Chapter 11: Lonesome
Two hours.
That's how long I trained before I left the gym, the time split somewhat equally between boxing and taekwondo. Were it not for the meeting to get my ownership of the penthouse sorted, I'd still be in the gym going to town on the bag.
God knows I wasn't the slightest bit tired after that workout. It was the opposite actually. I was pumped, and I wanted more. Sadly, this was important. That's why I was here ten minutes early, leaning on my car as I had my first proper meal.
The XXL Burrito had been heavily edited in the system, changing it from the utter atrocity the nearby vending machine spat out into something suitable for a human's taste buds.
Takemura was right.
Night City food was absofuckinglutely disgusting. My respect for the people who lived here once again, experienced another leap. There were a plethora of reasons for the city's hellish nature, and this slop called food was definitely one of them.
Shaking my head at the utter absurdity of it all, I bit down on the modified burrito, tearing a huge chunk out of the wrapped roll of goodness. The distinct tastes of cheese, bacon, beef, and chicken exploded like fireworks on my tongue.
I shut my eyes and threw my head back, almost moaning as I tried to slow my chewing so as to savor the taste. Unfortunately, I had underestimated my body's desire for sustenance.
Even with the Super-Soldier Serum running in my veins, I still needed food. It didn't create energy out of nowhere… I think. I distinctly remember that all mutates in the Marvel universe, even Captain America, were connected to some extradimensional source of energy.
But that's besides the point.
I had been running around doing all sorts of stuff and engaging in all manner of activity without even a drop of gas in the tank. Needless to say, I quickly whittled down the bomb burrito, reducing it to the mere crumbs on my fingers.
With my cheeks swollen and mouth busily working on the rapidly diminishing remnants, I looked over at the vending machine stuck between a dumpster and a building, contemplating if I should go for another round.
I quickly brought up the interface to check the time when one of the many cars passing by slowed and parked in front of mine. It looked like a limo but not entirely, lacking in the absurd length department.
Out of the driver's side door stepped a man bigger and taller than I was. The brown suit hugging his tower-like frame did little to hide and rather accentuated his space marine stature and the weapon—no, iron, he was carrying.
He moved to the other side of the car and opened the door with his meaty hand.
As whoever he was chauffeuring/ guarding alighted, I retrieved a tissue from my pocket and wiped my hands and lips clean. I then patted myself down, finding no stains or problems with my white, fully buttoned dress-shirt, fresh indigo pants, and black dress shoes.
Whenever we went to church, outings or programs, my mother always insisted and ensured that I looked the part. I didn't care for it though. As someone whose death was around the corner, dressing appropriately for church… or anything for that matter, wasn't on my list of priorities.
Nonetheless, years of the woman's insistence had stuck with me. Just the thought of meeting the realtor in a hoodie or sweatshirt with cargo pants and combat boots gave me such a strong ick I wondered if I'd somehow reincarnated with my mother's ghost.
That's why I looked the way I currently did, even though it was probably unnecessary.
Come on. This was Night City. I don't think anyone cared if you dressed anyhow. Okay, maybe not in the City Center. But here in Watson? Pfft. Nobody gave a shit.
Fully outside the car and on his feet, the man who I assumed to be Bliss Argent, stood behind his bodyguard as they both assessed me for different reasons. I didn't try to get close. I just remained where I was and waved.
"Hey there. Bliss Argent?"
"Mr Bishop?" The tall, lanky man said, the lack of emotion in his robotic voice a bit off putting.
"That's me."
A pair of cold silver eyes met and held my gaze for a seeming eternity before breaking away. The owner of said eyes moved his gaze to his huscle and gestured with a shake of his head. The mountain of a man turned sideways and fully exposed Mr. Argent to me.
He wore a grey business suit that fit snugly against his pencil frame. His hair and shoes had the same grey, making him look as though he'd taken a dip in a can of grey, silver paint.
He gestured for me to get closer, a directive I promptly executed. A few steps forward and I stopped in my tracks, the outstretched arm of the bodyguard halting my advance.
