NOVEL WEB Chapter 2: Into The Fire!
"Hello and welcome to WNS News. I'm Arif Iqbal."
The screen flickered slightly as Arif's face filled the frame, his tone serious and commanding. The clatter of dishes and the low murmur of customers barely interrupted the voice coming from the TV mounted high on the wall of the diner.
"In a developing story, the terrorist group calling themselves the 'Trade Union' has made another bold statement, claiming responsibility for organizing strikes within several key corporations, including Biotechnica and Zetatech. These strikes, aimed at disrupting the recent alliance between the two giants, threaten to impact food supplies for not just Night City, but for the entire continent."
The broadcast played on, the footage shifting to images of factory workers standing outside barricaded gates, holding signs and chanting slogans. Arif's voice remained steady, even as the images on the screen grew more intense.
"Officials from the Biotechnica-Arasaka alliance have warned that these coordinated strikes could lead to widespread shortages, hitting both corporate and independent food supply chains, locally as well as in the rest of the continent. Mayor Lucius Rhyne has denounced these actions as acts of terrorism, stating that the city's resources are being stretched thin by this dangerous organization. Rhyne has yet to issue an official response, though sources close to the mayor's office expect a statement later today."
The images cut back to Arif in the studio, his face set in a grim expression.
"This situation continues to develop. We'll keep you updated on any new information as it comes in. For now, citizens are advised to remain calm and await further instructions from local authorities."
The afternoon rush had thinned, leaving the diner nearly empty. I was down to my last order—a Loaded Tamale with a side of EZ Fries—and as usual, I let the gloves guide me through the motions. It wasn't that they did the cooking for me, but each action—chopping, seasoning, frying—was smoother, more controlled. Every slice felt just right, every flip timed perfectly. Overkill, maybe, but it made even synthetic ingredients feel like they had potential.
I packed the tamale and fries neatly into a paper bag, taking a moment to make sure everything looked as presentable as possible. The old man sitting at the far table was the last customer, his quiet presence filling the now-empty diner.
"Here you go, sir. Loaded Tamale and EZ Fries, to go," I said, handing him the bag.
He nodded, his weathered face softening with a smile. "Thank you, son."
As he reached for the bag, his eyes glowed faintly orange, scanning me. I saw the slight furrow of his brow when the scan came up empty—no chip to find.
I smiled politely and waved him off. "I don't have a chip. You can send the eddies over to Mr. Torres at the counter."
The old man hesitated for a moment, giving me a look that was equal parts curiosity and confusion. But then he nodded, standing up slowly. "Alright then... I'll do that."
With a final nod, he turned and made his way toward the door, the soft chime of the bell echoing behind him as he left.
I knew using the micromanipulators for something as simple as cooking was overkill, but I couldn't help myself. They made everything smoother, more precise. Even with the subpar synthetic ingredients we had, the difference was obvious. The way I could cut, chop, mince, mix, heat—every action became sharper, more deliberate. It brought out the best of whatever I worked with, turning the final dish into something that looked, and even tasted, much better than it should have.
After the initial awe of being gifted these gloves by the Forge wore off, reality had settled in. I didn't have the skills—yet—to unlock their full potential. Sure, they were meant for things like surgery, intricate tech work, or building something far beyond my understanding, but I wasn't there.
Not yet.
But cooking? Even with just a bit of added precision and steadiness, I was seeing results I'd never managed before. I'd already gotten more tips from customers today than usual. Mr Torres' slightly fatter-than-expected account was evidence enough.
It was a small thing, but it reminded me of what was possible, of what could be done when I finally learned how to really use them.
I was still caught up in my thoughts, marveling at how much of a difference the gloves made in even the simplest of tasks, when Mr. Torres approached from behind the counter. He had that look—half-proud, half-suspicious—that made me snap back to the moment.
"Zain," he said with a nod, "you've been working hard today. The customers seem to like it. Tips have been better than usual."
I returned the nod, feeling a bit of pride swell in my chest. "Yeah, I've been trying to keep up the pace."
Mr. Torres crossed his arms, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "This wouldn't have anything to do with trying to make up for the pay cut, would it? With those tips coming in?"
