And that's when you learned. There's nothing more freeing than running. As a kid you did nothing BUT run. You ran away from bullies, you ran away from bad guys, you ran with everything you got. But sometimes, you ran some things for people, sometimes, you ran from block to block to deliver boxes, and the adults that you'd do it for would give you a few hundred eddies as thanks. Not once were you assigned a job that you failed. And that's because you had a little secret that nobody knows. You've got lady luck smiling, and she is on your side of the ring everyday the sun shines bright.
You wake up to the sound of a ringing alarm, and a ray of sun shining down the window and onto your face. The sun hitting you just right to make you curse the very being that deigned to put it there in the first place. Eliciting a groan from your mouth.
You then get a quick taste of your mouth, or tongue if you want to be specific and its bitter morning curse of bitterness. And morning breath- and great you just smacked your funny bone on a corner-
"aaaAAAHHH"
You feel a leg cramp and crumple in on itself, you quickly take back that curse you sent to the very much benevolent, beautiful, kind being that you have definitely not hold hostile feelings to.
Oh hey, what'd you know, the pain suddenly ceased to exist and your muscles aren't aching anymore. Good for you.
Now If you needed to prove to anyone about how that there are omnipotent beings in the world, and they're alive and real, you know how to do it.
You've got scientific proof on command!
But you can't get mad at it, not because you'd likely die, but because you've known that almost nonexistent gonk in the air since you were a brat. You know it has you back watched out for you. You know you could rely on it, that omnipotent force in the world that no one can put to words or on a balance sheet. You've seen glimpses of it, here and there. It was that very presence that had looked out for you since that faithful day.
The day you learned to run.
Why else would you still bother with waking up every morning in this hellscape of a city, where nothing is ever going to change. Why else would you still be here in Night City, and not in any other urban sprawl that you can find all over NUSA in this godforsaken GIM of a world, living your life to the fullest.
Whatever that means.
Well, no use in being an edgy gonk about it, you've got to get your shit together.
You let out a yawn and stifle it with one hand, while at the same time your other hand waved away at a screen that can only be seen with a cybernetic eye, finally putting an end to the beeping of your Internally Installed Agent that you had left screaming at you on since you had woken up. You take a check on the digital display, and see that the brought up screen is currently displaying the year 2070.
"Huh, earlier than expected." You give a passing look at the display once more, reading the time as being seven o'clock in the morning, on the dot. Hard to miss when it's blaring out right at you in giant, everything-colored, analog, numbers.
Deciding to finally get out of bed, you pull yourself by flexing your core as hard as you can. You need every exercise you can get with a body as weak as yours. And waking up everyday by struggling to even sit up is a good way to do that.
You think.
After struggling some more to have your torso align with the rest of your legs so that you're sitting at a ninety degree angle, you finally get to take a look at your room-
Which needs some cleaning up, you admit. Seeing the clearly disorganized mess of a bed space, with dirty sheets all over the place near the foot of your bed, nestled among them seems to be pillow number two, and it most likely got there when you threw it off in your sleep.
It's a bit a messy for a home, but It's yours. Well, not really, it's more so renting than it is owning.
There were some more dirty pads right next to you as waked, used to make a makeshift red-thread board with your sole tinted window in your apartment duplex which you still can't remember the color of. Was it maybe yellow…? Well, it's also kind of orangey? Wait, no it's.
Yeah no, you don't know jack shit. Well, how would you even know in the first place? You aren't a BD Editor, or an artist in general! It's either yellow or orange. No need to fret over it so much.
Moving on, you can do some tidying up later when you come back from whatever it is you're gonna do for the day. And maybe you won't forget it later!
A very hard maybe.
You slide out of bed and do some stretches to limber up for the day. Popping some joints here and there, pulling your muscles taut each and every stretch, making the best of each rep. You may be weak, but you can make up for it by being very fast and flexible. And for someone with a weak body like you, you need to have every advantage you can get and then some.
After finishing your daily routine of stretching and movement exercises, you take a quick look at the space between the railing in front of you, and the amount of distance it is from your bed. You step back a bit, your heel touching the right corner of the bedframe, you take two quick strides diagonally at an angle from the corner of the frame to the opposite corner of the railing.
You lift yourself with your right foot, catch yourself with the left, stepping onto the yellow railing a couple feet from your bed and quickly use the same foot to push and recoil yourself to change the direction of your momentum, and do a front flip and latch onto the ledge to the space on the right, the side where all the 2020 dirt memorabilia are stored and displayed on. Though the monitors you'd repurposed so it could be compatible with more modern platforms.
