The Gonk and The Forge (Cyberpunk Edgerunners/2077)

The greasy aroma of synth-burgers and cheap coffee hung heavy in the air, another night winding down at the ♥♥♥♥ Diner. I wiped down the countertop, glancing at the familiar faces huddled in the corner booth, ignoring the rattling coffee machine as it prepared coffee with Synthetic milk sachets.

Miller, Jones, and Smith, NCPD regulars, were finishing their after-patrol grub. They usually rolled in just as the late-night crowd thinned out, their patrol route ending at the intersection between Westbrook and Japan Town, a stone's throw from Jig-Jig Street.

"Take this to table 6," A voice asked me, and I turned to face the blonde woman manning the counter alongside me. "You know which one."

"Alright, Archie. Just watch the coffee machine will ya? The hunk of junk was rattling and I didn't like the sound of it." I replied as I took the offered tray from her and headed toward the table with NCPD officers.

I slid the tray onto their table, the chipped mugs rattling against the plates piled high with questionable synthetic meat.

"Alright, fellas," I announced, "One Preem HawtDawg' with a side of fries for you, Officer Miller. Two 'EEZYBEEF' steaks for Jones and Smith, and the 'Gojilla' for..." I paused, glancing at the fresh-faced officer, "Name's Davis, right?"

Davis, fidgeted on his seat, as he nodded and stammered, "Uh, My optics... they can't seem to find your... uh... payment chip?" He blinked, his enhanced eyes flickering with a faint blue light as he tried to scan me. "Got your name, Zain Vargas, but... no linked account. No chip."

A beat of silence hung in the air as the other officers exchanged amused glances.

Miller, an older officer with a cybernetic arm that whirred subtly with every move, leaned closer to Davis. "Kid, you never seen someone so 'ganic? You're looking at Night City's very own Buddhist Waiter. This guy's practically a museum piece." He jerked a thumb towards me. "Chill out, don't worry about him."

Jones, her Kiroshi optics glowing faintly in the dim light, smirked. "Don't worry, Dave. He's not gonna bite."

Smith, a grizzled officer with a cybernetic jaw that clicked when he spoke, gave me a knowing nod. "Gotta admire the commitment, Vargas. Staying 'ganic in this city takes guts. Only other folks I've seen completely organic are either monks up in North Oak or the gonks sleeping under the overpass."

Officer Miller added then smirking at his squad "sides, if we know there's anyone in the city that's clean. It's this monk. Gonk is practically harmless with no way to link up to anything. Relax, Davis."

I simply raised an eyebrow and ignored their ribbing. It was a common thing whenever they had a rookie at the diner.

Turning to the rookie officer, I said "Just send the eddies to Archie at the counter. She'll sort you out."

Davis, still flustered, quickly transferred the payment to Archie, his eyes glowing blue briefly as he turned to look at the woman in question.

I collected their empty plates, the clatter a welcome interruption to their familiar ribbing, and headed back to the counter.

The diner was winding down, a couple of loners hunched over their drinks, the neon glow of Jig-Jig Street spilling through the grime-streaked windows.

Archie was a burst of energy amidst the late-night slump, humming along to the tinny music crackling from the old radio, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the counter.

"I'm sorry about that, Zain. I don't like ending the night serving their table." She said apologetically, as she worked to store away the dishes for the dishwashers. "They get on my nerves sometimes, but I hope you know they don't mean anything by it right? Their machismo is just that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know Archie. You don't have to tell me. I was happy to take that table off your hands." I replied as I helped her finish off the work at the counter. She smiled apologetically again all the same and continued off to her own work.

As the last of the customers stumbled out the door, I was just about done with the rest of the cleanup.

Swapping the synth trays in the almost broken coffee machine, checking on the water synthesizer, and checking the soap in the dishwasher, when Archie joined me again. "Hey, Zain?"

I looked at her questioning and she continued "Dad wants to see you in the back. You done here?"

"Yeah, just about. I'll be there with him in a minute." I replied as I rechecked my work.

Archie nodded taking off her apron and cap and said "I'll be waiting for you outside by the car. No rush."

