The Gonk and The Forge (Cyberpunk Edgerunners/2077)

Social media used to be core to my daily life. Doom scrolling through Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, etc, was the day-to-day for me, as it was for most of my friends and social circle.

Whether it was to make time fly by in a particularly mind-numbing lecture of that one elective we had taken just to fill in the credits for the course, or to make up for boredom because everyone else was too busy or too lazy to come over and hang out. Social media and the interconnectivity it provided were just something that was considered central to a technologically advanced society.

Having been flung far forward to such a hyper-advanced time that Night City of 2076 promised to be, I must revise that notion.

There was no social media here. The interconnectivity was provided using extremely cheap holocalls, and Satellite Data transfers. Group chats, holo calls, text messaging, even sharing pictures and videos; everything apart from getting random internet strangers to comment on the shared content was possible using direct sat communications.

The concept of social media just doesn't seem to be necessary here.

I considered that a high positive in the list of things about being here in Night City. I had spent an embarrassing amount of time on the web, using what I had quickly come to realize, was a very outdated, extremely outmatched Windows PC, on the frequently unresponsive Internet Explorer web browser searching for the local equivalent.

That had made the absence of social media here very clear. All I had to show for my efforts were directional links to something called a BBS.

The browser often crashed when I tried to access those links, and when it managed to connect to something; I was redirected to either a Militech, Kendachi, Kang Tao, or Arasaka webpage that sold neural interfaces and accompanying accessories; Cyberdecks, and Cyberware.

Other browsers didn't work. Attempting to use Chrome, Firefox, or even Opera often redirected me to the Netwatch's error page.

[ NETDIR://PAGE_NOT_FOUND ]

Almost all websites use the NETDIR:// protocol to connect to the net. What it does, what it means, I have no clue.

Trying to use Google was a no-go. It too led to the Netwatch-powered error page which was a common thing for most websites I searched for off the top of my head.

It was a miracle that Bing worked. Though most searches using the search engine often led me to the same page.

[ NETDIR://NCITY.PUB ]

Followed by a keyword search for web pages containing my query…

It was slow, tedious, and also an excellent deterrent to not wanting to use the internet all that much.

I had accepted all of that as a positive—forced detox from social media that most considered a step in the right direction toward a healthier lifestyle back home. Yeah, my life was definitely healthier now.

I could feel the effects of it. The itch to pull out my non-existent smartphone and scroll through those hell apps in search of ….. something. Watch something. Interact with something.

Anything.

….I could not sleep.

I had killed people.

Yes, the people I killed were scavs.

Yes, they wanted to abduct me and forcibly make me into a….. porn star? Film my rape and show it to the world?

I have no idea what XBDs are.

Based on the ads for BDs; out on the street, on the radio, or on the TV, I think an XBD is amateur porn. Some sort of hyper-immersive, neural-interfaced, virtual reality porn. Like that "Sasha Devon experience" BD that was sold at the vendor right outside my apartment building.

"3 Mouths, 1 Experience! With Sasha Devon!"

…. I had questions about that. If I ever do become morbidly curious enough, I will find out.

However, that particular one was mainstream, with a high production value. XBDs then have to be the illegal, cheaper, budget variety. Does legality even factor in if it's porn? What separates legal and illegal porn anyway?

Even the legal BD businesses here were ones that back home would have warranted the FBI breaking down doors to shut the shit down. 'Barely Illegal' was a legally recognized BD studio, and doll house just a mile down by the bay. A highly popular, extremely expensive doll house that, based on the ads on TV, offers the services of girls who are just a touch below the age of eighteen. Just the very idea sends shivers down my spine.

I do not want to go down this particular rabbit hole.

Does that make me a coward? I am ignoring the problem, just as so many others in the city are. It is a fucking legally recognized 'business' with the backing of a megacorp.

A megacorp that is armed to the teeth like a fucking country's military.

And I am still just one guy.

I don't know which megacorp backs them, but no way that sort of a business survives without a megacorp propping them up.

I swear, once I have a proper footing to stand on in this city, once I have a handle on the forge, and am ready to do something about it…. I will.

I don't know what, I don't know how, I don't even know when …. but I will. Even if it is just lighting all their houses on fire, I will fucking do it.

I need to stop thinking about a lot of things. I have been doing a lot of that lately. I don't think I like that. I don't like the kind of person this future is forcing me to become. Would I have had the conviction to do something about all these problems if I didn't have the forge backing me up?

I don't know. I like to think that I would have tried …. something. That I wouldn't have ignored it indefinitely. I like to think that I would have done something regardless of the kind of power that the forge promised me that I would one day have.

It is a moot point regardless.

For now, I just need just a little bit of patience. I just need to distract myself for the time being, focus on something else. All of that would come later.

