The Fourth Color
If only it were so simple. Can any city be said to have a single heart? Bit's goal was to track many pulses. The best place to do that would be in City Center, where free-flowing tributaries gave way to a congested thorax as Bit rode through corpo plaza and finally parked his bike near the 7th Hell. He surveyed the street, in search of a building insignificant enough to afford roof access. A short walk-up across the street caught no one's eye, other than Bit's. Perfect.
He posted up near the entrance and lit a joint. What he was about to do would require his full concentration. When someone finally exited the building, throwing the door open and hurriedly taking to the street, Bit caught the door with his foot just before it shut. He ashed the joint and slithered inside. Up the stairs past one loud, two quiet, and one loud apartment Bit found a window to the fire escape. His eyes traced from the window to the ceiling and the back wall. Fire alarm. Opening the window would probably set it off. Bit tapped the right side of his glasses and orange graphics began to move to the rhythm of the boot dance as his AR glasses started up and connected wirelessly to his neural jack. The faintest glimmers of cyberspace would be overlaid right on top of Bit's field of vision, bringing two worlds into phase.
He stared at the fire alarm and launched a net tracing program. It ran for about a second before the fire alarm's address appeared on the visual. Disable FA-014. Set timer for 5 minutes. Reactivate FA-014 on timer trigger. Bit looked back at the window, yanked it open, and climbed the fire escape. On the roof he found a decent vantage point of the street below, but he was mostly seeing the data map of bits flowing through computers and devices in each of the buildings across from and around him. Thousands of nodes and edges revealing an otherwise imperceptible city within a city. It was even more enthralling than Bit had imagined, staring at mere tens of machines linked together in the Badlands.
If only it were so simple. Can any city be said to have a single heart? Bit's goal was to track many pulses. The best place to do that would be in City Center, where free-flowing tributaries gave way to a congested thorax as Bit rode through corpo plaza and finally parked his bike near the 7th Hell. He surveyed the street, in search of a building insignificant enough to afford roof access. A short walk-up across the street caught no one's eye, other than Bit's. Perfect.
He posted up near the entrance and lit a joint. What he was about to do would require his full concentration. When someone finally exited the building, throwing the door open and hurriedly taking to the street, Bit caught the door with his foot just before it shut. He ashed the joint and slithered inside. Up the stairs past one loud, two quiet, and one loud apartment Bit found a window to the fire escape. His eyes traced from the window to the ceiling and the back wall. Fire alarm. Opening the window would probably set it off. Bit tapped the right side of his glasses and orange graphics began to move to the rhythm of the boot dance as his AR glasses started up and connected wirelessly to his neural jack. The faintest glimmers of cyberspace would be overlaid right on top of Bit's field of vision, bringing two worlds into phase.
He stared at the fire alarm and launched a net tracing program. It ran for about a second before the fire alarm's address appeared on the visual. Disable FA-014. Set timer for 5 minutes. Reactivate FA-014 on timer trigger. Bit looked back at the window, yanked it open, and climbed the fire escape. On the roof he found a decent vantage point of the street below, but he was mostly seeing the data map of bits flowing through computers and devices in each of the buildings across from and around him. Thousands of nodes and edges revealing an otherwise imperceptible city within a city. It was even more enthralling than Bit had imagined, staring at mere tens of machines linked together in the Badlands.
Jackin' In
Right. Well, pretty don't pay Bit thought. He sat down and pulled a dusty lapdeck from his backpack, plugging his neural jack into the machine. He was here for a reason and if he wanted to get out of the city before night he needed to get moving. Several stream detecting workers launched simultaneously, annotating packets of data and flagging distinct patterns in a collective pool. The number of patterns never stopped growing before Bit decided to switch to monitoring. The workers began locking onto one pattern at a time, reassembling packets into encrypted partial recreations of the data flowing through each stream. As the workers spun cycles trying to break encryption, Bit pulled the remaining stub of a joint out of his pocket and lit it. This might take a while.
Eventually he could sift enough data from a stream for the decryption to work. The worker would stop and show him a sample of the data. A lot of the streams were still incomprehensible, but it was the best algorithm Bit could write under the circumstances. Many of the streams were innocuous personal chatter. Nothing of interest. Every 10 minutes or so he would get a stream that had what he was looking for. Snippets of information about logistics, payments, cargo manifests. He would flag these patterns and store them for the next step of his work. A few streams of data became more incomprehensible after running through decryption. Bit didn't even know that was possible. What were once semi-structured clusters of bits lost all connection and looked like nothing he had ever seen before. He didn't think too much of it, he was getting enough of a sample to make his work worthwhile.
Almost 4 hours later, Bit had enough addresses to satisfy his curiosity. He fished a small, rugged box out of his backpack and fastened it underneath one of the vents on the roof. This small computer, unassuming and hidden from hopefully anyone, was his and his family's foothold in this city. Finally, they would have a source of consistent intel sourced directly from the corps and transmitted in real-time back to the badlands. Bit connected to the machine, uploaded the target addresses, and launched his monitoring program to clone data from the monitored addresses. After confirming he had reception on the machine, he linked it to an antenna on the roof, hijacking a small portion of bandwidth to transmit data via radio waves to a repeater station on the outskirts of the city which his family was responsible for tapping. Though he had no way of knowing whether they were receiving his transmission yet, he could at least verify that his foothold had connected to the radio station, satisfying his objective. He sat back and let the vent fall back into place, watching the data streams continue siphoning data, forwarding it outside of the city.
