The Fall of Icarus (Cyberpunk)

"Where'd you go?" asked Inga, not looking up from her cooking.

"Just a walk in the fresh air, seasoned with some heart-to-heart talks," I replied in a joking tone, trying to minimize further questions from the overly suspicious girl. Little Engel was too perceptive, and any sign of weakness would give away that something was off.

"Had your fill of walking?" Inga half-turned towards us.

"Definitely," Marco answered, flopping onto the couch and immediately flipping through channels. Kiwi frowned disapprovingly but refrained from criticizing the boy. "Don't worry, they're all just blowing hot air anyway," he accurately interpreted the girl's expression. Ramirez kept flicking channels until he settled on a news station.

"And in other news... Biotechnica Corporation has announced the release of their new drug 'Securicine'. According to company representatives, this drug is 25% more effective than its counterparts and has an almost instant effect. It doesn't cause allergic reactions or dependency. Also..." I didn't bother listening to the rest. Another scam for fools who believe corporations will sell them a cure-all for pennies. Johnny Silverhand is more likely to rise from the dead than that happening.

"Yeah, just more nonsense for the gullible herd," I smirked, giving my brief take on the news.

"You don't need to be a genius to figure that out," Marco snorted, switching the channel to music. The local music is mostly garbage to me, but occasionally something good comes on.

"Believe me, understanding that in today's world does make you a genius," I said with a wink to Inga, who rolled her eyes as she was finishing up the cooking.

After breakfast, everyone scattered about their affairs. I continued working on my version of the 'Pip-Boy'. For now, I'll call my future invention by this name. There was still so much to do and even more resources needed to make something passable.

Creating something in a simulation is one thing; reproducing it in reality is quite another. Sure, I could ask any corporation to custom-build the device from my blueprints at any time, but that would mean kissing confidentiality goodbye. Secrecy is exactly what I need. It's one thing to know that someone has created an unusual gadget, but it's another thing entirely to have the blueprint for that gizmo.

Lost in the virtual simulation again, I didn't realize how much time had passed until I had to rush off to work. Susan was already waiting for me on the staircase, lighting up another cigarette. She tried not to smoke around me, for which I was silently grateful. I've hated the smell of smoke since my past life.

"Stuck on that blueprint again?" the girl asked with a smirk, expertly flicking her cigarette butt into a bin dozens of meters away. Hand implants make such feats a breeze.

"Trying to figure out the optimal shape for it. I'm leaning toward a massive glove that mimics a personal port. For the personal chip sockets, it's simpler; just need to modify braindance glasses to make them more compact," I spilled my thoughts to my pensive mentor.

"Well..." my mentor pondered for a moment, analyzing the information. "The glove idea isn't bad. More practical and inconspicuous, though pricier. Sensory systems aren't cheap. The helmet's better in some ways but has its downsides. Easier to hack than a standard port. Remember, Alex, a netrunner's brain is both his weapon and shield."

"Just need a solid defense system. Got a couple of ideas for my own ice. Rache Bartmoss' cyber-demons gave me a neat concept to deal with nosy intruders." We had already reached Sue's shop. "Thinking of something like RABIDS. but on a smaller scale and less deadly."

"If anyone else told me they wanted to replicate that psycho's success, I wouldn't believe them. But you, Alex, can really pull off something astonishing. Reaching level 3+ in three months isn't something just anyone can do, especially at your age, you little genius," the brunette said, ruffling my hair again.

"Yeah, keep the compliments coming," I said, folding my arms and nodding my head in an exaggerated manner, eliciting a stifled snort from my mentor.

"Be careful, wanting too much can be unhealthy," Susan chided, raising a finger. "Okay, enough chit-chat, time to get to work."

Another day at work, and like the ones before, it teaches me something new. The knowledge I gain from my mentor is quickly assimilated, but that's probably due to my uniqueness, a special mutation, and mature consciousness. Remove either of those factors, and the outcome would be far worse.

