Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

If I had to break it down based off percentages, my life as a merc was 30% meticulous planning, 65% mind-numbing boredom, and 5% asshole puckering terror.

I liked the preparation aspects of the work. It felt like I was trying to solve a problem with shifting variables. X number of guards, Y number of electronic security, Z number of valuables I needed to steal. It was preparation that had allowed me to pull off the RCS heist in the first place and also earned me a prototype piece of cyberware that, if I showed off too much, would instantly put me on the ‘kidnap and dissect’ list of every major gang and corporation in Night City.

If I was being honest with myself, I’d also started to enjoy the asshole puckering terror aspects of the job. Not so much the during portions, like when Jotaro had stepped into his ‘playroom’ and I almost wet myself as my plan came crumbling down around me. That was terrifying. But I liked how I started to feel during the ‘after’ portions; as if I had just gotten away with something I shouldn’t have.

It was the mind-numbingly boring aspects that I found myself struggling with. Diego, Deng, Zion, and Anna – all with military or police training – had gotten used to the waiting aspects of everything. But that only made things worse as I was almost alone in needing some kind of entertainment. Case in point, Zion and I were perched atop some kind of industrial structure outside an abandoned storage facility in North Watson and, while Zion was perfectly fine scoping the area out through his Nekomata, I was having trouble concentrating.

Both John and I had worked together on this particular job, combing our skills and knowledge to tackle one of the larger operations our crew was taking part in. I’d known for some time about a small gun-running operation working out of North Watson, strategically nestled between Maelstrom and Tyger Claw territory. The two gangs had left it untouched – the Tyger Claws to avoid the appearance they were encroaching on Maelstrom turf, and Maelstrom likely because they weren’t even aware of its existence.

I’d learned about them during my time watching the Ho-oh club for the Jotaro job, and John had pieced together valuable information from the homeless network he was cultivating. Together, the two of us were able to confirm that the gunrunners had somehow managed to get their hands on crates of Tsunami weapons and were selling them to smaller gangs. The mystery of how they got their hands on such overpriced weapons was unraveled by Zion.

Diego, Deng and Zion all had corporate military backgrounds, but while Diego and Deng had specialized in large-scale operations typical of corporate military actions, Zion’s experience was in the more covert, wetwork operations that corporations found themselves dealing with inside city limits. He had a lot more experience dealing with the underhanded actions of a corporation than the rest of us, and he theorized that the gunrunners had an unofficial arrangement with Tsunami to sell their firearms to small-time gangs. When I asked if Tsunami would take offense if we took out the gunrunners, Zion simply shook his head. The gunrunners weren’t exactly “useful idiots” – a term for those like 6th Street who, while not fully backed by Militech/NUSA, were sometimes used for operational deniability. Instead, the gunrunners were more like independent contractors who worked with Tsunami.

Zion even suggested that they would fall under the marketing wing of Tsunami. By letting the gunrunners supply small gangs with their high-quality firearms, Tsunami could showcase the power of their weapons. The small gangs, now armed with superior firepower, could gain influence and control within a neighborhood and Tsunami would tout that as a success: if their guns could morph a miniscule gang into a powerhouse, imagine what they could do for larger clients.

We’d been scoping out the storage area since early morning, arriving well before sunrise to ensure no one saw us build our little hideout. We settled into a section of the storage area that was a mess of pipes that provided excellent cover while still giving Zion and me a clear view of the entire area. Deng had built his own snipers nest elsewhere, while the rest of our crew was with Diego out of sight. As the day wore on, we remained patient and vigilant. Well, Zion remained patient. I was bored out of my mind.

Throughout the day, we watched as the gunrunners arrived and started setting up. John’s homeless network had reported that the gunrunners had used this area for their last three or four shipments. The first to arrive was their sniper team, who positioned themselves on the second floor of a storage building across the lot, ensuring they had a good vantage point for where the deal would go down.

By late afternoon, the gunrunners’ vans rolled into the area. There were three of them, each painted a nondescript grey designed to blend in with the city’s chaotic traffic. As the van doors slid open, I counted twelve gunrunners, each of them heavily armed and alert. They spread out, securing the perimeter and unloading crates of Tsunami weapons from the vans. We relayed the details to Diego.

