Faelan had spent half an hour waiting.
Waiting for Galina to break out of her mental loop with her thoughts and emotions sorted. He didn't know what exactly she was processing, but he'd make sure to ask later.
Galina took several deep breaths as she started the engine and got the car back on the road.
Turns out, a dented steering wheel didn't affect driving.
"Where are we going?" she asked in a tight voice, clearly trying to change the subject.
She wasn't in the mood to keep that conversation going.
"I've got Faraday's location, but it's only valid for today," Faelan didn't press. The answers had been out of reach for years—he could wait a bit longer. "We're paying him a little visit. Just to 'chat'."
"And does that 'chat' have anything to do with the suitcase you're carrying?" Galina nodded at the matte black case—small enough to fit a human head.
"Yeah." Faelan gently ran his hand across the case. "Faraday will generously contribute to our safety and future—completely voluntarily. And under compulsion."
Some of the potions he'd distilled but not yet tested might cause unpredictable effects in bodies with heavy cyberware, so he needed someone to carry out a few human experiments.
Unfortunately, typical scav bodies were in such poor shape that any reactions wouldn't be reliable. And he wasn't about to use good people as test subjects, not even for a paycheck—that was what megacorps did.
But Faraday? A healthy, chromed specimen who definitely deserved to help.
In fact, the scav population wasn't recovering like before. For some reason, they were struggling to replenish their numbers—and it took time.
Galina's mood lightened a bit at that. Her boss might not have run human experiments, but she treated trash like trash—didn't matter how much chrome they had or how fancy their suits looked.
Trash was still trash.
Although, to be fair—Motoko probably didn't expect to give birth to a magic kid.
"We're here," she parked under cover and looked around. "You sure this is the place? Looks kinda…"
They were at a loading dock.
"Relax. See that warehouse over there? The one with the big '3' painted on the wall?" Faelan pointed. "Faraday's inside."
"In a warehouse. At a loading dock."
"It's a front," Faelan handed her a blueprint he'd gotten from Arasaka through his Pip-Boy. "See? One of the containers has an elevator that leads to an underground facility—modern and fully equipped for VIPs. Think of it like a very discreet hotel for shy people."
"Can you sink the place? You did something like that with the factory, right?"
Kiwi had been very honest in her report.
"As much as I'd like to say yes, it's too close to the sea—extra reinforced," Faelan shook his head. "So we'll have to go through the front. You've worked with setups like this—what do you suggest?"
He could collapse it—but then he'd be left without a test subject.
Galina went quiet, evaluating the area and the blueprint.
"Biggest concern is an emergency exit. If Faraday slips out through a hidden door, we're screwed," she said. "So first thing is making sure it's locked down. You can't bring the whole place down, but can you check the blueprint for any gaps?"
"On it."
He opened the car door and immediately extended roots into the ground, feeling out the hidden spaces beneath like a blind man tracing an object for flaws.
"There's a shaft that goes even deeper—links up with the sewers. Right next to the room Faraday's supposed to be in," he discovered.
"Classic. Probably hidden behind a shelf or false wall," Galina scoffed. "Predictable. Can your roots block the path?"
"They can," Faelan looked a little surprised. "It's not even reinforced. Feels more like an old mining elevator."
"They probably didn't want to draw attention. Just a basic escape route—likely designed to be one-use only," Galina mused. "If Faraday escaped that way, there's probably a mechanism to blow the exit and seal it behind him."
She frowned, then turned to Faelan.
"We should also keep in mind there's a high chance we're dealing with a body double. These slippery types love pulling that move," she warned. "Even if it looks like we've got him, we better sweep the whole place to be sure."
With today's tech and medtechs, making someone look like someone else was frighteningly easy. Some even took it further—copying behavior and habits to make them feel real, like the dolls at Clouds.
Doubles who actually believed they were the person they were impersonating.
"Good point," Faelan admitted. "By the way… I guess you had to give up most of your implants when you left Tasogare. Have you thought about… y'know, rearming yourself?"
Considering how things were going, Galina regaining some combat capability might be a good idea.
"I won't deny I've considered it. But even with the money you pay me, Vik's access to top-tier implants is limited—and I've got very specific standards," Galina raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask? Feels like there's something more behind that question."
Faelan shifted in his seat.
"Okay, this is something even Kiwi doesn't know, so… I'd appreciate your discretion."
Galina's interest spiked.
A secret even Kiwi didn't know?
"Oh?"
"You know Viktor's taught me a lot over the years," Faelan began, setting the stage. "Kiwi and I both helped him out from time to time—but mostly me."
Galina nodded. She remembered. Vik even told her once that if Faelan wanted to, he could qualify for a license. With his "mystic crap" added to surgery, they were practically miracles. Recovery and rehab that usually took weeks could be skipped entirely.
"You also know I've always been better with hardware…" he continued.
Galina nodded again. Over time it had become clear how the duo had split their strengths—Kiwi handled the software, Faelan was the builder. He often modded second-hand gear—or even new tech—to surpass factory specs.