I nodded; my curiosity piqued.

After a quick check for any CHOOH2 leaks from the stove – a nightly ritual – I headed towards the back, a sense of foreboding settling in my gut.

Rafael Torres, Archie's father and the diner's perpetually grumpy owner, was hunched over his computer, an IEC Gen X, the glow of the screen casting blue flickers across his face.

"Zain," he grumbled, his voice heavy. "Come in. We need to talk."

Here we go again, I thought, bracing myself for the familiar lecture. I took a seat, the worn synthetic plastic groaning beneath me.

Rafael's eyes were glued to the screen, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the keyboard. The old IEC Gen X hummed softly, the only other sound in the cramped office. He finally swiveled in his chair, his expression a mix of weariness and frustration.

"Your pay's ready," he said, his voice gruff as he indicated to his gestured to his computer. "But it's docked. Again."

The computer was showing his calculations and accounts for the pay for this week. I could see mine, and like he said, it was docked.

I met his gaze, trying to appear unfazed. "I figured as much."

He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Zain, it's like talking to a wall with you sometimes. You're a good kid, you work hard, but this..." he gestured vaguely between me and the computer, and he trailed off.

"I know," I said quietly. "It's the cash, right?"

"It's the cash," he confirmed, his voice weary. He leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Just get chipped, Zain. Make things easier on yourself, on me... It's the simplest solution."

I knew why he wanted me to get chipped, but it just wasn't something I was comfortable with at all.

I knew I was shooting my own foot with that; Rafael was cutting off all the conversion rate hits he was suffering from my pay, having to get cash from the ATM for my weekly pay just for me.

Eddies were often traded digitally, crypto-backed. Getting cash from any bank costs a hefty service fee and because of that not many people rely on cash at all.

Except for black money traders, gangsters, and the like perhaps.

I shifted in my seat, the plastic creaking beneath me. "I appreciate that, Mr. Torres, I do. But... it's just not something I can do."

He frowned. "Why not, at least tell me that much? We've had this conversation thrice now. Don't tell me it's some kind of phobia. You're not afraid of the ripper docs, are you?"

I almost chuckled. "No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" he pressed, his voice rising in exasperation. "Is it a religious thing? Are you really Buddhist like the cops think you are? Like those monks up in North Oak? Because if it is, I respect that, but..."

"It's... kind of like that," I said, choosing my words carefully. "It's... complicated."

He studied me for a moment, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Ah, I see. Religion and belief, then. Alright, I respect that." He paused, then added, "But this city... it won't accommodate your beliefs you know… wait you're not in some cult are you?"

I shook my head frantically at that line of questioning. "What? No. I am not. It's… just a personal belief. Family thing."

He sighed, "Well, like I said. This city is not so accommodating to personal beliefs. You're hurting your own chances with no chips in your system."

It was true, I knew. In the short time I had been here, it was becoming clearer and clearer what Night City really was. How dependent the society, the economy really was on chips in everyone's system.

"Zain," Rafael's voice took on an almost pleading tone, "just reconsider. At least for something simple. Nothing fancy. It's a simple procedure. In and out. Hell, I'll even pay for the chip! I know a good ripperdoc in Watson, discreet, and reliable. He'll set you up with a basic Zetatech or IEC data chip, nothing fancy. No fuss, no muss."

I was floored by the sheer concern in his gaze. Him offering to pay for me to get chipped?

That was worth a month's pay, heck probably a little more. That too without the pay cut I endured.

But I was not willing to take the risk whatsoever.

I met his gaze, appreciating the genuine concern in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Torres. I really do appreciate the offer. But... I can't."

He slumped back in his chair, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. "I had to try, I thought after these weeks you'd have become a little bit more accepting. Rare as it is to find some 'ganic person these days, I had thought it was a religious thing since the beginning…." He shook his head at that.

 "You're a good kid, Zain. Smart, reliable. But this..." he gestured to me, "I don't like having to cut your pay so often, you don't deserve that. Honest kids like you are rare. No involvement with the gangoons, drugs, joytoys, or the like. You, least of all, don't deserve to have your pay cut as I'm being forced to do so."

