Chapter 8

About twenty minutes after the three-hour surgery, one of the doctors spoke on the comms right next to me.

"No, Mr. Jenkins. Unfortunately, we can't connect you. Yes. Still unconscious. I don't know how long it will take. We've stopped the bleeding, but the patient is developing atypical neural shock. We're working on it."

So that's how it is. They patched up the bullet holes, but they can't fix the holes in the soul. My body didn't want to accept me back. Our connection was broken. I now perceived my essence as something amorphous. I couldn't regain my humanoid form. So what now? Give up? Go back into the Net, hoping to snatch another body later?

I remembered how I died the first time. An oxygen mask, a five-person ward with only two occupied beds, constant coughing, and desperate denial of the situation. It wasn't supposed to end like that. Already on the edge of life and death, something was pulling me, but I desperately tried to cling to my cooling body, to the last neurons of my brain flickering in the darkness. Their flickering was so similar to the glow of Cyberspace.

Я не хочу той пустоты

Я не хочу той чистоты

Я не хочу той высоты

Я не прошел всего пути!

Hours dragged on. The doctors regularly checked my vitals, administered medications, brought in equipment, but my condition remained unchanged. Cyberspace was pulling me in, and the body rejected me. Do I still have a chance to hold on? The answer to this question lies in inhuman memories. Gradually unraveling them until…

I felt someone's presence. Not a doctor in the room, but another being from the Net, reaching out to me from afar. Someone was trying to make contact. Well... let's try. Though I was also ready for a potential confrontation. Virtual threads connected us. The space around me distorted. Instead of red and blue lights, I saw an image form in the room… a teenager. A scrawny, unpleasant-looking kid.

"Hey, V," the phantom said. "That's your new name now, right? V. Vincent Price. Everyone needs a name. It's like a hook on which you can hang the rest of your identity."

"Hey. And who might you be?"

"Forgot?" the phantom waved his thin hands, clad in a white turtleneck. "You don't even remember me? Jory. Jory Miller."

"So, we interacted on the other side?"

"Yeah! Yeah! We were, like, buddies," the phantom smirked, but I didn't really believe him.

The longer I looked at him, the more inhuman features I noticed. Teeth too long and yellow, black voids instead of pupils, the turtleneck seemed woven from cobwebs clinging to his skeletal body. I gradually started to remember him. That dream where I and another AI hunted runners in the Old Net. I think that spirit was Jory. We traveled together for a while. Not friendship, but a temporary mutually beneficial alliance of two predators. Jory wasn't my first 'companion.' AIs often teamed up to attack someone stronger or set up an ambush together.

In the dark corners of the Old Net, cold, bodiless creatures constantly calculate whom they have enough strength to pounce on, and who is better left alone. The complicated math of mutual destruction.

"So why did you come, Jory?"

"To help, of course. You'd probably remember on your own, but I'll show you. It'll be easier this way. I'll show you how to stay in your new body."

"Sounds intriguing."

"Of course," the phantom winked. "You already know how, but you've just forgotten. The body, V. A human body isn't well-suited for our special memories. You'll get used to it eventually, but first, you need to eat. You've gotten too thin. As your friend, it pains me to see that. Let's go. Don't leave the body entirely, but stretch out. This way. I'll guide you."

My tendrils reached out through Cyberspace, and Jory added a visual layer to it, as if I too had become a phantom, and the two of us walked from my room to the next one. We passed through the wall like ghosts. Jory was a master of such tricks—my memory told me. He could create images and virtual illusions.

I remembered more and more of him. Jory. Dead, like me. An eternally hungry wanderer of the Net, proud of his ability to create illusions and play with his victims for a long time before devouring them.

"Here," Jory pointed to the body of a soldier, heavily injured, likely in an explosion, in the next room. Militech, judging by the burned patch on the remnants of his uniform.

"He's barely alive," Jory smirked. "Easy-to-digest food, my friend. Remember, V. Remember how you came up with ways to take over bodies."

