Preferred Treatment by Pixelated_Hobo Now imagine that but in that crazy ASCII font shit every GameFAQ guide used to do. More informative tags to come later and on a per chapter basis, but for now: Story tags: [Cyberpunk] [Mild Body Horror] [Named MC] [Harem (more like an indiscriminate fuck spree)] [Smut Focused] [Fetish Focused] [Requests] Searchable Tags so far: [Ch#] [Plot] [No-Smut] -[Ch1]- T: [Plot][No-Smut] The faucet was left to run as Adrian stood there, eyes closed. He let the water he had splashed onto his face run down, hoping each drop would take away just a trace of his exhaustion. His shift was almost up, he just had to outlast it. Taking a deep breath, he leaned onto the sink and opened his eyes to face the mirror. “Just another day, eh champ?” His reflection’s tired, brown eyed stare betrayed the amusement in the smirk he was forcing them both to wear. “Mmm, gonna need to shave.” Adrian said while rubbing his forming stubble. “Liana will have my head if I clock in looking like a bum.” He considered a hair cut as well. It was reaching the point where he had to decide if he was going to actually do something with his hair or go back to a low buzzcut and not have to spare the energy every morning. It could wait, he decided. He twisted off the faucet and wiped his face dry with a paper towel. His phone was already in his hand when he stepped out of the bathroom, slipped out of a pocket of his jumpsuit by muscle memory. The screen lit up, bringing him back to the eNet page he was looking at back on the toilet. … ☆ Mar 12 - Make Creds Fast, No Questions Asked (Males under 20 only) ☆ Mar 12 - Make Creds From Home! ☆ Mar 12 - New in town? Get your acting foot in the door! … “Anything noteworthy happen?” He asked out loud from around the corner of the break room. “Nope. Just me and these cigs I can’t smoke yet, hanging out. Find a good gig while jerking off in there?” Johnny’s bored, only half interested question was a reflection of the rat furre’s energy level. Graveyard shifts did that to people. He wasn’t expecting any kind of revelation, but there were only so many drops of condensation he could stand to watch roll down the fridge doors opposite the counter. Instead, after they had both finished their listed tasks and counted stock, the two lone employees busied themselves by looking for interesting gigs on the eNet community listings. Adrian looked up from his phone at his coworker. The usual blue mop of hair that covered the brown rat was pulled back into a pony tail, at the unspoken ‘or else’ laden request of their manager. The human had mixed feelings on this since when his hair was down Johnny just looked like a mess to the point of reinforcing the stereotypes of his species. When it was up he had to deal with seeing the expressions on the rat’s face, which was an affair that balanced between comedy and disgust. Johnny’s thoughts were often on display right on his mug. Unfortunately said thoughts were hardly ever appropriate. In comparison, the only thing the human shared with him was matching uniforms. The gaudy blue racing jackets with yellow trim hardly fit Adrian’s stare of tired indifference. It wasn’t like anyone who came into the gas station this late was expecting giggles and smiles. The height of their professional behavior was on display as Adrian leaned against the wall behind the counter. They only had one stool to sit on, and it was Johnny’s turn to use it until Adrian had done something to earn it. “Same as it was last time you asked. Organ thieves, unpaid work for ‘exposure,’ and review buyers. The usual scum, as always.” Adrian replied with matching enthusiasm as he continued scrolling on his phone. “Got one for a sports writer for some blog. Seems like decent pay.” His eyes darted back and forth as he swapped between reading the paragraph of information and the bullet point details of the posting. “Oooh, right up your alley, isn’t it? Write all that insider know-how shit in between dealing with rip-noses and restocking the shelves.” Johnny put his back to the counter, resting on his elbows. He wasn’t too invested in the search effort. If anything he had been staring at his phone too long. “I mean, if you can’t play anymore, you might as well write about it, right?” “Nah, it’s not my sport. Stuff like pipe running and roof races. Parkour shit. I’ve only ever done a pipe run once, back in college between seasons. Never did it a second time.” Adrian said with a grimace, remembering the smells of running through abandoned sewer systems. Every turn had met him with a new flavor of rancid air, and that route had been cleaned. He couldn’t imagine what a ‘fresh’ route was like for the senses. “Sometimes I swear I can taste the smell it when I’m walking to work.” The rat snorted at the growing look of haunted disgust on his coworkers face. “Oh come on, it couldn’t have been that bad. How long ago was this? Things changed.” He said as he waved at the air. “It’s gone mainstream. Shoe shops are sponsoring runners, and some guy has been using junked construction bots as a cleaning squad. People even complain about it, saying that the smell was part of pipe running experience.” Adrian looked up from his phone, doubt painting his face as he raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you been a pipe runner? I’ve never seen you do anything more demanding than jogging. And even then you looked like you were about to die.” He said as he stood up straight to stretch. Joint rotations mostly, like he was taught during his physical therapy sessions. Being slumped over too long made his spine itch, and his back massage machine was far away at his apartment. John hardly batted an eye at Adrian’s impromptu exercise. Instead he wagged his finger, a smug grin on his face, “You won’t catch me running through the ditches, no sir. Nope, I’m up on the look out points, and I’m not even watching the races.” The rat bobbed his head from side to side as he explained his racket, “The babes. When it comes to rudie gatherings like that, there’s at least one girl who’s gonna put out. It’s a statistical guarantee.” “So you go hang out in the sewers for some strange? You looked like you were about to tell me something genius and now I’m never going to your place again.” Adrian shook his head in dismissal as he finished his routine. “Fuck you, it’s a flawless plan. I get laid every time there’s a race in the underground mall by my place.” Johnny said, flipping his coworker off. “Alright, maybe it’s a flawless plan, but how are the goods? What’s your average? How many times have you had to see a doctor because your dick started turning green?” Adrian asked. He would be lying if he said a rudie girl never caught his eye once or twice, but those were gems that stood out by sheer contrast. More than a few rudies confused rebelling against society with rebelling against hygiene. “Why would you doubt your main man