Vote closed
New
The Architect of Anarchy: A Cyberpunk Crafting Quest
- Thread starter Magoose
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
Crafter of War
The Dorf
- Location
- Bend
...Um, it appears we didn't assign the gun to Kenji in the winning plan. Can we throw it to him now? Or is he just going in with a spoon?
- Pronouns
- Reader
Ahh. Magoose dice blessings. Interesting lives that take off years of life dead ahead.
- Pronouns
- Reader
Malcolm has the gun we made for him automatically so Kenji gets the hellspitter.
Last edited:
Turn 6 Results
New
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Turn 6 Results:
-[X]Pay them
You payed the bastards again. This time, hopefully, they shut up about taxes for a few weeks.
Reward: You paid the city off.
----------------------------------------------------
[]Run, Think, Shoot, Live: Kenji is preparing to do what he must for you. You just want to know why he is willing to do it for you now, after all this time? Rolled:D20 => 18
Kenji was preparing for war—his war. A war waged for a fixer you didn't even fully trust. Yet, here he was, locking and loading, ready to spill blood for you.
You sat down slowly, watching as he worked, his hands methodically loading magazine after magazine. Each click of a round sliding into place echoed in the quiet room. You weren't sure if it was the sound of protection or inevitability.
"Why?"
The word left your lips before you could stop it.
"Why now? After all this time? Why are you so dedicated to helping me, when my father is the one you should be loyal to?"
Kenji didn't look up immediately. He just smiled, small, knowing, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. He finished loading a mag, set it aside with practiced ease, and finally met your gaze.
"Why indeed," he mused.
He picked up another magazine, rolling a bullet between his fingers before sliding it into place.
"Because I have been raising you for the last eight years. Because I have been trying—trying so damn hard—to protect you from your own stupidity, from your own actions, from the inevitable path you've been walking."
Another round clicked into place.
"I've been steering you toward a future where you don't have to be what they want you to be."
He sighed this time, his fingers slowing as he loaded the next magazine, his voice dropping lower.
"Because I care. About you."
The weight of the words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.
"I want to see what you will create in this world that has already decided what you must be. I want to see you defy it. I have no doubt that you will do great things—things so profound, so aligned with your own will, that they will shake the foundations of this world."
He smiled again, but this time, it wasn't the wry amusement he often wore. It was something real. Something meant for you.
Then, without warning, Kenji pulled his shirt over his head.
His skin was inked in black and crimson—the swirling, intricate markings of the Yakuza. The dragons and demons wove across his back and arms, each line a testament to a life lived in violence.
"I was raised to kill," he said. His voice didn't waver, but there was something behind it—something raw, something unsaid.
He ran a hand over his chest, tracing the old scars beneath the ink.
"My father and I were members of the Yamaguchi-gumi. He died. And when they took me, when they should have executed me, Arasaka stepped in. I wasn't saved. I was taken. Turned into something else."
His jaw tightened.
"They broke me."
For the first time, his hands faltered. He swallowed, fingers gripping the edge of the table before steadying himself again.
"Your father wanted to strip everything from me—my free will, my memories, my soul. He wanted me to be an empty vessel. A weapon he could wield without thought or resistance."
He exhaled, shaking his head before finishing the final magazine. He slid it into place, locking and loading with a decisive click.
"There was no escape."
His eyes lifted to yours, burning with something fierce, something unshakable.
"Until I met you."
Silence stretched between you, heavy with understanding.
"And now you've given me a mission," he continued. "To be your sword. Your bloody vengeance. Your bloody work. To carve a path so you can be free."
Kenji stood, towering over you, his Yakuza tattoos still visible beneath the dim lights.
"That's why I do it."
A slow, deliberate breath.
"Because I want to kill for the young man who taught me to believe again."
REward: Kenji is your blade, and will be for the remainder of his life.
Do not waste such loyalty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
[]Surfing with Stella: So Stella wants to have some fun screwing with the Local Arasaka net. you will assist her, maybe you can even help her with whatever she is doing. Rolled: D20 => 17
It was a Brain Dance, and you weren't exactly thrilled about sharing it, let alone being inter-connected with Stella.
"Are you sure this is safe?"
