By Thursday evening, I was just getting finished on Nakajima’s cyberware OS and robotics code work. The biggest challenge hadn’t been debugging it so much as understanding what the fuck it was that the last programmer tried to achieve.

  During my stint in code review, I realized very quickly that people… thought different. Rather than say so little about it, I should add on that people’s brains were so different from mine, and so inefficient, that it boggled my mind when I imagined how they even operated in real life.

  Like, how fucking stupid was the last guy who made this chrome arm OS? Was he mentally challenged? Did he learn coding a day before making this program? Was he on drugs? In deep mourning?

  If that was all the difficulty I faced, then I would have still felt fine just doing the work and learning whatever I could—and I did learn a lot even if what I learned was done inefficiently and worse than how I would have done it if I had known about the tricks implemented.

  No.

  Cyberware code wasn’t just weirdly done.

  It was nightmarishly invasive.

  Some egghead corpo who was not the greatest coder in the world, had built the function of your arm, and leaving behind how imperfect it was, it recorded more information than you could possibly believe. There were modules that recorded fucking handwriting style, for god’s sake, ostensibly to give you an autopilot functionality while writing by hand, but that didn’t explain the subroutines meant to send this information periodically over the Net.

  Chrome used the Net more than the user was made aware of, not just for troubleshooting and updating, but to send information about the user, anything that they could make money off of.

  The arm recorded everything.

  What the hell did my Sandevistan record?

  [Though I cannot speak to the full breadth of the Sandevistan’s code, I can identify the functions of several active subroutines: Your Sandevistan records the impact that the cyberware has on your body, runs several subroutines to make sure that the equipment is working correctly, and records this data to be extracted manually by a third party. It does not transmit data wirelessly. The design is such that this was done purposefully. Outgoing signals require a wired connection to occur.]

  Maybe mil-spec went by different rules, then. Made sense. The cyberware OS I was reviewing was made available for the consumer market. The chrome I was sporting was a military unit and as far as I was aware, it didn’t exist on the market.

  How James Norris or his backer, Militech, had gotten their hands on seemingly experimental Kang Tao technology—QianT being one of its primary cyberware subsidiaries—I didn’t know, but it was clearly in their best interest to not let a rival firm glean so much information off of an asset of theirs. They must have taken care of whatever spyware QianT had implemented and replaced it with spyware of their own, but one that just gave them manual access to the OS.

  Even if they’d need to jack into it to pull my biometrics and other info, I still made a note to fortify that entry point and make sure anyone trying to jack into it would have to get my consent first.

  But then again, if I had been captured and disabled enough that they had no issues jacking into me, they’d only need to torture the access key out of me.

  It was a dumb and slightly depressing thing to try and ready myself for. But I’d still do it.

  Inept programmers and invasive spyware was enough to just give me a taste of the paranoia that most netrunners experienced.

  What gave me an entire plate of it was the realization I had when I had finished comprehending and debugging the code.

  It started with a slight worry.

  There were inefficiencies in the code, some math issues that threatened the stability of the chrome arm’s modularity—its ability to mesh well with other pieces. Specifically, it added an undue amount of neural strain—unrealized and in an incipient form. Only when another piece of cyberware arrived could this actually become an issue.

  The math issues could be resolved by any other piece of chrome that anticipated those issues and created some counter-measures to resolve them using as little memory and processing power as possible.

  These issues could be resolved when an entirely separate piece of chrome pre-emptively solved the issues of the first piece.

  This was just a small and slightly insane worry.

  Then I checked the OS for any sort of ways that it, on its own, could solve inefficiencies and bloat in the variables of another piece of cyberware.

  [It is approaching midnight.]

  I ignored that and continued on my hunch.

  It was an hour later, after having reviewed sections of code dozens of times over, when I came away with conclusive evidence. This piece of cyberware was anticipating inefficiencies and would be ready to solve them in a very specific, clearly by design way.

  The consequences for not having solved this issue? Increased neural strain. Reduced cyberware adaptability.

  Discomfort.

  If you had the scratch for it, you only got a piece of chrome if that piece felt better than the real thing. People didn’t cut off arms or gouge out their eyes just so they could feel like a freak for the rest of their lives. They did it to increase their quality of living.

