Interlude bait perhaps?
The Architect of Anarchy: A Cyberpunk Crafting Quest
- Thread starter Magoose
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
and omake fodder for anyone who wants to make a comedy.
Because, I shit you not... they have outsourced their main weapons designer, to some nomad in Utah... thinking hes the next John Moses Browning.
He is not the next John Moses Browning.
At least get a dude from Texas.
Oh wait Texas hates you.
Sucks to be a horrible business then.
This is how empires fall…it's how the British Empire fell. And the USA already did it in the 1990s and 2000s.
Whose idea was it in Arasaka to outsource their main weapons design??
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Arasaka and Sov Oil have never figured out what makes Texas Gunsmiths so madladdy.
After all, Brandon might still make the AK-50. Because Where is the AK-50 Brandon!
I would say Yorinobu, but he's currently trying to destroy it from the outside with the Steel Dragons...
So probobly someone who's about to get killed... and then the Outsourcing with stop, and Arasaka will be back to making quality Japanese products.
- Location
- California,USA
I See GUYVER! I want Guyver Bio-Boosted Armor.
I WANT IT!
At least we never outsorced the Military Industrial Complex...small mercies.
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Looks at Militech...
Yeah, thats both a good and bad thing.
- Location
- Three feet to the left
- Pronouns
- He/They
Hey what's going on there? I was led to believe that those samurai psychopaths had at least a bare level of ability to have been able to cause so many problems for so many people....
Is this narrative, or are you rolling for their results?
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Both. But mostly a narrative way.
The narrative is that our designs are confusing the fuck out of them.
They are failing, hilariously.
The rolls are mearly the how are they failing in the background.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- She/Her
How much lower quality would it be if it was just the torso? (I want my Life Jacket)
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
uh... I mean, it would be a little lessor, but still quite good.
As is the prefect Techie run of any mission ever
Endorfinator
Awkwardly Social
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm onboard for a semi-auto pistol. To be the next John Browning we must have our M1911, something so revolutionary every other pistol for the next century is based on its mechanism.
Oh yeah is power armor viable to be made in this year or is it in the next era?
Any silent weapon made must have the name Slint Night.
- Location
- USA
I was joking when I commented about the other weapon makers, but now that I think about, 2013 Night City hasn't become a total Arasaka stronghold yet (I think?), so shouldn't there be other corps poking at the rumors of new weapons?
Ghost in the Data
New
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Ghost in the Data:
Stella shifted her feet uneasily as you checked the cylinder of your Killer Angel before letting out a slow breath.
"Well, why the hell would a netrunner hide in Pacifica of all places? This place is Corpo central," she muttered, arms crossed.
"Because who would think to look for a defecting Corpo in a beautiful, so-called 'safe' place where the elites come to play?" You glanced up at her, smirking. "It's the perfect place for someone to disappear."
Your biomonitor on your wrist pulsed with a soft amber glow, signaling a steady increase in heart rate. Anticipation. You were closing in on your target.
"So… how are we doing this?" you asked, rolling your shoulders, readying yourself.
"I'll jack into the mainframe," Stella said, adjusting the neural link at her temple. "Silkspider is still in the net, compiling the data… and Rogue wants him alive, so please, for the love of god, don't put a bullet in him."
You scoffed, checking your pistol. "Wouldn't be hard to miss. What about the Arasaka suits in the building?"
"Five inside. Another one out front in the getaway van," she said, tapping at her own biomonitor, tracking their movements.
You exhaled, centering yourself before rising to your feet. "Time to get to work."
Stella gave you a sharp look. "Stay safe."
You flashed a wry grin, securing your gear. "I don't need to. I've got my protection."
Not arrogance. Just craftsmanship.
---------------------------------------------
The air was unnaturally quiet for Pacifica, no gunshots, no gangs stirring trouble, no overloaded bass shaking the streets. That meant only one thing: most of the locals were either at the beaches or watching the playgrounds, trying to keep their heads down while Corpos played their little power games.
You passed rows of luxury buildings, most still empty, "For Sale" signs plastered across their facades, desperate to attract the rich and the reckless. And really it was the fine thing… maybe you could invest in it… but…
THat didn't matter to you right now.
