A boot tipped with steel landed on his gut, kicking the breath out of his lungs and sending him into a fetal position. He groaned, spitting out a bit of blood from his bitten tongue and cut up lips. He prepared for more, yet words translated by his Neural Link filtered into his mind.

"Hey, this one is pretty fuckin' pathetic, yeah? Let's bounce, he has no fight." The Japanese was directly translated into English, his sole optic flashing the dialogue before his vision, yet strangely enough; he understood them perfectly. How did he know Japanese?

"Nandayo?" His link glitched. "C'mon, let's kick in his teeth a bit more." One said petulantly.

"Fuck off Izu, you'll get your kicks later. I just got some deets from the boss." The other said, jerking his head to the busy streets. "Let's go."

There was some grumbling, and one took his time to hawk a ball of spit that thankfully landed on the pavement instead of him. Once they were gone, Corvac slowly groaned and stood up, a frown on his face as his bruised gut twanged with pain. He managed to stand, before shuffling to the wall in an attempt to gain some bearing. He closed his eyes, one metal and glass, the other blood and flesh.

Corvac rubbed his temple, his mind a fuckin' mess. Who was he again? Why…why does he have cybernetics?

'Just…what the fuck is going on?'

The man grimaced, images and flashes of a life that hadn't been lived scrolling through his mind like it was a cheap Brain Dance. B-Movie. He was the son of an auto-repair mechanic, one who serviced cars down in Pacifica before it went tits up. He'd never touched cars, more interested in computers and books. His dad had fought in the war…what war? The Fourth Corporate War, of course. The Gulf War. Who was his dad? David. No, it was Roger. Who was his mother? Never Had One.

'So, that's the same.' He thought with a grimace.

Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. In one life - for he had two - he was born in 2054, and it was currently 2076. He lived in Night City, alone, for his father had committed suicide years prior when he was going through high school; having shown signs of Cyberpsychosis from his many military-grade cybernetics. After school he found work within another car-shop; plying the few things his father had taught him along with the shit education he'd managed to scrape together.

Corvac remembered the BDs, the drugs, the fights, the shootouts and gun fights with other wannabe gangsters. He remembered killing three men with his Nue, one that had been taken off of him by those Tiger Claws who just kicked his shit in for shits and giggles.

The other life was of a man that had lived in comparatively, the lap of luxury. Having tasted fine steak, never having touched anything remotely even considered SCOP or Kibble. He had a fine life, one of sloth and laziness. One where…

"Ah, fuck me." The man grunted out.

Things were starting to come back to him, but not in a way he'd ever thought they ever would. Burned into his skull was a document of choices, of which some made sense, and other pieces of it made little to zero; however, the part of him that was from another life soon recognized the list of information and could quickly surmise what had just happened.

"Choose Your Own Adventure, huh." The man muttered, spitting to the side as his mouth filled with blood. He cracked open his eyes and started to pay attention to what he'd initially just considered as glitches to his neural-soft or his optic, but…those shadows shouldn't have eyes and teeth, nor should that cat over there be grinning at him so widely.

"Bakeneko." Corvac muttered with a wry grin.

It scampered away in a purple aurora of mystical energy, bleeding away into the falling night of the neon-city.

He mentally reviewed the list of changes he'd just obtained from his little document he'd filled out.

Corvac went down the list. His first observations would be that this was a document that was directed towards a setting known as Worm, which from one choice he'd effectively removed from his mind. The document started off with some stuff about 'meta' options, stating that it would be 'him' who would be affected by the choices, he'd see these options take the format of the CYOA, and the difficulty and setting he'd chosen instead of this Worm setting.

That being Pondsmith's Cyberpunk, which he did have very clear memories in both lives due to also having chosen the reincarnation insertion option.

The man who'd been living in this reality for so long was hardly surprised about how many things were hidden away by the corpos, with the Eurobank effectively puppeteering the Fourth Corporate War, the fall of the USA, Saburo's nationalistic madness, the same for Donald's, and all kinds of projects and hidden skeletons these companies brushed under the rug. He just took that knowledge with a huff of indifference and general apathy at the state of this hellhole of a world.

It was currently 2076, which would be the 'canonical time period' for many of his former life's media and characters to be rooting about. That was the time he'd chosen for him to be inserted into a body that shared the same name, race, and gender. Along with the requirements for his future reincarnation to be without any true factions or heat bearing down on him.

He'd chosen the Hard Difficulty to shrink the available resources, not wanting to create an effective God with the plethora of points he'd be obtaining, and instead wanted to create something that could loosely fit within this setting. That 'fit' was largely expressed with a collection of drawbacks, many of which he was already experiencing and dealing with.

Corvac winced as he went through them, knowing full well what his expected job path was going to be and couldn't exactly push down the feeling of intense excitement that came with these drawbacks.

