Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

“Quick. Get in. You’ve only got ten minutes.”

Deng ushered me into the tiny hotel room he’d rented and pushed me towards the bathroom. I let my eyes wander around the room as I crossed it and felt my nose wrinkle. The rest of the group that Deng assembled had already crammed themselves in the tiny room, making the place feel cramped and suffocating.

The place that Deng chose was not somewhere I would have stepped foot in in my past life; it wreaked of the previous occupants, the carpet was sticky and seemed to want to get up and follow me with every footstep, and a kaleidoscope of stains covered everything. I doubted that the place employed a cleaning staff. They probably just paid someone to come in once a week to spray the place down with disinfectants.

I jumped into the shower and washed as fast as I could. I had neither the time, nor the soap or stainless-steel brush pads to completely scrape off all the dirt I had accumulated over the past couple days, but I did enough to make myself smell somewhat clean and look passably presentable. Once I finished washing, I grabbed the outfit that Deng had laid out for me on the bathroom sink.

The neon colors looked ridiculous to my eyes and the clothes were obviously meant for someone much heavier than me – the pants kept sliding down my waist and Deng hadn’t thought to bring a belt with him. But the clothes were clean and in a style that teenagers around Watson preferred. I wouldn’t stand out too much walking around, despite all the misgivings I had over how I looked.

It had only taken me four minutes from when I entered the room until I finished showering and changing. Once I was presentable, I stepped out of the bathroom. Deng gave me a quick once over and a nod. That was the sign for everyone to get ready. He tossed me a bag that I slung over my shoulder and the entire team filed out of the hotel.

The past two weeks had been an educational experience for me. During the day, Fred and I wandered out to the shoreline with a few other homeless from around Watson. We’d scrounge through the bags of trash that had been dumped there, searching for anything of value we could turn into eddies. Our goods either went to Frank, who was always willing to buy quality scrap from us that he’d then fix up and sell in his stall, or to the various Kabuki Roundabout vendors who went crazy over any piece of tech, no matter how broken or outdated it was. Whenever we found a TV, computer, BD wreath, projector, or anything else with even a modicum of electronics in it, we’d make our way to the Roundabout and sell everything.

Fred and I also picked up the odd jobs every now and then. We mostly did manual labor for local small business owners. We’d sweep out buildings, move inventory from storage spaces to store fronts, and clear trash away from shop entrances.

Fred and Mor had become a constant presence in my life, schooling me on the finer points of living in Watson. They’d explain which gangs controlled different drug corners, which buildings had Scav presences – make sure to stay away from them – which small time gangoons were building up their numbers to try and make a push for territory. I treated their lessons like gospel, slowly acclimating to life in the city. I was no longer the naïve kid who had been mugged within my first ten minutes of getting off the train. Now I was someone who could be relied upon when older members of the alcove came up with gigs. That was how I came to work with Deng.

He terrified me the first time we met. Mor had introduced us one night at the alcove. Something about the way he looked at me made me feel like prey who should run and hide in the face of a new and unknown threat. If Tomas was constantly hanging around Deng, it stood to reason why he never saw Greater Than as any kind of serious threat. Deng was…different.

For one, he was ancient. Around 70 years old or older. The age lines carved deep in his face spoke of a life lived hard. His shrunken body was hidden behind numerous layers of clothing. His arms were thin and wiry, and his cheeks were gaunt. But despite all that, he still carried a certain aura about himself. It took me a bit to figure out what I was feeling, but I eventually realized that Deng carried himself like someone who was supremely confident in their ability to kill anyone and everyone around. Of all the dangerous people I had come across since popping into this world – the Wraiths, the Biotechnica commandos, the NCPD, Dennis, Greater Than – only Deng was someone I was subconsciously terrified of.

But despite all that, he was one of my favorite people I had met in my short time in the city. When Mor introduced us, he let slip that Deng had worked with Militech before the 4th Corporate War. He had served somewhere in South America; a young kid who had signed up solely for the paycheck and was instantly thrown to the wolves. After hearing his story, I peppered him with questions about what life was like back then, the first of which was: did he ever meet Morgan Blackhand?

As soon as the question was out of my mouth, all Deng could do was laugh for ten minutes straight. I tried defending myself by saying that Morgan Blackhand had got his start with Militech and that it wasn’t completely out of left field that they might know each other. I mean, how many people actually worked for one of the largest corporations in the world?

The rest of the night, I bugged him for information about what Night City was like back in the 20s. Was he in the city when the bomb went off? Did he ever go to a Samurai concert? Did he ever fight the Bozo’s gang? Did he ever pull a gig with any famous mercs like Andrew Weyland or Rogue?

