[IC] Cyberpunk 2020 - A Ghost in the Machine

[piercetyler1994]

September 12, 2015 - 4:27 PM EAT
Somewhere in East Africa

The mission was pretty straight forward; go in, kill the insurgents in the area giving the local government problems, "de-ass" the area with the quickness. Nothing fancy. Tyler looked through the MRAP window and viewed the big city in the distance, a combination of primitive masonry and modern steel. Beyond that, for as far as a man could see, was nothing but arid desert with remnants of jungle here and there. According the eggheads in Intelligence, the enemy encampment is an approximately 1.5 hour trip from their current position. "This is gonna be a long one, gents...", Tyler thought to himself. "Good thing these MRAPs have air conditioning." Looking over to his left, he caught a look at his driver, PFC Velasquez. The kid looked pretty nervous.

"It helps to breathe, ya know...", Tyler said. Velasquez gave a rather bemused look. "Whaddya mean, Sergeant", he asked. "First things first, we're not in garrison; call me Tyler. Secondly, your too stressed and nothing has even happened yet. Slow, steady breathes, just like on the range." Velasquez was quiet for a few seconds and began to breathe like a novice yoga instructor. "Like that?" Tyler wasn't expecting to give feedback on breathing and gave a confused look. "Sure", he said halfheartedly. Velasquez didn't detect to sarcasm on Tyler's voice and said, "Thanks, Ser-... Tyler." This brought a smirk to Tyler's face.

26 minutes later - 4:53 PM EAT

Contact was made, but not in the way they were expecting.

"So, what do we do...?" Velasquez looked over to Tyler. "I guess we talk to him... or try to, anyway", Tyler said somewhat sheepishly. "You stay here and keep on the radio to alert the rest of the convoy in case something goes wrong." Velasquez gave a nod. Tyler exited the vehicle and gave a hand signal that meant "eyes open" to the vehicle behind them. The man was standing smack in the center of the road and about twenty paces from the MRAP. "Hey!!", Tyler shouted. "(in broken Swahili) State your intent!" He was about ten paces away, slowly and cautiously approaching. He noticed that a smell was emanating from the stranger, a smell that was stronger then the typical bad hygiene smell of the locals. He smelled like... like... "Dead. This poor schmuck is fuckin' dead." He looked like he had been dead for about a day or two. His face and body showed signs of emaciation. How he was "standing" was through simply being held up by two poles holding his corpse up. The most important detail, however, was at his feet; the tip of an HE shell was slightly exposed out of the dirt. "Oh, SHIT!!!" Tyler turned back to Velasquez sitting the lead vehicle. "GET BACK!! GET BA-"

A blinding light and a deafening blast...

February 5, 2020 - 1:25 PM PST
CALMagLev Train 113, LA-NC Line

Tyler woke up with a gasp. He was in quite a state for a few moments. He gave a look around; he wasn't in Africa, he wasn't in the Marines anymore, and he wasn't dying. He gave a look at his watch. The time was 1:25 PM. "About five more minutes", Tyler thought to himself. He sank back into his seat and began breathing very slowly. "Remember Tyler, calm people live, tense people die..."

5 Minutes Later - 1:30 PM PST
Fujiyama-Anderson Station, Night City, CA

The train slowed down and eventually came to a complete stop. The arrival jingle played though grungy speakers. "You have arrived at Fujiyama-Anderson Station, Night City. Local time is 1330, Pacific Standard Time. Next stop, Embarcadero Station, San Francisco, departing at 1335, Pacific Standard Time. Thank you for riding CALMagLev^TM and have a nice day!" A more disingenuous automated voiced couldn't have existed anywhere in the the world. However, that was the cost of living these days; to have no life left in you.

The station was abuzz with this "life"; urban homeless, some with cardboard signs, some missing limbs; beat cops, ready to respond at a moments notice; corporate yuppies of all races with nothing but money on the mind. In the middle of all this, Tyler stood, trying to remember which way the convention center was. "6 or 7 blocks... south, I think. Yeah, south." That's pretty far in terms of walking especially on the streets of Night City. Tyler wasn't on home turf anymore and home turf isn't all that safe either. Being a police officer meant that he was able to protect himself without consequence but he couldn't call for back-up because he didn't know anyone in the NCPD. "Well, here we go... This new robot better be worth it..."

[Noxious]

A man stood over her minuscule frame, a judgmental frown wrinkling his features. "Look Ise, you need to calm down on the tech. You need to unplug for a bit. Grab a brew. Pop a tab and dance with real life humans. Feel the bass against your chest. Yeah?"

