Work Text:
Václav Koller opened the box and eagerly took out its content, spilling the packaging all around. A whole arm. Not just any arm – Sarif’s finest, black with gold trimmings, sleek Sarif-branded skin-like material, mounted on the lightest frame he’s ever seen, complete with perfect tiny strands of muscle-mimicking cables, each in its precisely calculated spot, placed with care and deliberation. What a thrill.
His man Monty was good at the Chinese stuff, but this – he definitely did not realise the true value of this item. Sure, nobody would want one of these nowadays – there were no spare components on the market, no support for the expensive designer models, getting cheap alternatives was more efficient in the long run, nevertheless Koller still got it for only a fraction of what he thought the price should be.
Now not only did he finally have a chance to get elbows deep into it, take a proper look at all its intricate mechanisms and filigree weaving, but he also could extract some of the necessary backup pieces for his one and only client who still wore some of these babies. Actually, “some” was an understatement. Adam Jensen was over 50% Sarif-made, his techno-daddy did not spare any expenses to leave his brand all over his aug-son’s body. And what a beauty that body was.
Speak of the devil, here comes the man himself. Koller left the arm on the counter and rushed to greet one of his most deadly patients in person.
“Jensen! How are you today? Ready for your check-up? Let’s get this rig tested, shall we? Don’t want any random malfunctions in the field!”
***
Jensen walked into Koller’s basement, took one look at the counter, and froze. There, on the dirty surface, surrounded by mountains of white packaging rice, was his arm. Jensen involuntarily flexed his hands, checking that they are still attached to him. The view was incredibly unnerving. He did not normally have to look at his own body, not like this, not in its full glory. The information it delivered to his brain did not betray much of its augmented state, by now he treated the signals and the sensations as a new normal, not thinking deeply of what exactly was sending these. He used the gear his body provided him with, as it was meant to be used, as something disconnected from himself, and in glimpses of it he learned to persuade himself that this was still him, his own flesh, hidden under the layer of glossy blackness. And yet, there it was. His arm, plastic and metal, from shoulder to fingertips, and with a shiny Sarif logo, staring at him from the table.
He couldn’t pull his eyes away, it was mesmerising and horrifying, an out of body experience. Nobody else in the world had these augs anymore. With Sarif’s bankruptcy and acquisition by TYM, its previous wealthy clients opted for top range replacements from the Chinese industry giant, as there was nobody left to maintain their old shiny toys. Only Jensen was left behind. Jensen did not have a choice, he was not wealthy – he only got all these augs because David Sarif decided to play God with him, make his own perfect boy. And now these augs made him a very useful tool, a tool that could be used to bring down the bane of the world, the Illuminati; A scalpel to cut off the tumour that grew on top of humanity. Once that job was done – the tool will have to go to rest, back into the toolbox. That’s what he was. He accepted and embraced it, and let go of any notion that his life could have more meaning than that. The only dreams he had now were of the past.
Jensen stumbled and steadied himself on the edge of the counter. The arm dominated his field of view. Koller caught him by the elbow, but that was not needed – he was alright, he was fine. He was merely taken by surprise. He headed towards Koller’s surgery chair for his routine maintenance check, but kept turning his head to steal another glance at the black disembodied limb.
***
Nightmares. This one, he hasn’t had in a while. He was suspended in the nothingness, surrounded by flowing air, or by water, he couldn’t really tell. His body was crumbling, leaving him, bit by bit, piece by piece, until all that was left was his sight, and then that went dark as well.
This was all he was. An assortment of parts, made and chosen by someone else. Almost nothing of his original body was left. Yes, the mind persisted, it was what made him – himself, it was what made him human. But the rest of it… The rest was some foreign growth. Useful, efficient, strong. Not his. A tool. Everyone looked at him and saw a walking weapon, a pebble to stick under the wheel of their adversaries to set them off course, a machine designed with a purpose in mind. He was all that. Seeing the arm at Koller’s workshop reminded him of this truth, painfully. Brought forward all these thoughts. Made him yearn for something, first time in a long while. Ownership. He wanted something that is his, his own choice, his own path. Jensen climbed out of bed, and activated his Infolink.
“Koller, this is Jensen.”
“Jensen! I am with a client now, what do you need?”
“I need to talk to you about something. A mod. When do you have time?”
“A… A mod? You want me to… Come in an hour, I should be done by then! Oh shit, oh shit.”
***
“A hand? You want me to replace your hand ?”
“Yes.”
“But this is Sarif stuff, I don’t have anything nearly as good. You won’t lose any of your… more deadly assets, but… The feel, the precision, it just won’t be the same, you understand? I am good, but I am not that good.”
“I understand that. Koller, it does not matter. Sure, do your best, but I want to get something that is fully mine, chosen by me, not by somebody else while I am in a coma. Figured a hand is good enough. I will see it all the time, and won’t lose any, as you have called them, assets.”
“Jensen, I get it. Did you really think that I wouldn’t get it? I always wanted you to own your augs, to really get to know them, to make them yours. Like I did with mine. We are not so different, after all. I never thought you’d actually do it, though. Why change of heart?”
“That damned Sarif arm you had out when I came for the check-up last week has been invading my sleep. Reminded me how I never had anything to do with the decisions about my own body. Decided it’s time to make some adjustments.”
“Well, let’s take a look at the catalogue. I am sure we’ll find something decent there that can interface with the Sarif tech. And then we’ll talk what customisations you want me to add to it. And paint. Do you want it black, so that it’s not as obvious that you replaced it, or something different? Silver, perhaps? Could go well with black and gold.”
***
The hand was, just as Koller has said, not quite the same. It was working well enough, but always felt slightly off, compared to his old one. Funny, because the old one felt way more than slightly off compared to his organic hand that he lost only a few years ago, but now it was his basis for comparison. He knew he’d get used to it. And some of the custom features Koller added were actually pretty cool – they spent a while tinkering with it together, and now every time he interacted with the outside world – the metallic silver of his new hand reminded him of this possibility, this option that he had. Maybe not now, maybe not while he still has a job to do, but once all is done – he could drop the weapons without dropping himself with them. They did not define him. His current body did not define him. He had a choice.
***
“Koller, this is Jensen.”
“Jensen, how are you doing? Everything alright with the hand?”
“Yes, the hand is great. Koller, listen. I want to get another mod.”