Zion: twelve gunrunners. Snipers in position. Defensive perimeter. Looks like they’re prepping for the meet.

We didn’t have to wait long for the small gang coming to buy from the gunrunners. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, two Archer Hellas pulled into the storage facility. We watched as eight men climbed out of the cars, their body language tense and wary. I couldn’t help but question the gang’s strategy. Driving up in cars already packed with people didn’t leave much room for the nine crates of Tsunami guns they were here to buy.

Which meant the gang wasn’t planning on leaving with just the nine crates of Tsunami weapons. The calculus was clear in everyone’s eyes. The gunrunners noticed the gang didn’t have any room to stash the guns, and the gang realized the gunrunners had a lot more firepower than they assumed – what with every gunrunner having a Tsunami weapon of their own.

I watched as one of the gang members – had to be their leader – approached the gunrunners cautiously, his hand hovering near the pistol stuffed into the waistband of his pants. Stupid way to wear it. It’ll fall down your pantleg when you need it the most. I just hoped Deng hadn’t seen the guy wearing his pistol like that because I wouldn’t hear the end of it. The gunrunner and gang leader exchanged a brief nod before they started talking business.

Both sides were on high alert. The gang members were too jumpy, their eyes darting around the area as if they were expecting an ambush. The gunrunners near where the deal was happening appeared confident, but I could see the rest of them double-checking the perimeter of the storage area to ensure the gang didn’t have reinforcements coming in.

Diego: go

The tension in the storage area shattered as Zion initiated our attack. His Nekomata had been trained on the gunrunner snipers we’d clocked earlier in the day, and with deadly accuracy he picked off both targets, their bodies crumpling to the ground. Deng, seated in his own sniper nest not too far from us, fired down on the gunrunners overlooking the deal, taking out one with a headshot and nicking another who had managed to jump behind a crate to use as cover.

Amid the gunshots and mayhem, I heard movement nearby. Footsteps rushing towards where Zion and I were positioned. I quickly hopped down from our perch, leaving Zion focused on his task of providing accurate sniper fire into the gang and gunrunners. My role in this gig was to cover him, ensuring no one could attack him while he took out targets at range. I’d been trying to track all the gunrunners securing the perimeter of the storage facility, but it was hard to keep them in sight. The footsteps racing towards me obviously belonged to one of the perimeter guards coming to kill Zion.

I was right as, mere moments after I had jumped down from where Zion and I had perched, a gunrunner rounded the corner and caught me off guard. I’d been in the process of unholstering my Chao when the gunrunner got in sight, and knew that it would take too long for my optics to tag him so I could shoot. My Chao might not be useful, but my monowire would be. Instinctively, I swung it out, activate the internal charge, and cut through the guy in one swift motion. The monowire sliced through him effortlessly, his head falling to the ground with a dull thud.

I froze, staring at the decapitated body laying in front of me. The reality of the monowire’s power hit me hard. In the game, it was a thrilling weapon. I loved how it was a range melee tool that could dismantle entire groups of enemies. But seeing its effects in real life was infinitely more horrifying. One moment, the man was whole; the next, he was in pieces at my feet.

“Focus,” Zion hissed, pulling me back to the present. He trained his Nekomata at the gunrunners below and started firing, the shots picking off targets with deadly accuracy. At the sound of the gunshots, I snapped out of my daze to find our group had moved in as an unwelcome third party to this arms deal. The gunrunners, thinking the gang had brought backup, unleashed their Tsunami weapons on them. The gang members thought we were allied with the gunrunners who had set up an ambush. Chaos reigned as we fired indiscriminately into both groups, trying to whittle them down and take advantage of the confusion.

Zion and Deng, both in sniper nests overseeing the entire battlefield, rained accurate fire down on both groups. Their attacks weren’t only deadly but also served as a distraction. All eyes were on us: two snipers with Nekomata rifles and some idiot with a Chao firing off smart rounds at nearly two dozen people. We looked like suicidal maniacs, but our strategy was working.

