"Sue, toss me the multitool, please!" I shout across the workshop.
"Get up and take it yourself! Tools aren't toys to be thrown around!" comes the irritated reply.
"But you could crack someone's head open with it and the multitool wouldn't even get a scratch!" I grumble, groaning as I stand up. Approaching the marvel of engineering design, I finally grab the tool I need.
"See, getting it yourself wasn't so hard, was it?" smirks my mentor, showing me a clenched fist.
"I just wasted an entire minute of my precious life, woman!" My latest complaint is met with a radical response as a bolt, seemingly conjured by the girl, flies at me. "Hey, don't throw things!" I rub the spot hit by the accurate throw.
"If there was a good reason, I'd kill you," Sue retorts sharply, tossing another bolt that appears out of nowhere.
This time, I'm "smarter" and express my dissatisfaction in silence. The mentor's hand is heavy and, more importantly, damn accurate. In a year of working together, we've come to know each other quite well. More accurately, she reads me like an open book, while I'm still only vaguely guessing about the past of a woman who doesn't talk much about her bygone days. I'm almost certain Sue has long figured out who Alex Volkov is, but for some reason, she chose not to turn me over to the corporation, instead taking responsibility for my care.
Mitchell is a very smart girl with too many skills to be acquired just like that. I estimate Susan's knowledge level to be 7+. The ninth is considered the maximum, and a plus sign at the ninth indicates an off-rank specialist. For instance, Rache Bartmoss had a 9+ level in the netrunner category. Only a few people were on par with him, and each could be counted on the fingers of one hand.
Among genius technicians, there are even fewer people. The most famous that comes to mind is a single girl, Yuriko Sujimoto, a student at the University of California, Santa Cruz, who created the "alternate reality process," or braindance, as it's now commonly called.
Using an extrapolated Moss equation, the basis for transmitting neural reactions, and a Netrunner interface as a foundation, Sujimoto was able to record her thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations onto a standard information chip. When she reconnected the chip to the modified cybermodem, which she used as a recorder, Yuriko was able to experience exactly what she had recorded.
In a year, I managed to reach a 4+ level in tech and 4 in netrunning. The latter was more problematic due to some of my quirks. I hit a ceiling with my current equipment, and to continue advancing in this field, I need to develop my own version of a netrunner's chair and cyberdeck for network access. So, I've dedicated myself entirely to creating various devices. However, due to a tight budget, there's been a snag. I simply can't create something technically complex with my current apparatus.
I only managed to perfect my "Pip-Boy" a month ago, bringing it to an acceptable level for this stage of my life. Its size has been reduced, its functionality enhanced, and it now resembles a real biological analyzer integrated into a cyberdeck, with several additional useful features. It's controlled via a holographic touchscreen located inside a compact bracelet, though VR glasses can also be used for convenience.
The bracelet fits snugly around the arm, and thanks to special synthetic materials, it doesn't cause any discomfort on the skin. It's powered by a small battery, which, thanks to local technologies, can last a whole month without recharging or powering my device. This bracelet cost a lot of money; counting materials and labor, it's about three thousand eddies. To put that in perspective, a standard civilian cyberdeck for network access costs 7,500. It allows connecting to numerous devices in real-time and hacking them. However, the maximum capability of such a deck would be a camera or, at worst, the optics of some fool using standard security protocols, whose vulnerabilities have become the stuff of legends among the common folk.
Incidentally, I now constantly wear glasses on my head, which was quite burdensome at first, but I eventually got used to them. Maybe later I'll create something like a visor that appears on my head upon activation, but that's still just a dream. They'll be needed for further development of the first prototype of a power armor. You could say the glasses will be the command center of the entire system.
Work on the armor progresses daily, and so far, I've tested about seventy simulations, five of which have been successful and feasible. I also need to create something like a VI (Virtual Intelligence), not quite an AI, but with a vast array of commands, it can react quickly in real time. Getting an AI would be preferable, but I have no idea where to get one.
Using a virtual constructor, I've conducted some tests of my future gear and sadly concluded that I'll have to either wear it in full or try to solve this problem by some other means. I haven't figured out how yet, but maybe soon I'll be struck by some "brilliant idea" — I really hope so...
***
About a month ago, our workshop moved to a more spacious location. Li Pen, an acquaintance, recently decided to leave Night City for personal safety reasons, leaving his little shop to an old man. It was right next to an elderly Chinese man who, lately, didn't inspire much trust in me. Li Pen clearly had a past in criminal structures, and perhaps even held a position there, but that's just speculation. Susan didn't know much about him personally, but she confirmed my suspicions.