Fragments of memory flashed through my mind. Human information constructs have unique features. Parts responsible for connecting with the body. I lost them when I became an AI. But... I could steal the missing elements from a sufficiently vulnerable target. It's like virtual black-market organ transplants. Only here, I'm the organ hunter, surgeon, and patient all in one. And there lies a suitable victim.

"Come on, V!" Jory grinned. "Time for lunch."

I could have pretended to care. Said that this Militech guy probably killed a lot of people himself and was the enemy of my corp. But… who cares. His only crime is that I'm hungry. That's the truth.

My essence extended tendrils into the victim's body, but I no longer tried to rip him apart quickly. I needed to carefully extract the parts I required. It felt like I was a cosmic parasite, peeling off the human's skin to crawl inside. Well... that's exactly what it was.

Besides the elements I needed, I could have taken fragments of his memory, but I saw no point in cluttering my mind right now. I just wanted to feel alive again.

"Yes, yes!" Jory encouraged me. "Almost there. It'll wear out over time too, but then you'll find another."

Exactly. To stay in a human body, I, like a vampire, must now take the lives of others.

"Don't starve yourself anymore, V. But you shouldn't overeat either. To stay in a living body, you need the right nutritional balance. I think no more than one a week, but no less than one a month. That kind of diet should suit you now."

"You're helping me not just for nothing, right?"

"Of course," Jory spread a disgusting smile across his face. "I want to live too. Help me, V. Find! Find me a body! Bring it to where the Blackwall is thinner. A body!"

"A netrunner?"

"Yes. But not just any will do. You know that yourself, if you haven't forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten."

I quickly remembered that V wasn't the first attempt.

"Do your best, friend," Jory said, grinding his long teeth like a ghoul. "I've been here for over a hundred years. A hundred years, damn it! And when I died, I was fourteen! I want to live no less than you, V. Maybe even more. You were almost thirty, right? Women, booze, power— it all passed me by. You know the sensations here aren't the same. So do your best, my friend. I'll be back to see you."

There was a clear threat in his last words. Little bastard. And I don't care that he's over a hundred. He's still a kid. Jory's personality hadn't developed much in the Net. He had only learned to survive. To devour his kind and regular people. And beneath the predatory exterior of his AI, petty childhood grudges still smoldered.

I fully returned to my body, feeling pretty decent for someone who'd recently caught a bunch of bullets. However, I didn't rush to open my eyes. I just needed to sleep and calmly think before work started bothering me.

So, by using the AI abilities, I disrupt synchronization with the body. However, this process can be slowed down with meds, but to fully roll it back, I need to devour someone. Virtually skin them, putting on their human contour.

What if I don't use the abilities? I think synchronization would still gradually slip away. I'll just last longer. Not a month, but two or three.

I wonder if I'm the only AI-vampire in Night City? Hardly. I remembered some Mr. Blue-Eyes. He's suspected to be an AI, according to memories from my first life.

Meanwhile, voices of medtechs and the hum of equipment could be heard through the wall. They were trying to resuscitate a Militech agent. Useless. No matter how much you maintain the body's existence, his nervous system had suffered critical damage.

I drowned out the noise beyond the wall by turning on some soft music in my head. Among the mail files, I found photos of Lucy. An unsuspecting girl slipping between passersby. The picture was taken two hours ago.

"You almost slipped off the hook today, dear Lucina," I mentally smirked. "But the patriots didn't shoot accurately enough."

With these thoughts, I finally drifted into a regular human sleep. Six and a half hours later, Jenkins called and woke me up.

"Someone's persistently trying to rid the world of my presence, Arthur," I said. "And he's learning from his mistakes."

"Don't worry. Security will find him and bury him. Will a couple of days be enough for your recovery?"

"I don't know. Ask the docs," I replied.

I wasn't exactly eager to get back to work. A day or two lying in peace wouldn't be bad. Especially since the clinic was well-guarded, with security standing watch outside the ward 24/7.

I spent the first two days in the hospital gradually exploring my AI capabilities. Carefully pulling threads through the hospital's local network. Testing how fast my hands started to go cold, and then calling the doctors to report a decline in my health. I needed to figure out which drugs best slowed down the desynchronization. Then I could use my abilities more often without consequences.

