Security alarms were a necessity of living in or around night Night City.
The more valuables you possessed, the better security you needed to have to keep your goods safe.
A fact that Jimmy Kurosaki was all too well aware of, glaring at the bedside screen flashing the alert in his face.
The XBD editor groaned as he lifted himself from his silk sheets, feeling a pop in his back as he stretched. "Another break in?" he murmured to himself, "Do these brats never learn?"
It wasn't the first time someone tried to enter his studio without an invitation, and it would certainly not be the last. It was why he kept his studio in Watson and his residence in Westbrook's more luxurious buildings.
By the time the man had finished sitting up to examine the incoming messages they ended. The last one a report from his drones returning to their dock after ceasing fire on an intruder.
With a roll of his eyes and another stretch of his back, Jimmy stood up and rolled his right arm to work out the last lingering traces of sleep.
A glance at the clock told him time had just touched five in the morning. "No point in laying around..." he told himself, more concerned with his craving for eggs than the break in.
He'd have to hire a cleaning crew to take care of the body but that was nothing new. He had scrolls to edit and he was feeling enthusiastic.
It wasn't often the members of Maelstrom record themselves running a train on a chrome-free pre-teen, and he was eager to see what magic he could make with it.
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It was almost ten in the morning before JK could cross Night City and make his way to the dockside Watson studio.
With casual carelessness, Kurosaki connected with his private network. The wireless connection was unusually sluggish and bringing a frown to his face. "The brats who broke in this time must have knocked over a server or disconnected some wires." He thought, "Damnit, this means I'm going to have to play tech support to fix it."
Jimmy entered past the locked gates, ascended the steps to the office that was the front face of his entrepreneurial efforts and realized something was off at once.
No blood stains, broken windows or the smell of a corpse that shit itself after departing.
No ruffled files, open containers, or fried electronics to indicate that someone was digging around.
The sensors and cameras were all reading green. Even the hidden ceiling turret was saying nothing was wrong.
In fact, the only sign someone had been there was the trio of bullet holes in the floor of his office. The caliber belonging to his security drones.
It wasn't often that Jimmy felt an urge to spend a week at his warehouse hideaway, but that desire was building fast.
"I'm just being paranoid." he reasoned, "I'll just bring out the drones and do a sweep then get back to work."
The network command was sent and the drones came out from their docks, a pair of Militech Griffins. Same high cost quality as the pair in his safehouse, and worth every eddie. They hovered in place for a second as their routine programs came on line, same as always.
What was different was the fact that they targeted him the moment he was in their sights. It was only the clicking as their weapons readied that saved him. Gave him just enough of a warning to move.
"What the fuck?!" he yelled, diving behind a desk, and scrambling for the EMP generator on his waist.
The pulse of tech scrambling power was the only weakness Jimmy could take advantage of. The moment the drones crashed down he rushed over and hit the power switch in their chassis.
Jimmy slid to the floor, nerves flooded with relief. "I'm going to need a netrunner to sweep the place before-"
The revelation hit him at the same time the intruder's software began conquering his systems.
The [ENEMY HACK IN PROGRESS] alert took up a sixth of his vision, and did little more than give him a progress bar showing how soon he was to be shorted and fried.
A bar that was growing far too fast for the run-of-the-mill netrunner.
Jimmy Kurosaki felt dread take over as his cybernetics went limp one by one.
His hands fell to his sides, the artificial arms numb to his panicking mental commands. He took a few precious seconds to glance at the offending limbs, making sure they were still connected.
The Biomonitor in his torso began to send out an all clear signal, even as the XBD editor felt his heart thundering in his chest.
Even Kiroshi's newest model of eyes failed him, staying locked in their default settings. Refusing to access their zoom, or even scan.
Technologically blind, limp, and terrified there was nothing he could do to stop the violent flinch and whimper he made when his attacker spoke in his head.
["Oh, how fortunate. Nothing in your legs to stop you from running."]
Idly, he took a step back, realizing the voice spoke the truth.
Jimmy ran.
Past the doors.
Down the stairs.
And into a car he couldn't take the wheel of.
It was only his Caliburn's hands-free features that saved him. Kurosaki's mental screaming at the vehicle far more than enough to tell it to drive away as fast as he felt he could control.
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Five hours and a fifty-thousand eurodollar hole burned into his credit chip later, Jimmy had himself an improvised security force and a makeshift hideaway.
He could live with it, if not for the smells of spilled steroids and body odor that saturated the Animals outpost that posed as a Wellsprings' gym.
