Chapter 4

This week is particularly busy for you, as you spend most of it working with Vik at his shop.

But no longer are you relegated to busywork and paper sorting duties. No, after the reveal of your skills, the ripperdoc sees it fit to give you a role in his business-- small and not as severe as cutting people up and putting chrome in them. But it is just as important.

The calibration and adjustment of installed chrome.

Your experience and knowhow in coding makes the work easy, and you're able to do it with just a few taps of your dataslate. Thread proves essential here, finding errors that you fix in mere moments.

Vik also opens up a new option for clients that lets you put in yet more work and allows you to further advertise you skills; old chrome retrofitting.

Clients come in with old chrome, paying Vik and giving your their chrome limbs to update and retrofit into Spiderware MK.1s. The first day nets you a handful of customers, but more come in after following the spread of good word and a guarantee of no screwing over from you.

You get a steady flow of customers from then on, at least 20 people a day coming to you with old chrome that your streamline and update before their eyes. And the leftover scrap, well…

It's not like they need it.

"Thanks, kid." one grateful NC resident tells you, shaking your hand with this newly-made Spiderware limb. "You're a lifesaver. Would've taken me ages to save up for a new arm."

"I'll bet." you note with some chagrin, spotting the injection marks all over his meat arm and neck. "You know, you could stand to save more if you didn't use stims on the reg."

"And miss on my morning caff injection? Never!" the man laughs. You shudder-- a literal caffeine injection? Ugh, you suppose if good coffee isn't available… "Thanks again, kid!"

"Stay safe out there!" you wave him out as another customer comes to your work table. "Heya, I'm Fix-It Pete. Lemme get you sorted."

At the end of the day, you and Vik do your post-work ritual of cracking open beers and sipping together while winding down from the heat of the work day. A new notification pops up in your smart glasses, and you whistle as you behold the numbers.

"Your cyberware sales from this week." Vik grins. "I'll tell ya' Pete, your stuff is flying like hotcakes. People love your Spiderware cyberlimbs-- almost had a fistfight break out from a couple of gonks that wanted one."

"Yeesh. I get my stuff is good, but c'mon-- they can't be that desperate for it." you shake your head. "It's just chrome."

"It's good chrome. And more over, it's cheap." Vik waggles his beer can at you like one would wag a finger. "250 Eddies a limb is practically a steal. Even street chrome is at least 400."

"You think I should charge higher?" you ask, considering it seriously as you take another sip of the shit beer. "Eugh, this beer is shit."

"Hah! You get used to it, kid." Vik laughs. "And no, of course not-- the main appeal for your chrome right now is that it's cheap. Well, the limbs are anyway. It's still a little underground right now so the quality isn't well-known yet. Give it a few months and we can talk about a price increase then."

"Gotcha." you nod. "With this cash injection, I should be able to move to my own place, then. Somewhere I can do my science and research without my roommate nagging my ear off."

"You do that. And preferably find some place safe." Vik tells you. "You might be tempted to rent out a cheap place with a lot of space, but that's a lie. Yonos put up those place for rent at such a cheap price 'cuz there's trouble there that took out the last tenant."

"Ah. Right." you try not to wince. "Night City at its best."

"Yup. I'll send you a list of places you can browse, that I know are safe. Or, at least, you'll have time to fortify." Vik tells you.

"Fortify?" you blink.

"Booby traps, extra locks, sentry guns-- the whole thing." Vik grins at you. "I know you can do it, Pete. Go wild."

"You know that's not something you should say to a techie. Next thing you know, they're making a death laser or something." you grin. Vik laughs.

"I'll be amazed if you can make one of those things, Pete." the older man pats your back. "Ahh, to be young again."

"You're not that old, are you Vik?" you ask.

"I'm not, no. But I am starting to feel it." he rolls his shoulder. "I'm hitting my 50s already, kid. Getting older is not fun. It's getting harder to do keep my hands steady when I do chrome installations."

"Is that why you use that glove thing?" you blink. "Y'know, the thing that you wear when you're working?"

"Yup. It's an old piece of tech from way back when." he nods. "In the late 30s, back when chrome started to get commercialized, ripperdocs started getting chrome themselves to keep their hands steady when they start chippin' people in. Some of them didn't, so they bought these things." he shows you the glove thing. "It reduces shaking and trembling when you put it on. Doesn't have any electronics, either. A littler dirty, but it gets the job done."

You extend a hand and Vik passes it to you, allowing you to look it over with a keen eye. There's some parts here and there that look a little creaky, but its still going strong. Though…

"Have you ever though about upgrading?" you ask.

"A few times, yeah." Vik nods. "But I never went through with it."

"Why not? There's no ripperdoc you can trust?"

"That, and…" he sighs. "Some stubbornness on my end. It might sound kinda silly comin' from me, but… I don't wanna chrome up."

He holds up his hands, and you see how they ripple and flex-- a testament to the musculature they possess.

"I used to box, y'know? Still tune in to boxing matches and catch live fights when I can." he laughs, rueful. "I guess it's the pride in me, but I don't want to lose the part of me that got me started in NC. These scars mean a lot, y'know?"

"…I think I can understand." you nod, smiling. "So, would you like an upgrade?"

Vik looks at you like you've grown a second head. Then he facepalms with a laugh.

"How the fuck did I forget you were a techie?" he he shakes his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like an upgrade. How much will it set me back, Pete?"

You cost him exactly one half-decent beer, and he outright laughs-- handing you enough money to buy one. Eh, good enough.

The precision glove is brought to a spare work table, and you bring out your tools. You get to work.

The precision glove is, as Vik said, a piece of low-tech gear. There's no electronics on it, comprising mostly of counterweights and featherlight triggers set within a certain threshold. Any movement within that threshold is counteracted, meaning it effectively cancels out any sort of twitching or minute movement that exceeds the boundary set by that threshold.

The main issue is that the mechanisms that keep threshold settings secure looks to have been worn away from repeated use. Unsurprising given the nature of Vik's work and his popularity.

Thanks to the current-day technologies, machining a new set of parts using tougher and longer lasting materials is child's play for you. But you're left… unsatisfied.

