Birds Of A Feather, Chapter 1.i (Patreon)

1.i

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His name was Don Garner.

He was an employee of Night Corp, a public facing Immigration Agent at the Department of City Affairs.

He would sit at his desk, doing whatever work he had been assigned while he waited for people to come. Since he didn’t have a regular schedule, his boss usually just dumped whatever she didn’t feel like doing on him. When the Corporations shipped more people in, then he would do his official job, and stay late so that his boss didn’t dock pay on the unofficial tasks.

All he had to do was be a face for Night Corp. His job was to get people registered and put them in the system. Simple.

Apparently, enough people had messed up over the years Social Navigation implants had become mandatory for the job. A full suite of Phonics, Microexpression Controllers, Muscle Exerters, and analytic programs, tuned to make every face turned to the public the best possible one.

Don strived to live a regular life. Simple. Clean.

For this, he’d picked up the rules over time. Some of the most important were equally simple.

Success was desirable, but not overachievement. Your boss was not your friend or your ally. Anything that happened was your fault unless you could prove it. Proving it wasn’t always worth it. Where there’s opportunity, there’s danger. Sometimes, the danger is worth it.

Above all else, however: Do not become involved with the powerful. That never ends well.

Don kept his head down. He worked his eighteen hour days, enjoyed the single hour he had to himself, enjoyed the five hours of sleep he received, and whenever a Corpo came by, he did exactly what they wanted and did his best to fade from memory. Most of the time, it worked, and most people who he saw more than once didn’t know it.

Today had been like any other.

Then the Exotic had walked through the door.

Tall was the first thought that went through his head, followed immediately by fucking huge. Easily twice the height of any man that he’d ever met, and taller than any mech on top of that. His Kiroshi Optics agreed, and estimated that a full standing height would be approximately four meters.

The inhuman features came after that. The shape was humanoid, but that was it. Otherwise, the best way to describe them was ‘birdlike’. They had feathers, well-kept and so utterly clean that his Optics detected no filth whatsoever. A large torso mixed with a narrow waist that then went back into sharp, wide hips with long and lithe legs. The face was beaked, features narrow, with two glowing blue eyes that swept across the room, staring intensely.

He’d never seen anything like it. Biotechnica’s famous packages had shown nothing like this, and a quick query to his Internal Agent returned no concrete results. Not just an Exotic, but custom work.

They were wearing something long and flowing, which looked like it would cost more money than he would earn in ten years, being of such obviously high quality and custom production that it couldn’t be anything other than artisanal work, made of materials that his Optics couldn’t even identify.

This was not just the average rich, like the kinds of high-ranking Corpos that could be replaced by any other Corpo with no differences. No, this was eccentric rich, and that rarely meant anything good.

Then the bird-person met his gaze, and started walking over. The most important rule had been broken, and he started to scream internally even as his Social Navigation Suite immediately activated. His body was guided to what the software that his job had provided declared to be the ‘most optimal’ way of dealing with this. Loading bars flashed in the corners of his vision as dedicated analysis software booted up.

Target: Unknown. Exotic Bioplan. No known matches. Extreme height. Focus clear and consistent. CyberPsychosis signs negative. Modification extensive. Custom work: //BOOK FOR ANALYSIS//. Conclusion: Target is Extreme Value Client.

Extreme Value Client was there for the very rich. It was good that his Cyberware agreed.

Biopatterns unknown. Body control exceptional. Social prediction module Confidence: Low. flashed across his vision, and the only reason that Don didn’t break out into a sweat was because of his ‘ware saving him.

As such, Don did the one thing he’d always done, and let his Cyberware do it for him.

When the Exotic speaks, it's with a voice that is strong but not overly loud. There is a secondary harmonic that gives the voice a unique tinge.

The words are simple, direct, and terrifying in the expectation that they carry. This is not a person to be ignored.

Inwardly, he prayed to Richard Night that his Company hadn’t failed in their design.

At the very least, it seemed to work.

The Exotic wanted registration. Don did not ask why. Don was not paid to ask why, only to get the job done. Don was not paid to speculate, and also wasn’t dumb enough to try.

Whatever the rich, dangerous person wanted, whatever their reasons, many as they could be, he didn’t want to know.

With the value assessment, his Cyberware is in complete agreement.

His Cyberware guided him as his body stood, absolute surety of design taking the place of flawed Humanity. His body led the Exotic to a private room, which was only sensible for such a client. His mouth began a typical spiel, his head turning back just often enough that his Optics could track the Exotic’s expression and body language regularly, all the better to acquire data for his algorithms.

Neither changed. More warnings sprung up in front of his eyes, text boxes indicating failures to analyse, and in turn failures to personalise actions and reactions.

And so, his system stuck to the script.

“Registration is quick and easy, if you are willing to provide limited access to your Neuroport-”

“No.” The Exotic stated, simply but firmly.

