Chapter Text
For the supposed summer, it was actually pretty cold in April. I walked around the house, opening all the blinds, while my instant noodles breakfast boiled to completion on the kitchen island. In the background, I caught snippets of my mother and brother chatting with family members overseas.
"-and you know how my little one is (in the background, a faint "I'm 22"), he always hates getting his hair cut! Always wanting it longer! You know, the other day he threatened to take all the hair medications in the cabinet-" Once again in the distance, "I wasn't threatening, I was implying." "Oh you hear that? He's just lying!" My mother and aunt had a good laugh, while I mixed in the sauce and cheese powder, took the finished noodles to my brother at the downstairs computer, and then opened up all the windows to air out the room. Wait, those were supposed to be my breakfast. Ah, well.
"Mmm-mah, is the grocery list in the chat?" I asked, heating myself a bowl of milk.
"Yes I put it, and the ritual will be over tomorrow, no meats until them. If there's a sale, buy it for the freezer, I'll cook it day after."
"Does that mean I can get pickled garlic?" I ask, pouring Honey Bunches Oats in.
"No, those stores make it too sweet, get Brussel sprouts. Also, you've seen what that idiot is doing with oils, right? Everyone is putting the beef tallow now, even Popeyes – you know your father loves Popeyes? We were shocked when the cashier told us – so don't eat anything from the deli! They might put in beefs and porks just for hating you!"
"No deli, Brussel sprouts, check and ask if beef or pork added" I muttered, typing it into the list in our chat.
I finished the bowl of cereal and drank a glass of water, before refilling my thermos with chilled water from the copper jugs left out overnight, and – Honey Bunches insufficient protein and fiber, take guava to compensate the Notes on my phone reminded me. I scarfed a guava fruit, washed my hands, and then drove to the grocery store, water bottle in hand. Fortunately, it seemed there was no traffic on the road. I pulled into the-
Wait a minute. The shopping center had no cars in the parking lot, but all the stores were lit up and open. What was happening? I tried phoning my brother, but nothing happened after I pressed the dial button. I tried typing in my mother's number manually, but that just gave me the sound of dead air. Was dead air a thing that happened to phones? There was no dial tone…
Why wasn't my phone making any sounds? In fact, why had everything gone quiet? I gripped my thermos' lid ring tightly, and opened the door (no sound?!) to get out. The moment my foot met the ground –
ERROR::// TRANSM1SSION_F@IL3D ///
[ CODE: 0x∅∅9A-TRNSJKT.G//NULL//SIGSEGV ]
>> IINITIATIING: s̴̫͍̜͖̖̟̰̘̽͒̈́̓̏́e̸̻̲̜͉͓̺̳̗͍͆͌̌̋͛͂n̶̛̠̱͉̲͕̩̼̏̾͊̕͝d̸͓̩̰͇͙̲̖̥͍́̍̑̃͋̄̾͘͝ͅi̷͚̐́̓̇̈́͆͆̓̈́͝n̷̤̝̲͒́̌̅̄͒́͠g̷̤̿̓͆̄ ̴̨̲͙̯̥̣̱̣̔̓͗͂̇͐͘͘͠m̶̢̰͖̼̜̦͕̮̦͚̾̌͆̎͑͊͠é̶̤̞̰̙̪̏͒́̈́̓͠s̸̛͉̤̼̪̩̞̖͇̞͋͒̒̎͑͝s̶͔̝̰͙͍̺̖͔̎̋̄͗͑͌̈́͘͘͜a̷̗̓̈́̀̍͜͠g̷̳̞̎̏̎́͋̕ë̶͕̬̥̼̤̝́̔͑̇́̓̿͌
---> F̶I̶L̶E̵: e842j7593d85h73.zip
---> SIZE: 264,091,173,038,293,267,524,130… B?sk∞ ?overflow?
---> PATH: /auto/bot/transpose/f̷̪̳́i̸͈̼̩͊̽̕l̶̡͚̰̈́͐͠e̸͚̠̯͌̎̅ș̶͌/pwf_gz/holding/bps/dio/sprs/ncmp
[[[[[[==== SEND.PROGRESS = ʘ̷̸̡̜̞̮̹̦̩̘̘̟̼̺̕0̸̞̱͕̖̪̮̗̗̖̾̑̇̍̃͘͠͝.̷̞͍̦̬̱̫̈́̐͋͠͝ͅ0̸̨̳̰̻̦̟̝̩̼̜̐̃̒́̽͆́͆̀͠1̷̡̩̲̜̱͚͔̘̮̈́̈́̽̐͛͌͗͘% ~transf3rd ]]⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇
...attempting write to: \\\VOID\\\MAINT\\\BUS_ERROR███▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
?placeholder?consolation?memoryfixquantify?
