A Moth's Wings and a Tyger's Claws
POV: Cyberpunk Taylor
Taylor didn't realise it, but the fact that she was sleeping when the swap took place meant she got a much more significant chunk of her alternate's memories than the other girl had. She was also unaware of the fact that a giant crystalline computer was inspecting the process of transfer very carefully, which ensured that it settled upon her brain, much as it began to do to her doppelganger before they were transposed.
She fell onto the flat linoleum floor in front of her alternate's locker with a thud. A crappy way to wake up. She had been wallowing in her own despair in her little apartment, wondering what she was going to do and missing her dad, even though he had a tendency to be gone for weeks at a time on missions. Being gone for a little while was a lot different from being gone. It had only been three days since she came to the Corp-provided temporary housing in the Megablock in Japantown.
Why the hell they put a fifteen-year-old girl, a Militech Corpo brat, in the middle of a Megabuilding run lock stock and barrel by the Tyger Claws Yakuza gang, which had ties to Arasaka, was anyone's guess. Although Arasaka was officially banned from North America following the Corporate War, everyone knew that they had covert operations on the continent. Although you didn't hear about it all the time, it wasn't uncommon to hear about a researcher kidnapped in the USA and later showing up in Japan "working" for Arasaka. Everybody did these types of renditions, and everyone claimed they were rescuing the workers, and sometimes that was probably the case. But who did Arasaka's dirty work in Night City? In the past, it was the Tyger Claws. Could they still be responsible for it, a secret conduit to this day? Her dad thought so. Either someone had a grudge against her dad, or more likely, it was probably at least two eddies cheaper than the Megablock downtown.
She didn't think too much about how her alternate had been handling herself, her life or her depression, but then again, she had been starting to circle the drain herself, so she wouldn't throw stones just because her alternate had been doing it longer.
The way she arrived in this world left a lot to be desired, too. Luckily, she didn't sleep in the buff, but she still found herself flat on the floor of a dark school familiar only to memories that weren't hers.
Welp, what did Dad always say? Take stock, plan, adapt and then overcome. Take stock came first. She sat up. She had one Kerry Eurodyne branded duvet-style comforter, one pair of Militech-branded panties, worn, one bra, worn, two socks worn, one Miltech Paraline cyberdeck and operating system, one pair of Kiroshi Mk3 cybernetic eyes, one superpower that seemed to give her ideas about how to enhance her body to be resistant to the cold, and finally one Militech M-37AF compact variable-velocity SmartPistol.
Her dad purchased this pistol for her last year. She had been holding it under her pillow more as a remembrance of him than as a form of self-defence. She doubted she would have been invaded in the Megablock she was in -- it really was pretty safe, Tyger Claws or no Tyger Claws, but if anyone came through her locked door, it would be those selfsame Tyger Claws, and one pistol wouldn't have saved her from them. It was Militech's top-of-the-line in concealable personal defence pistols; although Taylor did have a set of Kiroshi optics, her dad finally allowed her some 'ware, but she didn't have the Smart-Link cyberware that would allow her to designate targets for the homing flechettes to take full advantage of its features. That said, it was still a very nice pistol that she had already switched to three-round burst mode. Her dad always told her that ammo was cheap, but being sure the other fucker was dead was priceless.
She momentarily ejected the cassette to ensure all of the ammunition was there. Yep, sixty rounds of 2mm caseless gyrojet-seeking flechettes. Cheap as though ammo was, she somehow doubted she could go to a vending machine down the street and get more of the specialised 2mm flechettes, so her pistol was of purely limited utility. Plus, the ammunition was distinctive, and even her memories indicated that the BBPD would be able to link any deaths to the single weapon, which would be linked to her if she was ever discovered with it. Unless she surgically removed every single flechette from anyone she had to shoot, which her power was aching to do.
The ammo itself, though? The sense of her "superpower" gave her was that she could build a lot of things, but replacement ammo for a high-tech gun was not one of them unless it was ammo made out of bone shards produced by a specialised organ in her body. Hmm.
Perhaps she could save a few of the flechettes for when she had the resources to hire someone to reverse-engineer and duplicate them, but most likely, she would either discard the gun entirely or keep it as only a memento the first time she had to use it, but first things first.
