A biopod was a life-support module about two cubic feet in size designed to contain the biosystem, the essential organs for sapience and hormone regulation, and connect to a cybernetic body through a pseudo-spinal interface cable. Doing this allowed immense tactical flexibility, letting the cyborg in question move between various bodies for various mission profiles without the need for anything more complex than slotting the biopod into a prepared body.
Like many excellent cyborg products produced in the 2010s, the original biopod was an IEC product, originally invented specifically to allow borg jockeys to utilize their flagship military cyborg conversion, the Dragoon. Being both the inventors of the originally Alpha frames and the second-most combat capable cyborg frames, as well as the system that allows cyborgs to move between bodies, IEC was once the largest titan in cybernetic production in the world after the fall of Biodyne due to financial shenanigans.
He said once, because IEC was deliberately targeted for destruction and hostile seizure of assets by the much more military-focused Militech and Arasaka during the Fourth Corporate War. The new version of IEC was nothing more than an imitation for the sake of selling and product and helping to prevent a conflict from breaking out between the rival megacorps…
Something he now regretted doing, because that meant he wouldn't have any jobs worth doing in North America for a while. What was even left? Dunking on Mexican Metals or Petrochem? Neither of those groups could fucking hope to give him a good fight, Mexican Metals being too busy constantly quashing mountain gangs and Petrochem being an agricorp that focused on chemical warfare.
After IEC's destruction, the next three big names in Biopod production were Arasaka, Militech, and Euro Business Machines. They catered to Japan, North America, and Europe respectively. South America has been a bunch of warring tribal gangs for as long as he could remember, and Africa has only just now begun to have cyberware worth a damn. Most of their previous production was supported by buying it from Europe in exchange for dirt-cheap labor.
This backfired on Europe when a bunch of African laborers decided hostile rebellion was a good idea and managed to steal a few space stations, back in… the 2000s? He was still in the military back then, maybe. He knew that no one in Europe liked the theft of assets, and talks of going to war to get them back have been in the news cycles for as long as he could remember. A good seventy years of edging themselves over going to war, the fucking slackers.
He didn't know what modern day Africa looked like aside from their habit of importing products still, what with most of their domestic production focused on murdering each other and the occasional fancy airship. He knew the vast majority of the construction vehicles were Zhirafa imports from the last time he had a job in the region. One of the local warlords decided to posture and threatened Hanako as part of threatening Arasaka as a whole. The old man sent him and an Arasaka battalion over within a week.
The Congo lost its then-current warlord, most of its military, and a sizable fraction of its population within a month. The old man pulled him out at the end of it, saying that his point had been made. Today they're apparently a part of Pan African Confederation, contested by the Free Africa Foundation. Both of which claimed to be the future of their continent and that the other side was a bunch of heretics or something. He didn't care about the specifics that much.
The process for moving between bodies with a biopod was simple. Extract the biopod, put it into the new body, run the start-up sequence. The last phase was usually automatic. A brief moment of total inability to move or detect your surroundings, followed by a rush of awareness and feelings. Feeling your new senses, your new body, your new position in space.
Thankfully, Uriel could handle the transfer process, he just had to wait a moment.
He was in a void of nothing. A disembodied spirit surrounded by a howling non-existence. All around him was nothing but his own mind and memories and the infinite black beyond.
He would sneer if he had a face.
Hands of golden fire grasped him. He could feel it through his biopod, through the secondhand sight of Uriel.
Then he was falling, racing forwards as his mind reconnected to his new frame of plasteel and myomer.
His mind settled into a fortress of ICE, three layers of revolving walls that shielded him in constantly shifting bricks. A throne of recording blackbox machinery that he settled upon. Cables of interface stretching from his neck and slots in his mind filled with subroutines and neural enhancers. Programs ready to be used neatly framing his mind's new throne.
He could smell the medtech lab, myomer and plasteel and chemicals abound. He could smell the air and its infusions of smog and cigarette smoke and waft of garbage. His chemical analyzer made sure he knew the exact compositions of each in detail to the thousandths place.
He could hear the alerts of his system diagnostics, he could hear the steady breaths of each person around him as loud as an idling car engine. He could hear their heartbeats, and hear the thousands of radio channels traveling through the air and his frame. He could tap into any of them if he wished. His level damper ensured none of them overwhelmed him.
He could feel the room and its layout without needing to open his optics. He could walk blind through traffic and not be at risk of getting hit. His radar and sonar implants working together in overlapping fields of awareness. He could feel the pressure of other radar waves pressing down on the whole of Night City, the familiar pressure of constantly being watched by innumerable eyes and ears.
He opened his optics. The color sight of normal humans, as well as the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums were made visible to him. Lights that were too bright dimmed to comfortable levels and lights that were too dim brightened to compensate. Over everything he saw, the layer of virtuality hung like electric ghosts.
He pushed himself up, the world traveling in slow motion around him as he did. Only the brat could keep up with him at the moment, and the mental switch in the back of his mind told him he could go even faster if he wished. Bursts of acceleration and power that only a sandevistan could provide.
Like eating lightning.
