5 Weapon of Ass Destruction

The physical, consult by the actual doctor, surgery, post-surgical calibration, and in-patient recovery took most of the day, but I was out of their clinic towards the end of the afternoon. That was an absolutely amazing turnaround for elective brain surgery; even my medical sense was very impressed.

I made small talk with the doctor during the processes when I wasn't anesthetised, and he told me a fair bit about his perspective on cybernetics. He was a chatty old man, and I had the impression that he liked to talk, and maybe most of his clients never bothered. I also learned that nanomachines were also widely used in the cybernetics field as well, and it made a lot of sense. Nanomachines were used to completely integrate the bio-active elements in the machine with individual nerve fibres and filaments; most implants were connected to the brain or central nervous system, after all. And those that weren't were often connected to the cardiovascular system, so it was a similar thing there.

Even after using nanomachines during the implantation process of my eyes, they still had to be carefully calibrated. To work correctly, they had to integrate almost perfectly with my optic nerves. My medical knowledge told me that individuals often had wildly divergent optic nerves, where stimulating the same fibre in one person would produce an altogether different image in the brain if stimulated in a different person.

After the installation of the optics, I was woken up and could see very well! But while the default assumptions and simple machine learning-based error correction Kiroshi made was good, perhaps ninety per cent correct out of the box, after about fifteen minutes while I was waiting for the tech to arrive to begin the calibration, I could detect the slightest amount of artefacts and a very small intermittent headache.

Even with the artefacts, my vision was better than it had ever been before, but I could see how I might have even ignored the occasional twinge of a headache if I had purchased these cybernetics from a less reputable dealer who did not go through as thorough a post-installation calibration process.

I may have put it down to postoperative pain, ignored it, and then later got used to it. But the surgeon was very clear; in his opinion, any properly installed piece of prosthetic-style cybernetics, for example, my replacement eyes or a replacement arm, should feel significantly better than the original. If you merely settled for "feels the same as", then your doctor had failed, to say nothing of many people who he claimed thought glitches, twinges, and pain was normal and just something they had to live with.

I felt that this was a pretty good philosophy to have if you were to sell cybernetics and strove to remember it, which I could already tell I was doing better with as well, even before they calibrated my memory co-processor.

The doctor was a kindly-looking old man of indeterminate age who claimed he retired from a long career at MoorE technologies to open his own practice a decade ago. MoorE was a Swedish company that specialised in radical alterations; for example, customised full-body replacements were what they were famous for. He claimed that he had never once had a patient that had followed his medical advice have any incidence of cyberpsychosis.

I wasn't sure if he was telling the complete truth, but there was some ring of truth in it. I had seen videos of cyberpsychos online; thankfully, most of them were censored on the sites I visited. On the other hand, I had seen many people, some in person and others online, that were as augmented or even more so, who seemed perfectly sane, lucid and rational.

I had begun researching the topic off and on since I learned of the condition shortly after I arrived, especially since I knew I would be getting implants myself. I thought insanity was everyone's secret fear, especially the type of insanity where you didn't realise it was happening until it was too late. However, the publically available literature was... well, I hesitated to call it literature, even. Of course, there was a variety of opinions, but most official-looking documents reminded me of a cross between Reefer Madness, abstinence-only sex education and the Salem Witch trials. "Has your neighbour been acting odd after getting chrome? See something? Say something!"

The possibility of cyberpsychosis afflicted people going on rampages had always been somewhat present from my study of the history of the last half-century, but it was approaching the level of a moral panic, today. And yet, they hardly knew much more about it now than they did back in the 2020s! Or if they did they kept it secret.

A lot of what was said was completely contradictory, too. There wasn't a lot I could learn, but my vast trove of knowledge of violent anti-social spectrum disorders made me suspicious about all of it. Although it was true that people afflicted with psychosis were more likely to be violent than the average person, much more, the truth was the vast, vast majority of people experiencing psychotic breaks never became violent at all. Why, then, were cyberpsychos almost always, eventually, violent?

Or were they? Perhaps there were a vast majority of non-violent "cyberpsychos" that just lived with it? That sounded very dystopian. I didn't know and wasn't in any position to begin some kind of large sample-sized psychological study of the most violently deadly demographic on the planet, either. It was something I would have to just keep watching, but it certainly appeared that my fears about myself succumbing to the disease were not, at least now, likely.