She stood up and glanced around. It was past twenty-three hundred according to the clock on the wall. Her dad must be worried sick. Honestly, she didn't think much about her alternate's dad's behavior, either. He hadn't handled mom's death as well as she remembered, but perhaps it was just that her actual dad just shoved everything into his work. Or, growing up in Night City, they had both internalised the possibility of not living to ripe old age? Although there were some weird superpowers in play, Brockton Bay seemed très tame compared to Night City. Well, no matter. She would fix him, one way or another. She wasn't about to lose two fathers.
Taylor paused and considered her appearance and compared it with her alternate. She looked... mostly the same. She considered the differences. She didn't use glasses as her alternate had to do, as she had a pair of top-of-the-line Kiroshi cybernetic eyes, and of course, she made a few minor changes in her appearance as well.
She suspected she would have looked identical, but body sculpt clinics were so cheap in Night City, and it only cost a few hundred eddies to increase her bust a little, narrow her waist and adjust her hips and slightly adjust the symmetry in her face. And it wasn't like they checked her ID or required her to be 18 to do it, either. It wasn't like she did anything major. Otherwise, her Dad would totally have noticed, but she did it the last time he was deployed about six months ago and just claimed she had a growth spurt when he got back.
It should be fine; her memories indicate her alternate Dad barely noticed anything, anyway.
She needed to either call him soon or decide to make her way back home on her own. She wasn't sure which was the better decision, tactically. She was leaning towards the latter, as she wanted a clean break with this place and didn't want any phone records tying her father to an outbound call from this location in the middle of the night. However, first, there was something she needed to do.
She searched her memories and couldn't find any hint of surveillance cameras or drones at this school, so she started walking with purpose to the maintenance room, where she knew the janitor had kept some tools. It was locked, and she considered shooting the hinges off but realised the door was installed improperly and managed to just kick it open without too much trouble or even damage to the door itself. The door opened inwards, and the latch was barely keeping the door closed, locked or not.
Nodding, she grabbed a stout prybar and then visited the locker room by the gym. She pried open about a dozen lockers before she found clean clothes that fit her, even if they were gym clothes. Then, thinking about it, she grabbed the rest of the clothes that were either dirty or didn't fit her, along with everything else the girls had in those lockers and threw them in a trash can down the hall. Except for thirty eddies... err dollars, she pocketed that. Waste not, want not, after all.
She didn't want to give anyone a clue that she precisely wanted a clean set of clothes to fit a tall, lanky girl -- that would point directly back to her. She knew many of the fucks at this school were well aware of what happened to her alternate today.
Sighing, she found the janitor's room again and got a lot of cleaning supplies. This part she wasn't looking forward to doing. Nevertheless, she put on plastic gloves and a full-mask respirator and spent two hours cleaning her disgusting locker, bagging all the biohazard waste and everything that was in it.
She didn't want any record of this incident, and there surely would be one if she didn't do this herself. Hell, with the way this school administration tried to cover for those three bitches it was possible they might accuse her of doing it... for some reason.
She had to stop herself from using the cleaning supplies to concoct an odourless contact poison to put on each of the girl's lockers. That would be very obvious, and she'd likely be under PRT investigation within days. Even if she wasn't, eventually, her power would become known, and it would look very suspicious if her three bullies died of a tinkertech poison the day after they put her alternate in that locker.
No, if she was going to take her alternate's dad, then at least she would take revenge on her behalf too, but it had to be smart. Not least because she experienced much of that same locker experience herself in her dream, let them think they have won, and let them think they had driven poor Taylor completely out of school.
She was definitely never returning to this place. Six months when nobody remembered her, and the psychopath Sophia was making some other girl's life hell, well... that girl is the one who the cops will investigate when Sophia Hess, track star, is sniped from a klick and a half away when coming to school. That or the Empire 88. Growing up in a society where almost every part of your body could be malleable and changed, Taylor certainly didn't understand the concept of hate-based purely on skin tone. You could have that changed for two hundred eddies at any biosculpt clinic.
In any case, any hypothetical future death of Sophia Hess wouldn't have anything to do with Taylor Hebert, GED graduate and secret bio-tinker, that's for sure. Even once they figure out that she is a Tinker, what bio-tinker snipes someone, anyway?
Sighing, she carefully peeled off her gloves and threw them with the other biohazard waste, which she would triple bag and toss in the dumpster. Not exactly how you're supposed to deal with biological waste, but what could she do?
Her locker reeked of bleach and other chemicals but was quite clean. She left the janitor's room exactly how she found it, if down a number of supplies. She doubted they would notice.
