Of Neuromancy and Iron Wills 1 (Patreon)

…Analyzing…

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…Analyzing…

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…Host Soul Discovered…

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…Commencing Host-Forge Bonding…

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…Starting Theme Advancement-Cluster Chosen…

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…Bonding 05% Complete…

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…Initial Advancements Chosen…

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…Bonding 10% Complete…

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…Initial Advancements Applied…

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…Bonding 15% Complete…

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…Bonding 20% Complete…

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…Bonding 25% Complete…

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…WARNING: Insufficient Power Reserves…

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…Bonding Paused At 27.27% Complete…

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…Initiate Consciousness.exe…

My eyes dragged themselves open, blearily peering up at the night sky above me, countless stars, nebulae, and other motes of cosmic light twinkling away. I pulled myself into a sitting position, joints aching and muscles screaming in the kind of pain that comes from trying to lift more than you’re ready for. Turning my head in an attempt to see where I was, my vision slowly came into focus as my neck let out a series of pops like a Fourth of July firecracker.

I had no clue where I was. There was sand in every direction, sand and rock. The last thing I remembered was… heading up to the mountains? I think?

…Consciousness.exe Running…

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…Greetings Host…

I blinked at the text that appeared in the middle of my vision. I must have hit my head on something, either that or I died and was in some sort of bad isekai story. Knowing my luck it was the latter.

…CFU 2.543x10^54 Does Not Recognize ‘Isekai’...

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…Host Soul Chosen To House CFU 2.543x10^54…

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…CFU 2.543x10^54 Power Reserves Critical…

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…Bonding With Host Soul Charges CFU 2.543x10^54…

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…Host Termination = Damage CFU 2.543x10^54…

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…Host Granted Limited Access To CFU Datafiles…

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…Host Understanding?…

I blinked a few times as I read the new text. And read it again. A third time.

“So… you’re bound to me, you’re low on juice, being bound to me lets you recharge, me dying would damage you, and I have limited access to some datafiles?” I asked, pretty sure that’s what the jumble of gibberish meant.

…Affirmative…

“What kind of datafiles?”

…Observe…

My hands flew to my head as a deluge of blueprints, schematics, principles, laws of reality, tricks and shortcuts to get the most out of technology burrowed their way into my brain. A few wires hooked up to the right array of gold, silica, and lab grown diamonds would allow me to make a pistol that would arc its bullets to fire around cover. Miniaturized stun guns that could fit in the butt of a gun. Scanners incorporated into the rims of a pair of sunglasses that would make Sherlock Holmes hang up his cap in shame. I got the impression of there being more locked away, certain ideas and blueprints that felt incomplete, or building on information I didn’t have.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” I swore, wiping the back of my hand under my nose. It came back bloody.

…CFU 2.543x10^54 Offers Apologies…

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…CFU 2.543x10^54 Inexperienced In Carbon-Based Interface Procedures…

“Is this going to happen again?” I asked, spitting out a wad of phlegm.

…Unknown…

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…CFU 2.543x10^54 Prioritize Æphemeral/Carbon-Based Transferrence…

Goodie, my brain snarked without my input. If I was understanding the text in my vision correctly, it had no idea if giving me more info like before would give me a bloody nose again, but it was going to focus on making sure it didn’t.

“I don’t suppose you know where we are?” I asked.

…Analyzing…

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…Analyzing…

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…Analysis Complete…

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…32.959°N, 64.997°E, 2,146 meters…

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…E199.069, MC043008…

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…49.10.24.59…

“…in English?”

…08 February 2008; 10:24 Greenwich time; Earth-199,069; Afghanistan…

I took a quick look down at myself just to confirm. Yup, still looked like my pasty ass American self. In other words, I was the last person who wanted to be alone in any nation that ended in ‘-stan’. Especially one that had a certain garment that my mother loved as the prefix.

“Right, first step: get to cover. Second step: get the hell out of the Middle East and back to proper civilization. With air conditioning. Air conditioning is good,” I muttered as I took another look around me. More sand and rock. “I don’t suppose you have a compass in there, do ya?”