One of the major "symptoms" I had read about was that a burgeoning cyberpsycho began seeing themselves as superhuman and as an average person as an ant, kind of like what was common in the narcissistic personality disorders I was familiar with. If so, I wondered if my low self-esteem would give me a lot more leeway!

I was scanning everyone and everything interesting with my optics as I walked back to the metro station. I was very specifically not using my cyberdeck until I got home; besides the fact that the augmented reality interface took some getting used to and made me not pay attention to my surroundings, which was dangerous, I was a little bit worried about the software running on it.

Honestly, I was a little worried about the software running on my Kiroshis and my operating system, as well. I didn't think I could presently do much about hardware hacks or software-based backdoors placed in the equipment by the OEM, but many people were worried about what malware a clinic might put into their cybernetics. It kind of reminded me of the bloatware that Verizon or AT&T would include in their phones; in some ways, it made the phone easier to operate, but mostly it was just bloatware with unknown permissions doing unknown things.

My OS seemed clean, but both my eyes and my deck had a number of pre-installed software packages. When I got home, I would use my laptop and interface plugs to go through each software package one by one. Once I found which packages I was going to keep, I would note them and then download the most recent firmware from Biotech Sigma and reflash my deck. Then for each software package, I could download the official, most recent, cryptographically signed version from each manufacturer.

There would still be some trust involved, but there was not a lot I could do about that at the moment without becoming a peerless expert at programming, getting copies of all that software source code and then inspecting it line by line. I wasn't some famous hacker; I just was pretty good with computers! Maybe someday I'd have that skill, but it surely wasn't today.

Although I had a tingling in the back of my head of ideas that indicated that my power might help some with software development, it only seemed to be the case if it was the base firmware for a medical implant or medical device. It wouldn't at all help me reprogram the phone app on my Kiroshis, so I knew I wasn't being spied on, for example.

Still, that was something to keep in mind as a possibility in the future. It was obvious, but I noticed my Tinkering worked a lot better on things I was already very knowledgeable about. That was why I could make a techno-tiara that put you to sleep. It was because I was already very familiar with the brain's processes of sleep, rest and healing.

Stepping onto the train, I carefully guarded my purse and sat on one of the open seats. Although NCART was always somewhat busy, I had missed the real rush hour an hour and a half ago. The sun was already starting to set, setting a stark dichotomy, looking like a beautiful ink on canvas amidst the trashiness of the cityscape in front of it.

Going back to my thoughts, I was sure I needed to expand my horizons and learn more about both programming and electronics than I ever learned in Mrs Knott's class. So, although I was very proud, actually I was ridiculously proud, of my sleep inducer, I felt if I knew more about the way, electronically, braindance wreaths interfaced with a person's brain, I could have made a device that did a lot more than just help you sleep and remember.

After two stops, the train filled up again, and I offered my seat to an older gentleman who looked like he was barely making it through to the end of the day. He looked shocked and then suspicious but, after a moment, gave me a genuine smile and told me, "Thanks, lady."

I was a lady now, huh? I liked the way that sounded. First lady, then QUEEN, then GODDESS. Oh, no, they were right about the Cyberpsychosis all along! I giggled at my internal monologue, then coughed when people stared at me and quietly tried to hide behind a mass of people, wanting the floor to swallow me up.

I calmed down after the next stop and resumed my thoughts about my power. It felt like there was a limited amount of secret sauce, and everything that I could build traditionally with science would allow that secret sauce to be spread to areas of my invention that were totally irreproducible with science instead of making up for what I didn't know, which was almost everything in some fields right now. I didn't know if this was normally how Tinkers worked, but I thought that maybe it was as it would explain reasons why Armsmaster went to graduate school for engineering and could produce marvels and Squealer could produce only trashy monster trucks.

I just felt that my jar of secret sauce was a lot smaller than theirs, but that might be just envy from someone newly starting out. But Squealer? I had seen one of her cars driving a hundred and fifty miles an hour down the highway with square wheels on the news once. She not only got the jar of sauce but the whole sauce factory!

Still, I had still learned a little bit more about electrode-based brain interfaces when I made my sleep inducer, building it wasn't a complete fog. It kind of felt like I was working my way up the tech tree in Civilisation, one of the few games our computer at home could still run. Building this one device gave me ideas for other devices using similar but slightly more advanced principles.