You had one target.
The runner's room was two floors up, a corner unit with the perfect escape vantage. The intel was wrong, the Data center had been refurbished into an apartment…. You spotted the Arasaka suits standing outside, their muted silver-and-black uniforms blending with the artificial lights.
They weren't hiding.
Hell, they looked relaxed—standing out in the open, fully confident in their control of the situation.
"Can't get in," one of them grumbled. "Doors are spiked and booby-trapped."
"He can't stay in there forever," another said, arms crossed. "We'll just wait him out."
"HQ wants him gone before we get the info," a third muttered. "So hurry the fuck up."
Idiots. All of them.
You didn't even have to break your stride as you walked up to a neighboring door and knocked.
One of the Arasaka goons glanced at you, but barely gave you a second thought—just another resident in the building. That was the beauty of this place. They didn't need to hide. They enjoyed being seen, knowing no one would dare question them.
The door cracked open, revealing an older woman in a simple housecoat.
"Excuse me, can I—"
You pushed inside gently but firmly, covering her mouth before she could make a sound. She froze, wide eyes staring at you in fear.
You raised a finger to your lips. "Sorry for this, but I just need access to your balcony. I'm getting my friend out of a jam."
She hesitated, searching your face for any sign of deception.
"You with Arasaka?" she whispered.
"I'm not with anyone," you assured her. "Just trying to get someone out of a bad situation."
Her eyes flicked toward her ventilation system, the soft hum noticeably absent. That's when you saw it—the serious flaw in the airflow.
If she kept the system running like this, she would be one maintenance failure away from carbon monoxide poisoning.
You sighed. Couldn't just be an asshole.
"Look," you said, nodding toward the panel. "Your ventilation system isn't active. If that keeps up, you're gonna slowly suffocate in here. See that red button? Press it for ten seconds, and you'll be fine."
She blinked, clearly thrown off. "I-" She stammered before she realized that you may have just saved her life.
With one last wary glance, she stepped aside, letting you pass toward the balcony.
Time to get to work.
-------------------------------------
"Stella, I'm on the balcony. How's our friend?" you asked, keeping your voice low as you pressed against the apartment's rusting railing.
"He's whacked, but he's got good code," she replied. "Almost done compiling. The second he jacks out, though, he's not gonna be able to keep the door locked."
"Which means I'll have to shoot my way out." You sighed.
"Unfortunately." Stella's voice crackled slightly over the comms. "Unless you think you can survive a two-story drop?"
You glanced down. Hard pavement. Not ideal.
Then, something clicked.
This apartment was a wreck, cables spilling out of broken panels, abandoned hardware shoved into corners, and half-dead monitors still displaying lines of corrupted data. And lots of microwaves, tv remotes and other small, useful electronic components.
But it was also a goldmine.
You just needed a few minutes.
"I have an idea," you said, already moving toward the pile of discarded electronics.
"Oh, explain to the class," Stella quipped. "Because not everyone here can see what you see."
Spoilsport. But you were not going to tell her
You scanned the mess, picking through loose computer boards and exposed wiring. If you had just a minute—which you did, you could make something… effective.
Your eyes landed on a set of power capacitors, stripped relay switches, and—most importantly—the door's auto-lock wiring, snaking beneath the threshold.
This building was old. You recognized the model of the security doors—same ones used in data banks back when this place housed corporate archives.
Which meant…
The fire suppression system was still integrated into the doorframe.
If you could rig an arc charge, you could overload the system. The second the Arasaka suits forced their way inside, the sprinklers would douse them, turning them into walking conduits just before you unleashed a pulse of high-voltage current.
One shot. That's all you'd get.
But that was all you needed.
New Ideas: D20 => 20
You grinned. Everything you needed was right here.
A few quick splices, a couple of jury-rigged connections, and you had your makeshift arc trap—a high-voltage discharge system that was going to turn that doorway into a deathtrap.
No need for a gun.
Hell, you didn't even think you'd need the armor.
This was going to be easy.