But my attention wasn't even on him. Faint clicking sounds echoed on the semi-quiet sidewalk as Mr. Argent opened his suitcase . Inside it lay a silver shard, a datapad and some other device I didn't recognize.
While I was wondering where we were going with this and if there was going to be a tour of the residence, he grabbed the shard with his right and the pad with his left.
He extended the latter towards me and said, "Since you informed me you'd be paying with a credchip, I made the proper arrangements."
Keeping my expression impassive as it's been since the beginning, I grabbed the tablet and eyed Argent and his bodyguard one after the other, making them aware of my eagerness to escalate in case of any trickery.
I fiddled with the device and found the card slot without much problem, slotting in the credchip with the most amount of eddies. With a few taps, I paid the 75,000 eddie cost and signed the ownership contract after reading it over twice and receiving no hint from Spider-Sense.
With burgeoning excitement, I removed the chip and passed the tablet back to Argent. The silver-dipped man swiped on the device's screen with his silvery gloved hand for nearly a minute before looking up at me, his features morphing into a slight smile.
He passed the shard to me and said, "The house is yours now Mr. Bishop. This is the authorization shard. It'll give you access to the elevators and all the relevant systems. Thank you for subscribing to Ezestates."
Unwilling to slot in the shard in front of him, much less do so before checking it in the system, I clutched it and smiled. "Thanks. I'll be going now."
Eager like a child about to unwrap a Christmas gift, I did not expect to be stopped when I turned to leave.
"Mr. Bishop. One last thing. We have to make your ownership of the residence official."
He reached into the still open suitcase and grabbed the device I didn't recognize. He unspooled a cable from it and connected it to the tablet.
"Night City law requires that every citizen who owns property record their address on their SIN chips. This is to allow the police to do their jobs effectively, though many consider this to be a major breach of privacy. If you are of like mind, this process can be waived for a small fee."
A small sprout of incredulity tried to bloom within, but I stomped and crushed it. This city would not take me by surprise any more.
Argent just presented me with two options; you don't pay, your address goes on the city's most corrupt organization's list or you pay and it doesn't.
The choice was obvious, though I entertained the notion of not paying just to play it out and deduce the possible problems with that decision.
I immediately just thought of how easily anyone hostile to me could find where I laid my head. The tingle in the back of my head triggering and coinciding with this thought was the nail in the coffin.
Even Spider-Sense agreed that not paying was a bad idea. So, I gave Argent the extra eddies and resisted the urge to roll my eyes when his demeanor turned cheerful.
Corpos were not soulless after all.
I waited until the tail lights of his car vanished into the distance before getting into mine. Once inside, I started it and drove to a parking garage I'd scouted earlier, all the while checking to make sure the chip had no nasty surprises.
After confirming that everything was a hundred percent and paying for the parking, I left the garage with two duffle bags and returned to where the meeting went down.
Unlike before, I didn't stop and went straight for the elevator, glancing at the vending machine and licking my lips. I could still taste the fireworks. Finding no reason not to, I bought three more large burritos and stuffed them in one of the bags.
I then focused on the elevator and used the access key granted by the shard to unlock it. The double doors slid open with a hiss and I stepped in like I owned the place.
The smell of garbage and other whatnots disappeared like the wind when I chose the topmost floor as my stop and the doors slid back shut.
The low hum of the elevator and my accelerating heartbeat were all I could hear as I ascended. It felt like I was in there for hours, but I knew that wasn't the case. It was just the near overwhelming excitement that made it seem so.
After thirty or so seconds, the lift slowed and came to a stop. The doors slid open and I was greeted by a whole new environment, the dirty street and swathes of vehicles, neon signs, and people all gone.
In their place was a large, clean space, within which expensive looking furniture and appliances had been arranged and positioned fittingly. I stepped into the mansion and closed my eyes, taking in a deep, long, satisfying breath.
Like every lawless and overpopulated city I'd heard of in real life and in fiction, Night City stank to high heavens. It smelled every bit as bad as New York City was described, but multiplied by a factor of 10, no 20.
Luckily for me, the overstimulation wasn't overwhelming despite my enhanced senses. I could just tune it out, bringing the feedback I received from my nostrils down to a manageable level.
