-
Going forward, links to content from Twitter (now X) will no longer be embedded. Pre-existing links should not be affected.
The Architect of Anarchy: A Cyberpunk Crafting Quest
- Thread starter Magoose
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
[X]Focus on Alt: She's the reason you are here. So you are going to play hero and save her.
Let's gather allies and save competent people. At least so we have some backup against Mother *ominous thunder*
Thank you for writing !
Let's gather allies and save competent people. At least so we have some backup against Mother *ominous thunder*
Thank you for writing !
[X]Focus on Alt: She's the reason you are here. So you are going to play hero and save her.
Vote closed
New
please dont forget to look over that one guys Millitech omake just incase you forgot it or didnt see it
- Location
- 47° 09′ S, 126° 43′ O
I'm curious how much of a public relation blow the night city arasaka academi fiasco will be,on one hand we have seen they have good pr department and good control over media,on the other militech do too and they will Milk that évent for everything they can
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
That looks awesome, sorry I fell asleep last night and just forgot to get a reward for it but uh:
[]Militech Smells Blood in the Water (Militech decides to kick Arasaka while its down.)
[]Morgan Blackhand sees the Weapon (Morgan wants a gun from the Strange Ghost Smith that is making waves around night city)
[]Meanwhile with Kenji (Kenji... somehow, has the Yakuza owing him a favor.)
Well, I'm currently thinking about an omake that's better suited for Militech smelling blood in the water, so:
[X]Morgan Blackhand sees the Weapon (Morgan wants a gun from the Strange Ghost Smith that is making waves around night city)
Edit: No worries about the delay.
[X]Morgan Blackhand sees the Weapon (Morgan wants a gun from the Strange Ghost Smith that is making waves around night city)
Edit: No worries about the delay.
Last edited:
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
that vote isn't for you, it was for hunter.
Right! I forgot it already happend once before. Sorry!
Adventure 2 Never Fade Away Finale
New
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Adventure 2 Never Fade Away Finale:
[x] Focus on Alt: She's the reason you are here. So you are going to play hero and save her.
-------------------------------
The security systems hissed and locked down as you stepped through the shattered glass doors, the automated defenses snapping into place.
Inside, the front lobby was silent, save for the faint hum of Arasaka tech coming online—barriers sealing off hallways, red warning lights blinking over entry points.
And at the reception desk, two women sat frozen—hands raised, eyes wide.
You immediately held up a hand.
"Silverhand, let me handle this."
Johnny gave a careless shrug. "Why not?" He turned his mic over in his hands, glancing at the ceiling cameras like he was debating smashing them in, before he dropped the mic and readied his Melorian.
You strode forward, boots clacking against the pristine marble floors, the weight of your armor and the mask muffling your voice.
"Hana. Sarah."
The two women flinched slightly at the sound of their names, but their gazes locked onto yours—searching, trying to place the familiar voice coming from behind the mask.
The air between you tensed.
They weren't stupid. They couldn't leave their posts. They knew what would happen if Arasaka suspected them of being complicit.
So you made it easy for them. "It might be best for your health if you leave for the rest of the night."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Hana's eyes flickered with recognition. "Shit," she breathed. "It's you."
Her lips curled in something between amusement and resignation.
"Heard your mom was coming to town," she muttered. "Already fucking things up."
Your sigh came out heavier than expected. "She thought Night City would bow to her like Osaka didn't, didn't she?"
"Oh yeah," Hana deadpanned. "She's got all the subtlety of a brick through a glass house."
Sarah, who had been quietly rifling through her desk, suddenly slid something across the counter.
An M1911A1.
And several magazines.
You blinked.
"Seriously?"
Sarah smirked, leaning on the desk like this was just another mundane Wednesday at the office.
"What can I say?" she said. "Thought you might need it. So what's the plan, squirt? Burning every bridge with Arasaka on your way out?"
You sighed, picking up the weapon and checking the magazine. The weight was familiar, grounding.
"Seems that way."
Hana glanced at the others standing behind you, then lowered her voice.
"Your mom's already made her first move."
Your stomach tightened. "What?"
Sarah's face darkened. "She sent a liquidation team to the Academy."
You stared."The fuck did you just say?"
"Half the student body," Sarah said grimly, "and all their parents."
Your pulse pounded in your ears.
The words hit like gunfire.
Your fingers tightened around the pistol grip. You felt a slow, rising heat in your chest, the sharp kind that turned rage into something cold and lethal. "Why?"
Hana shrugged, but her expression was grim. "From what I heard? To hurt you. Take away your friends. Drag your ass back to Japan. You know, normal psychopathic shit."
Your hands shook with fury.
She did this… just to get to you.
The people you cared about—gone. Just so she could prove a point.
For a brief, dangerous second, you considered marching out of the building, grabbing a rifle, and putting a bullet in her skull.
Instead, you took a slow breath.
Stay safe. Stay hidden. Stay alive. "Get to the emergency exits," you said, voice low and steady. "Get to the trains. Head for Pacifica—lay low."
Hana and Sarah exchanged a glance. "You sure you don't need us?" Hana asked.
You forced a grin under the mask. "Do you really want to stay here with my mom running the show?"
Sarah scoffed. "Hell no."
But before she turned to leave, she grabbed a keycard from the desk.
Sliding it across to you, she smirked. "Whatever you're planning—leave us out of it."
You took it, tucking it into your ready-made holster. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As they disappeared through the emergency exit, Rogue stepped up beside you, arms crossed. "What the hell was that about?"
You tossed the master key to Johnny. "Always be nice to the receptionists."
