noticed was that Frances was in a very different part of the city. It was noticeably darker and grimier than the Financial Quarter where Victor was; even during the day. The towers were still as tall and awe-inspiring (to a newcomer) as they were everywhere else, but they were certainly more crumbly and run down than before. Even the most well-maintained towers seemed glum and sickly as they were choked by a thick ceiling of smoke that was somewhat translucent. She was in the process of applying some graffiti to the side of a building in bright green spray paint that stood out against the dark concrete of the wall. Once it was finished, she stood back to admire her work. It read 'MY BRAIN ISN'T OBSOLETE' in large bubble writing and was accompanied by a picture of a brain in a burning rubbish bin. My suspicions that this massive tower block housed a Willem Technologies store were confirmed when she shuffled around to the front of the building to check that nobody was coming outside to witness her act of vandalism and I noticed that all-too-familiar blue W above the entrance. However, what Frances wasn't expecting was the sound of trainers scuffing against the tarmac behind her.
She spun around on her heel but the group behind her didn't represent any form of authority - the opposite in fact. Assembled behind her was a collective of young adults and teenagers all dressed in dark hoodies or something similar and masks/balaclavas in various shades of green. Frances recognised the lad at the front of the group, as she stepped towards him and gave him a little fist bump.
"What's goin' on, TJ? I'm just finishing up this piece here." She enquired, gesturing towards the graffiti behind her.
"Just gatherin' everyone up so we can head back to the Bridge together. Me and Riley hit the Sandoval Club," TJ returned, spitting on the ground after merely mentioning the Sandoval Club, "and everyone else has been spraying random buildings all over the Industrial Quarter. Just waiting on Dane then we can set off. Where is Dane anyway?"
They didn't have to wait too long for an answer, as a single youth appeared from behind the neighbouring tower block with a hammer and spray can in hand.
"Dane! My guy, there you are! What's with the hammer?" TJ exclaimed, walking over to greet him.
"I was just at that Hi-Five help centre. I put up that tag." Dane returned uneasily.
"Why did you need the hammer?" TJ asked with insistence.
"I smashed in a couple of the windows." Dane admitted.
"Dane, you didn't need to do that! What do you think your dad's gonna say when we report back to him? He said to us all "make sure you don't get into any trouble and try not to break anything" and now you've gone and broken something!" TJ groaned whilst Dane shuffled around on his feet, suppressing a response.
Before anyone could say another word, a patrolling police officer and his drone rounded the corner.
"You damn kids!" He yelled, but everyone ran off in different directions before he could even finish. He ran one way and his drone flew another with its taser extended. It was a futile attempt, but at least he could tell his superiors that he tried. Vaulting a couple of fences and sliding into a massive storm drain (often lovingly referred to as the River Slurry for obvious reasons) was all that was needed for Frances, TJ and Dane to lose the officer. After they regained their composure, the trio removed the masks covering their faces and dumped them in the stream beside them. Each mask was quickly consumed by the layer of grime sitting on the top of the nearly stagnant water. On a rainy day the whole drain would be full and you could briefly forget how corrupted the water was.
TJ and Dane were nearly complete opposites of each other. TJ was more dark-skinned whereas Dane was as white as a ghost, even if his shade of white paled in comparison to mine (ba-dum tsss). Dane's hair seemed to erupt from his hood in long, greasy, brown locks but TJ's was shaved to be incredibly thin.
"Where are the others?" Dane asked, his voice quiet even after being released from the fibres of his ski mask.
"They'll catch up. You're just hopin' that your dad'll not ask whether you broke somethin' or not." TJ replied teasingly.
TJ turned to march away back to the Bridge whilst Frances & Dane trailed behind.
"TJ, that prick," Dane spat, "he just wants me to mess up, doesn't he Frances? He thinks I've robbed him of something just by being Rodrick's son. I'll show him I'm not just some 'nepo-baby'..."
Frances didn't reply, and just left Dane to grumble vaguely about TJ until they reached the Bridge. She knew that the Bridge Crew didn't need any more division than it had already gone through. One day, she hoped that TJ and Dane could see eye to eye on something instead of doing this strange one-sided banter. TJ could be a bit of a jerk, but Dane could be considered a jerk too in different ways. TJ's brand of annoyance was more sharp and prodding compared to Dane who would either give you the cold shoulder or straight-up yell in your face. Despite this, she still considered them her closest friends even after all these years. It was TJ who saved her from a roving band of True Patriots before they caved her skull in with a cricket bat. It was Dane who gave them both somewhere to stay and introduced them to the legendary Rodrick Lowenthal - king of the Veteran's Bridge.
A piece of innocuous graffiti that read 'Bridge Crew 4life!' signalled that the trio had reached the hideout. On each side of the drain, under the bridge lay a shanty town. On each side of the drain was a collection of ramshackle huts and outdoor seating areas that spilled out from underneath the bridge, with the two sides being connected by a thin, rickety wooden bridge that hung from below the much greater bridge above. The Veteran's Bridge itself was massive - easily the second grandest bridge on the island. With a huge steel arch on each side. The two parallel arches were punctuated by bronze statues of soldiers in various combat positions. I looked, but none of them looked like me (I think, because in truth I cannot remember fully what I used to look like). On the right side of the bridge one building stood taller and wider than the rest, grazing the underside of the bridge: the community hall. On Sundays it did double duty as a church. People from all over the quarter would come to hear Rodrick's sermons on the nature of life in the city. Sure, it was propaganda for the Bridge Crew but at least you didn't have to pay a subscription fee like with the real churches.