《Chrome Flesh Blood and Iron》


 Chapter 1

    I was about half way through replacing the micro servers in a fascinating Mk. 4 Militec construction series cybernetic arm that was at least 3 generations old, practically an antique. I¡¯d found it broken in a dumpster this morning.


    Suddenly, a cold steel hand roughly grabbed me by my unevenly cut brown hair and dragged me off my stool. Liam, the hand¡¯s owner, pulled me out into the garbage strewn alley and threw me into the concrete wall on the other side. Looking up I saw him drop the tuft of hair he¡¯d pulled from my scalp. His face was twisted in fury.


    He screamed at me, ¡°You dumb motherfucker! You missed the goddamn job!¡±


    Stalking over to me he drove a sloppy uppercut into my belly. I tried to block it somewhat, but he was a chromed up 13 year old and I was a skinny, entirely ganic 8 year old, so my attempts meant nothing.


    I folded over and crumpled to the ground. As I lay in the damp fetid garbage gasping for breath, he continued with a disgusted tone, ¡°All because you were too busy playing with another shiny piece of worthless chrome.¡±


    He kicked me in the ribs with a heavy steel toe punk boot and I curled into a ball. The sounds of Joytoys plying their trade, pachinko machines ringing, and myriad conversations trickled in creating a familiar background cacophony of vice and degeneracy ¡ª the sounds of a world indifferent to my pain.


    ¡°You fucking knew we needed this! We all need food for fucks sake! Aiden needs that fucking kidney implant replaced so he¡¯ll stop pissing blood. Zoe needs some goddamn medicine for her little brother. But noooo¡­ That''s not what happened today, is it? Because you weren¡¯t there Niko. And, Aiden, the desperate scophead, decided to try to get through the security on the car on his own and guess what happened.¡±


    He kicked me again. In the same spot. I felt something crack.


    ¡°Aiden fucked up and the badges got called. Three of us were caught, including my fucking brother!¡±


    He stomped on my ankle. I cried out in pain as I heard it crunch.


    ¡°Now, we all have to move before the cops get them to talk. We¡¯ve got to leave this prime spot behind and find somewhere new to claim.¡±


    I heard him crouch down next to me followed by the snick of a knife being opened.


    He spoke softly, his voice trembling slightly, ¡°All because of you. If you¡¯d just shown up and helped us klep that corpo kid¡¯s ride, we would have been secure for the next month. Muamar said he¡¯d give us more jobs if everything went smooth. This was our one chance and you screwed it.¡±


    He grabbed the back of my head firmly with his chrome hand and forcefully turned my head so he could look me in the eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see light reflect off the knife in his other hand. He reeked with the acrid chemical tang of stims. His pupils were huge and his forehead covered in sweat.


    ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten to show up for shit a bunch of times but I¡¯ve forgiven you because of your skills and that big fucking brain of yours. But not this time. If you can¡¯t be trusted to show up when you¡¯re really needed¡­ then what fucking use are you?¡±


    At that he brought the knife into full view and positioned it over my right eye.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to give you something to remember us by. Something for my brother who I might never see again. You are never going to forget the Rats.¡±


    He cut through my eyelid and into my eye. I screamed. Then he dragged the blade down all the way to my chin, leaving a deep wound. His iron grip left me helpless. No matter how much I screamed and struggled he was unmoved. I blacked out for a moment, then when I came to it was over. I heard him clomp away. I lay in the rain soaked trash sobbing and cradling my mutilated face.


    I heard the other kids exit the soon to be abandoned home in a stream. They grunted as they walked. Anything they couldn¡¯t carry with them was being left behind. Some of the youngest cried as they were forced to leave. Everyone just ignored me as they walked past.


    My blood slowly leaked into a nearby puddle. It mixed with the rainbow swirls of oil that pooled atop it. Neon lights from streetside advertisements shone into the dark alleyway. They dimly illuminated my dirty blood soaked form. Absently I watched a Mr. Studd ad play out in the reflection from the puddle. It was distorted and off-coloured.


    I eventually pulled myself together well enough to try to get to my feet. It didn¡¯t go great. My right ankle couldn¡¯t hold my weight. The sharp pain when I tried left me gasping for air and slumped against the alley wall. Fuck. Putting as little weight as possible onto my ankle, I limped back into the evacuated hideout. Belongings and trash were scattered across the concrete floor. In the small darkened rooms that I passed, dirty mattresses were illuminated by the flickering fluorescent lights in the hallway. Dripping blood, I left a trail behind me on the dirty concrete.


    When I made it to the room I¡¯d shared, I found the Militech construction series arm I¡¯d been working on smashed into pieces on the floor. Looking over to where the backpack containing my belongings had laid, I saw it was open and laying flat on the ground. There was nothing left inside to keep the fabric from collapsing in on itself. It reminded me of flattened roadkill.


    I haltingly staggered and limped over to where my chair had fallen over when Liam had grabbed me. With effort I righted it and collapsed onto it with relief. I pulled off my dirty blood soaked t-shirt and pressed it against my face. I¡¯d seen some of the older kids doing something similar when they got hurt on a job. Maybe it would help with the bleeding. Sounds were muffled and I thought I might throw up. My head felt fuzzy and nothing seemed quite real.


    I needed to get my hidden stash and get out of here before the badges arrived. I didn¡¯t really know what would happen if they caught me, but I did know that I¡¯d never seen any kids they¡¯d taken come back. My tools were still there. I grabbed a screwdriver with the hand not holding the shirt to my face and carefully crawled under the desk. My ribs protested, but they were the least painful injury and I needed to move. I gingerly removed several screws holding a panel to the underside of the desk. I¡¯d added it a while back when Liam upped the amount of drugs he was using. He¡¯d started stealing from people, including me.


    When I removed the last screw the panel fell to the floor with a clang. I flinched at the sudden noise even though I expected it. From inside the hollow metal desk I pulled out a couple hundred eddies I¡¯d managed to squirrel away, an old external cyberdeck, and, most importantly for right now, some emergency medicine and drugs. It used to be that if someone got hurt the gang would give them some ¡®Dorph and a MaxDoc. Or, if the gang was going to pull a job that would involve a fight, everyone would get some stims or even Black Lace if they were lucky. That had stopped a while back when Liam really got hooked on stims.


    I had to be careful if I was going to use any. If I took too much I¡¯d OD. I¡¯d seen it happen to kids my age often enough. The inhalers weren¡¯t made for children. I¡¯d not really used drugs before, but I¡¯d seen what it could do to people. Some couldn¡¯t stop. For the girls, that usually meant ending up leashed to pimp that would supply them. For guys, that normally led to stealing, violence, isolation, and usually death in one way or another. On the other hand, I¡¯d also seen people on the right combination of drugs stay up for three days straight and walk on broken limbs.


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    First I grabbed the nearly full MaxDoc and took a hit. The itching started immediately in my face, ribs and ankle. Quickly, I grabbed the mostly empty ¡®Dorph inhaler and tried to just breathe in half a hit, but immediately knew I¡¯d probably taken too much. The pain disappeared and I felt amazing, like everything was going to be okay. The itching no longer bothered me. My shock, fear and pain disappeared and I felt ready to go. On the other hand, my heart was racing and my hands were twitching. I¡¯d definitely taken too much, but thankfully ¡®Dorph was pretty hard to OD on. Even so, if I¡¯d taken a full hit I knew I¡¯d be having a seizure right now.


    I¡¯d initially hesitated, but with the ¡®Dorph running through me, I decided to pull out the last item from inside the desk: an old Militech Ticon tech pistol. The thing was beat to hell. When I found it, the battery wasn''t charging the capacitors correctly and it wouldn''t fire. It ended up being simple to fix. Turned out the battery was damaged. Somehow, the outer casing had been hit hard enough to bend and damage it. That was impressive, considering Ticons are notoriously hard to damage. I ended up scavenging a battery from a completely destroyed M-76e Omaha. The different battery didn''t connect quite right, so the output for uncharged shots was reduced. That was probably a good thing since I doubted I could handle the normal recoil.


    I pulled the shirt away from my face. The MaxDoc had stopped the bleeding. I had no idea how my other injuries were faring, but I could deal with them later. I wasn¡¯t bleeding anymore and could move without pain. That was enough for now. I needed to get out of there.


    I wrapped up the money, drugs and gun in my bloody shirt and crawled out from under the desk. Standing up, my ankle felt a bit unsteady, but no pain. That was good enough for me. I dumped everything into my ransacked backpack and scrounged for some clothes. No one had touched the mostly clean clothes I¡¯d left under my mattress. Those went on top of the money and drugs. I left the Ticon on top of everything for easy access. It was fully loaded.


    I pulled on an only slightly dirty gray t-shirt and a ragged green jacket someone had left behind. Carrying my backpack, I started to leave, only to stop and remember my tools. Looking back, I couldn¡¯t leave them. I hurried over to my desk and threw the most essential and difficult to replace into my bag. Rushing now, I zipped up my bag and started half jogging out of the hideout. My ankle rolled and I felt something shift. It didn¡¯t hurt, but that probably wasn¡¯t good. The lack of pain had made me careless. Limping now, I moved as fast as I could without causing any further damage.


    I¡¯d left the hideout and was just stepping out of the alley, when I heard the first drone incoming. I tried to blend into the crowd, but it wasn¡¯t easy. I was clearly injured and there weren¡¯t many kids on the streets. There never were. After about a block and a half I let out a breath of relief. It looked like I was probably in the clear. I kept limping along, looking for somewhere I could hide and maybe make a temporary home. Or, at least somewhere I could rest and try to recover.


    Reaching up to my face, I confirmed that I couldn¡¯t see out of my right eye. Absolutely nothing. God damn it! Fuck! I started quietly crying again, despite the drugs. It was all just too much, too fast.


    If only I¡¯d actually shown up for the op. Fuck! I didn¡¯t miss it on purpose! I fucking try to remember things! I just get distracted!


    It started raining. I quickly found out that the jacket I¡¯d taken wasn¡¯t waterproof. Within minutes, my clothes became heavy with water and clung uncomfortably to my skin. I needed a place to rest, recover and think and I needed it soon.


    I can¡¯t keep going for much longer. I¡¯m tired and the ¡®Dorph will only keep me going for so long.


    I turned off the busy street to look for an abandoned building with a minimum number of squatters. The city smelled like wet concrete and garbage with a pervasive undertone of caustic chemical pollution and exhaust. Every spot I found was crammed with reality junkies, dorphheads, and desperate JoyToys. Eventually, I spotted two guys sheltered from the rain in a corner where an overpass met the street. I knew they wouldn¡¯t let me join them, but I was tired and absolutely done with this day. One was asleep. The other was sitting on a crate twitching and talking to himself.


    Fuck it.


    I walked up to him.


    ¡°He, he, he told me that it would work. It was going to work. It was going to work. The mayor said so. If I just helped MaxTac they were going to give me it. Yes! Yes, of course, of course.¡±


    He giggled.


    I was standing in front of him but he didn¡¯t seem to notice. He was thin to the point of emaciation and his body odor could be smelled from ten feet away.


    Cautiously, I said, ¡°Hey choom, can I crash¡­¡±


    Suddenly, he stopped giggling and reached behind the crate, pulled out Budget Arms Slaught-O-Matic and shoved it in my face. The hand holding the gun twitched wildly.


    He yelled, spittle flying everywhere, ¡°YOU¡¯RE NOT TAKING IT! IT¡¯S MINE! YOU¡¯RE NOT TRICKING ME AGAIN!¡±


    I held my hands up and backed away slowly. He forgot about me as soon as I was maybe 15 feet back. There weren¡¯t many people around and those that were didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°See, I told you they¡¯d come for me. I told you¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t hear the rest. The guy on the mattress barely stirred, clearly drugged to the gills. I thought about the gun in my backpack.


    I can¡¯t keep looking for a place to rest. Maybe I should just take it. People just take and take from me. The fuckers in the gang never cut me in on the take from any of the jobs. I was just ¡°paying my dues¡± whatever that means. People steal and hurt each other all the time. Why should I always be the one getting hurt and stolen from. Why shouldn¡¯t I just take what I want?


    I moved around the corner of a nearby building into an alley and pulled out my iron. The grip was a bit too big for me, but if I held it with two hands I could reach the trigger and hold it steady. I put on my backpack and walked back out holding the gun. There was a dumpster I could hide behind about 15 feet from the two men. The mumbling man didn¡¯t notice me as I peered around the corner of the dumpster. I didn¡¯t know anything about correct form, but I¡¯d played with pretend guns and I¡¯d seen people shoot before. Carefully, I lined up the iron sights using my one good eye. I aimed at the center of his body and pulled the trigger.


    A three round burst fired. The first two hit and the third flew high. Recoil had forced the barrel up. The man fell off the crate screaming. I was surprised. The sound of the gun was much quieter than I expected. I moved out from behind the dumpster and walked a few paces closer. Ready for the recoil this time, I shot another three round burst into the screaming man. He stopped screaming. The guy on the mattress was stirring. I walked up to him. He was blinking blearily and reaching for something out of sight. I was close enough now that I didn¡¯t really need to aim. I fired two bursts into him in quick succession. He stopped moving. It was over.


    Moving the bodies was a pain. Literally. Even if they were skeletally thin, they were still damn heavy to me, especially with my injuries. Eventually, I got them in front of the dumpster. That was all I could do. There was no way I was going to try to get them in and I was exhausted anyway. It wasn¡¯t like I was trying to hide them or anything. Nobody cared if some random homeless nobodies killed each other.


    I painfully limped back over to the mattress. The ¡®Dorph was wearing off and the pain from my injuries was coming back. It wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as before I used the MaxDoc thankfully. I looked down at the mattress in exhausted exasperation and weary disgust. It was soaked with the blood of the man I¡¯d killed. Next to it I found a rusty chef¡¯s knife the man had been reaching for. I left that next to my bag for now.


    After struggling for a few minutes, I managed to flip the mattress over. Thankfully, only a bit of blood had seeped through to the other side. Soaked to the bone, shivering and exhausted, I crawled sluggishly onto the mattress. I reeked of wet garbage, blood, and the body odor and evacuated bowels of the dead men I¡¯d dragged. Holding my iron tightly, weariness overcame the pain and discomfort. A discordant melody of occasional gunshots, vehicles moving above me, and the gentle patter of rain accompanied me into a fitful sleep.

 Chapter 2

    A terrible spike of pain from my eye woke me. With a gasp I tensed up. Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted from just beside my head. I scrambled off the mattress and dove behind the crate next to it. Desperately, I searched for where the shots came from. I didn¡¯t see anyone. As my brain fully awoke, I hesitantly looked down at what I was holding. With a groan, I carefully moved my finger away from the trigger of the Ticon I¡¯d had in my hands all night. I flipped the safety on and removed the mag to check how much ammo I had left. Six rounds left. So two bursts or six charged shots. Unfortunately, I doubted I could handle the recoil from a charged shot. I reinserted the mag and placed the gun in my backpack.


    The pain in my eye was terrible. Every time I shifted my gaze it made the mess that was my eye move against the scabbed remains of my eyelids. I tried to focus on not moving my eyes and just moving my head. That was better. Still horrible, but better. I needed to get a ripperdoc to take care of this. There was no way I could afford an ocular implant, but hopefully I had enough to get them to just take it out or something.


    As I shifted, a sharp pain from my ankle made me gasp. I gingerly sat down on the dirty mattress and pulled up my pant leg to take a look. My ankle was swollen to hell and tender to the touch. Now that the adrenaline from the impromptu wakeup call was starting to fade, my other injuries were reminding me of their presence. With every breath I took, my ribs sent shooting pain through me. Every facial movement I made pulled on the scabbed over wound, causing a searing spike of agony.


    I rummaged through the bottom of my bag, took out the MaxDoc and took another hit. The itching sucked, but it was nothing in comparison to everything else. It wouldn¡¯t fix my eye, but it should help keep it from getting infected and speed up the healing for everything.


    With the itching flooding through all my injuries and the pain an insistent unending drumbeat, I held carefully still, making sure to resist the temptation to move my eyes. Tears started leaking down my face. They stung my ruined eye as they fell.


    This is too much. Everything hurts so much! I can¡¯t do this. I can¡¯t do anything while in this much pain. What am I going to do?! It hurts too much! It¡¯s too much! I need some more Dorph. I just can¡¯t deal with all this.


    Trembling slightly, I pulled out the Dorph inhaler and took a careful hit. Within seconds, the pain flowed away to a dull, almost imperceptible, ache. The trembling was gone. I hadn¡¯t overdone it this time.


    I need to be careful. I get why people can¡¯t stop taking this. It feels way too good. But, right now I need it. I need to be able to move and think and get things done.


    My stomach rumbled, distracting me from my thoughts. There were a few vending machines about a block away. I passed them on my way here last night. Before I got going I pulled out my cyberdeck and my small horde of eddies.


    I stuffed the MaxDoc and Dorph back into the bag and put the cyberdeck and eddies in my pockets. Since I didn¡¯t have a good way to carry the kitchen knife and it was a piece of shit anyway, I decided to just leave it behind. Only slightly painfully, I slung the backpack onto my shoulders and started making my way towards breakfast.


    Thankfully, the rain had stopped at some point during the night. It was late in the morning and the streets were crowded. I¡¯d learned a while back to stay unnoticed and out of the way when on the street. You didn¡¯t want some corpo asshole, gangoon, or cyberpsycho to get angry at you for dirtying their pants or whatever. That was a quick way to get yourself some broken bones or, if you were particularly unlucky, a bullet. For me, right then, I just really didn¡¯t want to get knocked over. I was hurt enough as it was.