Until the metrics began to lag and the screen began to tear.
Right. Well, pretty don't pay Bit thought. He sat down and pulled a dusty lapdeck from his backpack, plugging his neural jack into the machine. He was here for a reason and if he wanted to get out of the city before night he needed to get moving. Several stream detecting workers launched simultaneously, annotating packets of data and flagging distinct patterns in a collective pool. The number of patterns never stopped growing before Bit decided to switch to monitoring. The workers began locking onto one pattern at a time, reassembling packets into encrypted partial recreations of the data flowing through each stream. As the workers spun cycles trying to break encryption, Bit pulled the remaining stub of a joint out of his pocket and lit it. This might take a while.
Eventually he could sift enough data from a stream for the decryption to work. The worker would stop and show him a sample of the data. A lot of the streams were still incomprehensible, but it was the best algorithm Bit could write under the circumstances. Many of the streams were innocuous personal chatter. Nothing of interest. Every 10 minutes or so he would get a stream that had what he was looking for. Snippets of information about logistics, payments, cargo manifests. He would flag these patterns and store them for the next step of his work. A few streams of data became more incomprehensible after running through decryption. Bit didn't even know that was possible. What were once semi-structured clusters of bits lost all connection and looked like nothing he had ever seen before. He didn't think too much of it, he was getting enough of a sample to make his work worthwhile.
Almost 4 hours later, Bit had enough addresses to satisfy his curiosity. He fished a small, rugged box out of his backpack and fastened it underneath one of the vents on the roof. This small computer, unassuming and hidden from hopefully anyone, was his and his family's foothold in this city. Finally, they would have a source of consistent intel sourced directly from the corps and transmitted in real-time back to the badlands. Bit connected to the machine, uploaded the target addresses, and launched his monitoring program to clone data from the monitored addresses. After confirming he had reception on the machine, he linked it to an antenna on the roof, hijacking a small portion of bandwidth to transmit data via radio waves to a repeater station on the outskirts of the city which his family was responsible for tapping. Though he had no way of knowing whether they were receiving his transmission yet, he could at least verify that his foothold had connected to the radio station, satisfying his objective. He sat back and let the vent fall back into place, watching the data streams continue siphoning data, forwarding it outside of the city.
Until the metrics began to lag and the screen began to tear.
You're Being NetWatch'd!
One by one, each chart, metric, progress bar overlaid on Bit's visual field fizzled and disappeared. He had the sensation of a figure moving around in his peripheral vision, but peeking over his glasses, he saw no one on the roof with him. Finally, once all the widgets on his display had disappeared, a face sputtered and glitched into existence.
Thick framed glasses, a bushy brown mustache, and the toothy smile of a youth pastor was the only thing left for Bit to look at. "Hi Bit! What a cute nickname. You're probably wondering how I know that. Don't worry, I just found it in all the data I pulled from your lapdeck. Hope you don't mind! Well, I figure I ought to let you know that data siphoning and transmission via radio broadband beyond city limits by unregistered operators violates NetWatch protocols H.764-82 and BB.143-99. As none of the data on your lapdeck matches what we have in Night City records I'm assuming you're not from around here. We're going to let you off easy! We'll be disabling your transmitter and wiping your drives of any sensitive information you may have collected."
A sharp pop to Bit's left side startled him, forcing him to his feet. Peeking over his glasses, he saw a cloud of smoke wafting up from the vent where he'd stowed his siphon computer. They cooked the machine! Bit realized.
"Alright, well that's that!" The NetWatch agent continued. He smiled again and Bit could hear him lean back in his chair over the connection. "Before I let you go, I get the sense you're new at this. Assessing the young talent is a bit of a side gig for me. How long has it been since you started running?"
"Erm... 4 years?" Bit croaked.
The NetWatch agent let out a short laugh. "Good, good! That explains what I saw in your programs then. You have potential kid, but you don't know anything. Let me give you some advice." The screen sputtered for a brief second, and the agent came back into focus. "First of all, welcome to Night City. The place is just bustling. So, you're not the only gonk out here on the net. My job is to enforce the limits of our little ecosystem, but this isn't a Slammer's game. We play two strikes and you're out. And remember, I'm not the competition. Just your friendly city umpire!"
The NetWatch agent chuckled and the screen went black for a split second. Then, a rolling banner started up, scrolling from left to right. "Remember, you're being NetWatch'd!" it said.
One by one, each chart, metric, progress bar overlaid on Bit's visual field fizzled and disappeared. He had the sensation of a figure moving around in his peripheral vision, but peeking over his glasses, he saw no one on the roof with him. Finally, once all the widgets on his display had disappeared, a face sputtered and glitched into existence.
