Blood and Silicon (Cyberpunk|IC)

[Anowa]

---

Cameron MacDougall
Applewood Tower, Floor 96, Medical Center 7
San Sacramento, "Sac-Town"
Friday, January 13th, 2068 // 12:18 AM
43°F (7°C), Precipitation: 100%,
Humidity: 99%, Wind: 2 mph (3 km/h) NE

---

With the procedure done, Cameron could now see again, and with the benefit of seeing, came the benefit of signing some last minute paperwork. For procedures like this, Miller was on the fully legal and legitimate side of things. She came to him with the mantis blades now in her arms, and it lacked honest paperwork, instead crafting up a lie about prosthetic forearms, which technically wasn't a lie. Despite his well meaning heart, Miller didn't exactly want to shut his clinic down, from either malpractice or legal fuckery. Which meant that Cameron had to pick up a pen and write a rather messy signature where it was needed. After all, penmanship took a back seat when you had to dumpster dive for food... or when you only had one functional hand and a fucked up set of eyes.

As she wrote the shoddy scripture of her name, the door behind her opened, and Miller looked up. With it being a remarkable slow day, herself, the receptionist and Miller being the only people in the medical center, it made the appearance of another person rather odd.

"Hey, yo? Can I see the doc please?" Kane began. "My eye has crapped out," he pointed at his right eye. "Can't see a damned thing with it. I hear this is the place to go."

Cameron cast a quick look over her shoulder, the man who walked in was in a sorry state, even from a glance, she could tell his leg was fucked for this day and age. With the tattered clothing her wore, she could see nothing more than a single metal rod going up from what was left of a shoe. His arm similarly budgeted, one of the old as all hell prosthetics that originally came out in the 2020s, her jacket probably cost more than that hunk of metal. Speaking off, both the man's leg and arm were probably well on the way to causing irreparable back problems due to their weight and awkwardness. There was a very distinct reason why most, if not all, prosthetic manufacturers made their bits and bobs out of polymers or carbon fiber at the least. Then there was his eye, it was, well, it didn't fit in.

Cameron stared at the man for longer than would normally be polite. The state of his hand and eye being nigh identical to what Cameron's life was like in her adolescence. Cameron's heartstrings twanged for a moment and she wanted to tell the man that everything would be fine. But words meant little to people. Actions were more valuable.

So that's what she did, turning back to Miller, she spoke in a low tone, "Put whatever you need to do to him on my tab."

Miller simply raised a brow, "You sure?" Cameron simply nodded in response, and turned the pen back towards Miller, who took the sheet she had signed. Miller gave a look of resignation. Obviously his mind was on the fact that the homeless in this city didn't last very long, especially if they were obviously augmented.

Miller gave a somewhat blank look at the tall woman as she left through the same door she came in, before speaking aloud to himself, "I swear I'll never understand that girl." shaking his head he grabbed another sheet of paper, notably different and just as formal, he spoke again, only this time directed at the homeless man who had just walked in, "Alright, let's get you fixed then. Now, I'll have to open a medical file, so would you mind if I ask your name?"

[Xah]

Kane
Applewood Tower, Floor 96, Medical Center 7
San Sacramento, "Sac-Town"
Maybe Friday, January something or other, 206...7? 8? // got to be the afternoon by now
Too cold, too wet,
Humidity: enough, Wind: something for people who go outside

Kane eyed the woman leaving, making sure she wasn't either authority or a criminal type he was trying to avoid. Her eye-wear seemed fancy, although Kane vaguely recalled seeing similar stuff in the past. With nothing registering in his memory, for what that was worth, as soon as she exited the room, he'd all but forgotten her. The doctor said something as he wandered over that Kane didn't catch, his awareness zooming into the here and now as he looked at the medic.

"Alright, let's get you fixed then. Now, I'll have to open a medical file, so would you mind if I ask your name?"

Kane blinked at the question, partly because it took him a while to process the question, but also because here was this person, all clean and tidy, talking to him like a real human being. His mind bashed against the fog of his post-funk hangover, desperately trying to get the relevant information out, or at least as much as was needed.

"Um, 'm Kane," he managed. "There's more, but I ain't one fo' using it." He coughed, the sound wet. "I like to stay all personal, y'know?"