The question caught me off guard for a second. I hesitated, but only for a beat. "Nah, not really. I'm just trying to learn new things, get better at cooking, that's all."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, his smile widened, and he nodded approvingly. "Wish my daughter had half the drive for self-improvement that you've got."
I smiled back, but inwardly, it felt a little awkward. The truth was, any improvement on my part wasn't entirely earned. The Forge had seen to that, gifting me abilities randomly, pushing me forward in ways I couldn't always take credit for.
But that wasn't something I could explain to Mr. Torres.
I knew I really shouldn't have brought the gloves to the diner at all, I'd thought their technological nature would be sniffed out easily by any cybernetic sense that some random nobody on the street had installed in him, but my fear was quickly allayed.
They didn't really register as anything more than normal fabric gloves. Not unless they were to be seen under a very power microscope.
Mr. Torres gave me another once-over, then asked again, "You sure you're not up for a chip? My offer still stands. It'd make things a lot easier, you know."
I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sure, Mr. Torres. I'm good. Thank You, but you don't need to worry about me."
He shrugged, a little resigned, but not surprised. "Had to try. I really don't like cutting your pay, Zain. These tips are gonna make doing that even harder. Converting them to cash, means they take a hit too, you know that right? I know you feel it more than I do."
I waved him off, trying to ease the man's guilt. "It's fine, really. I don't mind... you've done enough for me as is."
That was true. Hiring someone that came with the added hassle of visiting the ATM every week and dealing with the service fees was not a small thing for a small business owner like him.
Add to that, I was suspicious enough that no chips in my system made me seem like a homeless person. Mr Torres had been extremely generous when he'd taken me on as help at the Diner.
I was about to say more, but the chime of the diner's door interrupted us, signaling a new customer.
We both glanced toward the entrance. I expected another late customer, but the moment Mr. Torres saw who it was, his entire demeanor changed. The easy smile he'd been wearing vanished, replaced by something far more guarded, even irritated.
The man who walked in had Asian features, a wide grin stretched across his face like he owned the place. He was dressed in a dark grey synthetic leather jacket, with skinny leather jeans and fingerless gloves. There was also a pistol strapped to his waist, but he didn't seem like that was much of a big deal.
"Old man!" the newcomer greeted loudly, striding in like he was visiting an old friend. "How's it going?"
Mr. Torres didn't reply right away, his face stiffening. The man didn't seem to notice—or care—and instead, his eyes started scanning the diner, almost like he was searching for something or someone. He leaned forward a little, looking behind the counter, then let out a short laugh.
"Where's my girl, huh? She waiting for me, or nah? Bet she's got a surprise planned for me, huh?" His grin grew wider as he kept going.
Mr. Torres straightened, his hands gripping the counter as he fixed the man with a steely gaze. "She's gone out with some of her chooms," he said, voice measured but firm.
The man hummed, stretching lazily as if he had all the time in the world. "That so?" His grin widened as his gaze swept over me for a brief moment before drifting back to Mr. Torres. "She mention where she's off to?"
The tension in the air thickened as Mr. Torres's expression hardened even further. "I don't think that's any of your business," he replied, his voice carrying an edge that wasn't there before.
The man leaned casually over the counter, flashing a mock pout. "C'mon, old man, no need to be so stiff. We're family anyway, or we will be soon enough." He let out a soft chuckle. "I just want to say hi, that's all. Been away for so long… can't wait to see her again."
Mr. Torres didn't flinch, but I could see the discomfort building. His hands clenched just a little tighter. I shifted my weight subtly, inching my way toward the back shelf where I knew Mr. Torres kept the Rostovic Shotgun.
This guy's presence wasn't sitting right with me.
Before I could move any further, the man's sharp gaze flicked back to me. His grin stretched wider, flashing too many teeth. "Who's this then, huh? New guy you hired for the Diner?"
Mr. Torres's jaw tightened, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he responded. "He's just the new kid, doesn't matter," he said, then quickly changed the subject. "Why are you even here, Kenta? You and Archie—you're through, you've been gone, why come now? She doesn't want anything to do with you."