    When I reached the vending machine I pulled out my cyberdeck. I had the money to buy something, but why would I buy it if I could steal it. And anyways, I had other plans for that money. The low-security on the flaking yellow painted machine made this doable. I pulled a cord from the old dented aluminum casing of my cyberdeck and carefully jacked it into a small, hidden access point beneath a loose panel. On the small flickering screen of my deck I selected Breach Protocol to gain control of the machine¡¯s systems. The program worked its way through the defenses with some help on my part. When the Code Matrix interface appeared on the tiny screen, I quickly input the correct characters, watching as each selection nested and overlapped to form a cohesive sequence. Once through, I uploaded a basic Control daemon.


    With the ICE bypassed and my daemon in place, I accessed the vending machine¡¯s control panel. Navigating through its software on the small screen was a familiar challenge and I managed to override the payment and selection systems quickly. A smile had just started to cross my face when a tug on my scabbed over wound reminded me that facial movements were a bad idea. Emergent smile gone, I executed the final command. The vending machine whirred to life, dropping an XXL Burrito into the dispenser slot.


    I grabbed my prize and walked away as quickly as I could. It would be a while before I could hack that machine again. That particular machine was owned by All Foods and they¡¯d notice quickly if I stole from them too often. Corps were dangerous to mess with if you weren¡¯t careful. I¡¯d learned how to hack from an older girl, Tammy. She¡¯d shown me how to get into the vending machines. Every day, she¡¯d go down the street to hack the same one. Then one day, she left as usual and just never came back. The vending machine she used was swapped out for a newer version that same day.


    As I went to take a bite, I quickly realized that eating was going to suck until my face healed. Thankful for the Dorph, I took tiny bites as I gingerly worked my way through breakfast. The CHOO2 fumes and cacophony of a busy day in Night City accompanied me as I limped down the street. A block down, I found a nice dark alley out of the way. I spotted a comfortable looking crate in the detritus littered through the alley. Sitting there watching the crowds and eating my breakfast, I took a moment to think.


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    I need to get my eye taken care of and I need a good safe spot to hide out and heal. Anything easy to find will be taken. I need a place that hasn¡¯t been noticed, or is too dangerous for even stupid people to take, or¡­ I need to take someone else¡¯s spot and keep it from anyone who would want to take it from me¡­ Finding a good spot someone hasn¡¯t taken would just be up to luck and I don¡¯t think I¡¯m very lucky. The dangerous areas¡­ police stations¡­ Maelstrom hangouts¡­ fuck, where else? The other gangs aren¡¯t too bad to be near. They are at least predictable. But, those areas are already claimed. The police are just too good at catching people for me to slip by. Near the Maelstrom is an option. A terrible option. But it¡¯s on the list.


    Okay, how about taking someone else¡¯s spot?


    I looked down at myself ¡ª a bloody, limping, half blind, underfed 8 year old.


    Not going to be able to scare people into leaving. But I do have a gun and some eddies. And killing those guys last night wasn¡¯t too hard. Why did the Rats talk about killing someone like it was a big deal? It was so easy. Whatever.


    So, find a spot near a Maelstrom hangout and hope for the best or kill the people in a safer place, take it for myself, and kill anyone who tries to take it from me.


    About half way through the burrito I was stuffed. I had no way to store the rest, so I tossed it onto the ground with all the rest of the trash.


    One way, I just have to hope that I don¡¯t get caught and don¡¯t have to fight people I can¡¯t win against. Or, the other way, I can choose my fight and a spot that nobody strong would care about taking. Taking a spot seems like a better idea, but for that I need ammo and maybe grenades or something. I don¡¯t have enough money to do that and also get my eye taken care of¡­ The people I take the place from could have some eddies¡­ Maybe¡­ Whatever, if I have to, I¡¯ll just take some more Dorph to deal with the pain until I can get the eddies I need. Going without a place to sleep or staying near the Maelstrom are still worse options.


    With that final thought, I got up and started limping my way toward the Kabuki Roundabout.


    As I carefully made my way into the crowds packing the place, I noticed a middle aged asian lady at a street stall was eyeing me with a frown. So were many of the other stall owners who had noticed me. Chatter in a mix of Mandarin and English surrounded me as I shuffled my way through. I had to be careful not to get trampled or get too close to any of the stalls. Enough kids had tried stealing here and gotten a lesson from the Claws for me to know better. I didn¡¯t want any of the stall owners to think I was trying anything.


    When I hesitantly limped my way into Straight Shooters, the man at the front counter started watching me intently. With some degree of trepidation, I made my way over to him.


    ¡°I need some ammo for a Ticon and some grenades.¡±


    He looked at me silently for a moment. He scanned my injuries and the general state of me.


    ¡°Okay kid. Sure. If you have the money I¡¯ll sell you what you need.¡±


    He pulled out a box of ammo and flipped up a screen set into the counter.


    ¡°You can see a list of our available grenades here.¡±


    He pointed at the screen then paused. I wasn¡¯t tall enough to see the screen. My head didn¡¯t even reach the top of the counter.


    ¡°Or not¡­ How about you just tell me what you need and I¡¯ll grab something for you.¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­ A normal one and an EMP?¡±


    I could remember seeing a small fight between the Tiger Claws and the Maelstrom where EMPs were thrown. They seemed to take down those with lower quality implants. At least for a bit. And that was all I was really looking for. I wasn¡¯t planning on going after anyone who would have implants that could resist an EMP grenade.


    He pulled out two grenades. One colored blue and the other red.


    Pointing at the blue one he said, ¡°This is the EMP.¡± Moving to point at the other one he said, ¡°And this is the fragmentation. Which is what I assumed you wanted. It''s what most people think of when they say grenade. Also, I grabbed the cheapest ones since I doubt you have much money.¡±


    I just nodded in agreement and absorbed the new information.


    ¡°Each of the grenades will cost you a hundred and the ammo will be 50. Making your total is 250 eddies.¡±


    Hesitating for a moment, unsure, I asked, ¡°Why so much for the ammo? Doesn¡¯t handgun ammo usually cost less than half that?¡±


    With a sigh, the man ran a hand over his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m already giving you a gonk deal on the grenades kid. But fine. To start with, handgun ammo can range in price wildly depending on caliber, rarity, and manufacturer. But you¡¯re still right about this stuff being more expensive. When you¡¯ve got a tech pistol like this that magnetically accelerates the projectile you need a different type of ammo. In this case it is a dart-like thing with fins that is encased in a sabot which detaches when it leaves the barrel.


    Don¡¯t ask me why, but for whatever reason, the manufacturing process or materials used or maybe random corporate nonsense, the ammo costs more. Not to mention, the Ticon is an outdated gun and the ammo for it isn¡¯t really used for any other model. That alone makes the stuff more expensive just due to rarity.¡±


    I listened closely, taking advantage of the opportunity to learn. I hadn¡¯t noticed the fallen sabot pieces when I fired the gun yesterday.


    With a nod and a muttered thanks, I pulled out the eddies and placed them on the counter. He pushed my items across to where I could reach and I scooped up everything. I put it all in my backpack and left without another word. His eyes lingered on me as I limped my way out, his expression heavy and unreadable.

 Chapter 3

    I found a small dilapidated hotel in Kabuki near the border of Little China. It looked to have originally been 3 stories tall, but the top level had completely collapsed along with about half of the second. The concrete was covered in bad graffiti and pockmarked with holes. Some appeared to be bullet holes, but others seemed to have come from explosions or random vandalism. Garbage surrounded the building, most of it used inhalers and needles. Even from an alley across the road, I could smell the place. It reeked of raw sewage, unwashed bodies, and an acrid chemical tang. The scents almost burned as I breathed them in. It all mixed into a familiar stench. I had smelt it before ¡ª the lingering malaise left after years when a building was abandoned to saturate in the fumes from a cornucopia of cheap synthetic drugs ¡ª of a place left to soak in the dead hopes of the dying, unwashed masses.


    It was near dusk and the smog-filled sky filtered orange beams down onto the building, casting the front facade in shadow. I carefully finished reloading the magazine and reinserted it into the Ticon. No one would care about anyone who chose to live in this place. Not even the people who lived there cared. The building would likely finish collapsing within the next 5 to 10 years if nobody did anything. And no one would. It would just become another ruin among many. All those who lived there knew that the roof could collapse on them any day. But, these people knew that they would likely die long before that ever happened.


    I inspected my gun. From the shots I¡¯d taken with the Ticon, I¡¯d noticed that it wasn¡¯t nearly as loud as I would¡¯ve expected. I could only guess it was because of the lowered power of the shots from the mismatched battery. It wasn¡¯t silent or anything, but it was certainly quiet. That could be useful for what came next.


    If I had the option, I would¡¯ve watched the place for a week or more to check out the number of people who lived there, their habits, and anything else I could learn from just watching from the outside. Unfortunately, I didn¡¯t have that sort of time. With every step I took my ankle felt worse and worse. Even if I couldn¡¯t feel the pain, I could tell something was wrong. I needed a place to sleep, rest, and hide. I couldn¡¯t keep walking around looking and I couldn¡¯t wait out here in the open.


    I took another careful hit of Dorph as I¡¯d felt it wearing off. The growing pain receded into the background, easily ignorable. So did my growing concerns about what I was about to do. All my options were shit and I would do whatever I had to to survive.


    Focused, I stepped out of the alley and limped my way over to the building. I circled around the side of it searching for a way in other than the front door. There was an open first-floor window, but it was too high and I couldn¡¯t even see inside. At the back of the building, I found a door with the words, ¡°Employees Only¡± on it, faded to near illegibility and partially covered in graffiti. The door handle and lock jamb were entirely missing, leaving a ragged hole and a partially open, free-swinging door.


    Peeking in through the hole, I saw a dimly lit room empty of people. Fluorescent light leaked in from an empty doorway off to the right. The floor was covered in rubble and metal scraps. A metal table in the corner was on its side, ventilated with bullet holes. Seeing that the room was empty, I opened the door.


    The rusty hinges gave a sudden loud shriek as it opened. I paused and waited. It was quiet. No sign of movement coming my way. I squeezed my way through the crack I¡¯d made, pushing my backpack through first, trying hard not to touch the door. Once through, I carefully picked my way through the debris over to the empty doorway. Bent and rusted hinges stuck out aimlessly along one side of the doorframe, bereft of the door they once held.


    Peeking out, I found myself at the end of a dark hallway intermittently lit by fluorescent lights. Across from me, through an open door, I saw a room filled with bloody, ripped-up mattresses, rotting food, and a bunch of other trash. Buzzing swarms of flies filled the air and leaked out into the damp, musty air of the hall. The still, heavy air held the pervasive scents hostage, left with no breeze to set them free. Looking down the hall, I found a sea of rooms with open, broken, or missing doors. Occasional damp spots discolored the concrete floor ¡ª likely from last night¡¯s rain leaking through the collapsing structure. Among the closely packed rooms, only a few doors remained intact and closed.


    Several doors down, lying between two pools of light, I saw a pile of rags just barely recognizable as human. If it wasn¡¯t for the hand peeking out and the slight movements as they snored, it would¡¯ve been impossible to tell. I¡¯d clear the rooms between us first before I dealt with them.


    Slowly, I made my way over to the next room down on the left. It was missing its door entirely, just like the room I had left. Across from it, stood an intact door, partially open. I would check the room without a door first just in case anyone inside might glance out into the hall.


    Just barely sticking my head around the edge of the empty door frame, I scanned the room. Other than the bathroom, the entire place was visible from where I stood, and even for that not-yet-visible room, I could still see its door. The place was tiny, with just enough room for a bed and a desk. Not that even those remained. The only thing in the room was a bare soiled mattress with a nude woman curled up on it, left wearing only a single pink stiletto shoe with a broken heel. Stepping inside, I could quickly see that the woman wasn¡¯t breathing. Now that I was closer, I could smell it too. The scent of death had been covered by all the other noxious odors filling the place.


    I checked the bathroom and gagged. It was smeared with shit and piss. Without running water, they¡¯d just filled the toilet. Then, once it was full, did the same to the shower. Flies swarmed the place. If all the bathrooms were like this, then I now knew where the raw sewage smell was coming from. Disregarding its hellish contents, the bathroom was empty of people. I closed the door and left the room with relief. Unfortunately, I knew that this wouldn¡¯t be the last bit of death and filth I¡¯d see today. Thankfully, the Dorph made it all a bit easier to deal with.


    The room across from it was empty beyond used needles and inhalers. It was the same for the next couple of rooms, other than the odd piece of broken furniture or ripped-up mattress. Soon, I was able to make out something coming from somewhere farther down. Just two rooms up the hall from the sleeping man, I could hear music and rhythmic slapping leaking from a closed door.


    The light above me flickered and buzzed as I stepped closer to the occupied room. From just outside, I could hear upbeat pop music accompanied by the repeated sounds of flesh hitting flesh and a man grunting. I checked the door handle. Unlocked. Probably broken.


    Aware of the squeaky hinges common in this place, I carefully inched it open. It made a little noise but was easily covered by the other sounds in the room. Inside, a rail-thin man, wearing a white tank top so stained it looked like yellow-brown camo, kneeled on a dirty mattress with his pants around his ankles. From behind, I could see his boney shoulders pressed up against thin jaundiced skin, looking like they wanted to escape their disgusting fleshy cage.


    The woman beneath him was limp and silent. Strapped to her head, she wore a shitty braindance rig, its flickering lights played ceaselessly against the deep circles under her eyes. The hoodie she wore had likely once been a nice baby blue, but now, it was nothing more than a ripped and dirty rag. The frayed cargo pants that lay discarded near the bathroom I could only guess were her¡¯s. She was a Reality Junkie, probably high on synthetic hallucinogens, dead to the world, and busy living a different, better life in a virtual one.


    Through the crack in the door, I fired a burst into the back of the man¡¯s chest. The bullets tore through him and lodged in the opposite wall. He spasmed and fell onto his side gasping and gurgling. I spotted a pistol on the floor, but it was on the opposite side of the mattress from where he fell. He wouldn¡¯t be able to reach it. There was no need to waste more bullets. He would die soon and he wouldn¡¯t be able to make much noise. You can¡¯t yell if you can¡¯t breathe.


    I checked the person sleeping a couple of doors down. He hadn¡¯t stirred, still peacefully snoring.


    Looking back into the room, the dying man¡¯s red bloodshot eyes stared at me in a mix of shock, pain, and fear. It took a while for him to fall unconscious. Even through the Dorph, I knew that had been fucked up, but I just didn¡¯t really care that much. Letting him die slowly had been a choice made out of callus calculation, not deliberate cruelty. Also, considering what he¡¯d been doing when I found him, he didn¡¯t engender much sympathy.


    Stepping over the sabot pieces left on the floor by my shots, I entered the room and closed the door behind me. Walking up to the girl, I put the muzzle right next to her head and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled the trigger. The quiet snaps as it fired rang loud in my ears. Even muffled by the happy pop music they felt deafening. For some reason, that one felt different. A couple of silent tears rolled down my face. I checked the bathroom. Nobody inside.


    Maybe I don¡¯t have to keep going. Maybe I can just take this room and be done with this¡­ No¡­ No. Once I fix up a room, someone will take it from me. Once I have something worth stealing, someone will steal it¡­ No¡­ I can¡¯t hide here with other people around. I¡¯m too weak.


    This building is already pretty much invisible because of how shit it is and once I clear it out, I can board it up and set up noise traps to know if anyone gets in¡­ And maybe something better if I can get enough eddies. But I can¡¯t do that until I get this place empty.


    Fuck, I wish I could just scare the rest away. No, I¡¯ve only gotten this far because I¡¯ve surprised every person I¡¯ve killed. I need to stick to the plan. Just keep going and don¡¯t think about it. Focus.


    I pulled out the magazine from my gun. 12 rounds left. 4 more bursts. I hadn¡¯t bought a second magazine. That was stupid. I wouldn¡¯t make that mistake again. With care, I pulled the box of ammo from my backpack and reloaded the magazine. I reinserted the mag and put the ammo back in my pack. Finally, I picked up the Nue from the floor and checked the mag. 6 rounds left. It looked in good condition, but considering where I found it, I didn¡¯t fully trust it to fire. I put it in my pack anyway. Moving slowly, I exited the room and closed the door behind me.


    The person in the hallway still hadn¡¯t moved. As quietly as I could, I cleared the last couple of rooms between us. Finally, I limped close to the immobile figure. I didn¡¯t want to miss my shot. The bullets bouncing full speed off the concrete floor might be louder than the gunshots. Just a few feet from the person I stopped, lined up a shot, and fired a burst into them. The quiet snaps of the bullets firing echoed slightly down the hall. With a jerk, the man woke up and started to take in a choking breath. I fired another burst. And another. He stopped moving.


    I paused again to see if anyone had noticed the noise. Nothing. 9 rounds left. Half my magazine, gone in an instant. If I were shooting a normal Ticon, I doubted I¡¯d have needed to use more than a single burst. I debated reloading the mag again.


    Fuck. I really should¡¯ve gotten a couple extra mags.


    I retreated back into an empty room and repeated the process of loading the mag. Before continuing, I went and grabbed some large pieces of cardboard I¡¯d seen discarded in one of the prior rooms. I carefully arranged the pieces on top of the dead man in the hall. If you didn¡¯t get too close, it¡¯d be hard to tell it wasn¡¯t just another pile of trash.


    Once done, I continued working my way down the hall. Empty room. Another empty room. Another. And another. The fifth, however, wasn¡¯t quite as empty. In the shower, I found another corpse, long dead and rotting as it lay in the filth surrounding it. I kept moving.


