After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTLs immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't fuck with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

She's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. The train windows slide past and she finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.

After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTL immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't fuck with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

She's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. The train windows slide past and she finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.

After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTL immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't fuck with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

She's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. The train windows slide past and she finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.

After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTL immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't fuck with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

She's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. The train windows slide past and she finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.

After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTL immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't fuck with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

Her train's not here yet and she's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. She stands on the platform watching the train windows slide past and finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.

After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTL immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't fuck with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

Her train's not here yet and she's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. She sits on a bench near the platform wall, watches the train windows slide past, and finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.

After she decides to drop out, the first thing Naomi does is buy herself a better brain. 

Well. Cerebral boosters, actually. They're supposed to work, too -- increase memory, increase processing speed, increase pattern-recognition rate. She's been looking for a good surgeon for a while, surfing the Matrix and hopping through grids from a series of shitty commlinks.

(Her implanted cyberdeck is going to cost her a good three quarters of the money her parents left her. She's saving that purchase for last.)

Her guy happens to be addicted to BTL immersives -- one of the better vices for a surgeon, given that they don't mess with reflexes or finger dexterity. His office is in a good location, sterile, professional, has all the tools for the job.

She shows up, pays up-front, and goes under.

--

Naomi rubs her eyes. They aren't -- they aren't working right. She wants to move them and they won't --

"Stay calm," someone says. The voice is fuzzy and muffled. "Relax."

"You should have mentioned that earlier," Naomi says.

"The after-effects are different for everyone. Some people have racing thoughts for the first few hours, others feel disconnected from their bodies. Some people get paranoid."

Naomi lets out a helpless laugh. 

"... or manic."

He makes sense. The boosters weren't adding any personality that wasn't there. Just making her brain -- more. Faster. Better. It was still disorienting. 

"Head straight home," he continues. "It'll take a few hours to get used to them."

--

Her train's not here yet and she's been amusing herself by noting demographics of the people who get on and off the subway. She sits on a bench near the platform wall, watches the train windows slide past, and finds herself counting them too, assigning a price for each arbitrarily and counting up profits. 

They're black and shiny and one-way, and she never noticed before all the precautions to protect against a mage's line of sight but she sure does now. There's a special glint on one of them that catches her eye.