like that? My average, wait for it,” Johnny held up his hand for dramatic effect before continuing, “Is a respectable seven. But! I will admit there are a couple nines screwing up the curve. I know it’s a party in the sewer, but I’m not picking up trash here, you know.” Adrian waited for the other shoe to drop, tilting his head while Johnny proselytized. “What?” Johnny asked. “You haven’t gotten a bit sick fishing in the sewer?” Adrian said, convinced that the rat’s scheme wasn’t as perfect as he insisted. “Adrian please, what do you take me for?” Johnny said with a dismissive suck of his teeth, “I’m not that desperate. Besides, any gentleman worth his, ahem, swagger has a bag of excuses he can use to abandon ship when things are looking sketch.” He kept his confident airs while pulling his phone up again. “You could learn something watching me work one of these days. We’ll go out to the next race in the area and you’ll see that I’m not lying about a thing.” The rat’s teeth flashed while he thumbed the screen of his phone up and down. This was usually the part where Johnny would falter and Adrian could call him out on his boasting. Instead he was full of confidence, immune to the lethal amounts of doubt stemming from the human. Maybe he was actually onto something, hooking up at pipe runs. “Alright man, I believe you. This one time, you might not be talking out of your ass. I’ll head to one of these races and see what happens.” Adrian’s admission of defeat only mustered a cocky snort from his coworker. He let that slide, and went back to checking the gig listings. One of these had to be worth something. … ☆ Mar 7 - looking for no questions asked house cleaner ☆ Mar 7 - Need couriers ASAP (Danger Pay $$$$) ☆ Mar 7 - Need a Young Hung Hunk For Adult Vids. Is it U? … That last one made Adrian pause. Could he do porn? He knew that the magic of editing did half of the heavy lifting, but he had an athletic career before. His body was fit but not cut, and he wasn’t all that bad looking. Maybe he didn’t have a third leg, but he wasn’t lacking either. Above average in all qualities but circumstance. Sounded like porn star material to him. Well, except the bits of metal plating sticking out of his back. He wasn’t very photogenic from behind. Or would people be into that? His thoughts were interrupted when Johnny started snickering, tapping Adrian on the shoulder to show him his phone. Of course it was the same ad he was just looking at. They were looking together after all. “What do you think, dude? Think I can be a porn star?” Johnny asked. The look on his face told Adrian he had already decided on the answer to that question. “That’s something you have to decide for yourself. Though, if I ever load up a vid and you’re in the shot I’m turning that shit right off.” Adrian immediately skipped over the listing as he said that. The last thing he needed to do was show up to a porn audition only for Johnny to already be there. “You’ll be missing out on some pro moves if you do that.” Johnny’s confidence refused to deflate as he pulled his phone back. “Whatever you say, man. Let me know how that shit goes.” Adrian waved him off. The drowsy rumble of a car settling to a stop caused both clerks to pocket their phones. There was no way someone showing up this late would be the kind of person to report them to a manager, but that wasn’t the concern. Both men eyed the vehicle. It had parked in a spot in front of the door rather than in front of a pump. Neither employee made an attempt to hide the fact that they were trying to identify the driver. This was the second year working at this gas station for Adrian. Around the eighth straight month of graveyard shift. He was quick to learn to take advantage of the large, almost floor to ceiling height windows that offered a view out as well as in. When it came to graveyard hours, knowing who was about to walk in was the split second difference between getting robbed at gunpoint and making it to the safe room in time. The car was a older model, though it had no obvious damage beyond the sun spots eating away at its reflective maroon paint job. Its door opened, and the left side of the vehicle exhaled in relief as the driver removed themselves. Unaware they were being watched by the gas station clerks, the person flipped the hood up on their oversized green jacket before checked their pockets. It was just a glance, but Adrian caught Johnny flashing a look at something underneath the counter. Next to the rat’s pack of cigarettes and half empty sports drink was a day counter that tracked how long it had been since a major incident. Adrian had wondered if they would be able to keep up their record setting streak when he clocked in earlier that night. Just beneath a worn out button was a small illuminated screen, the display all too proud to show off its achievement of being able to count to forty seven. The rodent was already bracing to jump over the side counter in a mad dash to the safe room. They both carried shock prods for their own safety, damn employee regulations banning them. When it came to fur coats and scales, there was always a chance of getting snagged on a particularly thick spot and only delivering an ineffective charge. If someone couldn’t be shocked down to the floor and a tag team effort produced similar results, the safe room was their last hope for making it through the night. With Johnny already priming himself to gun it at a moment’s notice, Adrian wondered if he might get caught outside if his coworker didn’t wait for him. He didn’t blame him, though. Sometimes all letting one’s guard down from familiarity was all it took to be a soft enough target for someone desperate. That’s how Johnny lost part of his ear. A similar situation had resulted in Adrian taking a shock prod to the thigh and subsequently collapsing into a shelf full of protein bars. Things could go from calm to potentially fatal in the blink of an eye. Neither of them had reason to completely relax. Not when there was only two of them. A chime of bells announced the customer’s entry. Over the shelves Adrian could get a better look at them. Feminine. Blatantly female in fact; the bags on her chest definitely belonged to her and not the hoody. The hoody she was wearing was still concerning. He had seen submachine guns fit into less space. Still, there was a degree of looseness with how the sleeves waved underneath the air conditioning that blasted the front door. The human could feel his suspicions take shape into a hunch. At the sight of a wiry tail covered in rough looking gray fur poking out from the end of the hoody, Adrian sniffled a few times. Johnny coughed and tapped the counter twice. “I’mma go check on the hot food levels. Hold down the fort, eh?” Adrian nodded while kept the customer in his peripherals. The rat slipped off the counter, and made his way around the store. Johnny stuck to the edges of