《Permanent Midnight - Cyberpunk Fantasy LitRPG》


 1: 0gr3 and Out

    My skull cracks as the metal fist slams into my head.


    My vision faiIs. Pain explodes. There''s wetness on my face and have no idea if it''s blood, eye jelly, or tears. Most likely, a combination of all three.


    Then, as another fist connects with the opposite side of my face, the world goes black.


    "Shit," I manage to say as I fall. The pain is unreal, and I can barely concentrate. I''m amazed I can curse, but it has always come more naturally to me than breathing. So it''s not that surprising.


    The ogre¡ªor rather, the 0gr3 as the bounty description calls it¡ªshouts something unintelligible. Even though I can''t see a thing, I know the chromed-out monster is still right above me. Involuntarily, I move a hand up to the wounds. As far as I can tell, yeah, I''m covered in all three fluids: blood, ichor, and tears.


    "Fuck." My face has been decimated. No wonder my head feels like it''s barely attached. For all intents and purposes, that''s true. The chromed-out monstrosity basically knocked my eyes right out of my head. I''m lucky it didn''t break my neck. Or crush my skull into my brain.


    Goddamn, I''ve never seen a monster this full of metal before. Technically I can''t see it now. How does something like that even happen? I get cocky and in over my head, that''s how.


    That doesn''t matter at the moment. Can''t think about that right now. No, I need to do something before I go into shock or bleed out. Or both. Hell, I probably am already. Both.


    It''s all I can do to try to scramble away from the 0gr3. It shouts again but gets cut off by the beautiful pew pew pew of Arimaz''s gun. The shots continue, but I hear them dully plunk against the metal plating hiding under the 0gr3''s already too-thick skin.


    Arimaz and I have been in the same party for the better part of a decade. We run jobs across the Unders, both over and (mostly) under the table. This is one of the legit jobs, taken right off the SecWatch bounty kiosk. It shouldn''t have been this dangerous. SecWatch bounties rarely make us break a sweat.


    "Little help, guys?" I shout. Or what I think is a shout. It may have been a whisper. I don''t know. I feel weak. The pain is starting to make the world spin. Which is saying something, since I can''t see the world.


    This is bad.


    As if in response, something thunks into the 0gr3. There''s an explosion a fraction of a second later. Gore rains down on me. A lot of it. Good ole Arimaz, always ready to blow something up when you need him. Another thunk. More blood, more fleshy bits.


    I think maybe the monster is moving away. Maybe. It sounds like the footfalls move away from me.


    "Get out of there, Ari! Run! It''s faster than it looks!" Zamira yells. Arimaz needs to run. He doesn''t get up close and personal with our targets. Unfortunately, though, it seems right now, the chromed-out monstrosity is trying get up close and personal with him, whether he wants it or not.


    "Shit shit shit shit shit," Arimaz grumbles over comms.


    That''s all I need to hear. He''s already booking it. Arimaz is good at staying out of trouble. I''m not worried about him. Much.


    "Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit," Arimaz keeps chanting. "Is it still chasing me?"


    "Fuck if I know," I mumble as I paw and scramble. I need to get my back to a wall. "Can''t see a goddamn thing. I think my eyes are gone." My stomach gets sick. My head flares in pain. My face feels like it''s being burned off with a barely working vibeknife. "Z, I don''t think I''m doing too good." Blood trickles into my mouth as I talk. My lips are tacky and lightly stick together.


    "Well shit," Zamira replies. "Hold on, I got you." Then, to her twin brother, she says, "Ari, just keep running a minute."Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "A minute? What the fuck, Z? I don''t have a minute!"


    "Neither does Reice!"


    Time slows down. I have no idea how long it is between when I ask for help and I feel the impact of the dart in my temple. It slides in, and I feel every inch of it. Then, I feel it inject the coldest fucking thing I''ve ever felt in my life right into my head.


    It''s awful. It stops the burning. It replaces the burning. I don''t know if this is any better.


    I mean, obviously it is. But...


    "Shitdamnfuck ow," I say as the nanobots flood under my skin and into my brain. They burrow their way in, finding their way somehow to my eye sockets.


    I feel the nanites pull the crushed orbital bones back together. What the fuck. This is weird. They move the shards back where they should be and hold them there. The nanites harden like a cast.


