What is that stench?
It smells like someone took boiled piss, let it ferment, and dumped it right here.
The low hum of machinery throbbed in V's ears, and the harsh fluorescent lights cut into her vision like broken glass.
"Yo, V! You good?" A voice called out from her left—a distinct American-Latino accent, definitely not British.
V blinked a few times, focusing on the figure beside her. He was big, at least 6'4", solid, muscles filling out his frame. Black hair was pulled into a strange bun, and his green eyes glinted under the lights. Metallic lines crisscrossed his lower face in dull silver, with gold accents at the bridge of his nose and elsewhere, catching the occasional gleam. Gold jewellery adorned his neck and left ear, completing the look.
It took her a second, but I recognized him.
Jackie Welles. Somehow, he was both the guy from Cyberpunk 2077 and my partner in crime. V knew him well—his favourite foods, drink of choice, the place he called home. Hell, she even knew the meals his mom used to make him as a kid.
"Yeah, I'm good, Jackie. Just a visual glitch—might need to get it checked," she replied. The words slipped out, her voice lighter, with an accent that felt oddly unfamiliar, like it wasn't hers.
"Ah, damn, that's rough, chica. We'll hit up Vic's in the morning. Right now, though? We got a job to do." Jackie nodded, flashing a smile and tapping the gun in his underarm holster.
V nodded back, turning her attention to the elevator doors as the numbers climbed. Their target was Sandra Dorsett, a missing person whose biomonitor had gone dark. Likely holed up in a scavenger den on the 15th floor, room 1237.
Why the hell am I here? Or, better yet, how the hell am I here?
The elevator passed the 12th floor, ticking upward.
A dream would make sense, but everything's too sharp, too coherent.
13th floor.
I know things I shouldn't, have memories I shouldn't. I know where I got a car I don't drive, the make of clothes I shouldn't be wearing, the names of parents who aren't mine, people I never should have been able to burn at Arasaka…
14th floor. The elevator slowed.
Luckily, I know how to hold a gun, aim it, use quickhacks, throw and wield the knife in my holster, and how to take out a guy from behind… phrasing, goddammit!
The number ticked up to 15, and the elevator dinged, coming to a halt. V and Jackie waited as the door slid open.
Jackie pulled out his guns and took point, scanning the door numbers. His guns were two 'La Chingona Dorada' pistols—manufactured by Tsunami, a Japanese weapons maker based in Osaka. The closest branch was in San Francisco, just up the coast from Night City.
V instinctively drew her own pistol, a 9mm that looked both plain and futuristic to her. She didn't intend to pull the trigger, though. She felt more comfortable using the knife slotted under her arm—a straight-up firefight would likely be a death sentence.
I'm also a girl now.
V looked down at herself.
I look just like my in-game character: white hair, blue eyes, tattoos, and skin texture, with a figure all modded in. Why couldn't I have just made a super-hot guy instead of getting horny and making the hottest girl possible? Cyberpunk isn't even a third-person game, for crying out loud! At least I went for good looks this time instead of a joke character.
V stepped out of the elevator into a dingy corridor, lit solely by flickering fluorescent lights—the kind of place that'd make Greta Thunberg cry.
"Lookin' for twelve thirty-seven," a girlish voice buzzed in her brain.
That must be T-Bug.
In the corner of V's vision, the caller's ID blinked, though the rest of the game's HUD was absent.
"Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life-or-death shit. Hurry." T-Bug's voice was as casual as if she were talking about a rainy day messing with her plans.
Or, in this world, a dust storm knocking out the power.
A door opened to V's left, and an elderly woman peeked out. "Honey, is that you?" she asked, looking confused.
V raised a hand, signalling the woman to head back inside without a word. She wasn't here to threaten old folks.
The woman quickly nodded and ducked back in, shutting the door as fast as she could.
V and Jackie reached the sleek, metallic door of 1237.
"Try hackin' the door. Think you can trip it on your own, V?" T-Bug asked.
Without thinking, V switched into quickhacking mode, her vision tinting green. The door and nearby electronics glowed a brighter green. At the top of her vision, a visual displayed four sticks of RAM, all ready. Another display showed her available quickhacks, listing only the option to unlock the door, costing two RAM.
The hack was invisible to other netrunners, with an upload time of barely a second and a half. But if anyone inside spotted them, a firefight would kick off instantly.
V uploaded the quickhack, sliding to the left side of the door while Jackie stayed on the right, both out of sight.
The door slid open, and loud, rhythmic rave music blasted out. V peeked inside, spotting an empty kitchen area with a ceiling fan spinning lazily. She gave Jackie a quick nod, and they moved forward in sync.
"Low profile. V, take the lead," Jackie whispered, slowing his pace.
Thank God the game's accurate about the sequence of events.
Her gaze focused on the next room, filled with medical equipment and monitors, lined with patient beds and a serious lack of sanitation supplies. She cleared it, her eyes landing on a body covered in a bloody, opaque black sheet on an operating table. Not her, V knew, thanks to meta-knowledge. A quick scan of the body confirmed it.
She turned back and gave Jackie a nod. "This ain't her. Our girl's got echelon II Corpo immunity, packed with top-shelf cyberware. This one's low-tier, the kind installed in back-alleys," she said, trying to mimic her character's tone and diction from the game.
Seeing Jackie's look of relief, V moved on, quietly sliding open the door to the next room, which seemed to serve as a makeshift storage area. A lone scavenger stood with his back to her, fiddling with a large cooler, oblivious to her presence, likely thanks to the blaring music.
To his left, a fresh body hung limply from a rack, partially dismembered for parts. Not our girl, V noted, feeling a mix of disgust and detachment.
V took a careful step forward, preparing to make her move. She crept up behind the scavenger, locked his body against hers, and swiftly twisted his neck. The man's body went limp, and she slid him into the cooler. The motion felt practiced, automatic, and the absence of feeling was almost… reassuring.
A faint ting echoed in her mind; somehow, she knew she'd just gained XP.
I have a game system, she realized. But she pushed the thought aside. That was a mystery for later—she had enough critical problems on her plate for now.
