Struggling in the MaxTac AV, each breath was a painful reminder of the nightmare that had unfolded. The medic's presence offered little comfort as he worked quietly, his tools creating a symphony of clinical sounds in the sterile space. My body felt like a battleground and each muscle screaming in protest. Beside me, Skaya's voice pierced the haze of pain and confusion. "It's all a twisted game of fate, Ryker," she said, her tone a blend of sympathy and stark realism. "Your decision to visit Fingers, driven by desperation in Kabuki's harsh streets, unknowingly put you at the center of a much larger plot."

Her words brought back the sharp memory of my visit to Fingers, not knowing it would entangle me in a web woven by the Pig Man. I had sought a way out of my mundane existence, only to be dragged into a vortex of chaos.

"Danny... He was trapped too, wasn't he?" I murmured, my voice heavy with grief. "Forced to choose between me and his sister."

Skaya nodded solemnly. "Yes, he was cornered. The contract from Pig Man was a lifeline for his sister Elara. His heart was torn, but he made his choice."

I felt a pang of heartbreak. His betrayal, though driven by love for his sister, left a void where our friendship once thrived.

My voice, barely a whisper, carried a mix of grief and disbelief. "Danny... he was meant to be the second protagonist of this story. Readers would have loved him. He even had a role in the pre-chapter posts."

Skaya's expression shifted to one of confusion. "Danny was more than just a friend, Skaya," I continued, my voice tinged with melancholy. "He was a part of the world I was building, a character that readers would have empathized with, related to. His journey was meant to be parallel to mine, filled with struggles, choices, and the pursuit of redemption."

Skaya's brows furrowed, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and uncertainty. "Ryker, you're talking as if... as if Danny was a character in a book... But this is real life."

I sighed, she was right, of course. Skaya reached out, her hand gently grasping mine. "I know, Ryker. I know," she said softly, offering a comfort that felt like a balm to my aching soul.

"The streets of Night City are unforgiving," Skaya continued, her gaze meeting mine with a depth of understanding. "You were never the target of the Pig Man's schemes. You were merely caught in the crossfire of his ambitions."

Her presence, offered little solace. Skayas words, though meant to provide clarity, only emphasized the harsh truth of my existence.

"What happened to you, Ryker, is a mix of bad luck and unintended consequences," she said. "You were just a data analyst, overwhelmed by your job, who made a desperate choice for a brain implant to up your game."

I listened, "Living in Kabuki, you didn't have many options. It's not exactly the richest part of Night City. You went to Fingers because he was what you could afford."

"Fingers got his hands on some hot tech, probably didn't even know what he had. It was from the Voodoo Boys' heist – Pig Man's heist. When his hired edgerunners betrayed him, it set off a chain of events that led right to you."

"So, Danny... He was involved in this?" I managed to ask, the pain in my voice more than just physical.

"Danny was a lone wolf," Skaya continued, her gaze steady. "He took a contract from Pig Man, not knowing it would lead him to you. But when he found out, his hands were tied. His sister Elara was sick, and Pig Man offered him a way to help her."

I closed my eyes, processing the betrayal and the tangled web of motives. "He chose his sister over me," I whispered, the realization bitter in my mouth.

Lying in the MaxTac AV, my body aching from the ordeal, I clutched Danny's dog tag tightly in my hand, feeling its cold metal press into my skin. It was a tangible reminder of what I'd lost – a friend. "What happened at Elara's house?" I asked, my voice raspy with pain and fatigue.

Skaya's eyes darkened, a shadow passing over her features. "After you and Danny left, MaxTac was on high alert for Pig Man," she began, her voice laced with a tinge of sorrow. "Elara... she tried to kill me. I had no choice but to defend myself." Her words trailed off, and I could sense the weight of her actions on her conscience.

I noticed the dark bruises on her face, evidence of the struggle she had been through. "And what about me? What happens now?" I pressed on.

Skaya turned her gaze towards the window, watching the neon-lit skyline of Night City blur past. "Pig Man is not your concern anymore," she said quietly, not meeting my eyes. My protest was immediate. "But he killed Danny!"