  And if a subsequent piece from their first didn’t feel all that comfortable—some Militech foot implants after installing some preem Arasaka hands—then they would have those feet replaced with a known quantity: Arasaka. After all, their ‘Saka hands felt nova to them and never gave them any issues. Felt better than the real thing. The feet didn’t. They felt… wrong.

  So they’d go with ‘Saka feet to go with ‘Saka hands, and ‘Saka would get double the edds.

  This wasn’t even fucking touching whatever mechanical incompatibilities existed, engineered in meatspace. Those would be easier for any half-decent techie to spot, so maybe they didn’t exist, but the code fuckery was so well-hidden that I doubted it was possible for most people to spot it if they either didn’t know what they were looking for or didn’t have as much of an interest in numbers as I did.

  One thing was clear: Mixing chrome brands was an actual factor in burgeoning cyberpsychosis. They made it so on purpose.

  “Holy fucking shit,” I whispered.

  I felt like I was on the precipice of some truly monumental information, the kind of shit that’d get me kidnapped and tortured by an Arasaka strike team.

  I was too scared to even search the Net for more information, but I was confident that the conspiracy theories existed.

  I didn’t even want to touch the code related to this monstrous conspiracy, didn’t want Nakajima to suddenly zero me for stumbling onto a secret in the programming world.

  A holo-call from Nakajima almost made me jump out of my fucking skin. It was 2 AM. With shivering hands, I accepted the call.

  His face was visible, and he was smoking. “I saw you finished the debug and review, but you’ve been scrolling through the code for the better part of five hours now. Anything you found?” He could see this. Of course he could. He had shared the document to me, but he still kept access to it. I would have downloaded a copy to peruse offline if that was an option, but that had been conspicuously disabled as well. I was on read-only mode, enforced by the admin.

  “Just fascinated is all,” I said.

  He regarded me flatly and took a long drag. “You’re the real deal, aren’t you? The debug was impressive enough on its own, but fascination ain’t why a guy like you would be staring at some shit code for legacyware chrome.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Good,” he said. “Don’t say nothing, ain’t gonna be nothing.”

  I gulped. He knew. I just nodded.

  “Ever wonder, David, just how much power they have over us?” Nakajima asked. “I think the fight against them ended when we decided that it was okay to give them access to our bodies. Ever since then, they’ve had our balls in a vice. Shame you had to find out this early, while useless thoughts of rebellion and defiance still no-doubt tumble around in that brain box of yours.”

  “I’m young, not stupid,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I think…” think what? That I can win against Arasaka? Wasn’t I trying to climb to the top? What did that mean, if not winning?

  Or was it that I always knew exactly what it meant to climb to the top of Arasaka; that Arasaka and I would lose our separation, become one entity. I would be swallowed and digested, and only once I broke down into nothing could Arasaka allow me to take control, on its own terms.

  “Not trying to browbeat you anyway,” Nakajima said, taking another drag of his cigarette. Did all programmers smoke? I was starting to understand why. “Just wanted to congratulate you is all. You’re officially one of us. This sort of thing is something of a milestone to those who are really about this life; an event that gives you a feeling of urgency to protect yourself in the soft, to know just how much of a reflection of reality that the soft is. The next step above that is witnessing and coming to terms with the breadth of your overlords, to let that realization beat every last piece of fight left in that skull of yours. That will come in time as we work on this project.”

  “And what are we doing?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Efficiency optimization,” he said. “Times have changed and tech is getting better. We’re writing an algorithm that determines where and how Arasaka can increase efficiency and optimization through automation and better workflows.”

  I frowned. “Wait. Doesn’t that mean that people will lose their jobs?”

  He chuckled. “That’s exactly what that means. And then they’ll get jobs again later because Arasaka now has enough money to widen their business operations and hire more people, because enough is never enough for any megacorp worth their salt. Whether their new jobs pays the same or not isn’t any of our business. Buuut it’s unlikely.”

  “Doesn’t exactly sound ethical,” I said. “These are working people that we’re screwing over.”

  “Correction, we won’t be screwing anyone over, because we won’t win. Winning is unlikely. There are ten categories of IT solutions that we can pick from, meaning that we will just be up against a fraction of projects and contestants. Despite that, we will be competing against people with enough scratch and resources to employ far more rigorous testing and can incorporate far more use-cases than us. Just ranking in the top 10s in our particular problem will be good enough for both our purposes.”