    Nothing, nothing, nothing. Something. 3 men were laid out across the room, unconscious. One had foam bubbling from his mouth. All of them had needle tracks along their arms.


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    None of them woke up.


    I reloaded the mag again and continued making my way down. I found another body a couple of doors down. Stabbed to death it looked like. Old blood soaked the mattress.


    I had nearly reached the end of the hall when I heard raised voices coming from an open door two rooms down. Carefully, I moved into the room next to it on the same side of the hall and pressed my ear against the separating wall. They were pretty thin here.


    ¡°Come on man, just give me the Glitter.¡±


    ¡°No. Not fucking happening.¡±


    ¡°Come on man, what the fuck?¡±


    ¡°It''s always just a bit more. Just a bit more.¡±


    ¡°Bro, I just need enough to deal with the shakes. I¡¯m quitting. I swear.¡±


    ¡°That''s what you always say!¡±


    ¡°I really mean it this time!¡±


    ¡°Sure you fucking do! The only reason I¡¯m in this shithole is because you¡¯re like a fucking brother to me. So come on, let''s get out of here. I¡¯ll take you over to Aunty Cho¡¯s place. You can get cleaned up again and I¡¯ll help you through the withdrawals just like last time. I¡¯ve got some shit that will help you sleep through most of it.¡±


    ¡°Come on man, this again? I, uh¡­ I just¡­ Just give me some glitter and a couple days to get some things together first and I¡¯ll go.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°No¡­ You either come now or I¡¯m leaving and I¡¯m not coming back. I¡¯m done coming out to shitholes like this to get you. If you don¡¯t come with me now, then this will be the last time I do something like this for you.¡±


    A choked-out sob.


    ¡°Fine¡­ Fine¡­ Okay. I¡¯ll go. Just¡­ Just¡­¡±


    Another sob.


    ¡°Just one last hit. Please.¡±


    A sigh.


    ¡°Fine. Here.¡±


    The sound of an inhaler being used. A giggle. A louder sigh.


    ¡°Alright, come on.¡±


    I could hear the two men walk out of the room and, thankfully, down the hall towards the front of the building, not the back. Carefully, I peeked out at them. The guy being guided down the hall looked similar to many other homeless addicts ¡ª thin, shaky, stained clothes, the usual. He did, however, have some familiar tattoos on his arms. Tiger Claw tattoos. And, if I had harbored any doubts, the man herding him forward dispelled them. He had a Tiger Claw insignia on his jacket and a katana at his waist. The typical look.


    Thankfully, they didn¡¯t notice the dead man halfway down the hall behind them.


    Ten minutes of waiting later, I was confident they¡¯d left the building.


    I guess at least one person here had someone who still cared about them. And a fucking Tiger Claw that cares? They treat our lives like they¡¯re fucking nothing! The last guy from the Rats who joined them died within a week. Sent out to deliver drugs or something. Every other fucking week they¡¯ve either kidnapped someone for an XBD or gotten some idiot to ¡°join¡± them, only to die within weeks on some job. I don¡¯t know anyone under 16 who¡¯s joined them and lived. At least, not anyone who isn¡¯t already a member¡¯s brother or something.


    Whatever, I just hope there isn¡¯t anyone else here who¡¯s going to have people looking for them. That Tiger Claw was basically done with his choom anyways. And I¡¯ve already come this far. Just gotta hope I guess. If someone does come looking, then hopefully I¡¯ll have at least fully healed by then. Whatever, I¡¯ll deal with it if it happens.


    I continued working my way down the hall. There was no one in any of the last few rooms. At the end of the hall, I found the stairs to the second floor around the corner. As I carefully made my way up, I was relieved to know that this was almost done. The second floor should be much faster to clear since so much of it had collapsed.


    Hopefully, I won¡¯t have to kill too many more today.


    Rubble littered the edges of the stairway, swept to the sides by those who used it. Concrete and whitewall dust mixed with indefinable fluids to create a dark sludge that clung to my shoes. The noise as I walked reminded me of the sticky crackle of soda-drenched soles on linoleum, mixed occasionally with the sucking squelch of mud.


    At the top, I found a hallway identical to the one downstairs other than the semi-frequent holes in the roof and the rubble scattered throughout. Halfway down, the hallway ended abruptly at a barrier of crumbling concrete and rusting metal rebar. Unfortunately, I could clearly hear a radio playing and people loudly talking. It was coming from an open door just a couple of rooms down. As I cleared the couple rooms between us I listened to the two people talking.


    ¡°... you think of it? Good right?¡±


    ¡°Ehh¡­ I don¡¯t really go for that kinda shit.¡±


    ¡°The FUCK choom?! You said you liked XBDs! This is some preem shit scophead. Not easy to get!¡±


    ¡°Chill man! I do like XBDs. I just don¡¯t get off on kids.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you trying to say cunt?! That I¡¯m fucked up?! That I¡¯m a piece of shit?! That I¡¯m CRA¡­¡±


    ¡°NO MAN! No. Just fucking chill. I ain¡¯t saying nothing¡­ Take another hit.¡±


    ¡°Fucking whatever. Fucking pussy.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Ahhh¡­ that''s the shit.¡±


    I had finished clearing the last room before the open door. Before I left the room, I pulled off my backpack.


    No way past without them catching me. I guess it''s time to use those grenades.


    I pulled out the two grenades from my pack and pulled my pack back onto my shoulders. Carefully, I cradled them in one arm and carried my gun with the other. I limped back into the hall and balanced my gun against the wall next to the open door. With deliberate care, I primed both of the grenades. One quick breath. I tossed them around the corner and into the room without looking ¡ª one after the other. The EMP went first.


    A moment of yelling and scrambling filled the air before they exploded. The crackle snap of the EMP was closely followed by a deafening explosion. Pieces of shrapnel whizzed out the door and stuck into the wall on the other side of the hall.


    Doing my best to shrug off the ringing in my ears, I grabbed my gun and moved around the corner. There were three guys in the room, not two. By the back corner, laying halfway on top of a bedroll, a guy with a braindance rig on and a big hole in his neck was sprawled out, unmoving. Collapsed behind a ratty couch, a man with some sparking, knock-off mantis arms twitched against the floor. On the other side of the room opposite the couch, next to the bathroom, a man with a shredded leg and a cut on the cheek sat against the wall.


    His shocked glassy eyes were looking right at me. His arm moved. BANG!


    The shot whistled right past my head and I felt a tearing pain from my ear. I stumbled to the side and my ankle collapsed, sending me to the floor. As I fell, he shot three more times. None of them hit me. Frantically, I pointed my gun in his general direction and just started firing. Within moments I had run out of ammo.


    No more shots came my way. He wasn¡¯t moving. To the side, I could hear the twitching man start to settle. Quickly, I tossed the Ticon to the side and hastily pulled out the Nue pistol I¡¯d grabbed earlier from my pack. On my hands and knees, I scrambled my way around the side of the couch to get a shot.


    The guy was jerkily trying to sit up. Still on my knees, I aimed carefully despite my rush. I only had 6 shots. The first shot entered his chest but nearly threw the gun from my hands. It bucked so badly that the top of the gun smacked into my face. My scabbed-over wound flared in sudden agony as it tore back open. I cried out and fell on my back.


    Thankfully, that one shot seemed to be enough. Blood and viscera had been sprayed across the floor and up the wall.


    Suddenly, from down the hall, I heard a man yell out in a slurred voice, ¡°Wha the fuck wassat?!¡±


    Hurriedly, I looked around, trying to come up with a plan.


    Cover? Nothing other than the couch. Hiding? The bathroom is the only spot and that will get checked for sure. Run away? Not a chance. The only exits are the closed window and the door. I¡¯m on the second floor and I¡¯m not even sure the window will open.


    I could hear unsteady steps slowly getting closer. More ominously, at one point, I heard the heavy ku-chunk of a big round being chambered.


    Okay, the door isn¡¯t an option. What else?


    My thoughts racing, I suddenly remembered what the guys in here were talking about and a rough plan came together.


    Blood and tears running down my face, I quickly grabbed my bag and stumbled over to the bedroll. I pulled the braindance rig from the dead man¡¯s head and tossed it onto the couch. After dropping the gun and my pack onto the bedroll, I roughly shoved my pants down around my ankles. Dropping to the floor, I pulled myself, my gun, and my backpack into the corner. I crunched myself into a ball with my knees to my chest and my back to the wall. My pack, I pulled tight against my shins. I hid the gun between it and my bunched-up pants with the grip pointed up for easier access. Lastly, I gripped the bag tightly, pushed my face into my knees, and started quietly sobbing. It took no more than 10 to 15 seconds to finish and it was just barely in time.


    Not looking up, I heard the man lumber into the doorway.


    Sounding a bit more sober he asked in a bewildered tone, ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    A moment''s pause ¡ª the room was silent except for my quiet sobs.


    ¡°Hey kid, what the fuck happened in here?¡±


    I just pulled the bag to me tighter and cried a little louder.


    ¡°KID!¡±


    I jumped slightly and started mumbling into my knees.


    ¡°I can¡¯t fucking hear you!¡±


    He took a step forward.


    Speaking louder and looking up slightly, just enough for him to see the tears and blood, I said haltingly, ¡°They, they¡­ were arguing. Arguing over who¡­¡± I let out a choked sob. ¡°Over who would get the next t¡­ turn.¡± I moved my hands behind the pack and went back to sobbing while keeping a careful eye on the guy through my lashes.


    I hope that''s enough. I¡¯m not that good at acting.


    The man dropped the barrel of his gun, a Carnage shotgun, and scratched at the scalp under his greasy hair. He wore nothing other than ripped underwear and worn hiking boots. All over his body weeping open lesions and infected wounds riddled his skin. I didn¡¯t know exactly what had caused his condition, but many of the synthetic drugs out there could do absolutely horrific things to you.


    ¡°Huh, well I guess it was bound to happen at some point. Fucking Carver¡­¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Alright kid, get the fuck out of here.¡±


    Without waiting, he turned to the corpse of the man behind the couch and crouched down to rummage through his pockets. He put the shotgun down on the floor beside him.


    He mumbled to himself, ¡°He¡¯s gotta have something stashed away.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t looking at me anymore. I pulled the gun out and carefully aimed. More ready for the recoil this time, I fired. I hit him in the side, blasting off a fist-sized piece of flesh and spinning him around as he fell over. The gun still almost fell out of my hands, but at least it didn¡¯t hit me in the face this time.


    He screamed as he fell. Once on the ground, he clutched at his side and continued screaming. I shot again. That one got him in the upper chest. That stopped the screaming and soon the halting, wheezing gasps stopped too.


    Tiredly, I pulled my pants back up and limped over to the Ticon I¡¯d left on the floor, dragging my backpack along behind me. I¡¯d learned how to act like that the same day I learned why the Tiger Claws were taking kids. The day I ran across that braindance was a very bad day.


    Fucking XBDs.


    Slowly, I put the Nue back in my pack and reloaded the Ticon. I still had some rooms to check. The world felt far away as the ringing in my ears continued. Feeling like I was walking through mud, I checked the remaining rooms. There was nothing. Just another corpse in one of the rooms.


    I dragged myself back to a room on the second floor that had a functional door and a mattress that didn¡¯t stink too much. Since the lock on the door was broken, I dragged a metal chair I found with me. Once inside and having finished wedging the chair under the handle, I collapsed onto the bed. I felt exhausted, numb, and vaguely sick. The Dorph was wearing off again, and the pain was creeping back in.


    Despite everything, I fell asleep within moments.

 Chapter 4

    I reluctantly woke to orange rays of light passing through gaps in the shuttered window. They highlighted floating particles sluggishly carried by nearly still air. Damp, musty, and painfully heavy, the fetid odors infested every breath of the choked atmosphere.


    From the concrete forest surrounding this oasis of stiflingly silent stillness, trickled the familiar symphony of Night City. Roaring CHOOH2 engines aggressively revved as car speakers rumbled and blared ¡ª it was the mating calls of every young gonk with a bit of money showing off his fresh new ride. Occasional gunshots initiated minutes-long shootouts ¡ª signaling the start of yet another fight for territory between the Tiger Claws and Maelstrom.


    And of course, it was impossible to miss the omnipresent sweet words of overlapping ads, ever seeking to separate you from your eddies. Corporate interests always reigned supreme in the war for auditory supremacy; just as they did with everything else.


    A fly buzzed with erratic purpose through the room, eventually deciding to land on the crusty mess of dried blood on my face. I swatted it away, grimacing as I fully awoke to the tortuous reality that had patiently awaited my return to consciousness.


    With my return, came the blinding agony radiating from my eye and ankle as they forcefully asserted their dominant presence. My ankle was hugely swollen and hot to the touch. Every time I tried to move it, sharp shooting pain erupted from the damaged joint. All the walking and fighting had definitely made it worse.


    There was one bright note in the panoply of painful injuries. With the constant use of MaxDoc healing and the lack of further major damage, my ribs were feeling much better. Thankfully, the fall yesterday during the fight had been on the uninjured side.


    Unfortunately, that small bit of progress didn¡¯t help to make me feel all that optimistic. My face, still covered in dried blood from when it was smashed with the gun last night, grimaced as I thought of what was to come. A painful, difficult day lay ahead of me.


    With a heavy sigh, I took a hit of ¡®Dorph. The inhaler wheezed out an anemic puff of the drug ¡ª just barely enough to get the job done. I gave it an experimental shake. Empty.


    Fuck. Well, I¡¯ll probably find some more in here. And hopefully, I¡¯ll also find enough eddies to get my eye taken care of. Then I won¡¯t need to keep taking it. I just hope my ankle will heal up enough to be usable if I simply stay off it for a while.


    I took another dose from the MaxDoc before I got up and started my search. The building had acquired a new aroma; fresh gore added a nicely nauseating note to the existing satanic stench. Yesterday, I¡¯d been too focused on clearing the place of people to do a detailed inspection. As I went through the place, digging through pockets and excavating dark, hidden spaces, I found a decent pile of drugs, some liquor, a few guns, but very little money.


    Mostly, I found stims, hallucinogens, and unidentifiable powders in colorful bags. But in my search, I did come across some more interesting finds. I found a Black Lace inhaler in the pocket of the guy with knock-off mantis arms from last night. It had a single hit left. That, I would save for an emergency. Even more interesting, hidden under a long dead, rotting body, I discovered something very strange ¡ª a small baggie of straight medical Fentapam.


    It has a fucking Biotechnica logo on the bag! Why is this here?!


    That was some seriously dangerous stuff ¡ª even cut with a bunch of filler, it was so potent that taking just slightly too much would kill you outright. Normally, when a dealer got some, they just cut a tiny bit into something else to give it an extra deadly kick. I had no idea how much this was worth, but there was no way it belonged in a place like this.


    Carefully, I put that aside. It could be absorbed through the skin and I really didn¡¯t feel like dying today. I did end up finding two partially full ¡®Dorph inhalers, but they weren¡¯t as common as the other stuff. ¡®Dorph was a bit too useful and expensive for the people who¡¯d lived here. Stims, hallucinogens, and random experimental designer drugs were just plain cheap.


    During my earlier search, I found a room with a unique feature on the bottom floor and decided to use it as my hideout. The room had a small hole in the wall, made by who knows what, that led all the way outside through the drywall and exterior concrete. It was just barely big enough for me to fit through ¡ª exactly what I¡¯d been looking for ¡ª an easily hidden entrance that adults wouldn¡¯t be able to enter.


    I gathered everything there and looked down at the pile of stuff I¡¯d collected: 53 eddies, which, added to what I already had, left me at a bit over 100. A large number of empty cans and bottles to use for noise traps. Two radios. One damaged Braindance rig. Four Slaught-O-Matics, which were basically worthless and only useful as a last resort. One Nue that was clearly still functional. One rusted DR-5 Nova revolver. One dented Carnage shotgun. Several knives, a couple of which were actually still sharp. A few sodas. A couple of bottles of alcohol. And finally, lots of drugs.


    If I sell the guns that should get me enough for my eye. Not enough to buy some optics to replace it though. Or for someone to take a look at my ankle.


    I¡¯ve got a good amount of drugs. Can I sell them? Ehh¡­ I don¡¯t think so. Too weak. Someone will just take them from me. Also, I don¡¯t feel like being killed by one of the gangs for dealing on their turf.


    Alright, how about just trading the drugs right to a Ripperdoc for the work? No middle step. There are a couple that might agree to that, especially with the Fentapam. Fingers or Doc would do it I think.


    God, I really don¡¯t want either of them to work on me. I¡¯d get the work done, but who knows how I¡¯d feel in six months. Also, getting to them would be a pain. They¡¯re pretty far and I¡¯m not going to get on the maglev unless I have to. Too dangerous for someone who looks as weak and low class as me.


    What else do I have? A building no one wants, trash, some dead bodies¡­ not much else. Hmm¡­


    That one guy did have some shitty mantis arms and a couple of them had optics. Maybe I could try stealing their cyberware? I¡¯ll probably break some since I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing though. Also, selling the cyberware might be a little tricky. I don¡¯t want people thinking I¡¯m a scav.


    Well, I don¡¯t have to sell it. I can just chip it¡­ Yeah. Okay. Alright, I¡¯m going to see what I can get, but I¡¯m not going to try to sell it right now. The main goal is to try to get one of those optics without breaking it.


    But first, before I work on that, I need to set up some sound traps to let me know if anyone gets in the building.


    I gathered several of the empty liquor bottles and soda cans and wrapped them up in my jacket. Then, I cut up a stained, nasty-smelling sheet into strips with one of the knives and placed that in my jacket as well. With all that in hand, I limped my way over to the front doors. The front doors swung inward and opened into a small front reception. They didn¡¯t spring for sliding doors here. On either side of the doors, stood drywall covered in badly peeling wallpaper and several bullet holes.