the floor space, tracing along the fridges while stealing sideways glances to make sure he wasn’t noticed. That meant it was Adrian’s job to play as the distraction. “Good evening. Welcome to Resto Mart. Let me know if you need anything.” He called out as the hooded person stepped into the aisle directly in front of the cash register. She visibly staggered at being acknowledged. It wouldn’t surprise him if she thought she was invisible. Some addicts were so acclimated they could be confused with someone with all facilities intact until something exposed the fact that their mental state was somewhere in low orbit. “Do you guys have any nutrient packs? I don’t care about flavor.” The voice was distinctly female. She looked around the store, trying to find the things herself while asking for directions. “I just need a pick me up.” Johnny peeked around a shelf, tilting his head in confusion at the request. Adrian only shrugged. “Nutrient packs? Over by the chips and candy bars. You can use the coffee machine to pour in the hot water right now if you need it. Just remember to pay before you open it.” She nodded, and after poking into the wrong aisle once she found what was she was looking for. There was a rustling of plastic, and a few seconds later she had a armful of NutrioFiller meal bags. With a grunt she spilled the bags onto the counter and Adrian dutifully began scanning each one, eyes half on his handiwork and half on his customer. She must be stoned, Adrian thought to himself. Roast beef, strawberry milkshake, fruit punch, tomato soup, grilled chicken. From what he could recall this was every option they had in stock but the potato and cheese flavor. His stomach and tongue recalled and rated the taste of each as they passed in front of him. It was less a case of what tasted good and more of what method of torture one preferred to subject themselves to. Some were pure liquid, others had thicker broths with nondescript chunks of some form to give the bag of daily nutrients and calories texture. He couldn’t remember the last time he managed to get a whole bag of what was supposed strawberry milkshake down. He only remembered feeling like it was congealing in his throat and that it was so sweet he wanted to vomit. “Please put your chit into the reader when the light turns on…” Adrian did his best at feigning droning disinterest. It was best that customers didn’t know that he was working out whether or not they were the type to stab a cashier over literal slop rather than give him what meager credits they had left in their account. The woman in front of him fished into her pocket before pulling out a steel gray card decorated with reflective blue strips and sliding it into the reader with a click. His eyes widened at the sight. He couldn’t help it, gawking like the lower class mongrel he was. A class eight card. It had taken him a month of paperwork to get upgraded to a class three card, and even then he had barely made the threshold for expected income. This bitch was loaded. Why was she buying NutrioFiller? What was was she doing driving that old beater? A dozen questions buzzed in his head. “Hey, tssst.” The woman hissed in whisper at him, and he jerked his his gaze upwards. His eyes met with hers, burning gold speckled with reflective green. Most notably, clear and focused. They matched her golden fur. The diamond slits of her pupils were razor thin. Feline, his brain finally pieced together. His peripheral was taking notice of the shape and curves of her face for him, since he couldn’t look away. She would notice his eyes wandering in a second and that card meant she had the cash flow to buy his life four times over, spine correcting augments and all. “Not. A word. Bag the food, please.” He opened his mouth to say something. Likely ‘yes Ma’am’ or something equally god fearing. The tilt of her head clamped his jaw back together, and Adrian did his best to shuffle every bag of instant food powder into a single plastic bag. Johnny peeked his head around the corner, hand on his back pocket. With her back turned to him, the feline lady never saw him mouth the words ‘trouble?’ as he waved to his coworker. “Quiet night, eh? Hope it stays that way.” Adrian asked nonchalant. Johnny nodded, accepting the code phrase to keep his distance. “What did I say-” The woman began to hiss, only to be interrupted by the human clearing his throat. “I’m keeping you from taking a stun prod to the tail hole.” Adrian whispered as the cash registered chirped. The woman’s head snapped back, realizing she didn’t know where the other cashier had went. Once the machine printed and cut the receipt, he tossed the paper into the bag before pulling it onto the counter. “Your total was eight seventy five.” He tied off the bag before handing it over. “It’s dangerous out here, ma’am. Whatever you’re down here for, it’s not worth coming in person.” His words were whispered, and her eyes narrowed as he lectured her. She was naive enough that a pair of gas station employees got the drop on her. Rich, definitely. Dangerous, probably not. “Thanks for the concern, hero.” She said, lip curling into a irritated snarl. By now her tail was snapping back and forth. Well, he pissed her off. Maybe he should reconsider that ‘probably not.’ “Have a good night, miss.” Adrian waved her off as he said his farewell. He needed her out of the store so he could freak out to Johnny. The rat would likely lose his mind at the idea of a multimillionaire buying barely edible slop at a gas station. Forget the job listings, this night was going devolve into conspiracy theories about what rich people really did with their money. The cat simply stared at him, processing the fact that she had just been dismissed by a low class chump. Eventually she snorted, “You have terrible manners for a hero.” The woman shook her head as she turned to leave. Adrian watched her dirtied tail flick around as she walked out the door. Was it part of the disguise, or what? Ugh, rich people. By the time the double doors slide close behind her, Johnny was already making his way back to the counter and Adrian braced himself for the interrogation. “Man, that’s fucking crazy. A class eight credit chit? Shit man. I should have tazed her cat ass. We would be swimming in the money.” Johnny was slumped over on the floor, resting his back against the far wall from the cash register. He was already back on his phone, thumbing through the listing. “You know they send kill teams to get those cards back, right? You think your sewer run buddies are gonna hide you from fucking mercs? You’re crazy.” Adrian laughed from on high, having earned the coveted stool for playing the role of distraction. Those were the rules, after all. “Fuuuck though. That’s a lot of money. I looked up just now. She could have been a billionaire. A bill-yun-air. What do you even do with that much money?” Johnny asked while scratching his