*This story is based off of an actual Cyberpunk 2077 TTRPG campaign that was never finished. During this campaign I played as Goes, a nomad, as one of my first long form TTRPG experiences. The story encapsulates what I had envisioned as a climatic ending for the campaign, as well as finishing the story arc for my own personal character. I did my best to make this a readable one shot piece without giving all of the back story from the rest of our adventure, of which there was plenty. I hope you enjoy it.*
The job had gone smooth enough, but Goes, a nomad with a mysterious past, was still on edge. In Night City, clean gigs had a way of turning sour faster than a cheap synthburger, and tonight felt no different. The deal wasn't done until he had the chip in his hand, the data shard that held the location of his clan's missing convoy, and he knew this data broker, Cypher—slicker than oil on chrome—had a reputation for wringing out last-minute demands. Standing in the heart of Lincoln's night market, Goes felt the air tighten, brimming with an uneasy tension that clung like smoke.
Tensions were always high in Night City, sure, but this was different. Goes could sense it, like an itch between his shoulder blades. The air here was heavy, cluttered with the tang of exhaust, oil, and the distant stench of irradiated coastline seeping up from the docks. This market, tucked away from the sprawl's prying eyes, was "clean" as far as Night City went. It was a collection of small shops and stalls, carrying anything from expiremental firepower to illegally aquired cyberware. Lincoln, the fixer who had put this crew together, kept it well-managed, priding himself on the unspoken truce he held—no gonks, no scavs, no mess. But tonight, something else tainted the air, a smothering heaviness that weighed on the bones like copper plating.
Must be that rat Cypher stinking up the place, Goes thought to himself. The info broker lounged with his usual shrewd smirk, eyes flicking to each crew member as they filed in, one by one. He wore that smug look like armor, and tonight, it seemed to poison the air.
Goes could feel the unease radiating off the others. Galah4d kept one hand on his blade, relaxed but coiled, his sharp focus fixed on the nomad as though tracking prey. The crew's tech, Kovac, stayed in the periphery, with a cold, calculating gaze sweeping the market like a problem that needed fixing. Paracelsus, the medtech, quietly assessing every angle as if preparing for a surgical procedure. Then there was , a top-notch netrunner, usually steady and confident, but tonight, he shifted uneasily, glancing between Goes and Lincoln—he'd been the one to bring Goes into the crew, and now, he could feel the crushing weight of circumstance as the tension grew thicker by the second.
Goes didn't want to mistrust them; he'd fought alongside them long enough to know they could hold their own. But tonight, trust didn't mean much. Not with his own family on the line, and that lingering stench of Cypher polluting the atmosphere. Goes stepped forward, aiming to cut through the smog hanging over them.
"Alright, data hoarder," he called, his voice sharp. "Time to hand over the shard."
Cypher's grin widened, his eyes darting over the crew, lingering just a second too long on Lincoln, who leaned back against a vendor stall with his arms crossed, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Lincoln's expression was unreadable, but Goes saw a glint of calculation there, like he was running the numbers and weighing the odds.
"Hold on, gonk," Cypher drawled, his tone thick with amusement, his gaze sliding back to Goes. "You really think it's that simple?"
Goes felt a twinge of heat flare in his chest, his jaw setting tight. It would be simple, all right, if this was handled the way the nomads do, out in the Badlands. But here, surrounded by a motley mix of smugglers, street rats, and mercs, he knew he'd have to tread carefully. He caught a glance from Galah4d—silent, as always, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, as if ready to settle this whole ordeal with one clean swing.
Lincoln, watching this all with a wry grin, finally stepped forward, eyes glinting. "You've got a habit of coming in hot, Goes. I seem to remember we had a deal—2000 eddies to help you run the job. You've got the eddies, you get the shard."
Goes met his gaze with steel in his eyes, his typical cool seemingly vanished. "This isn't about eddies, Lincoln. It's family biz. I'm getting that shard, with or without a buy-in."
