Created G.H.O.S.T. System - A Cyberpunk Story

By the time he was finished looting the place, he had managed to fill the rather large crate to the brim. There were over a dozen guns in it, along with all the various medical supplies that he had hurriedly washed. All the first-aid kits had been thrown in, and then there were several cartons of ammunition. Plus, everything that he had set in the middle of the back room.

All told, he hadn’t quite stripped the place down to its bones like he had originally planned. However, he was now realizing just how overambitious that plan had been. He hadn’t even started to work on the bodies of the scavs yet.

He had grabbed their weapons, but that was it. They still had the rest of their equipment, and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to look at any of their augments.

The thought of cutting them apart turned his stomach, and yet, he wanted their cyberware. Giving up on them when they were right there went against every scavenging bone in his body.

He could maybe shove the big auged-out guy into the second crate. That would use pretty much all the space that was left though, not to mention that was even assuming he could lift the heavy POS. He wasn’t exactly in prime condition at the moment, what with how many holes he had plugged up. The blood-gels were doing their thing, so he was feeling decidedly less lightheaded.

Unfortunately, that also had the unfortunate side-effect of diluting the pain meds from the stimulant he had taken. Meaning everything was slowly becoming more painful the longer he stuck around.

Taking the augments from the seven scav bodies was the last thing he needed to do. As soon as that was done, then he could worry about getting the crates out of here and everything else. Thankfully, he had managed to score a decent few credits from the crypto-vaults of the dead scavs. The vaults were protected when they were alive. However, as soon as someone died, most lost that protection.

Only people who had authorized wills for their assets were any different. Needless to say, most people, scavs especially, did not have enough assets to warrant any sort of death will. It was a first come first get basis when most people died as a result.

So, while none of the scavs had been individually loaded, together they had possessed a decent sum. More than enough for Trace to call for a transport van capable of carrying the crates when he eventually left.

First though, he needed to figure out what to do about the cyberware still attached to the bodies. He could just leave it, but that felt wrong, and he didn’t know enough about augments to pick and choose based on what they looked like from the outside.

With a growl of frustration, he made up his mind. He wasn’t interested in swapping out his arms or legs for anything these scavs were using. So, those parts could all stay here. What he did want was a better NetConnect and eyes. That meant the heads and a small portion of the neck needed to come with him.

The big guy could be shoved in the crate as a whole, and all the heads could be stuffed on top of him. It wouldn’t be pretty, but it would work for a few hours. He would just need to make sure everything made its way to a mender doc soon. It would have been better if he knew one he could trust, but that was life.

Maybe one of the job brokers he used on the regular would know someone they considered trustworthy. That didn’t mean he would consider them trustworthy, but it would at least be a starting point. With that decided, he grabbed the biggest knife he could find and got to work.

It was… beyond disgusting, and if he hadn’t been so desperate, there was little doubt in his mind that he never would have gone this far.

However, he was desperate. It cost money to live, to eat, to drink, and to improve. There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world. You had to work for everything that you received. All he was doing was his part to make sure he could keep on going for a little longer.

Trace ended up leaving the auged-out body behind. It was simply too heavy for him to move. Instead, he added the head to the crate and did one last check of the messy apartment for anything he might have missed. He found his original crappy gun on the floor and picked it up, just in case. You never knew what people could trace you by, and he had already left enough DNA of himself scattered about the place.

Using a portion of his newfound wealth, he called for a transport van. One that had enough room for all three crates. While he was waiting for it to arrive, he began the process of moving them into the elevator and down to the garage. There wasn’t enough room in the elevator for all three of the crates, so he had to make several trips. He hid the crates in a dark corner of the garage and covered them with dirty blankets.

The trips in the elevator were filled with him sending messages to the three job brokers he knew. Including the one who had set him up with this joke of a job. Their information had been worthless, but maybe their mender would be a little bit more worthwhile.

At least, that was the hope.

The AI inside the transport van drove it to his current location and then let him take over. Loading up the three crates by himself was a painful and tiring experience, but he managed it after partially unloading each of the crates in turn. It was disgusting, annoying, and far more work than he had anticipated, but that was life.

At least unloading them would be easier.

He drove the van to his apartment first and brought the crate that was full of all the extra items up with him. The apartment wasn’t the most secure location, but it was better than leaving it in the transport van for hours on end.