In the entire year, I never saw anyone from the Tiger Claws gang enter his place. I even managed to discreetly follow a local "tribute" collector once. The "Claws" sent their representative, who, true to gang fashion, personally collected money from their controlled territories. There was only one incident of non-payment I remember, which ended with the poor guy getting his palms shot. He brought the money the next day, with interest. The mafia doesn't like to play around; if you don't follow their rules, they'll quickly show you your place.
The new location allowed Susan to purchase "proper" equipment, enabling us to do all our work on-site. The repair speed increased manifold, so we could take on more orders without suffering from a shortage of necessary parts. The machine installed in the workshop was of the 1st production class out of 5. It could assemble weapons provided you had the blueprint loaded into its database. It also calmly printed parts on its built-in 3D printer, which we then installed in broken items. We bought this machine from a nomad family, the "Backer" clan, living the typical nomad life – robbing or delivering.
Life as a nomad is dangerous in itself. To survive in the conditions of the modern crises sweeping across America, they started forming large "families" that roamed from state to state looking for work. For a nomad, their vehicle is their life, into which they pour all their efforts. You can understand a lot about a person by their vehicle and what it represents. Living in constant scarcity and lacking resources, nomads learn to value three main things: honesty, straightforwardness, and freedom.
One of the "Backer" clan members shared stories of their life and customs as the community members installed the machine, answering my questions. I didn't ask many, mostly about daily life and responsibilities within such families. A child about my age, Vincent, ran around near John, the nomad. Vincent wasn't very sociable and only gave me his initial when I asked his full name. His father just laughed at his son's behavior, calling him by his name, which made him puff up in annoyance. The little conspirator then started questioning me, while others, swearing in various ways, tried to install the machine. Susan saved me from this "interrogation" by asking me to come and help with setting up the device, for which I was grateful.
We parted on good terms in the end. John left his contact details in case we needed his clan's services again and then took off. The number could indeed be useful, provided that the nomad doesn't end up dying somewhere in the vast wastelands of California.
***
Lately, the "Tiger Cubs" have been frequenting our shop more often. Their requests are mostly for minor weapon modifications, which we can do using the machine. Nothing too serious, just replacing a few elements to improve firing accuracy and wear resistance.
Some ask for custom designs or decorations on the weapons they hand over to us. Designs are sent directly to Sue's email, from where I use our device to project the necessary parts and then manually attach them to the guns. The templates are often made in the same virtual editor I use, though I have a more advanced version that Susan somehow dug up. She modified the source code so that data from each simulation wouldn't be sent to the developers. Nowadays, every purchased software has to be manually processed due to the abundance of spyware and other junk that can backfire at any moment.
Besides the "Claws," people from Maelstrom have started to show up. Outwardly, they can hardly be called human anymore, more like techno-addicts in the final stage of their affliction. The higher a member's rank in the gang, the more metal protrudes from their body. A distinctive feature of a Maelstrom member is the visor instead of the eyes, which gives them a repelling appearance. The first time I saw one, I wanted to shoot the techno-priest on sight, but fortunately, I didn't have a weapon on me then.
In Night City, a weapon is indispensable. A person with a gun can get their point across much quicker than without one. Due to my smaller stature, I had to devise something like a self-defense tool that shoots electric needles. This gadget can knock a person out with a lucky shot, and if they're overly chromed without proper protection, it can even be lethal. In general, it's a useful thing, and most importantly, compact! I attached it directly to my bracelet, slightly altering its appearance, but not critically.
Work with my mentor has increased, but we still find time for ourselves. After training, I usually get absorbed in the editor or engage in learning, if I have the energy and desire to study in the evening. Sometimes, I just want to relax and watch a movie or read a book. Thankfully, they haven't forgotten how to write in 2058.
The other guys also found hobbies they enjoy. The twins are completely devoted to machines. They study them down to the smallest detail in a virtual simulation, playing with my editor when I'm not home. Augmented reality glasses are dirt cheap compared to braindance (BD) helmets. Their cost ranges from 50 to 300 eddies each, with the difference being in image quality and internal memory capacity. A helmet, on the other hand, can cost between 2,000 to 10,000 eurobucks, not counting black market models where various sensors are tweaked to bypass synaptic suppressors that prevent the brain from fully experiencing the spectrum of feelings on the other side of the screen.
Such items are made to order in strictly underground workshops controlled by major gangs. Their assortment is vast, but the real horrors are mostly produced by Scavengers or Maelstrom. These BDs are called "black," and they're full of dreadful stuff. I know about them thanks to the omnipotent internet, specifically, various discussions where such things are occasionally mentioned. Fortunately, I haven't seen them personally, and hope I never will.