Adam Smasher
Sometime in the decades between when he had to last purchase streetchrome and now, ripperdocs stopped being psychos with loose morals and good chrome who you went to when the mall clinics didn't have any good shit, to psychos with loose morals and good chrome that everyone went to to get new ware installed. Apparently, this kinda thing was either done by a large corporation, or it was done by the back-alley docs, or it wasn't done at all. Smaller clinics and chrome shops stopped existing.
Well, that wasn't quite accurate. The ripperdocs and clinics had merged to become the standard for how the non-corporate masses got chrome. There was no distinction between legal and illegal operations and legal or illegal chrome. The only difference was how good that chrome was and how much they were charging for it.
The 'Guild' that had sprung up after the purging of the Scav population was part corporation, part gang, part scav operation. A group of the back alley ripperdocs suddenly having their livelihood threatened and deciding to work together to ensure that most of them got to stay in business by the end in a rare moment of long-term critical thinking. The herd that works together doesn't get slaughtered as fast, who knew?
By retaining and maintaining a strict policy of neutrality, and setting some regulations on themselves through what he could only assume was ritualized surgical competitions, they could stay out of the normal gang activities while still providing their specialty service to Night City. None of them got really rich like they potentially could have if they decided on ruthless competition, but as far as he was aware they were all still living fairly comfortably and selling at reasonable prices to the various gangs.
Prices that were at risk of plummeting due to the sudden incredible influx of chrome. The Maelstrom gang had just been wiped out, the gang with the highest amount of chrome of any faction in the city except the borgs, almost all of which had their bodies hauled off to the Guild for processing and scavving.
The gangs of the city were all in high moods apparently, after the Guild announced a temporary 15% percent off on all chrome for a month or so due to the influx.
Of course, the only part of that that mattered for him personally was the influx of high-spec chrome. He had to act as quickly as possible to purchase the best body he could, and fill it with the most optimized suite he could, which led him to his current situation.
Staring down a deeply tanned man with light blonde hair and smartgoggles currently pushed up onto his forehead, and a light-pink-white haired woman in overalls currently tied around her waist and stickers on her plastic-y looking breasts.
He glared at the two for a moment, although the effect was partially lost coming from this f̶r̸a̶m̴e̸. The woman swallowed nervously and the man had a bead of sweat trail down the side of his face. Finally, he couldn't restrain himself and turned to the Doc, sitting by his monitor and watching the encounter with a raised brow.
"These are the borg experts?" He was skeptical of that claim, mostly due to the overall lack of chrome. Hovering around 25% each, that was far less that he had been expecting.
The doc nodded once, to his slight displeasure. He turned back to the two of the apparent experts in borgware and glared at them. They stayed silent. He snorted.
"I'm commissioning a custom frame, to be done as soon as possible. Either work together or one of you fuck off, I don't care which."
"...Custom frame eh…?" The male leaned back in his seat and gave a quarter-smile at that. "Makin' a custom frame for the Adam Smasha, huh? That sounds right up my alley." He waved a dismissive hand to his side at the woman. "You can go ahead an' leave, cheeks. We don't needya." Good, that one knew not to ask questions about why he needed a non-Arasaka frame, at the very least.
"Shut the fuck up Borge." The woman spat before turning her attention back to Adam. She paused for a moment, before continuing. "...When you say custom, do you mean modified-Alpha custom, or a full custom?"
"Full."
She frowned, before leaning back. "I don't know if I, hell- anyone, can complete a request like that. We don't have all the fancy nanoforges and orbital facilities that the corps do, if that's what you're looking for."
He knew that already you fucking meat. He showed his immense displease through his glare.
The man raised a hand and spoke, leaning forwards in his chair. "Hol on now, let's hear him out cheeks. So… Mistah Smasha, do you have a listin' of whatcha want?"
Adam paused in his glare before reaching up to pull his interface cable out and plug it into the table. At once the blueprints of the frame he knew best came alight on the screen.
Sometimes, in between rewatching his old battles again and again, he would instead review his frames. Just taking them in, memorizing each and every little detail and their specifications and labels. Their myomer layout and chrome loadouts, everything about them really. There wasn't much else to do at times, and it might come in handy one day. A day like today.
The blueprints of an IEC 'Dragoon' Military-Use Full Conversion Cyborg appeared on the table, immediately grabbing the total attention of all parties. Doc sat up straighter in his chair next to his monitor. The woman startled for a moment before leaning forwards and scanning across the screen with her eyes. The man practically jumped up to slam his hands on either side of the table and drinking in the display with the same attention a cat gives a fly.
Each and every one of them immediately recognized the blueprints as milspec and what that represented. There was silence for a moment, nothing in the room moved, only eyes.
