Paranoia

Ripperdoc works in silence, his bizarre fingers moving with an unsettling grace. I watch, a knot of anxiety growing in my stomach. After what seems like an eternity, he looks up, his expression unreadable. 

"I don't know what to tell you." he admits, and I can't tell if he's genuinely baffled or just playing games. "This is standard model. But I can't remove it without risking serious harm to your brain." 

His words hit me like a gut punch. "Standard model? You call this mess a standard model?" I can barely contain my sarcasm. "Well, Mr Toes, you've officially earned yourself a half-star review. That's more you got than me for last chapter." 

He smirks, but there's an edge to it. "Half a star, huh? In this city, that's practically a glowing endorsement. But let's be clear, I'm not in the business of customer satisfaction. I'm in the business of transformation. And sometimes, transformation hurts." 

I lean in, my frustration boiling over. "Transformation? You've transformed my brain into a ticking time bomb. You have any idea what it's like, seeing things, not knowing if you're going crazy or if it's just another 'feature' of your handiwork?" 

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think I've gotten through to him. "Things, you say? That's... unusual. But I stand by my work. Whatever you're experiencing, it's not because of any flaw in my installation." 

"Flaw? You call this a flawless job?" I shoot back, my voice rising. "Listen, I need answers, not riddles. What did you put in my head?" 

He leans back, his expression unreadable. "I put in what I was given. As for what it does, that's beyond my control. You want answers? Maybe you're looking in the wrong place." 

I take a step back, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness. "Wrong place, right. And where should I be looking, then? Any suggestions?" 

I stand there, fuming, as he dismisses me with a wave of his bizarre hand. The realization hits me – I'm on my own. No help, no answers, just more questions. 

I stare at slim bald guy, my frustration boiling into anger. "This thing in my head, this CogniSync Processor you installed, it's screwing with me. I'm seeing things and it's getting worse. What did you really put in my head?" 

Ripperdoc, unmoved by my anger, taps his elongated fingers on the desk in a rhythmic, unnerving beat. "The CogniSync, eh? It's a sophisticated piece of tech, supposed to sync your cognitive functions for enhanced processing. But seeing other things? That's not in the brochure." 

I lean forward. "Well, it's happening. And it's your tech that's causing it. I need it out. Now." 

He sighs, his gaze shifting from my eyes to somewhere behind me, lost in thought. "Removing the CogniSync isn't like peeling off a sticker. It's integrated into your neural pathways. Pulling it out recklessly could leave you a drooling mess, or worse." 

My heart pounds in my chest. "So, what? I'm supposed to just live with this? With seeing things that aren't there, feeling like I'm losing my mind?" 

He shrugs, a hint of indifference in his eyes. "Sanity's a luxury. Maybe you're just seeing the world for what it truly is. Maybe the CogniSync is giving you a glimpse beneath the surface." 

"I don't want a glimpse beneath the surface," I snap. "I want my life back. The one without constant paranoia." 

"I can try to recalibrate it, maybe lessen the effects. But removing it, that's off the table unless you fancy a lobotomy." 

I clench my jaw, weighing my options. A recalibration... it's not a solution, but it's something. "Do it. Calibrate the damn thing. Just... make it stop." 

He nods, his fingers already dancing over his instruments. "Alright. But remember, you asked for this. It will cost 1000 eddies." 

As I sit back, bracing myself for the recalibration, I can't shake the feeling that I'm stepping into uncharted territory. But what choice do I have? Maybe it's better to listen. I stare at him, the news of the 1000 eddies fee sinking in like a lead weight. "One grand? For a recalibration? You're joking," I scoff, my voice tinged with bitter irony. 

'What do you think, readers? Should I just empty my non-existent bank account for the pleasure of this guy?' company maybe then you will give me another half star?' 

The ripperdoc just stares at me with those cold, mechanical eyes. "It's the price of fixing what's in your head. Take it or leave it." 

I run a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of hopelessness settling over me. "You'll see me again. When I've scraped together enough eddies to afford your 'artistic' intervention." I can't hide the anger in my voice, the frustration of being so close to a solution yet so far. I turn and leave the clinic, slamming the door behind me. The night air hits me like a slap in the face, the neon lights of Ptolemeo Street mocking me with their incessant flicker. What now, Ryker? I think to myself. No money, a head full of unwanted tech, and a city that's as forgiving as a concrete wall. I'm in over my head, and sinking fast. Overwhelmed and at a breaking point, I clasp my head in my hands, releasing a raw, guttural scream into the void of Mayan District.

