So preem!

  Everything that I had been learning was so fascinating, I struggled to remember to eat or sleep. Viktor had given me a few data shards with the basics of anatomy, mathematics, electrical engineering, mechanical engineering, and cybernetics. Oh, and there was also one on proper safety protocols and procedures. And a dictionary.

  “Kid! Focus!”

  Viktor’s voice finally filtered through. I’d been watching the procedure so intently, that I’d stopped paying attention to anything else.

  “Right, sorry!”

  I hurried over to the rolling tray of tools and grabbed the tissue retractor, a sleek, mechanical device designed to spread open muscle fibers without causing permanent damage. The patient was already sedated, their torso numbed with dermal anesthetics while Viktor worked on creating a pocket beneath the skin for the subdermal plating.

  The armor itself was a set of thin, flexible composite sheets, a layered weave of high-density carbon and reactive polymer plating that would harden on impact. The material was designed to adjust its flexibility in real time based on movement, ensuring it didn’t interfere with mobility while still absorbing kinetic trauma.

  Viktor carefully slid the first armor plate into place beneath the skin over the pectoral muscles, his hands steady as he maneuvered the implant between major nerve clusters and the underlying vascular structure.

  “Alright, stapler,” he muttered, reaching out his hand.

  I handed the fusion stapler to him, watching as the micro-welding tool emitted precise, controlled energy pulses to bond the plating to the fascia, ensuring it wouldn’t shift or cause complications as the body healed.

  “Pass me the mesh applicator,” Viktor instructed.

  I grabbed the regenerative mesh applicator, a pistol-like tool with a bio-polymer compound designed to encourage rapid cellular integration. Viktor sprayed a thin, blue-tinted layer of the mesh over the incision site, sealing the plating within the body like it had always been there.

  “Now, let’s see if it holds up,” Viktor said, motioning toward the tactile response scanner.

  I activated the scanner, watching as the armor’s internal micro-sensors pinged back live data. The plating flexed as intended.

  “Good. No interference with muscle contractions, and no pinched nerves.” Viktor cracked his neck. “Now, pass me the next panel. We’ve got another 58 to go.”

  It took another three hours to finish.

  Viktor leaned back against the counter with a beer in hand looking over at the still-unconscious man. “Now we just gotta hope this guy doesn’t take a full-auto magdump to the chest before it all sets.”

  I just sat on the cool concrete floor, head leaning back against the wall, tired from the long procedure. This wasn’t the first one I’d helped with but it was definitely one of the longest. It had started to get boring about halfway through. We were just doing the same thing over and over again. On the other hand, for the last few plates, he did let me apply the regenerative mesh and that was certainly interesting. He’d also let me take some of the cut-offs from when we were shaping the plates to fit. I couldn’t wait to try experimenting with them.

  Viktor eyed me with a neutral expression. “You did well today. Just like always… Just try not to get distracted.”

  I nodded. I still didn’t like to talk much if it didn’t involve something interesting. But I was willing to talk. He’d earned my trust as much as anyone could, as much as anyone ever had.

  He passed me 20 eddies. “Three and a half hours of work and another 120 paid off towards your debt.”

  Viktor paid me 40 an hour but would keep all but 20 to pay towards my debt. He also got me a meal each time I worked with him and taught me his trade. Among other things.

  He looked at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “So, how’s the intro shard to calculus coming along?”

  I mumbled back absentmindedly, “Oh, I finished it. It was interesting how some of the ideas could be applied to force production in cybernetics.”

  Viktor’s eye twitched. He spoke with studied composure, “Oh really? I didn’t realize that was used as an example.”

  I was still thinking about the procedure and responded without much inflection, “Ehh. It wasn’t, but the intro shard to electrical engineering had a section on how capacitors store and release energy and the mechanical engineering shard had a bit on how different leverage arms contributed to peak velocity. The cybernetics shard said that you had to use an X-82a battery and appropriately rated micro wires if you want the 1st gen Militech Gorilla Arms to output the correct amount of force, but they didn’t explain why. The specs for the different components was included though. So, with a bit of work, I managed to figure out the formula. It might be useful.”

  Viktor’s twitch had gotten worse as I spoke. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Stiffly he replied, “That’s very impressive…”

  He sighed and dragged a hand down over his face before putting down his beer and pushing off the counter, “I’ll go grab you the shards on chemistry fundamentals, pharmacology and anesthesiology, and common drug protocols.”