His hand rested on the metal bench this body was seated upon, through it he could feel the vibrations of everything around him. The rumble of cars outside, the heartbeats of various people in the room with him, the thrum of electric fans regulating air in the building.
Claws took the place where fingertips used to be, connected to a powerful hand that connected internally to a myomer-driven hydraulic ram and a reinforced cable.
All across and within his body, he could feel the jutting ports that were his new maneuvering thrusters. He concentrated for a moment, the ports swiveling slightly to provide him greater control over his movement. A pooling heat in his abdomen told him his battery and thruster fuel reserves were both full.
He mimicked breathing, feeling the air storage cell fill and filter useless air from useful oxygen, compressing it and containing it in a solid 12 hour battery within.
He clenched his fist, feeling the metal bench warp under his strength.
He grinned, his now mostly-human face showing pearly-white ceramic teeth. His new optics flashed from blue to red and back again. His blond hair swished slightly as he stood up to his restored 8 feet of height. He flexed an arm, feeling the more flexible armorweave bend underneath his outermost armor layer. Rolling his arms to ensure the mounts were properly connected and feeling his armorweave chest flex almost like Gemini myomer was a slight surprise, but not an unwelcome one.
This body wasn't what he had before, but it was far better than what he had been dealing with for almost a month now.
He flicked a glance over to the two techies and sent them their payment. This frame cost nearly fifty million to put together. He gave them a half-million tip on top of that.
"Good work, halfmeats." He idly spoke as he rolled his neck myomer and tested out his new range of motion. It was best to test these things immediately, and he didn't know the limits of this frame quite yet. Overall, even with the 'new' style of borg not being what he was used to, he was mostly satisfied already. Merging Gemini elements into more standard borgs seemed like a compromise design element, but that's what they knew how to do so he would just have to deal with it.
Sure, it was nice this frame had visible pseudo-muscles and a cock, but he could've just bought a Gemini for that. Fullborgs must've turned into a bunch of whiners when he wasn't paying attention, because it was fairly unnecessary to have such in industrial and war platforms.
The pompadour was nice though, he hadn't had one of those in a while now. He made a note to get one of those switch-blade combs again, he didn't remember where he put his old one.
"How's the frame, Smasher?" The brat asked him, a snarky grin on his face. Adam let it slide with a slight grin of his own. What party trick could he do…? He thought of one almost immediately, but he needed a prop.
Let's see if he remembered how to do this. He stepped over to the brat's mother. She blinked and leaned back to look him in the eye as he approached.
Reaching over and grabbing the woman by the back of her jacket he tossed her up into the air. The brat tensed slightly as his mother yelped, only to gently land on Adam's flexed cybernetic bicep. Unflexing it just in time to slow her landing on his raised arm.
She still flailed slightly and latched onto his forearm, now suddenly sitting seven feet off the ground. Her new cybernetic arm coated in synthflesh gripping onto his thumb with force he could actually feel now.
"About as good as I can expect, brat. What do you think?"
The brat untensed as he let out a scoff of laughter. "Pft. How's the weather up there mom?"
"Adam, let me down this instant." She replied all too calmly. He snorted and started walking out the door, waving at the docs as he did. She had skinweave, it's not like a fall like this could actually hurt her overdramatic ass. He flexed again, causing her to bounce on his arm and discretely feeling her rear through his armor sensors. He gave it an eight out of ten. The brat, the girls, and Spares got up from their seats to follow behind him.
He paused for a moment, stopping the pace of the brats behind him. He turned to the two borgtechs. "Oi. Either of you want a full-time job?"
"Yes!" Both of the ripperdocs barked simultaneously, before turning to glare at each other. He ignored their immediate infighting and continued "It'll require leaving Night City."
Both paused to process that information. The man grew a shit-eating grin as the woman hung her head in despair. Apparently she had prior obligations.
"I'll pack my shop choom, where do you want me?" The man spoke in his vaguely Jamaican accent. The brat answered for him.
"You know where the Ebunike is, up in northside Watson? Bring your things there Doc." There was a casual smile on the brats face as he said this. The doc's own grin fell into its own sort of smile as he replied. "Aye, I know where dat is. It's been good seeing ya again, choom."
"Right back at you Borge."
Adam snorted, bringing attention to himself again and ignoring the woman smacking his arm in silent but furious requests to be let down from her new perch. "Ask Greyson to get you set up when you get there. Come on brats, we're leaving."
Carefully lowering his arm to make sure the woman didn't smack her head on something and white about it for a few weeks after, he exited the Ripperdoc Guild building, ignoring the others in the halls and the receptionist as he left.
"Hey Smasher, you're in a good enough frame now, right?" Blueberry asked, entirely too casually as she saddled up to him. He grunted in confirmation as he looked at the world in slow motion, cars traveling slow enough that he could probably…
…huh.
He couldn't think of anything new that he could do that he couldn't do before with his cybernetic reflexes. Eh, he'll think of something eventually.
"Sooo… that means we can all go to Samsara now, right? Right?" She nudged his thigh with her elbow.
