The Gonk and The Forge (Cyberpunk Edgerunners/2077)

To be a skilled alchemist, one must know their way around magical potions. And to be a skilled potioneer, one must know their way around the ingredients that go into those potions.

If asked, a layman would describe Alchemy as the ancient, often considered fictional art of transmutation of one substance into another. Like I would have merely a month ago.

Now, after experiencing a facet of magic myself, I would have to disagree with the core definition of alchemy that such a layman would widely call agreeable.

Alchemy is both an art and a science.

The ability to transmute the basic elemental, really the molecular, atomic, and subatomic structure of substances into something entirely different using potions, and some form of magically induced physical transformation. That is how I would define Alchemy.

I have such an intuitive grasp of alchemy, and its parent branch of magic, potioneering; that I was able to brew considerably advanced potions. One grants its drinker the strength and durability of rock, and the other imbues temporary invisibility from just about all senses that fall under the visibility spectrum.

It left behind only a slight, nigh imperceptible silhouette of bent light; that only the very keenest of observers would be able to see. I did not believe Kiroshi cyber optics would pick up on it unless I moved too erratically to bring attention to that silhouette.

And I brewed those with the absence of any acceptable magical ingredients. While running on fumes, terrified out of my mind, and letting the skill run blindly. I was not paying attention to what I was using to brew my potions, apart from a general incredulity at the absurdity of those ingredients.

The day had tired me out, and I didn't much care given my desire to be bulletproof in some form or another as soon as possible.

See, the reason alchemy… no, potioneering in its entirety, is considered an art first and science later is that the ingredients that go into achieving a given effect in potions are highly variable.

It is quite like cooking in that regard.

While there are certain set standard ingredients essential to a potion for a given effect, there are always substitutes that can be used to offset a lack of resources or bring about a change in taste, texture, slight variation in the final effect, or a combination therein.

A master chef would know intuitively what ingredient to substitute where; in any given recipe to achieve those variations in their dishes.

The forge had granted me that kind of intuition about Alchemy and the ingredients that went into potion making, alongside a very thorough understanding of the various established recipes for a veritable list of potions that I could brew.

That was why I was baffled and horrified as I was walking down the aisles of the Kabayan Foods grocery store near the Cherry Blossom Market. It was the only place, apart from All Foods outlets, that sold syn-veggies and fruits in Japantown. I did not like the prepackaged, prepared food sold in the vending machines outside.

Disregarding the aisle for Kibble and Scop as I usually did in my shopping trips, almost all food items here were suitable substitutes for a lot of the effects that I would want to imbue with my potions.

Heck, Scop was a fantastic substitute to brew potions that replenish blood and prevent blood loss, clotting, and some other forms of healing effects. Commonly, the standard for such potions should use a type of lizard stew as a base.

I did not like the implications of that. Sure not all ingredients were as horrifying as I described, most were.

It was common knowledge here in Night City that scop, or Single Celled Organic Protein, is often made using worm meat. I didn't quite realize how literal that is. Good thing I was disgusted by the notion itself to have even given it a thought on making those a part of my diet.

But the rest?

The potions that I had brewed the previous night, the rock-skin potion that I was tentatively calling it, used a type of snake egg and wet dog fur as its standard ingredients.

The fact that syn-banana, alongside other synth-fruits and veggies, are the direct substitutes that my intuition called on for snake eggs?

That wet dog fur was easily substituted by fucking Nicola, sojasil machistador which is a fucking protein bar, and synthetically purified, boiled, water?!

I wanted to barf.

Using them as potions is one thing. The magic imparted to the potion essentially disintegrates the ingredients to extract the quality to be imbued therein. Magical boiling and sterilization, in essence.

Consuming those ingredients individually however … there is a reason a lot of the ingredients in a potioneer's lab are either poisonous, toxic, or some other form of danger for direct consumption.

I had been eating synthetic food sold all over Night City ever since I had arrived here. I had assumed those would, at the very least, be a variation of the cultured meats or some form of plant-based variant that were slowly becoming popular back home. 

Evidently, that is not the case. The media here would have me believe that eating organic, real food is dangerous. That it would cause diseases.

They were right. I would be phenomenally stupid and arrogant to think otherwise. There had been epidemics here due to the consumption of such food.