Johnny caught it mid-air, twirling it between his fingers. "Why's that?"
You smirked. "Because you never know what they can do for you."
--------------------------------------------
The firefight erupted in a flash of muzzle light and screaming metal. The Arasaka security team and corporate suits had been stationed here for routine defense, expecting maybe a small skirmish, not a full-blown assault led by a walking tank.
You.
Bullets pattered off your armor, ricocheting like rain against steel. Sparks flew, and the kinetic force shoved you back an inch or two—but it wasn't enough. You held the line, your stance solid, your sword dripping with fresh carnage as your team used you as mobile cover.
"Light 'em up!" Johnny snarled, Malorian raised.
The mercs unleashed hell. Santiago and Rogue flanked left, moving in perfect sync, picking off guards with surgical precision. Thompson, ever the media, kept his camera rolling even as he let off a few bursts from his FAL.
A suit in a crisp Arasaka coat reached for a concealed pistol—he barely got his hand on the grip before you lunged forward, your katana cutting through his arm like butter. He screamed, stumbling back, blood spattering the pristine floor.
A guard in reinforced body armor tried to rush you.
Big mistake.
Your blade met his gut, armor crunching inward as you twisted the steel upward—his body shuddered, then collapsed.
"This is a slaughter!" Thompson yelled over the carnage. "We're ghosts in the machine!"
And he was right. The Arasaka team never stood a chance.
The last corporate stooge tried to crawl away, leaving a smear of red on the floor. You planted your boot on his back, forcing him down.
"You're in our way," you growled, pressing harder.
With a final, guttural gasp, the fight was over.
Blood pooled at your feet. The hallway reeked of gunpowder and death. The mercs reloaded, weapons still hot.
"Well," Rogue exhaled, "that was easy."
Johnny grinned, spinning his shotgun.
"Onward."
And without another word, you pushed deeper into the abyss.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Toshiro Harada locked eyes with Johnny for a fleeting second— cold, unreadable, calculating.
And then, like a snake retreating into its hole, he turned and vanished into the bunker.
"Coward!" Johnny spat, raising his Malorian.
Before he could fire, the steel blast doors slammed shut, sealing Toshiro inside.
But that wasn't the worst part.
From the shadows of the hall, a towering figure emerged.
He was more machine than man— a chromed-out nightmare in black Arasaka tactical gear. His face was hidden beneath an armored mask, red optics glowing, tracking every movement like a predator sizing up prey.
And then, with a sickening screech, two razor-sharp mantis blades snapped out from his forearms—long, serrated edges dripping with blood from a past kill.
"Tch." Rogue cursed. "Fucking full borg."
Behind him, Arasaka Elite troops stormed into the corridor—tactical, disciplined, lethal.
The Borg moved first.
A blur of chrome and death, he lunged at you, blades flashing. You barely twisted in time—metal shrieked against metal as you raised your sword, blocking the first strike, but the force sent you skidding backward.
You weren't strong enough to win head-on.
So you had to be smarter.
"Rogue!" You called out.
"Got you, kid!"
She fired off precise shots, targeting weak points in the Borg's joints. The first bullet cracked his shoulder armor, forcing him to adjust his stance.
A mistake.
You darted in and slashed—a shallow cut across his rib plating. Not enough to kill. Not even close.
But enough to make him bleed.
And that was the plan.
A thousand cuts.
Johnny, meanwhile, was an artist of carnage.
The Elites barely had time to react before he tore through them, Malorian flashing silver and red in the dim light.
Two shots—two skulls exploded.
A third Elite charged—Johnny sidestepped effortlessly, placing a round in the back of his head.
Then, with a wicked grin, he flipped a switch.
The Malorian's under barrel roared.
A gout of flame engulfed five men at once.
They screamed.
They burned.
And as they fell to their knees, writhing in agony, Johnny coolly reloaded—aimed—and put them down.
"Don't need you suffering, boys."
He blew the smoke from his barrel and turned back to the real fight.
The Borg was relentless.
You ducked a swipe meant to take your head off, countered with a quick stab—his armor held.
Rogue fired again—a shot to the knee.
The Borg stumbled. Just for a second.
And that was all you needed.
With a sharp twist of your wrist, you reversed your grip—
And decapitated him.
The body fell twitching. The head hit the floor with a heavy thud.
The fight was over.
"Fuck yeah." Rogue breathed, kicking the body for good measure.
Johnny holstered his Malorian and then looked at the door. "Kid. Tear it off."
The door groaned in protest, the steel reinforced locks screaming as you tore them apart. Servos whirled, and with one last pull, the metal gave way, the heavy slab crashing to the ground with a deafening thud.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, the sterile glow of monitors and pulsing data streams painting everything in a cold, artificial light. The air was thick with the stale stench of fear.
Toshiro Harada was already on his knees, hands raised, palms shaking.
"You can't save her," he sputtered, voice thin with terror. "She's still stuck in Cyberspace!"
Johnny didn't even hesitate.
BANG.
One shot to the chest—Toshiro gasped, choked on his own blood.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Johnny kept firing, the Malorian kicking in his grip as he pumped round after round into Toshiro's twitching body.
Finally, he let the smoking pistol lower, stepping over the corpse without a second thought. His attention was fixed ahead.
On her.
"Alt."
She lay limp in the chair, her body motionless, head slumped forward. The soft hum of datastreams pulsing through her neural links was the only sound in the room now.
You felt your stomach twist.
Something was wrong.
"Johnny, wait!"
But he was already there—his hands moving with single-minded desperation.