"Yeah, a BD is just a tool. As long as we don't stay in too long, things will be fine. I tuned everything myself." She tapped away at the controls, her fingers dancing over the interface like she had done this a thousand times before. "Now, put the headset on. We're going somewhere nice. Peaceful."
You scoffed, crossing your arms.
"And where is that? There aren't any peaceful places left in this world."
Stella just grinned. "You'll see."
The moment you slipped the wreath on, the world tilted—warped. It was always like this, nausea twisting through your stomach like your body was rejecting the very concept of being somewhere else. Then, light-flooded your vision, and everything shifted.
Your eyes blinked open to… paradise.
A river stretched before you, its surface glimmering beneath golden sunlight. The water was impossibly clear, reflecting the blue sky in shifting patterns, ribbons of light dancing beneath the surface as gentle ripples distorted the mirror-like sheen. The current was slow, meandering, like it had all the time in the world. Smooth stones rested at the bottom, polished by centuries of water passing over them, their colors muted yet vibrant beneath the crystal-clear depths.
The riverbank was a dream.
Soft, sun-kissed sand stretched along the shore, warm beneath your bare feet, so fine and pure that it felt like silk sifting between your toes. Wildflowers bloomed in bursts of color along the edges, petals swaying in the breeze. Their fragrance mixed with the scent of fresh water and the faint, almost nostalgic aroma of damp earth after rainfall.
Tall, ancient trees framed the scene, their branches weaving into a natural canopy that provided just the right amount of shade. The leaves rustled in the wind, whispering secrets, dappling the ground in a shifting mosaic of light and shadow. A few lazy clouds drifted above, their reflections perfect in the still pools where the river had formed natural alcoves—small, hidden places where the world seemed even quieter, more intimate.
Somewhere in the distance, you could hear birdsong. Not the harsh, artificial chirps of Night City's programmed fauna, but the real thing—soft warbles, the occasional call echoing across the water, the gentle hum of nature at peace with itself.
A wooden dock jutted out over the river, weathered but sturdy, the planks warm from the sun. A small boat rocked gently against its mooring, an invitation to drift lazily down the water, to let the current carry you away from the world and all its problems.
It felt unreal.
Too real.
You exhaled, your breath catching slightly at the sheer stillness of it all. No sirens. No gunfire. No neon glare or flickering advertisements screaming for your attention. No steel and chrome reminders of what the world had become. Just this—this impossible, aching peace.
"What do you think?" Stella's voice pulled you from your trance.
You swallowed. You didn't want to admit how much you liked it.
Instead, you just muttered, "It's… different."
Her smile was knowing. "Yeah. It is."
"Where is this?"
"The Danube," Stella replied, dipping her feet into the water. The river's cool embrace sent gentle ripples outward, disturbing the mirrored sky above. "This is an old memory a friend scrolled for me. I just… edited it. Made sure I could have it with someone else."
She paused, inhaling deeply. The air smelled of fresh water, of distant mountain winds carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. She closed her eyes, as if savoring a feeling long lost to time.
Then she looked at you, tilting her head slightly. "You're strange."
You blinked. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Stella smirked. "Yes. You're different from everyone else in that shithole of an academy."
She spat into the water, and the memory reacted—just slightly. The saliva landed with an unnatural stillness, before a single ripple expanded outward, like the BD itself acknowledged her presence, subtly reaffirming that this was a constructed reality. The immersion was so deep it almost felt real.
"You want to be more than what Arasaka wants you to be," she continued, glancing at you with something unreadable in her gaze. "And I like that about you."
You watched as her hair shifted, strands of silver giving way to blonde, the BD subtly altering her appearance as if responding to her whims. Then, without hesitation, she peeled away her outer clothes, revealing a sleek, form-fitting swimsuit beneath. The fabric shimmered slightly in the digital sunlight.
"Well, come on. Water's nice." She grinned, dipping her legs in deeper, kicking up small waves that lapped at the shore.
You folded your arms. "And why should I?"
Her expression shifted, something more serious lurking beneath the casual invitation.
"Because I want someone to look at me and not see me as a piece of meat."
That… was unexpectedly raw.