A frown pressed her lips and she sighed, scrunching her youthful features into the plastic of the 'surgical' bench she was laid across. She truly was tired of this conversation. This was the second time tonight. He didn't really care, as was obvious by the bone saw whirring to a start in the background. "Look, I need this. Life isn't..." the neural reboot he had started just a moment ago kicked in and she was out. The man who began cutting into her took a moment to wonder how she may have finished that. Life isn't what?

-hours and a surgery later-

She was fully refunctional, overlyfunctional, a regular scoop away in the world of ice cream hording. You know what life wasn't? It wasn't focusing on what life wasn't. She was as sure of that now as she felt she was earlier. She gripped at the side of the wall for a moment.

"Stay longer Ise. Your cables still aren't clicking." The voice came from the back. He was cleaning his tools back there. She blinked a couple of times and tightened her fingertips into a fist, release, repeat. She threw her jean clad legs to the side and combat boots held her weight on the ground.

"I'm fine." She dug in a side pouch, comfortable fingers finding the sizzle red smoke and putting it between her lips. She snapped against the side of her left thumb and a flame was emitted, a poser novelty trick really as the flint like substance would only last a short time, but it did the trick. "Look, I should be going." She pressed the cigarette between her already full functional lips. She tested her toes. She seemed to be in order.

"You hate my neighborhood, I get it." The large man feigned a frowned, but it didn't suit him.

"Don't act offended. Your neighborhood is a shithole." She hadn't even looked at him. She was talking through a cigarette and testing out her neural connections. In less than a banger headspin she was stepping out of the front door of his shop, testing the little neural pathways she automatically accessed without paying much attention to the real world, bad call in Night City. But hey, some girls aren't unlucky, and this such girl stepped directly into an off duty cop. She glanced right at him without a thought. Her right eye was a buzz with unseen nanosurgeons exhausting their efforts on an obviously self healing eye so that he witnessed the retina return to a circular shape and the eye color stabilize.

The cigarette fumbled out of her mouth, her eyes following as she tilted her head to shield her eye. "I....Excuse me."

[Azseth]

Several days prior...

The group of gangers lurked in an alley, twitching and looking about anxiously, obviously waiting for someone or something. Two of them talked incessantly, arguing about Blue Wurm, the new drug recently introduced to the streets. As they went on about it versus other drugs, the third one shut them up. He was the leader and while they were all somewhat dangerous in their own part, he was a cut above. While the other two stole for creds because they were addicted to drugs, he enjoyed the power that came along with hurting people. He liked the control.

While the others twitched because they needed a fix, he twitched because his muscles were ready for action and they were bristling at the chance to hurt someone, or at least do something to feed his need for adrenaline.

The two waited a few moments, then started to pace around anxiously when what they were waiting for became visible. It was a First Response mobile ambulance, and it was what they were waiting for. They’d successfully robbed 3 now, taking the crew (with a varied degree of violence that has been escalating) and robbing them and the vehicles. They then took what they could and sold it off as they saw fit.

It’d been a cake walk because this area wasn’t an overly hostile or dangerous zone, so these ambulances had no security. The trio would simply go in, rough up and threaten a person in order to get them to activate their service and the First Response group would come to do their job. Then, the gangers would do theirs.

Per usual, the two tweakers would head up front to get the drivers and the leader would vacate the back in case there was a third medic or security. “Go,” he said to the other two as they approached the vehicle. He waited for the all clear sign that the crew was subdued, but instead, he could hear the two talking as they opened the door. After a moment, they came back with confused looks on their faces, and that confused him in turn. “The hell is the problem? You kill them?”

One spoke up meekly and quietly. “The uh, problem is... Well, there ain’t no one in there man. Musta been autoed in or somethin’.”

“Well, screw it then. You two open the damn doors, I’ll keep look out.” He turned sideways to the vehicle as he looked around, wondering if this was a set up. He saw no cop cars and there were a few people on the street, which meant that the cops weren’t here. If so, they’d have (most likely) cleared the streets or something to avoid collateral damage.

The doors opened and he turned a moment later just in time to see a form fire two several shots at them. There was no sound and he could hear the electricity in the air, so he knew it was a stun round of some sort. The other two yelped, but as he was the last target, he had time to spin and avoid the shot. As he spun, he moved towards the man in the ambulance, grabbed his wrist and tossed him over his head with strength born of a combination of tailored drugs.

The man grunted as he slammed onto the hood and dropped the stun weapon, but he managed to break his wrist free of the thug. The uniformed man on the hood looked up just in time to see the thug raise a fist and bring it crashing down. The guard spun however and avoided the hit, which smashed a large dent into the hood. As he spun and his feet faced the thug, he kicked out, catching the drugged out ganger in the chest and pushing him back long and far enough away to allow him to hop off the hood and onto his feet.