A bio-plague had caused most organic foods to become disease-ridden. A variation of a natural airborne virus that had caused a death toll in the millions sometime back in the 1990s - 2000s after some sort of financial crash.

Compounded by the use of biological warfare in the corporate wars thereafter…. there were only a few countries still producing real edible food. The prices of which are nowhere near even being close to a single-digit multiple of my monthly income.

I had come here to shop, to buy supplies for the week, alongside potion ingredients; and now I was having a fucking mental breakdown, on what to eat.

What the fuck should I do?

There is no real choice here.

Either, I continue to eat synthetically produced 'food', knowing they are made of cultured animal parts from animals that are not meant to be eaten. Or I could convert my diet entirely to scop, which is made using worms and other insects; or shift to kibble. A form of 'food' made by Purina Foods, that was originally made for pets but later redesigned for human consumption after food shortages worldwide.

Fucking hell, crickets were commonly sold as a widely acceptable substitute for chicken! Damn it all to hell, I loved chicken! I had been trying my damned best to ignore that the best possible option here was crickets!

Just don't eat it. Should be easy enough, right? There are other sensible options.

Clearly, I was fucking wrong.

I think … I was happier in my ignorance.

No… that is not right.

Ignorance may have been bliss for me, but these 'foods' are definitely not healthy. Should not be. Cannot be.

No matter how often All Foods, Kabayan Foods or whoever the fuck else claimed otherwise in their fucking advertising.

Would they lead me to a quicker-than-natural death?

I did not know. I did not care to know.

I needed my own damned alternatives. If only for me.

But fucking hell how?!

My potions and alchemy could treat soil, purify the land, and help grow veggies practically overnight.

The problem was, I did not have land large enough, nor deep enough for those magically grown food to farm. I did not have the seeds to start the process. No matter how pure the hypothetical land would be, without the seeds for the food, I could just sit down and twiddle my thumbs so far up my ass that magic or not, I would have shit to show for the effort.

I am an Alchemist, not a magical botanist.

Another option would be to survive on alchemically produced nutrient substitutes.

That …. is an acceptable option.

I could produce the potions to survive with the eddies I had and live somewhat comfortably. But I would not have any savings left thereafter.

Magic had some weird limitations.

I could not brew such a potion ad hoc, ad nauseum without the base ingredients that needed to be supplied for each batch. I could not sustain myself indefinitely on a single dose of that potion. I would have loved it if my alchemical knowledge could do that. No matter how much I wracked my terrified mind, no solution in that regard popped up.

But I could fulfill my caloric and nutrient needs for a full day with one bottle of the nutrient healing potion that I had in mind, such that I would not need to eat again for the rest of the day till I felt the need to sleep.

Therefore, I would essentially be using the entire budget that I had set aside for food, to fund the ingredients for my potions.

Given that I was never going to touch syn-food again, who the fuck wants to eat what could be dog meat? It could work.

I shook off the nausea that threatened to rise again. Decision made. No more syn-food for my meals. For potions? That was different. The alchemical process would strip it clean, purify it into something useful.

That much, I could trust.

I scanned through my mental list, crossing off anything I had considered 'Food' here in the traditional sense and replacing it with what I'd need for brewing. The substitutes were still synthetic, still abhorrent, but they'd do after the alchemical reactions purified them and converted them into pure nutrients, and calories.

The knowledge from the Forge guaranteed that, and I wasn't about to start doubting its gifts.

The rest went quickly.

The security bot stood to the side, motionless but imposing, its polished chrome surface reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights above. The way its sensor eye swiveled lazily to track me as I approached the self-checkout made my skin crawl.

I gave it a wide berth, tossing a wary glance over my shoulder to make sure it wasn't about to spring to life. The other customers at the store were doing the same… and as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

The self-checkout terminal, one of the SoftSys' new S.C.S.Ms, beeped cheerily as I scanned the items, one by one. Its synthetic voice chirped: "Thank you for choosing Kabayan Foods! Please ensure your payment is ready."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered under my breath, sliding the final bar of Machistador across the scanner. The screen flashed up my total, and the hefty cash tax tacked onto it. 'Cash payment surcharge: 30 eddies. Please insert your payment.'