head. Adrian shrugged, “Buy NutrioFiller I guess. Nobody is gonna believe us, either.” “They can watch the security vids. Anyways,” Johnny flipped his phone around, “You think you can do a bouncer gig? That’s pretty good money if it’s legit.” Leaning over, Adrian skimmed over the listing. “Didn’t…wasn’t there a night club that got shot up pretty bad a couple weeks ago? That’s probably that place looking to get some bodies to bulk their security while they hire some real muscle.” He said with a grimace. There had to be a job he could do that didn’t involve potentially getting shot at. It had been around an hour since they had started their searching, plumbing the depths of the archives. He was starting to hit requests over a month old at this point. Another fruitless night he thought while refreshing the search. At least it was almost time for the next graveyard pair to clock in. “Johnny, go actually check the coffee levels. Make sure everything is ready for next shift. If Liana bitches to me again about us screwing over the morning crew I’ll bleach your hair.” There was a noncommittal grumbling behind Adrian, followed by the rat yawning as he stood up and stretched. Adrian just shook his head as the page finished loading. He blew out disappointed air to only find a single new listing before humoring himself and reading it. ☆ June 14 : LF ->Augmented Human Male<- for paying role in Research Project - Details Within <3 Adrian stared at the title for a few seconds. Oh god, he was probably going butchered by a street doctor in his quest for a little spending money. Still, his curiosity had to be sated. He braced himself for disappointment as he tapped the link with his thumb. It couldn’t hurt to at least look. Posted: Less than a minute ago Hiring in the Sindo-Lucin area - Requirements: -Looking for augmented human males for research project. -Must have at least one augment with level 4 integration. If you have to ask what level 4 integration is you do not have one. Level 4c integration greatly preferred. -Must not have any militarized/weaponized augmentations. -Must be in good health. -Must be presentable in public, IE no facial scars, excessive tattoos, etc. If you look like a gang banger do not apply. -If scruffy, must clean up. -Athletic background a plus. -Must be comfortable around strangers and follow directions given. -Mandatory background check if selected. Must pass for employment. Mst b good lookin good stamina ++++ must like bein naked Pay: Decided on a per experiment basis, but no less than $600 per. Pay will be given at the conclusion of each experiment. Hours: On call as needed. **plz cum<3 by whenever ur free Contact: (8320) 7444-8927 Mention you are calling about this ad and request Dr. Ferry. >Do NOT contact this account for unrelated queries Johnny finished his check a few minutes later, returning to find Adrian’s face painted with befuddled confusion. “Is this a joke?” The man asked no one in particular. “Raddy! You’re just in time!” An excited mouse slid off of a desk, glasses threatening to fall off her face as she raced over to the door of her office. Her lab coat was more of a cloak, fluttering in the air as it held on to her by the single button around her neck. It was the only piece of clothing she wore, her body bare to the elements as jumped at her friend. Or rather, the Resto Mart bag in her hands. Radhicka rolled her eyes at the streaking rodent, handing the bag over without any resistance. “I told you to put on something to wear. You can’t be naked all the time.” The feline grumbled as she pulled off the hoody she has been loaned. What a disgusting shade of green. “Uh, Earth to Raddy, are you blind? I put on my lab coat!” An excited voice shouted from the break room where the rodent had run off to with her bag of loot. “This is why you lost your license, Myla.” Radhicka grumbled, knowing that Myla hardly cared whether or not she was a recognized doctor. “Anyways, what am I just in time for?” There was silence from the kitchen outside of the sound of a bag being ripped open and the rush of hot water. “Myla?” Radhicka raised her voice, mostly out of concern. “Oh yeah! I posted the job thing onto the eNet. I added a few requirements of my own first, but it’s up! It should still be on the computer.” Myla shouted, before devolving into a repeating mantra of “Yum, yum, strawberry~” Radhicka could feel the wave of dread pass over her when Myla mentioned making a change to the post. She had spent the last hour stressing over getting it perfectly succinct only to be rushed out the door by a panicking mouse about having her dinner ruined after tripping and spilling a thermos of vaguely cinnamon smelling gunk onto the feline’s tail. Calming herself, she settled back into the office chair once more to look over the damage Myla did in her absence. It seemed exactly how she left it until she scrolled down and found the rodent’s additions. Color drained from her face and her jaw fell. "For the love of god Myla, it’s a job posting not an ad for casual sex.” Radhicka immediately clicked edit button, frantically erasing the mouse’s alterations to her carefully crafted posts. “Isn’t that what we want a guy like that for, though?” Myla asked, plainly confused as she stepped back into the office. In her grasp was a plastic cup, filled to the brim with something with such a vile pink and white color that Radhicka felt her stomach roil just from looking at it. “So we can turn him into the perfect sex machine, right?” The mouse grinned and for a moment Radhicka saw the insatiable fiend she knew Myla was underneath all the glib. -[Ch2]- T:[Plot] [No-Smut] Adrian always lingered about the building when his shift ended. Just a few minutes of tying up loose ends and tidying up before heading home. Most of the times that meant making sure the changing of the guard went over smoothly, and so he had time to inform the morning manager if there was any damage they would need to be aware of. This time he was preening his jumpsuit for the third time as he worked up the courage to call the number on the ad. The qualifications were strict to the point where he could only think of around two other people in the city of Lucin and maybe the whole state who qualified, one of which was his physical therapy trainer. Someone as specific as this Dr. Ferry knew exactly what they were looking for, and what they were looking for was broken people. There was no reason to look forward to meeting with someone actively on the hunt for former cripples. His value may have plummeted since dropping out, but it was impossible for Adrian to sit down and not be reminded of the tech that had effectively replaced his spine. Level four augmentation suites like his were built piece by piece onto and into their users; there wasn’t another person on the planet that this thing fit. Being an unsuspecting donor wasn’t possible, but having his back ripped