Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

Good evening. I’m Gillean Jordan, and this is N54 News. Tonight, we’ve got breaking news on the stunning collapse of one of Night City’s most prominent cyberware manufacturers: Cytech. Just a month after the brazen daylight robbery of Cytech’s factory and corporate headquarters, the company has officially announced that they’re closing their doors for good.

Cytech’s sudden downfall comes amid a storm of financial troubles, as creditors circle, claiming the company hasn’t repaid enormous debts it’s been racking up over the last few years. With no product, no revenue, and mounting pressure, Cytech has been forced to shutter its doors. Employees were alerted today that they have been laid off, and insiders say the company is liquidating what assets it has left.

The NCPD has come under fire as well, with many demanding answers as to why no arrests have been made for who perpetrated the robbery. Rumors have circulated that officers from the NCPD were involved in the theft, but the department is strongly denying these accusations. Earlier today, Police Commissioner Jerry Fawlter called those rumors ‘baseless’, and insisted that his detectives are pursuing leads suggesting the heist might have been an inside job.

Commission Fawlter claims that the ‘evidence points to the involvement of high-level executives,’ and that the NCPD has reason to believe ‘Cytech’s own CEO’ may have orchestrated the robbery to dump stolen cyberware onto the black market and skip town before the company’s crash.

I tuned out the rest of the news report, letting the broadcast fade into background noise as my mind drifted. I leaned back on a warn couch in the middle of the Pack’s new temporary HQ, stretching out my legs as I sunk into the cushions. It wasn’t luxury, but it was home for the time being.

The Pack’s temporary HQ was a far cry from the dingy alleyway it had been a month ago. We’d taken this rundown space and made it our own. Graffiti was splattered across the walls, tables were shoved in corners, couches and chairs had been dragged in. Deng had pulled together a crew of homeless from the area to run security, and he and Diego had gone out and flexed some muscle in the neighborhood, letting all the smaller gangs in the area know that this was our turf now.

I ran a hand over the couch’s torn armrest, feeling the rough fabric under my palm. A part of me was still surprised at how fast everything had come together. In just a few weeks, we’d carved out a fair bit of territory. A large chunk of Downtown was under our sway, and it was all ruled from this tiny makeshift alcove. We’d thrown up a makeshift bar in the back, smuggled in some mismatched furniture, added a couple radios. Now, the alley was filled with all sorts of people – ex-cops, homeless, former corpo security, a few netrunners from Sandra’s crew. It was a patchwork bunch of misfits that felt like it shouldn’t work, but somehow did.

Ever since the Pack started growing, I’ve had to learn to delegate a lot more. We weren’t just a ragtag crew anymore. We’d grown beyond just Anna, Diego and I pulling gigs. And with that sudden growth came the realization that I couldn’t be everywhere at once. People were naturally falling into roles that suited them, and it was a good thing too because running the whole thing started to feel like I was herding cats.

Zion and Diego were basically my go-to guys when it came to tactics and strategy. They had worked with corpo militaries and so, when they decided to pull together crews from all the people we’d recruited, I knew that they’d be the main military arm of the Pack. I didn’t have to micromanage them training or planning or executing anything. I just pointed them at a problem and it disappeared.

Then there was Deng and Anna, each running their own groups like two sides of the same coin. Anna had the badges – a bunch of ex-cops who knew how to throw their weight around. They were our muscle when we needed to crack heads or push smaller gangs out of the territory we wanted. Deng, on the other hand, had built his network with the homeless. They might not look all that imposing, especially compared to the former corpo soldiers that Albert had been recruiting, but they knew the streets of Night City better than anyone. No one could operate on our territory without Deng knowing about it.

And Fred and Mor were my street politics experts. Honestly, they probably knew more about the gangs, both big and small, than anyone in Night City, NCPD included. They’d been around for so long that they had an almost sixth sense for when shit was about to happen.

