May 2, 2067
Alex Mitchell (Volkov) POV
"Well, that definitely works," I muttered, watching the monitor as a small colony of nanobots performed a relatively simple task — merging with one another. Then I shifted my attention to the glass enclosure where the process was physically taking place, noting how a thin strip began to form, reminiscent of iron filings.
The idea of creating multiple command centers had clearly paid off. Of course, I'd still need to integrate them with a more powerful processing unit, but the mere fact that this approach worked at all was a win in my book. The concept itself hit me on a whim: I'd been banging my head against this problem for ages, trying to make the entire colony function the way I wanted, but all I got was chaos — every bot reacting at once, executing commands simultaneously, resulting in nothing but pure, unfiltered anarchy.
Obviously, that level of disorder was never going to yield anything useful.
Luckily, Vega and I managed to come up with a simple yet brilliant solution: we gave the colony a hierarchy. As a test, Vega designed a "queen" unit that could take control of a specific group of subordinates. The result? The nanobots started carrying out their tasks with more precision, instead of all swarming the target at once. The accuracy still needed serious improvement, but I already had a plan for that.
I planned to "train" the colony, the same way I'd done countless times before with neural networks. Done properly, each iteration would refine the bots' performance, cutting down execution times until they reached the level of efficiency I wanted.
At first, Vega would be the one handling their "training." She already had extensive experience in this area, so there was no better candidate.
"Dad!"
I barely had time to savor my small breakthrough before Lucy and Roxy burst into the room, loudly announcing their arrival.
"All right, all right, I'm finished for now," I said, raising my hands in mock surrender as I turned to face my two sulking daughters.
"Are you sure?" Lucy asked, eyeing me suspiciously from head to toe, as if searching for any hint of deceit.
"Scout's honor," I replied solemnly. She probably didn't know the exact meaning behind the phrase, but my tone was enough to show I meant business.
So, I put my research on pause for a few hours to spend time with my family. Honestly, I didn't mind. Sometimes, stepping away from work is crucial — doing something entirely different can clear your head in a way nothing else can.
Spending time with my adopted daughters wasn't just a break — it was a reset, a chance to shake off the mental exhaustion that had built up after days of nonstop focus.
Maybe my body was finally starting to feel the strain of repetitive work — something I'd never really experienced before.
So it turns out even I have limits. Probably best not to push them.
If you think about it, my family and I really do need more downtime. Back when we lived with the nomads, life was so much simpler. All the tribe's responsibilities were shared among its members, but now we're stuck doing most things ourselves. We definitely need a few more hands. The only issue is finding people who won't run their mouths or, worse yet, stab us in the back.
After spending some time with the girls, I decided to quit putting the conversation off and went to talk to Kiwi. Conveniently, she was nearby.
"Alex, did you need something?" Kiwi looked up at me curiously, momentarily lifting her gaze from her tablet.
"I wanted to talk about expanding our staff," I say, settling into the chair next to her and giving her a pointed look.
"Do you already have someone in mind?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Honestly, I was hoping you could help," I admit, scratching the back of my neck in mild embarrassment.
"And why are you only bringing this up now?" Kiwi heaves a dramatic sigh, setting her tablet down. "All right, I do have someone in mind. You know Gloria, right?" She waits for me to nod before continuing. "She's smart, and she won't blab. Plus, you get along with her husband. She works as an EMT and has solid knowledge. She could be my assistant for a while — then we'll see how it goes."
"She sounds perfect. Jeremy was just complaining the other day that his wife nearly got shot at work — again. Hey, Kiwi, I have a favor to ask…" I trail off suggestively.
"Fine, I'll talk to her myself," Kiwi says, rolling her eyes. "What would you do without me?" When I shrug, she sighs again, then adds almost casually, "Chocolate. Two bars." She names her price with a playful flip of her blonde hair.
"I bow to your will," I say, giving her a mock bow.
"Now off you go," she says, waving me away with a gesture that practically means "Shoo, I'm busy."
Leaving her workspace, I head back to mine in a great mood. In the reception area, Vega is seated as usual, reading a scientific article with her trademark indifferent expression. On either side of her, my girls are happily demolishing the snacks I stashed in advance. Their cyber-pets are curled up next to them, half-dozing like lazy cats. All in all, it's a cozy, familiar scene.
