The Gonk and The Forge

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 1 –

The greasy aroma of synth-burgers and cheap coffee hung heavy in the air, another night winding down at the ♥♥♥♥ Diner. I wiped down the countertop, glancing at the familiar faces huddled in the corner booth, ignoring the rattling coffee machine as it prepared coffee with Synthetic milk sachets.

Miller, Jones, and Smith, NCPD regulars, were finishing their after-patrol grub. They usually rolled in just as the late-night crowd thinned out, their patrol route ending at the intersection between Westbrook and Japan Town, a stone's throw from Jig-Jig Street.

"Take this to table 6," A voice asked me, and I turned to face the blonde woman manning the counter alongside me. "You know which one."

"Alright, Archie. Just watch the coffee machine will ya? The hunk of junk was rattling and I didn't like the sound of it." I replied as I took the offered tray from her and headed toward the table with NCPD officers.

I slid the tray onto their table, the chipped mugs rattling against the plates piled high with questionable synthetic meat.

"Alright, fellas," I announced, "One Preem HawtDawg' with a side of fries for you, Officer Miller. Two 'EEZYBEEF' steaks for Jones and Smith, and the 'Gojilla' for..." I paused, glancing at the fresh-faced officer, "Name's Davis, right?"

Davis, fidgeted on his seat, as he nodded and stammered, "Uh, My optics... they can't seem to find your... uh... payment chip?" He blinked, his enhanced eyes flickering with a faint blue light as he tried to scan me. "Got your name, Zain Vargas, but... no linked account. No chip."

A beat of silence hung in the air as the other officers exchanged amused glances.

Miller, an older officer with a cybernetic arm that whirred subtly with every move, leaned closer to Davis. "Kid, you never seen someone so 'ganic? You're looking at Night City's very own Buddhist Waiter. This guy's practically a museum piece." He jerked a thumb towards me. "Chill out, don't worry about him."

Jones, her Kiroshi optics glowing faintly in the dim light, smirked. "Don't worry, Dave. He's not gonna bite."

Smith, a grizzled officer with a cybernetic jaw that clicked when he spoke, gave me a knowing nod. "Gotta admire the commitment, Vargas. Staying 'ganic in this city takes guts. Only other folks I've seen completely organic are either monks up in North Oak or the gonks sleeping under the overpass."

Officer Miller added then smirking at his squad "sides, if we know there's anyone in the city that's clean. It's this monk. Gonk is practically harmless with no way to link up to anything. Relax, Davis."

I simply raised an eyebrow and ignored their ribbing. It was a common thing whenever they had a rookie at the diner.

Turning to the rookie officer, I said "Just send the eddies to Archie at the counter. She'll sort you out."

Davis, still flustered, quickly transferred the payment to Archie, his eyes glowing blue briefly as he turned to look at the woman in question.

I collected their empty plates, the clatter a welcome interruption to their familiar ribbing, and headed back to the counter.

The diner was winding down, a couple of loners hunched over their drinks, the neon glow of Jig-Jig Street spilling through the grime-streaked windows.

Archie was a burst of energy amidst the late-night slump, humming along to the tinny music crackling from the old radio, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the counter.

"I'm sorry about that, Zain. I don't like ending the night serving their table." She said apologetically, as she worked to store away the dishes for the dishwashers. "They get on my nerves sometimes, but I hope you know they don't mean anything by it right? Their machismo is just that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know Archie. You don't have to tell me. I was happy to take that table off your hands." I replied as I helped her finish off the work at the counter. She smiled apologetically again all the same and continued off to her own work.

As the last of the customers stumbled out the door, I was just about done with the rest of the cleanup.

Swapping the synth trays in the almost broken coffee machine, checking on the water synthesizer, and checking the soap in the dishwasher, when Archie joined me again. "Hey, Zain?"

I looked at her questioning and she continued "Dad wants to see you in the back. You done here?"

"Yeah, just about. I'll be there with him in a minute." I replied as I rechecked my work.

Archie nodded taking off her apron and cap and said "I'll be waiting for you outside by the car. No rush."

I nodded; my curiosity piqued.

After a quick check for any CHOOH2 leaks from the stove – a nightly ritual – I headed towards the back, a sense of foreboding settling in my gut.

Rafael Torres, Archie's father and the diner's perpetually grumpy owner, was hunched over his computer, an IEC Gen X, the glow of the screen casting blue flickers across his face.

"Zain," he grumbled, his voice heavy. "Come in. We need to talk."

Here we go again, I thought, bracing myself for the familiar lecture. I took a seat, the worn synthetic plastic groaning beneath me.

Rafael's eyes were glued to the screen, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the keyboard. The old IEC Gen X hummed softly, the only other sound in the cramped office. He finally swiveled in his chair, his expression a mix of weariness and frustration.

"Your pay's ready," he said, his voice gruff as he indicated to his gestured to his computer. "But it's docked. Again."

The computer was showing his calculations and accounts for the pay for this week. I could see mine, and like he said, it was docked.

I met his gaze, trying to appear unfazed. "I figured as much."

He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Zain, it's like talking to a wall with you sometimes. You're a good kid, you work hard, but this..." he gestured vaguely between me and the computer, and he trailed off.

"I know," I said quietly. "It's the cash, right?"

"It's the cash," he confirmed, his voice weary. He leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Just get chipped, Zain. Make things easier on yourself, on me... It's the simplest solution."

I knew why he wanted me to get chipped, but it just wasn't something I was comfortable with at all.

I knew I was shooting my own foot with that; Rafael was cutting off all the conversion rate hits he was suffering from my pay, having to get cash from the ATM for my weekly pay just for me.

Eddies were often traded digitally, crypto-backed. Getting cash from any bank costs a hefty service fee and because of that not many people rely on cash at all.

Except for black money traders, gangsters, and the like perhaps.

I shifted in my seat, the plastic creaking beneath me. "I appreciate that, Mr. Torres, I do. But... it's just not something I can do."

He frowned. "Why not, at least tell me that much? We've had this conversation thrice now. Don't tell me it's some kind of phobia. You're not afraid of the ripper docs, are you?"

I almost chuckled. "No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" he pressed, his voice rising in exasperation. "Is it a religious thing? Are you really Buddhist like the cops think you are? Like those monks up in North Oak? Because if it is, I respect that, but..."

"It's... kind of like that," I said, choosing my words carefully. "It's... complicated."

He studied me for a moment, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Ah, I see. Religion and belief, then. Alright, I respect that." He paused, then added, "But this city... it won't accommodate your beliefs you know… wait you're not in some cult are you?"

I shook my head frantically at that line of questioning. "What? No. I am not. It's… just a personal belief. Family thing."

He sighed, "Well, like I said. This city is not so accommodating to personal beliefs. You're hurting your own chances with no chips in your system."

It was true, I knew. In the short time I had been here, it was becoming clearer and clearer what Night City really was. How dependent the society, the economy really was on chips in everyone's system.

"Zain," Rafael's voice took on an almost pleading tone, "just reconsider. At least for something simple. Nothing fancy. It's a simple procedure. In and out. Hell, I'll even pay for the chip! I know a good ripperdoc in Watson, discreet, and reliable. He'll set you up with a basic Zetatech or IEC data chip, nothing fancy. No fuss, no muss."

I was floored by the sheer concern in his gaze. Him offering to pay for me to get chipped?

That was worth a month's pay, heck probably a little more. That too without the pay cut I endured.

But I was not willing to take the risk whatsoever.

I met his gaze, appreciating the genuine concern in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Torres. I really do appreciate the offer. But... I can't."

He slumped back in his chair, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. "I had to try, I thought after these weeks you'd have become a little bit more accepting. Rare as it is to find some 'ganic person these days, I had thought it was a religious thing since the beginning…." He shook his head at that.

"You're a good kid, Zain. Smart, reliable. But this..." he gestured to me, "I don't like having to cut your pay so often, you don't deserve that. Honest kids like you are rare. No involvement with the gangoons, drugs, joytoys, or the like. You, least of all, don't deserve to have your pay cut as I'm being forced to do so."

He reached into his drawer, pulling out a rolled-up stack of cash. It was my weekly pay, 250 eddies. Not a fortune, but enough to get by for now.

"Thank you, Mr. Torres," I said, taking the money. "I am really sorry, …. I really appreciate the offer. I hope you understand."

"It's your hit kid. Not mine" he said, his voice weary. "Just think about it, alright?"

I nodded, tucking the eddies into my pocket. "I will."

Stepping out of the diner and into the cool night air, I spotted Archie leaning against her beat-up Thornton Galena G240, the neon signs of Jig-Jig Street casting an eerie glow on her face.

"So?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Did the old man finally convince you to join the 21st century?"

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "Not a chance."

Stepping out of the diner and into the cool night air, I spotted Archie leaning against her beat-up Thornton Galena G240, the neon signs of the distant Jig-Jig Street casting an eerie glow on her face. She pushed herself off the car, her arms crossed as she approached.

"So?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement in her amber cybernetic eyes. "Did the old man finally break you down? Ready to get chipped and join the rest of us in the 21st​ century?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not a chance."

"Seriously?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He even offered to pay for it, didn't he? And hook you up with that ripperdoc in Watson? I swear, Zain, sometimes you're so—"

"Gonk?" I offered with a grin.

"Exactly!" she said, pointing a finger at me. "What's it gonna take to convince you? Have I told you my personalized Kiroshi optic plays my favorite anime on repeat? Or that I can see the directions to anywhere in the city like…they're right there, man! How can you live without it?!"

I unlocked the car, opening the passenger door. "You told me just about a thousand times, it's not about the perks, Archie," I explained, sliding into the seat. "It's... well, you know it's... just how I am. I don't believe in chips." I tried to keep my tone light, deflecting her curiosity.

Archie slammed the driver's side door shut, the sound echoing in the relative quiet of the street. "Oh, I knew it!" she exclaimed, starting the engine with a roar. "I knew it was something religious, told dad the first day you walked in looking for a gig. You're one of those 'analog purists,' aren't you? Think technology is the devil's work?"

"Not exactly," I said, leaning back in the seat. "It's more like... a personal belief system. Something I was raised with."

She rolled her eyes, pulling away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. "Don't give me that 'holier-than-thou' routine. It's a chip, not a soul-stealing demon. It's perfectly safe. Everyone does it!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I like being different," I retorted, a hint of defiance in my voice.

Archie let out a long sigh, shaking her head. "Why do I even bother?" she mumbled, more to herself than to me. "Alright, fine. Suit yourself. But don't come crying to me when you can't even buy a drink without flashing a wad of cash like some kind of neo-tribal."

I chuckled, settling into the worn seat as she navigated the neon-lit streets. "Don't worry, Archie. I'll manage."

The radio blared out a catchy tune, a hyper-pop remix of some cheesy anime theme song. I cringed inwardly, bracing myself for the inevitable earworm.

To my surprise, Archie was bobbing her head to the music, a genuine smile plastered on her face.

I stared at her incredulously. "You're kidding, right? You actually like this song?."

"Like it?" Archie scoffed, throwing me a sideways glance. "Zain, you seriously need to get your ears checked. This song slaps! The Namakopuri sisters and Us Cracks are the biggest thing to hit the mainstream since, like, ever! Their stuff is pure fire."

I grimaced, sinking further into my seat. "If you say so. To me, it sounds like a bunch of screaming chipmunks backed by a broken synthesizer."

Archie let out an exasperated sigh. "Just when I thought you couldn't be any more gonk, you go and pull this. Honestly, Zain, your whole 'rebellious anti-chip' phase is kinda adorable. Totally gonk, but adorable."

I could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. "Thanks?" I said, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult.

"Don't mention it," she replied, her voice laced with amusement. "Here, I'll change the song for you"

She changed the station to some hyper futuristic EDM music, but at least that was better than the PonPon Shit she was vibing to a minute ago.

"Thank you!" I thanked her more genuinely at that.

She took the next turn at the juncture, when we hit the roadblock.

A shimmering wall of holotape stretched across the street, blocking any further progress.

Behind it, a Trauma Team AV hovered silently, its blue and white lights casting an eerie glow on the scene. Trauma Team officers in their distinctive white, red, and green armor swarmed the area, their movements efficient and practiced.

Before I could ask what was going on, a sharp rap on the window startled me.

An NCPD officer, her face grim and her hand resting on the butt of her pistol, motioned for Archie to roll down the window.

"Evening, officer," Archie said.

"Road's closed," the officer stated flatly. "Can't you see the cordon? Why are you waiting here?"

"Yeah, but the light's red down the street, and we're heading just beyond down this street there," Archie explained, pointing behind the cordon. "Figured it'd be quicker to wait it out than go around. Besides, Trauma Team's usually pretty quick, right?"

The officer's eyes narrowed, as they glowed eerie blue, her gaze flickering between Archie and me. "Your companion, Zain? He 'ganic?"

"Uh, yeah," Archie confirmed.

The officer's lips curled into a smirk. "Figures. Alright, you two can wait. Should be cleared out in a few."

We watched as the Trauma Team medics rushed out of a nearby building, carrying a stretcher with a blood-soaked figure.

They loaded the stretcher into the AV, which lifted off with a whoosh and disappeared into the night sky.

"Wonder who that was," I mumbled, trying to get a better look at the scene beyond the cordon. A burning storefront flickered with an angry orange light, and several bodies lay sprawled on the pavement.

"Some corpo woman, by the looks of it," Archie replied. "My zoom's not that great, but I could see the remnants of a suit."

"Yeah, definitely a corpo," I agreed, my mind already piecing together the clues. "Trauma Team response, especially with an AV, isn't cheap. She must have had at least a gold package, maybe even platinum."

That much was obvious. The Trauma Team insurance packages were expensive. Ridiculously so.

AV deployment practically guaranteed at minimum a gold package, so the woman was definitely some rich Corpo.

"Must have really pissed the claws off somehow," Archie commented, her eyes fixed on the scene. "For them to warrant this much force."

I nodded.

The entirety of Japantown, and parts of Little China were Tyger Claw turf. For them to have burnt up some store front to get at the corpo woman living in the building above it, meant either she had pissed them off something fierce, or she was a casualty in some other target they were aiming at.

Not that he'd know. This was the best he could guess with what he knew.

Within minutes, the NCPD officers cleared the bodies and extinguished the fire. The holotape flickered and disappeared, and traffic began to flow again.

Archie pulled back onto the road, humming along to the EDM music as if nothing had happened.

It didn't take long to reach my apartment building, the Umibe Residence, a drab, five-story complex. Archie pulled into the parking lot beneath the building.

I was about to thank her for the ride and leave when she stopped me by grasping my arm.

"Hey, Zain," she began, her voice taking on a fake casual tone. "I need a favor from you, will you help."

I raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the favor, what is it?"

"Cover my shift tomorrow at the diner?" she asked, as she fidgeted in her seat, embarassed. "I'll even give you my pay for the day."

I was intrigued. "Why? Can't you just ask your dad?"

"Why? Can't you just ask your dad?" I questioned, tilting my head. "He's usually pretty flexible with your shifts."

Archie bit her lip, avoiding my gaze. "Well, it's just that... I'm going to visit my input tomorrow, down in the Glenn. And... uh... dad doesn't know about him."

"Your input?" I was surprised. Archie had never mentioned having a boyfriend before. "And he's in the Glenn? Is he... someone I should be worried about?" My mind conjured up images of Valentino gangoons or 6th Street toughs.

She shook her head, a faint smile returning to her face. "No, no, nothing like that. He's a corpo lawyer, actually. Works as legal aid for Zetatech. We met here at the diner a week ago, when you had your day off."

"A corpo lawyer?" I echoed, trying to process this new information. "Why all the secrecy then?"

"Well," she explained, "dad wouldn't be too thrilled about the whole 'corpo' thing. And neither would my old input, for that matter."

"Your ex?" I was lost.

"Oh, sorry," she chuckled. "My ex. He's kind of... possessive. Anyway, the point is, that it's complicated. But my input's looking to change jobs soon. He doesn't want to meet Dad till he's stuck with a job at Zetatech. He's looking to open his own firm, once he does, I'll tell Dad everything. Until then... well, I could really use your help."

I thought about it for a moment. It wasn't really my business who Archie was dating, and covering her shift wasn't a big deal. "Alright," I agreed. "I'll do it."

"You're the best, Zain!" she exclaimed, beaming. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're an adorable gonk, you know that?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

I shook my head with a smile as I watched her drive away, the taillights of her Galena disappearing into the night.

Turning towards the entrance of my apartment building, the Umibe Residence, I couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.

The flickering neon sign above the entrance cast long, distorted shadows across the cracked pavement. The building itself was a testament to neglect, with chipped paint, broken windows patched with cardboard, and a faint smell of something rotten clinging to the air.

"–told you, I ain't got your goddamn eurodollars!" a gruff voice yelled from somewhere within.

"You think I'm stupid, choomba? I saw you stashing that cash!" a woman shrieked in response.

The sounds of a struggle, punctuated by crashing and breaking glass, drifted from the upper floors. I grimaced, hoping the fight wouldn't spill out into the lobby.

Glancing towards the stairwell, I noticed two figures huddled beneath the staircase, their bodies entwined on a stained mattress. The rhythmic creaking of the mattress and their muffled moans made me avert my eyes quickly.

The junkies were obviously high as a kite, and fucking their euphoria away.

The lobby itself was deserted, save for a battered rent collection machine tucked away in a corner.

I approached it cautiously and punched in my apartment number. A green light flashed, and a cheerful "RENT PAID" message appeared on the screen.

Another mystery of the Umibe Residence. I had never paid rent since I woke up here almost a month ago in this strange future city.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and I stepped inside gratefully. As I ascended to the fifth floor, the sounds of the building faded away, replaced by the gentle hum of the elevator motor.

Reaching my floor, I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and cheap synth-noodles.

My apartment door was just a few steps away, a battered metal slab with a peeling number 503.

Stepping in front of the fingerprint scanner, I scanned my right hand and it blinked grin as the door slid open letting me inside.

Stepping into the apartment, I was greeted by the familiar sight of the cramped living space – a faded couch, a flickering holo-screen, and a kitchenette barely big enough to turn around in. It was a far cry from the comfortable, if slightly cramped, bedroom I had back home. Home. The word echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of a life that seemed both impossibly distant and yet vividly real.

It had been almost a month since I woke up here, in this strange, ultra-advanced future.

One minute I was celebrating my graduation with friends, the thrill of finally finishing my business admin degree fueling a night of revelry in the bars of San Jose, California, then going to bed kissing my Ma goodnight and ruffling the fur of my old dog, Bosco.

The next, I was here, in this dingy apartment, wearing nothing but my pajamas, with no memory of how I got here.

At first, I thought it was a dream, a bizarre, hyper-realistic hallucination brought on by one too many tequila shots.

But the dream never ended.

Days turned into weeks, and the impossible truth of my situation slowly dawned on me.

I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Hell, I wasn't even in 2024 anymore.

The cheap but functional, and surprisingly Windows computer at my desk confirmed my worst fears. It was surprising because Windows, heck Microsoft wasn't exactly a company here.

The internet, or whatever they called it here, was a chaotic mess of flashing images, hyperlinks, and invasive advertisements.

But amidst the digital noise, I found enough information to piece together a horrifying truth.

I was in the future, a future where corporations ruled, cybernetics were commonplace, and violence was a way of life.

A future that didn't even resemble the history I knew.



Heck there had been 4 four world wide wars, after World War 2.

Corporate wars they called them.

The companies I had grown up with – Google, Apple, Facebook, Amazon, Uber, Spotify, or whatever else have you –didn't exist at all.

Historical events had unfolded differently. Obama had never become president. The world was a twisted, unfamiliar version of the one I knew.

How did I get here?

Was it some kind of time travel experiment gone wrong?

All I had to that was the constant heavy weight in the back of my head, and a burning key ever present in my pocket.

Any pocket of whatever clothes I wore that day. It was always there.

I knew what the Key was. I had known when I first felt the presence in my head.

The Celestial Forge. And the Key was a gateway to my own personal reality, accessible from any door whatsoever that I put my into. My very own workshop.

A small cozy little thing. Almost reminiscent of the workbench I had back home.

It was there that my initial panic and confusion had given way to a numbing despair.

I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably on the worn couch, the weight of my displacement crushing me.

But eventually, the tears dried, and a grim determination settled in. I was here, wherever "here" was, and I had to survive.

I had come to terms with it. I just hoped my elder sister was able to take care of our mother and Bosco on her. She had graduated a year before me, and had a job so she would probably manage.

I hoped they didn't mourn me.

I pushed those dark thoughts aside, focusing on the more immediate task of preparing dinner. I rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out a packet of synth-noodles and a can of synthetic meat.

The food here was... edible, but it always left a strange aftertaste, a lingering chemical tang that reminded me that it wasn't quite real. The vegetables were crisp and colorful, but lacked the earthy aroma of fresh produce. The water was clear and tasteless, but it didn't quench my thirst the way real water did.

Still, I had gotten used to it, just like I had gotten used to the constant hum of the city, the ever-present neon glow, and the casual violence that lurked around every corner.

Night City was a strange and unforgiving place, but it was starting to feel like home. Or at least, the closest thing I had to it.

I ate my dinner slowly, savoring the silence and the solitude. As the clock ticked closer to midnight, a strange anticipation began to build within me.

The celestial forge.

It was an ever-present itch at the back of my mind, a swirling constellation of stars that I could just glimpse in their magnificent glory if I closed my eyes and focused hard enough.

It had been dormant ever since I arrived in this strange future, a silent passenger in my consciousness. But lately, I felt it picking up steam, like a dormant volcano rumbling back to life. The constellations were brightening, ever so slightly, the stars rotating faster, their cosmic dance growing more frenzied.

The celestial forge.

It was the only reason I didn't constantly curse whatever power had put me here. It would be pointless to do so either way.

The power that was one of the main reasons I was comfortable with no cybernetic enhancements in this world.

I didn't trust them. Didn't trust having some corporation's chip in my brain, their optical sensors replacing my perfectly functioning organic ones.

Back home, corporations like Google, Apple, Meta – they already pushed the boundaries of privacy. It wasn't just targeted ads anymore.

It was way beyond that.

Google tracked your every search, every location, every online interaction, building a detailed profile of your habits and preferences. They claimed it was to "improve user experience," but it felt more like a digital panopticon.

Facebook, or Meta as they had started to called themselves, was even worse.

Remember that Cambridge Analytica scandal?

They harvested the data of millions of users without their consent, using it to manipulate elections and sway public opinion.

And who knows what they were doing with all that facial recognition data they collected? Building a database of every person on the planet, ready to be exploited by governments and corporations alike?

Even Apple, with its "privacy-focused" image, wasn't immune. They still collected vast amounts of data on your app usage, your browsing history, your health metrics.

They claimed it was all anonymized, but who could be sure?

It didn't end there.

Insurance companies had access to your car telemetry, and your insurance premiums often times randomly went up just because you drove once a little faster along the freeway.

Music apps know your tastes in music, and what ads to curate for you.

Amazon knew exactly how to entice you to buy something a little extra for your online shopping spree based on your purchase history, geometric data and so much more.

Did I use those services back home?

Fuck, yes I did. How could you not?

The thing about people calling me a monk?

I understood.

But here, in Night City, it was a whole new level of intrusion.

Corporations with direct access to your thoughts, your emotions, your very being?

Imagine waking up every morning to personalized ads beamed directly into your brain, or into the hollow table right at your kitchen table, based on your deepest desires and insecurities.

Or having your every move tracked, your every conversation recorded, your every emotion analyzed.

It was a dystopian nightmare, and I wanted no part in it.

I'd seen the Trauma Team AVs swooping in to collect their premium clients, their response times impossibly fast. They knew exactly when and where to go because they were constantly monitoring their clients' bio-signs, their location, their every move. It was efficient, sure, but at what cost?

The thought of some corpo exec sitting in a plush office, watching my every move, listening to my thoughts, manipulating my desires... it made my skin crawl.

Maybe it was paranoia, but I didn't care. I'd rather be a 'gonk', a relic of the past, than a corporate puppet.

Besides, I had a power of my own.

A power to replace my worries, a power that would allow me to survive, no, thrive in this world.

The celestial forge. It was a gift, a curse, a burden, all rolled into one.

It was the reason I was here, in this strange future, and it was the key to my survival.

I had already sold my soul to some entity out there, unwillingly, unknowingly, but it was done all the same. I could feel that brand in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of my Faustian bargain.

But I also felt the key to my workshop burning a hole in my pocket. The key that opened a gateway to my personal reality, my own pocket dimension, just sitting there, waiting to be used.

I'd tried it a few times, a few days after arriving in this world, in the safety of my apartment.

It was there that I had said my goodbyes to the life I had left behind, to my mother, my sister, my dog. It was there that I had accepted my fate, embraced the unknown, and vowed to make the most of this strange new reality.

And now, I could feel it. The time was close. The forge was awakening.

Finally, after a month-long wait, the feeling at the back of my mind sharpened. The beautiful constellation of stars became crystal clear, pulsating with knowledge.

The galaxy spun, and a constellation of stars came closer.

And then, I felt it.

A strange weight settling around my hands, a sensation I couldn't quite place. I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat.

I was wearing gloves.

A pair of sleek, silver-greyish black gloves that shimmered faintly in the dim light of the apartment. They were elegant, almost deceptively simple, but I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that they were extraordinary.

A flood of information poured into my mind, a torrent of technical specifications and operational details.

These weren't just gloves; they were micromanipulators, tools of incredible precision, capable of manipulating matter on a microscopic scale. They were designed for scientific experiments, for delicate surgeries, for tasks that required the steadiest of hands.

And they were mine.

I flexed my fingers, marveling at the snug fit, the way the gloves seemed to become an extension of my own body. I could feel the subtle hum of miniature motors, the gentle pressure of artificial muscles, all working in perfect harmony to grant me an unprecedented level of control.

A slow smile spread across my face.

The celestial forge had delivered its first gift. And it was perfect.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N) Hello! It's been a while.

First off, let me say this. None of my other stories are abandoned. Especially A Song of Sun and Stars. I have just been stuck in some personal problems, and found no time to give it the time it deserves.

And it's just one chapter for Book 1 too. I really don't enjoy being such a tease, trust me.

I will get back to that one chapter as soon as I am free.

Back to this though, I wanted to write a cyberpunk story, and have been reading some jumpchain fics in my free time. I really enjoyed Brockton Bay's Celestial Forge, despite like 80% of it being lyrical and exposition of new powers.

I don't plan to follow that. Even though that fic inspired this one.

As for the fic itself. It's another passion project I wanted to take a shot at. I hope you like it.

Now, for the rules of the Celestial Forge. I am going with 3000 words per roll.

As for points, I will admit, I am a little confused there. I am going with 100 points are granted every 2000 words?

So Zain has currently 350 points stored up. I have absolutely no idea how that'd go down when I keep writing, if that's stable enough. I hope it is.

If the readers can help in that, I'd appreciate it.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Toolkits: Mundane
Micromanipulators (A Certain Scientific Railgun) (50CP)
These delicate gloves were meant for scientific purposes. They're reinforced with small motors and electrically contracting artificial muscles to allow you to perform delicate work on the scale of a micron. While they're definitely more suited to scientific experiments, they can be put to use in any situation that requires steady hands like aiming a rifle, conducting brain surgery, cooking, defusing a bomb, or even bypassing some redirection and shielding abilities. * Micron scale control

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 2 –

"Hello and welcome to WNS News. I'm Arif Iqbal."

The screen flickered slightly as Arif's face filled the frame, his tone serious and commanding. The clatter of dishes and the low murmur of customers barely interrupted the voice coming from the TV mounted high on the wall of the diner.

"In a developing story, the terrorist group calling themselves the 'Trade Union' has made another bold statement, claiming responsibility for organizing strikes within several key corporations, including Biotechnica and Zetatech. These strikes, aimed at disrupting the recent alliance between the two giants, threaten to impact food supplies for not just Night City, but for the entire continent."

The broadcast played on, the footage shifting to images of factory workers standing outside barricaded gates, holding signs and chanting slogans. Arif's voice remained steady, even as the images on the screen grew more intense.

"Officials from the Biotechnica-Arasaka alliance have warned that these coordinated strikes could lead to widespread shortages, hitting both corporate and independent food supply chains, locally as well as in the rest of the continent. Mayor Lucius Rhyne has denounced these actions as acts of terrorism, stating that the city's resources are being stretched thin by this dangerous organization. Rhyne has yet to issue an official response, though sources close to the mayor's office expect a statement later today."

The images cut back to Arif in the studio, his face set in a grim expression.

"This situation continues to develop. We'll keep you updated on any new information as it comes in. For now, citizens are advised to remain calm and await further instructions from local authorities."

The afternoon rush had thinned, leaving the diner nearly empty. I was down to my last order—a Loaded Tamale with a side of EZ Fries—and as usual, I let the gloves guide me through the motions. It wasn't that they did the cooking for me, but each action—chopping, seasoning, frying—was smoother, more controlled. Every slice felt just right, every flip timed perfectly. Overkill, maybe, but it made even synthetic ingredients feel like they had potential.

I packed the tamale and fries neatly into a paper bag, taking a moment to make sure everything looked as presentable as possible. The old man sitting at the far table was the last customer, his quiet presence filling the now-empty diner.

"Here you go, sir. Loaded Tamale and EZ Fries, to go," I said, handing him the bag.

He nodded, his weathered face softening with a smile. "Thank you, son."

As he reached for the bag, his eyes glowed faintly orange, scanning me. I saw the slight furrow of his brow when the scan came up empty—no chip to find.

I smiled politely and waved him off. "I don't have a chip. You can send the eddies over to Mr. Torres at the counter."

The old man hesitated for a moment, giving me a look that was equal parts curiosity and confusion. But then he nodded, standing up slowly. "Alright then... I'll do that."

With a final nod, he turned and made his way toward the door, the soft chime of the bell echoing behind him as he left.

I knew using the micromanipulators for something as simple as cooking was overkill, but I couldn't help myself. They made everything smoother, more precise. Even with the subpar synthetic ingredients we had, the difference was obvious. The way I could cut, chop, mince, mix, heat—every action became sharper, more deliberate. It brought out the best of whatever I worked with, turning the final dish into something that looked, and even tasted, much better than it should have.

After the initial awe of being gifted these gloves by the Forge wore off, reality had settled in. I didn't have the skills—yet—to unlock their full potential. Sure, they were meant for things like surgery, intricate tech work, or building something far beyond my understanding, but I wasn't there.

Not yet.

But cooking? Even with just a bit of added precision and steadiness, I was seeing results I'd never managed before. I'd already gotten more tips from customers today than usual. Mr Torres' slightly fatter-than-expected account was evidence enough.

It was a small thing, but it reminded me of what was possible, of what could be done when I finally learned how to really use them.

I was still caught up in my thoughts, marveling at how much of a difference the gloves made in even the simplest of tasks, when Mr. Torres approached from behind the counter. He had that look—half-proud, half-suspicious—that made me snap back to the moment.

"Zain," he said with a nod, "you've been working hard today. The customers seem to like it. Tips have been better than usual."

I returned the nod, feeling a bit of pride swell in my chest. "Yeah, I've been trying to keep up the pace."

Mr. Torres crossed his arms, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "This wouldn't have anything to do with trying to make up for the pay cut, would it? With those tips coming in?"

The question caught me off guard for a second. I hesitated, but only for a beat. "Nah, not really. I'm just trying to learn new things, get better at cooking, that's all."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, his smile widened, and he nodded approvingly. "Wish my daughter had half the drive for self-improvement that you've got."

I smiled back, but inwardly, it felt a little awkward. The truth was, any improvement on my part wasn't entirely earned. The Forge had seen to that, gifting me abilities randomly, pushing me forward in ways I couldn't always take credit for.

But that wasn't something I could explain to Mr. Torres.

I knew I really shouldn't have brought the gloves to the diner at all, I'd thought their technological nature would be sniffed out easily by any cybernetic sense that some random nobody on the street had installed in him, but my fear was quickly allayed.

They didn't really register as anything more than normal fabric gloves. Not unless they were to be seen under a very power microscope.

Mr. Torres gave me another once-over, then asked again, "You sure you're not up for a chip? My offer still stands. It'd make things a lot easier, you know."

I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sure, Mr. Torres. I'm good. Thank You, but you don't need to worry about me."

He shrugged, a little resigned, but not surprised. "Had to try. I really don't like cutting your pay, Zain. These tips are gonna make doing that even harder. Converting them to cash, means they take a hit too, you know that right? I know you feel it more than I do."

I waved him off, trying to ease the man's guilt. "It's fine, really. I don't mind... you've done enough for me as is."

That was true. Hiring someone that came with the added hassle of visiting the ATM every week and dealing with the service fees was not a small thing for a small business owner like him.

Add to that, I was suspicious enough that no chips in my system made me seem like a homeless person. Mr Torres had been extremely generous when he'd taken me on as help at the Diner.

I was about to say more, but the chime of the diner's door interrupted us, signaling a new customer.

We both glanced toward the entrance. I expected another late customer, but the moment Mr. Torres saw who it was, his entire demeanor changed. The easy smile he'd been wearing vanished, replaced by something far more guarded, even irritated.

The man who walked in had Asian features, a wide grin stretched across his face like he owned the place. He was dressed in a dark grey synthetic leather jacket, with skinny leather jeans and fingerless gloves. There was also a pistol strapped to his waist, but he didn't seem like that was much of a big deal.

"Old man!" the newcomer greeted loudly, striding in like he was visiting an old friend. "How's it going?"

Mr. Torres didn't reply right away, his face stiffening. The man didn't seem to notice—or care—and instead, his eyes started scanning the diner, almost like he was searching for something or someone. He leaned forward a little, looking behind the counter, then let out a short laugh.

"Where's my girl, huh? She waiting for me, or nah? Bet she's got a surprise planned for me, huh?" His grin grew wider as he kept going.

