I quickly climbed up the stairs of Vik's clinic, feeling the new chrome in my body settling. And to think that it only took a couple of hours. My eye was strangely snug, I guess Vik adjusted the size somehow. It was early morning, and light was just leaking into Watson's streets.
My newly scavenged eye allowed me to zoom in on every detail I saw. It's like I just unlocked HD after living my life with 480p. I felt more confident, the feeling was similar to that of getting a fresh haircut. Hell, I will get one today if I have time. We ballin'.
My next stop was Misty's, a small shop draped in incense smoke even early in the morning. I had to step over a few sleeping bodies, but I got to the back door.
I pushed open the back door. Inside, the floor was covered in old rugs, and jars of dried flowers lined the shelves. Misty sat behind a low table, her eyes closed, tracing patterns in the air with her fingers with her back turned to me. Meditative music was already playing inside the shop.
"I felt you were around here. I felt a disturbance in the cosmos. Caelen, was it?" Misty said without opening her eyes or turning to me.
"What? How? Is this power possible to learn?"
"Just joking, I looked at the camera and watched you come in from Vik's place. I didn't meditate to align with the universe just yet. You can learn, but it will take your life away from you. Trust me."
I shrugged in disappointment and walked to the counter in front of her.
"I need a reading like the last time. Let's do three cards on the near future."
"There is such a thing as knowing too much, you know," she said as she slowly opened her eyes and began to look at me.
"I don't agree."
"...It's too early in the morning for me to argue. Just wait for me a sec."
Then she stood up, slowly stretched, and went to grab the tarot cards.
Misty hovered her hand on one deck and pulled it back.
"Not this one."
Reached for the other.
"Not feeling this one. This too."
She turned with a disappointed face and returned to her table.
"Vibe is off today, cards tell me reading is not on the table, pun not intended. You look irritated, maybe a chip with mantras and meditations for relaxation? Some incense will go great with that."
Okay, I am irritated. What do you mean the vibe is off? Ugh.
"Yeah, give me like a pack of incense with a chip."
Misty turned to the little shelf near the incense burners, running her fingers across the wooden box lids like she was trying to hear which one would answer first.
"Okay, so for grounding, I've got something based on river quartz and factory smoke. Slows your head down, real heavy-breathing type stuff. Good for when your brain won't shut up."
She plucked a second pack off the rack.
"This one's for detachment. Light, etheric. Comes with a mantra chip that mimics post-orgasmic dopamine curves. Don't use when people are around."
Then another. "This one's weird. It's called Memoryless. Made for netrunners trying to delay short-term caching. Kind of numbs you out. No thoughts, head empty. Some people say it helped them stop overthinking. Others said they lost two days. Seems harmless enough."
I raised an eyebrow at that one. The packaging had a pixelated skull with a halo drawn over it. Of course it did.
"I'll take that second one," I said, pointing.
"Post-nut monk vibes?" she asked, deadpan.
"It's either that or taking expensive medicine, and I think Vik would get sad if I dropped dead on his doorstep."
She nodded like that was perfectly logical and wrapped the incense in a soft pouch like it was some cursed heirloom. Then she tossed in an extra chip. Unlabeled, circular, scratched to hell.
"Freebie. I don't know what it does, but it's been sitting on that shelf for three years, and the spirits are starting to nag."
"Great. Thanks."
She gave me a look. "If it tries to reformat your thoughts, pull it, Vik surely installed some basic ICE on you. And come back and tell me what you saw. Unless it kills you. But it won't, I know it."
"Reassuring."
I paid in cash I had left over. She didn't count it. Just tapped the counter once, like she was sealing a deal with a mortal fool.
"Did I ever tell you you're one of my better customers?" she said, quietly. "You buy weird things without being weird about them."
I smiled politely and stepped back toward the beaded curtain with my goods in a plastic bag.
"Let's not ruin it by making it weird."
"Too late. You're officially a regular."
I pushed through the curtain before she could say something vaguely sweet. She always did that. Creeped under the skin in ways that didn't feel like threats. Just made you remember you were still a human, made me feel too comfortable too early.
I took the long route to my next destination. I decided to ride the bus instead of ordering an AI taxi, Delamain, since why waste extra money if I save only 10 minutes? The bus ride had a couple of junkies, as usual. The rule is just to ignore them.
