Chapter 4: Picking
The stench of soldered chrome and scorched plastic clung to the air like a stubborn memory.
Kay sat alone in the workshop beneath the Puff Bar, surrounded by a graveyard of discarded cybernetics and tangled wiring. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of an old industrial lamp that buzzed overhead like a malfunctioning BD wreath.
It had been fifteen minutes since his last break. He cracked his neck, then knelt again before the scrapheap of chrome. He was trying—desperately—to make sense of the mess before him.
Twisted, rusted cyberware. Disassembled limbs. Worn-out optics with shattered lenses. And in the corner? A grotesquely shaped mechanical object he couldn't place.
"…Is that a damn toilet?"
He furrowed his brow, staring harder. No matter how he turned it, squinted at it, or kicked it, it still looked like a cyber-toilet.
"Don't tell me… the guy I reincarnated into used this place as a restroom?"
That thought made him wince. The smell didn't help.
Kay wiped a streak of blood off the casing of a "Succubus Mark II" cyber-arm and sighed. He reached into his neural interface and attempted to link with the city's net grid—half out of curiosity, half out of sheer desperation for help.
"Ding! System network connection successful…"
A clear digital voice echoed through his neural feed.
"Congratulations, Host! You have acquired the passive talent: Mechanical Analysis! This allows you to quickly understand the internal structure of simple cybernetic constructs."
Kay blinked, surprised. "Finally, something useful."
"Bonus granted for first skill acquisition: Mechanical Truth! You now learn any mechanical-related knowledge at an accelerated rate."
"Wait, wait—what about the main quest? Mission log? Any decent reward?" he demanded. "Where's my support package? My legendary blueprint drop?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then:
"Ding! Initial mission generated: Study cybernetic human anatomy, perform mechanical augmentations on ten individuals, and receive a reward: Blueprint for Mini EMP Pulse Grenade—unlocked upon completion with full client satisfaction."
"…This system is such a lazy bastard."
Still, it was a start. And for someone stranded in a corpo-ravaged city with no money, no allies, and a heap of busted tech, even a lazy system was better than nothing.
He sat up straighter.
No more moping. If he wanted to survive—and rise—he had to start small.
Kay booted up the dusty computer beside the heap and accessed archived med-tech manuals. He began devouring data on biomechanical interfaces, neural-link protocols, nerve-cyber synapses, and modular implant schematics.
Three days passed like a blur.
By then, Kay had already completed basic physical exams and installed augmentations on a few of the more enthusiastic members of the Destiny Church. A few successful installations later, and even the delicate Succubus Mark II was purring like it was fresh off the Arasaka line.
No cyberpsychosis. No neural rejection. Just smooth installation and satisfied customers.
One of them—Isabella—offered Kay a "deep-tissue massage" as thanks.
He declined with a grimace.
It wasn't about principles. It was about sanity. After spending three straight days sterilizing, grafting, wiring, and patching—his brain had developed a strong, almost pathological rejection of physical contact. Especially from people wearing second-hand chrome.
---
Seven days later. Noon.
Riko Vega slumped across the bar counter of the Puff Bar, bored out of his mind.
He'd been playing bouncer, bartender, and babysitter for a solid week while Kay was holed up in the basement workshop. He had expected a partnership. Instead, he was stuck making sure nobody stole Kay's tools—or tried to assassinate him.
He groaned and looked up as footsteps echoed on the creaky wooden stairs.
A figure emerged—pale, unshaven, and exhausted—but with a grin that gleamed brighter than a corpo credit chip.
"Kay!" Riko stood up straight. "Holy shit, I thought you were dead in there. You've been gone ten days. I almost started putting up missing person posters!"
Kay raised a hand to wave him off. "Relax. I wasn't dead—just evolving."
Riko blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Kay didn't answer. Instead, he looked at Riko and frowned.
Riko's metal arm caught his eye—a slapped-together contraption that looked like someone welded it in a junkyard with a blindfold on. The plating didn't match, the servos were misaligned, and the wrist actuator was twitching at irregular intervals.
His optics were low-grade bifurcated Type-1s. Decent for scrap-tier combat, but vulnerable to EMP and optical jamming.
Kay clicked his tongue. "Come downstairs. I've got something for you."
Riko blinked. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. It's time we made you less… disposable."
Riko followed, albeit nervously.
The basement workshop looked worse than before. Wires sprawled across the floor like vines, metal limbs hung from ceiling hooks, and dozens of dusty monitors blinked with overlapping schematics.
And in the center, on a steel table—an assortment of rusted junk.
"What the hell…?"
"If I hadn't saved your ass already," Kay said, "you'd think I was trying to kill you, right?"
Riko laughed nervously.
Kay gestured to a pile of parts. "Don't let the appearance fool you. These are functional prototypes. Ugly? Yes. But deadly."
He picked up a clunky metal glove with exposed wiring. The knuckles were reinforced with pressure gauges, and tiny barrels lined the fingertips.
"This—this is the Five-Finger Heart-Plucker."
Riko raised an eyebrow. "Sounds… charming."
Kay smirked. "At close range, it fires 12-gauge aluminum buckshot from each fingertip. Five simultaneous blasts—point blank. You don't just punch someone; you punch through them."
Riko took an involuntary step back. "You sure it won't blow off my hand?"
Kay shrugged. "Only one way to find out."
The next item was a shoulder-mounted micro-turret—barely bigger than a soda can.
"This is the Buzzkit. Auto-targeting. Tracks up to three heat signatures. Not very accurate, but it's fast and persistent."
Then came the Spinal Stim Module—a jagged spine insert that released adrenaline surges during combat.
"You'll feel like you've chugged ten cans of Black Lace in under a minute."
By now, Riko was visibly sweating.
Kay noticed.
"You don't have to install them all right now. Just think it over. But if we're going to survive in this city, you need more than a trigger finger."
Riko hesitated, looking at the dusty pile again.
"…All right. Let's do it. If I'm going down, I might as well go down with style."
Kay clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit."
---
Hours later.
Riko lay on the operating slab, groaning.
His left hand had been replaced with the Five-Finger Heart-Plucker. The shoulder turret sat snugly on a new harness mount embedded into his spine. And the spinal stim? Already interfacing with his nervous system.
"Holy shit…" he muttered, blinking.
The targeting overlay flickered across his optics. HUD elements danced like Arasaka BDs. For the first time in his life, Riko Vega felt dangerous.
Kay leaned back, arms crossed. "Congratulations. You're now 80% more badass."
"And 300% more killable," Riko muttered.
"Details."
---
Later that night, Kay stared at the city skyline from the rooftop of the Puff Bar.
Neon bled into the clouds like veins across the sky. From here, the world looked quiet—like a lie told beautifully.
But he knew better.
This wasn't a city of peace. It was a battleground. And he had just taken his first step from scavenger… to contender.
"Mechanical Overlord System," he muttered under his breath. "Let's see how far we can push this."