I tried sleeping. But I found sleep was not an agreeable idea for now.

Trying to close my eyes and lie down on my bed led my brain to conjure images of Petrova. Of the other scavs. The ones I had killed.

Often, in books and movies, it is claimed that killing someone for the first time is a very life-changing experience. That you're supposed to feel numb, disgusted, broken, horrified, nauseous.

I did not feel all that. It was much more accurate to say that I felt nothing. I had been adapting, learning to deal with things as they come; and planning for my future here in Night City before it happened.

I am still adapting, and planning for my future here in Night City, even now after it has happened. Nothing has changed.

Only the niggling feeling that the scavs have me on some sort of a shortlist for people to kidnap, that they may know where I live is what is keeping me up. The idea that they may show up at my doorstep tomorrow to take me away for their porn shoots; or worse …. That is what is constantly wringing in the back of my mind.

I had let Petrova walk away….

After having killed, what I am certain, is at the very least half of her friends, I had let her walk away. I had no idea what to do then frankly. She was at my mercy. She was pleading, begging to be let go. All it would have taken is the barest ounce of my then enhanced strength and I could have finished her.

But I couldn't.

I did not have the willpower to do it. Even with all that strength, I couldn't make myself squeeze the life out of her body. It felt different. Like I would be doing something unimaginable, crossing a line that should not be crossed. Even though my hands were bloodied with the blood of her friends already. I did not have the willpower to execute her when she was at my mercy.

I hope she took the chance I had given her and skipped town. I had promised to kill her should she ever come across me again, but I had no idea if I would have the strength to follow through on that if it ever happened.

I did not want to find out.

I did not want to even think about all this mess, frankly. I needed to distract myself. I needed to do something. Anything.

Some never-ending doom-scrolling on social media would be just perfect. Just the right amount of brain rot, and mind-numbing dopamine to get me to forget what had happened.

Hah.

For that, I would need some sort of a smartphone. I could finally go out and purchase a Fuyutsuki Spark, or a Segotari Grit smartphone to replace my old Seocho flip phone. That thing was from the 2020s.

It was hilarious to think that flip phones were the cutting edge of cell phone tech back in the 2020s. Though I have to admit, compared to Apple or Samsung, it had much better call quality, camera, and a holographic pop-out display. It was a steal that I'd been able to purchase it from El Dorado Junk shop.

The seamless connection to the global cellular network was a really big step up from the cell networks back home. I could be on an island, in the middle of the ocean; or stranded in some desert and I would still have a connection to the network. They even boasted a connection up in orbit, and some distance into deep space beyond the moon.

However, I don't think I should be spending money frivolously to purchase a smartphone if the motivation behind it is to use social media of all things…. I don't have that kind of cash lying around.

I could craft one myself. It is a gadget after all. I have the skills to build a smartphone with comparative features to the most cutting-edge smartphone tech right now in 2076. The forge had been kind enough to teach me all that a day ago. I needed to work on other gadgets to be ready for … whatever else this city was going to throw at me.

I already have a new batch of potions bubbling away on my kitchen counter. I had ideas for potion pots with more offensive power so that next time I don't have to rely on the rock skin potion for its strength and forcibly enter close-quarters combat; should I ever get in such a situation as I had been with Petrova and the scavs.

That potion was a limited-time defensive hail mary, for a getaway. It was fortunate that the rocky shell came with the proportionate strength that was necessary to move with that sort of physique. It was one of the reasons why I was a little hesitant to alter the mix and get rid of the outer rock texture that the potion granted.

I could have done it, easily enough. A potion that grants an equivally impenetrable defense without the change in outer physique was very easy to brew, but that would mean that I would be sacrificing the strength that came with the cosmetic aspect of the potion too.

I could brew an alternative potion that granted the strength separately, I had the ingredients for it. But it seemed like a waste to brew an additional potion for an effect that I was deliberately removing from one that provided it as a byproduct.

I already have ideas for gadgets to cover the holes in my other long-range offensive abilities. It was high time to work on that anyway, I could build a smartphone for myself while I got on to work on that. I could even incorporate a data terminal to handle cashless transactions for me, I would need to convince Marmur Bank to agree to connect my account to the data term, that would be easy enough.

I could handle the percentage fee that they charged for digital transactions. It would be less than the surcharge that cash-based transactions cost most of the time whenever cross-format transactions were involved.

Working on gadgets right now, while my potions simmered away seemed like a good way to distract myself.

Who wants to sleep anyway? Sleep is for the weak!

Who cares if I need to clock in for work in five hours?

I can handle an all-nighter and still be there to man the grills at the diner. There wouldn't even be a hit on the quality of my cooking, the micromanipulators will make sure my hands are steadier than those of a skilled and experienced surgeon. Drowsiness won't be making me clumsy at work. 

