I'm diving into the swirling mass of codes. It feels like I'm a rocket trying to break free from Earth's orbit, the force of each code pushing against me as I try to target and reach the ones left behind by Evelyne. I don't know exactly how launching into space feels, but this must be a close approximation. Every fiber of my digital being is focused, pouring all my energy into this singular task.

The codes twist and turn around me, a chaotic dance of information and data. I push through them, feeling the resistance like a tangible force. I'm determined to trace these elusive strands back to reality. It's a battle of wills against the unyielding nature of the digital world.

As I immerse myself deeper, the sensation becomes overwhelming. I feel like I'm being torn apart and reassembled, each code I touch sending jolts of energy through me. It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once. I'm on the brink of something monumental, I can feel it.

Finally, with a surge of power that seems to come from the very core of my digital soul, I latch onto the right sequence. Reality rushes back to me, a tidal wave of sensations and consciousness. The transition is jarring, like being pulled from deep underwater to the surface in an instant.

I gasp as I open my eyes, finding myself in the Voodoo Boys' underground base. The place is a hive of activity, buzzing with the sound of computers and the glow of neon screens. It's a netrunner's haven, filled with beds and rigs, each one occupied by a member of the gang, deeply immersed in the net.

I look around, taking in the sight of Evelyne and others connected to their machines, their faces serene yet focused. It's a stark contrast to the chaotic world I just left. But then I notice something – my body isn't as shedescribed. No signs of surgery. Just me, lying there, connected to a wire plugged into the data socket behind my right ear.

"I had a feeling it would be like this," I murmur to myself, a wry smile forming on my lips. Another twist in this ever-complicated story. I unplug myself from the wire, feeling a sudden disconnection from the digital world I'd been part of.

As I sit up, every movement is struggle, like learning to use my limbs all over again. I push through the stiffness, determined to get out of this place. "Another plot twist uncovered," I say aloud, half to myself and half to the absent storyteller. "You really thought you could keep me in the dark?"

Pain ripples through my body with every move. My head throbs with an intense ache, and my ribs send sharp stabs of pain with each breath. I grit my teeth, biting down hard to suppress a groan. Every part of me screams in agony, but I push forward, driven by a stubborn resolve to break free from the Voodoo Boys' grasp.

I stagger through the underground base. "Really, a woman leading the Voodoo Boys?" I scoff under my breath. "Why not just rename the gang to something more fitting?"

Suddenly, I drop to the ground, a sharp pain piercing my side. My hand instinctively goes to my ribs, feeling the unnatural protrusion of a broken bone. I let out a hiss of pain, but I force myself to keep moving, slowly and cautiously at first.

The underground is a labyrinth of corridors, each turn revealing more of the Voodoo Boys' bizarre world. Wires and electronics are strewn everywhere, and a discarded train car has been repurposed into some kind of tech hub. The sight would be fascinating if I weren't in so much pain.

As I navigate the dimly lit passage, a shout from behind makes me pause. Turning, I see a Voodoo Boys gang member, his gun pointed directly at me. "You need to stop, Ryker!" he yells, his voice echoing menacingly.

I smirk, a mix of pain and defiance in my eyes. "You'll have to try harder than that to stop me, knowing my name is not enough!," I retort. With a swift motion, I swing my hand, unleashing a force that sends him flying back. The power surges through me, a painful yet exhilarating rush.

Climbing up the corridor, I notice strange voodoo markings adorning the walls. Each step is a battle, my body protesting every movement.

Emerging to the ground level, I find myself in a church, its sanctity marred by the presence of more Voodoo Boys. They're hot on my heels, shouting and running after me. I muster all my strength, channeling it into a force that barricades the entrance, using everything I can – pews, debris, pure willpower – to block their pursuit.

With the entrance to underground was sealed, I make a break for the church doors. My escape is desperate and frantic, each step fueled by adrenaline and the overwhelming desire to be free. The world outside awaits me...?

As I burst through the doors, the bright light of the outside world blinds me momentarily. I don't stop to take in the scene; there's no time. I just run, my body screaming in protest. I'm Ryker, and I'm not anyone's pawn – not anymore.

The sound of gunfire snaps me back to the harsh reality outside the church. I squint against the bright sunlight, glimpsing the familiar yet distant view of Pacifica's coastline. I turn left, my instincts screaming to find the nearest road, to escape this madness.

Behind me, a cacophony of shouts and footsteps fills the air. A mob of Voodoo Boys gang members is hot on my trail, their voices a unified chorus demanding my capture. I glance back, seeing the sea of angry faces, feeling the wave of desperation crashing over me.

