IdeasGuy
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A Hard Knock Life: Iron On My Hip (ch. 12)
🕑 Added 2021-04-15 15:00:44 +0000 UTCMy set up was slowly taking over Jackie’s garage, I realized as I caught myself thinking I needed more room. The punching bag got moved to the opposite corner, so I had a little more room to work with. In the past few days, I had been making do for the most part. I had everything that I needed to scratch that tinkering itch. Coding my language satisfied it for the most part, as did working on the spellbook that I was developing.
However, my needs had outstripped my equipment. What I had just wasn’t good enough. There were ideas and plans floating around in my head, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that I just didn’t have the tools to complete them.
That had never been more clear when I was inspecting the charge rifle that was laid out on my workbench, a few tools liberated from Jackie’s toolbox scattered about. A charge rife was a real beast of a weapon. It could be used as a sniper or a rifle, it didn’t matter. The biggest downside of using it as a rifle was that if you charged it too long, the shot would go through the target, the wall behind them, and whatever else was behind them until the slug ran out of steam.
I didn’t even have the tools to take it apart. It was a top of the line weapon, and such, it needed specialized tools to even work on it. A drawer full of lug wrenches wouldn’t cut it.
However, that was where the skill shard came in. If I didn’t have the tools for it? Then I would just have to build the tools that I needed.
Looking down at the shard -- it was small and thin, about the size of my thumb lengthwise, half that in width. The system checks didn’t find anything wrong with it. There was no faulty data in the packet that would be downloaded into my brain. I had double, triple, quadruple, and quintuple checked that. During the final day of my suspension, that’s pretty much all I did. Tattletale’s boss had come through on his end of the bargain. Now it was just a case of waiting for Tattletale to call for a job.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, grabbing the chip before I slotted it into my port behind my ear. My new OS card accepted it, which had been fined tuned overnight with an original OS that was based on my expanding coding language -- making it MK. 1 of project Babel. The OS scanned the data on the chip, finding no viruses like I had already checked for. A window appeared in my vision, a simple yes or no question.
I clicked yes.
Skill shards were what they label said they were. With one, a man who had never played the piano once in his life could rival the best with decades of experience. That was because the skill shard molded the brain like clay, injecting that information into it so it would be as if the user had been playing for decades. It worked best with physical skills rather than purely theoretical ones, like math or science. But, even they could be learned by injecting a foundation of knowledge into the user’s brain.
It was weird to experience myself, I decided. One moment, I was standing before a bunch of tools that I didn’t know the name of, and all of a sudden, I could give their exact name, measurement, and spot where they needed to be maintained. I could look at the M-179E Achilles charge rifle -- before, I had an idea of how it worked. Now, I had a college-level understanding of the guts of the gun even if the physics of it escaped me.
More importantly, when I wondered how I could take it apart, what I would need to take it apart, I had my answer. Then, when I asked myself how I could make those tools? I had an answer.
A slow grin spread over my face as I felt my power meeting me halfway, melding together with my newfound college-level mechanical engineering understanding. The information of what I wanted to build came easily, then it was aided by my power to increase efficiency. Optimize it. To make it better than it could ever possibly be. Enough so that my college understanding of the subject was trying to rebel to tell me it wasn’t possible.
“It worked,” I muttered to myself, my hands going to write up a list of everything that I would need. Laser cutter, soldering tool, stabilizers… the list went on and on. Then it was broken up into what I would need to make the equipment on the list. Then it was narrowed down by ideas of how to make multifaceted tools to cut down on what I needed.
I still needed a lot. A whole lot. Luckily I had just gotten paid. I was officially richer than I ever had been before. Fifty thousand eddies were burning a hole in my pocket. Some of it would have to be reported to the IRS on account of the fact that they were better armed than the NUSA military at this point, and they absolutely would hunt me down until the ends of the earth if I committed tax evasion. Still, that was a lot of scratch to work with.
“Jackie, I’m heading out,” I shouted at my roommate, grabbing my revolver and Crusher shotgun. So many ideas were bouncing around in my skull. There were so many that it almost hurt, giving me a headache. Or that was the allnighter I had pulled. Either or. It felt like everywhere I looked now, I was seeing possibilities. How to improve my guns, how to improve Jackie’s bike, how to improve my arm… especially my arm.
