Illustration by Joi Rudin.
People are sheep. At least, most people are.
Sheep see their consoles as tools, nothing more than mere pieces of hardware joined together to execute programs. They know nothing about the beauty of code or the refinement needed to improve a console's connection to a neurotransmitter. They understand nothing of my art and profession. I'm lucky my client is not a sheep.
If my client were a sheep, she'd buy a "latest gen" generic console at the Z-Store, thinking it's the most advanced and sophisticated console on the market. She'd modify the GPU and reformat every drive, but she'd never even think about removing the trace-protocol chip Zebra Synthetics installs in all its new products. That way, she'd be five minutes into her "job" when an entire squad of Wardlord Defense Industries goons would kick in the door and either blow her brains there and then or, worse, take her into a detainment facility, never to be seen again. All because she decided to use an out-of-the-box, substandard console designed to give away all her information to Zebra from the get-go.
When my client called and said she needed a console to infiltrate a WDI's test grid, we both knew it wasn't just "a console." She was asking for a work of art. We barely talked for ten minutes, but I could tell she knew how to appreciate true craftsmanship: she'll see the way the transistors are soldered and that I used a palladium and lead alloy to make it withstand higher temps. I can picture her smile when she sees the triple processors I'll install on her motherboard; she'll understand the kind of power and artistry she'll be using on her run.If my client weren't a professional runner, if she honestly couldn't appreciate the art of running, she wouldn't even have asked me for a console. Someone who knows nothing of these things wouldn't have sounded so pleased to talk on the phone with me about how many tandem rendering chips their console would need.
The thing is, every client I've ever had understood that I knew what they didn't and that I knew what they would need before they'd need it.
The true value of a masterpiece can't be seen by the eyes of the unilluminated. My consoles aren't the best because my programs deal the most damage, because they manage energy more efficiently, or because they're virtually untraceable. No, nothing so crude. The real value of my work is in my knowledge of it. Knowledge is power. And no one knows more about consoles than I do.
I know how many screws this console has, 132, and just how tight to screw them, 1.2 Newton-meters. I know that the servers my client will be hacking can only manage lineal transmission systems and that emulating one will require at least 380 MW. If I hadn't known that, I wouldn't have added a data condenser to the motherboard so she could execute her programs faster or upgraded the neurotransmitter's link unit to a silicon-based one so that the Watchers would have a harder time detecting her.
And even if she didn't explicitly ask for all those things, I know my client is not a sheep. I know she'll be grateful. They always are.
Sheep see their consoles as tools, nothing more than mere pieces of hardware joined together to execute programs. They know nothing about the beauty of code or the refinement needed to improve a console's connection to a neurotransmitter. They understand nothing of my art and profession. I'm lucky my client is not a sheep.
If my client were a sheep, she'd buy a "latest gen" generic console at the Z-Store, thinking it's the most advanced and sophisticated console on the market. She'd modify the GPU and reformat every drive, but she'd never even think about removing the trace-protocol chip Zebra Synthetics installs in all its new products. That way, she'd be five minutes into her "job" when an entire squad of Wardlord Defense Industries goons would kick in the door and either blow her brains there and then or, worse, take her into a detainment facility, never to be seen again. All because she decided to use an out-of-the-box, substandard console designed to give away all her information to Zebra from the get-go.
When my client called and said she needed a console to infiltrate a WDI's test grid, we both knew it wasn't just "a console." She was asking for a work of art. We barely talked for ten minutes, but I could tell she knew how to appreciate true craftsmanship: she'll see the way the transistors are soldered and that I used a palladium and lead alloy to make it withstand higher temps. I can picture her smile when she sees the triple processors I'll install on her motherboard; she'll understand the kind of power and artistry she'll be using on her run.If my client weren't a professional runner, if she honestly couldn't appreciate the art of running, she wouldn't even have asked me for a console. Someone who knows nothing of these things wouldn't have sounded so pleased to talk on the phone with me about how many tandem rendering chips their console would need.
The thing is, every client I've ever had understood that I knew what they didn't and that I knew what they would need before they'd need it.
The true value of a masterpiece can't be seen by the eyes of the unilluminated. My consoles aren't the best because my programs deal the most damage, because they manage energy more efficiently, or because they're virtually untraceable. No, nothing so crude. The real value of my work is in my knowledge of it. Knowledge is power. And no one knows more about consoles than I do.
I know how many screws this console has, 132, and just how tight to screw them, 1.2 Newton-meters. I know that the servers my client will be hacking can only manage lineal transmission systems and that emulating one will require at least 380 MW. If I hadn't known that, I wouldn't have added a data condenser to the motherboard so she could execute her programs faster or upgraded the neurotransmitter's link unit to a silicon-based one so that the Watchers would have a harder time detecting her.
And even if she didn't explicitly ask for all those things, I know my client is not a sheep. I know she'll be grateful. They always are.
Written by Espeche, original idea by Alvarythm.