You hesitated, watching the way the water clung to her skin, droplets catching the light like scattered diamonds. It wasn't seduction—there was no teasing lilt to her voice, no coy glance thrown your way. Just exhaustion. A quiet plea hidden behind her usual bravado.
"Even Malcom?" you asked.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Malcom only sees two things: killing and protecting me. Honestly, I think he gets harder from violence than from anything normal. Pretty men, pretty women—it doesn't matter to him. I don't think he even cares. He just wants to kill because it seems like it's the only thing he will be able to do. He can't be anything else."
You considered that. Malcom was a damn good soldier, no doubt about it. But it was hard to tell if he fought for something, or if the fight itself was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Then Stella's voice turned bitter. "Not that it matters. My father's already decided what my life is gonna be."
She drew circles in the water absentmindedly, eyes distant. "He wants to marry me off to some high-ranking corpo suit, some bootlicker who'll treat me like a broodmare. Make sure I'm 'pretty' and 'healthy' so I can pop out a few heirs, secure some merger or another." Her voice dripped with venom, but underneath it was something quieter. Resignation. "Then forget about me."
You exhaled. "And what do you want?"
Stella looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the BD seemed to hold its breath. The leaves stilled. The water calmed. The birds in the distance went silent.
"To be free," she murmured. "Just… free."
She then waved her hands and you were in swimwear, a nice pair of red swim trunks that seemed far too personal. "Now, come one, enjoy it."
And you swam in a beautiful river for what felt like a few hours… and when it was over, you understood her a little bit more.
Reward: Stella is far more loyal to you now. Can now begin her personal action questline to get big bonuses for future Tech Weaponry.
She will now serve your party on missions free of charge.
------------------------------------------------
-[]Ghost in the city: You want to look into the Rumors and legends of the city. You want to see if there is any truth to some legends. Rolled:D20 => 13
You heard a rumor that sent ice through your very soul.
"You ever see those black AVs with no markings? If you do, don't ask questions. Just walk the other way."
Street gossip says Arasaka never lets its property go. If you've got high-end chrome, prototype implants, or classified software buried in your skull—especially if you got it off an Arasaka job—you're not safe.
People whisper that black-clad operatives—not MAX-TAC, not Trauma Team—are abducting people off the streets. No questions, no warnings, just silent, efficient extraction.
If they take you, no one ever sees you again. No body, no whispers.
Just another name lost in the noise of Night City.
Reward: You got a rumor.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[]Father: Father wishes to see you again. He says it's time that you both have some bonding time. Rolled:D20 => 1
Security Roll:D20 => 12
He had set you up… to do something.
You hadn't expected that.
But what you expected even less were the two Arasaka ninjas standing at either side of the alley, their silhouettes blending into the artificial glow of Night City's endless neon haze. Their presence was a quiet, efficient promise of what was to come. They weren't here to talk.
They were here to take you.
Your spine tensed as their optics locked onto you, unwavering and cold. Even before one of them took a single step forward, you already knew what this was. Extraction.
Your mind raced. You weren't just being taken for discipline. No—this was worse. They wanted to ship you off to Japan for reprogramming. The kind of brainwashing that turned people into obedient assets. Wiped them clean of all independent thought. You would be scrubbed down to your base functions—loyal, precise, useful.
You reached instinctively for your piece, fingers twitching toward the Killer Angel on your hip—
But then he stopped them.
Your father's voice cut through the air, sharp and final. One word—one command—and the ninjas froze.
The van door never opened. The extraction never happened.
Instead, your father stepped forward, emerging from his sleek, black armored vehicle with the same unshakable presence that had loomed over your entire childhood. His tailored suit was pristine, unmarred by the filth of the streets. His expression unreadable beneath the city lights.
And then—without warning—he placed a hand on your head.
Ruffled your hair.
It was a gesture so bizarre, so incongruous with the moment, that you almost flinched. Almost.
His fingers were cold. The weight of his palm was heavy, but not comforting. It wasn't fatherly affection. It was a reminder. A claim.
His voice was quiet, yet it carried more weight than any threat of violence.
"Do not mistake this for mercy."
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he pulled away. His eyes, those cold, cyber-enhanced optics, pierced through you with measured intent.
"You will do as I command… or you will be punished."
And just like that, he turned away, stepping back toward his car. The ninjas followed without hesitation, disappearing as quickly as they had come. The city swallowed them whole.
