42. Cybernetic Upgrades and Magic Puppets

After waking up and having breakfast, Carl and the other two did not stay in their room for long. On this rare day of leisure without any intelligence coming in from Blanca, everyone had their own tasks to attend to.

Oliver planned to acquire a new sniper rifle, Jack wanted to finally buy the motorcycle he had been dreaming of, and Carl intended to visit old Vic to upgrade his cyberware. Doing all these things together would be too troublesome, so shortly after breakfast, the three of them parted ways.

Well, calling it parting ways is not entirely accurate, as Oliver acted as the driver, first dropping Carl and Jack off at their respective destinations.

"I'm starting to suspect that the reason you want to buy a car, Carl, is simply so you can ride more comfortably when I'm the designated driver."

"Slander. I just want to be lazy."

After bidding farewell to Oliver and Jack in the car, Carl headed over to Viktor's.

They were planning to get together for a gathering tonight after the cyberware surgery anyway.

Passing through Misty's Esoteric Emporium and exchanging pleasantries with Misty along the way, Carl walked out through the back door, turned left, and finally arrived at Viktor's clinic, located in a basement in the alleyway.

Carl was Viktor's only scheduled client for today, so everything had been prepared well in advance.

"Let's stick with what we discussed yesterday, Carl."

Retrieving the cyberware he had ordered yesterday and which had just arrived this morning from a specially sealed storage compartment, Viktor looked at Carl, who appeared to be in good shape, and motioned for him to lie down on the operating table.

"I still need to do a quick check to make sure there are no backdoors left in these implants. Lie down for a moment and mentally prepare yourself."

"What kind of mental preparation could I possibly need, old Vic? This isn't my first time."

"You can't look at it that way. Every surgery carries risks; you can't afford to be careless."

Nagging like a nagging mother, old Vic muttered under his breath. Carl knew better than not to listen, so he simply lay on the bed, listening to old Vic ramble while craning his neck to watch him run diagnostic checks on the cyberware.

The cyberware Viktor was currently inspecting had been ordered through Viktor's underworld connections as a ripperdoc, funded by Carl. The total cost came out to one hundred and ninety-two thousand eddies.

Ninety-two thousand eddies went toward the monowire. This tier of monowire was significantly longer than Carl's previous one and much easier to charge. This meant that if Carl were to encounter another ACPA, he might not need to waste so much time; just a few exchanges would be enough to charge it and strip the ACPA's "skin" right off its chassis.

The remaining one hundred thousand eddies were spent on replacing the neural interface. Up until now, Carl had been using the cheapest interface on the market—the Militech Paraline. To be honest, its processing power was barely better than having nothing at all; anyone with money would certainly splurge on an upgrade. For his new neural interface, Carl chose the Arasaka Mk.3.

[Arasaka Mk.3]: A top-tier neural interface designed specifically for stealth infiltration and espionage operations.

Another Arasaka product. It wasn't because Carl had any particular preference for Arasaka just because his hand was an Arasaka prosthetic, but simply because this was the most expensive and highest-quality interface Viktor could possibly get his hands on.

Anything better than this was likely restricted to internal corporate circulation.

After checking for a while and making sure that any minor subroutines left inside the cyberware had been thoroughly deleted, Viktor sat down in the chair beside the operating table.

"It'll take about two hours. Do you want an anesthetic?"

"Just a partial local anesthetic will do. That way, I can still chat with you, old Vic, to pass the time."

"You don't need to pass the time during surgery."

Despite saying that, Viktor still followed Carl's request and administered only a local anesthetic before picking up the cyberware to begin the procedure.

And the time matched Viktor's estimate precisely—it was completed in just two hours.

"How does it feel?"

Hearing Viktor's voice, Carl tested out by flicking the monowire on his right hand.

"Very smooth, no sense of resistance."

"And the neural interface?"

Carl focused inward and realized that the speed at which his brain processed data had increased dramatically.

Glancing at Viktor, Carl could feel that all the knowledge he had acquired and learned from braindances had coalesced into a web within his mind.

Viktor Vektor, old Vic, former boxer, current ripperdoc, physical condition good, though respiration is slightly rapid—possibly overworked during the surgery, breathing will normalize in fourteen seconds. Vulnerabilities detected at the fourth rib on the right side and the left knee joint; a defensive breakthrough can be completed in 0.3 seconds. Target is unalert.

The surge of information flooding into Carl's mind in that single instant made him blink. He answered Viktor's inquiry:

"No problems at all. If anything, it feels like this processing power has boosted my brain activity—almost as if part of the computational burden has been offloaded to it."

"Impossible. That thing is just a neural interface, not some kind of brain booster."

Viktor didn't pay much attention to Carl's remark. After sitting in his chair for a few seconds to steady his breathing, he said, "No strenuous exercise today. Give yourself some time to adjust. You guys barely escaped with your lives, so take some time to rest. Don't make me find out you've taken on another gig when I come looking for you guys for dinner tonight. If you don't cherish your bodies, the next time I operate on you punks, I won't use any anesthesia."

....

Actually, he had already taken a gig, but naturally, it was impossible to confess that honestly to old Vic, so Carl chose to keep quiet about it.

"I'll pass the message along to Oliver and Jack."

Carl simply said that, then bade a temporary farewell to old Vic.

He planned to head over to Kabuki Market before the evening gathering. There was a netrunner shop there where he could buy some daemons.

[Daemon]: A virus, netrunner software, offensive program.

He had learned the basics of netrunning through braindances, and now he wanted to get his hands on some daemons to see if he could pull off being a netrunner.

Carl sent a message to Oliver, asking where his dedicated "driver" was, and was told that the latter was still picking out firearms.

Does a single gun really take that long to pick out....

Wait, almost forgot.

Carl touched the Lexington at his waist.

It seemed he needed to get himself a proper gun first. Relying solely on the Lexington always felt a bit unsettling.

Carl's room actually had a weapon stash containing firearms like the Saratoga. He had at least one of various rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns, but as for a concealable pistol he could tuck into his clothes, he only had the Lexington.

Could the Lexington even be considered a proper pistol for a mercenary?

Should he go buy another Kenshin, which he was quite used to handling, or try out some other firearms instead....

Hmm... that is a question worth pondering.