"Fucking robbery," I muttered under my breath. I could get a can of Real Water at that price, fishing crumpled bills from my pocket and feeding them into the slot.

It spat them back out once, twice, before finally accepting them on the third try with a mechanical chime.

"Cash payment accepted. Receipt printing. Thank you for shopping with us! And I am not a robber you rude Neanderthalic nincompoop!" the terminal trilled, its fake cheer grating against my nerves.

The machine whirred as it spat out a thin receipt.

I snatched it, stuffing it into one of the bags without looking. That damned AI loved giving in parting shots whenever I showed up. It was almost like it knew what it was doing.

"Fuck you, dumb over engineered piece of junk" I flip the AI SCSM a final middle finger for good measure, as I left the store.

"I don't have the parts for you to rightly fuck, but I appreciate the sentiment! I hope you enjoyed the experience at Kabayan Foods!" The machine's cheery response almost makes me stumble on my way out, but the fact that I made him spare the processing power for even that feels satisfying enough.

Stepping outside, I'm greeted by the early afternoon air of the Cherry Blossom Market. For all the synthetic, soulless misery this city embodies, there's something undeniably captivating about this place.

The holographic cherry blossom trees are, admittedly, beautiful. The light dances across their digital petals in a way that almost convinces you they're real. Almost. They sway with an elegance no actual breeze could manage, but I can't bring myself to hate them. They're fake, sure, but at least they don't pretend to be anything else. Unlike everything else in this damned city.

I take the steps leading up the levels toward the main street of Japantown, and as always, my gaze is drawn to the Cyber Kami—the Kami of Chrome, Night, and Electricity.

It towers over the Cherry Blossom Market, its immense form impossible to ignore. The statue is a marvel of craftsmanship, a gleaming cybernetic Buddha with four arms stretched outward in a gesture of divine serenity. Soft blue lights emanate from its eyes and circuitry, giving it an aura of mechanical divinity.

I stop for a moment, as I always do.

Admiring it, loathing it.

In one breath, this city dares to elevate a cybernetic god, a Kami of Electricity and Night.

Maybe it exists. Maybe it doesn't. Who am I to argue with faith? It was the Japanese, Arasaka themself in fact, that funded its installation.

But in the next breath, the very same city mocks it.

The skyscrapers that loom around the statue seem to sneer at it, as their inhabitants place themselves in a position higher than their own god, one they take pleasure in looking down from their high rise ivory towers.

The message is clear: "We're above even the gods."

The hypocrisy is sickening, but damn if the statue isn't a work of art. For a moment, I just marvel at it all.

Then, with a sharp exhale, I continue upward heading home, ignoring the distant gunshots that are almost like background noise to this city. It would be weird if there weren't any.

Fortunately, the trip home was peaceful, serene, and I could enjoy the warm early afternoon air on my face. Depositing the ingredients on my kitchenette, I grab my NCART pass and quickly make my way to the NCART station.

There were a couple of libraries in Night City. The closest being that in Charter Hill. The largest, and most reputable library was in the University District inside the Night City University Campus.

They were all inaccessible to me. They all needed neuroports for information transfer. The few physical books from the pre-RED era are meant for storage, and perusal for faculty, and students.

So, studying chemistry that way was out of the picture. I did have means to order a digital version of the books, and I had already filed a request. I should have it on my computer later tonight.

For now, I needed to join a gym. I need some self-defense skills. My potion-induced rock strength was temporary, not that I would go without said potion anywhere. I had a bottle in my jacket, right alongside the invisibility potion, but those were Hail Marys.

My gun would be to even the odds, but some form of fighting ability would not be bad to have.

Most gyms encouraged cyberware. Heavily. The ability to bench press cars, trucks, and weights on that range with the aid of even the last gen cyberware was reason enough.

The one that I had singled out was in the east end of Little China. A small place by a man named Roh-Chi Won. He had become famous for training a famous local boxer named Michael Coolidge, who went on to star in a show called "Boxathon" on N54.

Good show.

But that was not why I chose this particular gym.

Sure, Michael Coolidge did have that shit ton of gear to aid him in his fights. The latest BioDyne lynx paws, Kiroshi TXL something something that aided in guard counters, identifying weaknesses on the fly, and a whole host of cutting-edge tech.

But his coach, Roh-Chi Won?