But before the door closed behind him, he spoke one last time.
"Come when I demand it."
Failure: He expects to meet you again.
--------------------------------------------------------------
-[X]Create a Custom Design: You will make a wonderful new design that no one ever has seen before. (Goes to Design Miniturn)
--[X]Armor that could be worn under clothes
Time to make yourself unkillable… or at the very least, stay alive long enough to become unkillable.
(Design turn 3)
-------------------------------
-[X]"Ghost in the Data" (Fixer: Rogue)
--[X] Stella, Senji
This was going to suck.
(Continued in: Ghost in the data)
-[X]"Concrete Jungle" (Fixer: Black Adder)
--[X] Kenji, Malcolm Rolled:D20 => 20
Pacifica was never quiet, but that night, the screams and gunfire echoed through the nice little suburb like a battlefield long forgotten from the second world war. Kenji and Malcolm waged their own two-man war against the Razor Dogs, a savage booster gang that thought they owned the district. They were wrong.
Kenji moved like a specter in the night, his M-45 barking death with each precise, controlled burst. The experimental Submachine gun cut through armor like paper, dropping gangoons before they even knew they were in a fight. Malcolm, in contrast, was a storm, a relentless force of carnage, tearing through flesh and metal alike with his brutal efficiency, as he merely took aim and fired, and every shot hit a target, causing an explosion of gore and bloodshed as .44 rounds destroyed limbs, armor and cyberware alike.
By dawn, forty bodies lay scattered across the gang's former stronghold. The Razor Dogs were no more.
But when the security footage leaked onto the net, the streets weren't talking about the two solos who killed a gang that had the NCPD running scared. They were talking about their weapons.
The way Kenji's M-45 shredded defenses, the sheer stopping power of Malcolm's revolver, it wasn't just skill that won that fight. It was firepower the city had never seen before. And now, every fixer, corp, and merc in Night City had one question:
Where the hell did those weapons come from?
Reward: New Action Available: Selling Weapons: You can now sell weapons to Night City on the market, for a markup.
Everyone wants the kind of firepower they were packing.
And Everyone is looking for the gunsmith who made them.
Also: +400 to Common components.
-[X]Pay them
You payed the bastards again. This time, hopefully, they shut up about taxes for a few weeks.
Reward: You paid the city off.
----------------------------------------------------
[]Run, Think, Shoot, Live: Kenji is preparing to do what he must for you. You just want to know why he is willing to do it for you now, after all this time? Rolled:D20 => 18
Kenji was preparing for war—his war. A war waged for a fixer you didn't even fully trust. Yet, here he was, locking and loading, ready to spill blood for you.
You sat down slowly, watching as he worked, his hands methodically loading magazine after magazine. Each click of a round sliding into place echoed in the quiet room. You weren't sure if it was the sound of protection or inevitability.
"Why?"
The word left your lips before you could stop it.
"Why now? After all this time? Why are you so dedicated to helping me, when my father is the one you should be loyal to?"
Kenji didn't look up immediately. He just smiled, small, knowing, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. He finished loading a mag, set it aside with practiced ease, and finally met your gaze.
"Why indeed," he mused.
He picked up another magazine, rolling a bullet between his fingers before sliding it into place.
"Because I have been raising you for the last eight years. Because I have been trying—trying so damn hard—to protect you from your own stupidity, from your own actions, from the inevitable path you've been walking."
Another round clicked into place.
"I've been steering you toward a future where you don't have to be what they want you to be."
He sighed this time, his fingers slowing as he loaded the next magazine, his voice dropping lower.
"Because I care. About you."
The weight of the words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.
"I want to see what you will create in this world that has already decided what you must be. I want to see you defy it. I have no doubt that you will do great things—things so profound, so aligned with your own will, that they will shake the foundations of this world."
He smiled again, but this time, it wasn't the wry amusement he often wore. It was something real. Something meant for you.
Then, without warning, Kenji pulled his shirt over his head.
His skin was inked in black and crimson—the swirling, intricate markings of the Yakuza. The dragons and demons wove across his back and arms, each line a testament to a life lived in violence.
"I was raised to kill," he said. His voice didn't waver, but there was something behind it—something raw, something unsaid.