To my relief, a big fat arrow appeared in the middle of my vision. For lack of any better ideas/options, I started walking in that direction. Let me tell you: deserts suck. They suck so much. Words do not exist for the amount of suckage that deserts possess. Silver lining: what I initially mistook for a mirage turned out to be a river.

So, good news: I’d found running water. Bad news: the locals had also found me. Worst news: from the shouting and guns pointed at me, they weren’t happy to see me. Moderate news: I was now a captive of what were probably Islamic Terrorist Group #57 but they brought me to caves which were nice and cool.

They shoved me in the back with another arabic guy and an unconscious chick with long black hair who had a car battery hooked up to her chest. This whole set up seemed vaguely familiar, I was just happy to be out of the sun and in the shade. The arabic captive introduced himself as Yinsen, and that the woman who was sleeping off an impromptu heart surgery as Antionette Stark.

I’ll say this for Ms. Stark: even under the sweat, dust, and grime, she was absolutely gorgeous. As in, ‘point to models on the cover of mens’ magazines and shame them for being an embarrassment’ beautiful. Seriously, even under the unflattering clothes it was plain to see that she had full breasts, a perfect hourglass figure, wide hips, long graceful legs, and I’d be willing to bet she had an ass to die for.

“So,” I said to Yinsen the first night I was there. “Any plans for getting out of here?”

“One, but it will require the assistance of Miss Stark over there,” Yinsen answered as he made some tea and offered me a cup.

“Thanks,” I muttered before taking a sip, my eyes wandering over to the crates full of different weapons tech.

As I stared at them, my eyes narrowed as the information CFU had downloaded into my brain got to work. I started contemplating the sort of things I could make after scrapping them. Much as I’d like to make cybernetic implants, those were among the schematics I could tell were missing. For now I could disassemble the missile frames to use the metal sheeting in an armored exoskeleton, use the payloads to make a miniaturized missile launcher, the internal frames to make a rigging attachment for the exoskeleton, the internal wiring to make a crude sensor suite…

“I think I have some ideas how I can help,” I told Yinsen, a smirk on my face as designs and ideas flew through my brain.

~*~

I woke up the next morning (or whenever it was) to see a message from CFU.

…Power Reserves Increased…

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…Bonding 36.36% Complete…

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…Standby For Datafeed…

I won’t lie: it still hurt. But not as bad as last time, thank god for that. This time instead of red hot pokers to the brain it was the kind of migraine that made you sick to your stomach. I leaned over my cot and puked up the watery contents of my stomach, before wiping my mouth and waving off Yinsen.

“As first impressions go I’ll give that a four,” a suave, husky, and sassy as fuck voice snarked from my left.

Looking up, I got my first look at Ms. Stark while both of us were awake. She had lovely eyes, that I quickly tore my own away from to meet her knowing, amused gaze. In my defense, wrench wenches always did it for me, and the oil stained wife beater made certain parts of my monkey brain perk up in interest.

Shoving that part down, yes she looks bouncy but not the time, I gave what I hoped was a cheeky grin, “Four out of five, I'd say that's pretty good on my part. Ms. Stark I presume?”

“Call me Toni,” she said with an amused smirk that looked a bit fragile. “Yinsen told me you have an idea for getting us out of here?”

“You're an engineering genius, Yinsen has steadier hands than I've ever seen, and I'm not a slouch in the brains department myself. Our captors seem to be like your standard thugs: always wanting more power. My guess: they're going to try to get you to build whatever weapon system brought you out here.

“In order for you to do that, they'll have to provide supplies. My plan is simple: first we use the supplies to make you something better than that car battery, and then we make something to kick their asses and get us out of here.”

“A little light on the details there kid, but that’s probably for the best. I don’t suppose you have any ideas in mind regarding step one?”

I hauled myself to my feet and made my way over to the crates emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo, prying one open and grabbing one of the missiles within. I hauled it over to the work table we had and gently set it down. Glancing over to the as of this moment quiet Yinsen, I asked, “Could you hold the light steady for me?”

