Rolled 20 (1d100)

You stare at the list of debtor's recompense contracts you've been offered as a means of repaying what you owed. All of them shit, just in different flavors. You want to waste your life away as an assistant and experiment piece in a meat ship? Sail around in international waters helping the rippers out as they aug out the desperate with the sort of equipment no 'clave would ever allow into their territory, and (though not outright stated) serving as a walking organ bank for the ultrarcih that like to keep their flesh made of authentic meat.

Maybe a gig in the mines instead? 'Course they won't tell you what's being mined or why they'd need 'ganics to mine it rather than using machines, but there's a very short list of things that might fit the bill and all of them are intensely hazardous to your health.

Alternatively there're the offers to take up the world's oldest profession. There's even a new spin on that, implants that override your cortex so you don't even have to remember the things that get done to you. Once you get one of those installed though, you never really know who can activate it or when. Nor can you find out, if the person holding your leash has two brain cells to rub together anyway.