"Yes, and you killed everyone in Pig Man's facility," she countered, her tone heavy. "There's no one left to interrogate. They're sending you to a hospital, Ryker. For the insane. They're planning to extract the cyberware from your head."

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Insane? Me? The thought spiraled in my mind, a vortex of disbelief and anger. "I'm not crazy," I whispered fiercely.

Skaya sighed deeply, her patience wearing thin. "Ryker, cyberpsychosis has clouded your mind. You've lost touch with reality."

"But I have a fan," I insisted. "JCMA, Just Call Me Aunty liked my story." The idea of being placed in a hospital for the insane felt wrong like a false ending to my narrative.

Skaya covered her face with her hands, exhausted. "Your mind has been affected by the implant. You're not thinking clearly."She looked at me, her expression was one of deep sadness. "Ryker, I'm sorry. But right now, we need to focus on getting you the help you need."

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I think I need more dots.

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Welcome, welcome, one and all, to the grand spectacle that is the Night City Center for Psychiatric Health, affectionately dubbed by yours truly as the Cybernetic Wonderland. I am Ryker Bale, your illustrious, perhaps slightly unhinged, maestro of this electric dreamscape.

Here in my hallowed halls of the pixelated madhouse, every day is an adventure on the fringes of sanity. You see, this isn't just a clinic; it's a theater, and every one of us patients is a star in our own distorted reality show. The doctors and nurses? Mere supporting cast in our daily drama of deranged delight.

Ah, the mornings! They begin with a delightful guessing game I like to call 'Pill Roulette.' Nurse Neon, a gem in her own right, presents an array of pills each more colorful than the last. "What's it going to be today, dear nurse? The blue pill to launch me into a nebula of blissful ignorance, or the red pill to catapult me into the harsh truth of reality?" It's like choosing between two equally intriguing episodes of my life's twisted series.

Therapy sessions are nothing short of a stand-up comedy act. I, the protagonist with a mind as scrambled as a glitched cyberdeck, face off against my ever-patient therapist. “And what corner of the cyberspace did we visit last night, Mr. Bale?” they inquire. “Oh, just a jaunt through the digital underworld, dearest doc,” I retort, leaving them to wonder if I’m more suited for a padded room or the stage.

Then there's my dear friend 'Glitchy Greg', a fellow inmate who insists he’s a living bug in the system, a true testament to the absurdity of our existence. He critiques my novel, his words sharp as the edge of a monoknife. "Ryker, your story's like a bugged-out braindance, full of holes bigger than Night City's craters," he chides. "I mean, fun fiction? And cyberpunk? After that disastrous game release? Not my style, man." I chuckle in response. "Appreciate the brutal honesty, Greg. A glitchy perspective is always refreshing."

Meal times in this digital circus are a feast for the senses – and I don’t just mean the food. "Welcome to the Cyber Chef’s Special," I announce to my fellow inmates, "where the porridge might taste like pixels and the toast like a toasted motherboard, but hey, at least the company’s electric!" The nurses roll their eyes, accustomed to my culinary commentary, as they dish out meals that are as bland as a broken data terminal.

As evening descends upon us, the clinic transforms into my personal stage for tragicomedies. "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting 'Ryker’s Monologues'," I proclaim to an audience of empty chairs and flickering lights. My voice echoes down the hallways, filling the void with tales of cybernetic escapades and neon-lit nightmares. It’s a one-man show, and I play every part with a flourish.

Nights are the most introspective, a time when the ghosts of my past come out to play. My room becomes a theater of shadows, where memories of Danny and our wild adventure dance across the walls. "To Danny," I toast to the darkness, "the greatest co-star in the tragically cut short saga of our lives."

But time, oh time, is a fickle friend here. Days blend into nights, nights into a blur. "How long has it been, Glitchy Greg?" I ask during one of our bizarre banter sessions. He just shrugs, his eyes lost behind a veil of medication and disillusionment.