Yes, you've fulfilled Vik's request to the letter and his glove is now back to full 'health'-- you've even left a handy set of instructions if he ever needs to make more replacement parts, but… well, the gloves could be better.

So you make them better.

You install a set of lights on the glove's 'fingers', allowing Vik to see better when he operates. The big spotlights over the operating table is nice, but there'd still be blind spots that finger-mounted lights would help show.

Then, you get an idea-- to make a set of sensors hooked to Vik's glasses that can further help him in the installation of chrome. You're about to get to work when you realize a very important thing.

What would those sensor even look for?

You have, at best, a limited understanding on the human body. Yes, you know that chrome is installed to nerve endings and all that jazz, but… well, there's more to installing chrome than just hooking it up to a bunch of nerve endings. There's other things to account for, more factors that you just don't know about. You can't make that major leap yet.

But you still turn Vik's shades into smart glasses, allowing him to get real time data feed regarding the status of the chrome he's installing-- fed directly from his pre-existing setup. Not the best, but it'll do.

When you hand Vik the stuff you make, he gives it all a look and pins you with another.

"If you learn about medical stuff, I'll take you under my wing as a ripperdoc in a heartbeat." he tells you.

(created ParkerTech Precision Gloves MK.1, unlocked new Science actions, unlocked new Personal actions)

Finally, on a free day, you at last embark upon the biggest decision of your young life-- the acquisition of your own place of residence.

You get the list of residences from Vik and from Kiwi, both of them recommending houses and residences in and around Watson, Westbrook, and Santo Domingo. You're no spoiled for choices, but those quickly lessen as you put it through a metaphorical sifter.

You're looking for three things in a potential home-- enough space to set up workshops in, closeness to resources, and relative safety from criminal elements. Most of the choices you have the third in mind, but the other two are… understandably lessened.

Still, there's a good bounty of choices to be made here-- with your cash, you can afford a decent-sized place with enough cash leftover for a few months' rent. Making it back up would be even easier. Ooh, maybe you could make scavenger spiderbots to haul in materials for you or--

No, nope, bad Pete-- you're getting ahead of yourself.

Focus on getting a place first, gonk. Then you can get to SCIENCE.

"Santo Domingo, huh? Not the place I thought you'd go to, but it's better than the NID." Kiwi notes. "You actually considered going there?"

"Yep. Lots of resources, plenty of things to explore, if a little spicy." you nod as you pack. "But hey, I got iron and you trained me-- that's gotta count for something. Right?"

"Pete…" she sighs. "You are such a gonk sometimes."

You just grin as you finish up. Two bags and three boxes, all containing the entirety of your life here in Night City. Some might call it pitiful or sad, but… well, you have to start somewhere. You're just grateful that you started with someone like Kiwi to guide and help you.

It was simple enough to get in touch with the building owner, and from there you negotiated a good rent price. Well, 'good' in the sense that it was well within your spending range. Rent would be an issue too, but it shouldn't be too hard to keep up with as long as you had your side work with Vik going.

Kiwi does tell you about 6th Street, the gang running security around the area in place in lieu of NCPD. Made up of veterans from the recent Reunification War, they're largely an armed militia. She tells you to expect a protection racket though-- at least until you figure out how to set up home defenses or figure out some kind of deal.

"A deal with a gang? I can do that?" you blink as you secure your stuff to her bike with rope and cord.

"You've got skills that anyone in NC would like to have. That's worth leveraging with." she shrugs. "What's more, you're a good kid. That'll earn you some favors with those gonks."

She hops on and you hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her front. A call reaches you through your smart glasses-- Kiwi.

"And if anything happens, anything at all, don't be afraid to call me." she tells you. "No matter the time or place, gimme me a ring and I'll come running."

"What am I, a kid?" you snort back as her bike starts up. "I've got guns and I know how to use 'em, I'll be fine."

"And I'll still remember the poor kid I picked up from an alley after zeroing a bunch of yonos that were beating him up." she shoots back. "First impressions never really go away, y'know."

"Bah. Thought you'd forget about that by now." you huff, embarrassed. The bike lurches as Kiwi drives it forward-- heading for Santo Domingo. "Kiwi?"

"Hm?" she hums.

"…thanks. For everything."

"…heh. You're welcome, Pete."

Your new place is a decently sized apartment, with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchenette with an induction stove.

The landlord is a no-nonsense woman with a chrome arm, scars, and tattoos indicative of a rough life in NC. She gives you a laydown of the rules as she brings you to your new place-- no trouble-making, no damage-dealing, no chem distributing, and always pay rent on time no installments or other such bullshit. Outside from that, she doesn't care what you do.

You've got questions of your own; how the water situation, what's her stance on minor renovations, was the previous tenant okay, etc.

She gives you a look at the renovations and looks you over.

"…you don't look like the kind of kid who'd do renovation work." she says. "You're not even chromed."

"I meant it in the 'bringing stuff in and setting it up' sense." you say. "Y'know, work tables, chem equipment, and somesuch."

"Chem equipment? What are you, a dealer?" she blinks.

"Nope, not at all, my history's clean." you say with utmost honesty. "But I am really… inquisitive. In the scientific way, not the 'spy on people and dig into the secrets' way."

"…right." the landlady cocks a brow. "Same rule-- no trouble, no damage. Keep with that, then there won't be any issue."

"Gotcha." you nod, as you approach a door. The landlady opens it and leads you inside. "Whoa…"

"Nice, right?" she grins. "Fully furnished, too. The kitchenette comes equipped with everything you might need."

You nod, looking over everything. And more importantly, there's space. Tons of it. Already you see yourself setting up a workspace there, a lab there, and a small testing chamber right over there… though you'll have to move all this furniture to the side…

"Yeah, this'll do nicely." you put your boxes on the kitchen table and shake the landlady's hand, transferring the Eddies to her plus one month's rent. "Thanks Mrs. Downly."

"What am I, an old coot? Call me Barbra." she scoffs. "Welcome to Santo Domingo, kid."