Mr. Torres straightened, his hands gripping the counter as he fixed the man with a steely gaze. "She's gone out with some of her chooms," he said, voice measured but firm.

The man hummed, stretching lazily as if he had all the time in the world. "That so?" His grin widened as his gaze swept over me for a brief moment before drifting back to Mr. Torres. "She mention where she's off to?"

The tension in the air thickened as Mr. Torres's expression hardened even further. "I don't think that's any of your business," he replied, his voice carrying an edge that wasn't there before.

The man leaned casually over the counter, flashing a mock pout. "C'mon, old man, no need to be so stiff. We're family anyway, or we will be soon enough." He let out a soft chuckle. "I just want to say hi, that's all. Been away for so long… can't wait to see her again."

Mr. Torres didn't flinch, but I could see the discomfort building. His hands clenched just a little tighter. I shifted my weight subtly, inching my way toward the back shelf where I knew Mr. Torres kept the Rostovic Shotgun.

This guy's presence wasn't sitting right with me.

Before I could move any further, the man's sharp gaze flicked back to me. His grin stretched wider, flashing too many teeth. "Who's this then, huh? New guy you hired for the Diner?"

Mr. Torres's jaw tightened, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he responded. "He's just the new kid, doesn't matter," he said, then quickly changed the subject. "Why are you even here, Kenta? You and Archie—you're through, you've been gone, why come now? She doesn't want anything to do with you."

Kenta let out a laugh that echoed through the empty diner, his grin widening as if the idea itself was ridiculous. "Nah, she's over that by now. I know her. That little hissy fit of hers? Ancient history." He turned to me, his eyes narrowing in on me like a predator locking onto prey. "What about you, kid? You know where Archie is?"

Suddenly under the spotlight, I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. My eyes flicked to Mr. Torres, silently pleading for backup.

Before I could respond, Mr. Torres stepped in again. "He doesn't know anything, Kenta," he said, voice firm. "He's just the new guy here, leave him out of it."

Kenta wasn't satisfied. He leaned forward, whining in mock frustration. "Come on, kid. Why you looking at the old man? You know where she's gone, don't you? How about this—tell me, and I'll throw you some eddies. That work for you?"

His cybernetic eyes briefly flickered grey, scanning me. I froze as he stared at me, his smile faltering. A twitch passed across his face, confusion creeping in as he looked me up and down. "Where the fuck's your chip?"

I swallowed, finally reaching the back shelf where Mr. Torres kept the shotgun. My pulse quickened as I responded, keeping my voice as steady as I could. "I don't use one."

Kenta clicked his tongue in annoyance, turning his attention back to Mr. Torres. He pointed at me with a sneer. "Where'd you find this freak, huh?" Shaking his head, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever, doesn't matter."

He leaned forward again, this time his tone colder, more irritated. "Alright, old man. Which one of her chooms has Archie gone out to meet?"

Mr. Torres swallowed hard, his discomfort growing. "I don't know," he replied, voice quieter now.

Kenta clicked his tongue again, this time in open annoyance. "What use are you, huh?" he muttered, shaking his head as he cursed in Japanese under his breath. "Useless," he spat before adding, "Guess I'll have to see if Maya's still hanging outside Wakako's. At least she'll be good for a quick fuck for a few ennies."

With that, Kenta strolled toward the door, his presence leaving a lingering chill in the air. The bell chimed softly as he walked out, leaving Mr. Torres and me in an uneasy silence.

Both Mr. Torres and I stood frozen for a moment after the door chimed shut behind Kenta, the tension in the air still thick, like a heavy fog that refused to lift. Then, Mr. Torres seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping as he leaned heavily against the counter, all the bravado drained out of him. His breath came out in a rough exhale, and I panicked for a second, seeing him like that.

Quickly, I made my way to the chiller and grabbed a can of Real Water, popping it open as I handed it to him. "Here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Mr. Torres accepted it with a grateful nod, taking a long swig before resting the can on the counter.

Giving him some time, I asked tentatively "Who was that? You seemed to know him."

After a moment, he spoke, his voice quieter now, tinged with weariness. "That… was Suzuki Kenta. Long-standing shit stain on our family."

I paused, digesting the name. "Is he Tyger Claw?" I asked, the words coming out before I could stop myself.

Mr. Torres barked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "If only," he muttered. "No, this shit stain's a different breed of danger. Worse than your average Tyger Claw gangbanger. He's a wannabe Edge Runner. Mercenary. Filled to the gills with chrome. Lives for the next rush—a quick fuck with some easy pussy, a crazy job with enough danger for a rush of adrenalin, or the next eddie." He took another sip of the water, rubbing his forehead like the conversation was giving him a headache.

"People like him," he added with a sigh, "they don't have limits. No lines they won't cross." His cybernetic eyes whirred as he glanced at me, a weary but resolved expression on his face. "I'm calling Archie. If that asshole wants to find her, he will. Might not be now, but he'll show up again, one way or another, once he's gotten his fill of whatever street garbage he finds."

I watched as Mr. Torres's eyes flickered, signaling the start of his call. The silence in the diner stretched for a few seconds, and I couldn't shake the question lingering in the back of my mind. "Why is Kenta so… fixated on her?" I asked, unable to hold it back any longer.

Mr. Torres's eyes spun again as the call went unanswered, a soft curse slipping from his lips. "That stupid girl…" He muttered under his breath, then raised an eyebrow at me. "Well, apart from her being a beautiful young woman?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, apart from that." Crazies didn't exactly need a reason to have a fixation on a pretty woman, but still… this felt personal.

Mr. Torres tried again to call, his eyes glowing faintly, as he attempted another call, before he spoke. "Kenta and Archie went to the same academy as kids. Arasaka Academy,"

My surprise must have been written all over my face, because Mr. Torres barked out another humorless laugh. "Yeah, I know, hard to believe, right? Most don't. She had to leave after her mom died. I couldn't afford the tuition anymore, not with just the diner and no backup. Things were a lot smaller back then."

I nodded slowly, trying to imagine a time when Mr. Torres wasn't the pillar of resilience he seemed to be now. His fingers twitched, his eyes spinning again as he attempted another call, but once more, it didn't connect. His frustration was becoming more obvious, though he pushed on with the story.

"Kenta was a classmate of hers back at Arasaka Academy. Then he hit a rough patch himself. There were rumors... I think some academy official might've been involved with whatever went down. He had to transfer out, and wouldn't you know it, he ended up at Rancho Coronado Public High—same place Archie transferred to."

Mr. Torres paused for a moment, his fingers tapping the counter impatiently before his eyes flickered again, signaling yet another failed attempt at reaching Archie. This time, he cursed louder, the frustration boiling over.

"They got close at that school. Friends at first, and then for a few years, something more. Ever since then, that bastard's got it in his head that they're meant to be together or some other bullshit. Doesn't matter how many times she's told him no." He let out a bitter sigh, his voice tightening with the strain of recounting the history.

Another silence stretched between us as I processed everything.

Mr. Torres's fourth call didn't connect either, and this time, his curse was louder, his frustration boiling over. He started pacing around the diner, his hands running through his thinning hair. The tension in the air was thick, and I could tell he was grappling with his next move.

After a few moments, he stopped, having come to a decision. He turned to me. "Alright," he muttered, more to himself than to me, "I'm closing shop for the day. I'm going to go and fetch her."

I blinked in surprise. "You know where Archie is?"

He let out a short laugh as he walked past me, heading straight for the cabinet I'd been eyeing earlier. With a swift motion, he pulled out the shotgun, the weight of it settling naturally in his hands. "Of course I know. She's my daughter. This ain't the first time she's snuck out to meet some boy."

He slung the shotgun over his shoulder, his expression hardening. "After that shitstain Kenta, I made the mistake once of not keeping an eye on her. Not happening again."

I couldn't help but admire his dedication to Archie's safety, but it was hard not to be concerned at the same time. It said a lot about Night City when a man felt the need to carry a shotgun just to go after his daughter. "Do you think that's really necessary?" I asked, eyeing the gun.

Mr. Torres paused, considering the question for a moment before he met my gaze with a serious expression. "I don't think so, but in this city? You can't ever be too careful. Too many people think they can get away with anything."

Then, as if something occurred to him, he looked at me sharply. "You packing any iron, Zain? Got something to protect yourself with?"

I shook my head, regretting the decision immediately. I hadn't bothered getting a gun, thinking it would put me on some sort of registry or draw attention I didn't need. Now, after the little showdown with Kenta, it was clear how stupid that assumption had been.

Mr. Torres stared at me, wide-eyed, then let out an incredulous curse. "Holy fuck. Either you've got some big cojones or you're just plain stupid. I didn't think you were that stupid, Zain."

I nodded awkwardly, feeling the weight of his words settle in. Before I could say anything else, Mr. Torres grumbled under his breath and motioned for me to stay put. "Wait here," he barked, before disappearing into the back of the diner.

Almost half a minute later, he returned, and in his hand was a revolver. I blinked in surprise, watching as he walked over and held it out toward me.

"It's my wife's old Overture," he explained, his tone steady. "High-quality, powerful, double-action. Should do the trick."

I sputtered, trying to refuse. "Mr. Torres, I—"

He cut me off, calling me stupid in Spanish, and practically shoved the gun into my hands. "Take it. I ain't asking."

With no choice left, I nodded, feeling the cold weight of the revolver settle in my grip. "Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than I expected. "I'll pay you back for everything you've done. I promise."

Mr. Torres simply waved it off, "You pay me back by staying Alive. That's enough kid."

I quickly placed the revolver in my coat pocket, and helped him close shop,

Together, we moved quickly to shut down the diner, making sure everything was in place before we left. My mind raced the entire time, my worry for Archie gnawing at me. She was my friend, and I couldn't just sit around while Mr. Torres handled this on his own.

As we checked the equipment, I couldn't help it. "Mr. Torres… is there anything I can do to help, ya know, with what's going on?"

Mr. Torres waived "No…" then paused as he thought of something, "Actually… there is something." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "I've got a meet with an acquaintance—someone who can help me deal with this Kenta problem for good. She knows how to handle things like this, but I don't know how long it's going to take."

He paused, then continued, "I need you to drive down to The Glenn and fetch Archie for me. I know where she is, and I trust you to bring her back safely. Think you can handle that?"

I mulled the request over, thinking it through. I knew how to drive, thankfully. Getting a license had been one of the first things I did when I arrived in Night City. It had been a way to test the system, to see how much of a footprint I had in this world. The results had been… interesting. As far as the system was concerned, I was just a refugee from the badlands, with nothing more than my name and age. At least according to the DMV system.

After weighing my options for a moment, I realized this was something I could do for Archie. I nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

Mr. Torres smiled, relief clear on his face. "You're good people, Zain. Thank you. I'll give you a call once I'm done with Wakako. Just get Archie and bring her back."

He patted me on the shoulder, "You can borrow my car for the ride. It's parked out back. I will make sure it opens for your phone number at least."

I nodded at him, "Got it. I will get her back." And left for the parking lot in the back where his car was parked.

Mr. Torres' car, a Quartz EC-L R275, was small, cramped, and only a two-seater. I took a moment to get a feel for the controls before pulling out of the parking lot attached to the diner, merging onto the streets. The vehicle wasn't exactly high-end, but it was sturdy and smooth enough to get me where I needed to go.

As I headed toward the freeway, the car's radio automatically kicked in, and a smooth, confident voice filled the cabin.

"Hello, Night City! It's your favorite voice on the waves, you know me, and you love me, Nellie Bly! bringing you the latest updates on our chaotic little paradise. First up, let's talk about music—Kerry Eurodyne, the living legend, has been spotted out and about again, recovering after his highly publicized suicide attempt a few years ago. Word on the street is that he's already back in the studio, folks! That's right, Eurodyne's been teasing a brand-new album called Persuasion of the Undecided, and he's just dropped a sneak peek of his latest track, Like a Broken Record, brought to you by MSM Studios!"

The anchor paused for effect, letting the tease hang in the air.

"Now, we've all heard that Kerry's been through some tough times, but sources say this new album's going to reflect all that and more. They're calling it raw, gritty, and, well, very 'Eurodyne.' If you're into a heavy metal sound that hits harder than a Trauma Team AV at mach velocity, this one's for you! And don't worry, Night City, we'll keep spinning those tracks for you right here. Stay tuned for more as we get closer to the release date."

The music kicked in, a loud preview of Eurodyne's song pulsing through the speakers with an aggressive beat.

The song had a catchy beat, though it leaned a bit too heavy into metal for my taste. After a while, I turned it off, not in the mood to indulge in more noise. The silence felt better, anyway. It gave me time to think.

I decided to try calling Archie. Mr. Torres might not have gotten through, but maybe she'd pick up for me. As the call dialed, the silence stretched again. My eyes darted between the road and the phone as it rang and rang. No answer.

I furrowed my brow, trying to shake off the worry creeping up on me.

She's ignoring it.

I knew she could see the call on her Optic HUD. Why wasn't she picking up? A part of me was annoyed, but the concern quickly outweighed it.

Before I could hit redial, a familiar sensation weighed down the back of my mind. I blinked, trying to keep my focus on the road, but the pressure was unmistakable—another pull from the Celestial Forge.

Thank God for automatic lane and speed adjustments in this day and age. Without it, I might've worried about careening into oncoming traffic. As it was, the car took care of most of the driving, freeing up just enough mental space to let me glimpse the spinning constellation again.

The galaxy lit up like it had the night before, vibrant and mesmerizing.

A cluster of stars swirled closer, and this time, a particularly bright star pulsed, its light washing over me in an overwhelming burst. The warmth and energy from the star didn't just stay in the galaxy. It shot straight into the core of my being, settling somewhere deep within, like it had been there all along, waiting to be unlocked.

I couldn't help but smile as the flow of information flooded my mind.

I could see it clearly now—the blueprints, the ideas, the intricate designs forming in my head. I could finally make use of the micromanipulators to build gadgets.

Simple but effective tools. Grappling hooks, tracking devices, even things as wild as trick arrows and boomerangs with some elemental effects to them.

I now understood how to make them, how to fine-tune the mechanics. The complexity of the physics was still a mystery, but I know knew exactly what I need to build them and how; the basic principles were clear, and the Forge had filled in the blanks.

All I needed now were the materials and time.

The Forge was adapting to what I needed.

I didn't have any means of real defense up until now—at least, not without cybernetics, and that wasn't an option. But with this knowledge, I could build gadgets that wouldn't just be tools. They'd be like extensions of myself, things I could rely on implicitly.

I let out a slow breath. These wouldn't be enough to take on Night City's heavier-grade weaponry—not yet, at least—but they'd give me a fighting chance. And with time, maybe I'd be able to hold my own against the chaos this city promised.

Still, that was for the future. I couldn't get lost in the what-ifs and the promise of new tech. Right now, I had something more immediate to focus on.

Shaking off the reverie, I refocused on the road, pushing the speed a bit more as I dialed Archie's number again. This time, after a few rings, the call connected.

Her voice was hushed, like she was hiding. "Zain? What's going on? My dad's been calling, but I've been… busy. Didn't have time to answer."

Relief mixed with urgency as I answered. "Some asshole called Kenta showed up at the diner, Archie. Your dad's freaking out, and honestly, I don't blame him."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Archie's voice came back, strained. "Wait, what? Kenta showed up at the diner?"

I repeated myself. "Yeah, Kenta. Your dad freaked out when he saw him."

A string of curses came through the phone, Archie's frustration clear as she muttered Kenta's name like it was venom.

"Yeah, your dad had the same reaction," I said. "He sent me to come get you."

"Did you tell him where I am?" she asked, her voice rising a notch in panic.

"No, but he already knew. He said he was going to come for you himself if I didn't."

She paused for a long moment, then said "Fuck. Dad… no, not the time for that" followed by a long, frustrated sigh. "Okay, I'm gonna call Kenta and tell him to fuck off. There's no need for all this."

"I'm not sure that's going to work," I said, skepticism creeping into my tone. "Your dad seemed really worried. Said he was going to talk to someone named Wakako to help deal with Kenta. Honestly, I don't think this guy's good news at all. I'm on my way to get you."

She let out a sharp intake of breath, panic slipping into her voice. "He's going to Wakako? Dammit! He said he wouldn't ever call her again. I need to call him before he does something stupid."

The urgency in her voice only made me more uneasy. "I'm coming, Archie. Just be ready when I get there."

"Yeah, okay, I'll be down by the entrance of the apartment. I've gotta talk to my dad before things get worse."

I pressed harder on the accelerator, my mind now racing just as fast as the car.

I was getting more worried, I had no idea what I was walking into.

A few intersections later, my phone rang again.

This time, it was Mr. Torres.

I answered quickly. "Mr. Torres? I am almost there. Did Archie call you?"

Mr. Torres' voice came through the phone, strained and urgent. "She did, yeah. But we've got a problem, Zain. Kenta's already on his way to Archie. That crazy fucker's high on Black Lace."

I gripped the wheel tighter, my stomach sinking. "Black Lace? Shit."

"That's right. He's going to be out of his damn mind," Mr. Torres continued, his voice heavy with worry. "Wakako's sent one of her runners to help, a guy named David, but I don't know when he'll get there."

I cursed under my breath. I wasn't ready for this. Fighting some drugged-up merc with who-knows-what kind of chrome? I wasn't built for that. Fear crept up my spine, chilling me. The revolver in my coat pocket suddenly felt too small, too inadequate.

"Zain," Mr. Torres urged, his voice sharp, "you need to get my daughter away from him. Don't wait around for anyone else."

I swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "I'll do what I can. I'll get her out of there."

"Just… be careful," Mr. Torres added, his tone softening for a moment before the call cut off.

I stared at the phone in my hand, heart racing, trying to steel myself. I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't some chromed-up street samurai ready to take on the world. But I had to keep Archie safe. I had to find a way to get her out of this mess without it coming to blows.

It didn't take much longer to reach the building Archie had mentioned. According to the car's navigation system, I was at the right place. But when I scanned the entrance, there was no sign of her.

I parked the car and felt my chest tighten. She'd said she'd be here. Where the hell was she?

Fumbling with my phone, I dialed her number. It rang, once, twice—no answer. My anxiety spiked. I called again. Still nothing.

"Damn it, Archie," I muttered,

Just as I muttered under my breath, a sudden burst of gunfire erupted from the third floor of the apartment building. The sharp sound of breaking glass followed, raining down onto the street below. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, while others—either braver or more foolish—stood frozen, staring up at the scene.

My heart pounded in my chest. That had to be Kenta. It couldn't be a random coincidence where some other asshole decided to tear up the place.

Fear gripped me as I sat frozen in the car, the weight of the revolver in my pocket suddenly too real. My pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. I was terrified. The thought of dying hit me square in the gut.

Another gunshot. Then a scream. Shouts.

I clenched my teeth. I couldn't let Archie die. Not like this.

With hands eerily steady, due to the gloves despite my fraying nerves, I pulled the revolver from my jacket, the cold steel feeling both foreign and too familiar in my grip. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of panic threatening to overtake me. There was no turning back now.

Without giving myself time to think, I threw the car door open and bolted toward the building. The apartment complex was nicer than the grimy slums I'd gotten used to, but it didn't matter now. I took the stairs two at a time, heart pounding in my ears.

By the time I reached the third-floor corridor, it was eerily silent. The metallic door to one of the apartments was slid halfway open. I crept forward, revolver in hand, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Then I heard her voice.

"Please, Kenta… just leave," Archie was pleading, her voice filled with a fear that sent a chill down my spine.

Kenta's voice followed, wild and hysterical. "Shut up you slut. You're mine! What part of that don't you understand?! You're mine! And I won't let you cozy up to some fucktard corpo asswipe!"

Another voice—this one more desperate and soothing—tried to intervene. "Kenta, man, you don't have to do this. You're making a mistake. You don't need to hurt Archie over this."

I moved cautiously down the hall, inching closer to the open door. Peeking inside, I caught sight of the bullet hole in the thick glass window at the far end of the room. Archie was on the floor, staring up at Kenta in terror, while a man sprawled beside her, blood pooling around his leg. Gunshot wounds riddled the walls. The apartment looked like a war zone.

Kenta laughed maniacally, his grin twisted, as he pistol-whipped the wounded man on the ground. "Shut up, you Zetatech slave!" he snarled, before bursting into hysterical laughter again. His madness filled the room like a dark cloud.

Then, with that same crazed grin, Kenta turned back to Archie. "Even your father thinks you're worthless," he sneered. "He sent some chromeless freak to get you!"

I swallowed hard. He was talking about me.

Kenta's gaze shifted toward the doorway, his eyes glowing with cybernetic fire.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my revolver half-raised, hands steady thanks to the micromanipulator gloves, but the fear was something they couldn't control. It coursed through my veins like ice, gripping my every nerve.

Kenta turned fully toward me, his body swaying, a crazed, drug-fueled look in his glowing red cybernetic eyes. The man was high on something, no doubt about it.

He squinted at me, the twisted grin never leaving his face. "You even know how to use that thing, freak? Or do your monk sensibilities not allow you to do that too?" His words were a taunt, dripping with derision. "Can you even aim properly?"

I forced myself to take a breath, trying to calm my racing heart. My voice, though steady on the surface, betrayed the tension coiling in my chest. "Kenta, you need to leave. You're making a mistake. You're hurting Archie."

Kenta laughed again, a mad, hiccuping sound that sent a chill down my spine. Without warning, he fired another shot from his pistol. The bullet slammed into the wall a meter away from Archie, his cybernetic clearly didn't help him aim better.

His sneer deepened as he clicked his teeth, his voice dark and slurred. "I don't care. The bitch cheated on me. She deserves to die."

Archie, already a wreck on the floor, her eyes wild with fear, broke down completely. "You fucker! Asshole! I told you to get out of my life!" Her words came out in a hysterical sob, choked by anger and terror. She was lashing out in every direction, desperate, her mind clouded by fear.

I tried to block out the noise. She wasn't making this easier. In fact, her screams only seemed to rile Kenta up more.

The man on the floor, her new boyfriend, tried again to intervene, his voice weak and desperate. "Kenta, please, man, you don't have to do this. This isn't—"

Another shot fired, this one closer to him, burying into the floor just inches away. Kenta clicked his tongue in frustration at missing, his fingers tightening around the trigger.

And then, his gaze swung back to me.

I hadn't moved. Not since the first shot that missed Archie. My gun was still half-raised, but my legs felt like they were glued to the floor. I'd never shot anyone before. Not in any life. And as I stood there, frozen by the weight of the moment, I wasn't sure I could.

Kenta laughed, a twisted, rasping sound that made my skin crawl. "Your father must really want you dead, Archie, if he sent this choom to come get you." He raised his gun again, the barrel trembling slightly as he aimed at Archie.

Before I could even process what was happening, my finger squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, echoing in the small apartment like a cannon blast. I barely registered the sound as the bullet slammed into Kenta's knee. He stumbled, a scream tearing from his throat as his cybernetic leg short-circuited, sparks flying from the joint. Blood spilled from beneath the metal, dripping onto the floor in thick rivulets.

I blinked, realizing I had shot him. My hands—steady, thanks to the micromanipulators—held the gun like it was an extension of my body. But my mind struggled to catch up. I had actually done it.

Kenta howled in agony, and his gun fired wildly in response, bullets flying in every direction. I ducked behind the doorframe as shots whizzed past, tearing into walls, the floor, and anything in their path. The air buzzed with chaos as Kenta cursed through his pain, clutching his leg. "You fucking broke my leg!" he screamed. "You know how expensive this shit is?!"

I stayed low, my heart hammering in my chest, but I didn't move. I couldn't. Everything felt surreal, like I was watching it happen from outside my body.

Then Kenta's eyes flickered, glowing a deep, eerie red. Sparks flew from the back of his head, and his screams of pain shifted to something more terrifying—a primal, agonized wail. His body convulsed violently, his limbs thrashing as he collapsed onto the floor.

For a moment, the room was deathly quiet, save for Kenta's erratic twitching and groaning.

Then a new voice broke through the silence.

"Archie Torres?" The voice was loud, commanding, and when I looked up, a large man in a yellow leather jacket had entered the room. He stood tall, his presence dominating the space as his sharp eyes scanned the scene, finally locking onto Archie, who was still cowering on the floor.

He took a step forward, his tone unwavering. "Your dad put out an SOS. Name's David Martinez. You're safe now."

His gaze swept the room, assessing the damage, before settling on me, gun still in hand, knuckles white from the grip. He gave me a curt nod, as if to say, Good job, choom.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N) This was a fun chapter, the forge is slowly building up.

As you can see, the MC has no knowledge of Cyberpunk at all. I felt that was right.

I am going to go with one roll per chapter. That seems more balanced, and the points will determine if it can be bought.

Last chapter I'd ended with 350 chapters. This chapter got him 300 more. He used up 300 on the roll, so he is left with 350 again for the next chapter.

I will tweak this system if I feel it has any problems later.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Crafting: Technological
Gadgeteer (Young Justice) (300CP)
An inventive mind and the know how to make gadgets; though they can't do anything too outside of normal physics, you are perfectly capable of making functional things like grappling hooks, tracking devices, boomerangs that automatically return to you, and trick arrows. In addition to being very cheap to make, any gadgets that you have are almost as intuitive to use as your very limbs, allowing you to use and switch between them easily and without hassle.

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 3 -

David Martinez was a professional. His calm, stoic demeanor made that much clear. He quickly managed to calm Archie and her boyfriend, Ethan Kim, as I found out. He'd even treated Ethan's gunshot wound to his leg – somehow. That inhaler, MaxDoc by its label, was a miracle if I'd ever seen one.

We were already on our way down the building in the elevator, Kenta's twitching, spasming body slung over the man's broad, clearly chromed shoulders. Ethan leaned against the elevator wall for support, Archie by his side, shooting terrified glances at Kenta whenever he groaned, her hands wringing nervously in Ethan's grip.

Meanwhile, I was a mess. Internally, anyway. Only the stabilizing aspect of the gloves helped me keep it together, hiding the worst of it.

I hadn't expected the firefight. I hadn't expected I'd be shooting someone today.

"Things never happen." That was a comforting, naïve delusion I'd lived with for a long time.

Back home I would hear about shootings on the news, armed robberies that happened a few cities over, or major military politico activities happening in some distant country so far away that it almost seems like a different world.

I'd never truly grown out of that mindset, even after waking up in this future.

I was paranoid enough about everyone around me replacing body parts as casually as people back home would buy the latest damned iPhone, accepting glitches, breakdowns, and malfunctions in their systems as just part of the deal.

As if an errant glitch, a faulty subpar product couldn't very well ruin someone's life.

Expecting something like a shooting that would be it to do me in was very far on the list of things for me to worry about.

In hindsight, it was easy to focus on larger, more distant fears and ignore the immediate dangers. Knowing gangs, mercs, and private militaries prowled the streets was one thing.

It is easy to focus on the bigger problems, and fears and be blind to the more obvious dangers due to tunnel vision.

It was another thing to have it thrown in my face. I never really expected to get involved in the mess of all of it myself.

I'd heard on WNS about the countless shootings on the 1, 101, and 166. Ziggy Q went on frequent rants about the highways often enough that it's burned in my memory.

But it's not like they all happened in Night City did they? These were interstate highways.

The US 101, If my memory was correct, was an interstate Highway between Washington and California. Or well, SoCal as it was here, what with California having been split at some point in recent history, and the whole mess that was NUSA and free states around the country.

The NCPD's guideline to not get into danger was to avoid walking on the sideroad near these highways. Clearly, they were wrong.

I needed bulletproof armor yesterday. My personal pity party at being here, at being pulled away from my family, and my dog; and the depression thereafter had blinded me to the risk. A stray bullet could kill me if I wasn't careful.

Cyberware would be the fastest solution, of course. Subdermal armor could prevent bullets from killing me instantly. Kendachi advertised that often enough for their consumer defense lineup.

But even if I were willing to endure a ripperdoc's invasive surgery, I couldn't afford it. That was before the additive augmentations to my muscles that were necessary for my musculature to be preinstalled; to allow me to move around with it under my skin.

In the end, cyberware wasn't an option. I didn't trust it, didn't trust any tech here. I couldn't bring myself to accept something unless I knew what it would do to me; what kind of tech it truly was.

The corps here; each and every one of them armed to the teeth, made companies back home look like angels in comparison.

The only thing I could rely on was the Forge and what it provided.

Almost on cue, the pressure in the back of my head flared. The elevator dinged, signaling we'd reached the ground floor, and I followed the mercenary out, half-aware.

"The car's this way. Our client wanted all three of you safe, so we're taking you to him," David said as he guided us toward the building's exit.

I wasn't focused on where he was taking us. I hadn't focused on much since he'd arrived—since the weight of having shot at someone, even if they were an ass; had fully hit me after I registered I was finally somewhat safe.

The galaxy spun wildly, the constellation burning bright in my mind. A tight cluster of stars drew close to my core, mesmerizing in its intensity. One brilliant star pulsed, and light shot from it, filling my soul with a familiar surge.

I was hit with a rush of ideas and possibilities.

Alchemy. It was a concept I hadn't thought possible in this world, yet here I was, imbued with the knowledge and skills of a master alchemist.

A slight smile crept onto my lips as the implications sank in. With just the ingredients I had in my kitchen—synthetic as they were—I could devise a rudimentary skin-hardening potion making it almost as durable as rock, an invisibility potion, and even a healing concoction.

Each thought sparked a flicker of excitement in my chest. The forge was truly my lifeline.

I would need to test their potency, of course, but the fundamentals were clear. The synthetic nature of most of the food in my fridge would actually aid in enhancing the effects of my potions. Their semi-organic, semi-chemical makeup could serve as a perfect base, amplifying the reactions I needed without the necessity of truly magical ingredients.

The possibilities were staggering.

Over time, I was sure I could use some of these potions to heal soil and sand, allowing me to grow organic food—real vegetables that didn't taste like they'd been synthesized in a lab. If I could somehow get my hands on some seeds, it would be a game-changer.

The brilliant light and swirling galaxy faded as a hand waved in front of my eyes.

I blinked, focusing on a short, pale-skinned woman with lime-green hair standing right in front of me. She had striking red-green eyes and pink tattoos visible under her grey-black jacket, just below her bra.

She was humming a tune, her cybernetic red-green eyes were glowing, and I figured she was listening to music using some form of her cybernetics.

As soon as she noticed she had my attention, she grinned. "Finally! You were totally out of it there, choomba. David and the crew are getting your chooms in the cars, wait here with me, kay?" She didn't wait for a response as she started bobbing her head to her music.

I glanced past her to where David was standing near a heavily armored grey SUV—a Chevillon Emperor—parked right behind Mr. Torres's car. The back of the SUV was open, and David was hoisting Kenta's groaning, twitching body into the rear seat.

Inside the SUV, a blonde woman with a red jacket sat in the back, wearing some kind of mask device over her lower jaw—a cybernetic breather, if I had to guess. A driver sat in the front, leaving the front passenger seat presumably for David.

Ethan and Archie were leaning beside the SUV, looking tense and uncertain.

I noticed the other people in the street were giving us a wide berth. The NCPD patrol car at the end of the street was watching us, but not moving to intervene at all. I didn't know if that was because they were afraid of getting involved with mercs, or were waiting on backup.

David nodded toward the blonde woman in the red jacket. "Kiwi," he said, "run a quick check for his shards; any data on him. Last thing we need is any more nasty surprises from him. We're too close to the Vista as it is."

Without a word, the woman pulled a cord from her arm and handed it to David, who plugged it into a socket on the back of Kenta's neck. Kenta moaned, seemingly unaware of what was happening.

The woman, Kiwi, leaned back, closing her eyes and muttering flatly, "Shouldn't have taken this gig anyway. The heat from our last gig with the Tinos hasn't died down yet. We're lucky enough as it is that the Trauma Team or some other group hasn't shown up for any of their clients in the building."

David shrugged. "This was the easiest job Wakako could find, and I want to get back home quickly today."

The girl beside me shuffled over to Ethan, eyeing him curiously. "Speaking of Trauma Team," she piped up, "why aren't they swarming the place already? I mean, big shot Zetatech corpo like you? You'd think Trauma would be here in minutes once the dickwad started shooting."

Ethan winced slightly, adjusting his weight to keep pressure off his recently healed leg. "I'm… in the process of resigning from Zetatech," he admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "They confiscated my cyberware about a week ago, along with the Trauma Team package."

The lime green-haired girl cocked her head, raising a brow. "First time I've heard of a corpo with a fancy ass apartment like yours, leaving a cushy gig at Zetatech willingly. They usually don't just let their employees walk." Her smile widened, and her red-green eyes brightened as if she'd made a groundbreaking deduction.

With a mischievous grin, she wiggled her eyebrows, nudged him with her elbow, and then, in one fluid motion, wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him down to her height. "So… what dirt you got on 'em, huh? Give us the detes choom, spill."

Ethan looked more than a little uncomfortable as he gently pried her arm off his neck. "W-what are you talking about? There's no dirt," he insisted. "I filed my resignation, signed a non-compete, and that was it."

The girl gave him a long, deadpan stare, clearly unconvinced. "Right… pull the other one."

"That really is all I did," Ethan replied, sounding slightly hysterical and affronted.

The pale girl huffed, crossing her arms. "Fine, keep your secrets, boring long-nosed bloodsucker."

Ethan spluttered at the accusation and tried to futilely convince her otherwise. "I-I am not lying! Do you think I'd be in this position if I had blackmail on them? Instead of some crazy maniacal ex of Archie here" he said, indicating to the blonde who was clutching his hand rather tightly "it'd would have been a team of my old colleagues coming in to secure my 'silence'."

Archie, who was clutching the man's hand; shuddered and shook "I-I really am sorry, I didn't think Kenta would pull something like this."

Ethan shook his head, waving his arm, wincing as the pain in his leg fired up again "No, no. This isn't your fault. I'm not blaming you… you couldn't have predicted any of this." He said, trying to soothe his girlfriend's concern. "Although…" he continued, "I'd appreciate it… if you could let me know of some other exes of yours that would come gunning for me. You know, so I can be prepared to fight them off next time."