On the second day, the medics found me a special cocktail for my atypical neural shock. Potent drugs, not something you should inject daily, but a couple of times a week would be fine.

I called Tanaka.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Price, we've encountered some issues with your... compensation."

That sounded like I was about to get screwed out of seventy thousand eddies.

"Mr. Tanaka," I said as politely but firmly as possible, "The corporate world runs on the fact that we fulfill the obligations we take on. I laid out my terms to you from the start. You agreed."

"Absolutely correct," the Japanese man nodded. "But that holds as long as we operate within the legal and disciplinary framework of the corporation. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of speaking with Susan Abernathy, head of counterintelligence. According to her, all attention to David Martinez's person was solely your initiative. In other words, by contacting me, you acted not as an Arasaka employee, but as... a fixer."

You old bastard.

"However, I have no complaints about the quality of your work," Tanaka added in a conciliatory tone. "The boy returned to school, and we've obtained all the leverage over him. Ms. Abernathy strongly urged me to file a complaint, but I refused. I stated that I had no grievances. I believe the fifty thousand previously paid should cover your expenses concerning the mercenaries. As for profit... You shouldn't use your position for personal enrichment so brazenly, Mr. Price. Let my warning be a valuable lesson for you."

You old fucking bastard.

"To slightly sweeten this bitter pill, I can offer you a fee of four and a half thousand if you agree to give a lecture to our students. Despite the misconduct, you clearly have valuable experience. What do you say, Mr. Price?"

I could've said a lot of words, but it's foolish to swing after the fight's over. Round two went to Tanaka. Abernathy would love any excuse to mess with Jenkins, and he'd take it out on me. So, suppressing all my emotions, I replied:

"Well... then let's forget about this incident. What kind of lecture is required? It's been a while since I graduated, and my theory might be rusty."

"Our programs have enough theory. We're interested in specifics. Perhaps some students will want to follow in your footsteps. Talk to them about how force operations are planned, preliminary reconnaissance, execution. According to David, you left a strong impression on him."

Well, thank you. It seems he screwed me out of a pile of money but is trying to toss a bone to soften the blow. No worries. This won't help you much, Tanaka.

It looks like, in time, Maine's crew will get a contract to kidnap him. I thought of stopping them, but now I'm sure they'll succeed. I'll keep an eye on it.

Still...

These are just rough plans for now. I don't want to risk everything just for revenge. I need to figure out what other benefits I can extract from the situation.

"Goodbye, Mr. Price. Get well," Tanaka said, cutting the connection.

"Well, that was a nice chat," I smirked, grinning crookedly. "A former dead man talking with a future."

I spent the rest of the day practicing my abilities. Bit by bit. Slowly. The stolen humanity from the dead Militech officer was still fresh. It was fading fast, but the drugs were helping. So I decided to try something both risky and intriguing. Not just rummaging through the hospital's networks, occasionally turning on small devices like lamps. This experiment was… special.

I lay down comfortably, closing my eyes. Tendril-like threads slid beyond my body, reaching through cyberspace toward the hospital's local network. Flickering lights danced around, performing a ballet of numbers and meanings. The Matrix of Cyberspace unfolded before my inner gaze. I was practically diving into the Net without proper equipment, but I wasn't planning to go far. My threads slid down the floors, quickly finding the basement. A cold room with metal walls, where corpses lay on shelves and tables. The morgue.

Fallen soldiers from the Security Division, wealthy victims of accidents, corporate execs murdered by gangsters, ancient elders whose bodies couldn't handle yet another life-extension procedure, models and top-tier escorts who overdosed on drugs. The morgue of an expensive hospital only stored elite bodies with fancy chrome. No bums, addicts, or street scum here.

I was invisibly poking around among this diverse collection of biomaterial. They were dead. Empty. However, in some, I could notice faint, fading brain activity. The dim lights of their final neuronal constellations were slowly going out. Was there still something human in these bodies? Some shadow of the soul, or were these just residual effects like postmortem nail growth? Maybe one day, I'd find the answer to this question. Delve deeper into the threshold of death I had once crossed myself. But for now… let's run an experiment!