Alright then, I need to go out and gather some resources. Parts to start crafting my gear. Kabuki promises to be the best location in the city to acquire cheap hardware, accompanying software; and other parts but I have no desire to head back in the direction of Watson, at least not today.

…. I don't want to step out of my house at all.

It would be very easy to cross out a particular area of the city that I shouldn't visit if the scavs made that place their territory like the Clawz or Maelstrom made out of Japantown and other areas in Westbrook and Watson.

The scavs, based on my admittedly limited knowledge of the gangs in Night City, did not declare any territory. Like the animals, they operated out of whatever easily available space they could squat in for the time being. For all I knew, Petrova had woken up in that alley, collected her friends, and followed after me in the NCART to wherever they had been holed up in the city.

That could even be here in Westbrook. They could be just waiting for me to step out, so they could nab me. What had she said? I fit the bill, people with no family or support structures to look after them, people who won't be missed. I would hope that Raphael and Archie would at least look for me if I suddenly went missing.

Apart from them, if I were to list out the people I interacted with frequently, it would be the cops from the precinct who frequented the diner. Officer Miller and his squad. And that was a very weak connection, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even notice if I went missing. Apart from having to find some other poor idiot to make jokes about.

Fuck … I can't keep thinking like this. These are exactly the kinds of thoughts that I want to distract myself from.

Stepping out to forage from the dump by the cherry blossom market should be safe. I had been there dozens of times. It was just a block away, and the scavs weren't often spotted around the area. I hope the Tyger Clawz served as a deterrent for those assholes from trying anything in their territory. And if the clawz weren't a reliable source of soft protection, the cops would do. They at the very least liked to patrol the area around Jig-Jig Street and the cherry blossom market.

Fuck it… I have to risk it. I can't just stay home, and block myself off from the world. Doing that would be like I am letting the scavs destroy my life through fear. I won't let that happen. I will deal with whatever comes as it comes.

If I have to kill some assholes again, I will. If I have to break their bones, hurt them so much that they will fear to cross me, I will.

This city won't eat me up alive, I will not cower in fear because some circ-brained, rapist, organ thieves decided they can do whatever the fuck they want. Come what may, I will show them that I am not a fucking coward.

Taking my jacket off my counter. I turn off the stove, this potion was the nutrient potion that would cover all my dietary needs perfectly, and give me the ability to work without having to eat anything else for the rest of the day.

...It tastes like lemons. I really should have seen that one coming. I should do something about the taste of all my potions. I don't have enough supplies of ingredients to experiment endlessly for the right taste, not yet. I hope I do get that luxury soon. If only the forge could hand me the ingredients to work with gift-wrapped or something.

Is that a possibility? I have no idea.

I have all my potions stored up in the inner pockets of my jacket, and my revolver in my back pocket, I have everything I need for the time being. Checking all my gear one last time, I step out of my apartment and make my way to the elevator.

"Rage! Fury! Carnage! THRÚD! Follow your instincts!"

And the barrage of those damned unavoidable ads begins torturing my ears. I used to think that YouTube had the worst form of ad structure possible, I had vanced installed specifically to avoid those back home.

Night City proved that mindless fucking capitalism has no end to creative forms of mass media torture. There was no avoiding them.

And I was one of the fortunate ones, just two units down the hall on my floor would have placed me facing the main street, which would have put me in direct auditory range to the street ads.

I would not have been able to live through listening to those damned loudspeakers from the streets all night.

"OoOooOooOrgiatic! All Pleasure… from All Foods! Provides three hundred and thirty percent of recommended daily vitamins!"

Yeah, yeah. I am not eating your shitty dog, bat, or whatever the fuck else meat ever again assholes!

Thankfully, the trip down the elevator is down to just two ads for me, and I have learned to ignore those most of the time.

I make one stop at the rent collection data terminal by the exit, ignoring the junkies passed out propped beside it. The box still says my rent is paid and I breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief.

I am worried that will switch to 'Rent Due' at some point in the future. It is rent after all. Unless whatever entity that has put me here with the Forge also somehow paid off my rent forever, or altered reality to negate the damned thing for me till the end of time.

Somehow I don't think that is the case though.

I don't even know what the actual rent is in this apartment building. It is a shitty building, with absolutely no security to it, so it can't be that high, right?

If only I could talk to someone about it, but apart from the machine, and the occasional electrician or repair guy, there isn't anyone I can discuss the rent of my unit with. And talking to the repair guy is a big no-no. I am almost certain the guy is crazy. Perennially drunk, high, and angry. Not a good combo for someone to sit down and discuss anything involving money with.