His attempt at brevity must have worked as Archie finally smiled, and scuffed on the back of his hand.

"Ugh!" The pink tattooed girl exclaimed "Another pair of lovebirds… just my fucking luck."

David turned to the girl and sighed, his stoic expression softening "Let them be, Becca. The gonks are overwhelmed as it is. Let's just get this done and go home after we get our eds."

"Whatever you say, Davie" The girl, Becca pouted at being denied her fun, but replied as she bounced on her toes impatiently.

Martinez then turned to me. "You're Zain right?" At my nod he continued "You will be riding with Becca in the other car, there isn't enough room in ours with the merc out cold in the back. Rafael made it clear—both you and Ethan, alongside Archie, should have protection," he said, nodding toward Ethan. "This way, one of the crew can watch your back. I hope that isn't a problem,"

"No, no" I waved off the concern "I-It's not a problem. I needed to get Mr Torres his car back anyway."

The green-haired girl's face lit up as she turned back to me, bowing dramatically with her hands pressed together. "Namaste! Choom! I'm Rebecca, I'll be your nanny today!" Her grin was as wide as it was unfiltered.

She thought I was a monk too, didn't she? This was getting annoying.

Thrown by her enthusiasm, I managed a smile, introducing myself and clarifying, "I'm not a monk. I just… there's no need for bowing, or anything. I just don't have any cyberware, that's all."

Rebecca tilted her head, studying me with unabashed curiosity. "Wait, like, not even a neural socket? No chip?"

I shook my head, trying not to sound as exasperated as I felt. This was a very common misunderstanding that almost any new person I spoke with had questions or a tease about. "It's a personal thing—grew up that way. Never saw the need, I guess."

"Nova!" She breathed; her red-green eyes widened as if she were looking at a rare artifact. "you're … weird! I like it, choom!" she concluded, clearly fascinated.

Just then, Kenta let out another pained moan from the back seat of the SUV, where he had been slumped since his systems had been fried.

I couldn't ignore the lingering question anymore and turned to the others. "What did you actually do to the guy exactly?" I asked Rebecca as Archie and Ethan quickly boarded the SUV. "He's been moaning in pain since he went down, and I didn't see any thing really hit him … apart from sparks at the back of his head."

It was Kiwi, the masked woman, who responded. She didn't bother opening her eyes as she replied in a flat tone. "I collapsed his systems remotely. Simple hack using daemons—nonlethal, but effective. He had an extra optical sensor hidden at the base of his skull. Didn't want to risk direct confrontation."

That flew right over my head, and I hesitated before asking, "Could you… clarify what that actually means?"

After a few moments, Kiwi opened her eyes, giving a quick nod to David. He disconnected the cord from Kenta's neck, and it retracted swiftly into the sleeve of Kiwi's jacket. She barely seemed to notice, her focus drifting as she reached up, rubbing her head.

She turned to David who had been watching her like a hawk, and asked "Coolant, David?"

David nodded and began rummaging through the SUV's storage compartment; right beside Kenta, who continued groaning. He handed her a large injector.

Without hesitation, Kiwi stabbed it into her left shoulder and let out a relieved sigh as it took effect.

"There won't be any problems with our friend here anytime soon," she said, her tone flat. "I couldn't go too deep without a proper ice bath, so I stuck to checking his most recent archives. Besides regular chatter with some guy named Jae Hyun and the occasional call to a Joytoy, he's not hiding much of interest."

Then, turning her attention to me, Kiwi clarified, "I overloaded him with data—basically fried his nervous system. He won't recover without a decent ripperdoc, so you don't have to worry. He's out of the game for a while."

A chill ran through me. The idea that someone's nervous system could be fried remotely, that chips and implants could be hacked and rendered useless without a second thought, was unsettling.

If I'd ever needed a reason to avoid cyberware, this was it.

David finally said they should be on their way, giving me a nod before climbing into the passenger seat of the SUV. He told me to follow close behind, so I headed toward Mr. Torres's car, where Rebecca was already making herself at home.

She was in the passenger seat with her feet propped up on the dashboard, her guns strapped and visible. I figured it was best not to ask her to put her feet down. Today had already been more intense than I could have imagined, and I didn't want to add "pissing off an armed merc" to the list.

As we started driving, I kept a safe distance behind David's SUV. I'd barely had time to process everything that had happened, but the weight of it all pressed on me as we rolled through the grim streets of Night City.

After a few minutes of silence, Rebecca sighed dramatically and turned to me. "This is boring. Listening to music on my own is gonked." She shifted in her seat to face me, her excitement turning her usual sharp gaze into something almost curious. "So, tell me, no chrome, definitely not a Buddhist, and you're new to that gun you're carrying. How've you managed to stick around so long in this city? Especially in the shithole around Auntie Wakako's?"

I took a second to think it over, trying to decide how much I wanted to share. "Well, I'm… new to the city, actually," I said, keeping it simple.

She hummed thoughtfully. "New, huh? What brought you to Night City, then? People come here looking for a fresh start, or they're running from something."

I swallowed, reminding myself to keep it vague. "I'm from the Badlands. Sort of a refugee."

Rebecca nodded, absorbing that. "So, you're a nomad?" She paused, eyeing me with a bit more caution. "What happened to your family?"

I hesitated, feeling a tightness in my chest. "I… don't know. It's not something I like to think about." Which was true, in a roundabout way. This time period, this place—it wasn't mine. And my family, my old life? Gone. But there was no way I was getting into all that.

She tilted her head, studying me like she was piecing together a puzzle. "Most nomads don't just leave their clans or families behind unless they're Raffen or… you know, betrayed them. You're not Raffen, are you?"

I shook my head, chuckling softly. "Who are the Raffen, anyway?"

She raised her eyebrows at me, suspicious now. "You sure you're a nomad? I mean, I can smell BS a mile away, choom, like that corpo input of your friend." She jerked her head in the direction of the SUV ahead, obviously talking about Ethan.

I shrugged. "Why do you say that? Ethan could be telling the truth."

Rebecca snickered, shaking her head. "That guy's a lawyer. He knows how to twist things and lie like a pro. But we're not talking about him. We're talking about you."

I glanced at her, a bit thrown off. "Why are you so interested?"

She pointed right at me, her feet wiggling on the dash as she looked me over with a grin. "What's not to be interested about? You stick out like a sore thumb. New to the city, but you say you're from the Badlands and don't have a single piece of chrome on you? People don't survive out there without some kind of cyberware. And then there's that wide-eyed, lost-puppy look you got goin' on." She grinned wider, laughing. "Plus, you're kinda adorable, like that stray puppy I found once."

I ducked my head, caught off guard by her bluntness. "I… don't really know what to say to that." I rubbed the back of my neck, hoping it wasn't obvious how much she'd rattled me. "The family I had and the way I grew up made cyberware unnecessary, I guess."

"Damn, Nova!" she said, kicking her feet back and eyeing me thoughtfully. "You're saying you were able to survive in the badlands remaining ganic? That's preem shit, right there. Why leave then?"

I replied, my voice quieter than before, "I didn't exactly leave willingly. I had no other choice."

Rebecca's grin faded slightly. After a moment, she asked gently, "What happened? I mean, if you're comfortable sharing."

I took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the lingering shock from earlier, but I felt the need to get it off my chest. "Honestly, I don't really know," I began. "It's all a blur. I was out with some friends, partying at this dumb bar. Came home, talked to my Ma, and went to bed. Then... everything after is just blank. I don't like to think about it much. Next thing I knew, I wound up here in Night City."

She absorbed that, her expression softening. "Sounds like you had a good life," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head, offering a small smile. "Don't be. I've come to terms with it. Can't go back. Night City is home now."

We drove in a comfortable silence for a while, the city's neon glow casting shifting patterns across the windshield. The hum of the engine was oddly soothing amid the chaos of my thoughts.

Eventually, Rebecca broke the silence. "You should keep that gun of yours close at all times," she advised, nodding toward the revolver resting between us. "City isn't safe. Japantown, Kabuki, and other parts up in Watson especially."

I nodded appreciatively. "Thanks for the advice."

As we approached a red light near the edge of Vista Del Rey, I slowed the car. David's SUV stopped ahead of us. Just then, a lowrider Villefort Alvarado pulled up beside me. Inside were five heavily tattooed men and women, all visibly armed. The thumping bass of their music rattled our windows.

Rebecca spotted them first. She immediately ducked down, sliding low in her seat until she was hidden below the window. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Be ready to punch the CHOOH," she whispered urgently, her red-green eyes glowing as she initiated a call.

I tensed up, glancing sideways at the gang members. "What's going on?" I whispered.

She held a finger to her lips, eyes darting over the dashboard. "They haven't spotted me yet," she murmured. She risked a quick peek over the edge of the window. Just then, a woman perched in the back of the lowrider locked eyes with her.

"Shit," Rebecca cursed, ducking back down. "Punch it! Now!"

My heart lurched. Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the accelerator. The tires squealed as we shot forward, David's SUV doing the same ahead of us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman in the lowrider signal to her crew, raising a gun in our direction. The first bullet shattered the rear windshield, glass spraying into the back seat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I shouted, adrenaline surging as I gripped the wheel. "Not again!"

"Don't fucking panic!" Rebecca barked, pulling out a pink shotgun from under her jacket. She cocked it with a practiced motion, lowering the window. "Stick close to the others! I'll keep those bastards off us!"

I nodded frantically, swerving to avoid a slow-moving car as we sped through the intersection. Horns blared behind us.

Bullets whizzed past, one embedding itself in the passenger door with a metallic thud. Rebecca leaned out of the window, her shotgun poised. "Keep it steady!" she shouted over the wind.

"I'm trying!" I yelled back, weaving through traffic to stay behind David's SUV.

Bullets continued to slice through the air, whizzing past our car as Rebecca fired back with relentless intensity. The Alvarado kept close on our tail, undeterred by her shotgun blasts.

Ahead, David's SUV swerved sharply, slipping down an alleyway. I tried to follow but missed the turn, swerving onto the sidewalk and plowing through a row of traffic cones, narrowly avoiding plowing headfirst into some store front and other civilians.

Thank God, I didn't want that on my conscience.

The Alvarado stayed on us, its headlights looming like predators in the rearview mirror.

"I fucking missed the turn!" I yelled to Rebecca. "Lost the rest of your crew!"

"Keep going," she snapped. "Head for the ring road, but stay clear of Corpo Plaza. David and the team will swing around and cut 'em off."

Gritting my teeth, I weaved through traffic, dodging more bullets as chaos erupted around us. A motorcycle caught in the crossfire crashed spectacularly, sending its rider sprawling. Cars screeched to a halt or swerved erratically, trying to escape the madness.

"FUCK!" Rebecca cursed, and I glanced over to see blood streaming down her arm. She clutched the wound, grimacing. "Fuck. Knew I shoulda gotten those damn Gorilla arms sooner."

My stomach twisted. "What now?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice.

"Just drive," she ground out, as she placed her bleeding hand under her butt, trying to stem the bleeding by sitting on it, as she pulled out a massive pistol with the other. She dropped her shotgun on the seat and resumed blasting out the window. "I still got one good shooting arm."

I couldn't just sit there and let her take all the hits, not knowing how much longer it would be before David's team circled back.

Summoning a shaky resolve, "GET BACK INSIDE!" I shouted over the roar of gunfire.

Rebecca kept firing, barely sparing me a glance. "WHY?"

"Just do it," I insisted. "Take the wheel."

She ducked back in to reload her pistol and looked at me like I'd lost it, as she resumed firing. "You've gone gonked in the head, haven't you?"

"Probably," I admitted, voice tight, "but you can't keep taking shots like that!"

She took down another gunman in the Alvarado, but a bullet ricocheted off her chromed shoulder, leaving a nasty bruise. She groaned, ducking back inside. After a quick inhale from a MaxDoc, her breathing steadied.

"Fine," she muttered. "Keep your foot on the CHOOH. David's half a minute out. I'll take the wheel."

Nodding, I pulled out the revolver Mr. Torres had given me. I still couldn't believe I was about to shoot at people. Twice in one day. I had no idea why they were even shooting at us in the first fucking place!

Anger flared up in me—at this city, at myself, at this whole mess I'd landed in. I didn't know if I could kill, but right now, I had no choice. Keeping my foot on the gas, I leaned out the window, letting Rebecca take control of the steering.

With the micromanipulator gloves, I was able to stabilize my aim, but my heart pounded with every pull of the trigger.

Bullets zipped dangerously close, nicking the car door and shattering the remaining side mirror. Swallowing my fear, I squeezed the trigger again, and by sheer luck, one of my shots hit the woman who'd first spotted us, square in the shoulder.

I kept firing, feeling the recoil jolting through me, each shot wild but desperate. I didn't even notice I was running out of ammo until the last click of the trigger, my revolver almost empty. In that moment, David's SUV surged out of a side street, barreling behind us as it slammed side along into the Alvarado with a brutal force.

The lowrider spun, its driver fighting for control before it veered dangerously close to oncoming traffic. David, half-perched on top of the SUV, stood like a living weapon. His chromed torso gleamed under the streetlights, jacket whipping in the wind.

Rebecca's eyes went wide. "Finally," she muttered, sounding both relieved and excited.

Before I could fully process what was happening, David moved—fast. He leaped from the SUV like lightning, colliding with the Alvarado with a force that made me recoil. In seconds, the Tinos were reduced to smears of blood and chaos. The lowrider, now a driverless shell, swerved, tumbling uncontrollably until it hit the median.

It bounced, rolled, and erupted in a fireball, illuminating the street behind us.

Still leaning out the window, I could only stare, wide-eyed, as the wreckage burned. "...Fuck me," I whispered wind whipping past my hair, as I loosened my foot off the gas.

Rebecca leaned back, grinning as she holstered her pistol. "Yeah well, welcome to Night City," she said with a chuckle. "Let's get you back to your employer."

I could only nod, feeling the weight of the night finally catch up with me.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N) Another fun, if a little hectic chapter to write.

I feel I need to clarify somethings about Zain. He is extremely sheltered by Night City standards. Guy is just a fresh grad from a university in San Jose. And after his arrival; he had massive massive culture shock, depression because he lost his family, and he just found out that literally, everyone around him treats their bodies like they are parts to be replaced like some cell phones.

He had other things to worry about, like getting a job for food, and water. His apartment rent might be paid off, for now. Doesn't mean he doesn't need other things to survive.

Finding a job in Night City, without any implants is genuinely impossible. He got one because he sticks out like a sore thumb, and Rafael took pity on him. Literally everyone is treating him like he's a wide-eyed tourist.

He's also suspicious as fuck.

Japantown, and Westbrook are not cheap places to live in. They are semi corporate residential areas, and even if Zain lives in the shadier part of town, the rent is way way out of his weight class. In game, Japantown house is rented at 30000 eddies.

Zain earns 1000 a month. For him to afford something even half that is suspicious. People have noticed. They just haven't asked because seeing Zain, it's impossible to treat him as a threat. He is basically the coughing baby in a packed full with literally the entirely arsenal of weaponry.

His weakness is what let him be ignored. Had he been in Watson, or anywhere else up north, he'd have already been prime target for Maelstrom. The Tiger Claw territory is the safest for someone like him.

He'd be run out of the Glenn or murdered; if he'd been living in that corpo area. It could be anyone there, the Tinos or any of the corps.

Santo Domingo and Arroyo meant eating and drinking water that's radiated and extremely toxic.

The city outskirts around Rocky Ridge could have worked sure, but not without real support, or living like a total hermit like that one cyberpsycho incident with the turrets up there.

I've basically him some creature comforts where he could survive, barely. The Windows computer was for familiarity. Someone pointed out to me that Microsoft as a company exists in the verse, I still doubt the Windows OS is a thing, as a connection to the Net is primarily physical through netrunning chairs.

Zain has no clue that the net is not the internet he knows, but rather fractured city-wide nets, or intranets if I can consider that an apt enough comparison.

His research into the history of the world and Night City is sourced from the TV, and publicly available sites his Windows computer can browse for him. That isn't the open access to shit like Wikipedia, or something but corp controlled info on their city net.

While a lot of the history is accurate, some are not. Like he believes the fourth corp war was won by Arasaka, because Arasaka propaganda says so. Their city net is the most widely followed and accessed net, and their information propaganda is king.

He doesn't know about a lot of the tech available out there, and while he knows Agents and other communicative tech are available, and would solve a lot of his money problems, they are illegal according to Netwatch. (canonically)

He is a weird case of distrusting corporate tech because of fear, culture shock, and paranoia while also being the most easily susceptible to propaganda because he has no reason to assume the net isn't the same as back home. The internet, for us, is the one thing that's a constant. Like, it's difficult to comprehend a more sophisticated version of it. For us, a more advanced internet is for it becoming faster, lower latency, less bandwidth, etc.

The idea that you can physically interact with it is mind-boggling. And with Netrunners being rare enough as they are … well, it's no surprise that Zain doesn't know much about it, and accepted the corpo propaganda at face value.

He knows vaguely about the DataKrash, and the events around Rache Bartmoss, but seeing as there is a net, his assumption is that the infrastructure must have been rebuilt.

For a clearer view. He trusts the NCPD to do its job, because well cops. He trusts Netwatch to do its job, because federal agency. He trusts the NUSA, and is heartbroken as an American because of America's fracture. He is heartbroken at the fact the badlands even exist, and there are cities like San Jose (his home) and San Francisco that cannot be visited without necessary implants.

(Canonically San Francisco's air is unbreathable without Lung implants, there isn't much about San Jose but seeing as they are both in NorCal, I stretched that to the surrounding cities around San Fran. Otherwise, after coming out of the depression, Zain would have taken the three-hour drive to see what was left of home.)

He distrusts Arasaka, but doesn't recognize their propaganda, or Militech's for that matter. He distrusts their products, not that they are lying about history too.

He can't comprehend that netrunning literally means walking into the net. It hasn't clicked yet.

I think this part should be informational, but I figured I'd put it here in the Author's note to avoid any other confusion.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Skills: Alchemy
Alchemist (A 'Happy' Harry Potter Fanfiction) (200CP)

The fine art of turning lead into gold in the quest to create the immortal granting elixir of life. What few remember is that alchemists rely on more than just magical ingredients for their mixtures. Chemicals, elements, oils, tinctures, spices, metals, it is not the magic that matters to you but the results of the combined reaction. Your abilities at brewing are beyond that of even the most skilled potioneers as anything that relies on ingredients to create you can make. Your favorite marinade, new alcoholic beverages, beauty products, intangibility potion, napalm, whatever you set your mind to you can make a reality. You know all the proper techniques and tricks to squeeze the most essence out of your ingredients, how to harvest them without botching it, how to store them so they don't lose any of their potency. You know the best ways to prepare them, the best time to add them, how to get the reaction you want, and all the steps to achieve it. You can even tell which ingredients complement each other best based on smell, taste, touch, and any record of their properties. If being a master potion maker isn't your goal well there's always opening a bar, getting your own cooking show, or running a chemical factory of some stripe because a philosopher's stone is something you could make by just cracking open a few chemistry and potion books.

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 4 –

"Hey, sugah! I have something that will keep you hard for hours ~ let's head back to my place and I promise, you something that no BD can ever match!"

I ignored Rebecca's snickering, as she laughed at my expression.

"o-oh, erm… no thank you?" I replied and ignored the soulful pout from the holographic anime girl. Honestly, I couldn't be more surprised at this point.

A blue-haired holographic wannabe Hatsune Miku drug dealer just propositioned me while pushing me with what I must guess is some ultra-futuristic, ultra-sketchy Viagra; this clusterfuck of a day just kept on giving.

I had avoided walking into Jig-Jig Street like the plague since I'd woken up here. Until now. It was clearly a Tyger Claw haunt. I had no desire to be swindled, robbed, scammed, drugged up, or be a part of the clientele of any 'business' they probably had going on in the place, on top of the sex work that is.

"Gosh, you're like a virgin just about to get his cherry popped." Rebecca laughed as she walked beside me. "Don't tell me you've never seen a doll house before!"

"I live a few blocks away from here, Rebecca. I have seen quite a few dollhouses since coming to Night City." I replied dryly as I followed behind David and the rest. "If you have to search for metaphors, I think I'd be more like a lamb walking into a Tiger's den… I did not think this Wakako's choice for conducting business would be here of all places."

"This, choomba, is the safest place to conduct biz in all of Westbrook." Rebecca exclaimed, waving her arms as if indicating the whole area around us "You're worrying about nothing. The claws don't interfere unless the customers get rowdy. Wakako wouldn't take too well to them intimating most of the customers around here… kills the mood, ya know?"

I nodded at that notion; I could see the logic behind that. Though I wouldn't put my faith in gangsters to be as adherent to those rules as much as Rebecca was suggesting, but I didn't mention my skepticism as we approached the center of the red-light district, approaching a modest gambling house, a Japanese Pachinko Parlor.

Kiwi and their driver, Falco, had opted to remain behind in their car. Kenta was slung over David's broad shoulder.

The other people in the street were giving us a wide berth, though I don't think either Archie or any of the rest noticed.

I was almost certain Archie was in a hyperactive perpetual state of shock. She had been oscillating between shouting my ears off about being reckless, endangering myself needlessly; and apologizing while blaming herself for the mess we were all in, not that it was her fault.

I blamed the shock. And Kenta. And the Valentinos.

But mostly just Kenta.

At the very least Ethan seemed to be taking everything in stride. He'd even made a couple of jokes to me on how he'd have joined in on the fun if he'd had a gun on him at all. How he would have managed that, I had no idea, but I appreciated the sentiment. Even if his jokes were a bit awkward.

In hindsight, leaning out of a moving car and taking potshots at gangsters chasing after us was not a smart move. But well, I couldn't leave Rebecca to bear the brunt of their aim, not after she'd already been hurt.

At least no one was seriously injured. The bullet wound on Rebecca's hand had been tied up, and she was already making plans to get a pair of Dynalar's latest line of Gorilla arms to replace her organic ones.

That thought still twisted some things in my gut, but I could see the pragmatism behind the idea of modular, replaceable body parts.

Somewhat. Barely.

All that remained was to get back to Rafael who had chosen to wait for us with this Wakako, and head on back home. Archie was certainly anxious about the meeting, afraid even. More so than even Kenta. He hadn't put her on edge as much as the mere mention of Wakako was managing to now.

And it was understandable, the woman was evidently a Yakuza leader; someone who held considerable power with the most prominent gang of this part of the city. I'd only heard about 'The Lady of Westbrook' through gossip, mostly at the diner. I didn't expect Rafael's chosen method to deal with Kenta would be to contact the local crime lord; and through her, a group of mercenaries.

The Pachinko Parlor was a modest, dimly lit room, with a handful of flashing pachinko machines lined along the walls, their flickering lights casting brief, colorful glows. The scent of incense, mixed with cigarette smoke, hung heavily in the air, a rich, earthy aroma that clung to the senses.

I wondered if it was real wood being burned. In a place like this, with a Yakuza leader like Wakako calling the shots, I supposed it might be.

A receptionist sat behind a small counter at the far end, her expression calm, disinterested—nothing about her hinted at any connection to the kind of business I suspected was being conducted just behind the beaded curtain at the back. She didn't look like Tyger Claw to me, but what did I know?

As we approached, she nodded at David who then turned to us. "Wait here. This won't take long"

I heard the faint, worn cadence of a woman's voice beyond the curtain. Warm, conversational, like that of a gossiping old grandma, an old friend sharing juicy secrets over tea.

"Don't you worry, your daughter is unharmed. The complication with the Valentinos was quickly dealt with." Wakako's voice drifted through, smoothly reassuring whoever was in there with her. "My mercenaries are on their way…. I won't consider this a change in our normal arrangement."

Another voice responded, careful and measured, and I recognized it as Rafael's. "Thank you for… your kindness, Wakako," he replied. "I'll have the eddies sent by the end of the night."

A gentle laugh followed. "Ah, my dear, there is no need to rush," she replied, indulgent. "Normally, I don't take biz on credit, but for you, I can make an exception."

There was a pause, and then Rafael replied, guarded "Thank you, Wakako."

Just then, as if on cue, the Lady of Westbrook continued. "And if I'm not mistaken, I believe they're here now."

With that, David stepped forward, parting the curtain, Kenta's limp, unconscious form draped over his shoulder. Rebecca seemed to be bouncing on her heel in excitement, for some reason.

I happened to be closest behind David and got a very good look inside. The room was warm and inviting, filled with dark, polished wood and subtle lighting that gave it an almost antique charm. A small bonsai was potted on a desk, along with fine china.

I could still see her, and the rest through the beaded curtains that separated the office from the Pachinko parlor.

Wakako sat comfortably at a polished wooden desk, her gaze falling on David, then lingering on Kenta with a pleased smile.

"Just as promised, Rafael," she said, sounding amused. "One Suzuki Kenta, delivered as requested, for you to handle however you see fit. Your daughter's safe—and her friends, too."

Rafael let out a breath, and I saw his shoulders finally relax, though he maintained a cautious distance. "Thank you again, Wakako."

Wakako's eyes shifted to David, her expression approving as she regarded him. "Fine work as always, David," she said with a slight nod. "Please wait a moment, I will close this gig with the client, and then I'll transfer your payment."

David gave a nod, about to speak when Rebecca pushed past me and surged forward, grinning wide.

"Auntie Wakako! It's been ages since we met in person!" she greeted, her excitement almost childlike. "Why'd you stop sending solo gigs my way? I'm still game for them, ya know—every now and then."

Wakako gave her an amused smile, but Rebecca didn't wait for a response. She raised her bandaged arm, waving it slightly to emphasize her point. "Anyway, never mind that. I went and screwed up my arm," she continued, a pout forming on her lips. "Aaaand, I need a new ripper. My usual one skipped town, the old bastard; and Fingers is a creep. Grabby bastard tried to cop a feel of my butt as 'payment' last time. I was there for optics dammit, the slimy bastard; I nearly broke his damned fingers, if there hadn't been a line of girls outside I would've."

Wakako chuckled, the sound warm and a little indulgent. "Rebecca, dear, slow down," she said, clearly entertained by the tirade. "It's good to see you too. And as for the solo gigs…" she trailed off with a knowing smile, "I don't send them your way because I'd much rather see you working in a team. It's safer, and you're less likely to run into some untoward accidents."

Rebecca huffed, crossing her arms with a pout. "I can handle myself just fine, Wakako."

Wakako shook her head, still smiling. "Perhaps, but I've no desire to see you dead, dear," she replied dryly. "As for a ripper…. I'll have my boys arrange an appointment with Chiyo for you. You'll be in better hands with her. She does the work for most of my boys these days."

Rebecca's pout softened, and a smile crept back onto her face. "Thanks, Auntie. I knew I could count on you."

"You're welcome, my dear" the old woman replied, "I wish we could continue our conversation, but alas. I have biz to see to. Why don't we chat over tea later this week? We haven't had much time to talk since…Pilaf's death. It's been months and I have been remiss as your 'Auntie'."

The grin Rebecca had been sporting soured at the mention of Pilaf, a relative perhaps. But it returned in force quickly, "That'd be nice Auntie! I'll be there. I'll just wait here while you finish with the biz"

The woman nodded and returned her attention back to the group crowding in her office. "Now… as I was saying, David… there is still the matter of closing the gig. We need to deal with Kenta however Rafael sees fit."

The man in question had been still during the by-play of the conversation between Rebecca and the Gang Boss. It was her presence and his clear wariness of her that had stopped Rafael from launching and engulfing his daughter as soon as she had stepped into the office.

He was quick to regain control of himself, having become the center of attention of the Lady once again. He turned to David and asked, genuine concern for his daughter in his voice, "Was my daughter hurt? Tell me everything… leave nothing out."

The man was quick to give a brief, but thorough retelling of what happened. It was very detailed too, and it even provided information that the man wasn't present himself to witness with surprising accuracy.

I could see the rage building behind the man's features with every passing word. Wakako herself seemed to be unaffected, her hands steepled as she awaited the decision the man was to make.

At the end of his retelling, Rafael's face went eerily calm, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked down at his hands, a flicker of disbelief mingling with the simmering fury in his gaze. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and strained.

"He shot at my daughter. He tried to murder mi hija… mi pequeña…" He broke off, his fists clenching as he glared at Kenta's unconscious form. "Curse you, curse your family, curse your entire lineage to the pits of hell, Bastard!" he spat.

After a moment, he drew a deep, steadying breath, clearly wrestling to regain his composure.

Wakako chose this moment to interject, her tone gentle yet firm. "If I may, Rafael," she offered, her gaze shifting to Kenta. "I can take care of this matter for you. You won't have to dirty your hands with him, and he'll no longer be a problem for you or your daughter."

Rafael turned to her sharply, eyes blazing as he spat, "I want him gone from my life, my daughter's life. I want him as far away from Archie as possible… do what you have to do. I want to never see the hijo de puta again."

Wakako steepled her fingers and nodded slowly, her gaze unwavering. "Then it will be done. Rest easy, Rafael. You and your daughter will never have to see this man's face again."

I glanced over at Archie, who was standing beside me with Ethan, and saw her tremble slightly, clutching Ethan's arm tightly. The gravity of what her father had decided seemed to hit her, but she said nothing, her face pale and resolute.

After a few moments, Rafael gave a deep bow of thanks to the Lady, his respect evident. Wakako returned his acknowledgment with a gracious nod, then shifted her attention to David. "David," she said smoothly, "I'm closing the gig and transferring your payment now." Her eyes glowed briefly with a faint blue light as she handled the transfer.

Rafael was quick to turn and make his way out of the office, and the instant he stepped outside, he gathered Archie into a tight, heartfelt hug. He held her close, whispering gently, "Ay, mi amor… mi vida… thank God you're safe. I was so worried, mija." He pulled back, scanning her carefully for any sign of harm. "Estás bien? Are you hurt? Tell me, mija."

Archie returned his hug, and I saw her entire body relax as though a weight she'd been carrying for hours had finally lifted. Her face softened as she let herself be held by her father, the tension she'd worn since we arrived at her apartment seemingly melting away.

"I'm fine, Papá," she assured him, her voice shaky but genuine. "I was scared, but… we're okay now."

Rafael didn't seem completely satisfied, fussing over her and inspecting her from head to toe. Then he clutched her ear in a vice-like grip "Dios mío, mira—next time you pick up the damned holo when I call you… I don't give flying fuck if you're with a …. friend or whoever else, just pick up the damned call."

"Ow ow ow ow, Papa!" Archie yelped in pain, as she tried in vain to get the man's grip off her ear. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I will pick up! I am sorry!"

Once he'd assured himself she was indeed unharmed, Rafael let the girl go and turned to Ethan, he took a deep breath. "You protected my daughter," he said, his tone warm yet serious. "You were in danger yourself, at gunpoint, and yet you stood by her side... your house is damaged. If you wish, you can take the couch at my place for the night."

Ethan, looking slightly taken aback by the appreciation, laughed nervously. "Well, I always did have fantasies as a kid of being a knight in shining chrome," he joked, scratching the back of his head. "So, uh… maybe this counts as a win in that regard….. Er ehm, I will take you up on the couch offer though."

I couldn't help but shake my head at Ethan's awkward humor. He was clearly out of his depth, but he'd stuck by Archie all the same.

Rafael nodded all the same, taking the sentiment to heart. "Thank you, Ethan." Then he turned to me, his expression unexpectedly softening before he pulled me into a hug as well. I was caught off guard but returned it, albeit a bit hesitantly.

Rafael's voice held genuine warmth as he spoke. "I don't know how to thank you enough, Zain. For rushing in to help my daughter when you didn't have to. I sent you to pick her up from a date, nothing more. You could have left when you saw the danger. But you didn't. That means more to me than I can say."

I nodded, "Archie's a friend. You're a friend. And… you've helped me a lot, Rafael. I couldn't just do nothing."

Rafael pulled back, smiling. "You are good people, Zain." He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "But tonight, you should get some rest. Take the day off tomorrow. We'll talk after. Go home, get some sleep."

I nodded, though I doubted I'd be getting much rest.

Every nerve in me was shot, I had been pushing away the images of the smears of blood David had caused with the Valentinos and their car, trying to forget Kenta's crimson-red eyes… I needed to build something. Anything to make myself less prone to death by a stray bullet by tonight.

My mind was running through every possibility of what I could do to protect myself. I wanted to be done with this day, to finally return home and start planning… something.

Potions and alchemy seemed to be the most immediate solution. A potion that made my skin tougher than stone, an invisibility potion … those seemed like safe bets. But first, I needed to make a stock of what I had available at home.

I was just leaving the center square of Jig-Jig Street, having said my goodnights to Archie and the rest, heading for home a few blocks; and a few floors above the street, when Rebecca's voice made me stop.

"Heeey! Zaiin! Wait a sec!" She was rushing straight for me, dashing through the street faster than I had thought her capable of. She came to a stop in front of me.

"Oh.. erm. Hey? What's up?" I asked her as she grinned up at me.

"Kay, so listen up. I owe ya, and I don't like owing shit to anybody. So, I'm zipping you my contact info and if you ever, and I mean it, ever need someone zeroed, something klepped, or fuck it I dunno you want to start shit up with some gonk, I'm your girl!" She said as she started dragging me out of the Red-light district and toward where their car was currently waiting for her and David.

"Hey, hey, hey, what? What are you talking about, and more importantly where are you taking me?!" I asked as I let myself be dragged by her.

"Ugh, keep up choom!" She whined as we exited the main entrance to the street, "I. Owe. Ya."

"Yeah, I heard you. But what the hell are you talking about?" I asked as we reached her car, and I righted myself from the sudden dizziness of being dragged at speeds I was certain were not humanly possible.

Well, without cybernetics.