    Whatever these are specifically made for, it ain''t for healing. They hurt too much for that. But I guess they''ll hold the bones in place until I can get to a doctor. Or back to Zamira''s workshop. Most likely that.


    My vision returns. God, she''s a good streetdoc. But holy hell, everything is so bright. I can''t help but yelp in surprise and raise my arms in defense.


    That''s when I realize I only have sight in one eye, and everything looks like it''s under a green filter. But I can see.


    Unfortunately, the world is still spinning, so my stomach still wants to empty itself. I let it. I''m already covered in mixed fluids from inside my body, so what''s one or two more?


    Another dart sinks into me, this time in my upper arm. The cold is a little less intense this time. Probably because it isn''t my head. The vibrant pain dulls slightly, and I feel a massive surge of energy as the world stops spinning. Whatever Z calls that shot, I''m gonna get her to rename it to *Get Your Ass Up Right Now*.


    None of it will last longer than a day, and I''m cool with that. For the moment, I can see, I don''t hurt as much, and I have a burst of artificial energy to get my body moving enough to help finish off this nine-foot-tall monster.


    Anything else is a problem for Future Reice.


    "Thanks, Z!" I yell without looking back. Future Reice is not going to be happy, but she''ll be alive, and that''s what matters. Down in the Unders, that''s a lot. Most of the time, that''s enough.


    It will absolutely not be enough, however, if we don''t hurry the fuck up and take down this 0gr3.


    My gaze locks on the 0gr3 chasing Arimaz, and I take a breath. That cocktail Zamira just shot me up with is some good shit. My rifle is in my hand in a flash, whipped over my shoulder from the mag-panel on my back that it lives in. Hopefully, it''s sturdier than I am and didn''t get busted up like I did.


    I chamber a round as the 0gr3 catches up with Arimaz, who is emptying his high-caliber slug thrower directly into the monster. It slows down. Whatever ammo he''s using is definitely saving his life. Or at least prolonging it.


    "What the hell are you doing, Arimaz?" Z says over comms. "Get the fuck out of there!"


    "I got this," he replies. "Don''t worry, sis!" Before Zamira can tell him how fucking stupid that is, the 0gr3''s back erupts. Through the scope of my rifle, I watch Ari blow a huge hole straight through its torso.


    For a split second, I feel relief. It abruptly recedes as I realize the mostly metal monstrosity is still on its feet! How?! It reaches out and grabs Arimaz with both hands.


    How is this thing still going? Whoever cybered it up is one sick son of a bitch. No wonder SecWatch had hired this job out.


    It would have eaten normal beat cops alive. Literally. Just like it was apparently trying to do with Arimaz.


    "GoNnA bE yUmMy!" The thing screams as it lifts Arimaz up in both hands like a sandwich and opens its mouth to chomp down and decapitate one of my best friends.


    A line of narrow light zips from Zamira''s location to the 0gr3. Whatever she''s shot it with makes it pause. Its muscles clench and spasm. I see its knees lock up, its shoulders hunch.


    My turn. In my shape, I know that aiming at a small target like its head¡ªsmall being relative in this case¡ªmeans that I''m more likely to miss my shot. "Aim small, miss small," like Marv always told me. But I have no idea how long the thing is going to be stunned; Arimaz had already blown a hole through its torso; and it is still going.


    No, I have to take the shot. The 0gr3 convulses as I breathe out, but not enough to ruin my aim. I squeeze the trigger. The bullet speeds toward the back of the 0gr3''s head, pierces the base of its skull, and exits through its nose. Brain, bits of skull, and blood spatter all over Arimaz.


    The 0gr3 drops him immediately, and they both collapse. A black-red mixture of blood and oil pours from the monster onto the concrete and seeps around Arimaz''s still form.


    Zamira and I converge on them, weapons drawn. I put another two rounds through the 0gr3''s skull for good measure, making sure it is really out of commission.


    Then, as though what had just happened was as ordinary as strapping on his boots, Arimaz stands up and shakes his head to fling some of the gore and grime off. And I see that he''s fucking smiling! Smiling!


    Then, as nonchalantly as I''ve ever heard him, he says to his worried twin sister and brutally battered teammate, "You guys hungry?"

