Bio Weapon Dystopia

The bartender, his face half silver and his throat complete chrome, saw a woman with the weirdest outfit he saw in days. And that's an achievement given the current situation in LA, but he has learned that judging people by attire was never a good thing, even more so when his bar was home to the local fixer of this district. A lot of people would come and go, ask for gigs, maybe die, in the rare occurrence, actually come unscathed… that sorta stuff.

Even though she was barefoot. Hmmm.

The black haired woman sat at the counter. She used glasses? Well, not the weirdest thing. Some people just didn't use Optics for some weird reason, but he wasn't one to judge, he refused to chrome for a long time too, so better to not mind something like that. She just listened to the radio, humming softly to the song before eventually asking for the bartender to make his way up to her.

“What can I do for you?”, He asked as he used a rag to clean the counter while side glancing at the potential customer.

“Depends. If you can get rid of this filth that fills the oxygen I try to breathe, it would be preem.”, She said while sighing, which got a snort out of the bartender.

“Ain't that what everyone wants. But I doubt Arasaka will ever bother with that.”, He commented as he saw the TV commenting on a new record for pollution in the city.

“‘Saka don't bother with anything that doesn't bring them more money.”, The woman commented with a huff.

Something he could get behind, after all it wasn't by mistake that the corporate wars were initiated by Arasaka, despite them trying to rectify their previous reputation, it was still something people won't forget easily. At least outside of Night City, that is.

“And power.”, The bartender added as he finished up cleaning, “But you didn't tell me what you need.”

“I am looking for a gig. Thought you might know something about it?”

Ah, she was one of those.

The bartender’s eyes narrowed as he studied her, trying to figure out where she fit in the mess that was Los Angeles. She didn’t look like a corpo, at least not the polished, power-hungry types that used to run the place. Nor did she have the ragged look of a street scav. But there was something off about her—barefoot, wearing hospital scrubs like she had just walked out of a bad ripper chrome gone wrong. Still, he knew better than to underestimate anyone who asked for work in a place like this.

“You’re looking for a gig, huh?” He wiped his hands on the rag and leaned on the counter, lowering his voice. “You should know, this ain’t the city you came from. Jobs around here don’t exactly come with benefits. You sure you’re up for it?”

Vomi gave him a half-smile, leaning forward. “Wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t. Got skills. I can hack, fix things, get into places I’m not supposed to. I’m not picky about the work either, just need the eddies.”

The bartender nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with her answer. He reached under the counter, pulling out a small, outdated tablet. After tapping a few times, he slid it over to her. “There’s a fixer in this district. Goes by the name Layla. Runs a few gigs here and there, mostly for people like you—new faces looking to make a quick buck.”

“Anything I should know about her?” Vomi asked, glancing at the tablet’s screen.

The bartender shrugged. “She’s tough but fair. If you screw up, you’re out. But if you do the job right, she pays well. You can find her down near the old trainyard, runs a small shop out of an abandoned warehouse.”

Vomi took a mental note and slid the tablet back to him. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll check it out.”

Before she could stand up, the bartender raised a hand. “One more thing. Layla’s got connections. If you’re looking to get your hands on chrome, iron, docs or intel, she’s the one who can help you out. But it’s gonna cost you.”

“I’ll worry about that once I’ve got some eddies,” Vomi replied with a smirk.

She stood, adjusting the hem of her hospital scrubs before walking toward the exit. The symbiote’s voice echoed in her mind as she stepped back into the grimy streets of LA. “This Layla seems resourceful. She may be a key contact.”

“Let’s hope so,” Vomi muttered under her breath, scanning her surroundings as she walked toward the Galena. Sure, she said she'd let the car on the sidewalk, but there is no other way to travel that doesn't involve jumping entire buildings. The air still stank, and the city’s decay was even more palpable at street level, but she wasn’t here for sightseeing.

As she drove toward the trainyard, her mind buzzed with a mixture of anticipation and weariness. The symbiote stayed quiet, likely calculating their next moves or simply observing. Either way, she felt its presence, a constant companion in her skull. The drive didn’t take long, but as she approached the warehouse district, the atmosphere changed. The streets were more desolate here, fewer people, more shadows.

She parked the Galena a safe distance from the building, making sure to lock it up securely. Layla’s shop wasn’t exactly well-marked, but the faint hum of activity inside the warehouse gave it away. She approached the building cautiously, eyeing the security cameras perched on the roof like mechanical vultures.

“Careful,” the symbiote warned, sensing the unease in the air. “This fixer may not trust strangers easily.”

“I know,” Vomi muttered, stepping up to the door and giving it a quick knock.

A slot opened, revealing a pair of scrutinizing eyes. “What do you want?” came a gruff voice from behind the door.

“Looking for work. I was told Layla’s the one to see about that,” Vomi replied, keeping her tone calm but confident.

The eyes narrowed for a moment, scanning her from head to toe, then the slot slammed shut. There was a beat of silence before the heavy door creaked open. A stocky man stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You the one the Jax sent?” he asked, motioning for her to enter.

Vomi nodded and stepped inside. Apparently the name of the bartender is Jax.

The interior of the warehouse was a stark contrast to the outside—organized, functional, and bristling with tech. Several workstations were set up, with a few people hunched over monitors or tinkering with mechanical parts.

The man led her toward the back, where a makeshift office had been set up. Behind a cluttered desk sat a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a sleek, chrome-plated jacket. Her eyes, enhanced with bright red optics, darted up from the screen in front of her.