"Aaaaah, right. Back when we were under fire by those Tino cocksuckers. You didn't have to stick your neck out for me, but you did. Literally. I was the merc, I was paid to do a job, which was to protect you." She said poking me in the chest with her uninjured finger and glaring up at me.

"You saw that I'd taken a bullet and covered for me… sure it was for half a minute, but that's not important. It was the fact that you did it, that makes me in your debt." Saying that her eyes glowed briefly as she searched for my phone number.

I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate, and I quickly pulled it out. There was a notification for a new contact added to my contacts list. Before I could look up the new contact, she'd snatched the phone out of my hand.

"Holy shit, a flip phone! Where the fuck did you find this thing?" She exclaimed as she examined the thing like an archeologist would a Stone Age rock.

"… The junk store," I replied, gingerly procuring the phone back from the excitable gremlin of a woman.

"Nooovaa!" she breathed. "I dunno what's more adorable, your gonked lost look, or that you're supposedly a collector of really outdated tech."

"…I have no idea what to say to that…" I replied, and she chuckled, "But I don't think you owe me anything. I didn't do it to curry some favor from you."

"I know. But I owe you anyway." She replied and looked around behind me, I followed her gaze and David was walking toward us quickly, apparently having finished whatever else he had left to do with the Lady of Westbrook.

"Looks like we're done for the night. Take care of yourself, round cheeks! Buh-bye now~" She waved at me merrily, and quickly climbed into her car.

I was befuddled as I watched their car drive away for a few moments, checking my face and my cheeks with my hands.

I did not have round cheeks….

The walk home was mercifully uneventful. Night City's chaotic energy was already amping up as the neon haze of evening transitioned into the pulsing chaos of the nightlife.

I kept my head down, moving quickly past the usual street scenes—the high-as-a-kite junkies loitering under the stairs, muttering to themselves, and the perpetual shouting matches spilling out of apartments. None of it registered. My thoughts were locked on the events of the day.

Twice. I'd been in not one but two shootouts. Real, honest-to-fuck shootouts. The kind you see in action movies, only there were no stunt doubles, no special effects, no neatly tied-up endings. Just the deafening sound of gunfire, the acrid tang of cordite, and the gut-wrenching realization that death was only a bullet away.

And then there was David. That terrifying moment when he had leaped into action, not with weapons, but his bare hands. He'd torn through those gangsters like a storm, leaving behind nothing but blood, shattered bone, and the misty remains of human beings. The image clung to my mind like static—horrifyingly vivid.

I pushed the thoughts down as I reached my apartment in the Umibe residence, fumbling briefly with the lock before rushing inside. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing out the city's chaos. For the first time that day, I let out a long, shaky breath.

Focus. Potions. Skin-hardening potion. I needed to feel less vulnerable, less like one stray bullet could end me.

Heading straight to the kitchenette, I yanked open the fridge and pulled out everything I'd stocked up on from All Foods. Packages of synth-milk, synth-veggies, processed paste egg yolk, synth-purified water, and a jumble of other synthetic, semi-organic, semi-chemical foodstuffs filled the counter.

I rummaged through my limited pantry and added some cans of Nicola and a couple of Sojajil Machistador bars to the mix.

Examining the labels, my heart sank. What the hell was "recombinant proteal compound-4A"? Or "carbon-chained meat matrix stabilizer"? Most of the ingredients might as well have been written in another language. Whatever they were, they didn't inspire much confidence.

Great. I needed chemistry to develop this skill further.

While Alchemy was potent enough with what I knew. I was a master. I could make good workable potions with what I had. I could easily work with what I had having some sense of what the things in front of me were, in a way. But it could be better.

The Forge had blessed me with the skills of a seasoned master at the art, but they weren't omniscient. I had to build on them, and that meant studying.

Fucking hell, I had to go back to school. Technically.

The thought would've made me laugh if I weren't so tired. Did libraries even exist in Night City? Most information was transferred via data shards for individual neuroports. I would imagine education occurred through something similar to that too.

Back home—wherever home was now—my university coursebooks were nearly all digitally accessed.

But books must still be a thing, right? I'd seen magazines at the diner, the kind with fucking embedded videos, GIFs and glowing pages. If those existed, surely some kind of physical learning material did too.

Just thinking about it made my head hurt. I could just wait for the forge to gift me knowledge in chemistry.

Could it even do that?

Should I risk it? Probably not.

Hopefully, somewhere in that galaxy full of stars, was a star waiting to burst forth and grant me knowledge in Chemistry. But I would not bet on waiting for it to magically land on my lap as soon as I needed it.

That was a problem for later. Tonight, I had to work with what I had.

I reached for the synthetic water purifier and filled a glass, gulping it down in one go. The cool liquid did little to soothe my frayed nerves, but at least it gave me something to focus on.

Food and water were an enigma in Night City, at least to me. Water was not synthesized per sé. The water sources, essentially all over the world, were mostly contaminated. There were filtration systems built into the infrastructure of the city, but N54 and WNS made highly frequent reports of deaths that they blamed on the poisoning of that water, which meant synthetic water purifiers were essentially a must.

Either that or fork over 99 eddies a gallon for Real Water.

Food, on the other hand, was mostly synthetically grown. Lab-grown meat, lab-grown veggies, and fruits, lab-grown everything. Unless you were content with eating kibble.

And trust me, a huge chunk of the population of Night City had made kibble a part of their diet.

My hands moved automatically, the micromanipulators keeping them impossibly steady, arranging the ingredients on the counter.

When I woke up here, I had no kitchenette. Instead, there had been an honest-to-God vending machine in my living room, that spat out processed food when supplied with sufficient eddies. Who refilled it, I had no clue. Probably the landlord.

….I could not use it then.

I had no eddies and had no way to use the machine even if I did. I had no chip to transfer those eddies to the damned machine, nor did I have optical cybernetics to interact with it. And after seeing the contract that Marmur Bank offered for their cred chips… I noped out of even getting that.

Fuck getting a neuroport installed in my skull. Fuck their generational debt clause. Fuck their 'Default Requisition Service'. Fuck their credit rating system in particular. Though honestly, that last one was not all that much different from the system that was set up back home. But fuck it too.

So, instead, I sold the machine and opened a basic bank account that had no accrued interest overtime on my savings. It was essentially a digital vault. The fuckers still charged me out of pocket for it though. And retained the right to seize all stored assets if I went inactive for over 4 months in my deposits.

I had a couple hundred eddies stored in there, which reminded me; I really should go over and make a deposit. I was living life as if I was in the pre-credit card era! Go me!

The vending machine got me a new phone with a cellular connection to a DataTek SIM card, a CHOOH2 stove, some food, and around 1300 eddies. I am sure I was fleeced for the cash even then.

That was how I had met Rafael in fact. At the Redwood Bazaar, conducting a sale for my vending machine. I had no idea what stars were shining on me then, the man offered me a job. Probably the same stars as the forge.

And here I was. Having risked my life for the man's daughter.

I would do it again in a heartbeat, of course. Getting a job… surviving in Night City without one would have been impossible. I would have starved to death sooner. The man even hooked me up with a cylinder of CHOOH2 from the diner for my stove, for that he had earned my gratitude.

I set the water to boil and quickly mixed in the ingredients. I have no idea what caused the mixture to turn purple, but it did. Magic.

It was the result I should have gotten, for a potion that turned my skin rock solid for at least half an hour, with some truly magical ingredients, none of which I had. But these worked. The Forge had taught me so.

Would it work for someone else, if they were to follow the recipe I had to the letter? I have no clue.

The purple concoction made from a fucking synthetic banana, a bar of sojajil machistador, a can of Nicola, boiling hot synth-purified water, and some chopped synth veggies simmered as I let it cool. By my estimate, it would last me for four uses. One mouthful of this, admittedly pungent potion, would be one use.

So I had a total of two hours of the ability to turn my skin into stone. A rudimentary bulletproof hailmary, should I get into a firefight. Or strayed to somewhere close to one.

…I should probably test it.

How the fuck do I test it? The potion would give my skin a rocky texture, as well as toughness. Essentially, it should look like I was covered in rocks.

Now that I think about it… I could tweak that visual effect out. I would need … ingredients that my kitchen did not have. Some shopping was due then.

Still didn't solve my problem of testing this potion. I could just test for the visible effects and call it a day, but my goal was to make myself bulletproof. For a time. Until I had other options available to me. And I was not shooting myself having its effects active on me. I trusted the forge, but I won't gamble away with my life like that.

….I should add a cheap Kevlar vest to my shopping list.

Perhaps I could try punching something with the effect active?

Not the wall. If it worked, I didn't want to live with a giant hole in my wall. I didn't know if I even had a landlord, or if the forge was my landlord but I didn't want someone coming in and asking me to fork over the eds to fix that. No one had shown up when I sold the vending machine, but I had been desperate for cash then and I couldn't give a fuck then. I didn't want to keep trying my luck, lest someone finally shows up knocking.

There were dumpsters down by the street, that I could whale on. Those were sturdy enough to test, but I didn't want to go out looking like a rock monster unless it was absolutely necessary.

An invisibility potion was next on my list of things to brew either way. Some gadgets would come after that, basic things for now to improve my life.

A functioning aircon that I didn't have to pay for would be delightful. It was technically a gadget.

Apart from that, I was thinking of elemental bullets. Bullets that caused freezing, and shattering of targets. Bullets that exploded on impact. Bullets that homed in on a target.

That last one was already a proven concept by the fine engineers over at Kang Tao, Kendachi, Eagletech, Mystic Tech, and so many others. I needed to even the playing field if firefights were going to be a frequent thing for me to worry about surving.

All of these were variations on trick arrows that I was modifying to fit a bullet. I just needed to gather the parts necessary to actually build the things. Fortunately, the one thing this time period, this place had an abundance of was tech parts. I could go dumpster diving and end up with old tech that I could repurpose to fit my needs.

And the old tech of this place blew the tech from home out of the park.

Again, dumpster diving would be a problem for later.

After my invisibility potion was brewed.

After cleaning out the pot, and remixing some of the ingredients, replacing the veggies with different variety, I let the clear liquid simmer.

Again, I wondered if someone else were to mix and cook some of these, clearly edible substances that were definitely used as ingredients for food; would they end up with my invisibility potion?

Again, I had no clue.

I let the concoction, which had a pleasant smell admittedly, cool as I emptied it into a bottle. This would last me, a while. A few drops were all that I needed to turn invisible. And I had a bottle full, and the means to make more.

Avoiding firefights and running away should be a cinch.

This I could test. And with it, if both my potions were active simultaneously, I could test both.

Now was the moment of truth then. I stared at the bottle with the purple concoction, trepidation filling me.

Never ventured, never gained as they say.

I took a gulp. It tasted sweet. Like honey. Or, maple syrup? It was changing tastes in the sweet spectrum.

Huh.

For a moment, I was disappointed as nothing happened. Then as if a rash but not rash, it wasn't as itchy as it looked, developed on my chest. The feeling quickly spread, withing seconds I was covered head to toe in stone. My eyes, nose, ears, my everything was stone.

Even little me. I checked. Ouch.

How I was breathing? No clue.

Seeing? No clue.

Moving? No. Fucking. Clue.

Magic.

I at the very least I looked like I could tank a fucking bazooka. Not testing that, however. Hopefully, I would never have to.

The test for the rock-skin potion was a partial success, pending secondary testing.

The invisibility potion was up then.

The first one was a sweet-tasting potion. I had my hopes high for the clear one. At worst, hopefully, it would be like water. Tasteless.

I moved to the kitchenette again, where the bottle rested on the counter when I encountered my first problem.

I was fucking loud. My footsteps sounded like your bad, extremely unruly upstairs neighbor had the bright idea to play basketball indoors. This was not subtle. Well, the walking-talking human-sized rock tank look I was sporting was enough for that. But the noise was basically meant to attract attention to me.

I was lucky I hadn't cracked the floor of my apartment with the amount of noise I was making.

Another fucking problem for later. Hopefully, if I ever have to make use of this potion, subtlety would already be out the window.

I shook my head, and focused on the next potion.

Without wasting another moment, energized by excitement, I opened the bottle and dropped three drops on my tongue.Fucking vinegar. Of all the things, why vinegar?

No, it too was oscillating on the sour scale, between fucking suerkrauts and vinegar.

I needed to wash my mouth dammit.

In my distaste for the potion, I had forgotten to verify the results.

And well, I couldn't see myself. I could still see everything else. My room, my closet, my still burning stove.

Fucking hell, I turned that off.

How the hell do I have the hand-eye coordination to do that, when I can't see myself?

Again. No. Fucking. Clue.

~Magic~

Well, slap my tits and call me Houdini. I'm a fucking wizard!

Okay, an Alchemist. But close enough!

Fuck, the dancing jig I did at being fucking invisible reminded me I was still made of rocks, and was louder than an indoor basketball team all playing with individual balls at the same time.

Okay, okay. I need to calm down. I was fucking Alchemist. But I need to calm down. I could freak out later.

I still needed to test my durability and strength. I was already on the verge of cracking my floor with my footsteps, so I was durable and strong, so technically that test was successful too.

But I wanted to fuck shit up. Today had been stressful, and I wanted to break something. And a few giant metallic dumpsters seemed just like the thing that would help me vent.

Should I risk heading out however, sounding as I am right now?

The forge seemed to have an answer for me, as it chose this moment to spin alight again. I would gladly take another gift from it, it seemed like just the cherry on top to finally end this stressful day on a high note.

The beautiful starry galaxy spun, the bright constellations that made it revolved around my soul. One familiar cluster of stars came closer, I had already interacted with it once, and I was excited to see what else it would grant me.

A beautiful, vividly bright star pulsed as it approached me. It pulsed once, twice….

And the light faded as the connection to my soul failed.

What just happened? My excitement flipped to panic in an instant.

Was the forge going dormant? Was it just a failed connection, and nothing more?

Would it light up again? I hope this wasn't an error. It was probably not.

The Forge had been kind to me twice earlier that day, having granted me the abilities of a master Alchemist, as well as the skills of a gadgeteer. I was content with that. I shouldn't be greedy. That was enough.

The forge would awaken again soon, and it would gift me something else equally magnificent soon enough. Hopefully.

The effects of the potions I had active, faded as I sulked on the fact that I could miss connections to the forge on occasion. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a common thing.

For now, I need to take my mind off it. Some sleep would be fantastic for that.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N) Finally, some tinkering with the perks of the forge.

Last chapter, Zain had started with 350 points. And had opened with using 200.

I am making an edit in the point accumulation. It stops after a roll in a given chapter. So if the chapter opens with a roll, the word count of the remaining chapter would not be counted toward the point accumulation.

So, Zain opened with 150 points.

He tried to make a connection to a 1200 point perk and failed. Earned himself 300 points, and now has 450 points in reserve.

The system is still not something I am completely happy with. But it's the best I have for now.

Anywho, in the previous chapter I had written an AU stating that Zain believed the words of the mainstream media, and the net (controlled by corps, that he is still unaware of) at face value.

I did some research and realized the media in verse are deranged (I watched all of the nearly 70 news readings from the game). Apart from the scripted showings of some news reports, the rest are really direct. Blunt. None of the subtlety that I expected. I think it's insane and genius at the same time.

But it really shows that there is no way Zain would fall for that. So, Zain doesn't know most things in the verse, but he at least discerned that the media lies about somethings. History included. (Regina would be proud)

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 5-

To be a skilled alchemist, one must know their way around magical potions. And to be a skilled potioneer, one must know their way around the ingredients that go into those potions.

If asked, a layman would describe Alchemy as the ancient, often considered fictional art of transmutation of one substance into another. Like I would have merely a month ago.

Now, after experiencing a facet of magic myself, I would have to disagree with the core definition of alchemy that such a layman would widely call agreeable.

Alchemy is both an art and a science.

The ability to transmute the basic elemental, really the molecular, atomic, and subatomic structure of substances into something entirely different using potions, and some form of magically induced physical transformation. That is how I would define Alchemy.

I have such an intuitive grasp of alchemy, and its parent branch of magic, potioneering; that I was able to brew considerably advanced potions. One grants its drinker the strength and durability of rock, and the other imbues temporary invisibility from just about all senses that fall under the visibility spectrum.

It left behind only a slight, nigh imperceptible silhouette of bent light; that only the very keenest of observers would be able to see. I did not believe Kiroshi cyber optics would pick up on it unless I moved too erratically to bring attention to that silhouette.

And I brewed those with the absence of any acceptable magical ingredients. While running on fumes, terrified out of my mind, and letting the skill run blindly. I was not paying attention to what I was using to brew my potions, apart from a general incredulity at the absurdity of those ingredients.

The day had tired me out, and I didn't much care given my desire to be bulletproof in some form or another as soon as possible.

See, the reason alchemy… no, potioneering in its entirety, is considered an art first and science later is that the ingredients that go into achieving a given effect in potions are highly variable.

It is quite like cooking in that regard.

While there are certain set standard ingredients essential to a potion for a given effect, there are always substitutes that can be used to offset a lack of resources or bring about a change in taste, texture, slight variation in the final effect, or a combination therein.

A master chef would know intuitively what ingredient to substitute where; in any given recipe to achieve those variations in their dishes.

The forge had granted me that kind of intuition about Alchemy and the ingredients that went into potion making, alongside a very thorough understanding of the various established recipes for a veritable list of potions that I could brew.

That was why I was baffled and horrified as I was walking down the aisles of the Kabayan Foods grocery store near the Cherry Blossom Market. It was the only place, apart from All Foods outlets, that sold syn-veggies and fruits in Japantown. I did not like the prepackaged, prepared food sold in the vending machines outside.

Disregarding the aisle for Kibble and Scop as I usually did in my shopping trips, almost all food items here were suitable substitutes for a lot of the effects that I would want to imbue with my potions.

Heck, Scop was a fantastic substitute to brew potions that replenish blood and prevent blood loss, clotting, and some other forms of healing effects. Commonly, the standard for such potions should use a type of lizard stew as a base.

I did not like the implications of that. Sure not all ingredients were as horrifying as I described, most were.

It was common knowledge here in Night City that scop, or Single Celled Organic Protein, is often made using worm meat. I didn't quite realize how literal that is. Good thing I was disgusted by the notion itself to have even given it a thought on making those a part of my diet.

But the rest?

The potions that I had brewed the previous night, the rock-skin potion that I was tentatively calling it, used a type of snake egg and wet dog fur as its standard ingredients.

The fact that syn-banana, alongside other synth-fruits and veggies, are the direct substitutes that my intuition called on for snake eggs?

That wet dog fur was easily substituted by fucking Nicola, sojasil machistador which is a fucking protein bar, and synthetically purified, boiled, water?!

I wanted to barf.

Using them as potions is one thing. The magic imparted to the potion essentially disintegrates the ingredients to extract the quality to be imbued therein. Magical boiling and sterilization, in essence.

Consuming those ingredients individually however … there is a reason a lot of the ingredients in a potioneer's lab are either poisonous, toxic, or some other form of danger for direct consumption.

I had been eating synthetic food sold all over Night City ever since I had arrived here. I had assumed those would, at the very least, be a variation of the cultured meats or some form of plant-based variant that were slowly becoming popular back home.

Evidently, that is not the case. The media here would have me believe that eating organic, real food is dangerous. That it would cause diseases.

They were right. I would be phenomenally stupid and arrogant to think otherwise. There had been epidemics here due to the consumption of such food.

A bio-plague had caused most organic foods to become disease-ridden. A variation of a natural airborne virus that had caused a death toll in the millions sometime back in the 1990s - 2000s after some sort of financial crash.

Compounded by the use of biological warfare in the corporate wars thereafter…. there were only a few countries still producing real edible food. The prices of which are nowhere near even being close to a single-digit multiple of my monthly income.

I had come here to shop, to buy supplies for the week, alongside potion ingredients; and now I was having a fucking mental breakdown, on what to eat.

What the fuck should I do?

There is no real choice here.

Either, I continue to eat synthetically produced 'food', knowing they are made of cultured animal parts from animals that are not meant to be eaten. Or I could convert my diet entirely to scop, which is made using worms and other insects; or shift to kibble. A form of 'food' made by Purina Foods, that was originally made for pets but later redesigned for human consumption after food shortages worldwide.

Fucking hell, crickets were commonly sold as a widely acceptable substitute for chicken! Damn it all to hell, I loved chicken! I had been trying my damned best to ignore that the best possible option here was crickets!

Just don't eat it. Should be easy enough, right? There are other sensible options.

Clearly, I was fucking wrong.

I think … I was happier in my ignorance.

No… that is not right.

Ignorance may have been bliss for me, but these 'foods' are definitely not healthy. Should not be. Cannot be.

No matter how often All Foods, Kabayan Foods or whoever the fuck else claimed otherwise in their fucking advertising.

Would they lead me to a quicker-than-natural death?

I did not know. I did not care to know.

I needed my own damned alternatives. If only for me.

But fucking hell how?!

My potions and alchemy could treat soil, purify the land, and help grow veggies practically overnight.

The problem was, I did not have land large enough, nor deep enough for those magically grown food to farm. I did not have the seeds to start the process. No matter how pure the hypothetical land would be, without the seeds for the food, I could just sit down and twiddle my thumbs so far up my ass that magic or not, I would have shit to show for the effort.

I am an Alchemist, not a magical botanist.

Another option would be to survive on alchemically produced nutrient substitutes.

That …. is an acceptable option.

I could produce the potions to survive with the eddies I had and live somewhat comfortably. But I would not have any savings left thereafter.

Magic had some weird limitations.

I could not brew such a potion ad hoc, ad nauseum without the base ingredients that needed to be supplied for each batch. I could not sustain myself indefinitely on a single dose of that potion. I would have loved it if my alchemical knowledge could do that. No matter how much I wracked my terrified mind, no solution in that regard popped up.

But I could fulfill my caloric and nutrient needs for a full day with one bottle of the nutrient healing potion that I had in mind, such that I would not need to eat again for the rest of the day till I felt the need to sleep.

Therefore, I would essentially be using the entire budget that I had set aside for food, to fund the ingredients for my potions.

Given that I was never going to touch syn-food again, who the fuck wants to eat what could be dog meat? It could work.

I shook off the nausea that threatened to rise again. Decision made. No more syn-food for my meals. For potions? That was different. The alchemical process would strip it clean, purify it into something useful.

That much, I could trust.

I scanned through my mental list, crossing off anything I had considered 'Food' here in the traditional sense and replacing it with what I'd need for brewing. The substitutes were still synthetic, still abhorrent, but they'd do after the alchemical reactions purified them and converted them into pure nutrients, and calories.

The knowledge from the Forge guaranteed that, and I wasn't about to start doubting its gifts.

The rest went quickly.

The security bot stood to the side, motionless but imposing, its polished chrome surface reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights above. The way its sensor eye swiveled lazily to track me as I approached the self-checkout made my skin crawl.

I gave it a wide berth, tossing a wary glance over my shoulder to make sure it wasn't about to spring to life. The other customers at the store were doing the same… and as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

The self-checkout terminal, one of the SoftSys' new S.C.S.Ms, beeped cheerily as I scanned the items, one by one. Its synthetic voice chirped: "Thank you for choosing Kabayan Foods! Please ensure your payment is ready."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered under my breath, sliding the final bar of Machistador across the scanner. The screen flashed up my total, and the hefty cash tax tacked onto it. 'Cash payment surcharge: 30 eddies. Please insert your payment.'

"Fucking robbery," I muttered under my breath. I could get a can of Real Water at that price, fishing crumpled bills from my pocket and feeding them into the slot.

It spat them back out once, twice, before finally accepting them on the third try with a mechanical chime.

"Cash payment accepted. Receipt printing. Thank you for shopping with us! And I am not a robber you rude Neanderthalic nincompoop!" the terminal trilled, its fake cheer grating against my nerves.

The machine whirred as it spat out a thin receipt.

I snatched it, stuffing it into one of the bags without looking. That damned AI loved giving in parting shots whenever I showed up. It was almost like it knew what it was doing.

"Fuck you, dumb over engineered piece of junk" I flip the AI SCSM a final middle finger for good measure, as I left the store.

"I don't have the parts for you to rightly fuck, but I appreciate the sentiment! I hope you enjoyed the experience at Kabayan Foods!" The machine's cheery response almost makes me stumble on my way out, but the fact that I made him spare the processing power for even that feels satisfying enough.

Stepping outside, I'm greeted by the early afternoon air of the Cherry Blossom Market. For all the synthetic, soulless misery this city embodies, there's something undeniably captivating about this place.

The holographic cherry blossom trees are, admittedly, beautiful. The light dances across their digital petals in a way that almost convinces you they're real. Almost. They sway with an elegance no actual breeze could manage, but I can't bring myself to hate them. They're fake, sure, but at least they don't pretend to be anything else. Unlike everything else in this damned city.

I take the steps leading up the levels toward the main street of Japantown, and as always, my gaze is drawn to the Cyber Kami—the Kami of Chrome, Night, and Electricity.

It towers over the Cherry Blossom Market, its immense form impossible to ignore. The statue is a marvel of craftsmanship, a gleaming cybernetic Buddha with four arms stretched outward in a gesture of divine serenity. Soft blue lights emanate from its eyes and circuitry, giving it an aura of mechanical divinity.

I stop for a moment, as I always do.

Admiring it, loathing it.

In one breath, this city dares to elevate a cybernetic god, a Kami of Electricity and Night.

Maybe it exists. Maybe it doesn't. Who am I to argue with faith? It was the Japanese, Arasaka themself in fact, that funded its installation.

But in the next breath, the very same city mocks it.

The skyscrapers that loom around the statue seem to sneer at it, as their inhabitants place themselves in a position higher than their own god, one they take pleasure in looking down from their high rise ivory towers.

The message is clear: "We're above even the gods."

The hypocrisy is sickening, but damn if the statue isn't a work of art. For a moment, I just marvel at it all.

Then, with a sharp exhale, I continue upward heading home, ignoring the distant gunshots that are almost like background noise to this city. It would be weird if there weren't any.

Fortunately, the trip home was peaceful, serene, and I could enjoy the warm early afternoon air on my face. Depositing the ingredients on my kitchenette, I grab my NCART pass and quickly make my way to the NCART station.

There were a couple of libraries in Night City. The closest being that in Charter Hill. The largest, and most reputable library was in the University District inside the Night City University Campus.

They were all inaccessible to me. They all needed neuroports for information transfer. The few physical books from the pre-RED era are meant for storage, and perusal for faculty, and students.

So, studying chemistry that way was out of the picture. I did have means to order a digital version of the books, and I had already filed a request. I should have it on my computer later tonight.

For now, I needed to join a gym. I need some self-defense skills. My potion-induced rock strength was temporary, not that I would go without said potion anywhere. I had a bottle in my jacket, right alongside the invisibility potion, but those were Hail Marys.

My gun would be to even the odds, but some form of fighting ability would not be bad to have.

Most gyms encouraged cyberware. Heavily. The ability to bench press cars, trucks, and weights on that range with the aid of even the last gen cyberware was reason enough.

The one that I had singled out was in the east end of Little China. A small place by a man named Roh-Chi Won. He had become famous for training a famous local boxer named Michael Coolidge, who went on to star in a show called "Boxathon" on N54.

Good show.

But that was not why I chose this particular gym.

Sure, Michael Coolidge did have that shit ton of gear to aid him in his fights. The latest BioDyne lynx paws, Kiroshi TXL something something that aided in guard counters, identifying weaknesses on the fly, and a whole host of cutting-edge tech.

But his coach, Roh-Chi Won?

He was one of the rare few individuals who didn't advocate for Cyberware enhancements in fights. The man himself didn't sport a lick of Cyberware on him, apart from the standard neuroport and Kiroshi cyber optics.

His gym had gained fame during the era of Michael's stardom on N54, but had dwindled significantly after it became clear that he had no actual cybernetics to push to his clients.

"You are now at… Farrier and Ferguson. Stand clear of the door please." The NCART announcer's voice broke my reverie as my station arrived.

The Hwarang Bushido Dojo was a quaint little gym, merely a few blocks away from the NCART station. I only had to take a small little detour to avoid some shifty-looking blue-eyed Russians on my way to the gym.

The Hwarang Bushido Dojo greeted me with a flickering neon sign, its soft glow barely visible against the clutter of band posters and holograms. A giant holo-poster of Michael Coolidge, mid-spar with his coach, Roh Chi-Won, loomed above the entrance. Coolidge's fists blurred with speed, while the Coach remained perfectly composed, his stance unshakable as he weaved and bobbed around the flurries.

The neon sign bearing the gym's name flickered faintly, its glow almost swallowed by the clutter surrounding it. Posters for some old rock band called Samurai, were plastered alongside promotional material for the upcoming Bushido 13: Wrath of Steel.

Trailers for Bushido 12: Family and Metal played on a loop, the holo-projection flashing scenes of carnage and chrome that felt almost comically over-the-top.

I stepped inside, and the atmosphere shifted surprisingly familiar. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and rubber, a low hum of effort and movement punctuated by the sharp thuds of gloves on pads and the occasional grunt of exertion. The boxing ring dominated the center of the gym, its ropes scuffed and worn from years of use. Around it, people sparred, their movements sharp and deliberate.

The walls were lined with gym equipment—simple, practical, and clearly well-used. In the far corner, sparring bots clicked and whirred, their sleek forms mirroring the moves of their human counterparts. Each one was busy, its flashing sensors tracking and adjusting to the fighters' techniques.

It didn't take long before someone noticed me. A block-headed man, about my age, approached with an easy swagger. His purple flattop bobbed slightly as he walked, his sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe.

When he reached me, he greeted me in Russian, his tone casual but firm.

I blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Russian."

He paused, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before switching to heavily accented English. "You have no Kiroshi, yes?"

Goddamit, the same song and dance. "No,… no, I don't."

He nodded, his expression neutral. "You should get. Language will not be problem anymore."

I managed a small shrug. "I'll manage, thanks."

"What do you want? You want to join gym?" he asked, his tone now more curious than anything.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Roh Chi-Won," I replied. "I want to learn boxing."

At that, his mouth twisted into a grin. "Ah! Thought so. City too dangerous for noodle-armed pretty boy like you."

Damn, no need to be so blunt, man. And I did not have noodle arms!

"Come, come," he said, waving me forward. "I take you to Coach."

He led me deeper into the gym, weaving past sparring pairs and weight stations.

We stopped near one of the sparring bots, where a bald, middle-aged Asian man stood with his arms crossed, watching someone spar. His stance was casual, but his gaze was laser-focused, tracking every movement of the wiry man trading blows with the bot.

"Coach," the purple-haired man said, nodding toward me, "new guy here wants to join. Says he wants to box."

The coach looked over at me, giving me a brief nod before turning back to the sparring session. "I'll be with you shortly. This spar is about to end."

I nodded back, shifting awkwardly as the Russian guy lingered beside me. The coach's attention moved to him, his tone calm but firm. "Go back to your sparring, Ilya."

Ilya nodded easily, patting me on the back with enough force to nearly knock me forward. "Good luck, my friend," he said, grinning. "When you want to spar, let me know, yeah?"

"Thanks, I will once I am sure I can take you on," I replied. What can I say, he was a huge guy, not David Martinez huge, but bulky all the same.

"Ha! That would be the day! I look forward to it!" he laughed as he walked off to join a group near another bot at the ring.

Turning my attention back to the sparring bot, I watched as Roh Chi-Won coached the woman trading blows with the machine. She was quick, her strikes precise but clearly not perfect. The bot mirrored her movements with uncanny accuracy, dodging her punches and countering with swift jabs that made her shift her stance.

"Keep your weight balanced, Zaria!" the coach instructed, his voice cutting clean through the noise of the gym. "You're leaning too far forward with your right. If you don't fix it, the counter will catch you every time."

The woman adjusted her footing, her punches growing sharper, more deliberate. The bot responded in kind, increasing its speed. For a moment, it seemed like she was getting the hang of it, but a well-timed feint from the bot threw her off, and she stumbled back.

"Better," the coach said, nodding slightly. "You're improving. Get back to sparring. I'll check your form again later."

"Yes, Coach," Zaria replied, breathing heavily as she reset her stance and prepared for another round.

With the sparring session handled, Roh Chi-Won turned his full attention to me. He stepped closer, extending his hand. I shook it, his grip firm but not overly tight. His gaze flicked over me, sharp and assessing.

"I don't see any Cyberware on you," he said. "Am I right in assuming you're here to learn how to fight without it?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I've had… some issues recently. Figured some skill in fighting could help."

The coach shook his head, his expression neutral but firm. "If you're looking to save your life, get a gun. This is a gym. I train fighters, not survivors. Fighting here requires more than just the need to survive—it takes discipline."

"I understand," I said quickly. "I already have a gun. I'm carrying one right now."

That earned a faint raise of his brow. "Good. Then why are you here?"

"I want to learn fighting skills in case I'm ever caught without it," I replied honestly.

The coach studied me for a moment before nodding. "Then go and get Cyberware."

I shook my head, offering a wry smile. "Not an option for me. I can't afford it, and even if I could, it's not something I'm comfortable with."

At that, his expression shifted slightly—something between curiosity and amusement. "No Cyberware, huh?" He tilted his head but let it go. "Alright. Have you trained before? Ever been to a gym?"

"A few years ago," I said, a bit sheepishly. "Back in high school, after… a breakup. It didn't stick."

He snorted, crossing his arms. "So, you're completely new at this, then."

"Pretty much."

He nodded again, this time more decisively. "Alright. I'll coach you. But only if you show the discipline for it. I've trained athletes and stars in their technique, people like Michael Coolidge. You've got one advantage, though."

I blinked. "What's that?"

"You don't have Cyberware," he said simply. "That's a shortcut to success. Here, we train the mind first. In combat, the mind is the most powerful weapon of all. No Cyberware has been able to fully replicate it—not yet. AI aside, of course. If you master your mind, you can master your body. And if, in the future, you decide to chip in, this training will help you adapt far better than you normally would."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "I like the sound of that."

"Good," he replied, his tone brisk. "Let's start with the basics. Warm up first."