 2: Sh!t Show

    My apartment is absolute shit. In fact, it probably rates somewhere near the worst in the city. It isn''t spacious, it isn''t clean, it doesn''t have a good view. Any view. It is, however, in the tower that houses the Shit Show flea market, and that''s actually a pretty nice perk.


    More importantly, though, it''s mine. As much as anything can be "mine" in this fucking place. As long as I stay ahead on the exploitative rent Araketh Industries charges for such a prime piece of real estate, I am allowed to call these few square feet of Duracrete? and Glasstic? home.


    The job with the 0gr3 should actually keep me ahead on rent. But only just. I have a few other contracts active at the moment. They''ll help pay for anything else for the month if I can get them done.


    In the stairwell that leads up to my floor, I dip and dodge my way around the addicts, vagabonds, piles of trash, broken furniture, and far too many unmoving bodies to not wonder if one or more of them''s a corpse. I do the same thing in my hall, and without even thinking about it, I rest my right eye against the scanner that unlocks my door.


    A message appears, floating in the air in front of me. Huh. Looks like the nanites that make up my temporary eyeball have at least a rudimentary UI built in.


    **ERROR: RETINAL PATTERN NOT RECOGNIZED. ATTEMPT 1/3**


    Fuck. I need to get to my bed. I need to pass out. I do not need my damn door acting up like this. I can count on one hand the number of times I''ve ever felt this tired. All of them had been after a job went sideways. Though none of those had gone as sideways as this one.


    Maybe the lens covering the scanner is foggy or something. That''s all. Maybe it''s just dirty. So I pull down my sleeve and rub it before sticking my face up to the tiny porthole again.


    **ERROR: RETINAL PATTERN NOT RECOGNIZED. ATTEMPT 2/3**


    "Fuuuck! Come on!" I step back from the scanner and blink a few times. Deep breath. "Piece of shit, good for nothing hunk of Araketh garbage tech."


    I do not need this right now. What I need even less, though, is dealing with truly being locked out of my apartment. Fail another attempt with the same retinal pattern, and the whole thing locks down until I can get a guild agent down here to get things sorted.


    Who the hell knows how long that would be? Even locked out, unable to access any of my shit, I will still be the one paying for it. I''ve heard it can take up to a year to get someone into the Unders and deal with anything.


    Fuck that.


    When Zamira shot me up with the nanomeds, they must have somehow fucked up the blood vessels in my eyes as they fixe the damage. Never even crossed my mind that might happen.


    I want to punch the door for not doing literally the one thing it is supposed to do. "Fuck!" I yell and then punch the door.


    There are more than a few people nearby, not a single one looks my way. A lady punching a door while screaming profanity is probably the tamest thing they''ve seen today.


    Guess I''ll have to crash at either Zamira or Marv''s tonight. Or this month. Ugh. It''ll be for however long it takes to purge the nano and get a normal retinal pattern back.


    I punch the door again for good measure. "Fuuuuuck."


    How long does it take to regrow organic eyes? Surely, I can get a set clone within a month, right? I''ll have to ask Z, see what she can do to help.


    Zamira''s a good streetdoc. Really good. Probably the best in the Unders. I''m biased, though, given that she''s my BFF and all. She doesn''t talk much about how she got so good, though. All I know is that she was trained by and for the pharmaceutical arm of Araketh Industries and found a way out. Apparently it was ugly, messy, and she says is probably going to bite her in the ass one day.


    In her second career in the Unders, she''s made a name for herself by supplementing guild-approve medical treatments with semi-stable quick fixes she invents herself¡ªor learned from other streetdocs. I, for one, am incredibly glad she does that. I might not be here today if she didn''t.


    Tomorrow, though...tomorrow I''ll feel like the gutter trash I am. For the moment, however, I''m upright and breathing, and that counts for a lot.


    Over the years, I''ve had to purge Z''s nano a few times. I know what to expect. That doesn''t mean I look forward to it or will like it. My next few days to a week will be spent periodically pissing out globs of tiny robots. It is not pleasant.


    But hey, maybe when I''m done with that, my fucking door might unlock, and I can sleep in my own bed.


    Figure while I''m here I''ll see if Marv is at his stall in the Shit Show. I glance up to the left and see that my new temporary UI is missing a clock. Great. Hopefully, it''s not too late and he''s still there. Heading down, I once again hop over what I hope aren''t dead bodies and what looks like a few...yep, that''s people fucking right there on the stairs. Lovely.