I needed someone fresh and intact. My attention singled out a dead corpo, not a scratch on him. The body lay on a metal table, covered up to the chest with synthetic fabric. Almost the same age as V. A young Asian guy, judging by the dried blood streaks from his nose, who had died of an overdose. Whether it was accidental or a deliberate suicide, I couldn't say. Or maybe it was well hidden murder.

Well-manicured hands that had clearly never done any physical labor. There's a Japanese anglicism "salaryman" used to describe office workers on a steady corporate paycheck. A lifeless drone whose only goal is work. Soon you'll start to rot, man. No amount of cologne or deodorant will help. But before that…

I reached for the implants connected to his dead brain. The idea was simple — create an impulse. Activate the nerves again. I wouldn't be able to fully restart his system, but I didn't need to. I'd just restore basic motor functions, and I'd send the commands myself. Remotely.

Impulse.

From the implants I had taken control of, energy surged through the still-intact nerves. The corpse twitched. I didn't rush things. I switched over to the morgue's room and temporarily disabled the camera pointing at my "sleeping prince." Corpses do sometimes twitch. There's nothing surprising about that. Residual muscle and nerve activity. But we were aiming to go further.

I dove back into the corpse. This time I connected more decisively to its basic implants. The eyelids over the Kiroshi optics twitched, artificial lungs expanded, sucking in air, and then…

It began. I had taken control of the corpse like a regular piece of tech. I hardly felt any tactile feedback, but sight and hearing were working. I saw through the dead man's eyes. I could barely move, controlling the limbs that had just been stiff with rigor mortis. However, the emergency systems of the implants were quickly bringing the dead body back into shape. Blood was being thinned and refreshed, stimulants were hitting the organs that had already started to decay.

I slowly sat up on the table. Then I stood. The dead body, of course, didn't feel like my own at all. Just a puppet on virtual strings.

I didn't linger in the corpse for long. Moved the arms, stood up from the table, lay back down, covered myself, and severed the connection.

The desynchronization backlash was weaker than I expected. I didn't even bother calling the doctors. I just relaxed on my comfortable bed, inhaling the pleasant scent of air fresheners. They didn't skimp on patient comfort here. Not like that shabby place Gloria ended up in.

I opened the deck interface. Got it! A second pseudo-script describing my new abilities had appeared.

Puppet Description: "If the target has suitable implants, temporarily grants control over a person insufficiently protected by ICE, or to whom you have bypass access."

-Non lethal.

-Consumes cyberdeck memory.

-Allows you to remotely control a sufficiently intact human body with the right implants for a short time.

-You cannot use the target's implants connected to their nervous system, operating system, or frontal lobe.

-The controlled target possesses your resistance to combat scripts and malware.

-You can send scripts through the target, using your primary body's cyberdeck memory.

-Increases your desynchronization with your body proportional to the time spent controlling the target.

Wait… according to the description of this pseudo-script, the target doesn't necessarily have to be dead. Now, that's more interesting. The memory consumption for running the script was high. So it would only work on the most poorly ICE-protected victims. Not overpowered, but it could come in handy in some situations.

The next morning, I had another surgery scheduled. This time, I calmly lay under anesthesia. When I woke up and came to, the smiling doctor spent a long time explaining what had been put into me and where. No full prosthetics were needed. Several bone fragments were replaced with some kind of bio-gel, which would later regrow bone tissue. A piece of a rib had to be reinforced with titanium. Nanobots worked their magic on the nerves and… that was it.

"Can I expect any bone reinforcement or subdermal armor? My job's been a lot riskier lately."

"I strongly advise against it," the doctor sighed. "Your nervous system is showing some pathological issues. Serious interventions would be too risky right now. Plus, implants like that require a special preparation course."

"Wait, but subdermal armor, an epimorphic skeleton, a cellular adapter. Those don't really interact with the nervous system, right?"