Thick framed glasses, a bushy brown mustache, and the toothy smile of a youth pastor was the only thing left for Bit to look at. "Hi Bit! What a cute nickname. You're probably wondering how I know that. Don't worry, I just found it in all the data I pulled from your lapdeck. Hope you don't mind! Well, I figure I ought to let you know that data siphoning and transmission via radio broadband beyond city limits by unregistered operators violates NetWatch protocols H.764-82 and BB.143-99. As none of the data on your lapdeck matches what we have in Night City records I'm assuming you're not from around here. We're going to let you off easy! We'll be disabling your transmitter and wiping your drives of any sensitive information you may have collected."
A sharp pop to Bit's left side startled him, forcing him to his feet. Peeking over his glasses, he saw a cloud of smoke wafting up from the vent where he'd stowed his siphon computer. They cooked the machine! Bit realized.
"Alright, well that's that!" The NetWatch agent continued. He smiled again and Bit could hear him lean back in his chair over the connection. "Before I let you go, I get the sense you're new at this. Assessing the young talent is a bit of a side gig for me. How long has it been since you started running?"
"Erm... 4 years?" Bit croaked.
The NetWatch agent let out a short laugh. "Good, good! That explains what I saw in your programs then. You have potential kid, but you don't know anything. Let me give you some advice." The screen sputtered for a brief second, and the agent came back into focus. "First of all, welcome to Night City. The place is just bustling. So, you're not the only gonk out here on the net. My job is to enforce the limits of our little ecosystem, but this isn't a Slammer's game. We play two strikes and you're out. And remember, I'm not the competition. Just your friendly city umpire!"
The NetWatch agent chuckled and the screen went black for a split second. Then, a rolling banner started up, scrolling from left to right. "Remember, you're being NetWatch'd!" it said.
The Deep End
Bit tore off his headset and knelt in frustration. "Fuck!"
After taking a moment to collect himself, he stood and slunk to the fire escape. He barely perceived the climb down, until dropping 10 feet from the raised ladder at the bottom. I can't believe it, Bit thought to himself. Four years of nonstop study and the city knocked me down in moments. The memory of the NetWatch agent saying "welcome to Night City!" kept rewinding and playing back in his head.
At least he could regroup. Get on his bike and hightail it back to the badlands. How had his setup been so obvious? He would need to think. Practice. Study.
Bit's thoughts were racing as he walked down the street. Night had fallen and he couldn't remember exactly where he parked his bike. With each step, his mind slowed a bit, replaced by his heart, beating just a bit faster. Where did I park? He stopped and looked back down the street, moonlight and neon reflecting off the windows of cars and buildings. He turned his head back toward city center. There's no way I parked this far down. Now, for the first time, he was truly scared. It's fucking gone, Bit took a deep breath. It's fucking gone.
He looked up at the buildings rising around him. Somebody stole it. How am I going to get back? Maybe it was impounded. Is that a real thing? No one does that in the desert but I heard about it in a book. What if I can't get back? It's fucking Night in Night City. This is bad. I thought I would be able to get out of here. How many eddies do I have? Am I going to have to sleep in a gutter? I don't know anyone around here. Maybe I can hang out in a bar all night? I don't think they close here. Who the fuck stole my bike?
The buildings looked inward at Bit. The walls of a pool of air he could fill with anxious rumination, drowning in thought. He looked back down the street. He could still hear it in the back of his mind. The NetWatch agent.
"Welcome to Night City!"
Bit tore off his headset and knelt in frustration. "Fuck!"
After taking a moment to collect himself, he stood and slunk to the fire escape. He barely perceived the climb down, until dropping 10 feet from the raised ladder at the bottom. I can't believe it, Bit thought to himself. Four years of nonstop study and the city knocked me down in moments. The memory of the NetWatch agent saying "welcome to Night City!" kept rewinding and playing back in his head.
At least he could regroup. Get on his bike and hightail it back to the badlands. How had his setup been so obvious? He would need to think. Practice. Study.
Bit's thoughts were racing as he walked down the street. Night had fallen and he couldn't remember exactly where he parked his bike. With each step, his mind slowed a bit, replaced by his heart, beating just a bit faster. Where did I park? He stopped and looked back down the street, moonlight and neon reflecting off the windows of cars and buildings. He turned his head back toward city center. There's no way I parked this far down. Now, for the first time, he was truly scared. It's fucking gone, Bit took a deep breath. It's fucking gone.
He looked up at the buildings rising around him. Somebody stole it. How am I going to get back? Maybe it was impounded. Is that a real thing? No one does that in the desert but I heard about it in a book. What if I can't get back? It's fucking Night in Night City. This is bad. I thought I would be able to get out of here. How many eddies do I have? Am I going to have to sleep in a gutter? I don't know anyone around here. Maybe I can hang out in a bar all night? I don't think they close here. Who the fuck stole my bike?
The buildings looked inward at Bit. The walls of a pool of air he could fill with anxious rumination, drowning in thought. He looked back down the street. He could still hear it in the back of his mind. The NetWatch agent.
"Welcome to Night City!"