He ran a hand over his chest, tracing the old scars beneath the ink.
"My father and I were members of the Yamaguchi-gumi. He died. And when they took me, when they should have executed me, Arasaka stepped in. I wasn't saved. I was taken. Turned into something else."
His jaw tightened.
"They broke me."
For the first time, his hands faltered. He swallowed, fingers gripping the edge of the table before steadying himself again.
"Your father wanted to strip everything from me—my free will, my memories, my soul. He wanted me to be an empty vessel. A weapon he could wield without thought or resistance."
He exhaled, shaking his head before finishing the final magazine. He slid it into place, locking and loading with a decisive click.
"There was no escape."
His eyes lifted to yours, burning with something fierce, something unshakable.
"Until I met you."
Silence stretched between you, heavy with understanding.
"And now you've given me a mission," he continued. "To be your sword. Your bloody vengeance. Your bloody work. To carve a path so you can be free."
Kenji stood, towering over you, his Yakuza tattoos still visible beneath the dim lights.
"That's why I do it."
A slow, deliberate breath.
"Because I want to kill for the young man who taught me to believe again."
REward: Kenji is your blade, and will be for the remainder of his life.
Do not waste such loyalty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
[]Surfing with Stella: So Stella wants to have some fun screwing with the Local Arasaka net. you will assist her, maybe you can even help her with whatever she is doing. Rolled: D20 => 17
It was a Brain Dance, and you weren't exactly thrilled about sharing it, let alone being inter-connected with Stella.
"Are you sure this is safe?"
"Yeah, a BD is just a tool. As long as we don't stay in too long, things will be fine. I tuned everything myself." She tapped away at the controls, her fingers dancing over the interface like she had done this a thousand times before. "Now, put the headset on. We're going somewhere nice. Peaceful."
You scoffed, crossing your arms.
"And where is that? There aren't any peaceful places left in this world."
Stella just grinned. "You'll see."
The moment you slipped the wreath on, the world tilted—warped. It was always like this, nausea twisting through your stomach like your body was rejecting the very concept of being somewhere else. Then, light-flooded your vision, and everything shifted.
Your eyes blinked open to… paradise.
A river stretched before you, its surface glimmering beneath golden sunlight. The water was impossibly clear, reflecting the blue sky in shifting patterns, ribbons of light dancing beneath the surface as gentle ripples distorted the mirror-like sheen. The current was slow, meandering, like it had all the time in the world. Smooth stones rested at the bottom, polished by centuries of water passing over them, their colors muted yet vibrant beneath the crystal-clear depths.
The riverbank was a dream.
Soft, sun-kissed sand stretched along the shore, warm beneath your bare feet, so fine and pure that it felt like silk sifting between your toes. Wildflowers bloomed in bursts of color along the edges, petals swaying in the breeze. Their fragrance mixed with the scent of fresh water and the faint, almost nostalgic aroma of damp earth after rainfall.
Tall, ancient trees framed the scene, their branches weaving into a natural canopy that provided just the right amount of shade. The leaves rustled in the wind, whispering secrets, dappling the ground in a shifting mosaic of light and shadow. A few lazy clouds drifted above, their reflections perfect in the still pools where the river had formed natural alcoves—small, hidden places where the world seemed even quieter, more intimate.
Somewhere in the distance, you could hear birdsong. Not the harsh, artificial chirps of Night City's programmed fauna, but the real thing—soft warbles, the occasional call echoing across the water, the gentle hum of nature at peace with itself.
A wooden dock jutted out over the river, weathered but sturdy, the planks warm from the sun. A small boat rocked gently against its mooring, an invitation to drift lazily down the water, to let the current carry you away from the world and all its problems.
It felt unreal.
Too real.
You exhaled, your breath catching slightly at the sheer stillness of it all. No sirens. No gunfire. No neon glare or flickering advertisements screaming for your attention. No steel and chrome reminders of what the world had become. Just this—this impossible, aching peace.
"What do you think?" Stella's voice pulled you from your trance.
You swallowed. You didn't want to admit how much you liked it.
Instead, you just muttered, "It's… different."
Her smile was knowing. "Yeah. It is."
"Where is this?"