Having tucked yourself in as you flipped through the air, you expand and unfold yourself to grab onto the silver pipes with pure grit and grip on each palm you held on tight despite both of them stinging on impact, making you wince a bit but you hold on. You then slowly let go of your grip as soon as all of your speed was bled off and stopped swinging. Aligning your center of gravity with the backless, silver, square-seated stool below you, seated in front of your dinner, living room, crafting, tinkering, and whatever else there is table.
You allow gravity to plop your bare foot onto its cold metal surface, giving you a slight shiver up the spine. But that doesn't deter your run combo, letting you control your descent as you plop the second feet straight from the air and onto the tiled floor proper. You feel no spike of pain or discomfort from the drop, as you bleed off your momentum into a little jog towards the fridge.
You'd have landed on the actual table instead, a far safer option, if you could but it was currently occupied by some plastic plants and a package that were both sent to you by a choom to personally courier over to a junk vendor.
You never got to doing that job, because it turned out he got zeroed in by a "Gangly-Looking Gonk that's got more Mouth than Brain." according to your contacts, and now your stuck with both of them. They make for… decent? furniture, or at least that's what you think. The junk you can likely sell for a couple eddies at a later date.
Now having gone down to the first floor proper, you reach out to the fridge to get something for the morning, you don't know what you were going to get. But it was going down your gullet, even if you really should've put it anywhere near your mouth.
Actually, do you even remember what you put in there? When was the last time you filled the thing up with food. It's not like you cook so it must be something like takeout or leftovers.
Your hand is inches away from the handle of the sweet, sweet, Pandora's box, and when you were about to open it-
You get interrupted by something popping out from the peripherals of your eyesight, your Mk.1 Kiroshi Optics projecting into the air a picture of a green caller's symbol with bars coming out from the middle. The sound of the default IIA ringtone overlapping the sound of your stomach grumbling.
Couldn't they had waited for a few more minutes?
You roll your eyes as the ringtone just get's louder, almost responding to your thoughts, 'Uggggh, Fine, let's get this over with.'
The words spelled out in bold yellow font registers to your brain, telling you that you're getting a call from your dear old fixer, it'd be a bad idea to stall on them. And even worse to ignore it. But wait, shit, you hadn't even had breakfast yet. Now what are you going to do?
…Hey wait a minute, can't you just answer the call and grab some grub while you're doing it? Of course you can! You're a multitasking genius!
Why didn't you think of that? Ah, must've been the hunger getting to you head.
Well, hmm, the other question is do you accept the call or not? That's a very tough question to answer, very, very hard. Who knows, maybe there's something else you plan to do later? Well, you might be busy!
You better decide now.
Gran doesn't like delays after all.
Oh who were you kidding, why in Saburo Arasaka's soggy left nutsack would you deny a call from someone like your fixer, that'd be the equivalent of suicide. Especially when said fixer can arrange your suicide.
And it's not like you need a reason to deny the call, you've been running gigs for people your whole life without even realizing it.
In fact, you had gone halfway through your "Career" not knowing that you were doing jobs for people.
In your mind, you were just being paid eddies to run from one district to another while bringing something, sometimes going to Japantown, or Northside. It could be a box, it could be a case. Sometimes it was just a hardcopy of a message that needed to be sent and didn't want anyone interfering.
You were just thirteen when you started doing them, and nobody really minded.
Which now that you think about it closely, sounds kind of fucked up. Man, how did you not figure this out back then?
It was when someone asked you what you were doing as a Merc so young, that you realized what you were doing jobs for people all this time.
Yes, you are a gonk.
That you realized instantly.
Heck, one job when you were only a year into being merc had you drop something on the Arasaka Waterfront's shipping port, an in and out kind of deal.
Probably because you had a policy of ignoring whatever it was you couriered.
A policy that apparently a lot of people didn't have.
Gonks all of them.
The explosion you heard as you hightailed it out of there would have probably included you as a casualty if you didn't. Not like it was your place to ask what you bring, only that you do.
To be fair, you never really remember the specifics of how doing jobs for people started. You just started stopping by places where lot's of people with iron's and chrome hanged around that weren't bars, someone spotted you, and you had a slip of the tongue and said you were running for people when asked what you were doing.
You meant to say you were running from people.
Either way, the man with the iron humored you, told you if you were interested in couriering something, and that was all she wrote.
Easy job, easy money, easy two hundred. Not to the dude who sent you on your way apparently, since he looked kind of surprised when you came back. Good thing there were a few people around him to laugh at the man and peer pressure him into giving you your due.
You were fast, but you weren't avoid iron fast.
It escalated from there. More jobs, more opportunities, more places to hang out at, eventually you ended up skipping school days entirely.
Your running started out from wanting to get away from the bullies in the corpo school your "Parents" sent you to, you were pretty weak in body, taller than most of the kids your age at five-five, tall enough to look older than your age's average, but a tall frame didn't hide the fact you were lanky.