The choices had been made in a panic, and fueled by desperate terror, but Kurosaki liked to pretend he was a man of his word.
An act he was quickly getting tired of keeping.
"Come on' Kurosaki." The local boss, Danzel Cryer, reassured him for what felt like the thousandth time."Don't worry 'bout it. Me and my boys might be chipped, but nothin major. Limbs are all 'ganic muscle." More than one nearby Animal grunted in agreement, all of them taking a moment to flex or pose.
"You've already sold me." Jimmy replied with sleaze-loaded agreement. "No need to humble-brag."
"And our payment?"
It took Jimmy a lot of effort to keep a sneer or grimace from tarnishing his Neo-kitch yes-man expression, "I already have a courier coming with the latest shipment. You and your boys will be my primary sellers for the next month. As agreed."
"Preem, just make-"
Jimmy had never been so thankful for a call in his life.
His eyes closed in faux regret. "Sorry Mr. Cryer, I need to answer this."
The BD editor stepped into a storage room away from his protector, ever so thankful for the escape from the self-titled 'Brain' and connected to the call.
He opened with his usual sly tones, "Ah, Rogue. So good to hear from-"
["Shut up. I can't say who you pissed off this time, but I'll warn you they are homing in on you with fangs out."] Rogue's voice was filled with fury and disgust.
No surprise such a hostile opening threw him off, "T-that's why I've tried to get in contact. I was hoping to buy my way out of NC."
Rogue's laugh was chilling, cold and cruel. Just what he wanted in his XBDs but not here.
Not now.
["Not happening."] The queen told him, ["Word is spreading fast. You've become radioactive."]
The called died, just like his sense of security and safety.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that a big fish was hunting him.
"Living is always better than revenge." He reasoned, and began spamming every fixer he was vaguely aware of with offers of cash if it meant an escape that day.
In return, he received dozens of notices that he'd been blocked. Each one adding to his panic and unease. The storage room felt small before, now it was suffocating. Still, he remained inside, peeking out every once in awhile to see his muscle still there.
After hours of begging, he received a reply.
A Russian Scav he'd gotten recordings from before. An unpleasant man, but when needs must...
["Three-hundred and fifty thousand eddies. Up front. The big ten are sayin you're toxic, but what they don't know won't hurt my wallet. Know what I'm saying?"] He heard the laugh, and let out his own light chuckle.
["Finally, a fixer with some business sense. I was beginning to wonder if they'd all lost their senses-"]
Jimmy Kurosaki felt a chill in his bones when his call cut short.
He heard yelling outside his little shelter.
The sounds of running, the Animals outside gathering up their guns and bats and knives.
Then he heard the netrunner's voice again.
["Did you really think cannon fodder like this can keep me away? We have a score to settle Jimmy, run away if you think you can."]
The sounds of gunfire then screams echoed from the entrance.
Jimmy cracked open the door, barely enough to peek past the flimsy steel barrier to the room outside.
A literal blur moved around the room, coated in optical camouflage and empowered by unknown speedware.
The attacker moved between each of the body-building gangoons, the flashing of electrified mantis blades the only thing clearly visible as their limbs were severed.
There were three in the room when the door was cracked. By the time Jimmy had counted them, there were none.
Even the blur was gone.
When the screaming started in another room, Jimmy rammed open the door and ran for the entrance.
He didn't look back, and silently begged his hunter didn't either.
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In Jimmy Kurosaki's personal opinion the Watson district was a migraine inducing shit-hole most of the year. The Maelstrom occupied streets most of all.
Thus the unfortunate irony that it was there that the XBD editor found shelter.
Inside the run down and Maelstrom occupied clinic formerly known as 'Clean Cuts'.
A borg ripper-doc using the handle, 'The Surgeon', Kaiser Herzog was a mad monster with a love of JK's work and easy made eddies.
If only their prior business transactions made their current set-up more tolerable.
"Ahh, your last BD was a work of art!" proclaimed the surgeon, voice loaded with psychotic theatrics, "Seeing those pigs get flatlined like in the last show is always a preem experience."
It was only desperation that kept Jimmy's voice agreeable, "Glad you liked it Herzog. "
"So when's my next staring role?" the madman pointedly and impolitely questioned.
"I need to set up a new recording site." JK explained, improvising a lie to keep his guard satiated, "We want everything to be perfect for your next act, don't we?"
"Good. Good." the clinic's butcher agreed, "Got some great ideas on how to bring back the old Multi-limbs from The Red. Give the viewers something unique."
"Interesting... So where did you want me to set up for my stay?" Jimmy looked around the clinic, feigning interest.
