Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

I wrinkled my nose at the scent coming from the cheap cigar the foreman was chewing on. Even though he hadn’t lit it, the smell coming from the thing still clung to the air of the office, mixing with the faint odor of machinery and oil that seemed to soak into every inch of the factory.

My suit was itching like hell – an off-the-rack number I’d picked up at one of the night markets in the city for next to nothing. It was the cheapest thing I could find and didn’t fit right. The cheap synthetic fabric was too stiff, the sleeves were a touch too long, and the jacket sat tight across my shoulders. That was the whole point of it though. I was going for the ‘desperation chic’ look; the kind of image that said I was so-hard up for cash that I’d take any job and do whatever my boss demanded of me.

I tapped my fingers nervously on my thigh as I watched the foreman thumb through my sad excuse of a resume. He had greasy hair and a permanent scowl on his face as he occasionally looked from my resume up to me. The shoes I was wearing were killing me too. Hard, synthetic leather that felt like they would give up any minute, rubbing raw against my heels. I forced myself to sit still and to wear my discomfort like a badge.

Finally, the foreman’s eyes flicked up from my application and gave me another once-over like I was just another piece of faulty tech clogging up his production line. “Rancho Coronado Public High, huh?” His tone was flat, disinterested, like he already knew the answer before I even nodded. “No college degree. This your first degree?”

I swallowed hard and nodded, trying to look just the right mix of hopeful and hopeless.

His chuckle came out dry and cynical, the kind of laugh that says he’d seen the story play out hundreds of times before. “Figures.”

My public persona didn’t have a lot going for it. At least, not the one that Indrajit had made for me all those months back didn’t. Graduate of Rancho Coronado Public High School with a C average. No college. No internships. No corporate gigs. No part-time work. Just one massive blank space where all my experience was supposed to go. My background screamed one thing: street rat. I was the kid who never made the cut, never found a way into the corpo world, and definitely couldn’t hack it in the violent streets. Hell, if I was talented enough to work for a gang, the foreman would have known it because we would have met with me pointing a Unity in his face during some back-alley mugging instead of strolling into his office begging for a job.

The whole charade – the cheap clothes, the nervous fidgeting, the shit resume – was working. I could tell. A week of schmoozing at the dingy bar where a bunch of local factory workers drank had paid off. A couple rounds of drinks and some half-decent conversations, and a few of them had promised to put in a word with their foreman for me. It was enough for him to give me a shot.

The foreman leaned back in his chair, giving me another long look. “Let’s be honest, kid. You don’t have the credentials for this job. Hell, from where I’m sitting, you don’t have any credentials at all.” He tossed my application down on the desk like it offended him. “But…I need someone willing to do what they’re told. No questions, no complaints. Just yes sir and no sir. And you? You look like you need the money bad enough to keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

I swallowed again, letting a bit of nervousness show.

His smirk grew, and I could feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him. He knew exactly what kind of power he held. “But there’s a catch,” he continued, leaning forward. “You start tomorrow, and we gotta train you up. I’m taking a great personal risk on you, and I expect to be rewarded for it. So, I’m gonna be taking a 30% cut off your paycheck every week – for giving you this chance.”

I thought he’d ask for twenty. At least, that’s what all the workers at the bar has said to me. In exchange for the job, the foreman would collect a “fee” off my paycheck. It was supposed to be just enough to line his own pockets while keeping desperate workers on the hook. Thirty was steep. It would leave me scraping by on around 360 eddies a week. Barely enough to survive, even in the worst parts of the city.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. Not long enough to make him think I had any better options. “That’s fine,” I said, forcing the words out, my voice flat, like I was used to getting kicked around. “I’ll take it.”

He grinned wider, his eyes lighting up with that all-too-familiar corporate sadism – the thrill of knowing he had me under his boot. He knew he could squeeze me, and use me, and I couldn’t do anything back to him except smile and nod.

“Good,” he said, standing up and extending a hand. “Welcome to Cytech.”

The foreman handed me a thick stack of paperwork after our little handshake agreement, and it felt like I was signing away my soul. Corporations love bureaucracy, and I was forced to fill out everything in triplicate for several hours. By the time I was done, I could feel my fingers cramping from scrawling my name on form after form. But finally, I was passed off to an old-time in the factory, a guy named Jason Reeves.

Jason was in his mid-50s, with gray stubble that lined his jaw like sandpaper and a limp that told me he’d been in this game for way too long. He’d probably been injured on the job, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it had happened in some accident the company had swept under the rug. If he’d made a fuss, they would have tossed him out like trash. He moved like a man who’d given up on the idea of things getting better, just resigned to his life.