By the time he was done doing all of that, the three job brokers had each gotten back to him with their preferred menders.

His favorite job broker, an older man who went by the name ‘Stick-Point’, was the one with the best information. It was supposedly a name from his early days that he had come to regret making his official cyber name. Of course, sometimes you had no choice in the matter as names could get chosen for you if made a large enough splash without one already ready. That hadn’t been the case for him back then. He had simply thought that Stick-Point sounded cool.

Now, thirty or forty-something years later, the man wanted to smack his younger self every time someone said the name. But it was far too late to change it now. It was why he had told Trace to go with something simple that wouldn’t be annoying if he had to listen to it for the next several years.

‘Tune’ might not be the most original of cyber names, but it also wouldn’t be annoying.

The man was the main reason Trace was still alive to this day. He had done more for him than any single other person he could think of. The jobs he had thrown his way were what had kept him alive more often than not. Though, his limited and extremely old cyberware had kept the old man from sending anything that was more than the bottom of the barrel job wise. It was a restriction that had chafed at them both, but there was nothing to be done about it.

The old man was nice, but he wasn’t about to pay for Trace to be augmented. He was still trying to run a business, and if word of that ever got out… Well, it would be the end of him. And as for Trace, well, he certainly didn’t have the credits to get the work done, not until that moment anyway.

The information on the mender Stick-Point sent to him was far more complete than the other two. It was a full-blown dossier, including reviews from past clients and a list of upgrades that she had even done for Stick-Point over the years.

That made the decision easier, and he didn’t even bother giving the other options more than a cursory glance.

He input the address to the mender clinic, put the transport van into drive, and made a call to their front desk. It was time to make sure he would be able to sell or trade them the parts he was carrying around. If he couldn’t, then the other menders just might have to be considered again.

“Hello, this is Mender Sevorah’s office. How may we cut you today?” A pleasant, if slightly robotic, voice answered the call on the second ring.

“Um, yeah, hi, Stick-Point recommended you to me. I’ll be there in just a few minutes. I was hoping to get some work done and sell some goods to you at the same time.” He told the operator somewhat awkwardly.

“Hold for one minute please,” A blast of annoying muzak began to blare into his ears as he was suddenly put on hold.

The line clicked, and the muzak disappeared. “My assistant said you mentioned Stick-Point recommended you. Who is this?” A different, older female voice asked.

“This is Trace- I mean Tune.”

She laughed. “Ah, the old man has told me about you. Are you finally coming in for some upgrades, boy? Now what is this I hear about you having goods of your own to sell me?”

Trace took a moment to give her the bare details of the situation.

She was silent for a moment, before breaking out into a round of cursing that impressed him. “Which gonk-brained job broker gave you this job?” She demanded.

“Err, it was Jonas the Slick,” He admitted, after a moment’s hesitation.

Her tirade of curses switched direction from the job broker to Trace within a heartbeat. “You should have known better than to work for that shazbot! He’s got scat for brains, and the quality of his work is terrible.”

“I know all of that, but I was desperate. I needed the money, or I wasn’t going to be able to eat or drink anything this week. With my current mods, no one else had any jobs for me.”

The truth about his situation shut her up real quick as he heard her sigh on the other end of the call. “Fine, bring everything you’ve got over here. I’ll take a look at it all and see what is usable. No promises that I’ll give you a good price on any of it though. Removing the parts is only the first step. The old user’s information has to be wiped from each piece, along with any items that might hint at the less than legal origin of the cyberware.”

He winced as she continued speaking. “That sounds like even if you buy everything, I won’t be getting a lot of credits.”

“Oh, no, you will. If the pieces are good. Just don’t expect to walk away from this ready to buy a new car is all I’m saying. There is a reason the scavs aren’t rolling in credits, and this is it right here. Plus, whoever works with them always tends to take an even higher cut.”

Trace nodded in understanding. He had never really thought about it before, but having her explain it to him like that made it all make sense.

“Alright, well, I’m only a few minutes out. So, I’ll see you in just a bit. I’ll be in the black rented transport van.”

“Understood. I’ll be waiting outside to help you bring everything inside when you arrive.” True to her word, an older woman in worn medical scrubs was waiting outside when he arrived. Standing beside her was a young girl with an entirely cyberware throat.

No doubt she was the assistant who had answered the phones.