Wasting no time, the criminal came at the guard aggressively. The guard, who’s nametag read “MACKEY” angled out of the way of the blows and to the side so his back was no longer to the car, affording him more room. The ruffian launched out a side kick at the mid section of the Mackey, who countered by bringing both elbows down and away in a blur, smashing the leg and redirecting the blow away.

The man’s body wasn’t prepared for the blow to be redirected and his body was now at a stretched and vulnerable position. Not missing a beat or wasting the energy created by momentum, the guard’s fist came across in a hook that connected with the thugs temple with a sickening, squelching crunch. The man was out before he knew what happens and his body fell to the ground like spaghetti noodles.

He looked around at the scene and made sure the three subjects were secured before radioing in on his comm system. “Scene secure. Three subjects apprehended.” He looked at the thug combatant, laying face down and bleeding from his mouth, nose, and ears onto the sidewalk.

“One in need of severe medical attention.”

[piercetyler1994]

"Halfway there... Just a few more blocks...", Tyler thought to himself. The blocks here were massive in comparison to LA; easily twice to three times in size. The only thing that was mostly different was the populace. Night City was crowded, but not overcrowded. Even though The Slums in Night City were not to be underestimated, they're a cakewalk in comparison the mean streets of Los Angeles. He began contemplating what on Earth he was doing with his life. No matter what, there are gonna be crimes that he can't stop, cases that will remain unsolved and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Yet, something compelled him to continue on. "Why? Why do I keep fighting? Am I stupid? Crazy? Both? I don't even know anymore..." Absentmindedly, he had not been paying any attention to the blonde he was about to walk into. She was young, roughly his own age, cybered (though unsure to what extent), and from the rather tentative "excuse me", had an remnants of a non-American accent. "No, no, miss. It's fine. You knocked me out of my Wonderland. You stayin' outta trouble?"

[Noxious]

Mr. Clean Cut may have only made it halfway to his destination, but unbeknownst to him he had stumbled deep enough into a neighborhood he probably shouldn’t be in. That was obvious before he spoke. But he was here, so she had to assume he could take care of himself. It was daytime and really, she was being judgmental, who didn’t look out of place beneath the glowing neon that had replaced the sun? It was a permeating feeling that stifled the senses with a steady hum of machines that ruled the soundtrack here. Within the confines of the concrete jungle, junk and treasure side by side, flesh seeming awkward with all the shimmering metal, she felt they all didn’t belong. She was also a twitchy finger away from pushing the self destruct on this whole sanity and humanity thing, so what did she know.

She would dart around in her own thoughts for hours, minutes, hard to tell in the net, and the rest, the human interaction, it was purely instinct at this point. Her rare moments with others required little brain activity compared to the trails she chased in her own mind. The biggest difficulty was making sure that her thoughts were expressed in a ‘human’ manner; her words occasionally had an awkward cadence when she wasn’t focused. It required patience.

Her fingers, still a bit shaky from the surgery, had already been reaching for glasses that slipped onto her face almost as quickly as the fake smile. With the help of the shaded glasses she once again met his gaze, less than a minute passed.

“You stayin’ out of trouble?” She internally cringed; but all he saw was a slight eyebrow raise from behind the glasses. What a loaded question.

Definitely not from around here.

The smile on her lips grew even further, so much so that dimples appeared. “Staying ‘out of’ trouble is not always your best choice here.” She threw a very human finger about them in a rotation. “Out here sometimes trouble is the best friend we’ve got.” She winked beneath the glasses, forgetting that the gesture would be lost through heavy tint. Normally this would be the point in which she walked away. Formalities with someone she was now assuming was some sort of security or law or high end pimp were not her particular M.O. but she had nowhere to be for a couple of hours and she was planning on having another smoke anyways.

As she fumbled about for a cigarette she glanced around the street, more of an alley in comparison to the corporate zones. In the mid afternoon it was always something of a ghost town, populated, but not so much that she didn’t notice another clean cut type making his way down the road. She slipped a cigarette between her lips, using the last of her finger flint to light the cig and then discarding them with another flick.

She gestured her head in the direction of @Azseth and spoke through her cigarette to the man she’d bumped into. “Friend of yours?” Maybe she should be nervous, there were people looking for her, and aren’t these the types they would send to find her? Nah, they want to fry her brain, they’d send a techie. Hell, they probably had someone in a van down the road. She probably should have stayed in the chop shop, the anesthesia probably hadn’t worn off. She took a pull from the cigarette while her eyes darted between the two beneath the cover of chrome tint.

