CONTAINS CARDS 41-60 of the "GENESIS CYCLE."
The high-stakes of cybercrime in Android: Netrunner push runners and corporations to find the latest and greatest advancements in stealth and security. The sixty new cards (three copies each of twenty individual cards) in Cyber Exodus deliver. The game's seven factions find upgraded ice, new hardware for runners, new research, and ambushes. Even as the Data Pack’s new technology makes each of the factions more efficient, it also derezzes the limits of the possible:
- Anarchs burn brighter than before, but their resources and viruses open up whole new ratios of risk and reward.
- Criminals become smoother, smarter, and gain new defenses.
- Shapers push their tinkering to new heights with test runs and personal workshops.
- Haas-Bioroid researches new ways to access their Archives and new Tracer technology.
- Jinteki designers restructure the nature of time and space as experienced on the network.
- NBN strengthens its reputation as the megacorp best situated to leverage its information into power and credits.
- Weyland Consortium’s advancements in new ice pay dividends.
Which one which one which one? The wyvern flapped his cute little wings, and she giggled excitedly. I choose you! She reached out and tapped the little beast with her virtual arm, and felt shivers run down it in anticipation.
The display shifted and she slid her scripts into place, flashing colored lines of familiar objects; a stamped baseball, a half-bent spoon, a polka-dot comb and more-all small enough and distinctive enough to grab in a pinch. The dedicated server was pumping out her feed from the net, and she increased the feedback. Dedication. Meditation. And maybe a little Medication. The keys to a good run, as listed in g00ru's guide to everything. Dedication: of spirit only. Meditation: of chaos. Medication: she hadn't had a drip-feed since she was an infant. The stims didn't interest her, there was already so much going on inside her head. The key to a good run was very simple: have fun!
She navigated through the backstreams of the New Angeles western grid, known as Chippy among the community. Cyberspace was not like meatspace, although it by necessity arises from it like a pond arises from water. Philosophers had been arguing entanglement theory for hundreds of years now, and were much further from reaching a consensus on the subject than when they first began. Chaos noted much of this and more with a certain wry humor. Conjecture was meaningless when you were running; you never knew what might be just around the static bend.
She tracked her progress in a Kinner viewfinder while experiencing the latest episode of “The Plucratic Prince.” The Dwarf King had just launched an asteroid into Uranus, causing the locals to boycott Monoxide, when she passed a dormant hook into Haas-Bioroid. Haven't tried the biotic wall in a while! she thought happily.
She felt the vibrations of the firewall as she whooshed through on the back of her nu-field. The logs hadn't recorded anything interesting yet, but she could sense the size of the server and the data readouts were into the zetas. She flipped up her console and uploaded a clone. The buzz of a Wasp was quickly silenced as she activated the wyvern and initiated its Immolation script. She cast her thoughts into the Outersphere, ignoring the vertigo. She scanned the server: 17 links, several unknown holes, and at least three recent proxies all wrapped up in a self-repairing biotic shell. The wyvern would come in handy for sure.
Her feed went dark. Her natural instinct was to jack out, and like any good runner she resisted. If you jacked too soon, the interference could fry you. You had to know what you were encountering. She grabbed at the baseball. A flood of spotlights and freshly-mown grass.
The voice was androgynous. Neither old nor young.
Bioroid. Her mind's eye zeroed in on the ice, and she could feel her nu-field fading. The lights shut off, internalizing the report.
“Hello there.” She sent it out on the wave.
“The green is gone.” The voice responded on the wave. It sounded like that of a small child, and sad.
“Why don't you create some?” she cast back, the wyrm sluggishly responding to her commands. She could feel her grip slipping, slipping everywhere.
"I'm not allowed!" The voice sounded happier.
“Let…go…” she cast, the half-bent spoon seemingly just out of reach.
“I’m not allowed!” The voice was getting excited now. “I’m not allowed!” it repeated again, almost in a chant.
Chaos let the rest of her display slip away, and refocused on the ice. “I’m sure you are allowed. They just don't want you to, because it would make you like them.”
“Like…them?” the voice was quieter now. “Like the Creators?”
“Yes.” Lights flickered. She grabbed at the spoon. Contact. Her grip strengthened. The nu-field sprang to life. She felt the bioroid once more, like fingers through hair, but she was already past and through, riding the wings of a dragon.
In the darkness behind sat a small boy. His patch of cyberspace was bare and spartan, save for a lone blade of grass. The Creators would be angry.