It doesn't take long for me to walk to the Cherry Blossom market, once again marveling at the Chram Denya Jinja, the Cyber Kami of Night and Electricity. There is even a Shinto shrine a few miles east up the hills in North Oak.

The statue is unavoidable really. The thing is massive and is placed in such a way it always catches the eye. The dump that I want to forage through is just a flight of stairs beneath its feet right outside the entrance to the Cherry Blossom market.

The place is bustling, even in this late past midnight.

Really, it is more accurate to say, that the peak business hours of the market begin after sunset and go past midnight till just before sunrise. The hawkers, vendors, and street performers that are characteristic of the market are still busy giving life to the place. Even the synth noodle ramen shop a way inside the market is open for business. I can smell the oily smell of the synthetic noodles being cooked all the way near the entrance.

It is so overpowering, that the smell of the dump just a few steps away from me is just about nonexistent.

I often avoid being out and about at this time of the night. Actually, I avoid stepping out of the house after work. My life after having been shunted into the future has become that of a shut-in. Being one of the least protected individuals, without any adequate protective chrome or weaponry had caused that.

I don't feel as afraid as I had been a month ago. So hopefully, I won't completely become a shut-in.

There is also a collection of extremely loud TV screens around an ad stand, meant for ads just by the entrance, and by God that thing is loud. No wonder those rich corpos like to stay away from the lower floors of the street.

"Goooood Morning, NIGHT CITY!"

It's not fucking morning, Jesus Christ. I don't consider a few hours past midnight to be morning. That thing is blaring so loud that I wouldn't be shocked if it was designed that way to necessitate auditory Cyberware for folks who are exposed to it daily.

I try my best to ignore it and make my way past the small shack by the dump and as far away as I can get from the collection of TV screens.

"It's your favorite show host, Stan the Man, back with yesterday's early Body Lottery!" It's still audible, damn it. And what the fuck is a body lottery?

I think the shack belongs to the guy who acts as the security for the market. The window to the place is busted open, it can't even be called a window. More like a giant hole in the side, and I can see the guy inside very almost clearly.

"With a last-minute addition, yesterday's count rounded to a Tried 'n True THIRTY-FOUR." Some sort of a game show lottery, if I have to take a guess. If body count is anything to go by, a lottery for the number of people the game show had having sex on TV?

I don't listen to this channel on the radio or on the TV.

The guy inside the shack is connected to some sort of a headset. A BD wreath, if I am not wrong.

Just to be sure, I walk a little closer to check. I don't think he would mind if I forage through the dump for some discarded tech, there are more than enough people who do so every morning as it is, I just want to make certain he is not going to be a problem later.

….. And I immediately regret that decision. Fucking hell, the guy's pants are down, and his dick is stuck in a mechanical automatic fleshlight. A pocket CyberPussy T-191.

I did not need to know its model. Holy Fuck…. I shouldn't even be staring at some guy's vibrating crotch. Fucking hell!

"SANTO DOMINGO hits with a slick FIVE! One street racer brought a rocket launcher to the meet, and let's just say nobody crossed the finish line. Safe racing out there folks, grab your payout, and keep your distance from the starting line next time!"

Holy shit that lottery is counting the number of dead bodies found in the city! What the fuck?!

Of course, it is. If this country can tolerate doll houses like 'Barely Legal', then a body lottery is just par for the damned course.

Ignoring both the loudly orgasming porn watcher inside his shack, and the unavoidable ad stand, I quickly move further toward the dump.

Fortunately, there is an abandoned shopping cart just by the far wall, I can pile whatever parts I find here in there. Damn it, the thing is busted. It just loves to go constantly go to the right.

Fuck it, it will do.

"HEYWOOD rolls in with SEVEN! Cheating wife, her now two dead lovers, one pissed-off husband, and five unlucky 'Tinos caught in the mix. The real Romeo and Juliette here are between the bullets and 'Tino brains!"

Ugh, can that thing shut up?

Foraging through the dump for parts is embarrassing and demeaning enough, I don't want the added torture of the ultra-loud horror show on my ears too! I am certain I will have to scrub myself clean with bleach back home. My alchemical intuition is for potion ingredients is adding to the entire experience.

There is a whole host of substances dumped that I can use for potions here. Things like a substitute for bat poop, toenail clippings of rats, cat piss…..

I will definitely need a bath after this dammit. Thankfully, I am not here to search for potion ingredients. My trips to Kabayan Foods for those are going to be horrifying enough.

"Next up, WESTBROOK locks in SEVEN! Four joytoys, three corpos, and a gangbang of poor decisions. Think with the head in your skulls people, not the one stuck to your balls, it will save your life!"

There's other stuff here too. Parts of old broken phones, computer hardware, processors, co-processors, parts of discarded outdated Cyberware, RAMs that I am certain have some sort of brain matter stuck to them...

