Chapter 13: The Data Fortress
POV: Tom
The Biotechnica subsidiary building pierced Night City's skyline like a corporate needle, its glass facade reflecting neon advertisements that promised better living through chemistry. Tom sat in Judy's apartment, reviewing security schematics while she coached him through the building's digital architecture with the methodical precision of someone whose survival had required mastering every detail of corporate infrastructure.
"Outer perimeter uses standard ICE protocols," Judy explained, highlighting threat zones on her tablet display. "Motion sensors, thermal imaging, biometric scanners. But once you're past the lobby, they switch to adaptive security—AI-driven countermeasures that learn from intrusion attempts."
Tom studied the building plans while his chrome augmentations hummed with anticipatory energy. This would be his first major operation for Regina, a data extraction that required capabilities beyond standard mercenary services. The target: financial records from a subsidiary that allegedly manufactured agricultural chemicals but whose energy consumption suggested more sophisticated operations.
"What about the server room?"
"Thirty-seventh floor. Isolated network, quantum encryption, probably black ICE protecting anything valuable." Judy's expression carried the particular concern of someone sending her partner into digital combat against opponents with superior resources. "Tom, if this goes wrong, jack out immediately. Don't try to fight military-grade countermeasures."
Tom nodded, though his enhanced tactical analysis suggested that fighting might be unavoidable. Corporate security was designed to capture or eliminate intruders, not negotiate with them. His abilities would provide advantages, but only if he could deploy them before superior numbers overwhelmed his defenses.
Techno-Sovereignty for bypassing security. Sandevistan for physical evasion. Adaptive Cyberware for damage mitigation. Coordinate all three systems for optimal infiltration efficiency.
They synchronized their communication equipment and confirmed Betty's position at the building's rear exit. Tom's connection to his car would provide both escape vehicle and mobile support platform, allowing him to control her movements remotely while maintaining operational focus.
"Remember," Judy said as Tom prepared to leave, "you're not trying to fight the entire Biotechnica security apparatus. Get in, grab the data, get out. Professional efficiency over dramatic heroics."
Tom kissed her forehead gently. "I'll be careful."
"You better be. I have plans for you that require you staying alive."
The Biotechnica building's lobby was a monument to corporate excess—marble floors, holographic displays showcasing pharmaceutical achievements, and security that radiated the particular confidence of people protecting valuable assets. Tom approached the main entrance with the casual confidence of someone whose chrome augmentations had evolved beyond standard detection parameters.
His Techno-Sovereignty reached out to the building's electronic systems like invisible fingers exploring a complex instrument. Access controls, surveillance networks, elevator management—all of it opened to his consciousness with cooperative enthusiasm. Tom convinced the security scanners that he belonged here, persuaded the turnstiles to grant access, and instructed the elevators to ignore weight sensors that might question his presence.
Too easy. Corporate paranoia suggests multiple layers of defense, but these systems are responding like they want to help me.
Tom rode the elevator to the thirty-seventh floor while maintaining awareness of the building's electronic nervous system through his augmented consciousness. His presence triggered automated responses—security protocols activating, threat assessment algorithms engaging, communication systems preparing alerts that never quite reached completion.
The server room door opened at his touch, revealing a cathedral of processing power that hummed with contained digital energy. Quantum servers, isolated networks, and security hardware that probably cost more than most people earned in their lifetimes. The air smelled of ozone and the particular sterility of spaces designed for machines rather than humans.
Tom approached the central access terminal and placed his palm against its interface, opening his Techno-Sovereignty connection to the facility's data fortress. The network architecture flooded his consciousness with geometric complexity—data structures, security protocols, and information hierarchies that stretched beyond normal human comprehension.
No cyberdeck needed. Pure neural interface. I'm not hacking this system—I'm joining it.
"Judy, I'm in," Tom whispered into his communication device. "Network access established. Searching for financial records."
"Copy that. Watch for ICE signatures—if the system starts fighting back, disconnect immediately."
Tom navigated through data structures that felt like architectural spaces rather than abstract information. Financial records, research databases, personnel files—all of it organized with corporate precision and protected by security measures that analyzed his presence with growing sophistication.
Then he found something that wasn't supposed to exist.
"Anomalous Chrome Signatures - Project Lazarus"
The file name appeared in his awareness like a digital whisper, hidden within a subsection of research data that had been classified beyond standard security protocols. Tom's consciousness pressed against the file's encryption, finding layers of protection that suggested extraordinary value.
Project Lazarus. They know about people like me. This isn't random corporate research—it's targeted investigation into adaptive chrome technology.
Tom opened the file against his better judgment, driven by desperate need to understand what he was becoming. The contents flooded his awareness with horrifying clarity:
Subject Zero through Subject Seven. Eight individuals with "impossible tech integration" and "adaptive cyberware manifestations." Tom's biometric signature matched Subject Four's profile exactly—chrome patterns, neural architecture, power consumption rates.
Others existed. People like him, transformed by technology that shouldn't be possible, monitored by corporate interests that viewed them as experimental subjects rather than human beings.
Subject One: TERMINATED. Subject Two: MISSING. Subject Three: TERMINATED. Subject Four: ACTIVE.
