The Tyger has Claws but does that make it just a pussy cat?

Walking through my floor of the Megabuilding was a bit odd. It was mainly set up with small residences, like my own. However, there were a number of small businesses as well. It was surreal, and I felt like I was living through that old Earth Aleph film Blade Runner. There was even a noodle stand like what I recalled in the film; the only exception was you couldn't sit there in the rain and eat your noodles, obviously.

It was a similar experience purchasing the noodles to what she remembered in the movie, too, as the noodle man didn't speak a word of English. Or if he did, he didn't want to speak it to the lanky anglo girl. However, I did end up with a bowl of noodles and a Nicola, which was apparently America's Favorite Cola. Personally, I doubted that. Perhaps it would be your favourite if you drank Robitussin for enjoyment, as it tasted vaguely like carbonated cough syrup.

I noticed I was dressed a little bit too good to smoothly fit in around there, so I finished my noodles, which were good and tossed the mostly-full can of Nicola Classic into the trash can. The can featured a minimalist line drawing of an Asian lady with a bare bottom. Honestly, the Cola probably would taste about the same if it came from her bottom. Ugh.

Another business was something like a convenience store. Although it was run by an older-looking man that looked like he might own it and live next door, did that mean it was a bodega? I wasn't entirely sure, but I made it my second stop. I'm not sure I'd see an actual grocery store for a long time, but I spent about a hundred and fifty eurodollars on buying a bunch of food that looked good and brought it back to my apartment. That would last me a couple of days.

After unloading the food in my kitchenette, next to my margarine tub of Super-Meth, I got ready to go back outside so I could go to the elevator. Speaking of the Super-Meth, I discovered it wasn't actually supernatural. I had the complete chemical compound structure and three synthesis methods for it in my head. But the interesting thing was, there was no way in hell that I could have made that drug in my kitchen.

All three of the synthesis methods that I knew require, at minimum, a vacuum distillation setup and a number of chemical precursors that are simply not found in kitchen cleaners of any kind as far as I knew.

Now, that wasn't actually that unusual when you considered Tinkertech. I heard of a Tinker that turned a spring from his mattress and two toasters into a perpetual motion device. However, what was unusual was that what she made wasn't tinkertech at all, as far as she could tell. Aside from the yoghurt, they were all actual, real chemicals.

I tried to think back on how I made it in the kitchen, and it was just a fog. That's kind of normal Tinker stuff, right? Then why can I not make it again? Thinking about trying to make it again pulls up the actual chemical compound and synthesis steps in my head, as if I was a chemist and not a Tinker. Shouldn't I just... you know... wham, take weird stuff, and bam, then it does something?

Thinking about the anti-depressants and anti-biotics yielded a similar result. However, I had to stop myself from starting to cook an anti-retroviral medicine in my kitchen when I came home when and thought about one as a test.

So, what does that mean? My power would give me one "freebie" where it would use heebie-jeebies to produce something out of all manners of implausible inputs, using implausible methods and tools. But after that, I had to do it the old-fashioned way?

I thought about it while I unloaded all the food I had bought. Glancing at some of the individual servings of yoghurt, I shook my head. I had the feeling I could create more of that yoghurt medicine, and when I thought about it, the yoghurt stuff didn't seem to be a real, non-Tinkertech, chemical or formulation. That made sense; yoghurt certainly had a lot of beneficial bacteria in it, but not enough and not the varieties to completely replace a person's microfauna thirty minutes after taking some extremely powerful antibiotic.

It felt like my power was being stingy as hell. If I got inspired to create something, and I could do it through traditional chemistry, it would let me have that freebie, but if I wanted more, I had to create it like I was a scientist? That wasn't how Tinkering was supposed to work. It wasn't the first time that I felt that my power was a weird combination of Tinkering and Thinking. And I couldn't tell if I got ripped off by my power or if I won the lottery with it. One of the biggest problems with Tinkertech was that it wasn't reproducible by anybody except perhaps the best Tinkers in the world like Dragon, and it required the Tinker to maintain it.

The fact that some of what I made seemed to be reproducible and congruent with actual science seemed amazing, now that I thought of that. Amazingly awesome or amazingly dangerous, perhaps both. When I got inspired with something, if it was possible to accomplish what I wanted scientifically, then it seemed to default to giving me an actual scientific solution. Sure, it seemed to Tinker-bullshit it the first time, but if I wanted a repeat like if I wanted to make more of that neural stimulant, I had to actually get a chemistry lab. I had all of the academic knowledge of its synthesis, but none of the muscle memory, either.

