Cyberpunk: The Magnet fruit

The deep, guttural roar of a hovering vehicle echoed outside the Whirlpool Gang's headquarters. The noise grew louder as the craft descended, sending vibrations through the rusted metal walls of the base.

Inside, the gang members were already in a state of panic.

"Boss—BOSS!"

A disheveled gang member stumbled into the main hall, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed forward. His voice was shrill with urgency.

Royce, leader of the Whirlpool Gang, narrowed his glowing crimson cybernetic eyes and slammed his metallic fist onto the table.

"What the hell are you screaming about?" he barked.

The gang member gasped for breath before blurting out, "It's bad! Real bad! Militech is here—their people are right outside!"

Royce's expression twisted into a scowl. His cybernetic optics whirred as they adjusted, locking onto the trembling underling in front of him.

"What?! Militech?!" he roared. "What are those corporate bastards doing in our territory?"

A murmur spread through the room. The gang members, who had been lazing around or working on black-market cyberware, immediately tensed.

One of them hesitated before voicing a thought. "Boss… could it be because we, uh… y'know, stole their combat bot?"

For a moment, the entire room went dead silent.

Royce's eyes flickered, then widened in realization.

—

A Few Weeks Earlier...

The Watson North Industrial Zone had been crawling with corporate transport convoys. Militech was moving a top-secret prototype—a next-generation combat bot codenamed "Little Flathead."

But their security had a fatal flaw: Anthony, a disgruntled Militech insider, had leaked the transport details to the highest bidder.

And in Watson, that meant the Whirlpool Gang.

When the convoy rolled into their turf, Royce and his men moved fast. Before Militech could react, their precious bot was gone—hijacked and hidden in the gang's underground bunker.

Since then, they'd been searching for a buyer. After all, a high-end combat bot wasn't just some street tech—you needed connections to offload something like that.

And now… Militech was at their doorstep.

—

Back to the Present

Royce's metal-plated fingers curled into a fist.

"Damn it. This is our territory!" he snarled, his synthetic vocal cords adding a slight distortion to his voice. "If those corporate scumbags think they can just walk in here and take back their toy, they'd better be ready to pay the price!"

He slammed the table again, then snapped his fingers at his crew.

"Get everyone armed! Now!"

The gang members scrambled to grab their weapons. Some loaded tech rifles, while others checked their chrome augmentations, making sure they were ready for a fight.

Then Royce added, "And prep the escape tunnels! If things go sideways, we need a clean exit!"

Despite his paranoia and violent tendencies, Royce wasn't stupid. He knew that if Militech had come this deep into gang territory, they were serious. And when corporate mercs showed up fully armed, it was never just for a friendly chat.

"Got it, boss!" his men shouted before rushing off.

—

Outside the Whirlpool Gang Base

A massive hover transport slowly descended onto the cracked pavement. The force of its thrusters sent a wave of dust and debris scattering across the street.

As the engines powered down, the side doors hissed open.

A squad of Militech mercenaries stepped out—each one clad in top-tier armored exosuits, their faces hidden behind tinted visors. Their weapons? State-of-the-art railguns and smart rifles.

This was no casual operation.

They had come ready for war.

Royce emerged from the base, his cybernetic gaze scanning their equipment. His lips curled into a smirk, but there was a flicker of caution in his expression.

"Well, well, well. What kinda wind blew you corporate clowns into my turf?" he drawled, resting his rifle on his shoulder.

The lead Militech operative stepped forward, their voice filtered through a cold, artificial modulator.

"Royce."

The gang leader's smirk deepened. "Wow, you even know my name. I'm flattered."

The operative ignored his sarcasm.

"You have something that belongs to Militech."

Royce let out a sharp laugh. "Yeah? And what's that?"

The mercenary's visor gleamed under the neon lights. "The Flathead bot. Hand it over."

Silence.

Royce's grip tightened around his weapon. He let out a low chuckle, then shook his head.

"You really think you can just waltz in here and take it back? No negotiations? No offer?" He bared his chrome-plated teeth. "That's not how we do things in Watson."

The Militech operative took a step closer.

"This isn't a negotiation," they said flatly. "It's an order."

Royce's cybernetic optics flashed dangerously.

"Then I guess—"

BOOM!

Before he could finish, gunfire erupted.

—

Chaos Erupts

The streets outside the Whirlpool Gang base exploded into gunfire.

The mercenaries opened fire first, their smart rifles locking onto targets with inhuman precision. Bullets tore through gang members, sending them crashing to the ground in showers of blood and sparks.

But the Whirlpool Gang wasn't going down easy.

"LIGHT 'EM UP!" Royce roared, his cybernetic arms unfolding to reveal dual machine guns.

The gangsters returned fire, their weapons rattling as they sprayed bullets at the advancing Militech forces. The air was filled with screams, metal clashing, and the roar of automatic weapons.

A gang member with a cybernetic arm lunged forward, swinging a monoblade at a mercenary—only to be blasted apart by a Militech shotgun.

Royce ducked behind cover, his optics scanning the battlefield.

"Shit, these guys are tougher than I thought," he muttered, loading a fresh thermal magazine into his rifle.

A rocket-propelled grenade streaked through the air, slamming into the side of the Militech hover transport. The explosion rocked the street, sending flames and debris into the night sky.

But Militech wasn't backing down.

Their combat drones deployed, hovering above the battlefield, raining smart bullets onto gang members from above.

—

A Losing Battle

Despite their firepower, the Whirlpool Gang was getting pushed back.

One by one, their members were cut down. Militech's armor was too advanced. Their tactics too precise.

Royce gritted his teeth. He hated to admit it, but—

They were losing.

"FALL BACK!" he bellowed.

The survivors retreated into the base, disappearing through hidden escape routes.

Royce lingered for a moment, his optics flickering as he took one last look at the battlefield.

Then—he turned and ran.

—

Militech Takes Control

Minutes later, the gunfire died down.

The Whirlpool Gang base was left in ruins—bodies littered the streets, smoke rising from burning wreckage.

The Militech operative strode forward, scanning the area with their cybernetic HUD.

"Secure the bot," they ordered.

A squad moved in, retrieving the stolen Flathead.

It was over.

—

In the Shadows...

Far away from the carnage, Royce slipped into the sewers, panting heavily. His optics flickered, a mix of rage and determination burning within them.

Militech had won this battle.

But the war wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.