Never Fade Away: The One Thing That Changed It All (ch. 7) (Patreon)

Flashing lights alerted me that the police were following us, and as soon as they did, a program kick-started in the car. I could have killed it easily enough but chose not to, letting the truck that I was in slow down and guide itself to the curb. Pretty much every single vehicle in Night City came with a kill switch that the cops had access to. It was nearly standard practice to disable it if you intended to live a life of crime.

Rolling down my windows, through the camera dotted around the truck to aid in its navigation systems, I watched as a rather heavyset police officer in heavy gear get out of his car and approach ours. A probe at his systems revealed readily available information -- Officer Vsaquez. Olive-colored skin, dark eyes, and hair cut close around the sides of his head, but a dark blue mohawk stood out.

“License and registration,” Vsaquez requested, resting a hand on top of the truck to peer inside. Becca leaned up from the passenger seat to offer him a smile and a wave, making the police officer narrow his eyes before he looked at me.

“We don’t have any. We stole this car- well, I did,” I explained, making Vsaquez blink slowly. “Why did you pull us over?” I asked because I wasn’t entirely sure. The car hadn’t been reported as stolen, and I had been going the speed limit for the inner city -- a hundred miles an hour. There shouldn’t be anything outstanding enough to warrant the police flagging us.

Vsaquez worked his jaw for a moment before I got an alert that he was trying to prob my systems like I did his. Based on his frown, he got far less information about me than I did on him. “Suspicious activity. Would you disable the optic camo?” He requested and I shook my head. Rights didn’t mean a damn thing, but I at least knew mine now.

“I will not for reasons that it could endanger my safety, sir,” I responded. The optic camo wouldn’t stop organic eyes from seeing my face, but with the camo enabled, my face was static to cameras and optics. The level that I had wasn’t something that couldn’t be beaten, but it was better than nothing. Vsaquez let out an annoyed grunt before he scratched at his cheek. Then he looked over to the truck bed that was currently covered by a tarp.

“What are you transporting?” He questioned, and I don’t think he had a valid reason for pulling me over. This felt something like a shakedown, but not exactly. More like he was fishing for a reason for arrest instead of having one prior to pulling me over.

"Dead bodies and weapons, sir," I answered and Becca made a noise that told me that she was losing the fight against her giggles. "Fifteen of them -- eleven male and four female. Variety of weapons -- six smart submachine guns, eight katanas, a nue pistol, crusher shotgun, and three fragmentation grenades," I rattled off, giving the inventory. Vsaquez looked at me, his jaw dropping ever so slightly. A hand went to the gun in his holster before he took three quick steps back, yanking up the tarp.

"Fuck me," he cursed, realizing that I gave him the full inventory. All of them were members of the Tyger Claws. I wasn't targeting them specifically, but I did notice more often than not, my jobs in Japantown involved brushing against them in some way. They were one of the biggest gangs in Night City and that meant that they had a lot of enemies. "I'm gonna need you to… to… ah, fuck it. I didn't see shit, alright? Go on and do whatever. You're free to go. Fucking psycho…" I heard Vsaquez mutter to himself as he made a hasty retreat to his cop car.

"Have a nice day, officer," I responded, rolling up my windows and shooting Becca a confident smirk. "See? Don't need to shoot your way out of every situation. Talking to people works too."

The dam finally broke and Becca began to cackle in the passenger seat as I rejoined the flow of traffic, continuing our way down to Arroyo, the industrial part of Night City. Chemical plants, foundries, and so on. A lot of them seemed abandoned in some capacity, but that was probably because they were mostly automated. Because of it, a number of gangs infiltrated the area. Chief among them was Maelstrom. Men and women that implanted so much tech that most of them were borgs -- more metal than flesh.

"Sure, talking to people. That's what you're good at," Becca replied as we turned off the main road and started to head over to Whole Foods processing plant. It was meant to process food for the city, but it was abandoned and now it served as a stronghold for Maelstrom. "I'd stick to Net and Gun running. That's where you shine, L."

I grunted, spotting our destination. "I'm good with people," I remarked after a second, reversing the truck towards the whole foods.

