clack
The door closed, and now I was alone in my apartment. Only the neon lights from the windows and the ceiling LED lit the room.
Muffled music came from three doors down, a faint but rhythmic rumble.
Dinner had just ended, and I had just seen the Martinez family off. I kinda hoped for a few more seconds with them to soothe my nerves, the warmth in the familial setting clung to me more than i thought it would, but I had my own stuff to do.
No more procrastination—now is time for work.
I exhaled and stepped away from the door, making my way to the bedroom.
Inside was a mess of datachips, datapads, and old terminals I'd commissioned fixers to retrieve for me, it was chaotic. I gotta get it cleaned someday, the beige walls behind it could barely be seen if you stood on your toes. In the middle of it all was my computer—or the cyberpunk equivalent of one.
I hadn't bothered to remember its name.
I sat down and booted it up. The machine whirred with a smoothness I wouldn't expect from something its age. It was faster than it had any right to be—already up and running before my blink even finished. There was a second before I booted it up that the monitor caught my visage. I was frowning.
My mouse moved automatically, navigating into a web of convoluted files and hyperlinks. A countermeasure, in case the system was tapped.
But it wasn't. It also taught me something about myself—about my own innate suspicion and caution.
It was as much comforting thing as it is annoying.
I'd gone to several technicians—whatever qualified—to check it out. I almost didn't have enough money for food that night.
But food didn't matter when there's something as important as this. At least that's what I've been telling myself.
It whirred again as I entered the heart of the web. Here lay the most valuable piece of my plan.
I scrolled, checking over the files: employee directories of Militech and Arasaka, logs of covert and public operations I'd obtained illegally.
Everything was here.
I could start.
I took a deep breath, leaning back in my chair. It creaked in protest, an old second hand I bought somewhere, but it has an almost mystical comfortable-ness to it. Like it has supported many backs, and this one is no different.
I didn't know how this would turn out—using my awakened ability. I'd only used it once before.
I turned inward, looking for that connection—that feeling that's always there.
It responded eagerly. A subtle pressure built up behind my eyes before spreading outward. There was a slight feedback that I could glimpse as the wave returned to me, and I could see a detailed map of my room.
Another breath.
"Which Militech employees are Arasaka moles?"
[The Seer] didn't reply in text or numbers, unlike last time. This time, it pulsed inside my mind before rushing into the computer in front of me.
My hands moved on their own, following the energy as it glossed over hundreds of names, flying past the list before stopping at three.
They brightened in my mind's eye, then dimmed.
Gilchrist. Denz. Hammond.
I only paused in surprise for a moment. Honestly? I'd expected more. But then again, when you have advanced tech to scrape data and servers, you kinda only need a small handful. The era of quantity over quality is over when individual strength could be enhanced by so much.
Gilchrist—someone I'd seen before. Worked in logistics. Four years in and not one reprimand? Either nepotism… or he knew how to scrub a trail. And nepotism doesn't usually end at just a logistics officer. He had a trail though—one I remembered. He was at the site of a failed synthetic meat facility, it has sparse records. But shift logs placed him in the area hours before the facility went dark. Weeks later, a rare materials order routed through that same region… vanished.
Wasn't hard to figure out what happened.
Denz—internal systems analyst. One of those introverted IT guys you'd find in any corp office. Until you checked the off-server backups. That's where I saw a decrypted line of code flagged for overwrite. A voice file—modulated and supposedly deleted right after being sent to who-knows-where.
I knew what kind of information was transmitted. But I couldn't recover what it was.
And then there was Hammond.
A ghost.
Supposedly retired and living in Santo Domingo. But his ID had pinged on a deep-access server inside Arasaka Tower three weeks ago. A server buried under layers of redundancy and fake triggers.
No reason for him to be there.
Unless he never left.
My smile widened. I'd half expected some obscure hint—but guess not. Maybe time was on my side.
I slowly recorded all of it into an even more encrypted file. That was part one of two gifts for the corps. My little Trojan horses as Jackie would say. Except these won't be ferried through the front door.
Now I needed the other.
I deleted the original file from the web, then focused on the remaining logs.
The same pressure built behind my eyes, inside my ears, and in my brain—before pulsing outward. This time the range was much greater–or was it because I was more acclimated?
It focused on the computer.
"What operations in the last five years does Militech absolutely NOT want leaked?"
A list of dates appeared, six in total:
• 2041.08.12
• 2042.03.30
• 2043.07.19
• 2044.01.02
• 2044.12.23
• 2045.05.10
"Hah...." I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. There was a a consistent pull on my eyelids, but that's to be expected.
You truly can't win everything in life, more so when it's about a future seeing ability which answers based on RNGs.
———————
POV: Viktor Vektor
rattle
The patient left after giving him a goodbye. One of those more civilized regulars—here only for routine maintenance.
