Chapter 1 : Familiar City

Vibrant neon signs wrap around my body.
No warmth touches me. No mystical scent, no dreams of a fantastical future exist here.
Of course not—this is Night City.
A name slapped on without care for mundane phenomena like the sun rising or the moon sinking, a gem of a name.

Since ancient times, night has symbolized darkness.
And as everyone painfully knows, darkness isn’t exactly celebrated as something good in society.
The reason? The things that happen at night are rarely virtuous.

Truly, they picked a fitting name.
Day or night, it doesn’t matter—crime, corpses, and drugs litter the streets.
A name so cruel yet so perfectly suited for this dazzling brutality, it’s as if someone from the past saw the future and nailed it.

The state has lost all meaning.
Protecting its citizens? More like selling them off if you’re lucky.
The so-called police are just another gang maintaining “order,” while above them, untouchable corporations rule this bleak yet “perfect” society.

It’s so perfect it can dictate the world’s values.
Meet those values, and you can do anything in this damned place that welcomes me with open arms.

A city you’d call a landfill—no, a trash can wouldn’t be out of place.
Blood, sweat, drugs, and money.
Even today, in this dump, the garbage screams, stealing each other’s organs like it’s just another day.
Vomit here and there isn’t dirty anymore—it’s just familiar.
I let out a hollow chuckle and a sigh, weary of myself.

“Hey, who’s this? Been a while, hasn’t it?!”
“Yeah, just passing through. I’ll grab a drink next time.”

As if it’s the most natural thing, our eyes meet, and a guy—or something barely human, decked out with bizarre gadgets—raises a hand, mimicking a drinking gesture.
I wave back lightly, and he responds with a cackle.
Who was that? My hazy memory can’t place his face.
Probably some drunken night where my mind went blank.

His face is hard to forget, no doubt.
But I swear, this city is crawling with freaks like him.
Look around, and two out of five people on the street have faces churned out by plastic surgery, all similar, all forgettable.
Sorry, but my memory isn’t sharp enough to tell them apart.

BANG—

Whoa, I jerk my head back just as a trash can, perfect for this garbage city, flies past, turning the street into an even bigger dump.

“This fcker really doesn’t remember, huh?”
“Yeah, forgetting a mug like yours? That’s a feat.”
“Listen to this sht-talker!”

One voice, then two.
Irregular footsteps, at least four sets.
A sleazy mechanical voice cuts through the noisy road.

Where did I meet these bastards?
I rub my face, suppressing the rising irritation and hassle.
It’s not common, but wandering these streets, this kind of thing happens sometimes.
Still, no way these city scum are tangled in something that doesn’t pay.

Oh, right. Three days ago, in an alley.

“Alleyway?”
“Looks like it’s coming back to you, huh?”

Metallic teeth gleam through a twisted mouth.
‘Spending money on useless crap,’ I think, then remember I’m the one who paid for those perfect teeth.
Now that I recall, there’s no point pretending I don’t know their goal.
It’s clear—they’re after more than just my teeth. My organs, probably.

If that’s the case—

“Hey!?”
“That fcker’s bolting!”
“Grab that shtbag!”

No need to entertain a fight.
There’s no big money in it, and leeches like these will keep coming.
Best to slip away.
Getting into a brawl on a main street like this and attracting the NCPD? That’s a headache waiting to happen.
I’m not scared—just annoyed.

“Th—”
“F*cking dog!”

Car horns blare endlessly.
Power gathers in my legs, knees spring up, and my body shoots forward.
The voices fade, stretching into empty threats, no longer reaching me with any real form.

‘Idiots. Too heavy to catch me.’

Their grotesque faces vanish over the hill, out of sight.
The gear they strap on to “enhance” their bodies ends up being their shackles.
It’s absurd—so absurd it’s not even funny.
Sure, it’s impressive, but chasing strength with that junk?
The cost of abandoning humanity seems too ugly a price.

