Friday Night Firefight: A Cyberpunk Isekai

What’s up, Pacifica! It’s your girl Ash here to drop some fresh beats your way. Kick back and relax chooms – we’ve got a whole lot cookin’ for you today. This is ‘Skin on Flesh’ by El Tiempo.

I leaned my back against the rough wall of the alleyway, feeling the tension in my shoulders slowly ease as the rhythm of the music pulsed. My eyes drifted over to Cyndi who was running last-minute checks on her Satara. Her practiced hand danced along the gun and, when she finished her inspection, she gave me a quick, sharp nod.

Noah: how we looking?

Deng: took out their overwatch. Ready when you are.

I glanced down at the Kenshin in my hand, the familiar weight of the tech-pistol a comforting presence. Sure, I could have borrowed one of the Kyubi rifles our crew had stashed away. The added firepower might have been helpful, but the Kenshin was good enough. It was reliable, precise, and perfect for close-quarters work. I motioned for Cyndi to go and pushed myself off the alleyway wall.

We crept around the corner, stepping out of the shadows as we approached our targets. The small crew we were hitting was sprawled out on a dilapidated couch and a set of mismatched chairs. They looked like they’d been parked there for hours. Takeout containers littered the ground around them, and half-empty beer bottles dangled loosely from their fingers. A battered radio was propped up on a stack of plastic shipping pallets. It was responsible for the ‘Skin on Flesh’ tune I’d never heard before. The four gang members were all lost in their own little world, oblivious to the danger inching close to them.

For a moment, Cyndi and I simply stood there, weapons raised, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. The gang members were completely unaware and obviously hadn’t expected someone to creep into their little hidey hole.

A fleeting thought fluttered into the back of my mind about how this whole thing could play out like some over-the-top action flick. I’d been raised on a steady diet of Hollywood blockbusters, and part of me expected this whole thing to turn into a chaotic twenty-minute shootout which led to a wild car chase, and maybe even a dramatic rooftop showdown with the gang’s leader where I toss out a witty one-liner before finishing him off with slick martial arts moves.

But real life doesn’t play out like that.

Real violence was swift, brutal, and unchoreographed. Two shots from Cyndi’s Satara plus nine precise rounds from my Kenshin led to four bodies slumped lifeless on the couch and chairs in the alley. The whole thing was over almost before it began. None of the four gangsters was able to rise from their seats before we opened fire.

Cyndi lowered her Satara and unholstered the Nue at her hip, scanning the area to make sure no one was creeping up on us.

Noah: clear?

Deng: clear

Noah: k. send in John.

Our crew had scattered across the city, each of us tackling different jobs. Diego and Zion were still out trying to source explosives. Diego had called me earlier in the day to tell me he had a promising lead, and that he’d reach out later with whatever he uncovered. Anna was working her charm on a couple prison guards who could help us down the line. That left me with Deng and Cyndi to handle the heavy lifting for the day – taking out a small no-name gang that had somehow carved out a niche for themselves in the contraband business.

I reached over the bodies and clicked off the blaring radio, letting the silence reign in the alley. Leaning back against the cool, gritty wall of the alley, I glanced up at the rooftop of the apartment building across the street and spotted Deng. His Nekomata rifle was poised and at the ready, and his eyes scanned our surroundings with a predator’s focus. He was our overwatch and was charged with making sure no one crept up on us while we dealt with the gang.

A few moments later, the sound of footsteps echoed down the alley. I turned to see John making his way towards us, a small group of homeless trailing behind him. He’d rounded them up from the alcove and Mor vouched for them, creating a makeshift crew for the grunt work ahead of us.

Even from a distance, I could se the unease in John’s footsteps. He was still new to this life, much more comfortable with organizing everything from behind the scenes rather than coming out into the field. As he drew closer, his gaze landed on the four slumped bodies still on the couch and mismatched chairs, the gravity of the scene hitting him like a punch to the gut. But he soldiered through it, forcing himself to move forward. This wasn’t a time to get queasy.

“We need to move fast,” I said, uncrossing my arms and pushing myself off the alley wall. I motioned for John and his crew to follow me deeper into the alley. There was no telling if this small gang had more members who’d stumble across us while we were working, so we needed to get everything squared away as soon as possible.

The alley was littered with the usual debris – discarded junk, broken furniture, and puddles of murky water I hoped was only filth. Hidden among the clutter, stacked against the wall, were several small containers. They’d been hidden in plain sight, buried under layers of grime and dirt, their surfaces scratched and dented from years of use. Each container was tightly wrapped in old, weathered tarps, blending in with the surroundings like they’d been there for decades.

I stepped up to the nearest container and tugged back the filthy tarp to reveal the metal beneath. With a quick push, I lifted the heavy bar that kept the container sealed and swung open the door.