I can use the human brain matter for potions if I can clean it well enough. Nope. Not going there.

All in all, useful stuff, all of it outdated by at least three generations at this point, but I can easily salvage this junk into cutting-edge gadgets. There are even tools to work on all of it, screwdrivers, a damned soldering iron, and a collection of perfectly alright cables and wiring.

… And beyond a particularly disgusting trash bag, beneath a set of tires, right beside used and discarded condoms, there is a stack of handgun ammunition... bullets that I think are just right caliber for my revolver.

That's fortunate. Not surprising considering that these are often sold in vending machines.

Really, these are cheaper than some of the 'food' sold in those damn things.

Ignoring the filth around it, I consider all this a good find.

Just a shopping cart worth would help me convert the bullets of my revolver into the homing variety, add a flash-freezing effect to them on impact, freezing parts of the body and shattering it right after.

For some reason, gadgets that cause some form of freezing are very easy to build with what the forge taught me last time. And knowledge of gadget manufacturing for some reason covered perfectly manufacturing and modifying bullets by hand as well.

I even have the perfect targeting mechanism for my purpose, one that won't necessitate a neural interface inside my head like the Kang Tao smart rifles, or Arasaka smart pistols require.

I didn't know how to build a neural interface that I could trust yet; and even if I did who was I going to trust to perform the surgery required to install it for me?

Some chop doctor, or ripper docs as they are called here, off the streets. Archie and Raphael had offered me to consult some discreet ripper up in Watson, and while I might trust them….that did not extend to whatever ripper doc they were going to recommend me to cut open my skull to install that shit.

So, to work around that, the way I am designing my bullets, I would have to manually fire a preliminary shot, and all subsequent bullets thereafter would home in on the target attached to that tag round.

It does mean that I would have to be accurate with my first shot, but I should be able to disconnect the homing tag from my bullets should I miss and fire a subsequent one at the press of a button.

The show from the damned TV stand blares again.

"PACIFICA …. Well it keeps proving why it's creepy down there in Pacifica with FOUR! Net Shamans are blaming 'spirits in the wires' after three guests at Los Palapas melted from the inside out. If you think that sounds crazy, you ain't seen Pacifica."

Why the fuck are hackers called Net Shamans of all things?

No wait, in a morbidly funny way, it makes sense. If they are anything like the kind of hackers that Kiwi had been at remotely hacking people's Cyberware it could very well be equated with wizards cursing people from afar.

…Moving on.

I think I have everything I need from here. Enough components to start working on gadgets back home, I just need to wheel this shitty shopping cart back to my apartment. And then go through a deep cleaning in my shower.

I could open the door to my personal reality somewhere nearby, but I don't know if it's worth the risk for some short-term relief from discomfort.

There's a fuck ton of security cams out in the streets.

And that's not counting optical Cyberware recording shit from people's eyes, opening the door to my Personal Reality is not worth it. Even if it does just look like a door to some random room, if anyone were to cross-check the door on which I use my key to open the pocket dimension against whatever it should actually lead to, there would be some uncomfortable questions.

I can tolerate a rickety shopping cart from a couple of blocks.

"And last but certainly not the least, leading the charge, WATSON stacks up a hard ELEVEN! Thanks to some very last-minute contribution to the final total, courtesy of the scavs."

Shit, this isn't who I think it is…. is it?

"The scavs got what's coming to 'em again—nothing new there. Gonks got pummeled in some alley like meat in a grinder. Whoever cleared those rats, you've got my vote for Night City's unsung hero of the week. We're officially chooms now in my book, whoever you are!"

That is not about me. Probably.

What are the chances that this shitty lottery just happened to find the very group of scavs that I killed on my way home?

It's not them. Petrova would have taken care of the bodies of her friends. And I certainly didn't kill eleven of them.

I should get back home. I've had enough of the ear fuck that the TV was. Some quiet inside my pocket dimension in the relative safety of my apartment to tinker around with some gadgets sounds perfect.

A familiar thrum settled into the back of my mind, steady as a heartbeat.

The beautiful galaxy of stars spun behind my eyes, slow and deliberate. I was slowly falling in love with its beauty and magnificence. I had seen it before, and I would always welcome the sight in all its radiance, even if I had seen it enough times to know what came next.

A cluster shifted, drifting closer like embers carried on a breeze. One star pulsed, its glow building brighter, sharper until it burst—sharp, quick, and clean.

A lovely comforting warmth settled in my very soul.

Thread. Wool. Silk. Cotton. Leather. Hide.

I knew how to work them all. I could work synthetic leather sold here in Night City and make it feel better than genuine leather did to the skin. I could take genuine fabrics to heights so high that people would froth at their mouths to pay to wear them.