(new residence acquired, blocked Science Actions available, -6000 Money)

You settle in easy and start making prep work for the future additions you'll put in. Barbra is more than accommodating when you ask if it's possible to move the furniture out of your place, not at all minding whatever plans you have in mind.

You're in the middle of making a list of stuff you'll need when you get a call from Sasha.

"Hey Pete." she greets when you answer. "So, uh. Don't get mad."

"What did you do?" you groan.

"Nothing! Honest!" she lies, and you KNOW she's lying because that's the same tone of voice Gwen used when she was lying. "I just… maaaaaaaaybe need your techie help for something totally legal and not at all gonna get us in trouble?"

"Sasha…" you facepalm. "At least say you don't have anyone tailing you."

"What do you take me for, a gonk? I'm clear!" she tells you, and you can almost see her pout. "Really Pete, have some faith in me."

"I will depending on what you need my help with." you sigh. "Luckily for you, I've got a new place we can meet up. Come over and I'll see what I can do."

"You got a place of your own? Wow Pete, that's great!" Sasha gushes. "You totally won't mind me going over every now and then for some downtime, neh~?"

"Just get over here. I'll flick you the address." you grunt, hanging up and sending her your address. "God, the things I do for people…"

She arrives in good time and wastes no time handing you a chip and jumping into the sofa with a pleased hum. You close the door, lock it, then jam it shut with a chair just to make sure before walking over.

"So, what's up?" you sigh. "And what does this chip have to do with it?"

"Sooooooooooooo~" she rolls over, head hanging off the edge of the sofa as she looks at you. "You know I'm a runner, right? Aaaaaaaand that my specialty is in the 'Net?"

"Right, okay, I get it. You got a job, you found this chip, and… what, you need my help with it?"

"I wish half the gonks I knew had a brain a preem as yours, Pete." Sasha finger guns you. "Yeah, I got a job to get that chip for a client. More specifically, the stuff in it. Problem is, I can't crack the ICE-- not without it wiping the chip."

You stare at the chip, your smart glasses opening up the vital info you need to make sense of what's inside. You grunt.

"This isn't gonna be free." you tell her.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaa?" Sasha rolls over, shooting your a fake teary look. "Pete! How could you say that to me? Your best friend?"

"You realize your brought a potentially hot item to my apartment? My new apartment, that I just moved into?" you point out. She pauses. "And if this thing has a tracker, you've essentially led whatever kill squad it summons to my dootstep?"

Her face turns embarrassed and nervous the more you explain, and at the end of it she just does this.

"…teehee?" You take an old sock and throw it at her head. "I-I'll buy you lunch? Ooh, we can go back to that one cafe you like! My treat!"

"The one with the watered down coffee serving shit sandwiches?" you scoff. "No. Just no."

"Uh… I'm kiiiiiiiiiinda in a tough spot Eddy-wise, Pete." she fidgets. "Could I pay you back some other way, plus some Eddies?"

You shoot her look and heave a sigh.

"You're lucky I like you." you grunt. "Hand me my slate over there."

With Thread and the BACC at your side, you're able to find out two key features in the chip-- a 'trigger' and the wipe program.

The ICE on the chip is rather rudimentary, with four floors four separate Black ICE programs on each floor. Each Black ICE program is pretty simple to overcome and stun, but doing so activates a line of code that's sent to the fourth Black ICE program-- which isn't a Black ICE program.

It only looks like one when, in actuality, it's a separate program entirely.

If it were to receive three lines of code from three stunned Black ICE programs or if it detects an intrusion through the last layer of ICE,it automatically wipes the chip clean of any data inside.

The trick is to disable wipe program and not stun any of the Black ICE programs roaming the chip's ICE. Doing that allows a runner to directly get into the contents of the chip.

To make things easier, you transfer the data onto your slate then flick it to Sasha; whose eyes gleam at the surge of information.

You're not interested in it yourself-- you've no reason to involve yourself in Sasha business any more than you already have. That is, until you see a file labelled 'MATERIAL SHIPMENTS'.

You open it and see a list of deliveries headed for Biotechnica labs in and around NC-- done by unmarked trucks with no corpo security. Which is odd, but hey! An opportunity!

You make a copy of that file before flicking it to Sasha, who looks at you anxiously.

"That's all of it." you tell her. "Copied everything in that chip and got it to you no problem. The security on it was really clever y'know, it--"

She lunges on you and presses her lips against yours.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she tells you through your smart glasses as she sucks the breath out of you. "You have no idea how important this is for me! I've been eating kibble for the past week-- now I can get prepaks again!"

She wraps her arms around your neck and keeps you close as she forces your back onto the floor. Her tongue is skilled, better than Kiwi, and you struggle to fight back against her onslaught.

"Huh. You're better than I thought." Sasha says, sounding nonplussed even as she kisses you. "This isn't the first time you've made out, huh?"

"Sasha…!" you gasp between kisses. "Stop…! Can't…! Breathe…!"

"Well, too bad~ You're gonna stay there until I'm satisfied~" she giggles impishly as she rubs herself against you. "Mmm, you're actually tight under these clothes~ You should show off more Pete~"

Finally deciding enough's enough, you bring both your hands down on Sasha's ass and give it a firm squeeze. That's enough to get the girl to yelp in surprise and slacken just enough for you to push her off.

You pant, greedily breathing in air as arousal and surprise has your heart rattling against your ribcage. Sasha is just looking you, amused.

"Not bad. I'd give it a 7 outta 10 for skill." she nods to herself. "The lack of enthusiasm is surprising, though. You'd think a guy would love it if a girl hops on them and starts making out."

"I couldn't… fucking… breathe…!" you pant, glaring half-heartedly as Sasha giggles. "I can't focus if… I don't have any air in me… woman…!"

"Ah, right. Forgot you were a 'ganic." she shrugs, unrepentant. "Well, lemme apologize for that."

She grabs your hands and puts them on her clothed chest. You stare at her, dumbfounded, as she smirks from her spot on your lap.

"Go on, have your fun." she tells you, reaching over and fixing your glasses. "You know you want to~"

…

"You're still paying me for this." you tell her as you start squeezing and kneading. Her head lolls back and her back arches to your touch as she sighs. "Oi, Sasha! Don't just sit back and relax, I mean it!"

