Chapter 1. Biocore

I stopped.

If I turn around now — I could still make it look like nothing happened.

If not… there would be no way back.

The world around me seemed to drift away. Noise, voices, movement — everything dimmed, as if I had plunged underwater. With every breath, fear squeezed my lungs tighter. In my head, only one question beat: am I doing the right thing?

I was standing in Sector Tower №7 / 2.1 — in what they called the Rat Market House.

A place for those who had nothing left to lose,

or for those ready to risk everything.

The market had a life of its own.

People with empty eyes jostled between the stalls. Merchants whispered prices that changed faster than credit rates. Hanging over it all was the smell of grease, rot, and ozone. No one asked questions here. But no one offered guarantees either.

A few days ago, I had found a biocore.

Even now, it sounded unreal.

I was a scavenger. One of those who dug through abandoned sectors looking for anything still worth selling. We found all kinds of things: broken implants, burnt-out chips, dead metal. But a whole biocore… that happens once in a lifetime. Or never.

I remember that moment clearly.

It lay among shards of plastic, as if someone had deliberately left it waiting. Clean. Untouched. Alive.

I hadn’t told anyone.

I didn’t show the crew. Didn’t give it to resellers. I hid it.

With it, I could change everything.

Work. Money. Life itself.

Not the kind where you wake up every day wondering if you’ll make it to the evening.

A biocore was a ticket up.

Or straight down.

That’s why I was here.

Not in the city center, not in a sterile clinic with licenses and scanners. But here — where synthmasters worked without unnecessary questions. Where it mattered not where you got something, but whether you could pay for it.

But a biocore cost a fortune.

And I knew: you can never be sure what a synthmaster is thinking when he looks at someone like me.

I stepped forward.

In front of me were rusty doors — torn, smeared with what had once been white, almost birch-colored paint. Above them blinked a half-dead sign:

“OPEN”

As if it wasn’t even sure itself.

I took a deep breath.

My body shook. Doubts wouldn’t let go: what if the implant doesn’t take? What if I ruin my life just with this idea?

It was risky.

Foolish.

Unwise.

But the desire to change my life proved stronger than common sense.

— Well?.. What are you staring at? Are you coming in or not?

A voice came from behind.

I broke out in a sweat. I spun around sharply.

An old man stood before me. Slightly hunched. Wrinkles carved his face like scars. His gaze was heavy and indifferent at the same time.

Only for a moment did it hit me: this was the synthmaster.

— I… I just… wanted something… — my words stumbled, as if I’d suddenly forgotten how to use them.

— Damn it, — he cut me off. — Are you coming in or not?

He stepped closer and slapped my shoulder — not hard, but confidently. As if checking whether I was real.

— Well, since you’re here — why are you gawking? Come on in.

I glanced around again, as if looking for a way to escape.

Then I exhaled — and followed him inside.

Inside, cleanliness was out of the question.

Walls, floors, tables — all covered in layers of grime and dried blood. So thick that at first glance it was hard to tell where one thing ended and another began. It seemed they had never cleaned here.

— Well? — grunted the synthmaster. — Did you bring something of your own, or are you buying from me?

He waved lazily toward the table.

Implants lay there. To the eye — as if they had just been ripped from human bodies. Roughly. With force. Without any care.

— No… I mean… yes… — I got confused. — I brought mine. Yes… mine. My own.

He stared at me.

I stared at him.

A few seconds or a minute — time acted strangely here.

— Well? Will you get it yourself, or do you want me to search you? — he asked coldly.

— Uh?.. Ah, yes… here.

I pulled out the biocore, wrapped in a dirty cloth. My hands shook. I still hesitated to hand it over… but the synthmaster didn’t wait. He snatched it.

— Give it here. Sit over there, — he muttered. — You’re acting like it’s your first time here. I’m not your nanny.

I took small steps to the medical table and sat down.

Looking around, I felt a chill inside. I’d seen implants before — but never like this.

— You’re kidding, right? — the synthmaster suddenly exclaimed.

He ran up to me. His eyes glimmered — with fear or excitement. Like a child who found a forbidden toy.

— You crazy bastard… where did you get this?!

I froze, but still answered:

— Does it matter? I came here. I thought no questions were asked.

— True enough, — he stopped abruptly. — But this isn’t an ordinary implant. You understand that, right?

He looked at the biocore again — almost reverently.

— It’s a mana controller. And not just a controller — it generates mana itself. Do you even realize what that is? Crazy money. A rarity that barely exists.

I watched silently as he spoke, gesturing, as if afraid the biocore would vanish the moment he stopped talking.

— So… — I finally said. — You’ll install it for me?

He froze.

— Were you even listening to me? — the synthmaster said slowly. — It might not take. And — it almost certainly has a sensor on it. The moment I activate it, the signal goes to MedCorp. Things like this aren’t broken “just because.” They’ll know right away that the biocore has been activated.

The workshop fell silent.