  As he moved over to a drawer he continued, “I’d recommend working through chemistry before you give pharmacology and anesthesiology a try. You’ll be missing a lot if you do it the other way around. I’d just wait to give it to you until you next came in, but I suspect you’ll finish chemistry before then and just come bother me for more if I don’t give it to you now.”

  He pulled out three shards and handed them over to me, “I know you won’t find the common drug protocols as interesting, but I expect you to have finished it before you come over next Thursday.”

  I just grunted in acknowledgment.

  “Niko… Are you paying attention?”

  Irritatedly I replied, “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Chemistry first. Common protocols before Thursday. I got it.”

  Vikor let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “Good. Now get out of here and don’t get yourself killed before next Thursday.”

  I snorted and nodded before shuffling out of the cool basement, looking down at the ground in front of me as I walked—still thinking about the operation.

  The data showed that the micro sensors were responding to nerve impulses not reacting to movement. We had to tune them precisely to respond the right way. It wasn’t in the specs I saw, but they must be thoroughly hardened against outside currents or the plates would go slack at the smallest static shock.

  But from everything I’ve seen and read so far… pretty much all micro nerve sensors use the same default nerve signal template. If I could punch through the shielding, it should be possible to trick the plates into their flexible state. Flooding the system with a broad range of electrical impulses modulated to mimic most neuromuscular signals and matching the default nerve signal template should do the trick.

  I’m not sure an EMP could get through the hardening though. After all, the system is entirely self-contained and doesn’t have any weaknesses where it needs to communicate with other systems…

  So, a physical bypass then…

  A modified taser with increased projectile speed to punch into the plates could do the trick. It would need more darts to hit more plates though. Otherwise, what’s the point? More like a shotgun then. Hmm… It could work.

  I was woken from my stupor by the scent of artificial sandalwood incense and the dreamy crooning of Misty’s voice, “Another successful surgery then? I’m glad.”

  As I looked up from the floor, I couldn’t help but wonder.

  How does she always know how things went without me saying anything? It's like some weird voodoo shit.

  She smiled softly, an oddly knowing look in her eyes, “Your aura has improved with every person you help. Be careful your negative karma doesn’t outweigh it.”

  I flinched slightly.

  Her airy tone drifted upon scented currents, settling on me like an unwelcome coat composed of unasked-for truths, “The pursuit of self-determination is a wise and practical path, but beware that you do not walk it into the abyss that gazes back.”

  I blinked at her, trying to unravel her cryptic words.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Her enigmatic smile turned wry, “Little one… Niko, come sit and let me help you purify your chakras. And maybe have a cup of tea.”

  As I had with every other offer, I rejected it, “Thanks, maybe next time.”

  She was just too weird.

  When I got home the place stank just as much as it had the day I’d moved in. It was a deliberate choice. I wanted this place to be as unattractive as possible. If I cleaned it up and made it seem liveable, then the Tiger Claws or some small-time gang that kicked up to them would’ve taken it. It was big enough to house 15 to 20 people. They could turn it into a whorehouse or glitter lab or any number of other things. But, if it smelled like the rotting remains of a dead junkie and looked like it could collapse any day, they’d leave it for better options.

  So, my repairs had been as subtle as I could manage. The biggest danger wasn’t the outside structure—it was the interior ceiling giving way in the night and crushing me in my sleep. The second floor was already half collapsed and the sections that hadn’t yet had plenty of cracks in the ceiling, with stress fractures along some of the remaining support beams.

  I had to fix them. Quietly. Carefully. Without making it obvious.

  I’d scavenged rebar, metal rods, and steel pipes from old construction sites and abandoned buildings. Some of it was rusted, but rust didn’t matter if it was thick enough to hold weight. The real trick was getting everything into place without drawing attention—no loud drilling, no welding sparks lighting up the windows.

  Instead, I’d hammered rebar pieces into weak spots manually, driving them into the cracks by hand or using a small, salvaged hydraulic press I’d found in a junk pile. Whenever I needed something to hold two sections together, I’d wedge in steel pipes cut to size, securing them with industrial-grade epoxy stolen from a supply stash in an old warehouse. It took longer than welding, but it was silent—just mix, apply, and wait.