Jason didn’t say much at first, just grunted and motioned for me to follow him. I hustled to keep up as he limped his way through the factory, weaving between machines and assembly lines that never seemed to stop. I could tell that Jason was one of those workers who’d been in the place for so long he was practically part of the machinery itself. He’d probably seen countless workers come and go and had worked at the factory long enough that he had more experience than any three other workers combined.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, he finally broke the silence. “You’re mostly gonna be a gofer around here, kid. Running around, grabbing parts, filling in for people when they take their breaks or when the boss decides to axe somebody. Nothing too fancy. But you gotta know what everyone does, ‘casue sooner or later, you’ll be filling in for them. I’m not saying you gotta be an expert on everything, just know enough to keep the machines from crashing.”

I nodded along, playing the part of the eager newbie, like I was soaking up every word of his wisdom. In reality, I was just trying to stay away. The monotony of factory work was already settling in, and I hadn’t even clocked my first hour yet.

“This place is a well-oiled machine,” continued Jason, gesturing around at the clanking assembly lines and the robotic arms. “But it’s only as good as the people who keep it running. You screw up, the whole thing stops. So don’t screw up.” He gave me a sidelong glance, like he was testing to see if I was already regretting this gig.

I nodded again, biting back the urge to groan. I got it. It’s a grind, and it’s thankless work. And you’re trying to keep my focus on the job and not on the fact that my paycheck was getting cannibalized by a greedy foreman. I kept my mouth shut though, playing the part of grateful and inexperienced young worker.

We stopped at a row of computer terminals and Jason plopped down into a worn-out chair and crackled his knuckles like it was some kind of big moment. “Now, I’m going to set you up in the system,” he grunted, poking at the keyboard with slow, deliberate movements, like he was afraid he’d break it. “That way your scans will register, and security won’t flag you as an intruder.” He glanced up at me, his face deadpan. “Happens to the new guys all the time.”

I nodded, watching him closely. Not because I was interested in how the system worked, but because I wanted to get his login and password. He typed like an old man, finger by finger, squinting at the screen between each tap. It was almost painful to watch, but it gave me plenty of time to memorize his login. It wasn’t anything complicated. He probably used the same password for everything.

Once he was in, he leaned back in his chair and pulled up my employee profile. “Alright, lemme just add you in here…” His fingers moved sluggishly across the keys, linking my profile to the security system. I had to fight the urge to shove him out of the chair and just do it myself.

Once he was finally done, he stood up, cracking his back with a groan. “Alright. You’re good to go. Do a quick login so we can make sure it worked.”

I mumbled a quick thank you and slid into the chair he’d just vacated, my heart picking up a little bit of speed as I typed in my new credentials. The security interface popped up, and for a brief moment, I felt a flicker of hope. Then it all crashed down when I saw the limited access I’d been given.

Cytech, despite all the rumors about them hemorrhaging money, had clearly spent more than a few eddies beefing up their security. It wasn’t the same kind of cheap setup that I’d seen at the RCS warehouse. Their system had been a joke; I’d been able to slip a worm into their system, create a backdoor, and give myself admin access before anyone knew what hit them. But Cytech’s system? No chance. The best I could do with my access was to log in, clock in, and maybe check my schedule. Beyond that, everything was shut down.

I leaned back from the screen and bit back a sigh. It was going to be a lot harder than I hoped. I had a couple ideas that would let me crack their security, but everything would have been infinitely easier if they were idiots who let me poke around their system all willy-nilly.

Jason, of course, misread my frustration. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll get the hang of it,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “It’s not as complicated as it looks.”

I gave him a weak smile and logged out of the system, trying not to let my disappointment show. “Yea, I’m sure I will.”

Jason grinned, his yellowed teeth showing. “Good. Now let’s give you the grand tour. Best way to learn is by seeing how everything works firshand.”

I stood up, letting out a slow breath. The tour would be long, tedious, and mind-numbing, but I needed it. Not because I cared about factory work, but because if I was going to crack Cytech’s security, I needed to know this place inside and out.

“Lead the way,” I said, putting on my best ‘eager new guy’ smile.

&&&

“Never thought I’d set foot in one of these places,” Jason shouted over the roar of the crowd, his eyes darting around as if he expected someone to kick him out at any moment.

“Same here,” muttered the guy next to me, one of Cytech’s netrunners. He looked out of place, like he was waiting for someone to call him out. “I always thought these fights were kind of exclusive. The Animals never seemed like they wanted outsiders hanging around, watching them knock each other’s heads off.”