John had turned into my logistics guy. He was the one making sure all the gears were turning. He set up the homeless network and documented everything they were bringing in – intel, locations, potential targets. He kept track of all our underground casinos, handled things with the Animals, and made sure everyone got paid.

And then there was Cyndi. She’d become sort of like a gofer, bouncing between all the different groups and keeping me updated on everything that was going on. She was everywhere, talking to everyone, making sure people were doing what they were told and passing along any information I needed. It was like having an extra set of eyes and ears all over the city.

As I sat there, sprawled on the couch with Zion, Anna, Mor, and Cyndi all hanging around nearby, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of pride and anxiety. We had built something and we were growing faster than any other gang in the city, but that growth came with a sense of pressure, like we were one step away from chaos.

I looked over at Cyndi, grinning at the radio as it reported the events of our heist. Every time they mentioned Cytech over the past few weeks, I noticed her eyes lit up more and more. She was proud we’d pulled off something everyone in Night City was talking about. I could practically feel her buzzing with excitement next to me.

Me? I was just relieved my name wasn’t connected to the heist. None of the news outlets were linking The Pack to the job. They were too focused on Cytech’s collapse and the NCPD stumbling over themselves trying to investigate everything. There wasn’t any mention of a new gang on the rise, just the robbery and a whole lot of finger-pointing.

I sank deeper into the couch, letting the cushions mold around me. Cytech was dead, drowning in debt, and the creditors were circling like vultures. All the rival corps couldn’t resist jumping in, throwing money to help lawsuits going after Cytech, doing whatever they could to finish off the corporation for good. It was the kind of cutthroat move people expected in Night City. There was blood in the water and every shark wanted a bite. And since the corpos were so focused on tearing Cytech apart, nobody was paying attention to us. The NCPD was fumbling, blaming the CEO or trying to tamp down rumors of dirty cops, all while The Pack flew under the radar.

“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” Cyndi asked, her voice playful, snapping me out of my musings.

I nodded. “I’m sure a few people already knew we had a hand in it. We’re getting too big for all this to stay quiet forever. But everyone’s too busy covering their own asses or cashing in on the chaos to come after us.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Sure, we weren’t on every citizen’s radar like Maelstrom or the Tyger Claws. But the fixers knew about us. Hell, the other gangs and even some badges were starting to whisper about The Pack. And I hated it.

“Let’s get back to is,” I said, drawing everyone’s attention back to me.

Cyndi, still buzzing, glanced down at her data slate, filled with all the info she was passing along to me. “Well, seems like we’re fine on the eddies front. We’re pulling percentages from the Animal fights. The bars and bookies are paying up since they’re operating in our territory, and it’s bringing in serious cash.”

“Good,” I said, my mind flicking through all the plates that were spinning.

She tapped a few things on her slate, scrolling through more updates. “No heat from the Valentinos. They’re staying quiet right now, not even looking in our direction. It seems like they’re content with their corner of Heywood.”

“Good to hear. If we need anything from that side, we can try to get in touch with Padre. He’s a fixer out there with a bunch of contacts that should make dealing with the ‘tinos a bit smoother.”

Cyndi’s fingers danced across the slate as she typed something. “One problem though. John’s having troubling finding someone to head into Pacifica to see what’s going on out there.”

“Why the hell would you send someone into that hell hole?” asked Zion.

“I wanna know what all the gangs in the city are up to. The VDB have that place on lock down, and I’m not interested in poking that hornet’s nest right now, but I’m still wanting info.”

Zion simply shrugged at that, and Cyndi kept scrolling through her data slate. “John’s also a little worried about 6th Street and the Tyger Claws.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling tension start to settle in. “Worried? Why?”

“6th Street’s getting…antsy,” said Cyndi. “John’s people have asked around and, apparently, their leader’s a guy named Rick Morton, and he’s barely holding the gang together right now. Half the gang is fed up with the direction they’ve been going. They started out trying to protect Santo Domingo from other gangs, but now? A lot of them think they’ve just turned into another corpo lapdog, working for whoever throws the most money their way. It’s causing a lot of tension between the old guard and the new recruits.”

