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His mind drifted up from a thick, murky darkness, the sound of raucous cheering and a heavy bass thrum pulsing through his head like a migraine made of sound. His body felt weighed down, each limb leaden and immovable, and he couldn't focus through the fog wrapping his thoughts. He managed to crack his eyes open, and the first thing he registered was a flickering, dim overhead light, struggling to stay on in a ceiling lined with exposed steel beams. Each flash cast distorted shadows across the rusted, battered interior of what seemed to be an old, gutted warehouse.

Groaning, he forced his eyes to adjust, taking in the scene around him. Figures, distorted by his hazy vision, loomed and swayed. His head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, but he could make out a crowd packed close together, pressing in around something at the center of the warehouse. As his vision cleared, he realized it was a makeshift fighting pit, its chainlink fencing barely visible through the thick, shifting sea of bodies. The pit floor was stained dark - blood probably - fresh and old. In the gloom, people cheered, shouted, jeered, their faces lit by the sporadic flash of handheld neon lights, the scent of sweat, blood and shit heavy in the air. For some reason he thought the people in the crowd had more than two eyes, glowing red ominously, but that had to be his imagination.

He squinted, trying to make sense of the scene. Somewhere deep in his gut, unease coiled, his senses catching up to his situation piece by piece. He couldn't move, couldn't turn his head. His arms were strapped down, and his legs felt locked in place. He looked down and realized he was bound to a fucking dentist's chair or something, cracked leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles holding him fast. His hands flexed automatically, testing the bindings, but they held tight, worn but effective.

His head spun, a disorienting mix of confusion and nausea. "What… The hell?" He murmured, struggling to shake off the grogginess. This doesn't make sense, he thought, a strange pulse of clarity pushing through the fog. Things were beginning to click, the glowing eyes - optics, his mind supplied, the chair, a Ripperdoc chair, not a dentist's chair… Cyberpunk… It's a video game! Not real life! His mind latched onto the thought, clinging to it like a lifeline. Why did this dream feel so… Real? The thought was a weak comfort, a desperate hope that he was only dreaming. It had to be. Right?

No way was he really here, all that chrome, neon and crazy hairdos he saw… He was just dreaming it up, right? RIGHT!?

But then, a looming figure interrupted his thoughts, blocking out the flickering light as it leaned over him. Its face was grotesque, unmistakably Maelstrom. The man's skull was mostly metal plating and riveted edges, with a set of three red optics glaring down at him, gleaming like hungry, mechanical eyes. The bottom part of his face was a nightmare of scarring and wiring, flesh barely visible amongst the steel as the optics whirred in and out as if taking a better look at him.

"Look who's finally comin' to," The Maelstrom ganger cackled, leaning in close enough that the stench of his sour rotten breath washed over him. The ganger's smile was crooked, more a sneer than anything, he could see metal gleaming inside his mouth as well from how close it was to him. "Awake yet?" The Maelstrom taunted, and he could do nothing but watch as a needle-tipped injector appeared in the thing's hand, plunging it hard into his neck.

Pain flared for a moment, burning in his veins, cutting through the last of the fog in his head. He hissed between clenched teeth, feeling his vision sharpen abruptly. It was like a harsh, cold slap waking him up fully, even as he reeled from the sting in his neck and the burn all though his veins.

Shit, shit, shit! This isn't a dream!!

"What's going on?" He managed, his voice barely audible over the pounding music and the roar of the crowd, a steady pulse that matched the hammering of his heart. The sounds and lights were overwhelming, making it hard to concentrate.

The Maelstrom ganger leaned back, crossing his arms, his optics gleaming in their little dark corner away from the masses. He snorted, his tone dripping with mocking amusement. "What, got amnesia now, Rale?" He sneered, practically spitting the name. He laughed, as though it was the punchline to some joke he was sharing with himself.

"Rale?" The word felt foreign on his tongue, unfamiliar and wrong. It didn't sit right, like he was trying on someone else's name. That's not me, he thought, his confusion mounting. "That's not… I mean, is it?" He muttered, his thoughts spiraling. This had to be a dream. None of this made sense. Yet… If it was his dream, why wouldn't he use his own name?

Isekai fanfiction was a guilty pleasure of his! Not a fucking wish list! Horror was rising up as he felt sick, being in the grasp of Maelstrom was pretty much the worst thing that could happen… If this was real, he was so utterly fucked.

The ganger's face twisted, his brow furrowing as his sneer shifted to a scowl. He leaned down, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look directly into his optics. The mechanical hand was rough, unforgiving, servos whirring with each small twitch of his grip. It wasn't a simple cyberhand he noticed, even through his growing horror and panic, feeling somewhat detached, like this was an out of body experience. It was specifically made, he suspected, to be able to grind and cut, the many mechanical parts marking it as cyberization meant for a purpose beyond just a hand.

"Don't give me that shit, Rale," He hissed, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained anger. "You think you're clever? You think you're gonna get out of this by pretendin' you don't know us, you gonkshit?" He tightened his grip, yanking harder. "Ain't gonna work, choom. You screwed us over. Ain't no memory loss gonna save you from payback."

"Payback?" Rale - because that was his name apparently - stared up, his heart pounding. The rough grip on his scalp, the smell of sweat and rust, the sensation of the leather straps digging into his wrists - all of it was vivid, too vivid to be a dream even if he still felt oddly calm somewhere beneath the immediate horror. There was a clenching in his gut, a gnawing unease that had started as doubt but was quickly evolving into fear. This felt all too real.

Yet somehow, even knowing where he was, he couldn't muster that fear up properly in the end, the feeling settling, which didn't seem like him at all. If there was any situation to piss yourself in, this was surely it? Was he drugged?

Scav Den, or Maelstrom Pit, there wasn't much difference, and either way, it didn't bode well for his extremely short life expectancy. He doubted he could count on a last minute save, he wasn't a protagonist… Not that… Being a protagonist actually helped in this setting.

How had he gotten here? What evil had he committed that he was to suffer such an aborted isekai experience? NTR was a trash fetish, but surely pounding the MILF next door while her husband was away wasn't enough for this fate? It was his only sin, really!

Fuck, that had practically been a public service! She'd been so thirsty he hadn't even had to try! Where was his reward for being such an upstanding citizen!?

He fruitlessly struggled against his bindings, if he wasn't allowed to feel proper fear for some damn reason, he was gonna feel angry, really fucking angry! Whoever put him in this situation was going to be flatlined with extreme prejudice!

Flatline? Why didn't I think kill? Wait, do I have… Memories?

He wasn't able to explore his new find however, as the Maelstrom who had been idly watching as some gonk got eviscerated to great cheers in the fighting pit, turned back to him. Rale could hear the guys cries for mercy, before they suddenly ended in a wet gurgle.

The Maelstrom ganger snorted, his expression a twisted mix of anger and satisfaction as he studied him. "Tch, lost fifty eddies on that brat, for sure thought he'd die in a more interesting way." A blade slowly slid out of the wrist of the hand holding his hair, hooked and sharp looking, it slowly pierced the skin around his scalp, cutting him up, seemingly just out of boredom. "Playin' dumb won't get you outta this, Rale. After kleppin' our chrome, thinkin' you could just walk away…" He laughed, a low, cruel sound that grated against his ears. The 'strom freak let go of his hair, shoving his head back against the chair with a rough jerk, making his vision spin for a moment, even as he bled freely from the jagged line drawn across his scalp.

The ganger leaned in close, his breath rancid, his optic glinting with menace. His metal-plated face stretched into a sneer that was pure malice, the scar tissue around his mouth pulling tight as he spoke, his voice dripping with dark glee.

"We're gonna see how much ya like it now, eh, meat?" He flexed his free hand, revealing a long, jagged saw sliding out from the forearm, its teeth gleaming faintly under the grimy warehouse lights. The whir of servos echoed, a prelude to the violence about to unfold.

Rale's heart thundered in his chest, his eyes widening as he watched the saw rev up, the serrated blade turning in slow, menacing rotations. The Maelstrom ganger leaned close, his grin widening, relishing in his look or comprehension.

"Ya wanted chrome, Rale…" He hissed, his voice almost gleeful as he loomed closer, the saw inches from his face, vibrating with an ominous hum. "Well, let's get you chipped, eh?"

----------------------------------------

There weren't proper words for it, not in any language Rale knew. It was a raw, unbearable torment, searing through his nerves and pounding through his mind, yet something kept him anchored, some calm flicker at his core that refused to let him drown. Even though the pain was nearly unimaginable, that flicker kept him from slipping completely into the chaos, holding him together enough to endure. But the agony… That was something he could neither control nor ignore, just survive.

The burning hatred that grew in his very soul for every cut, for every nerve screaming in agony, sustained him as well, fed him. Forced him to survive this butchery. He refused to give up, to let this monster who'd renounced his humanity win.

When the Maelstrom ganger, who finally introduced himself as Romeo, (what the fuck?) had begun his twisted 'procedure', Rale had been plunged into darkness from the get go, the first step the monster had gone for, scooping out his eyes, with clawed fingers, tittering about his useless meatware, and his one eye of civilian grade optics - to work with his internal agent - calling it just as trash as meatware.

The searing pain in his eye sockets, the twisted sensation of nerves being tampered with and left raw, had left him screaming, thrashing against the restraints as Romeo's sadistic chuckles filled the air. Darkness was all that greeted him, beyond the sounds of the raucous Maelstrom crowd - his vision had been taken first, his eyes replaced with the empty, aching void in his skull. Somehow it made everything so much worse.

"Don't worry," Romeo had purred in his ear, his tone mocking, almost playful, "I've got a nice half broken pair of shitty optics for you. Pulled 'em fresh out of a gonk joytoy who… Well, let's just say she didn't meet our standards. Shame about the waste, eh? Free pussy is free pussy." He snorted, clearly amused by his own joke. "Means we have a free Midnight Lady I could chip in, what do you say, Rale? Wanna be our little joytoy? It will keep you out of the pits… For a few hours."

Rale's mind twisted with fear and disgust as Romeo's words seeped into him, but he couldn't respond properly at the moment even if he wanted to. His throat was raw from screaming, his mind spiraling between the boundaries of pain and terror and then back again as something within him refused to sink further into fear and despair. He could only lie there, bound and blind, as Romeo continued talking, casually recounting his plans like they were the details of some leisurely afternoon. "Gotta save the optics for last, though, choom. Keep you in the dark a bit longer. Adds to the experience, doesn't it?"

Without warning, the cold, prickling sting of metal brushed against his arm. Rale's senses jolted to life, his instincts screaming as Romeo's tools began the work of severing and replacing. His arms were cut off first, the pain indescribable, he had to be under some sort of drug, because he didn't lose consciousness, even as he prayed for it.

Afterwards came the feeling of nerves being pulled and prodded with no sense of care or precision. Romeo worked quickly but carelessly, intentionally leaving connections half-finished, nerves exposed, the chrome barely attached. Pain shot through him like electric fire, twisting up from his new fingertips to his spine, jolting his body until he briefly, finally, passed out, the relief of unconsciousness mercifully shutting out the agony.