"Oh, about your brain implant," he suddenly remembers, "man, that's some serious tech drama you got there. I heard in your novel it's like a ticking time bomb. Nothing to joke about." His words hang heavy in the air, a reminder of the reality that underlies our fictional escapades.

I lean in, adopting the tone of a conspiratorial recruiter. "Speaking of drama, how about joining me, Greg? The position of my sidekick is vacant." His eyes widen slightly. "But, you know, fair warning: the last guy met his end at the hands of a man in a pig mask."

Greg chuckles, a sound that’s a mix of amusement and skepticism. "Yeah, I read about that in your novel. Crazy stuff, Ryker. But count me out, pal. I'm not exactly cut out for the role of a sidekick in your cybernetic saga." He pauses, glancing around as if to make sure we're not overheard. "Besides, if I were you, I'd try teaming up with that Skaya girl from MaxTac. Strong female leads are all the rage these days, you know."

I raise an eyebrow, the idea intriguing yet daunting. "Skaya, huh? She does pack a punch in both the physical and narrative sense," I muse, my mind racing with the possibilities of a storyline featuring us both.

Greg nods, his voice low. "Yeah, and trust me on this – it's not just me saying it. My wife, she's big on stories where women kick ass and take names. And I've seen people in the comments of your novel saying the same. They want to see more of her, more of that fiery spirit."

I lean back, considering his words. "You might have a point, Greg. Skaya and I, teaming up against the chaos of Night City... It does have a certain appeal. Plus, it's high time the narrative took a turn for the unexpected."

As I'm mulling over Greg's advice, the door swings open, and in strides Dr. Looneytron – at least, that's what I've dubbed him in my head. His real name is something far more mundane, but in the land of the cyber-crazed, everyone deserves a title that sparkles with madness.

"Ah, Mr. Bale," he begins, his voice as syrupy as artificial sweetener. "Tomorrow's a big day for you. We're going to remove that troublesome implant from your head. After that, it's smooth sailing back to your room here in our delightful asylum."

I fix my gaze on him, feeling a flicker of clarity piercing through the medicated fog. For a moment, if he had looked into my eyes, he might have caught a glimpse of the golden light that used to blaze there, but it fades as quickly as it appeared.

"You know, Dr. Looneytron," I say, my voice steady, "I'm starting to think I might be the most sane person in this whole charade. Well, me and Greg here." I gesture towards Greg, who at that exact moment decides to drool spectacularly.

Dr. Looneytron chuckles. "Ah, Ryker, always the joker. Don't you worry, we'll take good care of you."

"Sanity's overrated anyway, Ryker," Greg mumbled, his voice low and slightly slurred. "Besides, who wants to be sane in a world gone mad?"

"True words, Greg," I whispered back, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. "In a world spinning out of control, maybe it's the mad ones who see the truth. After all, if this is madness, then sanity can keep its boring predictability."

"See you on the other side, Doc," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "Wherever that might be." My gaze drifts back to Greg, still blissfully unaware, and I can't help but smile. In this madhouse, even a drooling companion is a comfort. Perhaps, in the end, we're all just characters in a story too complex for any of us to truly understand. I turned to share a final quip with Greg, only to find an empty space where he should have been. My heart skipped a beat. “Greg?” I called out, but only silence answered back. I scanned the room again, disbelief morphing into shock. The stark reality of my loneliness in this place hit me like a cybernetic punch. My cell, or rather my room, felt smaller, more constricting. The walls, covered in red markings, seemed to close in on me. Among the chaotic scrawl, a riddle repeated, etching itself into my consciousness:

"In shadows he lurks, with a mask not his own, A man of the city, yet chillingly alone. What is his name, the one cloaked in dread? He who wears the face, of the pig that's not dead."

Shackled tightly to my bed, my arms and legs immobilized, I felt cold metal of the cuffs bit into my skin, a constant reminder of my captivity.

I stared at the ceiling, the weight of the riddle bearing down on me like a leaden sky.