He was one of the rare few individuals who didn't advocate for Cyberware enhancements in fights. The man himself didn't sport a lick of Cyberware on him, apart from the standard neuroport and Kiroshi cyber optics.

His gym had gained fame during the era of Michael's stardom on N54, but had dwindled significantly after it became clear that he had no actual cybernetics to push to his clients.

"You are now at… Farrier and Ferguson. Stand clear of the door please." The NCART announcer's voice broke my reverie as my station arrived.

The Hwarang Bushido Dojo was a quaint little gym, merely a few blocks away from the NCART station. I only had to take a small little detour to avoid some shifty-looking blue-eyed Russians on my way to the gym.

The Hwarang Bushido Dojo greeted me with a flickering neon sign, its soft glow barely visible against the clutter of band posters and holograms. A giant holo-poster of Michael Coolidge, mid-spar with his coach, Roh Chi-Won, loomed above the entrance. Coolidge's fists blurred with speed, while the Coach remained perfectly composed, his stance unshakable as he weaved and bobbed around the flurries.

The neon sign bearing the gym's name flickered faintly, its glow almost swallowed by the clutter surrounding it. Posters for some old rock band called Samurai, were plastered alongside promotional material for the upcoming Bushido 13: Wrath of Steel.

Trailers for Bushido 12: Family and Metal played on a loop, the holo-projection flashing scenes of carnage and chrome that felt almost comically over-the-top.

I stepped inside, and the atmosphere shifted surprisingly familiar. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and rubber, a low hum of effort and movement punctuated by the sharp thuds of gloves on pads and the occasional grunt of exertion. The boxing ring dominated the center of the gym, its ropes scuffed and worn from years of use. Around it, people sparred, their movements sharp and deliberate.

The walls were lined with gym equipment—simple, practical, and clearly well-used. In the far corner, sparring bots clicked and whirred, their sleek forms mirroring the moves of their human counterparts. Each one was busy, its flashing sensors tracking and adjusting to the fighters' techniques.

It didn't take long before someone noticed me. A block-headed man, about my age, approached with an easy swagger. His purple flattop bobbed slightly as he walked, his sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe.

When he reached me, he greeted me in Russian, his tone casual but firm.

I blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Russian."

He paused, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before switching to heavily accented English. "You have no Kiroshi, yes?"

Goddamit, the same song and dance. "No,… no, I don't."

He nodded, his expression neutral. "You should get. Language will not be problem anymore."

I managed a small shrug. "I'll manage, thanks."

"What do you want? You want to join gym?" he asked, his tone now more curious than anything.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Roh Chi-Won," I replied. "I want to learn boxing."

At that, his mouth twisted into a grin. "Ah! Thought so. City too dangerous for noodle-armed pretty boy like you."

Damn, no need to be so blunt, man. And I did not have noodle arms!

"Come, come," he said, waving me forward. "I take you to Coach."

He led me deeper into the gym, weaving past sparring pairs and weight stations.

We stopped near one of the sparring bots, where a bald, middle-aged Asian man stood with his arms crossed, watching someone spar. His stance was casual, but his gaze was laser-focused, tracking every movement of the wiry man trading blows with the bot.

"Coach," the purple-haired man said, nodding toward me, "new guy here wants to join. Says he wants to box."

The coach looked over at me, giving me a brief nod before turning back to the sparring session. "I'll be with you shortly. This spar is about to end."

I nodded back, shifting awkwardly as the Russian guy lingered beside me. The coach's attention moved to him, his tone calm but firm. "Go back to your sparring, Ilya."

Ilya nodded easily, patting me on the back with enough force to nearly knock me forward. "Good luck, my friend," he said, grinning. "When you want to spar, let me know, yeah?"

"Thanks, I will once I am sure I can take you on," I replied. What can I say, he was a huge guy, not David Martinez huge, but bulky all the same.

"Ha! That would be the day! I look forward to it!" he laughed as he walked off to join a group near another bot at the ring.

Turning my attention back to the sparring bot, I watched as Roh Chi-Won coached the woman trading blows with the machine. She was quick, her strikes precise but clearly not perfect. The bot mirrored her movements with uncanny accuracy, dodging her punches and countering with swift jabs that made her shift her stance.

