I hope you’re enjoying the story! If you want to read the latest chapters of Hack Alley Doctor, check it out on Royal Road or Wordpress, as they get updated first.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/40487/hack-alley-doctor

https://hackalleydoctor.wordpress.com/

****

Derrick unplugged the cable from his end and eased the door open, waiting for the patient to shuffle out of the way. The patient dragged his boxers, which were hanging around one leg, on the ground as he went over to lean against the wall and stare at his feet.

“So . . . how did it go?”

“What you think? Same as always. Man, you got my hopes up.”

“It really did seem like it was going fine, but then—”

“—I got soft. Fuck! What am I gonna do?”

“I’ll tell you what. You go home for now. I’m going to look through the information on the monitor, and then contact you again if I find anything. Otherwise, try to get some more sleep, exercise regularly, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, whatever—WHOA, what you doing?”

“I need my cable back.”

“Oh yeah.”

#

The rest of the day was more of Derrick’s eternal uphill struggle. He sorted parts, and junk that he hoped could become parts, and exterminated some nasty fuzz that was growing inside the fridge. After he wiped off his sweat, Derrick sat back down at the workstation, head in his hand, and tapped his chin with his fingers. The electricity was due, the water was overdue, and they had to find the parts for another unpaid job. How would they make it through the month?

“Hey, you’re back, Derrick!”

Tony ambled over from his bedroom, and grunted as he squatted down to sit on the floor, supporting himself with his two, meaty hands. There was a crunch as his bottom flattened a circuit board. He held it up, saw that it was split cleanly in two, and shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, it was junk, anyway.” He tossed it towards the bin of trash parts, and it landed on the pile, only to slip and clatter onto the ground. Sigh. “Sorry I woke up late, Derrick; I had wayyy too much to drink. But that girl—ohhh boy—that girl was something special.”

“You say that all the time, Tony.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s different! She’s different. She really cares. About me! She’s so genuine.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Bah, you’ll understand when you’re older.

“Hey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The White Leopards stopped by this morning: new faces, and they wanted protection money.”

“Ohhh shit, we’re late, aren’t we—ah, who cares that we’re late! Those parasites always want a handout. One of these days, I’ll—wait, so did you pay them?”

“No, I managed to delay the collection. But, the bad news is: I offered to fix one of their legs for free in exchange. It’s a Stoneridge model, so we’re going to need more parts . . .”

Tony chuckled. “I see the problem. Well, the good news is we’re getting paid soon.”

“Wait, really? From who?”

“I know someone at a high-end shop in the big city. They take on contractors to help with mods that need surgical work, and he hired me a few years ago, knows I rock it in the operating room. Apparently they scheduled themselves up the ass next week, so they’re bringing me on for a few days. It’s shit pay for what I’m worth, but it’s more than we charge at Hack Alley.”

“But, your license . . . it’s expired, right?”

“Inspectors are paid off, and the shop doesn’t care. Plus, we’re working in a team, so it’s not like anybody will know when the masks are on.” Tony wiggled his eyebrows.

“Well that’s a relief. Tony, you’re the best.”

“Geez, don’t worry about it my boy. You always look like you’re eating shit. Now, show me that cochlear implant.”

Derrick fished out the transmitter and receiver, and put them on a work mat. The first time he saw them, they had looked a bit like a pair of stethoscopes, and there was at least something to that comparison; a stethoscope passed along heartbeats to the doctor’s ears, and a cochlear implant passed along sounds directly to the patient’s auditory nerve, bypassing certain types of hearing loss.

The transmitter piece connected to a microphone array that hung on the ear like an earpiece, and the receiver was surgically implanted into the patient’s head, with its long, thin electrodes inserting into the cochlea, deep inside the ear. Magnets on each piece made it easy to hold the transmitter in place; it would be attracted to the receiver, which was right underneath the skin. This way, they were close enough to transmit and receive the wireless signals that simulated sound.

“There’s nothing wrong with it at first glance, but something must have been broken internally, since it won’t receive signals from the test transmitter. And the transmitter isn’t bad . . . or at least, I hope it isn’t.”

“Hmmm.” Tony clicked on the light and held up the subdermal half of the device, rubbing it with his finger, as if it had a speck of dirt he couldn’t get off. The sound of phlegm persisted as he kept clearing his throat, before he got up, and filled a glass of water in the sink.

He sat back down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The transmitter is probably fine, but I’ll bet that the receiver has a bad connection. Here, let me try something.” He held the receiver up to his ear, and held an electrode between his fingertips, shifting it just a smidge.