  I nodded. Well, when he put it that way, it didn’t really matter, did it?

  “Why aren’t we picking another category?” I asked.

  “Because that’s where the actual psychos are competing. The cybersec freaks and borged out corporate netrunners with modded and upgraded cyberdecks that think they’re the next Rache Bartmoss, only tamer. This is meatspace code, normie shit. They don’t care. And here, we actually have a snowball’s chance in the Mojave.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’ll send you the info. We’ll also need to do an on-stage presentation, so keep that in mind. What do you say, kid? Ready to enter the corpo world?”

  I’d never felt less ready.

  “Yes.”

  If Lucy ever heard about this, she would fucking flatline me.

  000

  I walked outside in the school park, ear-buds on and Samurai playing at its loudest setting as I reviewed some less terrifying code. Kiwi’s code was a welcome reprieve from the depressiveness of last night’s revelations.

  Terrifying. Truly terrifying.

  I remembered now what I had fed Kiwi about wanting to stay safe in the net because the megacorps were liable to fuck you over.

  That was an abstract, yet sure fear of mine.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  But it was bullshit.

  Not because it was wrong, but because I was inaccurate, hand-wavey and unknowing of the actual depth of depravity that the corps were capable of. It was easy to just say that the corps would screw you, but what exactly had I even known about that until now? Megabuilding rent and Trauma Team fuckery notwithstanding.

  Even chrome wasn’t fucking safe.

  And not just the experimental shit they’d inject in you even though you’re just a child. The consumer market shit that even corpo fucking suits were buying.

  This whole industry was like a snake eating its own fucking tail in search for even a shred of more nutrients. Arasaka’s CEO was liable to screw himself over for more eddies at this point. Maybe point a gun at his mirror image and roar at him to fork over more cash once he was done sucking the fucking universe dry of value.

  Chippin’ In started playing and I skipped it almost immediately, feeling ill to my fucking stomach as I did.

  How could I even think about chipping in more chrome now? Who else even knew? Did Kiwi know? Lucy, maybe? How many of Maine or Dorio’s pieces were mixed brands?

  James Norris had NUSA backing, meaning he was probably more Militech than ‘ganic by weight—and likely volume as well—but just one QianT implant was enough to tip him over the edge.

  Then again, was the spine his last implant? Certainly couldn’t have been an old one since it still hadn’t hit the consumer market yet, meaning it was definitely something new, bleeding edge for sure.

  Was getting distracted. Needed to focus on Kiwi’s quickhack.

  They were called Ping and Overheat. Ping allowed one to detect devices that one could tap into, meaning that I didn’t have to use my eyes to find any entry-points, an incredibly useful quickhack for just starting off on Netrunning. Overheat was a quickhack that affected cyberware directly, overclocking the cyberware’s processors and generating enough heat to straight up burn a target from within, which was a suitably horrifying way to die. Goddamn, Netrunners were scary.

  Finding out what made the second one stop ticking wasn’t so hard now that I was so intimately familiar with cyberware OS, or at least its most rudimentary iterations. With the help of Kiwi’s comments, I diagnosed the quickhack’s shortcomings and concluded that to make it better, I needed information on some recent cyberware, at least the security protocols that prevented this quickhack’s usual methods from working on cyberware nowadays.

  Lucky for me, I was sporting mil-spec. If I managed to figure out a way for overheat to theoretically work on my Sandevistan, then there was little that it wouldn’t work on, provided the ICE was taken care of.

  That would be something of an involved process, and of course, it wouldn’t be a solution for every piece of chrome out there. Not all of them worked like my Sandy. Maybe I’d get lucky with other QianT or Kang Tao chrome models, but that was unlikely as well.

  That was the actual trick with quickhacks. They needed to be general enough to apply to a wide variety of targets, hence why they were considered ‘quick’. Any one that was tailor-made to a specific type of chrome might be far faster than even the most functional quickhack, but it would only work on a single case, making it practically useless unless you were specifically trying to screw one person over.

  Or maybe a group of people using the same cyberware. There were probably real-life uses to specific quickhacks, and I’d get to those in time, but for now, general was the name of the game.

  What I’d learn from figuring out how to Overheat the Sandy could still transfer to other pieces of chrome. It would be hard not being able to actually test the finished product on myself, considering I liked being alive, but I’d find a way around that. Maybe I should hit up Turing’s local net and see what I could get from there. Would probably cost me eddies.