Inside, the container was packed to the brim with contraband destined for the city’s prisons. Cigarette cartons were packed in neat, orderly rows. Bottles of cheap booze were wrapped carefully to prevent breakage. There were tattoo kits complete with ink vials and needles, and a variety of other items that were worth their weight of gold inside the prison.

John’s eyes widened as he took in the sheer volume of contraband stacked neatly inside the container. Behind him, the small group of homeless men exchanged glances, their faces lighting up with quiet greed. They knew that we’d struck gold – it was a treasure trove of black-market goods that, in the right hands, could earn us a fortune.

“These guys had a nice little setup going,” I explained. “They were supplying the prison guards with all this stuff, taking a cut of the profit for all the sales on the inside. But now, it’s ours. And I don’t want it just sitting here. Start counting and cataloging. We’ve gotta stash it somewhere safe until we can offload it all with the prison guards that Anna is chatting with.”

John snapped out of the momentary daze he’d been in since I opened the container. He quickly motioned to his crew, and they sprang into action, pulling all the items from the container. They started sorting all the goods and cataloging everything with an old tablet John had picked up at the Kabuki Roundabout. Its screen was cracked, but it was still functional.

I stepped back and watched them work before pulling Cyndi to the side. Her eyes were sharp, continuing to track the homeless guys as she watched them work.

“Keep an eye on them,” I whispered to her. “Make sure no one screws with John or gets any ideas about skimming off the top. Once you’ve got everything sorted, help John stash it all somewhere safe. I’ll leave Deng here with you too, just in case.”

I glanced up at the rooftop where Deng remained positioned with his Nekomata, scanning the streets and the surrounding area. With him on overwatch and Cyndi on the ground, I figured everything would run smoothly.

&&&

I parked my Kusanagi at Lizzie’s, the bike’s engine rumbling to a stop as I killed the ignition. The alcove was buzzing with its usual energy, and I saw Mor deep in conversation with a couple people. I shot him a quick nod of acknowledgement before heading north and leaving the alcove behind.

The city was alive all around me. Neon signs flickered overhead, cars zoomed forward ten feet, laid on the horns to scream about the traffic, and then zoomed another ten feet. I let it all wash over me and through me and then ignored it while my thoughts swirled, and I ran through a mental checklist of everything I still needed to get done before election season wrapped up.

The contraband we’d secured would be key. Selling it to the prisons would easily net us enough eddies to pay Indrajit for all the IDs we desperately needed. But that was only one piece of the puzzle. I still needed to find a crew to run the polling locations – or at least get someone who could be bought off to look the other way when our army of homeless voters came through.

Then there was Sandra and her netrunner collective. They were still deep in their work, gathering intel, and I hadn’t heard from her for a couple days. I trusted she’d gather everything I needed, but until she called me with the good news, I was on edge worrying about the next steps.

Diego. Well, I hadn’t heard from him since that morning. I needed those explosives he promised to source, and I needed them in time to allow me to fiddle with a couple other pieces of tech that would be vital for some of my plans.

My anxiety over my mental checklist only lessened when I finally reached Yoko’s netrunner café. I stepped inside and noticed three people: two dudes plugged into netrunner chairs at the rear of the store, lost in the digital ether, and one guy frantically feeding eddies into an arcade cabinet set off to the side. The neon-backed sign at the top of the cabinet read “Arasaka Tower 3D,” making me grin; a relic from my first big score.

Yoko was seated behind the counter, her attention gripped by a tablet, but she looked up as soon as I approached. Normally, she had the relaxed demeanor of someone who was no stranger to shady dealings, but something was off today. Her usual smirk was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow, and there was a tension in her posture I hadn’t seen before.

“What are you up to kid?” she greeted me with a hushed question. “Word on the street is you’re stirring up trouble.”

I raised my hands in a mock gesture of innocence. “What? Who’s telling lies about me? You know that I’m nothing if not law-abiding.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Netrunners are a close community. They all talk. I know you’re working with Sandra Dorset. She’s not exactly the safest operator – reckless, doesn’t take most of the precautions she should.”

I shrugged, not really knowing much about her except from what I saw in the game. Her people had been reliable so far, gathering intel from data fortresses scattered across the city. That was enough for me.

“I’ll be careful, Yoko. Promise.”

“Hmm,” she muttered. “As if I care. You don’t bring me nearly enough business.”

“Well, that’s all changing. In fact, it’s why I’m here. Got a couple things I’m hoping you can help me with.”

Her eyebrows arched, already sensing I wasn’t going to be asking for anything simple. “What is it this time? More obsolete tech that pales in comparison to what I can sell you?”

I took a breath and leaned in closer. “I need you to source some simulation software. For a SCADA system.”

Her expression tightened, the seriousness of my request sinking in. SCADA systems controlled critical infrastructure, and getting tangled up with them was a big job. She didn’t respond immediately, weighing the risks against whatever eddies she could earn from this job.

“SCADA? You’re talking about an industrial control system. What’s the target?”