You were incredibly fast for a child, specially for someone who had a much more brittle body than most.
And you didn't want to brag, but you were decently intelligent, and whatever drivel they taught at a corpo school you could learn from a shard so it's not like you missed out.
Schools were for connections, not learning as your homeroom teacher said.
So it started as you running because you loving the taste of the fresh air resisting against your face, whipping the hair of your head, giving you the freedom of movement beckoning to you. Eventually evolving into what you still do today.
Thankfully everyone else during your days of running for people, they didn't realize that tidbit about you. When you did realize it for yourself, you internally panicked for a few minutes, then kept your cool and just kept doing what you did.
But you did realize, and that made you more aware of who you were talking to, or what you were doing. Your Reputation and Streetcred as well, things you never really paid attention to now suddenly made the world outside a classroom a far more clearer picture.
You were the essence of "Fake it 'till you make it", and goddamn did you make it.
It's always been there with you, right in your very soul. You ability run like hell itself is on your heels and trying to drag you down. You moved as if there was a set path already waiting for you, like fate itself is guiding where your feet and eyes land.
Your skill with moving like there's no tomorrow was etched into your very being. And over the years of doing high octane parkour, freerunning, and couriering your skills in the art of moving swift and intelligently was refined even further.
And by refined, you mean gaining experience with what jobs came your way to get done and make some eddies on the side.
You were shaping up to be one of a kind merc they said. You nodded along, not all of them were lies or sarcastic comments.
You may not have been the only courier, and you sure as hell didn't do every single delivery job there was in your hometown of Japantown. But the amount successful courier and delivery jobs you had been entrusted with, starting from your first run to your latest one, helped out immensely.
That was a pretty huge achievement for you.
Eventually though, your days of skipping school to run caught up to you, and it was a wonder your parents never got called in about you. It seemed they never alerted or made aware of what you were doing in your free time whenever you went out for a run.
Well that came crashing down early when you were unceremoniously expelled at the age of fourteen.
Your parents? They didn't care for jack shit, they just gave you some BD's to help you "Catch up to your peers."
They were less parents and more caretakers, always dismissing any concerns you voiced.
Once you hyped yourself up to tell them about what you did as a side hustle, they just waved it off telling you to not waste your breathe on redundant information. They didn't even care about the gun you had on you for emergencies, saying that you could never turn it against them no matter how much you tried.
They were right, you could never turn your gun on them no matter how much you wished.
In summary, they didn't care as long you still lived and breathed and did some "Test" for them every once in a while. Where most kids your age would have probably been afraid of needles, you'd been desensitized to it via almost weekly exposure.
And their presence in your life wasn't that great either, they were almost always busy in their labs at Arasaka, doing their research and doing whatever researchers did in their labs.
Probably making test tube children or something.
It was bad enough that they sometimes forgot to feed you or give you money to buy yourself some food, or maybe it was on purpose?
You never could tell if it was intentional or not, and it's not like they gave you an allowance. So you had to learn how to get some money to buy things for yourself like food. Your body was fragile enough, you didn't need malnutrition added to it.
It wasn't as easy as it looked, and no one was willing to teach you the ropes of living all on your own so you had to adapt quickly. Ordering synth foods from fast foods and going out to the markets on your own were your only options, laundry was done by yourself, cleaning the house, doing chores.
Everything all on your own.
You wonder sometimes if you were even in a real family, or were just some kid they had bought to get a discount and family privileges.
You wouldn't be surprised if that was really the case.
The brand on your left collarbone didn't help deter that notion. A red and black, with the black being the main color as the red accents, Arasaka logo accompanied by a large bolded arial "B2F"
You never really knew what B2F stood for, you just concluded it was a serial number or something, but the Arasaka logo left little to the imagination. It explained why your parent's never called you by your name though, and just B2F.
Sometimes you wonder what would have happened if you were bought by a more caring set of parents.
In the end, it was a good thing you were never that close, or maybe it was too bad that you didn't get to know them that well. Since one day when you came back from an afternoon of doing running gigs for the locals when you suddenly got called by a corpo that somehow got your contact.
Your parents had both been flatlined in an incident in their labs, and that meant you were all alone.
You were left unaware of any details such as the why, what, and how, but you kind of minded to your surprise. They were still a solid presence in your life outside of running, a good anchor of consistency in a city where anything can happen at the pull of a random gonk's trigger.
It's already been a long time ago since they died, and yet sometimes you don't even realize that they're gone, despite their neglect and almost always absent presence doing nothing to help that sentiment.
And when they did hit the body banks, the only thing that both of them ended up leaving you was nothing but a five digit amount to find a place in night city to be in.