"Is he done?" you asked, eyes locked on the door as you crouched near your makeshift arc trap.
"Why?" Stella replied, her voice edged with suspicion.
"I need him ready now," you said sharply. "Tell him to pull the plug, or we might both be dead."
Your biomonitor flashed in the corner of your vision. Your heart rate was spiking, but it wasn't from fear, it was the rush of pure adrenaline, fueling your senses, sharpening your reflexes.
The trap you had rigged together would work—but not for long. The charge would dissipate, and if it did before they were inside…
Then you'd be fucked.
You weren't built for a prolonged firefight. Not against Arasaka agents, the kind of professionals who lived and breathed kill ops. You needed this to work fast.
"Ten seconds," Stella finally responded.
You took a deep breath, then started a mental countdown.
Ten.
A faint hum resonated from the improvised capacitors.
Nine.
You could hear muffled voices from the other side of the wall, Arasaka's team, getting impatient.
Eight.
The door panel beeped. They were about to force the lock.
Seven.
Your fingers clenched into a tight fist. Your breathing slowed.
Six.
A deep inhale. Eyes closed. The world narrowed to a single moment.
Five.
The lock clicked—they were in.
Four.
The door swung open.
Three.
The first black-clad operative stepped forward.
Two.
The rest pushed in behind him—shoulders tight, weapons raised.
One.
The fire suppression system roared to life.
A split second later, pressurized mist erupted from the ceiling, drenching the entire squad in a fine, conductive spray.
Then, you pulled the trigger.
A stream of electricity arced through the air, crackling with raw energy as it surged through the soaked operatives. The effect was immediate, bodies jerked and convulsed, cyberware flickering and failing as their systems overloaded. Some managed a brief, strangled cry, but it was cut off as their nervous systems misfired, locking their muscles in place before sending them crashing to the ground.
Their fingers twitched, grasping at empty air, their heads jerking as if trying to fight off the unseen force ravaging their neural links. But there was no resisting, their cyberbrains or neural chips were cooking, overheating as failsafes struggled to contain the unexpected surge.
It wasn't lethal, not by a long shot. Even with their implants, even with their bodies acting as perfect conduits, the voltage wasn't enough to outright kill them. But that wasn't the point.
They'd be out cold for a while. And when they woke up?
Massive headaches. Neural fog. No recollection of the last few hours.
And by then? You'd be long gone.
A door creaked open behind you.
Your new netrunner friend stepped out cautiously, bare feet padding against the floor. He blinked, looking from you to the six unconscious operatives sprawled across the hallway like discarded mannequins.
"What the hell?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes like he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating. "I thought the merc was supposed to be getting my ass out, not pulling some legendary badass stunt."
You shrugged, stepping over one of the twitching bodies.
"Well my friend, I think that-"
Stella than said. "No time for one-liners, get him out and stat!"
Why was she a killjoy, you did not know.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rouge's voice crackled through the comm, clearly surprised when you called. "So, the merc who turned fixer really likes the data we got her."
You could practically hear the smirk in her voice, but it wasn't a question. It was a statement, one that said, You know how to get things done.
"And I have," she replied, and you felt a small sense of satisfaction settle in your chest. "Though, my friend tells me you didn't just take out the team hunting him… you put on a laser light show as well?"
There was a pause, and you could almost hear the skepticism in her tone. But you didn't mind. Confidence, that's what the world needs. And maybe a little creativity.
You smiled to yourself. "People need to stop underestimating the practical applications of simple household appliances for home defense."
The line was silent for a moment, then a chuckle broke through. Rouge's laugh was easy and genuine, an unmistakable sound of someone who knew how to appreciate a job well done. "You did good, kid. You really did." Her voice softened slightly, but there was an edge to it, like she was sizing you up in a way that made you feel like you were on the cusp of something big. "And something tells me that people will want to work with you soon. Word's gonna get out."
You leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in. In this game, being noticed, really noticed, was half the battle. And if she was saying that people would want to work with you, then you were doing something right.
"Good," you said simply, your voice steady. "Let them come. I'm ready."