Now, she just had to go steal some glassware from the chemistry lab and someone's backpack to carry them in. They'd probably think some Merchants broke in and stole it to cook meth, but she needed to make her dad some antidepressants, which she would give to him surreptitiously in some lasagna tomorrow. In fact, she'd probably need some too. As for the lasagna? She'd have to do something to make up for the fact that she had been keeping such bullying a secret from him. If there was one thing her actual dad had made sure she knew, it was you didn't keep secrets from family.
Only if all the facts were known could a proper strategy be devised. She was already going to keep one secret from him, that she wasn't actually his daughter (oh and that she was going to drug him secretly), so she had to tell him everything else. He was going to be upset, but at least he would be alive.
Then she had a number of exciting possibilities to explore with her own body or, instead, modifications to it. She would have to study a little to pass the GED as, no doubt, the curriculum in Shittown, USA circa dinosaur times was different than a Militech school in 2062, but that wouldn't be a problem. It especially wouldn't be a problem when she gave herself a photographic memory and deleted her biological or psychological need to sleep through some judicious auto-brain surgery.
She didn't think cyberpsychosis was a thing here, and even if it was just the throwaway antidepressant that she was about to make for her and her dad was enough to chill out even a full-body Borg, the way it balanced your brain's neurotransmitters. They might still kill you, but it wouldn't be because they were 'zerking.
She could have made a fortune selling it if she was back in Night City, so long as one of the Pharmcorps didn't zero her for inventing it or steal it from her and then zero her on general principles. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. The shit she could make was preem.
She felt bad for the poor girl who took her place. Well, maybe her alternate got the same power she had? If so, she might be able to make a life for herself. She didn't know how any of this was supposed to work; only that even with giant Kaiju and other monsters slowly destroying the world one city at a time a couple of times a year, this place seemed a lot better than Night City.
She wished her alternate the best. She quickly apologised for eating all of the food in the fridge, as she was afraid to go out back then due to the Tyger Claws. Do better than me in Night City, other self! As for herself? She would adapt and overcome.
---xxxxxx---
It was rare for Colin to be impressed with another tinker's miniaturisation efforts, but he had to admit that the six autonomously steerable flechette munitions that were sent to him for examination by the BBPD were impressive.
They featured an altogether unusual microprocessor architecture that he could tell was manufactured with a completely novel photolithographic method. It gave him a lot of ideas about how he could improve the size of the over hundred and eight individual microprocessors that his armour required. Moreover, they didn't actually appear to be tinkertech themselves, as he could completely understand their operating principles.
He immediately discounted it as being preexisting arms technology that he was just unfamiliar with. Although there were some similarities between the devices and existing precision-guided artillery munitions that the military used, the only similarity was that they were all guided munitions. There were just a limited number of ways for a guided munition fired out of a gun to work, and articulating guide fins was the simplest in all cases.
That meant that a Tinker had to be responsible. A Tinker that could produce reproducible technology? Or, perhaps the tinker tech was in the machine that built the ammunition? That wasn't unheard of, but it was pretty rare.
They could be a new Toybox product, but if so, why was their first use killing two no-name gang members in the Docks? Such things were clearly assassin's tools; why waste them on a couple of junkies?
The city coroner had dug them out of two deceased members of the Archer's Bridge merchants several days ago and immediately recognised that the tungsten flechettes were not your regular 9mm rounds and forwarded them to the PRT for examination. Such things, if they were actually unusual, invariably ended up at his desk.
He was on a conference call with Dragon, who had been watching him disassemble them. Already, he had shipped via overnight express three of the devices to Canada for her own examination, "What do you think?" he asked carefully.
Her voice came back, seemingly happy and very interested, "Quite amazing! The actual mechanics of the gyrojet guidance is pretty simple; we could build things like that already. But I'm sure you're asking about the microprocessors, right? These are from a sub-1nm manufacturing process. If these processors got any smaller, electrons would jump from transistor to transistor through quantum tunnelling effects! This might be the smallest, most highly transistor-dense that traditional computing can get."
He nodded. She always knew what he meant, and she picked up on the important points right away. It was why he so enjoyed collaborating with her, "Precisely. It is a bit intimidating seeing the absolute apogee of traditional computing technology staring you in the face, but I had the same opinion. Perhaps we will exceed these using quantum computers or some other hitherto-fore unknown computing technology... but as far as transistors are concerned? This is it. It's amazing, exactly as you said."