  And the thought of money summoned the urgency to fetch a new gig from somewhere, seeing that Maine wasn’t giving me shit.

  There were only so many hours in any given day, and even though the Sandevistan helped me rifle through an unholy amount of information in a ridiculously short amount of time, that still left me spread thin.

  What are your Friday-night plans, Martinez? Take out another scav den, slaughter thirty-four more people, or bend my mind with more realizations of how absolutely fucked this world was?

  Two guys from a class below me approached me. They were the management corpo brats, the kids of the well-connected, but not exactly at Katsuo’s level. They were at the level of his hangers-on, actually. Former clients of mine.

  “Martinez,” the guy in front of the two of them began. He was built widely, tall, and had shoulder-length brown hair and a brutish face. Right now, his scowl, made nasty by his face, was directed towards me. “I thought I told you to update me on when new BDs hit the market.”

  I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know,” he said. “Just Kidding?”

  “What?”

  “JK,” he pressed on.

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” I said.

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Martinez. You know how embarrassing it is that those Militech asswipes showed us up about the latest? You used to get that shit fresh off the corpse, what happened.”

  Come to think of it, I did still have a surplus of Norris BDs, never got to push them after my falling out with Doc.

  “Walter,” the guy behind him muttered. He was pale, with white hair, and wore blue-rimmed glasses, probably just a fashion statement since a guy like him probably didn’t have eye-problems if his parents were corpo—he could afford an eyesocket biosculpt. He was clearly uncomfortable. Always was when dealing with me, but now he looked ready to cut and run for some reason, like I was some kind of volatile glitter dealer. Truth was, I enjoyed that little power I had over him. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

  “Double price,” Walter said. “I already know you’re ripping my ass off as it is, but I only go to you because getting that shit off the streets could fry your brain if you’re not careful.” Ergo, he was using me as a guinea pig.

  His trust in me was touching. “Walter,” I said. “I thought I already told you that I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Like hell!” he roared. I looked around. The park was far enough away from the cameras that they’d likely only pick up video, but I still didn’t like where this was going. “You think you can just walk away from your obligations? What if I tipped the administration off on your… mercantile enterprise?”

  My deliberate look of confusion immediately shifted to a death glare. “Maybe you shouldn’t be threatening the guy responsible for sourcing the stuff you put in your brain.

  Walter took a step back. “Yeah? What are you gonna do?”

  I regarded him coldly, but inwardly I was worried. He was an asshole, but what’s more, he was a stupid one, too. This line of threatening wasn’t going to get him what he wanted, and would move him even further from his goals.

  He was being an asshole right now, but I could use him.

  Finally find a way to get a network in this hellhole of a school, a network that wasn’t just about illicit XBD deals.

  “I don’t give gifts to people who aren’t friends to me,” I said.

  “Friends?” Walter grimaced.

  “Yes, friends,” I said with an insistent nod. “I’m very kind and charitable to my friends, but those that are not friends to me, I cannot be moved to care so closely for them. You’ll find that my friendship is quite reasonably priced, however.”

  Contrary to my expectations, it was the guy behind him that began talking. “What exactly does a friendship entail? I just want us to be clear so there won’t be a misunderstanding down the line.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “I simply want to improve my connection to my fellow schoolmates and keep a finger on the pulse on any comings and goings that can maybe aid me in my future.”

  “What,” Walter growled. “So you turned over the corpo leaf?”

  I ignored Walter as I continued. “Pardon me, I never received your name.”

  “Allister,” he said. His insecurity and doubt was slowly leaving him, but he didn’t exactly exude confidence as he spoke. “There is no need to introduce yourself, David Martinez.”

  I nodded. “A friendship would also imply that I am not to be contacted without even a hint of pretense regarding… certain matters.”

  “As for those matters,” Allister said. “Are you willing to make us an offer, provided we accept your request of friendship?”

  “Normal price,” I said. Guess I was back to XBDealing again. Would only be slightly less convenient without Doc’s generous and extensive supply.

  Walter was an idiot if he thought going into the streets and getting his XBDs right from the source was any more dangerous than getting them from me. Where the fuck did he think I had gotten them from anyway, from Jimmy Kurosaki’s own hands?

