(Earth 14)

Little China - Watson District

Night City, USA

July 17th, 2070

2:45 AM

The dim glow of neon lights from a nearby VRcade painted Viktor's face in hues of blue and red as he locked up his clinic, casting long, wavering shadows on the cracked asphalt. The distant hum of AVs overhead and the faint, rhythmic thumping of chromatic rock from a nearby club filled the air. The scent of rain, mixed with the acrid tang of burnt CHOOH2 and the greasy aroma of street vendor SCOP, lingered in the cool night. The hum of the city, even in the early hours, was a constant reminder of the life that pulsed through its veins. The streets were alive, always, because Night City never really slept.

Used to be a time when people knew the difference between ambition and foolishness, he mused, the weight of his years pressing on him. The kids these days, with their shiny new chrome and their heads filled with stories of legends like Morgan Blackhand and Weyland “Boa Boa”, thought they could just walk into his clinic and make a name for themselves armed with the best chrome their few eddies could buy. But legends ain't made overnight, he thought, a frown playing on his lips. And they sure as hell ain't made with just chrome.

He stepped out into the alley, the grime underfoot a stark contrast to the sleek tech that adorned the rising skyscrapers around him. The air was thick with the scent of oil and sweat, most of that from him, the remnants of a day's hard work. He could hear the distant sounds of a brawl, the clang of chrome on chrome, almost a reminder of his boxing days.

The more things change... he mused.

As he made his way over to his car parked under the bridge, he couldn't help but notice the changes in Little China. Buildings that once stood proud were now replaced by newer, shinier structures, red-and-black edging out more and more. The old noodle shop where he'd grab a quick bite after a fight had long been taken over by another business but even that hadn’t lasted long after the Unification had come and gone, chaos and strife leaving its mark on Watson.

Damn Arasaka, he grumbled internally, his disdain for the ever-growing influence of the newly returned corporation evident. Takin' over every nook and cranny of this city.

His gaze dropped as a group of young punks, their poorly-installed chrome nearly bringing a tear to the old man’s eye, sauntered past him. One of them, no older than eighteen, eyed Viktor's seemingly ‘ganic body with a sneer. "Look at this relic," he laughed to his friends. "Bet this junker’s a pre-Krasher."

Viktor stopped, his gaze fixed on the kid. With a slow, deliberate motion, he stared the wannabe edgerunner down, eyes locking onto the three in front of him. "This 'junker' has seen more action than you've seen in your wet dreams, kid," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The kid's friends laughed, but the punk's face turned a shade redder.

Before he could retort, Viktor continued, "Kid, I’d get that kludge of a chromejob looked at by someone with more than a backroom chair if you don’t wanna end up chippin’ out for the last time before you hit 2-0." With that, he turned and continued on his way, leaving the young punk stewing in his own embarrassment.

He barely turned a corner before he heard the shout echoing behind him, “Like I give a frag, you junker!”

The more things change... he repeated to himself with a shake of his head, having gone through at least a dozen interactions like that just this year alone.

For Viktor, the district of Watson was a familiar haunt, a place where memories of his youth and the echoes of his boxing days still lingered. But with Arasaka's return to Night City after nearly half a century of absence, the landscape had shifted. The corporations that once thrived in the vacuum left by the Japanese giant were now gasping for breath, suffocated by Arasaka's cutthroat tactics and the shadow of Militech looming large. At the very least, most of the Free States had protection from the overreach of both Militech and Arasaka thanks to the Superman and his Justice League of Mercs keeping them at bay. Whatever the guy was, whatever all of them were, they had tech and skills that both Militech and Arasaka had waged wars to obtain, Arasaka especially.

Always Arasaka, Viktor thought, a frown showing on his face in earnest. Militech is bad enough but these corpos somehow manage to be worse.

Watson's once-thriving financial sector was bleeding out, its pulse weakening with each passing day. The Northside Industrial District, which once buzzed with activity, was now a shadow of its former self, announcing cutbacks and layoffs. Workers were being siphoned off by Arasaka and Militech, the two giants locked in a fierce battle for dominance.

Like scavs picking cyberware off a corpse, Viktor mused, his gaze sweeping over the district. The waterfront, which once bustled with life, was now firmly in Arasaka's red grip. The irony wasn't lost on him. Barely six months back, and they're acting like they own the place.

The streets, which once teemed with life, now bore the scars of Arasaka's return. Businesses shuttered, residents with a haunted look in their eyes, and the once-promising secondary City Center now a crumbling relic of its former self.

At least the gangs are laying low, he thought, a small consolation in the grand scheme of things. But even that was a double-edged sword, to be honest. With the gangs out of the picture, the corps had free rein.

But at the very least Little China hadn’t become a One Block. Anything's better than being around a Combat Zone.

As if to prove him wrong, a sudden commotion erupted as he rounded a corner. The unmistakable sound of gunfire rang out, followed by shouts and screams. Two small-time gangs, their names not even worth remembering, were duking it out in the open. Their cyberware, already glitching and failing, sparked and malfunctioned as they shot at each other. Amateurs, Viktor thought, his hand instinctively going to the weapon at his waist.

