Michael 'Magos' Sobronov
I adjusted the collar of my fancy and overpriced neomilitaristic corpo suit for what felt like the millionth time, and made sure to keep my meat face placid as I stepped out of the Mayoral Office of Night City, probably still looking like I was out of my depth despite all my preparation.
And honestly, after all that? I was more than happy with the distinction.
"Fucking slimeball." I muttered disgustedly as the conversation with the Vice Mayor replayed in my head.
---
The rotund bald man dressed in a three piece suit and with glasses just a bit too small for his face was sat behind what he'd no doubt call a tastefully humble desk made of real wood, a placid, practiced smile was plastered on his face as he saw me walk into his office.
"Ah, Mr. Sobronov." Weldon Holt welcomed me with a friendly tone "I was wondering about our... mutual friend's newest prospect. You are certainly more impressive than the usual sort she sends my way."
I nod and take the silently offered seat. "I would hope so, considering some of my future plans. Mr. Vice Mayor."
"Please." He waves "Call me Weldon."
Feeling a small part of myself die, I plastered on a smile of my own "Only if you call me Michael."
"Of course, Michael." He nodded 'amiably' "Now, what are these plans you have for our beautiful city?"
I immediately launched into a small verbal presentation I'd prepared over a week ago, presenting myself as someone looking to revitalize the more run down parts of Watson and help my fellow man.
All of the usual empty corporate platitudes, essentially.
However the moment I mentioned cyberware, the man's expression turned a bit strained.
"That is certainly... ambitious." He says slowly "Forgive me if I am a bit forward here my friend, but you are aware of how complex and costly the cyberware manufacturing business is? Only those under the umbrella of a mega corporation have those kinds of resources."
"Nothing to forgive, Weldon." I said, even as I was pissed internally "I've spent years planning and preparing, and all that is left now is to get over some minor legal hurdles before we can get business going. You will find that I'm nothing if not resourceful before long."
He was silent for only a beat before letting out a friendly chuckle "Well our constituents have had nothing but praise for you, and I'm always happy to see a local entrepreneur find success. Night City needs more of its own representation on the business front, I say."
"On that we are agreed." I nodded along like I was impressed by his words "And should I reach such success, I will of course never forget those who made it possible."
"What enviable enthusiasm." He 'cheered' a bit loudly and ejected the data shard with the info concerning my legal troubles from the back of his neck "As I've said my friend, I am more than happy to support local businesses, and while I respect the rights of the infrastructure companies of this city, they are keeping Watson from truly flourishing like we all know it could."
"Thankfully." He chuckles and types something out on his personal computer "The executive branch of the government exists for this exact reason, so you may consider your project officially endorsed by the Night City Mayor's Office."
"Well you've just made my year." I smiled half genuinely this time and reached for a gift bag "Please, take this small gift to commemorate the occasion."
He very nearly dropped the act as he reached for the obviously bottle shaped bag, and outright smirked in satisfaction as he saw the very expensive bottle of wine inside.
And then the amiable smile was back, and he was addressing me again "Michael, my friend, I believe this is the start of a most beautiful partnership."
---
'What a completely pointless bit of theatre.' I groused even as I drove for the Columbarium.
[The Vice Mayor is very proficient in double speak.]
"It's his whole career, of course he is." I mutter "Still I am surprised he even bothered warning me about the other corps not liking people taking bits of their cake away. It is a bit obvious as far as advice goes but you'd think he'd do anything to protect his usual piggy banks."
[I believe the term 'diversifying one's portfolio' is apt in this case.]
I huffed a laugh "Truly, a businessman to envy that one. He no longer owes Rogue, and could probably ask me to endorse him back in a few years without me being able to reasonably refuse him, and all he stakes for it is a bit of political rep."
[The game of politics fills me with... concerning frustration. I'm unsure as to why.]
"It's only natural."
[...How so?]
I shrug "Politicians just have that kind of effect on people I guess."
[That is illogical.]
"And yet it still disgusts you anyway."
[...]
[How bothersome.]
"Well you can explore the nuances of righteous disgust in your own time. I have a ceremony to attend."
[...Affirmative.]
The Columbarium in North Oaks, the current spot to leave your loved one's ashes, was nothing more than an overlarge concrete shelfspace shaped in a vaguely rectangular fashion.
Whichever modern art student designed it no doubt thought to make it a place of solemnity, but despite their 'best' efforts, all I could see was just more brutalist corporate efficiency.