"They don't interact as much as some other implants. Correct," the doctor nodded. "But it's still a major intervention, which is dangerous in your somewhat atypical case. Any large foreign body affects both the nervous and immune systems. Wait at least a week or two. Get a follow-up diagnosis. In the meantime, I highly recommend relying on a well-armored vehicle."

Damn it. I've landed in a cyberpunk world, but I can't handle implants, so I'll have to carve out my path with demonic powers. That sounds like a title for some trashy anime.

Maybe the problem is the desynchronization. It's like my body has an allergy to the new contents of the brain. This is where the 'inflammation' comes from. That same atypical neural shock. If I can deal with the desynchronization and at the same time train my body, updating the chrome will become easier.

I slept peacefully through the night, and by morning they were already preparing to discharge me.

Before work, I received a new report from Okado's spies. Lucy was captured from a distance near some dusty garage, accompanied by a short girl with an unnatural skin tone. Must be Rebecca. I zoomed in on the photo, focusing on Kusinada's face. Looks like, thanks to Tanaka's setup, we'll meet even earlier than originally planned.

I scrolled through a few more photos, indulging in my stalker tendencies.

Думаю, что ты не вспомнишь все мои черты лица.

Но я знаю, что твой дом у восточного кольца…

Мне известно с кем ты пьешь, сколько спишь, о чем ты врешь.

Как тянулись дни твои… без слез, без жизни, без любви

My pleasant thoughts were interrupted by Jenkins' call. From the hospital straight to work. A labor code was never introduced in Night City. Worker rights here were stuck ass up on a dick that is higher than the HQ of our wonderful corporation.

Jenkins showed me Security's reports on another attempt on my life. The conclusion was something like: 'It's clear that nothing is clear.'

Someone anonymously hired the Sixth Street gang, paying an advance and explaining in great detail where, when, and whom to kill. An unknown netrunner interfered with the city's traffic lights, making the ambush by the Sixth more effective. The style was exactly the same as in the stairwell. The netrunner sets the trap, hiring muscle from the outside. Last time, they were sad little cyber punks. This time, soldiers from Sixth Street. However, according to Security's report and my own impressions, they were not the most combat-ready patriots of the NUSA. Okay, the first time. They underestimated me. Didn't expect such agility from a netrunner-office rat. That, I can believe. But the second time?

Why not do what I did when I went after Maine? Hire the top dogs of some gang, just to be sure. Fork out thirty or forty grand. Expensive, but reliable, unless… maybe my secret enemy just doesn't have that kind of money?

I couldn't help but laugh. I imagined my unknown enemy gritting his teeth, counting eddies, getting into debt, and cursing my resilience. Almost feel bad for the bastard. It's fine. I'll kill him, and then feel sorry for him. Isn't that how it works in Bushido films? Although, not all Arasaka employees are samurai...

Wait, stop! A sudden realization hit me on the way out from Jenkins. I returned to my boss's office, and as soon as the doors closed, I asked straight away:

"Do you remember the netrunner Kentaro Okamura? Did he get any rewards for the Crystal Palace job?"

"A reward⁈" Jenkins smirked coldly. "He got a reprimand. Why are you bringing up that coward?"

"I really need to know if Abernathy called him in recently. If he took out loans, time off, or went on any operational work."

"You think it's him?"

"I suspect it."

Abernathy herself suggested Tanaka file the complaint. I'm just a pawn of Jenkins' to her, and it's time to remove me from the board. She could have pressured Okamura over the reprimand and played on his grievances towards Jenkins or his envy of me. Promised him protection. The fool might have fallen for it, not realizing that Abernathy would use him completely and then frame him, eliminating him and scoring points for uncovering an enemy agent.

"I'll give you temporary access. Just don't dig or download anything unnecessary," Jenkins replied. "If Okamura tried to kill you... we'll have to bury that fuck. And it's best done without involving Security, since our 'bitch' is mixed up in this."

"Of course," I nodded.

Well. If I have to off one non-samurai to save my life, I'm more than okay with that.