Whatever drug Romeo had been using hadn't lasted long for some reason, something he complained bitterly about, lamenting the ruination of his fun when his patients could just knock out on him.

The relief never lasted however. Every time he thought he could escape, the pain would tear him back into consciousness. Romeo would prod him awake, each return to awareness met with fresh shocks of torment as his arms were fitted and refitted, nerve by nerve. Each attachment was calculated to hurt, chrome forced onto bone and muscle in ways that only a sadist would enjoy.

They weren't meant to last. The fighting pit was pitting the already dying against each other for their amusement. The chrome would be repurposed, this agony, it was all just for fun.

"C'mon, don't tap out on me yet, choom," Romeo's voice called each time Rale stirred awake, words slick with the pleasure of his cruelty. "We're not even halfway done yet. Don't be a gonkpussy or I'll really install that Midnight Lady to make you match, although I'll have to do some interior decorating for ya to make that implant fit..."

By the time Romeo moved on to his legs, Rale could barely think, his mind numbed to everything but the pain. He tried to keep some focus, some faint hope that he'd wake from this nightmare, that he'd find himself back in his home, staring at the ceiling and realizing it was all some twisted, sick dream. But each jolt of pain, each press and pull of the chrome, dragged him back to reality, grounding him in a hell he couldn't escape.

Finally, after what felt like hours of torture, Romeo's voice broke through the haze again. "Alright, time to give you some sight, fresh meat," He taunted, his tone almost sounding… Aroused. The ache of new optics being jammed into place and haphazardly attached made Rale wince, but then - light. Dim and blurry at first, but light nonetheless.

When his vision finally settled, he forced himself to look down. His body was… unrecognizable. His arms and legs were exposed, raw chrome, barely connected, cheap parts bolted directly onto his skin in haphazard fashion. The plating around his new arms was crooked, exposed wires sparking faintly with each slight movement, while his legs looked like they'd been pulled from the cheapest, most outdated stockpile imaginable. Every shift, every attempt to move, sent spikes of sharp pain radiating up through his body.

Romeo leaned in close, his grinning face an inch from Rale's as he gave him a final once-over. "Not bad, right? Got some decent chrome on you now," He chuckled, slapping Rale's shoulder with mock camaraderie. "Those arms? Mantis blades in there, even if they're shit stock from a scrapyard. Think of 'em as a little going-away gift from yours truly."

He held up a Midnight Lady implant, some flesh still attached and hanging off in slimy bloody strips, giving it a forlorn look, "I'll save this for if you survive the first bout, something for you to look forward to chipping in, eh, Rale?"

Rale couldn't summon a response. His vision, though shaky and tinted with red, allowed him to see the mess of his own form, the mismatched and unpolished chrome now part of his body. But even through the pain, a low, simmering rage burned at the core of his mind. He'd remember this. Every taunt, every jab, every piece of this torment. If he survived, he'd repay Romeo for every single second of it.

He'd make his death legendary. He just had to survive. He had to. A piece of shit like this didn't deserve to walk away and keep breathing.

"Time to see if you can handle yourself with the upgrades," Romeo sneered, his voice dripping with cruel amusement as he reached down and unlatched the restraints. Rale's weakened arms barely responded, his legs trembling as they touched the floor. Romeo shoved him roughly toward the pit, his laughter echoing as Rale stumbled, struggling to catch himself on unsteady, glitchy legs. The pain flared anew with each step, his muscles twitching against the unstable chrome, but he forced himself forward, even as the world swam around him.

"Fresh meat, right here!" Romeo hollered to the crowd as Rale staggered toward the center of the pit. The ring of onlookers jeered, hollered, and some even threw taunts his way, the anticipation thick in the air. Romeo leaned over the edge of the pit, cackling, "Hundred eddies says he guts himself on those blades before his opponent even gets a hit in!"

Rale grit his teeth, barely able to focus as he staggered into the center. His arms, outfitted with the low-grade mantis blades, twitched and jerked, the blades themselves jutting from his arms like jagged claws, their dull sheen promising more harm than help. His legs shook, barely supporting his weight as he took one painful step after another, forcing himself not to collapse under the strain. His vision pulsed, the world flickering in and out as his mind struggled to stay connected, but he refused to go down. Not yet.

He wasn't sure he'd survive this, not with the mess of cheap cyberware now holding his body together, in fact he was almost sure he wouldn't. The odds were stacked against him - his own arms could do as much damage to him as to anyone else. But as he breathed in, forcing himself to hold on, he felt that steady calm settle over him again. Holding him steady, keeping the panic at bay.

Did whoever he used to be have bioware or something? Something to figure out if… No when, he survived this.

Rale tightened his jaw, a fierce resolve burning behind his new eyes. If he survived this, if he somehow made it out of this pit alive, he'd remember every detail of what had been done to him. Every scream Romeo had laughed through, every taunt, every jab. He'd carve it into his memory, fuel it with the agony still wracking his body.

"Keep walking, fresh meat," Romeo taunted again as he paused for a moment, but Rale barely registered it now. His focus tunneled, narrowing to a single, unwavering thought.

They'll all die.

Every single Maelstrom in Night City. I'll kill them all.

...

Rale stumbled forward, the chaotic roar of the Maelstrom crowd washing over him as he staggered into the absolute center of the fighting pit. The pit itself was nothing but a five foot deep circular area carved out of the cracked concrete floor, surrounded by a rusted chain-link fence and flooded with harsh, flickering lights. The smell of stale beer and smoke hung thick in the air, along with the metallic tang of sweat and blood mixed with the scent of shit and piss. There were still two bodies laying in the pit, just carelessly tossed to the side. The crowd leaned forward, packed against the fence, jeering and shouting, already tossing cigarettes and empty cans over the edge as they waited for the fight to begin.

Across from him, a straw haired woman who might once have been beautiful, stepped into the pit. Rale's stomach twisted as he took her in, the sight even more jarring through the shaky red-tinged vision of his new, subpar optics. Her skin was pallid, her eyes hollow, barely reflecting the lights around them. She was equipped with mismatched chrome like his, but her augments seemed even more patched-together, rusted and brutal in their functionality. Her arms, too, held low-grade mantis blades - machined together by the 'strom it appeared, definitely not Corpo or Mil grade, the dull steel catching the flickering lights as she moved with a slow, dragging determination. Scars ran across her exposed skin, giving him an idea of what she'd endured here.

Pity warred in his gut with his survival instincts. He couldn't afford to care, but perhaps him winning here… Would be a mercy for her at this point anyway.

The woman's eyes met his, and for a moment, Rale glimpsed something beyond the brutality and pain, a trace of the person she might have once been, as if the woman was asking for something. But whatever it was, it was buried deep moments later, replaced by a grim, exhausted resolve that told him she wasn't going down without a fight, probably the only thing she could still control here. Unlike him, she definitely seemed like she'd been here awhile too.

That did not bode well for him if he won...

"Fucking gonk got his hands full now! Joy's gonna fuck him up!" A voice hollered from the edge of the pit, laughter and jeers erupting as a bottle smashed against the fence near Rale's head, showering him with a spray of stale smelling beer.

"Joy's always more frisky in the ring after an assfuck, she'll definitely win!" Another added in a bellow, laughing like a hyena as other gangers added on to the filth, calling out all the things she apparently 'loved'.

Romeo added his own two ennies, "Hah, you pussy ass gonks, it's not called an assfuck when it's a dozen guys in a row!" He tossed a can of something, splashing Joy in the face, the woman not even flinching, "It's called a Smashing."

Rale clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the barrage of insults and debris being hurled his way, and the filth they were spewing, he didn't want to think too much about it, or he'd lose this fight on sympathy alone... His muscles ached with every movement, the nerves in his arms and legs sparking with erratic pain as the poorly fitted chrome lagged just slightly behind each thought. He barely had control of his new limbs, and the weight of them felt foreign, dragging him down as he struggled to stay upright.

The woman moved first, her eyes hollow and dead as she raised her arm and lunged. Her mantis blade swung through the air, the sharp edge whistling as it sliced down toward his shoulder. Rale's instincts screamed, and he twisted to the side, the blade missing him by a hair's breadth. But the motion was clumsy, his legs struggling to balance under him, and he nearly stumbled as he dodged.

"C'mon, choom! Don't dance, fight!" Someone from the crowd shouted, the taunt followed by a can that glanced off his back, sending a ripple of dull pain through his torso even as motor oil, from the smell of it, splashed all over him.

"Those who fuck with Maelstrom, get FUCKED!" Romeo roared out, to loud cheers, before he yelled out, "C'mon Rale, trip and slice yourself up already, I put eddies on you to fuck up, you fuckup!"

Rale grit his teeth, focusing on his opponent as she advanced again, her steps unsteady but steadier then his. He shifted back, keeping his distance, trying to anticipate her movements, but his own arms twitched with every small adjustment, the half-attached nerves protesting with every swing. He managed to dodge a second blow, the blade grazing his chest but sparing him a direct hit.

As he backed away, he could see the strain in her eyes, the last remnants of her strength barely holding her together. Her movements were robotic, almost mechanical, yet with each lunge, her breath came harder, her expression growing more strained. She was fighting not just against him, but against the weight of her own broken body.

Despite all his agony, he was coming fresh to this fight, she'd obviously suffered in more than one so far, plus… She'd obviously been forced to endure more while not fighting too, which took its toll.

The crowd had no sympathy for either of them, although they did seem to be more on her side. They howled, shouted, and threw whatever they had at the edge of the pit. "Slice him open, Joy!" A tinny electronic voice yelled, followed by raucous laughter as someone tossed a half-finished drink into the pit, splattering the ground, and them, with dark liquid. The woman's face showed no recognition of any of this, but she did begin moving again, her gaze locked on Rale.

With a low, almost animal-like cry, she lunged again, this time catching him with her greater speed. He tried to twist out of the way, but his new chrome lagged, the connection between thought and action just a beat too slow. Her blade found its mark, piercing into his shoulder, sending a jagged wave of pain radiating down what was left of his flesh arm. He bit back a shout, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth as he stumbled backward, biting right through his lip, his hand instinctively trying to go to the wound in his shoulder, glitching out before getting there.

The blade hadn't gone too deep, but the sharp pain was enough to rattle him, the dull ache throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He could feel the crowd's excitement surging as they cheered for the woman, jeering at his misstep, their voices a relentless roar in his ears.

"Get him, Joy!" One of the gangers shouted, slapping the chain-link fence with his metal hand. "Show the fresh meat how it's done! Fuck it until it screams!"

"You gonk, that's what we're doing to her after!" Another laughed.

She hesitated for a brief moment, her gaze flickering to the crowd, but whatever flicker of hesitation she might have felt disappeared as quickly as it came. She charged forward again, her steps faltering in weakness, but still moving forward. Rale barely had time to steady himself still due to his shit cyberware, his own blades extending reflexively from his arms in a sluggish, jerky motion.

