Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

My Kusanagi coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the highway near the observation area, its powerful engine fading into a low hum before I killed it completely. The sudden stillness that followed was almost jarring. Only one other vehicle was in sight, and it was parked nearby. There weren’t any honking horns, vendors hawking their wares, or sirens blaring through the streets.

I put down the kickstand and scanned the area. To my right, Night City sprawled out like a living organism, its web of lights flickering against the smog-choked sky like a million tiny stars.

I took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill my lungs as I dismounted my bike. Up here, on the fringe of the city, the silence felt almost unnatural. My boots crunched softly against the gravel as I made my way towards the lone figure standing at the overlook. I had hoped not to have to deal with him.

Regina Jones was one of the top fixers in Night City. Her name carried weight in all the right – and wrong – circles, and she’d always been reliable when it came to the information I asked her for. Despite all that, there was something about her that always felt a bit off to me. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed to be ‘helping’ the city’s cyberpsychos out of the goodness of her heart – an oddity in a city where nothing ever came without a price. Or maybe it was her relentless cheer, which felt too practiced and polished, like she was trying to sell me something beyond just her services as a fixer.

Whatever it was that was twigging my paranoia, I knew better than to put all my eggs in one basket, especially one that belonged to someone like Regina. Fixers like her had their own agendas, their own games to play. Getting too comfortable with one was a surefire way to end up on the wrong side of a bad deal. I had to marvel at how much I’d changed from the naïve young guy who’d been mugged ten seconds after getting off the NCART for the first time. Fred and Mor and Deng had taught me well.

Ideally, I wanted to spread out my intel-gathering and work with multiple fixers to keep my operations decentralized. I didn’t want anyone to have the full picture of what I was up to. That would keep me and my crew a little bit safer. But the problem with that was that all the other fixers were out of reach.

Mr. Hands was buried deep in Pacifica, and trying to get in touch with him was like chasing a ghost. Padre was equally elusive, his network as tightly controlled as a megacorp. And the fixer for City Center? So forgettable that, even after all the time I’d spent playing the game, I couldn’t remember his name or where he operated. That left me with one option.

El Capitan.

He was hard to miss in the garish purple and grey windbreaker he was sporting. It looked like he’d pulled it from a thrift store, its colors faded yet still somehow offensively bright. When El Capitan turned to me – no doubt alerted to my presence by the crunch of gravel under my boots – I could feel his gaze scanning me, dissecting me. He had to have some sort of Kiroshi optics, and the thought of all the data he was pulling up was unnerving. I’d tried to stay under the radar, but I knew I was doing a piss-poor job of it. Too many cameras had caught my face, too many people had crossed paths with me. I was slowly becoming a known quantity in several circles.

“Noah Batty,” El Capitan greeted me before I even had a chance to speak. “I’ve heard about you. A merc who doesn’t take gigs. That’s an interesting combination.”

“Word travels fast.”

El Capitan smirked; his eyes gleaming as he continued to size me up. “It’s not the usual arrangement between merc and fixer. Regina’s been feeding you intel, hasn’t she? Most mercs I know are out there doing the dirty work, not paying for information.”

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it over. El Capitan raised an eyebrow, but took the paper, unfolding it with a flick of his wrist.

“Also, not many mercs bother with dirty.”

“Dirty?” I echoed.

“Yea…pen and paper and all that lo-fi shit. Biz is all about data shards these days.” He glanced down at the paper and his expression shifted as he read what was written, the smirk fading slightly. “Simulation software for the Langley Nexus Control? What is this?”

“It’s what I need,” I replied. “Can you get it? It’s a little…outdated. Most of my other contacts probably can’t find it.”

“Can I get it? Who do you think you’re talking to? Everyone knows you come to the Cap for biz. I can get you anything you need.” He paused, and I saw his eyes glow golden as he made a call. After a few moments, he turned back to me. “What’re you playing at?”

I gave him a shrug and shot him a puzzled look.

“This was made by Langley Autosystems,” he said, waving the slip of paper around. “They’re not even around anymore. Their best days were behind them even back in 2020, and they fumbled along until Arasaka bought them out during The Red. This is ancient tech.”

“That’s why I need a fixer to find it,” I explained. “I figured if anyone could dig it up, it would be the man they call the captain.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied the paper again, trying to piece together what I was after. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he said after a moment. “Their tech is obsolete, and whatever’s left is probably buried in some forgotten Arasaka archive. And even if I do track it down, I’ve got no idea what this simulation software would even do. You planning to take a trip down memory lane? Or is this something bigger?”