open so that some drug addled street doc could reverse engineer some corp tech definitely was. One of the first pieces of advice he received after ‘don’t scratch no matter how much it itches’ was to downplay the six figure tech that was sticking out of his back. Plenty of people had more curiosity than scruples these days. Terrence opened the door into the break room and nearly jumped at the sight of first shift graveyard employee still in the building past three a.m. “What the fuck, why are you still here?!” The black man said, holding onto a counter top for balance as he brought his other hand down from what looked like the preparations of a panicked karate chop. Waving at his fellow human, Adrian gave a tired shrug. He realized he probably look like hell turned over and needed a shower, but night shifts long sapped away his ability to care what his coworkers thought of him. It was the only way any of the graveyard crew kept sane. “Just waiting, T.” He said. “Waiting for the debt collectors to call. Waiting to die. Waiting for a girl I met a couple days ago to call and ask me to fuck her the drunk out of her.Waiting for Star Donuts to open so I can get some breakfast. ” Every reason listed caused the grin on his face to grow. “Whatever happens first decides how the rest of my morning is gonna go. I’m hoping for some coffee and an egg sandwich, but if the reaper shows up I not gonna argue.” His coworker only closed his eyes and scratched his head through the black, puffed up planet that was his afro. “Man, you are broken in a buncha the wrong ways my guy.” Terrence said before marching over to a small fridge and pulling out a neon yellow sports drink. “You gotta find something to do with yourself, at least for my sake. Join a morning aerobics class or something. Anything but haunting the break room. Get the fuck out of here already.” Adrian waved off the suggestion. If it was Johnny he would have flipped him off, but Terrence deserved a little respect. When he wasn’t so high he was in lower orbit, he did give pretty sage advice. Hell, even when he was stoned the advice was still pretty good once it was translated back into sober-ese. If anyone actually gave a fuck about his fellow punch clock peers, it was Terrence. For some, he was the only form of emotional support they had. “You’re right. If I don’t get my shit straight, at this rate my only lasting achievement will be the three and a half back flips I do before I hit the pavement.” There was a snort behind the upturned bottle before it lowered and Terrence clicked the lid close. “You best make that a full four flips, if only for the sake of the poor bastard who peels you off the sidewalk. There will be no underachievers in my house. But forreal, get the fuck out. You clocked out like a half an hour ago. I’ll get Anderson to throw your ass out if I have to.” “That big motherfucker is graveyard now?” Adrian said, sighing when Terrence nodded in confirmation. “Ugh god, he tells the dumbest stories. Dumber than Johnny’s. Always my gang used to this and my gang used to that.” Nothing put a poker face to the test like hearing the same half true war stories every night. “Yeah, well, he’s also six foot nine and pushing four hundred pounds. Betty thinks it’ll keep us from getting robbed so often if we keep him in rotation, so she put him on the graveyard team.” Terrence gave his usual am-I’m-wrong look as he said that. Adrian only slumped into the chair in defeat. Bears did have a way of giving peace of mind when they were on your side. “Got it, got it. Now go count stock or some shit. I gotta make a phone call and I’ll get out of here.” Adrian said, pulling his phone out and bringing up the number from the ad. Terrence had the right idea, as he usually did. He had been stewing in his misery for a couple years now, hoping for something to pull him out of this funk. This opportunity was made for him, and being the test subject of some mad scientist would at least give him a couple stories that would shut up both Anderson and Johnny for a shift. “Good. Do that then get out of here. You’ll start to funk up the place if you sit here any longer.” Terrence said as he took his drink with him. The door of the break room slid closed behind him and Adrian had the place to himself again. Silence hung for a few seconds before Adrian took a deep breath and loaded up the ad once more. It changed shortly after he first saw it some time later in his shift. The sillier requirements and innuendos nowhere to be seen. Someone must not have found them to be so amusing. Even the phone number had changed, the eighty two-twenty number becoming a sixty five-seventy line with an extension tacked on some time after he had first seen it. It still said to ask for Dr. Ferry though. “Here’s hoping I get to at least keep the important organs...” Adrian said as he tapped in the new number. The line only rang for a few seconds before picking up, and he had only just put his phone to his ear when a feminine voice began cooing into his ear. “Good morning. This is a private communication node designated for personal use by this node’s owner.” The voice was synthesized, its tone playing over the purposed warped hum that hid the occasional missteps of an AI piecing sentences together from a library of recorded vocal tones and predetermined phrases. Bots had long been able to perfectly replicate speech, but Adrian preferred with AI made it clear that they weren’t real people on the other end. It spared him from feeling like a fool when he imagined what someone looked like on the other end only to learn he was fantasizing about what kind of bra server tower twenty eight was wearing. “If you have mistakenly dialed this number, please hang up immediately. Any unauthorized connections to this node, breaching attempts, and/or unauthorized disclosure of this number will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” The AI said with the gravitas of a amused secretary, as if it enjoyed any chance it got to sling the threat of a lawsuit around. “If you have purposely connected to this communication node, please dial a recognized extension within the next thirty seconds. Otherwise, this number will be logged for future reference as the connection is terminated.” There wasn’t any need for further warnings. The four digit extension was tapped in, and Adrian realized his left hand was shaking as he brought the phone back to his ear. What kind of shit pile was he getting into? He thought he was just calling to leave a message on the phone of some doctor’s office, not calling red phone of a nuclear silo. The line clicked and for a moment all Adrian can hear is his own nervous breathing. He berated himself for being so anxious, but couldn’t get his nerves to calm. Suddenly there was a pop in the phone call, and someone huffed harshly on the other end of the call. “By jove, it is just past three in the morning and