Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

“So, what do you think?” asked Anna.

I popped my head up from where I had it buried in the burner phone, taking in the scene. Anna was beside Cyndi, both of whom were waiting for me to say something. Cyndi was decked out in faux leather pants, a tank top, and one of those yellow biker half-jackets, giving her a fierce look; like a junior edgerunner, ready to knife someone’s face off.

I nodded, unsure of what to say. “Uh, yea. Looks good.”

Anna gave me a blank stare that quickly morphed into a ‘why did I even bother’ look before my very eyes. She turned back to Cyndi and they went back to chatting, fussing over the outfit.

I had no clue what Anna expected. Other than the jacket Deng had bought me, all my clothes were outdated, cheap, and easily discarded. That was honestly the best thing going for them. We’d been out running errands for John and Cyndi, trying to get them disguises to avoid detection by the Tyger Claws, and I was of no help while they went clothes shopping in Santo Domingo. I had no idea about the styles that 2070’s Night City preferred. Everyone just seemed to love wearing neon colors.

I glanced back down at the burner phone in my hands and read the message.

Kirk: This better not be bullshit. I’m putting my ass on the line for this.

God, the guy was insufferable.

When Vik had installed all my beginner cyberware – standard issue for every kid in the city – he had included an internal Agent and cyberaudio suite. It let me make phone calls straight from my brain, and had instantly made the burner phone I bought from the Roundabout obsolete. I had tossed it in a drawer in my apartment and forgot all about it until chatting with Anna and I came up with the idea to reach out to Officer Kirk to try and earn some trust and goodwill.

It was simple pulling out the old burner phone, charging it up, wiping the call logs, and reprogramming it with a new number I bought from Yoko. She assured me it was clean and untraceable, and I only planned to use it for one specific purpose: make contact with Officer Kirk and give him details about small gambling dens in Watson that he and his NCPD buddies could raid.

Easier said than done.

When I first messaged him, he was instantly on alert, wondering who I was and why I would just “give” him a boatload of information. I flicked him the coordinated to a small gambling den, hinted that I knew about a bunch of other spots, and suggested that my information was worth 20% of everything the NCPD seized. He argued it down to 5%, which I pretended to be exasperated about.

I had discovered the gambling den while sifting through all the text messages and emails I had pilfered during my two-week reconnaissance of the Ho-oh club. One of the locals, in a text chain with his buddies, mentioned it as an alternative to the Ho-oh’s table games. It was easy snatching the coordinates from his Agent, and I made a note to myself to check it out.

I had a long list of similar spots – small-time operations that were flying under the NCPD’s radar. There were a few gambling dens, an obscure ripperdoc working out of a tiny kiosk, a couple dozen ‘houses of ill-repute’ and a few minor guns runners too insignificant for the Tyger Claws to bother with.

The Tyger Claws avoided most minor gangs for various reasons. A gang in North Watson that was selling crates of guns in the city – only a few crates each month – was relatively safe from TC prying. They couldn’t step in because if they took over the operation, Maelstrom would think that they were encroaching on their territory. For some reason that I couldn’t quite make out, a bunch of texts I intercepted mentioned strained relations between the Tyger Claws and Maelstrom, and everyone in Watson was stepping lightly. Nobody wanted to risk a war over small-time operations.

John came over and settled onto the couch next to me, staring ahead in silence. He’d already picked out all his clothes – a plain t-shirt and some pants – and waited for us to be finished. He was doing better than yesterday, although he was still quiet and refused to meet my eyes. Whenever we went somewhere he’d keep his head pointed to the ground, perfectly at ease with allowing Cyndi or I to guide him. But it was obvious to me that he was slowly starting to improve.

When Anna and I had picked Cyndi and John up from the underpass in Arroyo that morning, Fred had pulled me aside. He’d explained that he’d been chatting with John, and that he’d come alive when discussing the plans for setting up the camp. It seemed that John was a builder at heart and was eager to talk about ways to protect the camp and make it more welcoming for new homeless arrivals.

I texted Officer Kirk: “The plan is good. Just remember, 5% of the take is mine. I’ve got more places you can hit. And after you finish with them, you can help me get out.” Then I pocketed the burner phone.

If Officer Kirk and his NCPD buddies were lucky, they’d net around 40k eddies from that one gambling spot. It was a small setup, tucked behind a Watson restaurant looking to supplement its income by renting out the back room for an illegal card game. If he was honest – which I knew he wasn’t – my cut of the raid would be around 2,000 eddies.