"The office. In the back." The Surgeon gestured to the appropriate area with his thumb. "Got a door so you can keep the gonks out while we chat."
"Oh. Good." He smiled, showing his acceptance of the other man's terms.
It was just reaching dusk before Jimmy could escape his captive-keeping audience.
["Honestly, how did you think you'd get away, when my tracker has been in your systems this entire time?"]
The dread was back, made worse by the observation of one of the metal-madmen around him.
"Hey! Why are the gonks outside being so quiet?"
The loudmouth got his answer with the distant discharge of a tech-rifle and the spray of synthetic blood from a freshly shattered skullcap.
Jimmy dropped to the ground and crawled for a corner as the borgs took positions behind ineffective cover.
Vhooom-Thump. Another one died.
Vhooom-Thump. A third. They started searching.
Vhooom-Thump. A fourth. They fired wildly in the direction of their attacker.
Vhooom-Thump. Fifth.
Vhooom-Thump. Sixth.
Vhooom-Thump. Seventh.
The last standing was the Surgeon. Fuming and screaming, spitting expletives and spraying lead. The shot that ended him pierced his throat, severing the spine and liberating the head from the body with an almost artistic precision.
When the head bounced across the floor and landed upon him, Jimmy Kurosaki let out an inhuman sound. Something between a sob of despair and a wail of disgust.
The panic had set in again, and this time it refused to let him function anywhere close to sensible thought. It took precious, precious minutes before he could calm enough to stand. When he did, he ran again.
Only to feel a solid fist crack his front teeth the moment his feet crossed the threshold of the former clinic's front doors.
He dropped like a sack of meat and jelly. His ass painfully colliding with the blood-coated floors.
His attacker stood over him with a ceramic smile. Cruel, cold, and so very fake.
Not unlike his own at times when dealing with lesser clientele.
"Had fun?" he asked, "I know I did. Been a while since I had this much chrome in me. I needed the practice."
Jimmy watched him snap out a stun-baton, the action enough to make him scramble away and open his mouth to scream for help.
The baton was shoved in his mouth and Jimmy had enough time to recognize the taste of metal before the rod discharged.
He was thankful for the darkness when it came.
His world had become nothing but pain and terror.
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An open window was JK's first clue to how fucked his life had become.
An all too familiar sloshing of water, the distant sounds of the NCART trains, and the faint chatter from the closest market.
The Watson dock district.
With his head clearing, Jimmy was deathly still, looking around and getting a good view of the room he was in. A workshop that was all too familiar too him, and foreign at the same time.
All over his body, the sensation of external wires gave him a phantom itch that couldn't be relieved. His cyberware was displaying an alert. Unrecognized hardware was plugged directly into his personal port. Something that had taken administrative access from him.
A nearby IV had tubes leading to his veins, administering a steady drip of drugs into his exhausted system.
Above him were dozens of screens, jury-rigged together with camera lenses peeking between them. Each displaying him from above, laying back and strapped tightly on a ripper-doc's table. All positioned in such a way that all he could see was what the lenses saw.
The window closed, sealing away the sounds of Night City outside. "You're awake. Good." said his kidnapper, "Don't worry about getting up. I've had plenty of time to become familiar with the place while you were napping."
Jimmy didn't move.
Jimmy couldn't move.
The fear came fast. But his breathing did not speed up, nor did his heart thunder in his chest.
"Why? Why can't I feel anything?" Jimmy thought, eyes looking at the monitors, trying to see what was holding him.
His captor approached, examining the IV drip and the liquids it administered. Kurosaki's eyes would still not obey him, the words on each bag too small to read so far away.
Jimmy's desperate gaze did not escape his tormentor. "Oh this?" The drip was given a playful shake, enough to make it rattle and jingle, "A mix I learned in Neo-Oaxaca. Kills all sensation in the body, but leaves 'em completely stuck in their own corpse. I could burn you alive and you wouldn't feel a thing till the meds wore off...and that...is exactly what I'm looking for."
Jimmy tried to shake, to squirm, to scream, or grunt.
To cry, moan, beg, bargain, yell.
Anything.
"Locked-in syndrome is a bitch isn't it?" His warden taunted, "With all the shit drugs in NC I'm surprised it's not more common. I was worried I'd need a respirator for this. Would have made some of the work awkward. Thankfully those chrome lungs of yours are keeping your breathing nice and steady."
Jimmy Kurosaki closed his eyes, and begged for a quick death.
Instead of a light at the end of a long tunnel or the burning gates of hell, he saw only one thing: himself.