“So, you’re looking for work,” Layla said, her voice sharp but curious.

“Yeah,” Vomi replied, stepping forward. “I’ve got skills.”

Layla studied her for a moment, then leaned back in her chair, tapping a chrome-plated finger against her lips. “You don’t look like you’re from around here. But I don’t care about that. I care about results. There’s a gig I need handled—clean and quick. You in?”

Vomi nodded without hesitation. “What’s the job?”

Layla eyed her one more time before trying to give the information via Agent, only for the file not to be sent.

“You are ganic?”, She asked in bewilderment before quickly going back to professional persona, “That's… Fine. Actually that's a pleasant surprise.”

Oh, yeah. No chrome had these setbacks.

“Sorry, not sorry. Need payment in cash as well.”, She offered a not so apologetic smile, “I actually need to get chipped. This is becoming a hassle by now.”

“I am impressed you weren't caught by the law already.”, She said with a sigh, before grabbing a tablet and transferring the files of the gig to the object, “Here.”

The guard who was silently observing gave a small chuckle.

“Secure a package.”, Vomi commented as she checked the deets, "Who are these Venti Street's? Local gang?”

Layla leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly tapping the chrome surface of her desk. “Yeah, Venti Street’s a local gang. Bunch of low-life rippers, but they’ve been expanding their territory. Got bold recently and snatched a package I need back. Small thing, but valuable. Their hideout’s in an abandoned auto shop a few blocks from here.”

“Rippers?”, Vomi scanned through the job details on the tablet, taking mental notes. "Any idea how many we're dealing with?”

“A dozen, give or take,” Layla said, shrugging. “Nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle. Most of them are hopped up on low-grade chrome. Might have a couple of decent hitters, but they’re not pros.”

"Alright, secure the package, take care of the gonks if necessary. Got it." Vomi glanced up from the tablet, her red eyes gleaming faintly. "Anything else I should know? Traps, alarms?"

Layla shook her head. “Nothing that should give you too much trouble. Just get in, grab the package, and get out. No need to go loud unless they give you a reason.”

“Right,” Vomi said, slipping the tablet into her pocket. “I’ll get it done.”

As she turned to leave, Layla added, “I assume youa the getting eddies for chrome? It's not unusual for people to keep full ganic, but even the basics be missing is something some people might be suspicious about.”

“What about you?”, Vomi shot back as she turned her heel to look at Layla, “You think that I am suspicious?”

“Everyone is.”, She said sagely, “It's a thing that you learn in this line of work.”

“I see. But, yeah, I do agree that I need some chrome. Chip in the basics.”

Layla seemed to consider something, “Tell you what. If your skills actually exist, I can call one of my trusted ripperdocs. We will discuss price later.”

Vomi smirked over her shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Go on now. Do your job.”

With that, she stepped back out into the dingy streets, the symbiote’s voice already chiming in her head. “This seems straightforward. But there may be hidden dangers.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Vomi muttered, scanning the street for any suspicious eyes. “These things are never as simple as they look. Let’s just hope these rippers aren’t packing anything too heavy.”

“We will adapt as necessary. Efficiency is key.”

“Right, always.” She shook her head slightly. “Let’s just hope I get some decent eddies out of this.”

She climbed back into the Galena, fired up the engine, and set off toward the Venti Street hideout. As she drove, she mentally prepped herself for what lay ahead. Another gang, another fight—same old story. But this time, there was more at stake. She needed the money, needed the chrome.

Venti Street's Den

There was a local discussion with the gang members. They were playing blackjack casually, not any eddies or any bet, but still casual banter between them.

“Hit me.”, One of them said, his grin visible as he held a total of 15 in his hands.

"You're gonna bust," another gang member chuckled, lazily dealing the next card. He was leaned back, chrome arms crossed, clearly enjoying watching his buddy push his luck.

The guy with the cards hesitated, eyeing his hand like he could will it into something better. “Nah, I got this. Just need a six.”

"Yeah, sure. Like the universe is ever that nice to any of us," the dealer snorted, flipping the card. It was a 10.

“Fuck!” The guy groaned, slamming his cards down. “Always happens. No luck in cards, no luck in life.”

“You think you got no luck?” chimed in another gang member, leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His jacket was old, fraying at the seams, but the chromed-out mods in his arms made him look tougher than the rundown fabric. “Last gig I was on, the mark had a mantis blade. Nearly took my head off. You think I’m worried about cards?”

“Man, I’d zero someone for a mantis blade,” the dealer mused, dealing the next hand casually. “The shit we got is barely holding together. My wrist servo’s been jamming for days.”

“Quit whining,” the cigarette guy shot back, blowing out a puff of smoke. “You think Arasaka’s handing out free chrome? We're scraping by, just like always.”

“Arasaka?” The guy who busted laughed. “I can’t even afford to get my optics upgraded, let alone anything fancy. You know the latest OS upgrade costs, like, half a year's worth of eddies? It’s a scam.”

“Everything’s a scam, choom,” the cigarette guy said, flicking ash onto the dirty floor. “That’s the life. You wanna cry about it or keep playing?”

One of the other gang members, quieter but with a cybernetic eye glowing blue, finally spoke up. “I’m telling you, the real trick isn’t in having fancy chrome. It’s in knowing how to use what you got. I’ve seen gonks with top-of-the-line chrome get wrecked by some street rat with a knife.”

The group nodded in agreement, the truth of it settling in.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say no to an upgrade,” the busted guy muttered, shuffling the cards for the next round.