His first Drawback was known as In One Ear, which was more of a Perk rather than a Drawback; making him unable to explain his unnatural powers to anyone. It'd still allow them to draw their own conclusions, but those would be undoubtedly better than the truth of this unrealistic situation.

He had several other drawbacks that he didn't give much thought to, things like him being Poor (everyone was), him not knowing who a man named Wildbow was, the fact that he was Orphaned, that no-one will believe him about any of the conspiracies he knew about the Corporations without hard proof, and that his past-life was rather fragmented with several key memories missing.

All of the above, Corvac didn't really care about, at least, not compared to the other drawbacks that were guiding him towards a very obvious direction.

These drawbacks were called Insanity, Pragmatic, Cold, and Battle Junkie.

Starting from least concerning to most concerning, Cold. Cold made it harder to empathize with people, made him a frigid person who struggles to see things in other's perspectives. Not exactly something new, what with Corvac's reincarnation being a resident in Night City. Everyone here was a cold son-of-a-bitch, and being empathetic to another man's plight was seen as being weak.

Next was Pragmatic, which made his goals, plans, and actions not take into the consideration of the public relations aspect; he had a mission, he'd get it done. This alone wasn't too bad, pragmatic people were a dime a dozen, but when it was paired with his Insanity…shit started getting concerning.

Battle Junkie was the next step up and it made him just that; an addict towards the rush of battle and blood. Already a voice in his head was yelling at him to chase after the Tiger Claws and to rip them apart. The voice was only made worse by his various insanities; which brought him to the big winners.

Insanity was a Drawback that unlocked other mental issues. The first of which was called Robot which made his emotions hard to express, often coming off as flat, ingenuine, fake, or emotionless. A worrying thing, although once he got some Chrome, easily explainable or capable of being brushed off. Next, was Inhumanity; a drawback that separated him from Humanity itself, removing himself from it in what seemed to be an utter tone of indifference and apathy. This paired with his Cold Drawback and Pragmatism…well already one was getting the picture of a cold uncaring psychopath.

Yet, that wasn't where this mess ended. Further adding to the compounding mental wreck was his 'Human Killing Ghost' drawback, drawing intense pleasure from killing humans with the exact wording stating that the more people he kills, the happier he becomes.

Then, he had an 'Obsession', in which indulging this obsession would also make him happier. This Obsession was 'Transhumanistic Desire', which could be easily surmised as 'become borg; be happy. Be a better borg, be happier.'

'I'm a baby Adam Smasher.' Corvac thought with stark realization, idly glancing towards City Central, where Arasaka Tower was located. He heard the screams of a hundred trapped souls, reminding him of his last Drawback; Hallucinations.

These Hallucinations had him trapped in a realm of constant imagination and unreality, lost in his head and mind. He'd at times have moments of clarity when things didn't look like he was on a constant acid trip. Furthermore, his Powers would grow stronger the less clarity he has at the time. At his worst, he'll have twice as much power, and at his best, he'll only be slightly more powerful.

Thankfully, due to a perk called Wonderland, he's 'learned' to master his insanity to a certain degree. He'll still experience them, but he'll be capable of distinguishing between what is real and what is not.

This choice was made to prevent him from being distracted in situations that require focus and concentration, such as combat, although they'll still flare up at times and he'll likely garner a reputation of being a daydreamer.

Corvac let out a breath of air from his nose, clearing his sinuses from drying blood. 'So, I'm a psychopathic killer with dreams to become a super-borg. What'd I gain from all this?'

He thought of his Perks first and foremost. His first perk was one called 'Rapid Learning', which accelerated his learning speed by a factor of five in both terms of theoretical and practical knowledge. There were some restrictions on his ability to learn Martial Arts with a weak body, but Corvac didn't really pay attention to that. He was planning on becoming a Borg, not a meat suit.

He had one interesting Perk called Sanctity of The Mind, which protected him from any and all things that would directly affect the mind, emotions, and senses. There is nothing that can influence his mind ranging from hypnotic technology to memetic hazards. This also applies to any digital mind should he have one. He's immune to viruses, subversion, and hacking, although with permission, he can allow things to influence him. A rather good perk to have with Nightcorp researching Brainwashing technology, not to mention Soul Killer and the number of Netrunners populating this world.

'This sole perk effectively just made me immune to Netrunning. Huh.' Corvac wondered if that was a purposeful play on his part, but the exact thought process he had while making these choices was lost to time.

Next was Noctis Cape, which removed his need for sleep. It also granted him a perfect edict memory with infinite storage, although any memory he had before awakening to getting his shit kicked in were 'saved' in an imperfect form as he saw them without the perfect memory.