Deng seemed bemused by my questions, which was entirely understandable. Here was a kid who was shockingly ignorant about the modern world and all its technologies, yet somehow knew about Alt Cunningham, Johnny Silverhand, and Morgan Blackhand. I knew more about the 4th Corporate War than the present day, even though the war was over long before I was born. I knew about Johnny and Rogue attacking Arasaka Tower, Alt’s creation of Soulkiller, and Adam Smasher turning into one of the most dangerous borgs in existence. I knew all those things, and yet had no idea how to use an Agent or what chips were. It tickled him that I was asking all those questions and begging for stories about the old days, especially since most of the people he talked with never wanted to speak about ancient history or Night City legends.

Perhaps his amusement was one of the reasons Deng had tapped me up for his gig.

He had met a media a couple years back; some enterprising N54 reporter had the bright idea to cultivate contacts among Watson’s homeless population. It was brilliant, right? The homeless were always out on the streets, knew everyone, could tell you what each gang was doing, and knew all the small gritty details of the streets that most people never thought about. Deng’s partnership with the media worked out well for both of them. The media got tips on emerging stories – who was starting shit in Watson, which gangs were gearing up for war – and Deng was given information he could use. The media had contacts in the NCPD that could tell Deng when someone died in Watson who either didn’t have a next of kin or whose family lived in a far-flung city. Once Deng found out about these deaths, he’d round up a few people and raid the dead guy’s apartment. It was a relatively easy gig and had made Deng one of Night City’s wealthier homeless.

Our current target’s apartment was in Megabuilding 10. He was a young guy who was killed in a hit and run a few hours earlier. As we left the skeevy hotel room, we split into three groups of two and made our way towards the Megabuilding. As we got closer, I started buzzing with excitement. Not only was this gig a possible huge payday, but we were hitting a building I had been inside of in the game. It was V’s building. I knew V hadn’t moved in yet. A screamsheet I got hold of a week or so ago told me it was still 2076. That meant V was either still with Arasaka, the Bakkers, or in Atlanta. Still…I was excited.

Deng and I walked to the elevators and pressed the button for the 27th floor. When the doors slid open, we calmly headed down the hall to the target’s apartment. Deng pulled out a small spray can and pushed a tiny red straw in the nozzle. I glanced at the can, a look of puzzlement clear on my face, and Deng held it up to me with a smile. Compressed air? I knew it from my past life working with computers, but what was Deng going to do with it?

We came up to the door of the apartment and Deng flipped the can upside down and squeezed the small straw in between the door and frame and held down the nozzle. I could hear the air pouring through the straw and, seconds later, the door popped open and Deng ushered me inside. What the hell just happened?

Deng shut the door but made sure it didn’t latch and then turned to me and saw my confusion.

“Couple years back there was a fire in a megabuilding. Bunch of people were locked in their apartments and burned to death. When nobody wanted to rent apartments in megabuildings anymore, the owners started putting these sensors over the door and telling everyone it was safe now,” he said as he pointed to the top of the door frame. I noticed a small black box with a red blinking light there.

“The sensors open the doors whenever they sense a vast change in the surrounding temperature. Compressed air can, turned upside down, releases cold air. I flood the sensor and, voila!”

The rest of the team eventually filed into the apartment behind us and started walking through the place, tossing things in the bags they had slung over their shoulders. I only knew a few of them from seeing them around Lizzie’s. None of us hung out in the same groups. They each had their own parts of Watson they worked, their own camps where they felt safe, and their own Freds and Mors who would watch their backs. Our only connection was Deng.

The team split and I watched as one guy went to the fridge to empty it into his sack while another handled the extensive BD collection the guy had stacked on a shelf. Somone stripped the linen from the bed while another guy padded through the apartment, slipping various bric-a-brac into his bag. I grabbed what was in the wardrobe and stuffed it in my bag while Deng worked on breaking down the computer. Five minutes later we had picked the place clean. The team split up once more into different groups and Deng and I rode the main elevator to the lobby.

We hit the ground floor and strolled outside, my bag bulging with all the clothes I had grabbed. I kept telling myself to calm down and not jump around in excitement as Deng led me away from the building and down a couple side streets towards our agreed upon meeting spot. The teams eventually all made their way free of the building and we marched towards the Roundabout. And just like that, I was hundreds of eddies richer.

We sold almost everything from the apartment to vendors around the Roundabout. The bed sheets and pillows were doled out to the people on the team. They were precious commodities among the homeless because everyone could always use something extra to pad out their camps. Deng grabbed my bag with all the clothes and said he knew a safe spot we could stash them. They’d be used as disguises for the next job. Deng claimed that if we went into a megabuilding while clean, dressed in somewhat fashionable clothes, and looking like we belonged, nobody would bat an eye at us. I had doubted him at the time, but was more than happy to have been proven wrong.