As I catch my breath, a device buzzes in my pocket with an odd tone.
Not my usual call sound.
I adjust the mask to distort my voice and press the call button in the alley.

“J, we’ve got a job.”

A curt message comes through the device pressed to my ear.
A familiar voice—sharp, like water cutting through thick smoke.

“Target?”
“Former netrunner, now a cyberpsycho.”
“Location?”
“Downtown, Road 32.”
“Situation?”
“NCPD patrol’s getting slaughtered. MaxTac’s probably on the way, but I can’t guarantee the damage won’t spread. You’re perfect for this, even if it’s a netrunner.”
“Payment?”
“We’ll settle after it’s done.”
“Love that part, though your rates are steep. Can’t we put it on my tab, old friend?”
“Hanging up.”

A troublesome job, no doubt.
Messy and exhausting.
But unlike before, this one’s got money on the line.

“Wow… that’s seriously old-school.”

As I check the job’s location on the device’s screen, a young voice hits my ears.
It’s a faint mutter, but my enhanced senses catch it clearly.

I glance up from the screen, and there’s a kid standing, mouth agape in awe.
I’m used to it by now, but to me, this device is cutting-edge, a relic of early 21st-century capitalism and democracy.
In this post-2070 era, it’s practically a museum piece.

“Cool, huh?”
“No offense! Just… it’s neat.”
“Same here.”

This f*cked-up world feels both familiar and alien.
Is it proof I still have some humanity left, or evidence I’m still an outsider?
Every day, this place is fascinating, boring, and infuriating all at once.

“Found him!”
“There’s that f*cking rat!”
“Haa—”

A sigh wells up from deep in my gut, escaping through my throat.

“Thought you could run?”
“Scurrying little sh*t.”
“Damn coward.”

Vivid insults fill the air, and faces I’d rather not see clutter my vision.

“Hey, I’m just dragged into—”
“Shut it, who’s this kid?!”

In the midst of it, a small figure gets pushed into the alley.

“Stay back.”

What a hassle, but I’ve got work to do.
I can’t just drag an innocent into this and bolt.
These half-crazed cyberpsycho types don’t look like they’d stop even if I said the kid’s uninvolved.

“Your choice.”
“What’s that bullsh*t—!”

My heart pounds hard.

David couldn’t make sense of the situation.
It was just another morning walk to school, an unavoidable but unsafe choice.
The price for that choice hit him hard and fast.

Walking along, he glimpsed a device in an alley, something so outdated it could be a relic.
Operating a thing like that must be harder than it’s worth—cheaper to just get a chip implanted.
Pausing to think about it cost him dearly, plunging him into chaos.

A brief chat.
Then, out of nowhere, trouble.

No way out of the alley, no space to run or hide.
Hiding wasn’t his style anyway, and it didn’t feel like his fight to pick.
But the moment those guys started grabbing weapons, he knew he was in deep, his options vanishing.

No guns or fancy firearms.
Just iron pipes and knives—common tools, perfect for killing.

A man stepped forward in front of the armed group.
He told David to stay back.
No connection, no acquaintance—just some guy using an expensive antique device David had commented on thoughtlessly.

Thud, thud—

Huh?

Each step the man took forward echoed heavily, his frame seeming to grow larger.
The situation spiraled in a bizarre direction with every blink.

One blink: a skinny guy with a pipe clutched his buckling legs, then smashed his head into the ground.
Two blinks: a woman charging with a knife had her arm twisted backward.
Three blinks: a gorilla-like brute’s jaw contorted, and another guy turned to flee.

The man’s hand grabbed the fleeing guy’s head, crushing it without hesitation.

Five blinks, and that was the scene painted before David’s eyes.
A scene he only registered after forgetting to exhale, finally letting out a breath.

Phew—

“Normally, I’d mask up for work, but for scum like you? Doesn’t matter.”

Just wipe them out here.