The neural stimulant was a known drug in this world; I had looked it up by its composition online. It was a patented designer drug made by a European Pharmaceutical company. Patents didn't really mean a lot in this world, so what really gave them the edge was that their production method was a trade secret. It was expensive and was a commonly used drug by corporate executives, military pilots, astronauts and anyone who needed to stay up a long time with minimal side effects and low abuse potential.

It still wasn't great for your brain to use it chronically over a period of years, though, but it was the safest neural stimulant currently on the market and priced accordingly. I didn't know the ins and outs of macroeconomics of the drug trade, but I thought I could probably sell the six hundred grams of what I had for over twenty-five thousand eurodollars. Retail, it would cost over twenty times that.

However, it might not be a great idea to do so. Beyond any moral questions, the Pharmacorp sold this drug in distinctive, hard-to-counterfeit tablets. The shape, colour and texture of the tablets were trademarked, too and part of their marketing strategy. Similar to Pfizer marketing viagra as "the little blue pill." I doubted I could create such a similar tablet, especially since they were designed to be hard to counterfeit in the first place, so you knew people weren't tricking you with biker meth if you saw one of their pills.

If the Corp ever found out someone sold a whole bunch of their premiere moneymaker in powdered base form, they would either think someone diverted it from their manufacturing centre, they'd probably consider this most likely, or that someone had discovered their synthesis method. Both would trigger an investigation that I didn't want to be anywhere near.

I decided I wouldn't flush it after all, but I was definitely not interested in getting into the drug manufacturing business. Especially manufacturing a product that was supposed to be a firmly held trade secret by a Pharmacorp. Compared to other similarly sold drugs, it was practically good for you so, so I might have been able to rationalise selling it if I really needed the money someday, but the risks were too great to do so.

The other two drugs I could find no mention of. I got a little nervous after searching for the exact chemical composition of the first drug and instead decided to not do that for the last two. Chemicals were similar to other chemicals, though.

So, I browsed a chemistry encyclopedia online for nearby similar analogues, finding nothing. This told me either my power didn't only restrict me to chemicals that were already known in this world or that these two chemicals were even deeper secrets than the first one. The antibiotic was very useful but had a pretty big downside, but it was one that could definitely be mitigated if administered in a hospital setting.

The anti-depressant was the most magical of the bunch in that it worked very rapidly, seemed to have no side effects that her power warned her about and only had to be taken once a week. One of the biggest problems with anti-depressants was compliance in the patient taking them every day. It turned out that when you were suffering from severe enough depression, you didn't want to do anything, even if it was as simple as swallowing a pill that you knew would help you.

You were depressed, so you needed to take a pill, but your depression made you not want to take it. A kind of a Catch-22. The Tinker part of her was suggesting, mildly, a implanted personal pharmacopoeia inside a patient's body, that would administer appropriate drugs on an appropriate schedule. Something like that had to already exist in this world, as I thought they were working in that direction in my old world for insulin.

It kind of made me feel bad to keep such a wonder drug to myself, but I definitely didn't want to lose what little freedom I had in this world. Perhaps it would come to that, and I might end up in someone's gilded cage. Definitely, worse things could happen, but who would choose that first? I might be able to release the synthesis procedures anonymously online, but then again, there wasn't a lot of anonymity to be had. I definitely wasn't a good enough "hacker," or a hacker at all, to ensure anything wouldn't be traced back to me.

While walking from my apartment towards the elevator at the centre of the block I suddenly had the feeling that I was being watched and perhaps followed. It was a feeling that I had honed over the years, and I trusted my instincts in this manner. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to dodge Sophia and the Trio as often as I did. Rather than accelerate and try to lose them, I stayed with a group of about ten others who were also headed towards one of the elevators. This strategy of hiding with the herd would have been folly back in Winslow, as I had already been excommunicated from the herd, and nobody would have protected me.

Here, though, it seemed to work. In the corner of my eye, I saw the man, no wait... it was a boy, younger than me even, that was trailing me. Thankfully, the boy didn't look too dangerous, but thirteen-year-olds could do some ultraviolence in this world, so I wouldn't make any assumptions.

I only had two things of value on me, my phone, which I could absolutely not lose and my pistol, which I didn't want to lose either, mostly because I read people who take your gun often shoot you with it first thing. A lot of others on the elevator were going to the tenth floor also, as there was a built-in NCART station to get on the maglev on that floor, and it was one of the larger commercial floors, with very few residential housing available. It was like a large mall, so I supposed it made sense to have the Tyger Claws office on the same floor.