some simpletons still have the indecency to call. Is no one civilized these days?” The voice of an older man berated Adrian. His accent brought forth the mental image of a some rich asshole who went to bed with a monocle on and referred to his pajamas as ‘knickers’ or something equally ridiculous sounding. Adrian was more surprised by the accent than anything. Nobody wanted to woken up this early by a phone call. “Yeah, um...” “Out with it, boy. You must have something important to say if it couldn’t wait for the sun to rise first.” The man said, running out of patience. Curiously he wasn’t hanging up, which is what Adrian would have done if someone woke him up only to hem and haw at him. Hell most people would hang up at any hour at the day at that. “Look man, I’m calling about the eNet help ad that was posted. Something about helping out with research project. Can I talk to Dr. Ferry?” Adrian said with barely contained venom. Whoever this person was, they were lucky he was pressed for money or else he would have let fly a handful of less than polite phrases. Phrases that would have started with something along the lines of ‘fucking prick’ and ended with ‘rain soaked lime sucker.’ “Oh goodness gracious what has that little hellion gotten the lady involved in now? Ugh, give me one second, sir, while I search through my data steam for what I’m supposed to do with you. Hopefully hang up, if I’m the least bit lucky this morning.” With that the voice on the end went silent as the other end of the clicked out of communication. Adrian was left alone on the call once more, mulling over the snippet of a conversation he just had. Wait, data stream? “HE’S A FUCKING ROBOT.” The shout was directed to no one in particular. Mostly it was just Adrian venting in a way satisfying enough to sate his frustration. Otherwise his phone was going to be shattered against the opposite wall. Goddamn robots. With their real voices and simulated personalities, thinking they’re people. New laws in debate or not, Adrian bet this British sounding asshole didn’t even have a proper body. He just spent the last twenty seconds getting lambasted by a posh refrigerator. The pop of a reactivate line went unnoticed as Adrian ground his teeth together. “Firstly, sir, this [FUCKING ROBOT] has a name, and it’s Reginald.” Reginald said with a tone that went along well with the repeated recording of Adrian’s outburst. If this AI had a nose that had a body, it would be turned skyward. “Secondly, I have been instructed to confirm your possession of a class four body modification. Please recite the serial numbers of all your augmentations, assuming someone like you can truly afford them-” “India oscar three tango oscar charlie papa quebec zulu one.” Adrian fired the serial number off in an instant. There was a huff of acknowledgment from Reginald. “Thank you, cross comparing for- “Quebec zulu five quebec delta one alfa victor five victor.” For months he heard these numbers in his sleep, dug into his psyche by a squadron of doctors and surgical drones confirming and reconfirming with each other which part of his body they were slicing open. All while standing over him as his consciousness faded from the anesthesia, sinking into a void while terms he barely understood were thrown around until he truly blacked out. Reginald stuttered, caught off guard. “Ahem, give me a moment. About the first-” “Juliet alfa nine five alfa golf six oscar kilo whiskey.” The man forced himself to take a deep breath. He could feel the phone against his ear shaking in an unsteady grip. This time Reginald waited for a few seconds. “Is that all, sir?” “That’s all the class fours, anyways.” Adrian admitted. More to sound ominous than anything; his phone technically counted as a class two since he could plug it behind his ears whenever he needed more processing power. Lower level augments tend to be rendered innocuous in comparison to a trio of class fours. The AI sighed, as if the barrage of phonetic alphabet and numbers left it emotionally drained, “And I’m the robot here? Dear lord. One moment sir.” “Take your time.” Recounting his trauma never was a good time, but stunning people into silence was always toss up between feelings of disgust or smug victory. Neutering the sass of a British clothes iron was going to be chalked up as a victory. “Right then. Please confirm your date of birth before we continue any further. For privacy’s sake.” Reginald’s tone was far more prompt now. This AI was ready to be done with this, and for that Adrian let a weary grin crawl over his face. “October ninth, two thousand sixty five.” The information came with no fanfare from Adrian. “Understood. Please confirm the following information.” Reginald took a unnecessary breath of air for someone who didn’t actually breath, and braced himself before continuing, “Adrian Julius Cortez, twenty four years old. The three submitted class four augments are as follows: one Four-Alpha class Atlas type spinal column replacement installed at Asclepius Medical Research University, one Four-Charlie class Panacea type surrogate hormone distribution system installed at Asclepius Medical Research University, and one Four-Delta class unclassified experimental cerebellum reconstruction performed at Asclepius Medical Research University.” “Yup, that’s all mine.” Adrian answered with minimal fuss. “Guess I’ve always been a test subject.” “I’d be depressed for you if I wasn’t dreadfully curious, really. And despite my curiosity, my instructions are now to inform you that the Lady Jean-De’vot may or may not personally contact you within the next twenty four hours when she has looked over your files herself and end this call. If she does not, then you have not met her requirements.” The name was enough for Adrian to do a double take at the mini fridge he had spent the last few minutes staring at. “Wait, Jean-De’vot? As in, Jean-De’vot Entertainment?” Confusion painted Adrian’s face as he shook his head back and forth, trying to find out how a fashion brand had to do with some street doctor’s operations. “Have a good day sir.” Reginald said with a lilt to his synthetic voice that let Adrian know how much the AI enjoyed hanging up on him a split second later. -[Ch3]- T: [Plot] [No-Smut] Adrian made good on his word to Terrence. The moment the call was over he leaned back for a few seconds before promptly putting his concerns away for a later time and pulled himself out of the chair with purposed energy. Back on the floor proper was a human and bear pair, both being paid at the moment for doing absolutely nothing. Slow nights left little for morning prep shift to do besides wait for the stock truck to show up just before the sun did. Both of his coworkers said something in Adrian’s direction of which contained at least one expletive, but he didn’t look back as he waved goodbye. His brain was scrambled in a ocean of noisy distractions, his