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…Before you head out of the apartment you look around one last time. Some of dad’s things are still right where he left them, looking as if he could just walk back through the door at any moment. It’s a nice fantasy, for a few moments anyways, but he won’t ever be back.
Pacing around, reluctant to step out the door and take that first step toward the funeral - a terrible sense of finality hanging above it - you kill a few minutes looking over everything. Just a minute or two, still want to get there early, but you deserve a moment to breathe.
Dad’s comp draws your attention first, a monster of a setup that’s really only missing a netrunning chair or an ice bath and plugs. You never touched his comp unless he was showing you something, teaching you the ins and outs of the net - which <span class="mu-i">used to be</span> all the time. You weren’t old enough to get a data-jack or anything like that, not without risking growing right out of it, but that time is pretty much gone now. You’d probably be chipped already if money wasn’t so tight and mom didn’t get skittish about it.
Music posters adorn the walls nearby, carefully preserved and moved from apartment to apartment for what must be decades now. Before you were born anyways. It’s all ancient dusty indie bands that weren’t new even when dad was a kid - Samurai, old Eurodyne before he really sold out, Cartesian Duelists, and half a dozen others.
Sitting down in his chair, you power the comp up only to be faced with the login screen; you don’t know the password, but it… unlocks on its own?
Facial recognition then, maybe. But the camera isn’t on? Huh.
…Odd, his contacts are already opened, a whole long list of people’s names you don’t recognize and an inbox with a few new messages. There’s Vicky, and Barry, and a few others from the NCPD you know, but who the hell is 8ug8ear? Or Nix? Dakota? Fantasy nonsense aliases and a couple more people with old NUSA states for names. The messages are even denser looking than the contact list was, a recent job offer from someone named Wakako sticking out among a few other correspondences. No time to read that right now, however curious you are.