While Zion, Deng and I kept their attention, the rest of our crew moved in from behind to catch the gunrunners and gang members in a crossfire. Diego’s tactical expertise shone through as he coordinated the movements of him, Anna and Cyndi, directing them against targeted key threats and pushing them to cover each other’s backs. Despite the chaos, our team worked seamlessly. Zion’s sniper fire kept the gunrunners pinned down, Deng’s shots picked off the stragglers, and Diego’s team pressed the attack. The small gang, caught between our assault and the gunrunners’ defensive fire, quickly found themselves outmatched. Bodies littered the ground and the smell of blood filled the air.

Diego’s Crusher shotgun roared, cutting down gunrunners en masse. Anna followed closely behind, using a DA8 Umbra rifle to pour out accurate fire on the gang members who were in front of her. Cyndi was no less deadly, firing off blasts from her Satara shotgun and then ducking behind cover every now and then to reload and recharge the electromagnetic coils on the side of her gun.

I, meanwhile, found myself face-to-face with another gunrunner. This time, I was ready. I swung up my Chao and fired, the smart rounds finding their mark and dropping him instantly. The adrenaline surged through me, pushing aside the horror of my earlier kill. I had to keep focus. I had to keep moving.

Both the gunrunners and gang started falling back, their numbers dwindling under our relentless assault. Diego’s group was pressing the advantage, using small-unit tactics that he’d trained into Anna and Cyndi to turn their three-person unit into a well-oiled machine. Zion and Deng switched targets, focusing on those few people who realized they were doomed and tried to escape. I was able to flank both the gunrunners and gangsters, moving within sight of the larger battle, and I reached out with my cyberdeck, sending sonic shocks to whoever was in my sightline. The Biotech ∑ cyberdeck that Vik hooked me up with was infinitely better than the Fuyutsuki Electronics Mk. 1 that I had been using before. I could feel the ICE on the gunrunners’ neuroports part easily as my sonic shocks hit home.

Moments after the start of the fight, the area fell silent. The only sounds were the ragged breathing of my teammates and the distant wail of sirens that told us the cops had been called and would be there soon. Diego started barking out orders to everyone and we got to work. Cyndi raced around to gather up all the weapons dropped by the gang members and gunrunners. Zion and Deng rushed to grab the two cars the gang members drove up in, while Anna, Cyndi and I drove the three vans the gunrunners had.

Celebrations started when we got back to the WNS building. This job was our biggest haul yet. Two gangs cars were destined for a local chop shop, three gun runner vans carried nine crates of Tsunami weapons, and the sheer volume of guns dropped by both the gang members and the gunrunners was staggering. To top it all off, we collected tons of money shards from the bodies along with a bag of eddies that had been in the trunk of one of the gang cars. I guess they had brought it along in case they would legitimately purchase the crates of weapons.

We were rolling in eddies. Even accounting for the bounties we’d pay to a few people down at the alcove, this gig promised to be worth more than our last three jobs combined.

Everyone was in high spirits, with the notable exception of me. I couldn’t shaked the memory of the man I had decapitated with my monowire. It had been so easy, and the event stuck with me, a dark cloud that overshadowed the victory. Diego must have noticed something in my expression because he came over with a look of concern.

“You good?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

I forced a smile and nodded up at him. “Yea. Just…getting used to the monowire.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, meant to be a reassuring gesture. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just remember, it’s a tool, just like any other. You can control it.”

I tried smiling back at him, to show him I was okay. I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced by it though. A short while later, Deng approached. He probably heard from Diego that I was having a rough time of it, or maybe Zion had mentioned my moment of hesitation during the attack.

“Hey,” Deng said, his voice steady and calming. “You had a moment back there.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Just a bit of adjustment, you know? The monowire is…different.”

“Yea,” Deng sighed and paused before taking a seat next to me. The moment stretched for a while as it felt like he was trying to figure out what to say. “You know I’m old, right?”

