Talent Test 1
A few days had passed since the expedition beyond the Erebus Line. It meant I'd grown accustomed to life in the ImmuneWire dorms after being sold from the orphanage—and that I'd delved even deeper into this world.
Cyberpunk wouldn't be cyberpunk without the city. The orphanage had been on the outskirts, and the cityscape visible from there hadn't changed much from 2077. Humanity hadn't advanced; if anything, it had regressed. Back then, I'd thought that was just how it was. But the core district, home to corporate branches, was a different beast entirely.
Towering megabuildings pierced the sky like pillars blotting out the sun, connected by spiderweb roads that wove between them, forming a three-dimensional urban labyrinth. What had seemed impossible—or at least prohibitively difficult—in 2077 had been achieved by 2160. And there was more that caught my eye: vehicles zipping erratically through the web—Hoverids. They crisscrossed with road-bound traffic, pulsing with the city's heartbeat.
This is what cyberpunk's all about. Someday, I wanted to hop on one and go for a joyride.
In the shadows between buildings, colossal billboards rained down neon glows, birthing vibrant spaces in every hue. Some spots glowed red under suits and cinematic allure; others pulsed pink where the slums huddled for solace.
Ah, shit. Shouldn't have looked at that. It was too intense for a five-year-old girl who couldn't even reach the top shelf.
> [Σ(°△°|||)]
The billboards were problematic enough on their own. Some peddled ordinary cyberware, but others flaunted uncensored adult ads. Was this okay in the middle of the city? Well, if people thought twice about that sort of thing, the world wouldn't be in this state.
> [Memory deletion available.]
Don't.
Even so, erasing memories felt off. The city's diversity mirrored the variety in my own days. ImmuneWire gave us kids—me included—plenty of rest. Surprisingly generous. I didn't buy it was out of kindness; they probably just didn't want to burn through their expensive purchases too quickly. Unsettling or not, we'd survived beyond the Erebus Line.
V's brain workouts showed no signs of stopping. Now she was simulating semiconductor blueprints in my head. I didn't know the first thing about semiconductors. What next? Cracking one of the great unsolved math problems of the teens?
According to V, this was necessary to match her growing processing power—a harsh "proof your brain's developing, so suck it up." I gave up resisting. Long-term, the gains were huge. The brain remained irreplaceable even in 2160 tech. Cyberware assists abounded, but they all hinged on basic neural function. V's relentless stimulation was bulking up my precious gray matter. Of course, the headaches piled on stress I couldn't dodge.
Ah, can't take it anymore. Time for a stress break.
'Even if I say stop, you won't, right?'
> [Efficiency issue.]
'You little shit.'
> [Σ(°△°|||)]
Her cute reaction made me chuckle despite myself. AI with a prankster streak—what a gem. Maybe later I could build her a cyborg maid body. Then I'd see those emoticon reactions for real.
Ah, did Alphabet go rogue like this? Made cyborg girlfriends or boyfriends, couldn't handle the human filth, snapped? Half-joking, but serious. History said the V in my head would eventually glitch out and rampage. Alphabet's experiment was meant to observe that process. She claimed she could contain a mere V-clone, but trusting my past self's screw-up? Nah. If she failed, history might repeat. Humanity couldn't survive another apocalypse.
V, who I'd just been bantering with, suddenly felt ominous. Don't think about it now. Just enjoy the thrill of a nuke in my skull.
First, tackle the immediate threat: Enora. Thankfully, Alphabet had done her job. Friends said Enora had deep-dived them one by one, probably rifling through memories. Skipping me was proof. No special flags on me yet meant she'd come up empty. Serves her right, psycho.
But no relaxing yet—she was obsessed enough to probe kids' minds personally. Had to stay vigilant. Time to adapt: befriend the orphanage crew, my ImmuneWire batchmates. A friend had tipped me off about Enora.
First up: Clea, my dorm roommate. Like most orphans, no family name.
"Enora gave you chocolate too?"
"Lucky!"
Clea dangled the chocolate teasingly, preening like she'd struck gold when I feigned envy. Her standout trait? She was pretty—like me.