"The fuck is Samsara?" Adam questioned. Other than that Buddhist thing about reincarnation. The blueberry probably wasn't asked if they could all die together. He narrowed his optics at her, just in case.
"You know how Maelstrom fucked things up awhile back?" The brat said, bringing attention to him. Adam noticed the brat immediately poke the girl in the side, causing her to startle slightly and slap his arm with an expression of faux-fury. "Afterlife got busted up to, so Rogue got a new bar."
"She called it Samsara?"
"Apparently."
He rolled his optics. He made a note to tell the cougar that was a stupid name.
…It had been awhile since he had gotten an info update.
"Fine." He announced to the small exaggerated cheers of the brats. Spares tilted her head and blinked once.
"Adam, you better let me down before we get there." The woman demanded. He snorted and ignored her again. "Adam!"
—
"The new name is stupid." He said as he leaned against the new pillar of concrete next to the cougar. It took a while to find this place, and it clearly wasn't quite done being decorated quite yet. She had apparently decided to go for a slightly more retro look, although still clean. Cleaner than before at least, there were no trash bags outside the entrance yet.
Yet.
"Fuck you Adam." She casually spat back as she sipped on some fruity looking nonsense, staring at the brats and the woman closer to the bar than they were. This bar was bigger than the last at least, three entire floors in total, and a sub-building that contained what looked like a proper power washing station. "That's your brat?" She asked after swallowing.
He grunted. "Which one?" There were a lot of brats over there, she needed to be specific.
"The one that looks like your daughter, right down to the chrome, jackass." She specified as requested, gesturing her head at the one she was talking about.
He snatched a drink from a passerby and glared them into submission before answering. The drink was tiny in his hands. "That's Spares. Saburo sent her over a few months ago."
"...So who's her mother?" The cougar asked with a strange tone of voice.
"Mother?" He raised a brow as he turned a questioning look towards her. He shrugged it off and went back to considering the drink. It had a little umbrella in it. He sneered. "Fuck if I know." Did gynoids even have mothers? They were usually built in factories or something, right? He let the silence hang for a moment. "She's useful, and that's all I care about."
"...Not sure what I was expecting out of you." The cougar bemoaned with a long-suffering sigh. "Your frame looks like your old one, from back in the day. Embracing the old looks again?"
He snorted and gestured towards the bar, looking quite retro with its classic hints of neon on stone and metal plating. "Are you?"
"Pft. Calling me out like that, huh?" She sipped and leaned back, turning a sly almost-grin towards his towering form. "So, finally out of that Alpha frame huh? You could've called me y'know?"
"I don't need help." He grumbled as he drained the cup in one swig. "Frame was already ordered, all I needed to do was hunker down for a while until it was done. Oi! Meatbag! Another drink." He raised his voice to command one of the bouncers.
"Don't boss around my boys, jackass. That's my job." The cougar bitched at him. "Don't insult me in your head either! I can tell you're doing it."
He ignored her continued bitching and waited for another tiny drink to come his way. She relaxed herself, sitting next to his standing form and idly watching the brats do some sort of circus routine to the cheering of the patrons around them. Her smile was wobbly for some reason, probably something stupid and dramatic.
She growled at him, smile dropping from her face for a moment. She stared at him as he rated the drink in his hand a four out of ten. She turned from him to stare at the brats again.
"You've changed Adam." She commented.
"The fuck I have." He retorted immediately. Change was for meatbags, he was perfect from the get-go.
She broke into happy laughter at that, much to his confusion and irritation. Take his words seriously, fucker. Eventually her laughter trailed off into scattered chuckles as she spoke again. "So what are you doing next, huh? Not working for Arasaka I've heard?"
"Leaving." He answered briefly, finishing off his third drink. Her own drink stopped at her lips for a moment, before she set her cup down.
"Leaving Arasaka?" She repeated her own information pointlessly.
"Night City. Maybe North America too, not sure yet." He clarified. "Starting up a PMC, got enough eddies in the bank for the start-up costs."
"...Any plans on coming back?" Her gaze was turned squarely on the brats.
"No."
"...I see." She quietly answered, taking a sip of her drink.
He considered the silence for a moment, before speaking again. "Come with me."
She froze. "Come again?"
"Come with me. I need someone to handle all that contract bullshit and unlike most meatbags you can actually fight worth a damn." He explained.
She got slightly angry at that, for some reason. "Let me get this straight. You want me to leave everything I've worked up and built here over the last few decades to handle fucking contract negotiation for you in every bumfuck warzone you decide to stomp around in?"
…That explained her anger well enough. He didn't really care about that though. "Yes." He answered.
That took her aback for a moment, and she was silent for a long time. Staring at the brats, he waited for her answer.
"Sorry Adam… I think I need to stay here." She replied softly, slightly tense as she waited for a reply.
He nodded once. He had been expecting that answer anyways. "Suit yourself."
The tension drained from her body, and she stared at nothing for a moment.
She slammed her drink back and stood up. He glanced over to see her expression looked determined. She grabbed his new armored collar and tugged, pulling him along through the door to the back rooms.
He shook his head with a snarling grin. Overdramatic woman. You could've just asked.