Lincoln's smirk twisted, and he chuckled under his breath. "Family biz? That's touching." He nodded toward Galah4d, who shifted beside him, eyes sharp. "But this is my market, choom. You want to do your biz here, you gotta give me my cut."
The heavy air thickened around them, inevitable as the smog hanging over Night City, as Goes felt something snap inside him. "Your cut?" he repeated, voice low and dangerous. Slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand, as his wolver claws slid from his fist with a soft metallic hiss. "Alright. You want your cut—" he leaned forward, not backing down an inch "—where do you want it?"
The market seemed to hold its breath. Galah4d stepped closer, the hilt of his sword now grasped firmly in his cybernetic hand. The blade glinted as he began to draw, slow and steady, the threat clear in his eyes.
But Lincoln raised a hand, stopping him with a cool shake of his head. He looked at Goes with a glint of disdain. "I thought your kind kept their word," he said, voice dripping with contempt. "Where is your honor, nomad?"
Goes' jaw clenched, the fire in him raging hotter. "I'm getting sick of this runaround game you've been playing!" His voice broke out louder, a rough edge of frustration cutting through. "When am I gonna get the shard? When am I going to find my brother?!"
Goes' voice echoed through the market, raw and unfiltered. A flicker of realization passed over the crew's faces as they registered the truth behind his words. This shard wasn't just about a missing convoy—it was the key to something deeper, something he'd kept buried. Their glances sharpened, wary, as they processed the real stakes.
For a single, taut second, silence held. Then, a single crack of gunfire sliced through the night. A figure emerged from the crowd holding the smoking gun, flanked by two gangers, their eyes wild and unfocused, pupils blown wide from the unmistakable high of neuro-stimulants. Goes didn't need a second look to know who it was.
"You don't have to look far, brother," the man drawled, voice thick with disdain. "I'm right here."
Mace—his estranged brother, the ghost he'd come to find—had arrived. Cypher's smirk stretched wider, and with a casual flick of his wrist, he held up the shard. With an amused shrug, he snapped it in two, letting the pieces fall to the ground like scraps.
"Guess you won't be needing this anymore," Cypher sneered, already backing into the shadows as the market held its breath, waiting for the storm.
Mace's gaze locked onto Goes, sharp and deadly. The long-awaited family reunion had come, and from the look in his brother's eyes, it was about to turn red.
The market lay still as death as Mace made his entrance. His henchmen at his side with their wired-up stance and quick, darting glances—they were here to make trouble, and they wanted everyone to know it. Goes' heart thumped in his chest as he locked eyes with Mace, his stomach tightening. There was no regret for what he was about to do. Deep down, he had always known it would come to this.
A low growl escaped Lincoln's breath as he took in the scene, his calculating gaze shifting between Goes and Mace, studying every detail like a puzzle to be solved. He shot a sideways glance at , then tilted his head slightly toward the two gangers. "You got a clock on them?" he murmured, his gaze never leaving the new arrivals.
's eyes narrowed as he observed the gangers. "They've gotta be on that 6gun shit," he muttered, already plugged into his deck. "They're moving through the system like they've been running it their whole lives."
Lincoln's lips tightened into a thin line, the realization hitting him hard. This wasn't the first time this crew had come sniffing around his market. This new netrunner drug, 6gun, was a dead giveaway—same crew, same stink of trouble. Mace and his wired-up gangers had been testing his turf, and now they were back to take it.
"Stop them," Lincoln said quietly, his voice cold with intent, his attention locked onto the netrunners. He nodded at Galah4d, who was already readying his sword. "And make sure they don't get a step further into my market."
Goes shifted forward, shoulders tense, his gaze unwavering as he watched Mace. "This is my fight," he said, voice low, his words edged like the blades of his claws.
Galah4d glared back at him with an understanding that only a true warrior can possess. He turned his attention Mace's men, obviously master netrunners, who threatened to bring down their entire network, everything that the crew had built together. Before he could close in, however, the gangers' eyes flared a sharp green as their speed hacks broke through Galah4d's system, locking him in place mid-step. With a flash of code, his cyberlimbs seized up, frozen in mid-motion.