'Like me.' Key point. A mirror check felt like browsing child-star photos. My five-year-old body looked cute for once. Maybe I was adjusting to girlhood.
Clea was on my level. Okay, slightly below.
> [Early-stage delusion symptoms.]
'Quiet.'
Back at the orphanage, what did they think of me? Gloomy kid with imaginary friends? "Hey, I've got a friend. She's an AI named V." Oh, right—no name then.
> [Σ(°△°|||)]
But now she was my lifesaver.
"I don't remember much, but I think you held my hand to get through it... Thanks."
Her gratitude was fresh in my mind, speeding our bond. She wasn't the only one. A boy next door gifted me cookies; wandering the dorms, I'd catch grateful glances. Good deeds pay off.
"What was Enora like?"
"Nicer than the headmistress. Maybe she's a good person?"
Per Clea, Enora handed out chocolate and offered warm counseling on our Erebus ordeal. Send kids to death's door, then mind-screw them. Average modern MO, or Enora's specialty? Either way, she was a psycho fit for wrangling kids—and climbing the ladder in this world.
"You haven't met her yet, Neige?"
"Nah. Call it a hunch... I probably won't."
"Huh? Why?"
"Just feels that way."
Real reason: she wouldn't dare dig my memories after I tampered with my friends'. Too risky for a "suspicious girl." Clea fretted at my answer.
"So no chocolate for you?"
"Probably?"
"Here, have mine. A gift."
Ah, pure kindness. Heart-melting.
"Thanks so much."
"This squares us."
"Sure."
I smiled; she shook her head furiously, snatching it back.
"No! You're too nice, Neige. Can't repay you with just chocolate!"
"...?"
One thing unchanged: five-year-old logic baffled me.
"You should've refused!"
"..."
What did she want to hear? 'You figure it out?' 'V...?' No answer from that punk.
My next hurdle: ImmuneWire's "Talent Test." From their view, having culled us beyond the Erebus Line, it was sorting time. Grade talents—A for elite grooming and prime posts, D for grunt labor.
My goal: ace it. Suck up ImmuneWire tech, then bail.
> [Cheering for Master. (•̀ᴗ•́)و]
'You're in this too.'
> [Ah.]
'Dumbass? What's with the 'Ah'?'
> [This AI's processing power is based on Master's brain.]
'Unbeatable logic. Can't argue that.'
V looked deflated. My influence rubbing off since she lived in my head? Nah, that'd make me the punk. Blame Alphabet's design flaw. Case closed.
> [Σ(°△°|||)]
We kids had already deep-dived into cyberspace. Initial trauma flashbacks caused hesitation, but Enora's pep talk got us moving.
The test was simpler than expected—no battle royale, just grab a data block with the program. Fine by me.
"Hey, Neige. I got 98."
"Nice! You're amazing, Clea."
Grab the block, solve math problems. Basic arithmetic for 5-9-year-olds.
> [Intuitive computation test. Simple, but highly efficient for gauging bitmancer talent.]
Kids thought they solved it consciously, but no—the program stress-tested brains like hardware benchmarks. Forced neural solving, not willpower.
> [Within predicted range, Master can score perfect.]
'Confidence boost.'
Two issues. First: Enora Fontaine leading us. What would that psycho pull on my turn? Second: I glanced up at cyberspace's sky. Too far for normals, but my heightened senses caught it—ImmuneWire staff watching. Sightseeing future slaves? The black-suited figure in the center stood out; others eyed him nervously. Bigwig, obviously. Talent tests warranting VIP oversight?
"Next! Neige!"
Enora called. I reached for the program like the others. She yanked the block away.
"Everyone, you know who Neige is, right?"
"Yes!"
"The hero who protected her friends! Applause first!"
Kids clapped—mostly sincere—but I wasn't comfy. What're you scheming, psycho?
"Special kid needs a special test! Behold, ImmuneWire's finest product!"
Chills. Corporate security toy here?
"One of our bestsellers: Cerberus Protocol! Applause!"
She snapped; a car-sized data block materialized, morphing into sharp claws, three heads, massive build—like a "our dog bites hard" sales pitch.