I kept my expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. “It’s a piece of a larger puzzle. Can you get it or not?”

El Capitan sighed, folding the paper back up and tucking it into his windbreaker. “I’ll see what I can do. It’s not going to be cheap, and it’s definitely not going to be quick. But I like a challenge.”

&&&

I had three meetings lined up for the day, along with a bunch of other random shit I had to do. The first had been with El Capitan, and the second saw me walking up to a nondescript door that looked so unremarkable it might as well have been invisible to anyone passing by. The only clue that it mattered was the lone guard slouched against the wall, his posture lazy but his eyes sharp as they tracked my approach. As I got closer, the guard straightened slightly, giving me a quick once-over.

Under my breath, I muttered the password. “I’m a sneaky sneak who never visits his good friends.” The guard’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a small grunt of approval before stepping aside to let me in.

Inside, the place was exactly as I remembered it – tastefully decorated, looking nothing like an illicit business. Among the wealth represented by paintings, bookshelves, and plush carpets, sat Indrajit Sarna, lounging on a couch and watching TV.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw me walk in. “Well, if it isn’t nobody,” he said, his tone dry with a hint of amusement. “I thought you were either dead or run out of town. It had to be one of the two because otherwise you would have visited me before today.”

I sighed dramatically, reaching out to give him a quick hug. “Still breathing,” I replied. “Just busy.”

“So, what brings you to my humble workshop?” he asked, settling back into the couch.

“I need IDs.”

Indrajit raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Of course, that’s what I provide. And that is what you shall get. Do you have another few people who need to hide from bloodthirsty degenerates?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted, sliding onto the couch and looking over at him. “I…uh, need about 10,000 IDs.”

Indrajit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded me with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “You always bring the most interesting problems my way. I doubt I’ve made 10,000 IDs in my entire life, let alone for one job. What the hell are you planning?”

“Politics,” I answered. “I’m trying to get a few people elected to the city council and came across some interesting information. Did you know they don’t purge voter rolls until after election season? There’s a bunch of people still on the rolls, even though they got merked or left the city in the past year. If you can supply the IDs, I can get some of the homeless I know to go in and vote in their place.”

Indrajit threw his hands up in the air and let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Politics. Bah. I’ve dealt with drug dealers, gang members, murderers, gun runners, thieves, and psychos. But politicians? They’re the worst. All dirty. Every last one of them. And you…you want to wade into that muck?”

I shrugged. “Don’t have much of a choice. I’m trying to build up a protection gang for the homeless in the city. To do it right, we need politicians who can step in and give us cover every now and then. Badges, judges, politicians – they all work with the gangs in the city. We just gotta do them some favors first.”

Indrajit stood from the couch and started pacing, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw as he considered the implications of my request. “You’re asking for something big,” he said finally. “The tougher the security, the more intricate those IDs need to be. It’s not just about slapping a name and a picture on a card. They need to pass muster under scrutiny – scanners, security protocols, even a basic visual check by someone who knows what they’re doing. And 10,000? That’s insane.”

He stopped pacing and came to a halt in front of me, his gaze piercing as he locked eyes with me. “The only way I can pump out that many IDs is if I know whoever’s checking them is in on whatever mischief you’re planning. Otherwise, even the best forgery will get caught when you’re dealing with those kinds of numbers.”

I nodded, my expression serious. “I figured as much. If I can make sure the right people are in place, can you do it?”

Indrajit sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s going to take time. At least two weeks. And it’s going to cost you – a lot. But yes. I can do it. Just make sure your people on the inside know their part, or this whole thing will blow up in your face. And if it does, don’t come looking to me for a refund.”

I smirked as I stood up, clapping him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Just get me those IDs and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Indrajit watched me as I moved towards the door, his expression thoughtful. “You’re playing a dangerous game, nobody. Politics is dirty, more so in Night City. Make sure you know what you’re doing.”

&&&

My third and final meeting of the day took me to the alcove. I parked my Kusanagi and let my mind wander as I took in the glow of the neon lights, bathing the streets in shades of pink and blue. The day’s weariness had started to settle in my bones. The city’s hum felt distant, almost muted, as I considered the mess I was dragging everyone into.

