FOREWORD

Welcome to what is probably the last Halloween oneshot of the year from me. And hoo boy, it's a doozy. This one actually has some horror in it…but to someone really deserving.

I have to admit, I was reluctant to get Cyberpunk 2077 for a time because of the bad press around it. I eventually did, and while it wasn't too bad by that point, it didn't grab me as much as I had hoped, though I am gradually getting into it. It helps that my interest in the game was revived by not only certain Youtube videos putting the likes of Mr Bean, Robocop and Ace Ventura into Cyberpunk 2077, but also by the anime series Cyberpunk: Edgerunners.

I decided to do a story around Adam Smasher. One of the iconic villains of the franchise, starting with the tabletop RPG, he's played with vicious aplomb by Alec Newman, who appeared in the Sci-Fi Channel miniseries adaptations of the first three Dune books as Paul Atreides. I considered a story looking into his personality and why he became the…man (for a loose definition of the word) he is today, before deciding it was more fun and in the spirit of Halloween for him to get his comeuppance.

And his tormentor? Hannibal Lecter, one of my all-time favourite fictional characters, and whose infamous treatment of Paul Krendler in the book Hannibal and its movie adaptation always stuck in my mind. I thought it fitting for Adam Smasher to suffer such a fate post-mortem, so I wrote this.

The title, Boîte de Conserve, comes from French for tinned meat. I thought it a nice bit of dark comedy to have such a pretentious term used to describe Adam Smasher.

Anyway, time for the usual disclaimers. First, there will be quite a bit of horror and violence. What else do you expect from a story where Adam Smasher and Hannibal Lecter meet? Plus, Adam Smasher is a misogynist as well as a misanthrope, so, fair warning.

There's also major spoilers for Cyberpunk 2077 and Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. Again, fair warning.

Finally, the following is a fan-based work. The Hannibal Lecter franchise and Cyberpunk 2077 are the properties of their respective owners. Please support the official release. Otherwise, Hannibal Lecter will have your liver with some fava beans and a big Amarone, or a nice Chianti, depending...

BOÎTE DE CONSERVE

How aggravating. Adam Smasher's base mood was usually in some form of anger or hatred, but it did have some nuances, like eager anticipation of slaughter. But to be killed by some no-name merc with his old foe stuck in his head…fucking Johnny Silverhand, having the last laugh from beyond the grave.

Oddly enough for Adam Smasher, being shot in the head was not the end. He was still aware of himself after a brief interval of oblivion, so he decided that Arasaka had gotten off their asses and plugged what was left of Smasher's meaty brain into a virtual environment while they repaired him. Though why he was tied to a seat at a dinner table, he had no idea (and the thought of being tied to a chair with all the strength of his cyborg body was laughable, though he couldn't break free, no matter how hard he tried). He didn't eat food these days, just took in the necessary nutrients to keep the last remnants of his meat alive. Which amounted to his brain, and even then, that had more augments up the ass than even the average Cyberpsycho.

Smasher hated meat. Before he joined one of the many gangs roaming New York, he used to live with his father, who worked in an abattoir. He hated meat, the weakness of flesh inside himself…but he enjoyed it all the same when he tore through others, first as a gangster, then as a soldier, and then finally as the enforcer of Arasaka.

Those stupid fucks who fought against the status quo, like Morgan Blackhand, Johnny Silverhand, Rogue Amendiares, Alt Cunningham, and all those other meaty weaklings…they thought what they did mattered. That meat and the much-vaunted humanity mattered anything at all. It never fucking did.

Even the Eddies Smasher accumulated was not the motivation for what he did. He just loved slaughtering meat. If he got paid for it, then it was a pleasant bonus to showing the world the weakness of meat.

Before Smasher could consider this any further, someone stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The man was sleek, with piercing eyes. He looked vaguely like that overrated actor from a century ago, Anthony Hopkins or something? Whatever, it wasn't important. What was important was that he now had someone to demand release from…or retribution. Or both.

"Good evening, Adam Smasher," the newcomer said politely, in a holier-than-thou way that pissed Smasher off. Was this some AI attendant or an Arasaka tech who didn't realise who he was talking to?