Moving through a broken wall, V realized this wasn't just one apartment but three, their walls knocked down to create a larger hideout. Voices echoed from ahead. V edged toward a corner, spotting two Scavs at the entrance to a larger room, their backs turned. Off to her right was another room, likely used for eating, its tables covered in grimy dishes.
"...Four. Two of 'em chipped with tin-bit crap. But they'll sell in Watson," one Scav muttered in Russian, her software auto-translating. She remembered from the game that they would soon walk back towards the path she and Jackie had come from. V gestured to Jackie, signaling him to follow as she slipped into the vacant room and took cover behind a fridge, Jackie positioning himself beside her out of sight.
The two Scavs left the main room, walking over to a sink with their backs to V and Jackie. One scavenger started preparing what looked like drugs, while the other kept an eye on the door they'd just come through. Whether they didn't want to share or were sneaking hits on the job, it worked in her and Jackie's favor.
She glanced at Jackie, pointing to the Scav watching the door, then gave a quick nod. Jackie returned the nod, understanding. V moved toward the one with the drugs, replicating the motion she'd used earlier: a silent approach, a quick snap of the neck, and gently lowering the body to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jackie doing the same with his target, both of them as synchronized as if they'd done it a hundred times.
Creeping back toward the large room, V took in her surroundings. The space was expansive and square, containing four pillars and numerous boxes perfect for hiding, with late afternoon sunlight filtering through the open metallic blinds. If viewed from above, she was entering from the bottom-left corner. In the upper-left quadrant, a Scav was fiddling with a massive speaker—the source of the blaring music. Nearby, another Scav stood with arms crossed, supervising and barking instructions without lifting a finger.
In the bottom-right corner, the third Scav lay on a tattered mattress, eyes closed, idly snoozing. Her position was slack, unaware of the intrusion.
In a side room off to the right of the main area, a large man sat hunched over a keyboard, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he typed furiously. His intense focus suggested he was handling something important—probably emails or some black-market trade deal. His desk was angled to give him a clear view of the large room, likely to keep an eye on his lackeys, but he was clearly absorbed in his work, oblivious to anything else. The large screen blocking his view helped as well.
V assessed each of them, plotting her approach. Three Scavs in the main room, each absorbed in their own tasks, and one off to the side. This could work in her favour. She signalled Jackie toward the man barking orders, then made a closed fist, pointing toward the man by the speaker and finally to herself and the woman sleeping in the corner. They would take out the two farthest from the speaker first, then Jackie would handle the one by the speaker. V would take out the idler in the corner—she was faster, and this would minimize the risk of the woman waking up and jeopardizing the gig.
Jackie nodded, understanding the plan perfectly, and began to move, his footsteps silent and precise. V mirrored his movements, her focus sharpening as they slipped into position. Jackie crept toward the Scav barking orders, his large frame surprisingly light on its feet, while V angled toward the sleeping woman on the mattress.
With each step, V's senses heightened—the hum of the machinery, the faint scent of oil and sweat, the pounding bass from the speaker. In one swift motion, Jackie reached his target, wrapping an arm around the Scav's neck and pulling him into a silent chokehold. The man struggled briefly before going limp, and Jackie lowered him soundlessly to the ground hiding him behind a column in the room.
Simultaneously, V knelt beside the sleeping woman, her movements fluid. With a practiced twist, she took out her knife and placed it in the woman's neck while holding a hand over her mouth to muffle any potential sounds, then twisting her neck to ensure her death. V glanced up to see Jackie already moving toward the last Scav by the speaker, who was still oblivious, lost in his task.
Jackie closed the distance quickly, wrapping his arm around the final Scav's throat. The man managed only a startled grunt before Jackie's grip silenced him. As the body slumped and Jackie hid it, V felt a wave of calm satisfaction—they'd executed the plan flawlessly, and the room was cleared without a single alarm raised.
Now all that was left was the boss… I need to get him off his computer, I can't exactly sneak behind him outside of his peripheral vision when he's got his back to a wall. From the quick glance I stole at the boss earlier it looked like he had some subdermal armour around mid-grade and other strength enhancements. I'll use a knife into the throat, an area with less subdermal armour due its inherent need for mobility, to avoid the risk of failing to snap his muscular neck.
Looking around V found a spotlight that was facing the corner of room that the boss was in. There was a reflective white plastic cover said corner, so this light was likely used as for diffused lighting.
Weirdly thoughtful for a man living in a rundown apartment but alright, maybe he did video meetings. Harsher lighting would be better for hostage videos.
Entering quickhacking mode, she scanned the light and then the speaker that was playing the music. The plan was to make the music turn off and the light glitch out, this should get the man to call out to his subordinates to fix it. When they failed to respond he should get up and investigate.
By the time he walks past the entrance between the large room and his side room I should be in a position to slice his neck open.
V took a steadying breath, slipping into quickhacking mode as her vision tinted green. Her focus homed in on the spotlight in the corner first, initiating a quickhack to make it flicker erratically. Then she targeted the speaker, executing a second hack to cut the music mid-beat.
In a second and a half, the light began its sporadic strobe, casting jagged shadows across the room, while the music cut off, leaving an abrupt, unsettling silence.
The sudden silence was jarring, making the hum of the machinery in the apartment even more pronounced. She watched the boss through the doorway as he stopped typing, brow furrowing in annoyance as he looked up from the screen.
"Oi! What's goin' on out there?" he called, his voice sharp and impatient.
Silence. No response from his downed subordinates.
"Fuckin' wastes of good chrome" The man grumbled, pushing back his chair with a grunt and rising to his feet. Just as she'd hoped, he moved toward the doorway, stepping into the large room to investigate. V stayed perfectly still, poised just outside his line of sight.
As he crossed the threshold between the rooms, she slipped in behind him, her movements smooth and silent. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her knife; the cold steel pressed against her palm. In one swift motion, she raised the blade, aiming for the weaker subdermal armour around the pivot of his neck at the jugular.