Kenta let out a laugh that echoed through the empty diner, his grin widening as if the idea itself was ridiculous. "Nah, she's over that by now. I know her. That little hissy fit of hers? Ancient history." He turned to me, his eyes narrowing in on me like a predator locking onto prey. "What about you, kid? You know where Archie is?"
Suddenly under the spotlight, I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. My eyes flicked to Mr. Torres, silently pleading for backup.
Before I could respond, Mr. Torres stepped in again. "He doesn't know anything, Kenta," he said, voice firm. "He's just the new guy here, leave him out of it."
Kenta wasn't satisfied. He leaned forward, whining in mock frustration. "Come on, kid. Why you looking at the old man? You know where she's gone, don't you? How about this—tell me, and I'll throw you some eddies. That work for you?"
His cybernetic eyes briefly flickered grey, scanning me. I froze as he stared at me, his smile faltering. A twitch passed across his face, confusion creeping in as he looked me up and down. "Where the fuck's your chip?"
I swallowed, finally reaching the back shelf where Mr. Torres kept the shotgun. My pulse quickened as I responded, keeping my voice as steady as I could. "I don't use one."
Kenta clicked his tongue in annoyance, turning his attention back to Mr. Torres. He pointed at me with a sneer. "Where'd you find this freak, huh?" Shaking his head, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever, doesn't matter."
He leaned forward again, this time his tone colder, more irritated. "Alright, old man. Which one of her chooms has Archie gone out to meet?"
Mr. Torres swallowed hard, his discomfort growing. "I don't know," he replied, voice quieter now.
Kenta clicked his tongue again, this time in open annoyance. "What use are you, huh?" he muttered, shaking his head as he cursed in Japanese under his breath. "Useless," he spat before adding, "Guess I'll have to see if Maya's still hanging outside Wakako's. At least she'll be good for a quick fuck for a few ennies."
With that, Kenta strolled toward the door, his presence leaving a lingering chill in the air. The bell chimed softly as he walked out, leaving Mr. Torres and me in an uneasy silence.
Both Mr. Torres and I stood frozen for a moment after the door chimed shut behind Kenta, the tension in the air still thick, like a heavy fog that refused to lift. Then, Mr. Torres seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping as he leaned heavily against the counter, all the bravado drained out of him. His breath came out in a rough exhale, and I panicked for a second, seeing him like that.
Quickly, I made my way to the chiller and grabbed a can of Real Water, popping it open as I handed it to him. "Here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mr. Torres accepted it with a grateful nod, taking a long swig before resting the can on the counter.
Giving him some time, I asked tentatively "Who was that? You seemed to know him."
After a moment, he spoke, his voice quieter now, tinged with weariness. "That… was Suzuki Kenta. Long-standing shit stain on our family."
I paused, digesting the name. "Is he Tyger Claw?" I asked, the words coming out before I could stop myself.
Mr. Torres barked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "If only," he muttered. "No, this shit stain's a different breed of danger. Worse than your average Tyger Claw gangbanger. He's a wannabe Edge Runner. Mercenary. Filled to the gills with chrome. Lives for the next rush—a quick fuck with some easy pussy, a crazy job with enough danger for a rush of adrenalin, or the next eddie." He took another sip of the water, rubbing his forehead like the conversation was giving him a headache.
"People like him," he added with a sigh, "they don't have limits. No lines they won't cross." His cybernetic eyes whirred as he glanced at me, a weary but resolved expression on his face. "I'm calling Archie. If that asshole wants to find her, he will. Might not be now, but he'll show up again, one way or another, once he's gotten his fill of whatever street garbage he finds."
I watched as Mr. Torres's eyes flickered, signaling the start of his call. The silence in the diner stretched for a few seconds, and I couldn't shake the question lingering in the back of my mind. "Why is Kenta so… fixated on her?" I asked, unable to hold it back any longer.
Mr. Torres's eyes spun again as the call went unanswered, a soft curse slipping from his lips. "That stupid girl…" He muttered under his breath, then raised an eyebrow at me. "Well, apart from her being a beautiful young woman?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah, apart from that." Crazies didn't exactly need a reason to have a fixation on a pretty woman, but still… this felt personal.