The cameras were uploading a livestream of his torment to his eyes.
Opening and closing them a few times was enough to establish the rules.
If he kept his eyes open, the stream would shut off. If he closed his eyes, he'd get a top-down view of his own torture.
The disbelieving blinking must have been noticed. It didn't take long for the taunting to continue. "I wondered how long it would take for you to realize what I did. Don't worry if you miss any details. I'm using your own station over there to make this into a real 'beaut of a BD."
The sound of hissing catches his ears. A sort of existential scream all its own when compared to the silence of the room.
The XBD artist could only watch in silent horror as a trail of skin was removed from his leg like a cut of fat was carved from a juicy steak.
His blood barely leaked as his epidermis was cut away, unveiling the muscles and sinew beneath.
"You're not gonna bleed to death. This quality heat knife has it covered." His torturer explained, gently rotating the blade and showing it off. "Don't worry about Trauma showing either. Thanks to you, I got my hands on this sweet corpo-shard that blocks your biomonitor from sending any signal. Had to wait a bit before I cracked it and copied the data. But again, thanks to you I have a lot of time on my hands."
Jimmy Kurosaki begged to a God he'd never believed in before.
Not for mercy or forgiveness.
He begged to die.
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Tsssshhh~shaaa.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find an honest therapist in Night City?"
Tsssshhh~shaaa. The hiss of hot metal through flesh punctuated every sentence, and Jimmy wished the man had taken his hearing.
"Straight up impossible."
Tsssshhh~shaaa.
"If they don't record everything for the corps to start with, then its only a question of how much it costs to bribe them. It's no wonder everyone in this town is depressed or crazy."
Tsssshhh~shaaa.
"I just want you to know. Being honest, its nice to have someone I can talk to without worries about it getting back to others. Kind of like you're my little secret vault. Nothing like bank numbers or IDs. I mean, I'm not some glitter gonk lookin' for a beer buddy. It's just nice having someone to talk to about how I feel, without needing specifics."
Tsssshhh~shaaa.
"Since I'm finishing up with your trim, I suppose I should end this little conversation too."
Tsssshhh~shaaa.
The sound of the knife rattling on a cheap, shitty surgical tray was a thrice blessed choir from heaven at this point.
The captor looked at Kurosaki from above, examining each inch of his patchwork carving. He poked and prodded at spots, and Jimmy was never happier to be drugged. He could only imagine a phantom percent of a percent of the pain he'd be in if the IV wasn't there.
After minutes of prodding, the torturer approved of his work and finally looked Jimmy in the eyes.
The XBD artist couldn't see a molecule of humanity in those artificial eyes.
"It took me a few days to figure out how to handle this." The monster explained, "You put my family in danger. You almost ruined my plans. You've thrown off my entire schedule, you know that?." The heat knife was ripped up from its resting spot and hurled with an inhuman fury. Something out of sight shattered.
" And for what?" The enraged thing above him questioned, "Thousands of eddies and the chance to schmooze with more Arasaka executives? Bad choice. Too little gain, too much risk. You should'a made sure you'd gotten me killed before you ran your mouth."
The man-shaped monster walked away, taking deep huffing breaths.
It was what he said that tore at Jimmy's mind.
The only business he'd had with Arasaka was his preview deal with Tanaka and...
It was a knife in the already dead sense of pride he'd once acted upon. A chance to get quick cash, screw over a corporate slave, and make someone miserable? Jimmy Kurosaki couldn't resist that kind of opportunity.
He'd done it for a laugh.
Now Jimmy really wanted to cry.
The vengeful corpo returned, carrying a tray of papers tied together, a bottle of adhesive and a clear glass case with hundreds of needles in it.
"Have you ever heard of joss paper?" he asked, "Probably not."
The corpo sat the tray down and began tinkering with the things upon it. "Way before the world went to shit, the Chinese would use incense papers as offerings to burn for deceased family members." he explained, pulling one of the strips from the bunch. "I figured, why not be a bit creative and give tribute to those who's deaths you help desecrate? Paper is cheap but maybe, if it's been fueled by your suffering, it might make these papers worth a little more to them."
Jimmy could only watch as his former victim began to push needle after needle inside his numbed flesh, taking time now and then to attach little red slips of paper to each of the silver slivers poking out of his flayed flesh.
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Sleep wouldn't come for Jimmy.
Something perfectly understandable when a person is forced to gaze upon their own mutilated body every time they close their eyes.
All he could do to pass the time was let his eyes drift between targets: The corpo-rat, the screens, and himself.