I could stay in the garage and tinker for the next decade and it didn’t feel like it would be enough. What would be like with additional skill shards? Higher-level ones? It was almost scary to consider, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on them.
“Ehh? Sure…” Jackie muttered sleepily, having crashed on the couch after watching tv. After grabbing a jacket and a mask since there was forecasted toxic rain, which meant toxic fog. I just needed to get everything on the list and…
Wait. No. Bad. That was dumb.
This was how tinkers got caught. I knew that. It was common knowledge -- tinkers were caught by recklessly buying inane objects on the net or in person. It was an obvious sign that the corps knew to look for, and track down the tinkers. Even using cash might trip something off. Blur myself on camera? That would make me stand out more. Not to mention there could be someone at the markets specifically looking for someone buying random shit that thought they were being smart.
I almost fell face-first into that pitfall because I was just too excited with the prospect of tinkering. Okay. So, what were my options? Go to Tattletale’s boss? Hard pass on account I didn’t want to look desperate. Spread out my purchases? Mask my ID online? Both doable. Or…
Huh.
Actually… “Hey, do you want to help me steal a vending machine?” I asked, pausing what I was doing. Vending machines had 3D printers inside of them. At least the ones that didn’t sell food. With one, I could jury rig it into a more functioning set up. With it, I could just 3D print the tools that I needed, and the ones that I couldn’t, I could just build them. Even better, a vending machine would come with base materials that I could work with -- plastics, metals, and so on.
“V… it’s six in the morning. Did you even sleep?” Jackie questioned, his voice rough from sleep. Even still, I heard him getting off the couch.
“Sleep is for the weak. Plus, with my optics, my eyes don’t dry out and get irritated. My brain just feels tired, but that’s it,” I pointed out. At the moment, my brain was offering up all the ways I could undo the vending machine and improve upon the 3D printer. To that, I heard Jackie groan a curse in Spanish but he was at the door, wiping the sleep out of his eyes all the same.
“Let’s go then,” Jackie agreed, stifling a yawn. That’s one of the things I liked about Jackie -- the guy was up for anything at almost any time.
…
“I think we need to think about getting some wheels,” Jackie remarked as we walked towards the megabuilding. I ended up having to steal another van. The one that we used for the ABB heist had been dumped on the side of the road so, hopefully, the owner could pick it up with a bit of tracking software I had stopped suppressing. “Something with some trunk space.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. I couldn’t exactly say that I wasn’t feeling it because it was just so easy to steal a car, now could I? Buy one was hella expensive and I could be using that money on tinkering.
Even so early, the megabuilding was active. The markets were either setting up or serving customers, people came and went as they either left for work or came back from it. So, no matter what, we were going to have a boatload of witnesses. Luckily, I had thought about that. My eyes ran over the length of dozens of vending machines -- they had one for everything. Food, drinks, guns, grenades, body armor, masks, sex toys -- pretty much anything you could think of, there was a vending machine dedicated towards it.
“That one,” I decided, spotting one that looked sufficiently beat up. The front was tagged with a giant penis, it had a few dents from unsatisfied customers, and it was located near the entrance. So, we walked over with a trolly. While Jackie slid it under, I jacked into the vending machine and killed an alert. Granting myself access to its systems, I disabled the tracking software, the camera built into the vending machine even though the penis covered it and took stock of what it had.
Mostly heavy metals -- iron, copper, plastics. Everything it needed to build a piece of junk gun. Still, it’s all I would need. It would give me my start. If I could get my hands on titanium… nickel, tungsten… I needed a matter converter…
No. No, focus. Stealing the vending machine came first.
"What are you two doing?" A voice spoke up and I turned to look to see a woman approaching us. One dressed in NCPD blues with a dark blue flak vest covering her torso. Fairly short, brown hair also short, but it could just tucked up into the hat she wore. Behind her was a much larger man, Jackie size large. He was similarly dressed, displaying a silver badge on his armor.
I looked to Jackie, wondering why in the hell he wasn't on the lookout. "Uh," I started intelligently, looking back to the cops. "The vending machine is busted, so we're breaking it in for repairs. Got an order form, if you need to see it," flicking a data packet to them. At the same moment, I used Siren Call.
I could ping their systems, but Breach wasn't enough to get through that ICE. At least not without time. I didn't expect it to, but it was good to confirm. Though, I did manage to pick up their names. Petrova and Mendez.