Mr. Torres tried again to call, his eyes glowing faintly, as he attempted another call, before he spoke. "Kenta and Archie went to the same academy as kids. Arasaka Academy,"
My surprise must have been written all over my face, because Mr. Torres barked out another humorless laugh. "Yeah, I know, hard to believe, right? Most don't. She had to leave after her mom died. I couldn't afford the tuition anymore, not with just the diner and no backup. Things were a lot smaller back then."
I nodded slowly, trying to imagine a time when Mr. Torres wasn't the pillar of resilience he seemed to be now. His fingers twitched, his eyes spinning again as he attempted another call, but once more, it didn't connect. His frustration was becoming more obvious, though he pushed on with the story.
"Kenta was a classmate of hers back at Arasaka Academy. Then he hit a rough patch himself. There were rumors... I think some academy official might've been involved with whatever went down. He had to transfer out, and wouldn't you know it, he ended up at Rancho Coronado Public High—same place Archie transferred to."
Mr. Torres paused for a moment, his fingers tapping the counter impatiently before his eyes flickered again, signaling yet another failed attempt at reaching Archie. This time, he cursed louder, the frustration boiling over.
"They got close at that school. Friends at first, and then for a few years, something more. Ever since then, that bastard's got it in his head that they're meant to be together or some other bullshit. Doesn't matter how many times she's told him no." He let out a bitter sigh, his voice tightening with the strain of recounting the history.
Another silence stretched between us as I processed everything.
Mr. Torres's fourth call didn't connect either, and this time, his curse was louder, his frustration boiling over. He started pacing around the diner, his hands running through his thinning hair. The tension in the air was thick, and I could tell he was grappling with his next move.
After a few moments, he stopped, having come to a decision. He turned to me. "Alright," he muttered, more to himself than to me, "I'm closing shop for the day. I'm going to go and fetch her."
I blinked in surprise. "You know where Archie is?"
He let out a short laugh as he walked past me, heading straight for the cabinet I'd been eyeing earlier. With a swift motion, he pulled out the shotgun, the weight of it settling naturally in his hands. "Of course I know. She's my daughter. This ain't the first time she's snuck out to meet some boy."
He slung the shotgun over his shoulder, his expression hardening. "After that shitstain Kenta, I made the mistake once of not keeping an eye on her. Not happening again."
I couldn't help but admire his dedication to Archie's safety, but it was hard not to be concerned at the same time. It said a lot about Night City when a man felt the need to carry a shotgun just to go after his daughter. "Do you think that's really necessary?" I asked, eyeing the gun.
Mr. Torres paused, considering the question for a moment before he met my gaze with a serious expression. "I don't think so, but in this city? You can't ever be too careful. Too many people think they can get away with anything."
Then, as if something occurred to him, he looked at me sharply. "You packing any iron, Zain? Got something to protect yourself with?"
I shook my head, regretting the decision immediately. I hadn't bothered getting a gun, thinking it would put me on some sort of registry or draw attention I didn't need. Now, after the little showdown with Kenta, it was clear how stupid that assumption had been.
Mr. Torres stared at me, wide-eyed, then let out an incredulous curse. "Holy fuck. Either you've got some big cojones or you're just plain stupid. I didn't think you were that stupid, Zain."
I nodded awkwardly, feeling the weight of his words settle in. Before I could say anything else, Mr. Torres grumbled under his breath and motioned for me to stay put. "Wait here," he barked, before disappearing into the back of the diner.
Almost half a minute later, he returned, and in his hand was a revolver. I blinked in surprise, watching as he walked over and held it out toward me.
"It's my wife's old Overture," he explained, his tone steady. "High-quality, powerful, double-action. Should do the trick."
I sputtered, trying to refuse. "Mr. Torres, I—"
He cut me off, calling me stupid in Spanish, and practically shoved the gun into my hands. "Take it. I ain't asking."
With no choice left, I nodded, feeling the cold weight of the revolver settle in my grip. "Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than I expected. "I'll pay you back for everything you've done. I promise."
Mr. Torres simply waved it off, "You pay me back by staying Alive. That's enough kid."