“You hear that?”

All Derrick could hear was the hum of the office, and the sounds of the streets outside. He leaned in closer, close enough to hear Tony’s breathing, and held his breath.

Ptt. There it was: something quieter than a click, and possibly imaginary. Ptt. Okay, now Derrick was fairly sure it was real.

“Yup, there it is. The electrode’s not attached correctly.” He set it back down on the pad like a newborn baby.

“Wow, how did you figure it out so fast?”

Tony grinned and puffed out his chest. “You really wanna know?”

“Okay, never mind, I’m not that curious.”

“Hey! Give me a break, I just want to look cool sometimes. It’s experience, my boy. I’ve seen this enough times.

“So . . ., can we fix it? Granny Chu’s the one who’s been scheduled for two weeks from now, and she’s been having trouble taking care of herself since her son moved away.”

“Maybe no, maybe so.” Tony lifted the tray with both hands, and got up to his feet, bumping the table in the process. “I’ll see what I can do in the shop; I’ve fixed a few of these before, and they worked just fine. In the meantime, can you call up the big suppliers again, and see if they have any stock? Probably not, thanks to those fucking fake cops.”

“Huh? Private security? What happened with them?”

“You know how it looks like they’re always scratching their heads, right? They’ve actually all got cochlear implants for encrypted coms, and that’s them switching out the transmitter to change wireless channels. Last week, the vendor recalled a whole batch of implants because they were getting hacked and knocking these guys out with an audio-bomb. The automatic suppressors were fucked, apparently.”

A week ago, they had found an unconscious man in Hack Alley who was lying face-down and covered in drool. They pulled him in because it was freezing outside, but he just wouldn’t wake up no matter how they slapped him. “So that guy in front of the shop with the angry pals . . .”

“Yup, that’s what happened! Can you believe it?”

Derrick and Tony laughed, louder and louder as they let the week’s stress out, and then fell silent again as the weariness set in. The shop was still a mess, and the faint smell of vomit still drifted from the kitchen.

“Welp, I’m going to take a look at this implant. Let me know when dinner’s ready.”

“Alright, thanks Tony.”

Tony lumbered away, and Derrick set scraps and parts in a few large, unsorted drawers—temporary storage, he called it—before tossing his clothes in the hamper, taking his hand prosthesis off, and stepping into the shower. Mildew had crept up along the grout again, and he had put off cleaning for long enough. The last time mold got into the shop area, a whole pile of materials had to be thrown away.

The old sponge in the corner was shredded to pieces, but it was the only one left. Derrick scrubbed at a black spot on the grout, watching blue pieces of sponge fall onto the tiled floor. After a few sprays from a bottle of diluted bleach, and more scrubbing, the spot went from black to dark gray. He went through a few more before his hand cramped, as he was putting down the sponge and picking up the bottle for the tenth time. Then he closed his eyes and let the lukewarm water wash over him.

#

Derrick threw the shower curtains open, and grabbed a towel. Drip. Drip. Drip. The shower head had been leaking for weeks, now, but that was a problem for another day.

Hm, there was a new crack in the mirror, right next to his new, ugly face—

Derrick ducked his head down and tsked. The countertop was nice, and clean, and pretty. The countertop was safe to look at.

I just had to ruin my own day, huh.

#

After sending dinner to Tony, Derrick sat down on the bean bag and booted up the shop’s laptop. The reader showed line after complicated line, as he scrolled mindlessly through the log file from Xavier Williams’s consultation visit. It probably wouldn’t pay well, but there weren’t any better leads to follow.

Whatever Tony was doing was probably more interesting and useful. Thanks to those private security companies, there weren’t any more cochlear implants left to buy. I hope they get hacked again, those assholes. They always hoard the good mods, and not just cochlear implants—

Something in the log caught Derrick’s eye.

Starting mood_light download for @tdavidson:moodlighting.revolute.com

got lighting instructions for @tdavidson:moodlighting.revolute.com

Completed mood_light download for @tdavidson:moodlighting.revolute.com

Instruction list for @tdavidson:moodlighting.revolute.com now up to date

Mood lighting?! Does a penis mod really need to do all that? It looked like the mod had received instructions from a remote Revolute Prosthetics server, for the account of a certain Mr. Davidson, maybe. It was likely a stolen mod, after all.

But the items were logged around the same time that the patient was in the bathroom and had reached full arousal . . . .

Derrick leaned back in his bean bag and sighed at the absurdity of it all. So mood lighting can somehow make you soft? Who would have known?