(gain 1000 Money, gain actionable intelligence, Sasha amused, unlocked new Personal Actions)

Once more, you see the kind of profit you're raking in and are filled with the sweet thrill of satisfaction. You were making something out of yourself here, more than you ever did in your old life. And you weren't even doing anything underhanded to achieve it, too!

You can't imagine how well Aunt May and Uncle Ben would react to this, to their Pete raking in the big Eddies and making a change. Your friends would be gobsmacked at the amount of money you're making.

You could probably even hire Flash as a bodyguard with how much you're making now! Hah! The look on that gonk's face would've been worth it!

Such is the potency of your good cheer that you bring it with you to your next avenue of science and research-- making your own ICE and Black ICE.

ICE, or Intrusion Countermeasures Electronics, are this world's equivalent of a firewall. Having it is a must for anyone with sensitive data to hide or store, if only to keep anyone from entering it. Black ICE is the anti-virus that hunts down intruders, either Netrunners or their programs, and deletes them.

Knowing that, and with both the tools and knowhow available to you, you get to work; cobbling together some kind of usable digital workspace to properly science the shit out of codes and what not.

A simple set-up with multiple dataslates hooked to multiple Spyderdecks for processing and computing power. That done, you bring out the BACC as well as Thread and get to work-- typing and scanning as your mind blazes with ideas and thoughts.

Okay, so, your initial estimations are a little off.

Making your own ICE is… not easy. Nu-world coding does not cover how to make NET architecture that has the kind of defensive properties inherent to ICE. At least, not at first.

You have to wrack your brain and think of it less like strings of code and more like bricks. Each one has its own separate set of defenses that interlock with the 'bricks' behind it-- thus making it difficult or at least very in efficient to brute-force through directly.

Yet, there are gaps around the 'brick', where the interlocking defenses are much weaker, that Netrunners can use to bypass and slide through. This necessitates multiple 'layers' of ICE to delay and impede an intrusion, so as to give the defender time to either find and zero the intruder (digitally or physically) or to disconnect from the Net and thus halt the intrusion entirely.

You can't change that fundamental weakness, not without writing an entirely new school of computer science-- an endeavor that could take years. You were not Tony Stark or Reed Richards or Hank Pym, you couldn't do that. The best you could do is refine and make things better.

So you do.

Coding is refined, streamlined, and made more efficient. The metaphorical 'brick' of defensive-structural code is altered so it can interlocked defenses with more 'bricks', thus making the 'gap' between them more difficult to move through. The resulting ICE is thus similar is defensive potency as standard non-corpo ICE and just as large. Not half bad for a beginner.

Black ICE, though… yeah, that's a little more difficult.

Black ICE is not ICE-- where ICE is the 'building' tat serves to impede and keep out any intrusions from Netrunners or programs, Black ICE acts as the 'security guards' that actively hunts down intrusions and attacks them to stop their fuckery.

In a biological sense, they could be likened to white blood cells attacking foreign invaders. Though in this case, such an attack would outright delete the intruding programs or fry a netrunner's nervous system.

The mental image still makes you shudder. What a horrible way to go.

That makes you wonder how Black ICE manages to do that-- cook a netrunner's chrome upon a successful counter intrusion. Then you remember what Kiwi said, and decide that you need to do more research on the mechanics of how Black ICE kills Netrunners.

It takes you on a long side tangent on the working nerve-chrome interactions explained through memes. That takes you into a gander out into Night City's netspace, specifically its meme-scene, and you see yourself being used as the joke for many a meme. There's even a name for your meme template.

Grumpy Ganic.

…well, at least the use of the meme perfectly fit your expressions. It's used by many a corpse to make fun of their bosses, and by others to make fun of corpses in spectacularly petty fashion. It's hilarious, really. You even join in on the fun, making your own memes using Grumpy Ganic to make fun of various people in NC-- from corpses to lawmen to corpo suits to gonks and…

"Wait, shit, what am I doing again?" you say suddenly. "Fuck, Black ICE. Okay, where was I…"

You find that you've accidentally erased the majority of your notes on making your own Black ICE and replaced it with Grumpy Ganic memes.

"…sonuva--"

In the end, you waste time and effort in memery; producing a sub-par Black ICE program that could be derezzed by playing tic-tac-toe with it. Not a good look, but hey it was better than nothing.

(created ParkerTech ICE 'Lair' MK.1, created ParkerTech Black ICE 'Trapdoor Spider' MK.1, unlocked new Science Actions)

Still, the low quality of your science-ing this week has left you a little bit in the dumps. Really, how could you let yourself get sidetracked of all things?

But instead of moping, you decide to put that negative energy to use and be productive; immediately moving on to your next task; home defense.

Before, you had Kiwi and the surety of her security-- as she was a netrunner, she'd naturally have defenses and her own skills plus experience to keep you safe. Now that you're living alone, you decidedly lack that sense of security and thus need to look after yourself.

So you get to work, drawing up plans for defenses and security in case a gonk decided to pay you a visit with the intent of causing harm or making off with your shit. Luckily, you had the cash and materials to spare.

"Founding Fathers help me," you whisper as you work. "Give me the strength to keep my home safe, just as you intended."

The defensive plan you make is simple, easy, very affordable.

It has four layers two to deter entry and two for if any gonks make it in.

The first are additional locks and reinforcements to your door, windows, and walls. You learn quickly that your apartment is cheap and prefabbed, and tha makes its easier to access the internals for repairs or modifications. And besides, your landlady didn't care about renovations anyway, so~.

After that, you get to work installing an electrification feature on your door-- which would activate if someone hits it multiple times with force exceeding a set number of newtons. You've reinforced the door so chromed up gonks still need to hit it at least twice to break it down, and on the second hit…

Well, sufficed to say that the age old equation of electronics + a shitton of electricity = bad still holds true here.

And if somehow a gonk or a group of gonks manage to make it through the front door, then you have the home defense measures ready to take them out. Two of them-- the Assassin Spiders and the Turret Spiders.