I quickly placed the revolver in my coat pocket, and helped him close shop,
Together, we moved quickly to shut down the diner, making sure everything was in place before we left. My mind raced the entire time, my worry for Archie gnawing at me. She was my friend, and I couldn't just sit around while Mr. Torres handled this on his own.
As we checked the equipment, I couldn't help it. "Mr. Torres… is there anything I can do to help, ya know, with what's going on?"
Mr. Torres waived "No…" then paused as he thought of something, "Actually… there is something." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "I've got a meet with an acquaintance—someone who can help me deal with this Kenta problem for good. She knows how to handle things like this, but I don't know how long it's going to take."
He paused, then continued, "I need you to drive down to The Glenn and fetch Archie for me. I know where she is, and I trust you to bring her back safely. Think you can handle that?"
I mulled the request over, thinking it through. I knew how to drive, thankfully. Getting a license had been one of the first things I did when I arrived in Night City. It had been a way to test the system, to see how much of a footprint I had in this world. The results had been… interesting. As far as the system was concerned, I was just a refugee from the badlands, with nothing more than my name and age. At least according to the DMV system.
After weighing my options for a moment, I realized this was something I could do for Archie. I nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."
Mr. Torres smiled, relief clear on his face. "You're good people, Zain. Thank you. I'll give you a call once I'm done with Wakako. Just get Archie and bring her back."
He patted me on the shoulder, "You can borrow my car for the ride. It's parked out back. I will make sure it opens for your phone number at least."
I nodded at him, "Got it. I will get her back." And left for the parking lot in the back where his car was parked.
Mr. Torres' car, a Quartz EC-L R275, was small, cramped, and only a two-seater. I took a moment to get a feel for the controls before pulling out of the parking lot attached to the diner, merging onto the streets. The vehicle wasn't exactly high-end, but it was sturdy and smooth enough to get me where I needed to go.
As I headed toward the freeway, the car's radio automatically kicked in, and a smooth, confident voice filled the cabin.
"Hello, Night City! It's your favorite voice on the waves, you know me, and you love me, Nellie Bly! bringing you the latest updates on our chaotic little paradise. First up, let's talk about music—Kerry Eurodyne, the living legend, has been spotted out and about again, recovering after his highly publicized suicide attempt a few years ago. Word on the street is that he's already back in the studio, folks! That's right, Eurodyne's been teasing a brand-new album called Persuasion of the Undecided, and he's just dropped a sneak peek of his latest track, Like a Broken Record, brought to you by MSM Studios!"
The anchor paused for effect, letting the tease hang in the air.
"Now, we've all heard that Kerry's been through some tough times, but sources say this new album's going to reflect all that and more. They're calling it raw, gritty, and, well, very 'Eurodyne.' If you're into a heavy metal sound that hits harder than a Trauma Team AV at mach velocity, this one's for you! And don't worry, Night City, we'll keep spinning those tracks for you right here. Stay tuned for more as we get closer to the release date."
The music kicked in, a loud preview of Eurodyne's song pulsing through the speakers with an aggressive beat.
The song had a catchy beat, though it leaned a bit too heavy into metal for my taste. After a while, I turned it off, not in the mood to indulge in more noise. The silence felt better, anyway. It gave me time to think.
I decided to try calling Archie. Mr. Torres might not have gotten through, but maybe she'd pick up for me. As the call dialed, the silence stretched again. My eyes darted between the road and the phone as it rang and rang. No answer.
I furrowed my brow, trying to shake off the worry creeping up on me.
She's ignoring it.
I knew she could see the call on her Optic HUD. Why wasn't she picking up? A part of me was annoyed, but the concern quickly outweighed it.
Before I could hit redial, a familiar sensation weighed down the back of my mind. I blinked, trying to keep my focus on the road, but the pressure was unmistakable—another pull from the Celestial Forge.
Thank God for automatic lane and speed adjustments in this day and age. Without it, I might've worried about careening into oncoming traffic. As it was, the car took care of most of the driving, freeing up just enough mental space to let me glimpse the spinning constellation again.
The galaxy lit up like it had the night before, vibrant and mesmerizing.