Beyond those two big ones, he also had something called 'Plot Armor' which really just made him not capable of dying in any sort of accident. Someone would need to actively want to kill him; chance or bad luck wasn't going to claim his life.

Lastly was Patience of a Saint, which really just made him patient. Rather…tame, although that patience was described as rather supernaturally monk-like. Tedium wouldn't bother him though, so that was a boon.

After Perks came Skills, which was where he spent most of his points in the CYOA. Here he bought Thousand Style Master, which turned his body into a weapon of free-style martial arts not confined to a single form. He could have easily put all those Tiger Claws on the ground, if he hadn't been reeling from suddenly having these skills in the first place; along with all of his other baggage and confusion. Besides, he doubted his current body would be capable of doing much real damage without some creative moves. Meat against chrome wasn't exactly a viable option, even for Juicers; they often obtained some form of knuckle reinforcement or melee weapon to take advantage of their greater strength and mass. His bones and fingers would be mush if he tried to throw a punch, and any hold or bind would likely get him shot or broken by simple panic instinct from the superhuman chromers. Oh well, the opportunity was lost, and all he had to show for it was a bruised gut and some cosmetic damage.

Bloodthirsty and hungry for battle as he was, he certainly wasn't stupid. He wanted a challenge, but to obtain that, he first needed actual power and ability to hold his ground in a real fight. Not this street level brutality and weakling-bullying.

Corvac shook his head, grunting as he shook those thoughts from his head. They were good ones for sure, but he still needed to take some time to gather himself. After all, he hadn't yet visited his Powers.

Having chosen the Hard Difficulty, Corvac was rather frugal with his points, of which most were spent in the Skills section. Beyond his Martial Arts, he'd also taken Marksman, Gun Fu, Parkour, Polyglot and Stealth. All critical skills for an aspiring Merc, and ones that would serve him well in the coming future. But, while they were impressive, Powers were where the CYOA shined, and he'd admit to having grabbed some rather lack-luster ones compared to their compatriots.

Yet, that was the point, as far as he could tell. Suddenly becoming all-powerful within this dredge of a world would have a psychopath at the helm of having the lingering motivation of needing to fix it. While he'd forgotten many of his exact thoughts and reasons for choosing what he did, Corvac knew full well that these choices weren't made with the goal of fixing this reality. No, they were made to get immersed within it.

He did not want to become a messiah character of change and progress, turning the clock around and fixing the world. He did not want to become a godly super hero in a world where heroes didn't belong. To be a hero was to be short-changed, taken advantage of, and otherwise scammed or targeted by those in power who wanted a new toy to break, or a new piece of research to understand.

Corvac knew that with all these choices, he was designed to thrive within the underbelly of Night City, and his powers only expressed that.

He didn't have what was called a 'Shard', instead taking Shardless Powers, of which his were classified as Technological Powers, although he had one Spiritual Power as well. The first would be 'Tinker Toolbox', which granted him strange abilities all 'Tinker Class' powers from Worm had.

This power made him capable of modifying reality to make super tech with common materials. This includes the ability to cut glass with his fingernails, obtain a 95% yield in chemical solutions, using copper as a room temperature superconductor, making plastic from potatoes (what a waste of good food), and creating advanced components by hand without the need for dedicated machining tools or facilities. The only compromise is the need to perform maintenance in all components that defy the laws of physics.

As a bonus, he can enter a fugue-like state for faster build speed and a deeper reality modification, leading to more throughput with the common materials, like making a 3-D printer extrude carbon nano-tubes.

To be a Tinker was to constantly chase after quality materials to eventually make one's specialization's technology. Of which, his was setting specific.

His 'specialization' was Cyberpunk, for he has the knowledge of how to create any technology that is either shown, referenced, or hinted at in Pondsmith's Cyberpunk series. This includes both the tabletop RPG, Edgerunner Anime, and the video game adaptation, making him able to create neuralware, Braindances, Cyberdecks, software and programs, AI, cybernetics, robotics, The Soulkiller Program, hovertanks, powered armor, various consumables, bioware, and so much more. As a bonus, his cybernetic augmentations will never be the direct cause of Cyberpsychosis in anyone who uses them.

Furthermore, he became a skilled Netrunner, able to run circles around modern hackers, exploring the Data Net in ways few could ever hope to match, with Artificial Generic Intelligences being one of the only exceptions.

It was this power that was the backbone of his ability within this reality, while his skills and new psychology would be the motive force directing him towards the desire and need for the two things he now 'loved' in life. Murder and Chrome.