Petrova cocked her head before she sent a look over at her partner, "Do all maintenance crews go out packing iron like that?" She remarked, nodding to me. My revolver was in a holster on my leg. My shotgun was in a custom made holster that was attached to the harness I wore for the one on my back, so my crusher shotgun was tucked up against my ribs.
"It's Night City," Jackie defended, earning an agreeing nod from me.
"And the logoless van?" She continued, and I was getting a distinct impression that she didn't buy our story.
"Our company truck got stolen," I offered as an excuse. "Company hasn't replaced it yet because… well, why would they?" Mendez laughed at that, earning a look from Petrova. He offered a small shrug, looking thoroughly amused.
"It's bullshit," Petrova decided, rightly so.
Mendez nodded, "Yeah, but it's good bullshit. Rather them steal a vending machine than from a store." He decided, looking to Petrova.
She sighed at that, pinning us both with a sharp look. "Come up with a better cover story next time," she warned us. "And keep your noses out of trouble." She added, choosing to walk right by us. I offered a nod to her, then to Mendez as they both continued on with their day, letting the crime go unpunished.
We watched them walk away for a moment before Jackie shrugged, "That was lucky. Didn't even have to give them a bribe."
"Seemed like they were both in a good mood. Wonder what that was about?" I agreed, unplugging the vending machine before I helped Jackie push it into the dolly. Securing it, we headed to the van and started to load it up. It was heavy, half on account of the metals inside of it on top of its general weight.
Closing it up, I spared a final look in their direction before I shrugged to myself. Whatever put them in a good mood, it probably wasn't my problem.
…
Back at Jackie's, we unloaded the vending machine and I started cracking at it. It was useable to start with when I got rid of the prefab blueprints and uploaded a few new ones. Like basic tools that I would need to take it apart in full. With it in the garage, it seemed to clutter the place up even more, but Jackie didn't seem to mind.
Once I had some basic tools to work with, I really started to work. The vending machine was stripped down until only a frame of it remained -- the 3D printer, which was connected to solid blocks of metal and plastic. My hands seemed to have a mind of their own as I worked on it -- redoing the wiring, replacing parts…
It was like art, I decided as I got Jackie's help to lift the 3D printer onto its side so it could rest on a frame I had set up. That way I could make the most of my limited room. Underneath were the materials that would feed into the printer.
Or, it was what I imagined art to be. When you were tinkering, you weren't thinking about every line you drew or how it connected to another piece. You had an image in your head, and with each movement, the image was realized into reality. Only instead of lines, it was wiring, circuitry, and metal.
Then, in the end, you have a complete picture. But such things took time. Which is why I called in sick at school for the first time in my life. I had to. The 3D printer was what I needed to work on. And, like an artist, it was so very easy to enter a thoughtless state where you just… worked. You didn't feel hungry, you didn't feel tired, you didn't feel frustrated nor did you feel the passage of time. You just got so absorbed into the task that you didn't give anything else a second of thought.
The 3D printer was just the start. It opened up a lot of options for me, but it also gave me new ones. The first and foremost was supplies. Something like a matter converter was beyond me, even with my newfound education. Couldn't say for sure if the one percent didn't have it, but if they did, then they didn't tell me. To get something like that, I would need another tinker to give it to me.
There, I had options. Toybox was a corporation that offered a range of requests. Militech had been trying to box them out for years, pretty much since they announced themselves, but tinker-tech had a lot of appeal. Instead of appealing to the mass market, they were custom orders only. The rich and famous could order a gun, plane, teleporter, or whatever they could think of with the right amount of eddies.
Which is why they weren't an option. Way, way, way out of my price range. That, and the rumor was that they recruited every tinker they could get their hands on. With how corporations operated, that meant blackmail, extortion, or flat out kidnapping you. So, that was a double no.
I could look into buying the materials, but that costed money. A lot of money. So much money that my fifty thousand would just be a drop in the bucket. Likewise, I could go to Tattletale’s boss and see if he would be willing to fit the bill… but I hadn't even spoken to the man yet. I didn't want to give him any leverage over me if I could avoid it.
Lastly, I could do something very few considered. I could… recycle. I got the idea from the radio. Detroit was an absolute shit hole of a city, but they were having a resurgence because of all the trash that had been dumped in the city over the past century -- they were calling it junk fever. It was a wild idea. I never would have thought of it. It was a real wonder why the city didn't try something similar.