A cluster of stars swirled closer, and this time, a particularly bright star pulsed, its light washing over me in an overwhelming burst. The warmth and energy from the star didn't just stay in the galaxy. It shot straight into the core of my being, settling somewhere deep within, like it had been there all along, waiting to be unlocked.
I couldn't help but smile as the flow of information flooded my mind.
I could see it clearly now—the blueprints, the ideas, the intricate designs forming in my head. I could finally make use of the micromanipulators to build gadgets.
Simple but effective tools. Grappling hooks, tracking devices, even things as wild as trick arrows and boomerangs with some elemental effects to them.
I now understood how to make them, how to fine-tune the mechanics. The complexity of the physics was still a mystery, but I know knew exactly what I need to build them and how; the basic principles were clear, and the Forge had filled in the blanks.
All I needed now were the materials and time.
The Forge was adapting to what I needed.
I didn't have any means of real defense up until now—at least, not without cybernetics, and that wasn't an option. But with this knowledge, I could build gadgets that wouldn't just be tools. They'd be like extensions of myself, things I could rely on implicitly.
I let out a slow breath. These wouldn't be enough to take on Night City's heavier-grade weaponry—not yet, at least—but they'd give me a fighting chance. And with time, maybe I'd be able to hold my own against the chaos this city promised.
Still, that was for the future. I couldn't get lost in the what-ifs and the promise of new tech. Right now, I had something more immediate to focus on.
Shaking off the reverie, I refocused on the road, pushing the speed a bit more as I dialed Archie's number again. This time, after a few rings, the call connected.
Her voice was hushed, like she was hiding. "Zain? What's going on? My dad's been calling, but I've been… busy. Didn't have time to answer."
Relief mixed with urgency as I answered. "Some asshole called Kenta showed up at the diner, Archie. Your dad's freaking out, and honestly, I don't blame him."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Archie's voice came back, strained. "Wait, what? Kenta showed up at the diner?"
I repeated myself. "Yeah, Kenta. Your dad freaked out when he saw him."
A string of curses came through the phone, Archie's frustration clear as she muttered Kenta's name like it was venom.
"Yeah, your dad had the same reaction," I said. "He sent me to come get you."
"Did you tell him where I am?" she asked, her voice rising a notch in panic.
"No, but he already knew. He said he was going to come for you himself if I didn't."
She paused for a long moment, then said "Fuck. Dad… no, not the time for that" followed by a long, frustrated sigh. "Okay, I'm gonna call Kenta and tell him to fuck off. There's no need for all this."
"I'm not sure that's going to work," I said, skepticism creeping into my tone. "Your dad seemed really worried. Said he was going to talk to someone named Wakako to help deal with Kenta. Honestly, I don't think this guy's good news at all. I'm on my way to get you."
She let out a sharp intake of breath, panic slipping into her voice. "He's going to Wakako? Dammit! He said he wouldn't ever call her again. I need to call him before he does something stupid."
The urgency in her voice only made me more uneasy. "I'm coming, Archie. Just be ready when I get there."
"Yeah, okay, I'll be down by the entrance of the apartment. I've gotta talk to my dad before things get worse."
I pressed harder on the accelerator, my mind now racing just as fast as the car.
I was getting more worried, I had no idea what I was walking into.
A few intersections later, my phone rang again.
This time, it was Mr. Torres.
I answered quickly. "Mr. Torres? I am almost there. Did Archie call you?"
Mr. Torres' voice came through the phone, strained and urgent. "She did, yeah. But we've got a problem, Zain. Kenta's already on his way to Archie. That crazy fucker's high on Black Lace."
I gripped the wheel tighter, my stomach sinking. "Black Lace? Shit."
"That's right. He's going to be out of his damn mind," Mr. Torres continued, his voice heavy with worry. "Wakako's sent one of her runners to help, a guy named David, but I don't know when he'll get there."
I cursed under my breath. I wasn't ready for this. Fighting some drugged-up merc with who-knows-what kind of chrome? I wasn't built for that. Fear crept up my spine, chilling me. The revolver in my coat pocket suddenly felt too small, too inadequate.