He managed to parry her next swing, his mantis blades clashing with hers in a shower of sparks, the impact vibrating up his arm as he struggled to maintain his balance. The strain was palpable, his body quivering under the weight of his chrome as he fought to keep his footing, the exertion only adding to the chaos inside him.

His opponent's attacks began to slow however, her movements growing less coordinated, each step heavier than the last. Rale could see the toll it was taking on her, the way her limbs shook, her breathing ragged and uneven. Her mechanical habitual resolve was still there, but her body was betraying her, her endurance faltering under the strain of her battered chrome and the ravages her body had undergone.

In a moment of desperation, as his own stamina was nearing its end, he lunged forward at this chance, his blade slicing down in a broad, sweeping motion. His dull mantis blade struck her arm catching some exposed wiring, catching her off guard as her arm faltered, she staggered, her expression one of momentary confusion and pain, as if her body had simply given up on her will as her arm spazzed on her.

Before she could recover, Rale swung his blade again, aiming lower, catching her side with just enough force to throw her off-balance, the tip just sharp enough to pierce, drawing blood. She stumbled back, her footing unsteady, and he pressed forward, his own breaths coming in desperate gasps as he tried to end it. He didn't want to hurt her, she was as much a victim as he was, worse actually, and he could see the flickering light in her eyes, the last scraps of a person who hadn't chosen this life - but just as her, he was left with no other choice.

He'd avenge her, he would find a way. He'd find out who she was. Who she'd been, before these demons had taken her. One day, he'd get these Maelstrom, all of them. And she would rest in peace.

With one last move, he struck her across the neck, dragging the only sharp part of his blade across it, opening up a red smile, sending her to the ground, her body crumpling as her energy gave out. She slumped to the floor of the pit, her eyes fluttering as her life slipped away, he thought she looked thankful.

Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

Rale staggered back, his legs barely holding him upright as he fought to catch his breath. His shoulder throbbed where she'd struck him, the wound a gnawing ache to add to all the others, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind, his focus shifting to his own survival. The crowd was roaring, a mix of cheers and boos filling the air, and he could feel the eyes of the Maelstrom gangers boring into him, their anticipation hanging heavy as they awaited the next move.

Romeo's voice cut through the chaos, laced with mockery. "Fresh meat actually survived! Hell, didn't even cut himself with those fucking blades," He sneered, his laughter echoing across the pit. "Guess I lost that hundred eddies." His laughter took on a more sinister quality, "Guess I gotta chip ya in and charge five eddies a pop and make it back, heh! Especially with Joy lost…"

"She's still warm, we can still have a go!" Another 'strommer laughed, grabbing his junk.

Rale forced himself to look up, meeting Romeo's gaze across the pit, a fire smoldering in his eyes. Every fiber of his being ached, his body was beaten and battered, his limbs barely responding. But he was still standing, and somewhere deep down, a fierce, stubborn determination kept him from giving in.

Before he could even attempt to do anything, not that he had any idea of what, a thick pipe slammed into his forehead, sending him down to his knees, his vision whiting out.

Through the din, he could barely hear the roar, "Hey! Don't break the gonk until I get my hundred eddies back, woman!"

...

Rale's eyes flickered open, barely able to make sense of the world around him. His body felt like it had been dragged through hell and back, every muscle screaming, every bone bruised. The dim light above him cast uneven shadows across his vision, its buzzing hum mingling with the muffled noise around him. His ears picked up bits and pieces - jeers, cheers, the unmistakable throb of heavy bass that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

Oh right, I'm still here… The fighting pit.

He could barely focus, the hit to his head seemed to be the last straw, his body not able to shake it off.

The crowd was still there, surrounding the fighting pit like a pack of rabid animals. Rale could barely keep himself upright even as he weakly stood back up again, his knees threatening to buckle with every step as he took in the scene. His cyberlimbs were already strained to their limit, and his entire body screamed for rest. But even through the haze of exhaustion, he couldn't ignore the sudden shift in the crowd's energy.

It started with a few murmurs, faces turning, eyes widening as a disturbance rippled through the mass of bodies around him. He could just make out someone yelling over the din, voice rising in a strangled cry, "Edgerunners!"

Before he could process the words, he watched in shock as some of the Maelstrom members began twitching, their bodies convulsing as if struck by an electric current. Sparks erupted from their cyberware, and several of them dropped to their knees, scrambling to regain control as more shouts filled the air, gunshots now audible over the music and screams.

Rale staggered, his vision blurring, but his instincts told him to drop. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, collapsing just as the first gunshots erupted in his vicinity. Bullets tore through the air, filling the warehouse with deafening noise as Edgerunners surged into the scene, ambushing the Maelstrom with an unrestrained appetite for violence. The fighting pit provided a small haven, its lowered position shielding Rale from the storm of bullets that sliced through the air above him.

The Maelstrom gang responded with chaotic fury, returning fire with an uncoordinated, frantic barrage. He could hear them shouting orders, barking curses as they tried to hold their ground. Somewhere through the blur, he caught a glimpse of one of the Edgerunners - a black towering figure of a woman, cackling madly as she unloaded two shotguns, cyberarms bulging with muscle and mechanical reinforcement as she handled the brutal recoil with ease. Her laughter echoed above the chaos, mingling with the screams and the rapid-fire of automatic weapons.

The world around Rale spun as his vision narrowed, his heartbeat fading to a dull thud in his ears. His mind struggled to keep up, the sheer sensory overload pounding at him from all sides. Bodies fell, figures collapsed in heaps, blood splattering across the concrete as the floor became a battlefield. And then, just as he tried to pull himself up, his strength gave out, and darkness swallowed him whole.

---

The first thing he noticed as he drifted back into consciousness was the faint hum as a system notification flashing in his vision.

You have slept/been unconscious for eight hours. Your state has been restored.

Rale blinked, the words hovering before him like some surreal hallucination, only to disappear after a few moments. He shook his head, struggling to make sense of it, but his disorientation was quickly interrupted by a scream nearby. His vision cleared, and he found himself staring up at a tired-looking man in a worn uniform, deep bags under his eyes, who scrambled backward, nearly tripping over himself.

"What the fuck, Hernandez? You chicken shit gonk!" A sharp, angry voice yelled from somewhere nearby. "Pick up your pussy and keep working!"

Said man, apparently named Hernandez, holding what he recognized as a Unity in a shaky grip, pointed at him, glared over his shoulder, shouting, "Fuck you, Roger! One of the damn corpses just fucking opened its eyes!"

Another person, a female, called out caustically, "That happens when you face fuck a corpse, aren't ya used to it?"

A shiver ran down Rale's spine as he looked around. He was lying in a pile of bodies, half-buried among bloodied corpses, the remnants of the brutal fight surrounding him. His optics automatically picked out details - the faces frozen in death, the glint of chrome that the bodies had yet to be stripped of - his optics highlighting them down to what brand they were and the state they were in. He fought back a wave of nausea, the remembered horror of the situation settling in and disappearing just as quickly, as he realized he had somehow survived the massacre.

To his disappointment, there weren't nearly enough dead Maelstrom laying around.

He looked at Hernandez again, this time paying more attention to the small icon that popped up in his vision, identifying the man as a worker for Night City's meat wagons, the scavenge crews who collected the dead from crime scenes and likely stripped them of any valuable chrome if they happened to have any still by that point. Rale swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. Everything was real… He'd been in a fight pit, forced to brawl with a cyber-enhanced killer, chromed up against his will, and left for dead. And now the meatwagon crew was here, ready to pick apart the leftovers.

A horrible thought clicked in his mind - they must have assumed he was just another corpse. How close had he been to just having his chrome ripped out of him and bleeding to death.

And why did he feel fine?

The man named Roger, a bulky, cyber-jawed bruiser with a scowl permanently etched into his face - literally - it was etched into his cheap cyberjaw, giving him an almost cartoonish look - stepped closer, eyes narrowed. Behind him stood two others, another man and a woman, both eyeing Rale with suspicion, their hands twitching near their weapons.

Rale raised his hands slowly, keeping his movements measured, trying not to provoke them. "Yo… I really gotta pick my nap spots better," He quipped, his voice hoarse but laced with a half-hearted attempt at humor.

He wasn't sure what the proper way to introduce himself was in this situation, wary that he wasn't out of the woods yet.

He'd played the game, watched the anime, even knew some of the old lore. He knew odds were slim that he'd run into some good Samaritans, even if they worked for the city government. Or should he say - especially as they worked for the city government.

Hernandez gaped at him, disbelief written across his face as his Unity lowered slightly. But Roger, clearly not one for jokes, kept his iron trained, suspicion blazing in his eyes. "You Maelstrom?" He demanded, his grip tightening. He eyed Rale's extensive chrome, clearly trying to gauge how much of it was gang-issued.

Rale held his hands steady, shaking his head slowly. "Not Maelstrom. They… Uh, let's just say they forcibly upgraded me last night." His eyes flickered to the bodies around him. "Why else would I be here, half-buried in this mess?"

Although why I'm alive and well instead of dying from shitty chrome installation and a weakened body and immune system… That message earlier… Could it be…?

Roger snorted, spitting off to the side, interrupting his thoughts. "You think I was born yesterday, you lying piece of shit?" His tone dripped with skepticism and rancor, his gaze cold and calculating. Rale knew that look - the look of a man weighing his options, deciding if he was worth the trouble to take down.

Rale grimaced, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on him. "I don't think much of anything right now," He muttered, trying to keep his voice calm, but he couldn't ignore the tension in the air. He felt a pit in his stomach, the same sickening dread that had hit him before the fight last night. In Night City, that feeling rarely boded well. "Look, let's just all walk away, alright? Everyone gets a happy ending…"

Hernandez watched his boss warily, glancing between Rale and Roger. "What do we do, Roger?" He asked, voice uncertain.

Roger's eyes narrowed further, leering at Rale with a mixture of distrust and greed. "Look at that chrome, you gonk! No way that was done last night, the gonkshit is lying - it's not preem shit, but it would fetch a few hundred eddies each at least…" He trailed off, clearly sizing up Rale's cyberware, assessing its quality.

Hernandez's eyes narrowed as well, a glimmer of suspicion flickering across his face. "Now that you say it…" He raised his Unity again, this time aiming directly at Rale. "There's not even a sign of rejection. No swelling, no scars… Nothing."

Roger's expression twisted into a cruel smile, his intentions obvious. "Report said all witnesses and victims were deceased," He drawled, eyes glinting with malice. "Now we can't argue with the reports, can we, team?"

Rale felt his stomach drop. He was trapped, barely able to process the situation, and now they were about to execute him just to clean up loose ends and get their hands on his chrome. His muscles tensed, the same primal survival instinct that had helped him survive the pit flooding back.

As Hernandez and Roger pulled their triggers, he moved. Fucking Night City, of course these motherfuckers wouldn't give me a break, he thought, even as he moved.