I never liked studying before, but I was good at memorizing information, and quickly too. Habits and lifestyles don't just disappear; it takes time to shake them off. Perhaps it's the situation I find myself in. My circumstances, to put it mildly, leave no room for choice. Either you do everything you can, or you end up dead in some alley or, more likely, on a junker's operating table.

"Kiddo, sleeping on your feet again?" Sue clicked her fingers in front of my face.

"Yeah, I think I'll dive into the virtu. Want to finally get through yesterday's topic that stumped me."

"Talking about the interconnection between brain synapses and the response of cyber implants?" my mentor inquired with interest.

"Exactly... I can't fathom how augmentations produce such clear signals with such a shoddy base of elements. It's blowing my mind!" I complained to Susan, hearing her quiet laughter.

"Well, it's all about the symbiosis between metal and flesh. The brain does most of the heavy lifting, while sensors are needed to accurately replicate signals and issue corresponding commands."

"What about more advanced implants? The system there is far more complex than just fully simulating a hand with minor enhancements."

"That's a comparison," my mentor snorted and dropped her head onto the table, "they use software that feeds special commands into the brain, helping control the whole thing."

"Ah, so that's one of the reasons for cyberpsychosis. The brain just fries at some point, and the person turns into a walking problem." I scratched my head, annoyed, realizing that corporate jerks know this but don't make a failsafe to prevent people from snapping. Suits just profit off such maniacs slaughtering regular folks.

"You caught on quick. That's why not just anyone can get their hands on combat implants, let alone handle them. Those in the know just keep quiet and aren't in a rush to install such dangerous augmentations. Others go further and create their own failsafe. Of course, it doesn't solve the problem entirely, but it helps combat many initial symptoms of cyberpsychosis."

"How do you know so much about this?" I asked the girl, a tricky question since I had searched for information on cyberpsychos but found nothing online, citing the phenomenon's lack of study.

"Picked up some statistical data and analysis while working as a ripper. You understand, it's not information for public ears," Susan hinted. Indeed, such knowledge is better not shared widely without a strong backer. You'd get taken out before the information could spread widely and inflict critical damage. In 2058, the media is tightly controlled, and it's easy to suppress information inconvenient to corporations with a little skinjobs on hand.

"Understanding and accepting are different things," I grumbled, shaking my head.

"There you go again with your dislike for implants. What does it matter to you? You're not being forced to wear them."

"But that's just it... I am being forced..." I smirked, beginning to list the most obvious in the chain. "Cyberdeck, personal port, optics... Shall I continue?"

"You're not forced to install them in such quantities," my mentor corrected herself, seeing where I was heading.

"Controlling a person by sticking a few chips in them is much simpler than controlling a full flesh puppet. Eyes are the most dangerous in this list. Do people think no one would want to control them, having access to their innermost secrets? That's very naive and foolish, if you ask me," I rolled my eyes, pursing my lips in dissatisfaction.

"Alex, where did you get to be so smart?" Susan smiled, stretching out to me in a familiar gesture.

"Found me in the trash," I snorted, dodging away from the girl's cold hands. I can't stand the feel of cold, fake skin on my head, and Mitchell knows it all too well, using it to amuse herself.

Our further conversations had to be put on hold. Customers gradually started coming in, and we were fully absorbed in our duties. Sue occasionally threw some work my way when I had a break from the training program, making sure to include short rests. Resting is essential in this line of work; otherwise, there's a risk of overstraining the brain. I've experienced that before, so I try to be more restrained in my ambitions. You feel the overload immediately – it manifests as total apathy and a lack of desire to do anything. Sure, my learning speed is already phenomenal, but it's still not enough for me.

From time to time, I had to carve out a minute or two from my busy schedule to continue my project. I was eager to create a working prototype and then, with a finished product in hand, move forward in the desired direction. I had enough materials, and the extra money also helped in this challenging endeavor. We started getting more high-end items for repair, which we fixed and were rewarded handsomely for. My 80 eddies gradually grew to 150, not to mention the additional cut I received from the devices I personally repaired. Susan knew how to motivate, and money itself is a great motivator.

