She didn't think cyberpsychosis was a thing here, and even if it was just the throwaway antidepressant that she was about to make for her and her dad was enough to chill out even a full-body Borg, the way it balanced your brain's neurotransmitters. They might still kill you, but it wouldn't be because they were 'zerking.
She could have made a fortune selling it if she was back in Night City, so long as one of the Pharmcorps didn't zero her for inventing it or steal it from her and then zero her on general principles. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. The shit she could make was preem.
She felt bad for the poor girl who took her place. Well, maybe her alternate got the same power she had? If so, she might be able to make a life for herself. She didn't know how any of this was supposed to work; only that even with giant Kaiju and other monsters slowly destroying the world one city at a time a couple of times a year, this place seemed a lot better than Night City.
She wished her alternate the best. She quickly apologised for eating all of the food in the fridge, as she was afraid to go out back then due to the Tyger Claws. Do better than me in Night City, other self! As for herself? She would adapt and overcome.
POV: Our MC.
It was rare for Colin to be impressed with another tinker's miniaturisation efforts, but he had to admit that the six autonomously steerable flechette munitions that were sent to him for examination by the BBPD were impressive.
They featured an altogether unusual microprocessor architecture that he could tell was manufactured with a completely novel photolithographic method. It gave him a lot of ideas about how he could improve the size of the over hundred and eight individual microprocessors that his armour required. Moreover, they didn't actually appear to be tinkertech themselves, as he could completely understand their operating principles.
He immediately discounted it as being preexisting arms technology that he was just unfamiliar with. Although there were some similarities between the devices and existing precision-guided artillery munitions that the military used, the only similarity was that they were all guided munitions. There were just a limited number of ways for a guided munition fired out of a gun to work, and articulating guide fins was the simplest in all cases.
That meant that a Tinker had to be responsible. A Tinker that could produce reproducible technology? Or, perhaps the tinker tech was in the machine that built the ammunition? That wasn't unheard of, but it was pretty rare.
They could be a new Toybox product, but if so, why was their first use killing two no-name gang members in the Docks? Such things were clearly assassin's tools; why waste them on a couple of junkies?
The city coroner had dug them out of two deceased members of the Archer's Bridge merchants several days ago and immediately recognised that the tungsten flechettes were not your regular 9mm rounds and forwarded them to the PRT for examination. Such things, if they were actually unusual, invariably ended up at his desk.
He was on a conference call with Dragon, who had been watching him disassemble them. Already, he had shipped via overnight express three of the devices to Canada for her own examination, "What do you think?" he asked carefully.
Her voice came back, seemingly happy and very interested, "Quite amazing! The actual mechanics of the gyrojet guidance is pretty simple; we could build things like that already. But I'm sure you're asking about the microprocessors, right? These are from a sub-1nm manufacturing process. If these processors got any smaller, electrons would jump from transistor to transistor through quantum tunnelling effects! This might be the smallest, most highly transistor-dense that traditional computing can get."
He nodded. She always knew what he meant, and she picked up on the important points right away. It was why he so enjoyed collaborating with her, "Precisely. It is a bit intimidating seeing the absolute apogee of traditional computing technology staring you in the face, but I had the same opinion. Perhaps we will exceed these using quantum computers or some other hitherto-fore unknown computing technology... but as far as transistors are concerned? This is it. It's amazing, exactly as you said."
"It might be a little difficult to infer the manufacturing technique, and that is really what we want, but I think I know precisely how these were built. What we need to do is..." Dragon continued.
I felt bad for the girl who took my place and hoped that she would help my dad where I had failed him, and perhaps we could be reunited some day in the future. The world I found myself in might be a dystopian future, but at least there weren't giant monsters wrecking the world on a predictable schedule.
I wasn't sure how I was so positive that it had been a swap between the two of us, but it was just something I felt deeply sure about.
I was a bit nervous being in the building I was in. A combination of a few memories from my alternate about the Yakuza and research on my phone revealed that most of Japantown, and especially this Megabuilding was run by a gang called the Tyger Claws. They were a mostly Japanese gang, and my alternate memories were especially concerned about Japanese gangs.
That caused me to come up short. Was... my alternate racist? It didn't seem like it, and there seemed to be some actual legitimate reason that she had been concerned about Japanese gangs. I would have to do a lot more research about Militech, as that seemed to be caught up in that feeling as well. Something in the back of my head told me I definitely shouldn't traipse around the neighbourhood alone wearing any of my Militech-branded swag that filled a lot of these cardboard boxes. Was that it? Did the Japanese gangs dislike the ultra-American corporation? I didn't know.
The Tyger Claws were pretty easy to learn about online, and everything I learned made me a bit nervous too. They were kind of like what the Azn Bad Boys might be like if they were run by competent, not just ruthless, people. They were much bigger, too. Not only were they involved in the same organised crime activities that I would have recognised, such as drugs, protection rackets and prostitution, including a high-class "dollhouse", whatever that meant only a couple dozen floors beneath my feet.
However, they had a lot of darker businesses, too, including organ and cybernetics harvesting of people who nobody would miss. Kind of like a girl with no next of kin living by herself in a small apartment, perhaps. It was why if I ever interacted with any of them, and I would end up doing so just walking to and from my apartment that I would give them the idea that she had a huge family nearby.
Plus, I found online that everyone living in this Megabuilding was expected to pay for their protection, and there was even a guide on how to do so politely, so I would have to go see one of their local middle managers in this building as soon as possible. Today. I wondered why my alternate self had never accomplished it, but perhaps dealing with gangs wasn't what they were taught in corporate school. It wasn't what I was taught either, and it rankled me to have to do it, but the sites I had read were pretty clear on the possible consequences of not doing so.
In fact, it was one of the first things that popped up when I searched for "Things I need to know to live in Japantown."