"The Danube," Stella replied, dipping her feet into the water. The river's cool embrace sent gentle ripples outward, disturbing the mirrored sky above. "This is an old memory a friend scrolled for me. I just… edited it. Made sure I could have it with someone else."
She paused, inhaling deeply. The air smelled of fresh water, of distant mountain winds carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. She closed her eyes, as if savoring a feeling long lost to time.
Then she looked at you, tilting her head slightly. "You're strange."
You blinked. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Stella smirked. "Yes. You're different from everyone else in that shithole of an academy."
She spat into the water, and the memory reacted—just slightly. The saliva landed with an unnatural stillness, before a single ripple expanded outward, like the BD itself acknowledged her presence, subtly reaffirming that this was a constructed reality. The immersion was so deep it almost felt real.
"You want to be more than what Arasaka wants you to be," she continued, glancing at you with something unreadable in her gaze. "And I like that about you."
You watched as her hair shifted, strands of silver giving way to blonde, the BD subtly altering her appearance as if responding to her whims. Then, without hesitation, she peeled away her outer clothes, revealing a sleek, form-fitting swimsuit beneath. The fabric shimmered slightly in the digital sunlight.
"Well, come on. Water's nice." She grinned, dipping her legs in deeper, kicking up small waves that lapped at the shore.
You folded your arms. "And why should I?"
Her expression shifted, something more serious lurking beneath the casual invitation.
"Because I want someone to look at me and not see me as a piece of meat."
That… was unexpectedly raw.
You hesitated, watching the way the water clung to her skin, droplets catching the light like scattered diamonds. It wasn't seduction—there was no teasing lilt to her voice, no coy glance thrown your way. Just exhaustion. A quiet plea hidden behind her usual bravado.
"Even Malcom?" you asked.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Malcom only sees two things: killing and protecting me. Honestly, I think he gets harder from violence than from anything normal. Pretty men, pretty women—it doesn't matter to him. I don't think he even cares. He just wants to kill because it seems like it's the only thing he will be able to do. He can't be anything else."
You considered that. Malcom was a damn good soldier, no doubt about it. But it was hard to tell if he fought for something, or if the fight itself was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Then Stella's voice turned bitter. "Not that it matters. My father's already decided what my life is gonna be."
She drew circles in the water absentmindedly, eyes distant. "He wants to marry me off to some high-ranking corpo suit, some bootlicker who'll treat me like a broodmare. Make sure I'm 'pretty' and 'healthy' so I can pop out a few heirs, secure some merger or another." Her voice dripped with venom, but underneath it was something quieter. Resignation. "Then forget about me."
You exhaled. "And what do you want?"
Stella looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the BD seemed to hold its breath. The leaves stilled. The water calmed. The birds in the distance went silent.
"To be free," she murmured. "Just… free."
She then waved her hands and you were in swimwear, a nice pair of red swim trunks that seemed far too personal. "Now, come one, enjoy it."
And you swam in a beautiful river for what felt like a few hours… and when it was over, you understood her a little bit more.
Reward: Stella is far more loyal to you now. Can now begin her personal action questline to get big bonuses for future Tech Weaponry.
She will now serve your party on missions free of charge.
------------------------------------------------
-[]Ghost in the city: You want to look into the Rumors and legends of the city. You want to see if there is any truth to some legends. Rolled:D20 => 13
You heard a rumor that sent ice through your very soul.
"You ever see those black AVs with no markings? If you do, don't ask questions. Just walk the other way."
Street gossip says Arasaka never lets its property go. If you've got high-end chrome, prototype implants, or classified software buried in your skull—especially if you got it off an Arasaka job—you're not safe.
People whisper that black-clad operatives—not MAX-TAC, not Trauma Team—are abducting people off the streets. No questions, no warnings, just silent, efficient extraction.
If they take you, no one ever sees you again. No body, no whispers.
Just another name lost in the noise of Night City.
Reward: You got a rumor.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[]Father: Father wishes to see you again. He says it's time that you both have some bonding time. Rolled:D20 => 1
Security Roll:D20 => 12
He had set you up… to do something.
You hadn't expected that.
