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Chapter 28: The Netrunner
🕑 Added 2025-10-22 10:46:57 +0000 UTCChapter 28: The Netrunner
The desert sun, as always, baked the earth, sending warped heat-hazes rising from the ruins of the derelict town.
Inside the manufactorum, Joric had just completed a micro-adjustment on a Combat Servitor's motive-joint. The servo-skull hovered silently at his side, the blue light in its oculars reflecting the ever-scrolling data-streams.
Just then, the perimeter-monitoring network registered a familiar set of signatures.
"Old Friend, Maine's crew is approaching," Joric's synthesized voice was flat. His optical lenses scanned the vehicle information appearing on his interface. "Vehicle count: three. Thermal signatures match the full crew roster."
He paused, his sensors catching a new detail. "Hm. There is one additional, faint bio-signature, exhibiting abnormally high neural-processing activity... A netrunner."
He was not surprised. As the depth and risk of their transactions increased, it was logical that Maine would deploy all his core assets, including the technical specialists he had previously kept in reserve.
Soon, the familiar, heavily-repaired Goodwood, leading two other weather-beaten, modified vehicles, rolled to a stop in the cleared, secure zone outside the town.
The doors opened. Maine's large frame was the first out, followed by Dorio, whose sharp eyes swept the surroundings. She noted, with a flicker of unease, that the town seemed "cleaner" than their last visit. Piles of wreckage had been stacked with an unnatural, orderly precision, like a silent warning.
Falco, Rebecca, and Pilar got out. Pilar was flexing his perfectly-repaired shoulder, looking almost giddy. Rebecca, as usual, was the first to bolt toward the manufactorum, but this time she was pulling someone else along by the wrist.
It was a girl, small, and even more slender than Rebecca. She was dressed in dark, form-fitting, practical clothing, covered by a slightly oversized, armored jacket. Her hood was pulled low, shadowing most of her face, revealing only a delicate jawline and pale lips. She moved with a light, quiet, almost feline caution that was a stark contrast to Rebecca's explosive energy.
The most notable feature was the high-quality, fiber-optic data-cable jacked into the port at the base of her skull, its other end coiled neatly into an inner pocket of her jacket—the clear sign of a high-end netrunner.
"Boss! We're here! And we brought a new choom!" Rebecca's voice was bright as she dragged the girl to the sanctum's entrance. The rest of the crew followed. Maine met Joric's crimson optics and gave a slight nod.
Joric's gaze passed over Rebecca and settled on the newcomer. His sensors completed their scan: ++Subject: Unknown. Low muscle-density, no significant skeletal reinforcement. Minimal external cybernetics. Neural-net activity: extremely high. Cortical-region metabolic rate: 450% above baseline. High-strength encrypted data-flow detected between internal-interface and external, pocketed device. Profile: Typical Netrunner.++
"This is Sasha," Maine said, his voice a low rumble. "She's our 'runner. She usually provides support from the van, so she hasn't been out here before. Rebecca figured you might need... more 'technical' trade, and thought Sasha should see the shop."
His tone was level, but he was clearly watching Joric, gauging his reaction to this introduction of a new, key crew-member.
Sasha tilted her head up slightly. From the shadows of her hood, a pair of bright, amber-flecked eyes coolly and quickly scanned Joric's massive frame, his writhing mechadendrites, and the hovering servo-skull. Her gaze held no fear, only a deep, technical-focus, as if she were trying to assess his tech-level and potential threat-matrix.
She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Her voice was light, but steady. "Hello."
"A netrunner. A valuable specialization," Joric's reply was just as direct, devoid of any social ritual. "Your neural-activity is high, and your encryption-method is... interesting. I will assume your capabilities match your hardware configuration."
It was impossible to tell if it was a compliment or a simple assessment of a tool.
Sasha's lip twitched. She said nothing, only nodded again, pulling her hood even lower, as if uncomfortable with being the subject of such a direct, invasive scan.
"Did you bring the tithe?" Joric's attention returned to Maine.
Maine gestured to Dorio. She and Falco moved to one of the vehicles and, with some effort, lifted out a heavy, refrigerated, sealed metal case. It was unmarked, but its edges were smeared with dark, sticky, half-clotted stains.
They placed the case on the designated workbench. As the latches were opened, a cloud of cold-preservation mist hissed out.
Inside, secured in foam, were three pieces of cyberware.
Their design-language was pure, cold, efficient Militech. They were all a matte, non-reflective dark-grey, their interfaces and power-conduits embedded like intricate, mechanical filigree.
One piece was a military-grade, sub-dermal armor system designed to protect the entire spine and rib-cage, complete with a micro-impact-gel dispersal system and emergency-cauterization pumps. A large, concave dent and a jagged tear marred its surface, the edges caked in dried tissue and blood.
The second was an "Achilles-pattern" tactical tendon and lower-leg reinforcement system, designed for explosive speed and stability. Its primary connection-port was scorched, as if it had been ripped from its user by an energy-weapon.
The final piece was a pair of "Optical-Camouflage" generators, the kind usually mounted on the scapula. One of the generators was shattered, revealing the fried, delicate-circuitry within.
All the pieces had clearly been through a horrific firefight and had been... "harvested" with extreme prejudice.
Maine's crew was silent, their expressions complex as they looked at the gory chrome. The acquisition had clearly not been a clean one.
Joric, however, was entirely unconcerned by this.
His mechadendrites were already moving, delicately lifting the sub-dermal armor. The sensors at their tips glowed, running a scan.
"Militech 'Fortress' series, third-generation sub-dermal plating," his synthesized voice held a clear, identifiable note of satisfaction. "Its power-distribution efficiency is 22% higher than the commercial-grade variant, and the neural-interface is a duplex-feedback design. Excellent."
"The bio-contamination is irrelevant to the material-analysis and reverse-engineering of the structure. In fact, the blood and tissue-residue provide a raw-data sample of its neural-interaction with the host. This is valuable."
He examined the other two pieces. "Achilles-system. Linear-accelerator is damaged, but the foundational structure is sound."
"Optical-camouflage... the core is fried. But the scattering-lenses and diffraction-grilles are worthy of study."
"Very good. The quality of this tithe is far superior to the previous 'scrap'."