He led me to an open area near the sparring ring, walking me through a routine of stretches, light cardio, and basic movements.

The coach continued guiding me through a steady progression of exercises—bodyweight movements, stretches, and light weights. His instructions were sharp and to the point, emphasizing form over quantity. He watched every rep like a hawk, correcting my posture with subtle cues.

"Muscle comes with effort," he said as I set down a pair of dumbbells, my arms already burning. "But without the right fuel, you'll plateau. Protein is critical. Protein-rich scop and kibble will help— creatine aside. If you're serious about this, you'll track your intake."

I nodded, hiding the smirk that almost escaped. The alchemy nutrient potion I'd be brewing tonight rendered all of that a non-issue. It was practically magic's answer to every gym bro's dream. A complete, magical homemade all-in-one solution—protein, creatine, vitamins, you name it, all packed into a single dose.

No horrifying synthetic garbage, no supplements. Just pure, efficient nourishment.

Thanks to the potion's healing properties, I wouldn't have to worry about overtraining or missing out on gains.

Magic would handle all the optimization while my part was simple: show up, put in the effort, and stick to the discipline.

Ilya had joined me mid-session, claiming he wanted to "keep the pretty gonk alive long enough to spar." He turned out to be a surprisingly good workout partner, offering tips here and there and keeping the atmosphere light with his stoically delivered jokes.

By the time the session wrapped up, the sun was casting its golden glow through the narrow windows, signaling late afternoon. My muscles ached in the best way possible. I had to admit, it had been a solid few hours, and I felt like I'd gained more than just a little progress—I'd found some footing in this place.

"Next session, we spar, yes?" Ilya said, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to almost send me stumbling.

"Sure," I said, smiling despite myself. "Thanks for all the help today. You didn't have to, but it means a lot."

He waved me off with a grin. "Everyone starts somewhere, my friend. You're serious about this—I can see it. I help all noobs at the gym. You keep at it, and we'll turn you into fighter."

"Looking forward to it," I replied.

"Good. Now go home, rest. Give muscles time to recover, ya?"

At my nod, Ilya strode off waving me good bye.

As I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit, a rare sense of accomplishment settled over me. It had been a good day. The Forge, quiet as it had been, seemed to agree.

Stepping outside, the late afternoon light bathed the street in a warm glow. I made my way toward the NCART station, the faint hum of activity around me blending into the background.

Then, deep within me, I felt it.

The galaxy within my soul came into focus. Its infinite constellations, usually distant and hazy, spun with renewed energy. A cluster of stars began to draw closer, one among them pulsing faintly. My breath caught as I focused on it, the light growing brighter, sharper.

For weeks, I'd feared the Forge had gone dormant, its gifts stagnant. But now, as that pulsing light flared and surged toward me, filling every corner of my being, I exhaled in relief.

The pulse of light from the Forge left me feeling... secure. Not in a grand, invincible sense, but in a quiet, knowing way. Something intangible settled within me, a certainty that anything I created from now on—potions, gadgets, tech—would endure. Not unbreakable, not invincible, but… resistant. Durable. If the world tried to snuff them out, circumstance would intervene. Luck, fate, or whatever cosmic insurance policy the Forge had just granted me, would ensure they endured longer than they had any right to.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I mulled over the implications. I wouldn't be able to hide behind this gift—cheap plastic would still break, shoddy work would still fail—but the things I made with care, the things I poured effort into? Those would last. I could rely on them.

And right now, that thought was more comforting than I wanted to admit.

The sun was dipping low, the hazy orange light of dusk casting jagged shadows across the buildings. I took a shortcut toward the NCART station, wanting to get home before the city's nightlife shifted from chaotic to predatory. I was halfway down the alley when my gut twisted.

My path had been blocked.

There were a man and two women, their holographic masks flickering faintly under the dim light. The sharp edges of their jackets screamed gang affiliations, and the heavy firearms slung casually at their sides confirmed it.

Scavs.

I turned around, intending to walk back out and taking the long way long the main street. That was blocked too, as two more of them cut me off.

I kept my head down, trying to skirt past them. I wasn't chromed, not even a cheap implant for them to yank out. No Cyberware, no interest, right? Scavs didn't usually bother with nobodies like me.

Except, apparently, tonight was different.

"Where do you think you're going?" the woman in front of me sneered, her thick Russian accent cutting through the tense silence. She stepped into my path, her posture relaxed but her tone anything but. "Stay exactly where you are."

My chest tightened as her companions began to fan out, closing ranks. One of the men—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a glint of malice in his eyes—glanced me over and grinned. "Look at this. Told you he fits perfectly," he said, turning to the others. "I was right. We'll make a killing with this one."

What the hell did that mean?

I raised my hands slightly, keeping my tone calm but firm. "I think you've got the wrong guy. I don't have Cyberware. Nothing on me."

The second woman, smaller but no less menacing, laughed dryly. "We know. Doesn't matter. We've got… other plans for you." Her smirk widened as she cocked her head. "Now, shut up."

Panic.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I instinctively shifted a step back, trying to keep my movements slow and non-threatening. My fingers brushed the edge of my jacket, hovering near the revolver tucked inside. I wasn't fast enough to outgun all five of them, but I might have to try.

"Don't bother," one of the guys growled, his voice laced with disdain. He leveled his weapon at me, the muzzle gleaming under the faint alley lights. "Boss said alive, but he didn't say unhurt."

Another Scav, a wiry man with a thin scar across his face, shot him a glare. "Idiot. You break the goods, you pay. Jae doesn't want damaged merchandise."

The man with the gun shrugged, his grin sharpening. "Fine. I'll aim for the knees."

Alive. That word gave me a sliver of relief, twisted as it was. They weren't planning to kill me—at least not yet. Whatever they had in mind, though, wasn't good.

Think, think, think.

My mind raced, the beginnings of a plan forming through the haze of fear. There was a dumpster a few feet away, shoved haphazardly against the alley wall. Beyond it there was a broken hole in the wall. If I could reach that wall, I'd have a shot. The invisibility potion in my jacket pocket would buy me the time I needed to disappear.

But first, I had to stall.

"Look," I started, keeping my hands visible and my tone steady, "I don't know what you think I'm worth, but I promise you, I'm not. Whatever this Jae of yours knows, it's wrong I have no Cyberware on me,."

"Shut up," the woman snapped, her weapon raising just enough to send a shiver of cold fear through me. "We don't care what you think."

"Fair enough," I said, glancing toward the dumpster. Just a few more inches.

One of the Scavs noticed the movement, his brow furrowing as he followed my gaze. "What are you looking at?"

No more stalling.

I lunged sideways, slamming my shoulder into the edge of the dumpster and shoving it toward them with everything I had. The screech of metal scraping pavement filled the alley, followed by a startled shout from the group. I didn't stop to see how effective it was.

Gunfire.

The first shot cracked through the air, the muzzle flash lighting up the alley for an instant. The bullet struck the dumpster with a deafening clang, making me flinch but not falter. Another shot followed, this one ricocheting off the wall just inches from my head.

"Get him!" someone shouted, their voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of curses and commands.

I ducked into the crumbling wall, my hand darting into my jacket. The vial of invisibility potion was cool against my fingers as I yanked it free, fumbling with the cap.

Another shot rang out, whizzing past me close enough to send a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I ducked low, throwing myself behind the cover of the wall and twisting the vial open with my thumb.

"There's nowhere to run dumbass! You boxed yourself in!" one of the Scavs yelled, their footsteps pounding against the pavement as they closed in.

I tipped the vial back and dropped a few drops of the potion on my tongue. The effect was immediate. A cool, tingling sensation swept over me as my body began to fade, the world around me blurring at the edges.

"Shit! The fuck!? Where did he go?!" someone shouted, their panic cutting through the chaos.

Another responded "He has optical camo! Sniff him out! He wasn't supposed to have any gear on him!"

"He's still here! He is not running away!"

I was invisible. They couldn't see me. My gun, my clothes—everything on me—vanished from view. To them, it probably looked like optical camo, some high-end Cyberware that I definitely didn't have. They didn't need to know that.

Their voices echoed in the alley, blending with the hum of distant traffic and the occasional screech of tires. My breathing was steady, but my mind raced. I had time to think.

I could pull my gun, take aim, and start shooting. But the muzzle flash and sound would make it easy for them to pinpoint me. I could take the rock skin potion, let the magic cover me in unyielding stone, and pound them into the ground. But the sound of breaking bones and rubble-like impacts would still draw their fire.

Could I sneak out instead? Slip past them quietly? It was a gamble, but maybe—

"Your batteries will run out soon, huh?" a man called out, his thick Russian accent dripping with mockery. "Come out, come out! We can be friendly, yeah? No need to hide. We'll make good friends!" His laugh was sharp, cruel, echoing off the walls.

I clenched my fists. These assholes weren't going to stop.

I edged backward toward the dumpster, trying to gauge my next move. Another taunt.

"Your fancy camo won't save you forever! Come out! We'll take good care of you!" another scav shouted, followed by a jeering laugh.

Okay. Fuck this noise. I wasn't sneaking out. I was beating them down.

My hand darted into my jacket, pulling free the rock skin potion. The vial's purple liquid shimmered faintly in the dim alley light. I twisted the cap, raised it to my lips, and drank deeply.

The transformation was immediate. That strange itching-not-itchy sensation crawled across my skin as the potion's magic took hold. I couldn't see myself, but I could feel it—stone spreading over my body, strengthening every muscle and bone beneath.

"Shit, it's not running out!" one of them cursed, panic creeping into his voice.

"Did he run away?" another hissed.

A woman snapped back. "No! Petrova's watching the opening. He didn't slip past her. He's still here—somewhere in this room."

I took a deep breath, crouching low. I didn't need them to see me. I needed them to feel me.

Go.

I launched forward, my invisible, rocky fist slamming into the first scavenger's gut. The impact sent him flying back, his holo mask shattering as his face crumpled inward with a sickening crack. His body hit the ground like a sack of bricks, unmoving.

"Fuck! He's here!" one of the others screamed, spinning toward the sound of my footsteps.

"He's got gorilla arms or some shit!" another shouted, his voice frantic. "Shoot! Shoot now!"

Gunfire erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the alley as they sprayed bullets toward the sound of their fallen comrade. I didn't stop. The rocky armor absorbed most of the impacts, dull thuds against stone, but the sound of their weapons was deafening. I was a storm in the dark, fists flying, each impact met with a crunch of bone and screams.

One by one, they fell. Another scav crumpled as I landed a solid punch to his chest, the force folding him in half. A woman tried to flank me, but I swung wide, catching her jaw with a brutal backhand. She hit the ground hard, groaning before falling silent.

Minutes passed in a blur of chaos and violence until only one was left.

She dropped her weapon, stumbling back as I loomed over her, my rocky form still invisible. "Please! Mercy!" she begged, tears streaking down her face. Her voice cracked, breaking into pitiful sobs. "Please, I'll talk! Don't kill me!"

I grabbed her by the throat, hoisting her into the air. She dangled, kicking and gasping, her wide eyes darting around for help that wouldn't come. My voice was low, rough, almost unrecognizable. "Why were you after me?"

She choked on her words, her hands clawing at the air. I squeezed slightly, just enough to make her speak.

"Y-You fit the bill!" she stammered, her voice cracking. "We take people like you—ones with no family, no backing! We sell them… for XBDs!"

XBDs. That was … porn, as far as I knew? Futuristic virtual reality porn? The fuck? They wanted me for fucking porn?!

I squeezed tighter, my voice a growl. "What the fuck are you talking about?! Who sells them? Who's your boss? How did you find me?"

She sobbed harder, shaking her head. "They'll kill me if I tell! Please, I can't!"

My grip tightened. "Then I'll kill you right now."

Her eyes bulged as she gasped, her voice frantic. "Jae Hyun! His name is Jae Hyun! He's our boss!"

The name sent a jolt through me. Jae Hyun. I'd heard it before—Kenta. Kiwi had mentioned that name when talking about Kenta.

"Did Kenta tell you about me?" I demanded, shaking her.

She wailed, her words incoherent. "I don't know! I swear! Please, let me go! I'll leave! I'll skip town, I swear!"

I froze, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

I'd already killed at least two of them.

Could I stomach another execution? My rocky fists trembled slightly, the micromanipulator gloves working overtime to steady my grip.

Shit, I should call the cops.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck…. I don't want them to know about my potions. I was scared out of my mind. Fucking hell.

I couldn't execute her.

Fuck, if Kenta had talked about me. These guys had tracked me here of all places, did they know where I lived?

Hopefully not. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What the fuck do I do?

Okay. Calm down.

Shit.

Calm. Down.

Finally, I exhaled, my voice hard and final. "How did you guys know to find me?"

She struggled against my grip in vain "W-we had a repository of targets! We ping them against our facial recognition data base. Y-you pinged outside the gym!"

So they didn't know where I lived.

I didn't know whether to trust that. Shit.

I will. For now.

"If I see you around me again, Petrova. I will kill you."

The relief that flashed in her face was short lived as, with a grunt, I threw her against the wall. She hit it with a dull thud before crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

The adrenaline ebbed as I stumbled toward the exit of the alley. The invisibility potion faded, leaving me fully visible under the moonlight.

My hands trembled. My chest ached. My face was wet, and it took me a moment to realize it wasn't sweat—it was tears.

Fuck this shitty ass future.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N)

Well. This was fun.

The potions and alchemy part of this is canon harry potter, with a little boost from fanon.

The libraries were revamped after RED, and physical textbook media were phased out.

Zain is going all in on learning to fight and protect himself.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Quality: Durability
Lost Arts (World of Darkness - Mummy the Resurrection) (600CP)

The Cabiri form of the Great Rite would appear and disappear, be destroyed and appear again no matter how hard Horus tried. Now your works are similarly hard to erase. Any of your creations, from writings to paintings to swords are immune to the ravages of time and have a mysterious luck of their own. This luck causes your creations to avoid destruction time and time again though all kinds of contrivances and circumstances.



He started this chapter with 450 points. Earned himself 300, and had 750 at time of roll. Used 600 points, and ended with 150.

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 6 –

Social media used to be core to my daily life. Doom scrolling through Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, etc, was the day-to-day for me, as it was for most of my friends and social circle.

Whether it was to make time fly by in a particularly mind-numbing lecture of that one elective we had taken just to fill in the credits for the course, or to make up for boredom because everyone else was too busy or too lazy to come over and hang out. Social media and the interconnectivity it provided were just something that was considered central to a technologically advanced society.

Having been flung far forward to such a hyper-advanced time that Night City of 2076 promised to be, I must revise that notion.

There was no social media here. The interconnectivity was provided using extremely cheap holocalls, and Satellite Data transfers. Group chats, holo calls, text messaging, even sharing pictures and videos; everything apart from getting random internet strangers to comment on the shared content was possible using direct sat communications.

The concept of social media just doesn't seem to be necessary here.

I considered that a high positive in the list of things about being here in Night City. I had spent an embarrassing amount of time on the web, using what I had quickly come to realize, was a very outdated, extremely outmatched Windows PC, on the frequently unresponsive Internet Explorer web browser searching for the local equivalent.

That had made the absence of social media here very clear. All I had to show for my efforts were directional links to something called a BBS.

The browser often crashed when I tried to access those links, and when it managed to connect to something; I was redirected to either a Militech, Kendachi, Kang Tao, or Arasaka webpage that sold neural interfaces and accompanying accessories; Cyberdecks, and Cyberware.

Other browsers didn't work. Attempting to use Chrome, Firefox, or even Opera often redirected me to the Netwatch's error page.

[ NETDIR://PAGE_NOT_FOUND ]

Click to shrink...

Almost all websites use the NETDIR:// protocol to connect to the net. What it does, what it means, I have no clue.

Trying to use Google was a no-go. It too led to the Netwatch-powered error page which was a common thing for most websites I searched for off the top of my head.

It was a miracle that Bing worked. Though most searches using the search engine often led me to the same page.

[ NETDIR://NCITY.PUB ]

Click to shrink...

Followed by a keyword search for web pages containing my query…

It was slow, tedious, and also an excellent deterrent to not wanting to use the internet all that much.

I had accepted all of that as a positive—forced detox from social media that most considered a step in the right direction toward a healthier lifestyle back home. Yeah, my life was definitely healthier now.

I could feel the effects of it. The itch to pull out my non-existent smartphone and scroll through those hell apps in search of ….. something. Watch something. Interact with something.

Anything.

….I could not sleep.

I had killed people.

Yes, the people I killed were scavs.

Yes, they wanted to abduct me and forcibly make me into a….. porn star? Film my rape and show it to the world?

I have no idea what XBDs are.

Based on the ads for BDs; out on the street, on the radio, or on the TV, I think an XBD is amateur porn. Some sort of hyper-immersive, neural-interfaced, virtual reality porn. Like that "Sasha Devon experience" BD that was sold at the vendor right outside my apartment building.

"3 Mouths, 1 Experience! With Sasha Devon!"

…. I had questions about that. If I ever do become morbidly curious enough, I will find out.

However, that particular one was mainstream, with a high production value. XBDs then have to be the illegal, cheaper, budget variety. Does legality even factor in if it's porn? What separates legal and illegal porn anyway?

Even the legal BD businesses here were ones that back home would have warranted the FBI breaking down doors to shut the shit down. 'Barely Illegal' was a legally recognized BD studio, and doll house just a mile down by the bay. A highly popular, extremely expensive doll house that, based on the ads on TV, offers the services of girls who are just a touch below the age of eighteen. Just the very idea sends shivers down my spine.

I do not want to go down this particular rabbit hole.

Does that make me a coward? I am ignoring the problem, just as so many others in the city are. It is a fucking legally recognized 'business' with the backing of a megacorp.

A megacorp that is armed to the teeth like a fucking country's military.

And I am still just one guy.

I don't know which megacorp backs them, but no way that sort of a business survives without a megacorp propping them up.

I swear, once I have a proper footing to stand on in this city, once I have a handle on the forge, and am ready to do something about it…. I will.

I don't know what, I don't know how, I don't even know when …. but I will. Even if it is just lighting all their houses on fire, I will fucking do it.

I need to stop thinking about a lot of things. I have been doing a lot of that lately. I don't think I like that. I don't like the kind of person this future is forcing me to become. Would I have had the conviction to do something about all these problems if I didn't have the forge backing me up?

I don't know. I like to think that I would have tried …. something. That I wouldn't have ignored it indefinitely. I like to think that I would have done something regardless of the kind of power that the forge promised me that I would one day have.

It is a moot point regardless.

For now, I just need just a little bit of patience. I just need to distract myself for the time being, focus on something else. All of that would come later.

I tried sleeping. But I found sleep was not an agreeable idea for now.

Trying to close my eyes and lie down on my bed led my brain to conjure images of Petrova. Of the other scavs. The ones I had killed.

Often, in books and movies, it is claimed that killing someone for the first time is a very life-changing experience. That you're supposed to feel numb, disgusted, broken, horrified, nauseous.

I did not feel all that. It was much more accurate to say that I felt nothing. I had been adapting, learning to deal with things as they come; and planning for my future here in Night City before it happened.

I am still adapting, and planning for my future here in Night City, even now after it has happened. Nothing has changed.

Only the niggling feeling that the scavs have me on some sort of a shortlist for people to kidnap, that they may know where I live is what is keeping me up. The idea that they may show up at my doorstep tomorrow to take me away for their porn shoots; or worse …. That is what is constantly wringing in the back of my mind.

I had let Petrova walk away….

After having killed, what I am certain, is at the very least half of her friends, I had let her walk away. I had no idea what to do then frankly. She was at my mercy. She was pleading, begging to be let go. All it would have taken is the barest ounce of my then enhanced strength and I could have finished her.

But I couldn't.

I did not have the willpower to do it. Even with all that strength, I couldn't make myself squeeze the life out of her body. It felt different. Like I would be doing something unimaginable, crossing a line that should not be crossed. Even though my hands were bloodied with the blood of her friends already. I did not have the willpower to execute her when she was at my mercy.

I hope she took the chance I had given her and skipped town. I had promised to kill her should she ever come across me again, but I had no idea if I would have the strength to follow through on that if it ever happened.

I did not want to find out.

I did not want to even think about all this mess, frankly. I needed to distract myself. I needed to do something. Anything.

Some never-ending doom-scrolling on social media would be just perfect. Just the right amount of brain rot, and mind-numbing dopamine to get me to forget what had happened.

Hah.

For that, I would need some sort of a smartphone. I could finally go out and purchase a Fuyutsuki Spark, or a Segotari Grit smartphone to replace my old Seocho flip phone. That thing was from the 2020s.

It was hilarious to think that flip phones were the cutting edge of cell phone tech back in the 2020s. Though I have to admit, compared to Apple or Samsung, it had much better call quality, camera, and a holographic pop-out display. It was a steal that I'd been able to purchase it from El Dorado Junk shop.

The seamless connection to the global cellular network was a really big step up from the cell networks back home. I could be on an island, in the middle of the ocean; or stranded in some desert and I would still have a connection to the network. They even boasted a connection up in orbit, and some distance into deep space beyond the moon.

However, I don't think I should be spending money frivolously to purchase a smartphone if the motivation behind it is to use social media of all things…. I don't have that kind of cash lying around.

I could craft one myself. It is a gadget after all. I have the skills to build a smartphone with comparative features to the most cutting-edge smartphone tech right now in 2076. The forge had been kind enough to teach me all that a day ago. I needed to work on other gadgets to be ready for … whatever else this city was going to throw at me.

I already have a new batch of potions bubbling away on my kitchen counter. I had ideas for potion pots with more offensive power so that next time I don't have to rely on the rock skin potion for its strength and forcibly enter close-quarters combat; should I ever get in such a situation as I had been with Petrova and the scavs.

That potion was a limited-time defensive hail mary, for a getaway. It was fortunate that the rocky shell came with the proportionate strength that was necessary to move with that sort of physique. It was one of the reasons why I was a little hesitant to alter the mix and get rid of the outer rock texture that the potion granted.

I could have done it, easily enough. A potion that grants an equivally impenetrable defense without the change in outer physique was very easy to brew, but that would mean that I would be sacrificing the strength that came with the cosmetic aspect of the potion too.

I could brew an alternative potion that granted the strength separately, I had the ingredients for it. But it seemed like a waste to brew an additional potion for an effect that I was deliberately removing from one that provided it as a byproduct.

I already have ideas for gadgets to cover the holes in my other long-range offensive abilities. It was high time to work on that anyway, I could build a smartphone for myself while I got on to work on that. I could even incorporate a data terminal to handle cashless transactions for me, I would need to convince Marmur Bank to agree to connect my account to the data term, that would be easy enough.

I could handle the percentage fee that they charged for digital transactions. It would be less than the surcharge that cash-based transactions cost most of the time whenever cross-format transactions were involved.

Working on gadgets right now, while my potions simmered away seemed like a good way to distract myself.

Who wants to sleep anyway? Sleep is for the weak!

Who cares if I need to clock in for work in five hours?

I can handle an all-nighter and still be there to man the grills at the diner. There wouldn't even be a hit on the quality of my cooking, the micromanipulators will make sure my hands are steadier than those of a skilled and experienced surgeon. Drowsiness won't be making me clumsy at work.

Alright then, I need to go out and gather some resources. Parts to start crafting my gear. Kabuki promises to be the best location in the city to acquire cheap hardware, accompanying software; and other parts but I have no desire to head back in the direction of Watson, at least not today.

…. I don't want to step out of my house at all.

It would be very easy to cross out a particular area of the city that I shouldn't visit if the scavs made that place their territory like the Clawz or Maelstrom made out of Japantown and other areas in Westbrook and Watson.

The scavs, based on my admittedly limited knowledge of the gangs in Night City, did not declare any territory. Like the animals, they operated out of whatever easily available space they could squat in for the time being. For all I knew, Petrova had woken up in that alley, collected her friends, and followed after me in the NCART to wherever they had been holed up in the city.

That could even be here in Westbrook. They could be just waiting for me to step out, so they could nab me. What had she said? I fit the bill, people with no family or support structures to look after them, people who won't be missed. I would hope that Raphael and Archie would at least look for me if I suddenly went missing.

Apart from them, if I were to list out the people I interacted with frequently, it would be the cops from the precinct who frequented the diner. Officer Miller and his squad. And that was a very weak connection, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even notice if I went missing. Apart from having to find some other poor idiot to make jokes about.

Fuck … I can't keep thinking like this. These are exactly the kinds of thoughts that I want to distract myself from.

Stepping out to forage from the dump by the cherry blossom market should be safe. I had been there dozens of times. It was just a block away, and the scavs weren't often spotted around the area. I hope the Tyger Clawz served as a deterrent for those assholes from trying anything in their territory. And if the clawz weren't a reliable source of soft protection, the cops would do. They at the very least liked to patrol the area around Jig-Jig Street and the cherry blossom market.

Fuck it… I have to risk it. I can't just stay home, and block myself off from the world. Doing that would be like I am letting the scavs destroy my life through fear. I won't let that happen. I will deal with whatever comes as it comes.

If I have to kill some assholes again, I will. If I have to break their bones, hurt them so much that they will fear to cross me, I will.

This city won't eat me up alive, I will not cower in fear because some circ-brained, rapist, organ thieves decided they can do whatever the fuck they want. Come what may, I will show them that I am not a fucking coward.

Taking my jacket off my counter. I turn off the stove, this potion was the nutrient potion that would cover all my dietary needs perfectly, and give me the ability to work without having to eat anything else for the rest of the day.

……It tastes like lemons. I really should have seen that one coming. I should do something about the taste of all my potions. I don't have enough supplies of ingredients to experiment endlessly for the right taste, not yet. I hope I do get that luxury soon. If only the forge could hand me the ingredients to work with gift-wrapped or something.

Is that a possibility? I have no idea.

I have all my potions stored up in the inner pockets of my jacket, and my revolver in my back pocket, I have everything I need for the time being. Checking all my gear one last time, I step out of my apartment and make my way to the elevator.

"Rage! Fury! Carnage! THRÚD! Follow your instincts!"

And the barrage of those damned unavoidable ads begins torturing my ears. I used to think that YouTube had the worst form of ad structure possible, I had vanced installed specifically to avoid those back home.

Night City proved that mindless fucking capitalism has no end to creative forms of mass media torture. There was no avoiding them.

And I was one of the fortunate ones, just two units down the hall on my floor would have placed me facing the main street, which would have put me in direct auditory range to the street ads.

I would not have been able to live through listening to those damned loudspeakers from the streets all night.

"OoOooOooOrgiatic! All Pleasure… from All Foods! Provides three hundred and thirty percent of recommended daily vitamins!​"

Yeah, yeah. I am not eating your shitty dog, bat, or whatever the fuck else meat ever again assholes!

Thankfully, the trip down the elevator is down to just two ads for me, and I have learned to ignore those most of the time.

I make one stop at the rent collection data terminal by the exit, ignoring the junkies passed out propped beside it. The box still says my rent is paid and I breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief.

I am worried that will switch to 'Rent Due' at some point in the future. It is rent after all. Unless whatever entity that has put me here with the Forge also somehow paid off my rent forever, or altered reality to negate the damned thing for me till the end of time.

Somehow I don't think that is the case though.

I don't even know what the actual rent is in this apartment building. It is a shitty building, with absolutely no security to it, so it can't be that high, right?

If only I could talk to someone about it, but apart from the machine, and the occasional electrician or repair guy, there isn't anyone I can discuss the rent of my unit with. And talking to the repair guy is a big no-no. I am almost certain the guy is crazy. Perennially drunk, high, and angry. Not a good combo for someone to sit down and discuss anything involving money with.

It doesn't take long for me to walk to the Cherry Blossom market, once again marveling at the Chram Denya Jinja, the Cyber Kami of Night and Electricity. There is even a Shinto shrine a few miles east up the hills in North Oak.

The statue is unavoidable really. The thing is massive and is placed in such a way it always catches the eye. The dump that I want to forage through is just a flight of stairs beneath its feet right outside the entrance to the Cherry Blossom market.

The place is bustling, even in this late past midnight.

Really, it is more accurate to say, that the peak business hours of the market begin after sunset and go past midnight till just before sunrise. The hawkers, vendors, and street performers that are characteristic of the market are still busy giving life to the place. Even the synth noodle ramen shop a way inside the market is open for business. I can smell the oily smell of the synthetic noodles being cooked all the way near the entrance.

It is so overpowering, that the smell of the dump just a few steps away from me is just about nonexistent.

I often avoid being out and about at this time of the night. Actually, I avoid stepping out of the house after work. My life after having been shunted into the future has become that of a shut-in. Being one of the least protected individuals, without any adequate protective chrome or weaponry had caused that.

I don't feel as afraid as I had been a month ago. So hopefully, I won't completely become a shut-in.

There is also a collection of extremely loud TV screens around an ad stand, meant for ads just by the entrance, and by God that thing is loud. No wonder those rich corpos like to stay away from the lower floors of the street.

"Goooood Morning, NIGHT CITY!"

It's not fucking morning, Jesus Christ. I don't consider a few hours past midnight to be morning. That thing is blaring so loud that I wouldn't be shocked if it was designed that way to necessitate auditory Cyberware for folks who are exposed to it daily.

I try my best to ignore it and make my way past the small shack by the dump and as far away as I can get from the collection of TV screens.

"It's your favorite show host, Stan the Man, back with yesterday's early Body Lottery!" It's still audible, damn it. And what the fuck is a body lottery?

I think the shack belongs to the guy who acts as the security for the market. The window to the place is busted open, it can't even be called a window. More like a giant hole in the side, and I can see the guy inside very almost clearly.

"With a last-minute addition, yesterday's count rounded to a Tried 'n True THIRTY-FOUR." Some sort of a game show lottery, if I have to take a guess. If body count is anything to go by, a lottery for the number of people the game show had having sex on TV?

I don't listen to this channel on the radio or on the TV.

The guy inside the shack is connected to some sort of a headset. A BD wreath, if I am not wrong.

Just to be sure, I walk a little closer to check. I don't think he would mind if I forage through the dump for some discarded tech, there are more than enough people who do so every morning as it is, I just want to make certain he is not going to be a problem later.

….. And I immediately regret that decision. Fucking hell, the guy's pants are down, and he is masturbating himself. What the hell?!

Holy Fuck…. I shouldn't even be staring at some guy's crotch. Fucking hell!

"SANTO DOMINGO hits with a slick FIVE! One street racer brought a rocket launcher to the meet, and let's just say nobody crossed the finish line. Safe racing out there folks, grab your payout, and keep your distance from the starting line next time!"

Holy shit that lottery is counting the number of dead bodies found in the city! What the fuck?!

Of course, it is. If this country can tolerate doll houses like 'Barely Legal', then a body lottery is just par for the damned course.

Ignoring both the loudly orgasming porn watcher inside his shack, and the unavoidable ad stand, I quickly move further toward the dump.

Fortunately, there is an abandoned shopping cart just by the far wall, I can pile whatever parts I find here in there. Damn it, the thing is busted. It just loves to go constantly go to the right.

Fuck it, it will do.

"HEYWOOD rolls in with SEVEN! Cheating wife, her now two dead lovers, one pissed-off husband, and five unlucky 'Tinos caught in the mix. The real Romeo and Juliette here are between the bullets and 'Tino brains!"

Ugh, can that thing shut up?

Foraging through the dump for parts is embarrassing and demeaning enough, I don't want the added torture of the ultra-loud horror show on my ears too! I am certain I will have to scrub myself clean with bleach back home. My alchemical intuition is for potion ingredients is adding to the entire experience.

There is a whole host of substances dumped that I can use for potions here. Things like a substitute for bat poop, toenail clippings of rats, cat piss…..

I will definitely need a bath after this dammit. Thankfully, I am not here to search for potion ingredients. My trips to Kabayan Foods for those are going to be horrifying enough.

"Next up, WESTBROOK locks in SEVEN! Four joytoys, three corpos, and a gangbang of poor decisions. Think with the head in your skulls people, not the one stuck to your balls, it will save your life!"

There's other stuff here too. Parts of old broken phones, computer hardware, processors, co-processors, parts of discarded outdated Cyberware, RAMs that I am certain have some sort of brain matter stuck to them……

I can use the human brain matter for potions if I can clean it well enough. Nope. Not going there.

All in all, useful stuff, all of it outdated by at least three generations at this point, but I can easily salvage this junk into cutting-edge gadgets. There are even tools to work on all of it, screwdrivers, a damned soldering iron, and a collection of perfectly alright cables and wiring.

… And beyond a particularly disgusting trash bag, beneath a set of tires, right beside used and discarded condoms, there is a stack of handgun ammunition... bullets that I think are just right caliber for my revolver.

That's fortunate. Not surprising considering that these are often sold in vending machines.

Really, these are cheaper than some of the 'food' sold in those damn things.

Ignoring the filth around it, I consider all this a good find.

Just a shopping cart worth would help me convert the bullets of my revolver into the homing variety, add a flash-freezing effect to them on impact, freezing parts of the body and shattering it right after.

For some reason, gadgets that cause some form of freezing are very easy to build with what the forge taught me last time. And knowledge of gadget manufacturing for some reason covered perfectly manufacturing and modifying bullets by hand as well.

I even have the perfect targeting mechanism for my purpose, one that won't necessitate a neural interface inside my head like the Kang Tao smart rifles, or Arasaka smart pistols require.

I didn't know how to build a neural interface that I could trust yet; and even if I did who was I going to trust to perform the surgery required to install it for me?

Some chop doctor, or ripper docs as they are called here, off the streets. Archie and Raphael had offered me to consult some discreet ripper up in Watson, and while I might trust them….that did not extend to whatever ripper doc they were going to recommend me to cut open my skull to install that shit.

So, to work around that, the way I am designing my bullets, I would have to manually fire a preliminary shot, and all subsequent bullets thereafter would home in on the target attached to that tag round.

