Transhumanism (1)
Transhumanism (1)
I sat in my chair and checked the joints of my hands and feet, testing them this way and that.
Drex, inside the hologram screen, watched me and spoke up.
[So, how is it? Everything seem okay?]
"Yeah."
No noise, and the sense of foreignness was minimal.
In other words, proof the cyberware implant had properly settled in.
Since Drex's skill was so superb, there was little worry that problems would arise, but because all implant surgeries could come with aftereffects, checking the progress was essential.
That was why Drex had made the call.
[Still, make sure you take the meds I prescribed.]
"I'm not a kid."
I shook the cola glass I was holding as a reply instead.
He meant the drugs containing things like immunosuppressants or nerve blockers.
Maybe because they weren't addictive, their effectiveness was lower.
Drex had handed me a whole armful of countless pills and ampoules.
Since I have the 'Weakness to Drugs' trait, I had to be careful with anything that went into my mouth.
It couldn't be helped.
I stuck my (burdensome) face close to the hologram screen and spoke to Drex, who was monitoring my condition.
"Honestly, if it weren't you, I'd have grabbed you by the collar."
[Anyway, the cyberware you'd been using was already an old model. It's about time you swapped it out. And since there were already cyberware implants installed, the surgery didn't take long. Just think of it like buying a few sets of clothes.]
"...A few sets of clothes, my ass."
Seriously.
This cyberpunk savage who calls replacing parts of your body 'buying clothes'...
I let out a light sigh.
When I went to Drex for 'implant scaling'—in other words, a checkup on the state of my cyberware—
My courageous choice (escape) had failed.
Thanks to that, I was forced to undergo an unexpected 'latest cyberware surgery.'
In my case, due to multiple negative physical traits, the strain on my body is greater than others.
So I was in a state where I had received the bare minimum surgical augmentation on joint areas for daily life assistance, or along structural lines like my spine.
It's a relief I already had cyberware joint implants installed, as Drex said; if the surgery time had gotten any longer, I honestly would have grabbed him by the collar.
Frankly, installing cyberware regardless of a person's own will is the kind of vicious act a 'radical transhumanist' group would commit.
Like the case of Maya, for example.
I don't need to go into lengthy detail about how much pain and emotional trauma Maya suffered because of it.
I let it slide only because Drex had considered me.
Actually, it's an illegal act to the degree you could report it to the NCPD.
I lay back in the chair and asked.
"So what exactly is better now?"
[Nothing much.]
Oh-ho.
[It's lighter in weight, the strength has increased, it's capable of self-repair even if broken, its sensitivity to bioware has improved a lot, and—ah. Well, you have no intention of getting bioware surgery anyway. So skip that, and then—.]
My ears were going to burst.
I summarized Drex's words briefly.
"So it's just improved overall, right?"
[In a word, yes.]
Drex replied to my words by snapping his fingers.
When did I ever quit mercenary work?
I shook my head side to side and didn't hold back the sigh that leaked out.
"...Haaa."
This was the problem with having an overly worried friend.
30. Transhumanism (1)
Corporations waging physical wars.
Hawaii turned into a radioactive sea by the aftermath of war.
The ideology of contempt for human life that emerged with the appearance of artificial wombs.
And so on and so forth.
If I were to list the strange things I felt after falling into this cyberpunk game world, I could list them endlessly from top to bottom.
But if I had to pick the strangest thing among them all, it was the transhumanism—in other words, the superhumanist ideology—that became famous with the advent of implants.
In a world where orcs fired machine guns, elves rode around on bikes, and dwarves piloted tactical exosuits, the character for 'human' (人) meant all races collectively.
For reference, it's even easier to understand when you consider that the recurring terrorist featured on NCB24, the main media outlet of Neon City, was a 'radical transhumanist' group.
The people of this world had a strong tendency to consider their own bodies as 'consumables.'
Honestly, inside my heart there was always a Confucian scholar-official wearing a traditional scholar's hat and shouting 'Gal!' lingering around.
'...Gal!! How dare you replace a part of the body your parents gave you with some machine!'
Wasn't there a saying: the body, hair, and skin are received from your parents?
I agreed with his opinion on that.
However, to argue that, it was questionable whether this body even had parents in the first place.
And besides, in order to survive this harsh cyberpunk world with such frail physical traits—
To me, 'cyberware' was not a choice but a necessity.
Personally, I had looked into bioware surgery for a very long time, too.
But unless I replaced my entire body with a prosthetic like the Chairman, it was impossible for me, who possessed multiple negative traits such as 'Frailty,' 'Feebleness,' and 'Slow Recovery.'
I didn't want to be hospitalized for months after a single surgery.
Anyway, as such, my adaptation to the tide of this world largely had nothing to do with my own will.
Because there was no choice in the first place.
"...Hm."
Still, my body definitely feels lighter.
It seemed new products are always better wherever you go.
Once I lifted my body up,
that sensation was definitely felt.
Actually, it was something I should have noticed immediately after the surgery.