"Keep your weight balanced, Zaria!" the coach instructed, his voice cutting clean through the noise of the gym. "You're leaning too far forward with your right. If you don't fix it, the counter will catch you every time."

The woman adjusted her footing, her punches growing sharper, more deliberate. The bot responded in kind, increasing its speed. For a moment, it seemed like she was getting the hang of it, but a well-timed feint from the bot threw her off, and she stumbled back.

"Better," the coach said, nodding slightly. "You're improving. Get back to sparring. I'll check your form again later."

"Yes, Coach," Zaria replied, breathing heavily as she reset her stance and prepared for another round.

With the sparring session handled, Roh Chi-Won turned his full attention to me. He stepped closer, extending his hand. I shook it, his grip firm but not overly tight. His gaze flicked over me, sharp and assessing.

"I don't see any Cyberware on you," he said. "Am I right in assuming you're here to learn how to fight without it?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I've had… some issues recently. Figured some skill in fighting could help."

The coach shook his head, his expression neutral but firm. "If you're looking to save your life, get a gun. This is a gym. I train fighters, not survivors. Fighting here requires more than just the need to survive—it takes discipline."

"I understand," I said quickly. "I already have a gun. I'm carrying one right now."

That earned a faint raise of his brow. "Good. Then why are you here?"

"I want to learn fighting skills in case I'm ever caught without it," I replied honestly.

The coach studied me for a moment before nodding. "Then go and get Cyberware."

I shook my head, offering a wry smile. "Not an option for me. I can't afford it, and even if I could, it's not something I'm comfortable with."

At that, his expression shifted slightly—something between curiosity and amusement. "No Cyberware, huh?" He tilted his head but let it go. "Alright. Have you trained before? Ever been to a gym?"

"A few years ago," I said, a bit sheepishly. "Back in high school, after… a breakup. It didn't stick."

He snorted, crossing his arms. "So, you're completely new at this, then."

"Pretty much."

He nodded again, this time more decisively. "Alright. I'll coach you. But only if you show the discipline for it. I've trained athletes and stars in their technique, people like Michael Coolidge. You've got one advantage, though."

I blinked. "What's that?"

"You don't have Cyberware," he said simply. "That's a shortcut to success. Here, we train the mind first. In combat, the mind is the most powerful weapon of all. No Cyberware has been able to fully replicate it—not yet. AI aside, of course. If you master your mind, you can master your body. And if, in the future, you decide to chip in, this training will help you adapt far better than you normally would."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "I like the sound of that."

"Good," he replied, his tone brisk. "Let's start with the basics. Warm up first."

He led me to an open area near the sparring ring, walking me through a routine of stretches, light cardio, and basic movements.

The coach continued guiding me through a steady progression of exercises—bodyweight movements, stretches, and light weights. His instructions were sharp and to the point, emphasizing form over quantity. He watched every rep like a hawk, correcting my posture with subtle cues.

"Muscle comes with effort," he said as I set down a pair of dumbbells, my arms already burning. "But without the right fuel, you'll plateau. Protein is critical. Protein-rich scop and kibble will help— creatine aside. If you're serious about this, you'll track your intake."

I nodded, hiding the smirk that almost escaped. The alchemy nutrient potion I'd be brewing tonight rendered all of that a non-issue. It was practically magic's answer to every gym bro's dream. A complete, magical homemade all-in-one solution—protein, creatine, vitamins, you name it, all packed into a single dose.

No horrifying synthetic garbage, no supplements. Just pure, efficient nourishment.

Thanks to the potion's healing properties, I wouldn't have to worry about overtraining or missing out on gains.

Magic would handle all the optimization while my part was simple: show up, put in the effort, and stick to the discipline.

Ilya had joined me mid-session, claiming he wanted to "keep the pretty gonk alive long enough to spar." He turned out to be a surprisingly good workout partner, offering tips here and there and keeping the atmosphere light with his stoically delivered jokes.

By the time the session wrapped up, the sun was casting its golden glow through the narrow windows, signaling late afternoon. My muscles ached in the best way possible. I had to admit, it had been a solid few hours, and I felt like I'd gained more than just a little progress—I'd found some footing in this place.

"Next session, we spar, yes?" Ilya said, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to almost send me stumbling.