He reached into his drawer, pulling out a rolled-up stack of cash. It was my weekly pay, 250 eddies. Not a fortune, but enough to get by for now.

"Thank you, Mr. Torres," I said, taking the money. "I am really sorry, …. I really appreciate the offer. I hope you understand."

"It's your hit kid. Not mine" he said, his voice weary. "Just think about it, alright?"

I nodded, tucking the eddies into my pocket. "I will."

Stepping out of the diner and into the cool night air, I spotted Archie leaning against her beat-up Thornton Galena G240, the neon signs of Jig-Jig Street casting an eerie glow on her face.

"So?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Did the old man finally convince you to join the 21st century?"

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "Not a chance."

Stepping out of the diner and into the cool night air, I spotted Archie leaning against her beat-up Thornton Galena G240, the neon signs of the distant Jig-Jig Street casting an eerie glow on her face. She pushed herself off the car, her arms crossed as she approached.

"So?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement in her amber cybernetic eyes. "Did the old man finally break you down? Ready to get chipped and join the rest of us in the 21st century?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not a chance."

"Seriously?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He even offered to pay for it, didn't he? And hook you up with that ripperdoc in Watson? I swear, Zain, sometimes you're so—"

"Gonk?" I offered with a grin.

"Exactly!" she said, pointing a finger at me. "What's it gonna take to convince you? Have I told you my personalized Kiroshi optic plays my favorite anime on repeat? Or that I can see the directions to anywhere in the city like…they're right there, man! How can you live without it?!"

I unlocked the car, opening the passenger door. "You told me just about a thousand times, it's not about the perks, Archie," I explained, sliding into the seat. "It's... well, you know it's... just how I am. I don't believe in chips." I tried to keep my tone light, deflecting her curiosity.

Archie slammed the driver's side door shut, the sound echoing in the relative quiet of the street. "Oh, I knew it!" she exclaimed, starting the engine with a roar. "I knew it was something religious, told dad the first day you walked in looking for a gig. You're one of those 'analog purists,' aren't you? Think technology is the devil's work?"

"Not exactly," I said, leaning back in the seat. "It's more like... a personal belief system. Something I was raised with."

She rolled her eyes, pulling away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. "Don't give me that 'holier-than-thou' routine. It's a chip, not a soul-stealing demon. It's perfectly safe. Everyone does it!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I like being different," I retorted, a hint of defiance in my voice.

Archie let out a long sigh, shaking her head. "Why do I even bother?" she mumbled, more to herself than to me. "Alright, fine. Suit yourself. But don't come crying to me when you can't even buy a drink without flashing a wad of cash like some kind of neo-tribal."

I chuckled, settling into the worn seat as she navigated the neon-lit streets. "Don't worry, Archie. I'll manage."

The radio blared out a catchy tune, a hyper-pop remix of some cheesy anime theme song. I cringed inwardly, bracing myself for the inevitable earworm.

To my surprise, Archie was bobbing her head to the music, a genuine smile plastered on her face.

I stared at her incredulously. "You're kidding, right? You actually like this song?."

"Like it?" Archie scoffed, throwing me a sideways glance. "Zain, you seriously need to get your ears checked. This song slaps! The Namakopuri sisters and Us Cracks are the biggest thing to hit the mainstream since, like, ever! Their stuff is pure fire."

I grimaced, sinking further into my seat. "If you say so. To me, it sounds like a bunch of screaming chipmunks backed by a broken synthesizer."

Archie let out an exasperated sigh. "Just when I thought you couldn't be any more gonk, you go and pull this. Honestly, Zain, your whole 'rebellious anti-chip' phase is kinda adorable. Totally gonk, but adorable."

I could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. "Thanks?" I said, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult.

"Don't mention it," she replied, her voice laced with amusement. "Here, I'll change the song for you"

She changed the station to some hyper futuristic EDM music, but at least that was better than the PonPon Shit she was vibing to a minute ago.

"Thank you!" I thanked her more genuinely at that.