The former is easy enough to explain. They're Weaver-type Spiderbots that have been modified for speed and close combat. They have retractable surgical knives in their legs-- meaning they can effectively scurry across the floor and lunge onto someone to cut them up into pieces. Why? Well, the landlady did tell you to keep things quiet.

The latter though, they're the most potent of your defenses. The Turret Spiders are Tarantula-type Spiderbots modified with abdomen-mounted Fang coilguns, who wait in the ceiling and pop out when an intruder barges in-- working with the hidden cameras you've mounted all over your apartment plus the Assassin Spiders to locate and shoot an intruder.

The best part about the Turret Spiders? They're mobile. And you've built dozens of hidden trap doors on the ceiling; where they could pop out, shoot, scurry to another trap door to shoot again.

Devious, if… a little excessive. You look at your plan to build a Cannon Spider too, but then your expenses would go past the planned budget.

"A cannon spider." you snort. "Really, what a joke. That's entirely unneeded."

…still, the plans for it are promising enough for you to shelve rather than outright throw out. Who knows, maybe you'd grow enough to make one and have it be viable. Food for thought, you suppose.

(home secured, enemies will need to pass a 4 DCs to get to Peter or his treasures alive, unlocked new Science Actions, unlocked new (small) Gigs)

Now safe, you turn your attention to, arguably, the most important development of your newfound home-- making the workspace and labs that you'll be able to do SCIENCE in.

It's simple enough to arrange-- you convert half of the living room into the workspace, and the spare bedroom into the lab. The workspace doubles as the computer/coding lab too, hence the bigger size. Barbra takes the unused furniture, saying nothing about the changes you plan to make.

"Just remember what I said." she reminds you as you help her haul the large sofa out. "No noise, no trouble, and pay your rent on time. Do those and you won't find any issues from me."

"Right, but… a-aren't you worried about me doing anything bad?" you ask, morbidly curious. "For all you know, I might be a chem dealer."

"Hah! Kid, half of NC does some kind of illegal side hustle. You're not the first." she shakes her head. "But I am kinda surprised that someone your age would be doing something illegal. You're not even a grown man yet."

"I zeroed a gonk not too long ago, does that make me a man?" you blink.

"…a little bit." Barbra acknowledges, looking at you with some wariness. "Gonks and yonos get flatlined in NC on the daily, though. Do a runner, kid?"

"No." you pause. "Well, at least I won't be if I can help it."

"Fair 'nuff." she shrugs, moving to the storage room. "Just remember what I said and you won't find me complainin'."

"Gotcha." you nod. "Thanks again, Barbra."

"No prob, kid. Though, uh…" she winces. "You didn't hear it from me, but some people want to talk to ya' soon. Might wanna get ready for that."

"…what kind of people?" you blink, mentally going over your recent activities. You hadn't done anything to piss anyone off, you think. "The good kind or…?"

"That depends on what you're willin' to do." she tells you. "But remember, no noise and no trouble."

"Right, right." you nod. "Thanks again, Barbra."

From there, things get a little pricey in acquiring the equipment and materials your new facilities need to work. Tools, scientific equipment, and various safe gear needed to work without harm or danger.

But you run into issues when you try to acquire the more important pieces of equipment and material-- the analyzers, the base chemicals, the high-precision tools, etc. The issues being a lack of accessibility.

There's a severe lack of stock currently in the market, due to the goods being pre-ordered by corporations, snatched up before you can get them, or outright stolen mid-delivery by gangs or rival corpos. It makes you seethe, angry at your progress being impeded.

As it stands, you can still do your work and science shit as before. However, your efforts on more advanced research topics will be severely hampered and made more difficult owing to your inability to access such tools from the get-go.

It's fixable, but… not easily. You'll have to acquire those tools, materials, and analyzers but through less than legal means. Meaning stealing from people, or… liberating it from the undeserving. Like scavs or gangs.

Something mull over in the future, you suppose.

(built Workspace and Laboratory, can now conduct higher level research, certain research topics will have higher DCs or Money/Material costs until acquisition of appropriate tools can be made, unlocked new Science Actions, unlocked new Personal Actions, unlocked new (small) Gigs)

Another two weeks, another fresh injection of funds. You smile, delighted, as your burgeoning bank account grows another sixty-four thousand. At this rate, you'll be able to buy out a small building and start work making a proper company in six months!

You're amazed at how quickly you're able to make this work. Was this what all those billionaires meant by 'superhuman work ethics' and 'wise investments'? How surprising!

A knock on the door has you pausing and muttering Thread to deactivate the screens. Odd-- you haven't had any visitors recently, and you hadn't ordered any takeout deliveries. You paid this week's rent already and Barbra wasn't the kind of landlady to jack up the rent for no reason…

Out of no small amount of caution, you strap on an iron to your thigh and move to the door. You open it just a crack, peering outside.

Four people are there, dressed in rough clothes the colors of brown, blue, and white-- a woman and three men. They come armed with holstered handguns, carrying themselves with the disposition of trained soldiers.

"Hey there." the apparent leader of the group greets. "You must be the new tenant here. Can we come in?"

…

"Sure." you shrug, hiding the spike of anxiety even as you put your spiderbots on stand-by. "Make yourselves at home."

You unlock the door and let the group in. They look around your pad, one of the men whistling at the degree of work you've put in on it already, and they make themselves comfortable. Two of the men sit on unoccupied chairs, the woman leans on the wall, while the leader hops up and sits on the counter.

You note that they've effectively cut you off from the door.

"Heard from Barb downstairs that a kid was able to get a good place like this all on his own, without any roommates or looking like a total gonk." the leader says. "John, right?"

"Right." you nod, following through with your fake name. "And you guys are…?"

"We're from 6th Street." the woman tells you. "Out here in Santo Domingo, where the NCPD does too much little to step in, we're the law. And we're here to educate you on the rules."

"Ness." the hat-wearing ganger sharply says, then nods at you. "Sorry about her, she's new."

"I can tell." you snort, chagrined. "So, you're here to… educate me?"

"Not like that. We're honest folk, really." the hat-wearing ganger tells you. "You know already what NC's like, right? Shit everywhere and not enough good people to do something about it?"