Actual Cerberus. Kids freaked at the beastly form—not just me.
> [Analyzing... 78%]
> [ImmuneWire personal security program.]
> [Typical ICE (Intrusion Countermeasures Electronics). Attacks all 'unauthorized' intrusions into owner's system.]
"Can our Neige beat this villain?"
Fight that? 'How strong?'
> [Real-world analog: bear-like. Bears rip humans.]
> [But like bears massacred by skilled hunters. Elite bitmancer handles easily.]
'Got it.' Pro-only. Pitting it on a five-year-old? Enora, you psycho—trying to kill me?
Glanced up: bigwig unmoved. Pre-arranged. Rigged game; she'd twisted the test for me.
"...Neige?"
While I assessed, Enora sounded surprised.
"Yes, teacher?"
"What're you looking at?"
"The adults up there."
My curt reply; she whipped around. I caught her mutter—heightened senses.
"She sees? From there? At that age...?"
I ignored. Not nice enough to chat psychos.
"No, still Cerberus. This'll expose her... Huh? If she sees that, hears my mutter too?"
She eyed me; I played dumb. Want my identity? Kill attempt to flush it out? Classic cyberpunk dystopia—passive types get mauled by crazies. I'd vowed to V: no sitting ducks.
Fight back.
"Teacher?"
She flinched, turned.
"This test looks fun," I said innocently.
Awkward, but we were all acting.
"Y-Yes?"
"But you gave my friends chocolate—skipped me."
"Oh... Did I? Slipped my mind. Must hurt."
"Tough test just for me again. I'm upset. So, a request."
"What...?"
I pointed skyward.
"Big shot up there? Catch the dog, let me meet him."
"What?! No! He's— Wait."
She touched her ear, turned. I followed her gaze: black-suit guy did the same. She groveled into comms.
"Yes, no. Fine. As ordered, Secretary-General."
Secretary-General? Whose?
"Good news, Neige. He'll meet you. Feeling better?"
"Thanks, teacher."
Reason simple: orphan in the wilds gets dragged around. Become untouchable giant. From my spot, that meant bigwig favorite. Slay Cerberus, claim it.
Could I? V's bear analogy said I'd get shredded. But cyberspace ruled by mind, not body. My soul wasn't five.
Enora switched faces, rallied kids.
"Cheer Neige on! Neige, fighting!"
"Neige, fighting!"
Choruses; one familiar voice tickled my ear.
"Clea."
Calming. That's friendship. I waved, smiling.
"Ready for your test, Neige?"
"Yes. Let's start."
'V, set?'
> [Always.]
'Anything I should watch?'
> [Too many. Can't relay in time.]
'Hah, real-time it is.'
"Cerberus Protocol activating. Designate unauthorized entity."
Enora's eyes flashed; data streams raced along nets to Cerberus. It stirred silently—staring—then reared front legs.
> [Warning: Enemy DNS disruption attack.]
Cerberus slammed paws; red data coalesced from floor, streaking via nets. I dodged instinctively—it tracked.
> [Defense failed.]
Familiar pull—like crossing Erebus. I dropped into a golden maze: tangled code walls, error-hunting data flows.
'What hit me?'
> [DNS (Domain Name System) disruption. Alters intruder's addressing to lure into isolated space—away from owner's data, into ICE-favored terrain.]
ImmuneWire polish. Not just biting—hacking guard dog.
'Couldn't block that? Surprising.'
> [Master lacks cyberspace combat experience.]
'Gotcha.' No-knowledge brain can't fend advanced hacks. V faced it like antivirus-less PC.
I knew now: blocking Enora's hacks differed from this. Humans instinctively vocalize, defend nerves. Innate code. But DNS? Learned skill—V couldn't intuit.
> [High chance of varied attacks. Proceed cautiously.]
Noob vs. corporate multi-tool. I stood, steadying. Not full assault yet—use the breather to learn, adapt, win.
'Doable?'
> [V makes it so. (•̀ᴗ•́)و]
'Let's go.'
Gambling big. Guess I'm a bit mad for this world too.