She took the next turn at the juncture, when we hit the roadblock.

A shimmering wall of holotape stretched across the street, blocking any further progress.

Behind it, a Trauma Team AV hovered silently, its blue and white lights casting an eerie glow on the scene. Trauma Team officers in their distinctive white, red, and green armor swarmed the area, their movements efficient and practiced.

Before I could ask what was going on, a sharp rap on the window startled me.

An NCPD officer, her face grim and her hand resting on the butt of her pistol, motioned for Archie to roll down the window.

"Evening, officer," Archie said.

"Road's closed," the officer stated flatly. "Can't you see the cordon? Why are you waiting here?"

"Yeah, but the light's red down the street, and we're heading just beyond down this street there," Archie explained, pointing behind the cordon. "Figured it'd be quicker to wait it out than go around. Besides, Trauma Team's usually pretty quick, right?"

The officer's eyes narrowed, as they glowed eerie blue, her gaze flickering between Archie and me. "Your companion, Zain? He 'ganic?"

"Uh, yeah," Archie confirmed.

The officer's lips curled into a smirk. "Figures. Alright, you two can wait. Should be cleared out in a few."

We watched as the Trauma Team medics rushed out of a nearby building, carrying a stretcher with a blood-soaked figure.

They loaded the stretcher into the AV, which lifted off with a whoosh and disappeared into the night sky.

"Wonder who that was," I mumbled, trying to get a better look at the scene beyond the cordon. A burning storefront flickered with an angry orange light, and several bodies lay sprawled on the pavement.

"Some corpo woman, by the looks of it," Archie replied. "My zoom's not that great, but I could see the remnants of a suit."

"Yeah, definitely a corpo," I agreed, my mind already piecing together the clues. "Trauma Team response, especially with an AV, isn't cheap. She must have had at least a gold package, maybe even platinum."

That much was obvious. The Trauma Team insurance packages were expensive. Ridiculously so.

AV deployment practically guaranteed at minimum a gold package, so the woman was definitely some rich Corpo.

"Must have really pissed the claws off somehow," Archie commented, her eyes fixed on the scene. "For them to warrant this much force."

I nodded.

The entirety of Japantown, and parts of Little China were Tyger Claw turf. For them to have burnt up some store front to get at the corpo woman living in the building above it, meant either she had pissed them off something fierce, or she was a casualty in some other target they were aiming at.

Not that he'd know. This was the best he could guess with what he knew.

Within minutes, the NCPD officers cleared the bodies and extinguished the fire. The holotape flickered and disappeared, and traffic began to flow again.

Archie pulled back onto the road, humming along to the EDM music as if nothing had happened.

It didn't take long to reach my apartment building, the Umibe Residence, a drab, five-story complex. Archie pulled into the parking lot beneath the building.

I was about to thank her for the ride and leave when she stopped me by grasping my arm.

"Hey, Zain," she began, her voice taking on a fake casual tone. "I need a favor from you, will you help."

I raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the favor, what is it?"

"Cover my shift tomorrow at the diner?" she asked, as she fidgeted in her seat, embarassed. "I'll even give you my pay for the day."

I was intrigued. "Why? Can't you just ask your dad?"

"Why? Can't you just ask your dad?" I questioned, tilting my head. "He's usually pretty flexible with your shifts."

Archie bit her lip, avoiding my gaze. "Well, it's just that... I'm going to visit my input tomorrow, down in the Glenn. And... uh... dad doesn't know about him."

"Your input?" I was surprised. Archie had never mentioned having a boyfriend before. "And he's in the Glenn? Is he... someone I should be worried about?" My mind conjured up images of Valentino gangoons or 6th Street toughs.

She shook her head, a faint smile returning to her face. "No, no, nothing like that. He's a corpo lawyer, actually. Works as legal aid for Zetatech. We met here at the diner a week ago, when you had your day off."

"A corpo lawyer?" I echoed, trying to process this new information. "Why all the secrecy then?"

"Well," she explained, "dad wouldn't be too thrilled about the whole 'corpo' thing. And neither would my old input, for that matter."