"How about blueprints?" He asked, semi-sarcastically.
"How tha fuck did you get dese?" The man sounded deadly serious.
Smasher snorted, he was acting like this was noteworthy. It really wasn't that complicated. "I wore one for fifty years, brat. I memorized it."
"Wait, you used this? That means it's…" The woman trailed off, eyes widening in surprise. She stood up herself and copied the man in more actively pouring over the table.
"A motherfucking Dragoon…" The man spoke with reverence as he continued to pour over the table. "The frame so good that they stopped making anything bettah…"
Pft, yeah right. They absolutely made better, the DaiOni was proof of that. Unfortunately getting one of those made would get Arasaka on his ass immediately. He glared at nothing for a moment as they went over it in detail.
"Look at tha fucking sensor suite… seven fucking optics, a full extended audio suite, an olfactory suite, sonar, radar, radiation…"
"The M-layout! I didn't even know you could layer myomer that way, that's genius!"
"4 2-13 model QC mounts, A 2-20 IEC pod mounting, and the retro fucking chip interface…"
"Monocrystalline ceramic-composite with an ablative layer of heat-displacing ceramics and foamed metal…!"
He turned to doc as they kept ranting about the specifics of a frame he was long used to. "Doc. Get me a catalog of the Guild inventory." He'd need one in order to see what could actually be put into the new frame. Doc nodded, and turned to his monitor to pull one up. Adam watched him idly for a moment, before turning back to the trailing off borg experts.
The man was starting to frown contemplatively, as was the woman. The man brought a hand up to his chin and began to scratch at his tuff of beard. Adam narrowed his optics.
"What?"
"...We can't make this." The woman said with a frown. "Some of these parts aren't even manufactured anymore, and others require facilities that we, again, don't have access to."
He snarled in frustration and moved to pull the interface cable out, time wasted too much already. The quickly raised hand of the man stopped him. "Wait."
His hand paused a moment before unplugging himself. His optics bored a furious red into the man's face. The man slowly began to speak, as if working through the matter himself as he spoke. "We can't make dis exactly, that's true. But…"
A pause as the man chewed his upper lip, before nodding in confirmation. "We can make something about as good."
"Elaborate."
The man reached forwards and tapped on a section of the screen. "This is real fucking good frame choom, they stopped making bettah for a reason… but it's damn old see?"
He pointed at the myomer specs as the woman leaned forwards and started paying attention again. Adam lessened his glare slightly. The man continued to speak. "Like look at dese. They used IEC plasmuscle for the myomer, but de real strength of the frame comes from how they layered it, see? From the outer sections and wrapping around each 'bone', letting dem get longer myomer and thus stronger flexes. The actual strands themselves aren't anything special."
The man nodded his head and shook it slightly. "IEC plasmuscle was outdated thirty fuckin' years ago, choom. They don't even make it anymore."
Adam hid his slowly growing fury behind a mask of more fury.
Outdated thirty years ago, huh?
…When was the last time he actually asked for a frame update, before Uriel showed up? He didn't remember off the top of his head.
The woman nodded her own head and rubbed her own cheek in consideration. "And that sensor suite… They had to get by with a multi-optic mount to make sure each would retain full effectiveness no matter the conditions… But we could use some Kiroshi Mk3s and get most of that slotted in in just two I bet…"
The man nodded. "And de rest we can shove into some smartgoggles, wired into a helmet. Wouldn't be proper chrome no, but it would get everything we need it ta do. The sensor extensions we can just order…"
The woman frowned again. "We definitely can't get that armor though. Buying that shit would get eyes on us even if we had the permits. We can get almost as good by layering armor-weave, subdermal armor, and conventional plate. Wouldn't be quite as fancy, but it would hold up almost as good. Throw in a repair nanomatrix and it'll fix itself up over time…"
"And the computer systems are fucking easy. Most of that shit got outdated years ago. The only thing we can't just buy off the street these days is that fucking combat crystal, and I don't think our client much wants to work with other Dragoons, eh?" The man grinned at Adam, crossing his arms over his chest with full confidence.
Adam stared back for a moment. He leaned back, somewhat pleased by what he was hearing, but not willing to celebrate until he was actually in such a frame. "I'll need more than just a strong base frame. Doc, the catalog?"
The table shifted and displayed a list of all the cyberware, a brief description, and current market price of each implant the Guild currently had in their inventory. Then another list that displayed all the chrome that they could order. Adam grunted, pleased, the doc was an effective salesman.
He frowned when he saw the prices. They were several times more than what he remembered…
…when was the last time he actually ordered his own chrome, instead of buying it through Arasaka? Not since the 20s or something like that.