    As soon as I push the stairwell exit open, I''m overwhelmed by the cacophony of sounds and sights that made up the Shit Show. Holograms float everywhere, fighting each other for space and human attention. So do the dozens of vendors at the booths projecting them.


    A kobold woman has the nearest stall to the stairs. Not a bad location. The scales on her snout and around her eyes are fade to a dull grey, and the rest of her lizard-like body has lost the shimmering quality that they''d have had when she was younger.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The smell of cooked meat wafts from behind her rickety table. Ugh. Damn it. I accidentally make eye contact with her, which we both understand is the universal signal to start making an unwanted sales pitch.


    ¡°Hey, little girl! You hungry?¡±


    Yes. Very hungry. But I know better than to eat anything from the Shit Show. It hadn''t earned its name for no reason. ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± I say and keep walking. There is no way I am adding diarrhea and/or dysentery to the list of today''s bullshit. Also, I hate it when people call me little girl. Almost as bad are sweetheart, babe, baby, sweetie, and honey.


    ¡°Well if you want the best iguana-on-a-stick you¡¯ve ever had, you come back here and see Aunt Seenus, you hear me?¡± I walk off and wave my hand in the air dismissively, doing my very best to ignore the fact that a lizard woman just offered me a lizard on a stick. There aren''t hours enough left in the day to unpack the horrors in that.


    Every table and stall holds the same old shit they always do. Incalculable kebabs of questionable quality and source, broken electronics that probably don''t work and might have never worked in the first place, counterfeit cybernetics that no person in their right mind would install in their body, and even the occasional sex worker who makes promises even the most expensive and experienced prostitute would have a hard time keeping.


    While it''s not packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the Shit Show is active tonight. I have to push through more people than usual to get to Uncle Marv''s space. Even he has a holo spinning above his stall, this one proclaiming that he''s a "truly honest and legitimate businessman." His space is filled with a few rickety tabletops under a threadbare tent. Every surface is covered with assorted junk, broken-down chrome, and all sorts of scavenged or discarded tech.


    Marv is short with a big nose and even bigger mustache. His sideburns come down to his jawline, and he wears his hair in a mohawk. What I don''t know is if it''s intentional or because of natural baldness. One look at Marv, and anyone can tell there are some dwarves hanging out in our family tree.


    "You look like shit", Marv says as I walk up.


    "Job went sideways," I say, shrugging.


    "I''d say so, yeah. You''re missing a goddamn eye, Reice!"


    "Z patched me up as well as she could in the field." I point to her good eye, patently ignoring the missing left one. At least the nano sealed the socket off so there isn''t a gaping hole in my head. "I''ll get it cloned."


    "Good luck affording that shit," Marv says. "More importantly, what the hell were you doing in the field?" My uncle puts down the cybernetic hand that he was fiddling with. "You know better than that. You''re support for fuck''s sake."


    I roll my eyes. Eye. Whatever. "I know. I know. SecWatch put out a priority bounty on an enhanced monster going apeshit all over some neighborhood near the wall. They called it an 0gr3, and since the description said the target was chrome to the bone, I figure I''d be able to hack into the systems and take it down, no fuss, no muss."


    "Stupid idea," Marv chides. "Let me repeat, my darlin'' niece, you know better than that."


    "Yeah," I agree. "Live and learn, I guess."


    "Or die and don''t," Marv counters. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "For fuck''s sake, Reice, did I teach you nothin''?" He picks up some other broken piece of tech and sets it back down on the other side of the table, absentmindedly rearranging his inventory.


    "Of course you did."


    "Sure as fuck don''t seem like it when I see you lookin'' like this." His voice is harsh, angry. Loud. "You got the shit kicked out of you and lost an eye, for fuck''s sake." He lets that sit for a beat before lowering his tone and saying a bit more gently, "So what happened exactly?"


    As I pick up what looks like the irreparably broken hilt of a nanoblade, I say, "Short version is, I failed to break through the thing''s ICE fast enough, he spotted me, and then knocked me around while I was occupied. I got too close, that''s all. Nothing Zamira couldn''t handle. Arimaz distracted it, and I took it out." I frown at the junk weapon in my hands, then point at his holobanner with it. "Honest and legitimate, huh?"