  For the worst sections, I’d used a car jack to shift sagging beams just enough to slide supports into place before letting gravity settle them back down. The trick was making sure they weren’t visible—if you looked up, all you’d see was the same cracked concrete as before. I’d stacked broken drywall, shattered tiles, and bent metal scraps over my work, keeping it looking like a ruin. As far as the gangs were concerned, this was still a worthless, half-collapsed husk. But for me, it was turning into something almost comfortable—a safer hideout I could actually call home. But I knew better. The ceiling wouldn’t crush me in my sleep, at least not yet.

  Before entering, I checked to see if anyone had visited today. Someone had the misfortune of doing so at least once or twice a week. I’d gotten rid of the obvious noise traps and replaced them with a bit of debris piled on each side of the doors. It looked completely innocuous—just some crumpled-up cans or used inhalers or a piece of concrete. And that's really all they were, but I could remember exactly what I’d placed and where and how. You had to move at least some of the stuff to open the door and get in. Then I’d know.

  I’d not gotten rid of traps though, just moved them deeper inside where they’d be less noticeable. I didn’t want dead bodies littering the entranceways and getting people curious after all.

  Outside the front door, a crumpled NiCola Blue looked to have been kicked out of place by a passing boot. Peeking in through a crack in the exterior wall, I saw that a chunk of concrete had been pushed back by someone opening the door.

  Well, let’s see what we caught today.

  My heart pounded slightly faster in anticipation as I followed the intruder’s path toward the first tripwire trap. It was placed slightly down the hallway out of the foyer and away from prying eyes. I passed the dusty pockmarked plastic front desk and looked down the hallway.

  I’d gotten two people this time—a fat older man whose body odor was still noticeable even past the scent of his spilled bowels and a young Joytoy probably no older than sixteen. As I watched, I saw her move slightly.

  Huh, not dead yet. The fat guy must’ve blocked most of the shrapnel.

  I pulled my modified Ticon from under my oversized jacket out of the custom holster I’d made. The scrape of gun metal against hard plastic and tough synthetic fabric was loud in the near silent hallway. As I moved closer, I could hear a quiet gurgling moan with every shallow exhale from the small bloody body.

  She was absolutely covered in a sticky layer of blood and drywall dust. The two holes blown in the left and right walls at around chest height for an adult had showered an area of around twenty feet up and down the hall with the fine powder. Chunks of shrapnel were embedded in the walls, floor, and ceiling where they’d missed their targets.

  The neon lights in the girl’s transparent plastic coat shone with a now muted radiance as they struggled to advertise their body within despite the grimy coating. Her right arm was absolutely mangled and she had multiple wounds across that entire side of her body. A jagged laceration above her right eye had covered her face in blood. Her left eye flitted open at the sound of my approach. It was an unfocused and confused look she sent my way.

  I brought my iron to bear and placed my finger on the trigger then paused—hesitating as Misty’s words came to mind.

  Negative karma… The abyss that gazes back…

  I slowly lowered my gun.

  Well, I guess this is a good opportunity to practice my surgical skills on a live body. If she manages to live… I guess I’ll figure out what to do then.

  I pulled out a Maxdoc and got her to take a hit before I searched her and the dead man for weapons. She had a foldout knife and, to my surprise, an A-22B Chao smart pistol in her purse. I’d have to check her for a Smart Link. The man had an Overture revolver. I guessed he was big enough that he could probably handle the recoil. It should sell for a good price. I would never be able to actually use it.

  It was a bit of a struggle, but I managed to drag her out of the mess she’d been lying in, past a second trap I disabled, and into the practice room without causing her too much pain. When she saw the contents of the room she started breathing faster and her eye started to roll in panic. Despite her concussed and heavily injured state she began frantically trying to move and her moaning got louder with an almost plaintive tone to it.

  I rolled my eyes, “Oh, shut up! I’m not a scav and I’m not about to cut you up. Like these other guys.”

  I gestured at the two dismembered and dissected bodies on the other side of the room. One had started to really stink. I’d need to dispose of it soon.

  Her eye rolled to look at the other side of the room. Almost as though she was saying, “Oh yeah? What about all that?”

  There were a couple of desks lined up along the wall and some shelves bolted to the wall above them. Strewn across them were various pieces of cyberware in different states of disassembly and reconstruction.

  I waved my hand dismissively, “I’m no scav. I’m not selling any of that. I’m learning how to become a Ripperdoc. This is all just for… experimentation… And maybe for chipping myself."

  She looked at me in a way that seemed to say, “I thought you said you weren’t a scav.”