But some Mage had (physically) grabbed my ankle, and a sticky situation occurred at the arcade I went to with Julia, so I hadn't had the time to pay attention to such minor details.
My body felt light, so that was good.
I checked the current time through my vision interface. It was too early for evening and too late for lunch.
Which meant—
it was the perfect time to laze around in bed.
The perks of being a (former) mercenary, (current) home security guard.
You can do what you want whenever you want.
I threw myself onto the bed in that state as if flying.
Come to think of it, why are there so many notifications?
I lightly operated my vision interface.
Notifications for missed calls and unread messages were piled up in abundance.
"......."
What the hell.
I checked the content of the messages first.
The very first message that came was as follows.
Sender: 'Merlin, The Great Archmage'
- This is the Merlin you saw earlier, pleased to meet you.
- Do you have any plans to learn magic soon, by any chance?
- I'm not nagging, of course.
- The only Mage must have a very busy schedule.
- Still, please contact me when you check this message.
The second message.
Sender: 'Merlin, The Great Archmage'
- The number shouldn't be wrong...
- Why aren't you checking my messages.
- Please reply for sure.
The messages that arrived after that all followed a similar pattern.
Sender: 'Merlin, The Great Archmage'
- If conversation via message is difficult, a phone call is fine too.
- Or you can tell me your game ID.
- You can become a true Mage.
- Please reply for sure.
Sender: 'Merlin, The Great Archmage'
- You fool.
- I sent that by mistake.
- If you're angry, please reply.
Sender: 'Merlin, The Great Archmage'
- Could it be that messaging is not possible for some reason?
- If so, please send a carrot emoticon.
- Or just give me a call.
Whoa, why is he so obsessive.
I'd roughly imagined it would be like this, but his obsession was twice as bad as I expected.
Reading them all was bothersome.
I only checked the last message that came.
Oh.
There was a message from the Chairman, too.
I checked the content of both messages.
Sender: 'Merlin, The Great Archmage'
- I will come meet you now.
Sender: 'Monolith, Taylor Blackstar'
- The security team caught a suspicious monster.
- I heard he claimed to know you, so I held him for now. His name is Merlin.
- He's a shabby-looking old man.
- (⩌⩊⩌) ≡ (⩌⩊⩌) Do you know him?
.......
Hm.
I briefly pondered, then sent a reply to the Chairman's message.
Recipient: 'Monolith, Taylor Blackstar'
- I don't know him.
- But since he's pitiful, please don't hurt him.
As soon as I sent that message,
a reply quickly flew back from the Chairman.
Sender: 'Monolith, Taylor Blackstar'
- (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝* Confirmed.
I could feel the years of experience from that emoticon.
Anyway, I closed the vision interface.
It was because I'd suddenly gotten tired.
Seeing Merlin's messages made me incredibly tired.
Should I take a short nap?
A long, stretching yawn leaked out of my mouth.
"......Hm."
Let's sleep first and think about it later.
Feeling my eyes gradually closing, I slowly sank into the swamp of sleep.
* * *
I opened my eyes.
To be precise, I just came to my senses.
Because I suddenly felt a presence near me. I focused on the surrounding sounds with my eyes still closed.
At the garbage landfill, it had become a habit to always sleep on alert.
Still, there hadn't been many times recently I'd woken like this, and I cautiously guessed it was due to some sort of ominous feeling.
Fortunately, it wasn't that a new presence had appeared where there had been none.
Which meant I should see it not as an attack by someone, but as the approach of my cohabitants.
What on earth was going on?
Without revealing I was awake, I observed my surroundings.
"...He's definitely asleep, right?"
"Probably. It's already been an hour."
"......Ssseup, is this really okay to do?"
"Then you leave."
"That's not what I meant."
Those were the voices of Catherine and Andrea.
And the content of their conversation was unusual.
Catherine spoke in a worried tone.
"...Is it really okay, for sure?"
"Last time I rubbed my face on his chest once, and he didn't wake up then either."
"......Crazy bitch."
"Look who's talking."
She rubbed her face on my chest?
That was Andrea's voice.
.......
Last time, when I was doing that one-day manager gig—
it seemed the scent I felt wasn't just my imagination.
Should I keep pretending to be asleep?
Or should I naturally get up and pretend I don't know?
My dilemma was very brief.
"You saw the photo Julia took, right? And Eve also said she made 'mucous membrane contact.'"
"...Yeah."
"If so, what do we have to do to get ahead?"
A very short silence passed, then Catherine's voice continued.
"......Mucous membrane friction."
What the hell are you talking about, Catherine?
I immediately raised my head and got up from sleep.
* * *
Maya said with a dumbfounded expression.
"...So that's why you ran away here?"
"Yeah."
I answered Maya.
At that, Maya clicked her tongue briefly and continued.
"...Tch. I thought you had come to pick me up because I was running late for no good reason."
"Of course, that's part of the reason too."
"......"
It was true.
I looked at Maya, who was preparing to clean up the back of the fusion-Japanese restaurant, and thought.