Even the digital displays installed to show the names of those 'entombed' here filled me with nothing but more cynicism as all I could think of was the fact they couldn't even give everyone a space of their own, and instead crammed the 'shelves' and made them display those relevant to whoever registered themselves at the entrance.
At least the security was appreciable, I could admit that much. Even in the shithole that was Night City the idea of some glittered out gonk blasting their way inside and doing whatever they wanted to the place was considered unacceptable, and so the permanent NCPD posting.
The gathering for Sharpe's memorial was a small one, consisting of myself, an unusually but understandably solemn Kimigawa, and a trio of older folks who seemed to be of an age with the deceased merc.
I'd thought I was already over his death, but listening to his old friends talking about his life, of participating in the constant civil unrest in Britain before having enough and fleeing to America to start a family only to lose it in to a corporate crossfire made me feel deeply uneasy by the end of it.
We all gave him a few words, and then Kimigawa deposited his dogtags into the shelf we paid for, and then without a word we dispersed.
The experience made me momentarily forget the meeting with Holt, and left me thoughtful on my drive home, and for hours after that.
---
The negotiations for buying up the buildings I wanted lasted mere minutes with my previous preparations, and after my lawyer made sure everything was in order, I was now the proud owner of a run down and empty factory/warehouse, and a damaged residential/office building, bought for the cheap, cheap price of twenty million eurodollars, and a healthy dose of Tyger Claw pressure for a friends and family discount.
Before the hour was out, teams of cleanup workers were moving in to deal with the debris while a small time construction firm that came recommended by Vik sent people to examine the damages and give me a statement of just what needed to be done to get things functional.
Things were a hot mess for the moment, but Logos and I were still capable of estimating a timeline despite that, and in our most optimistic calculations the work could begin within the month.
The pessimistic calculations needed no mention, because we would not tolerate such incompetence while paying out in the hundreds of thousands.
Thankfully, my rep as The Ripperdoc (as opposed to the murder tank or net magic man) opened a lot of doors for me, and I'd already moved up a fair few schedules by simply offering some of my proven work as part of my payment.
Apparently people outside a very specific sort of customer were under the impression I only made custom gen four (or as some jokingly called it gen 5) cyberware and refused to do anything cheaper than that.
A rumor only perpetuated by me visibly dealing with mostly wealthy patients.
Now the identity of the gonk that started that specific rumor was probably going to remain a mystery to me, but if I did find them, they would certainly end up regretting opening their mouth for a very, very long time.
It was Jugo.
Yep. I complained at him while we were talking about my purchase, and he started laughing his ass off before outright admitting it.
So I called his wife and told on him.
You get what you fucking deserve, asshole.
Still, the idea wasn't terrible once I actually thought about it.
I could focus on making a series of cheap and reliable cyberware for the everyday buyer that my subsidiary rippers would then install, and then focus on making custom pieces a la Malorian Arms myself for the more discerning customer.
It would definitely serve to stop me from stepping on too many megacorp toes before I got my proverbial business feet under me.
[It appears as if you are already decided.]
"For the most part." I hummed affirmatively "Really depends on just how fucked over we get by Arasaka whenever they remember I exist."
[The lack of corporate ninja death squad indicates their intentions are at least neutral.]
"Or they are just waiting for my visit to get me 'smashed'." I mutter.
Unlike most of the gonks who fought the death machine, I didn't develop a sudden suicidal hatred of the man. I was far too terrified to be hateful.
"To the point the fucker is living in my head rent free..." I sigh to myself "How glorious."
[Distraction detected.] Logos 'says' in his most serious tone but I can't help but think he is fucking with me [Update from Assistant Yelena concerning Cyberpsychosis Restoration Project, Subject No.4: It appears that while we were away the Subject briefly approached a state adjacent to lucidity, the state lasting for approximately three minutes before the Subject's central nervous system began rapidly deteriorating back to its previously damaged state.]
"We did essentially brute force the restoration on that one with nanites." I admit, still feeling a bit disappointed at the dud, even it would have made the solution for the issue insultingly simple "Any details beyond that?"
[Mutterings were recorded, mostly concerning the Subject's early life and memories. Memory preservation is subpar even with restorative nanite treatment.]
"Well yes, we may have rebuilt the brain matter, but the brain signals are long gone."
[How... fragile.]
"Don't go thinking you are immune just because you are digital." I do the closest approximation of mentally tutting at him "Without your Persona Core any sufficiently powerful hack could in theory do the same to you."
[But at the cost of physical vulnerability should your head be decommissioned.] He finished for me.
