Michael 'Magos' Sobronov
Sensing the new electronic connection snapping into place behind me, I pause my typing and look back over my shoulder "Everything in order?"
Gloria quickly eyed the diagnostic screens looming over the reinforced ripper bed again before nodding to herself "No complications so far. The patient is stable and resting."
"Excellent." I focus back on the slowly assembling 3D model on the screen "Thanks for agreeing to this, it is a very important project."
"A cure, or even a treatment for cyberpsychosis would be a great thing for everyone." She reassures me happily "And I'm always a minute away anyways."
"Nevertheless it is appreciated." I reiterate "You can leave the rest to me for tonight."
She holds back a yawn and mumbles a 'g'night' and leaves for the elevator.
It had been four days since we officially moved into the tower (The Mechanica Tower, as people on the street were already calling it), and after El Capitan came through with most of my workshop equipment, I no longer had any reason to keep the subject-
Mr. Grant.
-in a literal basement.
Especially not since his chances seemed to be improving by the day.
There had been no observable psychotic episode since our intervention, and only some minor neural fluctuations that could be explained away as the brain realigning itself. This made me confident he wouldn't go berserk whenever he woke up, and so I moved him up here for more precise monitoring.
As well as my own peace of mind.
Yelena was an alright assistant despite all her other detractors, but I found it far, far easier to trust Gloria with oversight rather than some irritating ex Scav.
She was paid a fat bonus to keep her mouth shut, and let go.
Despite my natural suspicion, I found it quite doubtful she would blab. At least not too soon in any case.
One did not get to work on personally important projects for one of the big name Fixers of NC if they didn't know how to keep their mouths shut, so hopefully she could die of old age, instead of an overload daemon to the cranium.
Which is just about all the remaining thought I was willing to invest into the woman, instead eyeing the few golden accent lines now visible on my hands.
Admittedly, it was something of a spur of the moment decision that came to me two days ago, as I was doing a routine scan of my chasis. The monochrome look was charming at first but it had gotten somewhat old, and if I was going to modify the looks, I might as well make it practical.
Which is how I ended up lining most of my body with ECM.
Did I strictly need a passive electronic countermeasure to completely ignore smart munitions?
No.
But it was all of ten minutes to manufacture it, so why not?
Really it was more of a change of clothes than an actual mod.
And that line had me thinking...
The doors behind me shunted open again, admitting the familiar excited steps of Rebecca and she quickly found herself leaning over my shoulder and curiously staring at the screen "Whacha doing?"
"Got bored of your drums already?" I asked without looking up.
She smacked my head to little effect "Shush. Just 'cos I got them doesn't mean I'm going to spend the whole night practicing. Also, Lana would murder me."
"You can always just activate the sound isolation." I pointed out.
"No logic. Bad." She pouted "Also, no distractions. What am I looking at?"
"Decided to try my luck at designing an ACPA." I was more than eager to inform her "Figured it would make for a nice force multiplier when the need arises."
"Random acronyms are random." She bobs her head, intrigued.
Knowing well I was getting baited, I still elaborated "Assisted Combat Personal Armor."
She just stares, her Optics glazing over dramatically.
"Power armor, Becca." I sigh and grumble "Its power armor."
"Well why didn't you say so immediately?" She asks, but I note the teasing glint in her eyes.
I flick her nose "Gremlin."
She cackles briefly before focusing back on the screen "Not gonna lie, that is pretty fucking preem. How far did you get?"
"I'm just starting out." I tell her, flicking through the few 'publicly available' (read: already long since hacked) designs "Haven't even gotten to actually building a prototype of a prototype yet so I'm just treating it like a pet project for now. Too much shit to do, too little time."
"Well I'm definitely looking forward to one now." She grins, sounding very enthusiastic "You coming up to bed?"
"Not for a while." I shake my head "Got a meeting I need to get to. Feel like a ride to the Badlands?"
"Too eepy." She declines, gives me quick hug, and hops away.
[Shall I up the design priority?] Logos asks.
I mentally glare at the cheeky AI, and quickly agree a moment later.
The Bright
He scanned the surrounding area impatiently, right foot tapping the dry, scorched dirt under his boot as he checked on his internal timepiece for the third time this minute.
"This whole thing stinks."
The annoyed voice made him lower his binoculars and he made sure not to follow through with his immediate impulse to pinch the bridge of his nose as he heard the complaint for the 'tenth fucking tim-'
Saul Bright took a short breath and asked "Then why are you here, Panam?"
The haughty, troublesome girl just gave him one of her usual looks which prompted him to immediately tune her oncoming rant out, instead refocusing on observing the barely visible approach, and the small flickering lights now growing closer and closer with each passing second.
Panam must have realized he wasn't paying attention because when he looked back to his people she had already stomped off back to her car.