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Smasher growled.

"Ah, where are my manners? I am your host. My name is Hannibal Lecter."

Smasher sneered. "A FANCY NAME FOR A PRETENTIOUS LUMP OF MEAT. IF THIS IS SOME ARASAKA VIRTUAL ENVIRONMENT, THEN HURRY THE FUCK UP AND LET ME GO, OR I'LL ZERO YOU."

Hannibal had the audacity to smile, then and there. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, in his polite rasp of a voice. "For one thing, you are mistaken as to where you are. You are not in a virtual construct. I honestly don't know whether this is genuinely the afterlife, or whether this is the last hallucinations of your brain as it dies. If it's the former, it's rather irritating. I was convinced that all that awaits us after death is oblivion. But it seems that, whatever the case, I have been chosen to attend to you, Adam Smasher."

"WHAT, IS THIS MEANT TO BE HELL?" Smasher retorted. "IT'S PRETTY FUCKING LACKING IN THE FLAMES AND PITCHFORKS. AND IF YOU'RE ALL THAT'S BETWEEN ME AND GETTING OUT OF HELL, THEN YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO STOP ME."

"Quite the defiant speech, Adam Smasher," Hannibal said, before walking over without any fear, and peering into his eyes. "But I'm afraid that, as with many a vicious hound, your bark is worse than your bite. You have no power here."

Smasher tried to lunge forward, hoping to at least cave the old fart's skull in, but couldn't. The moment he tried, his head bounced off something invisible. "Are you quite familiar with the myth of Prometheus?" Hannibal asked, as if he hadn't just nearly been attacked. "For the crime of giving humanity the gift of fire, Prometheus was tied to a rock, with an eagle tearing out his liver every day, only for it to regenerate overnight. Liver is actually quite nourishing. I once had a census taker's liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."

Ah. So this was some cannibalistic freak, hiding behind pretensions of culture. A monster who pretended to be otherwise. But before Smasher could retort, Hannibal said, "You despise your own flesh, so eager to discard your humanity, that you replaced it with metal, plastic, ceramic, and other materials. But you left your brain behind, something that Alan Turing once compared to cold porridge. A chilling thought for most people, that everything of what we are is dependent on two to three pounds of cold porridge. Though not to you, I'm sure."

"IS THERE A POINT TO THIS? YOUR ASS MUST BE SWAPPED WITH YOUR MOUTH GIVEN ALL THE SHIT THAT'S COMING FROM IT!"

The man's smile became thin. For the first time, Smasher realised that this man was as dangerous as the Arasaka suits who had commanded him. Especially those who did not throw their weight around like petulant babies. No, it was the quiet and calm ones you had to look out for. They were predators, even if they were meat.

"I'm glad they sent you to me," Hannibal said. "I do so love eating the rude. And while I must admit, I try to avoid eating tinned food…well, with you, I'm sure it'll be a novel experience. I believe whoever brought me here knew I'd be inspired. I'm sure you've never heard of Paul Krendler, but I will be doing to you what I did to him. Now, hush a moment. I believe tonight's guest has arrived."

Before Smasher could retort, he heard a vaguely familiar, shrill and raspy voice. "Ugh, what's up with this fancy getup? This is definitely not my style, choom."

The source of the voice was a woman, or perhaps a girl. It was hard to tell with such a small and petite frame. Her skin was pale, albeit with hot pink tattoos on her neck. Her hair was a pale green, done up in twin pigtails framing features that could have been called cute if Smasher was interested in anything other than slaughter, though said features were currently marred by a scowl of annoyance. Her irises were green, but her sclerae were crimson. She was wearing a rather nice dress that, while it suited her body frame and colour scheme, nonetheless looked entirely out of place on her.

"I'm sorry, but this occasion has a dress code, Miss Rebecca," Hannibal said.

The thus-named Rebecca scowled, only to notice Smasher, before favouring him with a vicious smile. "'Sup, choom! Remember me?"

"SHOULD I REMEMBER YOU?" Smasher retorted. Did he need to remember every piece of meat he'd zeroed? The correct answer was NO.