"Sure," Becca responded, earning a frown.

"I am," I stressed.

"I believe you." I got the distinct impression that she didn't believe me. She shot me a thoroughly unrepentant smile, amusement dancing in her eyes. Letting out an annoyed huff, I put the truck in park just before the metal gate before heading up to the intercom. Ringing the buzzer, I took a step back so the camera could see my clothing -- a synthwave tank top, cargo shorts, and sneakers. Hardly an identifiable outfit, but people recognized my surgical scars easily enough.

There was a pause as the call connected and I was identified, "L. Got another load for us?" I heard the voice of Dum-Dum filter through the speaker.

"Yeah -- Tyger Claws," I answered. In response, the metal gate began to open.

"Sounds promising. Got your eddies from the last batch as well," Dum-Dum replied, this time from the docking bay itself. Looking over at him as I backed the truck up through the nav system, I saw someone that barely looked human. His face was hollowed out for a brick of optics, cables running out of his head as if they were hair. His skin bulged under the surface where implants were shoved into while some parts of him were carved off entirely.

The truck came to a stop and a few other members of the maelstrom stepped out to take off the tarp and dragging out the bodies. "Hm. Good haul," Dum-Dum complimented, grabbing a smart submachine gun. He checked the ammo and the weapon itself. "Not exactly what we meant about extra firepower, but you can't go wrong with smart weapons."

"I have something in the works for the firepower," I clarified. "Figured I should bring them to you to see if there was any interest."

"Oh, sounds interesting," Dum-Dum replied, tossing the smart weapon back into the pile. "Anything worth mentioning implant wise?" In response, I flicked him what I had managed to pull off from the Tyger Claws OSs. Some quality prosthetics, motor joints, a second heart, but there was one item that I was certain was going to gain some interest. Tetratronic Mk.3, a very solid, military-grade, cyberdeck.

"Nice -- wonder which head they ripped that one out of?" Dum-Dum responded, zeroing in on it. "Give you four thousand for it."

"Make it five and you have a deal," I responded, and in response, Dum-Dum flicked me the eddies from his personal account. Perks of being the feet on the ground for reception -- you got to call dibs. The price that was being offered was barely a third of what the item was worth, but it was still a good deal. You were never going to get the full price of what something was worth -- especially not with Maelstrom.

However, they were more reliable. I learned that Scavs were just as likely to double cross you as they were to follow through on a deal. Maelstrom was more consistent and you paid for that reliability with lower paydays. I hadn't officially met Brick, one of maelstrom's leaders in Night City, but by all accounts, he would follow through on a promise -- from completing a deal to inflicting extreme violence on others. Going into a deal knowing what to expect was worth the trade-off. Plus, I made my money back with quantity over quality.

"And here's your share from the last batch," Dum-Dum said, reaching into his back pocket for a bundle of folded eddies. A quick scan revealed that it was two thousand and five hundred eddies. I got a ten percent finders fee for any tech they pulled out of the corpses that I brought, and payment would be delivered when they resold the tech to one of the various ripperdoc sprinkled throughout the city.

Over seven thousand eddies in a day. Not bad. "Thanks. I should have the heavy firepower next time I stop by. Anything new on the wishlist?" I asked, earning a chuckle from Dum-Dum.

"Always," he answered, flicking an updated list to me. A lot of it was downright unfeasible. As far as I've seen, the only sandevistan on the streets was David's. It wasn't popular tech on account of how taxing it was, but the reward for it made it worth looking into. There were other unlikely finds -- Synapse Accelerator, a Kerenzikov, NEO Fiber, and so on. All top-of-the-line implants that you weren't going to see in random people on the streets. Other things seemed a bit more feasible.

"I'll keep an eye out," I said, nodding to Dum-Dum, finding that the guns went untouched. "Let you know what I find."

"Pleasure doin' business with you, L," Dum-Dum returned as I backed the truck out of the docking area and the metal grate slid shut behind me. Becca was leaning against the car, Guts shouldered, but it lowered when the transaction went off without any issue. "See? I can talk to people."