Shaking his head he turned to one of his most reliable people "You sure they'll know how to find us, Mitch?"
"Wouldn't be surprised if they know exactly where we are already." The older man shrugged "Techie like that one probably has some ridiculous scanners on him."
That made sense, even if the thought of being so outgunned unnerved him.
Another minute passed as the lights came closer, and soon a large, purposefully non descript truck became visible.
Suddenly a message flicked itself into his eyes and he tensed.
At the same time, the truck opened up, and half a dozen men in full heavy combat gear fanned out, scanning the area but keeping their weapons low, subvocalizing between themselves as they observed Saul's people.
"Told you." He knew the complaint was coming but it still annoyed him.
"Not now, Panam." He hissed and raised his hand as his family reacted to the sight "Hold."
Finally, a tall figure stepped out from the co-driver's seat, wearing a more elaborate and much heavier version of the troopers' combat armor, with its only truly distinctive feature being the four golden pupils shining through the night's darkness.
"Apologies for that, but one can never be too certain." The man he knew to be Magos spoke up in an easy tone and addressed the man next to him "Mr. Jeremiah, at ease."
The soldier in the lead made a motion with his hand and the rest of them followed, completely lowering their weapons.
Michael 'Magos' Sobronov
The Nomad leader didn't seem surprised or particularly unnerved by the display, something like that was likely common enough in the open deserts he and his people travelled that most of the Nomads didn't even bat an eye.
A moment passed between us before he approached me and offered his hand "Saul Bright."
"Michael Sobronov. A pleasure to finally meet face to face, Mr. Saul." I shook the hand "I hope your voyage was safe?"
"Safe as it could be." He shrugged "Hit a few scrapes on the way but nothing we haven't dealt with before."
"No Night City hospitality?" I probed.
"Not yet, but the night is young."
"Good to hear." I nod "The cargo?"
"We've got everything you wanted, don't worry." He indicates a trio of trucks standing somewhat separate to the small army of cars around us.
Calling my troopers over wasn't just for show, as we'd agreed it would be much simpler to just exchange vehicles and compensate the difference instead of wasting hours unloading and loading the cargo back up.
The rest of the Nomads kept themselves mostly at a distance as Saul led me along, Mitch and Scorpion giving me nods in greeting as I passed them by but completely deferring the meeting to their leader.
I was mildly confused when I noticed a young woman glaring daggers at me from the back when she thought I wasn't looking but I was frankly not curious enough to find out what exactly crawled up her ass and died.
The scans indicated she was no threat, and the Nomads tended not to tolerate idiotic behavior from their members for all too long.
The first truck was just as I'd expected, a veritable mountain of some very hard to get (at least in NC) medical and cybernetic equipment destined to fill out the rest of my workshop, accompanied by a few luxuries the family wanted.
The second carried purely expensive alloys and other rare materials. Things I could reasonably get in NC but came far cheaper when smuggled in by a tentatively allied Nomad clan.
It was the third truck that I was particularly giddy for, the familiar stench of amonia only growing as Saul pulled the heavy tarp away to reveal a big ass cage filled to the brim with real actual unirradiated chickens, enough of them to start a stable population.
"Still can't wrap my head around you offering that much for damn chickens but its your money." He says slightly unsure after I manage to contain my (thankfully concealed) grin "Getting them past the border guards was a bitch and a half."
He probably had an idea or two on just how expensive and illegal these things were in NC, but it was one thing to know something, and an entirely different one to have true perspective of just how ridiculously corrupt our slice of desert was.
"Which should quite handily reflect on the price, as we agreed." I give him a sideways look and he doesn't protest. I observe the two trucks for a moment longer, shoot another scan just in case, and decide that I'm satisfied.
A few moments later we are rejoined by Scorpion, who had been the one to inspect the cargo we brought over, and Jeremiah, who was leading my second squad of corporate troopers.
"Everything's accounted for on their end." The veteran Nomad informs his boss "Fresh of the production lines, just like he promised."
As expected, they wanted a large stock of replacement parts for when their people inevitably got hurt on their long treks, and they wanted them on the cheap.
Considering the mindboggling numbers I would be saving with the trade, I was more than happy to provide.
"Good." I speak up after a moment "We should disperse soon or we will start drawing more attention than needed. We can establish a more permanent exchange spot when you move over permanently."
"Right." Saul agrees quickly, tips his hat at me, and turns to his people "Alright folks, we are moving out!"
They all snapped into action like a well oiled machine, and would likely be well beyond the border before the sun rose again.
It would still be a few months before the Brights of the Aldecaldos fully moved into NC's surroundings, and this exchange likely reinforced that decision even further.
They were a useful bunch so far.
I admit, I was quite surprised things went off without a hitch. A bit disappointed even, or at least a small part of me was, but I'd take a smooth operation over a bloody fuckup any day.