Another chuckle from Rouge. "That's the spirit. Keep it up, and maybe next time, I'll let you handle the messier part of the job."
"Looking forward to it," you replied, as you called Stella. "Let's go home. I'm hungry."
------------------
Reward: Mission completed.
+500 standard components.
+300 uncommon components.
+50 rare components.
+50000 Eddies.
Rouge and most other fixers think you are some kind of badass merc who likes to build shit… building a team that might shake night city to it's core.
Meanwhile, more missions are available. And currently, people are simply… interested in tech that is showing up, from an unknown producer, who is making weapons and armor that is absolutely…
Well better than everyone else.
But because it is showing up in mercenaries, they think it's just some custom jobs from a no-name gunsmith that isn't worth their time.
Stella shifted her feet uneasily as you checked the cylinder of your Killer Angel before letting out a slow breath.
"Well, why the hell would a netrunner hide in Pacifica of all places? This place is Corpo central," she muttered, arms crossed.
"Because who would think to look for a defecting Corpo in a beautiful, so-called 'safe' place where the elites come to play?" You glanced up at her, smirking. "It's the perfect place for someone to disappear."
Your biomonitor on your wrist pulsed with a soft amber glow, signaling a steady increase in heart rate. Anticipation. You were closing in on your target.
"So… how are we doing this?" you asked, rolling your shoulders, readying yourself.
"I'll jack into the mainframe," Stella said, adjusting the neural link at her temple. "Silkspider is still in the net, compiling the data… and Rogue wants him alive, so please, for the love of god, don't put a bullet in him."
You scoffed, checking your pistol. "Wouldn't be hard to miss. What about the Arasaka suits in the building?"
"Five inside. Another one out front in the getaway van," she said, tapping at her own biomonitor, tracking their movements.
You exhaled, centering yourself before rising to your feet. "Time to get to work."
Stella gave you a sharp look. "Stay safe."
You flashed a wry grin, securing your gear. "I don't need to. I've got my protection."
Not arrogance. Just craftsmanship.
---------------------------------------------
The air was unnaturally quiet for Pacifica, no gunshots, no gangs stirring trouble, no overloaded bass shaking the streets. That meant only one thing: most of the locals were either at the beaches or watching the playgrounds, trying to keep their heads down while Corpos played their little power games.
You passed rows of luxury buildings, most still empty, "For Sale" signs plastered across their facades, desperate to attract the rich and the reckless. And really it was the fine thing… maybe you could invest in it… but…
THat didn't matter to you right now.
You had one target.
The runner's room was two floors up, a corner unit with the perfect escape vantage. The intel was wrong, the Data center had been refurbished into an apartment…. You spotted the Arasaka suits standing outside, their muted silver-and-black uniforms blending with the artificial lights.
They weren't hiding.
Hell, they looked relaxed—standing out in the open, fully confident in their control of the situation.
"Can't get in," one of them grumbled. "Doors are spiked and booby-trapped."
"He can't stay in there forever," another said, arms crossed. "We'll just wait him out."
"HQ wants him gone before we get the info," a third muttered. "So hurry the fuck up."
Idiots. All of them.
You didn't even have to break your stride as you walked up to a neighboring door and knocked.
One of the Arasaka goons glanced at you, but barely gave you a second thought—just another resident in the building. That was the beauty of this place. They didn't need to hide. They enjoyed being seen, knowing no one would dare question them.
The door cracked open, revealing an older woman in a simple housecoat.
"Excuse me, can I—"
You pushed inside gently but firmly, covering her mouth before she could make a sound. She froze, wide eyes staring at you in fear.
You raised a finger to your lips. "Sorry for this, but I just need access to your balcony. I'm getting my friend out of a jam."
She hesitated, searching your face for any sign of deception.
"You with Arasaka?" she whispered.
"I'm not with anyone," you assured her. "Just trying to get someone out of a bad situation."
Her eyes flicked toward her ventilation system, the soft hum noticeably absent. That's when you saw it—the serious flaw in the airflow.
If she kept the system running like this, she would be one maintenance failure away from carbon monoxide poisoning.
You sighed. Couldn't just be an asshole.