The cigarette guy blew out another puff of smoke, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Wouldn’t we all?”

“All we gotta do is klep some chrome from a few sorry corpses. Maybe we can get a Sandy?”

One of them scoffed, thinking it was hilarious, “You really think a guy with a Sandy is that easy to flatline?”

“I can dream!”, He shot back, slightly offended, “I pass.”

The dealer nodded, looking over at the next player, “Keren is more viable, but I still think we need some iron instead of chrome. Biz will go way smoother with new guns.”

“Hit me.”, The last player said as he was given a 7 of spades, “Yeah, I think I'm settled on chrome. I can barely afford maintenance. Netrunners are also a pain to deal. Leave me with ennies.”

“Alright, reveal your cards.”

The gang members flipped their cards, each one laying them down with a mix of groans and triumphant grins. The dealer smirked as he revealed his hand—a solid 19. “Looks like I’m walking away with this one.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in,” the busted guy muttered, slouching back in his seat. “One of these days, I’m gonna score big and leave this place behind. Maybe head out to Night City, get some real gigs.”

The guy with the cigarette raised an eyebrow. “Night City? You think it’s any better there? It’s the same shit, just with more neon lights. You’d get fried in a week.”

“Maybe. But there’s opportunity there. A lot more than this backwater slum. You get the right crew, the right gig... could be swimming in eddies.”

The quiet guy with the cybernetic eye spoke up again, his voice calm. “Yeah, but for every person making it big, there’s a hundred that get flatlined. I’ll stick to the small gigs for now. Better to stay under the radar.”

“Under the radar doesn’t pay,” the busted guy grumbled, shuffling the cards again. “I’m telling you, we hit the right score, we could all be living it up.”

“And how’s that worked out for you so far?” the cigarette guy quipped, his lips curling into a smirk. “Keep dreaming, choom.”

Before anyone could respond, a low beep echoed through the room. The blue-eyed guy checked his comm, frowning slightly. “Yo, we got movement outside.”

The group immediately tensed, their easygoing banter vanishing in an instant. The dealer tossed the cards aside and stood up, grabbing a nearby pistol. “Who the hell would be stupid enough to roll up on us?”

The cigarette guy stubbed out his smoke and cracked his knuckles, his red eyes glowing faintly. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go see who’s trying to gonk themselves today.”

They all grabbed their weapons and made their way to the front of the hideout, ready for whatever—or whoever—was out there.

Outside, Vomi leaned against the Galena, scanning the entrance of the auto shop. She could feel the symbiote's presence humming in the back of her mind, ready to act.

“They’re coming,” the symbiote whispered.

“Yeah, I figured,” Vomi replied, a small smirk creeping onto her face as she pushed off the car. She could already hear the clanking of boots and the murmured voices of the gang members approaching.

“Let’s keep this clean,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers twitching slightly.

They came out in search of someone, but didn't find anything that could trigger the motion sensor, just a busted and hotwired Galena. Maybe it could be a kid that tried to steal the car before the owner could see, only to be caught in the act. Something far too common in Los Angeles. They still looked at anything suspicious, iron visible and their desire to kill rising. The jackets and tattoo being so snake and cobra based were hilarious, almost Yakuza like, but Vomi just waited in her hiding spot, behind the trash bin.

All she needed to do was enter and secure the package. No need to kill. Not now at least.

The gang members stood around the Galena, scanning the area, their guns drawn and eyes darting around suspiciously. One of them, the guy with the cigarette, took a long drag before letting out a puff of smoke.

“Damn kids, probably thought they could score a ride,” he muttered, his red eyes glowing faintly. “I’m not seeing anything.”

Another, the guy with the busted chrome arm, walked around the car, kicking a piece of scrap metal on the ground. “You sure the sensor wasn’t just a glitch? This place is falling apart, after all.”

The one with the cybernetic eye shook his head, still scanning with his optic. “No glitches. It picked up something.”

Vomi watched from behind the trash bin, staying perfectly still. She could feel the symbiote’s anticipation in her mind, its energy humming just beneath the surface, ready to spring into action.

“Patience,” it whispered. “Let them disperse.”

She nodded subtly, waiting for the right moment. The longer they stayed distracted outside, the easier it would be to slip in and grab the package.

The cigarette guy took one last look around and shrugged. “Alright, whatever. If someone was dumb enough to mess with us, they’re long gone by now. Let’s head back in.”

“Fine,” the busted-arm guy said with a grumble, holstering his gun. “But if I find out some little punk was messing with our turf, I’m gonna—”

Before he could finish, the guy with the cybernetic eye raised a hand, freezing in place. “Wait. Hold up. There’s something...”

He turned his gaze toward the trash bin where Vomi was hiding, his cybernetic eye zooming in.

“Shit,” Vomi hissed under her breath. She had to act fast.

Without hesitation, she leaped from her cover, moving faster than any of them could react. The cigarette guy barely had time to raise his gun before Vomi was on him, grabbing his wrist and twisting it violently. His weapon clattered to the ground as he let out a pained grunt.

“Who the—” the busted-arm guy started, but Vomi didn’t give him a chance to finish. She spun around, delivering a swift kick to his chest, sending him stumbling back.

The others scrambled to raise their weapons, but Vomi was already in motion, ducking and weaving between them, using their own confusion to her advantage. The symbiote enhanced her reflexes, allowing her to move with precision and speed.