An odd thing, but you weren't going to question the Corpo who came in personally to tell you the news. And you couldn't be bothered to ask for more, he told you to keep doing what you were already doing if you wanted to survive.
Which you did, perfectly.
Hell, the Corpo even said so himself, "Go on and run kiddo, you're gonna need enough eddies to survive now that your free, and this is the best offer I can give you."
It was kind of weird how genuine he was despite saying that, specially since he was an Arasaka corpo. By the time he was out the door, he only spared you one last glance before waving at you with his hand, as if magically dismissing you.
You tried to let out any and all emotion you would have expressed in that moment. You couldn't for the life of you remember what it was though, was it anger? Sadness? Maybe even a cry of happiness?
It didn't matter though, because when the door finally closed, the only you could remember expressing was pain.
You felt a searing heat on your left collarbone, as quick as an alpha strike and as everlasting as an unwanted child. It was torture to your fragile body, but it's not like the pain cared for it.
When you had looked down to where it was, the brand that you always had on you as a child was gone. Arasaka logo and serial number gone entirely.
You had no other family contacts, no other connections. You got wired the five digit check of eddies from the man in the Arasaka uniform and double the set of eyes that you met.
Then, you were kicked out and sent on your way to fend for yourself.
The house was taken and resold by Arasaka soon after, any and all belongings that weren't what you bought for yourself were taken.
You came back to check on it a few days later, and found out any connection you had to the people living it disappeared. Even your documents detailing who you were were gone.
You were essentially a ghost.
In a situation like that, you needed to do everything to survive on your own.
But luckily for you, there was one thing that devils in suits didn't realize. You had people, you had luck, and you had your legs. So you made do with what you had and survived.
So, how did you survive?
Well first off, the scores of successful courier and delivery jobs you had been given and entrusted with didn't just bring in eddies.
They also brought in connections.
You found some apartment in near the bridge from Japantown going into Kabuki and stayed there. You got a deal for it, two and a half thousand eddies a month for a decent apartment. It had one bathroom, one living room with a conversation pit, a built in bed, and lastly, a workstation.
And luckily for you, or maybe unluckily from other people's perspective, most of those "clients" of yours that you'd been running gigs for since you were but a little newbie took a liking to you, said that your dedication and success was inspiring despite being a gaijin.
Turns out? They weren't just any two-bit gangster, or a random paranoid gonk from the street.
They were Tyger Claws, a gang of such notoriety they didn't need introduction. Except for apparently you, since you never figured it out until they outright said so themselves. You'd joke about not knowing that was the case to throw off any suspicion of you being uninformed and a gonk.
It worked well enough.
"Oh wow really? I could have never been able to tell. That's really surprising." You had said in as sarcastic a tone as you can muster, hiding the fact that what you spoke was the actual truth.
Luckily for you they just laughed it off.
Yes, you literally told them, to their faces, that you never realized what their identities were.
And they just laughed it off.
Good for you really, this meant your cover of being a Cool Teen Merc was still safe.
For now.
The Tyger Claw's had their eyes on you in curiosity, and you didn't want that curiosity turning into hostility anytime soon. You started paying more attention to manners, cultural shit, and respect-showing that were from japan.
You didn't know what you were doing half the time, so you just winged it, which was good enough.
Suffice to say it was an eye-opening experience.
Still, over the years you had been couriering all manners of scop for them. From chrome, to scratch, to chips, to scrolls or XBD's, and all manners of packaged for all those years.
It still took you a while to piece everything together, but it wasn't really hard to see the positives of being inadvertently friends with the Tyger Claws, some of them would even ruffle your hair and call you anko or cute kid, respectively, for some reason.
Never figured what was up with that though, shame. Despite your reading up on them.
Then you found out you could just buy a chip to translate Japanese.
Yeah you were a gonk, what else was new.
While you got closer to the Tygers, it didn't mean you loss any goodwill with the other Mercs you had been in initial contact with.
Although, you didn't really see much of them anymore after a while, with old faces being replaced with new ones. Sometimes literally, sometimes not. And with new faces, meant different chooms. Some knew your name, some didn't. Some spit on you, other's let you spit on them no problem, and some spit with you.
And wasn't that confusing as all hell, the only you ever asked about it to was the dear elderly Japanese Granny that takes care of you. The only one you would really say stuff like that to.
Your first meeting with her was while you were waiting at a drop point during a job, waiting for the package you were going to deliver arrive.
She walked up, struck a conversation with you, asking about the latest happenings, asking about any interesting things that occurred, was there any out of place stuff going on.
You humored her, and with a nod of her head, then gave you a plastic zip-bag that had some sorta spinal chrome and sent you on your way.
Yeah, turns out she was the client. But that wasn't all, you'd learn more later.
