Waking up in a strange place with a pounding headache is pretty standard for Night City, but add a new, bizarre tattoo and you've got yourself a story. Or at least a very confusing morning. I squinted at the neon blue-eyed pixel cat now permanently etched on my bicep. "Well, at least it's not a corporate logo," I mused aloud, trying to find a silver lining in a very questionable cloud.

The attic was like a scene straight out of a low-budget detective show – sparse, dusty, with a lingering scent of mystery and bad decisions. My sense of direction was about as good as a scrambled GPS signal. I couldn't navigate my way out of a paper bag.

My phone was having a meltdown, buzzing with messages from Danny. "Where are you?" "Dude, that was weird night." "Call me!" Ah, Danny, ever the voice of calm and reason in the storm of my life. I answered the phone, bracing for the tidal wave of Danny's concern. "Ryker! Man, I think you just ghosted me last night. What happened?" I rubbed my temples, wishing for a memory wipe or at least a rewind button. "Danny, I... thikn I'm in Santo Domingo, in an attic. Barefoot. With a tattoo that looks like it was designed by a drunk netrunner. Ring any bells?"

"No idea, man. You vanished like a puff of smoke. A very dramatic puff of smoke."

I sighed, looking around for any sign of my shoes. As if navigating Night City wasn't hard enough, I had to do it without my shoes and with zero skill behind the wheel of any vehicle. "Intense is one word for it. Now I'm playing Cinderella in the worst fairy tale ever. Gotta find my way back and piece together this puzzle."

"Get here fast and don't talk to 6th Streets, they are nasty. And maybe get that tattoo checked out," Danny added, half-joking, half-concerned.

Hanging up, I found a pair of mismatched pink flip-flops that were definitely not mine and too small. But.. Where Am I? Carefully, I tiptoed through the attic, half-expecting to stumble upon someone – or something. But the place was as empty as my bank account felt. Which reminded me – I bank account balance. Big round zero stared back at me, a digital sneer at my current predicament.

"Great, rich in experience, poor in everything else," I muttered.

The idea of groveling back to Marlene for my job crossed my mind. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? I shuffled out of the attic in the ludicrously small pink flip-flops, feeling every bit the part of a man whose life had taken a nosedive. Stepping onto the street, I took a deep breath, the city's chaos enveloping me. I'd made it a few steps, when the unthinkable happened.

A deafening boom rocked the air, and I was thrown forward as the building I had just left exploded in a fiery spectacle. Heat and debris swept over me, sending me crashing to the ground.

For a moment, I lay there, stunned and disoriented, my ears ringing. "I swear, it wasn't me this time!" I said aloud, more to convince myself than anyone else. Panic surged through the crowd as people screamed and ran. Scrambling to my feet, I stumbled away from the chaos, my mind racing. What just happened? Fleeing an explosion in pink flip-flops, with a neon cat tattoo. If this was a movie, I'd be the comic relief.

"Neon Mirage, indeed," I thought. "Life's got a funny way of keeping you on your toes – even if they're in pink flip-flops."

Just as I was trying to make sense of the chaos, the screech of brakes tore through the air. A car, not one of those high-end models you'd see gliding through the Corporate Zone, but something more modest yet with a hint of speed, skidded to a halt beside me. It was a Makigai MaiMai, looking like it had seen better days but still had some kick to it. A quintessential beater of Night City – cheap, inconspicuous, and surprisingly zippy.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard a voice, urgent and clear despite the bedlam around me. "Ryker, get in the car, now!"

I looked up, my vision clearing, and there she was – the woman with the cyberware eyes, her gaze intense as she sat behind the wheel. The blue glow of her eyes was even more striking up close, a stark contrast to the chaos around us. Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. She leaned over, pushing the passenger door open. "Hurry up!"

In any other circumstance, I'd have a witty retort ready, but shock and adrenaline had a way of short-circuiting my usual sarcasm. I scrambled into the passenger seat, the Makigai's interior smelling of oil and old synth-leather. As she floored the accelerator, I barely had time to buckle up before we were tearing down the street, away from the smoldering wreckage and the approaching sirens. The G-force pressed me into the seat, and for a moment, I forgot about the throbbing in my head.

"Who are you?" I managed to ask, my voice a mix of awe and confusion.

She didn't take her eyes off the road, weaving through traffic with a practiced ease. "No time for introductions now. We need to get out of here, fast." I glanced back at the receding chaos, then at my mysterious blue eyes savior. The day was taking a turn for the surreal. First, the explosion, and now a high-speed getaway with a woman straight out of a cyberpunk thriller.

The Makigai MaiMai veered off the main road, taking a sharp turn onto a less-traveled path. The city's skyline began to shrink in the rearview mirror as we sped away into the outskirts. The sense of urgency in the car was palpable, and I clung to the seat, trying to process the whirlwind of events.

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I barely had time to catch my breath when two cars burst onto the scene behind us, engines roaring. Emblazoned with the unmistakable markings of the 6th Street gang, they were closing in fast. Gunshots cracked through the air, a terrifying percussion to the chase.

My heart raced. This was no longer just a surreal escape; it was a life-or-death pursuit. I could see the gang members leaning out of their cars, guns blazing, their expressions twisted with aggression.

