Neural Recordings

You must have access to a neural link in order to use neural recordings. Devices that grant a neural link are not of uniform quality—see that page for details. If you don't have any access to a neural link, you will always get a message telling you that "You don't have anywhere to imprint slot chips."

Limited items Quest items
Unearthly items No trade items
Derivative unearthly Normal items

Neural Recordings

Memory core chips (FaradCapacitor.jpg)

Other chips (computerchip.jpg)


The first chip you use each day will always work properly. After that, you have a possibility of a malfunction, depending on your Will. If the number of chips you've used today is more than (buffed Will/4), you gain Y energy of Chip Headache (Y = quality of neural link) and the following message instead of the normal effects:

You slot the <chip(s)> and wait for the emotions to start rolling in.

It starts with a weird feeling of vertigo, then develops into a nosebleed and a pounding headache. You want to go on, but have to stop during the xth chip.

<text for normal chip use, if x is more than one>

You've gained Y energy of Chip Headache.

You've gained <normal effects for chip use, if x is more than one>

Rarely, using Memory core chips only, you will instead receive one of the following memories from your past life/lives. This will replace the effect of that chip, but will not affect the next chips you take that day (though they still have a chance to malfunciton):

You remember… a diner. It's Mikhail's… far too vivid to be the chip but still not anything you remember. Still, it's hard not to imagine yourself sitting at that bench.

The bench… is actually in pretty good shape, compared to what you remember. No fire damage from hooligans and a few less years wear and tear. The Jumbo Platter sitting in front of you untouched smells way better than you remember, too.

<A kind-faced old man sits across from you, a look of terror plastered across his face. or Lo sits across from you, his slightly younger face marred by a look of terror.>* Your eyes flicker down to the gun sitting on the table between you. It's a top of the line Midgard needler pistol. The magnetics are cooking, strong enough for you to feel the interference buzz in your cybernetics.

You sit silently for a few minutes, watching him sweat. When you finally speak up, the voice is your own, but weighed down with years of dissapointment and smoking.

"How long did you think you could get away with it, old man? Give me one good reason not to kill you." His eyes flicker a little behind his glasses, like he finds something terribly amusing.

He finally responds, his voice even, almost like he's presenting to a lecture hall. "I know you didn't call in backup. There's only one reason you'd come to me openly… because you want something only I can offer."

He waits a few moments, then reaches forward and powers down the gun on the table. "An old friend of mine once said… 'we never die, just give up when our burdens are too great to bear.' There's no shame in what you're doing."

You remember… an executive office. It's vivid… far too vivid for one of these chips. It feels like a memory, but that might just be the chip talking to your brain.

Still, you can feel the gentle comfort and alien smell of the real leather chair. A waterfall tumbles past the windows, sending wavering shafts of light through the room. The man across the mahogany desk from you is wearing a monocle, as though to emphasize the old world comforts.

He's looking you over passively, like the engagement is a game of chess he intends to win. He speaks slowly, letting no emotion enter into his voice. "So, have you considered my offer?"

You struggle to stay polite. "I've told you before. I have no intention of being your guinea pig." A corner of his mouth twitches up, somehow encapsulating more malice than any mere dictator or serial killer could muster.

"Well," he starts flatly, "I guess that decides that, doesn't it. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

You remember… an office. It's both far more vivid and far more boring than what you'd expect from the chip. It gets hard to resist falling into the strange memory.

You rest comfortably in your ergonomic chair, perfectly supported to work on the giant stream of numbers you're formatting. Sun lamps give the room a warm glow, even though you can't see the nearest window.

Three men come onto the floor, looking almost like brothers. Each is too well-dressed to be welcome here and the leader wears a monocle. You've heard people are going for retro clothing, but that's ridiculous.

They stop on the far side of your cubicle wall and the last thing you hear before the pain is "that crazy raven is building an army."

The gunshot is understated, leaving you almost disappointed with the soft 'thwip' of magnetically driven needles ripping through the cubicle wall and into your right side.

You remember… a filthy alley. It's far too vivid for one of those chips. It's difficult to keep yourself outside the stream of memory.

Your eyes water as the alley's scent hits you. It's nothing compared to the pain in your right side, though, or the fear of the drones chasing you.

You pull at your bandages, then discard them. When you started running, there was a terrible mess under there. Skin, bone, muscle, and blood were mixed into an incoherent mass.

Now, it's covered with a fresh layer of skin that's smoother than the highest class spas. It still hurts, but like you were hit by a baseball bat, not like needler rounds had shattered your rib cage.

You remember… a room. It's far more vivid than any experience you're supposed to have with these chips. It gets hard to keep yourself distant.

The room is harshly lit, but immaculately clean. The harsh scent of antiseptics almost covers the scent of old blood.

Restraints have chaffed your arms and legs, cutting almost to the bone, but you don't remember struggling. IVs run into your arms the left one dripping <something that numbs your entire arm / a cocktail of painkillers that seems faintly familiar> and the other filled with what looks like liquified Eclipse.

Four figures stand in the room around you, covered from head to toe in containment suits. You hear <a woman's voice./a woman's voice… Dr. Amundsen?>**

"Alright, this one… seems to be ready to go. Get transit ready to the bridge, we may not have a lot of time."

You remember… a containment suit. It's far too vivid for these chips to ever replicate and hard for you to keep yourself separate from.

The suit is stifling and hot, recycling your air but never cutting down on the heat. You don't dare take it off or turn on the air intake now, though.

A few feet below you is a churning whirlpool of shimmering lights and green fire. Looking down, you can see foam washing up on the rocks, each bubble containing a tiny world and each tiny world screaming as it dies.

With a deep breath, you hurl yourself into the maelstrom. Your screams join those of a million tiny worlds as your awareness shatters to dust.

And, for all the above, if you used multiple chips and still have chips left to use:

The strange episode passes and you sit back to enjoy the rest of your chips.

*Depending if you have Lo as a contact or not.
**Depending if you have Dr. Amundsen as a contact or not.

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