'I can't tell if it's the drawbacks talking, but I'm surprisingly okay with becoming an 'Edgerunner', Solo, or Mercenary.' It likely was, but Corvac had once taken a Philosophy class, having researched and learned about Stoicism and Virtue Ethics along with a lot of 'what does it mean to be happy' kind of jargon. Eudaimonia is an old Greek word that translates to 'good spirit' often taken in the English language to mean 'true happiness' and 'welfare'. Corvac idly wondered if his Drawbacks would bring him towards that ideal of ultimate happiness. If he killed enough people, if he was a strong enough borg, if he was separated enough from humanity; what would it feel like to him, to be his 'final form', for him to find his Arete; also known as a full realization of potential.

Corvac's fists clenched, hands shaking in some form of suppressed excitement. His fingers reached for tools and scrap, his mind buzzed with chrome systems that'd lead him down that next step towards removing the weak flesh chaining him to his humanity. It was a unique feeling, to have this…goal. To have a goal that guarantees happiness. No matter how grim, how macabre, immoral, or down-right evil it was to actually consider walking down such a path; it was one that spoke of becoming more. Think on that for a moment, look and self-reflect, and ask oneself the question of whether they were happy with themselves at this moment. Perhaps some may offer wisdoms of friends, connections, relationships and third-party validation for their continued existence; which is fair. A father's joy is his pride, a mother's love is her guide; yet, a son's goal is to find his pride.

Corvac had found his pride; it existed within steel and blood, and by God was he going to exact his price in lead to obtain it. Yet lead alone wasn't all that it'd take to obtain the amount of blood needed to declare himself monarch of all that is crimson and chrome.

Corvac took a deep breath and focused on his last Power, one that was rather spiritual.

In many mediums of fiction, there exists a concept known as Killing Intent. This phenomena is real to him, in which he has the power to, at will, exude a terrifying aura which channels his own ill feelings, hate, and intent to kill on people around him. The scale of its effects depend on how strong, dangerous, and deadly he is relative to the people that are exposed to it, as well as their willpower. It can vary from them getting a chill running down their spines, wetting or soiling themselves, passing out in terror, and in some extreme cases; can even kill people with a heart attack.

Against a foe like Adam Smasher, or any real hardened killer in this city, this power likely wouldn't be that useful. However, Corvac could easily see it generating a Legend, something that he idly toyed with creating. Corvac hadn't a real focused desire to become a Legend like so many 'gonks' roaming this city. Corvac wanted to join that messy world not for the fame, the prestige, money, wealth, power, luxury, or any sort of vain good that this world's corrupted people wanted so incessantly.

Corvac wanted to fill a hole in his chest, one carved out by means he couldn't even begin to explain; he wanted to not live in fear of his flesh, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity of death, he wanted a challenge in this world that so proclaimed how cheap life was in its expenditure. He wanted so much, that he chuckled at the irony of it all.

'So removed from humanity, yet so human in my greed and desire. Ah, hypocrisy at its finest.'

The man pushed off the alleyway wall, stumbling out into the busy street of Kabuki. Joy-Toys of all genders and races put themselves out on market, the seedy belly of the street he was on being watched over by various Tiger Claw goons. The Asian gangsters and poor excuse for Yakuza stood by stalls of the marketplace, men and women eating cheap street food made of kibble and fake-meat. There was a stall that sold guns openly with various tougher looking people crowding about, while drones and aircraft flew throughout the skies of the towers above them.

Hangers on a distant skyscraper opened, Corvac watching as a hole opened up inside an advertisement allowing the air-born vehicles to enter the massive steel monolith. Around him was a mess of light and neon flamboyance, sounds and stimulation filling his senses with bright lights and flashy noises. Advertisements that were over-sexed, disgusting, or just plain strange flashed about on boards and walls all around him; just as holographic koi-fish, animals, and monsters lurked about the marketplace.

He didn't flinch as an Oni, standing eight-feet tall with a massive belly walked by him, on its shoulder a keg of beer. It sat down at the feet of a congregation of Tiger Claws, popping open the keg and drinking back.

Its eyes flashed to him, and the moment they met he felt someone else's eyes on him.

'Time to move.' Corvac thought, his vision catching the heads of the gangsters turning to see him up and about, business likely over and fun-time having made its calling. New skill had him rush into a crowd, heading back into the alleyway as he sprinted to the wall. His foot kicked out and hit the side of the alleyway, kicking him up with a twirl of his body. His right hand found the lip of the dead-end and with artistic flair he pushed up and off, landing on his shoulder and falling into a roll to bleed off momentum.

He sprang up a moment later, rushing under the pass of a highway as he sprinted down the street. He didn't stop his sprint until his wounds started to get too annoying. Corvac slowed down and took a breather, mentally accessing the city's map and getting his GPS location. He routed his way to his building, and mentally activated his car to drive to his location.

Five minutes later a clunky thing that was the exact same model of the mercenary V's own car drove up to him. Corvac got inside and he joined traffic, driving his way to his shop.