But what you expected even less were the two Arasaka ninjas standing at either side of the alley, their silhouettes blending into the artificial glow of Night City's endless neon haze. Their presence was a quiet, efficient promise of what was to come. They weren't here to talk.
They were here to take you.
Your spine tensed as their optics locked onto you, unwavering and cold. Even before one of them took a single step forward, you already knew what this was. Extraction.
Your mind raced. You weren't just being taken for discipline. No—this was worse. They wanted to ship you off to Japan for reprogramming. The kind of brainwashing that turned people into obedient assets. Wiped them clean of all independent thought. You would be scrubbed down to your base functions—loyal, precise, useful.
You reached instinctively for your piece, fingers twitching toward the Killer Angel on your hip—
But then he stopped them.
Your father's voice cut through the air, sharp and final. One word—one command—and the ninjas froze.
The van door never opened. The extraction never happened.
Instead, your father stepped forward, emerging from his sleek, black armored vehicle with the same unshakable presence that had loomed over your entire childhood. His tailored suit was pristine, unmarred by the filth of the streets. His expression unreadable beneath the city lights.
And then—without warning—he placed a hand on your head.
Ruffled your hair.
It was a gesture so bizarre, so incongruous with the moment, that you almost flinched. Almost.
His fingers were cold. The weight of his palm was heavy, but not comforting. It wasn't fatherly affection. It was a reminder. A claim.
His voice was quiet, yet it carried more weight than any threat of violence.
"Do not mistake this for mercy."
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he pulled away. His eyes, those cold, cyber-enhanced optics, pierced through you with measured intent.
"You will do as I command… or you will be punished."
And just like that, he turned away, stepping back toward his car. The ninjas followed without hesitation, disappearing as quickly as they had come. The city swallowed them whole.
But before the door closed behind him, he spoke one last time.
"Come when I demand it."
Failure: He expects to meet you again.
--------------------------------------------------------------
-[X]Create a Custom Design: You will make a wonderful new design that no one ever has seen before. (Goes to Design Miniturn)
--[X]Armor that could be worn under clothes
Time to make yourself unkillable… or at the very least, stay alive long enough to become unkillable.
(Design turn 3)
-------------------------------
-[X]"Ghost in the Data" (Fixer: Rogue)
--[X] Stella, Senji
This was going to suck.
(Continued in: Ghost in the data)
-[X]"Concrete Jungle" (Fixer: Black Adder)
--[X] Kenji, Malcolm Rolled:D20 => 20
Pacifica was never quiet, but that night, the screams and gunfire echoed through the nice little suburb like a battlefield long forgotten from the second world war. Kenji and Malcolm waged their own two-man war against the Razor Dogs, a savage booster gang that thought they owned the district. They were wrong.
Kenji moved like a specter in the night, his M-45 barking death with each precise, controlled burst. The experimental Submachine gun cut through armor like paper, dropping gangoons before they even knew they were in a fight. Malcolm, in contrast, was a storm, a relentless force of carnage, tearing through flesh and metal alike with his brutal efficiency, as he merely took aim and fired, and every shot hit a target, causing an explosion of gore and bloodshed as .44 rounds destroyed limbs, armor and cyberware alike.
By dawn, forty bodies lay scattered across the gang's former stronghold. The Razor Dogs were no more.
But when the security footage leaked onto the net, the streets weren't talking about the two solos who killed a gang that had the NCPD running scared. They were talking about their weapons.
The way Kenji's M-45 shredded defenses, the sheer stopping power of Malcolm's revolver, it wasn't just skill that won that fight. It was firepower the city had never seen before. And now, every fixer, corp, and merc in Night City had one question:
Where the hell did those weapons come from?
Reward: New Action Available: Selling Weapons: You can now sell weapons to Night City on the market, for a markup.
Everyone wants the kind of firepower they were packing.
And Everyone is looking for the gunsmith who made them.
Also: +400 to Common components.
Last edited:
So our father does love us but in a twisted way he can't really express it or actually act like a normal father since he also was ingrained into it by his dad
- Pronouns
- Reader
Alright. Good stuff. Also, I'm going to call it now that someone else told those Ninja's to pick us up to try and force the info on Ghost dragon out of Senji, and dad stepped in as much to deny that individual as anything else.