"It might be a little difficult to infer the manufacturing technique, and that is really what we want, but I think I know precisely how these were built. What we need to do is..." Dragon continued.
---xxxxxx---
POV: Our Taylor
I felt bad for the girl who took my place and hoped that she would help my dad where I had failed him, and perhaps we could be reunited some day in the future. The world I found myself in might be a dystopian future, but at least there weren't giant monsters wrecking the world on a predictable schedule.
I wasn't sure how I was so positive that it had been a swap between the two of us, but it was just something I felt deeply sure about.
I was a bit nervous being in the building I was in. A combination of a few memories from my alternate about the Yakuza and research on my phone revealed that most of Japantown, and especially this Megabuilding was run by a gang called the Tyger Claws. They were a mostly Japanese gang, and my alternate memories were especially concerned about Japanese gangs.
That caused me to come up short. Was... my alternate racist? It didn't seem like it, and there seemed to be some actual legitimate reason that she had been concerned about Japanese gangs. I would have to do a lot more research about Militech, as that seemed to be caught up in that feeling as well. Something in the back of my head told me I definitely shouldn't traipse around the neighbourhood alone wearing any of my Militech-branded swag that filled a lot of these cardboard boxes. Was that it? Did the Japanese gangs dislike the ultra-American corporation? I didn't know.
The Tyger Claws were pretty easy to learn about online, and everything I learned made me a bit nervous too. They were kind of like what the Azn Bad Boys might be like if they were run by competent, not just ruthless, people. They were much bigger, too. Not only were they involved in the same organised crime activities that I would have recognised, such as drugs, protection rackets and prostitution, including a high-class "dollhouse", whatever that meant only a couple dozen floors beneath my feet.
However, they had a lot of darker businesses, too, including organ and cybernetics harvesting of people who nobody would miss. Kind of like a girl with no next of kin living by herself in a small apartment, perhaps. It was why if I ever interacted with any of them, and I would end up doing so just walking to and from my apartment that I would give them the idea that she had a huge family nearby.
Plus, I found online that everyone living in this Megabuilding was expected to pay for their protection, and there was even a guide on how to do so politely, so I would have to go see one of their local middle managers in this building as soon as possible. Today. I wondered why my alternate self had never accomplished it, but perhaps dealing with gangs wasn't what they were taught in corporate school. It wasn't what I was taught either, and it rankled me to have to do it, but the sites I had read were pretty clear on the possible consequences of not doing so.
In fact, it was one of the first things that popped up when I searched for "Things I need to know to live in Japantown."
As gangs went, the Tyger Claws were a medium threat in Night City, according to the guides online. A medium threat in Night City would get Brockton Bay turned into a quarantine zone, I thought, but it wasn't like the police or corps played around, either.
Theoretically, they had something that they called honour and principles, and what I found online indicated that some of the top leaders of the gang might even believe that and act that way, so long as it was convenient. The problem was the bottom tier of the gang, the ones I would likely meet, did not have almost any bottom line.
Moreover, if you defended yourself from the bottom tier, the entire gang would turn on you like a school of piranhas, even if they were doing something "dishonourable" to you against gang rules. It didn't make any sense at all to me, except when I realised that they were just scum and talking about honour was just empty platitudes. A lot of supervillains in her old world were that way too. They talked a good game but then were involved in the worst of activities.
It was like watching pro wrestlers. All an act, performative.
It definitely sounded like Night City could use a hero, but I didn't have powers that were strong like Eidolon or Alexandria. I couldn't tank a nuke, or even a gun. I had a lot of knowledge about medicine and might be able to tinker some useful drugs or maybe even novel cybernetics, but my knowledge of cybernetics left a lot to be desired compared to what was available in this world.
I had the feeling that I would learn very quickly if I studied cybernetics here and had a strong, strong urge to do so, but all that together didn't make a hero that would last more than a couple of days before being killed or worse.
Maybe I couldn't be a hero. Not like Alexandria. At least, not at first and perhaps not ever. But I could still help people. Be a good person.
That caused me to glance down at my phone. The lady from Militech's HR department had gotten back to me really quickly, today on a Sunday, no less.
The woman was very pleased with the proposal. With my alt's grades and the classes she had taken, I already qualified for early graduation from a public school. So, if I applied for emancipation and early graduation, they wouldn't be on the hook for anything.
