Like Regular Chickens

Joanna clinched her raincoat tight and pulled on the hood as she stepped out of the taxi. She took a few steps away and watched as it rose up and away in a cloud of grey smoke, onto its next trip. She wondered when they would finally enforce regulations and retire these old, polluting hovertaxis. A steady drizzle rained down, splashing off the dark navy PVC coat that enveloped her. She then thought about the last time she saw a clear sky. More than a decade she figured.

She turned and made her way towards the wet market. It was no more a wet market, but like the rest of the city had grown at an immense pace and now occupied the better part of this quadrant. A wild mess of shops and stalls and restaurants and hawkers and maybe even a little market or two. A hoarder's dream. A window shopper's nightmare. But she knew this place well, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She took a deep breath and dove into the madness.

On the outer margins was pretty tame fare. Clothes, mostly of the knock off or "surplus variety". Data discs; the cheap pirated kind that was probably missing a few bytes here and there. Grey market electronics, with spelling errors galore on their packaging. "Casual Shopping" as it was known, though this was a far cry from the casual shopping high street boutiques on the other side of town. She often picked up her tops or a pair of knock off boots from here. After all, these guys were better at predicting the latest fashion trends than the boutiques on the mainland. And she would rather support an independent business than a big fast fashion conglomerate. You couldn't call yourself an "Artist" and buy mainstream. Image was important, especially for her. Ironically, for someone who wanted to remain anonymous.

She dropped her head down and continued towards the waterfront that formed the core of the wet market. The less interaction she had with anyone, the better. Her business here would be considered illegal at best, but would be essential for her new "art project". When that was released, all questions on legality would be put to rest. The "art" would be too important in the long run.

Cheap clothes soon gave way to a sprawling, bustling fresh food market. The largest in the world it was claimed. And judging by her travels, it probably was. Every kind of food, every kind of cuisine was represented here. One could arguably travel the world without ever leaving the confines of the market. The colors looked amazing. Bright greens, reds and yellows, lit by bright white florescent lamps. Stalls selling freshly made street food from every corner of the world. The smells, the sounds just added to the excitement. She crossed Europe, Africa, South America, the Middle East, India, and finally, the largest section of all, and more importantly the local fare, East Asia. Vegetables and street food eventually made way for utensils and equipment.

She was briefly distracted in her quest by a small commotion. She heard a bunch of pots and pans rattle in the "Kitchen Outfitters" section of the wet market. As she turned to look, a small insect fluttered past. It looked like a little moth, small enough to fit in her hand, as it flew quickly and erratically past her. But there was something odd about it. She might have been mistaken, but its wings seemed to have a distinct metallic sheen, more like a silicon chip than the frail carbon wings of a real moth.

The moth itself was quickly followed by the source of the commotion: two men frantically chasing after it. One was a large, fairly overweight man, in a two-sizes-too-small shirt and suspenders combo that went out of style a century ago. He was followed by a small thin man, in greasy leather overalls, and welder's goggles. The large man screamed "Catch that moth!", as he barreled down the narrow path of the Wet Market. Jo turned, but the moth was too far away, and instead ducked into one of the stores, to make way for the comedic duo.

She hadn't intended on doing any window shopping, but she looked around the store, as she heard the rattle and hum of the two men cross her and slowly fade away into the distance. This store specialized in knives. The expensive, handforged, Japanese kind. Chefs fetishized these tools, paying close attention to the grain of the steel, the weight and balance of the blade, and the sharpness and polish on the edge. Looking at them up close, she could see why. They were quite beautiful. A subtle balance of delicate and strong, artistic and utilitarian, science and craft. As she looked around, a young Japanese man walked out from the shop's little back room. His eyes were bloodshot,  like he hadn't seen the light in days. Which was odd, considering his shop was one of the best lit that Jo had seen in the wet market. He gave her a little nod, grabbed a large knife off the display rack, and sat down, polishing it with a rag he produced from his jacket pocket.

As Jo continued to stare in awe at the knives, she pulled out her old Swiss pocket knife, and couldn't help but compare. She thought about her next "art project", the very reason she was in the wet market. The sad state of her old switchblade, the importance of the new "project", and the sheer utilitarian beauty of these knives prompted her to buy one on impulse. Impulse buying was something she rarely did, and always regretted. But there was something about these knives that drew her to them.

As she was looking around, the young man's communicator began to ring. A phrase from the movie "Eraserhead":

"So I just cut them up like regular chickens?"

"Like regular chickens", it announced,  before he picked up, walked into the alley at the front of his shop and began shouting loudly in what sounded like Arabic. It was a strange choice for a ringtone, but she imagined it was just because he was really into knives.

She picked up a small Kiridashi. It was a single piece of metal, one end shaped into a comfortable form, the other sharpened into a fearsome blade. She ran the edge along her finger. It was sharp enough to draw blood.

The shopkeeper came back from his call to see this.

"Ah the Kiridashi. That's a great all round knife. My personal favorite" he said.

"I can give you a good deal. I'll throw in the sheath for free. How does that sound? Should I parcel it?".

She hesitated for a moment, before handing it to him. From behind his little table, he produced a tray of small, painted leather sheaths, slightly larger than the diminutive knife itself. She chose one which included an image of koi and cherry blossoms, to remind her of her adopted home.

