Everything runners have had in their packs so far: 37 of 273 things. In the game, codex shows the ones you've had yourself.
A corporate security pistol with the serial lasered off. It's balanced better than anything on the street.
A yellow incisor the length of a finger, bound to a pipe handle with wire. Whatever grew it was enormous.
A theatre spotlight rebuilt into a beam rifle by something that never stopped wanting an audience.
The Maestro's conducting baton: a length of chrome rail with a stage light welded to the end, still glowing. It was made to lead an orchestra. It leads a fight just as well.
… and 46 nobody has found yet.
A chest plate from a pit-fighter frame, dented from a hundred fights, cut down and strapped to fit a person. It still has the fighter's number stencilled on it: 7.
A vest stitched from the scaly hide of something that grew too big in the sewers. It still smells of them.
Waders cut down to the ankle with grip soles. The sewers' old hands wear nothing else.
Swimming goggles with crushed glowcap smeared inside the lenses. The dark looks a lot less dark.
Gloves strung with the Unplugged's control wires. Your fingers move a fraction before you tell them to.
A beaked respirator from Doctor Saw's clinic, its filters still good. Nothing in the air gets to you.
A cracked porcelain mask from the Dead Line's dead theatre, its smile fixed and polite. You stop flinching.
… and 56 nobody has found yet.
Overlapping plates grown in a lab and grafted on in sheets. You look like something from under the sewers.
… and 28 nobody has found yet.
… and 6 nobody has found yet.
The Maestro's core, a sphere of glass and copper that still pulses in time with a song only it can hear. Dex wants to see it.
A heavy-duty servo motor, still oily. Worth something to anyone building machines.
The glowing yellow power core of Sanitation Unit 9. It hums against your palm.
A scorched circuit board pulled out of a drone. Some of the chips might still be good.
A fist-sized knot of servos, still twitching, pulled out of an Unplugged machine. Dex pays for these.
A racing chassis's turbo coil, still hot. Somebody somewhere wants one of these very badly.
… and 28 nobody has found yet.
A pale mushroom that glows a faint blue. It smells of earth and, oddly, mint.
… and 3 nobody has found yet.
A sealed high-density power cell with a vehicle coupling. Twenty-five charge for energy weapons.
… and 5 nobody has found yet.
… and 19 nobody has found yet.
A brass arcade token stamped with a grinning cartoon robot. Worth nothing, except to collectors, and machines.
Copper wire, a transit badge, a signal lamp: the kind of thing scrap dealers pay for.
A battered crate of whatever the raiders had taken last: engine parts, tinned food, a radio, a bag of bolts. Somebody in a town will buy it.
A bent bottle cap stamped with a crowned rat: proof of membership in the Drain Rats.
A yellowed tooth as long as your finger. Sewer gators lose them all the time; they grow back.
A long, scaly rat tail. Someone, somewhere, probably wants these.
A glossy brown shell plate from a giant cockroach, light and surprisingly tough.
A thick slab of hide from something enormous out in the wilds, armored with scale and scar. Tanners and outfitters pay for these.
A torn speaker cone from a karaoke drone. If you hold it to your ear you can still hear the last chorus it was singing.
A matted tuft of bright purple synthetic fur from a theme-park animatronic. It smells of popcorn and hydraulic fluid.
… and 35 nobody has found yet.
A chip that drives a nanite reservoir sewn into its casing, keeping a field up around you. Five minutes of use before it burns up.
A glass ampoule of gray nanite slurry. Crack it on your arm and they spread into a skin-tight field that takes half of every blow, until they burn out.
A heavy cylinder of compressed fuel, warm to the touch, with a vehicle coupling on one end. Twenty moves' worth for most vehicles.
A reflex-timing chip, military surplus, its serial number filed off. Eight minutes of use before it burns up.
A slim blue inhaler of reflex accelerant. For a minute and a half the world moves at half speed and you don't. Then you pay for it.
A dermal patch with a circuit printed on it. It patches you into a pirate targeting feed for a few minutes: targets outlined, weak points flagged.
A tactical mesh node. Everyone in your party where you are fights a little sharper, takes hits a little better and heals faster, you included. Twenty minutes of use before it burns up.
… and 10 nobody has found yet.