I still had plenty left over from Nick's pockets and what little Vik didn't bill me into oblivion for better uses. Vik undercharged pitiful people. Guilt or misplaced faith, I don't know.
Physical eddies were rolled tight in my left boot, sweat-stuck to my ankle. Everything else was digital, wired clean through my new internal wallet node. Nobody could trace it unless they were dumb enough to try skimming meatspace signals — meaning that people would need to look through billions of signals that probably already did what they were supposed to do, which, for all I know, is impossible. And by the time they traced it, it already should automatically change. Neat.
I tried scanning a few passing cars as they passed, giving me basic model information. Just practice.
I set a waypoint with a blink as soon as I stepped off the bus. It felt clunky, but you just had to mentally press the buttons pretty hard. Vik said it will be adapting to me with time, but for the time being I felt like I was seasick.
Roffman's Arms & Armor
A guy named Roffman ran it. Used to work corp security until someone put a magblade through his knee, and he decided defending paperwork wasn't worth dying for. He also has a VERY heavy New York accent. It's all that I could gather from publicly available sources and from our brief interaction.
I've been there in his shop in Kabuki before just for a quick browse. It's where I bought the cheap shells that helped me kill Nick. The place didn't even have cameras. Roffman actually doesn't give a fuck and sold my broke ass a couple and not a full box, probably thinking that I would kill myself with them.
The place was built into the side of an old records bank. Pre-data collapse, judging by the busted magnetic readers still hanging from the arch. The sign above the reinforced glass door just said Arms & Armor in cold blue neon. Flickering with annoying frequency, but I guess it's just so people with epilepsy couldn't enter.
Inside was quiet. Concrete walls, vault-style layout, low lighting dark enough to stay private, bright enough to not trip over anything. Weapons behind numerous glass cases, armor in wire racks. There were no flashy ads. No blinking AR mascots shilling ammo deals. Just the hum of a half-dead HVAC.
Roffman sat behind reinforced glass, in the back of the shop, flipping an old paper weapons magazine with one hand and stirring noodles with the other. He gave me a quick glance and returned to reading.
Pistols first.
Behind a shiny, locked poly-glass display, I spotted a few Lexington frames, which were nice but not really lethal.
I stepped to the side case. Less presentation, more wear. That's where the real ones go.
Fourth shelf. Matte purple, ported slide. No visible serial. No logo. Real steel. It looked like something someone meant to keep forever and only gave up when they had no choice. It was a giant fucking pistol that looked similar to a Desert Eagle.
I tapped the glass and questioned loudly.
"How much for this one?"
The owner placed his things down and stood up to look at what I was looking at.
"I don't fucking know. You offer."
That was a new one.
"Why so? I thought the tag was missing."
"Custom job. The client never picked it up after ordering. Been here for years, no real way to know the value, you gonk."
"400."
"I can shoot you with it for 399. I'm not selling polymer one-shots here."
"At least let me hold it in my hands."
He visibly rolled his eyes and stood up lazily. He opened the reinforced door and walked out to me. Then Roffman opened the case and handed me the gun, holding it by the barrel.
I racked the slide. Smooth. No hiccup. Sights still zeroed. Decent.
"What does it shoot?"
"44 Magnum, you sure you can handle all that?" Roffman scoffed as he showed off his mechanical hands, something left from the old job, it seems. They looked robust, but I genuinely don't know enough about cyberware yet to be impressed.
And the bullets are way overkill for meat targets, but if I needed to shoot someone with heavy chrome, it would be nice to have.
"Any special modifications? Entice me."
"Nope."
"Sorry?"
"The client wanted just the cosmetic changes to the regular shell, that's why it's hard to sell. It's no better for leadheads like you. The gun is just for showing off. Girls love things like that. You got a mainline?"
"..."
"I got a recommendation for you. How about this one?"
Roffman walked off to the other shelf and from the storage compartment below it took out a shiny smart gun, as it looked. "
"This beauty can shoot even with 130-degree angles, 10mm smart bullets. Range is 30 meters. As a bonus, I can recommend a ripperdock that will get you a smart link for cheap. What do you say?"