“Ha. I kinda guessed. Mor told me that you were around before they invented dirt and I gotta ask, why didn’t you tell them it was a bad idea?”

He chuckled at that. “Jackass. Nah, I’ve been a soldier for a while. I was down in South America, back in the day. Back before the N got put in NUSA. Back before all the animals disappeared and all the corporations started wars and shit.”

I waited as the chance to hear Deng talk about what he did before Night City didn’t come around often. I knew he was old – he’d been around during the time of Johnny Silverhand and Rache Bartmoss – but he didn’t really tell a whole lot of stories about his early life. It seemed more like a reward as he’d dole out the tales with rarity.

“My first deployment was down in South America. I was in the lead vehicle of this convoy and we were driving back to our base. The road we were on was this…shitty little goat path. I mean, it was barely even a road,” he said. “When you get ambushed as a convoy, you’re supposed to keep driving. Don’t stop, just pedal to the metal, keep going until you get out of the ambush area.”

“So, we start taking fire from some of the locals, and Mikey Dewitt, the guy who was driving our vehicle, just jams his foot down on the gas pedal. We tear down this road, I’ve got my gun leaning out the window, opening up on everybody. Our door gunners are throwing lead downrange. Everyone from the convoy is firing, not even bothering to aim. Just point in a direction and fire. If you see someone, you fire. If you don’t see someone, they’re probably hiding so you fire anyway.”

He paused, a faraway look creeping into his eyes. “We’re racing forward and I hear Mikey start screaming, ‘get out of the way, get out of the way.’ I’m in the middle of a firefight, I gotta keep my eyes peeled for people trying to kill us so I can’t pay attention to everything. But the way that Mikey was screaming, I had to look over at him to see what he was shouting about. That’s when I noticed this small goat in the middle of the road. When I said we were driving on a shitty little goat path, I didn’t think it was a literal goat path. So, Mikey is honking the horn, he’s screaming for this goat to move, the goat just looks at this oncoming vehicle with a stupid blank look on its face and doesn’t move. You can’t stop in the middle of an ambush, people are trying to kill you, so Mikey keeps going. Sixty-pound goat, two-ton truck. It was no contest.”

I could almost picture the scene: chaos, gunfire, and a lone goat oblivious to the danger.

“We get back to base and everyone’s jacked up on adrenaline. We’re all excited to be alive and we made it through an ambush and we got to shoot our guns. The only person who wasn’t excited – or even faking it – was Mikey. I took one look at him and notice that he’s pale as a ghost and just stammering away. ‘There was nothing I could do. There was nothing I could do. It wouldn’t get out of the way.’ This is a man who’d gone through countless ambushes, who’d been on tons of patrols, and fired his gun in a number of firefights. He was a hardened and trained soldier. But running over a goat and having all that blood splatter against his windshield just…did something to him.”

Deng looked at me, his expression serious. “What I’m trying to say is that…violence comes in a lot of different forms. Most people, they get in a fistfight, and afterwards, they start shaking with adrenaline. Maybe they cry or vomit or something because they’ve never been in a fight before and their body doesn’t know what to do with all that adrenaline that’s coursing through it. But that’s not you anymore. Do your hands still shake after shooting a gun?”

I looked down at my hands and thrust them in my jacket pockets. “No. Not anymore.”

“I remember when I took you to the range for the first time. You looked like you were gonna piss yourself when you shot a pistol. But now, your hands are steady. The guy you killed, that wasn’t the work of a gun. That’s why you’re having trouble right now. You used your monowire for the first time, and it’s different from using a gun. The way I see it, using a gun is just like pushing a button. You don’t think about it, and it just deletes the person in front of you. But a monowire…you gotta get up close and personal. It’s a new type of violence for you, and that’s why you’re freaking out. But it’ll go away. You’ll get used to it.

I nodded, understanding what he was saying but still feeling the weight of the man’s death. “Thank’s Deng. I appreciate it.”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m proud of you. You’ve changed a lot since we first met. Back then, it was me dragging you out on gigs. Now let’s go check out these crates of weapons and figure out what we’re gonna do with ‘em.”