The woman swerved the car expertly, dodging bullets and debris. She shoved a handgun into my hands. "Shoot them!"

I stared at the gun as if it were a foreign object. "I can't shoot! I don't even kill spiders in my apartment!"

"Then hold the wheel!" she yelled, frustration and adrenaline in her voice.

I grabbed the wheel, my hands shaking. The world outside was a blur of motion and danger. She leaned out of the window, returning fire with a fierce determination.

I tried to keep the car steady, an ironic twist to my usual no-driving policy. "Just my luck," I thought. "Get behind the wheel for the first time, and it's in a high-speed chase with a shootout."

Bullets whistled past us, some thudding into the car's exterior. I was in way over my head, steering through an off-road terrain I didn't know, in a car I couldn't handle, next to a woman I'd just met who was engaging in a gunfight with a street gang.

"Keep it steady!" she shouted over the gunfire.

"I'm more of a 'write angry emails' kind of guy, not 'steering in a car chase' guy!" I yelled back.

Bullets continued to sing around us as the car chase intensified. Just when it seemed like we couldn't outrun them, the woman reached under her seat and produced something that made my heart skip – a grenade. With the calm of a seasoned warrior, she pulled the pin and lobbed it behind us. I watched in the rearview mirror, my eyes wide, as one of the pursuing cars swerved wildly to avoid the explosive. It clipped a large rock and went airborne, flipping over in a dramatic crash. The second car screeched to a halt, its occupants rushing to help their comrades.

"Did you just...?" I couldn't finish my sentence, my brain struggling to keep up with the chaos.

She slid back into the driver's seat, her skin brushing against mine as she took the wheel. I noticed the faint scent of her perfume, a surprising contrast to the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning rubber.

"Focus, Ryker," she snapped, hitting my hands off the wheel. "We're not out of this yet."

As she drove, I sat there, half in shock, half in awe. The landscape around us changed, the city's towering structures giving way to the open expanse of the desert. The adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving me with a thousand questions. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she pulled into a secluded campsite in the middle of the desert. The Makigai MaiMai came to a stop, and for a moment, we just sat there, catching our breath.

She killed the engine, and the sudden silence was almost as jarring as the chase itself. Without a word, she got out of the car and walked around to my side. The door swung open, and before I could react, she grabbed me by the collar and hauled me out, pushing me onto the hot sand.

I stumbled, catching myself just before I hit the ground. She stood over me, her expression hard, her hand dangerously close to the gun at her hip. "Who are you, really?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade.

"I'm Ryker," I stammered, trying to dust myself off while keeping an eye on her hand. "Just Ryker. I don't work for anyone, especially not after today."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you mess with me at the bar last night?"

"No, no!" I protested, my mind racing back to the hazy memories of the night. "I mean, I might have been a bit out of it, but I'm not that guy. If I said anything, if I did anything, I'm sorry. Seriously."

She looked at me, her expression softening slightly, more with pity than anything else. "You really are just a lost soul, aren't you?"

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. "Lost is my middle name right now."

She turned and walked towards a camper parked nearby. I watched her go, feeling a strange cocktail of relief, confusion, and a lingering sense of danger. I was left sitting in the desert, with nothing but my thoughts and the bizarre turn my life had taken.

As I sat there, trying to piece together the madness of the last 24 hours, the camper door swung open again. She stepped out, this time with a can of beer in her hand. In the harsh light of the desert sun, I could see her more clearly – her cyberware eyes weren't just functional; they added to her intense, almost otherworldly beauty.

For a moment, I caught myself staring, but quickly shook the thought. "What would Morgan Blackhand do?" I pondered internally, attempting to muster up a façade of seriousness.

As if reading my mind, she laughed, a genuine, amused sound that seemed out of place in the vast emptiness of the desert. "You're a funny one, Ryker. I'll give you that."

She walked over, handing me the beer. "You know, you were the one who dragged me to that house in Santo Domingo. Telling me some sob story, promising a hefty payout if I helped you save someone. I don't know why I agreed."

I blinked, trying to recall the events, but my memory was a jumbled mess. "I did?"

"Yeah, and when I got there, it was just an empty attic. So, I left. But something didn't sit right. Had this gut feeling, you know? So, I came back, and there you were – in those ridiculous pink flip-flops, just as the building blew up."

I took a sip of the beer, the cool liquid doing little to clear my confusion. "I don't remember any of that. But thanks for... well, not leaving me there, I guess."

She shrugged, a slight smirk playing on her lips. "Don't mention it. But next time you plan on blowing up a building, count me out."

I laughed, despite the absurdity of it all. "Deal. Though I should probably mention, I'm not really in the habit of blowing up buildings. Or wearing pink flip-flops, for that matter."

She nodded, her gaze drifting off to the horizon. "I figured as much. You don't strike me as the terrorist type. More like a guy who's in way over his head."

"Story of my life," I admitted, taking another sip of the beer. The heat of the desert was relentless, but for the moment, the cold beer and the bizarre companionship offered a small respite from the chaos.

"So, what now?" I asked after a moment of silence.

"Now?" She looked back at me, her cyberware eyes catching the light. "I'm Skaya and now, you can tell me about what this data shadows are. Didn't you blow that building up? And please what on earth happen to you with that tattoo after I left you there?"