body was tired, and his shift was over. All that was clear in his mind was to make it home and shower. Any thought that tried to push through his zombie-like haze was hammered down with impunity. One foot in front of the other Adrian walked home at a constant unfaltering pace, his way lit by the countless lights that littered every piece of real estate someone could find on the walls of Lucin’s buildings and skyline. Advertisements of any and all kinds of good and services yet not one registered in the thousand yard stare of the weary man. When he first started working in the area he was a sight to the local homeless and rudies doing god knew what at this hour. He was holding himself high as if he was bulletproof, but anyone who stepped in front of him and locked eyes would see the face of a man on the verge of both collapsing and possibly vomiting. Eventually he became just another local fixture, rudies dubbing him the ‘the Resto Mart zombie,’ and they stopped caring. It was weird to have that kind of street cred; more than once he been invited to parties by strangers solely on someone recognizing him as “the zombie guy.” Apparently he had become something of a celebrity-cum-urban legend to the more nocturnal locals. He had vague memories of some junkie asking him what he was on once, but vague was where the memory started and ended. Adrian didn’t answer the man, turning his head to keep him in his vision while still walking forward before dismissing him without a word. Anything else had happened after that Adrian couldn’t recall. He always had trouble remembering what happened on his walks home from work whenever he had a stressful shift. Sometimes it would just be a blur until he was back at his place. The apartment complex he called home was only a few blocks away. It was a rarity to live in walking distance of work for most people, but Resto Marts tended to be more of a convenience store that happened to have a gas pump or two than actually a gas station. Adrian knew for a fact that if he kept walking another four blocks he would be on the front door of one of the two sister stores in this district. He crossed the final street before getting to his block. Even if he didn’t look up he could recognize the dull green light draping across the street in front of the massive building that encompassed the entirety of the city block. Just above him as he cut a sharp left turn up a staircase to the main entryway was a stylized tree and the name, “Steel Grove Apartments.” Not his first choice, but it was where he had landed after fate picked up his life with at least three cruel hands and ripped his once promising career into pieces. The late night security doors automatically swept open upon recognizing a resident before sliding close behind Adrian and locking back up. A dull tone was played on the speakers facing the street warning anyone either stupid or daring enough to rush forward that the security system had been reactivated. “That bad a night, eh Mr. Cortez?” A voice barked out, the level of synthetic buzz being mocked by a level of sass that threatened to pierce his stupor with the idea that an actual person was talking to him. His empty stare turned to the security drone that was always parked in its booth of the far corner, opposite the receptionist desk. Adrian had some memory of learning that said security drone had been allowed to give input on the layout of the lobby. It showed; there was never any furniture in between its corner and the entrance, and the bipedal weapons platform liked to keep its armored chicken walker legs hunched over so its arm cannons stayed at head level. It was an intimidating enough a sight that even after the few years he had been living at Steel Grove it could still shake off his post-work funk for a few seconds until he remembered it wasn’t a threat. “Not a bad night, Fluffy. Just weirder than usual.” Adrian mumbled in the drone’s direction, nodding in greeting towards the drone. There were a few hums of sound in response, and he could never tell if the drone was acknowledging what he was saying or just laughing at him and the nickname he gave it. His eyes rolled over the crouching metal hulk with his gaze lingering over its arm cannons and shoulder mounted launch tubes filled with canisters of unpleasant yet still nonlethal by the thinnest definition. It didn’t seem likely that he was about to get shot tonight, so his eyes fell off the drone and back towards the door in front of him. “Hm....” Fluffy’s response was less enthusiastic than usual, almost disappointed, as if it could sense Adrian wasn’t in the mood to hold a conversation. That was a touch odd since the drone had never shown any kind of extra concern with him before. “I’ll unlock your door from here, Mr. Cortez. Get some rest, sir.” With that Fluffy stopped talking, the ‘face’ lights denoting its active attention dimming as it turned to face the front door again. Adrian gave a noncommittal grunt in thanks before once again his feet were moving on their own again. The doors separating the lobby from the inner complex glided open to welcome him. He was silent during his walk to the nearby stairwell. Up two flights of stairs, he caught glimpses of the central park the entire complex wrapped around. Even in the dull light the grass and trees beyond the window couldn’t hide their artificiality. Adrian hadn’t seen a real tree since he left college. His mind wandered to the big maple near one of the older buildings. He couldn’t remember which building though, as the thought was already being suppressed to keep it from distracting him from walking down the hall. Living in a corner apartment sounded nice, until someone who worked dead hour shifts rents an apartment on the opposite side of the property from the only entrance that opened between midnight and six in the morning. It added another block to his walk home. He had complained about it before, but Fluffy had given him an extensive dressing down about the potential security risk of having additional entrances upon during what it called “high crime hours.” The security drone wouldn’t even entertain the idea of giving his key late night access, let alone pass the request along to his landlord. Fluffy wasn’t lying about opening his apartment for him. As he approached his door and muscle memory had him reaching for his keycard a few feet away the door chirped in acknowledgment of its owner. His gait readjusted and he stepped right past his door as it retreated sideways into the wall. It closed behind him and by the time the lock light turned on Adrian was already peeling off his clothing and making his way straight to the shower. Just as he started to strip he was greeted by excited chimes that were meant to welcome him home. The source was a small octopod crawler drone already picking up its master's growing trail of clothing using a pair of crablike claws as it