"Your ex?" I was lost.

"Oh, sorry," she chuckled. "My ex. He's kind of... possessive. Anyway, the point is, that it's complicated. But my input's looking to change jobs soon. He doesn't want to meet Dad till he's stuck with a job at Zetatech. He's looking to open his own firm, once he does, I'll tell Dad everything. Until then... well, I could really use your help."

I thought about it for a moment. It wasn't really my business who Archie was dating, and covering her shift wasn't a big deal. "Alright," I agreed. "I'll do it."

"You're the best, Zain!" she exclaimed, beaming. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're an adorable gonk, you know that?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

I shook my head with a smile as I watched her drive away, the taillights of her Galena disappearing into the night.

Turning towards the entrance of my apartment building, the Umibe Residence, I couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.

The flickering neon sign above the entrance cast long, distorted shadows across the cracked pavement. The building itself was a testament to neglect, with chipped paint, broken windows patched with cardboard, and a faint smell of something rotten clinging to the air.

"–told you, I ain't got your goddamn eurodollars!" a gruff voice yelled from somewhere within.

"You think I'm stupid, choomba? I saw you stashing that cash!" a woman shrieked in response.

The sounds of a struggle, punctuated by crashing and breaking glass, drifted from the upper floors. I grimaced, hoping the fight wouldn't spill out into the lobby.

Glancing towards the stairwell, I noticed two figures huddled beneath the staircase, their bodies entwined on a stained mattress. The rhythmic creaking of the mattress and their muffled moans made me avert my eyes quickly.

The junkies were obviously high as a kite, and fucking their euphoria away.

The lobby itself was deserted, save for a battered rent collection machine tucked away in a corner.

I approached it cautiously and punched in my apartment number. A green light flashed, and a cheerful "RENT PAID" message appeared on the screen.

Another mystery of the Umibe Residence. I had never paid rent since I woke up here almost a month ago in this strange future city.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and I stepped inside gratefully. As I ascended to the fifth floor, the sounds of the building faded away, replaced by the gentle hum of the elevator motor.

Reaching my floor, I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and cheap synth-noodles.

My apartment door was just a few steps away, a battered metal slab with a peeling number 503.

Stepping in front of the fingerprint scanner, I scanned my right hand and it blinked grin as the door slid open letting me inside.

Stepping into the apartment, I was greeted by the familiar sight of the cramped living space – a faded couch, a flickering holo-screen, and a kitchenette barely big enough to turn around in. It was a far cry from the comfortable, if slightly cramped, bedroom I had back home. Home. The word echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of a life that seemed both impossibly distant and yet vividly real.

It had been almost a month since I woke up here, in this strange, ultra-advanced future.

One minute I was celebrating my graduation with friends, the thrill of finally finishing my business admin degree fueling a night of revelry in the bars of San Jose, California, then going to bed kissing my Ma goodnight and ruffling the fur of my old dog, Bosco.

The next, I was here, in this dingy apartment, wearing nothing but my pajamas, with no memory of how I got here.

At first, I thought it was a dream, a bizarre, hyper-realistic hallucination brought on by one too many tequila shots.

But the dream never ended.

Days turned into weeks, and the impossible truth of my situation slowly dawned on me.

I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Hell, I wasn't even in 2024 anymore.

The cheap but functional, and surprisingly Windows computer at my desk confirmed my worst fears. It was surprising because Windows, heck Microsoft wasn't exactly a company here.

The internet, or whatever they called it here, was a chaotic mess of flashing images, hyperlinks, and invasive advertisements.

But amidst the digital noise, I found enough information to piece together a horrifying truth.

I was in the future, a future where corporations ruled, cybernetics were commonplace, and violence was a way of life.

A future that didn't even resemble the history I knew.

Heck there had been 4 four world wide wars, after World War 2.

Corporate wars they called them.

The companies I had grown up with – Google, Apple, Facebook, Amazon, Uber, Spotify, or whatever else have you –didn't exist at all.

Historical events had unfolded differently. Obama had never become president. The world was a twisted, unfamiliar version of the one I knew.