"I'm not sure Maelstrom counts as people," Becca returned as we both got into the car. "Still think it's weird you're working with them. Those guys are never not bad news."

I agreed. There was a very good reason that Maelstrom had the reputation that it did. More often than not, no matter how normal or even likable members like Dum-Dum seemed, I felt dirty after dealing with them. I was selling human corpses to them to harvest whatever tech they might have. I might not eagerly be chopping them up like Maelstrom and scavs might, but I wasn't under any delusion that I wasn't scum for dealing with them.

"They pay," I responded. "That's what matters. I'm going to try selling the guns to one of the ranges. You sticking with?" I questioned, pulling off and heading to the nearest gun range. Doc had put me in contact with a scab group that he got some of his tech from. That broke down pretty quickly, but he then put me in touch with Brick. The deal was that I would bring bodies to them, they'd harvest them, while Doc got the pick of the bunch that Maelstrom didn't want for themselves.

Gun ranges almost worked the same, just without any middlemen. They bought guns, no questions asked, so after a few gigs, I'd stop by and sell off any weapons that I didn't want. The prices, like with maelstrom, weren't great. But, I made due with quantity.

And, with an alert I just received, I saw that the bikes that the Tyger Claw gang members had driven reached their destination of a handful of chop shops. I had to make several deals with a number of chop shops because I found that giving one garage fifteen motorbikes was a good way to overwhelm them. I got a price per vehicle instead of per parts. As far as rip offs went, it was pretty blatant. However, it was still worth doing simply because it took all of three seconds to send the vehicles or bikes to a chop shop. Rip off or not, it was practically free money.

"You're developing a reputation as a guy who'll steal everything that's not nailed down," Becca remarked, sounding like she was sticking with me to sell the guns.

"Because I will steal everything that's not nailed down," I returned. It wasn't like the rep wasn't well-earned. The only thing I hadn't figured out how to steal yet was the eddies in people's personal accounts. Banks had a lot of ICE to get through, and they had flags that got tripped when accounts were forcefully drained. I was going to figure something out, though.

"Kinda scary how well you adapted to Night City. Where's the baby boy that cried when he saw the sky for the first time?" Becca questioned, letting out a dramatic sign and I felt my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"It's been three weeks," I pointed out. Three weeks of this. Of preparation. Of learning. On average, I did about five gigs a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less. It all depended on if I had to kill someone or not. It would be a lie to say that the novelty of everything had worn off. It hadn't. I still wasn't used to eating solid food and sometimes, I would just sit at a corner and watch people, fascinated by what I was seeing. But three weeks was enough time for me to get used to my new reality and let certain truths sink in.

Such as the fact that Night City was a tough city to live in.

"That long already?" Becca questioned, looking out the window. "Eh, in no time, you’ll be a true native to the city. But, more importantly, don’t forget to come by Jig-Jig street! Five o’clock sharp. Don’t make me come pick you up and put on something decent, yeah?”

An eyebrow shot up, “What are we meeting for?”

“Merc’s that ask questions don’t make it in this biz,” Becca pointed out, dodging my question. “Just be at Jig-Jig street. Alright?” She pressed and I swallowed a sigh before offering a shrug.

“Sure.”

…

After dropping Becca off at her apartment, I headed home to my own. I moved out of David and Lucy's after the first week. I got the impression that I was welcome to stay longer, but I had my own needs to think about. Mainly -- I needed room to tinker. Lucy arranged for me to rent out a garage in the Glen. It was pretty cheap and it more or less suited what I needed.

Getting out of the truck, I sent it off to the nearest parking garage. It charged by the hour, but it was an expense that I learned to live with on account that I needed the room. Sliding the key into the lock, I drew up the garage door to reveal my workshop.

Two things instantly drew attention -- the recycler and the fabricator. Both were long, bulky creations that were in various stages of completion. The fabricator was the most done of the two, just needing a few finishing touches and adjustments. The material recycler still needed to be completed on one side, and until recently, I lacked the parts to do it. But, ordering online helped me there and the final handful of pieces I needed came through the mail. All that was left was slotting them in and making sure that the glass cylinder I ordered was up to the task.