With his father's death and Pacifica going to shit back when he was still in Highschool, Corvac made some quick decisions. He used his dad's contacts and put out a reach for anyone willing to buy the shop, to which plenty of fools who still thought Pacifica was going strong jumped on the offer.

The shop was sold for a decent amount of Euro, to which Corvac used to pay off debt, student loans for high school, and to get himself a quaint little workshop down in Kabuki, Watson.

Kabuki was only third or second to City Central for a prospective Car Mechanic, the Tigers loved their cars and bikes just as much as the Valentinos. And they both liked stealing them.

One would think he'd then use the place as a Chop Shop, but Corvac knew that was a quick way to get betrayed. Valentinos and Tigers were racist motherfuckers, and they'd easily use an outsider's place to strip a Corpo's car, which would easily be tracked to his place; and suddenly he was either in the dirt or in NCPD custody.

Nah, Corvac instead used it as a home, workshop, gym, and a place to do miscellaneous repair work on things that weren't as high profile as Cars were. He was a Techie, one that worked on all kinds of things; usually Iron.

That was a side-hustle though, and he really worked at a legit automechic's store and was technically on a corporation's payroll. Something that never used to grind his gears, but well, call him a rebel, but he wanted to get some blue-blood weighing on his soul.

Corvac grinned, his fingers drumming on his steering wheel as he thought deeply about his future actions. The first thing he needed to do was get contacts, and that meant Street Cred. How does one get started in this business? Connections, first impressions, and some amount of skill and ability. Good seeds were rare and in very much high demand by Fixers; although they often had to work with a lot of bad seeds, only rarely did they get a merc that checked enough boxes for them to get a spot down in the Afterlife.

Corvac had some connections, mainly with Tiger Claws, ironically enough. Living in Kabuki, one gets acquainted fast, lest one's house gets firebombed. Regardless, Corvac wasn't going to be a wannabe Morgan Blackhand strolling around and trying to find a gig that'd get him killed. Nah, he needed a few things before he ever wanted to start developing a reputation and street-cred.

First and foremost, was to get some actual gear. Corvac was a techie and thus knew how to get some good Iron, but his current stock was rather poor. He was a fan of the Nue, the pistol had a kick to it that'd get through most chrome and it's feeling in his hand was preem. However, Corvac knew full well that he'd need even more firepower if he ever wanted to not get ganked by the first Chrome Addict with real Eddies to their name. So, obtaining a good gun was on his list of 'to-do'.

Then came the meat and core of his deal, and that was Chrome. Corvac wanted Chrome, his soul sung for it. His flesh felt diseased, ridden with weakness and fault; on a clock and on a timer. Corvac wanted to become ascendant, he wanted to become a Borg, a true transcendent being. He had the blueprint for Soul Killer, and it was only a matter of enough resources for him to create a bootleg one. Kill his Soul, transfer it to a Full-Borg body, and suddenly he just needed a charge once every week with the insane battery technology this world had.

He shook his head, he was getting lost in daydreams. He needed plans of action for the short term, not the long term. He slowed to a stop at a red-light, humming idly as he got lost in thought.

What he needed most critically was a Doc. He didn't trust any Ripper-Doc to not botch their surgery with unfamiliar, customized Tinker Technology made from sub-par reality breaking materials. That meant he'd need an 'Auto-Doc', something that is usually only within advanced laboratories for precise mechanical installment or used by the high elite. Ripper-Docs were for the 'masses', and often led to human error in installment, something which Corvac couldn't abide by.

Corvac then thought of how he could possibly obtain the necessary resources for him to not only create the cyberware he wanted, but also his Auto-Doc, Iron, medical supplies while he was still a Meatbag, ammunition, grenades, cyberdecks, cybermodems, and more. Corvac sighed and cracked his neck, clicking his tongue as he realized he'd need to get a bit dirty for this work.

In that he means he'll likely need to head out to the trash-heaps and start looting. There he'd find plenty of scrap and old broken shit that with Tinker's Toolbox he'll easily be capable of rending down and using. While that would be good for more base and scrap materials, he'd also need to find materials for his chrome. While he could make his chrome out of scrap, the fact that they were made of scrap would be obvious to any scan. His machines and tools could be made out of scrap, as they weren't running the risk of any prying eyes getting a good metric scan and material analysis on what his unidentified chrome was packing. They'd be getting readings of copper wire on plastic and scrap metal while he was ripping apart mag locked doors and punching through chromium plating.

A thought crossed his mind as the light flashes green and he continued down the street. He narrowed his eyes at the practicality of it, and hummed.

He could easily create a cybermodem with his current stuff inside his workshop and home. A bit of nearby scavenging and theft for more electronics and then fill his bathtub with some ice and he could start hitting the net.