With a practiced precision, she drove the knife into his throat, cutting off his attempt at a startled yell. She quickly pulled the knife out, slicing the throat further, the knife was sharp enough to do so without a sound. He choked, a hand reaching up in a futile attempt to stem the blood as he crumpled forward onto his knees. V stepped back, watching as he fell to the ground, then whipped out a kick into the side of his head making his body hit the floor with a heavy thud. He was unconscious and would die soon.
A whistle was Jackie's response.
The room fell into complete silence, broken only by the quiet hum of machinery. The job was done.
"That should be the last of them V. Find our girl then get out of there" said T-bug
Walking into the boss's room with Jackie covering the entrance, V noticed a door off to the side. She opened it, revealing a small, grimy bathroom. The walls were stained with mildew, and the sink was cracked and covered in rust. A dim, flickering light cast an eerie glow over everything. In the bathtub, filled with murky ice water, lay two naked bodies with their heads shaven.
The Scav earlier said four. One of these two must be our girl.
The first was a man, recently deceased—still warm, even in the ice. V pushed him aside, her eyes falling on the second figure: a woman. A quick scan confirmed her identity—Sandra Dorsett.
V reached into the tub, gently pulling Sandra out. "Found her," she called to Jackie.
"We make it? She alive? Jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealing with," T-Bug's voice crackled in her ear, tense but focused.
V extended the personal link embedded just above her left wrist, feeling the familiar tug as the cable slid out from the inside of her palm. She connected it to the port just behind Sandra's right ear. Sandra's face was dazed, her eyes half-open but unfocused, her skin pale and clammy from the ice. She was alive—but barely, trapped somewhere between consciousness and oblivion.
UI graphics and data streamed across V's vision as she accessed Sandra's biomonitor, her own HUD overlaying with Trauma Team diagnostics.
"Girl has Trauma Team Platinum. Something's blocking the signal, though, T-Bug," V said, frowning as the data flickered erratically across her vision.
"Yeah, looks like some Scopmuncher's hack," T-Bug replied, her voice tinged with irritation. "Got an idea—check her neuroport. There's probably a shard in there, muting the biomon. Pull it out."
V nodded, reaching behind Sandra's ear. She found a small, embedded shard, quickly yanking it free. Instantly, the biomon's voice activated, its automated tone calm and clinical.
"Greetings, Sandra. If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds."
"Biomon says Trauma will be here in three minutes," V relayed to T-Bug and Jackie, keeping her voice steady.
"Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment," the biomon continued, almost cheerfully.
V didn't waste time. With steady movements, she scooped Sandra up, careful not to jostle her, and headed toward the balcony, where Trauma Team would soon arrive. The late afternoon air hit them as she stepped out, and she scanned the sky, her grip firm on Sandra, ready for the rapid turnover when the team touched down.
By the time V reached the balcony connected to the boss's room, there were still 150 seconds on the clock. She glanced back at Jackie, who stood guard at the door, watching for any last-minute threats.
"I doubt any more Scavs will show up with Trauma Team en route. They must have picked up the signal," she said, nodding toward the interior. In low-risk areas and scenarios like this, Trauma Team liked to make their intentions known—they had a strength that made most people wary.
"Why don't you grab any eddies or gear they've stashed here?"
Jackie gave a quick nod, flashing a grin. "Good call, chica. Be back in a flash."
He slipped back into the room to scavenge, while V slipped into her own thoughts.
Man, this sucks. Why did I have to transmigrate to a crappy world like Cyberpunk and not a happy world like Animal Crossing or Pokémon? Hell, why did I transmigrate at all? The last thing I remember was falling asleep… even if I did die during my sleep that should have been the end of my existence.
Was I wrong about religion? Was my karma so bad that this is what I got? I lived a normal life so it couldn't have been that bad.
While thinking this V looked down at her body seeing her chest that was obviously bigger than the vanilla game.
Okay maybe I was weird and sexualised women a bit too much in my free time officer, but I was moral about! I gave up waifus when I got older than them during my teenage years because the age gap got weird, so I wasn't pulling a Drake. I never talked about it to any of my friends and I only sexualised women who weren't real. I may have been emotional unavailable to friends and family and that one girlfriend I had but I was doing my master's in engineering and lining up internships and graduate schemes for investment banking jobs while doing personal projects and interview prep, so the stress was getting to me…
V's mind went silent, her thoughts empty as she stood on the balcony, taking in the late afternoon view of Night City. The noise of traffic below blended with the constant hum of machinery, the occasional honk and distant siren cutting through the steady roar. A faint breeze brought with it the scent of smog and oil, tinged with the sharp metallic bite of the city's underbelly. Somewhere below, a gun shot rang out, and neon lights flickered against the greying sky, their colours muted in the hazy daylight.
She let herself drift in the moment, absorbing the chaotic symphony of sights and sounds. Night City was alive, pulsing with a strange, gritty beauty that was both harsh and oddly comforting.
But none of that matters now, does it…
Moments later, the rhythmic thrum of Trauma Team's AV grew louder, the sleek armoured vehicle descending toward the balcony in a controlled hover, lights cutting through the darkness.
Red lights projected a clearing zone as the AV touched down, its doors sliding open, and four Trauma Team operatives stepped out with swift, practiced movements, ready to take Sandra off V's hands and complete the extraction.
V searched her memory, recalling the typical composition of a Trauma Team squad: one pilot and copilot, responsible for manoeuvring the AV, two security specialists armed to secure the area, a lead emergency medical technician, known as EMTs, and their assistant. Hard to kill.
Each operative was clad in forest green suits reinforced with armoured plating, the red cross logo emblazoned on their chests, along with the bold "TRAUMA TEAM" lettering. Their helmets, fully covering their faces, were equipped with advanced optics and respirators, giving them an intimidating, faceless look.
The lead EMT wore a slightly larger, customized chest plate with a medical tablet attached to their arm, ready to assess Sandra's vitals. The two security specialists held heavy-duty assault rifles—one scanning the perimeter while the other took up a defensive stance near the EMTs. Red gloves and pouches filled with medical supplies and tools adorned their suits, making them look both polished and imposing.