2020 *** ERROR INSUFFICIENT DETAIL
2045 *** ERROR INSUFFICIENT DETAIL
2076 *** ERROR INSUFFICIENT DETAIL
2077 >>> VALID TARGET, TRANSMAT FIRING
-AS-AS-AS COMP-COMPEN-COMPENSATION-TAKE-TAKE-TAKE-
Ṃ̶̡̛̯̍I̴̖͝N̴̖̅̌Ị̷̄̏̐M̵̛̺̒A̴͈̘͂͝L̶͙̐̆̑ ̷̡͊̕ͅE̷̟͈̟̋̾N̴̖̄ͅÊ̵̺̩͜R̶͖̠̅̋G̴͍̳͓̔Y̵̻͖̲͗̉̏ ̵͕̭͊͑B̴̝̝̐͌Ŭ̷̲̜͙D̸̹̂͆̚G̴͎̱̀E̵͍͔͊̐Ṭ̶͂͛͛,̸̟̬̻͒ ̸̦̭̬̎̃M̷̨͈̀I̴͓̭̻̋̌͠S̶̗̲̭̀͊̈́Ã̵̬̚L̵͍͔̝͗I̴̡̤̽N̵̘̹̪̈́͌G̶̠̠̿̽M̵̨̪̟̓͑͘E̷̞͇͖̎̓̊Ṇ̸̉͠T̸̙͐ ̶͔͛D̵͚̖̟͆̎͝E̴̠̽͌͝T̶̟̀̿̄E̷̢͒̾͗C̷͖̓͑T̸̢͚̟̉E̴͉͓͆͂̚D̵̡̨̛̈́̄.̵̛̩͝ ̷̧̱̈̆A̶̧͐L̷͎̆̂Í̶̠̖̔G̴̖̱͋Ǹ̸͉̕I̸̐͜N̵̢̖̠͌G̴͖͓̈́͘ ̷͍̫̲̄͛Ç̶̝̻͊̑͘Ư̸̢̩̬̈R̵̗̱̘̈́́R̸̙̩̀̓Ȩ̴͎̱̐N̵̟̐̈́T̵̥̄͆ ̶̣͚̘̅̕N̴̟͆È̴̗͊͋Ȩ̶͇̗̄̉D̴͉͇̓̆̒Ṣ̷͉̳͐͆ ̶̟̉Ẁ̸̻̞̤͘Í̷͈̻͖̾͝T̸̥̾H̷̯̕ ̴̡̻͖́̀̆B̶̩̎U̷͙̬͕͒D̶̡̹̊̐͐G̶͉̣̍͑͜E̴̜̗̭͒T̸̼̼͆̈́
+100 CP!
20 Words or Less - 100 CP: When introducing yourself to someone or explaining something for the first time as long you manage to sum it up in twenty words or less they will quickly and easily absorb the information without freaking out or becoming confused. As a bonus so long as it's actually true they'll believe it 100% as well.
-stepped out of an alleyway. The ground was covered in stains and garbage overflowed from every side and corner of the alley. I blinked, completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of ads glowing, floating, flying all over the central pillar-tower.
Wait, I recognize this place – I spent an inordinate amount of time tracking a stalker here, a stalker targeting a musician from Us Cracks. Us Cracks. From… Cyberpunk 2077.
Oh no.
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I took a swig from my dented Thermoflask, swallowed heavily, and walked across the street. People seemed to be giving this general area a wide berth – maybe it smelled bad? I'd never really had a sense of smell, with a perpetually stuffed nose since childhood, so I supposed there was no way to know. The crosswalk lit up green, and I strode across to the central market area, then took a moment to lean on the barrier and feel around in my pockets.
Inventory: phone (useless), wallet (useless), tin of Altoid Smalls (took 1), handkerchief, Flomask (holy shit if you take this off your lungs will hate you), paracetamol, Advil, and a chapstick (do NOT use that now, the air in Night City is poison).
I take a look at the gang hanging around the stairs leading down into the market – they seem to be letting people pass almost at random. Maybe they've got a blacklist for who isn't welcome. I took a deep breath, held it in for 7 seconds, then someone ran into me from behind and sent me stumbling forward, before the TYGER CLAWS!
I kept my head facing forward do NOT make eye contact! and just focused on minding my steps so I wouldn't give anyone an excuse to shoot me, and they didn't seem to care about my lack of chrome or form of dress. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I let out a breath of relief - huh? In game, there was a clothing vendor in a wheelchair yeah that's him, other side who had been abandoned by his fellow Tygers after he suffered a spinal injury. However, he didn't operate out of Kabuki Market, but a nearby walkway market. Why was he here? Alright, don't be rude, don't stare, be direct.