In the same way, I had been considering ways to mitigate the effects of the antibiotic I had made before. It was absolute death on bacteria. Such that I couldn't think of any ideas about how to make it selectively leave your microfauna alone.

But when I looked back at the over dozen different shapes of medical nanomachines in my blood gave me the initial sketches of a new type of potential nanomachine, whose tool would be a tiny controllable and coilable filament, twice the length of the nanite itself. A hunter-killer nanomachine that could kill bacteria or even any other type of eukaryotic cell very easily. It was a completely different area of medical science as to the antibiotic, which chemically weakened the plasma cell membrane of bacteria. However, it was still in the same general area of "things that kill single cellular organisms."

However, although I got a good idea of the shape of the machine and even some hints on how its little filament whip would work in identifying and then destroying eukaryotes, I currently didn't have any ideas of how to build the nanites themselves. There was clearly some wiggle room with my power, but building nanites with my alt dad's hand tools wasn't going to cut it.

At the next stop, a boy about my age slapped my ass, laughed uproariously and ran off the train before I could smack him. Had I just been... chikaned? You heard stories about subway gropers in big cities, but this was only my second day riding the damn train! The little shit had a good arm on him, too. I rubbed my butt, mortified. The other passengers ranged from sympathetic to amused, with the latter being the plurality. I got that little booger's face, though, and remembered his stop.

Wait...

Oh, god. With my recently enhanced memory, I thought back to when the asshole got on the train; he was carrying a greasy Buck-A-Slice pizza, which I didn't think was even literally considered food. They either had an asterisk calling their product food in their marketing materials, or they should have. My skirt was dry-cleaning only! I would get even if I saw him again.

---xxxxxx---

I spent the next few days reading guides online and watching videos. I was still very much getting resources from what would be considered the normal part of the net, but I was inching towards sites and channels that were considered... well I didn't know. In my last life I would have called them preppers.

People who stored a lot of food and gun at their house for when the zombies came. Like, some people were professional paranoids, but this segment of people took it as a hobby instead. They were usually corporate workers or professionals that both distrusted and relied on cybernetics heavily.

It wasn't "hacker resources" that I was consuming, but it shared some commonalities, in that they were big on open-source software... or at least software where the source code could be examined or had been examined by other people besides the Corporation releasing it. Their other interests were security and privacy, in as much as the latter could be found on the net or in the world at all.

If I had been as savvy as Alt-Taylor, it probably wouldn't have taken me more than a couple of hours to inspect every software package installed on my operating system, eyes and cyberdeck, reflash and reinstall everything. In fact, this was probably the bare minimum of what savvy people did. The memory co-processor didn't have customisable software at all, and I already checked that it was running the most up-to-date firmware, so I would just have to trust it for now.

However, I wasn't Alt-Taylor. I took several days to accomplish the same thing, although I was learning a lot at the same time. I was notably a little leery about wiping and then reinstalling the software on what I used to see unless I was absolutely sure it would work. I didn't even know what I would do if I just suddenly blinded myself, and I couldn't fix it. I suppose I'd have to call emergency services and get an ambulance ride to the Skyline clinic or invent some sort of echolocation to see in the dark. To say nothing about the cyberdeck, which was even more integrated into my brain.

I found a number of extraneous software packages on both my Kiroshis and my deck that didn't correlate to what either manufacturer considered their factory defaults. Seven or eight in total on each device. Most of them seemed to be bloatware, but I didn't really know for sure.

They were cryptographically signed by a couple of software companies that sounded legitimate, but who knows what they were hired to actually produce and for whom. They had replaced the phone, messenger, moving map, and a couple of other apps. I was pretty sure one of the bloatware apps was designed to run continuously and broadcast my identity to nearby devices for advertising purposes rather than any nefarious purposes. Although a lot of advertising in this world really was nefarious.

Two of the installed apps looked very suspicious. Their permissions granted were extraordinarily broad; they had strange non-descriptive alphanumeric names and were signed by unknown entities. However, one of the apps was cross-signed by a public key that I had linked to the city of Night City by searching online. That was interesting. Some kind of police LoJak or backdoor? It was signed by a different certificate than the software that NCPD provided that ran people's faces in their records. That software looked pretty normal, and I would keep it. The permissions were mild, too; it couldn't get everything I saw at any time, just specific stills when I triggered the app.

I already knew that the government took a special interest in people who bought a lot of cybernetics, so perhaps one of those suspicious apps was how they monitored them.