I mulled that over for a second. 6th Street had always been a strange gang in the game. They were militant, “patriotic”, always preaching about loyalty to the NUSA, but in reality they were just a convenient tool for NUSA to try and manipulate Night City politics. They had noble ideals once, but over time, that loyalty got twisted. They were basically a useful idiot for the NUSA, and ever since the US failed to take over Night City during the Unification War, the gang had seemed…adrift.

“What about the Tyger Claws?” I asked, shifting the conversation. “They’ve been flexing more lately, puffing their chests out at us. Have we seen them make any real moves yet?”

Mor chimed in at that. “You probably won’t. Not yet anyway. They don’t like us muscling in on the gambling scene. They were fine with it when it was just the Animals running their fights, because, well, the Animals were chaotic and sloppy. But now that we’re organizing the fights and taking over the smaller games, we’re a real threat.”

“So, are they pissed because we’re making money or because we’re stepping on their toes?” I asked.

Mor considered that for a moment. “Both. But it’s more than just the eddies. For as long as I can remember, the Tyger Claws were the name in the underground betting scene. Now that we’ve got small games running and we’re pulling in serious cash, and Fred’s stickball tournaments are bringing even more people into our orbit, the Tygers are noticing. Still, as long as we stay out of Westbrook and Kabuki, they probably won’t make the first move.”

“Why not?” I asked, not entirely convinced.

“It’s who we’re connected to,” Mor replied. “The Animals might be muscle, but they’re pulling in cash now, and if the Tyger Claws attack us, they’re messing with the gang making them money. The Animals would most likely step in on our side. And then there’s the Mox.”

“We’re not exactly working with the Mox though,” said Anna. I knew she still had contacts with Susie Q and some of the Mox leadership, but it wasn’t like we were in bed with them. “I doubt Susie would help us out if the Tyger Claws came after us.”

“No,” agreed Mor. “But remember, the Mox and Claws hate each other. Hell, the Mox formed because the Claws pushed too far with the joytoys. If the Claws got into a war with us and the Animals, the Mox might see it as an opportunity to move in and take ownership over a few more clubs.”

I nodded slowly as the pieces started to fall into place. The Tygers weren’t making any moves yet because they knew they’d risk a bigger fight. The other gangs would be able to step in and carve up their territory while we kept them busy. But that didn’t mean they weren’t watching us, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“We got anything more on Morton?” I asked, steering the conversation back to 6th Street.

Cyndi shook her head. “Not much beyond what I already told you. His grip is slipping, but for now, he’s still the guy in charge. John’s digging into who might be on the verge of breaking away. If we can figure out who’s most angry, maybe we can cut a deal with the faction ready to jump ship.”

I sighed, pushing myself up from the couch into a more normal seated position. “Alright, that’s pretty much it for today. Keep me updated. If anyone has any ideas on things we should be doing, let me know.”

As soon as I dismissed the crew, most of the scattered, heading off to their own tasks. Anna and Zion wandered over to the makeshift bar, talking about the sorry state of the alcohol we were serving. I watched them go, my eyes settling on Cyndi and the back of her neck where her new cyberware gleamed – a small, almost unnoticeable implant where her neuroport used to be.

Somehow, she had managed to talk Vik into installing a berserk OS for her. Last I remembered, he’d been telling Cyndi to focus on adapting to her mantis blades and lynx paws, and not jump straight into something as intense as the berserk. But she was able to convince him, somehow, and she was able to get a Moore Tech Berserk OS.

It worried me, to be honest.