He'd started going to the clinic a few years ago when a friend introduced him to Vik.
Oh how time flies. It's been years, and yet Viktor remembers it like yesterday.
He smiled ruefully at the thought, then settled down into his workbench chair with a grunt. It creaked alongside him, like it always did.
It was relaxing here. Just him and the purring hum of old med machines on standby. The neon from the window glowed soft violet tonight. Delightful. That meant the ad-screen across the street was stuck on the calm loop—not blaring ads like usual.
He rubbed the inside corner of his eye and shifted his weight.
Then his phone buzzed—one of those old rackety things he knew only one person still used to contact him.
Unknown caller ID, as usual.
But he knew.
He answered anyway. "Scarlet—"
Her voice was already halfway through the sentence:
"Hey, I sent David your way. The kid I told you about? Show him the ropes. He wants to learn."
A pause. He heard background static—like a thousand files being closed at once. A rustle. Her breathing, ragged, in that way that said she hadn't stood up in hours.
"Scarlet," Vik said again. "You been up all night again?"
Click.
The call ended. He could confidently guess why.
Vik stared at the screen a moment longer, then sighed through his nose.
"You little ghost," he muttered, leaning forward to stand, slow and stiff. "One of these days you're gonna collapse, and I ain't patching you up for free."
He didn't mean it. Even he knew that.
It was weird, how they met. And how much they bonded in just one week.
She came often. Consulted him about bioware or cyberware. Always asked the right questions. Always listened.
He recommended a few mods, but she mostly took bioware—citing something about wanting to train herself naturally.
Another of her quirks. Training maniac. Like she saw something he didn't.
He decided to prep something before the mother-and-son duo arrived. So, reluctantly, he pulled himself from his chair and reached for the tin of synth tea Scarlet gave him.
He remembered he used to be a boxing champ. Now his bones crack when he stands.
How the champions have fallen indeed.
Before he knew it, midday had come. The sun was highest when the clinic gates slid open.
rattle
Two familiar shadows stepped inside.
David looked around, curiosity evident despite trying to project casual confidence—like Scarlet. Gloria's confidence was more real, but fatigue simmered deep behind it.
"Afternoon," Vik said, looking up from the steeped cups of tea.
Gloria smiled. "Hope we're not interrupting."
"You're not interrupting anything," Vik said, standing straighter. "I was expecting you."
David gave a lopsided grin.
"Come on, sit. Tea?"
He motioned toward the table.
Gloria nodded.
David raised an eyebrow. "You drink tea?"
Vik didn't look up. "Not really."
"So why...?"
Vik shrugged, pushing it toward them.
"Scarlet gave it to me," he said. "A few days ago. Said old people like me should drink it. Good for my health."
David blinked. "Scarlet drinks tea?"
Vik chuckled. "You think just 'cause someone's got money and metal blades for arms, they can't enjoy jasmine with a little synth-ginger?"
David looked baffled but tried to hide it under a poker face and a nod.
Vik had to stop himself from laughing at the similarities, despite only having met a few days ago.
Gloria took the steaming cup, sitting down slowly. "She's been talking to me," she said, turning the cup in her hands. "Says she wants David to learn more—not just from his 'fuck-ass' school. Told me she knew someone who could give David more chances to strike it rich than he ever imagined."
Vik nodded. Sounded like her.
"She said she had someone in mind," Gloria added. "Told me a bit about you."
Vik smiled. "Nothing bad, I hope?"
Gloria chuckled awkwardly.
David glanced between them. "She thinks this'll help me? Being a ripperdoc?"
"No," Vik said. "She's just giving you a chance. Only you know what's gonna truly help you."
David met his eyes. There was something there, in the kid's eye, a sense of determination.
He paused for several moments before talking.
"I want to understand how the body works," he said. "Cyberware, implants... why some people break under the weight of it. Why some don't. I don't wanna end up like some gonk fried on a corner 'cause no one told him his nervous system was gonna give out in ten years."
Gloria's jaw tightened slightly.
Vik's eyes softened. "You ever held a scalpel before?"
David shook his head. "No."
"You ever see a severed limb?"
David blinked. "...No?"
"You will." Vik reached for the tea kettle. "Come sit. We'll start with theory tomorrow, but I'm gonna set some ground rules if you really want this."
David moved closer, hesitant but steadier with each scooch of his chair.
Vik poured another cup. "Scarlet said you need chances. That means you learn to pay attention. You don't talk more than you listen. And you never—never—cut corners."
David nodded. "Got it."
"Good," Vik said. He sipped his tea, then frowned. "Damn. This is good."
It was a long talk—to hammer in the ethics.
But it was necessary.
And he needed to ask Scarlet for more jasmine tea sometime.