“We must neutralize them quickly,” the symbiote urged in her mind.

“I know,” Vomi replied, grabbing the gun from the cigarette guy’s hand and tossing it aside before knocking him out with a swift punch to the jaw.

The cybernetic-eye guy raised his pistol, but Vomi disarmed him in a blur of movement, flipping him over her shoulder and slamming him to the ground.

With the last gang member out cold, Vomi stood in the quiet aftermath, breathing heavily but controlled.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly clean,” she muttered.

“It was effective,” the symbiote replied, its voice calm.

Vomi glanced at the entrance to the hideout, her eyes narrowing. “Let’s get that package before anyone else shows up.”

She entered the den, a garage with some cars also fully decals in snake patterns, mostly in green and orange. A weird combination, but it was made by a designer, someone that understood how visuals worked.

“Nova.”, She commented, “I would keep one of those if I could.”

“Noted.”, The symbiote said, almost a whistle, “The visual aesthetic is pleasing.”

“Did you just—?”, Vomi almost felt some sort of appreciation by the symbiote, “Nevermind. Now where is the package?”

“Do we even know what it is?”

Vomi took out the device in her lab coat pocket, “Engine parts from the client. Apparently he paid a lot to get these, but the Venti’s klepped his stuff. A Mizutani Shion MZ2. Good ride.”

“Japanese car. Expensive.”

“Indeed.”

Vomi walked further into the garage, scanning the place for any sign of the package. The gang’s hideout was a mess of scrap parts, half-finished car mods, and piles of junk, but she had to admit, the cars themselves were impressive. The snake decals, though tacky, had a certain charm.

"Honestly," she muttered, kicking aside a broken bumper, "these gonks put more effort into their cars than their security."

The symbiote hummed in agreement. "Priorities misplaced. But advantageous for us."

She smirked. "Yeah, no complaints here."

As she moved toward the back of the garage, she spotted a metal crate tucked behind some spare tires. "Bingo."

She crouched down, examining it. There was a lock, but nothing too fancy. A couple of sharp twists with a screwdriver, and it clicked open.

Inside, she found what she was looking for: engine parts, neatly packed and wrapped in protective foam. She couldn’t help but grin. "Looks like our payday."

"Efficient," the symbiote remarked. "Now, we should depart before further interruptions."

Vomi picked up the crate, weighing it in her hands. "You don’t say. Let’s hope those guys outside are still napping." She hefted the crate over her shoulder and started making her way back toward the exit, careful to avoid stepping on anything that would make noise.

As she reached the door, the symbiote’s voice chimed in again. "I must inquire—what would you do with a vehicle like this Shion you mentioned?"

Vomi paused, smirking. "Honestly? I’d deck it out, keep it sleek but functional. Maybe a matte black finish, no flashy decals. Just clean and fast."

"Practical. Yet aesthetically appealing. Acceptable."

Vomi chuckled. "Are you... developing taste?"

"I am optimizing," the symbiote corrected, though Vomi swore she could hear a hint of amusement in its voice.

"Yeah, sure you are." She pushed open the door, taking one last glance at the knocked-out gang members. “Let’s get this back to Layla before these guys wake up. I’ve had enough ‘gang small talk’ for one day.”

"Agreed," the symbiote replied, its voice cool and steady as ever.

She put the car parts on the Galena’s trunk, the radio buzzing with a new radio station. It was PEBKAC, a radio mostly focused on techno music. The beat was good, although not fitting for the current situation.

“Never heard this one.”, She commented as he drove the car.

“Catchy.”, He said without much enthusiasm, but clearly enjoying it.

Vomi drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, syncing up with the beat of the music. “Yeah, I could get used to this,” she said with a smirk. “Good driving tunes. Keeps the mood light, you know?”

The symbiote hummed in agreement. “A suitable rhythm for your current pace.”

“Didn’t peg you for a music fan,” Vomi teased, taking a sharp turn, the Galena’s tires screeching a bit on the cracked asphalt.

“Optimizing environmental stimuli for performance,” the symbiote responded, but this time there was definitely a hint of amusement.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say,” Vomi muttered, shaking her head with a grin. The streets were quiet for once, which was a rarity in this part of town. Maybe she’d get back to Layla without any more trouble.

As the miles passed, she thought about the job. Simple enough, but the eddies would be useful—especially if Layla followed through with that ripperdoc connection. She needed some chrome if she wanted to keep operating in cities like this.

“Think we’ll actually get a clean payout?” Vomi asked, her voice slightly skeptical.

“Doubtful. These transactions rarely proceed without complications,” the symbiote answered, ever pragmatic.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Vomi muttered. “Well, here’s hoping.”

She pulled up to the warehouse, parking the Galena out front. The engine rumbled to a stop, and for a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of the city around them.

“Ready?” the symbiote asked.

Vomi stepped out, grabbing the crate from the trunk. “As we'll ever be.”

She headed inside, nodding to the same guard who’d escorted her earlier. He gave her a brief look but didn’t say anything, just opened the door to Layla’s office.

Layla was sitting behind her desk, a cigarette in her hand, red optics glowing as she glanced up from her tablet. “You got it?”

Vomi tossed the crate onto the desk with a thud. “One Mizutani Shion engine, or a lot of parts of it, as requested.”

Layla smiled, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “Nice work. I didn’t hear any gunfire, so I assume it went smoothly?”

“As smooth as it can get with a bunch of Venti gangsters playing blackjack,” Vomi said with a shrug. “Didn’t have to go loud. Just knocked them around a bit.”