"Right. And you're the good people who'll do something about it?" you cock a brow, looking him up and down. "Well, you've got the iron for it."

"And the numbers. But that's not important." the ganger laughs. "See, John, the work we do is all for the better good and such, but… it's not exactly well-paying."

"Mm-hmm." you nod. "I'm guessing you're here to let me in on the rates?"

"You catch on quick. I like that." he grins. "It's not gonna cost a lot. Quite the opposite, really."

You look at the gangers around you, all sporting iron and looking expectant.

"And if I don't want to pay?" you ask.

The woman tenses up, but the leader shoots her look.

"We'll have to insist." he tells you. "It's a rough neighborhood here in Santo Domingo. What's more, there's no proper law enforcement here-- like Ness said, 6th Street is next best thing. And we're doing this because it's the right thing to do, all out of our own pocket."

He meets your gaze with the kind of steel you've seen in Kiwi when she gunned down those gonks who mugged you all those months ago.

"But we can't operate like that for long, not without your or the communty's help." he says. "We get Eddies, and you stay safe. Tit-for-tat, yeah?"

You look at the quartet around you and consider your options. You have Turret Spiders in the ceiling ready to drop in and splatter their brains all over your apartment, and you'd make your stance very clear.

However, that would piss off the local gang controlling Santo Domingo. And you are not ready to fight them all off. Not yet.

"How much?" you say with a sigh. The hat ganger grins.

"I knew you were a smart kid." he tells you, pleased. "It won't cost much at all-- just 250 eddies a week."

You carefully do not balk as you wire in two weeks worth of protection pay to the hat ganger. That's half your rent! God, if you were any poorer…!

"Much obliged, Johnny boy." the man hops off your kitchen counter and tips his hat at you. "6th Street will look after you, you have my word."

"For whatever it's worth." you snort. The other two men laugh and pat your shoulder as they walk past, letting themselves out the door. Even the hat ganger laughs, not at all incensed at your backtalk. "Will I be seeing any of you again?"

"Not unless you fucked up. But I doubt you would-- you look smart." the hat ganger tells you as his group files out. "Name's Greg. Remember that name, cuz I'm the sheriff 'round here. You find any issues, you give me a ring."

"You better." you grumble as you walk with them to the door. "Have a nice day, all of you."

You close the door without another word and heave a sigh. Welp. That's NC for you.

(-500 Money per turn, failure to pay will result in a visit from Greg)

To work off the stress, you decide to talk to Vik and try to solve one of your immediate issues-- material constraints.

You're loaded with Eddies now, no reason NOT to splurge a little int raw material for your future scientific endeavors. When you give the ripperdoc a call and relay your thoughts, he's more than happy to help.

"There are issues though. Mainly because the corps keep a close eye on material flow and who gets it." Vik tells you. "Since you're new and small, you'll practically go unnoticed. But eventually, someone's gonna notice you buying stuff and start asking questions."

"And the seller will be more than happy to give me up. Damn." you sigh. "Could I use an alias?"

"Sure, but it's only gonna go for so far. Eventually, people are gonna connect the dots and start looking." Vik says. "I'd say use proxies and switch sellers often just in case."

"Good idea. Thanks Vik." you nod. "So, you got anyone I can talk to?"

Vik flicks you a long list of names, each one a supplier. They have helpful notices that say when they're available and for what materials they can help provide.

You get in touch with some and negotiate the prices. They put up a good fight, and you're only just able to get a decent deal out of them.

At least they're nice enough to send your purchases to the address you give them. You're there to receive the order and haul it all back to your apartment. There's enough here to keep you stocked for a good while as long as you're frugal with it and don't fuck up your science-ing.

…bah, who're you talking about-- of course you'll fuck up. That's half the fun in science! It's not good science if you don't blow something up!

(-79284 Money, gained 26428 Material)

Acquiring the massive amounts of material gives you enough motivation to focus on one of your science projects-- Black ICE.

Simply put, your initial foray into it was… not the best. It wasn't that your creation wouldn't work-- it would! But it could've worked better! Your inner inventor writhes at the thought of you producing something so mediocre, so subpar! You had to try again, if nothing else then for your pride's sake!

So it is that you enter your lab and pull up the digital screens to get started.

First and foremost, your Black ICE. Before you go and do anything, you'll run a fine-toothed comb over it to see what kind of faults and defects you need to fix and account for.

You won't be able to make a perfect Black ICE program, there's just too many variables. But you have at least make it something worthwhile.

"At least it's in Assembly." you sigh as the screen turns on. "As much as I hate you, I can't deny that you make good stuff."

Turns out the main issue with your Black ICE is that it's full of vulnerabilities-- which any half-decent netrunner could use to de-rezz your program and have free reign in your ICE. Additionally, it was needlessly over-complicated; producing conflicting and unneeded programs that would length the time it takes for the program to reinitialize and get back to patrolling.

All this compounded on the main issue-- your program was made in Assembly. Meaning the conflicting orders and unnecessary programming inflates the runtime and consumes more RAM, thus using more memory.

Knowing this, you take a pair of metaphorical scissors and get to work; cutting up your codes, removing the unneeded bits, then stitching it back together like so kind of macabre digital build-a-bear. But… hunkier?

You're making it look and perform better is what you're saying. Instead of a patchwork mess of separate parts sown together, you're attaching them with copious amounts of MaxDoc meds so it looks and performs better.

The end result is a thinner, faster, and better performing Black ICE program that you find is equal to commonly found Black ICE programs in the market.

In Netspace, it takes the form a sci-fi trapdoor spider that scuttles after intruders. It immobilizes them by lunging onto them and then deletes them by stabbing them with its fangs, 'killing' them.

You pause and consider your creation. It was good, sure, but… it could be better. Because trapdoor spiders were ambush predators, so they didn't chase prey-- they waited for them to come near.

If you were going to go all-in on this, then maybe… maybe some future upgrades were order.

(created ParkerTech Black ICE 'Trapdoor Spider' MK.2, unlocked new Science Actions, unlocked new Personal Actions)

You're in the middle of looking up memes when you get a call from Kiwi, your smart glasses lighting up with her Icon and name.