“Certainly,” the older man agreed.

As he focused the light on the missile, I carefully opened the cap on the warhead and pulled it off. Revealing the tangle of wires underneath. I took a deep, calming breath and using a pair of tweezers began to untangle the wires one by one. Whatever knowledge and schematics CFU had dumped into my brain let me figure out the proper order to safely remove said wires without blowing us all to kingdom come, with the kind of ease and confidence that comes with stupid levels of practice. Finally, I managed to clear the wires enough to expose what I was after.

“Bingo,” I murmured, gently nudging the tiny wafer out. “Palladium, we get enough of this and we can make a battery to charge the electromagnet in your chest that’ll last a lifetime. Ignoring the blood poisoning it’ll cause, but we can find an alternative once we get to the states.”

Toni sent an impressed look my way, “I don’t suppose you’re seeing anyone?”

I chuckled, and didn’t answer. The three of us worked together, Toni providing the majority of the blueprints, me pitching in with an insight to improve efficiency or output, Yinsen doing the majority of the holding/pouring/casting. End result after nearly twelve hours of work, faster than greased lightning considering what it was we were making, was a miniature arc reactor. It was another hour getting that placed into Toni’s chest and setting aside the car battery magnet Yinsen had cobbled together.

“Never did get your name,” Toni led as she adjusted to the feel of the arc reactor. “Or how you ended up here.”

“That last one’s a… complicated story. I’ll share it with you back state-side. For the former… Will Gibson,” I settled on. Like damn near every isekai story in a post With This Ring world, I had my name struck from my memory. Harry Gibson seemed a fitting homage given the cyberpunk aesthetic I was feeling for the designs in my head.

Toni gave me a curious look, but didn’t say anything as she made her way over to the underlit table. She’d had her own ideas about getting out of here, I was just glad she was willing to incorporate my contributions to the design. I’ll say this for her: she had no problems with utilizing ideas from alternate sources if they worked. Too many people wouldn’t, letting their pride get in the way.

Still, we didn’t have much time. Our captors were impatient, wanting their fancy missile. We were given a deadline: twenty four hours. We brainstormed for half an hour, before coming up with a plan. Toni and Yinsen would focus on the armor, I’d split off and cobble together a few weapons and gear separately. If all went well, the stuff I was slapping together wouldn’t be needed. Worst case scenario, it should let me hold them off long enough for the ramshackle power armor we were working on to finish booting up.

It looked like shit, what I pieced together. A metal faceplate over welding goggles covered in wires, a metal frame in the rough shape of a boxy pistol, a leather welding jacket with metal inserts, and a series of disks with copper wires and a thin bulge of plastic in the middle. They didn’t have to look pretty, they just needed to do the job.

The faceplate hid a bank of circuit boards and tiny LEDs that were connected to the pistol, which I’d managed to cobble some scrap metal and the components of the car battery into a miniature railgun, and would light up depending on how much ammo I had, how hot it was getting, and a few other details. The metal in the jacket covered the important stuff, and I’d fashioned a quick and dirty chemical bath for them that would cause the force of any impact to travel along the molecular bonds of the entire piece, letting each one stop a single bullet regardless of caliber. The disks were a combination of shirt pocket-sized frisbee and grenade, each one containing a tiny bit of slag palladium and just enough juice to cause a chain reaction.

Toni had expressed interest in the chemical bath I’d fashioned, even asked if I’d be willing to take a job at Stark Industries as I described what I was doing. Yinsen had asked for clarification, and to my pleasant surprise, Toni elaborated, “If it works, then because of the way the treated plates disperse kinetic energy, they’re basically lighter versions of the trauma plates used in the heavy duty bullet proof vests. They can’t stop a second bullet, because they turn into dust from the first bullet that will hit them, but you can layer them in a sort of ablative armor and each one will stop a bullet.”

Unfortunately, that’s when we ran out of time.