Closing the door behind me, I locked it before opening up the packages. The Material Recycler was an impressive bit of technology. It broke down and separated items down to the atoms before reassembling them into cubes that could then be slotted into a fabricator. Whether it was biological or metal didn't matter. Each cube would be marked with the material that it was made of, and the cubes were modular, so you could add on to them with additional material.

Grabbing my tools, I went about going to work while I thought on the last major problem with the machine. Power generation would be intensive. I had jury-rigged sixteen car batteries in preparation to activate it for the first time. A necessary precaution to avoid tripping any circuit breakers. And according to my estimates, that should be enough to disassemble one item. A small one. The wrench slotted the bolts in place before I grabbed a sealing gun to ensure that the chamber was vacuum sealed. Jacking into the systems an hour later, I was getting green checks across the board.

"Time for the moment of truth," I decided, booting the Material Recycler on for the first time, filling the garage with a low hum. Grabbing an old wrench that weighed a pound, I opened up a slot and dropped the wrench into it. Confirming that I wanted to disassemble the item, I watched the recycler work its magic. It was shoved into the glass chamber and as soon as the routers began to spin, I watched in fascination as atom by atom, the wrench was picked apart until there was no trace of the wrench left, just floating specs in the chamber.

A second later, the assembler began to suck up the atoms, condensing them into cubes on the other end of the machine before it dropped them off into a pit at the end of a shoot.

"I didn't think it'd work on the first try," I admitted to myself, my gaze going to the batteries to find that all of them were nearly drained dry. Between sixteen of them, there was enough juice for a single battery to have a third of a charge. However, other problems made themselves known as I pulled out the cubes -- one was marked with the atomic symbol and number for iron while the other was marked with nickel.

The wrench weighed one pound on the dot. The combined mass for the two cubes? Half a pound. Meaning that I lost about half of the mass that I put in the machine and that wasn't great. The rest, I would be finding in the filters.

"Still, not bad for a Mark One," I decided, my hands smudged with grease, as were my shorts when I wiped it off on them. The kinks were evident to me because I had designs for an MK. 2 floating in my head. I just wasn’t able to implement most of what I learned since putting it together since I was already halfway done with the MK. 1 and I couldn’t make the parts for the MK. 2 without the prototype being complete.

Tossing the iron cube up and catching it in my palm, I turned to the fabricator and slotted the iron cube and nickel in before closing the slot. The fabricator registered the materials -- finally -- and I uploaded a blueprint. Confirming that I wanted it done and that I had enough materials for it, the fabricator went to work. The cylinders inside the fabricator glowed with a laser-wire mesh before they began to spin while sliding back and forth. It was a short process because a few seconds later, the creation slid down the drop ramp.

It was a wrench. Roughly half of the size of the previous one. Flipping it in my hand and catching it, I smiled at the proof of concept. It worked. I never doubted that it would, but it had worked. The only issue was… the other set of sixteen car batteries were completely dead. Didn’t even have enough to keep the fabricator on.

“Independent energy generation is going to be the next big step,” I muttered to myself, setting the wrench on a bench before heading into the side room for the garage. It didn’t possess anything like a shower, but the side room was more than large enough to fit a bed and a desk. Everything was kept meticulously clean -- I didn’t know how people could stand to just drop their trash at their feet and leave it there for weeks. Still wasn’t used to that.

Taking a seat in a rolling chair, I turned my attention to my other projects. In my head, there were a bunch of ideas floating around -- especially when it came to creating my own implants. With the fabricator, it became more than a pipe dream. The only limiting factors were materials and the software to get the implants to function as intended. My computer was on and after validating my ID, I saw a bit of code that I was designing. An ICE Breaker of sorts that I had taken to calling the Skeleton Key.

However, for now, an alert caught my attention, reminding me that I had to take my boosters. Rolling the chair back, I opened a container that kept the substance chilled, before taking out the vial and needle. Drawing back the appropriate amount, I pinched my thigh and jabbed it in. The immune booster would help me fight off the diseases that were just floating around in the city. However, I did take a hit off of an inhaler to clear up the symptoms that I was already feeling -- slightly congested, slight fever, and scratchy throat.