He grabbed the cable connected to the back of her skull and—
YANK.
A choked gasp escaped Alt's lips.
And then—her vitals flatlined.
A sharp, piercing tone filled the room. Dead silence.
Johnny froze. His breath hitched.
"No. No, no, no—"
His hands trembled as he shook her shoulders.
"Alt? ALT!"
But there was nothing.
Her body was just a shell now.
And somewhere, deep in the infinite abyss of the Net…
She was gone.
Johnny stood frozen, staring at Alt's lifeless body, his breath ragged, his hands still gripping the severed cable. His world had just shattered.
But then—the monitors flickered.
A stream of text suddenly filled the screen, appearing in sharp, biting words:
"You fucking idiot."
Johnny blinked. His breath caught in his throat.
"Alt?" he whispered.
Another message appeared, the cursor blinking furiously.
"Had you waited 15 minutes, I would have been out. Now my mind is trapped in the subnet."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
You felt a cold sweat bead at your temple. What the fuck?
"What the hell is going on?" you demanded. "Why is Alt in the computer?"
More text flashed onto the screen, Alt's digital frustration practically radiating off the cold display.
"They used a shittier version of Soulkiller on me. Then they thought they could just send my mind back to my body…Damn idiots. If they had any sense, they would've let me finish fixing their bullshit before trying it on me."
Johnny clenched his fists, his jaw tight. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
You hesitated, glancing at her motionless form.
"Uh… should we try plugging her back in?" you asked, feeling utterly out of your depth.
"It doesn't work like that."
The voice crackled through a nearby speaker—one you hadn't even realized was still online.
A new voice.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Johnny groaned. "What are you doing here, Rache?"
Rache Bartmoss.
The legendary netrunner. The lunatic boogeyman of Cyberspace. And, apparently, an amused spectator to this disaster.
"Oh, you know," Rache said, his voice thick with amusement, "watching the fun, stealing shit, helping my friend get out of the subnet… and, of course—pointing out how you fucked up, Johnny Boy!"
Johnny let out a snarl, slamming a fist against the desk.
"Oh great," Rouge sighed, crossing her arms. "Now we're not gonna get paid."
Rache just laughed.
"You might not get paid, but you can still fix this," he said. "Take her body and put it on ice—cryogenically. As long as her brain's still in some kind of stasis, there's a chance you can get her out of the Net."
That made your stomach drop.
"And how the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Johnny snapped.
"Find a proper facility, one that can keep her body from decomposing. Keep her intact long enough, and you might—might—find a way to bring her back."
You exchanged a glance with Rouge and Santiago.
This was getting out of hand.
And Johnny?
He was pale as a ghost, gripping the edge of the console, his teeth clenched so hard they might crack.
Because Alt was still alive. Trapped.
And now, instead of saving her, they had a new mission:
Keep her body from rotting before they find a way to bring her back.
Thompson stood there, his camera still rolling, his face twisted in complete confusion.
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait—what the actual fuck just happened?"
He pointed at Alt's lifeless body, then at the screen, where more lines of furious text kept appearing, and then at Johnny, who was now lifting Alt into his arms, his face a thundercloud of rage and guilt.
"She's in the Net. But her body is… here? And she's talking?"
"Congrats, you figured out what we all already knew," Santiago muttered. "Gold star, Thompson."
Thompson shot him a glare.
"I'm serious. What the hell does this mean? We were supposed to rescue her! How do we get her out?!"
A thick, suffocating silence settled over the room.
Johnny said nothing—just held Alt's body close, his teeth grinding audibly. Rouge was chewing her lip, eyes narrowed, already trying to piece together a plan.
You looked at the monitors, the tangled web of data and control pathways that made up Arasaka's security grid, and you knew exactly what everyone else was thinking.
How do we extract her from the subnet?
One thought flashed through your mind:
"We could ask Rache—"
And then, almost at the same time, everyone shot the idea down.
"No."
"Absolutely not."
"Terrible fucking idea."
Even Rache, watching from his end, laughed.
"Wow. That hurts, guys."
But then, his tone shifted—something darker, something deadly amused.
"You can get her out, you know."
Johnny's head snapped up.
"How?" he demanded, his voice raw, desperate.
Rache let the moment stretch, a wicked grin in his voice before he finally spoke.
"Simple. You bring down this whole fucking tower. And I can even help you make the code that can save her and every future net runner that Arasaka will be bringing in from this point on."
Silence.
No one moved.
"Because of your little chivalric romance bullshit?" Rache continued, voice dripping with amusement and certainty. "This is her prison now. Along with every netrunner bad enough to be useful for Arasaka."
The screen flickered, Alt's frantic words frozen, trapped in digital amber.
"And they know she's here. They won't let go. Not until you burn this city down to the ground."
-------------------------------------------------
The cryopod hissed shut, thick glass fogging over as the temperature plummeted, sinking toward absolute zero. Frost crept along the steel casing, sealing Alt's lifeless—but preserved—body in time.
She was safe. For now.
-----------------------------
Your apartment was a warzone of bodies and makeshift living spaces, every corner occupied, every room overstuffed with your old school friends and the students who had nowhere else to go.
There was no vacancy.
Kids were tripling and quadrupling up, sleeping in bathtubs, on floors, or sharing half-broken couches just to avoid being a bother to the super or the renters.
They had nothing now.
No families.
No homes.
No future.
Just the skills they had, the weapons they'd stolen, and the inheritance that wasn't stolen when Arasaka liquidated their parents.