Layla chuckled, exhaling smoke. “Efficient. I like it.”

“So, about that payout?” Vomi leaned on the desk, eyebrow raised.

Layla nodded, taking actual paper money. “As for that ripperdoc—head over to Doc Vasquez’s clinic down in Santa Monica. Tell him Layla sent you, and he’ll take care of you. Just make sure you have enough to cover the work.”

“Appreciate it,” Vomi said, straightening up. “Pleasure doing business.”

Layla raised her cigarette in a mock toast. “Stay alive, Vomi.”

“That’s the plan,” she replied, turning to leave.

“What exactly do you need?”

“That's something I need to talk about.”, She said as she entered the Galena, but didn't run the engine. She started counting the paper money, confirming its authenticity, “How exactly will that work? We got rid of that chrome before, but what about now? Can we store the basics or not?”

She finished counting the EuroDollars, confirming it was a solid 2.5K payment.

Good enough, she supposed.

Vomi stuffed the Eurodollars into her jacket pocket, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel as she sat in the Galena. "So, what's the deal? Can we manage the basics now, or is it still a no-go?" she asked, directing the question to the symbiote.

“We can accommodate a small amount of basic augmentations,” the symbiote responded. “However, anything too invasive may interfere with my functions. Balance is key.”

Vomi sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah, balance. Seems like that's the trick to everything lately."

She stared out the windshield, watching the occasional passerby shuffle through the streets. "I'm thinking of a basic interface, maybe a basic Ballistic Coprocessor before upgrading to a Smart Link. Nothing too heavy, just enough to give me an edge in tight spots."

“No optics?”, He suggested.

“Optics would only be good if my eyes actually needed them. I never had better eyesight. I feel I could see kilometers ahead and still see clearly.”, She nodded at her own words, watching as the N.U.S.A. flag flapped in the air from a few blocks of distance.

She could even count the stars in it.

“The information of the optics would suffice our communication needs, as well as account for future payment.”, He reminded, something that Vomi almost forgot.

“Yeah, but wouldn't it be a downgrade?”

“We can easily circumvent that.”, The symbiote explained as a mental image of a biological matter popped in Vomi's head, “Our biomass can manipulate the effects of the optics, meaning we can still have the upside effects of the cyberware without possible sacrifices.”

“.....Cooooool.”, She said as she slid down the driver's seat. Vomi grinned, slouching further into the driver’s seat as the symbiote’s explanation replayed in her mind. “So basically, I get all the perks, none of the downsides? Can’t argue with that.”

She started driving towards Santa Monica, now way more motivated to Chipp In.

“Efficiency is the priority,” the symbiote responded, its voice smooth and even. “Enhancements without compromise. As long as it is viable to our capacity, of course.”

She snorted. “You sound like a corpo ad. ‘Buy our chrome—enhance your life, no trade-offs!’”

The symbiote didn’t respond immediately, but Vomi could feel its presence hum slightly in amusement. “Your analogy is noted.”

Vomi chuckled as she drove into the clinic’s lot, parking the Galena. “Alright, we’ll see what Doc Vasquez says about this whole ‘circumventing’ business. Gotta admit though, being able to mod my eyes without screwing them up is kinda tempting.”

“Optics will assist in mission acquisition and environmental awareness,” the symbiote added.

She pushed open the door, stepping out of the car. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Practical. But hey, I’m allowed to be vain every now and then, right?”

“As long as it does not interfere with your functionality,” the symbiote replied, its tone almost teasing.

Vomi smirked as she walked up to the clinic’s entrance. “You’re getting real close to sounding like you have a personality, you know that?”

The symbiote stayed quiet this time, but Vomi could feel the subtle warmth of its acknowledgment. She pushed the door open, stepping into the sterile, chrome-lined interior of Doc Vasquez’s clinic. The hum of machinery and the faint scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Behind the counter, a slim, middle-aged man with graying hair and augmented arms glanced up from his terminal. “Layla sent you?”

“Yeah,” Vomi nodded, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. “Got some eddies to burn. Looking to get started on some upgrades.”

Doc Vasquez gave her a once-over, then leaned back in his chair. “You sure? You’re not already chipped, and first-time cyberware isn't exactly a picnic.”

Vomi shrugged. “I can handle it. Looking for something basic—neural interface, Ballistic Coprocessor. Maybe optics, if we can work it out.”

The doc raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad start. You got enough to cover all that?”

Vomi patted her jacket pocket, the faint crinkle of paper money audible. “Think so. Plus, Layla said you’d hook me up.”

Vasquez smirked. “Yeah, she did mention that. Alright, let’s see what we can do. But no complaining when you’re groggy for a few days, got it?”

“Our biology helps us to not be affected at all by surgery. I will make myself undetectable in your system.”

That's all she needed to hear.

“Deal,” Vomi said, following him into the back of the clinic, where rows of cyberware glistened under fluorescent lights. “Let’s get to work.”

Doc Vasquez led Vomi down a narrow corridor, the walls lined with posters showcasing various cyberware enhancements, each more extravagant than the last. “Just so you know, I’ve got a couple of other clients waiting, but I can fit you in for a quick session. You’re lucky Layla put in a good word for you.”

“Good to know I’ve got some pull around here,” Vomi replied, glancing at a poster advertising the latest in neural enhancements. “What’s with all the flashy designs? You’d think this place was a nightclub, not a clinic.”