Gucci had nothing on what I could now create. Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Prada, all that expensive shit from back home; hell even Jinguji or Avante out here had nothing on the fit and comfort the clothing I could create would provide.

Sure, I couldn't design to the level they worked at, but most of that was branding and marketing to mix with the style that was in season at the moment.

It was the comfort and practicality where I would now blow them out of the park.

The textures, the feel of the fabrics, the way to make them fit nigh perfectly to whoever I designed my clothes for.

My fingers itched, muscles twitching with the subtle memory of stitches I'd never sewn.

And the best part of it all. I didn't need scissors, sewing machines, or dedicated equipment. If I had fabric, I could make something out of it with barely just a needle and the fabric, or yarn to work with.

No added equipment, no waste of resources. Just skilled precision.

And the clothes I make would be much more than mere clothes worn for comfort and style.

Coats that felt like the coziest of places, against the deadliest of cold. Tunics that made the scorching summer heat feel like the gentlest of soothing breezes.

In all of the worst possible conditions, the clothing I make would keep the wearer as comfortable as though they were sitting inside in front of a nice toasty fire, on a cool winter evening.

But it wasn't just limited to the environment.

It was protection. True protection. Fabric that looked soft but wouldn't give to even the sharpest of blades. Not without some extremely dedicated effort, as though it wasn't stabbing against some flimsy fabric; but was glancing off the very best chain mail possible.

A knife's edge wouldn't slip through it. A sword's swing would catch and stop.

Even Mantis blades would skid off as if they'd hit chainmail.

It wouldn't stop bullets—nothing short of armor could stop those—but against everything else, I'd be covered. If it could cut, stab, or slash, it'd have to work harder than steel to get through what I'd make.

Sure, I would still feel the bruises those blows would leave, but now I had the means to get excellent protection against close-range weapons that not even this city could provide. Without completely relying on my rock skin potion to save my ass.

"Eeey! Choom! You gooood?" A voice broke me out of my reverie. It was the guy that had been masturbating using the Fleshlight in the shack.

The man was grinning at me, a bit too close for comfort. I could see bits of yellow stuck to his rotting teeth. The man had a cybernetic optical implant for a right eye, a bulky thing that stuck out and was shaped like an old camcorder. His arms were bionic, jointed metallically at his elbows.

His dreads were unkempt, and the dirty synthetic jacket had holes that exposed his dark skin underneath, and he stank worse than the dump had been. So much so that the smell wafting from the ramen store inside the Cherry Blossom market that had successfully overpowered the stink of the dump, couldn't overpower his odor.

That could just be the proximity between us.

The pocket pussy he had been using was still clutched in his right hand, drops of white liquid were poring out of its opening.

It was still vibrating.

…. I wanted to puke.

Luckily his pants were zipped up, and he was not walking around with his dick flopping about.

"Shiiit, choomba. I thought you were skezzed out there for a second. Coulda swore I saw some starry shit in your optics or somethin'!" He said, as he examined me even closer than he had been that I was forced to take a step back, the rickety shopping cart creaking as I did so.

"Oh, no, no. I was just lost in thought." I fumbled for words. I need to work on ways to handle being caught out of it after such a connection to the forge.

The merc, Rebecca, had caught me similarly unawares in the past.

I don't lose complete concentration whenever I feel the forge move, I have enough presence of mind that I can keep focus on whatever I am doing if I want to. But the forge is just so mesmerizing, so beautiful, and the gifts it grants me are so astonishing that I just can't help myself.

"Heeey! Haven' I seen you 'ere before! You the 'ganic choom who comes by sometimes! You do ya shopping at the Kabayan at the corner!" He exclaimed after a moment of close examination, pointing at me with the disgusting vibrating pocket pussy in his hand.

What the fuck? Does this asshole keep tabs on everybody that shops here or what?

First, the scavs, though I am not yet certain what exactly they know about me.

Now this guy.

Does everybody in the city have me on some form of a watchlist?

And he was still waving that fucking drippy thing in my face.

"Oi, could you not wave that shit around in my face? What the fuck is wrong with you? Leave me alone!"

I was both embarrassed and angry dammit.

Embarrassed at being called out for rummaging through the garbage, and angry at the man for catching me in the act and waving his shitty cum filled Fleshlight in my face.

He looked embarrassed at least after I pointed that out, as he turned back to bashfully face me after processing what I was calling him out for a moment.

"Hehehe!" He chuckled as he scratched the back of his head "I apologize for that choom. I just saw you out my window and thought you were looking for my stash by the junk over there. It's just a misunderstanding. Let us both move past that, ya feel me? How 'bout this? I am Stefan….and you are?" He offered his other hand to me.

I ignored the offered handshake. I am not touching the man. I know I probably stink just as bad, I did just rummage through some garbage after all. But this man was cranking the hog a few minutes ago, and I don't think he has hygiene very high on his priority list.