"Zain," Mr. Torres urged, his voice sharp, "you need to get my daughter away from him. Don't wait around for anyone else."
I swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "I'll do what I can. I'll get her out of there."
"Just… be careful," Mr. Torres added, his tone softening for a moment before the call cut off.
I stared at the phone in my hand, heart racing, trying to steel myself. I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't some chromed-up street samurai ready to take on the world. But I had to keep Archie safe. I had to find a way to get her out of this mess without it coming to blows.
It didn't take much longer to reach the building Archie had mentioned. According to the car's navigation system, I was at the right place. But when I scanned the entrance, there was no sign of her.
I parked the car and felt my chest tighten. She'd said she'd be here. Where the hell was she?
Fumbling with my phone, I dialed her number. It rang, once, twice—no answer. My anxiety spiked. I called again. Still nothing.
"Damn it, Archie," I muttered,
Just as I muttered under my breath, a sudden burst of gunfire erupted from the third floor of the apartment building. The sharp sound of breaking glass followed, raining down onto the street below. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, while others—either braver or more foolish—stood frozen, staring up at the scene.
My heart pounded in my chest. That had to be Kenta. It couldn't be a random coincidence where some other asshole decided to tear up the place.
Fear gripped me as I sat frozen in the car, the weight of the revolver in my pocket suddenly too real. My pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. I was terrified. The thought of dying hit me square in the gut.
Another gunshot. Then a scream. Shouts.
I clenched my teeth. I couldn't let Archie die. Not like this.
With hands eerily steady, due to the gloves despite my fraying nerves, I pulled the revolver from my jacket, the cold steel feeling both foreign and too familiar in my grip. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of panic threatening to overtake me. There was no turning back now.
Without giving myself time to think, I threw the car door open and bolted toward the building. The apartment complex was nicer than the grimy slums I'd gotten used to, but it didn't matter now. I took the stairs two at a time, heart pounding in my ears.
By the time I reached the third-floor corridor, it was eerily silent. The metallic door to one of the apartments was slid halfway open. I crept forward, revolver in hand, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Then I heard her voice.
"Please, Kenta… just leave," Archie was pleading, her voice filled with a fear that sent a chill down my spine.
Kenta's voice followed, wild and hysterical. "Shut up you slut. You're mine! What part of that don't you understand?! You're mine! And I won't let you cozy up to some fucktard corpo asswipe!"
Another voice—this one more desperate and soothing—tried to intervene. "Kenta, man, you don't have to do this. You're making a mistake. You don't need to hurt Archie over this."
I moved cautiously down the hall, inching closer to the open door. Peeking inside, I caught sight of the bullet hole in the thick glass window at the far end of the room. Archie was on the floor, staring up at Kenta in terror, while a man sprawled beside her, blood pooling around his leg. Gunshot wounds riddled the walls. The apartment looked like a war zone.
Kenta laughed maniacally, his grin twisted, as he pistol-whipped the wounded man on the ground. "Shut up, you Zetatech slave!" he snarled, before bursting into hysterical laughter again. His madness filled the room like a dark cloud.
Then, with that same crazed grin, Kenta turned back to Archie. "Even your father thinks you're worthless," he sneered. "He sent some chromeless freak to get you!"
I swallowed hard. He was talking about me.
Kenta's gaze shifted toward the doorway, his eyes glowing with cybernetic fire.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my revolver half-raised, hands steady thanks to the micromanipulator gloves, but the fear was something they couldn't control. It coursed through my veins like ice, gripping my every nerve.
Kenta turned fully toward me, his body swaying, a crazed, drug-fueled look in his glowing red cybernetic eyes. The man was high on something, no doubt about it.
He squinted at me, the twisted grin never leaving his face. "You even know how to use that thing, freak? Or do your monk sensibilities not allow you to do that too?" His words were a taunt, dripping with derision. "Can you even aim properly?"
I forced myself to take a breath, trying to calm my racing heart. My voice, though steady on the surface, betrayed the tension coiling in my chest. "Kenta, you need to leave. You're making a mistake. You're hurting Archie."
Kenta laughed again, a mad, hiccuping sound that sent a chill down my spine. Without warning, he fired another shot from his pistol. The bullet slammed into the wall a meter away from Archie, his cybernetic clearly didn't help him aim better.