followed behind Adrian. While the jumpsuit itself was just one piece, underneath it he kept a light set of clothes underneath. A trail of clothing started from the living room starting with his unzipped and discarded uniform and after a few pieces of middle layers ended with a pair of briefs on tiled, textured cold metal flooring just short of a standing shower. The near opaque sliding door closed behind him leaving the vague outline of his body through it. Convinced he wasn't about to shed his skin and had nothing left to pick up, the house robot left him to rest his head against the cold wall, inches away from a black screen on an otherwise featureless wall. He stayed there for almost a minute in some meditative breathing, recovering from an induced auto pilot state. His fingers finally uncurled from balled fists so he could tug at a cord poking out of a slot in the wall next to the still quiet touch panel. The length of the cord was protected by a fibrous wrap for texture and grip, but for Adrian it just irritated him as the cord rested on top of his chest and over his right collarbone after he plugged it in to the mastoid jack in behind his ear. His body jerked before settling into smaller spasms. Fingers curling and slowing straightening as his jaw slacked into in a dry gasp. The shower starting magnified the shock to his consciousness as he connected to his home's private eNet environment. Moments later Adrian coughed and began rubbing his eyes while his shower started. The screen had booted up in this time. … … Good morning, Adrian. It is currently 3:36am. Water Temperature: Heating to your preferred setting of 27° Celsius. News: You have no new messages in your assigned eNet inbox. Implants Status: Your MyHealthBuddy scans report you are currently experiencing high levels of exhaustion and stress. Previous capability scans show that your Panacea type implant is capable of producing Oxytocin and Dopamine at will. Enable autonomous regulation to stabilize your condition? Agreeing to this will record this action into a report that may be sent to local law enforcement. Spinal augments and implants require routine calibrations checks via harmless vibrations. Your Atlas type spinal column replacement implant is due for a calibration in another nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety nine or more (999+) days. You have no records of owning a personal calibration unit of a required grade to perform this operation at home. Would you like to search for a nearby qualified implant shop in order to set up an appointment? You might have missed something important in your busy day! Your [Asclepius Prototype] behavior implant has recorded two (2) instances of note while it was active. Would you like to play these recorded instances back? (Yes!) (No, thank you.) … Adrian sighed, lightly headbutting the screen several times. Fuck he hated when it did that. He hated how it happened almost every other night for a month now. “Sure.” He said with a lethargic tap of his finger, less out of curiosity and more to remove the notification. What followed was about what he expected. The screen replayed his walk home, taken straight from his own perspective. The first incident was a loose paper being swept by the wind right into his face. In his automated stupor Adrian hadn't even attempted to dodge it. Now cognizant he sucked his teeth as he got a close up view of a concert flier for a nearby bar. He didn't recognize the bands, but the screen in front of him offered to search the names up if he cared. He saved a more usable picture of the flier from the split second before it hit his face then started the next recording. Second up was his run in with the junkie. A white furred feline who's coat had become mangy from a lack of hygiene. He had called out to Adrian with a “Hey, Zomb-o! What's good?” before approaching him. This one he recalled even through the haze. “On that good stuff again, ehehehe. One day you're gonna have to spill the juice.” The cat turned his head after Adrian had kept walking past him. The recording ended with a “Not tonight though, eh? Ah well.” There were a few advantages to his augments beyond the fact that they kept his spine straight and allowed him to wiggle his toes. If the major leagues ever legalized player augments beyond class two's he could go back to playing ball. It would be a hell of a comeback story, the rising prodigy who's spine was snapped in the tackle seen around the world spearheading the new heavy augment league. It was a common dream. To go back to the life he was supposed to have. The problem was the behavior implant. Something like that was reserved for elite corp security and extreme risk prisoners. Anyone who found the controls for a behavior implant could take the poor sap on the other end for a spin. At least his only had one program: a low energy autopilot whenever his body found itself in survival mode. He possessed only the weakest sense of control over it, having to psych himself up to get it to do anything other turn him into a zombie. That made sense though; assuming he had the mental training to control his own implant little stopped him from turning on that adrenaline x-factor whenever he pleased. No sporting official in the country would want to instate a league where the average player was expected to install a remote control into the back of their skull just to stay competitive. And that was just the best case scenario. It would just take one skilled hacking incident to turn a regular scrum from the ordinary pile of violence into a proper bloodbath that no one walked away from. Every player rendered into a helpless audience to their own actions while everyone on the field tear into each other with claws and teeth. That was the last reminder that he never going to play Euro-Artic Rugby again he would tolerate today. Another day in a reality where he lived in the irony of being too much of a theoretical danger to play the world's most violent sport. If he kept stewing in these thoughts his autopilot threatened to throw him into bed for his own safety. He wouldn't give it the satisfaction. Adrian sighed unplugging himself from the wall terminal. The cord detected the slack as he dropped it to his side and something inside the wall whirring as it pulled the length inwards until the male end of the plug returned to the resting seat he had pulled it from. The screen drew an emoticon waving goodbye before returning to just a simple shower control interface. “Have a good day Adrian!” It chirped. He answered with a grunt before turning off the shower with a button press. A blast of warm air embraced him as he left the shower, sending loose water back onto the chamber's floor drain to minimize waste. He dried himself off and slipped on a pair of briefs before collapsing onto his bed, not bothering to get underneath the cover as he willed himself to the land of dreams.