I could either confront the kid following me, implying that I had a gun by having my hand near it or just try to avoid whatever he was trying to do until I got to the Tyger Claws. I was never one for confrontation, and honestly, I was surprised that I even gave myself that option. This couldn't be entirely the result of the anti-depressants. Were the here-and-there memories of Alt-Taylor playing a role? She would have confronted the kid right away.

Questions like that had the potential to spiral into existential questions that didn't do me any good to even consider, so I ignored them and just tried to keep the kid in sight as I stepped off the elevator.

The Tyger Claws site said their office was just in front of the train terminal, and I found that very quickly. I managed to stay with a herd of a few people the entire way, but instead of following them through the NCART pylons, I darted away and walked straight with a purpose to the Tyger Claw office. I saw the kid notice me change directions, and he moved to follow me again until he saw where I was headed, and I think I saw a look of panic on his face before he made a quick ninety-degree turn to the left and walked off, perpendicular to the direction I was going, fast.

The Tyger Claws "community office" was pretty small, at least the public front area. It kind of reminded me of a post office or a bank, but there was just one "clerk" behind the counter. He was in his thirties, and although he was covered with tattoos, he seemed to have a mild temperament. He smiled at me in a friendly manner and asked, in perfect English, "Hello, there, little lady. I am called Jin, by some. How can the Tyger Claws help you today?"

What good customer service for a murderous booster gang. He just out and out admitted it, like I walked through the door at Fugly Bobs. It threw me for a loop for a moment but then I came to my senses. I decided not to try to use Japanese honorifics in English. Mainly because I once heard that Lung set a person on fire who did that, and figured that maybe it was offensive?

"Ah, Mr Jin?" I asked, and he nodded with a friendly smile, "It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Taylor Hebert, and I recently moved into the Megablock. This is my first time away from home, so I was not sure of the correct procedures but all of my Uncles told me that it would be in my best interests to pay for some services your organisation provides to the tenants here."

That caused him to smile widely and even in a more friendly matter. I could briefly see his eyes change colours slightly, and I didn't realise what was happening until he said, "Ah, of course. Miss Hebert, of apartment 29-221. I'd like to offer my condolences about the recent passing of your father. Your Uncles? You must mean all of his comrades-in-arms in the NUSA or Militech's military? They have given you good advice; I wish more people had people they trust to tell them this."

Oh. He must have some optics cyberware and pulled my file. Well, so much for keeping my connection to Militech a secret from them. He didn't seem to care, though. I bowed my head a little bit, "Thank you for that, Mr Jin. It has been hard for me the last few days. Otherwise, I would have been in sooner."

He waved a hand affably, "It's not a problem. Our housing block is often one of the ones selected by corporations; Militech especially often sends their children here for the first time when they are leaving the nest.... oh, that shocked you?" He did an actual belly laugh and waved his hand again, "You no doubt learned about Militech and Arasaka growing up and think perhaps us mere Tyger Claws, a Japanese benevolence organisation, are Arasaka's catspaw?"

He shrugged but didn't deny it. But he chuckled again, "Even if that was the case, things would have to get much worse indeed for either side to target the fledglings of the other side indiscriminately. You're of the age where you will likely start working soon; not only is this housing block safe for the most part, but it is a way for you to see a different side of the world. That's why I think Militech often send their youngsters to live here, anyway. I've had this conversation a few times." He then grinned, "Of course, maybe it is because the rent is, on average, one hundred and three eurodollars cheaper than the block Downtown."

I nodded firmly at that, which caused him to laugh again, "Yeah, maybe you're right."

He explained which levels of service I could purchase, like I was buying car insurance; there were two. I could buy protection inside the Megablock, or I could also buy protection anywhere in Japantown. He was open that most Corpos only go for the first option, as the NCART could take them straight downtown without stepping foot in Japantown.

They wouldn't guarantee my protection in Japantown, there weren't enough eurodollars in the entire Megablock to absolutely guarantee anyone's protection if they walked around unescorted in Jig-Jig street looking like a corpo, but it wouldn't be the Tyger Claws themselves that started things first. However, in the Megablock they would offer some guarantees about my safety inside my apartment, in fact they had a number to call if anyone tried to break in.

"Did you know that the NCPD is probably moving to a fee-for-service to make 911 calls? I think it is going to be five eddies a minute. Us, on the other hand? We will pay you if you report such crimes on the premises," he said emphatically. I didn't think I wanted to know what they would do to people they "arrested."

I wanted to tell him that the NCPD already did charge ten eurodollars if he ever decided to hang up when calling Emergency Services; it was listed as a fine, presumably for wasting their time, on my transaction history. But I didn't want to tell him I had tried to call 911.