He looked around, trying to supress the instinct to assess everything he saw for its potential to be stolen and its worth with his dealers. This guy was being genuinely nice, for some reason, and Kane wasn't one to treat the few people in the world like that with contempt. He shoved a hand in a pocket and brought out a small card reader that had clearly seen better days. "I got.... um, 5 credits? I just want to see out this eye again. Cheap shit. Hard enough wandering around with this leg, can't be having a lack of depth perception too." His tone and use of language seemed to vary, being inconsistent in both vocabulary and inflection. "I can pay you back in time, really. I can get places no one else knows?" This was partly true; the old maintenance corridors didn't see much use these days, but Kane was more concerned in using them as a safe place to crash than as a means of getting anywhere. Last thing he wanted was to get lost in a maze of pipes and ducting.

His mind registered something the doctor said. "Medical file?" he echoed, his tone suspicious.

[Ayvalon]

Victor Stromm
January 13th, late evening
Operation "Cybernetic Daze"

Victor had spent the better part of the afternoon monitoring what little comms traffic passed between lookouts, not much info aside from names and on-the-hour radio checks which seemed to annoy at least a few of the sentries. His Monocular had given him a good look at the trash he'd be passing in the night. More than a handful had nervous ticks likely attributed to drug use. Wired up, itchy trigger fingers most likely in an easily defensible position. It was little wonder the client didn't want to risk pushing a pack of shit-kickers like these. He could spot a few ins, breaking the concrete wall neighboring the zoo nearby was a no-go, however the street-facing fences had clearly seen better days, the improvised drainage ditch that ran parallel to the street had clearly resulted in rusted chainlink and the wood fencing a foot behind it (A secondary barrier? they love their privacy don't they?) could be a good way in. He could clearly see the dry-rot all along the base of the wooden boards where the wood was likely soft enough to give with a hard enough shove, no saw-work required thankfully.

There was still the matter of all the gunmen inside. Typically his operations would allow him days or even a week or two to prepare but a gut feeling told Victor the product in question wouldn't be there much longer. Hot merchandise like this was likely to draw attention, either they would try to sell it quickly before someone caught on or others like him would be hired in the off-chance he failed. He rolled up another empty Baruchobo packet and stuffed it in his duffel bag, not wanting to leave any trace of his presence here.

Against his better judgement, phase 2 would have to start early. He continued to observe the marks, the 'fun train' was still ongoing at the back of the scrap yard, likely would continue for the better part of the night. Street-walkers wanted to get their money's worth and she'd certainly get it tonight, as more and more of the thugs abandoned their posts for 5 minute's passion. Content he had collected all the audio and intelligence he could gather for such a short-notice operation, Victor stowed the monocular back into it's proper compartment in his arm and fetched an outfit out of his bag, far more rough and 'proper' for this dump of a section of town.

One holstered pistol, a few collected gadgets from his bug-out gear and roughed up outfit later he was ready to begin Phase 2.

[Ihury]

Duong Van Binh
~+~+~+~+~+~

"Goddamn it!"

Having awoken from his long nap, Binh climbed out of the sofa and attempted to hobble over to the kitchen to get a drink, only for his bad leg to crumple under him. As his face hit the floor with a loud thud, the young man winced in pain, clutching his ruined knee, which had swollen to almost twice its original size.

"Shit", he spat, as tears of pain streamed down his face, saliva rolling down the side of his cheeks. "Fucking Bai Zhenhui, if I ever get to..."

With immense effort, Binh was able to lift himself back to his feet on his good leg, hopping over to where he had kept his walking cane, ignoring the small stream of blood coming from his nose and from where he had bitten on an old ulcer.

He was, without a doubt, painfully aware of the sorry state he was in. A young man who could barely walk normally, stuck within his house pretty much all the time, unable to move anywhere without the aid of his walking stick, for fear of triggering something in his knee. He had no money to get his knee fixed, and was too afraid of becoming hooked on opiates or any strong painkiller to actually visit a doctor to ask for something to alleviate the pain.

Except...

"Bloody hell, if I ever get my hands on that flesh lump in a waistcoat", he swore to himself, trying to balance himself on the walking stick. "I'll rip his dick out, the fat fucker..."

He remembered that there was a doctor somewhere on the upper levels of the tower. A certain Dr Miller, if he'd remembered correctly from the brief conversations he'd had with the neighbours he hardly knew. The man specialised in cybernetics, from what he remembered, but judging by the state of his bank account, there was probably nothing Binh could afford except a temporary solution.