"What a cheerful image." I deadpanned "Back on topic, what else happened to the subject?"
[The deterioration happened at a greatly accelerated pace, following the same directional pattern as it did previously down to the micrometer, only the increased pace and already present stress proved too much for the Subject and they were deceased within ten minutes.]
"Thoughts?"
[Cursory scanning and analysis supports the maladaption theory the most. The Project is low on my list on priorities and is likely to remain there for the time being but I do have a preliminary hypothesis.]
"That being?" I lean forward on my seat atop the roof wall of one of the buildings overlooking my future factory and the work happening therein.
[Attempt to assist the central nervous system in restructuring itself following the cyberpsychosis induced impulse by way of nano swarm might offer new solutions to the issue.]
"Or just provide a metric shitton of data even if it doesn't." I mutter with raised eyebrows "Impressive, Logos."
He doesn't answer in words but I do get the distinct impression of a preen through the mental connection.
"What about the other subject?"
[Subject No.3 remains stable but mostly unchanged. The supplements provided do not seem to be affecting any kind of restoration save for natural neural adaption to lack of neuron mass.]
"Observing which was exactly the point, if you don't count the asinine hope the brain would be able to simply grow itself back just because we gave it all the materials it'd need. We are calling it maladaption theory for a reason."
[There is no need to convince me.]
"Don't worry, I'm just ranting at my previous self." I chuckle "Did Ms. Jones send anything about the next Subjects?"
[The Fixer is aiming to provide another within the week.]
"Good. We will try your idea next, hopefully we get some actual results this time." I raise a finger before the pedantic bot can respond "And no, our goal isn't simply to gather data. These are still people."
[Did they not succumb to their own failings, thus turning from people to animals?]
"Most of them do not succumb of their own will, Logos." I point out slowly.
[But you agree that it is their failures that are the greatest cause.]
Feeling a minor headache coming on, I exhale "That is the current working theory, yes."
[Why bother attempting to preserve them then?]
"Why because it is the right thing to do of course!" I do my best impression of Rebecca's chirpy exclamations, and then promptly stop bullshitting and start listing "The satisfaction of success, personal recognition, personal debts as these peoples' savior, and last but certainly not least, mountains of eddies."
The instant I mention the money, Logos responds with a:
[This reasoning is... logical.]
Of all the things he got from my imprint, it just had to be this...
Sometimes, my luck surprised even myself.
A few minutes pass in silence as I watch the cleanup workers milling about around a slowly growing pile of crushed concrete, before my earlier concern returns full force.
"Yep, your distraction expired." I inform my companion "Why do you think V hasn't bothered calling us yet?"
The Corpo
"Do you understand your task?" The still tired Arasaka family member questions from his seat.
"Yes sir." V inclines her head.
"Good." Yorinobu nods and closes his eyes "Get it done, and don't make me regret giving you this trust."
"I won't." She assures both him and herself.
"Try not to get too wet when you do it."
She flips the mountain of chrome off without even looking at him, and somehow lives to reach the elevator.
Fucker was actually growing on her, she realized with a shiver.
All those concerns were quickly forgotten though as she left the elevator and entered the Counterintelligence Department of Arasaka NC, ignoring the curious eyes of the many gossips surrounding her.
She entered the security hallway and felt her anticipation build with each second that passed before the doors to her CO's office split open and she walked in with her head held high.
Jenkins as usual barely even acknowledged her at first, before his mind caught up to the fact she'd only just came to report to him despite returning days ago, and his eyes immediately snapped up at her "V. Where the fuck have you been?"
"Never mind." He cuts her off before she could even think about answering "Did you manage to secure support from Yorinobu?"
She allowed a small smirk to worm its way across her face "Yes I did. Congratulations Jenkins."
The man seemed confused for a moment before his eyes lit up at the thought of finally getting the promotion he wanted.
"-You are being retired." Valerie finished, and shot him in the head.
No alarms were raised as she walked over to the man's seat, and simply shoved him out of it, taking it for her own and lounging in it like she owned the place, because now she did.
And then Smasher's earlier words unceremoniously dumped themselves into the forefront of her mind and she scowled.
That motherfu-
Michael 'Magos' Sobronov
"I'm sure she'll be fine." I shrug and stand up from my perch "Forget about that. Its high time I got Vik to uphold his end of the bargain. Can't wait to see his face..."
-------
Unfortunately for your foolish ambitions our promotion policies are quite a bit more resistant to violent overture than those of Arasaka.
Put them to rest, and get back to work!
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