I guided us to a booth with a solid view of the ring, where two mountains of muscle – heavily modified, of course – were already pounding each other into the concrete. The Animals in the ring were so bulked up with biomods that you could hear their fists crack bone, even over the crowd’s cheers. The place reeked of sweat, booze, and adrenaline, which was exactly the kind of atmosphere that let people forget their problems for a couple hours.

I leaned back in the booth, trying to play it cool, like this was just another Thursday night for me. I’d been with Cytech for over a week, and I was starting to get into the rhythm of working at the factory. I’d managed to drag a few of the workers out for a night of drinking – Jason, some of the security guys, and a netrunner who had control over Cytech’s local network. The whole thing was ostensibly celebration for my first week of work, but I was really just trying to get them shitfaced.

Thursday was the perfect night for it. It was the party night for Night City. I had a theory that half the city’s problems stemmed from everyone battling hangovers on Friday mornings. Cyberpsychosis, street brawls, random gunfights, it all made so much more sense when you saw it through the lens of half of Night City’s population being hungover from the previous night’s debauchery.

“Things definitely seem different now,” one of the security guards said, leaning forward to get a better view of the action. His eyes were wide as he watched the fight. “I’m liking this new Animals gang.”

A waitress dropped off our drinks, and I handed out beers and whisky like it was nothing. I’d scored us a VIP booth for the night, which seemed to impress the Cytech guys.

Jason looked at me, taking a sip of his drink. “Seriously, kid, how the hell’d you pull this off?”

I chuckled, waving it off like it was no big deal. “I grew up with a bunch of Animals. Knew them back in school. It helps to have friends in low places.” The security guys laughed, nodding like they appreciated the hustle. Meanwhile, the match in the ring reached a brutal climax when one of the fights grabbed his opponent and slammed him into the ground with a bone-rattling thud. The crowd lost it, people jumping out of their seats and screaming for more blood.

The netrunner blinked, his eyes wide as he leaned over. “And you actually knew these guys?”

“Enough to keep things smooth,” I said with a shrug. “Got us in here, didn’t I?”

I waved over a bookie making his rounds and dropped some eddies on the next fight. The others followed suit, though they looked hesitant, unsure of how this underground world worked. I made sure the drinks kept flowing, letting the Cytech guys talk while I listened, all the while nursing my Spunky Monkey and vodka that was more Spunky Monkey than vodka.

After a while, I spotted Anna up by the bar, slinging drinks like she’d been doing it her whole life. She caught my eye for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the line of thirsty customers in front of her. As the next fight started, and the heavy fists began flying again, I tapped the table in front of us to grab everyone’s attention.

“I’ll grab the next round,” I said, sliding out of my seat.

The bar was packed – people jostling for space, shouting drink orders, and generally losing themselves in the chaos of the night. I squeezed through the crowd until I was leaning on the counter next to Anna. “Hey, girl. How you livin’?” I asked, trying to come across as the creepiest version of myself that I knew she’d hate.

She rolled her eyes and moved off to a different part of the bar, away from the line of customers. Everyone shouted complaints at me that I chased her away until another bartender stepped up and motioned for the next customer in line. I followed Anna like a bad smell and, once we were in a quieter corner of the bar, dropped the act. “What’s the word?”

“Rogue came through. We got the jammers. Diego’s picking them up from the Afterlife right now. Rogue told him she’d hold off on collecting payment until after you’re done with…what you got planned.”

“That’s nice of her. What’s the catch?”

“Yea,” Anna replied, leaning in so I could hear her over the noise without her needing to shout. “She mentioned a few people who could fence whatever you’re planning to life. She seems to think you’re onto something big. I think her words were, ‘anything needing enough jammers to block out an entire block’s worth of comms is worth her attention.’”

Anna grabbed a few glasses and started filling them with whisky. “I also got us some vans. We fixed them up to look like NCPD vehicles. My people even dusted off their old uniforms. Everything’s ready to roll as soon as you give the word.”

“Good. Get the important people together tomorrow. We can meet up before my shift. Have your people ready to roll in by lunch.”

I grabbed the drinks and made my way back to the booth, trying to shake off the nerves building in my gut. It was a mix of excitement and relief. Excitement that I’d be pulling off another job. Relief that I wouldn’t have to work at that soul-sucking factory anymore.

As I slid the drinks onto the table, Jason raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t have some kind of side hustle going, kid? Seriously…who are you?”

I chuckled at that. “Me? I’m nobody.”