With a legitimate replacement for his crap knee out of the question in terms of finances, the only option would be to obtain some painkillers. Maybe dilaudid, or perhaps etoricoxib. Preferably something strong, to take Binh's mind off the pain of his knee. Not like there was any hope of ever salvaging what little was left of it in the first place, seeing as it was more or less ruined beyond any comprehension at that point in time.

Straightening out his shirt, Binh slowly left his apartment, limping along on his walking stick just as the Mozart symphony he'd been blasting on his boombox came to a close and left his shack in silence, heading straight for the elevator.

...

[New Minahasa]

Leland O'Callaghan
Red Light District, San Sacramento

Leland was slightly taken aghast by Colt's reaction, but really it was his fault. He should've expected such from an ungrateful jerk like him. Leland took it upon himself to stay quiet when Colt went all over him. When the man suspiciously made a swift turn, Leland had his hands by his holster then, but fortunately for the both of them, nothing went wrong. Nevertheless, he had a job to be done now. Ten grands worth of merchandise? Really, he could've just taken the goods for himself, but money wasn't his primary objective. Fame, respect, and renown were what he was after. If someone wanted to survive in this cold world, they were expected to take the initiative, and that was something Leland understood all too well. You either climb the ladder, or stay below long enough to have yourself killed.

A thought crossed Leland's mind as he was on his way out of the district, with the old jeep that he found. There was an electronics store in the lower levels of Grantswood, ran by a middle-aged Chinese man. It was unremarkable at best, selling and dealing in cheap and easy-to-come-by electronics. A clever disguise when you don't want your store to be the target of a robbery. The owner had the rarer, more expensive wares exclusive only to a select few customers. Leland was, in fact, one of the said customers, back when he used to still run with the Aryan Brigade. One of the gang's netrunners was in need of a certain device, one that wasn't displayed on the shelves of every store, and Leland was tasked to retrieve it from the same electronics store. That was also the first time Leland came to know Grantswood, the place that he would later escape to. A major factor that shaped Leland to be fairly resourceful was the fact that he was his gang's go-to choice for an operative of sorts, carrying out a series of different tasks and orders from his superiors.

Grantswood, San Sacramento

With that in mind, Leland hurried to his home-block. The work was simple enough, really, but there was a catch. The store, despite being pretty typical, always had customers looking for wares. Leland wanted the robbery to be quick and effective, and the risk of being caught by a customer completely eliminated the purpose. He had to wait until nightfall, when the store would come to close, and its owner finally stepping out of its shelter. Leland did a quick survey of the store's premises, looking for hidden corners and easy escape routes in case things went sour, bumps that he could trip over while on the run, and similar things. Eitherway, spending too much time around the store was a bad idea, as it could raise suspicion, and Leland headed for his apartment in the mean-time.

When nightfall came, everything was already prepared. His gun was cleaned and maintained, like he always did before doing anything risky, his pocket stuffed with a folded-up balaclava for later use, a duffel bag brought and of course a simple plan organized. Really, all he had to do was wait for the owner to come out of the backdoor, and catch him at gunpoint. And that was exactly what he did. The Chinese owner was in the process of closing his store when the hair on his neck raised, the cold tingle of what seemed to be metal sticking through his clothes to his back. He let out a sigh, mumbling in Cantonese. "In," Leland asserted with a muffled voice.

The Chinese owner complied, unlocking the backdoor and entering the dark and empty store. "Lights," Leland said as he closed the backdoor. The room was dimly-lighted as the owner turned the cheap, most likely Chinese-made neon lights on. "Look, there's almost nothing here. All you're gonna take from my store is just a bunch of run-down junks," the owner said, trying his best to convince Leland otherwise. "Open the door," Leland pointed at a door that led to another room inside the store. The Chinese let out a sigh, coming to realization that his robber was more or less aware of the secret stash hidden inside the room. But, fearing for his life, the man still complied.

The room was revealed to be a small office, with the floors decorated by a cheap carpet. "Where's the stash?," asked Leland. "Look, I can pay you. Just tell me who's the guy that stabbed me in the fucking back and leave me and my store alone," the Chinese man remarked, desperately trying to get out of the shitty situation. "Either you tell me where the stash is, or I kill you and find it myself. Choose," Leland suggested, this time with a harsher tone. The Chinese man complied once more, going over to fold the side of the carpet and exposing a trapdoor underneath, password secured. Typing in the password, the door slid open, revealing the contents inside; metal cases piled against each other, and small storage boxes beside them.

