-Diary Log 7/15/2054-
Dear Diary,
Today was the day I got my first augment, a basic biomonitor. I still can’t shake off the overwhelming fear that gripped me as I sat in that sterile medical chair, the chill of the room seeping into my bones. Back in my old world, surgeries like this were nearly unthinkable; the idea of implanting a machine into my body felt like something straight out of a nightmare.
As the doctor administered the anesthetic, I remember the sting of the needle and the sudden plunge into darkness. When I woke, a part of me felt altered, as if the lines between flesh and machine were beginning to blur. I couldn’t help but think of the warnings from Cyberpunk 2077 and Cyberpunk Edgerunners—of cyberpsychosis and the loss of self—and it scared me more than I expected.
I’m terrified that this new part of me could one day spiral out of control, that I might lose who I truly am in the process. Yet, there’s a part of me that knows this is the only way forward in this harsh new world. Each beat of my heart now carries the risk of becoming a ticking time bomb, but also the promise of survival.
For now, I cling to hope and the belief that I can survive this fusion of humanity and technology—even if it means facing my deepest fears every day.
That’s all for today,
Ellia
-Log end-
Night City, 2064
I woke to a sterile white light and the steady hum of machines. The trauma ward was a study in clinical detachment—sleek panels, blinking diagnostics, and an undercurrent of controlled urgency. As my vision sharpened, a gruff voice broke through the haze.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," said the MedTech doctor, his tone blending professional detachment with a wry humor, as if repairing cybernetic bodies were just another day's work. He leaned over me, checking my vitals on a floating holo-screen. "Your cyberdeck is fried beyond repair. You pushed it hard—overclocked it far past human limits. Not many can handle that kind of abuse. Maxtac would probably have you on the payroll if you weren’t at Biotechnica. That kind of cyberware tolerance is rare." His low chuckle, dark and unsettling, held an odd admiration.
My recovery day unfolded in segments, each interaction a reminder of the cold calculus that governed my existence. Early in the morning, in the recovery suite, I sat quietly while coworkers gathered in the common area away from the sterile beeps and clinical white walls.
Toby was the first to approach. His normally reserved demeanor softened with genuine concern as he sat at a battered metal table, worn smooth by long hours.
“Ellia, we’ve talked to the medtechs. You’re not in perfect shape, but you’re stable. Just remember—don’t overdo it next time,” he said, corporate efficiency mingling with personal care.
I managed a tired smile as I took a seat across from him. “I guess I pushed it too far. My cyberdeck’s completely fried. I knew I shouldn’t have overclocked it so far, but it was my only way out,” I admitted, running a hand over my temple as if trying to massage the memory of pain away.
Toby’s dark eyes met mine steadily. “We all have our limits. You’re a valuable asset, Ellia—not just for your skills but because your endurance is… remarkable. Just take it one step at a time.”
Not long after, Samantha arrived with a gentle smile that brightened the clinical atmosphere. Pulling up a chair beside me, she said warmly, “Hey, Ellia, I've missed you. I just wanted to wish you a smooth recovery. I know it’s tough, but you’re strong.”
I managed a small smile, eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and quiet weariness. “Thanks, Samantha. It’s been rough, but I’m hanging in there.”
She reached out, resting a comforting hand on my arm. “Take all the time you need. Don’t worry about anything else right now—just focus on healing. Sometimes, it’s the little moments of kindness that get us through the hardest days.” Her words were a small anchor in a storm of uncertainty.
“I appreciate that. It means a lot.”
Later that morning, my comm unit buzzed with a secure holo-call. I accepted it, and Director DuPont’s measured face appeared. His presence was clinical, his tone as cold and exact as the corporate systems we served.
“Ellia,” he said curtly, “I wanted to speak with you directly. Despite the complications—and your recent kidnapping—you managed to eliminate operative Changeling. Our agents are already cleaning up the scene.” His calculating eyes regarded me. “Your performance was noted. Even under duress, you executed your task.”
I kept my voice even, though resignation tinged my words. “Thank you, Director. I did what needed to be done.”
His tone softened just a fraction. “Your capability is rare. For now, focus on your recovery. Your continued function is critical to our long-term objectives.” With that, the call ended, leaving a heavy silence behind.