Without hesitation, he ducked into a nearby alley, pressing his back against the cold, graffiti-covered brick wall. The sounds of the skirmish grew louder, punctuated by the whirring of malfunctioning cybernetics and the cries of the wounded. From his vantage point, he could see the gangoons, their clothes tattered and their faces marked with cheap tattoos. Their movements were erratic, desperate.

A thug with a cybernetic arm, its servos whining and smoking, swung a massive fist at an opponent. The impact was sickening, a crunch of bone and metal, and the recipient of the blow was sent sprawling, his own cyber-legs twitching erratically from the damage.

Another gangoon, his eyes replaced with low-grade optical implants that glowed an unnatural green, unleashed a hail of bullets from a modified submachine gun. The rounds tore through two rivals, their bodies jerking violently before collapsing in a pool of blood and synth-fluid.

The sheer ferocity of the battle was staggering. Every one of them fought as if possessed, pain-editors likely running past their peak and their damaged cyberware making them even more unpredictable and deadly. Blood, both red and synthetic, splattered the ground, mixing to create a macabre painting of violence.

A badly optimized half-borg, his cybernetic arm malfunctioning, swung wildly at an opponent, sparks flying as metal clashed against metal. Another, his leg enhancements giving out, stumbled and fell, only to be set upon by two rivals, their blades flashing in the dim light. Blood mixed with oil as the melee continued, the sounds of grunts, screams, and the tearing of flesh filling the air.

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A particularly large gangoon, his cybernetic eye glowing a menacing red, charged at a smaller opponent, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into a nearby wall. The brick crumbled under the force and the man let out a scream that was quickly silenced as a blow to his torso sent his chest entirely the wrong way.

The melee was brutal. Blades, both metallic and flesh, flashed in the dim light. Every strike, every parry was punctuated by grunts of effort and screams of pain. One particularly vicious gangoon, his entire torso a mass of plated cybernetics, lunged at a smaller foe, impaling him on a blade that extended from his forearm. The victim's eyes went wide with shock, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he was hoisted into the air and then discarded like trash.

Amidst the chaos, a gangster with a malfunctioning leg enhancement tried to flee, his limb sparking and giving out with every other step. Just as he managed to make it down the street, a lucky bullet found its mark, and he crumpled to the ground, his face contorted in a mix of fear and pain.

Five... Four... Viktor began counting in his head, anticipating something. Before he could reach "one", the wail of sirens pierced the night, followed by the screech of tires.

Dozens of gunshots rang out and, half a minute later, an uncaring voice announced, "Bradbury and Buryan. Situation Neutralized." The NCPD's growing efficiency was both a blessing and a curse in Night City. They'd neutralize a threat, but not without overacting and definitely not without collateral damage.

Viktor exhaled slowly, feeling the tension leave his body. He peeked around the corner, taking in the aftermath. Bodies lay strewn across the street, the neon lights casting eerie shadows over them. The NCPD vehicles, sleek and menacing, were already pulling away, leaving behind the chaos they had quelled. Every day, it's the same shitshow. Kids playing at being gangsters, thinking they're invincible until they're lying in a pool of their own blood.

Shaking off the weight of his thoughts, Viktor turned his attention to the task at hand. He continued on, navigating the streets with practiced ease, his destination clear. As he neared his car, a prickle of unease crawled up his spine, 2020 Hindsight blaring in his head. The streets were too quiet after the sudden chaos, the silence almost oppressive.

Something's not right, he thought, instincts on high alert. The same instincts that had kept him alive for decades rang loud in his head.

He edged closer to the bridge's concrete wall, every sense heightened. His hand instinctively moved to his belt, fingers brushing against the cold metal of his Federated Arms Vindicator. The gun was an extension of him, a relic from a bygone era, much like Viktor himself. It wasn't flashy, but it hit hard and, if nothing else, it was reliable, and in Night City, reliability was a rare commodity.

He took a moment, letting the city’s noise wash over him, trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. The soft hum of a distant engine, the distant chatter of a joytoy negotiating a deal, but nothing that should set him on edge.

Easy, old man, he chided himself, though he didn't let his guard down. Paranoia's a killer of its own.

He approached his car, every step measured, every sense on alert. The streets might have been quiet, but in Night City, danger lurked in every shadow, every corner. And Viktor Vektor, with all his years and experience, had instincts primed for a fight.

The subtle movement from the other side of his Nitro-Flyte was enough to trigger every alarm in his seasoned mind. Without hesitation, he pivoted, old reflexes still sharp, his trusty Vindicator drawn and aimed, ready to confront whatever gonk thought they could get the jump on him.

"Hands up right n-" His voice, usually steady and commanding, faltered.

But the sight that met him wasn't what he expected. Instead of some booster or chrome jock looking for a quick score, he found himself staring down a kid. A genuine kid, not some young punk trying to make a name for himself on the streets. The kind you'd expect to see playing with toys, not lurking around the underbelly of Night City.

At least… not for long.

"Wha..." Viktor's voice trailed off, his seasoned eyes taking in the sight. The boy was a scrawny thing, clothes hanging off him like they'd been borrowed from someone twice his size. His hair was a tangled mess, and his eyes, wide with fear, darted around, looking for an escape route.