This changed the experience of moving about the city from dumpster diving to just walking by an open one. Up in this new place though, there was no dumpster. The air was crisp and clean.
Letting my excitement flow freely, I opened my eyes with a smile and dropped the bags where I stood.
I looked to my right and found the kitchen, a place I had little to no experience in. It would probably be one of if not the place I used the least in this house.
Still working off the "I own a penthouse" high, I went about the house and explored every inch of it. The living room, the bedroom, the office… I perused them all, offloading appropriate items from my inventory into each.
Next stop was the outdoor space.
Using the same access key, I unlocked the door and walked onto the parlor, instantly spotting the plants and lounge chairs. I circled the house and found a pool and more of these chairs.
They were placed at various spots in groups of two or sometimes the lone one, all of them guaranteeing a good view of the city should they be indulged in.
Shaking my head, I returned to the section of the parlor where I exited the house and climbed down the stairs nearby. The sun rays hit me as soon as I got off the last step. I looked up to the sky and found a sight that was quickly becoming normal and familiar.
The sky was blue alright, however a hazy and almost imperceptible filter of yellowish brown had been draped over it, ruining what would otherwise be an amazing view. I wasn't going to let it sour my mood though.
Just like I explored the house's interior, I did so in its exterior. The few trees and large patches of grass drew out the skeptic in me, and the benches and additional lounge chairs drew out the pauper.
Is this how rich people lived?
I could see how such a luxurious life could lead one to lose touch with reality. I mean, I had a heli–no, AV pad here. If I ever came into the ownership of a flying vehicle, I would have a place to park it.
I would have multiple in fact. The outdoor space was quite big, about two or three tennis courts big, give or take. This was unbelievable. Rich people really did live in a different world.
Resisting the urge to shake my head for the umpteenth time today, I went back into the house, eager to distract myself with the amount of work that needed to be done.
It would take some effort to transform the penthouse, beautiful as it was, into a home. There was some unpacking and setting up to do. I also needed to buy some much needed toiletries and more clothes to fill my limited wardrobe.
All this and the other hundred tiny things I needed to do would serve as good distractions from the fact that I was alone.
For the first time in my life, my parents, grandparents, sisters, cousins and friends were nowhere in sight. I had all this money and other amazing stuff, but I had no one to share it with.
In fact, owning them made me miss my family more. Because I'd never be able to show them around this house, take them for rides in my car, or even show them that I could walk or accomplish impossible feats with my improved body.
Plopping down on the couch beneath the holoprojector, I let myself slump and looked at the spinning, rectangular projections, my mind worlds away. A part of me wished I was back in my old world. Back with my parents.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I found this part of me diminishing further.
My old life was over. It had run its course. My family was probably still grieving and would not stop till they kicked their own buckets. I knew that because I missed them too, and I would not stop doing so anytime soon… or ever.
The day I wouldn't want to see them again did not exist.
I was hundred percent sure if they knew of my current circumstances, they'd want the best for me. They'd want me to be happy. To live life to the fullest and chase my dreams. So I was going to do exactly that.
And so to reality I returned, blinking to regain my bearings and also do away with the stubborn tears. Nodding to myself, I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned the top of my shirt, and leaned into the cushion with a tired breath.
I needed a minute.
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MasterReigen
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Chapter 12: The Joy of Discovery
One hour later…
Megabuilding H10, 7th Floor.
The games didn't do the megabuildings justice.
Sure, they managed to capture the feel of an enclosed, self-contained settlement slightly. I however found out, pretty quickly, that being inside the real thing was a whole different beast.
There were much, much more people for one. You couldn't walk three steps without bumping into or having to give way to someone. It made me wonder just how many people lived in this place.
By my estimate, there had to be thousands. With the number of floors and the number of crammed together apartments I'd come across, the actual number might be in the tens of thousands… and that was excluding the homeless people.
There was also more trash. Heap after heap of torn, leaky, plastic bags and cardboard had been piled up in multiple makeshift spots and corners. Just like the rest of the city, trash was allergic to dumpsters in this building.