Leland thanked the Chinese man before whacking him out cold with his pistol. He set his duffel bag down and grabbed ahold one of the cases to take a peek inside, where a variety of components and devices were carefully organized; a netrunner thing most likely, as the items suggested a relation with computers and cybernetics in general. Still, these stuff were rare to come by, and them being exclusively sold attested to that. Leland fit in as much as he could inside the duffel bag before leaving to his jeep outside.

Red Light District, San Sacramento

Leland took his time to reach the Red Light District, being extremely cautious and taking only the safest routes to ensure he wouldn't get robbed of his loot. It took him a few hours until he could reach the district, and by the time he arrived, he'd decide to wait at a diner until Colt opened up shop before heading there. Leland rang up the place. "Is Colt around? It's O'Callaghan. Or, uh, Leland. But yeah, I got you what you wanted," said Leland.

[Vacif]

"Are you okay?" she asks, knowing it's a redundant question upon seeing his injuries. She flips back her helmet's visor to reveal part of her face. To get a better look without the tint. "Merrill. Merrill! Can you help?!"

One of the benefits of Sydney being 98% chrome was that she could do things he couldn't, like have a computer in her head that could hold really useful information like a grocery list, or notice small thing like an otherwise dead body twitch. Car crashes and drivebys were an unfortunate part of daily life for the residents of Sac-Town's lower sector. Merrill like everyone else had learned to move along and turn a blind eye. Sydney however was not like everyone else here, she couldn't or hadn't learned to look the other way.

Without any notice, she told Merrill to stop, which he didn't. Not at first at least but she was insistent. So he did so, and without warning she hopped off and made a bee line for the crash. Merrill gave off a bit of an annoyed sigh, wondering what she hoped to accomplish as he eased the bike towards the crash. The front was so warped he could hardly tell what vehicle it was from the front. Shattered glass everywhere, alongside a number of pulled holes dotting the vehicle. Airbag was obviously deployed. Upon closer inspection, past the wandering eyes he found that the man, (an older guy) was in fact still very much alive. "Tough old man aren't you?" He hummed to himself. While the car was practically gone, Merrill leaned over and turned the car off, and put it in park. Glancing further into the car, the vehicle's other three occupants were clearly deceased.

"Yeah, I got this. Watch the bike, please make sure it doesn't get stolen." He told Sydney, passing her the keys to the bike. Merrill was something like a street doctor, nothing legitimate, but he'd studied hard for many years under legitimate doctors, and he'd been practicing for just as long. Due to the nature of his job he was kind of like an on-call doctor, so he had to always be ready with his kit. It was why he had a bike over a car, it was faster, and easier to maneuver. The waist pack he always wore was not just a fashion statement, but also full of equipment and drugs he'd need to save most people from most injuries, including (but not limited to) gun shot wounds, blunt force trauma, and bleeding. Mind you this stuff was not cheap, Merrill had gone out of his way to spend the time and money to make sure he acquired the legitimate product. No sense on operating on a man, just for him to die of a heart attack because your anesthetic wasn't clean.

Now usually before operating on a person, Merrill introduced himself as the acting physician, and provided his patient(s) with a disclaimer regarding his lack of former training, however his patient didn't seem to have the luxury of time. Toughness and grit could only get a man so far.

He knelt down beside the injured man and inspected him himself. The man had mechanical legs, those were fucked as far as he knew, he wasn't a cybernetics specialist like Miller. The man's grey suit was now ruined with an amount of blood and holes no tailor or cleaner could fix. Probably multiple GSWs, bruised face from the air bag, arms appeared to be fractured, but luckily no bone was protruding out of the skin. His right forearm however was looking particularly nasty with the bone making an obvious deformation in the dermal layer. Patient was remarkably conscious, and calm. Suffice to say the man was likely given a concussion due to the crash and airbag. Breathing was easy, shallow, likely from him trying to reduce the pain of breathing with bruised or potentially fractured ribs. Modifications aside, his pupils were normal, responding to light. Merrill removed his own helmet. "Sir, can you hear and understand me? Could you tell me your name and the date?"

"Vito Everly, today is Friday, January 13th, 2068." The man grunted. The name hadn't immediately registered to Merrill that he was treating the Don of the Morello family.

"Alright Mister Everly, can you feel me moving your fingers? Can you move them on your own?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Great, could you tell me how long you've been here?"

"Ah, I don't.." He paused for a terse breath. "Three? Five minutes? Hard to tell." The man was putting in a major effort to stay composed.