Four hundred components nice. We have the hellspitter we need to upgrade our lab so we can make some super rare components and make a sword.
Four hundred components nice. We have the hellspitter we need to upgrade our lab so we can make some super rare components and make a sword.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
Most of that went pretty well!
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Yeah, but people still smuggle stuff through it.
And it has a gang problem and a stupid rich people problem.
And kenji and malcolm just fucking killed an entire gang that operated there in one night.
- Location
- Anatolia
I was commenting because the scene described there being ruins.
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
oh that. i forgot.
- Location
- Anatolia
Yeah. It was a bit glaring seeing as Pacifica is the safe portion of Night City. As in safe enough that parents take their kids there openly.oh that. i forgot.
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
I've been playing too much 2077
I actually think that Senji's father actually cares about him in his own way. The problem is that he's so screwed up in the head that he's psychologically incapable of showing any sort of weakness to others. I mean, he can't even open up enough to get his cyberware maintained. Telling his son he loves him is simply out of the question.
Doesn't mean that he won't screw us over if he thinks doing so would maintain his image. That's the trouble with a pathological need to avoid vulnerability. You can't just flip a switch and turn it off, even when you hate what said need makes you do.
That Kenji section was really sweet. We WILL free him alongside us. It's the least we could do.
So.
Kenji is a former yakuza of the Yamaguchi-gumi.
And his role in it wasn't as a mere thug or enforcer to scare terrified idiots to pay their loans or to intimidate business owners into paying protection money.
He was - and still is - an assassin.
Yet somewhere along the way, he was assigned to watch over Senji, and did so for eight years. And in the process, he grew to see a kindred spirit in Senji.
Perhaps he hopes that one day, Senji's spirit would shine bright and he would become a symbol to the people of Night City. Like a dragon. Ryu Ga Gotoku.
And Senji's gaining loyal comrades. Stella. Malcolm.
Not just transactional. They feel a personal bond with him, and believe in and have hope that if they work with him, he could help them realize their dreams.
(Looks at Malcolm) Or maybe that one just likes killing. Eh, we'll take it.
An entire crime syndicate wiped out in the span of a single evening, by just two men…
Senji has done something terrible (in my opinion).
His weapons are TOO effective.
Now everybody is going to be scrambling to upgrade and improving their weaponry and equipment. Gunfights are going to be more deadly.
Kenji is a former yakuza of the Yamaguchi-gumi.
And his role in it wasn't as a mere thug or enforcer to scare terrified idiots to pay their loans or to intimidate business owners into paying protection money.
He was - and still is - an assassin.
Yet somewhere along the way, he was assigned to watch over Senji, and did so for eight years. And in the process, he grew to see a kindred spirit in Senji.
Perhaps he hopes that one day, Senji's spirit would shine bright and he would become a symbol to the people of Night City. Like a dragon. Ryu Ga Gotoku.
And Senji's gaining loyal comrades. Stella. Malcolm.
Not just transactional. They feel a personal bond with him, and believe in and have hope that if they work with him, he could help them realize their dreams.
(Looks at Malcolm) Or maybe that one just likes killing. Eh, we'll take it.
An entire crime syndicate wiped out in the span of a single evening, by just two men…
Senji has done something terrible (in my opinion).
His weapons are TOO effective.
Now everybody is going to be scrambling to upgrade and improving their weaponry and equipment. Gunfights are going to be more deadly.
Last edited:
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
And he's a highly trained assassin you must not forget that bit of information.
Esspcially since he nat 20'd with Malcolm, to kill an entire gang.
Sure our weapons helped but come on, they fucked them up.
Well, I will actually tell you one thing.
He was supposed to start training Senji to be a badass solo.
But he never had the heart to steart breaking the kid once he started tinkering. and going to school to and remained a somewhat normal kid.
Even if he's a corpo's heir.
Let me tell you this.
There is a literal action quest line called Like a Dragon involving Kenji. Yes I planned for it to use that. and its fun.
All I will say about them...
Expect them to be awesome... and if you don't prepare them for what can be done... tragedy.
Well he's a mad man who likes killing and we're going to give him the tools to keep it on.
It's a win win.
- Pronouns
- Zack
I don't want to sound rude but I think you forgot to add this
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Indeed that is true.