  “That is acceptable,” Allister said. “Can we acquire your product the same way as usual?”

  “Not today,” I said. “I didn’t bring my stock with me, as I had already made plans to cease my operations. It is at home.”

  “Doesn’t work, Martinez—” Walter began before Allister cut him off with a hand to his shoulder and a stern look. Walter’s eyes widened and he backed off.

  I had misjudged their dynamic, it seemed. Allister was the top dog, Walter was just the dog. He had a big mouth, and was able to traverse a world that Allister couldn’t, the underworld. That’s why Allister let him take point. He was better versed in the corpo world.

  “What he means,” Allister said. “Is that we are attending a party this evening. It is customary that we bring BDs of an extraordinary nature to impress our classmates and some guests from rival corp schools. Even if the BD from the events of a week ago is slightly old news, it would still help our standing to provide some to our friends.”

  Oh, wow, I didn’t know I was dealing with fucking corpo gofers.

  Well, then what the hell did that make me for begging these guys for a friendship?

  Truth be told, I wasn’t loving this interaction very much.

  “May I suggest a solution to this?” Allister asked and I nodded. “You can meet us at the party with the stock. I can even pay you up-front for it. Ten units. A thousand eurodollars. We can honor our newfound friendship too by introducing you to our friends.”

  Fuck.

  Fuuuuuck.

  This was good for me. Good like rancid medicine. Still had to swallow.

  Bye-bye, peace of mind and a happy Friday evening coding away.

  Needed a gig after this, or I’d really kill myself by night’s end.

  “I appreciate the gesture, but I need guarantees,” I said. “That you won’t let me become… a target. On account of my background.”

  Walter piped up. “How are we gonna do that without sticking our own necks out?”

  Allister gave him another look, but quickly refocused on me. “We will introduce you and give you our endorsement, but to expect more from us than that is unfair. We can only do so much to integrate you into our circle without risking our own standing. And this is under the assumption that you don’t… lash out if things don’t turn out favorably for you.”

  So don’t act up or retaliate if somebody shits on me.

  Maybe that was what Katsuo expected me to do the first time he gave me shit from coming from Arroyo. Instead, I had told him to ‘fuck off, eat shit, and then die, corpo scumbag’. He never really learned to let that go, the absolute dickhead.

  Those days were behind me, now. Had to figure out a way to keep trucking in this environment, and it wouldn’t start with making an enemy out of every snooty corpo who thought their shit didn’t stink.

  I shrugged. “That is acceptable. Shoot me the information and I’ll be there whenever you want with the stuff.”

  He nodded.

  His eyes flashed blue, and I received the information, and the full grand for ten Norris XBDs.

  To put it into perspective, it would have cost me two hundred to source them straight from the streets, and Doc had given them to me for free, expecting me to cut him in once I sold them all.

  This was pure profit.

  I was just five grand away, now, from paying off this semester’s fees.

  I could make that just klepping shards all night until eight o’ clock when I’d finally be expected to attend the party.

  “Also,” I said. “Before you leave, I’d like an apology for Walter’s treatment of me. And his threats.” I said.

  Allister sighed. His eyes flashed blue, and I was five hundred eddies richer.

  “I… hope this suffices.”

  My eyes widened.

  I felt something bubbling up from the bottom of my gut, something fierce and raw.

  I activated the Sandevistan, trying to calm down.

  That was the right move. I just needed time to calm down. Time to not do something impulsive like scream.

  Then, some more time, to not throw the cash back in his face and tell Walter to apologize like a man.

  Then, finally, when I thought I had swallowed the last of my anger, I gave a nod. “Truthfully,” I said, my mouth moving without my mind’s conscious input. “I was expecting a more old-school approach to it, but you’re right. This suffices.”

  “That, you can have as well,” Allister said as he turned around to give Walter another look. He looked at me in disgust before clenching his jaws and giving a ninety-degree bow.

  “My sincerest apologies, David Martinez. My rudeness is inexcusable, and I beg for your forgiveness.”

  I gave a nod. “This will suffice as well. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Allister.”

  “And to a fruitful friendship,” he gave a nod. “At risk of giving offense, I would suggest that you update your wardrobe for this event.” He looked at me expectantly, likely waiting for an outburst. Truth was, I was already outraged enough from what he tried to pull earlier that I didn’t even have any room to take offense at that simple thing.

