You've been around programmers and software developers enough to have picked up some basic understanding of how code and software systems work. Maybe you grew up around tech workers, or you just spent enough time in places where coding was common to absorb some knowledge.
You're not some master programmer who can write complex AI systems, but you know enough about coding to understand the basics and maybe write simple programs. Whether through family connections or just being around the right environments, you've developed some familiarity with programming concepts and software development.
As a result of your passing familiarity with code cutting, you have a few knacks up your sleeve that can come in handy in a variety of situations. You know how to identify vulnerabilities in software, or how to create basic scripts to automate tasks. However, you're not as experienced as a professional and your lack of formal training can sometimes get you into trouble.
Choose one of the following skill boons.
A portable computer optimized for coding and hacking, with pre-loaded tools, exploits, and utilities. Customized for your specific style.
A personal collection of scripts, programs, and hacking tools you've created or collected over time. Your digital toolbox for any situation.
Software and hardware designed to mask your digital presence, encrypt communications, and cover your tracks when operating online.
Your first hack was a vending machine on Deck 14 that overcharged for synth-coffee. Fourteen years old, a borrowed datapad, and a script you found on a darknet forum. It worked; free coffee for three weeks until station IT patched it and you learned what "access logs" meant.
Kovac Station's residential network logged everything. Your parents couldn't afford a privacy tier, so you built one. Routing through maintenance back-channels, spoofing device IDs, leaving just enough normal traffic to avoid the "suspicious absence of data" flag.
The research archive on Talvin Relay had been "sanitised" after the corporate merger. You pulled fragments from the buffer cache, reconstructed partial file tables from the drive's wear-levelling metadata, and reassembled enough to make three mid-level executives very nervous. Deleted data isn't gone. It's just hiding.
The sensor array needed a firmware patch that the manufacturer wanted four thousand credits for. You wrote your own in a cargo bay using a tutorial, a borrowed compiler, and profanity. It was ugly. It worked. Pretty code is a luxury. Functional code keeps the lights on.