Wasn't like there weren't mountains upon mountains of garbage inside and outside of the city. As in there was a literal mountain of it outside city limits. On bad days in summer, when the breeze was just right… you could get a whiff of millions of tons of garbage. Some of which had probably been there as long as the city.
Only one problem. I didn't know how to build a scrapper, which would break down items to their base components.
"Hey, Jackie -- wanna steal a dropbox?"
…
He did. Drop boxes were the city's attempt at recycling I learned when looking up the nearest one. Sorta. In reality, it was the corporations ripping people off who bothered to dump anything into them. You would get a small fee for the weight of the item you dropped off, which was about half a penny to the dollar, which explained why most people didn't bother.
Regardless, it also did pretty much exactly what I wanted. It atomized items that were dropped off, sorting them into blocks of base materials which would then be emptied out periodically. Because of that, there were some incredibly valuable materials inside. Like titanium, gold, and other rare materials.
Probably because a common practice was to drop off a murder weapon into one to destroy it.
The NCPD's loss was my gain. The one that we ripped out of the side of a building had been full of materials. Even better, the cops didn't catch us this time.
"V, you need to go to sleep," I distantly heard Jackie's voice remark to me. "You haven't slept in two days." Was that true? It was probably true.
"No, I need neuroboosters," I responded, "and a decent computer. Hey, Jackie-" I started, only to stop myself. "Nevermind. I don't need to steal a computer. I can just make one." All the while I spoke, I typed at my hunk of junk computer. I never understood the appeal of drugs before but the idea of taking a huff and being alert for another twenty-four hours? Sounded awesome.
"You need sleep," Jackie repeated. "Don't you have school in the morning?"
"I'll just call in sick again. It won't count against me if I call in sick today's in a row, only when I go over three." And I wouldn't need to do that, because it would be the weekend. Sweet. Lines of code crawled over my screen, the processor of the computer practically smoking under the strain of everything I asked of it.
A 3D modeling program, running the tracking algorithm I had on the ABB, as well as surfing the net for things of interest all at the same time. I'm actually surprised the hunk of junk was able to run half of the things I was asking of it.
"Think you're missing the point there, mano," Jackie muttered, leaning at the doorframe as his eyes swept over the garage. I… might have… accidentally taken it over. The 3D printer ate up a lot of the space I had originally been allocated, so I had to edge in on Jackie's. Then as I produced more tools, I needed more storage space. Things spiraled from there. "What are you even doing now?"
"Working on my gift to Marquise," I answered, looking to my computer screen and doing a system check. The charge rifle laid in pieces before me, but the core remained intact after I rebuilt it. "Figured I should deal with it first while we're waiting for Tattletale to get in touch."
There had been radio silence from her since we had gotten the bonuses via a drop-off. It was only a matter of time though. The first gig was coming and I had no idea what to expect. I was looking forward to it, yet I wasn't because of Tattletale. And Skitter was proving… skittish. If Tattletale’s boss wanted something dirty done, Skitter might break away entirely. Or worse, attempt to take us down.
I pressed a key on my computer and saw the folding mechanism act. Not just wide, but it grew longer as well. One of the drawbacks of a charge rifle was that there was no easy way to conceal it. By default, it was just so big because so much was needed to make it function. But, with a little fine-tuning, I could downsize certain things. Now, in an inert state, it was about the same size as my shotgun.
Nodding to myself, I was glad to see that it functioned as intended. With the frame out of the way, I could up its power and…
“Head’s up,” Jackie announced, making me look over at him just in time to get hit in the face with an inhaler. “Nice reflexes,” he remarked, ignoring my glare before I looked down at the inhaler that had fallen on the workshop counter. A mostly white inhaler with a blue fluid that slushed around in the back.
Holding up the inhaler with a questioning look, Jackie gestured to it, “Neural booster, as requested. If that’s going to be the gift to the don, then you should use mine. Should help you focus and keep you going before you crash.” He explained, making me look at the inhaler again.
I had never done one before. Never had much of a reason to. Drugs were expensive and I had never been flushed with cash.
