Cyberpunk Patriarch-Chapter 117: Aden’s Suppression Chip (Part 1)

Aden was just another face in the crowd—a factory worker lost in the chaos of Night City, trying to survive. He lived paycheck to paycheck, grinding away in an assembly plant just to afford the bare minimum. In this world, if you didn't upgrade, you didn't get employed. That's just how it was.

His job required cybernetic enhancements—mechanical arms with enough torque to lift steel plates, optical sensors that could detect microscopic faults in machinery, and processors that synced with assembly line rhythms down to the nanosecond. In Night City, human flesh just wasn't efficient enough anymore.

And yet, cyberware came with a price—not just in eddies, but in sanity. The more prosthetics you installed, the greater the risk of rejection. His nerves screamed each night like they were on fire. The inhibitors he gulped down by the dozen only dulled the edge—they never stopped the whispers or the headaches.

So when Aden heard about a revolutionary chip on the black market—a "suppression chip" that could substitute daily inhibitors—he was all ears.

He bought it from the old captain, a local fixer known for peddling everything from smuggled BD reels to black-market cybertech. The chip wasn't cheap—he had to pull some strings and toss in an extra hundred eurodollars just to get his hands on it.

Still, it was worth it. Inhibitors were expensive and brutal on the liver. If this chip worked as promised, he could ditch the drugs, save money, and maybe even move out of the slums someday.

As Aden turned the corner toward his cramped apartment complex, a friend greeted him.

"Yo, you're back!" a bulky man called out with a grin. "What'd you score, huh? You've been guarding that package like it's made of platinum."

It was Bud—his neighbor and a part-time street thug who worked with a minor gang in Watson. He wasn't the brightest, but he was reliable.

Aden smiled, holding the small white case in both hands. "Old captain hooked me up. Eleven tablets' worth of suppression—Umbrella brand. You wouldn't believe the hype on this thing. I even had to throw in a hundred on top of the regular price just to get it."

Bud frowned, scratching his buzzed scalp. "Umbrella? That some new startup?"

"No clue," Aden replied. "Never heard of 'em before, but if it works, who cares? It's not like any of the big corps are giving out handouts."

"I dunno, man," Bud said, crossing his arms. "I've heard some weird stuff about those chips—like users getting... hazy. One guy said he zones out for an hour after every use. Just sits there like a braindead statue."

Aden waved off the concern with a chuckle. "So what? I'm twenty-four, Bud. I've been on suppressants since I was fourteen. I've puked more inhibitors than I've had meals. One hour of zoning out? I'd trade that any day over rotting my liver with synth-chems."

Bud didn't push further. "Suit yourself."

Aden nodded, gripped the box tighter, and headed up the stairs.

Inside his dingy apartment, he bolted the door, tossed his jacket onto a cracked plastic chair, and sat at his kitchen table, the only piece of furniture without stuffing spilling out. His living space was a cube barely bigger than a vending machine's stockroom—flickering lights, peeling walls, and a constant whir of faulty ventilation.

He carefully opened the box.

The packaging was surprisingly premium: matte white, a small octagonal Umbrella logo pressed into the surface, red triangles forming a cross against four white curved ones. It almost looked like a designer drug—sleek, minimalistic, and suspiciously polished.

"Umbrella Corporation," he murmured aloud. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Shrugging, he pulled out the chip—metallic, engraved, and pulsing faintly with an inner red glow. It looked legit. Better quality than half the knockoff crap being smuggled through Night City these days.

No turning back.

With a swift motion, Aden slotted the chip into the port behind his right ear.

A beep.

Then a humming vibration filled his skull.

A translucent HUD appeared across his vision, displaying a loading wheel wrapped around the Umbrella logo. Within seconds, the install bar hit 100%.

[Ding! Umbrella Suppression Chip has been successfully installed.]

[Welcome, user. Please choose a membership tier to access personalized suppression settings.]

"What the hell... membership?"

The HUD populated a list:

Non-member

Ordinary Member – 1,000€

Black Iron Member – 5,000€

Bronze Member – 10,000€

Silver Member – 50,000€

Gold Member – 100,000€

Aden blinked in disbelief. "Membership? For a suppression chip?"

He scrolled down. Each tier promised better functionality:

Non-members could only access 50% suppression efficiency and had to watch one hour of ads daily.

Ordinary Members would get 75% efficiency and reduced ads—only five minutes.

Silver and Gold tiers offered full power, ad-free use, medical monitoring, and even "emotional well-being stabilization modules."

"What kind of dystopian BS is this?" he muttered.

Still, he didn't have a choice.

He clicked [Use as Non-member].

Suddenly, his entire visual interface transformed into an ad screen.

Commercial after commercial bombarded him:

> "Try QiluVision's full-sensory implants today—witness every detail of life!"

"BoboChicken's new 4D idol group launches this weekend!"

"WholeFood Labs—pure flavor, no side effects!"

His eyes twitched. He reached for a beer.

A timer in the corner counted down from 60:00.

He was officially one hour into his new daily routine. Welcome to

the Umbrella user base.

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