It does mean that I would have to be accurate with my first shot, but I should be able to disconnect the homing tag from my bullets should I miss and fire a subsequent one at the press of a button.

The show from the damned TV stand blares again.

"PACIFICA …. Well it keeps proving why it's creepy down there in Pacifica with FOUR! Net Shamans are blaming 'spirits in the wires' after three guests at Los Palapas melted from the inside out. If you think that sounds crazy, you ain't seen Pacifica."

Why the fuck are hackers called Net Shamans of all things?

No wait, in a morbidly funny way, it makes sense. If they are anything like the kind of hackers that Kiwi had been at remotely hacking people's Cyberware it could very well be equated with wizards cursing people from afar.

…Moving on.

I think I have everything I need from here. Enough components to start working on gadgets back home, I just need to wheel this shitty shopping cart back to my apartment. And then go through a deep cleaning in my shower.

I could open the door to my personal reality somewhere nearby, but I don't know if it's worth the risk for some short-term relief from discomfort.

There's a fuck ton of security cams out in the streets.

And that's not counting optical Cyberware recording shit from people's eyes, opening the door to my Personal Reality is not worth it. Even if it does just look like a door to some random room, if anyone were to cross-check the door on which I use my key to open the pocket dimension against whatever it should actually lead to, there would be some uncomfortable questions.

I can tolerate a rickety shopping cart from a couple of blocks.

"And last but certainly not the least, leading the charge, WATSON stacks up a hard ELEVEN! Thanks to some very last-minute contribution to the final total, courtesy of the scavs."

Shit, this isn't who I think it is…. is it?

"The scavs got what's coming to 'em again—nothing new there. Gonks got pummeled in some alley like meat in a grinder. Whoever cleared those rats, you've got my vote for Night City's unsung hero of the week. We're officially chooms now in my book, whoever you are!"

That is not about me. Probably.

What are the chances that this shitty lottery just happened to find the very group of scavs that I killed on my way home?

It's not them. Petrova would have taken care of the bodies of her friends. And I certainly didn't kill eleven of them.

I should get back home. I've had enough of the ear fuck that the TV was. Some quiet inside my pocket dimension in the relative safety of my apartment to tinker around with some gadgets sounds perfect.

A familiar thrum settled into the back of my mind, steady as a heartbeat.

The beautiful galaxy of stars spun behind my eyes, slow and deliberate. I was slowly falling in love with its beauty and magnificence. I had seen it before, and I would always welcome the sight in all its radiance, even if I had seen it enough times to know what came next.

A cluster shifted, drifting closer like embers carried on a breeze. One star pulsed, its glow building brighter, sharper until it burst—sharp, quick, and clean.

A lovely comforting warmth settled in my very soul.

Thread. Wool. Silk. Cotton. Leather. Hide.

I knew how to work them all. I could work synthetic leather sold here in Night City and make it feel better than genuine leather did to the skin. I could take genuine fabrics to heights so high that people would froth at their mouths to pay to wear them.

Gucci had nothing on what I could now create. Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Prada, all that expensive shit from back home; hell even Jinguji or Avante out here had nothing on the fit and comfort the clothing I could create would provide.

Sure, I couldn't design to the level they worked at, but most of that was branding and marketing to mix with the style that was in season at the moment.

It was the comfort and practicality where I would now blow them out of the park.

The textures, the feel of the fabrics, the way to make them fit nigh perfectly to whoever I designed my clothes for.

My fingers itched, muscles twitching with the subtle memory of stitches I'd never sewn.

And the best part of it all. I didn't need scissors, sewing machines, or dedicated equipment. If I had fabric, I could make something out of it with barely just a needle and the fabric, or yarn to work with.

No added equipment, no waste of resources. Just skilled precision.

And the clothes I make would be much more than mere clothes worn for comfort and style.

Coats that felt like the coziest of places, against the deadliest of cold. Tunics that made the scorching summer heat feel like the gentlest of soothing breezes.

In all of the worst possible conditions, the clothing I make would keep the wearer as comfortable as though they were sitting inside in front of a nice toasty fire, on a cool winter evening.

But it wasn't just limited to the environment.

It was protection. True protection. Fabric that looked soft but wouldn't give to even the sharpest of blades. Not without some extremely dedicated effort, as though it wasn't stabbing against some flimsy fabric; but was glancing off the very best chain mail possible.

A knife's edge wouldn't slip through it. A sword's swing would catch and stop.

Even Mantis blades would skid off as if they'd hit chainmail.

It wouldn't stop bullets—nothing short of armor could stop those—but against everything else, I'd be covered. If it could cut, stab, or slash, it'd have to work harder than steel to get through what I'd make.

Sure, I would still feel the bruises those blows would leave, but now I had the means to get excellent protection against close-range weapons that not even this city could provide. Without completely relying on my rock skin potion to save my ass.

"Eeey! Choom! You gooood?" A voice broke me out of my reverie. It was the guy that had been masturbating in the shack.

The man was grinning at me, a bit too close for comfort. I could see bits of yellow stuck to his rotting teeth. The man had a cybernetic optical implant for a right eye, a bulky thing that stuck out and was shaped like an old camcorder. His arms were bionic, jointed metallically at his elbows.

His dreads were unkempt, and the dirty synthetic jacket had holes that exposed his dark skin underneath, and he stank worse than the dump had been. So much so that the smell wafting from the ramen store inside the Cherry Blossom market that had successfully overpowered the stink of the dump, couldn't overpower his odor.

That could just be the proximity between us.

…. I wanted to puke.

Luckily his pants were zipped up, and he was not walking around with his dick flopping about.

"Shiiit, choomba. I thought you were skezzed out there for a second. Coulda swore I saw some starry shit in your optics or somethin'!" He said, as he examined me even closer than he had been that I was forced to take a step back, the rickety shopping cart creaking as I did so.

"Oh, no, no. I was just lost in thought." I fumbled for words. I need to work on ways to handle being caught out of it after such a connection to the forge.

The merc, Rebecca, had caught me similarly unawares in the past.

I don't lose complete concentration whenever I feel the forge move, I have enough presence of mind that I can keep focus on whatever I am doing if I want to. But the forge is just so mesmerizing, so beautiful, and the gifts it grants me are so astonishing that I just can't help myself.

"Heeey! Haven' I seen you 'ere before! You the 'ganic choom who comes by sometimes! You do ya shopping at the Kabayan at the corner!" He exclaimed after a moment of close examination.

What the fuck? Does this asshole keep tabs on everybody that shops here or what?

First, the scavs, though I am not yet certain what exactly they know about me.

Now this guy.

Does everybody in the city have me on some form of a watchlist?

And he was still waving that fucking drippy thing in my face.

"Oi, could you not wave that shit around in my face? What the fuck is wrong with you? Leave me alone!"

I was both embarrassed and angry dammit.

Embarrassed at being called out for rummaging through the garbage, and angry at the man for catching me in the act and getting so close in my personal space that I could smell his disgusting breath, and see the bits of gunk stuck to his teeth.

He looked embarrassed at least after I pointed that out, as he turned back to bashfully face me after processing what I was calling him out for a moment.

"Hehehe!" He chuckled as he scratched the back of his head "I apologize for that choom. I just saw you out my window and thought you were looking for my stash by the junk over there. It's just a misunderstanding. Let us both move past that, ya feel me? How 'bout this? I am Stefan….and you are?" He offered his other hand to me.

I ignored the offered handshake. I am not touching the man. I know I probably stink just as bad, I did just rummage through some garbage after all. But this man was cranking the hog a few minutes ago, and I don't think he has hygiene very high on his priority list.

"Look buddy, leave me alone. I don't need to know you, you don't need to know me. I wasn't looking for your stash in the middle of the junk, I was ….." I fumbled to justify what I was doing there in a believable fashion. This was exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid.

"Heeey, chiiill, choom. My stash is not there anyway…. And 'sides, I don't judge. Lota people go through that shit all the time. I don't have my name on that shit, see?" He tried to reassure me, but it only added to my embarrassment.

Then as though he wanted to reassure me somehow, he tried to change topics.

"Aanyway choom, what's with the dim little light show in your eyes? I thought you didn't got no CyberWare. I seen you shopping at the Kabayan, didn't saw nothing then. I gotta say, that's preem shit right there. I still can't detect that shit, and I'm standing right here in ya face. Whatchu out searching through my dump for if ya got that kinda gear on ya?"

Shit.

I didn't realize the connections forming to the forge had a visible effect on my eyes or something. Rebecca had been observing my face during the time one of the previous connections had formed.

Why didn't she comment on it? Did she just not notice it?

She hadn't said anything to me then. I need to observe the effects and figure out how to explain that away if this was to keep happening.

"Look, you're mistaken. I have no gear chipped in. You're not detecting shit, because there is nothing to detect. That 'light show' must have the fucking reflection of the sky for all I know." I tried to reply as convincingly and confidently as I could, despite having been put on the spot. "Now, please let me be on my way, okay? I am busy at the moment."

As I moved out of his way, however, Stefan nodded enthusiastically and continued walking alongside me as I attempted to move past him.

"Shiit, choom. Coulda swore I saw something. It couldn't have been the sky, no stars to reflect in the sky, ya see?"

Shit, he was right. The city had so much pollution, both in the air and the light, that seeing the stars was nearly impossible.

"Eeh, fuck it. I coulda been seeing shit, the s-keef I took before cranking my meat does that sometimes ….if ya know what I mean" He grinned at me as pulled out an inhaler from his back pocket.

At least he wasn't fixating on the issue much.

Then as if a light went off in his head, he grinned smarmily at me. "Saay, ya wanna buy some boosters? I'll give you a nice hot discount for our little misunderstanding earlier. How bout a nice crisp hundo? Ya won't find cheaper here, not even up in Jig-Jig!"

Ah so, he was a street drug dealer.

Figures.

And now he was trying to sell off drugs to me that he had clearly already used himself.

I had thought he was just cheap security at the entrance to the market.

"Look, man. I don't wanna buy anything from you. I'll just be on my way, and you can go back to … whatever it is you were doing. Alright?"

I tried to move the damned cart past him again, but this time he stopped the cart with his foot, blocking the rickety thing from moving any further.

He grinned even wider and moved even closer; so much so that now I could smell the acidic smell of whatever drugs he was high off of. S-keef or whatever.

"Ay, man. If ya don' wanna buy some boosters, how about some XBDs? I got some good shit from the Mox. Ya can relive through a marathon of fucking four of 'em at once. Some of the best shit out there, lemme tell ya. Mix in a good CyberPussy, and it all feels exactly like the real deal!"

What the fuck?

No.

Fuck this guy.

I probably should have done this from the start, but better late than never.

I didn't waste any more time and brandished the Overture from my back pocket, and aimed it right between his eyes. I was damned lucky I had made it a habit to never leave my home without my micromanipulators. My hands were steadier than I felt.

I did not want to shoot some random street dealer.

I would if he pushed it, but fuck, it hasn't even been more than three hours since my run-in with Petrova, and her damned lot, and now this shit.

"Ay, choom!" Stefan immediately backed away raising both his hands up in the air, his expression quickly shifting from grinning to alarmed. "There's no need for that. Am just tryna do some biz, feel me dawg?"

"I told you to leave me alone! How many times does it take asshole?" I said as sternly as I could, with the revolver resting in my right hand. Gripping the handle of the shopping cart with my left I started moving. "Now, step back slowly towards your shack and we can put this behind us, are we clear?"

"I feel ya, dawg. Crystal. No need for all that. I'm done. Ya didn't see nothing from me!" He stammered as he slowly walked backward to the shack.

As the man slinked off back toward his shack, I didn't waste much time sticking around. With great effort, I rolled the damned cart across the street and up the levels to where my apartment building was located. It fought me all the way as it constantly tried going right and into oncoming traffic.

Eventually, I reached my apartment.

After some even greater effort from myself at ignoring the ads again in the elevator, I finally reached my floor.

Just listening to the Milfguard ad is embarrassing. And if the elevator opens to somebody waiting outside as the ad starts playing, the embarrassment is amplified tenfold.

Luckily there's no one waiting on my floor, as the moaning from the ad finishes.

"This ain't her first Rodeo! Experienced Cowgirls looking for fresh Stallions! Thirty percent off for Stallions looking for their first touch of Milfy heaven!"

Fucking hell, this is basically 'Horny moms in your area' from PornHub made real. It's both hilarious and depressing. Still very embarrassing to be listening to inside an elevator.

It's like getting caught watching porn inside a library, because you had loudspeakers on instead of your headsets. Disregarding the fact that watching porn in a library is embarrassing enough on its own as is.

Rushing into my apartment, with the shitty cart and my collected parts, I make sure to bolt in my door.

I don't waste much time, as I head past the space for my bed, toward the closet. Fishing the ever-present, warm key from my pocket, I unlock the closet door and step at last into my personal reality.

It's just as cozy as I remember it. Adequately spacious, and comfortable.

Soft white lights on the ceiling give off just the right amount of light that it's not very comfortable to work under. I have a cushy leather chair in here, for the most comfortable experience if I want to work on a project for a long time.

There is a couch at the far end, and I have a suitcase sitting on it that's filled with what little cash I have stored that's not already in my account at Marmur Bank. I have just the bare minimum of deposits in the bank to keep the bank account open and will be frequently filling in just the bare minimum each month to not activate the seizure of my cash assets.

I am only bothering with the bank account as I want my 'refugee' status here in Night City somehow removed. I did not really know what the naturalization process is for people like me. Nomad from the badland that I supposedly was here, but I can make a safe enough bet that being in the system of the government would a good first step.

Actually, I don't even know what the local governmental structure is.

Night City is supposed to be a free city. A separate entity from the wider USA. NUSA. Whatever America was here.

There were free states just like this one, like Texas, So Cal, Nor Cal and so many other states were.

Honestly, that whole concept was a little heartbreaking, but not an issue I want to get back into thinking about again. I had agonized over the fucking disaster that the fracture of the USA was. I had some idea why it had happened, but it's still not something I can really wrap my head around clearly yet.

There are other things I need to worry about.

Like the fact I need to learn who Nomads really are. I am sure I've already made some form of faux pas and given people doubts about the validity of who I claim to be already.

What was the question that Rebecca had asked me before the car chase we'd been involved in?

Something about the Raffens? I had no idea who the raffens were. Internet searches led back to the same shitty site, with some very clear hate speech against all the nomads that lived out in the badlands.

I didn't quite think that all of those several hundred million people were blood-drinking, cannibalistic tribalists that are out to steal the Oil or the chooh2 or whatever.

I mean, it's clear that those people are living it up like it's Mad Max out in the badlands, and the reports of the climates between the major cities of America do corroborate that fact.

Whatever green stretches of land that covered the American landmass is just straight up gone. Replaced by unliveable deserts worse than the ones around California, with winds, nuclear waste, and poisonous gases in the air that it seemed like Arrakis from Dune, or Tatooine from Star Wars was recreated in the ground of America.

Again. Not the problem that I need to get into right now.

For now, I should go and take a deep shower. Clean myself off all the gunk I had collected from dumpster diving, and whatever else Stefan managed to get on me.

Then I need to start working on my gadgets. And rework some of my clothes.

I'm placing the gadgets higher in my priorities.

Then I need to get ready to head on out to the diner.

Nodding to myself, cracking my knuckles I get on to work.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N)

That took a while. Life fucking sucks sometimes man. Job hunting is particularly depressing. Rejection even more so.

Enough about my woes anyway.

This was a fun chapter to write. I liked the ads I showcased and Zain's thoughts about them.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Skills: Clothing
The Flock's Fleece (Actraiser) (400CP)

Men and women have not wandered the wilds naked since the long-gone days of the Garden. Whether they knew it or not, the act of clothing oneself is one that at once protects and isolates. A shirt or a robe is a metaphorical armor against the elements, against shame and against the prying eyes of others. You are such a skilled craftsman that you can take the 'metaphorical' part out of the equation. You're a one-person clothing creator and tailor, able to take the raw materials of silk, cotton, wool and hide...and then with almost no tools produce wondrous clothing, fitted just right for anyone who dares try the garments on. They're protective vestments against the harsh elements, able to keep people in comfortable condition be they in the deserts of Kasandora or the icy plains of Northwall. Not only that, but people who wear them find that they'll be kept safer from the claws of beasts or the swords of their enemies, acting as a light chain-mail mesh despite being soft and maneuverable fabric.

He opened the chapter with 150 points. Earned 250 till the time of the roll and used all of it. Next chapter opens with 0 points.

EDIT:

So, I was a little worried about the content of this particular chapter.

I wrote this chapter because this is something that's a defining trait of Night City. I wanted to showcase the ground reality of Night City for the common man. It was meant to elicit disgust.

Drug dealers on the streets, total lack of shame, gratuitous open nudity, and sexual acts are extremely common.

This chapter mimicked a similar scene from the show, that was repeated twice in fact. When David has that walk through Night City, they show a guy masturbating using a fleshlight in the background.

And then when David goes to chip in his Sandevistan, Doc is doing the same thing that Stefan here was doing.

I was worried that I might have broken some sort of content policy for SB with its content. So I had a mod take a look. There was one little contention over the use of the used fleshlight, and I have removed it now.

Nothing has changed much except the deletion of the fleshlight, and I don't think the tone of the chapter is affected all that greatly either. I replaced those scenes with more internal reactions from Zain, and I hope that covers the disgust I wanted to convey.

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 7 –

I had never considered that I would enjoy working on the clothes I wear personally. It was not something I really ever saw myself doing. I mean, it was not like I had any need of patching shirts, or trousers if they got holes in them at any point. If they did, it would have been to the recycle bins by the university with them. All my old shirts, shoes, trousers, etc. had either been donated, or sent for recycling.

I never realized that working on clothes would be something I would find satisfaction in. Even if I wasn't doing the work traditionally. Like how a normal tailor or seamstress would do it, what with not needing equipment that they would; while working significantly faster than them to boot. There was a sense of calm, that I found myself taking joy in.

It felt like I could slow down, forget the constant sense of forward momentum the city generated, and focus entirely on creating something that I could display proudly.

It also served as a perfect excuse to stop myself from spiraling into existential dread about how I'd just casually said 'Fuck you' to the principles of heat transfer and thermodynamics—because apparently, the forge's teachings about gadgets doesn't care about petty things like the laws of nature.

With magic, and potions, and whatnot, it was … acceptable. It came with the territory of the subject.

One would think that gadgetry, something that's essentially traditional technology, would be grounded in reality. But apparently, the forge's take on that is "Fuck reality and the horse it rode in on!"

Honestly, I can deal with that. It's not a big deal.

And yes, I had finally managed to read through the digital textbook on foundational chemistry that the good folks at Night City University sent me via email.

The textbook had just landed in my inbox while I was out scavenging for supplies—I did not want to think about that particular encounter!

Fuck… Now I was thinking about it.

No.

Keep on stitching! Keep on stitching! Keep on stitching!

Now the textbook sat open on my computer taunting me with chapters like "Structure of the Atom" and "Stoichiometry." And whatever other science bullshit I had chosen to leave behind in Highschool and study something else back home.

I'd set the Text to Speech function of Bing to read me the introductory pages of all the covered chapters in the book. To get a feel of what hell I was about to subject myself to, while I scrubbed myself thoroughly with bleach. And I was already feeling my brain reject the information. And the robotic voice of the AI was annoying as fuck.

Protons, neutrons, elctrons, ionic this, covalent that—everything I half-remembered from high school science, was back to haunt me. Too much to chew on in one sitting when I had other things to juggle.

I couldn't help hoping the Forge might swoop in and save my ass before the real slog began. Chemistry wasn't exactly my forte, I was a goddamned business school graduate, thank you very much! I had a very high GPA in it too!

The last thing I needed was to cram what essentially amounted to the entirety of High School AP Chemistry in one night.

I'd barely skimmed enough to get a sense of the basics of thermodynamics, before I sat down to begin working on my freezing bullets. I thought out of all the chapters in the digital textbook; it would have helped most, given the nature of the topic and project at hand.

….. it only served to fuck with my head.

I should not have attempted to make sense of highly advanced scientific principles behind the gadgets that the forge gave me the blueprints to make, based on half-remembered knowledge from a High school I had been to half a decade ago; while pulling an all-nighter and in desperate need of caffeine.

Caffeine that I cannot get for myself because…. well, I don't think I need to reiterate why that is more than I have at this point! I do not want to think about what I can sense in a cup of Matapang Coffee. Even the decaf is horrifying for my gut. And decaf coffee is horrible in and of itself!

FUCK, I'M THINKING ABOUT IT!

Keep on stitching! Keep on stitching! Keep on stitching!

At least, I had managed to work on eighteen rounds, three barrels worth of freezing bullets for my revolver. And made a cutting-edge smartphone while I was at it.

It is a good smartphone. Better than my old Seocho at least. And that thing had already been blowing all other smartphones from back home out of the entire universe. Soon, I too would take my fledgling baby steps into the future.

Well, I wasn't going to be engaging in holo calls anytime soon, but I had managed to retrofit the holographic display from the Seocho and layer on top of a pretty neat 10K touchscreen.

Yes. That is 10K graphics. 10,000 pixels…. I do not know what the hell I am going to do with that many pixels. But I have it…. for reasons.

At least that beauty wasn't fucking with my head as the bullets were.

See, according to my textbook; The First Law of Thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred or converted from one form to another. The Second Law explains that systems naturally move towards disorder—entropy increases over time. And the Third Law says as you approach absolute zero in terms of temperature, entropy would theoretically hit its minimum.

Clear enough? Good.

Because trying to make sense of what I'd done with my bullets with any of that is already giving me a headache. That was after the massive leeway I had given it with the law of equivalent exchange that Alchemy tacked on as yet another fundamental law between the boundary of the physical-metaphysical universe.

I have about an hour left before I need to start heading for the diner. Working the seams of my jacket, readjusting the length of the sleeve, and broadening the shoulders while at it; helps me calm down significantly.

The micromanipulator gloves had finally gotten to show what they were really capable of. Not that they hadn't already by giving me phenomenal potential while aiming my gun, and hiding my distress in front of others.

My earlier forge-granted skill already greatly reduced any need for equipment for working my clothes, the micron scale precision the micromanipulators were capable of allowed me to work on all my clothes without dismantling them down to their fabrics beforehand, reducing the need for even a needle from the process.

Granted that doing so would have slowed me down for barely a few minutes, but the added precision and saved time was a much-appreciated benefit. And the level of detail I was able to focus on the clothes with the aid of the gloves was always a plus.

But I digress. The freezing bullets were a big fuck you to all the laws of thermodynamics.

Heat is a form of energy.

The blueprints for the bullets the forge downloaded to my head; essentially used an object that is moving at massive velocity, which means it is already containing extremely high energy, and imbuing a goddamned freezing effect with them.

Now, normally if such a bullet were to hit a target; it is expected that the target would get some of that energy; which would either cause it to move; or express the various other effects as it gains energy. But the significant part of this is that the target is likely to experience a rise in heat.

The bullet in question, on the other hand, would lose some of that energy and react exactly opposite to the target. It would slow down, likely shatter, and lodge itself somewhere inside the target; dissipating more energy into the target. And more significantly the bullet will have a tendency to lose some of its heat.

The math behind it is beyond me at the moment. But I get the idea.

With my bullets though?

I have, on my table, bullets that cause instant freezing of a localized region around the target.

If I were to shoot a guy in the chest, I'm pretty sure the guy's chest and all internal organs around his heart and lungs would freeze to sub-zero temperatures instantaneously. If I shoot their thigh, well my next shot would shatter their thigh down to their very bone.

The frostbite that I would be causing which would eat and disable the surrounding flesh as well as cybernetics on top of that; is an added icing on top of the cake that was an already devastating projectile I had modified.

And to build these miracle bullets, according to the damned forge-granted blueprints in my head, all I had needed was something that the forge called Cryoethan-3 Trifluoronitroxide.

Or CETN-3.

...It was a substance that did not exist.

Well, not according to my Internet Searches anyway. Nor is it anywhere mentioned in my textbook.

This meant that the forge had instructed me to modify my bullets using, what I believe is an even more hyper-futuristic, chemical compound to build my bullets compared to the chemicals and compounds available in the time period I was already in.

It was a chemical compound that I did not possess. Did not know how to create. Did not even know where to begin with to start the process of synthesizing it.

I had essentially seen the schematics in my head, thought 'Oh, neat! I can build freezing arrows, bullets, and other high-tech gadgets now!' and hadn't considered exactly what it was I was setting out to do.

I had thought 'Damn, freezing arrows are neat! Bet I could modify the design to fit bullets instead! The freezing effect must make sense realistically somehow!'

And I had fucking done it. I had crafted those damned bullets. And I had done it without the CETN-3 bullshit miracle cryo compound.

I am beginning to think that a massively stressed, sleep-deprived, version of myself who is wrangling with what I can realize is depression, is a massive hidden genius!

I knew what the compound was supposed to do. I knew what effects it could imbue. I did not possess the means to get the compound itself. Therefore, I had done what any other genius in my place would have done.

I fired up the stove in my kitchen, mixed in some thoroughly distilled water, with half a bottle of Abydoss-King-size alcohol, and two cans of Tiancha. Simmered, and stirred clockwise for three rotations, and counterclockwise once.

Et. Viola. I had my instant freezing potion!

After that, everything else had been easy. The micromanipulators easily helped me lace the inside of the hollowed-out bullet with the potions; and boom! I had my freezing bullets. Well, eighteen of them.

All of them were of the homing variety too, which was the simpler aspect of this entire project. Micromanipulators are a godsend with working with really tiny stabilizers and other retrofitted parts salvaged from old Cyberware.

This entire headache makes me think that trying to make sense of the schematics and knowledge of the forge from a traditional lens is going to be an exercise in futility. But it really isn't something I can give up, and go 'Fuck it. We ball!' and not try and learn what it was that I was really doing.

Chemistry itself was essential to improving and solidifying my alchemy. I was sure that understanding the principles behind every other gift the forge would grant me would prove to be extremely beneficial in the long run.

I slip out of the old, baggy T-shirt I'd been wearing all night and pull on the shirt I had just finished working on. The fabric is smooth and fitted perfectly to my shoulders and chest. It's light, not much different than what it had been before, but I could already tell the world of difference in how it felt. It was cozy, comfy, and almost perfect to feel on my skin.

The added reassurance that it was also something I knew could shrug off a knife swipe or worse, mantis blades, also made that feeling seem extra nice.

The trousers come next. Dark and practical, they slide on with ease, fitting like they were made for me—because they were. With the same level of comfort and protection as the shirt.

Finally, the jacket. Pulling it on, I feel the snug fit settle perfectly along my shoulders and arms, the high collar brushing against my neck.

I was now more armored than a medieval knight of yore! Well, a medieval knight in double layers of fantasy magic chain mail.

I was hoping that wearing double layers of clothing would mean extra protection from whatever lunatic with a knife, sword, or mantis blade up their ass would fail at their attempts at murdering me.

Not that I was expecting shit like that every time I stepped outside my apartment. That would be ridiculous.

Grabbing the bullets from the desk, I pocket the Overture, alongside my new Smartphone; and step out of my personal reality through the open closet door. Seeing what little sun creeps in through blinds, and the sky-scraper jungle outside, I can see that I still have some time before I need to head out for the diner.

Just enough to go through my email again, and check if Marmur Bank has responded to my request for upgrading my account with them.

Luckily, they had responded.

Subject: Account Upgrade Confirmation – Marmur Bank

Dear Mr. Vargas,

We are pleased to inform you that your request for an account upgrade has been successfully processed. You can now utilize the integrated data terminal in your device to facilitate direct, seamless transactions.

With this upgrade, you can enjoy the following benefits:

• Instantaneous Eurodollar Transactions: Send and receive payments securely across Night City and beyond.
• Multi-Currency Support: Exchange and transact in affiliated digital currencies, ensuring you stay connected to the global market.
• Biometric Encryption: Transactions are safeguarded with Marmur Bank's state-of-the-art neural encryption or biometric verification protocols.
• Ledger Transparency: Access a comprehensive, real-time transaction history via our secure MarmurBankNet app.

At Marmur Bank, we take pride in offering unparalleled security for your digital transactions. Our Quantum-Secured Crypto Protocol™ operated and monitored by NetWatch, ensures every transaction is protected against even the most sophisticated threats from Cyberspace.

Should you require assistance with activating the data terminal feature or any additional services, please do not hesitate to contact our Customer Care team available 24/7.

Thank you for choosing Marmur Bank—the trusted financial institution of Night City.

Sincerely,
Virtual Account Services
Marmur Bank™ – Banking Beyond Reality

This email was generated automatically. Please do not reply.

Click to shrink...

It was followed by a link for their app that I quickly downloaded onto my new Smartphone – that thing deserves a name for itself, I don't think '10K smartphone' was something I want to call it forever– and finally, I could now use money like a normal person.

Well, a normal person for Night City. A normal person in Night City who had no Cyberware….

Anyway.

Providing a fingerprint and retina scan as the app directed for the bank account, I was relieved and somewhat filled with excitement to finally not have to pay the surcharges that I had suffered the past month for cash transactions anymore.

I can already see what little stored amount I had in the account displayed on the holographic touch screen of my phone. That amount brings my soaring mood down instantly.

Anyway. It's time. I should leave for the diner now.

A quick pat-down confirms I've got everything—potions, gun, smartphone, keys. All set. With one last glance around the apartment, I lock the door and step out, bracing myself for another round of sensory assault from the building's lovely automated features.

And, right on cue, the goddamned ads in the elevator start blaring. Again.

"A solution to your problems! Pollution in your sector? Did the Ripperdoc fuck your procedure? Or your wife? Or both?! Or did the radiation in your area cause your baby to sprout genetic mutations? We have you covered! All World Insurance! We can help!"

The voice is so chirpy it grates against the vague thrum of a headache I've been nursing all morning.

I don't even flinch anymore; it's burned into my brain at this point. I could probably sell the pitch better than the AI running it. I don't even want to get into the imagery that often plays with it.

But the real kicker? I know how worthless their policies are.

I've gone through their insurance policy in excruciating detail. After Marmur Bank tried pulling their little contract stunt, I've learned my lesson. I did it with All World, Trauma Team, and most other corporations that sell some form of subscription service that I had thought would be useful to make my life easier here in the past month.

All World Insurance is everywhere—Night City, NUSA, most of the world, really—but what they actually do is a joke. Their policies offer just enough to look appealing on the surface but are riddled with so many loopholes they might as well have a "No Refunds" sign in bold across every page.

Like they can reject anesthesia coverage in the middle of an operation! Or only cover a part of it, and say 'Fuck you' for the rest.

There was a reason one of their execs was gunned down outside a hotel in Watson.

What is a patient in need of life-saving surgery to do without anesthesia coverage? Stick a piece of iron and clench really hard? Fuck that noise!

There were much better alternatives, of course. Equally expensive too.

Trauma Team is the king of that hill. They don't need gimmicks like this. All World might boast about covering your little cybernetic cold, but Trauma Team? They'll haul your bleeding, half-dead ass out of a warzone if your bank account's fat enough.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. I'd managed to ignore the other ad entirely. Cheers for me!

Finally. I step out onto the grimy ground floor, already greeted by the first wave of street-level ads trying to lock onto my attention. Holo-displays shimmer in my peripheral vision, pitching everything from synthetic noodles to new neural implants.

The streets are already alive, well they never really go to sleep so what difference is there?

Drones and AVs zip overhead, neon lights flicker, and the hum of chatter and distant engines fills the air. I weave through the bustle, keeping my head down, ignoring whatever ads are screaming at me from the walls, the sidewalks, or the passing cars.

It doesn't take long to reach the diner.

A van screeches out of the attached parking lot, cutting across the curb just inches from where I'm walking. The roar of its engine hits me first, followed by a rush of air as it zips past, way too close for comfort.

"Hey!" I yell, jumping aside and barely avoiding becoming roadkill. "Watch where you're driving, assholes!"

The side door of the van slides open as it careens around a corner, and I catch a flash of movement. Someone leans out, screaming, "Fucking punch it, Misha! Get us away from the freaks!"

I can't even get a clear look at the driver or the passengers before the van tears off, tires screeching like they're running for their lives.

"God damned Lunatics," I mutter, heart still racing.

Dusting myself off, I check myself over for anything that might've gotten scuffed or broken in the near-miss.

I grumble under my breath, shaking my head as I move forward toward the diner.

…..And the diner's glass windows are shattered, peering inside the furniture is a broken mess, the TV on the corner has bullet holes in it, and there are mangled and bloodied corpses strewn all across the floor, the counter, and the walls. There is blood on the goddamned ceiling too! Neither Archie nor Rafael are anywhere in sight.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

My luck just can't be that bad! I refuse to believe it.

Nope. Nu-uh. No way!

I don't think that God, Morgan Freeman, Cthulu, Dormammu, or whatever other entity that decided to send me here, also specifically cursed me with shit fucking luck. If they did, I want a refund. Yesterday!

"Hey! Anybody in here?! Mr Torres?!" I shout, brandishing my Overture as I rush through the wide-open door of the diner.

No response.

My heart pounds as I carefully leap over the bodies strewn across the floor, my boots crunching against shattered glass and debris. "Archie! Rafael! Someone! Say something!" My voice echoes through the diner, but it's met with an eerie silence.

The stench of blood is thick, metallic, almost choking.

My gut twists as I vault over the counter, narrowly avoiding another corpse slumped against it. Gritting my teeth, I push forward, heading toward Rafael's office at the back of the diner. There's blood everywhere—smeared on the floor, splattered against the walls, and dripping from the counter edges.

My gaze flickers down to the faces of the dead—or rather, what's left of them. That's when I see it: holographic masks flickering weakly over their faces. Recognition hits me like a gut punch.

It's the fucking scavs.

My hand tightens around the grip of my revolver. "No way. No goddamned way! They didn't... they couldn't have..."

My thoughts spiral, my voice rising in a panicked mutter. "This is not my fault. They didn't come here because of me. There's no way. No fucking way!"