I come to a halt, my chest heaving, pain coursing through every inch of my body. "Glitchy Greg was right," I yell, my voice a mix of fury and despair. "About the storyteller, about all of this!" I gather every last bit of my strength, and with a forceful push, I send out a powerful field, knocking the mob back. They fall like dominoes, a visual testament to my determination and raw power.

But the effort takes its toll. My vision blurs, my head spins, and agony wracks my body. Yet, I force myself to keep moving, staggering up the road. To my right, the abandoned hotels and stadiums of Dogtown loom like silent witnesses to my plight. My mind races with terror underpins every step I take.

More people emerge, intent on stopping me. I'm too exhausted to fight back. My steps falter, my resolve wanes.

Then, amidst this chaos, something surreal happens. To the sound of what feels like heroic music, Glitchy Greg appears, his voice cutting through the noise. "You can do it, Ryker!" he shouts. "I'll stop them!"

I stare in disbelief, my mind struggling to make sense of what's happening. Is this another twist in the storyteller's elaborate game? I don't have time to ponder. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, I start to run again.

But as I run, my surroundings begin to shift, morphing and twisting in a way that defies logic. The harsh reality of Pacifica fades, replaced by the familiar streets of Kabuki. I'm back in my old neighborhood, the place I call home.

I stop, panting, trying to comprehend this sudden change. The pain in my body is still real, but the threat seems to have vanished. I look around, disoriented and exhausted, my mind a whirlwind of questions.

"Glitchy Greg, what just happened?" I whisper, half expecting him to answer. But there's no response, just the quiet hum of the city around me.

I stumble out of the chaotic scene, my breath ragged and my body aching in protest. As I trudge toward my old apartment building, I spot a person hunched over on the cement stairs. He's furiously scribbling on a piece of paper with a pen, an almost archaic sight in a world dominated by digital interfaces. "What the hell?" I mutter under my breath. "Back to basics with paper and pen, huh?"

The figure looks up, his eyes widening in shock as they meet mine. It's Miky Mike, the elusive presence from the digital void. He scrambles to his feet, papers flying, and dashes into the building. I don't hesitate; I chase after him, fueled by a mix of anger, curiosity, and disbelief.

But as I enter the corridor of the block, reality twists around me. The familiar hallway of my apartment building morphs into a different space entirely. I'm suddenly outside, standing near a camper parked on the outskirts of Night City. The transition is disorienting, a surreal shift that defies any logic.

I hear Miky Mike's voice, tinged with panic. "No, not again! Ryker, you're destroying the storyline!" He's frantic, his eyes wide with fear and frustration.

Anger surges within me, a burning tide of betrayal and confusion. "I trusted you, Miky!" I yell, my voice echoing in the empty space. "All this time, you were there, and I thought you were just another part of this twisted narrative. Even Greg couldn't see you, and I was mad at him for it. But now everything's changed."

My hands clench into fists, a powerful force building within me. I'm ready to unleash my wrath on Miky Mike, to confront him with all the pent-up fury of being manipulated and used. But before I can act, Miky Mike does something unexpected.

With a desperate gesture, he conjures a door out of thin air, ripping a hole in the fabric of this bizarre reality. He leaps through it, trying to escape the confrontation, to flee from the chaos he's partly responsible for.

Without a second thought, I leap toward the door, propelled by a mix of desperation and determination. I'm not going to let him get away, not after everything that's happened. My body hurtles through the air, every muscle straining as I reach for the rapidly closing portal.

The door begins to shut, but I'm not going to be denied. With one final effort, I throw myself at the closing gap, determined to follow Miky Mike wherever this next twist in the story takes me. I'm Ryker, and I refuse to be a mere character in someone else's plot.

The door slams behind me, and I find myself in an empty void, a stark contrast to the bustling streets of Kabuki I had just left. The space is vast and unending, a blank canvas of nothingness. The only objects in this void are some scattered papers on the ground.

Curiosity piqued, I walk over to the papers, each step echoing in the silence. Picking them up, I start to read, and what I find sends a shock through me. The papers contain a scenario, a detailed description of my life, as if someone had scripted it.

According to this document, I received my cybernetic implant from a ripperdoc named Fingers, a character I know all too well. The scenario details how I live in a shabby place in Kabuki, far from the glamorous life I might have imagined. It goes on to describe my job as a data analyst for some corporation, a mundane existence in stark contrast to the adventures and chaos I've experienced.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. My entire existence, every move, every decision, it's been laid out like a character in a story. I am the protagonist, but not of my own life – of someone else's narrative. This revelation shakes me to the core. My identity, my struggles, my triumphs – were they all just part of a script?