[Azseth]

He didn’t know what time of the day it was and to be honest, he didn’t care. He had two days off and nothing to do so he’d spent last night drinking. He thought it was last night, but come to think of it, he didn’t know what time his activities started yesterday either. In fact, he took a moment to check his internal HUD and confirm what day it was.

As he walked, he allowed his electronic internals adjust his metabolism and hormone levels so that he was a bit more functional. He rubbed his temples, looking up and happy that the sun was obscured down here, knowing that had it been shining, it would have been painful. A few steps later, he felt himself level out some and noticed a pair that seemed somewhat polar opposites. She looked like a burnout and he looked like he should be arresting her for something. As he approached he realized he recognized the female from somewhere. Maybe some club or bar, or maybe the streets, but he seen her around. The other guy, he wasn’t familiar at all. He looked at attire and he was a cop, but he wasn’t local, so Josh didn’t worry. The guy may be dangerous, but so was Josh. And it wouldn’t be the first time he had tangled with the brass, he just tried to avoid it.

“Friend? I don’t have any friends,” he replied with a slight smirk. He stopped and looked over the two one more time before looking around, checking out his surroundings out of habit. “Anything shakin’ tonight?”

[Zaresto]

Katarina Durand

"The fuck do you mean 'we're lost'!?" the woman shouted at the burly man driving the car. She knew she shouldn't have let anyone else but her drive this marvelous hunk of metal. It was a wonder that her goon hadn't scratched it yet.

"All I'm sayin is that I don't even know where we're goin, tis' all," the burly man calmly stated. Katarina suddenly managed to get more frustrated at his calm demeanor rather than the fact that they were lost. This nincompoop didn't understand the ramifications of this entire operation, did he?

"Jim, I swear to Christ you'd better find out where we are right now before I get even more mad," Katarina threatened. The woman sighed as she looked out the window. What a hell-hole this place was. She partially understood why Jim could have gotten lost; all these streets had the same, run-down appearance.

"With all due respect, Miss, this wouldn't have happened if we had some sort of GPS device," Jim stated as he looked for some sort of way-point he remembered seeing.

"I'm telling you, I don't want to give anyone another facet to track me," Katarina replied, staring out into what seemed like a void of penury and misfortune. It wasn't long before she received a call from a contact of hers, the same guy who asked her to do this job in the first place.

"Hey, what do you need?" she asked in a dull, monotone voice as she answered the call.

"Moonman, you seem diff'rent. Whass wrong, bud?" the man on the other end answered. His voice was deep and somewhat garbled; both of them used used speech modifiers for any type of communication, in an effort to preserve their anonymity.

"Nothing. Tell me what you need," she reiterated; she was in no mood for formalities or small talk.

"Naw, I don't need nothin'," the man stated, "I jus' wanted to ask how it's been goin'. I'm jus' as much exited for this hoo-hing as you are,"

"I bet you are," Katarina replied dryly, "Listen, I'm kinda busy right now, I'll get back to you later, okay?"

"A'right, a'right. I trust we'll be in touch. You're my man, Moonman," the man said as he ended the phone call. Katarina sighed as she put her phone away. She looked at herself; she wore a neat, yet rather short, black dress. Too elegant for this city, possibly too elegant for the expo itself. It probably didn't matter, she had her goons with her for protection. Boris and Jim both wore grey suits. They didn't like it; she didn't care.

"Say, Miss, vy don't ve ask for some direction?" Boris asked with his Eastern-European accent. Katarina looked at him, sitting in the back of the van. She was about to deprecate him for suggesting the very idea of mingling with some locals, especially in this part of town. Truthfully, however, they needed assistance.

"Fine," Katarina sighed, "Jim, pull over near that group of three people. They don't look like any sort of gang, they'll probably be willing to help."

Jim complied as the black van stopped beside the group. The group looked shady, no doubt, but who didn't look shady in this city. Two guys and one girl. The girl looked rather peculiar, with an eccentric hairstyle, while the two men looked rather combat-hardened, not an unusual sight to see. Boris and Jim silently prepared their handguns, in case anything went down; Katarina expected the only exchange would be one of information, not of bullets. As the car idled next to the group, Katarina rolled down her window.

"Say, would you kind strangers know where that Technology Expo even is, I seemed to have lost my way," she asked, trying to seem as innocent as possible.