"Sure," I said, smiling despite myself. "Thanks for all the help today. You didn't have to, but it means a lot."

He waved me off with a grin. "Everyone starts somewhere, my friend. You're serious about this—I can see it. I help all noobs at the gym. You keep at it, and we'll turn you into fighter."

"Looking forward to it," I replied.

"Good. Now go home, rest. Give muscles time to recover, ya?"

At my nod, Ilya strode off waving me good bye.

As I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit, a rare sense of accomplishment settled over me. It had been a good day. The Forge, quiet as it had been, seemed to agree.

Stepping outside, the late afternoon light bathed the street in a warm glow. I made my way toward the NCART station, the faint hum of activity around me blending into the background.

Then, deep within me, I felt it.

The galaxy within my soul came into focus. Its infinite constellations, usually distant and hazy, spun with renewed energy. A cluster of stars began to draw closer, one among them pulsing faintly. My breath caught as I focused on it, the light growing brighter, sharper.

For weeks, I'd feared the Forge had gone dormant, its gifts stagnant. But now, as that pulsing light flared and surged toward me, filling every corner of my being, I exhaled in relief.

The pulse of light from the Forge left me feeling... secure. Not in a grand, invincible sense, but in a quiet, knowing way. Something intangible settled within me, a certainty that anything I created from now on—potions, gadgets, tech—would endure. Not unbreakable, not invincible, but… resistant. Durable. If the world tried to snuff them out, circumstance would intervene. Luck, fate, or whatever cosmic insurance policy the Forge had just granted me, would ensure they endured longer than they had any right to.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I mulled over the implications. I wouldn't be able to hide behind this gift—cheap plastic would still break, shoddy work would still fail—but the things I made with care, the things I poured effort into? Those would last. I could rely on them.

And right now, that thought was more comforting than I wanted to admit.

The sun was dipping low, the hazy orange light of dusk casting jagged shadows across the buildings. I took a shortcut toward the NCART station, wanting to get home before the city's nightlife shifted from chaotic to predatory. I was halfway down the alley when my gut twisted.

My path had been blocked.

There were a man and two women, their holographic masks flickering faintly under the dim light. The sharp edges of their jackets screamed gang affiliations, and the heavy firearms slung casually at their sides confirmed it.

Scavs.

I turned around, intending to walk back out and taking the long way long the main street. That was blocked too, as two more of them cut me off.

I kept my head down, trying to skirt past them. I wasn't chromed, not even a cheap implant for them to yank out. No Cyberware, no interest, right? Scavs didn't usually bother with nobodies like me.

Except, apparently, tonight was different.

"Where do you think you're going?" the woman in front of me sneered, her thick Russian accent cutting through the tense silence. She stepped into my path, her posture relaxed but her tone anything but. "Stay exactly where you are."

My chest tightened as her companions began to fan out, closing ranks. One of the men—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a glint of malice in his eyes—glanced me over and grinned. "Look at this. Told you he fits perfectly," he said, turning to the others. "I was right. We'll make a killing with this one."

What the hell did that mean?

I raised my hands slightly, keeping my tone calm but firm. "I think you've got the wrong guy. I don't have Cyberware. Nothing on me."

The second woman, smaller but no less menacing, laughed dryly. "We know. Doesn't matter. We've got… other plans for you." Her smirk widened as she cocked her head. "Now, shut up."

Panic.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I instinctively shifted a step back, trying to keep my movements slow and non-threatening. My fingers brushed the edge of my jacket, hovering near the revolver tucked inside. I wasn't fast enough to outgun all five of them, but I might have to try.

"Don't bother," one of the guys growled, his voice laced with disdain. He leveled his weapon at me, the muzzle gleaming under the faint alley lights. "Boss said alive, but he didn't say unhurt."

Another Scav, a wiry man with a thin scar across his face, shot him a glare. "Idiot. You break the goods, you pay. Jae doesn't want damaged merchandise."

The man with the gun shrugged, his grin sharpening. "Fine. I'll aim for the knees."

Alive. That word gave me a sliver of relief, twisted as it was. They weren't planning to kill me—at least not yet. Whatever they had in mind, though, wasn't good.

Think, think, think.