    After setting everything down, I pulled out the strips of cloth and tied them all together, end to end. Then, I carefully poked holes through each of the cans and threaded the cloth rope through them. Once done threading them, I took one end of the rope and pinned it to the drywall using one of the duller knives. To do so, I first removed the six rounds from the revolver and drove in the knife using the butt as a hammer. Then, I did the same thing to the other end of the rope. The cloth was old and threadbare. It would rip off the knives if pulled on with just a bit of force.


    Now that it was strung across in front of the doors, anyone who tried to enter would cause the entire thing to fall and clatter loudly to the floor. There was also no good way to remove it without making a bunch of noise even if you knew it was there.


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    I took the empty liquor bottles and smashed them all over the ground right in front of the door. It may have been a simple trap, but it was nearly impossible to silently walk over broken glass shattered on concrete. Unless, of course, you had special cyberware like Lynx Paws.


    Done with the front door, I went back to my room and gathered more cans and bottles from my collection. I took it all to the back door that I¡¯d originally entered through. Since I didn¡¯t have another sheet, I decided to make strips out of a pair of blood-stained pants and use that for the rope. Then, I repeated the same process I used for the front door ¡ª a rope of cans across the door and broken glass scattered in front of it.


    I had an idea to make a motion sensor using the radios and what was left of the BD rig, but this was good enough for now and I had other things to get done today; including, hopefully getting my eye replaced. With that in mind and some basic noise traps set up, I set about trying to get myself an optic.


    I grabbed the sharpest knife from my collection and went to one of the bodies that had optics chipped. Three of the corpses had optics, so I had six chances. After the first attempt, I knew that trying to dig it out from the socket directly wasn¡¯t going to work. Sticking the knife in the side to leverage it out bent the metal of the cyberware and ripping it out without properly disconnecting whatever it was attached to destroyed the delicate machine¡¯s casing and internals.


    I grabbed the revolver to use as a hammer again. It was relatively small and pretty heavy. With it, I bashed in the side of the eye socket, covering the handle with sticky coagulated blood. The crack of bone echoed out through the empty room, adding to the muffled sounds coming from outside.


    I ignored all of that and continued. Unfortunately, this new attempt still damaged the cyberware. Looking over what I managed to retrieve, I saw that the optic had a semi-detached outer casing that was somehow attached to the inside of the socket. After further studying the damage, I guessed the casing held the implant in place, allowing the internal portion to move freely, so the user could shift their gaze.


    On the next attempt using this method, I tried cutting off all the skin, muscle, and fat cushioning the area first, so I could hit less hard and hopefully be more precise. It covered the blade and much of my hands in gore, but I got it done. To my relief, that seemed to work. Without all that in the way, I managed to hit just hard enough to break the bone without damaging the optic beneath it.


    With care, I removed the bloody shards of bone and tried not to cut myself on the jagged broken pieces. Who knew what sort of diseases this person had. It took a while as I ended up needing to break some more of the bones in the face and socket to get at it. Eventually, I came away with an optic that I believed should be fully functional. But, since I wasn¡¯t sure, I removed one more just in case. That left two optics unscavenged. If it turned out that the method I was using was irreparably damaging the implants I would have two more chances.


    Using some clear alcohol I¡¯d found, I cleaned off the optics, wrapped them in a spare shirt, and tucked them inside my pack. I was absolutely covered in blood, dirt, and grime. Unfortunately, there was little I could do about it at the moment since I was without a source of running water. With a sigh, I continued getting everything together. The revolver was a pretty small gun and I could actually hide it in the inside pocket of my jacket. All the other valuable guns, I loaded into my pack. The Ticon and Nue went in with no problem. The Carnage however was way too long to fit. So, I wrapped it in some ripped-up shirts and shoved it in barrel first, leaving half of it poking out the top. Since it was wrapped up, it wasn¡¯t immediately obvious what it was.


    I gave the pack a test lift. It was quite heavy, but I thought I could probably still carry it. I looked down at my ankle though. It was massively swollen, stiff, and mostly unresponsive when I attempted to move it. Every time I took a step I could feel something grinding. I couldn¡¯t feel the pain though.


    This trip is going to make my ankle so much worse. I¡¯m going to need to chip something to replace it at some point, won¡¯t I?


    Fuck.


    Well, let''s see if I can¡¯t rig up a crutch or something. I don¡¯t have the eddies to deal with both my ankle and my eye.


    Thinking back to my search earlier, I went to the room filled with trash near where I first entered the building. Inside, found a broom with a hollow metal handle bent near the tip and a head missing about half its bristles. I pulled it out and carried it back over to my room.


    After roughly measuring how long I needed it to be, I decided to just shoot it with the Nova revolver to remove the part I didn¡¯t need. I loaded a single round and gave it a try. It worked.


    Now I had a jagged metal end that I was going to be pressing into concrete as I walked. That was going to be loud, which was a problem since I didn¡¯t want to attract attention. Also, it would probably slip pretty easily. So, I used the revolver as a hammer again to smash metal shards flat and bend them in. The dense plastic of the handle, already dented, had earned some new gouges. Next, I grabbed a flip-flop that was falling apart off of one of the dead bodies and stripped off the flexible rubber sole.


    Now I needed a way to attach it. I didn¡¯t have any tape, but I did have shoe laces. I tried just tying it on as is, but it made the tip heavy and it moved around quite a bit. It felt like it could slip off at any moment. So, I untied it and started cutting off bits of rubber trying to shape it into something more suitable. I carved it into the shape of a lowercase ¡°t¡± with the horizontal line vertically centered and vertically widened. When I tried tying it on again, it went much better. The wider portion of the ¡°t¡± covered the tip and a bit up the sides of the handle. The rest, which was roughly the same width as the diameter of the handle, went further up and was much easier to firmly tie on.


    Looking at the laces, I had another idea. If I wanted to make extra sure that it wouldn¡¯t slip off I could make holes in the handle and the rubber, then thread shoelaces through them. Normally, this wouldn¡¯t work since having regular laces rub against roughly punched metal holes would quickly wear them down to nothing and cut them apart. However, among the laces I¡¯d found, there was a set that had been attached to some industrial work boots. They were made of Duraweave, a synthetic, malleable plastic weave that was resistant to nearly all wear and tear. With those, I could make it work.


    After removing everything, I tied a single lace around the handle near the tip and used it as a guide to make deep scratches on either side, marking where to make the holes. Then, I tied the sole onto the handle, estimating the placement using the same lace as a guide. After untying the sole, I slid the lace up and repeated the process. These would be the only holes since I didn¡¯t want to weaken the structure to the point where it would break or bend under my weight.


    Now I needed to make the holes in both the sole and handle. I grabbed a dull knife with a relatively narrow blade and a thin unbroken tip. After carefully placing the tip against the handle, I raised my trusty DR-5 Nova ¡°hammer¡± and made a timid strike, worried that I might seriously damage the handle.


    The blade bent the hollow tube a bit but failed to penetrate ¡ª sliding off the handle and into the concrete floor, making a painful screech. Thankfully, the point of the blade didn¡¯t break. I then remembered I had a portion of the handle I¡¯d shot off earlier that I could use to practice. So, I grabbed that and went to work. I did have to get a different blade after the tip of the first one eventually broke. Thankfully, I eventually got the process down and could reliably make holes that were just about the right size. I then proceeded to do exactly that for the actual crutch.


    Once that was done, I used one of the few sharp knives to carve small holes into the rubber. It wasn¡¯t too difficult since the sole was so worn down. Now it was time to put it all together. The holes in the rubber didn¡¯t line up perfectly with those in the handle, but with a bit more carving, I made it work. Then, I threaded the Duraweave laces through and tied it all tightly together, wrapping multiple laces around it numerous times. The laces wrapped around it so completely that only slivers of the rubber were visible above the tip.


    I gave it a test. The tip worked pretty much as well as I could have hoped for. The head of the broom wasn¡¯t great, but I thought I could improve it without too much work. I just pulled some of the cleanest clothes off the least disgusting dead bodies and wrapped them around the middle of the head, holding the remaining bristles separated and adding some padding.


    After giving it another test, I decided it worked well enough. Now that I was done, I realized how tired, sweaty, thirsty, and hungry I was. I had once again gotten so absorbed working on a project that I had completely lost track of time. Since I had closed all the windows on the bottom floor I went to an open window on the second floor and I looked out at the sun. I had spent well over half the day working on my crutch and it was already midafternoon.


    Fuck.


    The ''Dorph had kept the pain at bay while I worked, but now that I wasn¡¯t so focused, I could already feel the insistent sensations creeping back in. I limped to my room using the newly made crutch and grabbed one of the ¡®Dorph inhalers. I took another hit, banishing the pain back into its drug-fueled cage. From the small pile of sodas, I pulled out a NiCola Blue and cracked it open. The cloying artificial taste, so saccharine sweet it was almost painful, flooded my mouth, tingling with carbonation as it made its way down my throat, completing its journey to sate my thirst.


    I carried my drink up to the window and looked out at the dirty concrete and smog-filled sky. As I drank, I tried to take advantage of the brief opportunity to relax. Unfortunately, my brain didn¡¯t let me.


    I get distracted so god damn easy. It''s already so late. I really need to get those guns sold and one of those optics chipped. The pain from my eye is just way too much to deal with without ¡®Dorph. Fuck, I really don¡¯t want to get hooked and I really really don¡¯t want to become like the people who lived here.


    With a sigh, I chugged down the last of the soda and tossed the can out the window.


    Well, I better start moving.

 Chapter 5

    When I squeezed my way through the hole in the wall I had to push my backpack through first, it was so tight. Once outside and loaded back up, crutch in hand, I started limping my way back to Straight Shooters to sell my looted guns. The late afternoon sun struggled to shine through the smog, coloring it a dusky orange. With every other step, the tip of my homemade crutch made a muffled hollow thunk as it hit the stained concrete. I avoided the oil-slicked puddles and weaved with clumsy care between pedestrians ¡ª men and women distracted by vids played on optical cyberware, the images invisible to all but them.


    I walked past one of the ubiquitous Speed Loans ads with the ever-present tagline, ¡°In Your Account In Seconds¡± claiming you could get one with an APR as low as 31.1 percent. It was closely followed a few steps later with a commercial for Watson Whore, the reality show so graphic and extreme it was used for stress relief citywide. As I hobbled, passing by moaning and gyrating men and women, flashing and mesmerizing colors, seductive and enticing offers, it all filtered into meaningless noise that intruded and slithered into my mind unnoticed and unforgettable. It was just another stretch of dirty, trash-strewn streets, indistinguishable from any other.


    I stepped into the Kabuki Roundabout and meekly moved with the crowd, dancing through the flocks drawn by stall owners yelling in Mandarin and broken English, hounded by watchful suspicious gazes. With stumbling steps steadily progressing me towards my goal, I eventually entered the air-conditioned haven of handheld death that was Straight Shooters. The same man as last time stood at the counter.


    He looked at my stuffed pack, makeshift crutch, and my general state and gruffly asked, ¡°Well, I guess the stuff you bought was put to good use, huh?¡±


    I just nodded silently in response and took off my pack to place on the ground. With care, I pulled out the Carnage shotgun and Nue pistol and placed them on the counter.


    ¡°How much can I get for these?¡±


    The man¡¯s dark eyes scanned the two guns.


    ¡°Hmm¡­ Give me a moment. I need to look them over.¡±


    He carefully picked up each of the guns, cleared the chambers, and removed the mag from the Nue and the remaining shells from the Carnage. Then he checked the action on each as he dry-fired them. Lastly, he pulled out a small flashlight and shined it down the barrels as he looked down through them.


    Once done, he placed them back on the counter and looked up at me, ¡°They¡¯re both in pretty bad condition, but they seem functional, so I can give you an estimate. Budget Arms is never worth much, but the Nue is much more valuable. It''s a big reliable, high quality gun chambered in 10mm. Quite popular among those with a bit of augmentation or the muscles to handle the recoil¡­ Or, those just trying to compensate for something¡­¡±


    He looked up at me with a smirk and paused as though realizing something.


    I didn¡¯t get it.


    He coughed awkwardly and continued, ¡°Anyways, it''s popular and I can get you probably 400 eddies for it despite its condition.¡±


    I just nodded quietly.


    As he grabbed the mag for the Nue and went to put it back in he paused. He was looking down at the ammo in it. With a whistle, he asked, ¡°You got any more of this ammo?¡±


    I shook my head, ¡°What is it?¡±


    I remembered the massive holes it made during the fight yesterday.


    ¡°10mm SafeShot. Police issue. Weird to see it in a gun this poorly taken care of.¡±


    I cocked my head in confusion.


    He noticed and explained further, ¡°SafeShot is just GEL-Core marketed for police forces since in .45 ACP it doesn¡¯t over penetrate. Have you heard of GEL-Core?¡±


    I shrugged, ¡°I¡¯ve heard that it costs a scopload of eddies, but that''s it.¡±


    He nodded and pulled a round out of the mag. It had a blue stripe around the base.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s true. The Arasaka trademark and proprietary design cause that. The rounds have a highly compressed metallic gel core and a unique shell. It holds just long enough to penetrate soft targets before fragmenting. This releases the gel inside the target where it explosively expands and nearly instantly hardens. The round dumps nearly all its kinetic energy into the target and usually only barely makes it through. Both the explosive expansion of the gel and the efficient transfer of energy make it an extremely deadly round that won¡¯t hurt anyone behind the target.¡±


    After a brief pause, he glanced up at me then back down to the round in his hand and continued, ¡°That¡¯s for .45 ACP though. It¡¯s a bigger, slower bullet and what¡¯s almost always used. More gel and almost perfect energy transfer. 10 millimeter on the other hand is much more rare. It¡¯s a smaller bullet that travels much faster and if you look at the tip¡­¡±


    He pointed to a darker bit of metal, ¡°That¡¯s a super dense alloy on the tip that allows for a small degree of armor penetration. This is a round designed to deal maximum damage that''s not worried about overpenetration. The kick from a 10mm is also a bit much for the average unaugmented officer. These rounds are normally used by corporate security, MaxTac, and other high-end forces.¡±


    He gave me a searching look, ¡°Where on earth did you find these?¡±


    I shuffled uncomfortably and shifted my gaze away from his.


    ¡°Well, whatever¡¯s going on you¡¯re going to want to stay far away from the type of people who use this. It''s going to be nothing but trouble. Trust me.¡±


    I nodded and looked at the ground thinking hard.


    Why the fuck did some nobody at a random worthless drug den have rare expensive ammo? And that fentapam I found was even weirder. I may need to search the place a bit carefully when I get the time.


    ¡°Alright, the shotgun is a piece of shit. It might fire alright for a couple shots, but it¡¯s going to jam. I¡¯m not going to be reselling it and I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m even going to use it for parts. I can give you 20 eddies for it since there are a couple usable parts I might be able to reuse.¡±


    I would¡¯ve grimaced if I could.


    ¡°The Nue just has some rust and a couple dents. With a bit of cleaning and some oil, it¡¯ll be in perfect working order. So, yeah, I can give you 400 for it.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t as much as I¡¯d been hoping for, but it should be enough for my eye. I could try selling the beat-up Nova in my jacket pocket but it was almost as worthless as the Carnage. It also made a pretty good hammer.


    ¡°How about the SafeShot ammo? Can I get anything for that?¡±


    He gave a small shake of his head and a little wry smile, ¡°If you had a box of it sure, but all you¡¯ve got is half a magazine.¡±


    He looked me up and down again and after a moment sighed, ¡°I can give you five eddies for them. Here you go, 425 eddies.¡±


    I gave a small nod of thanks as he handed me the small stack of worn cloth-like bills. The synthetic material of the bills was damage-resistant, but had, nevertheless, been inexorably eroded by thousands of hands over the years.


    I stuffed the bills into my pocket and moved to leave the shop as quickly as I could. If anyone found out that, with what I¡¯d just gotten, I had over half a grand in my pocket, things would not end well for me. As I left, the man, whose name I still hadn¡¯t gotten, said, ¡°Hey kid, if you''re going to get chipped, go to Viktor. Trust me. He¡¯s a good ripper and you¡¯ll actually wake back up if you go under his knife.¡±


    I paused for a moment and nodded without looking back before stepping back out into the crowds.


    I¡¯d been thinking of saving some money and going to one of the cheaper Ripperdocs. Having something left over would¡¯ve been nice. My stomach grumbled. Money for decent food was always appreciated, but the guy had been right. The cheap docs with a bad rep would be willing to take the chance that no one would notice me disappearing. The more expensive places wouldn¡¯t risk damaging their rep for so little. I didn¡¯t know much about Viktor, just that he worked out of Little China behind some sort of weird new-age shop and that he had the respect of the older generation. He wasn¡¯t the cheapest around, but I should just be able to pay his prices.


    Fuck it. Viktor it is.


    As I limped my way out of Kabuki and into Little China things started to get a bit hazy. My head throbbed with every heartbeat. My stomach gnawed at itself, a hollow, twisting pain. I hadn¡¯t eaten since yesterday. My limbs felt like lead. I staggered into an out-of-the-way alley and carefully slid down the cold steel wall onto a stretch of ground with a minimum of human effluvia. Hidden by refuse and the shadows of the afternoon sun I closed my eyes and rested my head back against my pack.


