Half-Sight

excerpt

I KNOW SOMETHING is there.

Despite the fact I'm lurking on a rooftop yards away, I swear I can see him. A dark shadow, moving.

I tap the sliver of metal in my ear once.

"Lin," I whisper. "Give me a full scan of this guy, please."

The world flickers to life. The automated voice of Lin, the user-interface computer system built into my contacts,  springs forth like water.

"Full scan," she says, "initiating."

Speaking to Lin is like waking up. Before it, there's that groggy state of half-waking consciousness. That leaden and drunken world where you lie drugged by warm comfort and lingering dreams. But then day breaks, and electricity lights up your brain like the flick of a switch, and you see. Lin is great at that.

For me, it begins not with dawn but with lines that snake across the fuzzy outlines of my natural vision. And then the fog flickers away. Pixel by pixel. Slowly, the full vibrance of the world shows itself.

Within seconds, the sea-city of Osaka transforms from madness into an organized machine. It becomes understandable and predictable. It refreshes my brain, opens my lungs, and sets my muscles free. My eyes drink the details in like a starved child. Edges and corners. Nicks and scrapes on neon signs. Ripples in rain puddles. Each curl of steam rising from a night market stand below, wedged right in the center of gold-lit commerce.

My mouth waters. So that's where the smell of miso fish cake is coming from.

A holographic sign blinks over it.

"Tennoji Fishery Stand," Lin informs me curiously. "Tourist websites cite this stand as the number one fishery stop in the Osaka Prefecture."

"We went over this, Lin. I'm not a tourist."

"Alternatively, fish cakes provide many nutritional benefits. Specifically Omega-3s fatty acids, which my body scan has noted--"

"Lin, what did I say about body scans?"

"--as helpful for lowering high blood pressure. Additionally, fish cakes improve brain health and treat depression, which--"

"Lin."

"Yes, Hina?"

"Is the scan complete?"

"Scan complete," announces Lin.

I narrow my eyes. A habit, even though squinting does nothing to help the contacts. On the street below, a sharp-edged silhouette materializes out of the shadow.

A boy. Purposeful, almost angry strides. Black bomber jacket. Battered police cap jammed over hair. Hand hovering near his hip--I see a flash of silver. Knife or handgun. Or both.

Eyes fixed on him, I load my gun and rest my hand steady, tracking his movement with the barrel.

"Lin, can you see his face?"

A holographic circle appears over the boy's head. But the shadows are too thick. There's surprising fluidity in the way with which he evades the dozen neon signs and lanterns flashing around him.

Am I still warming up, or is it hard for even regulated eyesight to catch up with his movement?

"Unable to perform facial recognition," returns Lin pitifully. "Perhaps if you get closer--"

"I'm already on it."

Crowds mill past the boy, obscuring him from view, but I'm on my feet immediately. As if on cue, my earpiece buzzes once. A quick flash of red swims over the world.

"Warning," interrupts Lin. "Service battery notice. Energy low."

"Yes, we know."

"Further prolonged use may jeopardize battery life further."

"Believe me," I mutter under my breath, leaping off the roof, "I know."