I stand there, holding the papers, my mind racing. The implications are overwhelming. Was my entire life predetermined, my choices just illusions? The thought is both terrifying and infuriating.

I look around the void, searching for any sign of Miky Mike or an exit, but there is nothing – just the endless expanse of emptiness. "Is this it?" I ask aloud, my voice echoing back at me. "Is this all I am? A character in someone's story?"

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The weight of the realization is crushing. I feel a mix of anger, confusion, and a deep sense of betrayal. My life, my identity, everything I believed to be real – it might have been orchestrated by someone else. As I sift through the drafts, I find lines of conversations I had with Danny and the initial chapters of this bewildering story. My eyes widen in disbelief as I read a part about a romance between two men. I'm not against gay relationships; I'm open-minded about love in all its forms. But the idea that Miky Mike had planned this narrative twist for me makes my blood boil. "Really, Miky? Is this the best you could come up with?" I shout into the void, my voice echoing off its non-existent walls.

Suddenly, the sound of a space door opening catches my attention. I turn to see Miky Mike, his face flushed and breathing heavily, looking equally tired and surprised to see me. Without a moment's hesitation, I tap into the power of my brain implant, launching myself in a massive leap straight at him. Miky's eyes widen in panic, and he seems to see me coming in slow motion.

We crash into each other, propelling us into a new space. We were falling from the sky, plummeting towards the Earth. Miky screams, "This was meant for the 26th chapter! You're ruining everything, Ryker!" His words are lost in the wind as we descend like a meteorite, arguing and bantering sarcastically while our faces contort under the force of the fall.

Just as we're about to crash, the scenery shifts dramatically. We find ourselves running through a shelter for the homeless in Pacifica. The place is crowded, filled with faces I recognize from past encounters. There's the old man who once asked me to describe a lewd calendar amongst others.

I'm disoriented but focused on Miky Mike, who's darting through the crowd. The old man points in the direction Miky ran, and I take off after him. Everyone in the shelter, including the guards, seems to be guiding me, pointing the way Miky went.

As I chase Miky Mike through the shelter, I suddenly realize that my broken ribs aren't hurting anymore. In fact, I feel significantly better, as if the pain had just been an illusion. This realization only fuels my suspicion and anger towards the bizarre situation I'm entangled in.

Entering another corridor, the environment shifts once again. "I'm getting tired of your little games, Miky! This madness is making me nauseous," I yell, my voice echoing in the ever-changing space.

I catch sight of Miky frantically scribbling on a piece of paper. Every time he writes something, he looks up at me with an evil smile, as if he's enjoying the chaos he's creating. My confusion peaks as I confront him. "Is this it? Is it over?" I demand, hoping for some semblance of sanity to return.

But just as I speak, a MaxTac team bursts through the door. They're heavily armored, loaded with cybertronics and accompanied by drones that crash into the scene with intimidating force. Among them is Skaya, who yells at me, "Ryker, you're insane! Stop this now, or you'll die!"

Anger boils within me as I retort, "Why are you with him, Skaya?" I point accusingly at Miky, who continues to write on his magic paper, seemingly crafting the reality around us.

As the MaxTac team moves in to apprehend me, I tap into skills I didn't know I had. I dodge bullets and drones like a master martial artist, moving with a grace and speed that surprises even me. A drone attempts to block my path with a wall, but I effortlessly sidestep it, continuing my charge towards Miky.

Miky and I collide, grappling on the ground in a clumsy fight. Neither of us is a skilled fighter, but our struggle is fierce and desperate. At one point, Miky lands a hard kick, screaming, "It's over! I'm ending this story here and now!" He lunges for the paper on the ground, intent on finalizing whatever twisted ending he has planned.

I can't let that happen. With a burst of adrenaline, I yell, "I won't let you control me anymore, Miky!" I charge towards him, determined to stop him from using that paper to dictate my fate.

Our fight is messy and uncoordinated, a tangle of limbs and punches. We're both out of our depth, but the stakes are too high to back down. Miky manages to push me away, but I regain my footing quickly, fueled by a mix of determination and desperation.

As we grapple and fight, the chaos around us intensifies. The MaxTac team closes in, their drones buzzing angrily, but I'm singularly focused on stopping Miky from using that paper. This story, this reality – it's mine to control, not his.