As the Trauma Team moved with synchronized precision, V couldn't help but appreciate their professionalism. These weren't just medics; they were elite operatives, prepared to face the chaos of Night City to complete their mission.
The assistant placed a compact box on the ground, which unfolded with a quiet whirr into a stretcher, smooth and efficient.
"Place the patient on the stretcher," the lead EMT instructed, his voice calm and authoritative.
V carefully lowered Sandra onto the stretcher, making sure she was positioned securely. As soon as she stepped back, one of the security specialists moved forward, giving her a firm nudge to ensure she kept her distance. The lead EMT leaned over Sandra, applying a stabilizing plate to her chest to keep her vitals steady.
V stood still, hands raised slightly, watching as they worked with swift, practiced efficiency. She caught fragments of the lead EMT's words—something about fibrinogen, the protein that aids blood clotting, Sandra lacked external wounds, so she was bleeding internally—but she barely registered the medical jargon. Her attention was focused on the Trauma Team operatives, who wasted no time, lifting the stretcher and manoeuvring Sandra into the AV with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
Throughout the entire process, their weapons remained trained on V, their cold, unblinking gazes fixed on her—a silent threat that left her more than a little unnerved, though she showed none of it on the outside.
With Sandra secured inside, the AV doors began to slide shut. The Trauma Team operatives retreated into their armoured cocoon without a single word or glance back, ready to extract their VIP and disappear into the Night City skyline.
V glanced around and then back at the apartment as she walked, taking in the grimy, cluttered space, with flickering neon lights casting a sickly green glow across the walls. The faint smell of stale smoke and industrial cleaner lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood from the bodies they'd left behind. Bullet holes pocked the walls, and broken furniture lay scattered—evidence of past scuffles and violence.
She could hear Jackie's footsteps ahead, slightly heavier than usual with his pockets bulging from the scavenged loot. He had a satisfied grin on his face, like a kid who'd just raided the candy store. "Let's get out of here. Elevator takes us straight to the garage," he said, gesturing down the hallway.
"Good work. Shit show's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future," T-Bug's voice crackled over the comms, her usual confidence tinged with relief as she logged off.
V followed Jackie down the corridor, her eyes instinctively searching for the usual exit she knew from the game, a conveniently placed door that led straight outside. But it was blocked off, replaced with a blank wall. Guess this isn't exactly like the game, she thought. Things are different—no Skyrim exit. But we took out those Scavs clean and quiet. We should be in the clear with no car shoot out unlike in the game.
Jackie glanced over his shoulder as they walked, his tone casual but with a hint of excitement. "Listen, chica, I got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?"
V chuckled, catching his drift. "Uh-huh, I'm listening. Is it Misty?"
A warm smile crossed Jackie's face. "Sí, a date with Misty. But… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?" He spread his arms for emphasis, gesturing to himself with a prideful grin, as if to say, Look at me, do I look like I take the metro?
The atmosphere felt oddly light, the brutal events of the last hour momentarily forgotten. V returned his grin, replying, "I won't leave you hanging, Jack. My ride's all yours for the evening." But as the words left her mouth, she winced internally without showing anything on her face. Damn, didn't drop the g in this sentence or my last. Sounded too formal, she thought, catching herself.
Jackie laughed, his voice echoing through the hallway as they approached the elevator. "Aah, savin' my ass, V, thank you! How about I drive you home, eh? And hey, corpo—you gotta drop your g's," he teased, nudging her shoulder with a playful wink.
They stepped into the dingy elevator, the metal walls scuffed and covered in layers of faded graffiti. A faint buzzing sound filled the cramped space under the harsh fluorescent lights, giving everything a gritty, washed-out hue. V leaned back against the cold metal wall, trying to shake off the strange mix of tension and relief settling in her chest.
"Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the holo—tell her the job's done," Jackie reminded her, snapping her back to the moment.
V instinctively brought up her phone menu. A sad little roster of just four contacts filled her vision, their icons hovering in the HUD. This is just a sad number of contacts, she thought, smirking slightly as she mentally selected Wakako's icon.
An emblem appeared in the corner of her vision—a snake in the traditional Ukiyo-e and nanga style, the one synonymous with traditional Japanese art. It pulsed as the call rang once. Is this the kind of thing corpos are supposed to know? V wondered, briefly questioning how previous V knew these things.
The call connected on the second ring, and Wakako's face appeared. She was an older, ethnically Asian woman, dressed impeccably in a sleek black corpo dress with reading glasses perched on her nose—the kind with only the lower half of the lenses filled. She cleared her throat deliberately. That was the second ring, V noted. She must have cleared her throat for effect.
"V! How did it go? Our client is alive and well, I trust," Wakako said, her voice polished, a hint of slyness hidden beneath her formal tone. She was always a figure of composed control, with an edge of calculation that reminded V why Wakako ran the streets of Japantown with a quiet ruthlessness.
"Alive and well. Trauma picked her up, so she's in safe hands," V replied, deliberately simplifying her speech to sound more casual.
"Splendid. Your payment awaits you—ready to collect whenever you like, even right away. But I imagine home is the only place you wish to be now." Wakako paused, savouring her words with that dramatic flair she always had.
V watched the numbers on the elevator panel tick down as they descended, that familiar but unsettling feeling lingering. Everything looked like the game, felt like it, but now… it was real. I could feel every breath, every vibration.
"The NCPD is surrounding Watson. The district is about to close," Wakako continued, her tone shifting slightly. "If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast."
"Much appreciated, Wakako. Jackie and I will be swin' by to see you later," V replied, her tone polite but with a hint of urgency earning a nod from Wakako as the call ended.
The elevator gave a slight lurch as it reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open to reveal the sprawling, dimly lit garage below. The air smelled faintly of oil and exhaust, and the low hum of idle machinery echoed through the empty space. Jackie stepped out first, his eyes scanning the area before he gave her a nod. "All clear, chica. Let's roll."