"Do you have any allergies, or take any medication?"

"No."

"Do you have any medical conditions, or other medical history?"

The Don gave him a brief list of his augs, and medical history, the most interesting to him at the moment however was his subdermal body armour that had likely saved him from the drive by.

"One last thing, what happened here?"

"I was taking a drive when I was ambushed on the road... The car to my right and left opened fire, hit me several times and then they rammed my car into the light post."

"Alright thank you."

He undid his pack and replaced his motorcycle gloves with sterile gloves. Before doing anything else, he immobilized the older man's neck with a neck brace. "I'm going to have to remove your shirt alright Mister Everly?" The man nodded. Merrill hastily removed the shirt as it appeared to be obscuring a major source of bleeding, something he'd need to control lest he lose the man. Interestingly, Vito had a subdermal armour plate in him. The rounds hadn't penetrated, but now they had injuries caused by spalling. Merrill quickly cleaned the chest area and applied hemostatic bandages. Pressure points and standard bandages wouldn't cut it. The hemostatic bandages would put pressure on the wound while clotting it.

How he had to deal with both his arms. The right arm had what appeared to be a compound fracture at the least, while the left arm likely had a fracture of sorts due to the swelling on the arm, and the obvious discomfort of Mister Everly. Merrill carefully located the locations of the fractures and (for the right arm) gently readjusted the fracture before carefully splinting the wounds, and crafting slings for the older man out of bandages.

As Merrill began working on Vito's legs, he asked him a question. "Alright Mister Everly, while I get this sorted out, do you have anyone we could call?"

[Ayvalon]

Victor Stromm
January 13th, late evening/Early morning
Operation "Cybernetic Daze"

Ambiance

A bolt across an empty street put him in the shadows of the Rust Devil's lair. A quick mental note deployed a compact set of wire-cutters from his arm, allowing him to clear his first obstacle. The ruckus and rumbling of night-life beyond the scrap-yard masked the sound of rusted wire giving 'way as he weaseled his way through the first barrier, easing forward and with a hard shove, the water-soaked/ruined bottom of the fence gave way as well and he was in...

A quiet prayer was all he needed to begin phase 3 before making his way through the labyrinth that was a several-story tall collection of rusted cars, kitchenware and other metal goods destined for a recycling that would never come. Ahead a gaggle of goons were smoking and joking for a moment, someone mentioned the 'fun house' and not long after the group had broken up to continue patrols. The ever so silent rustle and creaking of metal structures settling all around him time to time gave off an air of decay and danger as he slowly made his approach towards the admin offices that were most likely to hold his target.

5...no 8 guards....the patrols must have shifted on his approach. A mental reminder to never speak with Twitch again if he could help it came to mind as he ducked back into cover as another Rust devil strolled past, stopping long enough to report nothing suspicious into a walkie-talkie. Many of the building's lights were off from what Voicebox could see, suggesting they'd at least finished inventory and few people would be inside. Waiting for his opening felt like hours before finally he found his opening in their strolls 'round the building and rushed towards the door within eyeshot, doing his best to open the eternally-damned squeaky obstruction quietly then close it as quietly behind him as possible.

The hallway before him lead to several closed doors and a large open room, likely a workshop once upon a time where smaller parts could be stripped down out of the rain. The many crates and piles of crap to be sold off to whatever black-market buyer lay haphazardly about the room. The assassin crept forward, doing his best not to make a sound before the tell-tale sound of snoring filled his ears....a guard likely dozing off on his shift ahead.....There was an eternity where Victor crept forward seeking the guard in question along with the case he so desired before....of course.....both were found together....The Rust Devil was fast asleep on what looked like his payday, securely locked and laid upon a desk which the little fucker was using as a pillow.....No killing he mentally reminded himself BUT....Incapacitating not explicitly out of parameters a second little voice added at the back of his brain.

Quietly, ever so delicately he crept across the room, minding the stolen automobile radios and crates of illegal goods or tables of guns laid out for a showing tomorrow perhaps he inched his way forward. The infinitely loud sound of the case shuffling across the desk caught his attention as the loudly snoring thug tossed and turned softly in his sleep atop Voicebox's prize. Satisfied his last obstacle would not rise from his slumber he crept ever closer til' finally it was time to strike. He leapt forward, a hand wrapping around his mark's throat with all the speed and aggression of an anaconda before slapping his other hand down over the man's holster, kicking one of the chair's legs out to let him hang freely in the assassin's vice grip, choking the life out of him. The thug slapped and struggled and made countless efforts to go for his gun before his efforts grew ever more sluggish and finally ceasing as he fell unconscious from lack of airflow. If Victor was lucky, he'd be out 15 minutes, enough time to at least clear the bulk of the Scrap yard if not be out the way he came.