In the game, using the berserk OS was a quick rush – a bit of blurred vision, a boost in strength. Cool, but nowhere near as intense as the real deal. In reality, the berserk OS was a whole different beast. It was still relatively new as far as cyberware was concerned, only recently rolled out to citizens in the past few years. It worked like a drug cocktail on steroids, flooding a person’s system with adrenaline, hormones, and a mix of combat drugs that turned someone into a walking tank.

In close-quarters combat, it was a game-changer. You’d hit harder, move faster, and shrug off damage that would drop a normal person. Combined with Cyndi’s mantis blades, she basically became a one-woman slaughterhouse. She could go from zero to full-on beast mode in seconds, her entire body humming with raw power, ready to tear apart anyone in her way.

But I wasn’t sure she fully understood what she was getting herself into. Sure, it gave her an edge in a fight, but with tech like that, there was always a cost.

My hand went instinctively to the back of my own neck, brushing over my newest upgrade: the Feen-X. It wasn’t flashy, not the kind of cyberware that would turn heads at the Afterlife. But it served a purpose. I’d managed to scrounge one up from the stock we took from Cytech. It shored up a weakness I’d been carrying around for a while – netrunning.

Sure, I had my tricks with old-school hacking – phishing scams, reverse shells, social engineering. All that was less about brute forcing your way through someone’s system and more about tricking them into opening the door themselves and inviting you in. But Night City’s version of hacking was an entirely different thing.

Here, netrunners jacked straight into networks, squaring off against daemons and ICE like it was some 8-bit nightmare game. At first, I’d called them script kiddies, but I quickly realized I was wrong about it. Yea, their programs did most of the work, but the stakes were infinitely higher. You weren’t just risking a failed login or a corrupted file. You were risking your mind.

One slip, and a daemon or black ICE would fry your system – and your brain along with it. No second chances. No do-overs. And unlike the old world where I could hide behind layers of VPNs, proxies, and firewalls, here you had to be plugged in to get anything done. You had to be in the thick of it. Vulnerable. Exposed. No firewalls to save you when you fucked up.

That’s why I got the Feen-X. It wasn’t going to suddenly turn me into a tier 5 netrunner who, like Songbird, could twist the NET to my will with just a thought. But it let me stack quickhacks faster when I needed to, and it helped shore up a weakness I’d been carrying around. If I could pair it with an Ex-Disk, I’d be able to batter down most black ICE before it even had a chance to react. With the right setup, I could start mimicking the deep dives that real netrunners did.

But the question still lingered: was that really what I wanted?

Sure, the power was tempting. Being able to control information and systems the way netrunners did was a huge advantage in this city. But something about plugging into that world felt…off to me. There was always the nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The more chrome I added, the more I felt like I was losing something. Was I really willing to turn myself into just another jacked-in warrior, fighting with code?

Every “upgrade” came with a cost. Piece by piece, you chipped away at the line that separated man from machine. David’s story from Edgerunners came to mind. He’d never found his balance. He’d chrome’d up too fast, lost himself in the process, and eventually snapped. And maybe that was just how it was in Night City – you either stayed small and kept your head down, or you chrome’d up and slowly lost who you were. And keeping my head down? That wasn’t an option anymore. Not with The Pack growing and our hands in so many pieces of the city.

I sighed but was brought up short by a soft chuckle. Mor was still seated on a chair nearby, just watching me with a grin. “You were miles away.”

“Yea,” I nodded. “Just…thinking.”

“You seem a little…adrift,” Mor said, leaning back in his chair, watching me closely.

“Adrift? Nah. Just busy as hell. Trying to keep everything running here.”

“When’s the last time you left this spot?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. I followed his gaze around the HQ. Most of the crew was scattered – some at the makeshift bar, others in small groups, lost in conversation or a few drinks. For the first time in a while, no one was demanding my input on a job or a crisis.