[MonsieurShade]

"I want everything to be up and running upon my return ladies and gentlemen. Just because I will not be here for the evening does not mean that you're all free to slack off and do as you see fit. Do try to remember that the bonus to your pay hinges not only on my ability to acquire new technology, but your ability to keep things flowing smoothly!" Mao Raksmei called out as he gripped the railings in front of him. Below him people scurried about every which way on the factory floor, carrying all manner of machine parts to the spaces allotted to them. Mao had come a fair way since his arrival to the United States, and the fruits of his labor where fairly apparent. What had at one point been just him and a handful of workers operating out of an old foreclosed apartment complex had transformed into a fully staffed operation. Sure everything wasn't quite perfect -he and his crew now operated out of a cannery rather than a dilapidated apartment building-, but things were on their way to being there.

After all, the owner of the cannery was more than willing to look the other way provided he earned a cut of the profits, so there was no risk there. A few shipping freights were always happy to make some extra cash, and same could be said of the police officers that patrolled the areas. Those that weren't bought with money were either won over with drugs or a shiny new prosthetic that a loved one desperately needed but couldn't afford, or they were dealt with in other, more unsavory ways. All that was necessary for Mao to do now was to keep his employees happy (or as happy as a counterfeiter could be anyway), ensure that papa Kong received his cut, and keep the flow of new tech going strong. As it stood, it was the last part that proved to be the most difficult. The big corporations were starting to come down hard on anyone that had an augmentation that so much as looked like one of their designs. Then again, Mao had sort of brought that one on himself after mass producing Mitsubishi's nightstalker line of prosthetics along with a few augments from Raven Microcybernetics. He had reasoned that the augments in question where all massively overpriced, the 6990eb line in particular, and that people would leap at the chance to get one cheaper.

Mao was pulled from his thoughts by a downward tug on his left jacket sleeve. The fixer blinked and looked down and into the face of a little asian girl, one of the children of the immigrant workers whom couldn't afford a baby sitter. Mao didn't particularly mind so long as they didn't interfere with work, in fact, they even boosted the moral of one of the workers, so rather than becoming annoyed Mao leaned over and smiled softly at the child, "How may I help you sweetheart?". The girl gave a small, somewhat unsure smile before she asked in broken english whether or not there was something for her and the other children to do to help. Mao often gave tasks to some of the older children with the promise of a few dollars, so it wasn't too much of a surprise to be asked this. "Well aren't you sweet wanting to help out? As a matter of fact there is something you can do. There are some pencils, markers, and papers in the break room. Have your mommy or daddy show you were so you can make a picture for me to put up where everyone can see when I get back. If you do really good then i'll have a little ice cream party for you and the other kids.". The girl's face split into a wide grin, she may not have completely understood everything said, but "pictures" and "ice cream" where pretty easily picked up. As the girl raced off to get her parents, Mao stood and straightened his charcoal grey suit before checking his watch, 'Looks to be getting close to the start of the expo. Time to go.' he mused before leaving the railing and descending a nearby flight of stairs. Mao didn't have to worry about anything going missing or things falling into chaos. He could leave everything in the hands of his unofficial second-in-command, Ponlok, a stocky and somewhat stalwart looking older man of few words whom had been among the first in Mao's employ.

Mao exited the cannery and began his trek towards the parking lot. Even when out of view of others he maintained the confident stride and somewhat graceful gait of a man of much higher status and upbringing than himself. The sun reflected brightly off of his Legacy Machine N°2 watch as he ran a hand though his braided hair. Mao smirked to himself as he pulled his keys from the internal pocket of his blazer and pressed the unlock button, his smirk widening as he saw the lights on his nissan 3Q flash in response. Even in the grim world of today luxuries could be found, and this vehicle was definitely one of them. One part of a trade for some high end augment forgeries, the truck was, to him, a perfect blend of attractive and efficient; being as at home at a high end car show as it was on an off road trail. Mao slipped into his vehicle and started it up, reveling in the sound of the engine roaring to life. The expo would be held approximately an hour and a half from the cannery if he took the quickest route, traffic not withstanding. Mao gripped the steering wheel with one hand and punched the directions to the NIGHT CITY TeXPO, and with that, he was off. Disappearing from the parking lot and down the road in a cloud of dust and kicked up gravel.

[piercetyler1994]

"And I thought I was the only one who was interested in the TeXPO...", Tyler thought to himself. He passively examined present company. Judging by the way the woman was dressed, the two burly mooks, and the custom armor on their vehicle, it could be deduced that she was either a low-level corporate (a dime a dozen in LA, where Infocomp^® in headquartered) or a high-level fixer (one that can make things happen). "Yeah. I'm actually headed there myself. Your heading in the right direction. You just gotta keep going straight on this road and hang a left in about four blocks." He looked ahead down the street, realizing that four blocks is a lot further than it seemed. Curiously, Tyler asked, "I take it you heard about the new robot Microtech made?"