5:07 AM.
Arthur idly inspected the various trinkets on the Carver's tables and cabinets. A small New Germany flag was posted on the wall—red, yellow, black with the emblem of a crow's beak in the center. Beside it an inkpot, an intricate puzzle toy with interconnected parts resembling a square within a circle. Arthur didn't even bother trying to solve it.
"I'm new to being an Outlaw," said Arthur. "What can you recommend me?"
"Besides a book to educate yourself with?"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. Condescending cocky old prick.
Werner continued with a serious tone, fixing the tools on his operating table
"Before I tell you, you're aware of what happens when you abuse your body with cyberware, yes?"
"I have an idea. Lots of psychological aspects to it, right?"
"Indeed." Werner rolled away to a table and grabbed an alcoholic wetwipe. "You lose empathy, ability to form meaningful relationships, to make love. An extreme form of body dysmorphia."
"I don't do those things anyway," Arthur said as he peered into the Carver's freezer. Clear liquid packets filled one section, packets of labelled blood filled another.
"I'm sure you don't. Not yet, at least." Werner fixed the lights on his operating table. "But Chromatize your body and you won't be able to. Add mood swings, sudden depressive phases, suicidal urges and homicidal tendencies to the list, and you get a severe breaking point. Psychosis. Some have a lower or higher Psychosis threshold, depending on your sensitivity."
Arthur went quiet. His parents hated technology, and he didn't blame them. They lived through the Blackouts and the Disuniting of the States due to the usurping of power by major Corps like Blackrock and Lockridge.
But humans were reliant on tech like a baby to a mother's teet.
Society as a whole had advanced so far it had formed doors around itself too hard for anyone to break through without a key.
Werner finished what he was tinkering with and stared at Arthur.
"With that out of the way, what part of your body do you wish to part with?"
"Whatever part worth ¢350 credits."
Werner's eyes widened. "¢350? That's not even enough for the anaesthetic! Even if I'm dying, Mr. Jaeger, I'm still a working man."
"Damn. Most Carvers are cheap." Arthur clicked his tongue. He realized just how little his net worth really was. Crime paid, but whatever it sold was expensive enough to accommodate for the bump in earning. "Never been to one so smart-lookin'."
Werner took a deep breath in. He shook his head and said:
"Flattery won't get you a discount."
He paused, then groaned and threw his hands up.
"But it'd leave a bad taste in my mouth if you endured my insults and left empty handed." He pressed a button on the operating table and it slowly inclined. "Sit."
"I'll pay you back," Arthur said seriously as he propped himself up on the table. The neck rest held him up. Bright light shone on his face and eyes, both hands slid across the arm rests. "Promise."
"Yeah, yeah. Plug your Link into the adapter on your right and be quiet."
Arthur pulled out the wire from his wrist and clicked it into a circular jack on the side of his armrest.
A screen lit up with diagnostics in front of the Carver's seat, displaying the cybernetics Arthur had installed, his blood type, his age and whatever else he had on his Contact info.
"You're dyslexic, too?" Werner asked as he tapped the screen with practiced efficiency. "You're one unlucky trottel."
"So I've heard," Arthur responded, closing his eyes to block out the glare. He didn't know what trottel meant.
After a few seconds of tapping the screen, Werner said:
"Okay. I'll give you two choices."
Arthur's optic flickered with two squares side by side. He hovered mentally over the first one—opening to a diagram and description of a cybernetic. A chip, to be specific.
A Vetatech D-tier Chip to be exact. The price was ¢800 credits. Even for a low ranking augment, it was expensive… but still worth it.
See, cyberware ranged from ultra-rare S-tier, also known as Supertech, to common D-tier. A highly trained S-tier Merc could dispatch an army of D-tier soldiers with relative ease.
Heck, Arthur had heard stories about one particular man—Viktor Kaizei, a legendary figure in Synth City—who had slaughtered his way through a Pinkerton Defense Militia to assassinate a political Suit.
They were so dramatic and unbelievable, that Arthur didn't believe them at all. Some did, though.
Synth City was a cesspool of crime glorifying maniacs, that was true. Hard to blame them. Not much else to root for in such a corpo-cold world.
That being said, the chip was a solid choice.
The second diagram expanded into view, displaying what seemed to be an K-09 Adrenaline Regulator by Vayne Industries.
The cybernetic would be installed just above the adrenal glands near the kidneys, which allowed for small but controlled doses of adrenaline to course through Arthur's veins, in addition to keeping his nerves stable during moments of chaos.
Of course, there was risk. Overuse would result in severe heart problems in the long term, and heart attacks in the short.
Higher quality models mitigated these effects and significantly improved the overall effect, but this was a D-tier at most.
The price was ¢650 credits.
"So?" Werner asked. "Pick one."
Perhaps one of Arthur's more redeeming qualities was his decisiveness. He was quick to answer:
"I'll get the chip."
"Good," Werner said as he left his seat and walked over to the freezer, taking out a packet of clear liquid. He returned and poured the gooey packet into an empty IV packet. "The chip requires a changeout in your Port. It'll take an hour or two at most to finish."
Arthur nodded. He scratched the scar on his nose with his free hand and took deep breaths to calm down a rising anxiousness in his stomach. He always got nervous before he went under. He asked nicely:
"Just try to make it quick, doc."
Werner raised a brow:
"Huh? Why? Thought you'd ask to make it longer to get some sleep."
Arthur shook his head and said as he looked into the glaring light.
"Isn't as pleasant as you think it is."
At least with falling asleep, you got to wake back up by the time the nightmare concluded.
Werner nodded. "Very well."
He surgically inserted the drip into Arthur's arm. It pierced the skin but didn't draw blood.
The IV's clear contents flowed into his vein, and Arthur felt his vision swim to deep waters as each of Werner's fingers split open into intricate surgical apparatuses—like a predator opening its jaws in that one movie he watched while trying to fall asleep.
***
5:45 AM.
He awoke, sweat gliding through his numb back and neck. His eyes slowly flickered open and adjusted to the blurry light. The glaring brightness was gone with a few blinks, but his head seemed to weigh a ton.
"Take it slow," Werner said. Arthur couldn't see where he was. His voice sounded distant, echo-y. Water was pouring somewhere. "It's still loading. Give it a second."
Arthur closed his eyes again. After a minute or two, he felt sobered. Slowly, he slid up in his chair and sat upright, blinking his eyes into focus.
A second later, his optic lit up with the Vayne Industries logo, a V with an upside down V behind it, along with a string of words in a familiar dyslexic-friendly font:
>Launching Systems…
>Loading Contact details…
>Adjusting Map Settings…
>Sorting Fonts and Applications…
>Syncing Timezone…
>Updating…
>Update complete!
The software booted, and the grogginess slowly disappeared. A feminine voice echoed in his head:
[All Systems Go.]