"Hello?" you answer immediately.

"Pete, hey." she greets. "You free right now?"

"Depends on the reason why." you smile. "Is it to meet up for old time's sake or for something more professional?"

"Gonk. It's only been two weeks, not long enough to miss you." she laughs. "But if you must know, then it's for the latter. Got a job I was hoping you'd take from me."

"You know I'll always take jobs from you if they're related to tech." you grin, standing up and moving to get your bag of tools. "What're the detes?"

"I got a new piece of chrome chipped in, but it's… acting a little on the odd side." she tells you. "Readings are imprecise, sometimes it doesn't register-- minor stuff. Tried to ask the seller about it, but he got zeroed the other day so now I'm kinda left without much of a solution."

"Roger dodger, I'm on my way." you promise, shrugging on a jacket as you glance at the time. "Gimme an hour and I'll be right there with you."

"An hour? Pete, you're not gonna walk the whole way are you?" Kiwi snorts. "That's so dirty. And what's 'roger dodger' supposed to mean?"

"Hey, I'm working on getting a ride-- no need to harp on me about it." you snort. "And what do you mean 'what's roger dodger', do you not know about World War 2?"

"No?"

You groan as you head out, bag of tools jangling over your shoulder as you explain how the phrase came to be and what it meant.

You arrive at Kiwi's place in good time, getting there twenty minutes faster than your own projections. You feel a little proud about that, being able to move through NC at far greater speed than you initially expected.

Nostalgia hits as you walk the familiar streets around Kiwi's pad, taking in the sights and sounds of your old home. There's the street vendor selling deep-fried rat, here's the bunch of posergangers who walk with matching leather jackets, and over there is the dumpster you once dived into.

…is that a leg sticking-- nope. Noooooooooooooope, not your circus so not your monkeys. You're here for Kiwi, no more no less.

The apartment building Kiwi lives at looms larger and larger as you walk near, hopping up the steps and into the familiar hallway. You knock thrice and shoot Kiwi the message of you being at her front door.

It opens a moment later to reveal the woman in question-- fresh out of bath as she towels herself dry. She's wearing hotpants and… nothing else.

"Peter." she beams, pulling you into a hug. "You're here earlier than I thought you'd be. That eager to see me again?"

"If I say yes can I nibble on your tits?" you say into her cleavage. "Because I wanna nibble on 'em."

"Ah, now the inner pervert comes out." she chuckles, but doesn't push you away. Instead, she pulls you inside while keeping your head in the valley of her breasts. "Mmm, you really like boobs don't you?"

You nod vigorously into her chest. She laughs.

"Perv." she pushes you back and walks to a chair. "So? You gonna fix my chrome or what?"

"Right, right." you chuckle, setting down your bag and producing your tools. "Alright, I need you to lay down and get comfortable. This shouldn't take long at all."

Hooking Kiwi up to your slates and doing a diagnostics scan on her chrome has you discovering the issue.

…and several more besides.

"Okay. Kiwi, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down." you tell her. "I've found the issue and several more that you should know about."

"Figures." the woman sighs. "Lay it on me."

"The chrome you were using has defective programming-- a few commands were misplaced and that makes this piece of gomi act up." you say. "And that leads to the next set of issues; this thing acting up also makes the rest of your chrome act up too."

You flick to her the results of your scans so she can see for herself. Error codes from the acting-up chrome turns into a build-up of junk data that accumulates in her chrome's built-in memory storage. It slows her performance and results in errors or misreadings; potentially lethal in her line of work. And worse, there's the issue of it possibly messing with her head.

The connection between the chrome and her neural network means that any errors in her chrome could potentially affect her brain chemistry and… change her a little. This revelation is enough to make her grit her teeth in both rage and worry.

"Shit. Fucking cheap seller. No wonder he got zeroed." she curses. "Can you fix it, Pete?"

"'course I can. Call me Fix-It Pete." you beam. "I'll need to open the dev console and edit the coding in the gomi chrome you've got, then it's a matter of clearing the junk data. Gimme an hour and you'll be as good as new."

Kiwi sighs, relieved. You smile at her and pat her arm.

"Good thing you called for me now and not later, huh?" you say. "Actually, why did you call for me and not, y'know, go to a rippderdoc? They could've fixed this as well as I can."

"They could." she nods. "But I trust you more."

That makes you smile, and it stays on as you get to work and see her fixed.

(gained 2500 Money from Kiwi, caught a potential problem before it became one, Kiwi grateful)

You head home after that, Kiwi insisting that you take some money for the trouble and as thanks. You manage to haggle it down a little from three thousand to two-and-a-half, but she's insistent and all but shoves the money back into your hands as she's shooing you out the door.

It makes you smile. Given NC, you wonder how long ago would it have been that she would've gladly taken the discounted price?

…probably not too long ago. NC is a shithole and you're a special case.

Regardless, you head home afterwards-- taking the metro to Santo Domingo and then walking the rest of the way to your apartment and Rancho Coronado, nodding at the 6th Street members patrolling the area.

When you get to your apartment building, you see Barbra yelling at a guy in maintenance overalls walking away-- flipping him the bird and cursing in english and spanish… or is it mexican? Hell, is mexican a real language? it sounds spanish but… w-well, whatever.

You walk up to your landlady as her shouting dies down and she's left to seethe. You look at her, at the retreating form of the maintenance worker, then back to her.

"Issues with the building?" you ask.

"Yeah. Something broke inside and the company I called said that it couldn't be fixed-- only replaced." she spits to the side. "Fucking yonos are loco if they think I'll pay a whole eighty thousand for a replacement part…"

You look at her and hum.

"Could I take a look?" you ask. "Maybe I can do something."

"You? Do something?" she looks you up and down. "You good with electronics, kid?"

You grin. She looks unconvinced.

"…fuck it, not like I'd lose anything." she snorts. "C'mon. There's some wiring issues here that the company said would need replacing. I'll waive you 6 months rent if you can do something about it."