'Inflation is a bitch.' Uriel chimed in. Adam growled in agreement as he scrolled to certain sections of the catalog before rapidly selecting a few items and modifications.
The man whistled. The woman let out a deep breath and stared.
The doc, confused, got up to look at what had been selected. He staggered a bit before turning to Adam. "Woah, woah… Not to tell you what to buy but people don't do that for a reason! That's the kinda thing that sends you psy…" He trailed off when the man started chuckling.
"This is Adam fucking Smasha we're talking about. Something like dis is nothin' to him."
The woman continued the line of thought. "Vik, our client is King Fuck of Chrome Mountain. This is the kind of customer borg-specialists fucking dream of, the kind that can take any crazy shit you put in and more."
The doc threw his hands up at the table. "There's a difference between handling a lot of chrome with specialized meds and corp therapy and getting something like this on the street!"
"No. There isn't." Adam declared. The doc turned his attention back towards his glare. "Because I've never used either."
The man started laughing. The woman suddenly leaned on the table, taking a deep breath. The doc, taken aback, stared for a moment.
"...You're telling the truth…"
"Lying is for meat. I'm above it."
There was no need to lie about his ability to handle chrome. He was Adam Smasher. He was built different. He was built better.
The doc gave a tremendous sigh and moved back to his chair, before slumping down in it and resting his head on his hand. "...Alright, if you think you can handle it." He sounded quite defeated, which was odd, as he was going to be making a lot of money off this encounter. Whatever happened to good old fashioned greed?
"Still, this is really something fucking else choom." The man tapped on the table with a half-grin. "Speedware like this… not sure if anyone else on the fuckin' planet can handle this."
Displayed on the table were a few implants listed, with modifications added. Uriel had already checked to find the best models on the market for each.
A Mk 5 Sandevistan with three grade-5 heatsinks, A grade-3 Kerenzikov, A grade-3 Nanorelay set, and a 'Maneuvering System' Internal-Gyroscope. Standard market price for all of this was around 81,000 eurodollars.
A lesser man would've broken with only one or two of them. He intended to install all of them, he would need them if he wanted to make sure he never lost again. He snorted in slight amusement, catching the attention of the three ripperdocs.
"I'm just starting, meatdoc. I'll need more than just that."
There was a distinct pause. Doc slumped down in his chair even more. The woman fell back in her chair with a heady look on her face. The man had an explosive grin covering his face, before reaching up to slide his goggles over his eyes. It gave him a distinctly insectoid appearance with its multiple optics.
"What's our eddie limit, choom?"
"None."
The grin, impossibly, grew wider.
"My choom… let's talk chrome."
Adam met the grin with one of his own.
—
After a few hours of working out details, Adam walked out of the room in a good mood. As he stepped out, Spares stepped forwards to stand next to him protectively. Nodding at her, they began making their way back to the Ebunike. She was here to ensure he didn't die to some lucky fucker while he was stuck in this f̶r̸a̶m̴e̸.
Possibly the most useful… slave? Tool? Eh… Something. She was one of the most useful somethings that he's ever gotten. As it turns out, artificial humans were better than standard humans, who would've thought?
He would've. He thought that back in the 2010s, and he hadn't been proved wrong since. If you wanted a good worker, it was better to make one from scratch than gamble on meat. Granted, much more expensive, but that was hardly a problem for competent people.
He staggered, his step was unsteady. He paused immediately, and Spares went on full alert scanning for enemies.
He glared at his l̷e̵g̸. Fucking ẅ̷̢͇e̶̥͎͐͝ã̵̲͖̌k̶̤̽̚ f̸̖̄ṛ̶̰͕̤̝̇̀͝ã̶̙̫̮̲̳m̵̡͔̣̖̌̆̀́͜ę̶̝͚͈̠̄͑͂̆͝.Incapable of doing even basic fucking movement as it turns out. Fucking g̸r̵e̶a̶t̶.
He grit his metal teeth hard enough to crack the ceramic plating. The screams of his artificial nerves relaying the fact that he was damaged forced him to focus again.
He glared forwards, seeing Spares in a slightly crouched stance, ready to attack the first thing she saw. He turned away from her. He started marching forwards again, seeking to return to the ship as soon as possible. He was far too exposed here, entirely too unsafe.
Spares followed behind him immediately, constantly scanning their surroundings, something that Uriel began to copy.
There wasn't anything immediately obvious as dangerous.
He took another step and s̷w̴a̵y̶e̴d̸, crashing against the side of the alley they were cutting through. He s̵n̸a̴r̵l̸e̵d̴ and forced himself up again, going back to marching as his sensors strained to detect what the fuck was happening.
There was nothing attacking him. Uriel, redouble your fucking efforts!
He took another step.