***

Two months later

Marco left our lives quite quietly. He didn't say goodbye to everyone personally, probably fearing that looking at us would make him change his mind and unable to leave. Han and Shiro took his departure particularly hard, walking around with sad faces for about a week, barely talking to anyone, even each other.

Inga was less expressive with her emotions, but it was evident she was affected too, just not as deeply as the brothers. Sometimes I even thought she knew about the guy's departure from the start, since the time we came together from that rooftop where we had our important conversation. Kiwi is smart but too introverted due to her past. I don't know, and frankly don't want to know, what she's seen. I never pestered the little girl with questions; everyone has the right to their secrets.

Susan, on the other hand, just grumbled to herself, calling the teenager less-than-flattering adjectives. Well, it was the boy's conscious choice, which I respect and even support in a way. Marco didn't want us to become dependent on him, so he chose this difficult path for himself. I couldn't establish a connection with the teenager either; he left no contact information, but I think Ramirez will make his presence known. People like him always get into various adventures and have a magical knack for getting out of them without serious consequences. I can only wish him luck.

In two months of work, I've gotten a bit closer to my idea. I tried to assemble a working prototype from available materials, but, to put it mildly, it turned out "not great." Glitchy like an old android and bulky like a subwoofer. Of course, I'm exaggerating, but the truth isn't far off. Now my main task is to bring my future "identifier" to an acceptable level. Its criteria were as follows:

1) Small size;

2) Conductivity as good as, or better than, standard ports;

3) Rapid data exchange.

The first and third points are the main issues. I already had the wire, but as for the other aspects... In short, more work and brainpower are needed. It's not just about cramming them with useful knowledge and constantly seeking all kinds of information on electrical engineering and related fields. Recently, I even started getting interested in local weaponry. It's also filled with various electronics, which in my opinion are sometimes superfluous. One hit from an EMP grenade and the gun is trash. Many weapons are built on a fire control system through augmentation. Disrupt this delicate mechanism, and the gun stops shooting properly. There are models without all these technical innovations, but people are accustomed to stuffing electronics everywhere, even where it doesn't belong.

I still had hopes for Soviet firearms, but they don't sell their weapons openly. To acquire them, you need to shell out a good amount, and old rifles like the AK-74 are only useful against flesh-and-blood types like me. They can't penetrate some chromed idiot who's installed several active defense implants.

According to Susan, half of the Maelstrom gang opts for subdermal armor of class 1, which is not only quite cheap but also fairly effective. It can withstand 3-4 bullets, which is usually enough. Nobody's going to just sit around and wait to be shot. I haven't seen such fools yet, fortunately.

But weapons aren't the deadliest thing in Night City. Those equipped with what's known as "Sandevistan" or "Sandy" in layman's terms are far deadlier than any gun-wielding idiot. These beasts use a special spinal implant integrated into the nervous system, enhancing a person's perception and reaction to such an extent that they can dodge bullets in real time. The owner of such augmentation moves at a speed no less, and sometimes even greater, than normal.

These implants vary in levels, ranging from civilian models to military ones. The strain on the body also differs, as does each individual's endurance. Some can barely activate Sandy twice a day, while others can do it ten times.

I, on the other hand, will be much more vulnerable in this regard. I can't, and don't want to, install implants, so I need a powerful alternative. Currently, I'm striving to create something like a special armored suit for such situations, which also needs to be easily transportable, adding to the headache. Creating my version of Iron Man's armor is a dream, but alas, I'm not smart enough to reproduce it under current conditions. Maybe in the distant future, but definitely not now.

"Sigh, how I wish to have everything right now..." I look at the prototype lying in front of me with a sad gaze and reactivate the simulation. If I want to achieve my goals, I first need to put in all possible effort.