If, of the three "traps" he obtained from SAV, the druidic powers were his favorite, then the partial traits of SCP-166 were the trap he was having the hardest time controlling and assimilating.
The upside was that he hadn't inherited SCP-166's hooved feet, tail, or hypersensitivity to artificial materials or pollutants—things that could trigger a severe asthma attack just by being exposed to someone who had smoked a cigarette three weeks prior.
To have ended up with those traits in this city, of all places and worlds?
He would've died in under fifty seconds from the moment he arrived.
No, his trap was more about the part of SCP-166 that could influence artificial objects within a certain range of her person. The supposed limit was fifteen meters, but Faelan had the feeling that he might reach farther—though only in the future.
Once again, he felt like SAV hadn't "packaged" this gift as cleanly as it should've…
As for the influence itself, artificial objects gradually revert to an unworked state. More complex items—like electrical devices or vehicles—are affected more quickly, with the degradation of their metallic components causing catastrophic structural failure in a matter of hours.
In short: the more complex and technologically advanced the object, the easier it is to degrade and destroy. In addition, within the same radius, plant life would begin to sprout—often growing in highly unlikely places. Add to that a boost from his druidic powers…
It wasn't hard to imagine how this trap could affect Night City and its inhabitants!
But… there were a couple of complications he needed to account for.
The first was that within the trap's range, it made no distinction between friend and foe. Ever since Kiwi had gotten the neuro-link—or even before that, back when they'd been "taken in" at the factory—Faelan had needed to suppress the trap to avoid everything around him being affected by degradation and plant growth.
The sense of congestion wasn't pleasant at all!
The second… was what had happened when his hood tore during his first meeting with Vik.
His body and face gained a strange, inexplicable charisma that influenced others indiscriminately. It made people feel reverence in his presence—layered beneath a fear born from a sudden awareness that they were standing before something "more" than human.
That's why he always wore the hood and the glasses—not just because he was attractive.
The specially assembled glasses blocked facial scanners and protected his uniquely organic eyes from casual glances. With his head covered and his horns hidden, he could pass for a regular person most of the time.
Kondraki had partially seen the horns once by accident, but rather than understanding what they were, he'd assumed Faelan had occipital horn syndrome or a cutaneous horn—both rare conditions, but ones that had existed before.
(I've been using Kondraki's name for some reason, and only just now remembered who he is! Weird.)
Faelan and Kiwi helped out their new landlord while both stayed on high alert.
Kiwi was doing so openly—she didn't trust Vik. Faelan was just acting, trying not to seem too familiar with him.
Their tasks were fairly simple: helping clean up the place, assembling some of the simpler implants, taking notes on the various things Vik said aloud—that sort of work.
Vik clearly wasn't expecting much from a pair of eight-year-olds, which made sense—more sense than most of the rest of the city, anyway.
Their time in the factory had come in handy. While they had to learn how to assemble a few new things, they already had most of the rest down.
One interesting detail Faelan noticed was that Vik seemed to be just starting out in this business. Clients were scarce, to put it mildly. At the same time, what would one day become Misty's shop was now where Viktor was temporarily living until his ripperdoc clinic in Watson got off the ground.
Faelan even noticed Vik had a "Second Place Trophy – Watson Grand Boxing Tournament" next to what looked like the gloves used for the event—probably from when he was part of the Night City Devils Boxing Club.
"I didn't realize we ran this much," Faelan thought as he organized the new "room" he'd be sharing with Kiwi. Again.
The space was smaller than the shipping container, but at least it was well ventilated, and given their age, they didn't need much room thanks to their small size.
"Could I make some kind of underground root chamber, like a secret batcave for us?" he wondered—a terribly appealing and surprisingly viable idea.
Then he remembered the collapse of the factory.
"Maybe I should study architecture too, besides biology, once I get the chance," Faelan muttered, scratching his head through the hood. "I need to find thread or some staples… gotta fix this tear..."
"I knew you'd look for something like that. Here." Kiwi walked in and handed him a stapler. "You'll have to make do with that for now until we get Galina's money and can buy real clothes."