Mace's snarled grin widened as he took in the helplessness in Galah4d's eyes. "Not so fast, Samurai," he taunted, raising the pistol, and with grim satisfaction, fired a shot into the cyber knight's midsection.
The blast roared through the market, knocking Galah4d back as the round struck true, digging into his armor and sending a harsh ripple of impact through his reinforced frame. Sparks erupted from the wound, metal crunching under the powerful shot, and he staggered, trying to move but locked in place. A collective gasp went up from the crowd as the reality hit them. Mace wasn't here to make a point. He was here to tear it all down.
Kovac, sensing the chaos in the moment, fell back into the shadows silently, his intentions sharp but unknown. The medtech Paracelsus watched in shock, assessing Galah4d's wound from a distance, instinctively sticking by , who was already waging war in cyberspace.
Goes let out a guttural yell, lunging for Mace with fury etched on his face. In a flash, Mace turned, firing off two more rounds. The first bullet missed, splintering into a nearby stall, sending glass and metal raining down. Panic rippled through the market as vendors ducked for cover, clutching their goods and cursing the invaders for tearing into their livelihood. Lincoln's gaze darkened as he watched his carefully assembled market fall to pieces faster than it had come together, under the malicious orders of Goes' former clansman.
Mace's second shot struck Goes in his right shoulder, pain exploding down his arm. Goes' iron clattered to the ground, slipping from his fingers, but he didn't slow for a second. With one swift motion, he swiped the gun from Mace's hand, sending it skittering across the floor.
Mace's expression twisted into something even more exaggerated, a sense of mockery gleaming in his eyes as he readied himself for close combat. "That false sense of loyalty again, huh, brother? That's what's always held you back." He circled Goes, his expression laced with arrogant amusement, the superiority in his eyes cold and clear. "You never learned to reach beyond the code."
Goes snarled, swinging a punch that nearly connected, but Mace ducked with a laugh, quick and practiced. He was faster than Goes remembered, and from the looks of cyberware bulging out of his synthetic leather coat, strong as well. "You always thought you could be better than me," Mace sneered, dodging yet another blow. "A better rider, a better leader. But look at you now, fighting for scraps while I'm building something bigger than the family has ever dreamed."
Across the market, was struggling, fingers flying over his deck as he faced the 6gun-fueled netrunners head-on. Sparks burst from his console as he struggled to keep up, teeth gritted as he threw every countermeasure he knew into the fray. He was holding them back by a thread, but with each passing second, he could feel his own defenses slipping, buckling under the assault.
"They're pulling me under!" he shouted, barely able to keep the panic from his voice. A trickle of smoke rose from the ports in his neural deck, and he blinked through the growing pain. Paracelsus caught sight of 's distress. He crossed the distance in a few quick strides, crouching by 's side, his eyes calm and steady.
"Easy, choom. Let's keep that brain intact." With practiced efficiency, he pulled a vial from his kit and injected a stabilizer straight into 's neck, a coolant to keep his neural ports from overheating. The burning began to subside as Paracelsus administered another injection to help dull the pain of the feedback tearing through 's system.
"Keep them out, or we're all flatlined!" Lincoln barked, his eyes flashing with a rare urgency. He glanced around the market, pistol raised, but his ammo was spent, and the frustration in his eyes was palpable.
But was already losing ground. The netrunner's relentless hacks sent waves of crushing ICE through his circuits, frying his ports and setting his nerves on fire. His vision dimmed, his skin prickling as sparks danced along his fingertips.
Just then, Kovac emerged from the shadows behind one of the gangers, his voice low and deadly. "Guess you didn't see this coming." With a smooth motion, Kovac's shotgun slid out from his cyberarm, and with a single, echoing blast, he shot down one of the netrunners, sending the ganger sprawling to the ground.
His fiendish cohort twisted, his face a mask of rage, redirecting his efforts, sending a jolt of feedback into Kovac's circuits. Kovac staggered as his system overloaded, with dangerous arcs of electricity coiling around his cyberarm, rendering him helpless in pain.