The corporate owned fuck was busy moving about boxes or gadgets, ignoring the XBD editor apart from a casual glance every now and then.
There was no clock, only a growing sense of exhaustion to measure time.
It was when Kurosaki felt like five days of no coffee or sleep that something changed.
The IV drip was almost empty. There was only a mouthful of liquids shared between the bags hanging on it, and it would take little time before those would run out. His eyes widened at the sight, going from them to the needles, and back.
A sadistic relief was felt when he spotted the corpo-rat approach, bags of liquid drugs in hand.
Almost with care, the bags were switched out. Old empty sacks replaced with stuffed bags of colored liquids.
"Don't get your hopes up yet, this is a different set of drugs. This set's all stimulants."
Jimmy Kurosaki had met the devil in the flesh, tried to cheat him, and never bothered to learn his name.
All he felt was regret. Fear had come and gone, abandoned him like hope had so many hours ago. His eyes holding a resigned understanding that the suit seemed to understand.
"That's right. Our time is almost up."
A loud thunk echoed as a large metal table was stood in front of his body. Another bang was heard as The Device was placed upon it.
A piece of technology had never scared him before. Something so simple and common should never inspire the terror he felt at that moment.
" Now, I heard it was supposed to be hot the next few days so I brought you a friend that can keep you cool."
JK can only stare at the fan placed before him in horror.
The drip begins to flow again.
Each drop sounds like a mortar shell as it falls, mixing into the saline solution like poison in a well.
The pain hits too soon after the new meds enter.
The sensation of laying on a belt grinder coated in broken glass.
JK's body can't produce more than a hollow breath for a scream.
The corpo-slave's smile has returned. That hollow empty grin more at home on a creature coated in the scent of sulfur than the clothes of a man.
"So, I've got to go. Things to-do and all. It's been fun." he says merrily as he turns on the fan.
Jimmy Kurosaki has seen what it was like for someone to scream their hearts and lungs out. It was a common feature in his Edgerunners series. This was his first time feeling it. Experiencing it like so many of his 'stars' before.
The tightness of his lungs as each breath was a struggle against each and every chest muscle encircling them.
The pounding of his heart as it was forced to pump beyond its limits.
The fan mindlessly turns back and forth, and each time the artificial wind brushes the paper it reminds JK that the needles are piercing the joints between his bones.
The monster stops at the window, opening it and letting in the fetid air and distant sounds of the docks. He grabs one last box at the threshold before giving his parting words. "Just to let you know, I'm taking your Caliburn. My kid used to be a fan of yours. Since you won't be making any more BD's I figure it can serve as a condolence gift."
Jimmy could only scream.
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With the window open, Jimmy can hear outside again.
And when he's not screaming, bellowing for help, he can get some hints as to how much time has passed.
What little clues lead him to think hours.
Hours.
Not minutes.
Hours.
It takes hours before the sounds of his cries for help lead to any level of investigation.
He'd never been more thankful for the sound of an NCPD cruiser.
Jimmy yells as hard and loud as he can, forcing his vocal cords to bleed if it means one infinitesimal amount louder.
He hears the sound of heavy boots on those shitty metal stairs leading to his office.
His body might feel like someone has bathed him in bleach or ammonia, but his soul felt just the slightest amount of relief.
Then the intruder alert appeared in his vision.
The screens above him finally changed their view.
A recording of the corpo-rat, a mocking smile on his face and a finger to his lips in the universal sign for 'shush.'
The other monitors were split between two sets of images.
The first were motion sensors. Hidden all along the way to his office, but a brand new one had been placed just behind the door that entered the room he was in.
The second were the grenades.
Dozens of them, scattered across the floor, on shelves, on-top the server towers and computers.
All in the room with him, and kept just out of his sight. Wired to a cord that led back to the door sensor.
They'd been there with him since the beginning.
Jimmy Kurosaki began to yell once more.
Bellowing his last words with all the effort his ragged body could muster, even going so far as to pull at his restraints.
"No!" He yelled, "Stop! Stay away! Keep away! Stop!"
The sound of thumping boots came louder.
Closer.
"Please! Stop! No!" He put all his remaining strength and energy into that final word.
The door opened.
The sensor detected movement.
The jury rigged wiring carried the signal at once.
The full case' worth of GASH grenades activated, each device erupting with their marketed twenty-one thermal lasers.
The pair of NCPD's finest could only stumble back as the room blossomed into a mockery of living light.
When the lethal display was finished, everything in the room had been sliced an uncountable number of times.
The last thing that had gone through Jimmy Kurosaki's mind had been the set of lasers that had cut his brains to sashimi.