I stumble back, catching sight of a blood trail leading straight to Rafael's office door. My pulse races as dread knots my stomach tighter.

"Is somebody in there!" I yell, rushing toward the office. My voice cracks, desperation clawing its way through my chest. I train the overture at the door, as I slowly approach it. "Answer me! I have a fucking gun!"

Just as I reach for the door, my foot catches on yet another body. I trip, falling to the floor with a grunt. Before I can even curse, a deafening roar of shotgun fire peppers the space where my head had been a second ago.

My breath hitches as I freeze, the echo of the blast still ringing in my ears.

A voice from inside screams, raw and pained, "You'll not get me, dickwads! Come at me! I'll show you all!"

I know that voice! Panicked and manic, but it's still Archie.

What the hell!

I crawl away from the door and shout back, "Archie!"

Another burst of shotgun pellets tears into the door, splintering it further.

"Archie! It's me! Hey! It's me! Zain! STOP!" I yell, my voice cracking as more rounds pepper the plastic door. The thing is shredded beyond belief, hanging on its hinges by the barest minimum. "Archie! STOP!"

The firing finally ceases. For a long, tense moment, there's silence, then a groaning voice breaks through.

"Zain…?"I hear her voice, but then the shotgun cock again. "Show me your face! I don't fucking believe you! Not for a goddamned second, choom! Show me your face!"

I swallow hard, pressing myself against the wall beside the door. My breath comes in shaky gasps as I call out, "O-okay, Archie….calm down, its just me."

"NO! SHOW ME YOUR FACE OR FACE LEAD MOTHER FUCKER!" She screams from inside.

Holy shit…. I do not want to stick my head in there. There is a cock of shotgun. "HEY! You pull anything anything and I will blow your head off! Show me your face!"

Goddamnit! I have no other choice.

"O-okay…..Archie. Just promise me you won't blow my face off! Please! It's really just me." I reply, hoping beyond hope that I'm not about to die. I had been in far too many such situations in way too short a time.

Seconds stretch into an eternity before I hear a sharp clicking sound.

"Fine!" she snaps. "But don't think I won't pull the trigger if you try anything, choom. Gun's still on you."

I hesitate, my heart hammering against my ribs. Gulping, I slowly raise my hands higher, keeping my revolver pointed to the ceiling, and peek through the shattered remains of the doorway.

There she is, crouched behind a broken desk, her shotgun unwavering and trained directly on me. Her face is pale, streaked with blood—Rafael's blood. Behind her, the sight makes my stomach churn.

Rafael.

Half his brain is exposed, a torn-off the shoulder cybernetic mantis blade arm skewered through his hut, his lifeless body slumped against the wall. Blood coating everything—the desk, the floor, even the fragments of the shattered computer.

There are two more dead scavs inside too. One of them has had his mantis blade arms dismembered, while the other spilled all his guts out on the floor.

I bite back the bile rising in my throat.

"Archie…" I croak, stepping carefully into the room, my hands still raised.

After a moment of very intense scrutiny from her, as she observes my face, she slumps the shotgun falling from her hands.

"I almost blew your face off," she stutters, as she manically looks at the bodies in the room and at her father "I did blow their faces off – oh, hell! Fuck!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Easy! Look at me!" I replied, my throat dry, as I rushed to check her tucking my revolver back in my jacket. I didn't know what I was doing. I don't think she should be looking at the body of her dad right now. "Archie, look at me. Deep breaths. Deep Breaths"

She looks up at me, her face pale and streaked with blood—some of it hers, most of it not. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps. She fights me as she tries to look at her dad. I was trying whatever comes to mind to get her calmed down.

"Deep breaths, Archie" She takes a big gulp of air. "Yes, now…"

What do I do now? Fucking hell. I was in no position to calm her down. I wasn't feeling calm myself!

"T-tell me what happened." I try and hope that's the right thing to do.

Her breathing quickens again, her words tumbling out between sobs. "We'd just opened. It was—it was normal. Just another morning." Her hands twitch, clawing at her knees as she stares past me, her voice trembling. "Dad was getting everything ready. I was at the counter. Then they—they came…"

I hover over her awkwardly as she collects herself. God damnit I don't know how to handle such a situation. David Martinez had handled a similar if a much more watered-down version of this just a few days ago.

He had managed to make it seem effortless back then. I was taking whatever cues he had shown then and throwing them all at the wall to see what stuck.

"They just started shooting! Dad—he pushed me down, covered me—he wouldn't let them—" She continued after a moment.

Her voice cracks, and she chokes on a sob. "He grabbed the shotgun. He killed most of them, told me to run for the office, but then he –"

Should I even be getting an account of the situation in the middle of all this, just in front of her father's corpse?

She doesn't give me a chance to tell her to stop.

She lets out a shaky breath, and continues. "He took a mantis blade to the back, but he kept fighting. Dropped more of them, even with the blade and arm sticking from his guts" she says, her voice hollow. "I-I couldn't do anything as they fought…. I just stood there…. Till one of them rushed at me with a machete."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I lurch forward, grabbing her shoulders gently but firmly. "Archie. Are you hurt? Tell me you're not hurt."

Her gaze flickers to me, unfocused. "I'm not… no. I'm not hurt," she mumbles. "Dad didn't let them. He—he shot him down, pushed me into the office. Kept fighting."

Then she looked at the other two bodies in the room.

"One of them shot my dad in the head," She said blankly. "I–I took Dad's shotgun and killed them both."

Fucking hell….

I – I was out of my depth in dealing with this. I needed to…

"I am calling the cops" I say, as I fumble with my smartphone.

She doesn't move, doesn't even look at me. Instead, she stares blankly at Rafael, her lips trembling. "Why?" she whispers, her voice cracking. "Why did they attack us? What the fuck did we do to them?"

Because of me. I want to tell her. Because I had killed their buddies and let Petrova walk away. And now Rafael was dead.

The police call operator answers, their tone clipped and professional.

"911. I am obligated to inform you that you will be charged 5€$ for every minute of this call. What is your emergency?"

What? No. Unimportant.

"Yeah, please send the police, the scavs just shot up the diner I work at. It's the ♡♡♡♡ diner. By Crescent and Broad Street."

The operator responds immediately, their voice monotone but efficient. "Alright, please tell me your name and verify the address again. That is the Four Hearts Diner, between the Gold Niwaki Plaza and Crescent and Broad Street, correct?"

"Yes, yes, that's the place!" I confirm, my voice strained with urgency. "My name is Zain Vargas. Please, just send someone!"

The operator's tone remains infuriatingly calm. "Please confirm if there are any active threats in the area."

"What?" I ask, confusion laced with frustration, before shaking my head quickly. "No. No active threats in the area. The scavs are gone. Please send a squad!"

"Sir. Calm down and cooperate with me as I identify the appropriate response for the situation," the operator replies, their tone unflappable.

"What the hell? What's not understandable about a goddamned shootout?!" I snap, my voice rising.

"Sir. I understand the situation, but please cooperate, and I will be able to help you soon," they reply, their tone maddeningly steady.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to take a shaky breath. Fine. Calm. Just stay calm.

Archie is sobbing quietly beside me, her gaze locked on her father's lifeless body. Shit.

"Sir. Is there anyone previously wounded, or injured in the vicinity? How severe are the wounds?" the operator asks further.

I hesitate, glancing at Archie. Does she count? She's unhurt physically, as far as her own assessment can be trusted.

"Maybe one? I—I don't know," I stammer, the frustration bubbling again. "Look, just please send someone here!"

"Alright. I have a complete understanding of the situation. As there are no active assailants in the vicinity, you are advised to clear out of the diner. A dispatch unit will be over to your location in two hours."

WHAT THE FUCK?

"WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY IN TWO HOURS? SEND THEM OVER RIGHT NOW!" I shout, pacing through the gore splattered across the office.

"Sir, I apologize, that will not be possible. Please standby for assistance in due time. You will be charged 45€$ from the attached bank account to this device. Thank you for calling the NCPD, and remember, we are here to Protect and Serve you!"

The line cuts off.

I stare at the phone, my hand shaking, the absurdity of their response reverberating in my head.

"What the fuck," I whisper. "What the actual fuck?!"

"Two hours…" I mutter under my breath, my voice cracking as the weight of their indifference presses down on me.

Archie is still there, trembling, staring blankly at Rafael's lifeless body. Her soft, uneven sobs punctuate the heavy silence of the room.

I grip the phone tightly, my knuckles white. My mind races. Two hours.

What the hell am I supposed to do for two hours?!

"Fuck!" I hiss, shoving the phone into my pocket, pacing the gore-filled and destroyed office room, blood and guts staining my shoes. "I can't believe this shit! The goddamned nerve, Archie!?"

I need to think. Like a calm and reasonable person.

I am not a calm and reasonable person.

Nothing about this situation leads to the thinking of a calm and reasonable person.

As if consolation, trying to get me to calm down somehow. I feel the forge move in the back of my head.

The vibrant galaxy of stars and their configuration of revolving constellations becomes clear in my eyes.

The forge shifted in my mind, constellations rearranging into a new pattern. A weight pressed against my consciousness for a brief second before it lifted, leaving me with clarity—and a new acquisition.

A goddamned chemical synthesizer.

A compact, microwave-sized marvel capable of synthesizing any non-magical chemical known to man, up to 12 ounces at a time.

All controlled through an app that was now on my smartphone. Somehow.

The damned thing was already sitting inside my personal reality, pristine and ready to use.

And now, apparently, I don't need to lose my mind over magically creating substitutes for Cryoethan-3 Trifluoronitroxide anymore. I could synthesize the real deal with just this.

Just after I had finished agonizing half the night about the law of conservation of energy, and coming up with a magical substitute for the ultra-hyper futuristic cryogenic compound, the forge decided to say a big old 'Fuck you' to the law of conservation of mass as well.

I. Can. Deal. With. That.

I'd spent the whole night and early morning brewing that damned substitute potion —fumbling with sleep-deprived alchemy—only for the forge to hand me the perfect tool to get the original thing just as I finished.

Was the entity behind the forge laughing at me? This entire thing seemed like a very bad, off base, bizarre joke.

No.

There were probably a million other uses for the synthesizer, but my brain couldn't handle thinking about them right now.

Maybe I could use it for organic ingredients? What else, could it handle food if I knew their chemical structures?

This just hammered home the fact that I really needed to knuckle down and study chemistry properly.

Shaking my head, I refocus myself on the disaster at hand.

At least the forge's interruption meant I could think with a calmer head.

I need to get Archie away from her father's corpse. Out of the diner entirely. The parking lot?

The cops should arrive in an hour and some minutes, so I can't go much further than that.

Was the parking lot safe? Would the scavs come back? They had managed to find me at the Gym, at the diner. Where else then, will they show up? Was it even the same group of scavs?

What about after the fact that the cops showed up?

What do I do then?

Wait, do I even have a job here? What am I thinking?! That isn't important.

I will manage, Archie's just lost her dad.

I move to Archie and gently grip her arm, helping her to her feet.

Her face is pale, her tears dried into streaks of salt and grime. She doesn't resist, but she flinches at my touch, her blank stare breaking as she refocuses on me.

"What… what did the cops say?" she asks, her voice hollow.

"They're on their way," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "They'll be here in a couple hours."

She takes a shuddering breath, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly before she nods.

"Come," I say softly. "Let's get out of here. I'll… I'll take your dad. I'll bring him outside…"

The words feel heavy in my throat, and I don't know if I actually should. Moving him feels wrong. It feels wrong to leave him lying there too.

Fuck.

I should've covered him long ago. He doesn't deserve this. Not to be left like this—with his brains leaking out for all to see.

Archie nods again, her lip trembling as she steps toward the door.

She bends down, picking up the shotgun from the floor, her hands shaking as she grips it tightly. She doesn't look back as she walks out, her figure disappearing into the bright light of the diner's shattered entrance.

I glance back at Rafael. Goddamnit.

Kneeling beside his body, I grab the mantis blade arm skewered through his gut. My fingers hesitate for a moment before I tighten my grip and slowly wrench it out. Blood gushes from the wound, pooling around him, soaking through my newly worked clothes and dripping onto the already ruined floor.

I barely notice the mess. I could not care less about the ruined clothes at this point.

Carefully, I slide my arms under his body, ignoring the cold, sticky sensation of his blood against my skin. His weight is nothing to me, it's the cold of his skin that's making my skin crawl.

I step out into the sunlight, blinking as the harsh glare stings my eyes. The heat of the pavement radiates upward, a cruel contrast to the cold weight in my arms.

Archie is sitting on the bench outside the diner, her back pressed against the corner of the windowless wall. The shotgun rests on her lap, her fingers gripping it so tightly her knuckles are white. Her head is tilted back, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths.

I lay Rafael down gently on a less damaged table in the diner, positioning him with as much care as I can manage. And sit down beside her.

All there is left to do is wait.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N)

HAPPY NEW YEAR! EVERYONE!

And a belated Merry Christmas!

TECHNO BABBLE! SO MUCH TECHNO BABBLE!

Oh, and if you're wondering why Freezing tech is so easy for Zain. The Gadgeteer perk is from DC. The Batman side of DC. That includes one I used in Arkham Knight and the Arkham series. The ice grenade. So, freezing tech is simple for him.

As for the Police response. Bro is not a corpo, but lives in a corpo district. Victims are not corpo, because diner, and the lady was pinging all biomons. No corpo ids calling for help.

In Judy and Ev's sitch they had said they would come only after a full day. I think if Judy'd been living in Westbrook the response would have been quicker. But not as good as possible.

And the charge thing. Well that's just canon lol.

Domain: Toolkits: Mundane
Chemical Synthesizer (Hive Queen Quest) (100CP)
This microwave sized machine is truly a wonder of modern science, able to synthesize any non-magical chemical known to man in up to 12 oz batches. Synthesizing a chemical takes roughly an hour and works via a small Tablet interface. * A bit underpriced for any matter creator, even with the small volume and time needed, born from lacking knowledge that ever matter falls under chemical.



Zain opened with 0 CPs. Earned over 250 by the time of roll. Used 100, ended with 150.

 

[Andre Chaos]

Time to brew some 'crimes against humanity' potion edition!

 

[TheGreatMilitant]

Liking what I see so far but I think the MC is still a bit too naive to have been living in Night City for a month. Not having been jumped by scavs while having no visible cyber ware for an entire month? That just doesn't seem likely in Night City.

 

[Andre Chaos]

That just doesn't seem likely in Night City.

Click to shrink...

It is actually pretty reasonable. Because no matter how high levels of crime in the city are, for it to be functional they cannot be higher than the certain threshold. Character also did not exist there until recently, no information on him and no attention-grabbing cases actions. It is actually less likely to get jumped the first day, if one is trying to be smart and careful about things. It is not some sort of hell, where crime is happening always and to everyone. People just hear and see information about crime more often, which creates feeling it should happen to the person with 100% probability the moment they get into the city. But this is impossible.​

 

[Knived]

Well a potion of instant rust would do wonders against a scav infestation

 

[Andre Chaos]

potion of instant rust

Click to shrink...

There is mustard gas, and there is a rat gas! Turns into living rats (or parts of them, if there is not enough space) after getting inhaled. I am pretty sure wizards can create some really creative and horrible potions. Just look at kind of hexes they can use! ​

 

[OrangePanther01]

Liking what I see so far but I think the MC is still a bit too naive to have been living in Night City for a month. Not having been jumped by scavs while having no visible cyber ware for an entire month? That just doesn't seem likely in Night City.

Click to shrink...

Hey, glad you liked my story.

The reason I chose a naive MC for this story was to not get a hyper competent MC, and actually bring out the real flavor that Night City has for its citizens.

I believe, you can't write Cyberpunk while wanting to do something about the setting, without actually getting a first hand experience of it in full.

It's like, you don't get expect a tourist to foreign country to make a huge difference, or even care for the socio-economic issues of that country.

Sure they could donate here and there, volunteer at an NGO out of the goodness of their hearts, and a lot of other things, but to actually make a difference, they'd need to have some sort of a stake in the place of their own.

The first arc here, is giving Zain a stake in Night City. Experiencing it in full, breaking him a little, destroying his naïveté. There's about 1 maybe 2 chapters to it left.

I have to break him before he can be what Night City needs. And I think I'm on my way there already.

 

[Whenyouseeyou]

I sure hope MC stays an organic because of how hilarious it would be when he's a John Doe to everyone since they can't know what he is unless he has cyberpunk upgrades in him and they mistake him as having some secret tech but no it's just some normal man that is just BUILT differently

 

[Qoheleth]

Oh hey, you're on SV now. Neat. Been enjoying this story so far and excited to see where it goes.

It's like, you don't get expect a tourist to foreign country to make a huge difference, or even care for the socio-economic issues of that country.

Sure they could donate here and there, volunteer at an NGO out of the goodness of their hearts, and a lot of other things, but to actually make a difference, they'd need to have some sort of a stake in the place of their own.

Click to shrink...

This is exactly why – if I ever write a Celestial Whatsit fic – I want to do it with an MC who's from the setting (even if they're an OC), rather than an isekai victim/SI/etc. Yes, there's some kinds of people who, finding themselves plapped into a mess like (f'rex) Warhammer 40k and, recognizing it from meta-knowledge, will want to immediately roll up their sleeves and get to work Fixing Everything... but they're going to take a very different approach than someone who's from the 401st century, and that outsider's perspective isn't necessarily a good thing. Easy for a guy like that to get a savior complex and start sniffing their own farts if they don't already have emotional ties to the "street level" (as Unknown Armies puts it) and the people who live there.

The strategy you went with, of essentially giving Zain a "tossed in at the deep end" period – where he first "met" Night City when he crash-landed there, and the Forge couldn't churn until he started seeing his new world as "home" – has so far been a great alternative way to solve this problem.

 

[OrangePanther01]

This is exactly why – if I ever write a Celestial Whatsit fic – I want to do it with an MC who's from the setting (even if they're an OC), rather than an isekai victim/SI/etc.

Click to shrink...

I was initially going to opt for a native getting access to the Celestial Forge. Had 2 complete arcs planned out and everything. But then, I realized the native mindset is a little off.
I could've let the forge itself handle the mindset issue, what with it having a ton of genius intellect, and intuitive cause-effect analysis powers but even then, there's a bias that sort of a MC has in favor of the setting, with cyberware, bioware, politics, and the like.

With Zain, it's all blank. Sanitized. Innocent.

Yes, there's some kinds of people who, finding themselves plapped into a mess like Night City, will want to roll up their sleeves and get to work Fixing Everything... but they're going to take a very different approach than someone who's from Night City, and that outsider's perspective isn't necessarily a good thing. Easy for a guy like that to get a savior complex and start sniffing their own farts

Click to shrink...

This. I agree with.

Though, there is something to be said about power giving people the right to paint the world in hues of their own desires. People in power often can influence the status quo to better reflect their visions and ideals.

It's how civilisations are often directed along paths that it travels. Ideologies are defined and divided into categories along ideals set by the few.

With stories like this one, at some point, due to the power imbalance it will be inevitable that the MC will leave a major impact on the world they are set to play with. That power will effectively enforce their ideals on others.

For example, if Zain here turns out to be a major believer in, idk, outlawing Doll chip useage for sex work. He would try his damned best to make that happen.

Even if there is a massive debate possible over the pros and cons of doll chips entirely.

Like for pro; Doll chips allow the prostitutes to have no recollection of what act they engaged in. Hence they have no trauma attached to whatever it was they did. (Provided permanent physical harm was not caused)

The doll chips also allow complete sexual compatibility with the client, reducing the chance of violence toward the sex worker.

There's more (I will eventually be using a lot of this in story too! so sneak peak?)

On the flip side; Doll Chips take away the agency of sex workers completely. They are no more than slaves under the control of whoever holds the key to their programming.

There is nothing stopping their owners from utilising the chips to make the dolls do what they don't consent to. And the dolls won't even remember it happened.

Again, there's so many more horrifying realities that should be taken into consideration.

But if Zain becomes adamant that he is against Doll Chips entirely, then he would be writing off all those that rely on those for their sanity, livelihood and health.

(I stretched this way more than it needed to, but you get the idea at least)

That's why I am trying my best to give Zain foils. Avenues of introspection. Giving him a personality before making him take major action in the city.

 

[Qoheleth]

That's why I am trying my best to give Zain foils. Avenues of introspection. Giving him a personality before making him take major action in the city.

Click to shrink...

Totally makes sense, yeah. It's a great solution for how to get an MC with both the outsider's perspective of "WTF how did it get this bad" and the ground truths that you can only learn by experience.

 

[Casinodoug]

Time to figure out the most valuable items you can print and survive selling. Then just put a hit on literally any scav and throw money at it.

 

[OrangePanther01]

Chapter 8 –

I don't think there has ever been a time in my life, where I have experienced a more haunting silence than this, waiting for the cops, sitting on the walkway right outside the diner. My back to Rafael's cooling body, while listening to the chilling quiet Archie was exuding.

There were things I needed to say to her. Things I didn't know how to broach properly.

Jae Hyun. That was the name of the man who had my name on that sickening list of people to kidnap. He was likely the same man who had targeted Rafael and his diner, leading to the death of the one man who had essentially helped me settle down here in the city. The man who had become my friend.

I know, intrinsically, that thinking about what-ifs, and if-onlys in such situations is a pointless endeavor. An infantile one at that.

I did not really know how I would have fared had I arrived here sooner. Thinking that I would have been some sort of a fairy tale hero in the situation. That I would have been capable of single-handedly dealing with the scavs is a naïve comforting lie I would be telling myself, on top of the insult it would be to Rafael who actually died facing them.

But there is one what-if that I just couldn't not think about.

It's … difficult to put into words how horrifying it is to know that if I had taken a different set of actions a day ago, a lot of things could have been different.

The connection is so obvious now, it's almost painful. If Kenta had gotten me on some kind of list, there was a good chance there were others he had a vendetta against that he'd have gotten on there too.

Like Rafael and Archie. And I didn't see it. I didn't connect the dots. I should have called Rafael right after finding out from Petrova. I should have warned him. Maybe then things would have been different.

Now; I didn't even know how to begin talking about it all to the man's daughter. I didn't even know what information I was going to be giving the cops after they get here. What I had done to the scavs last night was self-defense. That was clear to me and hopefully would be to the cops as well.

But I could already see that the fact that I had not called the emergency services right after getting away would at the very least seem extremely suspicious to them if I were to bring it up now.

At the same time, if I don't bring it up when they inevitably ask me questions, then I would be actively creating obstructions in getting justice for Rafael….

Fortunately, Archie seemed to have stewed long enough, and I didn't have to ponder it for too long.

"You know…." Archie said, hollowly, her head resting on the wall by the shattered window beside me "Back in middle school, I was always scared that one day I would come home to find my mom or dad dead… that they'd be zeroed out there in the streets. And I would be left all alone…."

She was staring out toward the sky, her eyes unfocused. I could at least lend her an ear, and let her vent whatever she wanted to get out of her system.

"…I mean, even more so than you'd think to be worried in general living in Night City, what with the gang violence that'd gone up a notch after the unification war..." She was trembling almost imperceptibly. I could see a single tear trail from her eye.

I nodded, I could understand. I knew Archie and her parents lived by Vista Del Rey, back then. In the heart of Valentino territory. The gang war between 6th​ Street, and the Tino's had just kicked off. It was even more vicious back then compared to what it was currently.

I am talking about open conflicts, streets being covered in bodies, buildings being reduced to ruins by the most horrifying forms of explosives, half the district being under threat of bombings, and whatnot.

The newspapers, or screamsheets as they were called here, were filled with articles and reports of the events happening on what seemed to be a daily basis lasting at least a couple weeks.

It was very difficult to imagine from an outside, detached perspective, especially about a place that's comparatively lively nowadays just a few miles away. And to think we're talking about a time that's not even half a decade ago.

"Before the diner…. before we moved around here, well…. both mom and dad were mercs." She revealed.

That was shocking. It was news to me. Based on the way Rafael had referred to Kenta and Merc work in general, I would have thought him to be the last person to be involved in that business himself.

"They ran jobs for a lot of fixers around Watson, Westbrook, and Heywood; had the run of the city…. Cormac, Reyes, Montoya, Okada…. you name 'em; they worked for them all. Even made it up there in some gonk merc bar called the Afterlife; with some gonk fixer that the entire city's gonked mercs wanted to work for, for some reason." She took a deep breath, her hand was resting on the butt of the shotgun, the muzzle pointing into the ground.

"… They'd been doing it all for me, y'know. To educate me, feed me and all that. So I wouldn't have to do what they did…" She continued, I could see the pain etched on her face as she kept going. "…. But after some time, they'd had enough… they had money to start a legit biz here, stop the merc work entirely, and settle down…. All they needed to do was one last gig, tie up some loose ends, pay their debts. Eds for the diner and all that."

I could see where this was going now. I did not like the inference she was drawing here.

She took a deep, steadying breath "Their last gig…. well…. it was easy on the surface. Like Mom had said. A transport job from Rattle State back into the city. Standard stuff, hauling corp gear for this 6th​ Street fixer, Dos Santos."

…that did not seem standard stuff to me. What part of smuggling corp 'gear' is standard stuff? I mean, if I am reading this correctly; this job was probably smuggling weapons, cyberware, or some other tech stolen from a militaristic megacorp.

It's like smuggling weapons and ammunition across the US-Mexico border back home and calling it a common occurrence. None of that is 'standard stuff'.

"…. Fucker used that gear to fuck over Dad's crew. Because we lived in the Vista. Apparently, that made us Tinos by default…." She closed her eyes. "Mom died that night and Dad gave up merc work soon after."

"Hey…." I ventured, and despite this being trite, there wasn't anything else I could say "You don't need to dig up old ghosts…. What happened today…. It's– well"

"I know it wasn't my fault, dammit! That's not what this" She cut me off. "It was those gonk ass scavs, this gonk ass city, and this gonk ass– everything!"

That… that was good. At least she wasn't falling into a vicious cycle of self-blame, and denigration. I did not know how to handle that kind of trauma. Not that I knew how to deal with this either, but well….

I nodded, backing off in apology, and let her continue.

"What I'm saying is…. I finally realized that there are no happy endings here in Night City. Not for people like us. This city… it chews you up and spits you out. The only way to leave is in a body bag—or by leaving a trail of them behind you." There was conviction in her voice.

Okay, not so good.

She turned to face me completely, her shotgun clutched tight. Her gaze was steely, heavy. I could feel it baring onto my soul, as she stared into my eyes. Her amber cybernetic bore deep into my own organic brown.

"I am done cowering. I am done hoping that things will get better. I am done hiding behind people while they fight for me. They took everything from me. And I'll make them regret every second of it." Her voice cracked for a moment, but she pressed on, stronger than before. "I'll make sure they remember my name in every scream and every breath they'll beg to take."

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the shotgun tighter. "I will find them. All of them. I don't care how long it takes or how far I have to go. They'll wish they never touched my family. By the time I'm done... they'll beg for the peace they stole from me."

…. this was the last thing I had imagined that she would vow to do.

And I could not fault her for it. I could see she would not be moved from this, no matter what I said or did. She had made her conviction—etched it in stone with every word, every tremble in her voice, and every tear she fought to hold back.

And I could see where she was coming from. I'd been in this city for just over a month, and I was about done too.

In just the last couple of days, the city had stripped away every illusion I'd held. I'd been shot at, caught in a high-speed car chase shootout, ambushed in a back alley, and harassed by some gonked-out drug addict in the middle of my grocery run.

It wasn't even some wild, exceptional story for Night City—it was normal. Just another Tuesday. The news anchors joked about the body counts and gang violence like it was part of the weather report. I had buried my head in the sand, playing the role of the outsider, watching it all from behind my apartment window, shut in from the rest of the city, hoping that it was just a quirk of the time I was in. That reality wasn't as disappointing as I could clearly see it was showing itself to be.

It was the forge that had given me the courage to even step outside my comfort zone. And when I had, I had seen what the city had in store for me in full.

If I were back home... well Archie's reaction would've been justified even there. But I would've told her to trust the system. I would've urged her to put her faith in the police department, and the justice system.

But here? In Night City? Could I? Did I have the luxury to trust in the Police system?

I needed to think about the reality of this place more critically. I can't keep my head in the sand forever. The idea of evil is always subject to denial as a coping mechanism. But denial is an insidious thing that exacerbates the problems that are being denied more than anything else.

I suppose I could try placing my faith in the police department here... but to what end? It was clear that the NCPD wasn't here to protect people like us. They were nothing more than an ultra-capitalist institution serving the highest spender. The fact that they charged me to call the fucking emergency services was proof enough of that.

Their so-called "security guidelines," which I'd followed religiously since arriving here, had done jack shit to keep me safe.

"Don't walk on the walkways by the highways," "Stay away from Pacifica." "We're here to Protect and Serve you!" my ass. Sergeant Dobs and his smug propaganda show Safe and Sound could go to hell.

Was I really going to do this?

I knew the name of the man behind all of this. Jae Hyun.

If I told her... I'd be giving her a target—a direction for all that pain and fury. But how could I keep it from her? I wouldn't baby her. She deserved the truth. And I had no right to keep it from her.

Could I wait and let her know about it later, after she'd processed all this? No. I don't know what she'd have done by then… and keeping it from her, till she was in a better place would be me making decisions for her. She deserved better than that.

I clenched my fists, inhaling sharply as the weight of it all settled in.

Fuck it.

I had vowed days ago that I would risk my life for Rafael and his daughter. I'd done it once, and I was willing to do it again.

I would tell her, and the cops exactly what had happened. If by some measure of luck, the cops do go after Jae-Hyun and the scavs…. Well, I wasn't going to be an obstacle in the path of that.

If not, then I was willing to go after them myself. Even if Archie hadn't vowed to seek them out herself. Either way, they would pay for killing my friend.

I wasn't willing to sit around any longer and hope they find me out in the streets, waiting for them to take me away for their XBDs. I needed to hit back at them, waiting around like a lamb to the slaughter had done me no good.

I exhaled slowly and turned to face her, the name weighing heavy on my tongue.

"Jae-Hyun," I said, trying to match her own steely gaze "That is the man you're looking for. That is the son of a bitch you want to kill. He's the leader of the scav cell that caused all of this."

Archie narrowed her eyes, her expression hardening as she stared at me for a long moment. "How would you know that?" she asked sharply. "That's awfully convenient that you'd know this, what are you playing at?!"

I took a slow, steady breath, wiping the sweat off my forehead. The sun was glaring down on us now, merciless and unrelenting. Rafael's blood had seeped deep into my jacket—its weight clung to me heavily. I wouldn't back out now.

I recounted the events of our earlier encounter with Kenta, and then of the previous night—the ambush in that dingy Watson alley, the scavs' taunts and threats, the sharp crack of gunfire, and my attempt at fighting them off.

I tried my best to recount that encounter, without actually admitting to using potions to supplement my fighting ability… It didn't seem to me that it would go over very well, if I came out admitting that I could basically do magic.

I could prove it to her, I was carrying the potions with me after all…. but well I am hesitant about admitting anything about the forge in general with anybody…. No matter how much I may trust them, I don't think that claiming that some eldritch entity from beyond the cosmos has control of my soul and likes to occasionally send me gifts telepathically would go over well with anybody.

At least not yet. And definitely not in a situation like this.

So, I did my best to tell her about my interrogation of Petrova, after having killed most of her friends, the fear in her eyes when she admitted to my suspicions. How I'd let her go because I couldn't bring myself to end her life, even after everything.

Archie listened, fingers steepled over the butt of her shotgun, eyes narrowing even further as I spoke. The skepticism in her gaze deepened.

When I finally stopped speaking, she tilted her head slightly, her lips a thin line.

"You want me to believe that you took down a group of scavs after they cornered you in some back alley?" she asked, disbelief evident in her voice. "That you fought them all off? Really?"

I nodded. "I know it's hard to believe. I'm completely organic in a city where that's a death sentence." I met her gaze, holding steady. "But you've barely known me for a month, Archie. There's a lot you don't know about me. If you don't believe me... well..." I trailed off, reaching slowly into my jacket.

Her posture shifted as I moved, her fingers brushing down the stock of her shotgun instinctively. "What are you doing?" she asked warily, eyes flicking to my hand.

I pulled out my revolver, the black steel glinting in the harsh light. I checked the chamber with a steady hand before turning back to her, my expression calm but resolute.

"Watch this."

I scanned the area. The security cams inside the diner were shattered, hanging limply from their mounts, shattered and useless. There were none outside in the parking lot.

The view from the buildings that should be facing us, was covered by the upper levels of the street. Hopefully, there is no one specifically focused on us and recording this conversation with optics for later analysis or something equally ridiculous.

I took aim at a metal trash can a few paces away, steadying my hand. Archie tensed beside me, her breath catching as I pulled the trigger.

The crack of the shot echoed across the lot. The bullet hit its mark. Frost spread instantly across the surface of the can, ice crystals blooming outward until the entire thing was frozen solid.

Archie's eyes widened in awe, her lips parting as she stared at the impossible sight.

Archie stared at the frozen trash can, her eyes wide with awe. Slowly, she scrambled to her feet and rushed toward it, boots crunching against the pavement. She crouched down and ran her fingers over the frost-coated surface, watching the ice crystals flake away at her touch.

She shook her head, muttering under her breath. "That... that shouldn't be possible." She looked up at me, her amber optics narrowing again. "Where did you get that gun?"

I shook my head. "The gun's no different than any ordinary Overture," I said calmly. "In fact, it's the same one your father gave me."

Her eyes locked onto the revolver in my hand, and for a moment, she froze, blinking as if the words had short-circuited her thoughts.

"That's... Mom's revolver," she whispered.

I stilled, lowering the gun slightly. I glanced down at the weapon, the weight of it suddenly feeling different in my hand. I nodded. "Your father gave it to me. I didn't change anything about the gun itself. I just... modified the bullets I had to create that freezing effect."

