"God damn." Yoko pulled down her glasses as her eyes flashed in analysis.
"Right?"
I sat proudly on an empty netrunning chair in Yoko's EdgeNet. My creation was complete. I ate the Deluxe Spicy noodles I grabbed along the way here.
"This is… going to sell well."
"It better."
"Got a name ready?"
"Sasha suggested 'The Blue ICE'. Has a nice ring to it, and it leaves attackers with blue balls."
Yoko smirked as she ejected the shard from the back of her neck and looked it over.
"A new tier of ICE entirely, sitting between civ and corp grade… this might not be far-fetched at all."
"You haven't seen even half the things I crammed into it."
The neural ICE application fit within 22 gigabytes. Self-modifying code, rudimentary predictive attack modeling, decoy subsystems, aggressive response protocols, encrypted memory pools, dynamic routing, and more.
Basically, I tried imitating what high-tier ICE could do, but did it a bit shittier. Still, it went well. My own Frankenstein's monster.
"The quickhack attachment process is what caught my eye. How does it even work?"
"Hah. I will have to kill you if I tell you."
"Fuck. Not even a clue?"
"Nope."
A month. A month of straight no-life work. Nobody was getting it for free.
"And it works with any quickhack you have?"
"Any."
Sasha did eventually crack that old corp ICE once she could get into a chair, and all but one thing were useless.
Protocols from leftover Militech Black ICE allowed for a proper callback of quickhacks onto attackers by a well-known injector exploit that had been used since 2042, but secretly did possess a two-way vulnerability when used per chunks of half-deleted code.
Needless to say, since then it had been an auto-include on every hack. Just in case.
All that was left was to craft a proper decision tree based on your arsenal and needs. It was not far-fetched that if you got chromed out, anybody that even tried would get not only their location tracked, but also get fried alive as a bonus.
But the version I'm selling is lacking one key feature. Two-way exploits I'm using can be made into a loop, meaning that most small payload hacks you try to upload get sent back to you without changing visual cues.
Extra four lines of code. All it takes. I combed through tens of hacks to confirm that they copy-pasted a part that allowed for this.
Diabolical, I know. But it will be useless the next day after the wider Netrunner community finds out. Or against someone who actively monitors their connectors when hacking.
There were clear limits depending on what could be redirected, but it was my second secret weapon.
"What are we doing with your distributor fee?"
Yoko crossed her arms.
"I can go back from my usual 11% down to 7%."
"No flat rate options?"
"We both know this is going to skyrocket."
"I had to try."
"You had to try."
We both said simultaneously.
I raised my eyebrows and slurped some more noodles.
"What about the copycats? Need help with encryption?"
"For you to take a bigger cut? I want to see you try cracking it yourself, Yoko."
My method had been updated since the time I first made data walls. Now encryption relies on the neuroinputs on the whole neural stem of the user. And the ones I made into an admin key were the ones in the middle of training with Jackie, so it looked like full unpredictable chaos.
Netrunners working out and logging their neural heat map is rare, so I feel it will be safe for a year or two.
If you try to crack the encryption, you get hacked, of course. Just a deterrent, and it uses your own quickhacks since you gave it your root access. So it's dangerous only if you are stupid. I heard that Black ICE just tries to kill you if you try, no deliberation.
"I'll stick to selling. Let's do 8%, and I will deal with the physical chip production as well as distribution."
"7.2%."
"Up for a trade to up that to 8%? I can throw in extra datapacks and a quickhack or two, real quality ones."
I slurped the noodles and almost choked. That was a good deal.
"…For example?"
"I can give you the Cyberpsychosis you are always eyeing in the market."
"My deck would not be able to run it. I don't have even half the RAM it needs. Spying isn't nice, by the way."
"Say what you want."
"An official identity within Night City. Not the ones that last until someone double-checks a single detail. Full-scale job done by professionals."
"That can be arranged. Not going to squeeze me for more?"
I'd be happy to, but I plan to work with you for as long as possible.
"I think it's good enough to be sure. I'm tired of using fake ID cards in the metro. Heard they are updating the system soon."
"After a few weeks of selling 'The Blue ICE', you will never ride the metro again. Knowing the market, every shard we make will be gone before you know it."
I finished my noodles and put down the chopsticks.
"It's a deal, Ms. Yoko. Send me the deets later. And by the way, I plan on updating it every now and then. A subscription-based system is in the cards, isn't it?"
"In my experience, it makes the NET dwellers only want to crack it more," Yoko said with a hint of disappointment as she adjusted her round sunglasses.