Now, that was all bad and bad, but it still couldn't top the pollution of vending machines and advertisements. No matter where I stood or directed my gaze, the omnipresent bastards were always in sight. They were quite literally inescapable.
The sheer density—of the synthetic food and firearm dispensers in particular—made me think of Japan and subsequently Arasaka. All manner of theories and hypotheses sprung to mind like monkeys rushing to a lonesome crate of bananas.
Each was eager to get a piece of my attention, but I brushed them off and focused. This was still my first day. Let me at least learn how to shoot before I start to think of ways I can fuck over behemoth establishments.
Clanking and straining sounds were transmitted to my ears as I cut through a gym to my destination. I scanned it in passing and noted the punching bags, the weights, the trainers, and the arena with the weirdly shaped training bot.
Now that I had a place close by, this would probably be my gym from now onwards. I first had to speak to whoever was in charge if there was any and get the lay of the land. But that was again, something for another time.
I clutched my bag tighter and sped up, the bright red neon of the 2nd Amendment shop's sign washing over me as I stepped into its confines, the discordant symphony of gunshots and potent gunpowder order welcoming and embracing me.
My steps carried me to the right, where my gaze settled on a mustached, heavyset man in a plated jacket behind a counter. I stopped right in front of him and greeted before asking about access to his gun range.
After taking about 3 Mississipis to return my greeting, he answered my inquiry with multiple of his own.
He asked about firearms in general, bullet sizes, grains and holsters. Most of my answers were "I don't know," and that irked him so much he nicely asked me to get out of his shop in a loud voice.
Surprised at being kicked out but unbothered by his attitude (I expected it) I ignored his words and slapped a credchip on the counter. I slid it forward but kept my fingers on it and asked him to teach me everything he thinks an aspiring gun nut like me should know.
You should've seen the look on his face. The man couldn't understand why I requested his services after he called me a "clueless fucking gonk." What he did understand though was that there was money to be made.
He softened up like a piece of bread in water and waved at me to wait for him near the range's entrance after letting out a huff.
That's how I found myself in an enclosed stall examining the guns I'd chosen to speedrun the assimilations of the Handgun and Assault skillchips.
They were a Liberty, a DR5 Nova, a Copperhead, a DS1 Pulsar, and a Militech Crusher. A pistol, a revolver, a submachine gun, and a shotgun. One of each type of firearm compatible with the chips.
By the time I was done here today, my aim and gun handling would be at a whole new level. My knowledge on the tools of destruction would also hopefully improve with Wilson's guidance.
Speaking of the man, his heavy footfalls drew closer until they came to a stop beside me. He peered at my gun spread and harrumphed, extending his hand to me, a silver shard in his grip.
Unbothered by his attitude, I grabbed and slotted it in, Spider-Sense giving me the all clear. I looked into empty air, my eyes widening slightly after my agent processed and accessed the shard. Taking advantage of my brief distraction, Wilson explained things.
"It's a memory chip. Contains just about everything a gonk like you needs to know about iron. Manufacturer, parts, mode of assembly, firing mechanism, and whatnot. Go on. Pick up the Liberty and try it."
Heeding his words, I set my gaze on the rectangular barreled pistol and focused, information flowing into me like a raging but coherent torrent.
It enlightened me on just about everything concerning the Constitutional Arms Liberty, from its history down to the possible attachments and modifications that could be applied to it.
With a smile befitting an idiot, I grabbed the gun from the counter, weighed it a few times, and started the process of dismantling it.
The Handgun chip guided my hands and the memory one my mind, both of them working in tandem to help me handle, identify, and describe the function of the Liberty's distinct parts.
After placing down the last component and giving them all a once over, I turned to Wilson. The man kept his arms crossed and met my gaze, a hint of "told you so" and pride in his gaze.
"Thanks," I said with a nod, one he returned with a slight smile like a proud but stern teacher.
Matching his smile, I brought my gaze back to the station and grabbed the barrel and slide of the Liberty. Faster than I dismantled it, I reassembled the pistol, my hands a blur as I put everything where it was supposed to be.
Soon, all that remained was the final piece of the puzzle; the magazine.
