Leo felt no pressure at all wearing them.
He and Jackie chatted a while longer before ending the call.
Leo set the AR glasses down, thinking. Their biggest flaw? Too much lag, and too much power drain. Unlike neural slots, they had to process everything externally, slowing them down.
Then a thought hit him—those sci-fi visors from old movies and books. They weren't just screens; they actively enhanced vision, filtered data, and provided real-ti overlays. If AR glasses worked like that, wouldn't that fix their biggest weakness?
Just then, the long-dormant system finally ca online:
**"You considered that AR glasses aren't just toys for the rich and have room for improvent—they only need minor tweaks to achieve it. Would you like to spend 5 Potential Points to obtain the upgraded schematic?"**
Leo froze for a mont, then lit up with excitent.
So *this* was how his "Eureka" skill triggered—passively, out of the blue.
Finally. It had been half a year with the Bakkers, then all this ti in Night City, and *only now* did his golden finger decide to show up. He couldn't help but roast it a little in his mind: *What took you so long?*
After finishing his grumbling, Leo summoned his status panel.
He had 3 Potential Points from repelling Snake Nation warriors back at the Bakker's camp, and 2 more from that cyberpsycho incident in the little town outside Night City—a total of exactly 5.
**"5 Potential Points spent. You gained an upgraded schematic—'Tactical Visor.'"**
In the next instant, a torrent of schematics and fabrication knowledge flooded Leo's mind like a rushing tide. Even those fancy "study chips" for rich kids could only upload knowledge bit by bit each day, but Leo's system fed him a whole library at once—enough to make a normal person's head explode. Fortunately, it seed like he was protected by the system, though his skull pounded, he managed to absorb it all.
He focused, and the materials required for building the Tactical Visor took shape in his thoughts.
Leo left the garage and found Jackie, who was helping V around the El Coyote.
V gave a heartfelt complint, no trace of flattery in her tone. "So these are the AR glasses you got from Padre? They look great on you."
"Thanks. You two have been working hard. I'll handle dinner tonight—show you what I can do."
"You can cook real Chinese food?"
Night City did have its share of Chinese residents and restaurants—there was even a "Little Chinatown" in Watson. But true authentic Chinese cuisine was another story; most places catered to local Aricanized tastes. Jackie had always wanted to try the real deal—he'd dread of traveling to Asia once, until his empty wallet sternly told him, *No, you do not*.
Rubbing his hands eagerly, Jackie wandered off in a good mood. V tried to stay and help, but Leo cheerfully shooed her out of the kitchen.
Left alone, Leo got on the phone with Jackie.
"I need you to buy so stuff for ," he said.
"Groceries for Chinese food?"
"Yeah, but also a few things that aren't for cooking—I need Padre's help to get them."
"No problem—leave it to ," Jackie promised, without a second thought.
So, using his AR glasses, Leo sent the materials list for the Tactical Visor to Jackie.
…
A few days later, Padre's n delivered what Leo needed. He holed up in Jackie's garage, and V, Jackie, Mrs. Welles, and Pepe all cooperated by *not* bothering him. They dropped food and water outside the closed garage door, then ca back again at dinnerti to collect the empty dishes and bottles.
Ti ticked by. The night deepened, and even the El Coyote had closed. Still, the garage door never opened. V and Jackie decided to crash at the bar overnight. The sa thing happened the next day, and the day after that.
Finally, three days later, the garage door opened.
Inside, Leo stretched as far as his aching muscles would allow. On the workbench lay a mask of black and blue—his freshly completed Tactical Visor, finished after three days of nonstop labor.
He picked it up and put it on. It was large enough to cover most of his face, leaving only forehead and hair exposed. Yet it felt anything but stifling—airy, with an excellent field of view. He could zoom in on distant objects, all rendered in sharp detail.
Aside from standard AR-glasses functions like communication, money transfers, and personal links, the Tactical Visor offered night vision, thermal imaging, and a scanning mode. In 2077, weapon manufacturers had developed a new kind of grenade, the "Recon Grenade," which scanned enemy positions within a certain radius and fed that info back to the user's cyberoptics. This Visor included the sa scanning feature, built right in.
Walls posed no obstacle, unless they were reinforced or coated with anti-detection paint. Leo tested the night vision and thermal modes—both worked perfectly. Then he switched on the scanner.
A ring of red light rippled outward in all directions. Unlike thermal or night-vision, the view didn't turn white-hot, black-hot, or greenish; it looked the sa as before, except that now there were red humanoid outlines. Even thick walls couldn't hide them.
Because this Tactical Visor was linked to the NCPD database, each outline displayed matching IDs and personal info from police records.
He spotted Jackie sneaking a drink in the bar, only to have Mrs. Welles angrily yank the bottle away, and V in the bathroom—uh, never mind.
Leo coughed lightly and shut off the scanner.
Besides these "active" functions, the Visor featured a passive anti-scan jamming field. If anyone tried scanning him while he wore it, they'd only pick up a scrambled image, a giant mosaic blur. He could stroll under a surveillance cara in broad daylight, and no one would see his face.
---
"Sebastián Ibarra," a voice said.
Hearing the na, Padre lifted his gaze from the Bible on the table. A man now stood before him—dressed in a neat suit and tie, wearing a gleaming silver watch, and polished dress shoes, the picture of a corporate stooge. But more striking than the outfit were the man's eyes: his left eye was normal, but his right eye consisted of three narrow, vertically stacked implants, spider-like lenses that imparted a nacing chill.
"Waiting for soone?" he asked.
"No," Padre replied, gently closing the Bible and setting it aside. "I'm just here to eat. The food at Tom's Diner is pretty good, so I thought I'd give it a try. As for you…" He eyed the man. "I've heard you rarely leave Santo Domingo, Faraday."
Faraday didn't wait for Padre's invitation; he slid into the seat across from him as though he owned the place. Leaning both elbows on the table, he laced his fingers, rested his chin on the back of his hands, and stared with four unblinking eyes.
The temperature seed to plumt. Anyone else confronted by those quartet implants would've felt their blood run cold. But Padre looked utterly calm—just an aging, balding man chatting up the neighbor, as relaxed as could be.
Reviews
All reviews (0)