"I'd like to trade in these threads for something quieter. Do you have any recommendations?" I ?mumble? (quiet! You were too quiet!), but to my surprise he responds immediately.
"I don't got the eddies to buy businesswear like that, even with a trade. More importantly, is that hot? I can't handle heat from angry Cylons."
Cylons? Isn't that an alien? From context he probably means corpsec. Uh, Panam uses a phone, so those exist, and maybe a place to lay my head down – homeless people get hunted for sport here.
I shift my weight, leaning toward the hip I've placed my hand on. "No worries, this belonged to me, before things went wrong. A holophone would be nice, and maybe a recommendation for a safe place to rest. Valuable enough to knock off 2K, to me."
What the hell are you doing? This is Night City! He'll shoot you and rip the clothes off your twitching corpse! No wait, if he's disabled, ex-Claw, and doing business in Tyger Claw territory, he's probably got a reputation to uphold. Maybe he thinks killing me will draw attention to the clothes?
"That's still not in my budget. But…" The vendor trailed off, thinking about something, eyes drifting above and to the right. "… a recommendation is nice and all, but I can offer you the convenience of arranging a decent place to rest – I'd say that's worth, say 22K off the price?"
Doesn't Regina pay like 3K for gigs?! What the hell makes these clothes so valuable?!
"Well, I'm new to the city, and I would appreciate it if you could explain what makes your place safe. I'm not a veteran gunfighter, see?" I remark, looking directly between his eyes at the bridge of his nose (gives the appearance of making eye contact).
The vendor grunted, and rotated to the side, rummaging through grimy plastic, foam, and metal containers piled up haphazardly. "Most people in Night City think the public transit isn't safe. That's true for the station entrances and back tunnels, but one thing you can rely on in Night City is the bus service. They're like tanks on wheels, armed and armored to the teeth, with 10 security guards stationed inside each one to keep the peace. The stops are near the various public data terminals you've seen around the city. You'll never have any troubles if you stick to the bus lines, and this place? It's 2 minutes from a bus stop served by 5 of the 6 bus colors – only line you can't immediately board here is the Red. The guy what runs the building owes me a life debt, so it shouldn't be too hard to arrange this." He hands me a dense black slab that looks like a folded tablet, jarringly shiny and sleek in contrast to everything I've seen so far.
"A life debt? In Night City? That and a twenty should get you a burrito." I joke, testing the buttons on the dull plastic shell reminding me of old bulky Lenovo Thinkpads. "Still, as long as you can get it done, I'm fine with that. Pay me the rest in cash, please."
"And how much were you thinking?" He inquired, as his eyes glowed with unseen messages.
"Let's not waste time with haggling, choombatta," I politely deflected, relaxing with unearned confidence. "Give me a good price, and your contact number. We've both got better things to do with our time – I need to arrange for the basics of my new life, you need to go find a proper buyer, get your values worth," I bluffed. "Make a fair offer, and there's nothing more to be said." I held up the phone, having set up the internal coprocessor's secure wallet functionality.
His eyes glow a diminished, flickering blue, and my new phone vibrates and chimes. I take a brief glance, just to confirm the amount has at least 3 zeros at the end, and swiftly put it aside and begin taking off my clothes. Pure cotton, the soft kind that doesn't trigger my sensory processing disorder, dyed in gentle pastel colors. My balance isn't good enough to check if anyone is looking as I remember halfway through pulling on the pants he hands me – I just hope no one really cares, like how nudism was an actual fashion option in the table top game.
A brimmed hat, to mitigate the heat, a safer-weave suit jacket, a bullet-resistant turtleneck (better chance of surviving a bullet is probably worth overheating), silver duolayer aramid-weave cargo pants and cushioned protective boots. Fortunately, he did not insist on my underwear (probably would have died the moment I reflexively denied him) so my undershirt and underpants protected me from the worst of the sensation of synthetic fibers on my body (that doesn't mean it's not fucking annoying AAA-).
He tapped his wrist to my phone, adding himself to my contacts (KENSHIN), and began locking up his stuff immediately.
Taking the hint, I walked back towards the market, and entered the gun store. The double doors slid smoothly but audibly, and the man at the front desk relaxed when he saw me (huh?).
"So, no chrome and no idea what you're doing, huh? Must be a nova story if you've managed to make it this deep into Scav territory without any protection." he mused, putting away a cloth and some tools from the counter. "What can I get you?"