"Look," you said, nodding toward the panel. "Your ventilation system isn't active. If that keeps up, you're gonna slowly suffocate in here. See that red button? Press it for ten seconds, and you'll be fine."
She blinked, clearly thrown off. "I-" She stammered before she realized that you may have just saved her life.
With one last wary glance, she stepped aside, letting you pass toward the balcony.
Time to get to work.
-------------------------------------
"Stella, I'm on the balcony. How's our friend?" you asked, keeping your voice low as you pressed against the apartment's rusting railing.
"He's whacked, but he's got good code," she replied. "Almost done compiling. The second he jacks out, though, he's not gonna be able to keep the door locked."
"Which means I'll have to shoot my way out." You sighed.
"Unfortunately." Stella's voice crackled slightly over the comms. "Unless you think you can survive a two-story drop?"
You glanced down. Hard pavement. Not ideal.
Then, something clicked.
This apartment was a wreck, cables spilling out of broken panels, abandoned hardware shoved into corners, and half-dead monitors still displaying lines of corrupted data. And lots of microwaves, tv remotes and other small, useful electronic components.
But it was also a goldmine.
You just needed a few minutes.
"I have an idea," you said, already moving toward the pile of discarded electronics.
"Oh, explain to the class," Stella quipped. "Because not everyone here can see what you see."
Spoilsport. But you were not going to tell her
You scanned the mess, picking through loose computer boards and exposed wiring. If you had just a minute—which you did, you could make something… effective.
Your eyes landed on a set of power capacitors, stripped relay switches, and—most importantly—the door's auto-lock wiring, snaking beneath the threshold.
This building was old. You recognized the model of the security doors—same ones used in data banks back when this place housed corporate archives.
Which meant…
The fire suppression system was still integrated into the doorframe.
If you could rig an arc charge, you could overload the system. The second the Arasaka suits forced their way inside, the sprinklers would douse them, turning them into walking conduits just before you unleashed a pulse of high-voltage current.
One shot. That's all you'd get.
But that was all you needed.
New Ideas: D20 => 20
You grinned. Everything you needed was right here.
A few quick splices, a couple of jury-rigged connections, and you had your makeshift arc trap—a high-voltage discharge system that was going to turn that doorway into a deathtrap.
No need for a gun.
Hell, you didn't even think you'd need the armor.
This was going to be easy.
"Is he done?" you asked, eyes locked on the door as you crouched near your makeshift arc trap.
"Why?" Stella replied, her voice edged with suspicion.
"I need him ready now," you said sharply. "Tell him to pull the plug, or we might both be dead."
Your biomonitor flashed in the corner of your vision. Your heart rate was spiking, but it wasn't from fear, it was the rush of pure adrenaline, fueling your senses, sharpening your reflexes.
The trap you had rigged together would work—but not for long. The charge would dissipate, and if it did before they were inside…
Then you'd be fucked.
You weren't built for a prolonged firefight. Not against Arasaka agents, the kind of professionals who lived and breathed kill ops. You needed this to work fast.
"Ten seconds," Stella finally responded.
You took a deep breath, then started a mental countdown.
Ten.
A faint hum resonated from the improvised capacitors.
Nine.
You could hear muffled voices from the other side of the wall, Arasaka's team, getting impatient.
Eight.
The door panel beeped. They were about to force the lock.
Seven.
Your fingers clenched into a tight fist. Your breathing slowed.
Six.
A deep inhale. Eyes closed. The world narrowed to a single moment.
Five.
The lock clicked—they were in.
Four.
The door swung open.
Three.
The first black-clad operative stepped forward.
Two.
The rest pushed in behind him—shoulders tight, weapons raised.
One.
The fire suppression system roared to life.
A split second later, pressurized mist erupted from the ceiling, drenching the entire squad in a fine, conductive spray.
Then, you pulled the trigger.
A stream of electricity arced through the air, crackling with raw energy as it surged through the soaked operatives. The effect was immediate, bodies jerked and convulsed, cyberware flickering and failing as their systems overloaded. Some managed a brief, strangled cry, but it was cut off as their nervous systems misfired, locking their muscles in place before sending them crashing to the ground.