As gangs went, the Tyger Claws were a medium threat in Night City, according to the guides online. A medium threat in Night City would get Brockton Bay turned into a quarantine zone, I thought, but it wasn't like the police or corps played around, either.
Theoretically, they had something that they called honour and principles, and what I found online indicated that some of the top leaders of the gang might even believe that and act that way, so long as it was convenient. The problem was the bottom tier of the gang, the ones I would likely meet, did not have almost any bottom line.
Moreover, if you defended yourself from the bottom tier, the entire gang would turn on you like a school of piranhas, even if they were doing something "dishonourable" to you against gang rules. It didn't make any sense at all to me, except when I realised that they were just scum and talking about honour was just empty platitudes. A lot of supervillains in her old world were that way too. They talked a good game but then were involved in the worst of activities.
It was like watching pro wrestlers. All an act, performative.
It definitely sounded like Night City could use a hero, but I didn't have powers that were strong like Eidolon or Alexandria. I couldn't tank a nuke, or even a gun. I had a lot of knowledge about medicine and might be able to tinker some useful drugs or maybe even novel cybernetics, but my knowledge of cybernetics left a lot to be desired compared to what was available in this world.
I had the feeling that I would learn very quickly if I studied cybernetics here and had a strong, strong urge to do so, but all that together didn't make a hero that would last more than a couple of days before being killed or worse.
Maybe I couldn't be a hero. Not like Alexandria. At least, not at first and perhaps not ever. But I could still help people. Be a good person.
That caused me to glance down at my phone. The lady from Militech's HR department had gotten back to me really quickly, today on a Sunday, no less.
The woman was very pleased with the proposal. With my alt's grades and the classes she had taken, I already qualified for early graduation from a public school. So, if I applied for emancipation and early graduation, they wouldn't be on the hook for anything.
They were willing to pay me in a lump sum, essentially half of what they would have ended up paying to Night City for my foster care, food and upkeep. They would also be willing to pay and arrange admission for me in a number of either post-high school or vocational school options.
But only up to two-year programs, the same as I would have gotten if I went to public school. So I could get the equivalent of an associate's degree, which might open the door to a crappy entry-level supervisory position very far down the corporate ladder, or I could choose a number of vocational training options, many of which weren't available for your average person on the street.
Based on my supposed educational background and noted interests in school, of course, the corp would track that; she was even polite enough to hilite what her computer suggested I would be the most successful in, namely a two-year Netrunner/Systems Admin course.
That did sound interesting, but it wouldn't mesh well with my ridiculous level of medical knowledge. I was almost certain I was one of the better doctors in the entire world if you only counted pure medicine. For some reason, my power didn't know about this world's cybernetics, perhaps because my power came from my old world.
Another problem with the Sysadmin course was that I didn't have any cybernetics at all. I had the entirety of Alt-Taylor's medical records on my phone, and it listed she had a basic operating system and cyberdeck from Militech, the Paraline, as well as a set of high-end Kiroshi cybernetic eyes.
She also visited a biosculpt clinic and got a few things adjusted. She was a B-cup, whereas I was still languishing in the barely-A realm. Did she hide this from her Dad, I wondered?
It would be important for me to, over the next week, get at least the exact same amount of cybernetics and... other treatments just so that we have identical medical records! Just in case, you know! Not because I agreed with her decision to make any changes to my appearance, but because the choice was taken out of my hands!
That meant I would have to visit a different clinic from where Taylor went in the past, but that wasn't a big deal because she went to an internal Militech cyber clinic that I no longer had access to in the first place.
Just the name "Ripperdoc" didn't inspire a lot of confidence in me at all, but there were a number of well-thought-of cybernetics clinics in the Corpo sector of town, either Downtown or in Corpo Plaza, which wasn't too far from where I lived. I would end up paying probably double what I would pay at one of the local "clinics" on Jig-Jig street, but I would also survive the experience with all of my organs intact.
I nodded, the Sysadmin course sounded very interesting, but I was just learning about computers here. Attending it would make a fool out of myself; I didn't have the years of experience using a cyberdeck that Alt-Taylor did. I had a couple of ideas for making some drugs that would increase my neural plasticity and learning speed, but it wouldn't be enough.
However... I glanced near the bottom of the list of offered courses. A six-month accelerated paramedics course. It was designed for people leaving the Army or who already had a basic EMT rating. It would be an absolute cakewalk for me.
I replied to the woman, selecting that course. She replied in real-time, asking if I was sure, as it was intended for people who already had some medical training and that they would pay for it, but I would only get one shot at it. It was clear that she didn't really care one way or another and was just being polite. I told her I was sure, and she replied in the affirmative.
A few minutes later, a large packet of over three hundred pages of thick legalese that I was expected to sign arrived as an e-mail attachment. I did not sign it.
There were a number of legal firms that did business primarily online. I had all of dad's money from his bank account, so I wasn't poor even before receiving any settlement from the Corp, even a basic one. I might be able to live nine to ten months, even on nothing but his bank account. So I spent a little bit extra to hire one of the better thought firms and spent about fifteen minutes discussing the matter with one of their lawyers on the phone.
Judging from the number of pages, he judged it was a simple matter, and I'd be billed for about four hours of work, which I thought was very reasonable and paid them on the spot, forwarding the document to him. They would even handle Militech themselves, so I never had to interact with that HR lady again.
I got myself dressed, as I had to go out of the safe apartment to get some food — someone was a bitch and ate all the food in the fridge, in fact, that yoghurt that I used to make drugs was the last thing in there. I had been foraging off chips and crackers for the past day, and that wouldn't do.
I also had to visit the Tyger Claws community office on the tenth floor to make my payment to them for living in their building. It was weird; they had office hours and everything.