Vasquez chuckled. “Gotta keep things interesting, right? Plus, half my clients want to show off their new gear. It’s a status symbol in our line of work.”

“Yeah, but I’m more about function over form. I want to get in and out without making a scene.”

“Fair enough,” he said, leading her into a small, sterile room equipped with an examination chair that looked more like a cross between a dental chair and a futuristic throne. “Take a seat. I’ll prep everything for your upgrades.”

Vomi sat down, the chair’s material cool against her skin. “So, what’s the pain level like for these things? I’ve heard horror stories.”

Vasquez began assembling tools on a nearby tray, his movements precise. “It varies. The interface is generally pretty straightforward, but the Ballistic Coprocessor might sting a bit. Just breathe through it. I’ll numb the area first.”

“Fucking Nova,” Vomi said, feigning a grimace. “Can’t wait for that.”

As Vasquez prepared the equipment, Vomi glanced at the mirror on the wall. “You ever think about getting any upgrades yourself, Doc?”

He paused, looking up from his tools with a wry smile. “Nah, I’m more of a ‘behind the scenes’ guy. Plus, the last thing I need is to be a target. Clients want their doctor to look human, not like a chrome-plated monster.”

“Fair point. But, come on, a little chrome would make you look badass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed. “If I had eddies for every time I heard that. Let’s focus on you today.”

“Fine, fine. Just trying to lighten the mood.” She took a deep breath, readying herself. “Let’s get this started before I change my mind.”

Vasquez nodded, prepping a syringe filled with a numbing agent. It looked more like a mini sized pistol than anything “Alright, here comes the fun part. Just relax, and we’ll have you sorted in no time. This should make you sleep the whole process.”

“Stimulants are safe.”, The symbiote told, apparently he was still checking to see if anything was wrong.

Good.

“Stimulants are safe,” Vomi echoed, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over her as she nodded at the symbiote’s calm voice. “Let’s do it.”

Vasquez injected the numbing agent into her arm, and Vomi felt a slight sting, but it faded quickly. “Not bad,” she said, flexing her fingers. “I can get used to this.”

“Just wait until the actual upgrades start,” Vasquez replied with a knowing grin. “You might change your mind about being used to it.”

“Perfect. The thrill of regret, just what I wanted,” Vomi shot back, smirking.

As he began prepping the neural interface, she turned her attention back to the mirror, examining her reflection. “You ever have anyone come in here and pass out? Like, mid-surgery?”

“Surprisingly, not as often as you’d think,” Vasquez said, arranging tools with meticulous care. “Most people who come in are either way too confident or have a serious need for upgrades. It’s the ones who think they can handle it but panic halfway through that worry me.”

“I can see that,” Vomi replied, trying to picture someone fainting mid-op. “I’d probably just laugh if I saw it happen. But, hey, I won’t be that person today. I’m ready.”

Vasquez raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright, let’s see how ready you really are.”

With that, he initiated the procedure. The first sensation Vomi felt was warmth spreading through her as the interface connected to her nervous system. “Whoa, that’s... strange.”

“Strange how?” Vasquez asked, keeping his focus on the task at hand.

“Like a warm hug from the inside,” she replied, letting out a soft chuckle. “But, you know, less creepy.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, concentrating as he adjusted the settings. “Just keep breathing.”

“I don't feel my lips.”, She commented while doing some pops with her mouth.

“That's good. The stimulant is doing as intended.”

“Weird how a stimulant makes you not stimulated.”

“You get used to it. Do you feel anything here?”, Vazquez said as he poked the back of her neck.

“No.”

“Then I will cut here. Neural interfaces tend to take a while. After that I will give you some Optics and connect everything so we can test if there is anything wrong.”, He said as he was already cutting her neck.

She felt that her skin and flesh could heal itself, but chose not to so the surgery could go on.

As Vasquez made the incision, Vomi felt the faint tugging sensation, like a feather brushing against her skin. “This is surprisingly chill,” she said, her voice steady despite the procedure. “Who knew surgery could feel like this?”

“Most people don’t have the luxury of feeling relaxed during surgery,” Vasquez replied, carefully inserting the neural interface. “I take it you’ve had some interesting experiences?”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen my fair share of bad days. A little slice and dice doesn’t scare me,” she quipped, trying to keep the mood light.

“Good attitude. Helps to have a strong mental game in this line of work.” He secured the interface in place, then leaned back to assess his progress. “How’s the sensation now?”

“Still numb,” she said, flicking her fingers and wiggling her toes. “But I’m definitely awake. Guess that means we’re making progress.”

“Almost there,” Vasquez said, wiping his brow. “Now for the optics. This part’s a bit more involved, so you might feel some pressure. But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing clearer than ever.”

This time he applied another stimulant in her forehead, her sight slowly but steadily disappearing.

“I'm blind.”

“That means I can remove your cornea and boot up the diagnostics. Just wait a bit.”

She felt some pressure in her eyeholes, but that was part of the job. She kept quiet because it was way different to cut your eyes than to cut your neck, any movement and it would be ugly to watch. Vazquez, despite not being a super ripperdoc, did a decent job at explaining what he was doing as she was temporarily blind, step by step. It was almost comforting, but Vomi could feel the symbiote ready to attack if anything went south. Basic optics meant a simple HUD, a connection to the shallows of the net, an agent to make and/or receive calls... That sort of stuff.

Vasquez continued working, his voice steady and reassuring. “Alright, we’re almost finished with the diagnostics. Just a few adjustments to calibrate the optics.”