Shrugging my shoulders, I brought the inhaler to my mouth and hit the button on the top while taking a deep breath-
My eyes went wide as I felt the neural booster hit me like a brick across the face. I could feel every synaps in my brain firing all at once as I breathed in deeply, taking in as much of the drug that I could. I could feel my brain pounding, blood rushing through my veins and every hair stood on end.
“Ohhhhhh,” I breathed out, setting the neural booster to the side, my heart beating in my chest like a drum. “School has no clue what it’s talking about,” I decided, looking down at my current project and I had so many ideas that they all blurred together.
“Drugs are awesome!”
…
"Ugh…" I groaned, my eyelids feeling heavy as I pried them open with sheer force of will. My back popped about a million times as I shifted from my position on the couch. Another low groan escaped me as I settled into another position, a hand going to my face, only to nearly knock myself out with my prosthetic.
What happened? Why did I feel like shit?
"How long have I been asleep?" I muttered, pushing myself up, looking around and seeing no sign of Jackie. After popping my back so the other side wouldn't feel weird, I pushed myself to my feet. My tendons felt like they were made taut string and if I pushed too hard then they would snap. I looked around again as I stretched a bit, trying to loosen up, and still found no sign of Jackie. What I did find was the time.
My lips thinned. I had been asleep for about twelve hours and it was currently two in the morning. Goodbye sleep schedule. Swallowing a yawn, I headed to the garage to see that everything was where I left it. That was good. Jackie was probably asleep, so I should probably keep it down until he woke up.
Taking a seat on my stool, I opened my computer to find…
"What was I doing?" I muttered, looking at about a hundred different tabs with about a dozen programs open. The first and foremost was a to-do list that was about a mile long that ranged from creating the perfect glass of orange juice to wiping out the ABB. There was also a note to keep the charge rifle and tell Marquise to kiss my ass.
I think I might have let myself go a bit too wild there for a bit. Got too lost in the possibilities, so I started doing everything at once. Lost about two days and my sleep schedule.
Turning my attention to the charge rifle, I saw that it was complete. I didn't remember completing it, but it was here, so I must have. Pulling up the system check, I saw all green lights and the parameters… What in the hell did I create?
Reaching out, I grabbed the charge rifle and braced it to my shoulder. In response, the gun nearly doubled in length, bringing it to its original size, and the four magnetic rails charged up with visible cackles of electricity. The weapon was synced with my OS, so I saw my shot count on my HUD. Which I apparently now had. There were also shot varieties -- burst fire, automatic, and the normal charge round…
I double-checked the numbers. Then I triple checked them.
The gun was completely and utterly impractical in any situation that didn't involve you getting into a fight with a tank. And even then, if I had to put money on who would win, I'd feel confident betting it all on the rifle.
However, I seemed to have realized that at some point because I left a message for myself. "Gun sucks ass. Give it to Marquise," I read the note in my OS inspection, getting some mixed signals from myself. I could see the logic, in a way. It was a completely overpowered gun that was utterly impractical for city use. Still, I probably shouldn't give such a gun to anyone. It could end up used on me.
"Guess I'll start from scratch with one of the others," I remarked, setting the gun down. It reverted to its previous shape while I went to grab one of the other charge rifles. The ones we stole were gathered up in one corner of the room. As I searched for them, I noticed two things.
I could not find the charge rifles. My prosthetic was different. There was more steel on it, additional seems that hadn't been there before…
"What in the hell did I do?" I muttered, going back to my computer in a daze. If there was any clue, then it would have it. I cycled through the tabs, finding stuff that ranged from the cost of real fruit to stock prices for some companies, to schematics that were available online… and I had apparently enrolled in an electrical engineering class? There was a lot going on there and the more I looked, the more I found that worried me.
Like plans to get rid of the organic bits of my left arm so there would be more room for 'cool shit.'
I also noticed something else, "Why is it Sunday?!" What in the hell happened to Friday and Saturday?! Did I fucking get roofied or something? What the hell was going on here? How could I just blank out two entire days?
Then, as if to answer me, the 3D printer dinged to announce that it was done making whatever the hell it was making. I popped it open -- when in the hell did I install an oven door? Where did I get it? -- and I saw a… thing. Not entirely sure what it was, to be honest. Kinda looked like a bulky flat black three-spoke gear and a… barrel? Picking it up and inspecting it, I saw that the gear part had sizable holes in it, one for each gear spoke. The barrel it was was narrower. Going from a fifty-cent coin to a nickel in terms of size.
