What can I tell ya? I grew up on the streets of Tir. Slinking through
the shadowed alleys hoping to hear a bit of info that might sell. Money
was tight, but lips were loose. I'm sure I sent more than one
bureaucrat into a full-on career face-plant just by trading facts and
photos for cold hard creds.

Skimming cracked Quantum FT clusters across the stinking moat for fun.
Just around the back of Fair Trade, where the Waste Collectors dump
damaged goods into the matter recycler, a guy can hook a serviceable
component or two with a deft flick of his dirk. Mostly it was just
scrap though, and I always got a perverse pleasure out of seeing if I
could turn a useless bit of former technology into a lump on some poor
Meta-Phys neck as he headed into Still Alive.

Sneaking into Onmi-1 to scam creds from the dim-witted corporate guns.
I'll never forget that little gizmo I hacked up to do the job. It fit
under my glove like a second skin, and one quick pass even NEAR a
component belt would siphon creds faster than a Trader could suck the
life out of ya. The trick was knowing when to stop, and I never got
caught. The gizmo lead me on to other tech though, like a bad drug. I
eventually bootstrapped myself into as much tech as I could afford; NCU
upgrades, HUDs, and programs. To this day I leverage my soul for each
new feature of this 'cybrid' I have become.

Hanging around The Cup to beg secrets of the Grid from the brain-fried
old timers who chose to wait out their resurrection shock by tipping a
glass of Athen's finest down their gullet. I endured many a repetitious
tale of Cyborg battles in between the precious nuggets of Grid wisdom.
Someday I would skim the shimmering blue pathways of the Grid, like the
techo-junk I used to skim in town. Transportation is power. If I can
go anywhere, I can steal anything. Glorious.

Clan Fixer of RK-1