I paused, realizing I didn’t have an answer ready. “I mean…I’ve been working. There’s a lot to do.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Mor pressed. “When’s the last time you went out and actually enjoyed yourself? Hell, Fred’s out in Arroyo, running a stickball tournament right now. When’s the last time you’ve seen him? I don’t think you’ve been down by his place since…what, when we rescued John and Cyndi?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to come up with an answer. “Yea, I keep meaning to go, but…there’s always something, you know? A gig, a problem. The Pack needs my input on seemingly everything.”

Mor chuckled again, shaking his head. “The Pack doesn’t need you. Not right now. You built something good, something strong. They’ve got security. Deng’s got the homeless running smoothly around here. Diego’s holding down the territory. The Pack is self-sufficient. You’ve done your job. Hell, you’ve done more than your job. I don’t think you’ve stopped running around since Fred pulled you into the alcove your first day in the city.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He wasn’t wrong.

He raised his hands, stopping me before I could try and form a flippant response. “Look, I know what you’re gonna say. You’ve had a few breaks here and there. But even when you’re ‘off,’ you’re still thinking about the next move. How to expand, what’s the next hustle, how to keep everyone safe. But Noah…you need to start thinking about you. What do you want?”

“I’m…building something here,” I said, feeling the weight of the words in my mouth as I spoke them.

“Yea, but you’re just reacting right now,” said Mor, his voice quieter but firm. “Think about it. You went after Jotaro because he hurt someone you knew.” He dropped his voice, cautious because he didn’t want that little piece of history to become public knowledge. “That pulled you into helping Cyndi and John. Then the homeless needed protection, so you stepped in. Next thing you know, you’re building the Pack. Expanding, security territory, looking out for everyone. You’ve been running ever since you left the alcove, always chasing something.”

Before I could respond, Cyndi walked over, dropping a couple drinks on the table in front of us before heading back to the bar.

Mor waited until she was out of earshot, then leaned in again “Look, you’ve built something that can run on its own now. The Pack doesn’t need you breathing down its neck every second of every day. So, take some time. Figure out what you want to do for once. Go see Fred. Head down to Lizzie’s, get smashed, blow off some steam. Hell, if that’s not your speed, grab an XBD and lose yourself to the horrors of what this city can produce. Just…do something that isn’t work.”

I stared at Mor for a moment. The truth was, he was right. It felt like I was just stumbling along. Every action I’d taken had been a reaction because of something that had happened. I hadn’t had a chance to just sit back and…figure my shit out.

“Alright, maybe you’ve got a point,” I muttered, leaning back and taking a sip from one of the drinks Cyndi left. It burned on the way down. Zion and Anna were probably right about the shit alcohol we were stocking in our makeshift bar.

Mor smile, a small victory on his face. “Good. Take a few days. The city will still be here when you get back. So will the Pack.”

I nodded slowly, letting the idea of a break sink in. It felt strange, like stepping out of the rhythm I’d been stuck in for what felt like forever. But maybe…maybe it was time.

Cyndi and Anna rushed towards us. The look on their faces was serious – no smiles, no jokes, just urgency. My grip tightened on the glass I was holding, something in the pit of my stomach dropping. Before they even reached us, I caught sight of Zion slipping out of the HQ. He was moving quickly, a little too quick for it to be a casual exit. My brow furrowed and curiosity sparked.

“Where’s Zion going?” I asked, eyes following him as he disappeared around the corner of the apartment building.

Anna skidded to a halt in front of me. “We’ve got a problem.”

Cyndi came up just behind her, nodding, her usual playful demeanor completely gone.

“What’s up?”

“One of the casinos Diego was checking in on…it got hit,” Anns said, her jaw tight.

The words hung in the air for a second, and my mind started racing, piecing everything together. Diego had been doing his rounds, keeping tabs on our operations. One of the casinos he was checking on…it got hit? That’s not a robbery. That was a direct move against us.

“Shit,” I mumbled, standing up from the couch. Someone hitting one of our spots. Was it the Claws? Was it 6th Street? I downed my drink and set it back on the table before heading towards the exit. “Let’s go.”