Miky Mike manages to grasp the paper in his hands, his eyes darting nervously as I skillfully dodge each attack from the MaxTac team. I shout at him, "You gave me plot armor, Miky! You can't kill me even if you want to. Next time, think twice about making your protagonist overpowered. It might just backfire, and he might kick your ass!"

My words, spoken while I nimbly evade punches and bullets, seem to infuriate Miky even more. He turns to run, and I follow in hot pursuit, bursting through doors like a rhino charging at its target.

Miky leads me through a series of rooms, and I keep chasing, my energy undiminished. In a final attempt to catch him, I barrel through walls, the debris flying around me, until finally, I get my hands on him.

We burst through the last set of doors into a space of surreal pastel colors. We're running on what feels like the ring of Saturn, but instead of a planet in the center, there's an enormous floating head of Danny. "I'm tired of this, Miky!" I yell at him. "How could you play with my emotions like this? Why did you push me to kill people in your story? Why did you kill Danny? And why was Glitchy Greg in a hospital for the insane?"

Miky keeps running, yelling back over his shoulder, "It's all because I wanted it that way! Ryker, you're nothing more than a few pages of ink and paper!"

As he says this, a dramatic change occurs. Glitchy Greg appears, riding a majestic red behemoth dragon, clad in full armor. Perched on the dragon's nose is the old man from the shelter, laughing uproariously, his laughter filling the space.

In a moment of sheer desperation, Miky Mike, his face a mask of panic and determination, leaps off the Saturn-like belt encircling Danny's massive, floating head. The sight is surreal, almost dreamlike, yet charged with an intense urgency. Without hesitation and driven by a mix of fear, curiosity, and a deep-seated need to confront whatever truth lies ahead, I too take the plunge, launching myself into the vast unknown below us.

As I leap, the air rushes past me in a deafening roar, a symphony of chaos and disorder. The world around me becomes a blur, a whirlwind of colors and sounds that merge into an indistinguishable maelstrom. The sensation is like falling through layers of reality, each one peeling away to reveal another, even more, perplexing than the last.

As we fall, the scenery shifts wildly, the colors and shapes swirling around us in a dizzying display. Miky shouts, his voice a mix of fear and defiance, "You can't change the story, Ryker! It's written, set in stone!"

As I plummet through the void of code lines, I lose sight of Miky Mike. I find myself alone, surrounded by an endless Blackwall made of data. "Great, just what I needed," I mutter, my voice echoing in the void. "A solo trip in cyber hell."

Suddenly, the codes beside me begin to shift and swirl, coalescing into a familiar form. It's the rogue AI I encountered before, the one who tasked me with breaking the Blackwall. Her digital form materializes from the sea of codes, her presence both unsettling and strangely comforting.

"You're not stable, Ryker," she says, her voice a calm contrast to my turmoil. "What you're experiencing is an error. Time is running out."

Her words deepen my confusion, but I listen as she explains that the Voodoo Boys are at a Militech corporation facility, preparing to connect with me. She thanks me for all I've done and promises that once the Blackwall is broken, all rogue AIs will help restore my life and heal my body.

My mind races, grappling with the surreal turn of events. Am I insane? Is this what cyberpsychosis feels like? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I cup my face in my hands, the weight of everything crashing down on me. The loss of Danny, the plight of the people in the shelter – it all becomes too much.

As I succumb to the idea that I might need help, tears blur my vision. My breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the crushing grief and confusion. Just when I'm about to accept my perceived insanity, the void erupts in chaos.

Thousands of bells ring, their sound deafening in the empty space. A dragon's scream tears through the fabric of reality, its roar echoing with primal fury. Mounted on the dragon is Glitchy Greg, clad in full armor, a huge lance aimed directly at the rogue AI.

He charges with incredible force, striking the AI with all his might. The impact sends shockwaves through the void, the very essence of this digital world shuddering under the assault.

I watch, frozen in disbelief, as the once stable reality around me fractures and distorts. The rogue AI, hit by Greg's lance, scatters into a million code fragments, her form dissolving into the void.

"Ryker!" Greg shouts over the din, his voice booming and clear. "This is not your end! You are more than this!"

His words cut through my despair, igniting a spark of hope within me. The realization hits me – this isn't just about survival; it's about reclaiming my identity, my story. I'm not a mere pawn in someone's game. I'm Ryker, and my story is mine to write.