Kiwi was planning to wear new clothes at the first opportunity. What she'd been wearing so far felt like it was about to mold. Even if it was second-hand, she wanted to pick it herself.
Faelan accepted the stapler, surprised, and looked at her.
"Why are you wearing that on your face?"
"A partial mask. I figured it might be a good idea to change my look for a while," she explained casually as she adjusted the mask, still getting used to how her voice sounded with it. "Later I'll try to get some blockers like the ones in your glasses. Maybe I should add a voice tuner?"
It wasn't that it was a bad idea—what surprised Faelan was that Kiwi was wearing a near replica of the mask she would've needed if her jaw had been ripped off.
"Was there no other color besides fuchsia?" he couldn't help asking.
That color combined with Kiwi's blonde hair… not ideal.
"Free? No."
…
"Should I ditch the glasses and get a full-face mask?" Faelan wondered seriously.
Back at the factory, he hadn't had much freedom to choose his outfit, but now, as long as he could get the right gear, he could wear whatever he wanted.
Even if Night City hated the anonymous, maybe he could create an alter ego or something.
"Don't forget to retrieve the hard drive later," Kiwi said as she sat beside him on the same blanket, eyeing him—and especially the rip in his hood. "Should I expect another grand revelation?" she teased lightly.
"Uh…"
"Shit, there is more!" That wasn't a question—it was a realization. "Are you even human?"
"Yeah, that part's a hundred percent certain," Faelan replied, unsure what else to say. "I'm human from head to toe."
Kiwi glanced at the spot where Faelan's horns should've been, but didn't say anything sarcastic.
If she already thought his druidic powers were wild—without him even using them at full strength—and she was barely tolerating the accidental charisma leak from the SCP-166 traits… would SAV's third trap completely break her?
It probably would. It'd break anyone, really.
"Alright," Kiwi ran her hand through her hair. "What do we do about the ripperdoc? Should we risk staying, or leave tomorrow?"
"What do you think?" Faelan asked before answering.
"If Vik doesn't screw us over, then this is too good an opportunity to pass up," Kiwi said, looking toward the door. "We'll need to keep an eye on his patients, but I think we can make real progress if we get him to support us."
"True enough," Faelan nodded. "Besides, if he's good enough, we can ask him to check your neuro-link—or even install any new implants you want."
Faelan knew there was no way Kiwi wouldn't eventually get chromed if she wanted to be a serious netrunner, but at least with Vik, she was in good hands. The biggest challenge would be getting the money and finding the right implants.
If she was going to use chrome, then it'd better be quality.
Now that he thought about it… how had his druid magic affected Galina in regard to her implants?
"I'll have to ask her next time I see her," he noted mentally.
Immunosuppressants didn't seem particularly reliable, regardless of brand. If he could help Kiwi with a magical equivalent that was safer, all the better.
"Fae…"
They were talking about something pretty expensive—and that would only directly benefit her—yet her friend had brought it up like it was no big deal…
"I still need to evaluate the implants carefully. I'm too young right now to rush into anything," Kiwi concluded, determined to be selective with her gear. She'd even ask Vik for advice if she decided he was at least somewhat knowledgeable and trustworthy.
And speaking of the devil—
Vik opened the door like he owned the place—and wait, he did own the place!
"Alright, kids, I need to do a basic scan so I at least know what blood type to use if you ever show up with a limb gushing blood," the man said, pointing at the central machine. "Who's first?"
Kiwi looked at Vik for a second when she heard that, and then started laughing. Hard.
Vik raised an eyebrow, not understanding the joke.
"I'll go," Faelan stood up and walked over to the scanners, sitting down with relative ease.
Vik looked at him, puzzled, turned to see Kiwi trying to stifle her laughter with a hand over her mouth, and walked over to the controls with a furrowed brow, not understanding what was going on. He skillfully activated the various devices and even took a small blood sample, which he ran at full power.