We sold off the BD collection, computer, and all the extra stuff we grabbed from the apartment, and then Deng passed out our cuts. It was more money than I had ever made scrounging through the trash. I had around 400 eddies in my pocket now. Sure, it wasn’t a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. By the end of the game, V was a multimillionaire with a garage filled with cars and a stash of expensive weapons. But, those 400 eddies were worth so much more than any other money I’d ever made in my entire life. It was tangible proof that I could survive in Night City and that Fred and Mor hadn’t wasted their time teaching me.

I went a little insane with my newfound wealth. I bought a shirt that wasn’t covered in my own blood from when Dennis ambushed me, some bottles of alcohol that I passed out at the alcove as thanks for looking out for me, and a burner phone from a vendor in the Roundabout because I was tired of Fred joking that I was the only teenager not glued to his Agent. I also took Fred and Mor to that noodle stand I had seen over near Ellison Plaza on my first day in Night City. Fred’s words that the place was too expensive, and that we weren’t celebrating anything the day we met had stuck in my head.

Now that I had something to celebrate, I wanted to thank the two people who had most helped me. We devoured three bowls of noodles apiece and then stopped by Charlie’s scop dog stand afterwards.

The night was calm and an enjoyable breeze blew through the streets, reminding me of the lazy summer days I used to enjoy in my past life. I relaxed and reveled in a job done well as we picked our way through Watson towards Lizzie’s. Fred and Mor joked that I was a big shot now and that I’d be taking Night City by storm. I smiled at the good-natured ribbing and walked in amiable silence next to them.

Gunshots pierced the air, ruining the celebratory mood. My thoughts were instantly transported back to the Wraith camp, to being stretched out on a surgical bed, helpless and exposed. I fell to the ground behind a concrete barrier, poking my head up to try and figure out who was shooting. Fred and Mor crouched down next to me, searching for where the gunshots were coming from so they could run the other way.

A few people who had been walking along the streets earlier were now sprinting away from the gunshots or cowering in store fronts, trying to find safety. Fred grabbed me by the shoulder and pointed in the direction of the fleeing mob as if to say ‘what the hell are you doing? We need to leave.’ But an idea had wormed its way into my head and I crouch-walked towards the firefight. Mor reached out to pull me back, but I shook myself free and moved.

Two NCPD squad cars had blocked the road and the officers were hunkered down behind them. I could just make out Tyger Claws ahead, firing rounds at the NCPD, hoping to break the deadlock and flee before NCPD reinforcements could get there. The badges had either tried to arrest a Tyger Claw or the TC had taken offense that cops had wandered into their territory. I neither knew nor cared as I slowly crept closer to the firefight. One Claw was sprawled out on the ground, the puddle of blood framing his body letting me know he was dead. Everyone else hid behind cover, occasionally raising up a gun and popping off a few rounds towards their opponents.

I crept to the side of the firefight, trying to ensure a clear view of both the NCPD and the Claws. I hugged an overturned scop dog cart and watched the fight, my eyes glowing wide when I saw one of the Claws get up and bolt in my direction. She must have been trying to get a flanking spot on the cops. She held out her submachine gun, shooting at the cop cars as she ran. It was one of those stupid looking guns with the big curvy magazines and the pointy barrel. I didn’t know its name because I always thought it looked ridiculous and never used it in the game.

She charged to the side, racing for the cover I was hiding behind. Her gun clicked on an empty magazine and she reached behind her back to unholster a pistol. She fired off a couple more rounds at the cops as she ran. That was around the time the cops started taking her threat a little more seriously. As one, the cops all unloaded on her and she crumpled to the ground steps away from where I hid.

The next moment found me running, not away from the gunfight but towards the now dead Tyger Claw. I slid next to her side and heard the gunshots fall silent. It was as if everyone had stopped and sat confused, wondering what the hell some random teenager was doing jumping into the middle of a gunfight. Was I trying to check the body? Was I going to drag her away and administer first aid? Was I just a complete idiot who willingly threw himself in the middle of a gunfight? I fumbled for her pistol, grabbing it off the ground and turned away and sprinted. I might have been imagining things but I felt both the NCPD and Tyger Claws target me as I ran, not knowing if I was friend or foe and taking no chances.

I kept running until I was a few streets away from the firefight. My lungs heaved and my legs were shaking. Fred and Mor caught up with me and both took turns slapping me upside my head while screaming invectives at me. They yelled that I was an idiot and ‘they had put too much time and effort into me so that I could run off and do something as stupid as that.’

But I wasn’t listening. I was looking down at the Unity I held in my hands. I wasn’t unarmed anymore. I wasn’t defenseless and at the whims of the forces of Night City. I was ready to get to work.