The costs were reasonable, too. Ten per cent of your rent if you only stayed in the Megablock, and fifteen per cent for all of Japantown. The location where the paramedics' school was was technically Downtown, but it was quite close to Japantown, only a block away. I asked him, "Mr Jin, please give me your advice. I will be attending a school for six months at..." Lily gave the address, ". That is Downtown, I guess. But it is very close. Do you think I should pay for your extra tier of service?"

I had already decided to buy the extra level. I was just being respectful, in asking his opinion. Nobody working at Fugly Bobs would tell her: 'No, maybe you shouldn't Fugly-size it.'

He got a thoughtful look on his face and rolled his fingers along his desk. "Normally, Miss Hebert, I would say it is probably not necessary. However, in the past six months, the closest NCART station to that address has closed for several weeks twice. That leaves you either going for the one past it, which would be over a two-kilometre walk back, or you could stop in the last Japantown station for only a few blocks walk." He shrugged and said, "Even if you do not get the full package, it is not like that means you can't go to Japantown. It just means we won't have your back. It'd probably be fine. However, I do promise that if you do have the full service and you go missing, we will at least look for you a lot more than the cops will. The only people who will look for you more is Trauma Team, and they charge a lot more. It is up to you. It'd probably be fine either way, though."

Wow, he didn't try to upsell me... Actually, I think he did. He was just a lot subtler about it. "Ah, thank you for your advice Mr Jin. I take my personal safety very seriously, so I think I would like to pay for the full level of service you provide just to be safe."

He nodded, smiling. "You are very wise for someone your age. That school, are you going to be studying medicine? That is a medical campus."

I blinked. I didn't realise they did anything but paramedic classes. I raise my hand and make a waffling gesture, "I'll be studying to be a paramedic. I'd love to be a doctor some day, but this is all I could get paid for, as of now."

Mr Jin nodded and said, "You are modest. It's the best paramedic course in the city. You must be truly gifted to have gotten admitted without even a basic EMT certificate."

I think he is just being polite because it seemed like I was being polite. I think modesty is a big part of a lot of Asian cultures, but I didn't know. I decide to go with, "There are many much more gifted than I, but I thank you." I honestly didn't believe that though. I was going to be the best.

After a few more back and forths, he finalises the price I am expected to pay. I look a little nervous and ask, "Do you need me to pay in cash?"

Mr Jin looked a little surprised but then suddenly affected a stern expression and said solemnly, "Yes, in small, non-sequential bills..."

Fuck! Where was I going to find that?

"...and then you will have to come and have sake with the oyabun..."

Wait, what? I'm not joining your gang!

"...and I warn you that any disrespect and you'll be expected to commit seppuku..."

I suddenly narrow my eyes at him. He's screwing with me. That causes him to crack up and roar with laughter, slapping the counter several times. "Oh, oh... you should have seen yourself. Oh, I am going to tell all my friends, thank you for that. Little lady, I think you have been watching too many old movies. Do we need cash? Of course not!"

I laugh a little, haltingly. Okay, maybe it was a little bit funny. I bring out my phone and send an electronic payment, and he grinned even wider, "Want to set up Autopay?"

He's still making fun of me. My face must be beet red. But I nodded; I did want to set up autopay. It sounded very convenient.

"Okay, we already have your biometrics, so all of our members will know that you're paid up. Take one of these stickers and place it on your door, too, if you don't mind," he brought a number of tiger themed stickers out from behind the counter. Most were similar to the tattoos, an Asian inspired tiger, sometimes clawing with flame around its paws.

However, one of them...

I looked at it. He nodded with a smile. I sighed and grabbed it, which caused him to laugh again, "I knew it! I knew it! Don't worry, that one has been very popular with girls your age. My daughter put one on our door, and we don't even need these!"

I sighed and put the sticker of a cute cat girl with tiger stripes in my pocket. She had her hand/paw raised like one of those money cats, and a speech bubble proclaimed, "Nya!"

I would not underestimate this gang. This guy was incredibly personable and charming, but that was exactly why he was working the job he was doing. Still, it sounded like things weren't as dire as I was anticipating them to be.

Before I left, I asked him, "In the next day or so I am going to be getting a little work done, will that be a problem with the biometrics you've taken? Should I come back to the office?" I actually already had set up an appointment for one of Downtown's best biosculpt clinics tomorrow. I knew exactly what to ask them to do, as I had a complete report of the work Alt-Taylor received.

He got a peculiar look, almost disapproving, on his face and asked, "Divergence factor?"

I searched my memories for what that meant and finally realised it was a percentage based on how different you would look from your baseline after treatment. "Less than five per cent."