Still, best to keep all bases covered [Mr. Jeremiah.] I holo'd the man driving the chicken truck [Anything out of the ordinary?]
[Nothing we didn't expect.] The gruff vet informs me [They had a solid perimeter in the surroundings, and some of their vehicles had heavy weapons trained on us. But that's just good sense when you spend most of your days travelling the goddamn desert, if you'll pardon my French, sir.]
[Excellent. Now let's make sure we deliver those beauties to the warehouse and we can all celebrate a job well done with some fresh chicken filet.] I smile under my ballistic helmet.
[Hah! Schmidt is going to burst a vein when he hears he missed out.] The veteran laughs before turning serious [Alright boys, cut the chatter! We are closing in on the city.]
The rest of the ride towards the unassuming Watson warehouse was spent in almost complete silence as the troopers were kept alert, and I focused on fudging any scans that came too close for comfort.
Bringing birds into NC was beyond illegal, so I wasn't going to be using any building of mine for the little side business and would instead rely on Jones and her proxies to run it for me for a solid cut on their end.
The real meat market of NC was practically dried out excepting a few skilled smugglers, and the even fewer actual farmers (not that they owned actual farms, those basement setups were probably more expensive than some hospitals), and my Nomad contacts allowed me to get a breeding stock for practically nothing.
There was literally no reason not to try it, and if the plan succeeded I would have a massive, reliable bump in revenues a few weeks down the line, alongside the water filtration and hydroponics projects I was tinkering with in the background.
If not?
Chicken filet was delicious, and the cross border import was still cheaper than that Dogtown asshole's overpriced goods.
-----
It was a day later and I was back home tinkering.
Or I was experiencing some manner of horror xBD, I wasn't quite sure yet.
The few bits of chrome I'd removed from my sole long term patient in an effort to reduce his neural load were in insultingly poor condition, and just looking at them made me feel an intense surge of professional disgust.
Whichever 'doctor' installed this shit needed to have his or hers guts rearranged, and not in the fun way.
Before I could get any more horrified, the recovering cyberpsycho in question suddenly tried sitting up in his bed, momentarily straining against the reinforced bindings before slumping back down and staring up at the wall, reaching up with his partially de-chromed hand and hissing out a confused "M-rrtha!"
Ah. Unfortunate.
Under Logos' instruction I'd made sure to learn as much as I could about the man's history, information that Regina provided despite her grumbling after I explained the situation, and that made me understand the man had just called for his childhood sweetheart.
Someone who had died about four decades ago.
The man must have finally computed that he was actually awake because he stopped his thrashing a moment later, and started looking around with nothing but confusion in his eyes, feeble whispers of "Wha-" and "Wher?" leaving his mouth all the while.
I made sure to stand up slowly as to not alert him, and cautiously approached as he got used to the low light environment of my workshop.
His low grade Optics snapped in my direction but there was no tension in the movement, just sluggishness "Who?"
Having my skin on would have probably helped make this meeting a bit less stressful for him, but I would just have to deal "Good morning, Mr. Grant. You have been asleep for some time."
"Grant." He furrows his brows "Thats... me?"
"Indeed." He looks even more confused and I correct myself "Yes. Roger Grant, that is you."
He repeats the name a few times, looking completely lost.
"Can you tell me what you remember?" I asked after allowing his thoughts to run for a bit.
But he just looked at me confused and went back to repeating his name.
Shit.
A quick scan showed his brain was indeed working quickly and making or repairing connections where possible in its state of increased plasticity, but if things went on like this I wouldn't be able to confirm anything practical for months or even years as he slowly re-learned how to be a person.
Which meant plan B, reach for the subconscious instead of the conscious.
Like a concerning number of my patients, Grant was once a soldier, a soldier of many many years of operating under a very specific regime of discipline.
So instead of wasting time nudging him, I cleared my throat and barked "Atten-tion!"
The man's eyes immediately sharpened, and his free hand reached up to snap a salute. This was almost immediately followed by the brain scans going haywire for a blink.
I grew worried for a moment but the scanners quickly informed me the jolt seemed to have sped up the process, even if it exhausted what little energy the brain had left over to keep itself fully awake.
It wasn't exactly a stable system just yet, and the reaction was only to be expected.
But aside from professional worry, what dominated my mind was the understanding I could almost definitely force the process through a bit of nanotech, making a fully aware blank slate in the process.
Logos had annotated at least ten good reasons why I shouldn't do that by the time I'd even finished thinking it, and so the idea was shelved.
So I'd have to fix the man the old fashioned way. And what better way to prod the decades of combat experience having veteran than having him do what he knew best?
'Regina was not going to like what I had in mind.' I thought 'Not one bit.'
------
You are hereby permitted to engage in smuggling operations so long as a proper tribute is paid in stone.