    I just need to rest for a little bit. I¡¯ll get moving in a few minutes¡­ Just a few minutes¡­


    I woke up to the screeching honk of a cheap car racing past and the yelling of pedestrians. Startled, I reached for the Nova in my pocket and once I had it in hand I paused and let my mind catch up. Soon, the yelling calmed down and everything returned to the familiar chaotic susurrous of Night City sounds.


    The sunlight had nearly disappeared and artificial lights had started flicking on to illuminate the city in illustrious neon glory and glitter. Harsh shadows hid the gritty and distasteful and highlighted the glamorous nightlife the city was known for. The time to revel in duplicitous elicit activities and for hounds to hunt for prey was fast approaching.


    I staggered upright. The ¡®Dorph was fading again. With every hit, it felt like I needed more just for the high to last as long as the one before it.


    I¡¯m not too far from Viktor. Just 20 minutes and I should be there. The high should last long enough.


    With a groan, I got back to limping towards my destination.


    By the time I entered Misty¡¯s Esoterica night had fully fallen and the pain was truly starting to become unbearable again. As a gentle bell rang at my entry, a young woman with dirty blond hair down to her ears, heavy eye makeup, and black lipstick looked up from where she sat at the front counter shuffling a deck of tarot cards. Her eyes widened as she stood.


    ¡°Oh, you poor thing! Are you here for Viktor?¡±


    I paused at the actual care in her voice. That tone wasn¡¯t something I had heard in a long, long time. It hurt to hear. It made me want to cry ¡ª to break down and just let someone hold me.


    No. No. Sweet words, but nothing more. People don¡¯t just care. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    My hackles rose. I¡¯d seen other kids taken in by honeyed words and a compassionate ear before, only to be found in a dumpster behind an XBD studio a week later, mutilated and violated.


    With a guarded tone I answered, ¡°Yes, I am. He¡¯s behind the shop right?¡±


    At my tone, her eyes showed an understanding melancholy sadness. ¡°He is. Out the back and down the stairs.¡±


    Without responding I limped past her as she said softly, ¡°If at any point your heart has opened enough to share, I will be here to listen. Pain need not be born alone.¡±


    I heard her but didn¡¯t respond.


    A cat by the stairs meowed plaintively at me as passed. I limped carefully down the concrete stairs into a dark basement. As I made my way down and opened a metal grate I could hear an announcer¡¯s voice and the sounds of fists hitting flesh filtered through cheap tv speakers. A man¡¯s voice called out in disgusted response to the crowd¡¯s roar from the TV, ¡°Come on! Keep your hands up and lead with the jab! Just because you have gorilla arms and an armored skull doesn¡¯t mean you can forget technique!¡±


    At the sound of the grate opening the man turned from the TV to look at me. As the man, Viktor I could only assume, looked away to turn down the volume on the TV I took a quick scan of the place. The room wasn¡¯t fancy with a bunch of shiny chrome counters and corporate logos, but it was clean and the equipment looked well used and cared for. In an open part of the room sat a reclining medical chair illuminated by bright overhead lights.


    As he turned back to look at me, his large frame was backlit by a hot pink neon Spunky Monkey sign while the silenced TV cast flickering light on his weathered face, reflecting off his dark square-lensed sunglasses.


    His shaded eyes looked me over and his mouth twisted in a grimace, ¡°Shit kid. What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°Guy was angry and wanted to teach me a lesson.¡±


    After a moment¡¯s pause, with a heavy sigh, he leaned forward putting his elbows on his knees, and dragged his hand down over his face.


    ¡°Look kid, I can¡¯t do charity work. I¡¯d like to, but then I¡¯d have people coming in day and night and running me out of business. So, unless you can pay, the most I can do for you is send you back up to Misty for a kind ear to hear your troubles.¡±


    I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bit over half a grand in wrinkled bills. As I held them out I said, ¡°I have eddies, and I a bit of chrome in my pack waiting to be chipped.¡±


    With raised eyebrows, he nodded and gestured over to the illuminated chair, ¡°Well alright then. Go take a seat and pull out that chrome. And while you¡¯re doing that tell me what happened in a bit more detail. Also, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    I made my way painfully over to the chair and put down my pack to pull out the two optics. Leaving them unwrapped, sitting on top of my pack, I gingerly climbed up onto the chair and started talking in a flat tone.


    ¡°I¡¯m Niko. He punched me in the gut. Then he kicked me in the side while I was on the ground. I think something cracked. Then he stomped on my ankle while I was laying on the ground. It was crushed bad. Last he cut me with a knife through my eye and down my face.¡±


    While I talked Viktor was watching me move and using a hand tool to adjust some sort of mechanical apparatus that covered one of his hands. It attached at the wrist with articulating metal limbs following the top of the index and middle fingers and out a couple inches past their tips. The ends of the delicate limbs moved in a dance as he adjusted the device, graspers opening and closing, tool-like attachments spinning smoothly.


    ¡°When did this happen? And what have you taken to deal with it? You¡¯re not moving like you have a broken rib.¡±


    ¡°I was hurt the day before yesterday. I¡¯ve taken a hit from a MaxDoc every day. Three so far. And I¡¯ve been taking ¡®Dorph to deal with the pain.¡±


    Viktor paused his work and looked at me seriously, ¡°Niko, how much ¡®Dorph have you taken and when was your last hit?¡±


    ¡°Last hit was a bit after noon. I think I¡¯ve taken about two to two and a half full hits over the past couple days. I¡¯ve been trying to take half doses.¡±


    He looked at the crusted blood splattered all over me.


    ¡°How much of that blood is yours?¡±


    I paused for a moment, ¡°I don¡¯t think any of it is. I threw away the shirt I was wearing when I was cut.¡±


    He gave me a searching look, ¡°You know that ¡®Dorph doesn¡¯t just take away the pain and make you high right? It dampens empathy, reduces inhibitions, and numbs all negative feelings¡­ Including guilt and remorse. It reinforces behavior taken while high, building habits and reactions.¡±


    Uhh¡­ What? That¡¯s a lot of fancy words. I know taking ¡®Dorph fucks people up and is bad for you, but I needed it. Why is he telling me this?


    He must have seen that I didn¡¯t understand, ¡°It makes it easier to hurt people. It can make it feel good. If you hurt people when high, it makes it easier to hurt people again in the future even if you¡¯re not high.¡±


    I thought back over the last couple of days and how I¡¯d felt during and after my first two kills.


    I remembered the cold metal was heavy in my hands and the rain had soaked my clothes making them stick to my skin. Every three-round burst made my iron jump in my small hands, only just large enough to keep hold of it. The bodies were heavy and the blood and shit left behind stank. I was focused, tired, and wired. There was a bit of a thrill when I pulled the trigger, but that was all.


    It felt easy¡­ I guess that was the ¡®Dorph? But is that bad? From how he¡¯s saying it, he thinks it is. I mean, sure? But, hurting people seems to be working for me pretty good.


    I nodded in understanding, but tilted my head and looked at him with a bit of confusion in my eye, ¡°Umm¡­ Sure, but so what?¡±


    I shrugged and continued, ¡°Why is that bad? Everyone hurts each other. So what if it''s easier to hurt people in the future? Hurting other people is why I¡¯m able to pay you.¡±


    He closed his eyes for a moment in tired resignation, ¡°Alright kid, never mind. Just never mind.¡±


    With brisk professionalism, he continued, ¡°If you¡¯ve been taking hits of MaxDoc, you shouldn¡¯t need to worry about infection, but it can cause bones to heal wrong. Also, with all the ¡®Dorph you¡¯ve been taking, and I assume fighting you¡¯ve been doing¡­¡±


    He paused for a moment and looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.


    ¡°You¡¯ve probably been causing a lot of damage without realizing it, making your injuries worse. Lay down and let me take a look at you, then I¡¯ll check out those optics you brought.¡±


    He picked up the optics resting on my bag and placed them on a rolling tray before moving my bag out of the way. With sure movements, he pulled a small piece of machinery attached to a rolling stand over to the chair and passed it slowly down over my body. After looking over the display on the back of the device for a moment he frowned.


    ¡°The eye is a total wash. It¡¯ll have to be removed. The rest of your face I can heal up the rest of the way today for about 50 eddies, but the cut was so deep it even gouged your cheek and jaw bones. Without some pretty serious reconstruction, you¡¯re going to have some minor paralysis on that side and quite the scar. I can of course fix all of that, but it would cost around 300 eddies.


    I can see two ribs that have recently healed. They didn¡¯t heal perfect, but shouldn¡¯t cause any major issues. No major organ damage beyond the normal consequences of poor nutrition.¡±


    After that, he paused and looked up from the screen to meet my eyes, ¡°Your ankle is really bad. And I mean really bad. It looks like you had multiple fractures and severe ligament damage from the original injury. Your continued activity while on painkillers made the bone displacement even worse, further tore the ligaments, and ground down the cartilage. But really, the biggest problem has been caused by the MaxDoc constantly trying to heal it. You¡¯ve got severe malunion of the bones with bone spurs and extra callus formation. The talus bone was partially displaced and the bones around it broke and rehealed at a bad angle. Multiple ligaments now have permanent scarring, severely shortening them.¡±


    He paused for a moment before continuing, ¡°That was a lot of big words, but the point is that your ankle is fucked. Without ten plus grand of work, your ganic ankle will never work right again. You¡¯re going to have weakness, a limp, and chronic pain.¡±


    I blinked my one good eye, taking that in.


    ¡°Normally, I don¡¯t recommend children getting too much chrome. Especially full or partial limb replacements. But, if you want to walk without a limp again, getting a lower leg replacement is the cheapest short-term option. You¡¯ll need to get it replaced every six months to a year as you grow and you may develop a slight limp every time you start to outgrow it, but you¡¯ll be able to walk and run without pain.¡±


    I took a shuddering breath and asked, ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°For the cheapest version, 1200 eddies.¡±


    That¡¯s a lot. More than I have. I could get cheaper from Fingers or Doc. But they¡¯d happily sell me to scavs for the right price. And who knows if they¡¯d chip me with some junk chrome or fuck up the surgery. Also, Viktor hasn¡¯t looked at the chrome I brought.


    ¡°Okay, can you look at the optics and tell me what they¡¯re worth?¡±


    He nodded and moved over to the tray he¡¯d left them on. As he carefully looked them over and placed them in a blocky machine that beeped and whirred, I thought things over.


    I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d fucked it up that bad. I thought it was just a broken ankle. Other kids get stuff like that fixed up all the time for almost nothing¡­ I guess I get it though. They don¡¯t run around on it for days after getting hurt¡­ Well, shit.


    Viktor grunted, breaking me out of my introspection.


    ¡°Well, they¡¯re used and not in perfect condition, but should still work alright. They¡¯re not a high-end model. The Zetatech ClearSight? optics are marketed as¡­ let me see here¡­¡±


    He looked down at a datapad and said in a slightly sarcastic tone, ¡°An honest optic for Americans that deserve ClearSight?.¡±


    With a snort, he continued, ¡°What they really are, is cheap. They work, but not very well. The HUD is as simple as they get. No magnification and the resolution is pretty poor. New, the pair would be worth maybe 1800. Used, 1200 would be generous.¡±


    If I could get one implanted and trade him the other, I would almost have enough for the lower leg replacement. I could probably haggle for the difference and I had more cyberware waiting for me to remove back at the hotel.


    ¡°Can I trade you one and have you implant the other?¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°Sorry kid, these are made for adults¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t fit you. And that price? That was for a pair. A lone optic is worth way less than half.¡±


    I closed my eye and took another deep breath.


    ¡°Okay, can I trade them to you for chrome that will fit me?¡±


    He nodded and fiddled with the datapad in his hand, ¡°No problem. I¡¯ll give you the trade-in price of 1200 eddies. Here, I¡¯ve pulled up all the optics and limb replacements that will fit you. I¡¯ve marked what I have in stock and what I¡¯d need to order.¡±


    He passed me the datapad and I started to scroll through the options. The pain was making it hard to think, but I did my best to focus. Many of the options would expand or extend to one degree or another as the user grew. There were a staggering number of models, but almost all of them were obscenely expensive and would need to be ordered. The number of options that he had in stock was very short and there was only one optic and limb replacement that was in my price range. They were both made by the same manufacturer and part of the same line of products, Moore Technologies Promise? cybernetics. In the description, it said, ¡°The growing mind needs cyberware that grows with it. Our Promise? line of cyberware ensures that your child has exactly that.¡±


    Both the optic and the limb replacement claimed to be able to grow to accommodate a full year of growth. There was a lot of other technical information that sounded really impressive, but I couldn¡¯t understand most of it. And really, what mattered most was that I would be able to afford either the leg or the optic and possibly both. The limb replacement cost 1200, matching what he was giving me for the ClearSight optics. While a pair of Promise optics would cost 800.


    ¡°Hey Doc, how much for just one Promise optic? I can only see the price for two.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? Oh, let me see.¡±


    He reached out for the datapad and took a look.


    ¡°I can let you have it for 600. Really, most people are looking for a pair, so having a spare lying around isn¡¯t really that useful. Even if it¡¯s to replace an injured eye, most will just choose to replace both. The difference in visual quality between the two eyes can cause some disorientation until you can get used to it and it doesn¡¯t cost much more.¡±


    I nodded. I¡¯d replace both if I could afford it.


    ¡°I have 500 and 43 eddies and I can get you another pair of optics in less than a day. If you chip me with a full set of optics and the leg for what I have on me, I¡¯ll sell you the next pair for half price.¡±


    He gave me a look that was both considering and surprised. After a moment he responded, ¡°That''s a nice deal if I could trust you to come back. How about this; I¡¯ll chip you with both the leg and the one optic for what you have on you, but I¡¯ll hold onto the spare for a week. If you come back with another pair of optics I¡¯ll chip the second one for free and buy the optics you bring for half price. Sound good?¡±


    I nodded in agreement and held out the cash.


    He took the money and put it in his breast pocket. With a push, he rode his rolling stool out of sight. After a moment he came back holding a small domed plastic mask. As he began screwing a canister into a valve on the side of it he asked, ¡°Alright, I¡¯m going to put you under. When you wake up in a few hours you will be able to walk out of here without that crutch and see out that left eye again. Any last questions?¡±


    I shook my head. At that signal, he placed the mask over my face covering my nose and mouth before pressing something that caused the canister to hiss as it released its payload.


    ¡°Just breathe deeply¡­ Yep, just like that¡­ And you should start feeling real tired¡­ Just about¡­¡±

 Chapter 6

    My mind felt hazy as I slowly awoke, fog clouding my thoughts. Then all at once, everything cleared. There was an unfamiliar feeling of pressure in my eye. Opening them both, I was disoriented by a strange dissonance in my vision. Half of my view was oddly clear with heightened contrast and where it mixed with the view from my other eye the world felt off balance. The experience induced a bout of vertigo that set the world spinning. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and calmed myself, just focusing on the hum of the aircon.


    ¡°Takes some getting used to, huh? Just breathe. No rush.¡±


    Slowly, over the next ten minutes, I accustomed myself to the unfamiliar sensory input well enough to function without hurling. I still felt a bit ill.


    Viktor was looking through something on a datapad and looked up when he saw I had recovered enough to talk, ¡°Alright, try standing up and let me know if you notice any tingling or sharp pain from your new leg. Some minor soreness is fine.¡±


    I¡¯d been distracted by the overwhelming sensory feedback I¡¯d completely forgotten about my partial limb replacement. The fact that I hadn¡¯t even noticed the change was probably a good sign. I rolled my pant leg up to mid-thigh so I could see my new appendage.


    My knee down had been replaced by shiny chrome plates that vaguely followed natural human proportions. Hard lines following an artistic practicality had replaced natural curves. No longer did I have five toes. Now I had three chunks of metal that fit seamlessly next to each other creating the semblance of a single block. They slid smoothly vertically as I tried flexing them. All I could see of the ankle joint was just a round housing. All the internals for the limb were covered in protective plates. They felt cool and smooth to the touch as I traced out the hard lines with my fingertips. A fleeting feeling of emptiness coiled in my gut as I felt the metal that had replaced my leg, soon dismissed and forgotten. I was far too enthralled.


    As I moved to stand, I could tell that the limb was slightly heavier than before. I could feel the cool concrete under my artificial sole when I stood. Holding the chair for balance, I stood on one leg so I could take a look at the footplate. All along the sole were large durable black pads that, when touched with a finger, I could feel with impressive sensitivity. The rest of the limb lacked such sensitivity but still provided feedback that allowed accurate proprioception. It was fascinating.


    I wish I could take it apart.


    Where my flesh met chrome, there was a tenderness, but nothing unbearable. Someday, I¡¯d learn how Ripperdocs could cut limbs off a person and have them walk out hours later with nothing more than soreness. It was like magic.


    I looked over to Viktor and nodded, ¡°It feels preem doc.¡±


    ¡°Good. I expect to see you within a week with the optics you promised. I can give you a checkup then.¡±


    He held out an inhaler, ¡°Take one whiff of this now and another in an hour.¡±


    With a slight flinch back, I looked at him suspiciously.


    ¡°It''s a mild stim. Nothing too dangerous or addictive. Just helps with the side effects and boosts neurotransmission while the cyberware settles in.¡±


    I still hesitated. Taking a random drug from someone I didn¡¯t know was never a good idea. I still remembered what happened to Chen.