A passerby snickers and calls out, "Get a grip, psycho!" I ignore them, my mind reeling in a tempest of anger and despair. 

I wander aimlessly, my thoughts a chaotic whirl. Medical help? Ha, as if I could afford their exorbitant fees. I'm a guy who's struggling to gather 1000 eddies for a mere recalibration. 

A CogniSync Processor, to be exact. It was supposed to be my golden ticket, my express elevator to the top. Think smarter, work faster, and dazzle my way to a promotion – or so the glossy brochure promised. 

Now, let's be clear. This wasn't some impulse buy, like those neon-tinted sunglasses I got on a whim. Oh no, this was a carefully calculated investment. I scrimped and saved for months, cutting back on all the luxuries like name-brand instant noodles and premium channel subscriptions. Every credit was a step closer to my new, enhanced brain. 

Finally, the day came. I marched into the ripperdoc's clinic with my hard-earned cash, ready to upgrade my gray matter. The procedure? About as pleasant as a tax audit. But hey, no pain, no gain, right? I walked out of there with a head full of high-tech wizardry and dreams bigger than the city's skyline. 

But, plot twist – the damn thing backfired. Instead of processing data like a pro, I started seeing things. And I'm not talking about data patterns or stock trends. No, I mean really weird stuff, like codes floating around. Just what you want from a top-of-the-line brain implant, right? Hallucinations and a side of paranoia. 

The icing on this disaster cake? I lost my job. That's right, NeuroTech Dynamics, the same company I was trying to impress, decided I was more of a liability than an asset. 

Let me break it down for you – imagine your body is like a smartphone, and cyberware? Well, that's your apps and upgrades. 

Cyberware is the art (or science, depending on who you ask) of enhancing the human body with technological implants. It's like giving nature a tech-assisted high-five. You've got everything from neural enhancers that make you think faster than a quantum computer, to cyberlimbs that can crush steel or leap buildings – you know, if you're into the whole superhero vibe. 

People get these implants for all sorts of reasons. Some do it for the sheer thrill of becoming more machine than human. Others? They're looking to level up in the corporate game, like yours truly. Imagine walking into a board meeting with a brain chip that crunches numbers faster than you can say 'profit margin.' That's the dream, or at least it was until my own brain decided to go rogue on me. 

But it's not all about climbing the corporate ladder or showing off at parties. In Neon Mirage City danger lurks in every shadowy alley, having a bit of cyber muscle can mean the difference between life and a very unpleasant death. Gangs, mercenaries, even your average Joe – everyone's packing some kind of tech. It's an arms race, but with actual arms (and legs, and eyes, you get the picture). 

Picture a city where the skyline is a dizzying array of neon and holograms, where the night never really falls because the buildings themselves are like giant, luminescent creatures. Streets are a chaotic symphony of hovercars, cybernetically enhanced folks, and drones zipping around like oversized, annoying bees. 

Also if you want to dive into a virtual reality so real it makes reality look like a cheap TV show? We've got that. Fancy a night out at a club where the DJ's a cyborg who mixes beats with his mind? Just another Friday night in Neon Mirage. 

But it's not all shiny and high-tech. Beneath the surface you'll find the darker side. The slums, the forgotten corners where people with outdated or malfunctioning cyberware eke out a living. It's a reminder that in a world obsessed with progress, not everyone makes it to the finish line. 

Just then, amidst my turmoil, something catches my eye – a swirling vortex of codes in the middle of the air. It's following someone. Despite my reluctance, curiosity mixed with anger propels me forward. I need to know, I need to understand. 

I keep a safe distance, trailing the figure shrouded by the data swirl. As I close in, a shock of recognition hits me – it's Danny. What's he doing here? 

My emotions churn – anger, concern, confusion. What secrets is he hiding from me? My steps quicken as I follow him. Danny meets up with a couple of bulky, sumo-looking guys. They exchange a few words and a parcel changes hands. The data above him intensifies, pulsating with every word they exchange. 

I'm torn between confronting him and maintaining my cover trying to read it. Yeah it was a phone number... to... my ass. What the hell is it. My heart races as I wrestle with the decision. Finally, I step out of the shadows, my presence catching Danny off guard.