"Word's out the NCPD is lockin' down Watson," V said as they started to cross the garage. "I wanna sleep under my own sheets tonight, and you've got a hot date. So, we better put the pedal to the metal." Talking like this was a bit painful—it reminded her of those TikToks mocking people who said 'gonk' unironically.
They walked briskly to V's car, an average Hella EC-D i360 covered by a thin layer of grime. The car is a sedan with a retro-futuristic, utilitarian design, featuring a reinforced front grill and heavy-duty tires. With its worn, matte finish and exposed cables, it looks built for the rough streets of Night City. Jackie slid into the driver's seat without hesitation, grinning as he gripped the wheel. V settled into the passenger seat beside him, adjusting herself as the synthetic leather squeaked faintly beneath her.
Jackie started the engine, and it roared to life with a satisfying growl, filling the garage with a deep rumble. V glanced out the window, watching the dim lights flicker as they rolled forward.
As the car pulled onto the road, V watched the familiar skyline unfold, recognizable from the game but with an overwhelming sense of scale and detail that the game could never capture. The area around her had the same gritty vibe, yet everything was somehow sharper, more immersive. The city felt massive—endless skyscrapers and mega-buildings stretching up to blot out the sky. Obviously, the game couldn't be a one-to-one scale of the real city, she thought. Everything here feels grander, more imposing.
Mega-buildings, like the one she lived in, were towering complexes that housed over 100,000 people, true "cities within cities". That sheer enormity—self-contained vertical worlds stacked high into the smoggy sky—was something the game hadn't fully conveyed. Night City sprawled across roughly 75 square kilometres, packing nearly 7.0 million souls within as of 2077, giving it a staggering density of 0.011 square meters per person. To put it in perspective, New York covered around 780 square kilometres for a population of 8.3 million as of a 2023 survey, making Night City very roughly nine times denser than one of the most packed and tall built urban areas in her past world.
"Man, I'm starvin'. Let's grab a tight-bite. Whaddaya say?" Jackie said, his stomach clearly not understanding the urgency of their situation.
"They're locking down Watson, 'member?" V replied, glancing out the window.
"Ah, shit, you're right, chica," Jackie muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
The streets buzzed with life, as expected with such intense population density, but the diversity was far beyond what she'd seen in the game. Cars of every imaginable model, colour, and custom modification zipped past, a dazzling mosaic of chrome and neon. The people, too, were a blend of endless individuality—no longer the same recycled NPC models, but unique faces, cyberware, and clothing styles, each person embodying their own story, their own purpose, as they moved through the frenetic pulse of the city.
Jackie navigated the car smoothly through the bustling streets, weaving between neon-lit vehicles and dodging pedestrians who seemed oblivious to the roaring traffic around them. As they approached a bridge connecting Watson to the rest of Night City, the telltale flashing lights of the NCPD cordon came into view, casting an eerie blue glow over the checkpoint.
Uniformed officers lined the road, their faces hidden behind tactical visors, guns held close, eyes scanning the area for any potential threats. Barricades blocked off lanes, and officers waved traffic into controlled lines, occasionally stopping cars to inspect occupants. But as V and Jackie rolled closer, one officer caught sight of them, recognized V's vehicle, and gave a brisk wave, signalling them to pass.
"Guess Wakako still has her strings to pull," Jackie muttered with a grin, easing the car past the checkpoint.
V glanced at the officers as they passed, noticing their tense expressions and the high-alert atmosphere. The lockdown's real but we didn't get into that car gun fight like in the game. This meant we were earlier to the blockade meaning Jackie didn't have to pull his smooth moves to get us through, she thought. The bridge loomed ahead, a metal artery between districts, shimmering under the distant city lights as they left West-Brook behind and slipped into Watson.
The car rolled through the dimly lit streets of Little China, heading south towards the carpark connected to V's apartment in Mega Building H10. Little China, situated in the southern part of Watson, bore the hallmarks of a historically poorer area, with narrow, overcrowded streets, flickering neon signs, and crumbling concrete structures. The further north you went, the grittier it became, eventually reaching the industrial zones where the infamous Maelstrom gang dominated—an area known for its lawlessness and brutality.
In contrast, the eastern side of Watson led toward Westbrook, where Japantown—the area they had just come from—flourished under the heavy influence of the Tyger Claws. Unlike the chaotic and brutal Maelstrom, the Tyger Claws maintained a more calculated, yakuza-like control over their territory, exuding a cold, menacing authority. Their grip extended into parts of Watson as well, with Little China hosting a delicate balance of power.
In Little China, the Tyger Claws shared influence with other factions, including the Mox—a gang formed by sex workers who banded together to protect their own, creating a network of independence and mutual defence.
Little China was a volatile balance of power, with Tyger Claws, and Maelstrom carving out their own territories and battling for influence while the Mox kept to their selves. V's mega building, H10, stood in little China—a massive, imposing structure in the middle of this urban tension, housing countless residents just trying to survive amidst the chaos.
Pulling into the parking building, Jackie navigated up to the first floor. The walls were a drab grey, accented with dull, darker highlights at the corners and along the base—a stark, utilitarian look typical of Night City's mega buildings. He paused near the elevator, the hum of the engine remaining.
Turning to V, Jackie flashed a warm smile. "Sweet dreams, then."
V grinned back, reaching out to start their special handshake. She slapped his hand sideways in a sort of high-five, following it up with a solid fist bump to complete the ritual.
"Tell Misty I said 'Hi,'" V said as she stepped out of the car.
"I will. Ahi luego," Jackie replied, his voice warm and familiar, like a steady anchor in the chaos of Night City.
With a final nod, V watched Jackie drive off, the garage door sliding shut behind him as a ping in the back of her mind altered her that she had just levelled up. Turning, she made her way toward the metal-gated elevator, its harsh fluorescent lights piercing through the haze of dust and neon advertisements. Trying to ignore the blaring, over-the-top ads flashing around her, V stepped into the elevator as the gate clanged shut.