"If buying isn't owning, stealing isn't theft. Heard that one. A discount on a new version based on proof of purchase of the old one?"
"Think about it after you do a second version."
I stood up and picked up an empty carton that was once filled with delicious spicy noodles.
"Gotcha crystal on that. Later then."
I poked the body in the chair next to me in the ribs.
"Sasha, we are done here."
Sasha, who had been dying bored while Yoko analyzed the files, was browsing the NET.
She suddenly took off the headset and jolted to evade any future attacks.
"Rude! Just text me."
"You are right here, though."
"The unspoken code. You text before you interact in the meat space."
Yoko intervened.
"She is right. Could get somebody zeroed."
"Don't gang up on me."
Sasha sat up and placed the headset next to her.
"That reminds me, we could go for tacos. I know a cart…"
"He died," Yoko interjected and went back to her counter slowly.
"Oh. Right."
"You didn't even ask me. I just ate," I said and showed the empty container of noodles.
"I'm not hungry either," Yoko added.
"I can wait. Caelen is going to be hungry in like 30 minutes tops anyway. Let's go?"
"Yup."
Heading out to Vik, I managed to convince Sasha to check in with him about her new spine, since mobility was strangely lower than before the operation, which should not be the case knowing how much it was worth.
It had been days since I saw sunlight. Last week was straight smog.
"Sure is nice," Sasha said, covering her eyes from the sun.
"Yeah."
We stood and looked over the trashy horizon. At least the sun's warmth was pleasant.
"Hey, move it, bastards." A little kid shoved me as he walked past. It did not do much, and I leaned out of his way. I scanned his face along the way. Just in case.
But as soon as he stepped past me, he chose to go around Sasha. Then quickly adjusted back to his badass slow stroll.
"Pfft." Sasha covered her mouth and looked at me mockingly.
"Kid just didn't want to touch you, pseudo-exotic." I shook my head.
Her expression slowly turned serious.
"That's enough of that. I'm not an exotic and don't plan to be." Sasha began saving her reputation.
"Accept your true self. Being a cat girl exotic is accepted in this day and age."
There was no response as Sasha stared at me with eyes wide open, menacingly.
My ICE was good, but not good enough for someone who helped create it not to crack it. I don't want another piece of malware. I can't delete the old one anyway.
"Okay, sorry. Let's go."
…
"See, the problem is that the rotors were still on the regular setting. It seems like some amateurs forgot to update the drivers," Vik said as he looked at the screens connected to Sasha's spine and its new ports.
"What are the other settings?" Sasha asked simply.
"Well, miss. Sport or Extreme? But with a tweak I could probably make it a Double Extreme. The trick is to have exact mobility data."
"Yeah. Double Extreme. A million percent."
"Okay then. I will have to do some scans. Move around. Nothing too crazy for now."
Sasha slid from the chair and began jogging in place with wires still in her back.
I sat in the back. They would figure it out.
Admittedly, since that Groundhog Day, as I called it, I began wondering what caused or causes the event to occur.
Obvious one out of the way, the dream I had within that phenomenon was remarkably dim and boring.
But since then I have experienced none at all, which did not help with drawing any conclusion. For twenty days. Nothing.
Just to be sure, I spent a little time every day remembering a few key events, like the outcomes of boxing matches and deaths of famous people. Betting money on that if Groundhog Day would occur again is a free money glitch.
David's mom seems to be alive, but with carefully extracted information from Sasha, Gloria is getting more and more reckless with the way she gets the black market chrome from the corpses she collects and sells through Maine.
"Ding!"
A notification. A mine in the entrance to my place was set off. Those are expensive. And likely a body to dispose of. Well, there is another motion-detecting one under the couch for a reason.
I let out a long sigh.
I looked over and saw that Sasha was now doing somersaults.
Walking up, I stood next to Vik.
"Is this necessary to do?"
"She insisted."
Sasha did another front flip and landed on her feet with barely any sound.
"Enough data?"
Vik looked over the datapad in his hands.
"Maybe a little more on the twisting motion."
Sasha nodded and continued.
Vik put down the datapad, and I briefly saw the cybernetization rate was 63%.
Holy fucking shit. She was not lying about spending days at the ripperdocs.
"How is it calculated? The body replacement percentage. Purely volumetric?" I turned to Vik.
"It's a long and boring formula. Basically means how much of the bodily and neurological functions are replaced by cybernetics. Your girlfriend has quite a tolerance."
"Ignoring the last part. Can you install the function on my scanner?"