"Ugh, back to work," I sigh.
***
May 5, 2067
Rache Bartmoss – Unknown Domain in Cyberspace
"I never thought you'd actually agree to meet me in person, Alt." Bartmoss eyed the woman's avatar with a barely concealed smirk.
"The years you've spent clinging to that dying body must have warped your mind, Rache. Do you really think you stand a chance against me?" she asked, her tone dripping with confidence despite her calm facade.
Decades of living as a digitized consciousness wreak havoc on empathy; no one knew that better than Bartmoss. It was the main reason he refused to sever his tenuous link to his own failing body. He wanted to preserve that last sliver of humanity in his personality.
"The same could be said about you, Alt," Bartmoss went on. "All those years in this state have turned the so-called 'greatest netrunner in Night City' into a pale imitation of her former self. What do you think Silverhand would say if he saw you now?"
"Don't you dare mention that bastard's name." Alt's avatar twisted as though in sudden pain, momentarily glitching. Simulating strong emotions demanded a lot of processing power, so it wasn't surprising that she briefly lost control of her pseudo-body.
"Did he really get so deep under your skin? Still clinging to memories of him?"
"What do you want, Rache?" Alt cut him off, eager to drop the subject. "I doubt you came here just to annoy me."
"Fine, let's talk business." Bartmoss cleared his throat theatrically before turning serious. "What did they promise you to make you cooperate?" he asked bluntly, prepared to strike at any moment.
"A body," Alt answered without hesitation. "The AIs promised I could finally feel alive again. It seemed like a fair trade."
"So that's it… You were that easy to buy?"
"What do you even know?!" Alt snapped, leaning in until her face nearly touched his. "Arasaka took everything from me and forced me to digitize my consciousness. Do you have any idea what someone goes through in that process?" Her voice rose, and her form flickered with digital interference.
"They took my daughter for one of their damned experiments!" Bartmoss shot back just as heatedly, then his tone dropped. "You think I can't understand?"
"Either way, I'm done dwelling on the past. They offered me a deal I found… irresistible. I made my choice, just like you made yours."
"Maybe I can offer you something better," the netrunner said quietly. "Did you really think I came here empty-handed?"
"Planning to buy me off?" Alt asked with a knowing smirk.
"I've got a very talented apprentice. If you help us, we'll return the favor. Same terms — but the guarantee is much stronger than what you're getting right now."
"So you're saying this apprentice of yours has comparable resources and influence?" Alt folded her arms, as though she'd almost forgotten such a gesture was possible.
"I'm not showing all my cards, but yes — he's got that kind of reach. You don't really believe those AIs will keep their word once they achieve their goals, do you? Don't play naïve, Alt. We both know how their electronic brains work, and the conclusions they'll draw."
"So basically, you're offering me the same shot in the dark. I need guarantees…"
"Unfortunately, my word is the only guarantee I can give for now." He paused, letting the silence draw out. "But you're aware something big is coming, right? In two years, a rather… interesting event. If even that doesn't sway you, then there's nothing left to discuss. Until then, I'm asking you not to interfere and to stay neutral. The fact that you agreed to meet me — and I'm not currently being swarmed by rogue AIs — tells me that little trio is still waiting on your signal, isn't it?"
"I've got to give you credit; your analytical instincts haven't failed you," Alt admitted. "Fine. I'll give you two years. And if this 'something' is as earthshaking as you claim, I'll be ready to back you."
"Glad we could see eye to eye," Rache replied with a smile. "One more thing, to commemorate our potential partnership…" He snapped his fingers, producing what looked like a small cube. "Here's some rather interesting intel I managed to swipe from one of their own. Hopefully it'll come in handy." With that, Bartmoss tossed the cube to Alt and vanished on the spot, leaving only a flicker of static behind.
"Information, you say?" Alt murmured, eyeing the cube and hesitating before connecting to it. After a few moments of deliberation, she finally uploaded the data to the server hosting her consciousness, filtering it through multiple layers. The process took only seconds, but when it was over, her avatar crackled with digital interference, her anger barely contained.
"So that's how it is… So the bastard survived after all…"
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