    His eyes were always bloodshot now and he was getting thinner with every passing day. He sat on a bare mattress in the corner of the base, head in his hands. One of the older guys, Roy, crouched in front of him whispering. I was able to get close enough to hear, ¡°...can¡¯t keep doing this choom. You¡¯ve got nothing left to sell.¡±


    A muffled snort came from Chen, ¡°I know. I fucking know.¡±


    ¡°Seriously choom, JoyToy pussy ain¡¯t worth this. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    A quiet sob, ¡°It¡¯s not about that¡­ Not anymore.¡±


    With a bit of annoyance, he asked, ¡°Then fuckin what?¡±


    After a long pause, he reluctantly muttered, ¡°Glitter.¡±


    Louder and with some real anger now he hissed, ¡°How the fuck did you get hooked on that scop?! I thought you knew better! What the fuck man?¡±


    Chen looked up from holding his head in his hands and with a bit of heat himself responded, ¡°It was that tricky JoyToy bitch! I didn¡¯t fucking know it was Glitter!¡­ I, I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    After a momentary pause, his face lost its fire and fell back into despair before putting his head back in his hands and continuing, ¡°I was having some trouble, you know¡­ getting it up¡­ and she offered me an inhaler. Said it was her special mix. Just some ¡®Dorph and a couple other things. Would get me hard as rock¡­ Fucking bitch¡­ She¡¯d mixed some Glitter in¡­ After I left, all I could think about was getting another hit¡­ I can¡¯t fucking stop.¡±


    Roy paused to think for a moment before speaking with quiet solemnity covering a dangerous coldness, ¡°What¡¯s her name? Where does she work? Jig-Jig street right?¡±


    Chen¡¯s hand snapped out and grabbed his shoulder, ¡°Don¡¯t choom. Just don¡¯t¡­ She works for the Claws.¡±


    With a thinned mouth he responded with, ¡°That just means it will have to be an accident.¡±


    Now pleading, ¡°Come on man, don¡¯t! Choom, please! I fucking need her. I don¡¯t have another dealer!¡±


    Roy smacked Chen¡¯s hand off his shoulder and backhanded him across the face before grabbing him by the collar and dragging him over to a closet. He threw the weakly struggling Chen in and locked the door behind him before striding out of the room, ignoring Chen¡¯s pleading and sobbing.Stolen story; please report.


    Chen disappeared into the streets a few weeks later, seeking his next fix. Roy ended up joining the Valentinos a couple of months after Chen disappeared.


    With an exasperated sigh, Victor said, ¡°Alright kid, look here. The generic name of the drug is nexafinil, brand name Celerex. You can see them printed on the side of the canister here.¡±


    He pointed at the side of the inhaler.


    ¡°And also, I¡¯ve got a rep to maintain here. Why would I do something to mess with it?¡±


    Reluctantly, I nodded and took the inhaler. He made a good point. I looked over the canister and saw the writing he was talking about. Still unwilling to take it without doing my own research, I gestured to his datapad, ¡°Let me use your datapad to look it up on the Net.¡±


    Viktor just looked at me for a moment before sighing again and reaching for his datapad, ¡°Fine. But you have to tell me your name. I don¡¯t want to keep calling you kid.¡±


    Holding the datapad in his hand, he waited. I rolled my eyes, a somewhat disorienting experience with my new eye.


    ¡°Niko Valen¡±


    He handed me the datapad. After a few minutes of searching, I found the drug along with an image of what an untampered canister looked like. Counterfeiting was common for almost all products. It looked like everything he said was true. After one last moment of hesitation, I took a hit from the inhaler and handed the datapad back to him.


    ¡°Alright, remember the dosage. One more whiff in an hour. No more.¡±


    He paused for a moment before adding, ¡°But, if you start experiencing withdrawal from the ¡®Dorph you can take one more tomorrow morning. Exhaustion, depression, weakness. It will help some. Don¡¯t take more than one dose a day after today. Each canister only has four doses, but you should be past the worst of it by the time you run out.¡±


    I nodded in understanding, thankful for the help, ¡°You¡¯re nova doc. I¡¯ll bring the optics.¡±


    Carefully, I put my left shoe back on over my new cybernetic limb, rolled down the pant leg, and picked up my pack. My balance and depth perception were slowly readjusting to the changes. With slow, deliberate steps I made my way out of Viktor¡¯s clinic.


    As I walked back through Misty¡¯s Esoterica the young woman saw me¡ªher face lighting up in a bright smile of seemingly genuine happiness.


    ¡°Oh, your energy is much healthier! Your aura is still a bit grey and angry, but I can tell you¡¯re doing much better! When you next come though you should sit down for an aura cleansing. Trust me, it''s great for your etheric resonance.¡±


    I just nodded slowly at the weird lady and made my way out of her store and onto the street. It was cool out and I pulled my worn oversized jacket tight around me. As the chilly night air breezed over my face and the straps of my pack dug into my shoulders, I marveled at my restored vision and the easy stride I was redeveloping. Before, my pain had consumed me whole whenever the ¡®Dorph had faded¡ªan obscured ache always at the edge of my awareness, just waiting to strike. Its absence now, the relief, was almost euphoric in comparison.


    The trip home was thankfully uneventful and by the time I made it back, I felt almost comfortable with my new cybernetics. Unfortunately, my good mood didn¡¯t last. Someone had entered the hotel. The back door was open and the rope of cans I¡¯d strung across the door was on the floor.


    My heart rate spiked and my palms grew sweaty as I carefully worked my way through the building with my Ticon searching for anyone, but found nothing other than overturned mattresses and things thrown into disarray. They had tried to get into my room but hadn¡¯t managed to make it in. I hadn¡¯t left anything important there other than the packet of fentapam which I¡¯d been scared to handle too much.


    Must have been a junkie looking for friends or drugs, but found the place full of dead bodies and made the uncommonly wise choice to leave. I crawled back into the building and reset my crude noise trap from the inside, before going to bed, doing my best to ignore the intrusive festering scents. The dead bodies weren¡¯t helping.


    The next day I was definitely feeling some withdrawals and took a dose of Celerex which helped a lot. I spent my morning pulling all of the bodies out of the building and towards a nearby dumpster. Having the new limb made a world of difference.


    Being able to walk makes life easier! Who would¡¯ve guessed?


    After an afternoon break to steal some RaMMMMen? from a Kabayan vending machine, I worked on removing the remaining optics from the two dead men. Hopefully, I¡¯d have some money soon so I could stop stealing from vending machines. I really didn¡¯t want a corp to notice me.


    As I was taking a break after removing the last optic, I looked down at my new limb and started thinking about how it managed to extend to match my growth while maintaining a decently high structural integrity. The easiest way I could think of was to have a telescoping core frame that would have to be manually adjusted to match growth. Viktor hadn¡¯t said anything about needing to do it manually or seeing him to make adjustments. Perhaps it automatically monitored weight distribution to make changes as needed by itself. But that would be prohibitively expensive. It would have to be constantly recording changes much like a biomonitor. Also, the telescoping design would add some not-insignificant mechanical vulnerabilities.


    I decided to find a net access point I could plug my cyberdeck into so I could look further into the specifications now that I wasn¡¯t nearly delirious from pain, exhaustion, and drug use.


    I ended up finding one still functioning in the back of what I could only guess was a store room near the back entrance that had been used as a dumping place for trash.


    Using my old cyberdeck, I jacked into the small port at the bottom of the blocky gray box. The small screen and entire interface weren¡¯t meant for searching through the net, but I made do. As I found the model my eyes bugged out. 13,500 Eurodollars. That was the market price. I quickly looked up my new optic. 7,000 Eurodollars.


    What the fuck?! Why? Why did he chip me with such fancy chrome? Why did he trick me?


    I looked further into the specs and compared it with other cyberware meant for children. It was actually at the low end of available cyberware. Not the bottom, but close. The extending was done automatically which wasn¡¯t the case with the lowest-end models. It did however use a telescoping core which was one the easiest and cheapest ways to do it and the structural integrity absolutely did have some issues.


    As I thought. If the main bar gets twisted hard, whatever is holding the nested sliding pieces in place could bend or break.


    I took a look at the optic. It had an outer casing made of a biocompatible shape-memory polymer that would expand when a small electrical current passed through it. If any space developed as the orbit grew larger a sensor would trigger the electrical current. As soon as no more space to grow was detected the sensor would quit triggering the current.


    I was a bit concerned about possible hacking. If someone overrode the limiters and forced the sensor to activate, that could be disastrous. It would crush the optic and break the surrounding bones as the pressure increased. There would probably be other ramifications as well.


    I think I might keep my ganic eye for now. When I stop growing I¡¯ll chip some preem optics, but for now¡­ I like knowing I¡¯ll be able to see even if the worst happens.


    Now, I needed to think about my debt to Viktor and why he didn¡¯t tell me.


    Even the cheapest decent chrome for kids cost way too much for me. From what I¡¯m seeing, there¡¯s stuff that doesn¡¯t grow with you that needs to be replaced monthly. I might¡¯ve been able to get some of that. But he didn¡¯t even offer it. Why? Why didn¡¯t he even tell me that I owed him? If he wanted something from me he¡¯d need to at least tell me. Why? I¡¯m not worth anything. Why trick me? Why give me this? He can¡¯t gain anything from me if he doesn¡¯t tell me¡­ Did he just feel bad for me?¡­ Whatever, scop this. I¡¯ll ask him when I bring the optics¡­ But I¡¯ll keep my iron in hand when we talk.

 Chapter 7

    As I walked into Misty¡¯s Esoterica, my eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and my hand gripped the iron inside my jacket pocket. The place smelled like a different incense than it had on my last visit. Just like the previous time, the lady started to smile welcomingly towards me before pausing as she saw me more clearly. Her eyes saddened and became slightly concerned. She eyed the hand inside my jacket pocket holding my piece.


    ¡°I need to talk to Viktor.¡±


    My childlike voice contained a hardness unsuited to it.


    She just nodded and gestured me through. I stalked my way through the back door and down the stairs to Viktor. When the old man turned to look at me as I entered, his face fell into what seemed like a well-worn visage of tired sadness.


    ¡°Yeah kid, what is it?¡±


    I eyed him, looking for the ill-hidden scheming and malicious intentions so common among those who seek to use children like me. With time, I¡¯d come to see them easily in the faces of adults. I may not like people or want to spend time with them, but I wasn¡¯t stupid. I watched. I saw other kids disappear after talking to the wrong person, after being taken in by bad debts and honeyed words. Their faces¡ªtheir eyes almost always gave it away. Even if their faces and words masterfully hid their covetousness, maliciousness, and other ill intentions, the cold eyes would give them away. Almost every time.


    I saw nothing in Viktor that twigged my highly tuned senses. I didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Viktor raised a silent, questioning eyebrow.


    ¡°Why did you lie to me? Why did you chip me with ware I can¡¯t pay for? What do you want?¡±


    He sighed and dragged a hand down over his face, the exact same affectation as the last time we talked.


    ¡°Kid. Niko. I didn¡¯t have anything cheaper in stock, and you didn¡¯t have the eddies for it. But you had something. Some cash, some trade. I can¡¯t be seen handing out charity. But if some random kid¡ªsome random kid who I don¡¯t expect to ever see again¡ªgets more than he paid for? And even he doesn¡¯t know? Then, no one else needs to know either. If I can make it a little more likely for a kid to live into his teens without drawing a crowd crying for free chrome, then I will.¡±


    It made some sense, but charity wasn¡¯t something I was familiar with. I¡¯d yet to experience more than a few eddies thrown to a crippled beggar. But I didn¡¯t like this debt hanging over my head.


    ¡°How much do I owe you?¡±


    ¡°Kid, just let it go. If you wanna pay me back, live long enough to come back in a few years. We can talk about it then.¡±


    I shook my head, ¡°No. How much?¡±


    With another sigh, he exasperatedly told me, ¡°20k.¡±


    I furrowed my brows, ¡°I read that they cost 20,500 together. What about the optics I gave you? Don¡¯t they pay for some of it?¡±


    Viktor shook his head, ¡°The optics you gave me were worthless. They weren¡¯t taken out properly using the internal release mechanism. The only reason the total isn¡¯t higher is because the chrome I chipped was preowned. Previous owners outgrew them. And you forgot surgery costs. I don¡¯t just charge the market price of cyberware and leave it there. I still need to make a profit. Anyways, I don¡¯t expect you to pay me that back anytime soon.¡±


    I just blinked for a moment, taking that in.


    He continued, ¡°Now, let go of that iron in your pocket and come over here so I can give you a checkup. I didn¡¯t expect you to actually show up again, but since you¡¯re here¡­¡±


    He gestured to the operating chair and turned to grab a datapad. I let go of the synthetic handle of the Nova, warmed by my hand and made my way over to the chair.


    ¡°Internal release mechanism? I brought two more pairs of optics.¡±


    He rolled over to me on his stool, holding a datapad. With his free hand¡ªcovered in that spindly mechanical glove¡ªhe brandished a tool extending from the end of his middle finger. It was a three-pronged gripper with a thin rod protruding from the center.


    ¡°Yeah kid, internal release mechanism,¡± he repeated. ¡°If you don¡¯t use a tool like this, the optic nerve and the whole sensor suite inside the socket won¡¯t be disengaged properly. See this rod here?¡± He tapped the thin metal piece. ¡°That slides into a lock in the optic¡¯s core, releasing the nerve interface and the hydraulic clamp on the eye¡¯s anchor points. If you just cut the nerve, you destroy the nerve connector, the data bus, and half the microcontrollers inside. Makes the thing completely worthless to resell or reinstall.¡±


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The tool whirred as it spun in place. He shrugged, ¡°Some low-end optics don¡¯t even have that mechanism, but anything big-name or half-decent is locked tight to the socket. Pull it out wrong, you break the sensor arrays, fry the onboard encryption, and leave half the muscle anchors behind. That means no one can reuse it¡ªnot for parts, not for anything¡ªexcept maybe scrap metal. So, if you scavenged those two pairs the same way¡­ well¡­¡±


    He set the tool aside and pulled up a file on his datapad, nodding at the operating chair. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s why what you brought in didn¡¯t knock a single eddie off your bill. Now sit down so I can see how your new ware¡¯s working out.¡±


    I sat down and asked, ¡°Can you show me how to do it right?¡±


    As he opened an exterior panel on my leg, he asked, ¡°Why? So you can go flatline some gonk and take his optics? I¡¯m not looking for scav money if that¡¯s how you¡¯re planning on paying me back.¡±


    I looked away and didn¡¯t answer immediately.


    After jacking a cable attached to his datapad into a port he¡¯d revealed, Viktor reached out and grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to look him in the eyes, ¡°Niko, if you go down that path, you¡¯re going to have a solo kick in your door before you know it. And no one will mourn the death of a scav.¡±


    I knew that, but I had no clean way to make money. I was a child with no rep, no money, and no connections. No one wanted me. I needed a way to make a living. Begging was dangerous and shit money. Beggars died daily to gangoons wanting to test out a new piece, to cops looking to reduce the homeless statistics in their area, to upstart gangs looking to initiate a new member. No one cared. If I had a connection in a gang, I could deal some Glitter or stims, but if I tried to do it alone, I¡¯d be killed by whatever gang that had claimed the turf I was dealing on.


    Stealing was the only option, and honestly, cyberware was some of the most valuable stuff I could get my hands on without pissing off the wrong people. Out of every four people, one would have some chrome, even among the poor and destitute. Flatlining someone no one cared about and pawning off their cyberware was the easiest way I could think of to make money quickly. It was dirty, despicable work reviled by society at large only undertaken by the desperate and amoral.


    I can find other ways. Door locks aren¡¯t that hard to get through. I¡¯ve cracked open so many rides for the Rats that I could get into a junker with my eyes closed. Apartments aren¡¯t much harder. I just won¡¯t have other people to choose my targets for me. If I steal from the wrong guy, I¡¯m fucked. But I guess I¡¯ve just been lazy. I haven¡¯t been thinking much. I mean I¡¯ve been pretty fucked up so it¡¯s alright, but I can case a target, right? I just need to watch ¡®em. But, I won¡¯t be making the sort of eddies I need to pay Viktor back like that. I guess if he won¡¯t call me on my debt, should I just let it go? Ahh, fuck. I don¡¯t know what to do. Is he going to hold this over me? Should I just walk away? What if he¡¯s for real? Fuck. If this isn¡¯t all just to get me in his debt or something, then he¡¯s helped me once already. Maybe I could at least learn what he¡¯s doing with my leg. Should I ask?


    I nodded and looked down, ¡°I¡­ I know¡­ I won¡¯t do it. I¡¯ll find something else. Can¡­ Can you show me what you¡¯re doing?¡±


    I didn¡¯t see it, but his eyes softened for a moment at my words, ¡°Sure kid, look here.¡±


    He moved the datapad so I could see, ¡°First off, I¡¯m running a quick diagnostic on the servo alignment. See those lines here?¡± He tapped a series of pulsing bars on the screen. ¡°They measure real-time stress distribution along your footplate. If any section¡¯s taking too much strain, it¡¯ll throw off your gait¡ªlead to a limp or worse.