Malcolm and Stella had saved everything they could from the wreckage of their lives, and the only reason they were still breathing was Morgan Blackhand.
The legend himself sat in your cluttered, overcrowded living room, surrounded by a dozen wide-eyed kids who looked at him like he was a god.
For once, he seemed happy—amused, even—letting them gawk at the man who had punched a hole through history while he casually cleaned his sidearm.
And then there were the guns.
The ones you had made.
Your work had saved lives, had given these kids a fighting chance, had put something real in their hands when everything else was ashes.
You had finally taken off your battle-worn armor, the weight of it gone, leaving only exhaustion behind.
Rache had kept his word—for once.
He'd scrubbed every trace of your team from Arasaka's security subnet.
And Alt…
Even trapped in the Net, she had done her best to make things right.
Seems she had quite the nest egg hidden away.
Not just cash—components, tech, resources.
But instead of dumping it in your lap, she left you something else.
A building. Rather multiple apartment buildings in your name, where she used to dump her assets and try to retain her own wealth, and build a network of safe houses for netrunners looking to flee the Corps… just like her.
She had sent an email saying it was the least she could do… but she hoped that you could move soon. They have already begun bringing in capture netrunners… and using Soul Killer on them. She had company… like a thousand voices battling for control.
"What do we do now?" Stella asked as she looked at you as you laid down in your bed.
"I don't know."
That was all you could say. Because didn't know.
----------------------------------------------------------
Alt's body is safe in cryo-stasis, but her mind is trapped deep within the Arasaka Subnet, imprisoned alongside the countless netrunners being funneled through Soulkiller—their consciousness enslaved by the corporation.
You don't know what exatly they might be using Soul Killer for, but something told you in the back of your mind that something bad is going on there.
Something bad enough that you are beginning to lose sleep at night.
The riots were quelled, the chaos contained, and despite the catastrophic damage to Arasaka property, life inevitably returned to normal.
Almost.
Your mother now controls Arasaka operations in Night City. She has cleaned house with ruthless efficiency, consolidating absolute power.
With her in charge, the city isn't just a battlefield—it's a breeding ground for a shadow war.
And you?
You're at the center of it.
The Edgerunner community now flocks to you for weapons, armor, and modifications.
Despite the chaos, Rouge, Johnny, and Santiago kept their word—your identity remains a secret.
Why?
Because the work you do is far too precious to be exposed before you're ready.
They have a place to live, and through rental income, you now have a steady revenue stream.
As for the students themselves…
They aren't moving on.
They're waiting.
If you ever found your own company, they would join you in a heartbeat.
No questions asked.
No payment needed—just food and shelter.
Money can come later.
Because with your talent?
It isn't a matter of if you'll strike it rich—
It's a matter of when.
And he wants it sooner rather than later.
Arasaka's operations are no longer corporate-controlled—they are her personal fiefdom.
And now?
She's expanding.
Building an army.
Plotting her next move.
And most importantly…
She is planning to bring you back under her control.
The Emperor of Arasaka himself has heard whispers of a mysterious gunsmith making waves in Night City.
And now?
He's intrigued.
[x] Focus on Alt: She's the reason you are here. So you are going to play hero and save her.
-------------------------------
The security systems hissed and locked down as you stepped through the shattered glass doors, the automated defenses snapping into place.
Inside, the front lobby was silent, save for the faint hum of Arasaka tech coming online—barriers sealing off hallways, red warning lights blinking over entry points.
And at the reception desk, two women sat frozen—hands raised, eyes wide.
You immediately held up a hand.
"Silverhand, let me handle this."
Johnny gave a careless shrug. "Why not?" He turned his mic over in his hands, glancing at the ceiling cameras like he was debating smashing them in, before he dropped the mic and readied his Melorian.
You strode forward, boots clacking against the pristine marble floors, the weight of your armor and the mask muffling your voice.
"Hana. Sarah."
The two women flinched slightly at the sound of their names, but their gazes locked onto yours—searching, trying to place the familiar voice coming from behind the mask.
The air between you tensed.
They weren't stupid. They couldn't leave their posts. They knew what would happen if Arasaka suspected them of being complicit.
So you made it easy for them. "It might be best for your health if you leave for the rest of the night."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Hana's eyes flickered with recognition. "Shit," she breathed. "It's you."
Her lips curled in something between amusement and resignation.
"Heard your mom was coming to town," she muttered. "Already fucking things up."
Your sigh came out heavier than expected. "She thought Night City would bow to her like Osaka didn't, didn't she?"
"Oh yeah," Hana deadpanned. "She's got all the subtlety of a brick through a glass house."
Sarah, who had been quietly rifling through her desk, suddenly slid something across the counter.
An M1911A1.
And several magazines.
You blinked.
"Seriously?"
Sarah smirked, leaning on the desk like this was just another mundane Wednesday at the office.
"What can I say?" she said. "Thought you might need it. So what's the plan, squirt? Burning every bridge with Arasaka on your way out?"
You sighed, picking up the weapon and checking the magazine. The weight was familiar, grounding.
"Seems that way."
Hana glanced at the others standing behind you, then lowered her voice.
"Your mom's already made her first move."
Your stomach tightened. "What?"
Sarah's face darkened. "She sent a liquidation team to the Academy."
You stared."The fuck did you just say?"
"Half the student body," Sarah said grimly, "and all their parents."
Your pulse pounded in your ears.
The words hit like gunfire.
Your fingers tightened around the pistol grip. You felt a slow, rising heat in your chest, the sharp kind that turned rage into something cold and lethal. "Why?"