When you came back without any issues, she took one look at you and asked if you wanted a better tier of jobs to be sent to you, and that you get to have first pick on the litter.
An offer that you you didn't hesitate in accepting no matter the danger of such a deal. What the fuck were you suppose to say to that other than hell yeah?
You accepted, and with a satisfied nod, gave you a card that allowed you to crash in an Inn she had a connection with whenever you need to. Even let you get free meals whenever you stayed there for a night.
Something about keeping up your nutrition so your legs didn't atrophy, or something like that.
The times where you would coincide with one another, she'd converse with you, ask more about yourself.
You'd ask questions back but it was mostly you answering things for her.
You let your thoughts out loud to her and she would laugh at you, but it was the good natured laugh, not the mocking one. Suffice to say she's probably the only one who's ever known what goes through your head. You'd also mention to her about your parents and the weird corpo that visited alongside the rest of the detes she asked about, a tidbit which she found interesting.
She helped answer questions that were genuinely confusing to you, and explained concepts that you didn't get. Even taught you some tips of the trade, which was surprising coming from the person you call "Gran".
But hey, everyone in the city knew a thing or two for some reason so not that much of a surprise.
She ended up being more than a simple old woman though.
Eventually she took some sort of liking to you, apparently you reminded her of someone, you assumed it was a child of hers.
And damn, wasn't that day a hit of 'dorph and to the nuts. She helped you brain got less foggier, helped make you finally put together pieces of the puzzles enough that you finally understood what really goes on in Night City. Like a veil on top of your eyes was finally removed over your brain and optics.
If God was real, he'd have shut his eyes over how hard your head was glowing. Not just from your head clearing up, but also from the sudden influx of lightbulbs.
Not literally of course, you'd have gone Cyberpsycho a long time ago if you had something that could do that in you.
Like how and why all the other Runners ended up being fairly connected in their own right. How almost everyone in this city knows someone, that knows someone. How even the most mundane things that people say can reveal the most insightful information.
That clarity came with consequence as well however, it made you confront the consequence of your actions, making you realize people have died because of your actions. Making you remember the times you fired your pistol at people and how they never came back up.
Friends and other mercs you had good relations with that you've once talked to never be seen by again nor come back to the talk with.
Weapons, bombs, data. Delivered, causing untold destruction upon the city, just like the docks explosion.
You had began to look inward and started asking yourself the big question. People died from your deeds. They've died because of you.
…eh. Not like they were doing anything productive with them anyways. And this was Night City, it is what it is.
Gran seemed kinda perturbed by it, but praised you for being mature about it.
So went your days, a year passing by doing jobs and stuff for people, generally just surviving and thriving. You didn't have much ambitions for your life other than eat, run, do job, sleep, repeat.
That monotony eventually started to waver however, and it all started when she delivered to you a letter that said the Tyger's were sorry that they couldn't take you in proper due to you being a bennie, you had initially assumed as an adoption thing, but quickly realized that was stupid, and concluded they meant recruitment.
Tyger's were generally Asians, but they meant Asian, Asians. The ones with squinty eyes and damn short heights. And last you checked you weren't any of those. It sounded like a pretty thin excuse to protect you from the Tyger's, but apparently Asians couldn't be upfront even when trying to "Protect" people.
Was that racist? You're pretty sure it isn't, you were just stating facts.
But you still made sure you didn't say any of that out loud to your benefactor of course.
Still, it wasn't all bad, the Tyger were great customers of your service, even if you didn't directly join them.
And then you technically kind of did.
So that was how you met and were introduced to Wakako, your suspiciously well connected and decently powerful "Gran", the kind old lady who took a liking to you and your attitude at the age of sixteen and a half.
You were then reintroduced to her properly later by your- you want to say friends? Maybe peers would be a better term? In the Tyger Claws. A year and a half later
You didn't want to be presumptuous, and you really didn't assume that much.
All those things were really vague to you, and whenever you try to get a straight answer out of anyone they just laugh along and act like you told a joke, or being purposely a gonk. Which you let happen less you break your illusion of a cool dude.
Either way, someone from the Claws must have thought you were finally paying off the attention and "Investment" that you'd been given.
Whatever that meant, it was enough so that you got sent by one of your frequent contacts in the gang who took a liking to you to a very important woman's way during your birthday.
And that was how you re-met Wakako Okada, your fixer first, then your kind-of surrogate grandmother figure second.
The day of your reintroduction was on your eighteenth birthday, having been summoned and sent to come to her office in the inn you were crashing in. You made your way to her with an escort forming around you.
When you arrived proper, she chose to reveal everything about her, then and there.
She introduced herself properly, as some sort of important figure for the Tyger Claws, and how she was a Fixer with many connections. It was pretty obvious she was the shadow leader of the Tyger claws, so that was another hit in the nuts. Why she didn't just say she was the boss was lost on you, but it didn't matter that much.