He felt his body respond in ways he hadn't expected, his cyberlegs kicking into overdrive, suddenly working perfectly, propelling him sideways in a powerful leap that sent him clear of the first few shots. The shots whizzed past, narrowly missing as he tumbled through the pile of discarded chrome and bodies, his hands instinctively grabbing onto a torn cyberarm lying amidst the wreckage.

Without missing a beat, he flung the metal arm like a frisbee, catching Hernandez's hand with some amazing luck, and knocking the Unity from his grip with a heavy, metallic clang. Hernandez cursed, stumbling back in surprise, clutching his injured hand.

Rale spun, his cyber-boosted feet and legs turning his movements into almost a blur as he moved again. Roger, recovering from the surprise, stepped forward, raising his gun, but Rale closed the distance in an instant with a leap, avoiding the fire from the other two that just barely whizzed by. His augmented arm shot forward, mantis blades now gleaming and razor sharp, stabbing the man right in the gut slicing right in with the power assisted by his leap. Roger doubled over, his gun slipping from his grasp as he stumbled back, gasping for breath, desperately trying to hold on to his intestines as they tried to slip out.

Hernandez was rushing for his fallen weapon, but Rale moved first. He snatched up a twisted hunk of scrap from the floor - a shattered, rusted fragment of a cyber-limb that the crew had obviously discarded as not worth anything - and threw it - his optics showing him the ideal trajectory, assisting him. It struck Hernandez's shoulder, forcing him away from his gun, the impact enough to knock him off balance, as his hand clasped around Rogers gun, a Lexington his optics told him, helpfully adding that it had six rounds left in the magazine.

To his embarrassment, it took five shots - even with his optics aid - to actually hit Hernandez, the fifth shot finally taking the man in the back of the head as he kept running in zig zag patterns away from him, all the while he was propping Roger up as a shield with his other arm, making him take the gun fire from the other two.

The two remaining meatwagon crew members exchanged alarmed glances when Hernandez fell, their eyes darting between Rale and Roger and Hernandez' dead bodies. They raised their weapons again, but Rale moved first, his ankles felt almost like springs as he bounced up and above his corpse shield, rushing the two who panicked and shot their last shots a mile wide.

Rale could feel the powerful surge of his cybernetic enhancements propelling him forward, each step and swing precise, calculated. His optics flashed information as he moved, highlighting weak points and the trajectory of their guns, giving him an edge he hadn't expected. What the fuck was this? Weren't his optics supposed to be shit?

The woman was frantically reloading, even as her male compatriot stepped in front of her and drew a knife. Rale lined his shot up, helped by paying attention to what his optics showed him, lining up the proper trajectory.

The woman flopped to the ground, her gun and ammo clattering onto the concrete floor as he nailed her between the eyes in a splatter of blood. Before he threw the now empty gun at the lone man remaining.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The last meatwagon crew member had taken a hesitant step back, his eyes wide, knife trembling in his grip. Rale could see the fear in his eyes as he barely dodged aside of the thrown gun, it was too late for him to turn back now. Rale surged forward, closing the distance with a few powerful strides.

Then, with just a thought, his Mantis blades popped out, and he crossed his arms in an x in front of the man, severing his head in an explosion of blood, his own eyes widening at just how effectively the Mantis blades cut now, even as he danced away from the blood raining down.

He still thought Mantis blades were fucking stupid compared to a projectile launcher, because why get in close when you could blow someone away? But he'd have to re-examine everything he thought he knew, now that it wasn't a game anymore…

Breathing heavily, Rale scanned the scene around him, finding no more threats. Rale felt the adrenaline ebbing, the hum of his augmented limbs gradually settling. His heart pounded in his chest, the realization hitting him all over again: he wasn't just alive, he was changed. His hands were steady, his mind clear, each movement precise and deliberate. The chrome they'd forced onto him was fully integrated and working…

He knew things were weird. There was no doubt about it now. The forced calmness under pressure, healing up from what should have been lethal, with how shittily his chrome had been installed…

"Status," He mumbled experimentally, and a small window popped up in his vision, just three small blurbs filling the screen.

Gamer's Mind.

Gamer's Body.

Inventory.

Rale frowned, muttering a few more things to see if anything new would pop up, but nothing happened. It was just those three. Options, stats, menu, log out. None of them showed anything.

It appeared he only had these three things. Two of which were responsible for him surviving what shouldn't have been possible.

Gamer's Body was straightforward. It kept him in prime physical condition, regenerating fully after eight hours of sleep or unconsciousness. He also apparently had immunity to harmful toxins and various debilitating conditions - a convenient perk in a city that loved to spike drinks and dose people with all kinds of drugs against their will.

The fact it apparently also correlated to chrome, was the big thing. His Mantis blades and the rest of his chrome had been rusty pieces of shit - his optics half destroyed and malfunctioning. Yet his 'rest' had not only healed up and adjusted his body to fit perfectly with his chrome, it had restored his chrome too.

That… Was absolutely bonkers, and he loved it.

If he was going to be stuck in this dystopian world, this edge, this alone, would give him something worth more than any other three skills combined.

It was Gamer's Mind, though, that felt like the real deal. The blurb under it was brief, but it spoke of more than just a calm head under pressure. Immunity to mental manipulation, immunity to cyberpsychosis, and more importantly, unhackable. Rale took a deep breath as he read it again. He was unhackable, his mind off-limits to anyone trying to pry into his thoughts or fry his brain through his chrome. No netrunner could take him down from a distance, no virus could turn him into a mindless husk. That, in this world, was power.

It didn't mean he was some preem netrunner all of a sudden. Nor that he was an Edgerunner just because he managed to zero some meat wagon scrubs. He didn't have any of the skills necessary. Yet.

But this would ensure he'd survive to get the skills. No netrunner could fry him, get in his head, his chrome. Anything short of outright killing him, he could sleep off, even if he was unconscious it apparently counted. He'd heal right back up. Even his chrome would heal right back up.

These two things by themselves were advantages for this world worth more than all of Arasaka to him.

He was here. He had no way back, wouldn't even know how to start. He'd worked a normal 9-5, done the family thing, sacrificed his life on the mantle of responsibility, raised two kids to almost adulthood, and a dog, never having time to enjoy life. Just live it in a montage of one day in a cubicle being the same as the next, drudgery everlasting. Never choosing himself first.

Hence why he'd immersed himself into games like Cyberpunk 2077. To feel like he mattered, like he could let loose, do whatever, just enjoy. No responsibilities. And let loose some frustration on just flatlining some gonks.

Before Cyberpunk, it had been GTA. Just a necessary destresser for him, to feel like he could let loose somewhere, not have to care about anything, sacrifice himself some more. Killing shit was therapeutic, who knew?

This world was also shit, granted.

This world was also an opportunity.

Maybe he'd be flatlined within a year. But fuck, if that year wasn't spent in a cubicle? Maybe it was worth it. Especially if he went out taking out some Maelstrom…

Living on the edge… He knew it was destined for failure. But even failure could beat out another forty years of drudgery.

He'd miss his kids but they were old enough they'd be alright now, his wife had left long enough ago to begin with, leaving him more of the responsibility with none of the benefits, so got nothing to miss there, he'd miss his dog though... His kids better take care of that old bastard for him…

He eyed the last line in his bare status. Inventory.

"Inventory." He said, eyes growing wide as a field of small little blue boxes expanded in front of his vision, seemingly going on endlessly. He checked the top of the boxes, only to find an infinity symbol instead of a number.

He had unlimited inventory…

Screw complaining about only getting these three things. This was fucking amazing!

He eyed the many, many corpses around him. And all the guns, ammo, chrome. The Edgerunners who'd kicked Maelstrom out of here had been retarded. Who left this many eddies behind? He eyed the Ripperdoc chair that was still there… I wonder if I can fit that inside too…

He put a hand down on one of the corpses, and with just a thought, it disappeared, a quick check now showed he had a box with a corpse in it, zooming in on that particular box, it even laid out in text what he had on him.

A set of optics, another knife, 178 eddies, an agent, and his uniform… And… A vibrating butt plug. That had been inside him as he worked...

Fucking Night City…

With just a thought, he attempted to separate the chrome, and he found himself staring at a box with a corpse in it, and a box with two eyes and some neural ware in it. Oh, oh! He could separate chrome without risking destroying them or scrapping the value with a bad cut here and there!

He loved this!

He moved efficiently as he inventoried every body, piece of equipment and supplies in the warehouse, wary of the chance the NCPD might show if the wagon took too long to report in. Thankfully any possible trackers should be useless in his inventory space, not that he saw any when he checked. To his pleasure, the Ripperdoc chair did fit. So he klepped that too.

He also took the time to klep Hernandez clothes from under his uniform, they were too small for him, but as he'd simply been headshot, they had the least amount of blood on them. His own… Were disgusting to say the least. He also klepped Rogers Lexington and it's holster, feeling better with some iron on him, reloading it with some of the multitude of ammo that was now in his inventory.

Clad in a simple pair of jeans and a tight black tee, as well as a simple brown jacket he found on one of the dead 'fighters' that wasn't too filthy, he left the warehouse. Once outside, he took a deep breath, the cool night air filling his lungs, grounding him slightly from all the shit he'd just gone through. Night City's skyline loomed above, the towers glimmering in neon, looking just as the memories that kept trickling in suggested they should, as if nothing had happened, as if the world hadn't just shifted entirely for him. He knew he'd have to move carefully, plan his next steps if he wanted to survive here. His chrome was too visible to even pretend to be some normal guy, and he'd made more enemies in a single night than most could handle in a lifetime.

At least once Maelstrom realized he was alive anyway. With only about a dozen Maelstrom corpses to add to his inventory - none of them the one he really wanted to get at - he knew most of them had made it out of that fight.

In a way he was glad. He wanted to have a chat with Romeo one day after all.

He adjusted his jacket, the weight of his newfound chrome feeling both strange and strangely right.

He'd have to figure out his next steps once he got situated. His memories were beginning to really make themselves known, probably why he was using the vernacular so easily already.

His eyes didn't seem to be the shitty pair Maelstrom had thought they were either. So he'd have to figure that out as well, and likely earn some eddies to upgrade his arms and legs, which were not exactly top of the line.

Especially as he was still definitely ambivalent on the Mantis blades as a stupid gimmick. At least without speedware.

----------------------------------------

North side, Watson, Night City.

Rale trudged through the dingy hallways of the megabuilding, barely noticing the flickering, jaundiced lights overhead. The building reeked of musty air, garbage, shit, and the faint metallic tang that clung to the walls from a thousand modifications, repairs, and quick-fix jobs. As he made his way toward his apartment, he could hear the soundscape of the building around him; muffled voices shouting in languages he didn't know, a few doors down someone was playing loud, pounding synth-metal, and from somewhere else, the distinct hum of machinery - a tattoo gun, probably. The megabuilding was a stacked maze of steel and crumbling concrete, grimy with decades of filth, a thousand mismatched lives piled on top of one another like discarded junk.