Money. That was my latest obsession. I finally understood why Susie was so angry with Judy in the game. When V goes to Lizzie’s to get information about Evelyn Parker after the failed Konpeki heist, Susie is there screaming at Judy for bringing joytoys to Lizzie’s. At first, I always thought Susie was the worst. You’re a group who is supposedly looking out for the joytoys, but you really don’t care about them. But now, I started to understand her better. They were more mouths to feed, another drain on the bank account.

I had, somehow, become responsible for Anna, Diego, Cyndi, and John. The pressure of providing for the four of them was overwhelming. They needed enough eddies for rent, food, weapons, entertainment, and whatever else they wanted to spend on. Instead of just worrying about providing for myself, now I needed to figure out a way to come up with enough cash for four extra people.

How the hell was I going to do that?

The RCS heist and my break-in of Farida’s clinic had more or less fallen into my lap. I had been running through a few different options for heists, but nothing was coming to mind. In the game, whenever I needed money, I’d simply head to a glowing icon on the mini-map, kill a bunch of people, and loot all their stuff. That wasn’t exactly a viable strategy here.

I couldn’t pull off any of the NCPD side-hustles because that meant picking fights with Night city gangs. And if I’d learned anything over the past few months, it was that the gangs were far more dangerous in reality than they were in the game. I’d only managed to get away with poking the Tyger Claws because I’d been meticulous about hiding my identity.

Scav dens were always an option, and one I was seriously considering. After clearing a Scav den in the game, I’d look around and find myself surrounded by cyberware stuffed in boxes and crates. I remember thinking to myself, “why can’t I load all this stuff up into a van and sell it all to Vik or another ripperdoc? That would make so much money.”

The problem with raiding Scav dens was that our group was a little light on firepower. Sure, I’d pit Diego up against most people in Night City. He was a trained former Militech operative, packed with tons of military hardware, and had obviously served in special forces. He could probably demolish a Scav den on his own. Anna was a skilled shooter who was trained by the NCPD and had handled herself well in Kabuki, helping to take out Jae-Hyun and his crew. But what about John and Cyndi?

Cyndi was clearly dangerous, but whether it was a danger to us, or the enemies was the question. There was a burning rage inside her that made me wary to pull a job with her. Would she follow orders? Or would she charge into a fight, going berserk, and put the team at risk? What about John? He wanted to help out Fred, suggesting he could be useful as a fixer or a face or…something. But I didn’t know if our little crew really needed someone like that.

I started thinking about calling Regina. She’d probably be happy to hear from me and might offer us a few small gigs to get us started. As I worked the idea through my mind, Cyndi and Anna came over to where John and I were seated on the couch and announced they were finished picking out an outfit.

I followed them to the counter where I bought the clothes they wanted, along with a pair of cheap black gloves that were on display. I’d need those later. Then the four of us piled into Anna’s car and headed back to the underpass where we dropped off John and Cyndi.

I could tell that Cyndi was starting to chafe at all the restrictions we’d placed on her. She hated being stuck in the underpass, living off the charity of others. But there wasn’t much she could do with the Tyger Claws still searching for her.

The current plan we’d all settled on was to wait ‘til dark and smuggle the two of them to Indrajit’s shop in Kabuki. We were taking a big risk heading back into Tyger Claw territory, but Indrajit was the only shoemaker I knew of and hopefully John and Cyndi would only be out of the car for a few minutes. I had already contacted Indrajit and he assured me that he could easily create two pairs of shoes for Cyndi and John. If everything went according to plan, we’d drop them at his shop, and they’d walk out the next morning with completely clean identities.

Anna and I left the underpass and headed towards Lizzie’s. We split up briefly – Anna to greet Rita at the door while I went to the alcove to find Mor.

He was deep in conversation with a guy I’d never seen before. They were leaning in close, discussing something sensitive because their voices were muffled, so I stood off to the side to read over the latest message from Officer Kirk.

Kirk: Tip was good. Seized 20k. You’ve got a thou coming your way. Need the next target.

I snorted in disgusted amusement and pocketed the phone. The guy talking to Mor quickly dismissed himself and left the alcove, so I wandered over and collapsed onto the couch.

“What was that all about?” I asked, nodding towards the retreating figure.

“Friend from up north. Things are getting worse up there,” he replied with a grimace. “The NCPD is cracking down on what they call ‘the homeless problem’ in Watson. Badges used to just knock heads, and that was bad enough. Now they’re sitting back and watching shit happen and…it’s somehow worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Scavs,” said Mor. “Big group of them. They’re moving through the neighborhood, targeting camps.”

“Shit.” I bolted upright. “Is Fred gonna be okay? He’s in Arroyo with Cyndi and John right now.”

“Nah, he’s safe. The Scavs are only going after the camps in Watson right now. Plus, did he tell you about his plans for the camp?”