The ads surrounding her were relentless. One screen showed a neon-pink soda exploding in slow motion, with the voiceover claiming it would "ignite your senses" and make you feel alive for only 15 eddies a pop. Another flashed a chrome-clad influencer with implants for skin, promoting the latest "skin renewal nanotech" that promised to "replace the old you". Somewhere in the mix, a slick campaign for synthetic food pills cycled in, declaring, "Who needs real food when you've got Nutri-Pax?" It was a sensory assault, the ads almost feeling like taunts.
The digital pad scanned V and displayed her apartment floor number. She tapped it, feeling the elevator shudder as it began its ascent, gears grinding against the weight of the building above.
Just then, her holo buzzed with an incoming call from T-Bug, which she accepted. T-Bug's voice crackled in her ear. "Forgot earlier—a runner I know has something you could probably use. Zippin' you her deets." The call ended abruptly, leaving V alone with the drone of machinery and the flickering glow of relentless ads.
As the elevator doors slid open on the 8th floor, V stepped out, greeted by the dim, sterile lighting and the familiar hum of the building's ventilation system. The hall was quiet, with muted tones of greys and blues, casting a slightly oppressive atmosphere. The apartment was conveniently close to the elevator—one of the main reasons why the original V had chosen this spot, a quick dash from transport to her front door, ideal for someone always on the move.
Approaching the door, V keyed in the code, and it slid open, revealing the interior of her apartment.
The living space was modest, but functional—a blend of modern and slightly worn-down aesthetics, with a utilitarian, almost bunker-like feel. The hexagonal tile floor gave it a gritty, industrial vibe, while the soft ambient lighting added a touch of warmth to the otherwise cold setting. To the right, a built-in closet next to a sliding door held a room for her gear, while the walls were lined with scattered personal effects, small glimpses of a life lived in the city.
Directly ahead in the left wall, a large bed was tucked into an alcove, framed by a neon-lit shelves. The bed's simplicity suited V's needs—a place to crash after long nights, with little in the way of luxury. The apartment was open concept, the sleeping area blending seamlessly into the main space, with a low sofa and a couple of mismatched cushions creating a small seating area near the window.
The large window stretched across one wall, offering a view of the city below, faint neon lights flickering in the distance. The walls were dotted with small touches of tech and city life—an old television screen mounted on one wall, and a vending machine tucked into the corner, offering instant snacks for nights she didn't feel like going out. There was an obvious lack of a kitchen, but it wasn't like V could afford fresh food to cook or had any interest doing so, besides the processed food you could find on the street was cheaper.
It was a mix of comfort and survival, a little slice of Night City that was hers, a place to unwind after the relentless intensity of the streets.
Damn, I need a drink. Today was hectic, V thought, closing the door behind her with a sigh. She slipped off her shoes, feeling the cool tile floor beneath her feet, and made her way over to the sunken couch area. The worn cushions hugged the ground, creating a cozy pit in the centre of her apartment.
On the low table beside the couch sat an open bottle of Centzon Totochtin—a high-quality tequila. An old glass rested next to it, smudged from previous nights. She poured herself a generous amount, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and settled back into the couch, lifting the glass to her lips.
The tequila hit her tongue with a smoky warmth, rich and complex, layered with hints of earthy agave and a touch of oak. There was a subtle sweetness at first, but it quickly gave way to a bold peppery bite that lingered at the back of her throat, smooth yet potent. The burn was sharp but satisfying, like a fire spreading through her chest, easing the tension of the day with each sip. She let out a contented sigh, feeling the weight of the day begin to melt away.
That's the stuff, V thought, tilting her head back as she sank into the couch. It was already 8 o'clock, so she had a few hours to kill before going to bed at 11:00 p.m. for a 7:00 a.m. wake-up.
Looking at her socked feet then the state of the ground around her head she noticed the obvious dirt and grime on it.
The original V didn't take of her shoes before entering the apartment, grose. Moreover, this place is in need for a good clean…
Searching her memories, she failed to find any that showed where the cleaning products were, meaning that there was a lack of such products in the apartment. Looking around she noticed there was at least a two in one clothes washer dryer in the bathroom that wasn't in the game.
Placing down her glass onto the table and suddenly feeling a whole lot less sanitary V decided to have a shower. Walking towards her bathroom she stripped off her tank top and the rest of her clothes, throwing those that needed to be washed into the machine and turning it on, not caring about fully loading it before doing so as from her memories she knew this was V's usual ritual.
V stood in front of the mirror, taking in her reflection with a quiet, scrutinizing gaze. She was now much shorter than she was previously standing a 165cm tall or 5'4" instead of her previous 6'2" or 192cm stature. Her hair fell in loose waves, white hair that seemed almost silver under the dim bathroom light. Her face held a hardened beauty, marked by high cheekbones and a strong jawline, yet softened by full lips and eyes that carried an edge of weariness with rather dramatic eGirl eyeliner. Her skin was flawless due to a mod she had installed in the game. Those blue eyes, striking and intense, held a hint of something deeper—determination laced with a cautious vulnerability.
Her body was adorned with intricate tattoos, inked patterns that flowed naturally across her skin. A delicate design spread across her collarbone, while a larger, more elaborate piece wrapped around her hip and thigh, blending seamlessly with her figure. Light scarring could be seen around her abdomen, a callback to getting stabbed and sliced a bit when she first became an edgerunner.
Also, massive double Ds'. Yeah I'm currently just like my most recent cyberpunk character. Thank Christ I went for one of the more reasonable body overhauls. Why did I even get a body overhaul mod that applied only to V? Was it just for the ability to look down at some great cleavage in first person?
V looked down before nodding to herself. Yeah that was the reason.
V stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her, and for a brief moment, she could just focus on the steam and warmth rather than the war within herself. The rivulets traced over her limbs, the heat radiating across her body was soothing. She ran her hand over her skin, still feeling like it belonged to someone else, like she was washing down a mannequin rather than her own body.
After a quick rinse, V stepped out and grabbed a towel, drying herself off mechanically, almost on autopilot, each motion detached, efficient, like she was just a maintenance worker servicing an intricate piece of machinery. She pulled on a fresh set of clothes, the soft fabric a strange comfort against her skin, grounding her just enough to settle her thoughts.