His sneer deepened as he clicked his teeth, his voice dark and slurred. "I don't care. The bitch cheated on me. She deserves to die."
Archie, already a wreck on the floor, her eyes wild with fear, broke down completely. "You fucker! Asshole! I told you to get out of my life!" Her words came out in a hysterical sob, choked by anger and terror. She was lashing out in every direction, desperate, her mind clouded by fear.
I tried to block out the noise. She wasn't making this easier. In fact, her screams only seemed to rile Kenta up more.
The man on the floor, her new boyfriend, tried again to intervene, his voice weak and desperate. "Kenta, please, man, you don't have to do this. This isn't—"
Another shot fired, this one closer to him, burying into the floor just inches away. Kenta clicked his tongue in frustration at missing, his fingers tightening around the trigger.
And then, his gaze swung back to me.
I hadn't moved. Not since the first shot that missed Archie. My gun was still half-raised, but my legs felt like they were glued to the floor. I'd never shot anyone before. Not in any life. And as I stood there, frozen by the weight of the moment, I wasn't sure I could.
Kenta laughed, a twisted, rasping sound that made my skin crawl. "Your father must really want you dead, Archie, if he sent this choom to come get you." He raised his gun again, the barrel trembling slightly as he aimed at Archie.
Before I could even process what was happening, my finger squeezed the trigger.
The shot rang out, echoing in the small apartment like a cannon blast. I barely registered the sound as the bullet slammed into Kenta's knee. He stumbled, a scream tearing from his throat as his cybernetic leg short-circuited, sparks flying from the joint. Blood spilled from beneath the metal, dripping onto the floor in thick rivulets.
I blinked, realizing I had shot him. My hands—steady, thanks to the micromanipulators—held the gun like it was an extension of my body. But my mind struggled to catch up. I had actually done it.
Kenta howled in agony, and his gun fired wildly in response, bullets flying in every direction. I ducked behind the doorframe as shots whizzed past, tearing into walls, the floor, and anything in their path. The air buzzed with chaos as Kenta cursed through his pain, clutching his leg. "You fucking broke my leg!" he screamed. "You know how expensive this shit is?!"
I stayed low, my heart hammering in my chest, but I didn't move. I couldn't. Everything felt surreal, like I was watching it happen from outside my body.
Then Kenta's eyes flickered, glowing a deep, eerie red. Sparks flew from the back of his head, and his screams of pain shifted to something more terrifying—a primal, agonized wail. His body convulsed violently, his limbs thrashing as he collapsed onto the floor.
For a moment, the room was deathly quiet, save for Kenta's erratic twitching and groaning.
Then a new voice broke through the silence.
"Archie Torres?" The voice was loud, commanding, and when I looked up, a large man in a yellow leather jacket had entered the room. He stood tall, his presence dominating the space as his sharp eyes scanned the scene, finally locking onto Archie, who was still cowering on the floor.
He took a step forward, his tone unwavering. "Your dad put out an SOS. Name's David Martinez. You're safe now."
His gaze swept the room, assessing the damage, before settling on me, gun still in hand, knuckles white from the grip. He gave me a curt nod, as if to say, Good job, choom.
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(A/N) This was a fun chapter, the forge is slowly building up.
As you can see, the MC has no knowledge of Cyberpunk at all. I felt that was right.
I am going to go with one roll per chapter. That seems more balanced, and the points will determine if it can be bought.
Last chapter I'd ended with 350 chapters. This chapter got him 300 more. He used up 300 on the roll, so he is left with 350 again for the next chapter.
I will tweak this system if I feel it has any problems later.
Rolls for this chapter:
Domain: Crafting: Technological
Gadgeteer (Young Justice) (300CP)
An inventive mind and the know how to make gadgets; though they can't do anything too outside of normal physics, you are perfectly capable of making functional things like grappling hooks, tracking devices, boomerangs that automatically return to you, and trick arrows. In addition to being very cheap to make, any gadgets that you have are almost as intuitive to use as your very limbs, allowing you to use and switch between them easily and without hassle.