His mind raced with ideas on various Daemons and Breaching Protocols, along with the necessary spyware he'd need to hide within the systems he'd be infecting. Scavs shouldn't have much in any way of cyber-protection on the level he was thinking, so getting a good Ping Daemon out and then lacing all the systems the Ping caught as being Scav Lairs with spyware…

He'd then have an effective map of several human trafficking and chrome chop-shops all ready to access. They were ripe for the picking and he was pragmatic enough to not care for the dead, so all their reapings of chrome and gear would be quality scrap for him to render down into higher quality chrome.

'Hit the wastes, pick up some scrap, head back and create an Auto-Ripper and a Modem. Then send a ping for all Scav Lairs, connect to the NCPD network for 'crimes in action', kill, scav, scram. Hijack a van of some kind from the Scavs, this car doesn't have much in terms of storage space…' Corvac blinked as he stared at his garage. So lost in his thoughts he only now realized he'd arrived.

He sighed and sent the IFF for the door to open and then drove into the rather cramped workshop. Corvac with his father's debt, school debt, this place, his car, and all the fees and taxes placed upon him as a citizen of glorious Night City was rather poor. Everyone who wasn't a suit was, in a way. Very few middle class working men ever climbed out of the gutter that was the wealth gap, at least not without some sort of sponsor or 'lucky' event with a corpo taking his land and livelihood for an appropriate fee.

Corvac rolled his eyes and slipped out of his car, heading directly to his workbench and inspecting the tools and project currently on the desk. He glanced down at the Darra Polytech DR-12 Quasar. A powerful Tech Revolver, one that boasted a massive clip of twenty rounds and was one of his favorite weapons besides the Nue. Big clip size, massive penetration damage when fully charged, which made it preem for targeting hard-targets that weren't mechs and tanks. It was a pocket machine-heavy-pistol that once charged up could take down the toughest of foes. Sadly, in its inert low-charge state it was rather piss poor and the poor quality make of the pistol to save on costs in manufacturing made it a weapon most used for its cost effectiveness rather than its devastating potential.

That formerly mentioned 'charge' was its greatest fault, as while it was a devastating weapon, it wasn't exactly the best defensive weapon when the time it took to draw, aim, and charge for devastating barrage of birdshot took too long for any sort of speedware using chromer to rip the user to shreds. And yes, the gun did take birdshot for ammunition, which was genius as the gun was railgun and focused greatly on projectile speed; not mass of the slug. With four electromagnetic rails inside the barrel, when fully charged, the gun could empty its magazine through hard-cover and into the soft internals of any hiding foe.

Sadly, its cheap production quality and rather 'aesthetically pleasing' design philosophy had it being overlooked as a rather shit gun; which in many ways it was, but for a poor-ass white boy in desperate need for some umph behind his shots, along with the need for a lot of shots; it was a good go-to.

Still a good weapon, just not the best for quick, high-level chrome fights that almost always involved a piece of speedware. For those he'd likely be packing a kitted out Overturn with depleted uranium projectiles, and for really hard targets; the Techtronika RT-46 Burya was a good choice as well. Well, not a standard model, but with some good work, chrome, a ballistics calibrator, and some skill; that beast of a slugger could end the lives of most anyone.

'Especially with explosive-armor-penetrating rounds launched through a coilgun system.' Corvac thought wryly.

Almost without thinking, Corvac fell into a fugue, and the next moment he was lucid his internal clock stated that it was morning, his gut felt like it had a hole in it, and he was staring down at an extremely modified Quaser. The gun was rather odd, with a drum magazine at the back holding its twenty round clip, normally painted white and gray. Yet, now it was painted black and toxic green, with hazardous yellow stripes along its barrel and drum length. Memories flooded back into his mind and he whistled, the gun's rail system now dramatically optimized with his tinker bullshit making it better. This allowed the charge to go through at half the speed it normally did and hit twice as hard due to the room-temperature superconductors he had installed.

He also dialed up the scope, accuracy, generally stripped the cheap polymere for more quality metals he had laying around, and then switched out the industry standard birdshot for two clips worth of aluminum shelled tungsten rounds laced with melted silver.

Corvac groaned, 'That was a lot of materials, used for ammo!' He sighed, shaking himself off as he got past the 'waste'. He'd not be saying that when he got accosted by some Maelstrom goon or a Cyberpsycho out in the boonies.

Corvac pushed off the table and headed to his living area further inside. He headed to his kitchen and got out some SCOP, scoffed it down, before then started thinking about his plans while he hosed off in the shower system. His water cut off after a minute of washing, cutting off his train of shower thoughts. He growled, but didn't otherwise do much as he started to get dressed for the day.

