Chapter 8 — Deceiving the Chip
"Why are you staring at that crappy gun like it's your first love?"
Rox stopped running his hand along the sniper rifle's barrel.
"How did you even see that?"
Silence.
"Oh. Right. All the cameras down here are linked straight into your brain."
Rox scratched his head, a little embarrassed.
The weight of a real rifle in his hands… no game, no controller, no plastic model could ever compare.
And he hadn't even fired a single shot yet.
But something else bothered him—
Is an Intelligence stat of 4 really that obvious?
"Seriously, man," Hamster said from the netrunner chair, sounding more and more doubtful. "Tell me the truth. You ever actually risked your life? I mean a real firefight, not some VR sim?"
Rox frowned.
"We were escorting a shipment. Truck got blown up. I got thrown out. Then it was missiles, bullets, and a race against mercs who didn't even get time to lift their heads. That count?"
He added, a bit irritated:
"I was Ghost Hound, you know."
"Yeah, yeah. Very impressive," Hamster muttered. "Anyway, I'm going back to watching the other side's hacker."
Rox rubbed his chin.
Was there only one netrunner in Maine's crew right now?
Was it Kiwi already? Or that white-haired girl with the colored tips—Lucy?
He cursed himself for not cramming more about the Edgerunner team's timeline before dying and reincarnating.
From what he remembered, in 2075 it should still be Maine's crew with Kiwi, maybe Lucy joining in.
Rox shook his head. However the team was put together now, they'd be a nightmare to deal with.
And he and Hamster were the ones in their way.
His gaze dropped back to the weapon in his hands.
Technical sniper rifle. Charge-shot penetration.
The Nekomata's trigger sat under his finger.
Does it charge when I squeeze and hold the trigger… or only after it's fully pulled?
That was crucial.
A sniper didn't get the luxury of trial and error.
He'd wanted to test-fire it at the black-market range, but the gun shop owner refused — scared the round would punch straight through the target and the concrete wall behind it.
And if he tried firing in the street?
The Ghost Hound exosuits would turn him into Swiss cheese.
The original Rox had handled assault rifles and pistols before — never a tech sniper. No proper training.
Wait… there is a way to practice a few shots.
Rox's eyes lit up.
"Hey, Hamster. Question."
"Hnn." Hamster barely replied, half his consciousness still in the Net.
"It's about the tech sniper rifle. Does it charge while you're pulling the trigger, or only when the trigger's fully pressed down?"
The room went dead silent.
Only the hum of servers and node-pings filled the air.
"…You're joking, right?" Hamster finally said.
Rox thought it over. "No."
Hamster jerked upright in his netrunner chair like he'd been electrocuted. He yanked the data cable out of the socket at the back of his neck, his heavily modified cyber-eye whirring and focusing like some unhinged combat drone.
"You. Are. Fucking. With me."
Rox met his stare, dead serious.
"I only used standard rifles in Ghost Hound. What's wrong with asking? Don't worry, I'm a good shot."
Hamster barked a bitter laugh.
"Do you even know why Hanz gave you a sniper?"
Rox nodded. "Yeah. So I can hold off multiple enemies and buy time."
"You KNOW that… and you still don't know how the gun works?!" Hamster exploded. "Why the hell would Hanz trust you with a sniper rifle?!"
He paced back and forth, ranting, hands flailing in frustration.
Rox watched him, strangely calm.
If shots started flying for real, Rox knew he'd be the one standing in the open, not Hamster.
"Relax," Rox said. "Your turrets outside? They're ZetaTech models, right? And knowing you, you've probably installed more in the back. If things go sideways, I'm the first one full of holes. You can just wait for Ghost Hound to arrive and clean up."
Rox had just wanted to ask a question. Hamster's panic felt… excessive.
"You don't get it at all," Hamster growled. "You have to stay alive. That's the important part, you idiot."
"You're the one who has to worry about their hacker," Rox shot back.
Hamster paused, then sighed heavily.
"Fine. Fine. You win. You're amazing."
He grabbed a chip from his desk and flicked it toward Rox, who snatched it out of the air.
"This is Militech software. I rewired it using Arasaka tech. Inside is a training suite — real combat behavior records from corporate snipers. Learn the pattern."
He glared.
"I knew that old bastard Hanz was planning to dump this onto someone."
Hamster knew exactly what he'd just handed over — a tool he'd kept to himself for months.
Rox looked at the chip like a trophy.
Hamster scoffed, threw himself back into the netrunner chair, and jammed the cable back into his neck.
Conversation: over.
Rox's HUD flashed:
> [Incoming Call: Hanz]
"Young man," Hanz's voice came through, warm and amused, "you should be at my friend's place by now, yes?"
Rox glanced toward Hamster.
"Yeah. I'm here. And I got the chip."
Hamster's fists clenched around the armrests.
Hanz chuckled in genuine surprise.
"That miser bought that thing off me for cheap and claimed he'd 'study it' for a few days. Months passed. No word."
"I assumed it was gone. I didn't expect you to pry it out of his hands. Well done. Just hand it over when the time comes."
He continued:
"Hansen has a Ghost Hound patrol near the operation area. Make it look real. Sell the play. Act friendly if needed. Once they think they've got reliable intel, they'll back off."
Rox nodded slightly.
"Understood."
"And one more thing," Hanz added, pausing for a beat.
"There'll be a surprise tonight. I hope you'll be able to protect yourself."
"A surprise?" Rox muttered.
"Good luck, my friend," Hanz said. Then the line went dead.
Rox stood in the faint blue light of the server room for a long moment, thinking.
Then he shrugged.
Whatever the surprise was — it wasn't going to stop the bullets.
Right now, the most important thing was plugging the chip into the data port at the back of his neck and learning how to actually shoot this sniper rifle.
Maine's crew wasn't going to play nice.
Rox muttered to himself and slotted the chip in.
A faint holographic interface blossomed into view in front of him.
> [Weapon Interface: Syncing…]
[Detected Weapon Type: Technical Sniper Rifle — Confirmed]
[Safety Protocol: Remove all ammunition before training. System will monitor for live-fire risk.]
Rox followed the prompts, ejecting the magazine and checking the chamber.
The basement dimmed. Lines of light formed a wireframe cityscape around him, turning the room into a simulated arena.
Data flooded through his neural link — into his cyberware, his muscles, his reflexes.
A calm, neutral voice guided him:
How to shoulder the rifle.
How to regulate breathing.
How to manage charge time.
How to handle recoil.
What took snipers years to learn, the chip compressed into minutes.
> [Please fire a test shot.]
The ghost of a rifle appeared in his hands inside the sim.
Bzzzz—BOOM!
The weapon thrummed as it charged, a rising energy whine — then, as he released the trigger, a focused blast fired from the muzzle.
Tech shot confirmed.
> [Step One: Positioning. Select a vantage point favorable to your survival, based on environmental data.]
Rox followed the instructions methodically. His time with Ghost Hound helped. He already understood cover, angles, and line of fire — the chip only refined that experience.
He realized something important:
This wasn't training him to be a legendary sniper.
This was training him to be a reliable one.
The difference between solid and legendary was real combat — chaos, fear, failure, and survival.
But for now?
It was enough.
In the basement, the scene was almost eerie:
A young man, eyes unfocused, chip glowing at the back of his neck, body locked in invisible drills—
And across from him, a hacker in a chair, wire plugged into his skull, drifting through the blood-red ocean of cyberspace.
Both of them preparing.
Both of them waiting.
For the cat and mouse game to truly begin.