This place was in Watson's fringes in North Side. The megabuilding, like many in Night City, was a world of its own, an ecosystem of the desperate and the dangerous crammed together in concrete hives where life churned along just above the edge of survival. These towers had once been cheap housing projects tossed up after Arasaka ate a nuke, a quick measure to deal with the many displaced citizens.

Now, they were something else - a place where people sank or swam, a purgatory for the powerless, where the rent was cheap - everything else wasn't - and safety was practically decided by dumb luck. Rale remembered only moving in a few months ago, but the building already felt claustrophobic, the grey-green concrete pressing in from every side, the staircases and hallways all blurring together in endless grime.

Druggies and the hopeless found in corners passed out, or masturbating to a BD, or sometimes just plain without one, no one giving a care to who saw or what anyone would think. People didn't live here by choice, this place was filled up simply because there wasn't anywhere cheaper in Watson. The only reason they were safe from the predatory practices of scavs and the like - the fact there was almost no chrome around, half the people in this building working the same factory jobs he had been doing for ennies since he was 13. He was 22 now, and had never gotten any further ahead.

Even the scavs had some standards, and this megabuilding was below theirs. There just wasn't enough eddies in it for them. There wasn't even any point in harvesting most gonks' organs, as drugged up as the majority of people were here. No chrome, no valuable meat, no prospects. You had to be pretty shit to have even scavs turn their noses up at you.

When he finally reached his apartment door, he keyed in his entry code - this place wasn't good enough to have bioscanners. The door scraped along the dirty floor, swinging open to reveal the 'home' he'd come to know according to his memories. It wasn't much to look at, not surprisingly. The main room was barely wide enough to fit a cot-sized bed, shoved up against the wall beneath a crackling, dying neon light. A beat-up metal desk occupied one corner, covered in XBD's and BD's, a few crumpled beer cans, and a half-dead fan sputtering in vain against the humidity. The walls were lined with peeling, damp-stained wallpaper in a sickly yellow, and the sole window was grimed over, leaving the room cast in a perpetual, sickly twilight.

The apartment wasn't much better when it came to amenities. The 'kitchen' - a loose term - was a single countertop in the corner with a small fridge that hadn't worked right in weeks and a sink that spat out water that was barely filtered from the megabuildings toilets. The bathroom, if it could be called that, held nothing but a rust-stained toilet you had to pay to flush and a trickling shower with only cold water, which also had to be prepaid per minute. Even the mirror above the sink was cracked, barely reflecting anything clearly.

Rale found himself looking at that mirror a bit differently tonight however. He wandered over, leaning down to catch a glimpse of himself, and took stock of the face looking back. Rale Cox, or at least, the body of Rale Cox, not that he saw a point in trying to go by a different name. Short dark-red hair, cropped unevenly, maybe even done with a pair of dull scissors. His face wasn't bad-looking in the traditional sense - it was rugged, the kind of face built for a tough city like this one. He had a strong, masculine jawline, covered in day-old stubble, and a jagged scar that slashed across his nose, giving him a bit of that worn, streetwise look that most men in Night City carried after a few years.

But his new eyes… Those were what held his attention. A golden ring around a burnished gold iris. His optics were impossibly sharp now that his ability had fixed them and their attachment to him. And he wondered if they'd been broken so badly they hadn't even checked it, and that was why Maelstrom had thought they were shit.

Because as far as he could tell, he could easily scan shit, the optics picking up bullet trajectories from where a gun was facing, able to tell him how much was in a mag, without a smart link, and all of that was way better than the civilian grade cheap ass eye his body had managed to save up for before. How the fuck, and why the fuck - did a joytoy have this?

What meat he had left was basically prime human condition, probably thanks to Gamer's Body, he was a beefcake to say the least. He idly checked inside his pants, whistling. Yep, beefcake. He definitely hadn't been this fit before. Although from his memories, at least the dick was a Rale original, his only good quality it seemed.

As his gaze trailed across his body, his eyes fell on his chrome, which was hard to ignore. Both his arms and both his legs, all upgraded with cyberware, each joint moving with the almost inaudible shift of mechanics as he flexed his hands and shifted his stance. There was no attempt to cover the chrome - no realskinn to make it look natural. It was raw, brutal, exposed metal. Rale knew exactly how it had gotten there, but somehow seeing it still felt foreign. Like staring at a stranger in his own skin.

He pulled back, shivering as the feeling of the chrome pulsed through him as he stretched his shoulders, pulling on the connection. This was a permanent marker, a reminder that the Night City he had only seen in games or media was real now, and he was part of it in ways he'd never expected. And now that he'd survived long enough to think clearly, the memories of this life he'd landed in were beginning to surface more vividly, piecing themselves together like fragments of a hazy dream.

He didn't like what he saw.

Although from what he'd seen of the apartment his feet had led him too, he'd immediately been aware he hadn't been well off by any measure.

The truth was, he had been reincarnated into a complete gonk. There was no way around it. Rale Cox had been a factory grunt with barely a mod to his name, scraping by on night shifts and spending what little he had on joytoys and BD's - and eventually his one eye - because he couldn't afford two. Like everyone else in this building who had given up on anything better, his life was utterly pointless. The only stroke of luck he'd had was a twisted one - an encounter with a dead ripperdoc and a stash of chrome he would have never have been able to afford in a lifetime.

What a stroke of luck, it had landed him where he was now…

Rale almost laughed, though the story was so moronic it was almost tragic. He'd remembered now, piece by piece, the reckless, idiotic choice that had landed him here. The old Rale had come across a dead Ripperdoc by complete chance.

He'd been out drinking with a co-worker, and the man had gotten a gut shot from a random drive by, from some gangoons. Only because he knew a Ripperdoc was around the corner had he even bothered to drag his choom there.

Only to find the doc dead, his patient equally dead. The two having fired several shots into each other from the look of the scene.

A thick metal vault door leaned open, the security turret inactive, the doc obviously having trusted the man he was going to chip in - if he opened it in front of him.

A mistake, obviously.

Don't trust anyone in Night City.

Seeing the windfall, and happening to know a guy, who knew a guy, who had a number to Maelstrom - he'd made the terrible decision to try to profit off it by selling the info to Maelstrom. When they paid him for the location after he'd sent the deets of the chrome stash, including pics. Rale should've called it a day. But no - he'd gotten greedy, figured he could milk it further by selling the information twice, without considering that Night City's sharks were always listening.

Or how fucking stupid double crossing Maelstrom was.

All the calls he was making, all the chooms he was asking for contact information for other people. All that noise drew attention. Every single choom had likely sold him out immediately too. Deservedly so considering he was making these calls while his choom bleed out at his feet.

Never trust anyone in Night City.

A gang had come before Maelstrom made it, quite the achievement since they were in Maelstrom territory - and Rale had fled out the back before even bothering to ID who was coming to take the shit. Which meant when Maelstrom rolled up on an empty stash, Rale couldn't even appease them with who had it now. And having already had ten thousand eddies transferred over when he flicked them the deets. They weren't in a forgiving mood.

They accused him of having a hand in stealing the chrome. Which… Technically was true, thanks to his brain dead gonk move.

Not that they ever took the money back for it either, he still had it. They hadn't cared about the money at that point. Only about how Rale had screwed them. They were a proud bunch.

Also probably figured they could just take it back anytime.

That idiotic choice would have been his last mistake. The Maelstrom had found out fast where he was hiding, tracked him down, and decided to teach him a lesson in loyalty and pain. And now here he was, instead of that moron gonkshit Rale. The new and improved Rale.

The old Rale had just been a nobody, without a lick of sense. He'd sold a stash worth at least a hundred thousand eddies - and probably three times as much as that in reality - for ten thousand. Considering it was an absolutely fully stocked Ripperdoc stash he should have known better - which now that he thought about it was odd, in Watson especially. So the doc was likely a guy who worked with scavs to boot.

Good riddance then.

Rale leaned back from the mirror, disgusted by the person he was remembering. He had ten thousand eddies to his name, but it was chump change compared to the risk he'd taken and the suffering he'd endured. That chrome cache was worth hundreds of thousands, at the very least. And for a handful of eddies, he'd nearly gotten himself killed. Should have gotten himself killed.

Although technically he didn't exist anymore, only his memories, so he'd succeeded in dying, in a way.

His gaze shifted to the small metal cot in the corner, a lump in the dingy dark of his cramped room. This was the life he'd inherited, a forgotten man living in a concrete box, drowning in a city that chewed up people like him. But the difference now was… Well, the difference was staring him in the face. He had chrome, he had a second chance, and - he checked his inventory again - he had something resembling powers, even if it was limited.

Although to call it limited… He wasn't exactly unhappy with it as it was.

For a long time, Rale just stood there, processing. He looked around his dingy room, the peeling paint, the trash scattered in corners, and his reflection with all that chrome staring back. He couldn't go back to his old life - hell, he already had a message on his agent that his factory job had already cut him off for not showing up for his shift due to the Maelstrom mess. That was one option burned, not that he cared. He wasn't going to stand in an assembly line, dying bit by bit in some corpo-owned hellhole.

He covered his face with a hand, feeling second hand embarrassment for his old self for having worked a job assembling low grade knock off cyber dicks. And not even doing a good job either.

But if he didn't want that life, what was left to do, did he have any other good options other than the one that was staring him in the face?

He wasn't a techie, didn't know anything about it. And even if he did have some amazing product or innovation to revolutionize the world. The Corpo's would just kidnap him and put him in a gilded cage - or plain kill him and steal his idea. Hardly a free life.

He thought about Edgerunners - the city's misfit legends, freelancers, mercs who took on the city and sometimes won - for a very short time and with a generous use of the word winning. Living as an Edgerunner meant living on the edge, a life short and violent, but it was generally free. It meant freedom from the cages people tried to build around you. Maybe it was his best choice now. And at least with Gamer's Mind, he wouldn't go cyberpsycho from it, wouldn't lose himself to the chrome. He'd keep his sanity, his control. It wasn't much, but it was something.

It was something more than a 9-5. And he'd already shown he could handle killing without freezing up or getting sick. Or perhaps that was Gamer's Mind at work…

If he got good enough… And with his immunity to being hacked - it was a good possibility he could make something of himself.

Then that could be as free as he could potentially get here. He'd still be able to make the eddies to actually enjoy life. Go drinking, partying, eat actual real food if he made enough, fuck some cat girls perhaps, what man didn't want that? Was Dangergal still around? And if he got strong enough, scary enough. Then a majority of people, and even corps, wouldn't tangle with him unless absolutely necessary.

He could eke out his own slice of existence. If he got strong enough.

It wouldn't solve everything, not by a long shot. Someone would always want to take a shot at the guy at the top. But it would allow him to live about as free as anyone got in this hellhole.

Of course it also had the problem that if he got too good, Adam Smasher might fancy a go. But… He'd checked his agent, he was in 2073, in just a few years Adam Smasher wouldn't be a problem anymore.