I instinctively scratch my personal port at the mention of ripperdocks. Smart guns can be useful while I'm not armored. Shooting while completely behind cover is useful if the goal is to survive. I do have an idea of combining video cameras and smart guns to create essentially a bullet that will travel wherever it needs to inside a building, but that is too far-fetched considering I have neither a camera nor a building that would need that.
"How much per shot? I heard smart bullets are pricey."
Roffman disappointingly threw his hands in frustration and placed the gun back.
"Just say you are broke. 50 eddies per bullet is good considering the tech."
"Give me a reliable gun."
"You want a Unity then? Plenty of those."
"If you've got a good one with a warranty, I'll take it."
"I can get you that one that was traded in, near perfect condition, no warranty, but I will throw in something extra."
"Sure, let's look at it."
Then Roffman takes Unity from behind a case. He began showing it off from within his hands.
"Comes with two mags and a holster. Eight-fifty."
He said it like it was the best fucking deal in town, with the smugness of a used car salesman.
"You can get a new one for 500 eddies, Roffman. I will walk out if you will not offer a normal price."
"Fuck off, those are scams. I'm the only one selling actual working iron."
Okay, he is just punking me. I literally went to this place because they were close by.
"Won't work on me. It's even a used one, I'll do 400."
"I had to try. But 400 is too little, 450."
"With two mags and a holster?"
"You are breaking my balls over here."
I stared at him, quiet.
He stared back.
This part of the deal was sacred — the dead silence where two people weighed whether a bullet was cheaper than giving ground. I was resolute the squeeze the most out of him.
"420," I said flatly.
He snorted through his nose. "I should sell it to someone who actually knows how to shoot."
"Not your business to know."
"Fucking prick you are," he muttered.
I didn't let it get to me. But fuck this guy.
Eventually, he reached under one of the counters, pulled out a chipped gray box full of magazines, and dumped two onto the counter like he was taking out trash. Then tossed the holster on top. Softshell chest holster with a strap, worn in, but still had the latch. Good enough. I'll need to wash it anyways.
"430. Final offer."
I pointed my finger at the door to the outside.
He grunted. But relented and waved his hand in defeat
I slid the pistol into the holster and clipped it under my cheap jacket while he was already halfway turned back to his seat. I transferred the eddies to him.
"Need ammo?" He called back over his shoulder like it hurt him to say it.
"Box of standard. Ball rounds. And-"
He cut me off. "115 for 50 bullets, a box. No negotiation. Ammo's expensive these days."
"It's really not."
"You don't know shit, kid, the entire economy is fucked right now," he shot back, standing again. He dropped the box on the counter and wiped his hands with a stained cloth like he'd just touched something diseased.
I barely remembered that I have a scanner in my eye, but the scan just showed that it was indeed a bullet. Maybe I don't have the right software yet. Nothing like a percentile showing how expired a thing is.
I didn't bother replying. Paid him again. He looked at the total and sighed like he'd been robbed. That's 15% above the market price, you dipshit.
I glanced toward the armor wall.
"What about that one?" I pointed at a dark-gray vest folded on a hanger that looked half-used but still solid. Civilian cut from what I can find online. Discreet. Wouldn't make me look like I was about to rob a bank or, worse, a Doughboy.
He followed my line of sight, then shrugged. "550 and not a cent less. One of the best I have."
"300."
"Get out. You are robbing me!"
Roffman threw up his hands in frustration.
"350, you know you need money. This vest is two weeks away from being as useful as a shirt."
His face twitched, just a microsecond. Nothing dramatic. But it was there. He is desperate to sell, pretty obvious.
"450. I cannot go any lower," he said.
"400. And I don't talk about the stitched-up bullet hole down here."
Roffman exhaled in defeat. "I hate guys like you."
"You love guys like me until I bleed out wearing your product and someone posts a bad review."
He laughed once. One ugly, bitter sound. Reviews were really awful after all. Not the place you come for quality.
"400 flat. But I'm also forgetting about the stitched-up hole. And you leave a good review."
"Fair enough."
We made the exchange without ceremony. The vest went under my shirt right away. Made bending forwards hard, but otherwise was my size. Loaded gun in the holster on my left side, deep enough that the jacket covered it completely.
He nodded toward the door without looking at me again. But he sure had a gun behind his back all this time. His clothes were a poor concealment choice. Totally see-through, but maybe that was the point.