Hana shrugged, but her expression was grim. "From what I heard? To hurt you. Take away your friends. Drag your ass back to Japan. You know, normal psychopathic shit."
Your hands shook with fury.
She did this… just to get to you.
The people you cared about—gone. Just so she could prove a point.
For a brief, dangerous second, you considered marching out of the building, grabbing a rifle, and putting a bullet in her skull.
Instead, you took a slow breath.
Stay safe. Stay hidden. Stay alive. "Get to the emergency exits," you said, voice low and steady. "Get to the trains. Head for Pacifica—lay low."
Hana and Sarah exchanged a glance. "You sure you don't need us?" Hana asked.
You forced a grin under the mask. "Do you really want to stay here with my mom running the show?"
Sarah scoffed. "Hell no."
But before she turned to leave, she grabbed a keycard from the desk.
Sliding it across to you, she smirked. "Whatever you're planning—leave us out of it."
You took it, tucking it into your ready-made holster. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As they disappeared through the emergency exit, Rogue stepped up beside you, arms crossed. "What the hell was that about?"
You tossed the master key to Johnny. "Always be nice to the receptionists."
Johnny caught it mid-air, twirling it between his fingers. "Why's that?"
You smirked. "Because you never know what they can do for you."
--------------------------------------------
The firefight erupted in a flash of muzzle light and screaming metal. The Arasaka security team and corporate suits had been stationed here for routine defense, expecting maybe a small skirmish, not a full-blown assault led by a walking tank.
You.
Bullets pattered off your armor, ricocheting like rain against steel. Sparks flew, and the kinetic force shoved you back an inch or two—but it wasn't enough. You held the line, your stance solid, your sword dripping with fresh carnage as your team used you as mobile cover.
"Light 'em up!" Johnny snarled, Malorian raised.
The mercs unleashed hell. Santiago and Rogue flanked left, moving in perfect sync, picking off guards with surgical precision. Thompson, ever the media, kept his camera rolling even as he let off a few bursts from his FAL.
A suit in a crisp Arasaka coat reached for a concealed pistol—he barely got his hand on the grip before you lunged forward, your katana cutting through his arm like butter. He screamed, stumbling back, blood spattering the pristine floor.
A guard in reinforced body armor tried to rush you.
Big mistake.
Your blade met his gut, armor crunching inward as you twisted the steel upward—his body shuddered, then collapsed.
"This is a slaughter!" Thompson yelled over the carnage. "We're ghosts in the machine!"
And he was right. The Arasaka team never stood a chance.
The last corporate stooge tried to crawl away, leaving a smear of red on the floor. You planted your boot on his back, forcing him down.
"You're in our way," you growled, pressing harder.
With a final, guttural gasp, the fight was over.
Blood pooled at your feet. The hallway reeked of gunpowder and death. The mercs reloaded, weapons still hot.
"Well," Rogue exhaled, "that was easy."
Johnny grinned, spinning his shotgun.
"Onward."
And without another word, you pushed deeper into the abyss.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Toshiro Harada locked eyes with Johnny for a fleeting second— cold, unreadable, calculating.
And then, like a snake retreating into its hole, he turned and vanished into the bunker.
"Coward!" Johnny spat, raising his Malorian.
Before he could fire, the steel blast doors slammed shut, sealing Toshiro inside.
But that wasn't the worst part.
From the shadows of the hall, a towering figure emerged.
He was more machine than man— a chromed-out nightmare in black Arasaka tactical gear. His face was hidden beneath an armored mask, red optics glowing, tracking every movement like a predator sizing up prey.
And then, with a sickening screech, two razor-sharp mantis blades snapped out from his forearms—long, serrated edges dripping with blood from a past kill.
"Tch." Rogue cursed. "Fucking full borg."
Behind him, Arasaka Elite troops stormed into the corridor—tactical, disciplined, lethal.
The Borg moved first.
A blur of chrome and death, he lunged at you, blades flashing. You barely twisted in time—metal shrieked against metal as you raised your sword, blocking the first strike, but the force sent you skidding backward.
You weren't strong enough to win head-on.
So you had to be smarter.
"Rogue!" You called out.
"Got you, kid!"
She fired off precise shots, targeting weak points in the Borg's joints. The first bullet cracked his shoulder armor, forcing him to adjust his stance.
A mistake.
You darted in and slashed—a shallow cut across his rib plating. Not enough to kill. Not even close.
But enough to make him bleed.
And that was the plan.
A thousand cuts.
Johnny, meanwhile, was an artist of carnage.
The Elites barely had time to react before he tore through them, Malorian flashing silver and red in the dim light.
Two shots—two skulls exploded.
A third Elite charged—Johnny sidestepped effortlessly, placing a round in the back of his head.
Then, with a wicked grin, he flipped a switch.
The Malorian's under barrel roared.
A gout of flame engulfed five men at once.
They screamed.
They burned.
And as they fell to their knees, writhing in agony, Johnny coolly reloaded—aimed—and put them down.
"Don't need you suffering, boys."
He blew the smoke from his barrel and turned back to the real fight.
The Borg was relentless.
You ducked a swipe meant to take your head off, countered with a quick stab—his armor held.
Rogue fired again—a shot to the knee.
The Borg stumbled. Just for a second.
And that was all you needed.
With a sharp twist of your wrist, you reversed your grip—
And decapitated him.
The body fell twitching. The head hit the floor with a heavy thud.
The fight was over.
"Fuck yeah." Rogue breathed, kicking the body for good measure.