    Ignoring my attempt to change the subject, Marv plops down into a beat-up folding chair he keeps in his stall. "Sounds like you got fucking lucky to me."


    "Z always has my back. I knew I was fine." I did not know I was fine, but there is no way in hell that I''m going to tell Marv that.


    Marv isn''t convinced. "What if this 0gr3 had his own Zamira, huh? What if there had been a...a...a...I dunno, Tr011 watching his back, huh? What then?"


    It''s my turn to ignore him and try to change the topic back to the bullshit broken weapon he''s trying to pawn off on someone. Marv is better than that. "If someone tries to buy this, are you going to tell them it''s broken?"


    "I don''t know if it''s broken or not. I ain''t an arms dealer."


    "Marv, you''re literally an arms dealer." I point the dead sword at him, and as I turn, I see the CyTek logo stamped into the pommel and Marv shrugs. CyTek Armaments Group is one of the four elite megaguilds on this continent, along with Araketh Industries, Weatherbell Communications, and Deitech Systems. "And you know someone has to have specific, registered CyTek mods to activate the nanites, even if it weren''t dead a fuck?"


    "I have a very discerning client¨¨le, o niece o mine," Marv says, waving his hand to dismiss my concerns. "I would never insult their intelligence and expertise by stating something so obvious."


    "Sure," I say. "Whatever. Anyway, the reason I dropped by¡ª"


    "You mean it wasn''t just to spend some quality time with your favorite uncle?" he asks. He reaches out fast to snatch the nanoblade out of my hands. I''m faster than he is, so it stays with me.


    "Of course, that''s part of it," I say. "The other part of it is that I think the nanites Z use on me fucked something up with my retinal scan, and I can''t get into my apartment." He scowls but I keep going before he can get a word in. "I hope that maybe Z can do something to fix it, so I''m gonna go stay with her and Arimaz for a couple of days."


    Marv sighs, closes his eyes, and clenches his jaw. His hand forms a fist and then opens again. He takes a couple of deep breaths. "So you''re in way shittier shape than you look." Another fist, another breath. "And you look pretty shitty, Reice."


    "Maybe?" It comes out as a question and much meeker than I intend. "I''ll be fine, Marv. Like I said, I''ll be back in a day or two when I purge the nano and see if my eyes are back to normal."


    "Well, just don''t do anything stupid in the meantime until you''re healed up, alright? I don''t wanna get a call and have to go down to SecWatch HQ to ID your body or get swabbed so they can verify your DNA."


    "Awww, you do care about me."


    "Nope," Marv says and winks. "Just don''t have the spare credits to hop on a train or cab to get down there."


    "You can always walk."


    "Not with these knees, I can''t." Marv shakes his head and rests his hands palms down on his knees and scrunches up his face in a mock expression of pain. "Plus, I got a business to run here. Can''t just leave it all willy-nilly, can I?"


    "Not when there''s a rush like this all the time." I sweep my arm like a game show host''s assistant to showcase that he has no customers. And hasn''t since I''ve been here. "Don''t want you to lose all these sales, do I?"


    "That face of yours is driving them all away," Marv says, mocking me right back. "Now get out of here and let me know when you get your apartment figured out, would ya?"


    I signal the affirmative by making finger guns with one hand and holding up the CyTek hilt in the other. "I''m keeping this, by the way." I stick it to one of the mag-panels on my belt and then make my way out of the Shit Show and head toward Zamira''s workshop.

 3: The Eyes Have It

    "Two hundred thousand credits?!"


    Zamira nods, grimaces. "Yeah, that''s the lowest possible amount I can get the eyes regrown for. And that''s pulling strings and calling in favors."


    "You know I can''t afford that, Zamira! I''ve never seen that much money in one place before."


    "I know, Reice. I know."


    I can''t believe this. "I have seen you get a guy a new leg for under five grand."


    "Yeah, you have. I have," Zamira says. "Legs are easy. There''s not a whole lot there to screw up, and if you do, you can always put in some kind of chrome." She took a breath. "But Reice, these are your eyes. They''re delicate. There''s a lot more to fuck up. At least with real ones."


    "Can''t you get me a discount? You''ve done it before. You got Marv a couple of new fingers for what, two-fifty?"