Both of the suspicious software packages broke all of the rules of security the default devices had installed. If I had tried to install either of the packages by myself, neither system would have permitted it without me going deep into the settings. The cryptographic certificates these two programs were signed with had been specifically added to each device's trusted list, which bypassed the normal security checks. Normally only Kiroshi or Biotech Sigma's own software had that level of trust.

I found that all very interesting, and it made me certain that I wanted to reflash each of the implants as soon as possible.

I did my cyberdeck first, as if I made a mistake, at least I wouldn't be blind. Although, one of the things I learned from Dr Travis was that almost regardless of what your cybernetic system was, it was generally a bad idea for it to be rendered inert or bricked. Theoretically, it was impossible to actually brick modern cyberware like I was worrying about, but I never underestimated the way I could screw something up by the numbers if I tried really hard on it.

But... it actually proceeded without a hitch. I then downloaded the replacement software packages directly from the OEM's net site and verified that I wasn't being phished with an imposter site several times. It had only been a handful of years since the actual world wide web became worldwide again. Even just fifteen years ago, each part of the net was fragmented into regional, local private networks after the greatest hacker in history destroyed the old net.

I was, perhaps, being paranoid because each of the implants did its own security check on the update, too, before allowing it to be reflashed. Still, I was a belt and suspenders type of girl when it came to software running in devices connected directly to my brain.

After both devices were cleared, my interfaces became quite a bit more clunky. I didn't have the link to the NCPD on people anymore or much of anything else except for optical zoom.

After an hour and a half of carefully installing all of the apps I had approved onto both devices, it felt like using a freshly formatted Windows XP system before any cruft managed to get grafted on. Nice, in other words.

A feeling of pride suffused me, and I realised I was being ridiculous. I felt like a Boomer, being proud of operating some new-fangled device when a kid my age could have done the same thing in fifteen minutes. Still, it was progress.

---xxxxxx---

Over the next week, I started going to the gym on the tenth floor of my building, building up until I was staying almost an hour a day by the end of my first week. It didn't cost very much, and there were not many people interested in using it, except a Megablock boxing club, but they immediately discounted me on sight, especially after I ignored the free weights every day and just ran on a treadmill and elliptical machine.

Alt-Taylor's gym clothes were a pair of shorts that were way too short and a short-sleeved T-shirt, which I nixed immediately after seeing and replaced with baggy dark grey long-sleeve sweats and sweatpants.

I got pretty good at using my deck to navigate the regular net while running, and I didn't need to carry my phone anywhere at all anymore, so I left it at home.

This morning while running, I received a call. At first, I didn't recognise the name, but I finally remembered them as one of Alt-Taylor's friends, although not incredibly close. I wasn't sure if I should answer it. My personality and Alt-Taylor's were widely divergent, although I could try to just play it off as I had changed my personality after the life-altering trauma of losing my father.

Sighing, I picked up on the fifth ring. Instantly in the corner of my vision, a small window of a teenage girl around my age appeared, wearing a brightly coloured, sort of kitsch style of clothes that I thought looked good on a lot of people but would look terrible on me. Her skin was the colour of a latte with a triple shot of milk, a light to medium caramel, and she had almost had even more unruly hair than I had. It was one of the things that attracted us to each other when we became friends at school.

She didn't wait for me to say hello, "Tay! How have you been? Wait, that's scorched; I didn't mean that; of course, you've not been good... I just meant, hello."

"Yeah, things have been hard, but I have had a pretty good break. Rather than totally screwing me, the Corp is helping me out. How's everyone back in school?" I asked after chuckling a little bit in spite of myself. I didn't have a lot of memories of this girl, but most of the memories I did have featured her talking at this same super speed.

She spent about ten minutes explaining in detail specifically who was dating who and who had broken up with who in the time I had been gone. Surely there hadn't been that much activity? I mean, how often did they change who they were dating? Even my past memories indicated my alternate self wasn't interested in this kind of gossip, either.

She asked, after kind of wincing, "So... how is.. ugh... public school?"

"I don't know! That's the break I was talking about. I graduated early; I'm enrolling in a college course starting next month. Militech is paying for it, as part of my survivorship package," I told her. It wasn't like any of this was private information, although I specifically didn't state where and implied the course was more than it actually was.