“Not much,” I admitted. “He told me he was talking with John. The kid likes building and wants to help him out, so I’m letting them do their own thing.”

Mor grinned, probably at my using the word ‘kid.’ Fred, Mor and Deng were rubbing off on me and it was changing my affectations.

“He’s going to try and use some of that van money to set up a couple turrets. He’ll pay a techie to come out and install them in the camp, and that should be enough to protect whoever he gets to move to Arroyo with him.”

I sighed and grabbed a NiCola from the fridge next to the couch, popping the tab and taking a drink before asking him, “What’s up with this whole camp idea thing? He’s really focusing hard on it.”

“I don’t know. I think he’s been talking with some of The Hun’s people.”

I sat back, confused. “The Hun? What?”

Mor chuckled. “New guy on the block, been sending people to all of the homeless camps around here. He’s trying to unify us or something. Says that we’re getting a raw deal in the city but if we band together, we can make all the badges and gangs leave us alone.”

“What…like a union?” I chuckled.

Mor laughed. “That’s what I’ve been saying to Fred. What the hell we unionizing for? It’s not like we can go on strike.”

I spotted Anna leaving Lizzie’s and waved at her to show her where we were, and she beelined towards us. As she got closer Mor gave her a quick nod in greeting and turned back to me. “But yea, Fred’s safe for now. They’re not in Arroyo, just North Watson.”

“Why are Scavs suddenly interested in homeless camps? Don’t they target people with cyberware and…do what Scavs do?”

“Normally, yea. But this time it’s different,” said Mor. “The guy who was just here is one of The Hun’s people. He was telling me about a small camp that got hit. Nobody got out. Scavs moved in, torched the place, and took the bodies.”

“Hmm,” Anna murmured, a faraway look in her eyes.

“What?”

“Rumors,” she sighed. “A few people on the force say that the commissioner has contacts with Scav groups throughout the city.”

“Bullshit,” I muttered. “Doesn’t everyone hate Scavs? Don’t people make sure to take them out whenever they’re spotted? They’re like cockroaches. Bad for everyone.”

Anna pursed her lips before shaking her head. “There’s a bunch of people who see a use for them. They fill a niche.” I was about to say something about them being horrible monsters, but she held up a hand to stop me. “I don’t like them either. But from what I understand, if you need someone to do the real dirty work and you don’t want it to be tied back to your organization, you call in some Scavs.”

I sank back into the couch with a huff, angry at the entire situation. The vibrate function on the burner phone buzzed, alerting me to a new message from Officer Kirk.

Kirk: Hurry it up. I’m waiting for deets on a new target.

I shook my head and texted back, “Not until we meet so I can get my cut and you can explain how you’re gonna keep my pimp off me.”

Earning Officer Kirk’s trust was trying my patience. In my texts I’d told him I was a joytoy who needed NCPD protection. My offer was simple: I’d provide locations of drug dens and gambling parlors for him and his buddies to raid, and in return I’d get a cut and his help dealing with ‘the guy ruining my life.’

I pocketed the burner phone and sighed. Anna was probably right about the Scavs. It made some sort of sick sense and explained a few things from the game. When Sandra Dorsett was poking around Night Corp and their creepy experiments on AI, Night Corp probably hired the Scavs to kidnap her. When Evelyn was all messed up after the failed Konpeki heist and Fingers couldn’t help her, he called his fixer Wakako, and she sold Evelyn to the Scavs. The Scavs were disgusting and horrendous individuals, and that was the niche they filled in the Night City ecosystem: people that got their hands dirty, so you don’t have to.

I looked at Anna and Mor and shook my head. “Let’s talk about something else. What are we gonna do with John and Cyndi?”

Anna and I waited until night fell before heading back to Arroyo and the underpass to pick up John and Cyndi. Smuggling them to Kabuki and Indrajit’s shop was fairly easy, requiring minimal effort on our part. While Indrajit explained his process to John and Cyndi, I checked the burner phone and saw a new text from Officer Kirk.

Kirk: Fine. We’ll meet by Joe’s Diner. I got your eddies, but you better have a list of targets I can hit tomorrow. Bosses are on me to make arrests, and a joytoy is just as valuable to them as a casino boss.

I rolled my eyes and had to stop myself from throwing the phone. In what world was a joytoy just as valuable as a casino boss to a cop? He was so bad at being a cop that it was embarrassing. If he was at all competent, he’d be trying to butter me up and tell me how I’m doing a great job. He’d be coaxing me into telling him about every single gambling den that wasn’t associated with a large gang in Watson, and then he’d raid them and give me a percent. It’d lead to arrests, make him look good to his superiors, and help him and his friends line their pockets.