Even now, Kiwi only used rigs that Faelan had verified and modified. Sasha didn't believe there was much difference—until she tried it and got hooked.
"Wait a second!" Galina sat up straight. "Are you saying you know how and want to do it? You wanna build me custom chrome!?"
Her reaction seemed to hit the mark.
Now, corporate-grade implants went through insane levels of R&D. Designed by teams of engineers and doctors, stress-tested, endlessly optimized, with millions invested.
Just the latest Kiroshi optics model had taken three years to finalize—with all the corporate backing.
Then came the elite versions of those models. And after that? Custom builds.
Custom implants could cost more than a full civilian setup—sometimes even more than military-grade.
"Technically speaking, they'd be more like bioimplants," Faelan coughed, just to manage her expectations.
"Bioimplants? I know the tech, but compared to mechanical options, they're a bit…" Galina tried to be tactful, then remembered who she was talking to. "How would that even work, exactly?"
"Depends on what you want. My surgeries would be a bit different from Vik's," Faelan shrugged. "Say you wanted to replace something. I'd clone part of your organic tissue via DNA, and the implant would be made of bone, flesh, blood—but enhanced. Your body would never reject it, it'd be like you were born with it. No risk of cyberpsychosis."
"If you wanted skin reinforcement, though, that'd be a whole other process."
He could do hybrid chrome–bio builds, but that'd put more strain on the body—and frankly, he wasn't confident enough yet. Not for a full success.
"I think I get the gist," Galina nodded. "Ever consider using bioimplants for people who've gone cyberpsycho? Could be a hell of a business."
"I have," Faelan admitted. "But I won't."
"Why not?"
"For starters, it wouldn't be cheap," he counted on his fingers. "Then there's the fact that most cyberpsychos end up dead. Few people can knock them out—they've got military-grade chrome. Let's say someone does manage to do it. (Assuming they'd even pay to help the guy.) There's still chrome addiction."
He gave her a look.
"Imagine going through all that—losing your mind, getting knocked out—only to wake up and realize someone stripped your chrome and left you with flesh. Not even civilian-grade chrome. Organic. I'd bet nine out of ten would be back at a ripper in a week. So what's the point of spending time, effort, and money?"
He shook his head.
"I'm not some bleeding-heart who gambles on that one-in-ten. It's not worth it."
Just look at Maine—chrome addiction, and then what happened was inevitable.
And beyond that, a service like that would demand Faelan's personal time to craft every implant to measure. He didn't want to. Simple as that. Call it selfish.
"How confident are you?"
"Mmm…" He took a moment to think seriously. "Leaving out functions I can't replicate—like optics or RAM upgrades—most of my bioimplants would be better than mechanical versions," he said firmly. "So a mix of my work and selected implants from the market would be the best setup."
Especially for internal systems.
Organs, bones, muscles, nerves…
Imagine skeletons with the density of a rhino's femur, the lightness of a bird bone, the flexibility of…
Well, you get the idea.
He didn't even have to use animal templates. As long as it was biologically possible, he could form organs that didn't exist—as if they'd been born with them. Like a flame sac for breathing fire.
Though of course, that would mean calculating all the extra risks.
You wouldn't want to give someone a flame sac, only for them to scorch their lungs, throat, and mouth on the first try. Then die.
Bioimplants just for the sake of it? Didn't make sense. But he could simulate similar effects with his druid abilities.
"All right, I'll think about it—and I'll keep your secret," Galina nodded. "Just one last question: why doesn't Kiwi—or anyone else—know?"
"I…" Faelan hadn't expected the question, so he answered with resignation.
Once she heard the reason, Galina looked at him oddly.
"You kept this a secret for years… just because of that?"
"Is it that weird?" Faelan asked, genuinely concerned.
He'd drawn inspiration from another series, and it had taken a lot of effort to make it work.
Should he scrap everything and pretend he never did it?
"No, no, it's, uh… sweet, in a way," Galina had never struggled more to find the right words. "It's just… unexpected, that's all."
Faelan gave her the dead fish stare.
Why did her tone inspire zero confidence?
"Focus!" Galina couldn't take it anymore and smacked him on the forehead. "We're getting off track. Target now: Faraday." She got out of the car and opened the trunk, going through weapons with last-minute checks out of habit. "Ugh. You know, we should really hit a proper armory soon. These guns are well-kept, but they're not the best I've ever used."
"You're the weapons expert. Just give me a budget."
Best to let the pro handle it—that way they'd avoid scams, inflated prices, and faulty or tampered gear.
"No, no, this is mandatory," came the metallic click-clack of a weapon being loaded behind the car. "First Faraday. Once you're done experimenting on him, we're hitting an armory."
"You don't want to just get Arasaka gear?" Faelan asked.
"Meh." Galina shrugged. "Not bad, but depending on the type, Militech's got better stuff. (Don't quote me on that.) And the really good stuff? Arasaka keeps it. Besides, a stroll through the armories might surprise us! You wouldn't believe how many treasures some idiots mistake for junk."
Faelan considered it, then nodded.
An afternoon shopping trip with Galina didn't sound so bad.