His more heavy-duty gear, gloves, boots, a gas-mask, protective goggles, and he was out the door driving down towards the garbage patches hanging out by the edge of the city.

Corvac parked somewhere hidden, eyes scanning for any cameras, making him wish he'd made a cyberdeck; even if it was just a hand-held one for a good ping. Would make him feel safer out here.

Corvac sighed and continued on, climbing through the rotting filth and garbage, and his eyes soon started finding quality pieces of scrap that he could render down for some crude, but still effective tools. All thanks to Tinker's Toolbox.

The day went by with hours of hard work. Corvac returned often to his car to crush down a bag of scrap and material inside his trunk, before filling the back of his car and then the passenger seat with more layered trash bags of garbage and trash.

He didn't see anyone out there, strangely enough, having figured from his memories of the game that this kind of thing was what scavs did. Y'know, scavenged?

'On second thought, that was a news report from the game talking about it. A news report that happened in 2077, not 2076; shit, the economies just going to get worse, isn't it?'

Pushing through that bit of information, Corvac soon filled his car with several dozen bags of scrap. His fingers often ripping through chassis of long dead cars, pulling out sensitive electronics long since gone to time, cutting through glass with his finger nail, and generally manipulating the long-since forgotten tech-trash with supernatural skill and ability. Each of his bags, if brought to any form of recycling plant or pawn shop, if valued honestly, would sell for a good two or three weeks wage of him working at his job.

'Speaking of.' Corvac frowned, "I should quit." He muttered. Shrugging he thought opened his messenger and was about to write out a resignation form, before getting a sense of ennui.

'Fuck, should I just not show? Eventually they'll just fire me…' Corvac hummed, before getting an idea.

He opened up the Net and searched for an 'AI', one that was effectively like the ones on the net back in his old world.

'Ah, here we are. Now, write me a resignation letter directed towards Fine Locomotives Corp.'

In a blip of the screen, a massive block of text of a sincere looking apology and the form of resignation was generated. Some liberal copy-pasting and editing for his name and various areas of personal information later, he sent it to his HR manager and grinned. 'Ah, the wonders of AI.'

Corvac pulled up to his workshop and started to toss the bags into a corner, before he then got to work. His hands flew and he fell into another fugue, this one he had more control over, but still one that felt like time was moving at an accelerated rate.

Corvac blinked and suddenly he was staring at what looked like a creative torture device. Made of blackened metal, the device was literally an Iron Maiden. Instead of spikes, a whole host of tiny mechanical arms tipped with modular blades, pincers and surgical tools glinted. A drain that was connected to the sewer system was located at the base of the coffin. Corvac also noted that the 'sanitation protocol' for the machine was literally a cremation and then a spray down of water and chemical agents.

'Fugue me has a sense of humor, it seems.' Corvac thought idly, a grin on his face as he inspected the various functions of the machine through an integrated terminal built inside the wall. He opened the 'Operations' tab and was introduced to an empty page of 'No Implants In Storage'.

He grunted with satisfaction at the machine and closed the coffin's doors, a woeful face of a crying maiden staring down at him from a blackened metal guise.

'Step one, complete. It'll need maintenance every once and a while, but I'd do that even if it was made from state-of-the-art materials.' Covac stroked his chin while he thought further of what he needed to accomplish. Not needing to sleep and the fact that he was a subscriber of high-energy once-a-day SCOP meals meant that he only needed to eat, shit, take care of hygiene, and drink every once and a while to keep his meat suit going. Having Noctis Cape as a perk was pretty damned cool.

"I guess I could go out there for the night?" Corvac muttered to himself. His hands quickly busied themselves and suddenly (thirty minutes later) he was holding a pair of quality night-vision glasses. He put them on and then drove to a CHOO3 station, filled up on gas, before heading across the city and back to the trash heaps.

[BO3: 70 Uncommon, 80 Rare, 90 Epic, 100 Legendary]

[3d100: 93, 13, 35]

Corvac was thorough that night, using his trunk to further speck out his night vision goggles into truly advanced grade scanning equipment. He found a rather old computer, but one that was in surprisingly good shape. A few pieces of tape and some elbow-grease, the thing was running up to modern-day standards and was connected to a rigged together surveillance drone that he had doing a grid-pattern over the trash mounds. A map was being created with spots of worthwhile scrap, tech, and other such goodies being separated from the rotting garbage and trash. Corvac's efficiency was through the roof as he quickly started creating 'dead drops' of lower quality, but still good bulk scrap bags that were ear-marked on his growing mapping software.

Corvac himself went searching using the drone's data cashes to search areas where its scanners spotted curiosities. His crude rigged together gigger counter ticked every once and a while from the ambient radiation of Night City, avoiding areas where that ticking started to climb. Soon he found an area that looked like a vehicle had crashed through into a mound of trash, before being swallowed by the garbage.