Rebecca shrugged, even as she scowled. "Nah, for you, it was probably Tuesday. Actually, what day was it that you squashed me like a bug? Was it a Tuesday? Eh, that's death for you. Thing about implants is that you tend to rely on them for simple things. Like knowing what day of the week you died on. Well, in case it rings any bells with you, you zeroed me near Arasaka Tower. Did you remember David Martinez?"

"…THE SCRAPPY LITTLE PUNK IN THE CYBERSKELETON? WELL, I HAD SOME FUN WITH HIM. MORE THAN I HAD WITH YOU. I REMEMBER YOU NOW," Smasher admitted. "THE LITTLE BRAT. I DID SQUASH YOU LIKE THE BUG YOU WERE, WHILE YOU WERE SCREAMING "FUCK YOU!" AT ME. PATHETIC. DID YOU SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD TAKE ME ON WITH THAT LITTLE TOY WHEN I WAS COMING DOWN ON YOU?"

Rebecca merely smirked. "Well, one of my little toys was what zeroed you, Smasher. Didn't you notice V wielding my Guts?"

Smasher snarled, but Hannibal held up a hand. "I believe that's enough pre-dinner conversation. Miss Rebecca is not the only one of your victims to participate in this punishment over the coming eons. But she won the lottery, so to speak. For all that she is somewhat vulgar, she has her own charm. As far as dinner companions are concerned…well, it helps to keep an open mind."

With that, Hannibal held out a hand, and an oversized tin opener appeared in his grasp. And despite the ridiculous nature of such a thing harming Smasher, he knew, somewhere, that this was his fate. He didn't believe he deserved it, true, but the gods were selfish bastards anyway.

"YOU'D BETTER HOPE I NEVER GET FREE," Smasher snarled as Hannibal approached, placing the tin-opener to his skull. "WHATEVER YOU PUT ME THROUGH, I WILL PAY BACK ALL OF YOU A THOUSANDFOLD AT LEAST, MEATSACKS."

"Empty threats, Adam Smasher," Hannibal said calmly, even as he began to use the tin-opener. "You can't hurt anyone here…but we can hurt you…"

That night was only the beginning. Smasher, despite his declining faculties as Hannibal carved out slices of his brain and cooked them, remembered every detail. He bellowed incoherent threats that just became animalistic bellows. He remembered odd details, like the glistening of butter on the lips of that green-haired slut, knowing that, the source aside, she had never eaten a meal so delectable. But come the next dinner time, his brain had regenerated, even if the memories remained.

The few times Adam Smasher ever acknowledged a fear of Hell, he had thought of the classical fire and brimstone, demons with pitchforks, or something that made Night City look like Heaven by comparison. Maybe the Net beyond the Blackwall, perhaps? But this was…well, it couldn't be called excruciating: there was little actual pain. Rather, it was the impotence, the powerlessness. Some small part of him acknowledged that it was apt, as many of his victims no doubt felt powerless in his face. But just because it was apt doesn't mean it was just. As far as Smasher was concerned, nobody had the right to judge him, neither meat nor gods or demons.

But it didn't matter, in the end. His torment had only just begun. And it would never end…

THE END

ANNOTATIONS:

Neat, huh? And yes, Adam Smasher is in Hell for this, despite Hannibal's musings. I put that in because Hannibal in the books is a misotheist bordering on atheistic. It's also fitting to make him some sort of demonic instrument of divine justice, as I heard that Mads Mikkelsen's take on Hannibal for the eponymous TV show was meant to be like a fallen angel, though Hannibal Lecter will forever be Anthony Hopkins in my mind.

Also, isn't it fitting for not only Rebecca's Guts to be used to kill Adam Smasher, but for Rebecca to be the first dinner guest in eating cooked meals made from Adam Smasher's brain? I haven't seen Cyberpunk: Edgerunners yet, but I can see from clips on Youtube why she's become a firm fan favourite, and people wish she survived. She didn't here…but that doesn't mean she couldn't get revenge…

Anyway, I hope I got Smasher and Rebecca's characters down. And I hope you guys enjoyed this last bit of Halloween horror from me.

No numbered annotations.