Before I could say anything, she held up a hand to stop me. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Just understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

She paused, clearly still thinking about the implications of my request. Her gaze flickered between me and her cluttered counter, as if trying to assess my sanity. “Last time you came in here, you were asking for obsolete software and architectural plans for a stadium. Now you’re diving into a hornet’s nest. I don’t know if I want to be around when it all comes buzzing out.”

“I’m not asking you to storm the gates,” I said. “I just need the software. Everything else is under control. And if you’ve been talking with Sandra, you know I can pay. I’ve been stacking up eddies from recent gigs, and I’m ready to dip into my rainy-day fund to meet whatever ridiculous demands you’ve got.”

She snorted but my mention of eddies seemed to soften her stance. That, and the thrill of someone cracking into a high-security facility was bound to pique her interest. If I succeeded, I knew she’d demand the story of how as payment for whatever I asked her for next.

“You’re going to become a headline for N54 if you’re not careful,” she said before huffing. “But why am I trying to stop you? Baby netrunners always think they’re immortal.”

“I’m safe, Yoko. But there are a few other things I need.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out a slip of paper and passed it to her. “That’s the make and model for the SCADA I need. I’m also going to need source code for the self-driving algorithm on cars, and programmable key fobs that can be embedded into burner Agents.”

Yoko eyed me with a mix of suspicion and resignation before grabbing the slip of paper I passed her. “Not even going to ask. You renting time in one of the chairs today?”

I glanced at the two netrunners seated in the back, both of whom were deeply immersed in whatever they were doing. “Not today, but soon. I’m waiting on something from a fixer I know.”

I stepped back, allowing Yoko to turn back to her tablet and start putting together all my requests. “Oh, the simulation software can be sent to Sandra. I’ll come back and pick up the rest.”

She simply nodded and gave a wave of her hand to dismiss me, so I stepped out of her netrunner café and went about the rest of my day.

&&&

I cruised into City Center, scanning for any signs of Diego or Zion. They’d dropped me a pin for our meetup, but spotting either one amidst the skeletal structures of steel and glass, towers reaching up to the smoggy sky, and bustling corpos, was like finding a needle in a haystack.

After a few minutes, I finally caught sight of the two of them sitting casually on a concrete bench, blending in with the crowd. They were munching on takeaway from a nearby food stall, looking nothing like the two most dangerous people in this part of town. Dressed in simple streetwear, they could have been just another pair of workers on break.

I parked my bike and started walking over. When I got closer, Diego spotted me and motioned to the seat next to him. “Took you long enough,” he said with a teasing smirk.

“So, what’s this about? You said you had a lead on some explosives.”

Diego gestured towards a billboard hanging above the entrance to a construction site across the street from where we sat. The sign was covered in layers of dust, but the bold lettering was still visible.

I zoomed into the sign with my Kiroshi’s, bringing everything into focus. “Halsey, Ferris & Skiv,” I read aloud. Beneath the names was a detailed plan about the high-rise skyscraper they were building and the idea of it connecting to a maglev tunnel underneath. The maglev would eventually stretch from Night City to New York, connecting the coasts of NUSA together.

A memory surfaced, and I frowned. “The maglev tunnel’s been out of action for decades. It’s where the VDB got their hideout. They won’t be happy the city is trying to reopen it.”

Zion snapped his head up at me. “You know where the Voodoo Boys hang out?”

Diego quickly nudged me, a warning in his eyes. “Keep that to yourself. There’s nobody more secretive than the VDB. They don’t play well with others, and you don’t wanna end up on their radar.”

I nodded at that, taking the hint. I had no intention of messing with the VDB right now. They were all jackasses with no redeemable qualities. In every single one of my playthroughs I made sure to hunt down all the VDB I could as vengeance for Evelyn Parker and how they treat V. But…this wasn’t a game, and I had no intention of pissing off a netrunner crew that ran an entire Night City district.

“Right. Back to the construction site. So, they’re trying to connect a skyscraper to the maglev tunnel?”

Diego nodded, a grin creeping back onto his face. “Yea, and from what we’ve gathered, they’re planning to blast through some old underground structures to make way for it. That means they’ve got explosives on-site.”

Zion, who recovered from his earlier surprise, chimed in. “Security’s tight, but nothing we can’t handle. The construction workers come and go pretty regularly, and the security system is basic – cameras, a couple drones, nothing too sophisticated,”

“Drones?” I asked.

“Yea,” Zion replied. “They’re called Bombus. Small, agile things that patrol the site, keeping an eye on everything.”

“Hmm…that might work perfectly. What’s the play?”

Diego shrugged. “We time it right, slip in when the night shift is wrapping up and the day shift’s just starting. Less eyes on us, more chaos to cover our tracks. We nab the explosives and get out before anyone realizes what’s happened.”

“Smash and grab?” I asked, rubbing a hand through my hair. We definitely needed those explosives, but I didn’t want every corpo security guard in City Center to come down on us. “I might have a better idea.”