    Zamira shakes her head, still grimacing. "Again, that stuff is easy. But, Reice, listen: two hundred thousand is the discount." She pauses to let that sink in. "This has to be done at a lab up top, at least in the Mids, not a dump like this. I don''t even know anyone in the Commons who can do it. Not do it right. And that''s not cheap. Two hundred grand is my cost, girl."


    "Fuck," I say, "And you''re sure that you don''t know any other docs around here that can grow a couple clones for, I don''t know, a fraction of that cost?"


    "I mean, yeah, I do. But you don''t want that. Believe me."


    "The damn 0gr3 did a lot more damage to you than I thought. The triage nanites have been working overtime. I''m amazed you can see at all, honestly. They''re not really designed to do what they''re doing. They''re made to pull things back together. Which they did. So they''re holding your skull fragments together," she once again pauses for emphasis. "You''re actually pretty lucky they figured out a way to fix your vision, too."


    "And they''ve done an okay job so far. You can just shoot me up again, and that''ll get a boost, and I''ll keep on healing."


    Instead of directly responding, Zamira points at the eye I have left and cocks her head to the side. "You''re likely seeing in one or two colors, medium to low res, right?"


    "The res is fine¡­ish¡­but I am looking at your beautiful green skin and slightly darker green hair right now." Since Zamira has dark brown skin and even darker brown hair, my answer reinforces her assumptions.


    "I thought so." Zamira scrunches her face up and rubs her eyes. "There''s a lot going on inside our eyes, Reice, and the quality of nano that I have to work with down here just isn''t cut out for the long haul. They''re for rescue and triage, not healing and recovery. Honestly, no nano is good for permanent chrome."


    "Shit."


    "Yeah. I know. And you''re a fleshy," she holds up a hand to shush my retort before it comes, "and you''re proud of that. I''m just not sure if we can do this with organics, Reice. I don''t know if you can stay a fleshy and still be able to see."


    My heart sinks into my stomach. I get a little nauseous thinking about having to replace a part of my body permanently with cybernetics of any sort.


    "You said you know some other docs who can regrow organics for less, though?"


    "Sure, yeah, I can totally take you to one of the other streetdocs I know. I''m sure the gobbos can regrow them for well under twenty grand. Maybe even ten."


    "The cheaper the better," I say, knowing that isn''t true, even as I say it. Especially if goblins are involved. Goblin biotech isn''t exactly cutting edge. But ten to twenty thousand credits is a hell of a lot more doable than two hundred. I mean, I don''t have ten thousand credits, but I''m sure I can scrounge that up easier than twenty times that amount.


    "No," Zamira says with the patience of a saint. "It''s not. Going cheap on regrowing your real, actual, true eyeballs? Shit, Reice. Not even considering that it would be goblin biotech, I''d give a 90% chance anything you get grown down here would be way worse than the temporary junk you have in there right now. I''ve seen eyes grown in a place like this," she gestures around at her work area. "None of them were worth even half a damn or even half the credits. No one has been happy with the results. Not one person. Not in my experience."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "Fuck," I say again. It really seems like it''s the only word that fits the situation. "What do you suggest I do then? Stay blind? I don''t have that kind of money, Z. I don''t know anyone who has that kind of money."


    "Right? So here''s what I suggest¡ª"


    "Wait just a goddamn minute," I say, interrupting. "I do know someone with that kind of money. One person."


    Zamira''s face falls. "No, Reice. Just no."


    "Hear me out¡ª"


    "No, Reice," she says again. "He''s off-limits, remember?"


    "Yeah, I know. But also, hear me out: fuck him."


    "That''s what I''m saying! You''re not asking him for money."


    "Hell no I''m not. That''s what I mean: fuck him. Fuck him, fuck asking. I can just take it from the conniving little piece of gutter-trash."


    "Reice, no."


    "Look, Junon is¡ª"


    "No."


    "We''ve talked about this. We just have to move on, as friends, as professionals, everything. Junon Caprice isn''t worth the energy it takes to even think about him."


    I sigh. Zamira is right. "You''re right. He''s not. It''s just that he gets me so¡ª"


    "I know. I know. He does me, too." She scoots closer. "Now, can we get back to the matter at hand? You want my suggestion?"


    "Yeah, sure." I grit my teeth and talk through them. "What am I in for, doc?"