My mind raced, the beginnings of a plan forming through the haze of fear. There was a dumpster a few feet away, shoved haphazardly against the alley wall. Beyond it there was a broken hole in the wall. If I could reach that wall, I'd have a shot. The invisibility potion in my jacket pocket would buy me the time I needed to disappear.

But first, I had to stall.

"Look," I started, keeping my hands visible and my tone steady, "I don't know what you think I'm worth, but I promise you, I'm not. Whatever this Jae of yours knows, it's wrong I have no Cyberware on me,."

"Shut up," the woman snapped, her weapon raising just enough to send a shiver of cold fear through me. "We don't care what you think."

"Fair enough," I said, glancing toward the dumpster. Just a few more inches.

One of the Scavs noticed the movement, his brow furrowing as he followed my gaze. "What are you looking at?"

No more stalling.

I lunged sideways, slamming my shoulder into the edge of the dumpster and shoving it toward them with everything I had. The screech of metal scraping pavement filled the alley, followed by a startled shout from the group. I didn't stop to see how effective it was.

Gunfire.

The first shot cracked through the air, the muzzle flash lighting up the alley for an instant. The bullet struck the dumpster with a deafening clang, making me flinch but not falter. Another shot followed, this one ricocheting off the wall just inches from my head.

"Get him!" someone shouted, their voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of curses and commands.

I ducked into the crumbling wall, my hand darting into my jacket. The vial of invisibility potion was cool against my fingers as I yanked it free, fumbling with the cap.

Another shot rang out, whizzing past me close enough to send a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I ducked low, throwing myself behind the cover of the wall and twisting the vial open with my thumb.

"There's nowhere to run dumbass! You boxed yourself in!" one of the Scavs yelled, their footsteps pounding against the pavement as they closed in.

I tipped the vial back and dropped a few drops of the potion on my tongue. The effect was immediate. A cool, tingling sensation swept over me as my body began to fade, the world around me blurring at the edges.

"Shit! The fuck!? Where did he go?!" someone shouted, their panic cutting through the chaos.

Another responded "He has optical camo! Sniff him out! He wasn't supposed to have any gear on him!"

"He's still here! He is not running away!"

I was invisible. They couldn't see me. My gun, my clothes—everything on me—vanished from view. To them, it probably looked like optical camo, some high-end Cyberware that I definitely didn't have. They didn't need to know that.

Their voices echoed in the alley, blending with the hum of distant traffic and the occasional screech of tires. My breathing was steady, but my mind raced. I had time to think.

I could pull my gun, take aim, and start shooting. But the muzzle flash and sound would make it easy for them to pinpoint me. I could take the rock skin potion, let the magic cover me in unyielding stone, and pound them into the ground. But the sound of breaking bones and rubble-like impacts would still draw their fire.

Could I sneak out instead? Slip past them quietly? It was a gamble, but maybe—

"Your batteries will run out soon, huh?" a man called out, his thick Russian accent dripping with mockery. "Come out, come out! We can be friendly, yeah? No need to hide. We'll make good friends!" His laugh was sharp, cruel, echoing off the walls.

I clenched my fists. These assholes weren't going to stop.

I edged backward toward the dumpster, trying to gauge my next move. Another taunt.

"Your fancy camo won't save you forever! Come out! We'll take good care of you!" another scav shouted, followed by a jeering laugh.

Okay. Fuck this noise. I wasn't sneaking out. I was beating them down.

My hand darted into my jacket, pulling free the rock skin potion. The vial's purple liquid shimmered faintly in the dim alley light. I twisted the cap, raised it to my lips, and drank deeply.

The transformation was immediate. That strange itching-not-itchy sensation crawled across my skin as the potion's magic took hold. I couldn't see myself, but I could feel it—stone spreading over my body, strengthening every muscle and bone beneath.

"Shit, it's not running out!" one of them cursed, panic creeping into his voice.

"Did he run away?" another hissed.

A woman snapped back. "No! Petrova's watching the opening. He didn't slip past her. He's still here—somewhere in this room."

I took a deep breath, crouching low. I didn't need them to see me. I needed them to feel me.

Go.

I launched forward, my invisible, rocky fist slamming into the first scavenger's gut. The impact sent him flying back, his holo mask shattering as his face crumpled inward with a sickening crack. His body hit the ground like a sack of bricks, unmoving.