  “Noted,” I said. Maybe I should burn the proceeds of my BD sale and the apology money for expensive clothes, then. In between my shard heists, I could hit up a store somewhere and get fitted with the latest fashion.

  A busy Friday it would be.

  “Anything else I can do for you?” I asked.

  “No. Farewell, David.”

  Farewell, what a fucking nerd. “See you later.” Seriously, who talks like that. I really hope this was just a one-of thing, done because we were newbies at interacting with each other and hadn’t broken the corpo ice yet.

  The two of them finally fucked off, leaving me to pick up the pieces of another schedule upheaval.

  After the final bell rung and I was let out to go home, I sent Maine a message that I wouldn’t be available after eight o’ clock tonight.

  Maine: Finally got a life, kid? Kudos to you. We were just thinking of hitting up the Afterlife at around eleven. Won’t be missing much.

  Getting drunk with the edgerunners sounded way more fun than what I was about to subject myself to, but it couldn’t be helped. This was my career. My dream. Had to give that some precedence.

  I always brought my cyberdeck to school, just in case I wanted to do more shard-heisting, which I did on my way to Downtown City Centre. The good part about my NCART route was that I was getting even closer to money, meaning I was getting even bigger fish with more valuable shards.

  I had to get off at a station and consult a local net for any information about some clothing stores I could peruse.

  There was an Arasaka store called Jinguji, so I decided to just go for that one. I took a cab there, sinking a crisp one hundred eddies for a ten minute ride. Highway robbery, but there was no other way I could get there in a reasonable length of time.

  The store was chromed out in the old-fashioned meaning of the word. Shiny floor and walls, metallic mannequins polished to a mirror-finish, and clothes with fur on them. The fibers looked so fine in some of the synth wool clothes that I bet wearing it would feel so soft and good.

  I approached the storefront, and was immediately accosted by the appearance of some butler-looking guy. He looked me up and down with a level of disdain that the waiter from the other day could only come close to imitating.

  “I’m a student of Arasaka Academy,” I said, my words coming out like a shield at how threatened I was feeling, status-wise. “And I’m here to buy clothes. For a party.”

  “Allow me to run a credit check.”

  “I don’t have credit with a bank. I’m a kid. I have eurodollars. Real money.”

  He narrowed his eyes and grimaced in clear disgust. “You have awful taste for a corp student, you know. Did your parents force you to come here?”

  “I’m wearing my uniform,” I said. How the fuck could he divine how I normally dressed just from seeing me in my uniform? Hell, I wasn’t even wearing my usual gold-plated chain.

  “It’s the way you’re wearing me that has me bothered,” he said. “Maybe you should look into upsizing your uniform before you bust a seam instead of trying to show off your muscle.”

  I was tired, so, so tired of corp lip. Fuck it. “You’re right,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll requisition a larger uniform.” Which I already had, but saying that would just provoke him into poking me in another way. “But you’re clearly a man of taste. Would you be willing to pick something out for me that I can wear for a party tonight?”

  “Certainly.”

  “And… can we keep it within a reasonable budget? My parents prefer that I don’t waste funds needlessly.”

  “How much have they allotted you?”

  “Fourteen hundred.”

  “Ah,” he said, with no small amount of pity in his features. “That is regrettable. Come with me. I’m afraid we cannot outfit you with a boa or even any fur-lining at that price point, or…” he turned to me with a grin. “I’ll give you one freebie. We’ll dress you up in something truly respectable, and then we can move onto something that you can actually afford, and by the end of it, you can decide on what you really want after giving your parents a call.”

  What kind of a demon was he?

  A salesman, that’s what.

  “I don’t much see the point.”

  “Your parents certainly will,” he said. “Halfassing an outfit for a party with other corporate students signals something far more than simply being in dire financial straits. It signals weakness. Dressing up flashily, however… now that turns heads. And whoever said that you couldn’t reuse the same outfit anyhow? That is the beauty of Neokitsch: you create an iconic look, and you embody it. This outfit may therefore last you quite a long time.”

  “Fuck, fine,” I said. “Uhm, is there a chance you could, I dunno,” I stopped to think. Maybe this was a stupid thing to ask. “You ever seen those EMT jackets?”

  His eyes widened in shock as he smiled with absolute glee. “Say no more, my friend!”