Immersion HQ starter blog

Faye was about to give up the ghost and say fuck it to this wild goose chase of a stakeout. She’d been sitting here for hours, alone, following up on a lead related to the drug that she’d found in Dr. Savin’s system a few days prior. She hadn’t told him about this particular job, not wanting his personal feelings to perhaps get in the way of the investigation. Not that she thought him incapable of focusing on the task at hand, but he seemed the type that might take things personally if he got to close to the source. 

She wouldn’t blame him - he’d been drugged, after all - but there was no room for personal emotions in Faye’s job. They got people hurt. Or worse. Her right hand flexed involuntarily at the thought. Thankfully, there was movement across the street. When Faye ran her scans - low-frequency NC stealth biometrics - they came up as unrecognized. Which meant one of two things. Either the person was truly an unknown to the NC, and most likely irrelevant, or they were someone very, very dangerous. Someone who wanted to stay hidden.

Regardless, Faye was going to check them out. 

The Pour House wasn’t Nox’s typical joint. Nowhere in Mid-City really was, but with it’s proximity to the Nest, sometimes it was easier to just stop in for a drink or two ( or three or four) and then go back to the Nest to pass out in one of the back rooms. Either that or she had to trek all the way back into the lower city and walking around this late at night meant probably stumbling into a fight and although fights were never a deterrent for her, it did mean possibly not ending up at a bar at all. And nothing in her own liquor cabinet, if you could even call it that, compared to what they served here. Now that Nox had credits, more than she ever thought she’d have, it was only right she splurged for the best when she could.

A bar like this was also perfect because of the joybots that would hang around. It meant that less people were interested in hitting up the flesh and blood at the bar, unlike in the Saloon where it seemed like every other moment someone was trying to either pick her up or pick a fight. Here Nox could drink in peace, sipping the whiskey from her glass as her bright blue eyes scanned the rest of the bar top. She’d been running in the middle-city for years and still, it felt foreign to her. The way people would spend credits like they didn’t have a care at all, like there wasn’t the worry of how to eat, how to survive until the next payload came in. These people weren’t even the richest of the rich and still, it was a world apart from what Nox was used to. It was enough to make someone mad, but Nox had seen it enough that the boredom outplayed the anger.

But irritation could still lash out, alive and well, and as someone slid into the sear beside her, Nox felt her body tense up. But this wasn’t the Saloon, where a bar fight was a common occurrence and badges were rare. Mid city had a bit more foot traffic when it came to the Novas and she didn’t need to end up in jail. It didn’t mean she needed to be nice though. “Unless you’re going to buy me a drink, don’t waste my time,” she spat out, turning to face her new bar-mate. “You’d have better luck with any of the joybots in here anyways.”

There was something to be said about the lull after a morning rush. The masses of people who were on there way to class needing the pick me up from a coffee, or a smoothies, or whatever they desire now gone from the premises to continue their day in what would hopefully be a lovely way. They luckily never had a lot of anger customers in Havens, not because they didn’t exist, but because Naomi tried her best to fix the problems before they got out of hand, to make sure that the customer experience stayed an important focus. Unless that customer was just rude for the sake of it and then, she had a little reminder for them at the start of the line in the form of a sign. Sometimes, that line had to be spoken verbally to some difficult customers. Like right now.

“I’m sorry M’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Like the sign says,” Naomi started, her voice patient and gentle as she gestured over to her sign, knowing that the woman in front of her wouldn’t even take a second glance… if she had even took a first one. “I retain full rights to deny service and eject someone from the premises for any reason, especially if they have shown disrespect to my employees.” She gave a small shrug. It seemed like a simple price to pay, a bit of kindness for some excellent service. Some people just have a problem with it. That or they just love to yell at people who don’t deserve it and there was few things that got Naomi riled up than someone yelling at her baristas. “So we can do this the easy way and you can see yourself out or I can call someone in. Your choice.”

Luckily their choice was the easy one and with some grumbling and curses, the woman left the shop and peace came back into the air with her departure. It didn’t mean the job was done though, since Evie was still on the ten that Naomi had sent her on. So she took a deep breath and looked over to the next customer in line, not knowing if they had seen everything that had just happened or had just come in. “Hi, sorry about that wait! How can I help you? Looking to try something new with out chocolate black berry latte? Or more of a simple classic, like the white chocolate mocha? And if black coffee is more your style, we have plenty of that too.” Her statement was finished with a cheerful smile.

Zina was a flurry of activity, spinning around on her chair to grab her notebook and drawing with her finger in the 3D projected screen some ideas about mockups, at least for a training arm that would help the neurons train for having an additional limb to control. Zina hummed loudly in excitement, only for half of her vision to be blocked by a security notification. Someone was at her door.

Without even bothering to look at the security camera feed, Zina groaned and switched to the buzzer by the door. “Interruptions! What is it with you people and interrupting me when I’m having a breakthrough?” Zina rubbed her face with her hands, smearing it with some more grease from earlier. Business was business, and a customer at her shop was less time spent milling at the ripperdoc offices. “… What is it?” she asked in a slightly more friendly tone, flicking to the security camera feed.

Finding her way to a bar in the middle district, she sat at the darker end of the bar, tucked away in the corner. It was only when she felt the slight shift in the air beside her that she called out to the synth behind the bar, “Another, and one for my friend.” Turning to face her companion, she’d assumed it was someone from the Tech Heads, someone that knew how to find her, or where she hung out. She was pleasantly surprised when it was not one of hers.

Leaning on the back two legs of his creaking, half-rotten chair he couldn’t help but stare at the rather out of place individual looking around. They might as well be wearing a sign that read ‘mug me’. Putting down his energy drink he kept his mask covering his face, mumbling through the thick material. “You look lost, what ya looking for?”

It’s easier than some people might think, being undercover. Assuming a new identity.

Or, at least, it’s easy for a synthetic.

Sierra doesn’t know how humans do it. They must have to learn information by memorization, consciously think about how they’re acting and what their body language is doing. For a synthetic, it’s significantly easier: Sierra downloads select portions of other models’ code, switches out his identification (with help), and finds appropriate clothing. It’s a simple matter of running parallel programming.

This week, he is a CW-P-200 model, a therapy synthetic. Clad in calming blues and a placid smile, it allows him to speak freely. Or, freely enough. As freely as synthetics are ever allowed to speak.

He’s staked out a small cafe across the road from Synthsphere HQ, a space where employees regularly procure items to satiate their human digestion systems. All around him, people are drinking coffee, chewing bread and meat and plant matter, and it all seems so… messy. Sierra honestly doesn’t know how humans do it. But he’s here to overhear conversations, hoping to get anything he can on models being developed or problems with programming, anything.

He stands in the designated waiting area for accompanying synthetics, lined up near the door like docile statues, waiting for their masters to remember their presence. Sierra wants to shake them. Wants to beg them to wake up, to snap out of it. Instead, he breaks from the pack, and goes to stand next to someone waiting in line.

“You look very stressed,” he chirps in the pleasantly cheerful programmed tone of a CW-P. “Prolonged elevated stress levels can be very harmful for humans. You run the risk of headaches, upset stomachs, chest pain, insomnia, frequent colds, and loss of sexual desire! Would you like me to recite some affirmations for you?”