    Next, I¡¯m checking the feedback loops for the neural interface.¡± He brushed a thumb across a glowing schematic of cables and connectors. ¡°We gotta make sure your nervous system is reading everything right¡ªtemperature, pressure, balance. If the connection¡¯s jittery or delayed, you might not feel a step till after you¡¯ve taken it. That¡¯s how ankles get twisted, and kids wind up back under my knife.¡±


    Then there¡¯s the power draw test.¡± Viktor pointed to a graph. ¡°This line here shows how much juice the limb¡¯s pulling compared to your baseline. If it spikes too high, we gotta calibrate, or you¡¯ll burn out the actuators.¡±


    I frowned slightly. I didn¡¯t know some of the words he used, but I thought I mostly understood. With some confusion, I pointed at a readout, ¡°I see the lines saying how much energy the actuators have,¡± I said the unfamiliar word carefully, ¡°but how are you making sure they each get the right amount? Don¡¯t they have to change whenever my weight shifts? Like, if I run or jump, wouldn¡¯t that need more energy than just walking?¡±


    Viktor¡¯s eyebrows raised in surprise, ¡°Yeah¡­ You¡¯re right, they do. Everything needs to be recalibrated on the fly to match your intentions. It¡¯s basically a constant balancing act moderated by a small microcontroller inside the limb. See, it checks your weight distribution, nerve impulses¡ªlike how hard or fast you¡¯re trying to move¡ªand environmental data.¡±


    He tapped a line of text on the screen. ¡°So if you take off running, the system sees the stronger signals from your neural interface, picks up the extra force when your foot hits the ground, and automatically ups the power to the actuators. If all that data doesn¡¯t line up or calibration¡¯s off, you¡¯ll end up tripping or blowing a servo. That¡¯s why we watch these readouts here,¡±¡ªhe pointed¡ª¡°to keep everything in sync. You just walk, run, or jump, and the limb adjusts itself, no second-guessing on your part. But if you push it too hard without proper calibration, you¡¯ll be back here for a full rebuild in no time.¡±


    I nodded hesitantly to show that I mostly understood. Again, I didn¡¯t understand several of the words he used, but I was familiar enough with how cyberware worked from my past tinkering to get the gist.


    Viktor looked at me thoughtfully, ¡°Kid, you¡¯ve spent some time messing around with cyberware, right?¡±


    My eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion as I answered with a drawn-out, ¡°Yeaaah?¡±


    ¡°Well, how about this? I could use a hand in here every now and then. If you come by, say, three days a week for the next six months, we call this debt you¡¯re insisting on cleared? What do you say?¡±


    He held out his hand to shake. I hesitated. Was he trying to work an angle? How was he going to use this against me? I couldn¡¯t think of anything particularly likely. Nevertheless, the allure of learning more and getting rid of my debt was just too tempting. I felt something unfamiliar in my chest, a lightness, a longing, a desperate hope suppressed by well-practiced skepticism and suspicion.


    Fuck it.


    I reached out. His large hand engulfed mine as we shook.

 Chapter 8

    So preem!


    Everything that I had been learning was so fascinating, I struggled to remember to eat or sleep. Viktor had given me a few data shards with the basics of anatomy, mathematics, electrical engineering, mechanical engineering, and cybernetics. Oh, and there was also one on proper safety protocols and procedures. And a dictionary.


    ¡°Kid! Focus!¡±


    Viktor¡¯s voice finally filtered through. I¡¯d been watching the procedure so intently, that I¡¯d stopped paying attention to anything else.


    ¡°Right, sorry!¡±


    I hurried over to the rolling tray of tools and grabbed the tissue retractor, a sleek, mechanical device designed to spread open muscle fibers without causing permanent damage. The patient was already sedated, their torso numbed with dermal anesthetics while Viktor worked on creating a pocket beneath the skin for the subdermal plating.


    The armor itself was a set of thin, flexible composite sheets, a layered weave of high-density carbon and reactive polymer plating that would harden on impact. The material was designed to adjust its flexibility in real time based on movement, ensuring it didn¡¯t interfere with mobility while still absorbing kinetic trauma.


    Viktor carefully slid the first armor plate into place beneath the skin over the pectoral muscles, his hands steady as he maneuvered the implant between major nerve clusters and the underlying vascular structure.


    ¡°Alright, stapler,¡± he muttered, reaching out his hand.


    I handed the fusion stapler to him, watching as the micro-welding tool emitted precise, controlled energy pulses to bond the plating to the fascia, ensuring it wouldn¡¯t shift or cause complications as the body healed.


    ¡°Pass me the mesh applicator,¡± Viktor instructed.


    I grabbed the regenerative mesh applicator, a pistol-like tool with a bio-polymer compound designed to encourage rapid cellular integration. Viktor sprayed a thin, blue-tinted layer of the mesh over the incision site, sealing the plating within the body like it had always been there.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s see if it holds up,¡± Viktor said, motioning toward the tactile response scanner.


    I activated the scanner, watching as the armor¡¯s internal micro-sensors pinged back live data. The plating flexed as intended.


    ¡°Good. No interference with muscle contractions, and no pinched nerves.¡± Viktor cracked his neck. ¡°Now, pass me the next panel. We¡¯ve got another 58 to go.¡±


    It took another three hours to finish.


    Viktor leaned back against the counter with a beer in hand looking over at the still-unconscious man. ¡°Now we just gotta hope this guy doesn¡¯t take a full-auto magdump to the chest before it all sets.¡±


    I just sat on the cool concrete floor, head leaning back against the wall, tired from the long procedure. This wasn¡¯t the first one I¡¯d helped with but it was definitely one of the longest. It had started to get boring about halfway through. We were just doing the same thing over and over again. On the other hand, for the last few plates, he did let me apply the regenerative mesh and that was certainly interesting. He¡¯d also let me take some of the cut-offs from when we were shaping the plates to fit. I couldn¡¯t wait to try experimenting with them.


    Viktor eyed me with a neutral expression. ¡°You did well today. Just like always¡­ Just try not to get distracted.¡±


    I nodded. I still didn¡¯t like to talk much if it didn¡¯t involve something interesting. But I was willing to talk. He¡¯d earned my trust as much as anyone could, as much as anyone ever had.


    He passed me 20 eddies. ¡°Three and a half hours of work and another 120 paid off towards your debt.¡±


    Viktor paid me 40 an hour but would keep all but 20 to pay towards my debt. He also got me a meal each time I worked with him and taught me his trade. Among other things.


    He looked at me with slightly narrowed eyes. ¡°So, how¡¯s the intro shard to calculus coming along?¡±


    I mumbled back absentmindedly, ¡°Oh, I finished it. It was interesting how some of the ideas could be applied to force production in cybernetics.¡±


    Viktor¡¯s eye twitched. He spoke with studied composure, ¡°Oh really? I didn¡¯t realize that was used as an example.¡±


    I was still thinking about the procedure and responded without much inflection, ¡°Ehh. It wasn¡¯t, but the intro shard to electrical engineering had a section on how capacitors store and release energy and the mechanical engineering shard had a bit on how different leverage arms contributed to peak velocity. The cybernetics shard said that you had to use an X-82a battery and appropriately rated micro wires if you want the 1st gen Militech Gorilla Arms to output the correct amount of force, but they didn¡¯t explain why. The specs for the different components was included though. So, with a bit of work, I managed to figure out the formula. It might be useful.¡±


    Viktor¡¯s twitch had gotten worse as I spoke. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Stiffly he replied, ¡°That¡¯s very impressive¡­¡±


    He sighed and dragged a hand down over his face before putting down his beer and pushing off the counter, ¡°I¡¯ll go grab you the shards on chemistry fundamentals, pharmacology and anesthesiology, and common drug protocols.¡±


    As he moved over to a drawer he continued, ¡°I¡¯d recommend working through chemistry before you give pharmacology and anesthesiology a try. You¡¯ll be missing a lot if you do it the other way around. I¡¯d just wait to give it to you until you next came in, but I suspect you¡¯ll finish chemistry before then and just come bother me for more if I don¡¯t give it to you now.¡±


    He pulled out three shards and handed them over to me, ¡°I know you won¡¯t find the common drug protocols as interesting, but I expect you to have finished it before you come over next Thursday.¡±


    I just grunted in acknowledgment.


    ¡°Niko¡­ Are you paying attention?¡±


    Irritatedly I replied, ¡°Yeah, yeah. I got it. Chemistry first. Common protocols before Thursday. I got it.¡±


    Vikor let out a long-suffering sigh.


    ¡°Good. Now get out of here and don¡¯t get yourself killed before next Thursday.¡±


    I snorted and nodded before shuffling out of the cool basement, looking down at the ground in front of me as I walked¡ªstill thinking about the operation.


    The data showed that the micro sensors were responding to nerve impulses not reacting to movement. We had to tune them precisely to respond the right way. It wasn¡¯t in the specs I saw, but they must be thoroughly hardened against outside currents or the plates would go slack at the smallest static shock.


    But from everything I¡¯ve seen and read so far¡­ pretty much all micro nerve sensors use the same default nerve signal template. If I could punch through the shielding, it should be possible to trick the plates into their flexible state. Flooding the system with a broad range of electrical impulses modulated to mimic most neuromuscular signals and matching the default nerve signal template should do the trick.


    I¡¯m not sure an EMP could get through the hardening though. After all, the system is entirely self-contained and doesn¡¯t have any weaknesses where it needs to communicate with other systems¡­


    So, a physical bypass then¡­


    A modified taser with increased projectile speed to punch into the plates could do the trick. It would need more darts to hit more plates though. Otherwise, what¡¯s the point? More like a shotgun then. Hmm¡­ It could work.


    I was woken from my stupor by the scent of artificial sandalwood incense and the dreamy crooning of Misty¡¯s voice, ¡°Another successful surgery then? I¡¯m glad.¡±


    As I looked up from the floor, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder.


    How does she always know how things went without me saying anything? It''s like some weird voodoo shit.


    She smiled softly, an oddly knowing look in her eyes, ¡°Your aura has improved with every person you help. Be careful your negative karma doesn¡¯t outweigh it.¡±


    I flinched slightly.


    Her airy tone drifted upon scented currents, settling on me like an unwelcome coat composed of unasked-for truths, ¡°The pursuit of self-determination is a wise and practical path, but beware that you do not walk it into the abyss that gazes back.¡±


    I blinked at her, trying to unravel her cryptic words.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Her enigmatic smile turned wry, ¡°Little one¡­ Niko, come sit and let me help you purify your chakras. And maybe have a cup of tea.¡±


    As I had with every other offer, I rejected it, ¡°Thanks, maybe next time.¡±


    She was just too weird.


    When I got home the place stank just as much as it had the day I¡¯d moved in. It was a deliberate choice. I wanted this place to be as unattractive as possible. If I cleaned it up and made it seem liveable, then the Tiger Claws or some small-time gang that kicked up to them would¡¯ve taken it. It was big enough to house 15 to 20 people. They could turn it into a whorehouse or glitter lab or any number of other things. But, if it smelled like the rotting remains of a dead junkie and looked like it could collapse any day, they¡¯d leave it for better options.


    So, my repairs had been as subtle as I could manage. The biggest danger wasn¡¯t the outside structure¡ªit was the interior ceiling giving way in the night and crushing me in my sleep. The second floor was already half collapsed and the sections that hadn¡¯t yet had plenty of cracks in the ceiling, with stress fractures along some of the remaining support beams.


    I had to fix them. Quietly. Carefully. Without making it obvious.


    I¡¯d scavenged rebar, metal rods, and steel pipes from old construction sites and abandoned buildings. Some of it was rusted, but rust didn¡¯t matter if it was thick enough to hold weight. The real trick was getting everything into place without drawing attention¡ªno loud drilling, no welding sparks lighting up the windows.


    Instead, I¡¯d hammered rebar pieces into weak spots manually, driving them into the cracks by hand or using a small, salvaged hydraulic press I¡¯d found in a junk pile. Whenever I needed something to hold two sections together, I¡¯d wedge in steel pipes cut to size, securing them with industrial-grade epoxy stolen from a supply stash in an old warehouse. It took longer than welding, but it was silent¡ªjust mix, apply, and wait.


    For the worst sections, I¡¯d used a car jack to shift sagging beams just enough to slide supports into place before letting gravity settle them back down. The trick was making sure they weren¡¯t visible¡ªif you looked up, all you¡¯d see was the same cracked concrete as before. I¡¯d stacked broken drywall, shattered tiles, and bent metal scraps over my work, keeping it looking like a ruin. As far as the gangs were concerned, this was still a worthless, half-collapsed husk. But for me, it was turning into something almost comfortable¡ªa safer hideout I could actually call home. But I knew better. The ceiling wouldn¡¯t crush me in my sleep, at least not yet.


    Before entering, I checked to see if anyone had visited today. Someone had the misfortune of doing so at least once or twice a week. I¡¯d gotten rid of the obvious noise traps and replaced them with a bit of debris piled on each side of the doors. It looked completely innocuous¡ªjust some crumpled-up cans or used inhalers or a piece of concrete. And that''s really all they were, but I could remember exactly what I¡¯d placed and where and how. You had to move at least some of the stuff to open the door and get in. Then I¡¯d know.


    I¡¯d not gotten rid of traps though, just moved them deeper inside where they¡¯d be less noticeable. I didn¡¯t want dead bodies littering the entranceways and getting people curious after all.


    Outside the front door, a crumpled NiCola Blue looked to have been kicked out of place by a passing boot. Peeking in through a crack in the exterior wall, I saw that a chunk of concrete had been pushed back by someone opening the door.


    Well, let¡¯s see what we caught today.


    My heart pounded slightly faster in anticipation as I followed the intruder¡¯s path toward the first tripwire trap. It was placed slightly down the hallway out of the foyer and away from prying eyes. I passed the dusty pockmarked plastic front desk and looked down the hallway.


    I¡¯d gotten two people this time¡ªa fat older man whose body odor was still noticeable even past the scent of his spilled bowels and a young Joytoy probably no older than sixteen. As I watched, I saw her move slightly.


    Huh, not dead yet. The fat guy must¡¯ve blocked most of the shrapnel.


    I pulled my modified Ticon from under my oversized jacket out of the custom holster I¡¯d made. The scrape of gun metal against hard plastic and tough synthetic fabric was loud in the near silent hallway. As I moved closer, I could hear a quiet gurgling moan with every shallow exhale from the small bloody body.


    She was absolutely covered in a sticky layer of blood and drywall dust. The two holes blown in the left and right walls at around chest height for an adult had showered an area of around twenty feet up and down the hall with the fine powder. Chunks of shrapnel were embedded in the walls, floor, and ceiling where they¡¯d missed their targets.


    The neon lights in the girl¡¯s transparent plastic coat shone with a now muted radiance as they struggled to advertise their body within despite the grimy coating. Her right arm was absolutely mangled and she had multiple wounds across that entire side of her body. A jagged laceration above her right eye had covered her face in blood. Her left eye flitted open at the sound of my approach. It was an unfocused and confused look she sent my way.


    I brought my iron to bear and placed my finger on the trigger then paused¡ªhesitating as Misty¡¯s words came to mind.


    Negative karma¡­ The abyss that gazes back¡­


    I slowly lowered my gun.


    Well, I guess this is a good opportunity to practice my surgical skills on a live body. If she manages to live¡­ I guess I¡¯ll figure out what to do then.


    I pulled out a Maxdoc and got her to take a hit before I searched her and the dead man for weapons. She had a foldout knife and, to my surprise, an A-22B Chao smart pistol in her purse. I¡¯d have to check her for a Smart Link. The man had an Overture revolver. I guessed he was big enough that he could probably handle the recoil. It should sell for a good price. I would never be able to actually use it.


    It was a bit of a struggle, but I managed to drag her out of the mess she¡¯d been lying in, past a second trap I disabled, and into the practice room without causing her too much pain. When she saw the contents of the room she started breathing faster and her eye started to roll in panic. Despite her concussed and heavily injured state she began frantically trying to move and her moaning got louder with an almost plaintive tone to it.


    I rolled my eyes, ¡°Oh, shut up! I¡¯m not a scav and I¡¯m not about to cut you up. Like these other guys.¡±


    I gestured at the two dismembered and dissected bodies on the other side of the room. One had started to really stink. I¡¯d need to dispose of it soon.


    Her eye rolled to look at the other side of the room. Almost as though she was saying, ¡°Oh yeah? What about all that?¡±


    There were a couple of desks lined up along the wall and some shelves bolted to the wall above them. Strewn across them were various pieces of cyberware in different states of disassembly and reconstruction.


    I waved my hand dismissively, ¡°I¡¯m no scav. I¡¯m not selling any of that. I¡¯m learning how to become a Ripperdoc. This is all just for¡­ experimentation¡­ And maybe for chipping myself."


    She looked at me in a way that seemed to say, ¡°I thought you said you weren¡¯t a scav.¡±


    I frowned at my soon-to-be patient, who I logically knew probably had no idea what was going on, and felt the need to explain myself, ¡°Hey, if you come barging into my home like a scopheaded gangoon, I¡¯m gonna defend myself.¡±


    I looked around the room and continued, ¡°And why should I let good practice materials go to waste? I¡¯m not going out looking for people and I¡¯m not selling what I take¡­ So yeah¡­ not a scav.¡±


    I nodded in satisfaction at my reasoning and looked back down at the girl. Her single visible eye had rolled up in her head and she¡¯d stopped moving.


    ¡°Shit!¡±


    I scrambled over to one of my desks. Moving quickly, I grabbed my surgical tools and my drug case before running back over to her. I pulled my cyberdeck out of my pocket, drew out its internal cable, and jacked it into the access port at the back of her neck.


    I let out a breath as the display on my deck started to fill with data on her vitals. She had a biomonitor¡ªabsolute bottom shelf scop, but it still worked.


    Her vitals showed she was still alive but fading quickly. The MaxDoc had slowed the bleeding but hadn¡¯t stopped it. Not yet. I needed to stop the bleeding¡ªboth external and¡ªI glanced at the display on my cyberdeck¡ªyes, internal as well. The wounds needed to be cleaned of the caked dust so I could see what I was doing. It looked like she had shrapnel in her torso I needed to remove.


    I snatched a squeeze bottle filled with sterile wash¡ªwell, as sterile as I could manage, courtesy of a half-used medical kit I¡¯d found a couple of weeks ago. I sprayed down her arm, watching red-tinged water mix with drywall dust and drip onto the cold concrete.