Only question was…

Did he want to get involved in all the bullshit Maine and co got in - let alone V and that bullshit…

Well, questions for another day, preferably a long time from now. He had years anyway.

Right now, he needed a new apartment. One that didn't make him feel sick just by standing in it. One where Maelstrom couldn't just walk right in.

He left the building, using his agent to cut the automatic withdrawal of eddies from his account for rent. He wasn't paying another second for that rathole.

It was time to get out of Watson. Just in case Maelstrom or anyone that cared about that Meatwagon crew started poking about.

He had some eddies now, and even more stuffed into his inventory, even if he'd have to transform that crap to actual cash first.

He could do better than this place.

----------------------------------------

Rale was moving at a steady clip through the dingy back streets of Kabuki, keeping his head low, one eye on the shadows as he tried to navigate his way out of Watson. He figured he'd get across the way to Westbrook, specifically Japantown, to find a place to crash in relative peace, away from Maelstrom turf. Kabuki's labyrinthine alleys wound on, narrow and claustrophobic, the neon lights casting everything in oily green and pink hues.

He stayed away from main streets the best he could for a reason, he'd already run into two outright shootouts between Maelstrom and NCPD, and three separate murders just in the past thirty minutes. So the backways were just safer than main streets right now. Probably.

As he walked, he could feel the weight of his chrome with every step, reminding him of the previous day's nightmare - it had to be psychological, because he was all healed up and his abilities prevented any mental illness from chipping in too much too quickly. He adjusted his jacket collar, pulling it up against the sudden chill he felt.

Then, somewhere up ahead, a muffled cry echoed from a narrow alley just off to his left.

Rale paused, ears straining. The sound faded, then came again, a desperate protest followed by a rough, mocking laugh. He tensed, recognizing that kind of laugh, the guttural cruel tone that spoke of malicious satisfaction. A scene that would be over quickly and happened a thousand times a day here - Night City wasn't exactly forgiving.

"Not my problem," He muttered, forcing himself to take another step forward. He'd seen enough of this place to know that getting involved in someone else's mess usually didn't end well - had memories of the stories of gonks who tried to white knight it, only to get fucked over and over - sometimes quite literally - rapists here subscribed to a hole is a hole philosophy. Even if he did feel a twist of guilt, that almost instinctive urge to help - it was just how he was wired - this wasn't some game. This was survival at stake.

He took another step.

The cry came again, weaker, cut off by a sharp grunt of pain.

Don't do it, don't do it! Twenty to one it's a trap to lure in gonks like me!

"Bastards!" A female voice cried out, before a meaty slap rang out again.

"Damn it." He swore under his breath, stopping in his tracks and lowering his head with a sigh. The old Rale's memories were clawing at him, telling him how much of a bad decision this was. His own conscience kicked in however, reminding him of what it had been like to be helpless, desperate once upon a time as a kid and teen, before he turned his life around, as boring as that had ended up becoming in the end. He'd come up from nothing, and he knew the struggle of no one caring what happened to you. He was here now, in Night City, where nobody cared period, where kindness was often a shortcut to a shallow grave - or more likely no grave at all, just a collection of limbs in the nearest scav den. He should just walk away.

It was the right move.

The only choice. The smart choice.

But he'd also silently made a promise to himself - that he was going to live a life on his terms, he wasn't going to let the city grind him down into something unrecognizable and cruel. He wanted freedom - and freedom meant doing whatever the hell he wanted in a way that kept him, him. And right now, he wanted to turn around and walk into that alley.

Rale turned, his gaze darting up and down the street, searching for cameras. Satisfied that the nearby alleys were not covered by the ridiculous amount of cameras one could run into in this setting - at least in the game, he pulled up his inventory and selected the first weapon that came to mind amongst his looted stash.

A shotgun materialized in his grip, the weight solid as he checked the grip. His optics identified it as a M2038 Tactician - a solid, reliable piece with a rough, chrome finish and a matte black barrel. The grip felt snug in his hand as he cocked it with a satisfying clack, the action loud enough to echo faintly, not loud enough to break the din of the city noise and the sounds still coming from the alley.

"Time to crash the party." He told himself quietly, determined to not back down now that he'd made his choice.

If he couldn't even do this, what chance did he have to become great, and rake in tons of eddies?

With the shotgun held low, he turned into the alley, scanning the narrow, dimly lit space. It took him a moment to make sense of the scene, but he quickly spotted three filthy figures crowding around a girl who was backed up against a wall, her outfit - if one could call that tiny amount of clothes one - torn, her arms held in place as one of the men pressed her back, sneering down at her.

One of the others already had his dick out, telling him all he needed to know about what was happening here.

His eyes flashed as it ran over them, and all three of them popped up with bounties, small time, only a few hundred eddies, but it identified them as suspected scavs. It was enough for him to decide they wouldn't leave the alley alive.

The girl's hair was a fiery neon red on one side hanging down the side of her face, shaved on the other side, making room for a small tattoo of a skull just like the Mox, just above her ear, faintly glowing against her pale skin. She twisted in the scavs grip, trying to kick one of her assailants, but the guy just laughed, swatting her away.

Mara Juneau, his eyes informed him, bounty of 650 eddies alive, prostitution, public nudity, public urination on a Corpo asset, assault, assault with a sex toy, defacing of NCPD property. Mox affiliated.

Charming… Well… He couldn't say he was surprised she was a Mox with a rap sheet like that. His eyes flicked over her more… Exotic modifications. Why do I keep running into Joytoys?

Seriously, he'd barely been 'awake' for a day, and the only people who weren't murderous shitstains that he'd run into, were Joytoys. Granted, he'd had to kill the other one, so maybe she didn't count. It was still weird.

"Hold still, kitten," One of the scavs sneered, a glint of metal catching the light as he raised his fist. Vyacheslav Formenkov, his eyes chimed in.

Rale muttered under his breath, stepping forward, "Seriously?" How had none of them even noticed him?

Before any of them could react to his words, he swung the shotgun hard, cracking the butt against the nearest scav's skull with a sick thud, sending the guy sprawling into the side of the alley. The sudden impact had the other two scrambling, wide-eyed, as they turned to face him.

"Who the hell -" One of them started, before the girl immediately reacted to the changed situation and made her move. In a flash, she had iron in her hand, seemingly pulled out of nowhere, and pushed it up under the jaw of one of her attackers. Her assailant was taken completely by surprise, his brains splattering across the alley a moment later as the girl fired twice in quick succession, letting out a lewd moan as she wiggled in place, rubbing her thighs together as it rained blood for a moment.

The body flopped to the ground, missing half his head, as the girl hugged her gun to her small handful of exposed breasts, giggling all the while.

He was already beginning to wonder if he'd made the right choice intervening here.

The last guy cursed and lunged at Rale, his chromed arm swinging in a wild arc. Rale was already moving, and avoided the wild lunge with ease and caught him by the collar of his grimy jacket with his free hand, twisting with his chrome-enhanced grip, he swung him back into the first scav, who was struggling to his feet holding his head. Both of them toppled over with a crash.

"End of the line," Rale muttered, bringing the shotgun to bear and firing once. The blast echoed sharply in the confined alley, and the two men's torsos turned into so much pulp, splattering the already filthy alley. It said something about Night City that the look of the alley hardly changed with the blood splatter.

He wondered idly if it was Gamer's Mind that kept him utterly apathetic to killing these gonks, or if there was something seriously wrong with him that he'd never bothered to examine in his previous life.

For a second, he kept his aim steady, watching the two scavs to make sure they weren't about to spring back up somehow, but this wasn't a game, one shot was plenty. Satisfied, he relaxed, lowering the gun.

"Wooow," Came a voice from beside him. The girl had shifted her weight to one hip, leaning forward, one finger pressed to her orange coloured lips as she batted her long eyelashes at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mock innocence. She was shorter than he'd first thought, probably barely five feet and that was counting the fact she was in 3-4 inch heels, but she held herself with the confidence of someone twice her size.

"My savior," She said in a tone dripping with exaggerated sweetness. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, but Rale noticed her gaze kept flicking back to the shotgun in his hands, lingering on it like she was sizing him up.

He gave her a wry look, lowering the gun, facing it away from her, but keeping his grip firm. The girl's expression softened, and she let out a short laugh, her posture easing just a bit.

"Like, thanks a bunch, choom. Would've been a huge pain to zero them all myself." She made her iron disappear with a slight flourish, tucking it back somewhere he couldn't see. Her outfit didn't leave much room for hiding weapons, but she clearly knew what she was doing.

With his optics unable to find an outline in her miniscule clothes, he suspected she had a compartment in her lower back or something that she could hide the iron in.

His scan was followed by her own optics glowing for a moment, as she scanned him right back, a confused look on her face for only a second, before she hid it.

"Yeah, well…" Rale replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't quite sure what to do next. There was no guide for Night City heroics in his memories, and half of him wanted to just turn around and keep going. But his curiosity got the better of him. "You, uh, okay?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, flashing him a teasing grin. "Name's Mara. What's yours, cutie?"

…Was this some unspoken thing in Night City? They'd both already scanned each other, they knew each other's name… His memories couldn't help him, he'd been a factory worker, not a runner or a ganger or someone in the know about the etiquette in these situations.

He'd just go with the flow for now, "Rale." He said, as he watched as she began rifling through the scav's pockets with practiced efficiency, tossing aside loose scraps until she found a few Eddie chits, tucking them away in her panties without missing a beat.

Considering her torn top and her ripped tiny miniskirt, she didn't have much of anywhere else to keep anything, but he still couldn't help but blush slightly at her action. He'd have to get used to it, this world was a lot looser on certain things.

Even with his memories settling in from his existence as Rale, it was still a culture shock to him.

She looked up at him, smirking as she pocketed the last of the eddies. "Ayayaya! Just as new as I thought," She cooed, her voice lilting in a way that made her sound both amused and almost lewd. "How adorable." She stuck her tongue out, just the tip, giving him a playful look. "Not that you have to worry that I'll do you dirty new guy, I'm a Mox, and we don't run like that." She ran a hand over her orange nipples teasingly, flicking her ruined top off without care, giving him a smoldering look, "We deal in only the preem dirty stuff~!"

Rale arched an eyebrow, trying to ignore the obvious teasing. He knew enough about the Mox from both his memories and the game - independent, fiercely protective of their own, generally not as violent as other gangs, unless provoked. It wouldn't hurt to be cautious just in case however, so it would be a definite no from him - if her teasing was actually a serious advance.

Also, don't stick your dick in crazy still applied.

He couldn't forget she'd practically gotten off on blowing that one scavs brain out.

He kept his shotgun handy, but kept it pointing away, refusing to fully relax. "Pretty chromed up for a joytoy," He observed, taking in her appearance. Her hair and tattoo weren't the only unique features she had - she wore bio modded orange-reddish fox ears atop her head, and there were small, faintly glowing chrome vents along her neck. Her skin was tinted with a slightly orange hue along her chromed cheekbones, with painted neon red whiskers, and she had a bushy bio mod tail that swished behind her as she moved.