Johnny holstered his Malorian and then looked at the door. "Kid. Tear it off."
The door groaned in protest, the steel reinforced locks screaming as you tore them apart. Servos whirled, and with one last pull, the metal gave way, the heavy slab crashing to the ground with a deafening thud.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, the sterile glow of monitors and pulsing data streams painting everything in a cold, artificial light. The air was thick with the stale stench of fear.
Toshiro Harada was already on his knees, hands raised, palms shaking.
"You can't save her," he sputtered, voice thin with terror. "She's still stuck in Cyberspace!"
Johnny didn't even hesitate.
BANG.
One shot to the chest—Toshiro gasped, choked on his own blood.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Johnny kept firing, the Malorian kicking in his grip as he pumped round after round into Toshiro's twitching body.
Finally, he let the smoking pistol lower, stepping over the corpse without a second thought. His attention was fixed ahead.
On her.
"Alt."
She lay limp in the chair, her body motionless, head slumped forward. The soft hum of datastreams pulsing through her neural links was the only sound in the room now.
You felt your stomach twist.
Something was wrong.
"Johnny, wait!"
But he was already there—his hands moving with single-minded desperation.
He grabbed the cable connected to the back of her skull and—
YANK.
A choked gasp escaped Alt's lips.
And then—her vitals flatlined.
A sharp, piercing tone filled the room. Dead silence.
Johnny froze. His breath hitched.
"No. No, no, no—"
His hands trembled as he shook her shoulders.
"Alt? ALT!"
But there was nothing.
Her body was just a shell now.
And somewhere, deep in the infinite abyss of the Net…
She was gone.
Johnny stood frozen, staring at Alt's lifeless body, his breath ragged, his hands still gripping the severed cable. His world had just shattered.
But then—the monitors flickered.
A stream of text suddenly filled the screen, appearing in sharp, biting words:
"You fucking idiot."
Johnny blinked. His breath caught in his throat.
"Alt?" he whispered.
Another message appeared, the cursor blinking furiously.
"Had you waited 15 minutes, I would have been out. Now my mind is trapped in the subnet."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
You felt a cold sweat bead at your temple. What the fuck?
"What the hell is going on?" you demanded. "Why is Alt in the computer?"
More text flashed onto the screen, Alt's digital frustration practically radiating off the cold display.
"They used a shittier version of Soulkiller on me. Then they thought they could just send my mind back to my body…Damn idiots. If they had any sense, they would've let me finish fixing their bullshit before trying it on me."
Johnny clenched his fists, his jaw tight. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
You hesitated, glancing at her motionless form.
"Uh… should we try plugging her back in?" you asked, feeling utterly out of your depth.
"It doesn't work like that."
The voice crackled through a nearby speaker—one you hadn't even realized was still online.
A new voice.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Johnny groaned. "What are you doing here, Rache?"
Rache Bartmoss.
The legendary netrunner. The lunatic boogeyman of Cyberspace. And, apparently, an amused spectator to this disaster.
"Oh, you know," Rache said, his voice thick with amusement, "watching the fun, stealing shit, helping my friend get out of the subnet… and, of course—pointing out how you fucked up, Johnny Boy!"
Johnny let out a snarl, slamming a fist against the desk.
"Oh great," Rouge sighed, crossing her arms. "Now we're not gonna get paid."
Rache just laughed.
"You might not get paid, but you can still fix this," he said. "Take her body and put it on ice—cryogenically. As long as her brain's still in some kind of stasis, there's a chance you can get her out of the Net."
That made your stomach drop.
"And how the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Johnny snapped.
"Find a proper facility, one that can keep her body from decomposing. Keep her intact long enough, and you might—might—find a way to bring her back."
You exchanged a glance with Rouge and Santiago.
This was getting out of hand.
And Johnny?
He was pale as a ghost, gripping the edge of the console, his teeth clenched so hard they might crack.
Because Alt was still alive. Trapped.
And now, instead of saving her, they had a new mission:
Keep her body from rotting before they find a way to bring her back.
Thompson stood there, his camera still rolling, his face twisted in complete confusion.
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait—what the actual fuck just happened?"
He pointed at Alt's lifeless body, then at the screen, where more lines of furious text kept appearing, and then at Johnny, who was now lifting Alt into his arms, his face a thundercloud of rage and guilt.
"She's in the Net. But her body is… here? And she's talking?"
"Congrats, you figured out what we all already knew," Santiago muttered. "Gold star, Thompson."
Thompson shot him a glare.
"I'm serious. What the hell does this mean? We were supposed to rescue her! How do we get her out?!"
A thick, suffocating silence settled over the room.
Johnny said nothing—just held Alt's body close, his teeth grinding audibly. Rouge was chewing her lip, eyes narrowed, already trying to piece together a plan.
You looked at the monitors, the tangled web of data and control pathways that made up Arasaka's security grid, and you knew exactly what everyone else was thinking.
How do we extract her from the subnet?
One thought flashed through your mind:
"We could ask Rache—"
And then, almost at the same time, everyone shot the idea down.
"No."
"Absolutely not."
"Terrible fucking idea."
Even Rache, watching from his end, laughed.
"Wow. That hurts, guys."
But then, his tone shifted—something darker, something deadly amused.
"You can get her out, you know."
Johnny's head snapped up.
"How?" he demanded, his voice raw, desperate.
Rache let the moment stretch, a wicked grin in his voice before he finally spoke.
"Simple. You bring down this whole fucking tower. And I can even help you make the code that can save her and every future net runner that Arasaka will be bringing in from this point on."
Silence.