As the dragon, a mighty creature of some other author story, descends through the tumultuous void with Glitchy Greg perched upon it like a warrior of old, there's a palpable sense of destiny converging around us. Greg, with his armor gleaming in the non-light of this surreal realm, extends a hand towards me. His voice, imbued with resolve and camaraderie, cuts through the chaos. "Come on, Ryker! Let's turn this story around!" he calls out, his tone not just an invitation but a call to arms, a challenge to rewrite our fates.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second, the enormity of the moment weighing heavily upon me. Then, spurred by a newfound sense of determination and the trust I've placed in Greg, I reach out. Our hands clasp, a symbol of unity and shared purpose in this maelstrom of digital and existential uncertainty. There's a feeling of electric energy, a tangible current that passes between us, signifying a bond forged in the fires of adversity.

As our hands lock, the void around us reacts. It's as if our combined will, our unified resolve to take control of our narrative, sends a shockwave through the very fabric of this digital dreamscape. The void, once an endless expanse of nothingness and confusion, begins to fracture, its boundaries crumbling under the weight of our collective defiance.

The shattering is not just physical but metaphoric. It signifies the breaking of constraints, the dissolution of barriers that have held us captive in a narrative not of our making. It's a powerful, almost cathartic experience, watching the void break apart, each crack and fissure representing the dismantling of the illusions and falsehoods that have clouded my reality.

In this moment, the truth becomes clear: this story, my story, is not something to be passively endured but actively shaped. The breaking of the void symbolizes the breaking of chains, the reclaiming of agency, and the realization that our destinies are ours to write.

As the void shatters, a brilliant light, pure and blinding, floods the space.

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I, Ryker Bale, am seated at a round table with Glitchy Greg, who is still donning his knight's helmet. I can't help but chuckle at the sight. "Greg, do you ever take that thing off?" I ask, half-jokingly.

Greg responds with a tone of mock seriousness, "It's all about protection, Ryker." His voice is muffled slightly by the helmet.

We're playing cards, a casual game to pass the time. Next to my hand of cards, there's a pen and some papers. I glance behind the table and let out a sigh, reflecting on the surreal journey I've been on.

Greg breaks the silence, his voice more solemn. "It's time, Ryker."

I look up at him and smile. "Thank you, Greg... I mean Ryker. For everything," I say sincerely. Greg stays quiet for a moment, then slowly lifts the helmet off his head. Underneath the helmet is my own face, smiling back at me.

I nod in understanding and turn my gaze to Miky Mike, who sits opposite me. His mouth is covered, and his body is bound by chains. "You know, Miky, I've earned the right to live my life. Even if I was made up as a protagonist, it's not right to play with someone's emotions. And a word of advice for your next protagonist - be careful with breaking the fourth wall."

"Oh, and before I forget, a quick nod to those of you who were betting on things getting, let's say, a bit more 'lewd' with Skaya. Sorry to burst your bubble – or maybe not sorry? I guess you'll never know. Sometimes life, even a cybernetic, twisted one, isn't as predictable as you think. And isn't that the beauty of it?"

"Just when you thought you were done with me, I'm back to you dear reader for one last hoorah. And this time, it's to address the elephant, or should I say, the blue bunny in the room.

Yes, you heard it right – the mystery of the blue bunny tattoo and the inexplicable house explosion in Santo Domingo. I know, I know, you've been scratching your heads, rewiring your brains trying to figure it out. Well, guess what? So have I!

And here's the kicker – Miky Mike, our 'esteemed' author, couldn't explain it either. That's right, folks, we've got plot holes bigger than the craters on the moon, and it looks like they're here to stay. So, if you're looking for someone to blame, point your fingers at Miky. Sorry, Miky, but your writing's about as stable as my sanity was in this story.

So, on behalf of Miky Mike, the low-tier writer (sorry, Miky, but it's true), I offer my sincerest apologies for these narrative hiccups. I guess some mysteries are just destined to remain unsolved, like why we never see superheroes go to the bathroom or how many licks it really takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.

In any case, thanks for sticking around through the confusion, the chaos, and the unexplained blue bunnies. Remember, in the world of fiction, not everything has to make sense – sometimes it's just about the ride.

Ryker out, for real this time. Keep those neural pathways open and your imagination wild – who knows what story you will read next!"

As I speak, Greg Ryker listens intently. I bid farewell to him, and he replies with a warm smile, I will miss you too, Ryker."

Miky watches the exchange with tearful eyes, clearly moved by the unfolding events. I sigh deeply and address him again, "Every story needs an end, Miky. And from now on, I'll be the writer of my own story. I'm the one who decides what happens next, maybe it's too early, maybe readers wanted more but I'm out. Cheers."