Still, it didn't deter you from being taken aback that the one you previously knew as the kind elderly lady who gave you jobs and a place to crash from time to time, was the de facto boss of the Tyger Claws and their main fixer.
Even though you really should've have been in hindsight. Really it should have been obvious who she was. The way she probing of information from you had not been subtle, and she had the majority of the hand offs when doing a job. Sometimes she'd even tell you herself over a call, about how she has to lead a bunch of useless young upstarts that couldn't tell left from right. And the letter delivery on physical paper instead of a shard should also have been the final nail in the coffin.
In your defense, you couldn't have associated the two no matter how hard you'd tried, and whatever you suspected didn't really add up. Your entire first impression of her was a kind old lady that was looking out for herself, and any people that needed help. You'd have expected the Tyger Claw boss to be someone… opposite really.
That still didn't really excuse you from not realizing who she was at the time earlier.
She had asked you what you thought her, what you thought about the gang, about what would change. Your answer was a simple sentence-
"What's the difference?"
You must've done something right, because you got the whole squad laughing. From the escorts, to the other important looking chooms in suits standing around the table, and even Gran herself if restrained to a smile instead of a proper laugh.
After the dramatic reveal was done, with some clapping at a nod from Gran, you had all gone deeper into the building. Where a proper room that looked more fit for a birthday celebration. Cakes and desserts lined the tables, with some other dishes that looked Asian to you, like sushi, tempuras, curry katsu, and so on.
It was someone's birthday celebration, it was your birthday, and with some mental math, you concluded that someone's birthday celebration was yours specifically.
A genius you were.
There was a table for alcohol too, but you ignored it for now, you can get to it after whatever speech Gran wanted to do was done.
Birthday parties usually had speeches or so you assumed. A notion you found yourself being correct in.
Not long long after settling in the room, some seated and others opting to stand. You were Introduced to the other "Important" members of the gang proper.
You mingled and shook hands with most if not all of them, one of them was even congratulating you for making it in despite being a "Gaijin", which you remembered was the Japanese term for a bennie.
You decided to take as a complement, so you just smiled and took it all in stride. Though he did get a few stares from some of the others, so everything was even. You knew jack shit what they were saying other than that even with the auto-translator. After the greetings are done, they retired from shaking your hands and instead opt to mingle amongst themselves.
You talk to some more people too, from the guards, to some of the first people you've met when you started out.
It was a fun evening, but it didn't end there.
Eventually, the back clapping, mingling, eating, and congratulating died down. Making room for, what was very much the obvious speech and gift giving that was about to happen.
Man, you were a lucky son of a bitch.
Any and all noise soon died down, giving way to silence. Not even the sound of the building's appliances and vents could be heard.
With a smile, Wakako beckons you to come forward to stand to the side of her in front of a desk, her face that of glowing pride. You barely even knew what you did to earn such affection from the elderly woman, other than being good at running and reminding her of someone.
You weren't going to complain either way. That shit was nova.
The ones that had sat stood in tandem to one another, alongside the ones that already were. All of them looking at you. Their disposition as that of soldiers waiting for orders, not from you of course. That was clear.
Unlike most of everything else in your life.
When everyone was about be settled, the door opened. She waits for a few more moments, as two a metal case is brought in by the two guards that had come to escort you. And as soon as they had left to take their places to the side of the doors, Wakako finally speaks, staring straight at you with a seriousness you never saw before.
Which slowly gave way to a soft smile.
"It has been a great honor of mine, to see you grow from but a boy looking to make ends meet, into the great runner you are now. Many of our operations, succeeding only because of your talent and dedication. We know, that when it is you who delivers our will. That we will not have to worry. That they will be delivered as promised.
But it is not just your ability to run like the wind that we acknowledge. It is also your steadfast support, and show of loyalty to The Tyger Claw. Your refusal to ever offer your services to the the enemies of the Tyger Claw in Night City as a show of your loyalty has been seen and acknowledge-"
Which was a surprise to you, since you never remembered refusing job offers, you just glossed over the one's that didn't pay as much as the jobs that the Tyger's offered you. The few ones that did were too dangerous for your taste, or at the very least way too fucking far.
"-It is a show of such great fidelity to the Claw that I fear many of our own lack. We owe you a great many favors. Many, that we would like to pay back now, so allow us to lighten our wallets in favors." Gran smiles as she jokes slightly, well, you think it was suppose to be a joke if the light giggles that came out of the background characters indicated anything. The joke's effects soon dies down though, as Gran concludes her speech.
"Consider these not just gifts, but as tokens of appreciation."
You don't think some of the others agreed, it even looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here. But more than the few looked genuinely welcoming and acknowledging of you.