No one moved.
"Because of your little chivalric romance bullshit?" Rache continued, voice dripping with amusement and certainty. "This is her prison now. Along with every netrunner bad enough to be useful for Arasaka."
The screen flickered, Alt's frantic words frozen, trapped in digital amber.
"And they know she's here. They won't let go. Not until you burn this city down to the ground."
-------------------------------------------------
The cryopod hissed shut, thick glass fogging over as the temperature plummeted, sinking toward absolute zero. Frost crept along the steel casing, sealing Alt's lifeless—but preserved—body in time.
She was safe. For now.
-----------------------------
Your apartment was a warzone of bodies and makeshift living spaces, every corner occupied, every room overstuffed with your old school friends and the students who had nowhere else to go.
There was no vacancy.
Kids were tripling and quadrupling up, sleeping in bathtubs, on floors, or sharing half-broken couches just to avoid being a bother to the super or the renters.
They had nothing now.
No families.
No homes.
No future.
Just the skills they had, the weapons they'd stolen, and the inheritance that wasn't stolen when Arasaka liquidated their parents.
Malcolm and Stella had saved everything they could from the wreckage of their lives, and the only reason they were still breathing was Morgan Blackhand.
The legend himself sat in your cluttered, overcrowded living room, surrounded by a dozen wide-eyed kids who looked at him like he was a god.
For once, he seemed happy—amused, even—letting them gawk at the man who had punched a hole through history while he casually cleaned his sidearm.
And then there were the guns.
The ones you had made.
Your work had saved lives, had given these kids a fighting chance, had put something real in their hands when everything else was ashes.
You had finally taken off your battle-worn armor, the weight of it gone, leaving only exhaustion behind.
Rache had kept his word—for once.
He'd scrubbed every trace of your team from Arasaka's security subnet.
And Alt…
Even trapped in the Net, she had done her best to make things right.
Seems she had quite the nest egg hidden away.
Not just cash—components, tech, resources.
But instead of dumping it in your lap, she left you something else.
A building. Rather multiple apartment buildings in your name, where she used to dump her assets and try to retain her own wealth, and build a network of safe houses for netrunners looking to flee the Corps… just like her.
She had sent an email saying it was the least she could do… but she hoped that you could move soon. They have already begun bringing in capture netrunners… and using Soul Killer on them. She had company… like a thousand voices battling for control.
"What do we do now?" Stella asked as she looked at you as you laid down in your bed.
"I don't know."
That was all you could say. Because didn't know.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mission Complete: The Raid on Arasaka Tower
Objective Status:- Arasaka Tower Assaulted – Success
- Alt's Body Recovered – Success
- Alt's Mind Rescued – Failure
Alt's body is safe in cryo-stasis, but her mind is trapped deep within the Arasaka Subnet, imprisoned alongside the countless netrunners being funneled through Soulkiller—their consciousness enslaved by the corporation.
You don't know what exatly they might be using Soul Killer for, but something told you in the back of your mind that something bad is going on there.
Something bad enough that you are beginning to lose sleep at night.
Night City: The Aftermath
Night City burned—but then again, Night City always burns.The riots were quelled, the chaos contained, and despite the catastrophic damage to Arasaka property, life inevitably returned to normal.
Almost.
Your mother now controls Arasaka operations in Night City. She has cleaned house with ruthless efficiency, consolidating absolute power.
With her in charge, the city isn't just a battlefield—it's a breeding ground for a shadow war.
And you?
You're at the center of it.
Rewards:
1. The Edgerunner Market
Your work speaks for itself.The Edgerunner community now flocks to you for weapons, armor, and modifications.
Despite the chaos, Rouge, Johnny, and Santiago kept their word—your identity remains a secret.
Why?
Because the work you do is far too precious to be exposed before you're ready.
2. Component Haul
Your black market pipeline is thriving, and you've amassed a treasure trove of resources for future projects:- 10,000 Standard Components
- 7,500 Uncommon Components
- 5,000 Rare Components
- 1,000 Super Rare Components
- 500 Ultra Rare Components
- 100 Legendary Components
3. Property Acquisition
You now own several apartment blocks—safe havens for your old friends and former Arasaka Academy students who lost everything.They have a place to live, and through rental income, you now have a steady revenue stream.
As for the students themselves…
They aren't moving on.
They're waiting.
If you ever found your own company, they would join you in a heartbeat.
No questions asked.
No payment needed—just food and shelter.
Money can come later.
Because with your talent?
It isn't a matter of if you'll strike it rich—
It's a matter of when.
4. Special Request
Morgan Blackhand wants a shiny new gun.And he wants it sooner rather than later.
Meanwhile…
Your Mother's Empire
She has wiped the slate clean in Arasaka Night City, purging the old guard and installing her loyalists.Arasaka's operations are no longer corporate-controlled—they are her personal fiefdom.
And now?
She's expanding.
Building an army.
Plotting her next move.
And most importantly…
She is planning to bring you back under her control.
The Emperor's Interest
Somehow, word has reached Tokyo.The Emperor of Arasaka himself has heard whispers of a mysterious gunsmith making waves in Night City.
And now?
He's intrigued.
Last edited:
So Much for a Milk Run
Commander Adam Bronson studied the target. 13332 N 73rd Street was a secondary information storage facility operated by Arasaka. Usually he wouldn't bother with such a minor target, but it was the best available location that wasn't surrounded by pissed-off rioters.