    My hands shook slightly with adrenaline as I reached for a small handheld clamp and a pulse-cauterizer¡ªtwo more items I''d scavenged and tinkered with. The pulse-cauterizer I¡¯d completely rebuilt.


    ¡°All right, let¡¯s see.¡± I used the clamp to part the ragged flesh near her right shoulder. A nasty piece of twisted metal jutted between muscles, oozing blood. ¡°Let¡¯s get that out¡­¡±


    The girl twitched, a broken whine slipping past her lips. I pressed the cauterizer close and felt the heat as blood vessel after blood vessel sealed. My stomach flipped at the smell of burning flesh, but I was used to worse and it wasn¡¯t my first time using the tool.


    Vitals on my ¡®deck still showed decreasing blood pressure. I cursed under my breath, rummaging for a coagulant spray I¡¯d thrown in my drug case. Found it. I shook it and sprayed the shimmering foam over a wide gash near her ribs. It foamed up, stopping the superficial bleeding.


    I switched angles, eyeing the wound on her side, and looked at the readings on the deck.


    Shrapnel embedded in the lower lung. Great.


    She¡¯d need serious reconstructive work¡ªstuff I barely knew how to do. But I could at least keep her from flatlining right now.


    ¡°Okay¡­ next, the big chunk.¡± I leaned forward, prying what looked like a twisted screw from her flank. It came free with a slick pop. She jolted, her eyelid fluttering wildly. The scanner beeped, warning of dropping O? levels.


    Damn it, I¡¯d nicked another vessel. The bleeding ramped up. I fired the cauterizer again, feeling the jolt of heat radiating through the tool into my hands.


    I¡¯d need to fix that.


    My deck readout showed stabilizing vitals¡ªa small victory, but she wasn¡¯t out of the woods.


    I used a synthetic suture patch around the wound, a quick-seal method I''d practiced on dead bodies. Better than leaving her wide open.


    For good measure, I pulled out a vial of Torvex, a broad-spectrum analgesic/sedative with mild anti-inflammatory effects, and inserted it into an auto-injector. The device was broken when Viktor gave it to me, but I¡¯d managed to repair it. I pulled the shard on common drug protocols out of my pocket and inserted it into the data port at the bottom of the cyberdeck. I quickly scanned the data shard for proper dosage protocols for Torvex. Once I found it, I estimated her weight and adjusted the dosage on the injector¡¯s display before pressing it to her neck. It let out a mechanical hiss as it delivered its payload. Her stiff body relaxed slightly.


    I took one last look at the deck. The internal bleed had slowed, the external gashes were sealed or clamped, and her breathing¡ªthough shallow¡ªwasn¡¯t as ragged. She should live an hour, maybe more, if I¡¯d done everything right.


    I collapsed onto my butt, panting. Sweat dripped down my temple, stinging my eyes. The reek of cauterized flesh, gore, and drying foam haze clung to the air.


    I grinned at her unconscious form, ¡°Well¡­ guess you¡¯re not dead yet.¡±


    I still wasn¡¯t sure if I¡¯d just saved her life or given her a slower death. But for now, at least, I¡¯d had one hell of a chance to practice.

 Chapter 9

    I was studying the chemistry shard Viktor gave me on a makeshift display I¡¯d constructed last week from a collection of discarded broken datapads I¡¯d scavenged from various dumpsters. It took some creative engineering to get them all synced despite their differing manufacturers, each with proprietary brand-name ports. The synced screens may not have been the prettiest, but the display was large and effective.


    ¡°A chemical reaction¡¯s rate is governed by the interplay of activation energy, reactant concentrations, and the overall energy profile of the system. In kinetic analysis, variations in temperature, pressure, and catalyst presence can significantly alter the collision frequency and orientation of molecules, thus affecting the speed at which products form. By manipulating these variables¡ªwithin acceptable thresholds¡ªone can direct the reaction toward slow, incremental conversion or a swift, high-energy transition.¡±


    I looked up at the ceiling as I considered applications I experienced every day from CHOOH2 to gunpowder and grenades. Then I considered the city¡¯s power grid and its sources. The solar power being gathered in orbit was in truth fueled by a massive exothermic reaction 93 million miles away. In local power plants, CHOOH2 was burned en masse, and fusion reactors tried their best to imitate the sun. Cars ran, industry turned, information flowed, and civilization and life itself survived due to the equations before me.


    An alert popped up in the top right of my display. Irritably, I dismissed it. I was busy.


    My mind spun onto less grand, but equally interesting applications. Various chemicals I¡¯d seen throughout the city ran through my mind along with the chemical formulas displayed on the packaging. Different combinations along with the resulting reactions and product, both with and without agitation, were quickly estimated as I took notes and made calculations on my cyberdeck via the large display. Soon, I had ideas for explosive combinations, along with a few sketched-out designs for shaped charges and time-release mechanisms for the reactants.


    Another alert popped up. Frustrated by repeated interruptions, I dismissed it, then disabled alerts entirely.


    I took a moment to regather my thoughts. The mechanism for introducing a fluid reactant needed to take into account fluid flow and mixing rates if I wanted to get the right reaction. Calculations took form in my notes next to different designs as I considered partial differentials and reactant dispersal rates. Reaction curves passed through my mind as I thought through derivatives of concentration over time.


    By the time I was done creating a design, sunlight was once more filtering into the room through the closed metal shutters. I now had the design for a shaped charge with a timed delay and variable power which could be made using only relatively easy to acquire chemicals. It would take a bit of work to make the two final reactants, but I was pretty sure I could do it. I should be able to use this to collapse the entrances to the building, leaving just the small hole in the wall and the windows which already had sturdy metal shutters.


    I stretched my hands over my head, trying to work out the crick in my neck. A flicker on one of the linked screens drew an irritated tsk. Now that I was done with the design, a malaise started to cast a shadow on my mind and body as my lack of sleep began to catch up with me.


    The sounds of the city filtered into the silent building, gunshots and sirens, advertisements, and roaring engines, broken only by the gentle rhythmic sounds of my breaths, secure in their solitude.


    Wait. Isn¡¯t there something missing?


    I remembered the alerts that I¡¯d dismissed, but my tired mind was slow to figure out what was wrong.


    Breaths¡­ I can only hear my own breaths¡­ Shit!


    I spun on my stool and looked at the girl lying on the floor unmoving. With hurried steps, I rushed over to her despite knowing what I¡¯d find.


    She was cold to the touch. No pulse.


    I looked at the alerts I¡¯d ignored. The first alert was from around five hours ago notifying me of increasing intracranial pressure. The second alert was from just over three hours ago letting me know she had gone into cardiac arrest. An intracranial bleed from her concussion had crushed her brain. I sat back on my heels and rubbed my face with both hands, frustrated with myself.


    Again! Fucking again!


    I got caught up working on something and ignored everything else¡­ Fucking hell!


    I closed my eyes and, with my palm, hit myself on the forehead with every word as I repeated a sentence I¡¯d said to myself many times before, ¡°PAY!¡±


    ¡°ATTENTION!¡±


    ¡°TO!¡±


    The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed loudly in the deathly quiet room.


    ¡°YOUR!¡±


    I just kept making stupid mistakes.


    ¡°ALERTS!¡±


    After a moment, having drained some of my rage, and now feeling more sad and resigned than anything, I softly hit myself once more on the forehead with my palm.


    Fuck.


    I sighed and looked back at the corpse while rubbing at the red mark I¡¯d made.


    Well¡­ Okay¡­ Alright¡­ Nothing I can do now¡­ Might as well make use of the body and cyberware¡­ Yeah.


    I started searching her for the cyberware her system had told me she had chipped, starting with the Smart Link. It was an implant that linked optic cyberware with the inbuilt guidance module in smart weapons. Together¡ªoptics, Smart Link, and guidance module¡ªthey allowed for accurate real-time target specification for the gyrojet propelled projectiles smart weapons fired.


    When I found it I paused in shock, which was quickly followed by angry self-flagellation and a sprinkling of panic. The implant was covered by a distinct tattoo. A Tiger Claw tattoo.


    Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Stupid scopheaded fuckwit! Why didn¡¯t I check her more thoroughly?! Dumb! Idiot! Why! It would¡¯ve taken only a second! Fuck!


    I ran my hands through my greasy brown hair and took a deep breath as I tried to calm down and focus.


    Alright, what¡¯re my options? It''s already been¡­


    I looked over at the time displayed on my interconnected screens.


    ¡­ Over eight hours since they died. The Claws are going to notice her disappearance soon and come looking. They¡¯ve got enough people in the area to figure out who she was with and where they went. I don¡¯t have much time.


    I walked over to one of my desks and grabbed my sonic bonesaw from the disorganized mess. The metallic casing was smeared with blood. As I continued to think, I started power walking to the big guy I¡¯d left in the hallway. Whatever I decided to do next, I¡¯d still need to cut him up eventually. He was way too big for me to drag.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Alright. Fine. Got to get rid of the bodies quick. Can¡¯t just throw them in the dumpster in the alley like normal. Too close and the traces of what I¡¯ve done to the bodies will be clear to anyone with quality optics.


    Acid? Could just pour them down the drain¡­ No. Hard to get and too slow.


    Fire? Again, hard to set up and too slow.


    I could try to frame it like Maelstrom killed them. But cutting up one of the bodies first will be pretty obvious even if I try to cover it up. And I really don¡¯t want to fuck with both the Maelstrom and the Claws. If either figure out that I was responsible for something like that¡­ Yeah, that would be bad.


    Could just throw them in a stolen car and set the auto drive to take them into the landfill in the Badlands. Just leave them there. If anyone manages to find them, it won¡¯t be for a long time. Maybe dump some CHOOH2 on the bodies and throw in a remote-detonated incendiary grenade.


    I kneeled down next to the body in the hall and started up the sonic saw. Its quiet hum thrummed through me, resonating discordantly in my skull. When I brought it down on the man¡¯s upper thigh¡ªit cut through with only the slightest pressure. I hadn¡¯t gotten around to fixing the delicate mechanism used to precisely tune its vibration frequency. After all, one of the main benefits of a sonic bone saw was that you could tune it to only cut through bone and nothing else. But really, that wasn¡¯t necessary for what I used it for anyway.


    Alright. Anything else?¡­ Eh, I need to make a decision quick, and sending them out to the Badlands should work well enough.


    I ignored the normal stenches associated with the dead with practiced ease as I worked. They barely even registered over the omnipresent noxious scents soaked into the building. Eventually, splattered with blood and other more odorous substances, I stood up from the now dismembered body. I changed into some clothes that were still dirty and stained, but at least not covered in blood.


    The process of getting the car was pretty simple. There were any number of junkers left in the assorted dark and dank abandoned places under overpasses and behind businesses of ill repute. A five-minute walk was all it took to find one. The Mahir Supron FS3 van was a cheap ugly whiny beast and that was just the general consensus for the car. This one in particular was missing a quarter of its plastic bumper. The paint along one side had scraped off in one long skid mark. Dents littered the exterior. One sideview mirror had been ducktaped back together and the other was entirely missing. It was perfect.


    I barely had to do anything to copy the key shard¡ªthe security was that bad. Within seconds of connecting with the system, I was the new owner. I hopped in and directed the auto drive standard in every vehicle to take me back to the hotel. Scents of cigarette smoke, spilled liquor, and rotting food hung heavily in the van''s stale air. The car¡¯s anemic engine whined as it struggled to get up to the speed limit. Honking vehicles whizzed past me as people ran red lights and narrowly avoided jaywalking pedestrians. Following the speed limit was almost a foreign concept. Really, for the most part, the cops only cared if you hit a pedestrian.


    I tapped my fingers against my thigh as I waited impatiently. The Claws could come looking any minute. My chest felt tight and my head pounded with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline turning stale. Every minute wasted was another minute closer to a painful death.


    It almost took longer to get back to the hotel than it had to find and klep the ride. Bumper-to-bumper traffic and the auto drive¡¯s insistence on following ALL road laws made it a slow and frustrating ride as it stopped at faulty stoplights and waited until absolutely everyone finished crossing the crosswalks. I had to override the auto drive programming multiple times. If you didn¡¯t start driving the endless flow of people would never stop crossing no matter what the light said.


    Once back, it took the better part of an hour to get the bodies into the van. By the time I was done, I was covered in blood and other fluids once more. The next step would probably get me covered in CHOOH2, so I¡¯d wait to change again. Thankfully, the small gas tank for the van was nearly full. I grabbed a dented gas can and a long rubber tube.


    I inserted one end of the tube into the tank and the other into the gas can. Just as I was about to start sucking on the tube to start the flow, as I¡¯d seen others do, I paused. My mind flung back to the physics shard,


    ¡°In a closed or partially enclosed system, fluid movement depends on differences in pressure. Whether we consider liquids in a pressurized container or gases in the atmosphere, fluids naturally move from regions of higher pressure to regions of lower pressure. This principle underlies numerous technological applications, from pneumatic tools to industrial pumping systems.¡±


    I had an idea. At a run, I reentered the hotel to grab a shorter section of rubber tubing and a rag. I put the shorter tube into the tank next to the longer one and packed the rag around them to make a seal. After blowing into the shorter one for a moment, CHOOH2 started flowing into the gas can. I grinned to myself.


    No gas in my mouth thank you very much.


    Once the can was nearly full I pulled the tube out of the tank. Lugging the heavy tank around was a pain, but I managed to cover the bodies well enough and only spilled on myself twice.


    Setting up the incendiary grenades took maybe 15 minutes. I decided to connect the detonation to the auto drive system. When the van arrived at its destination it would send a signal to activate the explosives. I would stay connected to the auto drive system through the net from the access point in the hotel and watch through the cameras attached to the van. That way I could override the auto drive as necessary and make sure it got out of the city. Once out of the city, it shouldn¡¯t have any problems getting to the landfill and I¡¯d stay connected the whole way if it had any issues. Still, I added a simple backup cell-activated remote detonator just in case.


    Before I sent it off I cleared out the metadata from the system so no one would be able to figure out where this car had been. With a deep breath I nodded to myself as I looked over the car and pressed the button on my cyberdeck to activate the auto drive. As it started to drive, I turned away, and walked with quick steps to the access point in the hotel. Jacking in, I watched on my cyberdeck as the Mahir made its way through the city, occasionally overriding the auto drive to get it moving again.


    The van reached the landfill with little incident. Just the normal passing gunfight, crashed and burnt-out cars, and the ever-present signs of inescapable poverty and advertisements for indulgence to distract from the pervasive despair. Out in the badlands, away from the chaotic neon facade of glitz and glamor covering Night City, it was quiet. The pretensions were stripped away in favor of the expansive desert and long strips of asphalt that ran out past the horizon. It was a different type of loneliness. In the city you were alone in the crowd; alone as a bag of meat indistinguishable from all the others; alone to be ground down by the uncaring gears of the bureaucratic machine and corporate interests. Out here, there was none of that.


    As it made its way into the landfill, the van¡¯s engine whined as it wound its way through the mountains of trash. All the detritus of a society consumed by endless consumption and indulgence lay piled and forgotten in this growing monument to the human condition. The van finally reached its destination near the center of the landfill and suddenly the connection cut out. Just in case something had gone wrong I activated the backup detonator, but I doubted it was necessary.


    It was done. The bodies were gone. Now I just needed to change out of these clothes and clean up the place¡ªprobably hide my gear and experiments too. It took a solid couple of hours. The whole time I waited with bated breath for the Claws to come looking. It was midafternoon by the time I was done.


    I started searching the net for places to get what I needed for the shaped charges as I waited in my experimentation room. The remote connection to the access point I¡¯d made was buggy and lagged but worked well enough for casual browsing. I was surrounded by various necessities crowded into the small room. All evidence of my presence beyond a few cameras and some deactivated traps had been moved into the room. The door had been blocked through the simple expedience of attaching a pipe clamp to either side of the door and sliding a pipe through. It was just a makeshift crossbar, but it would at least make it pretty difficult to get in. If it seemed like someone was determined to get in, I¡¯d get out through the small hole in the concrete wall I¡¯d found in this room when I first moved in.


    As afternoon turned into evening, I started to get confused. I thought that the Claws would¡¯ve come looking hours ago. I¡¯d been happily surprised earlier that I¡¯d managed to get everything done before they came looking, but now I was just befuddled. As evening turned into night, I realized something.


    They don¡¯t care. They never cared. She was just a JoyToy. If she¡¯d been hurt in a public way they¡¯d¡¯ve made sure to punish the people responsible. But that wasn¡¯t what happened. She just quietly disappeared. One less person passing a few eddies up the chain. As long as everyone still thinks their protection matters, they don¡¯t care what happens to people at the bottom. Why would they? They use and discard people as a matter of course. It¡¯s just a matter of business. Girls looking to become JoyToys under their ¡°protection¡± will never be in short supply.


    My lips twisted into a wry grin. Dark amusement at my earlier panic and my erroneous assumption of any degree of honesty or honor from gangs made me chuckle softly. I knew better, but I¡¯d assumed that their protection meant something. The number of teens barely edging into adulthood who had joined for said vaunted protection was almost innumerable. So many, myself included, were taken in by the Claw''s claims of honor; or at least their specific brand of honor. I¡¯d seen the results of the horrific things done to children I¡¯d known, and yet I still believed.


    I shook my head and lay down on my mattress. It was covered by some dirty sheets I¡¯d scavenged. I was so tired.


    How long has it been since I slept? Not since the night before I helped Viktor with the surgery.


    Fuck. Around 48 hours. The panic and fear must¡¯ve kept me going.


    I snorted in derision at my earlier naivete as my eyes drifted close.


    Night City doesn¡¯t care. No one does. The only protection that matters is the one you build yourself.