H̴̘̘̔i̴̗̟͂s̴͙̰̓̑ ̴̲̈́̊k̸͙̀n̵̩̏ė̶̡̲̇é̴͝ͅ ̴̟̞̆b̸̯̈́̄ư̴̧̮c̵̠͗ķ̶͎̈́̾l̵̘͊͒ȅ̵̝̄d̷̪̬͛̐.̴̱̥̾
He punched the wall of the alleyway, his f̵͎̊̊͜i̶̪̟̇̆s̸̳̿̽t̶̩̣͂ shattering the stonework. He used the hole as a handhold to stay up as his ḻ̵̭͎͎̑̆̈́̅̇́̾̅̎͆̚͠e̵̱͚̩̰̜̦̲̘̖̊̔̊͛̊̽͊̍̏̕̚͘g̴̬͈̭̳͙̯̲̰̫͈͓̪̮͕̳̎̒̔͋̊̽͆ͅs̸̢̻͓̩͓͓͉͆͘ refused to work.
"Sir!" Spares almost shouted as she stood protectively in front of him. Her face showed hints of her concern. "Please relay present condition!"
He checked his internal status as his optics began to flicker erratically, opening the more detailed internal menu that linked to his biomonitor.
Across his vision a set of words scrolled.
FATIGUE LEVELS CRITICAL-FATIGUE LEVELS CRITICAL-FATIGUE LEVELS CRITICAL-
He realized at once what was going on.
T̸h̴i̸s̷ ̶f̵r̸a̴m̴e̸ ̸h̶a̵d̸ ̸n̷o̵ ̵r̷e̵s̶t̸ ̸c̸o̵m̷p̸e̸n̶s̴a̷t̶o̶r̸s̷.̸
His hand lost its grip. He fell forwards and crashed to the asphate ground.
Ḧ̴̡͉̲́̒̈́̑ẽ̵̥̗́ ̴̫̐ẁ̷̧̮̇̀̑â̵̻̼̠͗̀͘s̴̰͇͈̿̏͠ ̵̦̐̂̎̕͝f̶̗͋̏a̸̪̮̼͛̽̿̑ḽ̷͙̮̺̃̿ḽ̸͇̈́̇͑͝î̸̢̨̛͍̊̋̿ņ̸̘̜̠͖̈̒̈͘g̸̡̩̍̓̄͒̆ ̵̨̞̏͘a̷̝̙̥̎̀̎͂s̸̡̧̩̜̃͑͑̃̚l̸̦̗͋́̀̽̕é̶̢̹̺̼̐̈́̂̾ę̵̖̆͛̌̊p̸̳̗͖̉̎͊.̴̖͐̓
…
H̶͔͉͔̫̜͕̭̥̮͂̐͌̄͐͌̚ẻ̸̡̛̪̠͎̳̪̮̮̜̋̔̿́͆͊͘̕ͅ ̶̨͖͓̉͆͌d̵̡̗̼̺̟̩̳͎̊͆͐͗̔̈́̔̊̚i̸̯̣̬̹̱̘͑͋̅͆͝d̶̬̥̓̇̌̊͠͠ņ̶̡̗̽̀̀͊̏̚͝'̸̢̮͎̎͛́̃̆ͅt̶͈̦̱̣͕̹͖͍͒̊̿̔̊̍̾͌̕͘ ̷̰̦̲͚̖̌̃͆̎̈̍͆ẃ̷̻̎̍̓̑͝͝a̸̢̜̙̙͍̯͉͍̽̋̑̆…
"Sir!" Spares shouted in panic as h̵͉͈̤̞͉̩̥̞̩̱͋͌̎͋̍̐̂ī̶͚̩̤̰͔̤̲̍̎́͊͝s̷̞̦̲̫̩̣͕͐̅̈͑̑͒́̚͘̚ ̷͓̻͖̪͇̒̏̋̀w̷̭͒͂̆̋̌͆̚o̸̲̟̾́̽͐̽̈́̋͐̓͠r̵̦̦͈͊͂͛́͐͒l̴̨̞̥͚̭̘͙̮͗͐d̸̡̡̤͓͙͍̹̯́ ̶̹̱̐̈́̅̎̾̽̐̊ŵ̶̢̱̚e̴̙͚͇͎̻͉̟̬̺͍͌͊͂̉̄̉͗̔n̷͇̻̖͇̯̫̖̽̽͜t̷̜͍̭̂̊͌̂̚ ̸̲̅̋̀b̴̲̉͠͝ļ̴͇͍̻̗̂̈́̽́̒̿͂̇͠a̷͖͓͙̦̭͌̍́̈́̐̓͆̅́͠c̴̩̮̘͛k̴̢͔̞̟̻̳͔̭̻̼̎.