Feeling better, I turned my attention back to my computer to pull up the changes that had been made to the Skeleton Key. It was a collaborative effort with Kiwi, a rather elusive member of David’s group. She had the experience in hacking to guide me in what would be more useful in reality than what would be a good idea in concept. She reached out a couple of weeks ago, but I still hadn’t met her face to face.

All of it was building the foundation. Almost on reflex, I brought up a map of the city, looking at the building that I had escaped from. Night City’s Home for Wayward Boys was near dead center of a tall building in downtown. It was shockingly easy to find when you knew what you were looking for. However, the systems were covered in a thick layer of ICE. Corporate-grade. Not something that I could hit with a quickhack Breach.

I needed an ICE Breaker. A good one. Which was something that I was cooking up to get through the false information that was presented. The orphanage was officially only a single floor in the building with the rest of the space being rented out by a variety of companies. Lucy was certain that they were placeholders, but I hadn’t cracked the ICE enough to confirm it. The orphanage itself had a number of listed caretakers -- all of whom seemed to be normal people, and I saw no mention of Dr. K and Dr. D. Or on-site security.

However, the children that were ‘up for adoption’ were none that I recognized. They all had full names and their ages went up to eighteen. I wasn’t even certain that they were real people, but it was possible that the orphanage was actually an orphanage to act as a cover for what was really going on behind the scenes. In any case, I would be getting them out as well if they did exist.

My gaze flickered to the list -- creating IDs for everyone in the orphanage, paying off ripperdocs to change the appearance of everyone that I brought to them, a framework of a plan to purchase and steal immune boosters, smuggling routes to get them out of the city… It wasn’t ready yet, but a plan was coming together to not only get everyone out, but make sure that they stayed out.

Hours ticked by as I mindlessly worked, focusing on the task at hand, only switching what I was working on when it felt like I was hitting a mental wall with the task. I bounced between coding for programs to crafting blueprints that I would upload into the fabricator. I only realized how much time had passed when I heard a banging on the garage door that was accompanied by, “L! Get your butt out here! You’re gonna be late!”

Becca’s voice rang out, making me glance at the clock to see that it was past time for me to arrive at the usual spot. Pushing the chair back and closing the laptop, I headed out of my room and pulled up the garage door to see that it was Becca and Lucy. Becca gave me a quick look up and down before her expression twisted, “You’re wearing that?”

I looked down at my grease stained shorts and tanktop that she had no issue with a handful of hours ago. “Yes?” I tried, cocking an eyebrow when she shook her head with the utmost disappointment.

“L. L, L, L… how many times do I have to say it? Style is important! You can’t go walkin’ around looking like a gonk,” Becca said, brushing past me and hardly sparing the recycler and fabricator a glance. “And why is it so clean in here?! Give your room a little character, L!” She griped and I looked at Lucy to see that she was smiling ever so slightly.

Her attention was drawn to the fabricator and recycler, but she said nothing about them when she caught my glance. “Style is important, L.” She pointed out and I swallowed a sigh.

“I thought money was important,” I muttered, hearing the sound of Becca tearing through my clothes in disgust. It was a little annoying, to be honest, but the annoyance was undercut by the fact that I knew that she did it because she cared. Owning things still felt weird, and the little that I did own, I felt attached to. Apparently, I was getting attached to the wrong things.

“It is. Mostly because money can buy you style,” Lucy remarked, her gaze lingering on the equipment until Becca left my bedroom, her expression disgruntled.

“Listen up, L! You got optic camo on, so no one can see that face of yours. So, all they’re gonna see is your outfit and, I gotta say, your outfit ain’t sayin’ much. No, it says, ‘I’m justifying my poverty by calling myself frugal.’ Where does all your money go?” Becca questioned, shaking her head like I was a lost cause.

“My savings account,” I responded drily and Becca threw her hands in the air.