Archie's gaze darted between me and the revolver, the disbelief giving way to something else—astonishment, maybe even a glimmer of understanding. I shrugged, trying to make it sound simpler than it really was.

"I'm good with gadgets and stuff. I like working with tech. Point is, I was well-equipped to handle the scavs. After my shootout with Kenta, I figured I needed to be ready for anything... and it paid off."

Archie's eyes lingered on the revolver for a moment longer before she nodded slowly.

She pushed herself upright and paced across the parking lot, running a hand through her hair. "I believe you... this... this is good. This…. I can work with this."

The faint wail of a siren drifted through the air, growing louder. The NCPD was close—probably just a block away now. Just over two hours, like the Operator had said.

Archie straightened, her expression hardening again as she looked at me. "Alright... alright… I can work with this…." Her voice was steady, "Thank you for telling me… listen, I need you to not tell the police about all that."

….. what? It seems Archie was adamant today to throw me off whenever she could. I had been working myself up to fess up to the cops about the group of scavs I'd killed and now she didn't want me telling them?

My confusion must have been clear on my face as she elaborated "The NCPD is not going to do shit…. I don't have the money for a long-standing investigation, and I definitely can't get them to do something about this Jae character…."

At my even more visibly increasing discomfort, and confusion she pleaded "Please… trust me. I have a plan!"

…that was not a reassuring thing to hear from someone clearly suffering from trauma. I did not like being put on the spot.

The emergency vehicles were now visible outside the parking lot. Two patrol cars, and a med-tech ambulance, an REO Meatwagon…. Yikes.

REO was the rival corp that competed with Trauma Team…. Or well they'd like to believe they were competing with Trauma Team. REO often handled cases that Trauma didn't cover, which was basically most cases that involved the poorer class of the city.

I was willing to follow Archie's lead on this, dammit. Archie knew the city and how it functioned better than I did. She had more entrenched connections and an understanding of how to handle all this in Night City. If she wanted to not bother with the police, well I was willing to do the same.

I gave her an agreeing nod, just as the emergency vehicles pulled into the parking lot in front of us. She nodded back at me in gratitude and turned to face the police personnel.

Two NCPD officers stepped out, pistols raised as the red and blue lights painted the lot in harsh, blinking streaks. They took cover behind their open car doors.

"Drop the weapons! Turn around and face away! Now!" one of them barked through the speaker, his voice sharp and amplified. "Comply immediately, or we'll fire a warning shot!"

I froze, alarmed by how fast things had escalated. What the hell?!

Archie didn't hesitate. Her shotgun clattered to the ground, and she raised her hands to her head. "Do it," she whispered harshly, her face slightly alarmed.

I barely had a second to breathe before the officer shouted again, his voice louder and more panicked. "You in the blood-soaked jacket! I won't say it again! Drop the weapon, turn around, hands on your head, or we will fire!"

Shit.

The sound of more car doors opening behind the blinking lights of the squad car told me that the other officers were following suit. I had no choice. Slowly, I loosened my grip and let the revolver hit the pavement with a dull clink.

I raised my hands, fingers laced behind my head, and turned around. The cool air hit the back of my neck as the world slowed around me.

Boots crunched against the pavement as the officers moved in.

An officer moved toward us, speaking into his radio as he approached. "10-23—arrived at the scene. Approaching the caller, securing the victims. I am commencing a brief search for active threats in the area."

He stopped a few feet behind us. "We're going to pat you down. This is your chance to declare anything you have on you."

Archie and I exchanged a glance but didn't say anything. We both complied as instructed. I felt the officer's gloved hands patting me down, searching for anything dangerous.

Holy shit, back home all of this would have probably broken a shit ton of laws. Based on the fact that Archie didn't bat an eye to all this, I needed to educate myself on the laws and shit in Night City.

"Alright," he said after a moment, his voice significantly calmer. "You can turn around now. Slowly!"

I turned to face him, blinking as the harsh squad lights framed his silhouette. His eyes glowed faintly as he scanned us both again, cybernetic irises adjusting like a camera lens.

"Which one of you is Zain Vargas?" he asked, scanning between us.

"That's me," I replied, my voice steady. "I'm the one who made the call."

The officer nodded, stepping a little closer. "I am Detective Harold Han," he introduced himself, adjusting his glasses. "Tell me what happened here."

Detective Han had short, scruffy hair and an unreadable expression. His long brown overcoat swayed slightly in the night breeze. He didn't appear to have much cyberware—at least not anything obvious—besides the glowing optics that flickered as he scanned our faces, reading every micro-expression.

Archie cleared her throat, stepping forward. She began giving him a rundown on what had happened, her voice was much more steady than she had been earlier, as she filled Han in on the events leading to Rafael's death.

Behind the detective, the pair of EMT crewmembers from the REO Meatwagon ambulance was disembarking. Their neon-yellow jackets almost glowed under the flashing blue lights as they pulled stretchers and medical gear from the ambulance.

Meanwhile, another pair of officers moved toward us, their boots heavy against the pavement. One officer remained outside with us while the other entered the diner, stepping carefully through the broken glass to secure the scene.

I blinked in recognition as the two approaching officers came into view—Officer Miller and Smith. Miller's cybernetic arm gleamed faintly in the dim light, the servos whirring softly as she adjusted her grip on her sidearm. Smith, with his unmistakable cybernetic jaw, gave a small nod as he neared. The metallic hinge clicked faintly every time he spoke.

Smith approached Detective Han first. "Please take it easy on them, Han." His voice had a slight mechanical echo. "We come here often and can vouch they're harmless. One of 'em's a ganic at that. Yeah?"

Han glanced at me briefly, his glowing eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second. "I can see that," he replied calmly. "Alright, then…. I was merely following protocol on this. You know that. I'll handle it by the book." He gave Smith a small nod. "In the meantime, get the bodies secured and start gathering evidence. I want this place cleared ASAP, and get a holotape going, and secure the scene."

Smith nodded once and turned away, gesturing for Miller to follow after him. Miller followed her gaze briefly flicking to Archie and me before joining Smith in directing the crew.

What followed was an exhaustive round of questioning as Detective Han took down both mine and Archie's accounts of what had happened. His notepad filled with notes as he jotted them down as Archie spoke, and his glowing cybernetic eyes never left us for long, scanning our body language as we spoke.

I did my best to be as helpful as I could, but the weight of the omitted details about my run-in with the scavs from the previous night gnawed at me. I had made my choice, and hopefully, my nervousness was being masked well by the micromanipulator gloves working in overdrive to hide my expressions and body language.

By the time Han wrapped up his questions, the REO Meatwagon crew had carried Rafael out of the diner, his body zipped up in a black body bag. They laid him carefully on a stretcher outside, the sight stark against the pavement. I looked away as a knot tightened in my chest.

The sun was now blazing directly overhead, the shadows from the buildings shrinking as the morning edged into early afternoon.

Detective Han adjusted his glasses, he smiled apologetically as he finished writing in his notepad. "That's everything for now," he said. "You'll receive an invoice soon, Ms. Torres. Any further investigation will only proceed after payment is processed."

He gestured to one of the REO EMTs standing nearby. "The EMT will guide you through the next steps."

The EMT, a young woman with short teal hair, and red cybernetic eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, her voice neutral but not unkind. "Your father's body will be taken to the NC Medical Center in Little China. You can ride with us if you prefer, though there will be an additional fee of 120 €$." She paused, "Keep in mind, the remains won't be available for collection until after the autopsy is completed. Based on his life insurance plan, the cremated remains will be ready 24 hours later for an additional 70 €$ processing fee."

Archie closed her eyes for a long moment before taking a deep breath. "No... I'll come and collect them myself later," she replied a bit shakily.

The EMT nodded and gave a quick signal to her crew. "Understood. We'll clear the scene then, once again I'm sorry for the loss." She turned on her heel and headed back toward the ambulance.

"This is what? The third this week?"

"Sounds about right… some of them got zeroed up in Watson so there's that. I heard from the others there'd been kids involved"

I could hear their chatter as they carried all the bodies into the large ambulance.

The last thing they left behind were two small surveillance drones that hovered near the diner, their bright blue lenses scanning the premises as a holographic tape shimmered, marking the scene as officially cordoned off.

I took a seat on the nearby bench facing the diner. The inside looked almost peaceful now—empty of bodies, just remnants of broken glass and overturned tables. The blood stains had been pressure-washed clean…. somehow. Just watching that had fucked with my head.

Honestly, this entire situation was fucked in the head.

Including the fact that the cops came in guns blazing. Checking the internet using my smartphone, I can see that the cops are authorized to fire warning shots that target limbs upon any encounter in which they feel there could be a threat to them.

That just made me not want to call them in for any situation whatsoever in the future.

This situation was resolved relatively easily. But it was a hair's breadth away from escalating, and me getting shot…. I'd heard of police brutality, excessive use of force, and so much more concerning law enforcement back home.

Now, facing a much more hostile version of that…. It was lucky they didn't come rolling in with a goddamned minotaur behind them.

Fortunately, I had collected my weapons from them, just before Detective Han had let us leave. Thankfully, no one questioned or focused on the chilly iced over trash can in the parking lot, and no one had bothered to check the caliber rounds in the weapon I was carrying. It wasn't even cleared, before storage.

Which I suppose, they didn't see the need to do. I don't understand the protocol they were following frankly. It was all so fucked in the head, I was having difficulty understanding how it all got so bad.

I felt the forge move in the back of my head, and I rested my face in my arms. The exhaustion of the questioning was heavy, and I could take some soothing from the forge. The spinning vibrant galaxy came into focus, and a constellation of stars revolved around toward my core. A star pulsed, once, twice, and then flowed into my very being.

…. And apparently, now I had a weapons lab and workshop in my pocket dimension. Along with a gun range, and the tools to build and modify new weapons. The forge was also kind enough to provide an interface that would break down, the schematics of any weapons that I introduced to it.

The workshop was filled to the brim with all that I could possibly need to build any weapons that I could need, manufacture a frankly ridiculous amount of ammunition to keep me supplied. Suddenly so many possibilities opened for me.

That mixed with the chemical synthesizer, I had the beginnings of a frankly absurd plan brewing in my head.

Archie stood for a few moments longer, watching the emergency crew finish up and drive away. The whine of their engines echoed before fading into the distance.

Finally, she sat down beside me with a heavy thud, the bench creaking under the sudden weight. She buried her face in her hands for a second before letting out a shaky breath.

"Fuck..." she muttered, her voice raw. "It's... it's finally settling in that I'm not going to see Dad anymore."

I glanced at Archie, her shoulders trembling slightly as the weight of everything finally hit her.

I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, trying to offer what little comfort I could. Words wouldn't do much here—what could I say to make this better? Nothing.

She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and sat up straighter, taking a deep, steadying breath. "I... I need to call in some favors," she said, her voice still shaky but gaining resolve. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. "Can you... can you grab Dad's car? It's parked around back in his reserved spot. I need to go to Wakako's."

"Yeah, of course." I nodded and stood up. "I'll be right back."

I started toward the back of the diner, making my way around the building. The lot was quiet, empty now that the cops and EMTs had cleared out. The reserved spot was just past a row of cracked concrete barriers, where Rafael's car sat gleaming under the sun.

Archie was heading straight to Wakako with this. It wasn't surprising—she'd clearly given up on the NCPD. If I was beginning to understand how Night City worked, Wakako could offer a more reliable solution. A fixer like her would have connections to mercs, people who could get things done without asking questions.

But that didn't mean I trusted Wakako. She was a crime boss after everything else about her was discarded. She was running a business and if there was one thing I knew well, then it was business. I had studied it after all.

We were going to meet a crime boss, who dealt in information and mercenaries. People like her, it was rare they did anything without expecting something in return. I didn't know the details of Rafael's arrangement with her, but with him gone... well, we'd be approaching her from a position of weakness.

She could very easily declare whatever agreement they had null and void. She could demand a lot of things for her services. Hopefully, this time it would be just money.

I pushed those thoughts aside as I reached the car. Rafael's old Quartz looked immaculate—no sign of the bullet holes that had riddled it after that high-speed shootout with the Valentinos a couple of days ago. He must've had it repaired fast...

I tapped my phone against the lock, using the access code Rafael had given me. The car chirped in acknowledgment, and the doors unlocked with a soft click. I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, and quickly drove the car up front to Archie.

She slid into the passenger seat, and leaned back. She was on call with someone, her eyes were glowing orange. "….yeah, I'll be over later tonight. I'll take it…. I have the eds."

I started driving slowly back toward Jig-Jig, there wasn't much in the way of traffic so we should be there in a couple minutes.

"… yeah, you can lock it in. I'm not going to back out of it….. alright. Thank you." She cut the call. "Hell… I need to call Ethan too. Shit, I'll do it after meeting Wakako."

"Hey…" I ventured, as I drove us toward the lower level of the street. "You're making hasty decisions. You need to slow down. All these calls, placing orders and shit. That can wait. I honestly think you should hold off on meeting Wakako too. Go into this with a calm mind."

"Ohhh no… I like where I am at right now. Anger…. Anger is good. I can work with anger." She said confidently. "I can process it just fine."

…okay then. I can deal with that. I just need to make sure she doesn't get herself killed. I can do that. I can do that very well.

We arrived at the main entrance to Jig-Jig, parking the car outside the cherry blossom market.

As we were about to head on inside Archie stopped me "Wait… listen… Let me deal with Okada today, she can be a bitch many times. I know how to get biz straight out of her."

That was reasonable. Archie had likely dealt with the lady many times. Rafael certainly seemed to have known her, even if his impression of her seemed stilted, almost afraid when I had seen them interact.

"Of course, I will follow your lead," I replied easily. Backing her up should be easy enough.

She nodded in gratitude and we made our way inside.

Ignoring the catcalls, and the drug peddlers was easier this time. I think the blood caking my jacket was keeping them away. God we both were a mess.

It did not matter. Thankfully, we were not stopped by the Tyger Claws that lurked the area, and we arrived at the pachinko parlor Wakako worked out of.

The receptionist peered at Archie, and after a long moment nodded at the fat sumo Hustle to let us pass. The huge man moved aside, and Archie walked right through the bead curtain and into the crime boss' office.

The scent of burning incense was thick. Thicker than I remembered from last time. The old woman was pouring over some documents laid on her desk. Archie cleared her throat, in an attempt to get the woman's attention.

The Lady of Westbrook Estate took her time, and then finally said "Get Chang to go over the exploits once again. I want everything secured in the connection for the event. Would you be a dear and make sure he follows through, Kazu?"

The Claw hustle that was standing by our side nodded and replied "Hai, Okada-sama! I will see to it."

The woman nodded and the hustle rushed out of the Pachinko parlor. Finally, Wakako gave us her full attention. She took in my blood-caked state and Archie's own disheveled appearance.

Wakako raised an eyebrow, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward slightly, the beads of her bracelet clinking softly.

"Well, well... look who's decided to grace my humble establishment. And dressed for a funeral too, I see. Though, I must say..." she gestured at the blood stains with a lazy wave of her hand, "you both look like you've been auditioning for a spot in a Scavs horror flick. Very... authentic."

She tilted her head, her smile widening. "I suppose I should be flattered you didn't stop to clean up before coming to see me. It's almost touching. Almost."

She knew what had happened then…. because of course, she knew. How cliché for a crime boss.

"I must convey my condolences for what happened to your father, my dear." She said after a moment.

"You know why we're here then, Lady Okada?" Archie said after reigning in her temper at the woman's needling.

The woman leaned back, "I am no soothsayer, dear. I can make a few educated guesses, but you will have to tell me directly how exactly I can be of service to you today."

Archie looked steadily, and I backed her up as best I could. "Jae-Hyun… he's a scav leader. Can you get me all the information you can about him, preferably as soon as possible."

What the hell? I thought Archie was going to be hiring a merc squad to go after the bastard. What was she doing?

The woman's good humor seemed to dim a little, as she steepled her fingers and hummed a little. "….I could. Though, I must ask what it is you plan to do with said information."

Archie narrowed her eyes "Does it matter, I can fork over the eds for the information. I am good for your standard fee."

The woman smiled serenely "My dear…. I do not wish to see you do something foolish. I have absolute certainty that I will be paid my fee, that was never in doubt. I am merely looking out for your own well-being."

Archie took a deep breath and replied "Lady Okada…. Jae-Hyun's scav cell took my father's life. I merely wish to repay the debt they owe me. You would do the same, were you in my position." She paused, as though debating something internally "In fact, I am certain that your feud with Arasaka after they killed your grandson is enshrined in Legend somewhere among the Tyger Claws."

The woman stilled. It was almost imperceptible to see.

This was dangerous ground. I don't think it's wise to poke a crime boss by waving their traumatic past in their face. God, I hope Archie knows what she's doing here. The hustle standing by the door was long gone. And I did fancy the chances of us both making out of here if things went south.

Not without me pulling out all my potions, at least.

"…I see, you have come well informed." The Lady of Westbrook said finally "Very well then. I am willing to keep the arrangement I had with your father going. The information will cost you the same that I charged him. Though I do have a better offer for you, if you're interested?"

Archie nodded after some deliberation.

"I will provide the information that could help you, free of charge if your friend here answers some very basic questions for me." Wait, why was she focusing on me? I am just Archie's back up here. "Oh, don't be worried. Not many questions and you can refuse to answer them if you like."

Archie looked at me questioningly. This stunk. I had no idea what this batty lady was up to.

Archie could afford to buy the information, but there was no need to waste money if I could get her the information for free. And I did have the choice to refuse to answer.

I nodded "I can answer some questions for you… if you give her the information we want."

The woman smiled at me "Very good… see I have been curious about some things since you arrived in my district. The Umibe isn't that far from here. I happen to be a good friend of the landlord of the building. Your unit's rent was paid off for a period of 2 months by wire transfer. There wasn't any communication after that, apart from your Identification, sent after you had moved in. Would you be a dear and provide me the contact information of your benefactor who set up the deal?"

….and once again, I reiterate; fuck my life. Of course, out of all the people who could've known my landlord, it would be the local Yakuza Boss in the area.

What could I say? I had no idea what information to give here. Well, I could perhaps stick to the truth. Without admitting to eldritch mindfuckery.

"….If you ever do manage to contact them… please share the details with me too," I said finally. "I have absolutely no idea; who paid for my rent, or how. My arrival in NC was sudden, and completely out of my control."

The woman was clearly surprised by my answer "Well then. That is very interesting indeed. And your life prior to coming to NC? If my information is correct, you were a nomad yes?"

That was clearer ground. Well, not so clear as it was all bullshit. But I could wriggle my way out by claiming it was personal and leave it at that.

"Yes. I was a nomad… but well I am not comfortable sharing details apart from that…. I can't go back to my family any longer, and that's all there is to it." I replied.

The woman nodded "That is respectable, and I wouldn't want to cause you discomfort my dear. I would never want a nomad to betray their clan now, will I?" She looked at me intently, and apparently found whatever she was looking for and smiled.

"Well, that was informative indeed." She said, looking back toward Archie who had been observing silently "Now for Jae-Hyun…. I know of him. He is a contractor who works closely with one of my …. business associates."

"What else can you give me, Lady Okada" Archie asked intently.

"Well… I am zipping you the coords to the location where the cell often picks up their cargo." She said as her eyes glowed briefly.

Archie nodded, as her Kiroshis mimicked the glow indicating the data transfer.

"There isn't much I can do for you apart from that…. Unless you wish to hire a team of mercenaries to help you in your biz?" She offered.

Archie shook her head after a moment of deliberation and bowed slightly "No that will be enough. Thank you, Lady Okada."

"It was a pleasure, my dear" The woman replied. "Do be safe in how you settle your matters. And once again, my condolences for your father's death."

I nodded my thanks to the lady and we quickly took our leave.

We didn't speak until we had safely gotten out of Jig-Jig Street, approaching her dad's car.

"The bitch knew exactly where the man is." Archie said as she leaned against the car "She's hiding something…."

"Wait what?" I exclaimed. "But you–"

"Oh, her info is good, don't worry about that. But it's incomplete. She's playing her own game here. But this…. This is enough." She assured me.

"…are you sure?" I asked her. The old bat had said Jae worked for one of her associates… so maybe she's protecting that association?

"Yeah… we can work with this." She said, then finally for the first time she took in her appearance. "Gosh… I am disgusting….. you're covered in blood…. I need to clean up."

"Yeah…. We got carried away. I'll be heading home right after this." I replied. I wanted to get back home, and into my workshop now.

"And I need to start working on getting a crew for this…." She said as her mind raced. "I have a few of dad's old contacts, though they are going to be flaky at best…. maybe Ethan?"

The lawyer boyfriend of hers? I don't know…. The guy did try to protect Archie when under Kenta's crosshairs, but would that mean he would be willing to jump into whatever it was we were about to do against the scavs here?

Would he even fit the skillset required? ….. I don't fit the skillset required, heck I don't think Archie does either.

Okay… this seems like a terrible idea in general. But fuck it all, something needs to be done. I can't wait around for them to come for me again.

We were doing this.

I nodded. Ethan was a start. "… I will think of some contacts that I may have too."

Archie nodded and smiled at me, "Thank you…. What you're doing for me…. It means a lot."

"Rafael was my friend…." I shook my head, and then turned to get into the car "…come, I will drive us back to the diner."

Archie hesitated, and then looked at her dad's old car. Then she shook her head, as she moved a step away from the vehicle "….The car… well, Dad wanted to give this thing to you today.…for what you did for me with Kenta."

What?

"Archie ….. no. This is too much" I denied vehemently. Rafael had thought to give me his car… "I-I can't take this."

I looked at Archie, shaking my head. "No... I can't. This is too much."

She crossed her arms, unwavering. "He wanted you to have it, Zain. He got it fixed up for you. He had another car lined up for himself. This one... this was meant for you."

The words hit me harder than I expected. I looked at the car, my throat tightening, my vision blurring for a second.

I turned to Archie, unable to hold it in. I hugged her tightly. "Thank you... for everything. I'm so sorry about Rafael."

We broke apart, and she wiped her eyes quickly. "I need to get going. I'll call soon—with details about the crew."

I nodded, my voice rough. "Alright. I'll be ready."

She gave me a small nod and walked away.

I slid into the driver's seat, gripped the wheel, and started the engine.

Today was a massive gut punch for me. I don't know if what I have resolved to do is wise…. But damn it, if there isn't anything that could be done.

Feel the rhythm of the streets
Neon lights and neon dreams

​

Night City was a beautiful city on the surface. It attracted people with promises of opportunities to fulfill hopes, dreams and so much more. It presented a very inviting fundamental ideal. Of complete freedom, and autonomy in the actions one can take. The last true bastion of independence in a fractured country.

It was all completely false.

Bloody fists they feel no pain
When there's so much more to gain

​

I could see now why mercs were so normalized in society here. The city didn't leave any opportunity for fairness, and equality. Money, power, strength, connections…. those are the things that decide whether there is any worth to a person at all. It was…. not so different from back home, to be honest.

But here…. It was taken to the very extreme. Class divide was so massive that powerful people like Okada, the scavs, Jae Hyun, and others could tote some guns, make some powerful connections and install good cyberware and find themselves capable of dictating how others around them lived their lives.

And even then, there are those above the likes of fixers, like Okada and gangsters like Jae-Hyun. The corporate overlords. Arasaka, Militech, Biotechnica, Zetatech and so many more….

Hunting season if you will
Tell me where'd you'd rather be

​

It was mind-boggling to think about how it all got so bad. I can see in hindsight that oligarchy of that kind was present even back home. It sounded very a tin foil hat theory when spoken brazenly. But it really was apparent what was the truth when observed with a clear head. The veils hiding that fact are very thin.

I don't see how anyone would truly struggle against such a situation. Where to even begin?

What can bring this back to a sense of sanity? In fact, Where to even begin listing the things that were woefully wrong with life here? The very concept of right and wrong is subjective here.

Do I somehow get the right to dictate terms to the world, bend it to my will if I get the power to do it? I know eventually I will be in the position to make those decisions…. What will I do then?

I can't even figure out if I am doing the right thing by planning this …. Whatever it was with Archie and the crew she was setting up.

I can hardly see the moon
Hope we'll get there pretty soon

​

Arriving home, I take some time to finally make use of the parking spot that had come with the apartment unit. I have a month more of rent paid off here, Wakako had informed me of that.

Perhaps I could discuss the rent with her too? I was not bursting with excitement to do that, clearly.

Trying so hard to release
You out of the misery
Hold on to your wishes
If you can't hold on to me

​

I had been naïve, stupid and delusional here. I had been floundering about, with sense or purpose trying to survive, like so many others here. That was not working anymore. I was someone who was guaranteed a wealth of power. For some reason, a celestial entity had decided I was good enough to be given a shit ton of abilities.

That did not mean I was any special from the rest of the people that lived here. I was no different from them. They had struggles, issues, and problems that they tried their best to deal with; and so did I.

I merely had been blessed with better tools than most others in how I could deal with them. If only I was creative, and smart about how I approached my problems.

Forgive me for letting you down
Forgive me for letting you down again
I guess I'm not strong enough
Right now

​

I had not been strong enough, smart enough in the way I had approached my situation. That needed to end. I can't keep heading into such situations with no idea what it was that I was doing. Anything was possible, and I needed to be prepared for anything and everything.

I had ideas now. Ideas that would take me toward that. Perfection is impossible, but striving for it is not a bad goal. I would fall just shy of perfect and that would be enough.

They will finally feel the flames
Flames that run down through my veins
I will make this city burn
We're not planning to return

​

Heading into my apartment, I waste no time in undressing and getting into the shower. The warm water is soothing to my soul.

I had built freezing bullets combing my knowledge of gadgets and potions. I could do so much more. I was not thinking good enough.

The concept of hollowed-out bullets filled with freezing potions could easily repurposed to create many different effects. I could create bullets that caused an ever-lasting fire, bullets that could emit magical poisons with no antidote whatsoever, heck I could fill those bullets with cursed potions that caused skin to melt, blood to boil, organs to liquefy and so much more.

I could even use those damned things to heal. Healing bullets! Hah!

It was all on the table. Fuck my frugality. What is my life worth? What are the lives of my friends worth?

I wouldn't be caught off guard ever again.

Trying so hard to be free
To make you see what I see
Hold on to your wishes
If you can't hold on to me

​

Getting out of the shower, having thoroughly washed the blood I get dressed in spare clothing.

My jacket and the other clothes I had worked on, would need to be cleaned…. or burned.

I stepped through the closet into my personal reality.

The cozy warmth of the main room faded as I walked down a smooth corridor, the walls shifting from rustic wood to sleek steel. The air took on a crisp, metallic scent. The corridor opened into a fully equipped weapons workshop—every inch of it designed for precision and efficiency.

Workbenches lined the room, each stocked with tools that gleamed under the soft white lights. Shelves held neatly stacked ammo canisters, gun parts, and rows of materials for crafting—from metals and polymers to more exotic components I couldn't even name.

Holographic blueprints hovered above several stations, displaying rifles, sidearms, and customized mods in vivid 3D detail. Racks of weaponry covered the far wall—blades, handguns, assault rifles, sniper systems, and more—all within easy reach. A testing range stretched along the back, complete with movable targets and reinforced barriers.

But then my eyes caught something off to the side: a sealed vault, marked with unmistakable warning symbols.

Checking the label properly…. And yep. I had fissure material in my lab. In a hole in the wall. Lined with lead. But well ….. yeah. Not touching that shit with a ten-foot pole. I am not qualified, yet, to be playing around with that kind of weaponry. I have no desire to become a terrorist or give myself cancer.

This place wasn't just a workshop—it was a fortress of possibilities. Enough firepower for an army... or one man determined to change his fate. And I knew exactly where to begin.

Forgive me for letting you down
Forgive me for letting you down again
I guess I'm not strong enough
Right now

​

But it was enough. It was a very good start to prepare for our attack against whatever Archie'd gotten from Wakako on Jae-Hyun.

I needed to work defense too. Medieval chain mail was all well and good, but I could do better.

I needed to purchase Kevlar. And other protective fabrics. I could work them better than anyone else in the city. My main issue before had been money. That was old thinking. Money was no issue to me.

I now had about a dozen methods to make decent money here in Night City. My employment status was effectively a moot point.

In the far corner of the weapons lab, set apart from the rest of the equipment was a microwave sized device. It had both a microwave like opening, and a nozzle that indicated that it could pour things out.

Forgive me for letting you down
Forgive me for letting you down again
I guess I'm not strong enough
Right now

​

The chemical synthesizer…….

Which makes me wonder what exactly this thing can synthesize. The limits are 12 ounces of anything that constitutes to be a 'chemical'.

Pulling out my smartphone, I access the app that was somehow automatically installed here by the forge. It's very intuitively designed. The user interface is sleek and simple to operate.

All it asked for was the theoretical molecular structure of the chemical I needed to synthesize. Upload the data to the machine, and one hour later, I should have 12 ounces of that chemical at hand.

That …. had an incredible amount of potential.

I knew the molecular structure of a lot of chemicals well enough. Like water was H2​O. There was the possibility of providing more details with the type of bond between each atom in the molecule. The details about molecular orbital structures and all that. Details that I, yet again needed to fucking sit and study chemistry to properly utilize.

Well, I guess I can put up the Textbook on TTS again. At least my Smartphone had a better AI-synthesized voice than Bing.

Oh, my love (let you down)
Oh, my love (oh, let you down)
Love (let you down)
(Oh, let you down)

​

The chemical synthesizer does give me a very crude, hypothetical solution to my very immediate money problems.

Theoretically, a chemical is basically everything. The plastic on the chair, the leather on my seat, the metals on these desks and equipment…. Basically, everything was possible to be synthesized in 12-ounce batches using the synthesizer. The chemical synthesizer was a misnomer, I had a goddamned matter synthesizer that was constrained by my knowledge of the molecular structure of whatever I wanted to synthesize.

Fortunately, gold was a simple metal. Inputting the chemical formula for Gold, Au and the app verifies that I can synthesize Gold in 12 ounce bars every hour.

1 ounce of Gold is worth ….. 8273 €$ based on a cursory search by my phone. I could print just shy of a hundred thousand eddies in one hour….

If I was willing to set off alarms throughout the country and beyond, by doing so that is. That would mean that I would letting the world know that I possessed an infinite money printing press, and attracting the attention of every major power out there.

Not something I was keen on doing right now.

On the other hand…. I could produce gold, for this one time and sell part of it to get seed capital for any business I want to set up. I could effectively start a business with a small loan of tens of thousands of eurodollars owed to myself.

…or I could fund a spending spree to prepare for whatever up coming attack Archie was planning.

A bit of both perhaps?

For now, I needed to make a call before making any other decisions. Someone I suppose could be the perfect candidate to help us out again Jae-Hyuns cell of the scavs.

Quickly opening my smartphone, I find the contact in question. Dialing the number, it doesn't take long for her to answer.

Oh, let you down
Oh, let you down
Let you down
Oh, let you down

​

"Hello… Rebecca? It's Zain….You gave me this number in case I needed some help a couple days ago….? Yeah, I could use some help."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N)

That took some time. And a lot of words.

That closes the introduction arc. I have finally somewhat established Zain in Night City, given a proper introduction. Now the fun stuff.

There will be a small time skip soon.

The Gold price, if stretched theoretically from real world data to 2076 should be somewhere around 30k/ounce. That is ridiculous, and I don't think it accounts for inflation and all that good stuff. I pulled it down to about 8k. Higher than real life, but realistic ballpark imo, considering the setting we are in.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Facilities: Mundane
Weapons Lab (Starbound) (100CP)

A lab full of analysis and test equipment, aimed specifically at deciphering and improving deadly weaponry. You can use this lab to analyze any weapons that you come across, and given time, can figure out how to isolate and combine the different features of the weapons into other weaponry you create. Comes with a melee and firing range for testing out any weapons as well.

Zain opened with 150 CPs. Earned about 250 by the time of roll. Used 100 in the roll, and has 300 stored in reserve.

 

[rmrf]

Very timely roll this one, it's gonna be great to supply our nascent merc fit with all the dakka.

 

[AwkwardHym]

Well looks like things are about to heat up.

 

[OrangePanther01]

I did a little photoshoot for Zain's new car. Well, technically I was revisiting the ideas I had for it, and the like and that spiraled into a photoshoot.



Figured it would be cool to post it here, if anyone wants to check the car out without having to go through the game to get it and stuff.

Spoiler: Front-Angled view

Spoiler: Back angled view

Spoiler: Upfront view

Spoiler: Interior Seats

Spoiler: Interior Wheel, Stick and Center Console

CDPR have done such an insanely detailed job with these vehicles. It's beautiful.



And frankly, uptill now I haven't really used the 1st Person View to drive cars in the game all that much. It's such a nice touch, and I'm sure those that do use it love the detailing they've provided.



Anyway, this car has a back mounted engine. A boot in the front. Is connected to the net. Has cameras for side mirrors and so much more.



It's little details like this that shows how much love CDPR poured into the game, and the setting.



I hope you all enjoy this.

 

[Qoheleth]

Fascinating. It's like Night City's answer to a 90s Volvo. Didn't expect a design language like that would still be kicking in the lurid future of the 2070s, but it definitely tracks as a fitting vehicle for the kind of person who was (and the kind of person who will be) driving it.

 

[OrangePanther01]

Fascinating. It's like Night City's answer to a 90s Volvo. Didn't expect a design language like that would still be kicking in the lurid future of the 2070s, but it definitely tracks as a fitting vehicle for the kind of person who was (and the kind of person who will be) driving it.

Click to shrink...

Well, funny you say that.

Cyberpunk.... well the original TTRPG Cyberpunk was 80s imagination of what the 2020s would look like....

Then Cyberpunk RED and Cyberpunk 2077/Edgerunners came after that.

Cyberpunk 2077 and Edgerunners, well they're taking that version of the 2020s and building upon it to what we're introduced to.

 

[Nanashi-chan]

Looking very good so far looking forward to more