"I have no clue what this is," I muttered, looking over the object. Whatever it was, I had seen fit to make three of them, I noticed when I spotted another two stacked up near… was that my revolver? No, it wasn't. It's what was left of my revolver. All that was left of it was the handle, and even that had been modified extensively. I couldn't even find the rest of it.
Okay. I needed some answers. Setting the gear and barrel aside, I turned my attention back to my computer and started going through the history. Trying to find out where the past two days had gone. After some digging through an absolute hideous clusterfuck of a home screen, I found a folder called projects. Inside was another clusterfuck of… calling them ideas would be a bit much. They weren't even worthy to be called blurbs with how many spelling mistakes there were.
Sorting through that mess with the help of a search algorithm, I narrowed it down to guns. And revolvers. There were a few projects left, but when crossed with the 3D printer systems, I found my golden ticket.
Project Cerberus.
I let out a low whistle when I saw the specs. My revolver? It had been a gun. Cerberus? It was a GUN. The kind that I would have to take off the rest of my left arm or the recoil alone would be enough to shatter my shoulder. The kind of GUN that made me more nervous the longer that I looked at the design.
A tri-barrel revolver with a nine-shot receiver -- which was the gear. Put them together, and the gears would turn after pulling the trigger, the three hammers either going one after another or all at once if I charged the shot. Made of a titanium base, reinforced with lithium infused E-carbon, which also significantly reduced the weight. Which would have been considerable. The thing was about as dense as a neutron star. It had to be. The ammo I designed for it was absolutely fucking terrifying.
There were bullets… then there were BULLETS, all caps because they deserved nothing less. Titanium composite hollow point bullets with a C6 kicker -- each bullet packed the punch of an antimatter rifle, except for the fact they hit faster and harder. Cerberus was the literal definition of a hand cannon. The ultimate revolver.
"I can't use this thing," I muttered, looking at the specs. There was no way. Not without giving up the rest of my left arm and a significant portion of my shoulder and collarbone. The only way I could avoid that would be to replace my bones. And reinforce my tendons. The former was possible with the materials I had, but the latter was not. I would need the implant as a base, which I could then work off.
More annoyingly, I seemed to have used up a fair few resources on it. Like most of my titanium.
The next few hours were spent sorting through my notes, organizing them to the best of my ability. What was feasible was placed in a file and what was not was set in a different file. It was in doing this that I discovered what I did to my prosthetic.
My mantis blade had been altered. Instead of popping up, it would just out of my forearm like a stinger. This was to make room for the fucking charge rifle I stuffed in my wrist.
Holding it out, I saw the surface shift -- the palm of my hand opened up, revealing the narrow barrel. The battery pack jutted out at my elbow. I had rapid burst fire, which was weaker, or single shot, which could go through solid walls. Even better? The batteries were self-charging. At the moment, it was fairly limited -- I was stuck with twelve fully charged shots, or a hundred weak charge shots a day.
Okay. So… maybe… tinker-me had a point about getting rid of the organic bits of my arm. Not points good enough to actually go through with it, but there was a point.
Shifting my arm back, I dragged a hand down my face. It was cool. Just not scrap two charge rifles cool. I could only hope that Jackie had wrestled the last one away from me.
Speaking of which, where in the hell was Jackie? Why didn't he stop this?
Running a hand through my hair, I decided on a shower before I went looking since he wasn't in his room. I felt more myself after that, and getting dressed, I headed to the Coyote bar. The door was open, and the bar was mostly empty. A twilight area between the night patrons having left and the early birds haven't arrived. Because of that, the sound of the door opening alerted Mama Welles, who was wiping down the counter.
She looked incredibly amused the moment she saw me, "Look who has rejoined the land of the living." She remarked, letting out a small laugh, smiling kindly at me as I awkwardly approached. Amused was better than mad, though.
"Hey…" I started, not sure where to start. For starters, I had no clue how much Jackie had told Mama Welles about me. If she knew I was a cape or not.
"Jaquito is upstairs, still sleeping," Mama Welles sensed my question. "Sit, I will make you something to eat."
Complying with the order, I sat at the counter. "Uh, this might sound a little weird, but… why is Jackie sleeping here instead of his bed?"
