ht now—especially not with this wine hangover. "Let's just go with that and see how things unfold."
He also noticed something odd in the few days he'd known the pair: they hadn't touched the food he'd left in the clinic, yet they still looked satisfied, nothing like a couple of hungry street rats.
He'd only seen them share a single water bottle—and it was the same one from day one.
Where were they getting water from?
Certainly not from the tap—he monitored all the clinic's consumption.
…
"And done," Faelan lifted the welding mask from his face and placed the plasma torch back in its secure holder. "The drive's completely unrecoverable now."
Kiwi looked at the melted metal mess and nodded, visibly more at ease.
Since neither of them was sure just how damaged a hard drive had to be for its data to be truly unrecoverable, they opted to pretty much melt it down.
"Alright, now that you're done—let's get ourselves some clothes!" Kiwi grabbed his arm and pulled him along in a hurry.
Having obtained a respectable sum of money from Galina's chip, Faelan's Pip-Boy now had enough stored funds to finally take their first steps into a new life.
And it all starts with clothes!
Plus, Kiwi wasn't just in a rush because she was fed up with the rags she'd been wearing—right now was peak hour in the Watson district, meaning there were more people on the streets. If they hurried to Kabuki Market in Little China, there'd be far less chance of running into trouble on the way.
She'd studied the surroundings, and going now was the best move.
Faelan and Kiwi walked through the maze of hallways, stalls, and improvised shops, ignoring the people in the corners giving suggestive looks to passersby in hopes of selling their "services" for a while.
Kabuki Market didn't have anything like a shop specializing in kids, but there were secondhand stores where they could find much better clothes than what they had now.
In fact, they got lucky—behind the old apartment buildings in Little China, they found some local vendors with blankets spread out, selling all sorts of things.
Knowing their goal, Kiwi had taken measurements for both Faelan and herself so they could buy anything that fit their needs on the spot.
Faelan stopped Kiwi with a hand on her shoulder and pointed to a stall with the other.
An elderly woman of Asian descent was rubbing her hands together for warmth, glancing left and right with a worried look. But what caught their attention was the pile of clothes on her blanket—perfect for what they wanted.
They approached, and Kiwi handled the conversation with the old woman, who spoke to them kindly, as if they were her grandchildren. After almost half an hour of chatting and picking out various pieces to build two outfits, they paid without asking for a discount and said goodbye.
Kiwi picked out an oversized, dark gray padded jacket with patchwork repairs and a large hood that partially hid her face. Some visible stitching showed it had been mended several times, and a barely visible, faded megacorp logo could still be seen on the back. She also chose black canvas cargo pants with big side pockets—loose-fitting, with reinforced knees. Slightly frayed at the bottom, like they had once belonged to a slim teenager. She grabbed a pair of sneakers with slightly worn soles, but still functional. Finally, she picked out fingerless gloves made of synthetic leather—perfect for protecting her hands without slowing her down when accessing consoles or devices.
Faelan went for a brown hoodie that still had an intact zipper, with a dark shirt underneath. The hood was stitched to always hang low—almost over his eyes—helping hide his horns. The jeans were a little faded but not frayed, with extra stitching on the back pockets to hide small items. The sneakers were mismatched—one black, one white—but the same model and quite comfortable.
It wasn't the best clothing the old lady had to offer, but it was exactly what they needed. The outfits had a worn urban look that blended in with the locals, the muted colors helped them disappear into the background of Watson, and the lack of neon meant any attention they got would be fleeting and random.
In short, they looked like: We're locals, but we've got nothing worth stealing.
They didn't even wait to return to Vik's clinic. They took turns changing in a single-entry alley behind a dumpster, and once they were both dressed in their new outfits, they tossed the old ones in the bin without a second thought.
They had officially left their past at the factory behind.
With their new look, they returned to the market—and the effect was instant.
Where people had eyed them warily before, now they were met with complete indifference.
Total success!
They wasted no time and headed to an electronics stall, leaving with a cardboard box full of old parts, an old tablet, a visor similar to the one they'd used at the factory but of much better quality, and a few basic training chips.
They had no doubt they'd been overcharged based on the look the seller gave them—but they didn't care as long as the items were genuine.
Back at Vik's clinic, they both set to work examining the parts in detail—separating the ones that were too damaged to use and should be trashed, and the ones that had been tampered with and would need to be "cleaned" to avoid snooping.
You can never be too careful with this stuff.
It took them another three days to assemble a clean, working visor so they could start using the training chips. Kiwi began learning more about netrunning, while Faelan dived into scattered studies on biology, architecture, medicine, and more.
He hadn't given up on his idea of building a Batcave—he'd just wisely postponed it.
"Right. I need to prepare another batch for Galina," Faelan paused to think about what to deliver. "Let's go with potatoes this time."