That being said, the photographs had done little justice for the vast size of this case. It was almost half-again the size of his torso. One deft grasp of the handle told him at least it wasn't as heavy as it appeared. A loud bang at the door on the opposite end of the building disturbed his calm, clearly a thug startled by the ruckus inside. "EY MAN, EVERYTHING GOOD?" the voice inquired. A moment later Victor issued a pre-designed audio copy of one of the thug's voices "Yea, fucking rats, man I hate this place" running through his voicebox. A few acknowledgements later and the loud CLICK-THUNK of a door closing gave him his all clear.

Phase 4 was a go

[Anowa]

---

??????
Applewood Tower, Floor 37, Room 850-900 Block
San Sacramento, "Sac-Town"
Friday, January 13th, 2068 // 12:18 AM
43°F (7°C), Precipitation: 100%,
Humidity: 99%, Wind: 2 mph (3 km/h) NE

---

Straightening out his shirt, Binh slowly left his apartment, limping along on his walking stick just as the Mozart symphony he'd been blasting on his boombox came to a close and left his shack in silence, heading straight for the elevator.

...

It had been a number of hours since the man had moved, even twitched. But he was here for a reason, his employers had a goal, and this was one of the few first steps to be taken. It was odd, that another one of their... targets, for lack of a better word resided less than a hundred meters away, but the man he was seeking to contact had just flown his coop.

He moved.

The jacketed man with more metal in him than many even these days would be comfortable with simply waltzed into the man's house, the door sliding open and closing shut as the man passed through it, a command unsaid and undetected. It was as if a ghost had phased through a wall. From his undercoat he produced a manilla envelope, with two objects inside and a note. THe objects were older than him, older than the age of cybernetics and older than, well, basically every person the man had spoken to in nearly 20 years. A casette tape and it's assiciated player. The note was a small explanation of the man's choices. Follow the instructions on the tape, get closer to his target of tracking down a certain someone, and get some payment while he was at it. Or: Get the book thrown at him from the DA due to a rather well documented set of actual crimes committed and a collection of framed events that the man wouldn't have the capacity to deny involvement.

The man left the sealed package on the bed of the man, before leaving the same way he came, quiet, unnoticed and as swift as a light wind.

---

---

Doctor Jonathan Miller
Applewood Tower, Floor 96, Medical Center 7
San Sacramento, "Sac-Town"
Friday, January 13th, 2068 // 12:20 AM
43°F (7°C), Precipitation: 100%,
Humidity: 99%, Wind: 2 mph (3 km/h) NE

---

As the good doctor wrote down what the man was willing to reveal, a simple, yet rather annoying question popped up. Well, it was a question, just with the inflection of danger.

His mind registered something the doctor said. "Medical file?" he echoed, his tone suspicious.

"Yes, medical file." the man finished filling out the name of the man, along with a brief description, "So if you come in here again in a number of year we can pull this out and not inject you with anything you have a lethal allergy to. It helps expedite things." a pause, "Speaking of which, any known allergies?"

[Ihury]

Duong Van Binh
~+~+~+~+~

He’d made it as far as the elevator only to realise that he had left his wallet in his room.

Binh was in a cycle of perpetual self loathing. He loathed himself for being reduced to his miserable existence of love scams and blackmail, for trusting that coil of shit Bai Zhenhui, for being a trash human being in general, but making his way to the elevator with no small amount of suffering, only to realise that he’d left his wallet behind... that was a special kind of pain, at least in the moment. Anger at himself and at every factor making up his circumstances had become more or less a default state for Binh, and he himself felt that sooner or later, something inside him was going to explode, whether it was his Chinese knee or his stomach. Either ways, there was hardly anything left for him except something slow, painful, and meaningless.

Biting his tongue to manage the pain, Binh turned around, heading back to his apartment to fetch his wallet. The door hung open, as if somebody had been in there, but he thought nothing of it; there was hardly anything of value in his wallet, after all, and there would be no reason why anybody would want to target him...

What if it’s one of those people you blackmailed? Or one of those people you cheated out of money by catfishing them

No, that couldn’t be right.