"I'll fucking shoot you if I ever see you again," he said.
"Pleasure doing business with you too."
I did save a little bit buying here after all, and the items are mostly temporary anyway.
I walked out and decided to jog over to my next destination today. I just hope Sprocket is fine with orders in the shop for today.
Kabuki was not a big place, all things considered, so I headed out to Kabuki Roundabout in the middle of the local market. A quick jog is all it took. And I avoided particularly bad parts by sticking to major roads.
Finally, I arrived at Kabuki Roundabout. Barely even broke a sweat.
It was busy. Like really busy. Plenty of people buying and selling everything your heart desires. I saw a guy selling robo cocks, "MrStudd" next to a girl selling a BD of her in some feet-centered porn. They fought over whose spot it was today.
A shitton of Tyger Claws were spread out in the area. You really wouldn't like to cause trouble here. They all had a similar style to them, really easy to spot.
I passed by without looking at them much so that I would not look like a tourist. But I am still far off from accepting this as a norm.
Also passed by many interesting offers. Most of it was generic shit that I can find near the shop while I'm still working there. But that sushi spot looked good, even if it's not real fish.
On the second floor of the market, I found a familiar-looking shop where I am certain I could obtain daemons. EdgeNet sold basically everything a netrunner needs.
The major difference between Netrunners and regular net users is that regular people were only browsing, while Netrunners used their equipment that could actually affect programs, create programs, run their own secretly, and so on.
And it's as expensive as fucking gold bars wrapped in liquid diamonds with a touch of truffles.
I entered the store and was greeted with the sight of two people on netrunning chairs plugged in without a care in the world, considering that the door is wide open — a man and a woman. Wires were scattered all near them. Screens near them flashed with numbers with a speed I could barely read half a line before the whole screen shifted away.
Yoko sat behind the counter, quietly assembling equipment, which I did not recognize in the slightest. Her eyes stayed on the equipment in her hands. Didn't even give me a look, probably also looked at the cameras. Mean-looking Asian woman. But she was a professional.
She didn't speak.
I approached slowly. She kept working.
"I'm looking for a handheld," I said.
Still nothing.
A wire hissed. She tapped something loose, solder popped, and then she finally looked up. Her expression wasn't annoyed, just clinical, like a scanner that wasn't sure if I was worth talking to.
"You know the model you want?"
I did my research, and I found a basic handheld cyberdeck that was great for beginners. I would need a Neuroport Cyberdeck Port installed, which is worth around a hundred, including the operation. Implants were nice, but I will not put anything too close to my brain until Vik clears it.
"Spiker 62-M."
That got a small nod. She turned in her chair, jumped out of it, went to the backroom storage, and pulled out a matte gray deck wrapped in static cloth.
Yoko placed it in front of me without ceremony.
"Configured it myself after it got delivered. Dead clean. Two slots, decent buffer, internal scrubber. Charge holds for 6 hours of use. Don't throw it around."
I powered it on. Fans kicked. Green flicker, and it booted up. No GUI bloat. It was light and easy to hold.
I nodded.
"Programs?"
"One free gift with purchase," she said, already pulling out a drawer full of encoded shards. "You don't look like someone who buys this for a friend. So, a newbie. You want the DeadAir daemon."
She slid it toward me before I could ask.
"Fifteen seconds of breathing room. Blocks ICE trigger windows, local only. One burn per boot. Perfect for practice. Works great on vending machines and TVs."
"Price?"
"Two thousand even. For an extra hundred, I'll throw in a diagnostic routine so you don't fry your new toy."
Damn. And that is cheap shit.
"How much for a simple defender and booster thrown in?"
"Can add an overlock to the handheld, but 62-M will overheat and shut down pretty fast. Also, there is no such thing as a simple ICE. It either works or it does not. A good one will cost you around 15k, made by yours truly. Depends on what you plan to go against."
Suddenly, one of the people, a girl, disconnected from her chair, took off her virtuality goggles, and sat up, looking in our direction. She had quite a unique appearance, sporting a black bob and stylish symmetrical threading on her face. Big and I mean big… blue eyes.
"Yo, Yoko. BBS is a mess right now. Can we go out to eat in a sec? Wanna go Mexican again? I'm hungwy..."
"Ah, just a sec, Sasha. Almost done."