She fished around her pockets for a bit, and produced a number of small data drives. Picking one up, she entered the amount into its

small screen, before handing it over to the shopkeeper, who tapped it to his own drive to complete the transaction. She pocketed the sheathed knife and continued towards her original destination, dropping her old Swiss pocket knife in a bin on the way.

As she got closer to the docks, she came up to a security check point. A large number of illegal goods passed through the inner areas of the wet market, and these security checks were to ensure they stayed illegal. The entire market was built around this core trade, and anything that could damage the core, would damage the entire operation itself. The market was too narrow and cramped and vast for any kind of police raid. These checkpoints weeded out any spies or agents.

She stepped through the scanner, which was followed by a quick pat down by what was clearly a mutant, and a badly disguised one at that. He towered over her, but moved in an ungainly manner, as if he was still getting used to his skin. His deformed face was mostly hidden by a breathing mask, but his eyes were clearly visible. She could see a certain sadness that was common to all mutants. She hoped she could do something to alleviate his suffering. She hoped her latest "project" would give them the opportunity to live a normal life.

He was gentle though, and she was glad he didn't notice the small knife. Or the fact that she was visibly nervous about it. As she had approached the checkpoint she started to regret her impulse buy, but once she had passed, her heartbeat returned to normal, and her mind back to the task at hand.

She continued through large sections selling all kinds of fish and seafood on ice. She was getting closer. Seafood was what she wanted. But not the kind anyone wanted to eat. No, she was looking for something incredibly rare, incredibly unique, and proportionately expensive. And she wanted one alive. As she neared, the seafood changed to the more alive and kicking kind. She stopped at a random stall, with a number of Alaskan crabs in the window. Each had it's own tank, and a flashing display on the front listing its weight and price. She picked one seemingly at random, avoiding the smallest and biggest ones. Again she pulled out a data drive, entered the price, which was lower than she had expected, and transferred the coin to the shopkeeper. In exchange, he handed her a plastic bag with a live king crab in it. That's just how things worked in the market.

She was almost at the water's edge. After circling a few small alleys, she came upon what she thought was the shop. She pulled out a torn piece of paper, and compared the address scrawled on it, to the coordinates on the heavy steel door. This was it. "Exotic Fishmongers" as the sign said.

She tapped on the door a few times. A camera rotated to face her. She looked up and pulled back her hood.

"It's Watterson" she said.

 A voice emanated from behind the door :

"Based on our call, I was expecting someone a bit more manly"

"Well phones can be deceiving. Are you gonna let me in?" She asked, holding up a data drive for the camera to see.

The steel door popped open a bit, unsealing a vacuum. She opened it and walked into a place that felt alien, even this deep in the wet market.

Florescent purple lights reflected across steel surfaces. Glass tanks lined the walls of the small cell, filled with rare and exotic fish. The floor itself was made of glass panels, and the water was visible below.  At the far end, a thin, pale, balding, middle-aged man sat, staring at a bay of monitors.

"Have you got it?" She asked, skipping any pleasantries.

"Show me the drive first".

She tossed the drive to the man, who seemed reluctant to get out of his large chair.

"You know it's rare. And illegal to own. I'm the only person who has caught one." He said, as he studied the contents of the drive.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. Toss it back in the water if you care so much. I know exactly what you're trying to do. We agreed on a price and it stays the same. 5 million coins. All there on the drive, with some change for good measure."

"Where did you even get this much?"

"It doesn't matter" Jo said, hiding her face from his gaze. "What matters is that it's all there and it's all legit".

"Yeah, that's for sure".

"So show me what you've got", and you can keep the drive.

He swivelled in the chair and rolled over to another corner. He lifted a cloth to reveal a tank, with the most beautiful creature inside: a trancefish.

Its body lit up in various colors, mimicking the colors on the screen and in the room.

"Don't stare. It'll hypnotize you".

These creatures were almost mythical. They were about a foot long, and shaped like a squid or a cuttlefish. But where a cuttlefish was visually stunning, the trancefish could interface directly with the mind. Only a few had ever been seen, as looking at them would drive sailors to madness and suicide.

"It's beautiful" she said.

"It's actually quite ugly, but it can make you think whatever it wants you to think ".

Shaking her head and diverting her gaze, Jo looked down at the plastic bag in her hand. She looked inside to make sure the crab was still alive and well, and dropped it into the tank with the trancefish. It sunk to the bottom and wiggled around for a few seconds. The trancefish changed its color, forming an undulating pattern across its amorphous body. Within seconds the crab was under its control, trying to break the glass. When it couldn't, the crab attacked and killed itself. Jo was impressed.

"I'll take it" she said. The man reached below a counter, and pulled out an almost opaque rip-proof bag, and a small fishnet. He filled the bag with water, caught the fish and transferred it quickly, the deftness of his actions indicating he had done this multiple times before. He quickly sealed the bag, and handed it to Jo who wrapped it in the bag the poor crab had called home for the last fifteen minutes.

"Keep the change" Jo said, as he turned back to his screens, and pressed a button to open the front door.

"What do you plan on doing with it, if you don't mind me asking?" The fishmonger asked.

"Oh you'll hear about it soon enough" Jo replied, reaching into her jacket for the kiridashi.