Duong Van Binh may have been a trash human being, but even he was willing to accept karma where it came. The only exception was Dr Bai Zhenhui- he would be strung up from the ceiling fan.

The wallet was still on the sofa, where he’d left it earlier, but confirming his suspicion that someone had been in his room, Binh noticed an envelope lying on the table, a slight bulge suggesting the presence of a sound-storage device that he’d assumed had fallen out of use decades ago.

“Where in the world did this...”

He tore the envelope open, scanning the letter that had accompanied it. Then something caught his eye, and he read the letter again. And again. Saliva dribbled from his mouth.

“This can’t be real...”

Briefly, Binh ceased to notice the pain. The thought of him finally being able to give the fat doctor the painful death he deserved dominated his mind to the point that he could almost feel his trembling fingers coiling round the man’s neck, squeezing the lifeblood out of him. Whoever had sent this letter didn’t seem to be an ally or an enemy, seeing as he had provided Binh with a Hobson’s choice that, nevertheless, was very much appealing. Who exactly this man was...

“The cassette.”

His hands trembling with furious excitement, Binh opened the player and clicked the little tape in.

[Ayvalon]

Victor Stromm
January 13th, late evening/Early morning
Operation "Cybernetic Daze"

Ambiance

Hoisting the case to his side was no issue, it was going to be the matter of getting it out of this shit-hole. Quietly Victor made his way back towards the way he entered, the dusty window mounted head-level of the door gave little in the way of light from the flashlights outside, even still it was clear the night was ending and his cover of darkness would soon cease, with a squealing as loud as it'd been on his entry the door gave way. Peering one way then the other around the patrolled premises of the junkyard, nothing seemed amiss yet, but the festivities beyond would soon be ending and the guard would likely be coming back to their shifts "Refreshed" and alert all the same.

He made his way to the first stacks of junk, clearing the most immediate patrol routes around the 'wares' of the junkyard. A light shined near him for a time as one of the sentries swore they saw something, even wandering around the second floor walkway of the store-house he'd just exited to get a better view. A call in to the rest of the crews was the first sign Victor may be in trouble as he intercepted a message that no other patrols were in the area from wherever the rest of the comms were coming from. More guards would be coming his way likely, and soon.

Sure enough, as he made his way quickly through the scrapyard towards his fence entrance he'd made he could hear footsteps in the distance. With several hard bangs, the wooden fence before him pulped as the hard case smashed against it as an impromptu battering ram against the ruined lumber before being shoved through, crawling after it, Victor knelt up and hurled it over the chainlink fence, unwilling to waste the time cutting a larger hole for it before continuing his exit. The prize he'd worked for all evening rolled slowly into the drainage ditch not far away following it's unceremonious dump into the mud and muck. Frantic at this point and eager to be away, Voicebox snatched it up and activated the mask's secondary functions, concealing his face behind a screen of static to on-coming pedestrians and drivers that might appear, barreling his way across the street to snatch his dufflebags up and disappear into the on-coming daylight.

Hours would pass of carefully rolling from one alley network to the next, even going so far as to duck into the sewer-ways for a time to truly break any tails before re-surfacing to send the all-important message. "Operation complete, package recovered, awaiting pick-up for wares discussed" the text message would read. Once again it was bounced through a half dozen or more VPNs before the text message would hit Twitch's phone to prevent any trails between the client and contractor.

[Xah]

Kane
Applewood Tower, Floor 96, Medical Center 7
San Sacramento, "Sac-Town"
Maybe Friday, January something or other, 206...7? 8? // got to be the afternoon by now
Too cold, too wet,
Humidity: enough, Wind: something for people who go outside

"Yes, medical file." the man finished filling out the name of the man, along with a brief description, "So if you come in here again in a number of year we can pull this out and not inject you with anything you have a lethal allergy to. It helps expedite things." a pause, "Speaking of which, any known allergies?"

Kane paused, "Reality," he murmured. "But other than that, no, not really," he gave a short laugh. "The number of chemicals I've tried in my time, I doubt there's much left to have a lethal allergy to." Another cough, "I don't suppose you've got anything spare?" He lifted his top, showing four small ports in his chest, evidence of an implanted drug dosing system, a well fitted and expensive one at that. "Could really do with some adrenaline, ephedrine," quieter voice, "amphetamines? Hell, even caffeine would do. I need something to take the edge off life, y'know?"