"Fuck! He's here!" one of the others screamed, spinning toward the sound of my footsteps.

"He's got gorilla arms or some shit!" another shouted, his voice frantic. "Shoot! Shoot now!"

Gunfire erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the alley as they sprayed bullets toward the sound of their fallen comrade. I didn't stop. The rocky armor absorbed most of the impacts, dull thuds against stone, but the sound of their weapons was deafening. I was a storm in the dark, fists flying, each impact met with a crunch of bone and screams.

One by one, they fell. Another scav crumpled as I landed a solid punch to his chest, the force folding him in half. A woman tried to flank me, but I swung wide, catching her jaw with a brutal backhand. She hit the ground hard, groaning before falling silent.

Minutes passed in a blur of chaos and violence until only one was left.

She dropped her weapon, stumbling back as I loomed over her, my rocky form still invisible. "Please! Mercy!" she begged, tears streaking down her face. Her voice cracked, breaking into pitiful sobs. "Please, I'll talk! Don't kill me!"

I grabbed her by the throat, hoisting her into the air. She dangled, kicking and gasping, her wide eyes darting around for help that wouldn't come. My voice was low, rough, almost unrecognizable. "Why were you after me?"

She choked on her words, her hands clawing at the air. I squeezed slightly, just enough to make her speak.

"Y-You fit the bill!" she stammered, her voice cracking. "We take people like you—ones with no family, no backing! We sell them… for XBDs!"

XBDs. That was … porn, as far as I knew? Futuristic virtual reality porn? The fuck? They wanted me for fucking porn?!

I squeezed tighter, my voice a growl. "What the fuck are you talking about?! Who sells them? Who's your boss? How did you find me?"

She sobbed harder, shaking her head. "They'll kill me if I tell! Please, I can't!"

My grip tightened. "Then I'll kill you right now."

Her eyes bulged as she gasped, her voice frantic. "Jae Hyun! His name is Jae Hyun! He's our boss!"

The name sent a jolt through me. Jae Hyun. I'd heard it before—Kenta. Kiwi had mentioned that name when talking about Kenta.

"Did Kenta tell you about me?" I demanded, shaking her.

She wailed, her words incoherent. "I don't know! I swear! Please, let me go! I'll leave! I'll skip town, I swear!"

I froze, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

I'd already killed at least two of them.

Could I stomach another execution? My rocky fists trembled slightly, the micromanipulator gloves working overtime to steady my grip.

Shit, I should call the cops.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck…. I don't want them to know about my potions. I was scared out of my mind. Fucking hell.

I couldn't execute her.

Fuck, if Kenta had talked about me. These guys had tracked me here of all places, did they know where I lived?

Hopefully not. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What the fuck do I do?

Okay. Calm down.

Shit.

Calm. Down.

Finally, I exhaled, my voice hard and final. "How did you guys know to find me?"

She struggled against my grip in vain "W-we had a repository of targets! We ping them against our facial recognition data base. Y-you pinged outside the gym!"

So they didn't know where I lived.

I didn't know whether to trust that. Shit.

I will. For now.

"If I see you around me again, Petrova. I will kill you."

The relief that flashed in her face was short lived as, with a grunt, I threw her against the wall. She hit it with a dull thud before crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

The adrenaline ebbed as I stumbled toward the exit of the alley. The invisibility potion faded, leaving me fully visible under the moonlight.

My hands trembled. My chest ached. My face was wet, and it took me a moment to realize it wasn't sweat—it was tears.

Fuck this shitty ass future.

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

(A/N)

Well. This was fun.

The potions and alchemy part of this is canon harry potter, with a little boost from fanon.

The libraries were revamped after RED, and physical textbook media were phased out.

Zain is going all in on learning to fight and protect himself.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Quality: Durability

Lost Arts (World of Darkness - Mummy the Resurrection) (600CP)

The Cabiri form of the Great Rite would appear and disappear, be destroyed and appear again no matter how hard Horus tried. Now your works are similarly hard to erase. Any of your creations, from writings to paintings to swords are immune to the ravages of time and have a mysterious luck of their own. This luck causes your creations to avoid destruction time and time again though all kinds of contrivances and circumstances.

He started this chapter with 450 points. Earned himself 300, and had 750 at time of roll. Used 600 points, and ended with 150.