Usually he wouldn't launch an attack like this without a lot more prep work, even if the target was soft, but needs must. Bronson wasn't worried though, his team was equipped to handle a major Arasaka compound and the target seemed pretty soft. Rent-a-cop at the door and an older secretary. If that was representative of the level of opposition he could expect, then this should be a milk run.
The first sign that this wasn't just a secondary data repository was when the aged secretary pulled out a fucking assault rifle from under her desk and opened fire on his team. A grenade took care of her, while a half dozen rounds were enough to deal with the far-too-cybered up rent-a-cop. Looks like this job was going to be interesting after all.
Things didn't get easier from there. While the building's shell was that of an ordinary office building, said appearance was only skin deep. The cubicles concealed killer robots, the hallways and stairways were killzones, the ventilation system pumped out nerve gas, and the less said about the offices, the better.
Still, he and his team pushed forwards, taking casualties along the way. His pointman, Jonah Williams, died first, courtesy of a claymore mine. Poor bastard never even saw it coming. Patrick O'Brien followed soon afterwards. The techie was smart, but no amount of brains can help when you've been bisected. Janice Kingston, their backup netrunner, got killed by a lucky shot. Bullet hit her carotid artery, and she bled out before the medic could get to her.
Eventually though, Commander Bronson reached the server room, along with the surviving members of his team. Said team was pretty much made up of wounded at this point, but the surviving netrunner was just cogent enough to download the data. He was not cogent enough to erase the data beyond Arasaka's ability to recover it, but some strategically placed plastique was sufficient to fill that void.
Normally this level of Charlie Foxtrot would require Bronson's team to fight their way past a horde of Arasaka reinforcements, perhaps a chase down the streets of Night City as well. Thankfully, Silverhand's insanity was enough to keep any potential Arasaka response busy. Good thing too, Bronson's team was in no shape to fight them off.
Commander Adam Bronson studied the target. 13332 N 73rd Street was a secondary information storage facility operated by Arasaka. Usually he wouldn't bother with such a minor target, but it was the best available location that wasn't surrounded by pissed-off rioters.
Usually he wouldn't launch an attack like this without a lot more prep work, even if the target was soft, but needs must. Bronson wasn't worried though, his team was equipped to handle a major Arasaka compound and the target seemed pretty soft. Rent-a-cop at the door and an older secretary. If that was representative of the level of opposition he could expect, then this should be a milk run.
The first sign that this wasn't just a secondary data repository was when the aged secretary pulled out a fucking assault rifle from under her desk and opened fire on his team. A grenade took care of her, while a half dozen rounds were enough to deal with the far-too-cybered up rent-a-cop. Looks like this job was going to be interesting after all.
Things didn't get easier from there. While the building's shell was that of an ordinary office building, said appearance was only skin deep. The cubicles concealed killer robots, the hallways and stairways were killzones, the ventilation system pumped out nerve gas, and the less said about the offices, the better.
Still, he and his team pushed forwards, taking casualties along the way. His pointman, Jonah Williams, died first, courtesy of a claymore mine. Poor bastard never even saw it coming. Patrick O'Brien followed soon afterwards. The techie was smart, but no amount of brains can help when you've been bisected. Janice Kingston, their backup netrunner, got killed by a lucky shot. Bullet hit her carotid artery, and she bled out before the medic could get to her.
Eventually though, Commander Bronson reached the server room, along with the surviving members of his team. Said team was pretty much made up of wounded at this point, but the surviving netrunner was just cogent enough to download the data. He was not cogent enough to erase the data beyond Arasaka's ability to recover it, but some strategically placed plastique was sufficient to fill that void.
Normally this level of Charlie Foxtrot would require Bronson's team to fight their way past a horde of Arasaka reinforcements, perhaps a chase down the streets of Night City as well. Thankfully, Silverhand's insanity was enough to keep any potential Arasaka response busy. Good thing too, Bronson's team was in no shape to fight them off.
- Location
- Africa
the black wall doesn't fucking exist nor does the old net from 2077 its still the world wide net , its something that happens after Rach causes the dataKrash 10 years from now during the 4th corpo war
Last edited:
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
THat was a mistake. I've been rereading it and caught that reward and am in the middle of changing it.
- Location
- Africa
sorry about the language , I was just irritated , I was really excited when we got to pick the era to explore the Cyberpunk setting from TTRPG , so I've been kind of bumed it comes across like a reskinned 2077
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
This is Johnny so... no.
At least Alt and him are still on speaking terms...
in a manner of speaking.
well I just was editing it so let me fix what mistakes that were made. please.
what i wanna know is what kind of gun does Blackhand want he want a pistol, SMG, shotgun like what does the Solo of Solo's want in a firearm
- Location
- Africa
they canonically worked to make soulkiller 3.0 a net super weapon that could hunt down a netrunner across the world wide net , kill them and bring their engram back to Mikoshi
its takes them a good ten years to make it , being sort of ready for deployment during the late period of the 4th Corpo war , it was pretty much an Arasaka is about to conquer the world moment as it would have given them near total dominance over the global net , its argued as the reason Bartimoss caused the datakrash and burned it all down preferring the internet die free
the later localized citynet system that replaced the global net made soulkiller 3.0 useless and ineffective
- Location
- yorkshire
Can we use legendary components now
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Again, this is from Senji's perspective, and he doesn't know so much shit. he's guessing but he dosen't know how backward and bad they are and don't even have the ability to do that. Again he has what Alt told him before they put her body on Cryo.
He's an engineering savant, not a computer nerd.
Last edited:
the sad and funny part is; is if they actually told Senji they might actually have a chance at stopping the worst shit from coming to come to fruition