Tom scrolled through additional profiles with growing dread. Subject Five through Seven were marked with locations throughout Night City—others like him, hidden in the urban maze, possibly unaware they were being monitored by corporate intelligence.
I'm not unique. I'm part of a pattern. Someone created us, or something created us, and Biotechnica is tracking the results.
Alarms began blaring throughout the building as Tom's presence triggered delayed security protocols. His consciousness had spent too long in the network, leaving traces that adaptive ICE had finally detected and analyzed. Netrunner countermeasures launched against his neural interface with vindictive efficiency.
Black ICE. Military-grade. Designed to fry intruders' brains rather than simply evicting them.
Tom ripped his consciousness from the network connection and grabbed the data storage device containing Project Lazarus files. The server room's door sealed automatically as security lockdown protocols activated throughout the building. Emergency lighting bathed everything in red illumination that transformed corporate sterility into apocalyptic urgency.
"Judy! Building's locked down. They know I'm here."
"Tom, get out NOW! Security's converging on your floor from multiple vectors."
Tom activated his Sandevistan as armed guards burst into the server room with weapons that hummed with smart ammunition and targeting assistance. Time dilated around him like honey-thick suspension, allowing him to observe their tactical formation with academic detachment.
Professional soldiers. Military-grade augmentations. Weapons designed for termination rather than capture.
Tom moved between their positions faster than their targeting systems could track, his chrome-enhanced reflexes allowing fluid evasion that appeared impossible to external observation. But the room was small, the exits were blocked, and they had superior numbers backed by communications coordination.
Can't fight my way out. Too many of them, not enough space. Need alternative exit strategy.
Tom's Adaptive Cyberware activated as bullets filled the air around his position. Chrome plating spread across his body in response to ballistic threats, creating armor that deflected smart rounds with metallic resonance. The impacts hurt, but his augmented physiology absorbed damage that would have killed baseline humans.
Window. Thirty-seven floors up, but Betty's positioned below. Calculated risk versus certain capture.
Tom sprinted toward the server room's reinforced window while bullets sparked off his hardening chrome. His Techno-Sovereignty seized control of the building's structural systems, convincing them that emergency evacuation required immediate window release.
The reinforced glass exploded outward in a shower of crystalline fragments as Tom dove through the opening into Night City's neon-painted sky. Thirty-seven floors of empty air stretched below him, broken only by architectural features and the distant promise of Betty's precisely positioned form.
"This is insane. I'm going to die. People don't survive falls like this, chrome augmentations or not."
Tom's enhanced perception tracked his falling trajectory while his communication system reached out to Betty through Techno-Sovereignty connection. The car's autonomous systems activated with electronic enthusiasm, positioning her beneath his calculated impact point while deploying protective measures that probably violated several traffic laws.
Two seconds until impact. Adaptive Cyberware, prepare for collision trauma. All non-essential systems, redirect power to defensive configurations.
Tom struck Betty's roof with enough force to crater the reinforced metal, but his chrome augmentations absorbed the impact through distributed force management that should have been impossible with known technology. Betty's suspension systems cushioned the landing while her structural integrity held against forces that would have crushed standard vehicles.
"Drive now, freak out later!" Tom shouted as he rolled into Betty's driver seat through her damaged roof. His remote control sent her speeding away from the Biotechnica building as corporate security flooded the surrounding streets with search patterns.
"Did you just jump four stories?!" Judy's voice carried equal parts amazement and terror through their communication link.
"Thirty-seven floors. And yes. Don't ask me how—I'm still figuring out what this chrome can do."
Tom drove through Watson's maze of streets while his chrome systems gradually powered down from combat readiness. Behind them, Biotechnica security vehicles began systematic pursuit patterns that suggested they had tracked his escape route through traffic monitoring.
They reached their secure hideout—a storage facility in Northside that Regina had provided for exactly this type of emergency—and connected Judy's encrypted laptop to review the stolen Project Lazarus data. Tom watched her face as she processed the files he'd died to acquire.
"Tom..." Judy's voice carried the particular shock of someone whose worldview was being fundamentally rewritten. "There are others. You're not alone."
Tom stared at the laptop screen, where Subject profiles painted a picture of systematic investigation into people who shouldn't exist. Eight individuals with impossible chrome integration, monitored by corporate intelligence, marked for observation or termination based on threat assessment algorithms.
"Yeah," Tom replied quietly. "But they're all dead or missing. That's not exactly comforting."
Judy reached over and took his chrome-covered hand, her human warmth contrasting with his technological enhancement. "It means you're not a freak accident. It means someone understands what's happening to you, even if they're not sharing that information."
Tom looked at their joined hands—flesh and chrome united in defiance of corporate categorization—and felt something settle in his chest that might have been determination.
Subject Four: ACTIVE. Let's keep it that way.
Outside their hideout, Night City hummed with electronic activity as corporate security networks shared information about impossible individuals who challenged every assumption about the relationship between human consciousness and technological enhancement. But for the moment, Tom and Judy were safe in their small circle of stolen data and genuine affection.
The hunt was intensifying, but they finally had information to fight back with.
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