“Sounds good,” Vomi replied, trying to focus on his voice instead of the pressure in her eye sockets. “What’s it like being a ripperdoc? I mean, do you ever get tired of dealing with all the...you know, cyberpsychos?”

He chuckled softly, the sound echoing around the sterile room. “You’d be surprised. Most of my clients are just regular folks looking to improve their lives. But yeah, there’s the occasional junkie or thrill-seeker. They can make things interesting.”

“I can imagine,” Vomi said, her voice a bit muffled. “What about the ones who come in with crazy ideas? You know, like getting an arm replaced with a railgun or something?”

“Those are the fun ones,” he said, his tone light. “But I have to remind them that with great chrome comes great responsibility. Can’t have everyone running around like a walking weapons factory.”

“True. You’d think some people would learn,” Vomi said, feeling the tug and pull as he worked. “So, what’s the craziest upgrade you’ve ever done?”

Vasquez paused for a moment, then replied, “There was this one guy who wanted to implant a memory chip directly into his brain to store music. He thought it would make him a walking jukebox. Ended up with some serious side effects. We had to do a lot of backtracking to fix it.”

“Yikes,” Vomi winced at the thought. “Guess he learned the hard way.”

“Yeah, it’s a tough lesson,” Vasquez said, his voice growing a bit serious. “Not everything is as simple as it seems in this line of work. That’s why I always tell my clients to think it through before making any permanent decisions.”

“Solid advice,” she acknowledged, trying to keep her mind off the discomfort. “So, what would you say is the most common upgrade people go for?”

“Usually, it’s a neural interface or some form of enhanced vision. Everyone wants to see better or think faster. It’s the basics that help you survive out here,” he said as he finished the adjustments. “Alright, we’re almost done. Just a few more tweaks to the optics.”

“Great,” Vomi said, her voice steadier now. “I can’t wait to see how much clearer things will be.”

Vasquez chuckled, “Trust me, it’ll be like a whole new world. You’ll be able to spot a gonk from a mile away.”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Perfect. Just what I need—more warning for trouble.”

“Exactly. Alright, last step. Just hold still for me.”

Vomi felt a quick sensation, almost like a flicker, and then her vision gradually returned. Bright lights, vivid colors—it all hit her at once. She blinked, adjusting to the enhanced clarity. “Whoa.”

“How’s it look?” Vasquez asked, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Like I’m seeing…” she replied, scanning the room, “Shit. That's preem.”

She needed to fake excitement because the symbiote already gave her top notch visibility. This was just… higher definition? Hard to describe.

“Good to hear,” he said, starting to clean up his tools. “Now, give your eyes a moment to adjust fully. You might notice some extra data overlays as well, depending on how your brain handles the upgrades.”

“Yeah, the symbiote will take care of that,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

Vasquez raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“Nothing.”, She shook her head, “What about the UI? I can see a… mini-map?”

“That's the GPS, yes.”, He commented, still confused at the previous comment, “Now, I know Layla set you up, but I need payment.”

“What about the Bullet Coprocessor?”

“I don't have it in stock at the moment.”, He said as he checked again at the terminal with the Bio-diagnosis, “But when you come back eventually, probably to get more chrome for your gigs, you can come back and I'll finish it up.”

“Alright, I guess.”, She said, giving the full amount.

He counted the money but quickly shot a glance at her, “You should get a bank account. Not many people accept paper eddies nowadays. Sure it is untraceable, but it also is suspicious.”

"And an ID. I am completely off the grid. Can't be like that no more.", Vomi agreed as she stretched her legs, "That's the whole reason why I am getting chrome in the first place."

"Being ganic for so long does that.", He nodded, "I guess only exotics are those who don't care about it."

"The people that chrome animal parts on themselves?"

Just the mental image was enough to make her wince. Even the symbiote winced.

"Yeah.", He said with a grimace, but turned to her right after, "Anything wrong with your eyes? Can you move with no problem?"

She tested her movement and even blinked a few times, "All good."

"Then we are finished here. I have more clients to take care of. Stay safe.”

Vomi nodded and left, her barefoot feet making soft noises as she walked the sidewalk. She leaned into the Galena who was still dusty from all the desert stuff, but she needed time to think a bit.

“Information from Neural is acceptable. Data is processed quicker now.”, The symbiote gave his approval.

But Vomi was focused on something else entirely.

"You ever wonder what it'd be like without you?" she asked suddenly, the question slipping out before she could really think about it.

The symbiote hesitated, its presence in her mind feeling more pronounced. “I exist to enhance your capabilities. Without me, your physical limitations would be… noticeable.”

“Right, but I mean beyond that,” Vomi said, her fingers tracing the edge of the Galena. “Like, would I even be the same person? Or just some random kid stuck in a dying world?”

“Identity is a construct,” the symbiote replied. “You are Vomi. My existence merely complements your biology and experience.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, feeling a pang of frustration. “You’re not the one who has to deal with the memories of being… Well, whoever I was before. The fear of being more monster than human.”

“Fear is a natural response to change,” it acknowledged. “But you possess agency. You make choices that define your being. My existence does not dictate your identity; it amplifies your abilities.”

“Still,” she said, feeling the weight of her thoughts. “It’s hard sometimes. I mean, I’ve been living this new life, but that doesn’t erase what I was. Sometimes I catch myself thinking—what if I’m just a shell of who I used to be? What if I’m more of your puppet than I’d like to admit?”