When I first arrived in Night City, I quickly learned that survival meant fighting dirty. But as murky as things got on the street, I’d underestimated just how filthy city politics could be. At first, getting involved in the Night City council races seemed like a simple gig. We’d slide in, cause some chaos, get a few people elected, and boom: we’d have voices on the council to back our growing organization.

I realized now that was naïve. This was a much more dangerous game than knocking off a few street hustlers and stealing all their shit. The stakes were higher, and the players were far more ruthless.

Every candidate in the races was playing dirty, just like us. The difference was that we were up against massive organizations with resources that dwarfed our own. Campaigns had dozens of mercs on call, off-duty cops pulling security, and netrunners under contract to hack and sabotage their opponents in ways that were subtle but devastating. What started out as a small gig – dabbling in politics to carve out some influence – had ballooned into something far larger and more dangerous. The scale of everything was starting to feel overwhelming, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing control.

Albert and Ivan had taken my initial plan – trying to get our foot in the door of the city’s political machine – and run with it. They’d dug up a few names of politicians who were vulnerable enough to be influenced. But that came with the risk of getting caught in the crosshairs of powerful megacorps.

Militech, one of the biggest players in the city, already had two council members in their pocket: John McLane and Jack Lars. Their votes were essentially for sale to the highest corporate bidder, and they always sided with decisions that would solidify Militech’s power in the city. On the other side, Arasaka, Militech’s chief rival, had two councilors of their own, working tirelessly to expand the corporation’s influence. The city was slowly turning into even more of a battleground between the two corporate giants.

Then there were the three names our organization was supposed to chase: Brad Norwood, Eva Cole, and Emilio Gutierrez. They weren’t heavy hitters – not yet anyway. They were down in the polls and desperate enough to consider working with a new group like ours. Albert and Ivan assured me they could be molded into allies, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

This wasn’t just about pulling off a few gigs and making some quick eddies anymore. It was about power – real power – and the lengths people would go to seize it. I was starting to fear that I’d put everyone in the crosshairs of a conflict that could blow up at any moment. All my plans were becoming more intricate, and nobody but me had a full view of what we were doing. I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good idea, but I was starting to become obsessed with operational security.

Anna was busy trying to find an in with the Night City prison guards. It was a long shot, and I didn’t know if it would work. The NCPD and prison guards didn’t exactly see eye to eye, and while Anna knew a few from her days as a beat cop, she wasn’t sure which ones – if any – would be willing to help us out. It was a lead, but a fragile one. I had a plan that required me to get into the prison, and didn’t know how I’d handle it if she couldn’t develop some useful contacts inside.

Diego and Zion were off hunting for explosives. C4 was the ideal choice, but getting your hands on it in the city was incredibly costly. Still, Diego and Zion were nothing if not resourceful. They hadn’t managed to get any explosives yet, but they had called me to let me know they were working on it. They were combing the city, chasing down leads, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they figured something out.

Meanwhile, Sandra Dorsett and her netrunner collective were deep in the digital underworld, hacking their way through firewalls and NETArchs to get their hands on architectural plans for a few key buildings. The main power plant for the city was their top priority, but the prison was also on their radar. Sandra’s netrunenrs were pros, and ever since she started working with me, she hadn’t let me down. I trusted them to deliver, knowing that having those blueprints was key to several of my plans.

Deng was working closely with Fred and Mor, and the three of them were focused on the city’s homeless population. If we were serious about building up a protection gang, we needed to know who we could rely on if things went south. The homeless in Night City were like a forgotten army – unseen, underestimated, and ignored by the powers that be. Deng, Fred, and Mor were gathering names and making connections with the big and small homeless communities all around the city.

As I finally got up from my bike and made my way over to the alcove, I spotted Fred and Mor in their usual spots. They were chatting with John and Cyndi – the two who had called this meeting. Cyndi looked relaxed, leaning back against the couch where Fred and Mor were seated, exuding a casual confidence. John, on the other hand, was a different story. He looked nervous and uneasy, like he didn’t quite belong. He was definitely better off than when we’d first found him in Jotaro’s ‘playroom,’ but there was still a lingering quiet about him that I wasn’t sure would ever completely fade.

I didn’t know what the two of them had been up to. With everything going on in our crew, I’d pushed them to the back of my mind, too focused on all the plans that needed handling. Fred and Mor had assured me they weren’t getting into any trouble, and that was enough to keep me from worrying too much. They didn’t have the same depth of knowledge or the network of connections that the rest of the crew did. They were learning, but I didn’t want to lean on them too heavily just yet.

