#neoncityscape

She picked through the takeout containers collecting on her desk. Her screens continued to track Corax as he left the fighting pits— cycling from drone feed to drone feed.

“Please tell me you’re not eating,” Mal said. He was still typing on the other end of the line, his keystrokes a steady rhythm that she’d learned to tune out.

“Relax. I still have the helmet on,” she scooped an errant noodle into her mouth. She’d cobbled together the VR helmet using salvaged tech and specs from an earlier prototype that Mal had ‘found’ in a seedier corner of the Grid.

“If you go under, that food is gonna come right back up,” he said. She just rolled her eyes.

 Onscreen, the debauchery of Launch Day swirled around Corax, and they lost him briefly in the crowd. The screens cycled rapidly as her programs triangulated his location. Finally, an errant Syntro security droid registered him talking to leggy woman with white hair. Mal stopped typing, and she sat up nearly spilling noodles on herself.

“Syntro, identify that woman,” she commanded. “Identifying.” Corax moved closer to the woman, who smiled beguilingly. “Do you think—“ Mal asked.

“Clients never read the fine print,” she breathed. If this Client aka Dipshit, violated Corax’s terms of use, then he’d get booted out of the body. The TOU was simple but strangely specific. No sex, no psychedelics, no killing in cold blood.

If Mal was good (and he was really, really good) he could take that split nanosecond of unoccupied Host to splice her in.

Syntro chimed. “Real name: Unknown. Alias: Trinh. Affiliation: Dantai.” “Damn. She’s just a drug peddler” Mal swore softly. On the feed, Trinh held up a packet for Corax’s perusal. It glowed green. Corax accepted it, peeled off the backing and slapped the transdermal patch on the back of his neck. Not enough of TOU violation except—

“Mal, look at the location,” she said urgently, noticing the surroundings for the first time. Red and pink neon signs bleeding from huge storefront windows could only mean one thing. La Rue Roux, one of the classier thoroughfares of the Brothel District. La Rue Roux or the Roo for short, made use of long abandoned storefronts where pleasure workers could showcase their wares for a fee.

Corax meandered, staring up at the windows like they were works of art. She didn’t blame him— some pleasure synths were exquisite things, designed to override rational thought and appeal to good old-fashioned lust.

“Be ready,” Mal’s voice broke through her reverie.

Corax had paused at a window, staring at lavender haired Synth wearing a sheer dress.

Heart pounding, she stepped into a sleeping pod. It was no luxury VR suite— but it had been hardwired to take the brunt of the Tenancy data. She stepped in as Mal typed furiously, constructing code that she could ride right into Corax’s body.

Syntro pulled up the feed on her visor just in time to see Corax stumble as he tried to walk into the pleasure house. She adjusted the helmet and lay down, letting the pod seal her in.

“Goddess speed Sam,” Mal said. He didn’t mention the food she would inevitably throw up afterwards. She watched Corax try to take another step, but his tech had locked up. He slowly crumpled to the ground. There was a chime, and the VR helmet pulled her into the waiting dark. 

Thanks for your patience. And again so grateful for all the CC creators out there (there has been a wealth of Cyberpunk CC that’s come out this past month).

Mal’s Office desk/screens by @streetlightaurora - here

La Rue Roux halos by @toskasims and @aisukurimutoxic // Street signs & Neons by @nickname-sims4 , @ dominationkid , @sims41ife // Deco Buildings @hydrangeachainsaw // Deco Sims by @xldkx-cc // Robots by @bananahut // Also ty to @radioactivedotcom for her tarot card mesh that I recolored to make a transdermal drug patch // Wires by @rumorukaraizon

Please check Part One for other CC details of the Hacker’s apartment.

[ACorp]Invoice Log Gig # AC-2345 Timestamp: DB -00:25 Tenancy Hours: 6 Life Debt Hours Remaining: 157678

    Waking up after a Tenancy gig was always a bitch. Not unlike a hangover after a night partying— and the nights in Arx Erebos are long.

    “Syntro” I whispered, throat raw like I’d mainlined rusted shrapnel, “Scan, full-body.”

    “Scanning.”

    I flinched, the AI’s voice clashed with the pounding in my head. The clients kept messing with my audioviz settings. Assholes.

    “You have two bruised ribs on your left side, skin lacerations and facial bruising. Would you like to begin MedKit protocol?”

    “Yes.”

    “Dispensing.”

    There was a hum in my ear as MedKit nanites are dispatched. Pain receptors flared as they got to work,  but I forced myself to assess my surroundings. There’s a mess of holo ads popping up around me, but the pylons curving overhead and the smell of Udon bowls mixed with the stench of piss and garbage was answer enough.

   Dammit. The shithead client left me in the Boneyard. Again. The Boneyard was a transit hub so named because it was built from the remains of the old spaceships that brought us here.  I always figured it was because the pylons that served as moorings for the Lev-trams resembled the rib bones of some gigantic carcass, and we Arxians were just the scavengers picking it over.

   “Fifteen minutes to Daybreak,” Syntro reminded me.

    The thrum beat of the Sub-trams rattled the drain I was currently using as a bed, setting off more aftershocks of pain. I pushed myself up to stand on wobbly legs, ignoring the slime-like substance coating my left hand. My stomach grumbled. The smell of noodle bowls enticed, in spite of the underlying stench of trash left over from Launch Day  revelries. A fluorescent sanitation droid drifted nearby but it wouldn’t clean this close to Daybreak.

    “Syntro, partition off data from the last six hours.”

  The agreement was for Clients to leave me at the Safehouse for Debrief Protocol, but they always forgot or were too damn lazy. I wasn’t allowed to know what went on during gigs hence the  Debrief protocol. I didn’t care either way, though my stomach protested loudly as I walked away from my usual noodle place.

    Muscles twinging from nanite repairs, and cursing overzealous clients, I limped over to the safehouse. Caligo Row was one street over from the Boneyard, past the decommissioned Antropos defense turret that was the demarcation point between the Strata and the Flats. It wasn’t a street so much as half of one— a cul-de-sac of compact housing meant for Antropos military types. Since the Fall, most of them have been repurposed into commercial spaces, untaxed and unregulated by the Corps. Or so they thought.

    “Ten minutes to daybreak.” Syntro reminded me.

    I picked up the pace, even though breathing still felt like getting stabbed. The nanites were taking their own sweet time with their repairs today. In a narrow alley between an AV store and Scrapper, I squeezed past some crates and trash bags to climb up the metal stairs to the entrance of an appointment-only Tattoo Studio— the clunk clunk of my shoes announcing my arrival to the Tech on duty. The door swung open before I reached the landing.

   Alix didn’t even look up from her work, “Where’d the client leave you this time?”

CC:

Boneyard: Flyers/Holos by @toskasims // Error Holo by @strangestorytellersimsBottle by @quiddity-jones // Crosswalk Decal & walls by @sims41ife // Neon Screen by @rumorukaraizon // decosims by @xldkx-cc

Caligo Row Street/Stairs: Billboards by @brazenlotus // Tattoo Neon Sign by @nickname-sims4 // Neon Tubing by @strangestorytellersims.

Corax: Shirt by @gorillax3 // Pants by @belaloallure3 // Shoes by @s4simomo// earpiece & dog tags by @star-rear-admiral // Hair by @simandy

Alix: Doctor’s coat by @sudal-sims // Glasses by nords [TSR] // hair [True Damage pack] by @trnhtm // tablet by inabadromance [personal recolor] //

[will post Safehouse CC in next part since that scene will play out exclusively there]