Bio mods to make her a fox girl, chrome on her face, both lower legs were chrome, his optics noted, although covered in Realskinn. And her heels weren't worn, they were chrome, literally part of her feet. He suspected she could do a lot with a kick…

So why hadn't she?

Mara puffed up, brushing a thumb across the vents on her neck with a smirk. "Pretty preem, huh?" She tilted her head, her fox ears twitching slightly, the glow of her pink heart-shaped pupils - of course she had ridiculous optics like that - pulsed as she spoke.

A good Joytoy obviously made bank, bio mods weren't cheap. He couldn't afford to act too meek here, so he might as well bring her down a peg from her smug and superior attitude, carefully.

Rale smirked, giving her a once-over. "Looks stupid." He told her, wanting to prod her a bit, see how she reacted, his shotgun at the ready in case even this little proved enough to set her off.

Mara's eyes widened, her ears and tail standing stiff as her expression shifted to one of mock outrage. "You wanna go, yanno?" She growled, glaring up at him and jabbing him in the abdomen lightly, dancing away from his knee jerk retaliatory swipe. "What's wrong with my chrome? Huh? Huh?"

Rale chuckled, his mood lightening in spite of himself. He couldn't help it; this girl was ridiculous, even by Night City's standards. She had a kind of manic energy that felt almost contagious. And she'd not taken offense to his prodding, so he was probably safe from whatever was the ploy being played here that he'd walked into.

"For one, those vents look like complete gonkshit. Don't match the rest of your… Uh, exotic aesthetic," He said, pushing her back a bit by placing a finger on her forehead. "Secondly, permanent stripper heels? Really?"

She grinned, an evil spark lighting up her eyes. "Hah! I'll have you know no man has ever complained about me not having to breathe like a normy!" Her cheek bulged out obscenely as she moved her fist back and forth for a moment before her mouth, winking at him. "And men like heels, like they've totally gotten me tons of eddies more, it was an investment!"

"Yeah, men like those ones?" He said dryly, nodding toward the dead scavs lying on the ground. "I wouldn't put much weight on their opinion."

Not that she wasn't hot… She was. For a short stack that needed heels to even breach five feet. But she was also obviously a little crazy. Cyberpunk men obviously had long ago dropped the - don't stick it in crazy rule.

He might be at least half Cyberpunk himself, if even half, considering his memories were just that - memories. But he intended to keep to that old adage at the very least.

There had to be non-crazy women, right?

Mara made an exaggerated pout, her cheeks puffing out slightly. "You're mean. A meanie. With bad taste," She huffed, crossing her arms in an exaggerated show of annoyance. Her pink heart-shaped eyes narrowed as she glared up at him, her fox ears twitching indignantly.

Rale snorted, shaking his head. As strange as she was, it was refreshing to have someone to talk to that didn't involve threats, pain, or some complicated scheme. Besides, Mara didn't seem like she was going to pull anything so far... At least, not without him noticing.

He seriously needed a checkup to find out what was up with his optics… He was getting way more information and preem extras for what the 'strommer had thought were defective eyes.

"That's my cue to leave then," He said eventually as the foxgirl cutely stomped her feet and pouted at him, chuckling a bit as he turned to go. He had bigger things to worry about - finding a place to stay where Maelstrom wasn't likely to randomly run into him being one of them. He didn't want to get deeper into whatever scheme the Mox were pulling with girls like this.

But as he took a few steps down the alley, he felt a tug on his arm, and Mara latched onto it, clinging stubbornly like a barnacle. "Nuh-uh!" She protested, holding on with surprising strength. "You're not leaving yet. Lizzie's is just down the street, and you're escorting me there, like a real gentleman. Got it?" Her toothy grin fit a shark better than a fox.

"Yeah, no," Rale replied, shaking his arm in an attempt to dislodge her. But Mara held on with an iron grip, even as he lifted her slightly off the ground. She swung in the air, her legs kicking comically as he tried to shake her loose. "Come on, girl, let go!" He growled, eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

Note to self - next time, shoot everyone. Adam Smasher was right.

"If you don't come with me, I'll tell all my chooms you bullied me!" She said, her voice trembling as crocodile tears appeared in the corner of her optics. Her sly grin told him she was enjoying every second of this.

Rale rolled his eyes at her shitty acting, but acquisited to her request. He didn't need any extra attention from the Mox to add to his troubles. "Fine," He grumbled, reluctantly lowering his arm as she smirked triumphantly, still hanging onto him like she'd won a grand prize. "Five minutes. That's it."

"Yatta!" She squealed, throwing her arms around his arm, giving him a cheerful smile that seemed out of place in the grimy pungent alley. He tried to ignore how her breasts pressed against his arm, her nipples rubbing up and down, the sensors on these cyberarms were ridiculously good…

Rale gave her an unimpressed look as he flicked her forehead with one finger, as he attempted to hide the slight shiver that passed through him. "You know you're not Japanese, right? No need for Tyger Claw weebo shit here…"

Although for all he knew she was Japanese, she was certainly short enough. And with how heavy she'd already modded herself, maybe she'd modded herself caucasian too? It was Cyberpunk, it was possible. Fucking Rebecca had decided to go green, so a jap could have decided to go white… With some extras.

Mara blinked, then grinned mischievously, her fox ears flicking in amusement. "Mou?" She responded, voice dipping into a faux-innocent whine, clearly just to get a rise out of him.

Rale closed his eyes and sighed, realizing he'd just given her even more ammunition - and it was sadly - super effective. "You're going to keep doing it just to annoy me, aren't you?"

Mara's smile widened, her eyes practically glowing with mischief as she nodded enthusiastically, clearly enjoying herself. "I am. And you're gonna like it," She said with an exaggerated one eyed wink, hanging off his arm, "My big strong ~savior!"

Rale let out an exasperated sigh but didn't try to shake her off again - he doubted he'd truly saved her from shit though. He resigned himself to the oddity clinging to his arm and started walking. The alleys around Kabuki buzzed with the usual nighttime chaos the closer they got to Lizzie's - street vendors haggling over cheap knockoff electronics, locals milling about, and the occasional gang tag sprayed haphazardly on crumbling walls.

Not to mention all the drunks, or druggies passed out already amongst the garbage. Or having sex. Out in the open. Their stuff just hanging out.

He hadn't needed to see that. Ever.

Mara walked by the two eighty something year old druggies rutting without even blinking, reminding him that yes, this shit was normal.

"So, Rale," Mara said, glancing up at him as they walked, "You're new around here, ~right?" She twirled her hair with one finger as she gazed up at him.

He shrugged, keeping his gaze forward. "Something like that. Just passing through to Westbrook, trying to keep a low profile."

Mara laughed, a light, lilting sound. "Low profile, huh? With that much chrome on you? Doesn't seem like you're exactly going to get anywhere unnoticed."

He smirked, glancing down at her. "Says the girl with permanent stripper heels, glowing pink eyes, and a tail."

She wrinkled her nose playfully. "That's different!" She argued.

He would probably regret asking, but he did so anyway, "Oh? How so?"

She grinned, licking her lips, her tongue vibrating for just a moment, "Because gonks wanna do ~me! You, they'd just zero!" She chirped.

"Gangbanged by scavs in an alley or zeroed at sight. I would still prefer the second." He said after a moment, refusing to allow her tactics to work on him.

She huffed, sticking out her lower lip, "Spoken like someone that's never partied it up with the Mox!" He didn't respond, not wanting to hear what exactly the Mox got up to, considering the setting, it was probably depraved. She pouted even more at him not playing along, before speaking up again, "So, my big tough savior, whatcha up to in Westbrook?" She asked, squeezing his arm between her breasts.

Rale hesitated, unsure how much to tell her. There was a part of him that wanted to trust her openness, but he knew better than to let his guard down too easily. Night City had already shown him just how dangerous it could be, and the last thing he needed was to get tangled up in more trouble. "Just needed a place to lay low. Got a bit of… Unfinished business with some gonks up in North Side."

There, if she thought he could bring home trouble, she wouldn't try to draw him in too much. And he hadn't really given her enough to sell along, not enough to be worth it anyway.

Mara raised an eyebrow, her gaze suddenly calculating, "Let me guess… Maelstrom?"

Rale's silence was answer enough. She let out a low whistle, nodding in understanding. "Nova! That explains the chrome. And the… Hehe, edgy vibe."

"Edgy vibe?" He repeated, giving her an incredulous look. He wasn't edgy! He was the only one he'd seen all day that didn't have an absolutely ridiculous haircut. Let alone the edgy shit almost everyone wore.

She grinned, tugging on his arm a bit as if to emphasize her point. "Yeah. You're all broody, hunky, and mysterious looking, and that's like… Prime solo material you gonk! Not to mention the whole 'I just saved a damsel in distress in a dark alley' thing you've got going on. Very classic edgy stuff." She struck a mock-dramatic pose, one hand on her chest, before dissolving into laughter as it inevitably drew his eyes to her breasts.

Rale grumbled slightly at that, though he couldn't help but smirk at her antics. "Right… So what's your story, Mara? Besides doing gonk shit like going alone into alleys?" He might as well go tit for tat and see what information he could get.

She shrugged, a flicker of something serious passing through her expression before she brushed it off with a saucy grin. "Oh, y'know. Joytoy work, who can complain about lots of sex, amirite? The Mox keep things pretty safe at Lizzie's, but… Sometimes some gonkshits get a bit too close for comfort." She scowled, her tail swishing with irritation. "Bastards like the ones you just zeroed have been crawling all over Kabuki lately. Thought I'd handle them myself, but hey, you made it easier." She acknowledged.

Rale looked at her thoughtfully, taking in the small but significant signs of weariness in her expression. Night City wasn't kind to anyone, least of all to someone as openly unique as Mara he'd wager. Even with the Mox's protection, it was clear from the source material that survival wasn't easy in this city. Hence the extra chrome she was packing, he suspected.

"Guess I just happened to be in the right place at the right time," He said, keeping his tone casual. Also being gonk enough to walk into a dark alley instead of minding my own business…

Mara tilted her head, her heart-shaped pupils narrowing as she studied him. "Right place, right time… Sure." She gave him a coy smile, her fingers tapping a rhythm against his arm. "Lets just pretend any other Night City inhabitant would have helped, it could have totally happened."

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked after that. After a few more turns and a short walk down a cracked sidewalk, they entered the main street and then, they arrived at the familiar sight of Lizzie's Bar. The neon sign outside cast a warm pink glow over the street, the slogan - Mindfuck just gained a new meaning - prominently displayed.

Mara glanced up at him, her mischievous grin returning. "Well, here we are, now come in and meet my chooms, new hunky choom!"

Rale crossed his arms, not having to feign his exasperation. "I escorted you, I'm done, stop adding new requests, or I'm going to start charging you, choom."

She laughed, her eyes flashing blue for a second, as he received a hundred eddies in a transfer. "There, I've rented you for the ~hour!" She chirped, looking unbearably smug.