“You’re supposed to spend money, you gonk! What good is it sitting in a bank account of all places? You’re practically asking for a corpo to steal it,” Becca chidded and Lucy chuckled at the scene. “You don’t have anything worth wearing and I can’t have you showing up looking like that. I’d die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“I’m not spending any of my money,” I responded, crossing my arms. And I didn’t keep all of it in an account. The cash assets, I had hidden in a cashe and in my apartment. The rest was split up between three accounts. Altogether, over the past three weeks, I accrued a decent enough amount of funds. Each gig for Regina usually paid about a thousand to two thousand eddies, I could pull in another three to five between selling implants, guns, and vehicles. Adding it all up, I had a hundred and fifteen thousand eddies.

Given how much it would cost to make sure that everyone stayed out of the orphanage and corpo hands… it was barely a fraction of what I needed.

“It’ll be on us,” Lucy decided. “Becca is right. Style is important,” she said, gesturing for me to follow. Now I felt a little guilty for making them pay for something for me. Not bad enough to actually do anything about it, but enough that I did feel a little guilty.

“If you say so,” I muttered, locking the garage up and before I rose back to my full height, I felt Becca rub the top of my head.

“Can’t call you Cue-Ball anymore,” Becca remarked as I brushed her oversized hand away, idly knowing that she could crush my head with that hand if she wasn’t careful. A hand drifted up to my scalp to feel the bristled black hairs that were growing there. Having hair was weird. I was used to having a shaved head, but a comment from David made me realize that it stood out a week and half ago.

I just sighed at the remark, “Where are we going?”

“A place that you can finally stop looking like a gonk,” came Becca’s swift reply.

…

The outfit that Becca and Lucy -- mostly Becca -- chose for me wasn’t one that I ever would have picked for myself. Tight-fitting pants, high-top sneakers, a black T-shirt with a weird-looking graphic on it, and a white half jacket with a popped collar. I took their word for it that it was style. In any case, it was a far cry from the scrubs I grew up wearing.

Turbo-Bar was an almost isolated building in a way. It was located in Japantown near the water, right next to a Megabuilding. In the space around it was something of a market that people set up a number of stalls that sold food and stuff. But, for the most part, it was a popular party spot. It had a number of people milling around, sitting around cars that thumped with music.

David was easy to mark out amongst the crowd. People tended to give him a wide berth because of his implants and his reputation as a merc. He was currently sitting on a bench, a bottle in his hand, and speaking to a man named Falco. David’s driver. On the other side of him was a girl that I hadn’t seen before. Blonde hair cut in a bob with the bottom half of her face covered by a reddish pink mask.

David spotted us first, his eyes immediately going to Lucy, and they softened a fraction. Then they went to me. “What are you wearing?” David asked me, and I immediately looked to Becca.

“What do you mean, what is he wearing? It’s preem style, right there!” Becca protested, sounding like she hadn’t intentionally made me look like an idiot.

“Lucy, you let Becca dress him?” David questioned with a sigh, and Lucy just gave a mischievous smile in response.

“Am I here for a reason other than getting ripped on for how I look?” I interjected, crossing my arms over my chest. Becca gave me two enthusiastic thumbs up, still convinced that I looked good. I was less than certain that I did, but it also didn’t mean much to me. Clothes were clothes.

David offered a smile before he popped open a bottle of beer with another bottle of beer and handed it to me. “You could say that. It’s your birthday today, L. You’re officially sixteen. Well, as far as anyone is concerned.”

I froze for a moment, my mind racing before I realized that he was probably right. It could be a couple of days off, but the orphanage should be marking the passage of another year. T-6 would now be T-7. And a whole new group of children would be brought in as bracket five. M… M would be entering bracket sixteen alone this time. If he managed to survive that long.

David pressed the bottle in my hands, his gaze understanding. “Celebrate, L. Because they can’t… not yet.” David said, giving me a small reassuring nod. I swallowed thickly, emotion rising in my chest. I looked down at the bottle of broseph ale, the brown bottle dripping with condensation.

Taking a bracing breath, I brought the bottle to my lips, the taste washing over my tongue as I tipped the bottle back with the intention to chug it like I saw so many others do…

And I immediately spat all of it out, gagging all the while, much to the enjoyment of everyone else.