    "I don''t think you should grow your eyes back."


    "What kind of crazy doctor talk is that? I need my eyes!"


    "At least, not yet. And of course, you need your eyes. Right now, I can set you up with some metal that''s way better than your meat will ever be."


    "But I like my eyes, Zamira. They''re¡­uh¡­" I struggle to find the right words, "my eyes."


    "They are. And eventually, we''ll be able to afford to regrow them. But in the meantime, until we can save up, I can install a pretty fucking amazing pair of CyTek KnightVisions. Like right now."


    She probably thinks I didn''t catch it, but I did. She said until we can save up and afford them. Not you. I don''t say anything because that''s just Zamira is. She takes care of me. She takes care of everyone. I know that she means it, too. Z will be squirreling away credits here and credits there until she has enough to combine with whatever I will be able to save.


    Goddammit, I don''t deserve Zamira in my life.


    "And these are the latest model, too," my streetdoc BFF goes on. "I don''t usually get tech this new. So I''m excited to see them in action. Until right now, I hadn''t really decided if I should sell them or keep them for a patient. What the 0gr3 did kind of settles that for me."


    "You love me."


    "I do," Zamira confirms.


    "But you also are afraid that selling them would bring a fuck-ton of heat down on you from the CyTek if they were to trace the implants back to you."


    Zamira makes a heart with her hands. "You get me." She smiles and goes on, "But really, this is some top-tier chrome."


    "You know how I feel about chrome, Zamira," I say, trying to keep the whine out of my voice. "I have the one dataport, and that barely counts. Temporary nano holding my skull together is one thing, but I''m not sure if I want that permanently. Even if I did, I can''t afford them."


    "You don''t have to worry about that. They''re on the house."


    "Z."


    CyTek KnightVisions are the kind of tech that goes for millions in the higher tiers. Of course in the Unders, nobody can afford that much. She can''t get anywhere near that much money from someone down here, but she can potentially get that much money''s worth of heat from the guilds, from CyTek in this case. Nobody in the Unders can afford that, either.


    There are only two ways someone like us could have come across this level of tech. Neither of them are looked on very kindly by any of the guilds.


    First, someone could steal them straight from the source. For these KnightVision prosthetics, that means directly the biggest arms dealers¡ªno, manufacturers¡ªin the world.


    They aren''t headquartered in Bester, but every megaguild has a presence here, even though it''s sovereign Araketh soil. CyTek has at least a few factories, embassies, and storage facilities.


    If those eyes really are the newest models, then that most likely means there was a raid on a warehouse or shipment mid-transport. Those kinds of jobs bring a lot of attention, though, since most guilds aggressively track down stolen and missing shipments and retrieve them.


    The second way to get that kind of tech is the far more likely, far more gruesome way: somebody rips them right out of a CyKnight''s head and then sells them to someone who sells them to someone who sells them to a streetdoc. In this case, Zamira.


    Ripping tech off and out of guildies isn''t uncommon, but it is dangerous. CyKnights are CyTek''s elite security force, who are often rented out as mercenaries. They''re oath-sworn (read: contract-bound) paladins that serve the megaguild like it''s a god, putting more and more metal into themselves until they are more machine than meat.


    If I were to guess, the tech that Zamira is talking about was taken from some metal-brained motherfucker who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.


    To be honest, I''m not exactly crazy about the idea of Z putting second-hand eyeballs into my head, but at the same time, the temporary ones are gonna dissolve into inert nanites in a few hours. At which point, I will go blind. And I sure as fuck can''t afford to get organics grown.


    "Anyway," Zamira says, "I don''t think it''s safe to have this kind of tech out there in just some random shitstain''s head. In this case, I know exactly which shitstain''s head they''re in." She laughs. "Plus, I''ll know that they''re being used to their full potential, and not just to play interactive fuckvids from the matrix on repeat."


    "Plus, you know I won''t rat you out if the guild somehow tracks them down and wants them back."


    "There is also that," she says and laughs again. It''s the truth, too. I would never do that. I''d die first.


    "No promises on the interactive fuckvids, though," I say, raising my eyebrows and biting my bottom lip seductively.


    Zamira groans.


