He was scared, heart beating so hard it hurt in his chest, hands shaking and sweaty, but he kept walking home. Trying his best not to look behind him.The scavs were following him. He knew. Bunch of kids down on their luck that decided they weren't too soft to join up with the local scavs, to open up people and rip off their chrome. Two of them stuck to his back like glue, following him. “C’mon choom! Where is the neighborly love fool, stop for a bit!”

He knew them, recognized them. The sons of Magnolia, his neighbor. Pair of thin kids always glancing at his right arm. He kept walking, sweating. After crossing a street, in a corner, the footsteps quickened. He started running, a yell behind him, “Grab him!”

Doing his best to lose them, Lorenzo stepped into the side streets, speeding through corners and jumping across trash in desperation. God, please. He thought. Not like this. Not after everything. But prayers don't stop bullets, and with a loud gunshot and a single instant he fell into the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. He grunted, wept and turned to crawl, but the scavs reached him.

“Fucking hell Richard! Shit! Why'd ya shoot ‘im? The Tino’s come lookin’ and we're fucked!”

“Shut up! We was gonna lose the gonk, dumbass!”

Lorenzo could hardly hear, between the pain and the shock, but he refused to turn and look. He kept trying to get away, sprawled on the ground and twitching like a worm. Just a bit, a bit more. His leg burned in pain, and he had a terrible headache. Please. Before he could keep begging in his own head, something choked him. Richard, the youngest, had reached over him to grab at his neck with both arms while still holding the gun, making sure Lorenzo couldn't move.

“Get the fucking arm, Mike. Just do it.”

“You know Straff said we're supposed to bring ‘em in! He's gonna get fucking ma—”

“JUST DO IT! FUCK!” Michael hesitated for a moment, but he knew they were in Valentino turf. Lorenzo was a construction worker for them, and if they got caught messing with Tino blue collars they'd be in too deep. So he crouched and got to work. Tore open Lorenzo's work clothes at the back with a shiv and checked his arm. The poor man wheezed, face turning red as Richard put a knee on his back to keep him from moving. He tried to move, pull strength from his cyberarm, but he couldn't. Not with his neck pulled back in that position. Rick and Mike were young, but heavy-set. A pair of sixteen year olds with too much weight on them and just enough muscle.

When Michael couldn't make sense of the connections on Lorenzo's shoulder, he looked around for something. Lorenzo saw him pick up a brick from the corner of his eye.

“...Please, please don't…” His eyes watered as the boy got closer, “... don't…”. But it didn't matter how he struggled, he couldn't get the other one off his back.

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Michael swung down at his shoulder, brick in hand, and the metal arm creaked. It would need a few more hits before it came loose, as the arm was meant for construction work, it was tough, and worth a nice bit of eddies. He kept swinging the brick, and Lorenzo screamed. The man felt every hit. The continuous hits at his shoulder crunched his nerves and set them aflame with agony. When all was done and the shoulder was crushed, the kid managed to pull off the cyberarm.

Mike laughed maniacally as he lifted de Chrome high in the arm, stumbling from excitement. “It's off! Hahahahahahaha! It's off! It's off!” His companion laughed in kind, they'd sell off the thing for a good amount, get in good with the scav group they joined, buy a big iron and hit a bigger target. Lorenzo, in turn, gasped and cried in shock. His entire shoulder hurt, little bits of leftover steel piercing into his skin.

The sky rumbled the slightest bit, and it started raining, putting a stop to the scav's excitement. They looked at each other, the arm, and then at Lorenzo. Richard tightened his grip on the worker's neck, choking him instead of holding him. Mike stepped back and checked both ends of the alley. After a few seconds, Lorenzo stilled, but the boy clenched his hands for a half minute more, to make sure. When he felt sure he'd killed him, that there wasn't a pulse anymore, he hurried to stand up and run with his brother, hollering about how they'd get rich all the way out.

The corpse was left behind, and the rain went on. Water pooled and mixed with blood, drenching his clothing.

…

…

…

The rain went on, day turning to night.

…

…

…

The corpse twitched, glazed and dry eyes shook. A flush of life came to him, his heart, like an old engine sputtering back into action, pumped blood again. With a grunt and a groan, he lifted himself into a kneeling position, hand down on the floor. Lorenzo stopped his panting, and took a deep, deep breath. The air went in painfully, the muscles on his right shoulder tensing with the intake. But Lorenzo felt it. He felt something.

He exhaled slowly. He was alive.

Whomever he was before, didn't matter. He didn't remember. Merely a vague feeling, like waking up from a long dream… Like an instinct leftover of how to live, thoughts jumbling together, two people becoming one singular being. He started into the foggy night of the city, neon lights shining into the sky colorfully.

“Ahh… Night City…” His voice came out strained, tired. He stood up with difficulty, hopping on his good leg. Whatever kind of shit luck is this? He pondered, baffled, dying is almost preferable. He lifted his hand to touch his own face, noticing it was different from the one he had before. He looked to his right, where his missing chrome arm should be. He thought, derisively: this one is also different.

Pausing to think for a moment, he looked to the sky. As if making up his mind, he turned slightly and started walking (hopping) away. He'd live another day, it seemed. A last chance in a city that never offered one. He'd make the best of it…