Barbra leads you to a hallway with a sealed door labeled 'DO NOT ENTER'. Across from it is a door labeled 'Cleaning Supplies'. She opens the latter door and you behold the entrance to the basement.

Down you follow your landlady and find the panel board. You find some of them to be smoking, and scent of burnt plastic hanging in the air.

You open your bag of tools and get to work, fixing wires and disassembling everything while the landlady explains some things. Apparently, there's been power issues in the building for the past few weeks and some tenants are a little angry about it. So Barbra called in the maintenance company, who sent a guy to fix it. Only, he couldn't-- and instead said that the wiring was faulty and needed replacing.

When asked which section of wiring, he said the entire building.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would you need to replace the whole thing?" you ask as you do checks. "Power's still coming in. If the wiring was faulty then a whole floor would be dark."

"That's what I said!" the landlady almost yells. "Ugh, fucking gonks all of 'em!"

"Damn right." you nod. "Okay, so, I think I found the--"

There's a bang and you're flung away as sparks fly. Barbra screams and the lights flicker for a long moment before everything settles back to normal.

You sit up with a groan, head a little woozy. Barbra rushes to you, looking shocked and worried in equal measure.

"I'm good. I'm good." you nod at her. "Okay, so. Someone's been messing with one of the junction boxes. They're pulling power away from here, and that's causing the power fluxes."

"How the fuck are you still alive?!" she asks

"It wasn't that bad of a shock. Honest." you sigh. "I'll… probably need to use a health booster though?"

"I'll get you one of mine later. Back to the main point." she gets a steely look. "You said someone's been messing with the junction boxes?"

"Yeah. Take power and it causes the flux. And when they disconnect, the power surges back in-- that's probably why I got shocked." you pause. "If I was fiddling with it when it came back, I might've…"

"Blown up the building?" she huffs. "Yeah, thought so. I'd have kicked you out if that happened."

You complain about how it wouldn't have been your fault if that does happen, all while Barbra leads you back to her apartment and hands you her health booster. You take a good puff of it and immediately the aches fade.

They probably aerosolized morphine or something.

"So." your landlady starts. "Somebody's been messing with my shit."

"Seems like it. You're gonna want to do a sweep of the property and the J-Boxes outside to check." you nod. "Or… maybe not."

"Why not? Whoever's doing this is stealing from me. And I don't like thieves." the woman hisses, venom dripping from her words.

"I get that, yeah." you nod. "But, hear me out-- what if whomever's doing this is packing heat and doesn't take no for an answer? Like a squatter, a posergang, or Scavs?"

That makes her pause, the rage fading into surprise and a little bit of fear.

"Shit, you're right." she grumps. "But that's no possible, 6th Street has this place locked down tight. No way they'd let anything like this happen on their turf." she looks at you. "They might sound like any other posergang, but they're not. They actually mean what they say about looking after their own."

"For a price." you snort.

"The world ain't free, kid." she shrugs. "Thanks for bringing this up to me-- I'll let 6th Street know and let them figure it out."

"You're welcome." you nod. "Do I get my reward?"

"Yeah, you do." she grins. "8 months waived rent."

"…wasn't it just 6?"

"I'm in a good mood thanks to you. Consider those 2 extra months as a 'thank you' from me." she nods. "And… uh…"

"You want me on hand to fix any issues in the building?" you grin.

"If it's not too much trouble, yeah." she nods. "I'll waive your rent for every issue you handle. Sound good?"

"Great. Yeah, I'll do it." you nod.

(waived 8 months (16 turns) rent, can be extended if Pete takes more Fix-It Pete: House Call actions, new Personal Actions unlocked)

Returning to your apartment from the day's adventures has you thinking. NC is a big place, and walking would get boring after a while. There's the metro, sure, but that doesn't bring you everywhere.

Eventually, you're gonna need to get your own ride and some wheels-- for ease of movement if nothing else.

But there's a problem with that. You don't know the first thing about driving a car. You don't even have a license!

…to be fair, you doubt everyone in NC has one. This city is corrupt and dirty to its core with prices for everything and anything. Hell, you doubt any kind of traffic stop is done with a flash of someone's license if that was even the initial intent in the first place.

Still, license or no, you'd need a way to get around on your own power and to do that you'll need to figure out how to drive. Luckily, there's options for that in the form of Skill Chips.

…which you can't access due to your lack of chrome-- specifically neuralware that'd let you plug it in and instantly know how to drive. Which is a completely bullshit thing, but that's nu-world tech for you.

So Skill Chips are out and you doubt you'll be able to find anyone who can do a good job of teaching you how to drive. Which means you're gonna have to learn on your own.

With a sigh, you pull up your dataslate and start looking for a way to do just that.

You get a hit on the net quickly-- there's a been talk about a recent death in Rancho Coronado, a gonk got caught in a shootout between 6th Street and some Scavs. He leaves behind his beloved Makigai MaiMai, that his family's put up for sale.

It's a shit heap now, with bullet holes and burn marks and bloodstains; from the previous owner and the brave 6th Street toughs who died nearby.

Severe engine damage means it can't be driven like it could before, but hey-- it's still drive-able in a limited sense. That alone is reason enough for you to buy it and have it delivered to your apartment.

Some bleach cleans up the interior and minor repairs to the interior makes it comfortable to drive in. The engine damage means you won't be able to take it around long distances, but it does give you a good basis to learn in. You consult Barbra, get her okay, and take it out for a spin out in the parking lot outside the apartment.

The controls are easy enough to learn-- the Makigai MaiMai has a manual gear system and the size makes learning where all the pedals are and what each one does a breeze.

The lack of speed further helps you as well, allowing you to drive safely and without risk of putting anyone or the other parked cars in danger. Before long, you start to get a hang of it and bring it out for a drive around the block.

You get laughed at and heckled, sure, but it's all good fun. You weren't planning on using this car for long anyways-- it was just a learning experience, after all. Once you were done, you'd either sell it for scrap or take it apart for materials.

…or you could invest in it and turn into to a proper car again. Eh, you'll see.

(Peter can now drive cars, gain (shit) MaiMai P126, new Personal Actions unlocked)