CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

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Efforts to Disguise

"Have you finished reading, Karl?"

"Almost, just the last part left," Karl replied to Oliver.

The three of them had left victor's clinic and found a roadside restaurant to sit down. After ensuring there were no nearby eavesdroppers, Karl began reading the identity information to Jack and Oliver.

"Gaius, seventeen years old, born in Heywood. He was an abandoned baby found on the street, raised by an unknown scavenger. When he was four, the scavenger died in a street gang shootout. After that, he survived by scavenging through trash cans until he was twelve, when the fixer took notice of him. He's been working for the fixer ever since, now seventeen years old."

"Sounds like a typical Heywood kid," Jack commented.

"Is this common?" Karl asked.

"Not common, but definitely not rare," Jack replied. "I remember an old guy with a similar background. He joined the NCPD at twenty-one and got official registration, then started driving a truck. Before that, his life was just like Gaius's."

"So, no problems?" Karl inquired.

"Looks fine to me," Jack confirmed.

Karl flipped through the Arasaka Academy registration. After entering Gaius's details on the website, a payment interface appeared.

"Would it be odd for a street guy to suddenly have 10,000 euros and head to school?" Karl asked before transferring the money.

"Would it be odd for anyone to have 10,000 euros?" Oliver retorted.

Karl gave him a curious look. "Didn't you say before that your entire net worth was less than 2,000 euros before your first mission? Is this fitting for you to say?"

"Embarrassingly, it was less than 1,500 euros," Oliver corrected, brushing it off. He then looked at Karl, whose face had reverted to its original form before leaving the clinic. "How's the face-changing? Easy?"

"It's manageable, but I can feel the nerves being pulled each time. It hurts if done too quickly. I can't change it too often; otherwise, the nerves might suffer from phantom pain. I'll need victor to remove it after the mission."

"Those Militech folks would never let it be handled by lower-level personnel. Developers care about results, not side effects," Oliver commented.

"That's typical research, but human subjects shouldn't be the norm," Karl noted. Spotting the waiter approaching, he halted the mission-related conversation.

"Three guests, what would you like to order?"

"Large pork chop rice bowl with a cup of Zen tea," Oliver ordered.

"Extra spicy pepperoni pizza, a big one, and a bottle of mine," Jack added.

Karl translated mentally: worm rice bowl, Japanese tea foam drink, locust pizza, lemon water.

"And for you, sir?" the waiter asked Karl.

"A glass of real water, macaroni and cheese, and..." Karl hesitated before adding, "a side of fried meatballs."

The waiter took their orders and left, and Oliver couldn't contain his surprise. "Karl, did you order that for us?"

"If so, we could've done it ourselves," Jack added, visibly surprised.

"I'm trying again," Karl stated firmly.

"Are you sure, (brother)?" Jack asked, concerned. "You don't have to force it. Real meat is coming soon."

"I'm not adapting to synthetic food for the taste, but for the mission. A street kid like Gaius would be used to it. If I gag at Arasaka Academy, it's a dead giveaway," Karl explained.

"Don't push yourself, Karl. If you're exposed, we'll find another way. No need to endure this," Oliver advised, concerned about Karl's well-being.

"No more convincing, trust me," Karl said, resolute.

Four minutes later, their food arrived. Neither Oliver nor Jack ate, watching Karl with concern. He picked up a soft meatball with a fork, put it in his mouth, and chewed.

Karl felt his stomach churn and his throat tighten. His body resisted, but he forced himself to continue chewing. The meatball's texture was soft and sticky, reminding him of worms. He kept his face neutral, chewing a few more times despite the revulsion.

It felt like chewing the flapping wings of a crushed cockroach.

Swallowing the meatball felt like forcing a slug down his throat, slowly sliding down.

Sweating profusely, Karl conceded, "I...might not be able to handle this."