Before I picked it up and inserted it though, I racked the slide a few times and pulled the trigger. When no problems made themselves known, I grabbed the bullet holder, slotted it in and gripped the loaded gun with both hands.
I raised it and bent my knees a little, sliding my right foot backwards and bending my upper body forward at a barely noticeable angle. With my stance corrected, I racked the slide to chamber a bullet and then extended both arms forward.
This not being my first time pulling a trigger, I had no issue with that part of discharging a firearm.
A series of successive bangs echoed with every squeeze of my trigger finger, my ears and arms staying pain and damage free despite the pistol's surprisingly high recoil and intense decibels.
On the 14th shot, the muzzle jumped in my sight one last time and the slide slid back, letting me know I was out of ammunition. I placed the gun flat against the counter and moved my gaze to its friends, a huge, anticipatory smile on my face.
The time in my interface read 12:25 PM. It would take roughly 6 hours to finish assimilating both firearm chips. I could be done by evening, leaving me with enough time to go to the Kabuki market for my shopping spree. I needed that badass trenchcoat and leather jacket asap.
Nodding to that simple plan, I picked up the Liberty once more and turned to Wilson.
"I hope you have enough bullets."
...…
Five hours later...
Turns out, I– or rather, the skillchips, had broadly overestimated how much time the assimilation was going to take..
Who could have foreseen that the significant amount of overlap between the Handgun and Assault skills would cause them to synergize, hastening the process of imbibing both? I certainly didn't.
Thanks to this unexpected development, I managed to end the training session after a little over four hours, two hours less than I originally intended. Though I don't think I'd have been able to train for that long anyway.
While I didn't burn through Wilson's ammo reserves, I came pretty close to leaving just ashes. The man himself told me when he made arrangements to refill the stock I expended.
Anyways, with the extra time I had to spare, I conversed with him at length about his profession and firearm modification. He was pretty enthusiastic about the latter, describing to me how he spent most of his free time tampering and tinkering.
He tried to sell me some of his creations but I declined most of them, settling for a suppressor, a modified Omaha pistol with an extended magazine, some holographic sights, and much needed ammunition.
You'd think with the way people killed each other in this city, bullets grew on trees.
Well, they didn't. Vendors like Wilson sold them all over at 1 eddie per round for regular bullets and 10 eddies per round for armor piercing ones. This scaled up according to the type of gun since for instance, rifle rounds differed from pistol ones.
Except for the trashy DS1 Pulsar and Dr5 Nova, I bought 50 AP rounds for each of my guns, both old and new. As for the 100 eddie per round explosive ammunition, Wilson didn't have any. He recommended I find someone with the right connections or the black markets in Kabuki or Dogtown.
Sadly, that is where our business ended. I bid the man goodbye and went straight to the Kabuki roundabout, the shopping/sightseeing trip moved up my schedule by an hour.
There were some specific items like bedsheets and utensils I needed to buy. I however didn't rush to cross them off my list and instead took my sweet time exploring the various stalls and shops. Having never owned a house or lived on my own before, I was certain there were items I must've missed.
Browsing through the stock and catalog of the vendors I came across would let me find these items. Plus, exposing myself to various sellers and wares this way would lead me to find things that tickled my fancy.
My decision proved the right one as on the household items front, I bought a washing machine/dryer hybrid, a vacuum cleaner, a clothing iron, and other things, paying for them all to be delivered to the house.
All this while my focus had been on obtaining more clothes, completely forgetting I'd need to clean said clothes after I wore them. Thankfully, window shopping in a small mart brought this to my attention and saved me from future embarrassment.
On the items I fancied front, I managed to find the two most high priority ones: a badass leather jacket and a cool-looking long coat. I wore the coat right after I purchased it, its titanium inserts adding another layer of safety to the measures I already had in place.
It wasn't the only change to my appearance. I now had multiple pairs of sunglasses, one of which currently obscured my eyes and sat on my nose, a simple chain and crucifix—both silver—hanging around my neck, and a pair of fingerless gloves on my hands.