"Well, I'm not a trained gunman, and I have no experience in combat. I need something easy to use and reasonably effective." I explained standing before the counter in the fig leaf pose, hands clasped. "Don't exactly have the money for a smart-gun, so I'd like to consult you on a good self defense weapon."
"Well that sounds just fine, but there's a few formalities first," he explained, poking at his monitor. "Just going to need your ID, iron permit, the usual." I grimaced – this heap couldn't even keep the water safe, but still had the time to regulate firearms?
"For certain reasons, I have none of the usual. Can we make something work? I'm not trouble or dangerous!" I hastily explained as his hand blurred – fortunately, it came to rest on his chin.
"I'm going to be honest, selling to people without permits or IDs is common enough – but if you don't have either, I don't have any plausible deniability at all." He fixed me with a gimlet stare. "You're really not gonna be flashing this piece around, right? Just pull it when needed, no showing off?"
"That's right," I confirmed. "As long as it's not a vending machine gun that will explode in my hands, I'm not picky." Was he going to give me a laser weapon? I heard those used to be a thing 50 years ago – and he's handing me a generic handgun.
"This is the Colt Alpha-Omega 10mm" he explained, almost flagging himself with the barrel twice as he showed off the gun. "Built in compensator, 10+1 capacity, reliable, accurate, effective. Only reason this piece wasn't a household name like the Gamad is because it was marginally more expensive – and you know cyberpunks," he groaned, "every eddie they can cut corners on for another bit of useless flash, they'll do it. Who cares if the Gamad shot like a plastic bag drifts?" He reached under the counter, and hauled up a holster and 3 magazines. "I've taken good care of this piece, it'll keep you safe unless you start putting hundreds of rounds through it on the daily. I recommend either AP rounds," he lifted up the first magazine, "APEX rounds," he lifts the second, "or my personal project, APEM – inert metal until it makes contact with conductive metal, then dumps a shock payload into the target. A single shot can stun an attacker for half a second."
"If I use AP rounds at the range, do they shoot the same as the APEM rounds?" I inquire, setting up a payment through my phone.
"Yeah, pretty much no practical difference at 30 yards or less." He bent down under the desk and bought up 2 fist-sized plastic bags of ammo, one with grey tip rounds and one with blue, along with 3 empty magazines. "So, the AO, holster, magazines, APEM bullets, training rounds, and your "gratitude" for my consideration, that all comes to 4K."
I type in the number immediately, transfer the amount, and start strapping on the holster. The man opens up the APEM pack, and starts loading bullets into one of the magazines. "Rack the slide or turn off the safety in the showroom, and I'm putting a bullet through your spine." he warns. Fair enough.
Gun stowed, ammo and magazines stashed throughout the myriad pockets of my jacket, and feeling marginally less likely to drop dead on the spot, I walk back to where the handicapped vendor has replaced most of his colorful shiny streetwear with worn-down matte plastic outers, clearly arguing with someone.
"-listen, if you insist on its value, I can assure you it's authentic. Yes, multiple people have confirmed – no radiation, no toxic factory residue, barely even looks like it ever left a container since it was manufactured God-knows-when (thank God I tear off all my tags for my SPD). Few are even the corpos who could claim to own such an authentic, rare piece of clothing, and I'm offering you both of them for a drop in your bucket. We know it's all about showing off at your level, right? So just send someone you trust to take a look – I promise you, you're gonna like the way they look at you. I guarantee it. Mmhmm. Yes, let me know when and where to expect them."
He finished his call, and turned to me with a smile. "I didn't get your name last time around."
"Is that necessary?" I declined. "We both have what we want – well, almost," I said, opening the Citimap on my phone.
"Yes, I suppose that's fair enough. The less ties to whatever could drive you to sell such a treasure and remake yourself so utterly, the better. Take this route," he said, painting a trail with his fingers that was 2 bus rides away, "it's the Hengxin Path Hotel. It has been converted into an apartment complex, and the Tyger Claws maintain protection over the area. I've managed to arrange your rent for a month, but the Claws will be around every 2 weeks to collect on protection money. Just don't give them an excuse, and the veterans should keep the hotblooded gonks from making trouble for you." he finished, transferring me a digital key.
"Good luck with life, mister." I wished him, turning away towards the bus stop.
"I don't need luck kid – Kenshin makes his own way!" he proclaimed with a laugh.
Poor bastard, he thinks he's won. Wonder how long it takes till he realizes Night City is winding up to smash his balls up his throat and out his mouth?
... wonder how long it takes till I'm unceremoniously shot.
On that happy note, I shoved my hands in my pockets, and boarded the bus.