Chapter 17 (Part 4)

Upon returning to the workshop, we discarded our armor and resumed our respective tasks. Rick meticulously corrected minor glitches, while I opted to begin with the kinetic shields left over from yesterday's repairs. These devices frequently suffered from battery wear-out, necessitating the replacement of exhausted cells. I reasoned that 200 ED was a small price to pay for one's future security.

After completing the day's routine, I secluded myself in a simulation to enhance certain features of my armor. The system's response time, even after extensive testing, appeared sluggish. My focus was on augmenting the decision-making speed of the program since any delay in combat could prove fatal.

Despite running the suit through countless virtual simulations all day, it still fell short of expectations. My estimates indicated it would take roughly two weeks to double the response speed. Although it seemed like an eternity, my options were limited due to financial constraints, forcing me to make do with the resources at hand.

While the armor's wrist computer was learning in the simulation, I turned my attention to other pressing matters, namely weapon development. Modern firearms incorporated basic electronics that connected directly to the user, making them susceptible to disabling hacks. This vulnerability was unacceptable. For netrunners, hacking a firearm's elementary protection was far simpler than neutralizing a resistive individual. My solution was straightforward yet effective: integrate the firearm's electronic controls with the suit, which in turn, was linked to my brain via an integrated cyberdeck. This concept wasn't novel—many corporate soldiers and support runner groups employed similar defense systems.

The month progressed quickly, marred only by a quarantine that presented unique challenges. Despite the complications, we navigated through the situation smoothly. The city grappled with a high mortality rate, but we emerged merely shaken, with our nerves frayed but intact.

Interestingly, the virus incident inadvertently provided me with deeper insights into my physiology. Blood analysis revealed a wealth of data, indicating my body was entering its final maturation phase, poised for a gradual transition into slow aging. My enhanced strength and durability surpassed human norms, and my rigorous training regimen promised to further amplify these traits. According to Mike, neglecting training would have left me struggling to make significant changes later on. His words motivated me to increase my training hours, driven by the unappealing prospect of appearing physically unimposing.

Additionally, there were beneficial aspects to consider. My muscles would deteriorate at a much slower pace, which was a significant advantage. The thought of spending countless hours in the gym merely to maintain my physique was far from enticing. Mike also theorized that upon reaching full maturity, I might be eligible for auxiliary implant installations, such as a cyberdeck or advanced netrunner devices that wouldn't necessitate the removal of any body parts. However, the prospect of embedding questionable gadgets into my body did not appeal to me, leading me to quickly dismiss the idea.

An incoming message from "the universe's best hacker" then caught my attention:

"Hey Alex, I'm rushing to let you know that the corporations have massively botched their virus handling and are now desperately trying to quell the ensuing epidemic. They'll likely need another two weeks to contain this man-made quarantine, so staying out of the city would be wise for you. But, I suspect you're currently preoccupied with something else, aren't you?

Militech has begun the development of the Leviathan, employing cutting-edge nanofabrication technology. This advancement could greatly benefit us in the future, so I've discreetly infiltrated their systems using longstanding backdoors to simplify our future endeavors. Moreover, I've unearthed something intriguing in Arasaka Corporation's database—a significant project. The Japanese aim to revive their project on digitizing personalities for transfer into new bodies. They've enlisted a renowned foreign specialist, Anders Hellman, known for his contributions to bioengineering and neurotechnology. Arasaka plans to heavily promote this technology to secure substantial resources, although their current assets are barely sufficient to cover these 'irretrievable' costs.

I'm also sending you a new data package to further your training. Soon, you'll be able to independently navigate the network, where we'll delve deeper into the capabilities of netrunners within cyberspace. I trust you're prepared for this journey.

See you soon."

"P.S. Consider investing in Delamain Corporation. Its stock has taken a hit, but the AI is expected to rebound from the crisis shortly. Don't miss out on this opportunity."

The mentor was generous with information, sharing comprehensive details about the key figures leading Militech and Arasaka's latest ventures alongside his message. The extensive list included names I had only heard of in passing, adding depth to my understanding of the corporate landscape.

The news that the quarantine was drawing to a close and the city would soon buzz with activity again was a relief. This meant I could restart the acquisition of essential materials for my gadgets. Relying on intermediaries, especially through the Aldecaldos, had become prohibitively expensive due to a significant hike in their fees. As a result, I found myself navigating on a tight budget, cut off from their pricey services.

The world seems inundated with an overwhelming array of complexities that, directly or indirectly, affect everyone. Corporate entities are increasingly assertive, with the repercussions of their endeavors growing more devastating. A virus alone has decimated a quarter of the city's populace, and according to Bartmoss, this is merely the precursor to further calamity. The anticipation of a new conflict within the NUSA looms large, a war poised to showcase new armaments and establish dominance within the American territories. Militech, eager to demonstrate its prowess, stands in opposition to Arasaka, which has been swiftly regaining its former glory after its setback in 2023. This resurgence likely irks Militech's director, Bill Drake, as Arasaka threatens to usurp the arms dominion.