"Look buddy, leave me alone. I don't need to know you, you don't need to know me. I wasn't looking for your stash in the middle of the junk, I was ….." I fumbled to justify what I was doing there in a believable fashion. This was exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid.

"Heeey, chiiill, choom. My stash is not there anyway…. And 'sides, I don't judge. Lota people go through that shit all the time. I don't have my name on that shit, see?" He tried to reassure me, but it only added to my embarrassment.

Then as though he wanted to reassure me somehow, he tried to change topics.

"Aanyway choom, what's with the dim little light show in your eyes? I thought you didn't got no CyberWare. I seen you shopping at the Kabayan, didn't saw nothing then. I gotta say, that's preem shit right there. I still can't detect that shit, and I'm standing right here in ya face. Whatchu out searching through my dump for if ya got that kinda gear on ya?"

Shit.

I didn't realize the connections forming to the forge had a visible effect on my eyes or something. Rebecca had been observing my face during the time one of the previous connections had formed.

Why didn't she comment on it? Did she just not notice it?

She hadn't said anything to me then. I need to observe the effects and figure out how to explain that away if this was to keep happening.

"Look, you're mistaken. I have no gear chipped in. You're not detecting shit, because there is nothing to detect. That 'light show' must have the fucking reflection of the sky for all I know." I tried to reply as convincingly and confidently as I could, despite having been put on the spot. "Now, please let me be on my way, okay? I am busy at the moment."

As I moved out of his way, however, Stefan nodded enthusiastically and continued walking alongside me as I attempted to move past him.

"Shiit, choom. Coulda swore I saw something. It couldn't have been the sky, no stars to reflect in the sky, ya see?"

Shit, he was right. The city had so much pollution, both in the air and the light, that seeing the stars was nearly impossible.

"Eeh, fuck it. I coulda been seeing shit, the s-keef I took before cranking my meat does that sometimes ….if ya know what I mean" He grinned, waving his still disgustingly vibrating fleshlight in his hand at me as pulled out an inhaler from his back pocket.

 At least he wasn't fixating on the issue much.

Then as if a light went off in his head, he grinned smarmily at me. "Saay, ya wanna buy some boosters? I'll give you a nice hot discount for our little misunderstanding earlier. How bout a nice crisp hundo? Ya won't find cheaper here, not even up in Jig-Jig!"

Ah so, he was a street drug dealer.

Figures.

And now he was trying to sell off drugs to me that he had clearly already used himself.

I had thought he was just cheap security at the entrance to the market.

"Look, man. I don't wanna buy anything from you. I'll just be on my way, and you can go back to … whatever it is you were doing. Alright?"

I tried to move the damned cart past him again, but this time he stopped the cart with his foot, blocking the rickety thing from moving any further.

He grinned even wider and moved even closer; so much so that now I could smell the acidic smell of whatever drugs he was high off of. S-keef or whatever.

"Ay, man. If ya don' wanna buy some boosters, how about some XBDs? I got some good shit from the Mox. Ya can relive through a marathon of fucking four of 'em at once. Some of the best shit out there, lemme tell ya. Mix in a good CyberPussy, and it all feels exactly like the real deal!"

What the fuck?

No.

Fuck this guy.

I probably should have done this from the start, but better late than never.

I didn't waste any more time and brandished the Overture from my back pocket, and aimed it right between his eyes. I was damned lucky I had made it a habit to never leave my home without my micromanipulators. My hands were steadier than I felt.

I did not want to shoot some random street dealer.

I would if he pushed it, but fuck, it hasn't even been more than three hours since my run-in with Petrova, and her damned lot, and now this shit.

"Ay, choom!" Stefan immediately backed away raising both his hands up in the air, the vibrating fleshlight dripping fluids out on his dreads, his expression quickly shifting from grinning to alarmed. "There's no need for that. Am just tryna do some biz, feel me dawg?"

"I told you to leave me alone! How many times does it take asshole?" I said as sternly as I could, with the revolver resting in my right hand. Gripping the handle of the shopping cart with my left I started moving. "Now, step back slowly towards your shack and we can put this behind us, are we clear?"

"I feel ya, dawg. Crystal. No need for all that. I'm done. Ya didn't see nothing from me!" He stammered as he slowly walked backward to the shack.

As the man slinked off back toward his shack, I didn't waste much time sticking around. With great effort, I rolled the damned cart across the street and up the levels to where my apartment building was located. It fought me all the way as it constantly tried going right and into oncoming traffic.

Eventually, I reached my apartment.

After some even greater effort from myself at ignoring the ads again in the elevator, I finally reached my floor.