The girl gasped, "Woah! That's nova, Tay! I knew you wouldn't let this keep you down. Say, did you want to hang out with a few friends on Friday?"

I considered that. I really didn't. Not only did I intend to make a clean break with my Militech school friends, but my memories indicated that her type of parties was not something either version of me was interested in. They weren't precisely chaste. Although Alt-Taylor wasn't, as far as I could tell, sexually active yet, she did date boys, but she wasn't interested in going to parties where the main thing going on was fooling around. Jessica had been purely an in-school friend.

"Sorry, Jess. You know, that's not really my thing, plus I only have a couple of weeks until I need to start on a class I didn't think I was qualified to take until recently," that last part was the definitely, one hundred per cent truth.

Still, Jessica was an ultra gossip. Perhaps it would have been better if everyone in my alternate life just thought I had faded away, but at the same time, part of my memories of her didn't want that to happen. Having them find out that I was possibly thriving through gossip was a good compromise. Half wouldn't believe it, and there were no real details to verify for those who did.

The girl shrugged and said, "Yeah, I figured, but I wanted to be friendly, yaknow? Besides, Vicki said you had become a yono whore in Japantown, and I couldn't let that bitch get away with sayin' that." I didn't know what yono was, but a quick parallel net search indicated it was a Korean word popularised into the slang, and it meant trashy. I was interested in how this Vicki person deduced I lived in Japantown, though. Could it have been a guess? There were probably a limited number of places Militech would place someone like me.

Considering what she had said, I figured it was more likely that Jessica wanted to verify whether it was true or not and if it was, she would have spread the news far and wide herself. That was just kind of the girl she was, from what I could remember. I did not really like swearing, but my memories indicated it was what she was expecting, "Vicki's a stupid fucking cunt."

We talked more back and forth about how much of a bitch Vicki was, which was funny because I couldn't remember her from Adam before she eventually hung up. That was surreal. I think I will maybe avoid those kinds of conversations in the future.

---xxxxxx---

I pant as I jump out of my rig, running through the holographic police line and past a couple of Night City's finest shitheads. They were keeping the looky-loos away, such that we couldn't even bring the rig all the way up. My partner was following me with the gurney, but reports from the patient's biom were that their blood pressure was dropping to the crapper. They'd code soon if I didn't hurry. Or maybe even if I did hurry. Trauma Team had already been here and gone, but this guy obviously wasn't a subscriber.

It was already somewhat of a miracle that there was even this survivor from a cyberpsycho MCI. I tried to avoid glancing at the imposing figures of MaxTac, still standing around the chromed-up booster's body.

I cut all of the guy's clothes off with my shears, identifying three gunshot wounds while setting up my kit to get to work. I had a quickset tourniquet around the man's left leg instantly, the simple medical device self-tightening. My partner rushes up, panting, "Oh shit, he's fucked."

My grizzled voice sounded like I was a perpetual smoker, which I was, "Maybe. Two GSW lower left quadrant, one in the left thigh. Come help. His airway's still good, still breathing. Start an I.V., pressure infuse NS with TXA. Blood pressure is shit, so we'll keep dumping fluids into him and prep the two units of blood we got with us." I ordered the younger med-tech sternly as I started to apply automated pressure bandages to the two wounds in his abdomen.

I'd give this guy a fifty per cent chance.

...

After the braindance finished playing, I pulled the wreath I had customised off of my head and considered what I had experienced. These BDs were edited, and some of them were almost complete fabrications for educational purposes. They weren't virtus that were scrolled by the EMT and not edited at all. That would have been a lot more intense, but they still had a bit of the emotion track, and you could get a muted sense of what the scroller was thinking, probably intentionally so you could follow their medical decision.

This was a long one that started out in the field and took the patient all the way to the trauma centre in Watson. It seemed somewhat real, at least more so than the obvious fakes. The purpose of the exercise was to identify both what the EMTs did correctly and what they did incorrectly using the current patient care guidelines.

In answering the questions, I had to be very careful to also only use answers that a Paramedic of average skill could accomplish while also following the sample PCGs. For example, I could not write down, "He should have noticed specifically which artery was lacerated by sight and shoved a pair of hemostats into the wound to clamp the bleeding."

If I tried to turn that answer in, they'd kick me out of the program, even if that was what I actually would have done in his shoes.