That caused him to smile in his friendly manner again, "Oh, no. That's no problem. I'm so glad to hear that, too many people your age change your entire bodies, try to look like stars." He shook his head, "It's not really respectful to your parents! I certainly wouldn't let my daughter do anything like that."

Ah, he had been disapproving at first. I smiled, "I would never betray the memory of my father or mother. I am their daughter even if neither of them is around anymore, so I could never make radical changes like that. I like that I can see them in myself when I look in the mirror." That last part was a lie, but it sounded good. I didn't intend to, but I could imagine any number of situations where I would do so... being on the run, for example.

He nodded slowly, "You are a filial girl, Miss Hebert. It's rare to see these days. Come by the office, or call me if you need anything." He forwarded my phone his contact information, and I nodded, seeing that as a clear dismissal.

I departed and walked directly back to the elevator. Well, I liked that guy a lot more than Mr Gladly. However, I didn't trust him at all. I mean, I sort of believed what he had said, but I only figured that mattered when it was convenient.

That said, the fact that a member of a murderous street gang made me feel better than my teachers had in two years made me laugh. Was I always that good at talking? I didn't think so. I was just so scared that I said whatever came out of my mouth. I think I did well.

I thought about it as I headed back to my apartment. Finally, I realised a big reason was that he saw me as a completely different Taylor Hebert. So, my self-esteem still wasn't the best, I guess. But here, I could pretend to be this other girl every day, and nobody would ever know. Was that healthy?

My medical sense seemed to think it depended on a lot of other factors, but no, not generally. Oh well.

---xxxxxx---

After I got back to my apartment, I spent the day further looking at things online and forging a version of my medical records that didn't have any of the biosculpt or cyberware that Alt-Taylor had, so I could give to the clinic tomorrow.

Shortly before I was heading to bed, I got an alert on my phone from Militech and one from the law firm simultaneously. Everything had gone through correctly. Or so I had thought.

The law firm told me that they had spotted a few problems with the contract, especially the fact that my compensation should be a bit different, i.e. more, since I was attending only a six month course compared to a normal two-year course that they had been offering.

That one change paid for their fees six times over, so I felt good about using their services. One perk that they got for me was one I didn't realise I should have asked for. Namely, they got Militech to let me keep my Militech dependent's net address until I turned 20. Although, I'd have to surrender it if I got a job at a major corporate competitor, like Kang Tao or Arasaka, or a number of others. The law firm emphasised how nice of a benefit this was, and I considered why they thought that was the case for a while.

Finally, I nodded. I could see what they meant. Any time I applied for a job, I could send the application through this address. It was almost like a recommendation from Militech. Perhaps I couldn't get a job overseas with Arasaka or any Corp that Militech was on the outs with, but it told the hiring managers if I wanted a corporate job that I wasn't some mook of the street. Even if that was exactly what I was.

I had already realised that my status, tenuous as it was, had value. Alt-Taylor was a third-generation Corpo, and that was almost a caste in this dystopian world. I was sure I got treated better by that Tyger Claw guy because of it.

And I'm sure there were tons of things about it that were big negatives, too. I'm sure there were lots of places in Night City that I couldn't walk around without getting jumped, for example. And I already knew that working for most corporations was similar to working as an Imperial Official in old Chinese dynasties. You were as often killed by your colleagues as your enemies.

Still, it wasn't something I should throw away. It might not have been a big deal if I was Alt-Taylor, as she still had the culture of growing up in that caste, so it would show through with whoever she was dealing with, but I didn't have that advantage at all.

The e-mail from Militech did seem correct at first blush. However, there was a mistake. It had the class I was attending as the Sysadmin class, complete with links to download all course materials included.

I blinked and rapidly clicked the link before they realised the error. The Sysadmin class wasn't a class that they let just anybody into. I didn't think that there would be some of the mythical "black ICE" that I had been reading about in the course materials, but it should still be good stuff that I could study in my own time.

I managed to grab the first year's materials, all books and included software, including three large scripted software packages designed to be run on a cyberdeck, labelled Ping, Reboot Optics and C. Malfunction. I didn't know what any of those did beyond what they said on the tin, but I managed to download and save them to a data shard on my phone.

Militech realised their mistake before I could get the second year's materials, but I still felt I got a nice unasked-for bonus. To make it look less suspicious, I downloaded all of the Paramedic class courseware too, as if that was what I was after all along. Some of them were BDs, so I would have to get a wreath somewhere. I had a memory that my dad didn't permit Alt-Taylor to have one. Probably because, by far, the most common braindances were porn-related.