Mama Welles let out a sharp laugh, "Because a bar full of drunks and music makes less noise than you. At least according to Jaquito," she informed, earning a wince from me as she worked in the kitchen. I smelled the familiar smell of cooking synth-eggs. They made my mouth water.
"Oh… my bad," I muttered, feeling guilty.
"I am not the one you should be apologizing to," Mama Welles remarked. She was right about that. I felt like shit about it now -- Jackie had let me crash with him and over the course of a week, I took over his garage and made him sleep in a bar. How was that for gratitude? "Chin up, V. If Jaquito was so bothered by it, he would have tossed you out himself and you would be sleeping in the bar," she said, setting the plate of eggs before me. And a glass of orange juice.
"I don't know why he didn't. Probably should have," I added, "And thank you." I told her before digging in. I practically inhaled the eggs, barely even chewing before I washed them down the OJ. I… think that might have been my first meal in a while…
That earned a soft smile from her, "Because Jaquito always wanted a little brother," She informed me. "Oh, Jaquito doesn’t trust easy, but he trusts you. Told me just the other day you'd rather put a gun in your mouth and blow out the back of your head than even think about betraying a friend or brother." That was… some high praise. Especially with how she was looking at me -- she looked at me like she believed it.
I shrugged awkwardly, not sure what to say. "I know it goes both ways," I offered. Jackie had come through every time I needed him to. He was a solid guy.
Mama Welles nodded as if she expected that answer. "I know the two of you are on the verge of something big, V. Jaquito has given me more money than ever before -- I won't ask how you got it, but… the two of you are very similar. You both want to be Legends… so I will tell you what I told him," Mama Welles started, looking directly into my eyes.
"There is no such thing as a Living Legend," Mama Welles spoke, her voice grave as death itself.
I didn't have a response to that. Not an easy one. I always knew that this story would end with me dying, it was just a matter of how big the flames were in my blaze of glory. I had accepted that. That was the price of dreams in this city. Everything that you had and then your life.
"Yeah, I know," I agreed with her. I couldn't argue with her. No matter how much I want to. "Sooner or later, this will kill me. I'm just going to do everything I can to make sure that it's later," I decided. I wasn't invincible. I wasn't immortal. I would die.
Each Legend had a beast to slay. Night City? It was the greatest beast of them all.
One day I would die… but at the very least, I would make sure I took this city down with me.
"Thanks for breakfast Mana Welles. If Jackie wakes up… tell 'em I'm at Vik's getting chipped," I said standing up. Mama Welles watched me for a moment, her expression serious before it softened as she nodded. That served as my goodbye as I left the building and headed back to Jackie's.
As cool as it sounded, I wasn’t willing to just cut off the rest of my left arm to use Cerberus. Wasn’t that much of a chrome head. But, that didn’t mean that it was useless. There were alternatives. I would need… First, I would need more titanium. It was the best base metal to work with because it was the least invasive on the body. I could further improve the metal making it stronger, lighter…
What was left of the bone in my arm would have to go. So would my shoulder and collarbone. Maybe a few ribs to be safe. That would take care of my bones shattering from the first shot, but the recoil would be enough to quite literally take my arm off. My tendons would need to be replaced. Fortified. All of them from my left shoulder down.
It would work. I was certain of it. And… if it did… I could look into expanding my implants. With reinforced tendons and bones? Do the same to my legs, and I would be able to jump twenty feet in the air with no trouble. Do the same to my head? My head would be bulletproof with the only remaining weakness being getting shot in the eye...
It would take time. I needed time and materials. I didn’t even have enough to remake the bones I needed to wield Cerberus, much less my entire body. But, planning was the first step.
All the while, my hands put together Cerberus. The grip came first, each barrel and gear interlocking and sliding into place. The trigger, the hammers… all together, what should be a hundred something pound gun weighed less than five. Most of which came from the bullets.
Every Legend needed that special something to slay their beast. The Will of God, a holy sword, or something.
Mine would be Cerberus.
Comments
Wofl Man
It looks like he's starting to go a little crazy. Even more then he already was.
Garend
'I popped it open -- when in the hell did I install an oven door? Where did I get it?' It probably started with "Hey, Jackie...." This chapter made me laugh a lot, so thanks for that. 'Hey, Jackie' needs to be a running joke, it's just perfect.