A few hours later, as the day edged into a quieter afternoon, the door to my recovery room opened again. This time, Clover entered, arriving separately from my earlier conversations. Carrying a small, carefully arranged bouquet of vibrant, lab-grown flowers, her presence was a warm contrast to the sterile corporate atmosphere.
“Hey, Ellia,” she said softly, offering a gentle smile and the bouquet. My eyes fixed on the bright, meticulously colored petals.
“Are these real?” I asked, my tone a blend of wonder and fatigue.
A mischievous glint danced in Clover’s eyes. “Real enough—if you call lab-grown real. I made them myself. In Night City, even a bit of natural beauty has to be engineered.”
“They’re beautiful,” I admitted quietly, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “It’s nice to have something that feels... genuine, even if it’s manufactured.”
Clover gently squeezed my hand. “Sometimes, it’s the little things that remind you there’s still warmth in this world. You deserve a break—even if it’s just for a few minutes.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
In that quiet moment, with the soft hum of recovery in the background, I felt a small measure of comfort.
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A Week Later – Biotechnica’s Executive Floor
I found myself walking the sterile, intimidating corridors of Biotechnica’s executive tower. The air was thick with the hum of high-voltage data streams and the efficiency of corporate architecture. My footsteps echoed on polished floors as I approached my father’s office—a sleek, glass-walled chamber that felt more like a fortified boardroom than a place of familial connection.
Inside, my father sat behind a massive, minimalist desk, his presence as commanding and impersonal as an executive delivering quarterly results. His steely gaze was fixed on a holographic display flickering with financial reports and strategic directives. The deliberate chill in the room made every word carry weight; each pauses heavy with unspoken judgment.
“Ellia,” he intoned, his voice low and measured—a blend of corporate authority and reluctant paternal care. “You’re here.”
I stepped forward, heart pounding, searching his face for any sign of concern. “Father,” I replied, steady yet edged with restrained emotion.
He gestured to a pair of chairs facing his desk. As I sat, the silence stretched—a void filled with boardroom ambitions and cold calculations. Finally, he spoke, each word deliberate.
“Your recovery has been satisfactory,” he began, his eyes scanning the latest performance reports. “You survived—against all odds.” He offered a subtle nod, acknowledging both my resilience and my liability.
A mix of defiance and resignation flickered in my eyes. “I did what I had to do. But I couldn’t help noticing that no one came looking for me. Not even a word from you.”
His expression hardened imperceptibly, his tone shifting to clinical detachment. “Had you perished, Ellia, you’d have been deemed an unworthy investment. Our priorities lie with outcomes and efficiency. I trust you understand that the cost of failure is far too high in our line of work.”
Each syllable weighed on me—a reminder that I was as much a tool as I was a daughter, a cog in a colossal machine. “I understand,” I said softly, bitterness edging my voice. “But understanding doesn’t erase being left behind.”
For a long, heavy moment, he regarded me with calculated approval and a fleeting hint of regret. “Your performance, despite the setbacks, has proven your value. I am wiring you the necessary funds to cover your medical expenses—and extra for the new cyberdeck and additional chrome upgrades. Consider it an investment in your survival and efficiency.”
My eyes narrowed as I processed both the transaction and his words. “An investment,” I repeated with reluctant irony. “So if I had died, I would have been considered disposable?”
There was a pause as if he were balancing duty with family. “Disposable assets are a risk no corporation can afford.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “I’ll never understand your fear of cyberware, but your reluctance almost cost you your life.”
The conversation hovered between cold corporate pragmatism and the faint echoes of familial warmth. My heart clenched as I absorbed his words—a man whose decisions were dictated by balance sheets, not bedside concern.
After a long silence, I spoke, my voice tentative yet resigned. “I’ll get the new cyberdeck and the upgrades. I’ll do what’s required.”
His gaze, as unyielding as the data on his screen, softened ever so slightly—a brief acknowledgment of my compliance and worth, however calculated. “Good. Remember, Ellia, your hesitation about cyberware has kept you grounded until now. But to thrive in our realm, you must evolve. In time, you’ll see that our path, while harsh, is the only way to secure our future.”
As I leave the room, I turn back to my father, “Changeling seemed to have some personal grudge against you,” I questioned.
He looked up, his steely eyes briefly hardening. “Ellia,” he said in a clipped tone, “you do not have the clearance to know that information yet.”