  I frowned at my soon-to-be patient, who I logically knew probably had no idea what was going on, and felt the need to explain myself, “Hey, if you come barging into my home like a scopheaded gangoon, I’m gonna defend myself.”

  I looked around the room and continued, “And why should I let good practice materials go to waste? I’m not going out looking for people and I’m not selling what I take… So yeah… not a scav.”

  I nodded in satisfaction at my reasoning and looked back down at the girl. Her single visible eye had rolled up in her head and she’d stopped moving.

  “Shit!”

  I scrambled over to one of my desks. Moving quickly, I grabbed my surgical tools and my drug case before running back over to her. I pulled my cyberdeck out of my pocket, drew out its internal cable, and jacked it into the access port at the back of her neck.

  I let out a breath as the display on my deck started to fill with data on her vitals. She had a biomonitor—absolute bottom shelf scop, but it still worked.

  Her vitals showed she was still alive but fading quickly. The MaxDoc had slowed the bleeding but hadn’t stopped it. Not yet. I needed to stop the bleeding—both external and—I glanced at the display on my cyberdeck—yes, internal as well. The wounds needed to be cleaned of the caked dust so I could see what I was doing. It looked like she had shrapnel in her torso I needed to remove.

  I snatched a squeeze bottle filled with sterile wash—well, as sterile as I could manage, courtesy of a half-used medical kit I’d found a couple of weeks ago. I sprayed down her arm, watching red-tinged water mix with drywall dust and drip onto the cold concrete.

  My hands shook slightly with adrenaline as I reached for a small handheld clamp and a pulse-cauterizer—two more items I'd scavenged and tinkered with. The pulse-cauterizer I’d completely rebuilt.

  “All right, let’s see.” I used the clamp to part the ragged flesh near her right shoulder. A nasty piece of twisted metal jutted between muscles, oozing blood. “Let’s get that out…”

  The girl twitched, a broken whine slipping past her lips. I pressed the cauterizer close and felt the heat as blood vessel after blood vessel sealed. My stomach flipped at the smell of burning flesh, but I was used to worse and it wasn’t my first time using the tool.

  Vitals on my ‘deck still showed decreasing blood pressure. I cursed under my breath, rummaging for a coagulant spray I’d thrown in my drug case. Found it. I shook it and sprayed the shimmering foam over a wide gash near her ribs. It foamed up, stopping the superficial bleeding.

  I switched angles, eyeing the wound on her side, and looked at the readings on the deck.

  Shrapnel embedded in the lower lung. Great.

  She’d need serious reconstructive work—stuff I barely knew how to do. But I could at least keep her from flatlining right now.

  “Okay… next, the big chunk.” I leaned forward, prying what looked like a twisted screw from her flank. It came free with a slick pop. She jolted, her eyelid fluttering wildly. The scanner beeped, warning of dropping O? levels.

  Damn it, I’d nicked another vessel. The bleeding ramped up. I fired the cauterizer again, feeling the jolt of heat radiating through the tool into my hands.

  I’d need to fix that.

  My deck readout showed stabilizing vitals—a small victory, but she wasn’t out of the woods.

  I used a synthetic suture patch around the wound, a quick-seal method I'd practiced on dead bodies. Better than leaving her wide open.

  For good measure, I pulled out a vial of Torvex, a broad-spectrum analgesic/sedative with mild anti-inflammatory effects, and inserted it into an auto-injector. The device was broken when Viktor gave it to me, but I’d managed to repair it. I pulled the shard on common drug protocols out of my pocket and inserted it into the data port at the bottom of the cyberdeck. I quickly scanned the data shard for proper dosage protocols for Torvex. Once I found it, I estimated her weight and adjusted the dosage on the injector’s display before pressing it to her neck. It let out a mechanical hiss as it delivered its payload. Her stiff body relaxed slightly.

  I took one last look at the deck. The internal bleed had slowed, the external gashes were sealed or clamped, and her breathing—though shallow—wasn’t as ragged. She should live an hour, maybe more, if I’d done everything right.

  I collapsed onto my butt, panting. Sweat dripped down my temple, stinging my eyes. The reek of cauterized flesh, gore, and drying foam haze clung to the air.

  I grinned at her unconscious form, “Well… guess you’re not dead yet.”

  I still wasn’t sure if I’d just saved her life or given her a slower death. But for now, at least, I’d had one hell of a chance to practice.