Curious, he started to excavate the location, soon finding a buried truck. He breached the roof and got a strong whiff of rotting corpses, but pushed through the smell and inspected the contents of the truck.

Mercs.

Rather well armed ones at that, and by their gear they were operating around the 2060s. He clambered down and took some scans of their gear. Their gear was substandard, same with their rusted chrome. Rather shit in all honesty, and he figured this might just be a mere curiosity. But, he was anything if not thorough in his looting.

He glanced at the smattering of heavy-caliber bullet holes that cleared out the windscreen and the smattering of rotten gore of the destroyed chests and heads of the mercenaries, before finding the one in the passenger seat curled over a heavy duty case. He titled back the cadaver's chest with a gloved hand, its headless form slumping back and revealing a black military case that just sung to him 'importance'. Grinning, Corvac took the case and vacated the crash site, before heading up and back to his camp.

He got out some of his crudely put together scanning tools and found that this was a Militech case. A quick jack into the net and some searching found that this case was company regulation grade for cyberware.

Grinning wide, he popped it open easily, his nails capable of cutting steel due to Tinker bullshit, and inspected the contents.

Corvac started to laugh the moment he saw the piece of cyberware within the case. 'Unbelievable.' He shook his head as he stared down the Militech Falcon Sandevistan Mk.4. He knew of it at first glance, because well, Tinker. This was the current market's generation of Militech Falcon Sandevistan, released back in 2063 and was hailed as one of the greats for its sheer longevity and duration; although its cooldown time was rather insane. Currently in development was the Falcon Mk.5, which players in '77 could use, and was also the most likely candidate for one David Martinez to have been using within the show 'Edgerunners', although some argue that was the QianT MK5 'Warp Dancer'.

Corvac took out the data chip placed within the foam of the metallic spine and pushed it into the data-slot on his terminal.

"Hmm, what are the specs on this thing? Slows time down to a perspective 40% for a good eighteen subjective seconds. Then a cooldown of a general sixty second time-frame but can be pushed at risk for forty seconds of cooldown. Pretty shit, all told." Corvac muttered with enhanced expectations due to his own sheer capabilities.

He'd need a few more exotic materials, but if he had one or two more quality Sandevistans he could create a tried and true godly piece of technology; if this thing was 'Epic' in the game, then he'd be making 'Mythical' or 'Above-Legendary'. Tech he built had the principles and knowledge of all companies and scientists, the entire world's repository of industry secrets and fancy research hidden away, destroyed, or forgotten; locked away within his mind.

Corvac locked the piece of technology away, and put it into his car's back. He then shut down his camp and started to grab all of his loot, before driving back to the city. He entered his workshop and was hit with an immediate alert of needing to pay rent and a bunch of other bills and subscriptions.

He started to shill out the Eddies, his already poor-ass bank account hurting even more. He wasn't really bothered by it as he had a rough hundred thousand eurodollar piece of machinery in his trunk. Not that he'd sell it as Corvac didn't really care what the number in his bank account said. It was the idea that he had wealth that appealed to him; regardless of what a number that he didn't really own told him. Fuckers in Europe owned the Eurodollar, and as a red-blooded American; goddamn does that ruffle some feathers.

Corvac, now in his increasingly crowded workshop, started to think about what he wanted to build now. Obviously he'd be building his cybermodem to connect to the Net and mentally subtracted a plethora of resources he'd be needing for that. Then he went through anything else.

'Style is everything, as people say in Night City.' By that he meant he needed some armor. He had a decent gun in the form of his Quasar, and as it was now he'd rate the thing as a Legendary Iconic weapon designed specifically for hard-targets. 'Thing needs a name if it's going to be Iconic. How about…Oblivion? Eh, too edgy, I'll need to think of a naming scheme for my gear."

Corvac leaned back as he thought of his 'brand'. As a merc it was rather important to have a brand to stick to if one wanted to be someone within the big leagues. The largest examples he could think of were Johnny Silverhand's signature prosthetic and David Martinez's ER jacket. Both were the representation of their legends, the image that was usually associated with them. Corvac wasn't really a buyer of this entire 'Legend' bullshit that Night City had going for it. In a way, it was the only way for the dregs of society to become immortal; to make a lasting mark on the city through a gig so big, they became the sun that lit up the city of night. Yet, like many love to say, what burns twice as bright, only lasts half as long.

Corvac held no real desire or need for going directly from clearing Scav haunts for Cybernetic trash to suddenly storming Kanpeki Plaza to steal The Relic; unlike a certain Mercenary and his Choomba. He was planning on taking it slow, as could be seen by his current progress in attaining materials and scrap to build himself up.

Where I stopped