    After taking a deep breath to steel myself, I say, "If this is what we''re gonna do, let''s get it over with." I walk over to the station where Zamira handles her cybernetics installations. The reclining chair is far more comfortable than I expect. The back starts to recline immediately. "Alright, doc, time to rip my eyes out."

 4: Nature Will Fight Back

    looks like I did."


    looks like I did was install your old, organic eyeballs."


    really closely. Like a streetdoc getting all up in there closely."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Doc Z, "won''t let you! They don''t want you to thrive!" His voice gets even louder.


    //:NO_COMPATIBLE_DEVICES_IN_RANGE


    Doc Z logo, and without any seeming effort at all, the orc slams his hands down and the vines bring the large holo crashing down to the Duracrete? at the same time.


    We being people in general.

 5: Long Way Home

able to spend. Zamira had come through for me like she always did, though.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

 Interlude 1

    Aradeen Kethrak doesn''t feel any pain as he dies. A shame, really. He deserves to.


    The blade''s monofilament edge cuts through him so easily and without so much fanfare that his killer is already half a klick away before the inertia of his final steps causes his head to separate from his body. As it hits the ground, the top of his cranium separates along a second cut, taking the top third of his brain with it as it settles like an upside-down bowl. Even his guild''s best trauma teams and doctors won''t be able to reassemble that sort of injury.


    Later that evening, city residents are bombarded with news stories decrying the assassination of the Araketh Industries Guildmaster as brutal, savage, barbaric, and, according to one talking head, "a rare exception to the overarching protection SecWatch provides the city."


    Honestly, it was none of those things. They know that. Of course, the media outlets are required to say them regardless. It is explicitly written in the charters the megaguilds hand out, the ones that give the outlets the "right" to broadcast to the public.


    Each and every network and channel toes the line. They act like they don''t have a choice. But they do.


    And they keep making it with each feature, each highlight, each clip. Each one is a choice made, a knee bent, a credit earned.


    Junon Caprice smiles as the floating heads parade across his feed. They''re pulling out all the stops this time. Really trying to get sympathy from the people. Everyone acts like a dead GM is some big loss. Like Aradeen Kethrak specifically is some big loss.


    It''s not. He''s not. Even to the guild he led. Araketh Industries has a new Guildmaster installed within eight minutes. One reports says that those eight minutes cost the megaguild just under four billion credits.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Junon shrugs and leans back on their threadbare sofa held together almost entirely by QuackCrete? adhesive strips. Not bad. Maybe the next guild will lose even more.


    Junon would love nothing more than to see the megaguilds bled dry. But he''s fine with it being the people running them.


    SecWatch is everywhere already. They''re hunting the killer, but they won''t see them. They''re nobody. Just another face in the crowd. It won''t be long before they catch someone for the killing. It just won''t be the real killer.


    If too much time passes between the killing and the capture, then not only will SecWatch look incompetent¡ªbecause they are¡ªbut Araketh will also look that way. And weak. And they can''t have that. Bad for the image. Bad for shareholders.


    No, they''ll set up some patsy in a few days or next week. They''ll even find the "murder weapon" on them, tying them explicitly to the crime. Probably another few items or pieces of "evidence" that they can say are connected in some tangential way. Just enough to remove lingering doubts from the minds of the idiots who still believe that SecWatch is on their side.


    Then, the guildie media will do their best to discredit everything the poor schmuck ever did, personally and professionally. They''ll attack their character, their integrity, their morals, their intelligence. Everything.


    The public will eat it up.


    The networks will run op-ed after op-ed about what a great leader and role model Aradeen Kethrak was. They''ll highlight the "all-time profits" and "explosive growth" that Araketh Industries experienced under his supervision, conveniently leaving out the superlative costs and extraordinary degradation in quality of life that ordinary people faced as a direct result.


    Junon can''t wait to see the talking heads claim that Kethrak was cut down in the prime of his life¡ªthe CEO was over 70 already, for fuck''s sake¡ªand that he left behind a loving family whose lives are now going to be shattered.


    That way when the hammer comes down disproportionately hard on whatever scapegoat they pin the murder on, the public won''t see them as a person who was consistently wronged by the system Aradeen Kethrak helped build and maintain. They won''t see he''s just like them. In doing so, the public won''t be sympathetic enough toward to get riled up and step out of line.


    It''ll work. It always works.


    People aren''t stupid. The public is.