I'm gonna steal Reader's color coding scheme since it seems pretty effective. Green is for comments. Red strikethroughs are for deletions. Blue is for tense changes
Within dreams, you remember walking into a cramped and secluded alleyway for a business deal. tense change This client values his secrecy, comma splice: need a conjunction wanted to meet in a neutral place and you agreed. When you arrived he was smoking a cigarette, trying to look casual for the non-existent pedestrians; one came here who mattered, not until now at least. tense change He's a well built man in his late forties, a neatly trimmed red beard on his face and a bald head with neural implants for connecting directly to cyberspace through his brain. He flicks his cigarette to the ground when he sees you, comma splice, same as before adjusts his tie and smooths out the lapels of his suit.
"You my man?" His voice carries a bit of an Irish accent. You nod. He continues, "Good. Any questions or you wanna get this over with?"
"What's your deal with the target?"
"Business rival. Trying to establish my new lounge but most people just head to his club. You kill him in his own club, people realize it isn't safe. At the same time, I hire security guards, all his old customers migrate to my place." He fidgets a bit before making for another cigarette. He lights it, takes a drag, exhales and looks you in the eye. "That a good enough reason for you?"
"Good enough."
A ghost of a smile paints his lips. "Good." He hands you a photo, printed on a small piece of paper. His smile widens at your subtle quirk of an eyebrow. "Old fashioned, I know. But this way there's no trace of our interaction here, not like if I transferred this info through our CyberFaces."
"Don't have one. Off the grid." It's his turn to look surprised.
"Hm, no shit? Guess you're more paranoid than I am." He takes another drag, not even exhaling before speaking again. "On the back is the address. You'll know it when you see it, the sign shines bright. Could probably see it from a thousand miles away."
You examine the photo. Balding guy, middle aged, beer gut. Two young women on either side of him who look like they'd rather be anywhere else but are smiling because that's what they're paid to do. Insecure type, probably. Doesn't have much to live for but hides it behind cash and fast cars and hot women. Just the type you love putting out of their misery.
You flip the photo over. Scribbled on the back is an address, 451 Pico Boulevard, and the name of the place. You tuck the photo into the inner pocket of your jacket. "Anything I should know?"
"You'll find him in the VIP lounge. It's in the back, behind the main club area. Probably get a working girl to let you in, or sneak in through the alley around back."
You nod, turning your back on him to walk away, then stop when you're at the mouth of the alley. Turning your head over your shoulder to look him in the eye, you say, "I'll be back in two hours for my payment. Don't ever contact me again once we're through. I don't do multiple jobs for clients." Then, you're back to walking. You can feel rather than see his nod. This sentence isn't really necessary and doesn't add much to the rest of the paragraph. additionally, the "feel rather than x" is used later more effectively.
Walking through the streets with your head hung low, you've spliced two dependent clauses together with a comma eyes drifting up occasionally to look at the holosigns declaring the street names. Montgomery Avenue, Holliday Drive... There. Pico Boulevard. Looking up, you can see that the city is a flurry of neon lights and smog; thick, dark smog repeated word that chokes the surrounding buildings and hands out lung cancer like there's no tomorrow. But through that dark smog intentionally repeated? is a beacon of light, shining down on you as though a spear of righteousness from the heavens.
He was right. You can't miss it. Those big, neon green words.
TechNOIR
You can feel rather than hear the music blaring within the club, the vibrations of the bass shaking you to your very core even from outside. The club is a two story building, tucked in between a salon and a convenience store. Aside from the sign, it has no real decoration or sense of flair, the facade being a worn out red brick building with blacked out windows. There's a bouncer at the door but no real line to speak of, meaning that getting in through the front will be easy. Alternatively, you could head down the side alley and try to get in that way. There has to be some sort of way to the roof, or a back door leading into the club.
How do you want to play this?
- Let's head through the front. It's simple and straightforward.
- Let's go around back. It's better to maintain the element of surprise.
~~~~~
You head up to the bouncer, hands in your pockets. He's a muscular man with dark skin and a shaved head covered in scars. His eyes are a neon blue, suggesting implants for his eyesight. Might have gone blind somehow, you muse, only to shake your head. It doesn't matter. He grunts when he sees you and motions for your holo ID, and you oblige him with your fake; usually it can withstand a quick look over but if someone stares too long it becomes a bit obvious. You hide it well but inside you're sweating, anxious, the pistol in your coat burning a hole into your skin begging to be used because deep down you know only one of you is making it out of this situation, just let loose, just kill the bastard- I don't think this sentence is the best, but it works to convey the nervous, panicked tone.
"Looks good. Go on in." He hands you your ID and you nod before pocketing it, cool and composed as you always are, as you know you are. Mentally, you remark to yourself that security really is lax around here. It helps you feel better, helps you maintain control over yourself. That's what you are: in control.
Stepping through the club's front doors, you can finally hear the pulse pounding synth-heavy music you felt earlier. Scanning the club over, you see a bar set up in the center of a wide open room bathed in neon lights. There's a dance floor to your left, not far from the bar, where the lights are particularly bright and flashy. The people are packed tightly together like sardines in a tin can as they dance, glazed in sweat and running their hands and lips and teeth over whatever bits of bare skin are showing on each other. You crinkle your nose at the sight and turn away.
Going back to examining your surroundings, you note that there's a few booths lined along the far wall to your right, and past them in the back is a door to what you assume must be a kitchen. Maybe you could get into the back areas through there? Maybe. You continue scanning until you see a door straight ahead, past the bar, where two large and muscular security guards stand. Above the door they're guarding is a neon red sign reading "VIP Lounge" in a fancy cursive font. That's where the target is.
You're pondering how to get in when you notice a scantily clad young woman approaching you. Her hair is dyed neon blue and is kept in a short, stylish cut with shaved sides. Her skin is tan and her eyes a golden color that suggests cosmetic implants. You note faint silver lines highlighting her cheek bones, suggesting some sort of implants to alter her appearance same phrase used twice. She's either on the run or did this to look more appealing, no doubt.
"Hey there, tough guy," she says in a sultry tone, placing a cold hand on your chest and getting in close. You have to fight yourself to not break her dainty wrist and throw her to the ground for even daring to touch you, because this could be useful. "I saw you eyeing the back room. Want me to take you back there for a..." She leans closer, getting on the tips of her toes to whisper into your ear. "... Good time?"
- Take a breath to calm the tide of anger building in my chest and accept the offer. It's the best way to my target, even if I'm uncomfortable around this... Working girl.
- Take a breath to calm the tide of anger building in my chest and decline politely. I hate being around her but I can't be too rude without blowing my cover.
- Fuck calming down. She touched me. Push her to the floor and keep walking. Even being this close to this whore is making me sick. for all three choices, you switch to first person. stay in second.
Overall comments: Again, this is pretty good. The mood setting is nice and the language used works well. However, the main issues I have are: 1, that you switch verb tense sometimes from past to present and 2, that the character of the protagonist is inconsistent. At the start, he's a super badass hitman and doesn't give a shit as long as he gets his pay, then in the middle he's suddenly super nervous and panicked, then at the end he's all of a sudden super badass hitman who doesn't give a shit as long as he gets his pay again. I'd just make sure you're keeping his character consistent to make him more believable. Of course, you can have a character who's super badass on the outside but still has emotional vulnerabilities, but this isn't exactly the way to do it. That sort of thing needs time to be built up.