Syncsmith

I wanted to like this more than I did. The setting is vivid—the rain taste, the drone with a rubber-duck profile, Percy's kazoo antics—but the plot felt thin and a little predictable. The idea of a lone tech confronted with a revolutionary prototype (TrueContact) has been done before, and here the moral question—share or sell—plays out in ways I could see coming. The rooftop splice sequence, which is supposed to be the climax, felt rushed and underexplained; I wanted clearer stakes and consequences for what sharing the prototype would actually mean for the community and for corporate interests. Character-wise, Jax is charming but underdeveloped beyond his shop skills and fondness for profanity. Secondary details (like how wider society treats empathy implants or the legal ramifications of TrueContact) are hinted at but never explored, which left me unsatisfied. The story’s strengths are atmosphere and small moments of humor, but as a whole it didn’t push its premise far enough for me.

Lovely little piece. The idea of an empathy-implant technician as a blue-collar custodian of feelings is so fresh—and it’s executed with clear affection for both the technology and the people who use it. The bench imagery (tiny screwdrivers, fiber strands) and the eccentric prosthetic hand make the craft tangible. I also appreciated how the confetti launcher is more than a gag; it’s a narrative tool that shows Jax’s improvisational, human approach to repairs. Percy the kettle AI is a standout for me—its “low-grade melancholy” detection and kazoo attempt lighten otherwise heavy moments. The TrueContact dilemma introduces real ethical stakes without bogging the story down in jargon. Tight, warm, and smartly paced.

Syncsmith is a beautifully compact meditation on repair — of devices and of the people who use them. The prose smells of rain and oil in the best possible way; the opening passage about the rain’s taste set the scene so vividly I felt transported into that alley with its noodle carts and squeaking delivery drone. Jax Cortes is the kind of protagonist who wins you over by how he treats small things: soldering stubborn circuits, whispering apologies to them, keeping a tea-serving kettle AI that mislabels moods but somehow still comforts. I particularly loved how the author uses Jax’s trade as metaphor. The shop being called a “calibration studio” while the owner insists he “fixes feelings” speaks to the story’s theme—technology doesn’t erase messiness, it amplifies our choices around it. The confetti launcher moment is a small, human detail that packs a lot of emotional truth; it reminded me that joy can arrive unexpectedly in the middle of technical work. The TrueContact prototype introduces real stakes: will Jax treat it as a commodity or a communal tool? That moral tension gave the rooftop splice scene its emotional weight. The world feels lived-in, the supporting touches (Percy’s voice, the prosthetic hand with a solder tip) are lovingly rendered, and the balance between humor and seriousness is pitch-perfect. I came away wanting a longer novel set in this neighborhood. Delightful and thoughtful.

Okay, I did not expect to cry while reading about a soldering bench, but here we are. Jax is such a delight—grumpy, profane, domestic. The confetti launcher saving a relationship? Iconic. Percy’s kazoo announcements had me chuckling out loud. 😂 The author’s sense of humor and tenderness keep the cyberpunk grit from getting too grim. The noodle-cart smell detail (fermented kelp, yum?) and the drone described as a “guilty mascot” are perfect little touches that make the alley feel like home. The ethical tug-of-war over TrueContact is handled with restraint; you get the stakes without an info-dump. Also: rooftop splice = yes. I want more rooftop splices in my life. Short, sweet, and full of heart. Recommend if you like your sci-fi with a side of tea and a kettle that has questionable etiquette.

Concise, clever, and quietly moving. Syncsmith reads like a workshop manual for empathy: Jax calibrates not only circuitry but intimacy, and the profession-as-metaphor works really well here. The scene-setting is precise—the taste of rain, the drone squeak as a domestic punctuation mark—and the author trusts small details to do big emotional work. Technically, I appreciated the tactile specificity: the bench full of screwdrivers and fiber strands, the modified prosthetic hand with a confetti launcher, the ritual of soldering and whispering apologies. Those images make the tech believable because it’s used as craft rather than magic. Percy, the tea-pouring kettle AI, is an excellent bit of comic relief and humanization, especially when it mangles moods and serves chamomile with “interpretive kazoo.” The TrueContact dilemma gives the narrative moral weight without heavy-handedness. Pacing is steady; worldbuilding is economical. Overall, a smart, small-scale cyberpunk story that foregrounds empathy in an otherwise abrasive genre.

This story hooked me from the first line — the rain having a taste (copper, oil, fermented kelp) is such a tactile, living detail that I could practically taste the alley. Jax Cortes is one of those rare protagonists who feels handcrafted: equal parts mechanic and therapist, cussing at stubborn circuits one moment and whispering apologies to implants the next. I loved the little domestic beats—the squeaky rubber-duck delivery drone leaning like a guilty mascot, Percy the kettle AI mislabeling moods and announcing “interpretive kazoo,” and the confetti launcher that once saved a reconciliation. Those moments make the world warm and lived-in. The ethical knot around the prototype TrueContact is compelling: sell it and cash out, or share something that could change how people connect? The rooftop splice scene promises high stakes that test Jax’s “hands, rules, and appetite for messy connection” and I was invested. The prose balances humor and poignancy perfectly; the bench as a “forest of tiny screwdrivers” is a lovely metaphor and the description of Jax’s prosthetic hand (three magnetic fingers, a solder tip) grounds the sci-fi in craft. If there’s any complaint, I wanted to see a little more of the community beyond the alley—more fallout from TrueContact’s existence—but honestly, the story’s emotional clarity and playful worldbuilding more than made up for that. A wonderfully human little cyberpunk slice that left me smiling long after the last solder cooled.