How did I get here?

Was it some kind of time travel experiment gone wrong?

All I had to that was the constant heavy weight in the back of my head, and a burning key ever present in my pocket.

Any pocket of whatever clothes I wore that day. It was always there.

I knew what the Key was. I had known when I first felt the presence in my head.

The Celestial Forge. And the Key was a gateway to my own personal reality, accessible from any door whatsoever that I put my into. My very own workshop.

A small cozy little thing. Almost reminiscent of the workbench I had back home.

It was there that my initial panic and confusion had given way to a numbing despair.

I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably on the worn couch, the weight of my displacement crushing me.

But eventually, the tears dried, and a grim determination settled in. I was here, wherever "here" was, and I had to survive.

I had come to terms with it. I just hoped my elder sister was able to take care of our mother and Bosco on her. She had graduated a year before me, and had a job so she would probably manage.

I hoped they didn't mourn me.

I pushed those dark thoughts aside, focusing on the more immediate task of preparing dinner. I rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out a packet of synth-noodles and a can of synthetic meat.

The food here was... edible, but it always left a strange aftertaste, a lingering chemical tang that reminded me that it wasn't quite real. The vegetables were crisp and colorful, but lacked the earthy aroma of fresh produce. The water was clear and tasteless, but it didn't quench my thirst the way real water did.

Still, I had gotten used to it, just like I had gotten used to the constant hum of the city, the ever-present neon glow, and the casual violence that lurked around every corner.

Night City was a strange and unforgiving place, but it was starting to feel like home. Or at least, the closest thing I had to it.

I ate my dinner slowly, savoring the silence and the solitude. As the clock ticked closer to midnight, a strange anticipation began to build within me.

The celestial forge.

It was an ever-present itch at the back of my mind, a swirling constellation of stars that I could just glimpse in their magnificent glory if I closed my eyes and focused hard enough.

It had been dormant ever since I arrived in this strange future, a silent passenger in my consciousness. But lately, I felt it picking up steam, like a dormant volcano rumbling back to life. The constellations were brightening, ever so slightly, the stars rotating faster, their cosmic dance growing more frenzied.

The celestial forge.

It was the only reason I didn't constantly curse whatever power had put me here. It would be pointless to do so either way.

The power that was one of the main reasons I was comfortable with no cybernetic enhancements in this world.

I didn't trust them. Didn't trust having some corporation's chip in my brain, their optical sensors replacing my perfectly functioning organic ones.

Back home, corporations like Google, Apple, Meta – they already pushed the boundaries of privacy. It wasn't just targeted ads anymore.

It was way beyond that.

Google tracked your every search, every location, every online interaction, building a detailed profile of your habits and preferences. They claimed it was to "improve user experience," but it felt more like a digital panopticon.

Facebook, or Meta as they had started to called themselves, was even worse.

Remember that Cambridge Analytica scandal?

They harvested the data of millions of users without their consent, using it to manipulate elections and sway public opinion.

And who knows what they were doing with all that facial recognition data they collected? Building a database of every person on the planet, ready to be exploited by governments and corporations alike?

Even Apple, with its "privacy-focused" image, wasn't immune. They still collected vast amounts of data on your app usage, your browsing history, your health metrics.

They claimed it was all anonymized, but who could be sure?

It didn't end there.

Insurance companies had access to your car telemetry, and your insurance premiums often times randomly went up just because you drove once a little faster along the freeway.

Music apps know your tastes in music, and what ads to curate for you.

Amazon knew exactly how to entice you to buy something a little extra for your online shopping spree based on your purchase history, geometric data and so much more.

Did I use those services back home?

Fuck, yes I did. How could you not?

The thing about people calling me a monk?

I understood.

But here, in Night City, it was a whole new level of intrusion.

Corporations with direct access to your thoughts, your emotions, your very being?

Imagine waking up every morning to personalized ads beamed directly into your brain, or into the hollow table right at your kitchen table, based on your deepest desires and insecurities.

Or having your every move tracked, your every conversation recorded, your every emotion analyzed.