Methodically and slowly, she turns around towards the table opens up the black metal case in front of you, its contents showing you-
A thing of fucking beauty, a piece of iron that you would have sold an arm, a leg, and your dignity for. Just looking at it, you can already tell it's far better than the usual Six Shooter that you bring with you on missions.
Wakako only needed to take one look at you to know you were hooked, line and sinker.
God damn was she right.
"The first of our gifts, "The Ace of Spades"." She gestured her hand to point at one of the guards who brought in the
"The manufacturer we commissioned to make this Heavy Revolver, knowing your preference for Six Shooters over any other sidearm, we specified to being a Power Class, Six Shot Revolver." The guard stayed silent while Gran waved her hands towards the item in question, welcoming you to take it into your readily twitching fingers.
Gently, almost reverently, with fingers off the trigger, you take them into your hands. You didn't want to do some faux-pas on what was obviously a power play of some sort and embarrass Gran. So you held yourself back from spinning it around.
The guard seeing his cue, soldiered on. "What it may lack in rate of fire and ammo capacity that most other handguns have. It more than makes up for in pure damage and stopping power. Its caliber enough to pierce through even Arasaka's own soldiers much more modern protection."
The Japanese that the guard spoke juxtaposed against the English that was being understood by your brain, long winds of text being turned into subtitles while audio turned your brain into short circing.
"It would be far more accurate to call this a Hand Cannon than a Pistol, or any Common Revolver. We know how you favor mobility and speed above all else. So, we had chosen for you a weapon tailored made for your specialty. There are two speed loaders for you to use as well, go on take them." The guard- finally- finishes, nodding once at you before slowly motioning to Wakako.
She smiles easily, as they throw you the sales pitch of whatever it was she wanted to buy from you. And whatever it was she thought she was buying, Gran had it.
And not just out of whatever messed up attachment you had. You were damn well pitched into the sales already, the words that described the gun, alongside the speedloaders were just bonuses to the gold mine you had gotten from this Revolver alone.
This would have cost you a hundred thousand or so in eddies. Not just for getting the materials for it, or even just getting the custom built ammunition for it. There were more happening in the background, even if you didn't catch them.
What you do know is that this was a serious investment in you, they don't hand these out like candies. Only the important people get custom iron's built for them, and not all of them get ceremonies like these.
And you just got all of it basically free.
Well, a bit lower than what you imagine, but thank god you still basically got it for free.
"It had cost us yes, a sixty-nine thousand and eight-hundred forty-seven eddies in price. But no expenses were held, and no corners cut. It will serve you well in your future endeavors. Now, we move on to your cyber- Ah, but before I forget. I should mention. There is a little secret to this gun of yours. Take a closer at the back of the grip, go on, go on."
And take a closer look you did, squinting your eyes at the base of the grip, below the hammer you could see engraved letters into it. Was a vertical line of letters curved along it.
You tilt the gun so that the backstrap was horizontal, allowing you to read the engraving.
It read '水星' and '爪尺匚ㄚ', the Kanji- Suisei when pronounced, meant Mercury. While the latter was in an font resembling an imitation of the Japanese language. With MRCY being short for Mercury, the alias you go by whenever you do your jobs, or whenever you ran things for people in general. If you read it another way, you could even pronounce it "Mercy".
The two text were engraved to both sides of the grip, the Kanji was positioned to be read from top to down, while under the bottom of the two was the shortened lettering in a smaller but still readable a size.
It was touching way, showing just how much your clients, no, your friends. Or maybe family? -You're still not sure completely, it's not like your a part of them. But you are one of their own- Considered you important enough to them that they used over a hundred k in eddies in expenses.
FOR ONE GUN.
But the gifts didn't stop there.
Seriously, what is this? Your birthday?
Yes, it is, you Gonk
Oh
"Thank you, for the gift. I'll make sure to put it to great use." Physically, you calmly let out. Mentally, you stuttered as the metaphorical weight ended making your arms heavier than they should be.
Wakako merely responded with a resolute tone, "We know you will."
She smiled, gesturing to the case once more. You wondered if she was asking you to put it back in, but then you realized that wasn't it.
No, it wasn't, because that wasn't the only thing in the case. You take a closer look at the foam that the gun and accessories had been snuggled in. You give one last look at Wakako, nodding silently. You gently put back what you took out, and carefully peeled away the entire foam layer. Moving it to the side you and revealing a second layer to the case.
As you do, you see a backlighted, vacuum sealed, plastic bag. You look back to Gran, and ask her for permission silently once more, seeing her nod her head at you, you let your arms reach out to the bag.
Making sure to handle it as carefully as you did your custom made iron-
…and WOW, did that feel amazing to say.