A heavy silence settled between them. The symbiote’s presence felt contemplative, almost protective. “You are not a puppet. We are one, and we perform as one. We choose how to use our enhancements, be them biological, spiritual or cybernetic. Each decision we make builds our identity, regardless of our biological makeup.”

Vomi leaned against the car, staring into the distance where the city lights flickered like stars. “What if those choices lead me down a path I don’t want to take? What if I become someone I can’t recognize?”

“That is the risk inherent in being alive. You told me it yourself.” the symbiote responded, its tone steady. “But we have the ability to steer our course. Embrace our humanity or monstrosity, our experiences—both good and bad. They are the threads of our identity.”

She sighed, letting the weight of those words settle in. “Yeah, I know. Just feels like I’m balancing on a tightrope sometimes, you know? One wrong step and I could fall.”

“Then let's learn to walk it with confidence,” the symbiote encouraged. “You have already faced challenges that would break others. Trust in our strength, in the skills we're acquiring. Each upgrade is a step toward our own empowerment.”

Vomi smirked slightly, appreciating the sentiment. “Yeah, well, empowerment doesn’t come without its own set of complications. Now I’m not just hunting for survival; I’m hunting for… what? Purpose?”

“Purpose is subjective,” it said, almost teasingly. “It can evolve as we do. We can be a survivor, a seeker of knowledge, and perhaps a protector of the weak. We define our purpose.”

“Okay, Mr. Philosophical,” she said, shaking her head but smiling despite herself. “Let’s just hope this new vision helps me find it. Because right now, I feel like I’m still in the dark.”

“Perhaps, all we need right now is to listen to music.”

…

“Did- Did you just suggest that I listen to the radio?”

“Maybe…”

Vomi snorted.

Then she chuckled.

Then she full out cackled at the idea.

Vomi laughed, the sound echoing in the enclosed space of the Galena. “You know, I never thought I’d have an alien buddy who’s also a wannabe DJ. What’s next? Are you going to suggest I start a playlist?”

“I believe my musical taste is superior to yours,” the symbiote said with feigned arrogance. “Besides, there are myriad genres. We can experiment with our sonic identity.”

“Okay, ‘DJ Symbiote,’ what would you recommend? Something that screams ‘I’m a badass reincarnated monster’?” She switched the radio dial, scanning through static-laden stations.

“Techno would be fitting, but I recommend something with a bit more… edge,” it replied. “How about a hard-hitting synthwave track? It conveys a sense of nostalgia for a world that no longer exists.”

“Yeah, like that’s exactly what I want while driving through this cyberpunk nightmare,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s blast some feel-good tunes while I contemplate my existence.”

“Existential dread is the best ambiance for music,” it retorted. “Imagine the irony! You, a fearsome entity, bumping to the beats while grappling with your very essence.”

“Wow, you really are getting philosophical, huh?” she teased, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Next, you’ll tell me that my cyberware is just a way to feel whole again.”

“Is it not?” the symbiote mused. “The upgrades enhance your capabilities, but they also give you a sense of belonging—an identity that intertwines with technology.”

“Okay, you make a fair point, but I refuse to have a sentimental relationship with my future Ballistic Coprocessor. It’s just a chunk of metal and wires.” She paused, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Although, I could name it… Something like ‘Billy the Bullet’?”

“Billy the Bullet? Quite juvenile for a sentient being like us,” it replied, amusement clear in its tone.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it! You don’t know how much power a name can hold,” she shot back, a playful glint in her eyes. “I could even start a trend—other people could name their cyberware, too! Imagine the conversations at the local bar!”

“I foresee much eye-rolling,” the symbiote said, its presence vibrating with humor. “But if it brings you joy, perhaps it is worth considering.”

Vomi smirked, feeling a bit lighter. “You know what? Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. I’ll be the trendsetter of the dystopian underbelly! ‘Hey, check out my new chrome! I call it… Betty the Blaster!’”

“Clever,” it replied. “But I would advise against announcing your enhancements aloud in public spaces. It might attract… unwanted attention.”

“True,” she agreed, stifling a laugh. “But at least I could create a band. ‘Vomi and the Cyberware Crew!’ We’d be the hottest act in Night City. All the cool kids would want to join!”

“Imagine the promotional material,” the symbiote said, its tone flat. “An image of you posing heroically with your chrome enhancements, proclaiming, ‘Join the gang; leave your humanity behind!’”

“Now that’s a marketing strategy I can get behind!” she said, clearly relishing the banter. “I can already see the posters plastered around the city. ‘Join Vomi—fun, friendship, and some killer upgrades!’”

“Vomi, the ironic champion of human connection,” the symbiote replied, sounding amused. “Though I’d recommend steering clear of actual cannibalism.”

“Right, cannibalism’s a hard pass,” she said, shaking her head as she navigated through the bustling streets of Santa Monica. “Still, I appreciate the dark humor. It makes all this introspection slightly more bearable.”

“Introspection and humor can coexist. Embrace it,” the symbiote encouraged, its tone lighter. “But don’t forget the true purpose of our journey. There are challenges ahead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “But for now, food.”

“Food.”, He agreed instantly.

“And eddies. We need an actual car. The Galena is fine, but I need something not stolen.”

“Clothes too.”, He mentioned, making Vomi glance at her still barefoot feet.

“We go back to Layla and ask for another gig?”

“A wise strategy.”

“Aaaaaaalright then.”, She said as she turned her wheel.

That day was good.

She felt good.

Preem.