Rale made a mental note to avoid bright-eyed Mox girls in the future. For someone barely reaching above his waist, Mara had a vice grip on his arm, her fingers wrapped around him with surprising strength. He muttered under his breath, "Let go already, and don't think this will work on me again, a hundred eddies is far below an hour's worth of my time." I think… I have no actual idea what a low end gig makes.

"Come on!" Mara whined, tugging him forward with a pout that somehow managed to look both fierce and innocent. "I just want you to see where I work and meet my chooms. Let me buy you a drink! Or get you one of my own BD's that the Mox have for sale, they're preem quality I promise. Gotta show my savior a ~good time, right?"

Did her eyes seriously just go Doki Doki? Rale was really beginning to regret having a conscience. Flatline everything really should be his motto from now on.

"Not interested," Rale replied, his tone dismissive. But Mara wasn't having any of it, pulling him along with determination. Before he could protest further about her plans, they were approaching the doors to Lizzie's Bar.

One of the Mox' bouncers was leaning against the entrance, smoking a cigarette. She was tall and imposing - a tower of a woman with a baseball bat resting on her shoulder, her arms a patchwork of tattoos and cybernetics. Her sharp eyes settled on Mara, looking relieved, then flicked to Rale. She straightened up, smirking sharply as she stepped in front of them.

"This gonk giving you trouble, Mara?" She asked, her voice low and just a touch menacing.

Mara shot him a considering look, then pouted dramatically, acting like a brat. "Yeah! He won't let me show him my ~'preciation!"

The bouncer raised an eyebrow, her grin widening as she idly spun the bat in her hands. "Well, gonk, you've got two choices. You can appreciate our cute little Mara here like she wants, or I can teach you how to appreciate this bat over and over again like I want." She gave it a menacing twirl, her cyber-enhanced arms making the steel bat look like nothing but a blur.

Rale sighed, muttering, "Fucking Mox's," Under his breath. "Fine, let's just get this over with." He shot Mara an exasperated look, but let her pull him inside, not before he had to reluctantly give up his shotgun. Apparently iron was allowed, but only to a point, and a shotgun was that point. Or she was just fucking with him. He gave it even odds.

The Lexington he'd klepped should be enough anyway.

The interior of Lizzie's was filled with neon lights and music. Private booths were full with people enjoying BD's, or in some cases, enjoying a Mox - or three. The walls were lined with graffiti and the kind of popup art that had the rebellious flair of someone who'd seen enough of the corporate world and wanted to flip it off. Lizzie's was Mox territory, and it was as unapologetic as they were - an oasis for the misfits and outcasts, a place where the girls had backup, and the customers knew better than to mess around.

It also had a lot of very armed Mox' gathering at the bar… Making his skin itch.

Mara beamed at him, her enthusiasm infectious as she leaned in close to speak over the music. "Cool, huh? Nothing else like it in Night City!" She pointed to the dance floor, where a mix of Mox girls and guys, and patrons, swayed in sync with the beat, their bodies illuminated by the shifting lights. Everywhere he looked, neon-pierced the darkness, colors shifting from pinks and purples to deep blues.

"Not bad," He muttered, impressed with the ambiance, one that seemed more alive and in your face than the game. For all the grime and brutality of the city outside, Lizzie's held a strangely upbeat energy. It was a place where the night felt alive, charged with defiance. He still kept an eye on the bar, nervous about the gathered Mox.

"Oi, Mara! You bitch ass stupid gonk!" A voice called out, cutting through the noise. Rale looked over to see a petite, green haired girl with a manic grin and twitching eyes stalking toward them, her eyes filled with anger and relief at the same time. Rebecca, he recognized her instantly - short, volatile, and heavily tattooed, with chemskin giving her a very attention grabbing look. She looked like she was halfway between hugging Mara and throttling her.

Shit, was she a Mox? Huh, I guess we're far enough back she might not be part of Maine's crew yet… He thought. This was definitely not ideal either way. He'd been here like a day… He didn't need to cross with any canon shit yet. He needed time to figure out what he wanted to do first.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you gonk!" Rebecca yelled, her voice a blend of anger and worry. "Don't just call me, say you're totally dead, asking me to burn your porn before anyone looks at it, and then not answer my calls after!"

Behind her, a small crowd of Mox enforcers who had been gearing up at the bar, checking their weapons and preparing for some kind of rescue effort, began dispersing. Several of them glanced over, looking relieved, but Rebecca was all fire and fury, zeroing in on her friend. At least it seemed she was working as an enforcer and not… The other thing.

Mara giggled and bounced over, pulling Rale along. "Oh, I was like, totally gonna get flatlined," She said brightly, completely unbothered by Rebecca's wrath. "But this preem side of beef came in and totally saved me!" She shot Rale a look that practically cried out - I'm your wing woman here, go with it.

Rale sighed, ignoring her attempts to talk him up, "And here I thought you wouldn't even have needed my help…" He'd been sure of it, in fact. That it was some sort of ploy.

She winked, running a hand up and down his arm, "Nah, one of the guys had some preem quick hack skills, totally shut my chrome down for a moment there, you tots saved my cute little butt." She gave said butt a wiggle as she said it, her tail wrapping around his knees.

Rebecca's sharp gaze landed on Rale, her expression shifting from annoyance to suspicion immediately. She stalked forward, giving him a once-over, her arms crossed tightly. "Yeah? Thanks for saving my choom, I guess." She tilted her head, her voice turning cautious. "What do we owe ya?"

Rale raised an eyebrow, barely able to contain his irritation. "Didn't do it for eddies. I wouldn't even be here if your crazy choom hadn't latched onto my arm and refused to let go until she'd dragged me here."

Rebecca's expression went dead for a split second, a flash of, of course she did, passing through her eyes. She shot Mara an irritated look, raising an eyebrow. Mara nodded rapidly, grinning up at Rale like he'd just complimented her. Rebecca let out a low whistle, shaking her head, a reluctant smile blooming. "Well… Thanks then, choom. You're alright, even if you got a screw loose."

Rale chuckled wryly. It was sad that in this city, kindness was more shocking than murder. The absurdity of it all really did hammer it home where he was now. "Trust me, if I'd known your choom before I went into that alley, I might have thought twice."

Rebecca nodded like that made perfect sense, slinging one arm around Mara's shoulder. "That's our gonkbrained girl!"

Mara pouted, ignoring Rebecca, pulling on his jacket instead. "He won't even let me thank him properly, Becca!" She complained to her choom, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Rebecca's eyebrow quirked, a smirk forming as she looked him up and down. "Oh yeah? If you're, uh, not into pussy, we've got a few fellas around here with some preem Mr Studs too. No judgment." Her smirk turned into an outright toothy grin as she added, "Wouldn't have pegged you as a bottom though?"

Rale just glared at the short girl, fuck you Rebecca! "She's just not my type," He replied simply, hoping that would be enough to get them off the topic.

But Mara gasped, looking as though he'd just insulted her entire family line. The gasp turned into a shriek loud enough to make heads turn across the bar. "What do you mean, not your type!? No one has ever said that to me before!!!"

Rebecca chuckled, leaning in toward Mara's ear. "See! I told ya the vents were dumb!" She teased, tapping the vents on Mara's neck with a shit-eating grin.

Rale smirked, unable to resist piling on. "Right? I mean, they look like gills, a huge turn off." He let out an oof as the tail that had been curled around his knees, pulled on his leg, almost enough to unbalance him.

Mara glared up at him, indignant, and hammered her fists against his stomach in protest. "That's not it, gonk! Tell me what the real reason is? You're totally gay, right? Or like, like, tots into old hags or something?"

Rale raised an eyebrow, deadpan. "MILFS are hot, Mara, don't kink shame."

Rebecca burst out laughing at Mara's betrayed look, continuing to giggle as Mara swatted at her, "Your fucking face!"

Mara's ears went flat on her head as she hissed at Rebecca, stream practically coming out of her ears, "Oh fuck you, you're supposed to be on my side, Becca!"

Rale cut in before the two could claw each other's eyes out, "Also, how old are you, Mara?" For whatever reason, her NCPD bounty didn't list a known age.

She hesitated, and he could see the gears turning in her head. After a beat, she straightened, giving him a defiant look. "Nineteen. Totally. Got a driver's license and everything"

"Yeah… Sure." His tone was very dry.

Rebecca laughed, clearly enjoying this. She crossed her arms, looking at Mara with a challenging smirk. "She's fifteen… Next month."

Rale nodded, he'd suspected something like that. Mara hadn't exactly struck her as… Mature. "Right. That's why." Cyberpunk values, Ugh. No thank you. I'm not that depraved.

Rebecca rolled her eyes dramatically, letting out an amused breath. "Gonk! Won't take eddies for a reward, and won't lay a hand on a willing girl just 'cause she's 15? Where'd you fish this one up, Mara? A time capsule?"

Rale crossed his arms, giving her a level look. "It's called standards." He muttered, ignoring Mara's grumbling.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious evaluating glance. "Standards, huh?" She mused, looking almost amused at the idea. "Guess we don't see much of that 'round here." She smirked, leaning back, her gaze sharp but not unfriendly. "Fine by me, it's whatever. But you keep that 'standard' act up, choom, and you're gonna stand out in all the wrong ways. Might get you in trouble."

"Noted." Rale replied, nodding curtly.

He turned to leave, hoping to make a quiet exit, but as he glanced toward the entrance, something caught his eye. A neon-lit wall to his left held a series of small holographic 3D portraits, each one slowly rotating to reveal the faces of women - young, old, fierce, and hopeful. The title, glowing in soft pink, read MISSING MOXES. The bounty posters were surrounded by candles and trinkets, the shrine-like atmosphere making it clear these were women who hadn't just left, they'd vanished, they had been loved, missed, fought for.

Even if they weren't living up to their original mission statement, the Mox was still a better gang then the rest.

"Missing Moxes, huh?" Rale muttered, squinting at the profiles. His gaze snagged on one of the faces, a girl with a familiar look, her holo set a bit lower on the display. Her name glowed softly beneath her image: JOY.

His stomach dropped. He recognized her - his opponent from the pit fight. "So… Her name was really Joy," He muttered to himself, barely audible over the music. "Joy the joytoy. Too bad I had to kill he-" He cut himself off too late, his mind reeling with the realization of what he'd just said and where.

The music seemed to fade into the background, the lively atmosphere in the bar suddenly muted. He could feel the weight of over a dozen pairs of eyes snapping toward him all glowing blue, as Rebecca forwarded what he'd just said, her own eyes glowing in a snarling face. The mood shifted, the warm, welcoming air turning cold, charged with a tense, dangerous energy. He glanced down to where Rebecca had iron pressed against his balls, no smile present on her face anymore, and Mara had her own iron aimed at his head, even if she looked conflicted about it.

"I can explain, don't blow my balls off…" He said slowly, raising his hands.

This is what he got for helping people…

Or at least… For not knowing how to keep his gonk damned mouth shut.

What a fucking day…

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