Just listening to the Milfguard ad is embarrassing. And if the elevator opens to somebody waiting outside as the ad starts playing, the embarrassment is amplified tenfold.

Luckily there's no one waiting on my floor, as the moaning from the ad finishes.

"This ain't her first Rodeo! Experienced Cowgirls looking for fresh Stallions! Thirty percent off for Stallions looking for their first touch of Milfy heaven!"

Fucking hell, this is basically 'Horny moms in your area' from PornHub made real. It's both hilarious and depressing. Still very embarrassing to be listening to inside an elevator.

It's like getting caught watching porn inside a library, because you had loudspeakers on instead of your headsets. Disregarding the fact that watching porn in a library is embarrassing enough on its own as is.

Rushing into my apartment, with the shitty cart and my collected parts, I make sure to bolt in my door.

I don't waste much time, as I head past the space for my bed, toward the closet. Fishing the ever-present, warm key from my pocket, I unlock the closet door and step at last into my personal reality.

It's just as cozy as I remember it. Adequately spacious, and comfortable.

Soft white lights on the ceiling give off just the right amount of light that it's not very comfortable to work under. I have a cushy leather chair in here, for the most comfortable experience if I want to work on a project for a long time.

There is a couch at the far end, and I have a suitcase sitting on it that's filled with what little cash I have stored that's not already in my account at Marmur Bank. I have just the bare minimum of deposits in the bank to keep the bank account open and will be frequently filling in just the bare minimum each month to not activate the seizure of my cash assets.

I am only bothering with the bank account as I want my 'refugee' status here in Night City somehow removed. I did not really know what the naturalization process is for people like me. Nomad from the badland that I supposedly was here, but I can make a safe enough bet that being in the system of the government would a good first step.

Actually, I don't even know what the local governmental structure is.

Night City is supposed to be a free city. A separate entity from the wider USA. NUSA. Whatever America was here.

There were free states just like this one, like Texas, So Cal, Nor Cal and so many other states were.

Honestly, that whole concept was a little heartbreaking, but not an issue I want to get back into thinking about again. I had agonized over the fucking disaster that the fracture of the USA was. I had some idea why it had happened, but it's still not something I can really wrap my head around clearly yet.

There are other things I need to worry about.

Like the fact I need to learn who Nomads really are. I am sure I've already made some form of faux pas and given people doubts about the validity of who I claim to be already.

What was the question that Rebecca had asked me before the car chase we'd been involved in?

Something about the Raffens? I had no idea who the raffens were. Internet searches led back to the same shitty site, with some very clear hate speech against all the nomads that lived out in the badlands.

I didn't quite think that all of those several hundred million people were blood-drinking, cannibalistic tribalists that are out to steal the Oil or the chooh2 or whatever.

I mean, it's clear that those people are living it up like it's Mad Max out in the badlands, and the reports of the climates between the major cities of America do corroborate that fact.

Whatever green stretches of land that covered the American landmass is just straight up gone. Replaced by unliveable deserts worse than the ones around California, with winds, nuclear waste, and poisonous gases in the air that it seemed like Arrakis from Dune, or Tatooine from Star Wars was recreated in the ground of America.

Again. Not the problem that I need to get into right now.

For now, I should go and take a deep shower. Clean myself off all the gunk I had collected from dumpster diving, and whatever else Stefan managed to get on me.

Then I need to start working on my gadgets. And rework some of my clothes.

I'm placing the gadgets higher in my priorities.

Then I need to get ready to head on out to the diner.

Nodding to myself, cracking my knuckles I get on to work.

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

(A/N)

That took a while. Life fucking sucks sometimes man. Job hunting is particularly depressing. Rejection even more so.

Enough about my woes anyway.

This was a fun chapter to write. I liked the ads I showcased and Zain's thoughts about them.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Skills: Clothing

The Flock's Fleece (Actraiser) (400CP)

Men and women have not wandered the wilds naked since the long-gone days of the Garden. Whether they knew it or not, the act of clothing oneself is one that at once protects and isolates. A shirt or a robe is a metaphorical armor against the elements, against shame and against the prying eyes of others. You are such a skilled craftsman that you can take the 'metaphorical' part out of the equation. You're a one-person clothing creator and tailor, able to take the raw materials of silk, cotton, wool and hide...and then with almost no tools produce wondrous clothing, fitted just right for anyone who dares try the garments on. They're protective vestments against the harsh elements, able to keep people in comfortable condition be they in the deserts of Kasandora or the icy plains of Northwall. Not only that, but people who wear them find that they'll be kept safer from the claws of beasts or the swords of their enemies, acting as a light chain-mail mesh despite being soft and maneuverable fabric.

He opened the chapter with 150 points. Earned 250 till the time of the roll and used all of it. Next chapter opens with 0 points.