Their fingers twitched, grasping at empty air, their heads jerking as if trying to fight off the unseen force ravaging their neural links. But there was no resisting, their cyberbrains or neural chips were cooking, overheating as failsafes struggled to contain the unexpected surge.
It wasn't lethal, not by a long shot. Even with their implants, even with their bodies acting as perfect conduits, the voltage wasn't enough to outright kill them. But that wasn't the point.
They'd be out cold for a while. And when they woke up?
Massive headaches. Neural fog. No recollection of the last few hours.
And by then? You'd be long gone.
A door creaked open behind you.
Your new netrunner friend stepped out cautiously, bare feet padding against the floor. He blinked, looking from you to the six unconscious operatives sprawled across the hallway like discarded mannequins.
"What the hell?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes like he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating. "I thought the merc was supposed to be getting my ass out, not pulling some legendary badass stunt."
You shrugged, stepping over one of the twitching bodies.
"Well my friend, I think that-"
Stella than said. "No time for one-liners, get him out and stat!"
Why was she a killjoy, you did not know.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rouge's voice crackled through the comm, clearly surprised when you called. "So, the merc who turned fixer really likes the data we got her."
You could practically hear the smirk in her voice, but it wasn't a question. It was a statement, one that said, You know how to get things done.
"And I have," she replied, and you felt a small sense of satisfaction settle in your chest. "Though, my friend tells me you didn't just take out the team hunting him… you put on a laser light show as well?"
There was a pause, and you could almost hear the skepticism in her tone. But you didn't mind. Confidence, that's what the world needs. And maybe a little creativity.
You smiled to yourself. "People need to stop underestimating the practical applications of simple household appliances for home defense."
The line was silent for a moment, then a chuckle broke through. Rouge's laugh was easy and genuine, an unmistakable sound of someone who knew how to appreciate a job well done. "You did good, kid. You really did." Her voice softened slightly, but there was an edge to it, like she was sizing you up in a way that made you feel like you were on the cusp of something big. "And something tells me that people will want to work with you soon. Word's gonna get out."
You leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in. In this game, being noticed, really noticed, was half the battle. And if she was saying that people would want to work with you, then you were doing something right.
"Good," you said simply, your voice steady. "Let them come. I'm ready."
Another chuckle from Rouge. "That's the spirit. Keep it up, and maybe next time, I'll let you handle the messier part of the job."
"Looking forward to it," you replied, as you called Stella. "Let's go home. I'm hungry."
------------------
Reward: Mission completed.
+500 standard components.
+300 uncommon components.
+50 rare components.
+50000 Eddies.
Rouge and most other fixers think you are some kind of badass merc who likes to build shit… building a team that might shake night city to it's core.
Meanwhile, more missions are available. And currently, people are simply… interested in tech that is showing up, from an unknown producer, who is making weapons and armor that is absolutely…
Well better than everyone else.
But because it is showing up in mercenaries, they think it's just some custom jobs from a no-name gunsmith that isn't worth their time.
Happi_Galaxy
Sleep Is For The Weak
- Location
- somewhere above the rainbow
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Goddamn that roll. That's nice
Well, none of the art has been Japanese-themed, so doesn't seem likely.
...so, is part of her questline teaching her the importance of P R E S E N T A T I O N? Can't survive long as a merc in this gig economy without making a brand for yourself!
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
And doing other things.
Like learning to trust people again.
Reciprocating feelings of emotional distress to other people instead of bottling it up…
And lots of other things.
Once I saw the nat 20 I knew we were going to be golden, so I decided to lean into the fact our dude is, once again a genius.
- Pronouns
- Reader
As ever, Senji proves the greatest weapon of mankind is the mind itself and resources to bend to it's grand muse.
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
To bad he decided that weapons and armor was his great muse rather then say… trying to make cheaper space travel.
Cause with his prowess he might be able to revolutionize anything he sets his mind to.
Sole_Survivor 77
Better dead than Red
We get that when we have our own corp for now let just bask in our glory of a job well done.