I intended to ace this class, but it was going to be difficult to keep my skills on the plausible prodigy level and not the "what the fuck" level. Paramedics had a limited "scope of practice" which was to say that legally they were only allowed to do a certain number of things.

I couldn't start talking about surgery too often because there was only a limited number of surgical procedures that paramedics were authorised to do in the field. They were all of the types that were necessary for immediate first aid, for example, chest tubes, tracheotomies, field amputations and occasionally wild things like a C-section if the mother was already deceased.

In practice in the field, if I got a job as a paramedic, I felt that it would be the results that spoke for themself, but to graduate, I definitely had to toe the line.

I glanced down at my customised wreath. I made a promise that I wouldn't disassemble the brand-new braindance wreath that I bought, but I lied to myself. Although I didn't completely disassemble it, but I ended up using parts from my dad's old phone.

You see, I started to feel a bit anxious using it when I began learning more and more about how they worked and about how much access the system had to your brain. I was very sure that it was possible to create subliminal tracks on a BD or to even create a malicious braindance to adjust the thought track to cause terror, extreme depression and temporary neurosis. The reaction would depend on the person viewing it, but it might be so extreme as to cause an actual physical brain injury.

It was this part of living in this world that I hated and detested the most. Not being able to trust anything. So I had used the processor in one of his old phones; he had an entire drawer full of old models to create what I was calling a firewall.

It was wired in the middle, between the braindance wreath's output and the actual electrodes. The ways a BD could be messed with, at least the ones I had thought up, were detectible when examining the output. There were easily identifiable spikes targeting certain areas of the brain and consistent and identifiable electrical waveforms. In effect, the firewall played BDs on a slight fifty-millisecond delay, and if it detected a malicious BD, it would stop it before it ever got to my brain. In theory.

Still, it made me feel a lot better about using them, and I had to watch them all.

---xxxxxx---

The school sent me an e-mail asking me to come to campus to register a student ID, and those newly enrolled students were permitted to use the campus facilities, like the student union and library, up to a month before enrollment and up to a month after they matriculated, so long as they were still in good standing.

That was something I wish I had known. I imagine that the library of an actual medical school would have a lot of information that I just couldn't get on the public net.

So, for the last two weeks, before I started class, I left my apartment in the morning and came back in the evening; right before, I felt a bit too scared to be on the streets by myself, even in the safety of Downtown.

Today, on the train ride back, that same ass-slapping boy came onto the metro, and I narrowed my eyes. He saw me, too and grinned. I had his number this time, though, at least if he tried the same thing.

I reached into my purse and brought out a small transparent piece of plastic. Moving surreptitiously, I very carefully peeled back one layer to expose an adhesive layer underneath and reached behind myself and casually stuck it to my rear. Then, even more carefully, I peeled back the last film layer on top and made extremely sure I didn't actually touch my skin with that second layer of film. I casually put it in a small empty section of my purse that I would have to carefully clean when I got home.

Was immediately escalating to chemical weapons an appropriate response to having your ass slapped on a train? I wondered. Well, it wasn't like it was actually a weapon, per se. Legally speaking, it wasn't. He wouldn't die or even become sick. I had made very sure of the safety of the chemical, which was rapidly absorbed by skin contact. I even tested it on myself, although I at least had the benefit of doing so in the shower.

Well, if he just gets off on his stop and doesn't make a second attempt, nothing will happen, and I will have to go and carefully take this off my pants.

The train rolled into the station, and I saw him go for it, and I didn't move an inch to stop him. He laughs uproariously, slaps my ass and yells, "See ya, suit bitch!" and then runs off the train. I specifically do not rub my butt this time.

I wonder if I will get to see it. It had a very rapid onset even if an extremity like the hand was exposed, but at the same time, these stops didn't last long at all, and he was already running, trying to escape two train cops. They might have seen him slap me on the butt on the surveillance systems. Realistically, you could only get away with an activity like that on the train once or twice. A lot of corporate workers used the train, so the security was actually really good.

Oh! There it goes, the look of shock and horror on his face as he is in mid-flight. I think I would have a similar expression if I was unknowingly exposed to a chemical that induced rapid, temporary urinary incontinence. Keep going! Don't let a pissed pair of pants stop you, asshole boy!

The train left the station while I smirked to myself. He should be thankful. I had to specifically use Tinkering to make the drug only induce urinary and not also faecal incontinence. But that, surely, would have been a weapon of ass destruction, and I have some lines.