Joytoys were some of the most knowledgeable people on the illegal workings of Night City. They worked outside, were always meeting people, and often talked amongst themselves to share information about which neighborhoods to stay out of because of possible gang wars. The only people who knew more about the city…oh holy hell. That could work.

I was lost in thought for a second before snapping to and texting Officer Kirk back. I told him I couldn’t show my face at Joe’s Diner because I pissed off the owner, and instead suggested a meeting near the Roundabout. To sweeten the deal, I mentioned that I had a shard filled with information about gun runners and gambling dens, and I’d be happy to hand it over.

While I was fiddling with the burner phone, Indrajit was leading John and Cyndi to his back room. I followed to let them know that I had business to take care of and I’d be picking them up tomorrow. John was staring at the tools on Indrajit’s workbench with more emotion in his eyes than I’d seen since I rescued him from Jotaro’s ‘playroom.’ Cyndi, on the other hand, was laser focused on the guns displayed on one of the walls of the workshop.

None of the guns were particularly fancy. If I was shopping for anything for protection, I’d rather go with Deng to the gun range in the Roundabout. Alejandro knew his stuff and was always willing to answer any questions I may have, or help fiddle with my gun to make it better. Indrajit wasn’t a gun nut, and his offerings were a bit more basic. The only reason to buy them was because they were clean and untraceable. Seeing Cyndi’s intense interest in the guns, I realized that I’d need to help her get armed sooner rather than later.

I pulled a Lexington off the wall and caught Indrajit’s attention. “Can you put this on the bill? I’ll pay when I come back tomorrow.”

Indrajit just nodded, continuing his detailed explanation of shoemaking to John. It was more information than he’d given me when I’d first met him, but I put it out of my mind and made eye contact with Cyndi. I reached into my jacket, unholstered my Kenshin, and saw her eyes track the gun as I unloaded the magazine and handed both it and the pistol to her.

“This is a loan only. I’ll be back for it. Don’t point it at anyone. Don’t shove it in your waistband. Don’t treat it like a toy,” I instructed, slipping the bulky Lexington into my jacket holster. It wasn’t as sleek as the Kenshin, but it would do the job.

I left Indrajit’s shop, waving my goodbyes, and headed towards the coordinates I’d sent to Officer Kirk. It was only a few blocks away, but I wanted to get there early. I ducked into an alley and activated my behavioral face implant, pulling up the Wendy Buchanan profile, and felt my body shift.

At the meeting spot – which was a small alleyway near the Roundabout - I tried to calm my racing heart. I pulled the black gloves I’d bought in Arroyo from my back pocket and put them on, then unholstered the Lexington. I positioned myself so that the gun was just out of sight and waited.

A few minutes later I spotted Officer Kirk strolling to our meeting spot, exuding the same arrogant confidence typical of every NCPD officer in Watson. As he got closer, I could tell he was scanning me. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself and hoping that he’d think my actions were just nerves about meeting a badge in the middle of Watson.

Don’t worry about me. I’m just a joytoy, meeting a cop. No threat here. I’ve got no idea that you’re planning on offing me once you get your hand on the shard of information I’ve got stashed away.

“You must be Wendy,” Officer Kirk said as he approached. “That tip was acceptable. And if you’ve really got more dens to hit, I think we can do business.”

God, even when you’re meeting with an informant you believe could make you rich, you’re an insufferable jackass.

As he got closer, I turned my body to him. I was half-hidden in a doorway in the alley, so he didn’t notice the Lexington in my hand. I raised it and fired, the bullets tearing into him. His bulletproof vest blocked the first few rounds, but the good thing about the Lexington is that it has a 20-round magazine.

My hands shook slightly, making it hard to compensate for the pistol’s climb. It was a good thing we were only about ten feet away from each other. Most of the bullets found their mark and I watched as Officer Kirk crumpled to the ground. I heard people running but I didn’t take the time to look around. Instead, I simply walked over to him and stood over his still breathing body. I fired the last few rounds into his head before jogging away.

A few blocks away, I ducked into a darkened shop doorway and deactivated the face implant. Wendy Buchanan vanished, replaced by Noah Batty. I field-stripped the Lexington, tossing the pieces as I walked down the street. The barrel went into a dumpster, the magazine down a drainage ditch, and the gloves I bought earlier were handed to a random homeless guy I didn’t know.

I pulled out my burner phone, snapped it in half, dropped one piece in the middle of the street for it to get run over by traffic, and tossed the other into a pile of garbage bags a few blocks away.

Calming down, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and tried to look like a guy out for a casual stroll, completely unaware that Officer Kirk, the bane of Watson’s homeless, lay dead a few blocks away.