They were willing to pay me in a lump sum, essentially half of what they would have ended up paying to Night City for my foster care, food and upkeep. They would also be willing to pay and arrange admission for me in a number of either post-high school or vocational school options.
But only up to two-year programs, the same as I would have gotten if I went to public school. So I could get the equivalent of an associate's degree, which might open the door to a crappy entry-level supervisory position very far down the corporate ladder, or I could choose a number of vocational training options, many of which weren't available for your average person on the street.
Based on my supposed educational background and noted interests in school, of course, the corp would track that; she was even polite enough to hilite what her computer suggested I would be the most successful in, namely a two-year Netrunner/Systems Admin course.
That did sound interesting, but it wouldn't mesh well with my ridiculous level of medical knowledge. I was almost certain I was one of the better doctors in the entire world if you only counted pure medicine. For some reason, my power didn't know about this world's cybernetics, perhaps because my power came from my old world.
Another problem with the Sysadmin course was that I didn't have any cybernetics at all. I had the entirety of Alt-Taylor's medical records on my phone, and it listed she had a basic operating system and cyberdeck from Militech, the Paraline, as well as a set of high-end Kiroshi cybernetic eyes.
She also visited a biosculpt clinic and got a few things adjusted. She was a B-cup, whereas I was still languishing in the barely-A realm. Did she hide this from her Dad, I wondered?
It would be important for me to, over the next week, get at least the exact same amount of cybernetics and... other treatments just so that we have identical medical records! Just in case, you know! Not because I agreed with her decision to make any changes to my appearance, but because the choice was taken out of my hands!
That meant I would have to visit a different clinic from where Taylor went in the past, but that wasn't a big deal because she went to an internal Militech cyber clinic that I no longer had access to in the first place.
Just the name "Ripperdoc" didn't inspire a lot of confidence in me at all, but there were a number of well-thought-of cybernetics clinics in the Corpo sector of town, either Downtown or in Corpo Plaza, which wasn't too far from where I lived. I would end up paying probably double what I would pay at one of the local "clinics" on Jig-Jig street, but I would also survive the experience with all of my organs intact.
I nodded, the Sysadmin course sounded very interesting, but I was just learning about computers here. Attending it would make a fool out of myself; I didn't have the years of experience using a cyberdeck that Alt-Taylor did. I had a couple of ideas for making some drugs that would increase my neural plasticity and learning speed, but it wouldn't be enough.
However... I glanced near the bottom of the list of offered courses. A six-month accelerated paramedics course. It was designed for people leaving the Army or who already had a basic EMT rating. It would be an absolute cakewalk for me.
I replied to the woman, selecting that course. She replied in real-time, asking if I was sure, as it was intended for people who already had some medical training and that they would pay for it, but I would only get one shot at it. It was clear that she didn't really care one way or another and was just being polite. I told her I was sure, and she replied in the affirmative.
A few minutes later, a large packet of over three hundred pages of thick legalese that I was expected to sign arrived as an e-mail attachment. I did not sign it.
There were a number of legal firms that did business primarily online. I had all of dad's money from his bank account, so I wasn't poor even before receiving any settlement from the Corp, even a basic one. I might be able to live nine to ten months, even on nothing but his bank account. So I spent a little bit extra to hire one of the better thought firms and spent about fifteen minutes discussing the matter with one of their lawyers on the phone.
Judging from the number of pages, he judged it was a simple matter, and I'd be billed for about four hours of work, which I thought was very reasonable and paid them on the spot, forwarding the document to him. They would even handle Militech themselves, so I never had to interact with that HR lady again.
I got myself dressed, as I had to go out of the safe apartment to get some food -- someone was a bitch and ate all the food in the fridge, in fact, that yoghurt that I used to make drugs was the last thing in there. I had been foraging off chips and crackers for the past day, and that wouldn't do.
I also had to visit the Tyger Claws community office on the tenth floor to make my payment to them for living in their building. It was weird; they had office hours and everything.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked very neutral. Not quite like a corporate brat, but not like trash either. I was wearing clothes that were fashionable two or three seasons ago, judging from my online searches, so I hoped I looked comfortably middle-class. Someone that would be missed if I disappeared and who the police department would investigate if I disappeared.
I almost left the gun on the coffee table, but everything I took away from Alt-Taylor's memories was that I absolutely should not leave home unarmed, so it took me a bit longer to scrounge up a concealed holster for it.
Sighing, I patted myself down and unlocked the door and stepped out.