Based on my calculations, I have between five to seven years to adequately prepare for the impending war and ensure the safety of those dear to me. I am convinced that many will be swept up in the conflict, lured by lofty ideals or the allure of substantial rewards—rewards that, predictably, will remain unpaid. Modern warfare, with its predictable patterns of inception and resolution, leaves little room for surprise.

While I may find myself involved in the upcoming strife, it would be as an independent party. There are gains to be made in any conflict, provided one does not instigate it for frivolous reasons, seeking to inflate their ego at the expense of others. This perspective guides my preparations, focusing on leveraging the situation without contributing to the chaos.

***

Two years later.

I was driving John's venerable mule down the highway, casually noting the road signs that marked the distance to our destination. Nestled between San Francisco and Los Angeles, Night City stood at the juncture of the old Pacific Highway. Our journey back home followed a significant assignment in Santa Cruz, where a local magnate required skilled hands for the discreet transport of contraband, ensuring its integrity during the move.

I had volunteered for this mission, eager for a breath of fresh air and a glimpse of contemporary American cities. Yet, I found them eerily similar to Night City: the ubiquitous mountains of refuse and the colossal advertising banners jutting from every skyscraper were all too familiar.

Our cargo was peculiar—real live iguanas, a rarity in the wild, presumably bred illicitly for sale to affluent enthusiasts at steep prices. My indifference to the creatures' plight led me to abstain from meddling in affairs that weren't my concern. We were compensated for our work, not conversation, and had we declined, someone else would have readily accepted.

"Today you're unusually reflective, is everything okay?" John attempted to spark a conversation, likely driven by ennui.

"I'm just looking forward to a long shower back home," I replied, keeping my focus on the road ahead.

"How much do you reckon those reptiles are worth?"

"A significant amount," I answered briefly, throwing a glance at my contemplative friend before adding, "But finding a reputable buyer would be out of our league, so it's best not to dwell on it."

"You're right, but it doesn't hurt to fantasize, does it?" He grinned, making himself more comfortable. "So, have you given any more thought to relocating to Night City?"

"Unfortunately, no. There are certain matters I need to address in the city," I responded, hinting at personal commitments I preferred not to discuss further.

"You mean your family?"

"Among other things," I replied noncommittally, indicating my reluctance to delve deeper into the subject. These were my private concerns, and I had no intention of burdening others with them, even if their offers of assistance were well-intentioned.

"Understood. How about we take a break then? Sitting this long has worn me out, and I could use a snack."

"Sure. There's a gas station up ahead. We can stop there," I agreed, realizing my own hunger. We had departed early without breakfast, and the hastily consumed protein bar hardly qualified as a meal.

Ten kilometers down the road, the perfect spot emerged. I effortlessly guided the car to a stop near the gas station, leaving John to guard the vehicle while I ventured in search of sustenance.

A café nearby, touted in reviews for its quick and synthetic fare, caught my attention. Inside, a girl, evidently disinterested, manned the cash register, her attention half on the television screen.

"Hello," I greeted, promptly scanning the menu before placing a straightforward order. "Three large boxes and two liters of Ni-Cola with apple, please."

"Will that be all?"

"That's it," I confirmed, shaking my head.

"Please wait around twenty minutes for your order," she instructed.

I found a vacant table in the corner, away from the entrance, and settled in to wait for John, who was handling the fuel payment. He joined me shortly, his pace brisk as he slid into the seat across from me.

"This place is surprisingly lively for being so remote," John observed, casually taking in the café's patrons.

"It's the only stop for the next three hundred miles on the federal highway. It's no wonder it's a popular rest spot," I explained, taking a grateful sip from the drinks that had just been served.

"It feels more crowded than before," John mused, leisurely enjoying his drink.

Our conversation naturally drifted to the tasks awaiting us back at camp. We had recently liberated a few machine guns from Militech, executing the raid at the state border to pin the act on a notorious local raider clan, leveraging their infamous reputation.

"Here's your order," announced the server, placing two hefty trays of food before us. We wasted no time diving into the meal, our hunger evident in the quick disappearance of the food.

"Fully satisfied," John declared, surveying the empty trays before standing with renewed energy, heading towards our parked vehicle.

"Thanks for the service," I said, leaving a tip for the waitress and stepping back into the wasteland's embrace, the heat enveloping me once more.

"Who's driving next?"

"I'll take over. I've had enough of sitting idle."

"Then, let's hit the road..."