His system stuttered for a moment, analysing the response and trying to compare it to pre-existing data and contextual clues. His Optics briefly turned back to the Exotic, a variety of modules activating as they started to scan-

The Exotic’s eyes flicked down to meet his Optics. An eyebrow raised very slightly. The analysis module threw up a message, and before he’d even started to read it, the scan shut off as well.

The Exotic’s face returned to its previous unreadable expression.

“Of course.” His mouth continued. “I’m afraid that all other methods are more time-consuming-”

“Acceptable.” The Exotic spoke, again.

EVC aware and disapproving of scanning. Disabling in-depth examination. He finally finished reading, and now wondered how close he’d just come to dying.

His body reached the destination. The door opened in front of him, and his body stepped backwards with a slight bow, offering the room to the Exotic.

With not even a hint of hesitation, the Exotic swept inside, again ducking through the door in a movement that was somehow still elegant despite the fact that they were bending to nearly two thirds of their height to do it.

His body walked in afterwards, closing the door behind him. His mouth opened-

“Forms 6A, 6B, and 7E.” The Exotic spoke before he could, briefly looking at the chair before rising to full height again. “Physical copies are necessary. All others are irrelevant. Costs are acceptable.”

A brief pause as his Cyberware registered that, and then connected to the local Net before accessing the forms and related documentation question. “Due to local city laws, payment is required-”

Before his mouth even finished his sentence, the Exotic had reached into their cloak and withdrew a series of physical notes.

With a single, smooth motion, the Exotic spread them diagonally across the table, each note left exactly one centimetre out of alignment with the next, leaving their numbers revealed.

Precision of placement higher than than error detection of KIROSHI™ Optics. Precision Cyberware exceeding public parameters. Exact denomination match. Possesses knowledge of Night City Legal Code exceeding common parameters.

His heart tried to start beating faster. His Adrenal Monitor put a stop to that.

“Your preparation is excellent, and appreciated.” His mouth spoke, even as his hand gathered the spread notes so that his Optics could scan and mark them. His hand bundled them and opened a drawer, putting them away, his Optics briefly lighting with a blue glow as his Cyberware sent files to the printer. “Just a moment, please.”

The Exotic’s face didn’t change. Their body was so still that it was only their slight breathing that made it move at all.

The printer couldn’t print fast enough.

His body walked over to it just in time to catch the last paper, his other hand reaching out to take a Night Corp™ CyberPen that he hoped still worked since most of them hadn’t been touched since they’d moved to this building.

His body handed all of them to the Exotic, and, before he could even make the offer to allow the table to be used, the Exotic had curled the papers slightly and pressed the tip of the CyberPen to the first.

Their hand moved so fast that it blurred, even his Optics unable to properly keep up. With quick, efficient, and yet still elegantly flowing movements, the CyberPen flew across the papers, before, with a single flick of a taloned finger, the entire first page was launched into the air.

It fluttered, twisting and spinning, before its aerodynamics guided it to land directly on the top of his table, facing perfectly towards him.

His Optics scanned the page. He only had time to note the utterly immaculate writing that balanced clarity with elegance before the second page drifted underneath it, stopping right as they aligned perfectly.

Precision implants exceed all known parameters.

Don came to the abrupt realization that there was more going on here than just an eccentric ultra-rich. Don tried very hard to not think about it.

The third page joined the other two. “Quick and efficient.” His mouth praised. “We must thank you for allowing this progress so quickly!” His mouth smiled, and his head looked up to meet the Exotic’s gaze.

It didn’t change. His Cyberware switched tracks immediately.

He gathered the pages, quickly flipping through all three to register the details as he moved over to the scanner. All three were placed directly next to each other, and then he let the machine run.

Before he had time to blink, the files were scanned, and passed through the local Net to the mainframe. That machine processed it, looking for errors, and obviously found none because it immediately sent back another task. The printer whirred to life, and his body walked over to it, picking up a few neatly printed pieces of paper.

“Thank you for coming to us today, and may I say, welcome to Night City.” His mouth smiled. “There’s no place in the world quite like the City on the Edge of Tomorrow.” His mouth said as he offered the papers. “How would you rate our service?”

“Sufficient.” The Exotic states, taking the papers and tucking them away into their robes.

It takes his Cyberware a moment to realize that this was all that is going to be offered, and so it continues shortly. “Do you have any other business with us today?”

“No.” Was the very blunt and entirely expected answer.

His head nodded, body moving over to the door and opening it again. “Then please, enjoy your time in Night City.”

The Exotic swept out of the room without saying a word. The door shortly closed on its own.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, still standing absolutely still. “That was so fucking tense.”

He flicks the Social Navigation Suit off for a moment. Sweat immediately beads on his head, his heart starting to thump in his chest. His next breath is shaky.

So, of course, it’s at that moment that a message pops up in his vision.

BOSS: What just happened there?

BOSS: Get in my office immediately, I want an explanation.

Today was a bad day.