It was a dystopian nightmare, and I wanted no part in it.

I'd seen the Trauma Team AVs swooping in to collect their premium clients, their response times impossibly fast. They knew exactly when and where to go because they were constantly monitoring their clients' bio-signs, their location, their every move. It was efficient, sure, but at what cost?

The thought of some corpo exec sitting in a plush office, watching my every move, listening to my thoughts, manipulating my desires... it made my skin crawl.

Maybe it was paranoia, but I didn't care. I'd rather be a 'gonk', a relic of the past, than a corporate puppet.

Besides, I had a power of my own.

A power to replace my worries, a power that would allow me to survive, no, thrive in this world.

The celestial forge. It was a gift, a curse, a burden, all rolled into one.

It was the reason I was here, in this strange future, and it was the key to my survival.

I had already sold my soul to some entity out there, unwillingly, unknowingly, but it was done all the same. I could feel that brand in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of my Faustian bargain.

But I also felt the key to my workshop burning a hole in my pocket. The key that opened a gateway to my personal reality, my own pocket dimension, just sitting there, waiting to be used.

I'd tried it a few times, a few days after arriving in this world, in the safety of my apartment.

It was there that I had said my goodbyes to the life I had left behind, to my mother, my sister, my dog. It was there that I had accepted my fate, embraced the unknown, and vowed to make the most of this strange new reality.

And now, I could feel it. The time was close. The forge was awakening.

Finally, after a month-long wait, the feeling at the back of my mind sharpened. The beautiful constellation of stars became crystal clear, pulsating with knowledge.

The galaxy spun, and a constellation of stars came closer.

And then, I felt it.

A strange weight settling around my hands, a sensation I couldn't quite place. I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat.

I was wearing gloves.

A pair of sleek, silver-greyish black gloves that shimmered faintly in the dim light of the apartment. They were elegant, almost deceptively simple, but I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that they were extraordinary.

A flood of information poured into my mind, a torrent of technical specifications and operational details.

These weren't just gloves; they were micromanipulators, tools of incredible precision, capable of manipulating matter on a microscopic scale. They were designed for scientific experiments, for delicate surgeries, for tasks that required the steadiest of hands.

And they were mine.

I flexed my fingers, marveling at the snug fit, the way the gloves seemed to become an extension of my own body. I could feel the subtle hum of miniature motors, the gentle pressure of artificial muscles, all working in perfect harmony to grant me an unprecedented level of control.

A slow smile spread across my face.

The celestial forge had delivered its first gift. And it was perfect.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N) Hello! It's been a while.

First off, let me say this. None of my other stories are abandoned. Especially A Song of Sun and Stars. I have just been stuck in some personal problems, and found no time to give it the time it deserves.

And it's just one chapter for Book 1 too. I really don't enjoy being such a tease, trust me.

I will get back to that one chapter as soon as I am free.

Back to this though, I wanted to write a cyberpunk story, and have been reading some jumpchain fics in my free time. I really enjoyed Brockton Bay's Celestial Forge, despite like 80% of it being lyrical and exposition of new powers.

I don't plan to follow that. Even though that fic inspired this one.

As for the fic itself. It's another passion project I wanted to take a shot at. I hope you like it.

Now, for the rules of the Celestial Forge. I am going with 3000 words per roll.

As for points, I will admit, I am a little confused there. I am going with 100 points are granted every 2000 words?

So Zain has currently 350 points stored up. I have absolutely no idea how that'd go down when I keep writing, if that's stable enough. I hope it is.

If the readers can help in that, I'd appreciate it.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Toolkits: Mundane

Micromanipulators (A Certain Scientific Railgun) (50CP)

These delicate gloves were meant for scientific purposes. They're reinforced with small motors and electrically contracting artificial muscles to allow you to perform delicate work on the scale of a micron. While they're definitely more suited to scientific experiments, they can be put to use in any situation that requires steady hands like aiming a rifle, conducting brain surgery, cooking, defusing a bomb, or even bypassing some redirection and shielding abilities. * Micron scale control