Finally, she sank onto the couch, a sigh escaping her as she let herself fully relax for the first time in hours. She reached for the glass of tequila, the amber liquid catching the dim light. Lifting it to her lips, she felt the warmth slide down, steadying her in a way that nothing else could.
"Still a pretty weird champ situation, though," V muttered with a wry smile, her words mixing with a low chuckle. Comedy had always been her armour, a quick-fire defence against life's heaviness. Lately, she'd been leaning into the most absurd kind of humour—quirky, offbeat slang that felt like it had just spilled out of some fever-dream internet thread. Somehow, it made things easier, describing serious situations with language so deranged it almost took the sting out of them.
"Already burned one mental breakdown today on the balcony," she said, as if explaining to an invisible audience. "So I'm just going to stuff this one away for later, like a small treat for when I've got nothing better to do." She took another sip of tequila, the warmth settling her nerves. "Besides," she thought, forcing herself to believe it, "I'll get over this body dysmorphia with time. Just got to get used to… this."
The idea echoed through her, still unfamiliar but slightly more manageable now, wrapped in the comfort of her own humour.
V focused on that faint tingling sensation at the back of her head, the odd feeling she'd been ignoring since arriving in this strange, game-like world. She mentally tugged at it, and suddenly, the stat menu flickered into view, as an overlay over her eyes just like other Cyberpunk UI element.
It was an uncanny echo of the familiar screens she'd navigated so many times in-game, only now it was her stats on display. "Body: 6, Reflexes: 3, Intelligence: 6, Technical Ability: 4 … Cool: 3," she muttered, reading through each attribute. She couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated laugh. "Guess I'm still as lame as ever."
But the numbers felt oddly real now. Each stat seemed to resonate with a part of her—strength in her limbs, sharpness in her reflexes, the mechanical precision of her technical ability, and the intellect of her mind. Cool was a harder, more illusory feeling to grasp. She had one unspent point, waiting to be allocated, each decision now feeling like it held genuine weight in this reality.
"So, do I double down on what I know, or try something new?" she mused, eyeing the glowing menu as if it might answer back.
V considered her options, her mind racing as she sipped her tequila. She only knew one build, but it was a powerhouse—a netrunning setup that, in the game, had turned her into an unstoppable force. With the right cyberware and quickhacks, she'd perfected the art of infinite healing during overclocking, stacking Cyberware Malfunction and Synapse Burnout to dish out ridiculous amounts of damage. She could wipe out waves of enemies with ease, practically one-shotting anything that crossed her path… well, anything except Adam Smasher.
But here, it wasn't just about stats on a screen or NPCs in her way. The stakes were real, and that made every choice feel heavier. She tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her thigh, feeling the weight of the decision settling in her mind. The pre-allocated stats already nudged her toward that familiar path. Her Intelligence and Body were primed, just like in her last playthrough.
"Still," she thought, her eyes lingering on the lack of a reset button, "I've only got one shot at this. If something goes wrong, it's not like I can just reload a save."
V took another steadying sip of tequila, feeling the warmth wash through her, grounding her in the present. Her mind raced with possibilities, lingering on the uncertainties of this new reality. Could she rely on the same game mechanics, the same quickhacks, the same cyberware she'd used a thousand times in-game? Part of her wanted to dive in, to lean into the netrunning build she knew so well. But caution held her back.
"I need to understand how my game knowledge actually applies here," she thought, absentmindedly twirling the glass in her hand. "Already today, I managed takedowns with a knife, something a level one V couldn't even pull off in the game. Netrunning, so far, seems the same, but… there's a lot I don't know."
Tomorrow, she decided, she'd get the Ping quickhack that T-bug called about today, a simple but effective tool to test her netrunning capabilities. If she could get her hands on it and maybe run through a tutorial for the Breach Protocol like in the game, she'd have a clearer idea of what translated from game to reality. Netrunning, after all, was more complex than the streamlined version in the game or even the flashy, stylized take in Edgerunners. In lore, it was a gritty, high-risk skill closer to the detailed, unforgiving world of the tabletop game.
Once she had a better grasp of netrunning's true scope here, she'd swing by Vik's and assess the cyberware options available. Only then, she thought, would she be ready to commit to a build, knowing exactly what kind of world she was dealing with and how her old knowledge could serve her in it.
V scrolled through her other menus, each one a familiar echo of the interface she'd spent hours navigating in the game—yet, here, everything felt tangible, significant. The cyberware menu revealed only her Cyberdeck installed in the operating system slot, a modest beginning. Her cyberware capacity sat at 27, perfectly matching the formula she remembered: (3*level plus 21). Her health was similarly precise, clocking in at 122, exactly as expected from the formula (100 plus 2*Body plus 5*level).
The map displayed a sprawling grid of Night City, though only the markers she'd seen on her way back to Watson with Jackie were visible. Her skill progression looked sparse, as expected—all zeros except for a slight nudge in Headhunter and Shinobi, thanks to her earlier stealth takedown, a small bump in Netrunner from her brief attempt at quickhacking.
She opened her inventory, finding it disappointingly bare aside from her submachine gun, pistol, and combat knife slotted neatly into place, alongside a grenade and airhypo icon. "Damn it, I forgot to grab my half of the loot from Jackie," she muttered, her tone caught between amusement and irritation. On a whim, she experimented with the knife, dragging it in and out of her inventory.
V sighed, feeling the blend of frustration and amusement tugging at her expression. "Guess my inventory's just a bottomless void with a weight limit," she murmured, flicking her wrist to repeat the action. She watched as the knife reappeared in her hand, solid and real in an instant, like it had materialized from thin air.
The world felt almost identical to the game, though a few glaring exceptions reminded her of the stakes. The missions panel was conspicuously absent, as were the save and load options. But in return, there were some unexpected freedoms: she could control her cyberware more naturally, bypassing the game's rigid functions, and even make literal mental notes instead of relying on memory alone.