In the middle of the chaos, Mace closed in on Goes, grabbing him by the collar and sneering, a glint of vicious satisfaction in his eyes. "Look at you now, still bleeding for family," he spat, his words dripping with disdain. "Out there, we were just cargo-haulers, riding the dust and doing what we were told. But out here, I'm free. Power is the only family I need."
Goes, his strength waning, locked eyes with him. "You betrayed everything we ever were, Mace," he said, his voice a strained whisper.
Mace's laugh was cold and cutting. "No, brother. I transcended it. Family was just a crutch. Out here, I own everything." He raised his fist, savoring the moment, poised for a final, crushing blow.
Across the market, Lincoln's voice rang out. " ! Forget the network! Free up Galah4d!"
Barely conscious, his vision darkening as the ICE surged through him, gave one last, desperate effort. Redirecting his code with a final burst of energy, he bypassed the ganger's improvised firewall and broke the lock binding Galah4d.
In an instant, the cyber knight was free, his body alive with movement. He stepped forward, his blade glinting as he took down the last netrunner with a swift, silent stroke. The hacker fell, silent and still.
As G4lahad finished the netrunner, Mace leaned down over Goes, his expression triumphant. "See, brother? It was always going to end this way," he said, his voice a low, vicious whisper. "The master, and the slave."
Goes gritted his teeth, fury blazing in his eyes. "It didn't have to be like this!" he rasped, his voice rough with pain.
Mace sneered, readying his final blow, but with a sudden surge of strength, Goes drove his wolvers up into Mace's chest, the blades sinking deep into flesh and chrome alike. Mace's face contorted with shock, his smirk faltering as the life drained from his eyes.
Mace fell to the ground, his eyes half-lidded but his vision locked directly on his nomad brother, "I guess... that's just how it goes…" His voice barely a whisper as he flatlined in front of the crowd.
A tense silence fell over the market. Slowly, Goes staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. The crew, battered and bruised but alive, gathered around him. Kovac held his injured arm, managing a smirk despite the sparks dancing from his circuits. leaned heavily against a stall, his face pale, but a faint, weary grin played at his lips. Paracelsus, thumbing through his medical supplies, looked around at the crew, and with confidence he re-fastened the latch on his bag. Galah4d, gracefully sheathing his sword, gave Goes a short nod.
Lincoln studied Goes, his usual smirk replaced by something more serious, something close to understanding. He gave Goes a slow nod. "You're in deeper than I knew, choom," he muttered, his voice low and reflective.
Goes met his gaze, a wry look crossing his face. "As deep as it goes," he replied. He turned to walk away, the market behind him already returning to life.
"Wait," Lincoln called after him. "About the eddies..."
Goes paused, though he didn't turn around. "The Frogs are gonna want to hear about this," he said, voice calm and resolute. "We owe you one now."
"The Three-Eyed Frogs…" Lincoln repeated under his breath, realization dawning on his face.
The Frogs were one of Night City's biggest and most notorious Nomad families—known for controlling nearly all smuggling around the docks. Every shipment, every contraband haul that slipped into the city passed under their watchful gaze. They were ruthless, fiercely territorial, and they had enough sway in Night City's underground to tip the scales of any business. Lincoln had heard rumors of their reach, but a favor from the Frogs? That was a rare currency worth more than any amount of Eddies.
As Goes continued walking, his silhouette blending into the neon haze, Lincoln stood in silent contemplation, the weight of the encounter settling in. He glanced at the crew, their shared looks of respect confirming what they'd all come to understand: they had witnessed something far greater than a common turf war. They'd seen a brother's retribution, a severed bond finally laid to rest, and a debt that had been paid in full—one that could tip the balance of power in Night City's shadows.
Lincoln exhaled, steadying himself, with that rare favor his to wield.
And as the market came back to life, its hum resuming in the wake of the battle, he couldn't shake the feeling that tonight had changed everything—not just for Goes, but for everyone who had witnessed the events that night, when honor proved to be more powerful than greed.