Anything too big to be carried around, I made arrangements to be delivered. Everything else capable of fitting onto my body or inside my bag went to their respective locations.
In this manner I kept moving about, exploring and buying all manner of knick knacks till a particular neon sign stopped me in my tracks.
Edge Net.
If my memory serves me right, that shop was a place to buy netrunning resources. Any aspiring or experienced netrunner could obtain whatever they needed, be it cyberdecks, daemons, or information from there provided they had eddies or something of equal value.
Now this was all well and good, but that isn't what made me stop in the middle of the small street. Earlier today I found out today's date: 1st May, 2075.
I saw it on Vik's computer when I first used it, but I shoved it to the back of my mind for contemplation at a later time since it was my first time playing with the Net.
When I saw the sign just now and remembered how crucial netrunning was to patching up the gaping, cyberware-sized hole in my security, a date came to mind. 10th April 2075.
In the lore, a certain "popular" person's corpse was dumped at the city's municipal landfill after the rent on his container had ran out.
To those in the know and a vast majority of the world, this person was considered one of the best if not the best netrunner to ever exist. If I could obtain his body and subsequently his brain, I could use the system to bridge the impossible gap of acquiring his memories and skills.
I could obtain even more if I took my time and did it right.
A smile I tried and failed to stop took over my face, my excitement through the roof. Were it not the tight self control afforded by the serum enhancement, I'd probably be shaking from giddiness.
Hastily making my way to the netrunner shop, I examined the map in my interface using my crisp, clear memories to pin down the body's location. By the time I arrived at the door, I already had a waypoint set.
Eager to get this done and start the journey to that place, I let myself into the dark interior of the shop and went straight to the counter. A petite asian woman with round sunglasses stepped forward to meet me, a tablet held close to her chest.
"Hello. Welcome to Edge Net. How can I help you today?"
"I need a cyberdeck. I'll take your most expensive one," I said and slapped down a credchip and drummed my fingers on it. "Money's not a problem."
Perhaps to take a better look at me, the woman tilted her head up slightly at my words, whatever emotions her eyes conveyed hidden by her shades.
She assessed me, I assumed, to see if I was being serious or if I checked off more than one criteria on her suspicious and/or crazy person list. I wasn't crazy, but I could see how my actions would arouse suspicion in someone like her.
Netrunners were a jumpy and mistrustful sort.
For all she knew, this could be a robbery attempt or a half-assed way to quickly burn stolen money. No matter the case or scenario going through her head, showing her that I was serious would help speed things up.
"We can verify my ability to pay if that's a problem…"
She moved her gaze from my face down to the chip, fixed her glasses and gestured at the device situated at the center of the counter. "Please..."
Glad that things were moving along, I stuck the credchip in the right slot and looked at her with an "are we good expression." She kept her eyes on me for three good seconds before nodding, once to herself and another to me.
"Thank you. Please, wait a moment."
She then left for a back room and I stood there by my lonesome, tapping my foot and my fingers and swinging my head to scan the shop.
There were arcade games arranged in a row behind the counter to the left, none of them engaged. Further left was a space with three netrunner stations, only one of them occupied.
The second I began to contemplate trying my hand at one of the games, Yoko, the shop owner, returned with a small box. She set it down on the counter and slid it forward.
"That will be 10,000 eddies."
Right after she said that, a modal asking for payment authorisation popped up on the screen on the device I stuck my credchip in. With a series of simple taps, the balance on the credchip reduced and I retrieved it.
I then grabbed the box and opened it, finding a sky blue chip the length and width of a snickers bar and the breath of a circuit board. Satisfied and convinced I wasn't being ripped off, I shut the box with an audible clamp and stuffed it in my bag.
With a mock salute, I gave Yoko a nod and made for the exit.
"Thank you for your business. Please, do well to return."
I looked back at her and said, "Will do," before stepping out.
Like someone had set my ass on fire, I didn't stop moving when I exited. I brisk-walked to the parking garage where I left my car and stored the duffle bag filled with items in the car's copious back space.
With the blue map and gold waypoint in my sights, I got in the driver's seat and started the vehicle.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
MasterReigen
MasterReigen
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