Thirteen? Maybe younger? Viktor thought, his initial surprise giving way to confusion. Basically a fetus.

His gaze shifted from the boy to his car, trying to piece together the situation. No tools, no weapons. Just a kid who looked like he'd bitten off more than he could chew. But then Viktor's eyes landed on something that made him pause.

At the boy's feet lay a cyberdeck.

An old one. Tablet-form.

The kind Viktor hadn't seen since he was barely in his twenties.

A Zetatech Parraline. He could make out the name written in neon on the side of the tablet computer. That thing's older than half the buildings in Watson, at least. The kid had it jacked into Viktor's car, a wire snaking from the device to a port on the vehicle's side.

"You're a long way from the playground, brat," Viktor mused, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief. "And that's some old tech you got there. Almost as ancient as me."

The boy's eyes darted nervously from Viktor to the cyberdeck and back, his hands still raised in surrender. It was clear he was in over his head, a baby fish in the shark-infested waters of Night City.

Vik blinked, the neon reflections dancing in his eyes as he suddenly felt all of his six decades. He blinked again slowly, the pistol in his hand feeling absurdly heavy as he took in the sight of the trembling kid. He shifted his eyes to his car, then back to the boy. The muscle car, a 2041 classic, might have been a relic to some, but its security was top-notch and one he made sure to keep up-to-date. ICE that would give any one short of a trained netrunner a run for their eddies, even with a pretty good cyberdeck at their disposal.

And yet…

A fetus with a fossil, he mused, the irony not lost on him. Where'd this kid even dig up that relic? And how in the hell did he actually get into my wheels with it?

He took a moment, letting the scene sink in. The boy's ragged appearance, the desperation in his eyes, the old tech at his feet. I gotta do something, he thought, a pang of something akin to responsibility tugging at him. Kid's been on the streets too long. It's a wonder some Scav or corpo hasn't snatched him up yet.

A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sounds of Night City's never-ending pulse. Finally, Viktor reached into his pocket. "Hungry?" he asked, the neon lights reflecting off the shiny wrapper of a “Milk” Chocolate bar.

The boy's eyes lit up, darting from Viktor's face to the chocolate and back again, hunger evident in his gaze. It was as if Viktor had just offered him the most precious thing in the world.

Without waiting for a response, Viktor extended the bar towards the boy, but the kid was quick. He snatched it up, tearing into it with a fervor that spoke of days, maybe even weeks, without a proper meal.

"Whoa there, choom," Viktor said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Slow down before you take off a finger with that choco."

The boy paused, chocolate smeared on his face, looking sheepish. "S-sorry, sir," he stammered, his voice shaky. "Just... hungry."

Sir? The word hung in the air, oddly formal and out of place. Viktor's eyebrow quirked upwards, his brows furrowing as the neon lights from a nearby sign reflected in his eyes. Sir? Haven't heard that one in a while.

"Yeah, I figured from the look of you," Viktor continued, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and incredulity. He gestured towards the ancient Paralline at the kid's feet. "But trying to jack my ride with a relic from the 2020s? What's the play here, kid?"

The boy's eyes darted between the cyberdeck and Viktor, a nervous energy about him. "Just n-needed money. I f-f-found it in the trash a while ago," he admitted, giving the cyberdeck a gentle kick. "Thought I'd give it a shot."

Kid talks like a pre-Krasher. Viktor thought with a mental frown before he chuckled, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet of the street. "Did more than try, brat. You're out here, in the middle of the night, trying to score with tech that's almost half a century older than you are. Impressive."

The boy's face lit up, a hint of pride breaking through the fear. "T-than-"

"Still stupid, though," Viktor interjected, cutting the kid off. "Very stupid. Any other gonk would've zeroed you without a second thought and eaten the fine from the lawmen, if there would be any."

“I underst-”

“No, you don’t,” Viktor interrupted again, his tone firm. He moved to the driver's side of his Nitro-Flyte, the door hissing open. He paused, glancing back at the boy. "Get in."

The kid blinked, confusion evident on his face. "Wh-"

"Get in, kid," Viktor repeated, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Look at you. Nothing above your head, nothing under your feet. It’s enough to bring a tear to these old ‘ganic eyes of mine. Just get in."

Hesitating for just a moment, the boy scooped up his cyberdeck and slid into the passenger seat, the syn-leather cool against his skin. The door closed with a soft thud, sealing them both inside. The interior of the car was bathed in a soft blue light, the hum of the engine barely audible.

As he slid into the driver's seat, the leather creaking under his weight, his hands gripped the wheel tight. He glanced over at the boy, taking in his wide-eyed expression. "Before I forget, kid, what's your name?"

The boy hesitated, his gaze darting around the car's interior as if searching for an answer. "I d-d-don’t h-" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Zane. Call me Zane."

Kid don't even know his name? Viktor nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile he only slightly had to force. "Alright, Zane. Let's see if we can get you something better than that fossil of yours." And with that, the Nitro-Flyte roared to life, carrying them deeper into the heart of Night City.

[https://i.imgur.com/c7bfkGp.png]