While he was honest about knowing what blood to prepare in case they were injured at some point, he also hoped to get some answers to his questions about the boy—and whatever the hell had been done to him.
His logical side had been kicking him hard and repeatedly ever since he saw the kid's face, trying to figure out what kind of mutation he had undergone, probably the result of some horrific biotech corporation experiment on fetuses.
The blood test results and body scans came in.
"This is…"
"Impossible?" Faelan finished the sentence for the ripperdoc.
Vik just stared at the data, reading it over and over again to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
He even gave the monitor a couple of slaps, old-school style, just to make sure the numbers were displaying right!
But not even that changed the results.
There were no mutations or genetic alterations—not even a single twisted strand out of place.
No added or mixed DNA, not even a damn blood sugar issue!
By every measurable standard, the blood said Faelan was a perfectly healthy human child, with only a slight lack of body mass (slightly under ideal weight), which could easily be corrected by eating more.
But precisely because the results were so clean—and because of what he'd seen—Vik couldn't make sense of it.
Kiwi crossed her arms as she leaned against the doorframe, looking smug as she watched Vik's reaction. She knew that no matter what Vik did, even if he shaved off a bit of Faelan's horns, he'd still get the same result.
The explanation? Mystical bullshit.
If those hadn't been the results, Faelan wouldn't have lasted long in the factory to begin with—let alone made it out and bonded with her to this day.
Kiwi took Faelan's place under the medical machinery, and Vik ran the exact same procedure.
The results confused him again.
"I don't get it," Vik muttered, scratching his stubbled chin with a hint of frustration in his voice. "Forget the rest—what the hell have you two been eating all these years?" he asked. "Morning dew?"
Vik could—no, couldn't—understand the boy. Today, he gave up trying to make sense of him.
But the girl was unexpectedly healthy too. He couldn't find traces of the chemicals and crap that should've been in her blood and organs if she were eating the city's "local food." The same stuff that ends up screwing with the most delicate implants.
That neurolink she had installed? It should've failed months ago. The installation job was passable, but he could tell at a glance that whoever did it hadn't put much effort into it.
And yet, she was fine and surprisingly robust—though just like her companion, she had a slight lack of body mass.
"The best we could manage," Kiwi shrugged as she replied.
The source of Faelan's organic food had to stay well protected.
"Yeah, the best, huh…" Vik pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe he was pushing too hard for answers with these two, but things were unsettling.
At least he confirmed they were both human and not something else—like an AI in a synthetic biological body or something like that.
He'd already run into two of those, and he hoped never to repeat the experience: the first ended with an airport being nuked with a miniature atomic bomb, and the second caused over 4,200 deaths in a town where even the cacti had access to heavy weaponry.
He still didn't understand how he survived either situation.
"Alright," Vik needed a glass of wine—both to celebrate the opening and to forget about it—but that would have to wait until later. "You both need to eat more of… whatever. Increase your daily calorie intake for at least a month," he explained while adjusting the prosthetic glove on his hand. "Kiwi needs to recalibrate the neurolink urgently, so we'll do a quick tune-up that'll only take a few minutes. You won't even need to be knocked out—localized anesthesia will do just fine. Consider this today's payment," he said while injecting something into his gloved hand and flexing it to check the response time.
"Fae stays," Kiwi said with no room for negotiation.
"As long as he stays quiet, he can bring popcorn for all I care," Vik replied, gesturing for her to lie down and turn her head the other way for better access to the neurolink.
He could understand Kiwi's caution—it was already a big step that she was letting him touch the implant. He applied the anesthesia and, once it kicked in, began by adjusting the neurolink's nerve connection and fixing some inconsistencies caused by the installer's sloppy work.
During the small operation, he noticed the ICE installed on the neurolink was the bare minimum required for basic programming, so while he was at it, he beefed up the security a bit.
Vik thought Faelan's presence in the corner wouldn't affect him, but by the time he finished the procedure, his shirt was soaked with sweat.
The memory of what he saw—and the knowledge that he was being watched by that gaze…
Yeah, he really needed that wine.