"I guess a final check would be healing," V thought, drawing the knife and making a shallow cut on her left arm, the type that would normally heal in a day or two. A small bead of blood appeared, and she watched as her health ticked down by two. She quickly summoned an airhypo from her inventory and used it like an inhaler, watching the wound instantly heal as her health rose back by two points. The airhypo vanished from her hand, but a small icon in the corner of her vision indicated it was regenerating from one to two.
"So, regenerating health items… likely the same with grenades. And insanely fast healing," she mused, mentally filing these as useful perks for the fights ahead. But she didn't know how far that protection extended. In the game, you couldn't be dismembered, and enemies couldn't land critical hits through headshots. Here, though? She wasn't exactly eager to test it out for… obvious reasons.
V shivered slightly at the thought, glancing down at her arm where the cut had healed flawlessly. Some parts of her wanted to believe that the world's harsher edges were still blunted, that there were some safety nets left in place. But she couldn't be sure. Until she knew, she'd approach this world with a little more caution than her usual reckless style.
The obvious implication was that this system was anything but natural. Everything it encompassed—leveling up, inventory management, even the meta-knowledge she possessed about the world and its hidden secrets like Alt Cunningham, Mikoshi, and Soulkiller—had to remain strictly confidential. If word got out that she had an uncanny knowledge of Night City's darkest corners, people would get suspicious. And if anyone discovered the system itself, she could kiss her life goodbye.
Next—and probably most importantly—was the heist at Konpeki Plaza, the catalyst that set all the game's events in motion. If she followed the story exactly, she'd be looking at a life expectancy of about six months as an edgerunner, or, if she took the Phantom Liberty route and betrayed Songbird, a quiet life as an average citizen, likely without access to her cyberware or the system.
There were a few ways she could try to sidestep this doomed fate. She could start by convincing Jackie the heist was a terrible idea, or maybe even take herself out of commission temporarily to prevent being in any shape to participate. Ideally, that might push Jackie to back out, forcing Dexter to hire two other poor disposable souls. It would be risky, but it had the potential to avoid the heist entirely.
Alternatively, she could attempt the heist and use her meta-knowledge to ensure it went smoothly. All she'd have to do would be to avoid the day Saburo Arasaka, the CEO of the megacorp Arasaka, came to visit his son, Yorinobu, at Konpeki Plaza. This option would let them complete the job, netting the rep and creds that came with a successful heist. But it was still risky.
Then there was the fallback option: allowing the events of the game to play out but trying to keep Jackie from getting shot by executing a faster escape. Worst case she could even keep the relic in Jackie's head, avoiding Dexter's double-cross and going straight to Evelyn Parker for help. That route, though, came with its own hazards: dealing with the Voodoo Boys, Dexter's potential wrath, and the unrelenting reach of Arasaka.
In-game, Yorinobu eventually became CEO, using Goro Takemura, Saburo Arasaka's bodyguard, as a scapegoat, blaming him for his father's murder while dismantling Arasaka from within. But with her alive and possibly leaving the relic in Jackie's head, the fallout could be unpredictable. And, honestly, she didn't even know if the relic could be removed without consequences. Did the conversion to Johnny Silverhand's consciousness start only after death, or did it initiate the moment the chip was implanted?
And then there were the worst-case scenarios: Jackie and her dying, or worse, ending up with the relic herself, facing a slow, agonizing death as Johnny Silverhand slowly took over. The sheer number of variables was staggering, each option packed with risks that were almost impossible to calculate fully.
She preferred to avoid the heist altogether; it was too risky, too loaded with unknowns. But she also knew that her understanding of this world was limited, and if she could minimize the dangers, the potential rewards were enormous. A successful heist would bring her the status, resources, and power that could dramatically increase her odds of survival here. In a city as brutal as Night City, that boost in strength could buy her something priceless: time.
It was a lot to think about, and honestly, she was in no mood for it right now. She finished her tequila in one last, defiant gulp, feeling the warmth settle in her chest, and set the glass down with a soft clink. Enough planning, she thought; her head was already spinning with possibilities and risks.
With a sigh, she headed to bed, setting an alarm for 7 a.m. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the mess she'd found herself in by collecting more information on Saburo's where abouts. Tonight, she'd let sleep take her away from it—if only for a few hours.
Author's Note:
PM/Reviews for any improvements that I could make are very much appreciated.
Hey everyone! Hopefully, this isn't too cringe for a first upload.
I've been reading on this site since around 2016—roughly eight years now. During my most degen middle and high school years, I would stay up until 4 a.m., devouring stories here nearly every night. This fanfiction is inspired by my most recent playthrough of Cyberpunk 2077—a game I have over 200 hours in—and my thoughts about what it might really be like to live in such a world, or what I'd do differently in V's place after knowing the game so well.
As for the direction of this story, I'm not aiming to simply retell the game's plot. I've read a lot of fanfics that stick too closely to the source material, and I want to do something different. This story starts from the same place as Cyberpunk, but it's going to take a very (I would make it more bolded and italised if I could) different path as it unfolds.
For world-building, I'll be using the Cyberpunk 2077 game setting with additional elements from Cyberpunk Red to flesh out areas that the game didn't explore. I want the world to feel richer and more layered as a result.
What finally pushed me to upload was probably my recent binge-read of Lord of the Mysteries—and the hole I feel now that I'm caught up and have no new chapters! My hope is to give someone else that same sense of anticipation.
In terms of inspiration, I'd say Coeur Al'Aran has been a huge influence. In my opinion, he's basically the GOAT of fanfiction. He's so good at writing RWBY that his stories feel like original works, and he's the reason I still care about the IP. (If you haven't read Not This Time, Fate or The Beacon Civil War, I highly recommend them—especially if you're into stories with that "how the hell did I end up here" comedy and a chaotic school-battle royale setting.)
Eventually, I'd like to write my own light novel. I've been brainstorming ideas for years, working on the world, characters, and story beats. But I'm starting with fanfiction to gain more confidence in my writing skills, from character development and world-building to pacing and storytelling.
If you've read this far, thank you for your time! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so if you have any constructive feedback on how I could improve, please leave a review or PM me. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy the story!