His response left no room for further inquiry, reminding me that certain truths were reserved only for those at the top of our world. I nodded slowly, the weight of his words mingling with the cold certainty of our corporate reality as I turned to continue my journey down the corridor.
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Later That Week – Integrated Augmentation Suite
When I got the message that my cyberware had arrived, I was sent to Biotechnica’s integrated augmentation suite —a clinical chamber of cold efficiency where every implant was installed seamlessly. Dr. Alric Veran, expression neutral and precise, reviewed the final checklist on his holo-display before beginning.
“Ellia,” he intoned in a measured tone, “today we’ll be installing your full set of upgrades as per your father’s directives. First, we’re replacing your cyberdeck.” He glanced at his laptop screen and added, “A Biotech Σ MK4. Do try not to remove the safety limiters on this one. This cyberdeck costs quite the pretty penny, and they’re not even in public circulation yet.”
I responded with a nod that Dr. Veran acknowledged, his expression impassive. “Alongside the new deck, we’re upgrading your Self-ICE. I’ve installed a more robust baseline, but there’s also an option for Anti-Personnel Black ICE.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “That module is designed to neutralize any hacker who dares breach your defenses—effectively lethal. I understand you’re hesitant about such extreme measures.”
My eyes flickered with uncertainty. “I’m not sure I want a defense that could kill someone if they try to hack me. It feels… excessive.”
“Excessive, perhaps, but necessary in our environment,” Dr. Veran replied, his tone softening just enough to hint at concern. “We’ll also install a blood pump into your circulatory system to guarantee that your new components receive optimal power and nutrients. Nano plating and nano fibers will be integrated into your integumentary system to reinforce your skin at a molecular level, and your standard kiroshis will be replaced with kiroshi clairvoyents— an augmentation that should improve your scanning capabilities.”
Dr. Veran paused, his eyes scanning the file. “Next, we will implant an Ex-Disk into your frontal cortex. This implant will increase your RAM capacity and significantly improve quickhack upload speed. It’s a routine procedure here, but its benefits are considerable. ”
Dr. Veran’s tone then shifted as he brought up the final mandate. “Your father now requires the installation of a smart link. This device will allow you to interface with smart weapons—firearms equipped with tracking bullets—and is a non-negotiable upgrade. Once all procedures are complete, you will also be directed to the Biotechnica Armory to pick up the smart weapon he has ordered. That should be everything.”
Before Dr. Veran could proceed further, I hesitated, my voice barely above a whisper. “Dr. Veran… I’ve been considering something else. Could we, perhaps, integrate a monowire as well? I know it’s not standard, but… I think it might help in close-quarter situations.”
He regarded me with a brief, cautious pause. “A monowire upgrade is available, but be advised: its integration is complex. Its effective use demands precise calibration, and the additional strain on your neural interface can be challenging. It’s not a standard part of our protocol, but given your current capacity I could include it. You understand this is a calculated risk. I’d recommend the basic combat monowire chipware provided with the premium monowire package deal.”
I nodded, my eyes narrowing slightly as a mix of reluctance and resolve crossed my features. “I understand. I need every advantage I can get.”
After making me sign a contract saying that all cyberware officially is within Biotechnica control and can be disabled if I violate company policy, Dr. Veran turned back to me. “Remember, your cyberware tolerance was engineered from childhood—your father subjected you to multiple biological modifications to increase that threshold. Many corporate born children have nearly fifty percent more augmentation than what we’re proposing. You have an edge, and I suggest you take advantage of it.”
A long silence followed as the machinery whirred around us. Though I felt inward conflict, I met Dr. Veran’s unyielding gaze with resigned determination. “I…I’ll proceed with all the upgrades,” I said softly. “I know I need these augmentations to stay competitive.”
Dr. Veran inclined his head, his voice clinical and devoid of personal sentiment. “Very well, Ellia. We will now begin the integrated operation. These procedures—your new cyberdeck, enhanced Self-ICE, blood pump, nano plating, kiroshi clairvoyents, Ex-Disk, monowire, RAM recoup augment, and smart link—are standard within your corporate family package. I will initiate the process now.”
Surrounded by advanced machinery's sterile hum and corporate protocol's cold cadence, I closed my eyes, and the world went black.