-You take the bag and bring it your eye level, seeing your face's reflection from the bag, you see your blood red pupils contrasting against the void black sclera of your Kiroshi Optics.
You had customized the color's to your liking, other's said you were trying too hard, or that it looked stupid, but you liked the look.
Besides, they had no right to judge. Some of the former Tyger's had the same color scheme as yours.
It takes a bit of angling to dispel the reflection and help you to better see its contents, but eventually you manage it.
From basic observation, you notice the content of the bag was a piece of cyberware meant to be fitted to your palms.
You recognize it as a Ballistic Coprocessor.
A chrome that when chipped helped with calculating a bullet's flight path, works only for Power weapons though, with their ability to ricochet all over the place. This was something that you can get from any chrome vendor or Ripperdoc.
But this… this wasn't just an ordinary piece. You take a closer look at it, feeling like you're missing some vital information that is right in front of you, but no matter how much you stare, or look, or exert your brain trying to find what makes it different from the average marketplace version, you just can't find it out, almost frying your brain in the process.
You know it's different, you can't shake off the feeling that it was. It's literally at the back of your head, almost like you were one word away from figuring it out.
You hide your shame at not being able to figure out what made it so special.
You take the loss for now, you can figure it out later when you get back to your apartment to rest for the rest of the night. Either way, it was still a great gift. And if they had taken all the effort to package and gift it to you, then it must have been expensive, or at the very least hard to acquire.
The Gun more than made up for it anyways.
You turn towards, Wakako, gratitude plain in your face and actions, as you bow towards her.
You let your head rise up after a pause, making sure you rose slowly. You meet face to slightly lower face, and make eye contact. Wanting to make sure you let your intent be clear.
"Again, thank you Gran, for the gift. I'll make sure they're put to good use, I won't let your trust down."
"Oh my sweet little Mercury," She replied back softly, that of a caring grandmother telling her grandchild that the could have done no wrong. Her hand taking place on your shoulder, "I know you won't."
She continued on, spreading her arms towards the audience, speaking to the entirety of the room this time
"It is an unfortunate truth, that our Clan does not allow any and all outsiders to join our ranks-"
Hmm? What? You thought that anyone could join so long as they were loyal enough? Wasn't that why you could be here in the first place?
You're so confused.
Apparently though, the others weren't. As some in the crowd cursed to themselves, or nodded in understanding. A few more of the ones that you noticed being supportive were smiling smugly, like a corpo contractor sealing a deal.
"-A tradition that has served us well, and will continue to do so for years past us. And it is one I do not plan on breaking anytime soon. So for that, I must apologize, for you cannot become one of us. Not even as a shatei. The lowest in our organization."
She paused to sweep her eyes over the gathered crowd, making sure to look each one of them in the eye, before making their way back to you as she raises her hands. "But, there is one thing I can give in exchange for equal value. You may not be with us, but it does not mean you cannot be favored by the Tyger Claws! In blood and name you may not be of the Claw, but the spirit of the Tyger is with you."
She brings her hands down, putting them back to her sides. "I ask you now Mercury, do you accept the favor of the Tyger Claw?"
"I Accept"
A cacophony of claps soon rang out after your response, the speech now officially being concluded, signifying the end of whatever pomp and ceremony was left.
The party soon dies down after all the buzz and formalities were over. It seemed to you that the mingling part was the most important part of the event rather than your gifting ceremony. As after a couple more people congratulated you, they moved on and decided to keep drinking, eating, and occasionally, connect with someone.
But, in the end, everyone was ready to go back to their businesses and move on from today. One by one, people left, some in groups of two or more, others alone.
You were as ready to head back to bed as well, having put back the gifts you were given into their respective storage compartments. The Six Shooter and speedloaders back to the synth-polyurethane foam, and the chrome, that still needs to be chipped in for your hand, below it.
You picked up the case and held it on your off-hand, As you make for the door only to see Gran standing there waiting. She nods at you as she beckons you over to her side.
Indulging her, and not seeing any reason to refuse her. You stride over coolly, with measured steps presented purposefully. Not in any way hurrying, but not too slow either. As you end up standing right next to her, you angle yourself at a forty-five degree incline to give her a grateful bow at the waist once more.
"Ah dear, the Implant of yours, take care of it and use it well. Better yet, have it chipped by a Ripperdoc as soon as you can. What you're holding onto is a Military grade piece of cyberware." Gran huffs to you, her words equivalent to that of an order to your mind. Even if there was a bit of amusement in them.
"I will Gran, I will." You resolutely replied back.
The elderly woman, seemingly satisfied with your answer, let's you go on your way. But not before directly uploading a set of directions to your chip as goodbye.
It was definitely fun night, and a very rewarding one.
You wondered back then, what new paths opened up to you after that day.