Sasha slowly walked over as she worked up a sweat.
"Ignoring what?"
"My friend here failed to mention that he got himself such a pretty lady as a girlfriend. You got me by surprise, that's all."
Sasha adjusted her hair and stared at him for a second.
"Do I get a discount that way?"
Huh.
"Kid's got priorities. Alright, I think we have enough data. Lie back down and get comfortable. It might take a while." Vik shook his hand and gestured toward the chair.
Sasha quickly laid down on her stomach, placing her head on her crossed arms. Vik inserted the wires again, downloading the data captured.
I stood beside and observed.
"Would it not wear down the cybernetics faster if overtuned?"
Vik picked up a datapad.
"Quit talking behind my back. It's not like I do this every day," Sasha said.
Vik began doing his magic.
I began walking out of the clinic.
Sasha called out as she heard my footsteps and turned her head slightly.
"Where are you going?"
"Going to find that cat."
"Ask Misty. She feeds the thing," Vik said.
"Got it."
Heading out, I was greeted by a cat circling and hugging my feet as soon as I climbed up the stairs.
That was easy.
Don't imagine how hard it will be scrubbing a guy that splattered in my place. And going to Roffman again for a new mine, what a hassle. I should buy wet wipes on the way back.
Squatting, I tried to pick the cat up, but it dodged and ran a couple of feet toward the alley exit. Then it stopped to look at me, alert.
Okay, no balls spotted. A girl then.
I stood up and tried again, but she began looping around me. The second I tried to pick her up, the bald beast dodged and looked at me.
After a few tries, I gave up.
The cat stopped and began licking itself clean in the meantime.
I took a picture and sent it to Sasha.
"The beast is here. I'll go get food. Want anything? Also ask Vik."
I tried going through Misty's Esoterica, but the door wouldn't open. Seems like Misty was out herself.
Going the long way around, I walked through Jig-Jig Street toward the stalls. Still, there was no response from Sasha.
"Hey?"
"Vik doesn't want any. Just wait a minute. The calibration is almost done."
Standing there, I began scrolling the news again.
Then a call from Jake rang. That's weird.
He is one of the construction guys working to renovate Sprocket & Wires.
Answering, I wasn't given a chance to speak.
"Hey, choom. Sorry to bother, but we are standing out here for hours and your boss still has not come to open up. We are supposed to pour the resin floor today and—"
"Stop for a second. Why are you calling me? Sprocket should deal with this."
"That's the thing. She doesn't answer the calls, the messages. Nothing. Do you mind giving us a key? You know we are good for it."
"Just give me a sec, Jake. I'll call you back."
"The resin—"
I hung up and texted Sprocket. She answers even in the dead of night. Maybe just a fluke.
No response.
I called.
No response.
Sprocket doesn't take days off. And she could not move back to Cuba at this time.
…Was it Cuba?
Where could she be? Her home? It's pretty early. Maybe a business meeting regarding the sale. But notification—
"Hey!" Sasha called out.
"What? Is the calibration done already?"
"It's just adjusting the values. Where was the cat?"
"It probably ran away. Never mind that, let's go eat something."
As we walked, I sent a message to Jake. "Just go home for today. It'll probably be fine."
We got food and sat eating some subpar synth-meat cubes. They were cheap at least.
"What about the cat?" I asked Sasha.
"Oh, it seemed healthy. Let it be here, I guess."
"You thought it would be barely surviving? It's not only you who likes cats, you know."
We continued to eat. Admittedly, I struggled picking the cubes up with just a toothpick.
"Are there any other cats in Night City?"
"Yeah. Pretty sure there are at least like four more," I answered. At least in the game there were.
Sauce is good.
"How do you know that?"
"It came to me in a dream," I answered solemnly.
"Okay, another question then. How old are you?"
"20-ish."
"Come on. Spill it out. Let's start again. I'm Sasha Yakovleva. I'm 23," Sasha said casually.
"That's my best guess."
"You don't know?"
I turned to face her. I kept my face still.
"How old do I look?"
Sasha began thinking intensely, furrowing her brows.
"25? 24?"
"Exactly. 20-ish."
"That's nearing your 30s."
"How is that near? Even by your estimations it's leaning more to the 20s," I got annoyed.
"The vibes. The clothes. The way you speak."
Damn.
…
…
…
It's been two days.
Sprocket did not show up in the shop once. On the second day, I was forced to open up for the guys and gave them my key after making a copy.
I decided to locate her home and confirm it myself, but my suspicion was that the people who ambushed the shop before got to her.