“Well, if it isn’t the boy king, come to grace us with his presence,” Mor said with a grin, giving an exaggerated bow as he rose from the couch to pat me on the back. “Haven’t seen you in a while, kid. Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”

I returned the hug and took a seat in one of the open chairs facing the couch. “Well, I’m a big shot now,” I replied. “I hang out inside Lizzie’s these days – not out here with the riffraff.”

Mor let out a bark of laughter. “I think I’ve only ever seen you go in there two times.”

I smiled before looking over at Cyndi and John. She nodded to me and John just looked down at his shoes.

“Well, it’s your meeting.”

John waved to one of the homeless in the alcove, calling him to come over. The man was the most disheveled person I’d ever seen, and I routinely hung around the homeless of the city. He waltzed over and took a seat near John, giving Fred and Mor nods of greeting.

“This is Rufus,” said John, not meeting my eyes and instead staring at the ground.

“Okay,” I drew the word out, not knowing where John was going with this.

Cyndi saw that John was struggling talking with me, so she stepped in. “You had Anna on the lookout for people with connections to the prison guards. Rufus here used to be one. A guard, I mean.”

I rocked back and nodded. “Oh, okay. Uh…great work John.”

All he could do was nod at that. I didn’t know if Fred and Mor had the same problems talking to John as I did, but I pushed it out of my mind and turned to Rufus.

“So, you worked for the prison.”

Rufus nodded slowly, taking a drag from a cigarette that looked like it had been relit one too many times. “Yea, used to.” His voice was gravelly, like he’d swallowed too much dust and smoke in his time.

“Well, what can you tell me about how things work on the inside? I’m mostly interested in how the guards operate.”

“Guards? They ain’t no different from the prisoners. All about the eddies. Smuggling’s where the money’s at. Aint a guard in that place who doesn’t have a side hustle, bringing in contraband for the prisoners.”

I smiled at the news before pulling nodding at Mor who grabbed a bottle and poured Rufus a drink. “That’s exactly what I want to know about. Tell me more.”

“Smaller gangs all over the city supply the goods. Some bring in drugs, others alcohol. You’ve got XBDs and wreaths, tobacco, burner Agents, tattoo gear, food, you name it. If there’s a demand, someone’s supplyin’ it. And the prices inside? Sky-high. Pack of cigs runs you eight eddies on the street. In prison? Try twenty, maybe thirty. Burner Agents? Seven hundred eddies inside, easy. And you can get ‘em in Kabuki for less than a hundred. The Tyger Claws and the Animals got the drug game on lockdown. They make a killing off it. But the smaller gangs, they get in where they can. Find their niche, offer something different.”

I listened intently, a plan slowly forming in my mind. “So, the Tyger Claws and Animals, they’re the big players on the inside?”

Rufus nodded again. “Yea, and they do more than just push drugs. The Animals, they’ve got a protection racket going’. Some of the non-violent offenders, the ones who don’t wanna get shanked in the showers, they put up. Big money too. And the Animals, they make sure those folks stay safe. It’s all a business. You either pay to stay safe, or you end up in the morgue.”

"Why would they need to pay? I mean, don’t people just want to do their time and get out?” I asked.

Rufus let out a bitter chuckle. “Some folks get locked up, but they’ve got enemies on the outside. Families of their victims, rivals, or even their own gang if they’ve pissed off the wrong people. Those families, they put out bounties. Guards, they know about ‘em. Sometimes they get paid to keep those prisoners safe, keep ‘em away from the wolves. Other times, they get a cut for lookin’ the other way when someone comes collectin’,”

“How big are these bounties?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.

Rufus cracked a smile, a glint of something dark in his eyes. “Depends. Some are tiny, not even worth the guards’ time to protect. But others? Easy six figures. Seven, if it’s someone really important.”

I sat back in my chair, my mind spinning with possibilities. The alcove around me faded as I stared forward, lost in thought, a grin slowly spreading across my face as the pieces of a plan began to click together. Fred’s voice pulled me back to reality.

I blinked, snapping back to the present and finding everyone’s eyes on me. “I said, what’re you thinkin about?” Fred asked again, his tone a mix of amusement and genuine interest.

I let my grin widen, first at Fred, then at Mor, before finally turning my gaze to John and Cyndi. “I’m thinking John here just solved half my problems.”

I leaned forward and caught the eyes of Rufus. “Tell me about the small gangs that control the smuggling routes into the prison.”