Getting the location of her home proved troublesome, but combing through the documents she tossed in the garage, I did find one with her personal information, including the address.
After a day full of scrubbing my hideout from chunks of a homeless guy, I left to confirm it myself. After a short drive, I found myself before a worn-down but decent apartment complex.
I climbed to the second floor and knocked at apartment 215.
I punched the door as hard as I could and called out, only making neighbors yell at me through the walls.
After a while, I decided to hack the lock open, and a few seconds after jacking in, I was in.
A smell hit me as I struggled to discern anything in the darkness. I tried finding a light switch with my hands and stepped through, but my feet struck some trash.
Finding no luck locating the light switch, I scanned the room and located the TV. I turned it on with a hack for a light source. The channel was turned to a TV show.
"-but I loved you! How can that be?"
"You never knew, but I'm your dad!"
"I still do! Face replacement was so good I don't care!"
The dim light of the TV illuminated the entire apartment. It was nearly empty, with only a few boxes in the corners. An empty leather couch sat before the TV, a small coffee table devoid of anything but papers.
Turning to see the rest of the apartment, I saw a towering shadowy figure to my right, barely illuminated by the quickly changing scenes of the TV show.
"Sorry," I blurted out and tried scanning the person instinctively, preparing to grab the gun out of the holster. I saw the figure slowly turn to me, but then I noticed that the proportions were off.
Slowly looking down, as I got no response, I saw that the figure was floating, with a chair thrown to the side.
Through the noisy dialogue of the TV, I heard a creaking as the figure twisted to the sides.
"Sprocket?"
Approaching as slowly as I could, I saw a standing lamp near the wall.
Stepping sideways, I kept my eyes on the figure. My scanner could not pick it up in the darkness. The smell got only worse.
Flicking on the switch on the lamp, a sudden flash illuminated the flat.
There was a corpse of Sprocket, officially known as Rosa María Quintana, hanging from a cable attached to a hook in the ceiling. Dead and rotting.
God.
I felt myself wanting to throw up, but I couldn't avert my gaze. Every so often, her body twisted as the noose on her neck was covered in dried blood. Small flies circled.
I tried walking up, but my feet wouldn't carry me a step further, and my knees seemed to buckle.
It's just death. It's a regular, common thing.
Sprocket's face was locked eternally in silent horror. Only then did I notice a pool of dried blood on the floor under her.
Swallowing my spit, I began slowly approaching. I walked around trying to understand where the blood was coming from and came to see that it was mostly her bare legs and feet, covered in bruises and cuts.
Those don't look self-inflicted.
Her replacement hands were showing open seams, and tools were poking out.
I turned back to close the door into the apartment and only then noticed a wall with a light switch.
Gently closing the sliding door, I flicked it on.
It's empty. Sprocket's apartment was squeaky clean and free of trash. That's not right. She is… she was quite reckless.
I could not place my eyes on her again, and I turned to the documents on the coffee table. By this time, I could not hear the TV show.
Orders, deliveries, contracts. A Militech Mk2 Car Flush Turret installation manual?
Oh fuck. For the first time, I felt my eyes water.
Combing through the papers, I saw plenty of others, like range extenders for remote car controls, checks for purchases of the Quadra original car seats.
Fuck. Man.
Eventually, under a paper of a sale notice, I noticed a bump. Lifting it, I found car keys.
I took them in my hand and turned to see Sprocket. I needed to take her down.
I approached and blinked rapidly to dissipate the tears.
"It's just a cleanup."
I pulled the couch back to her and stood on top of it, slowly trying to bring her down, but the wire around her neck had fused to her skin and left marks on the part of her chrome throat.
Reaching farther up, I tried to unhook the wire from the ceiling hook, and with a jolt, Sprocket's rigid body fell. I caught it, almost falling over, and slowly laid her down.
I stood over her body in silence for a while.
It's my fault, isn't it?
What am I saying? How come I am responsible?
But… I could have helped.
One thing for sure, it's not suicide.
I called the NCPD and corpse disposal, slowly indicating the signs of a murder.
I'm sorry, Rosa. I couldn't pay back my debt.
I left the apartment to wait for the NCPD.
Minutes turned into hours, and I stared at the car keys the entire time.
My breathing was uneven, and I couldn't stop it.
With each thought, my sadness turned into anger.
Regardless of who it might have been, they will pay.
Again, tears swelled up as I stood there silently in the dimly lit corridor.
Sorry, Rosa. I learned your name only today.