Cyberpunk 2077: Demons of Night City

In my old world, there was a word, "isekai." You could only loosely apply it to me. My arrival here wasn't the result of a miracle, coincidence, or the intervention of higher powers. I forced my way into this world. For decades, I fought for my existence in Cyberspace, devouring others like me. Now, these memories are blocked. Perhaps they are too alien for the human mind, and if they came crashing down on me all at once, they'd either drive me insane or kill me.

No matter. I'll process it slowly. I'll gradually unlock my potential and live the life I was once deprived of.

While I was organizing everything in my head, a message arrived from the higher-ups. Arthur Jenkins was generous enough to send only three words and one punctuation mark:

"Brilliant! Come in tomorrow."

I hope his gratitude has a financial equivalent. I approached the board and erased everything. The writings looked far too suspicious. In my case, paranoia is perfectly normal. To the NetWatch, I'm a dangerous monster that must be destroyed. To the corpos and Voodoo Boys, I'm a dangerous monster that must be used. Neither option appeals to me in the slightest. I plan to live my life, feeding my dreams and ambitions with the poisoned fame of this city.

I dialed a familiar number from my contacts.

"Cutting off tails again?" came Jackie Welles' voice from the other side.

"And you're in bed with someone again?" I retorted.

"Not right now, but the night's not over. So, what's up, Vi? Want me to swing by?"

"I'm not calling about a gig, Jackie. Last night made me realize my hands don't get along with iron. I want to introduce them properly. Maybe even set them up on a date. Want to hit the shooting range? I can't promise a lot of eddies, but I'll treat you. If you're busy, give me the contact for that old bandit. He won't refuse a free drink."

"Gustavo? Nah, he's had enough drinks. He almost shot his neighbor last night. Let's meet at Wilson's in an hour? You'll get your 'el rugido de la pólvora.' The roar of gunpowder."

"Deal."

I spent the evening at the range, where I could relax somewhat under the thunder of man-made fire.

The next morning, I found myself summoned to Arthur Jenkins' office. The corpo was clearly in a good mood, adding a bit more sugar to the poisonous cocktail of his speech.

"Okamura was crawling at my feet, practically ready to suck me off, trying to convince me my plan was impossible," Arthur chuckled, leaning back in his chair across from me. "And what? You pulled it off!"

"Just lucky," I replied. "Okamura's a coward, but he did what he could. I just stumbled upon a vulnerability."

"That's not luck, it's the result of sharp thinking and a keen eye," Jenkins 'praised,' jabbing a finger in my direction. "Keep it up, Vi. You'll go far."

Yeah. Great. Present success is all your doing and not just a fortunate turn of events. Sounds positive, but it comes with a flip side. Any failure is also entirely your fault.

A boss who denies objective factors? That's just a nightmare.

"I could praise you some more, Vi, but I think you'd prefer concrete numbers."

Now that was something I liked hearing much more. A notification appeared, and my account balance grew... one hundred fifty. Damn. That's a lot, but still not enough for the hellish risk and difficulty of the job. Yet having three and a half hundred thousand eddies in your account is better than not having them at all.

"Here's Arasaka's gratitude in its purest form," Arthur grinned. "I'd give you another day or two off, but we both know you'll have to catch up eventually. No rest for the wicked."

It sounded dramatic, but it was essentially a return to office work for me.

My first full day at Arasaka Corporation… felt like it lasted forever.

Reports, forms, spreadsheets, calls, brainstorming sessions, and, of course, meetings. In my previous world, there was a saying that any task could be made impossible if you held enough meetings about it. Pure truth.

I crawled out of cyber-hell, returned to life just to... work from 9 to 9, six days a week? No way. For now, I need Arasaka and the power that comes with corp status, but unlike the previous V, I see it as just a tool to gather starting capital.

Money, allies, skills, implants. I need to rely on the corp less with each passing month. Eventually, they'll either fire me, or I'll leave on my own terms.

Day, two days, three days, a week.

Every morning I went to work in the bright rays of the sun just peeking out from behind the skyscrapers, and I returned at night.

A rogue AI clawed its way out of cyberspace... only to end up filing reports in a corporate cubicle. It's like the setup for some B-grade holo drama.. Even though counterintelligence dealt with life-and-death matters for many people, I didn't see it personally. Other people's fates flashed past me in the form of dossiers, reports, spreadsheets, or, at best, video recordings.

The most "spy-like" thing that happened all week was an assignment to pressure a talented but stubbornly independent ripper. No, not Viktor Vektor, but the situation was similar.

In the evenings, I tried to spend at least an hour or two at the shooting range. Jackie even joked that I was training on purpose to save money on his services. But shooting is just one aspect of the street battles in the city of neon. Thanks to my inhuman nature, I'm well-protected from hostile software, but otherwise, Vincent Price is just a cocky corpo with a fat wallet. And not even as fat as I'd like.

So what to do? Work? Tear apart my new body and the throats of those in my way? I once put off life for later. But that "later" never came. Studies, writing papers for hire, diploma, an exhausting job, and a hospital bed as the last stop in a short life.

Now things will be different. I need to both earn enough and spend it on my own pleasures. To live fully.

On Saturday evening, I went to one of Arasaka's rippers. The previous V had visited him often to upgrade his runner chrome. It's practically all that's in my body right now. A deck, a memory manager, a mnemonic enhancer. Besides them, there's a smartlink for using smart weapons, eyes, and some minor stuff.

"Hey, V," the old ripper greeted me with a smile. "Finally decided to install more RAM?"

"No. I want a Kereznikov."

"V," the ripper frowned. "That's a pretty serious modification. I'm not sure you'll be able to fully utilize its advantages."

"I've got to start somewhere," I shrugged. "There was an attempt on my life recently. Probably tried to kidnap me for ransom. So I figured I should protect myself, at least a little."

"Alright. But if you start showing signs of rejection, we'll remove it right away. Got it?"

I agreed, and spent the entire evening on the operating table. It's amazing. In my home world, such a procedure would've required days of rehabilitation. Here, I got away with dizziness and nausea for one evening. Self-dissolving stitches, regeneration stimulants, stem cells—just the wonders of science. The ripper prescribed me a course of pills to adapt to the implant. Now, I could slow down time for two and a half seconds to dodge or aim. It's no Sandevistan, not even close. Kereznikov doesn't speed me up. You won't be outrunning bullets with it.

I spent almost my entire only day off on combat training. The shooting range, buying a light bulletproof vest, and my first session in the "Street Kendo: Kill with Style" course. At first, they explained the basics of proper movement and stance, standard for all martial arts. I fear that to truly master swordplay with katanas and other sharp objects, I'd need to train almost daily for a month or two. Hardly something my current schedule allows.

The rest of the day was spent practicing quickhack execution. Only late in the evening did I feel a sudden need for pleasure. A small reminder that real life was just around the corner.

I rented a car and headed to the Clouds. A smiling receptionist offered me to take a test to find the most suitable doll.

"I'm looking for a specific girl. Evelyn Parker," I replied.

"Dear guest, I'm afraid our establishment doesn't work that way," the employee politely objected.

"I know exactly how your establishment works. Either you tell me all the VIP rates and services now, or tonight your boss, Hiromi Sato, will receive a message from here..." I pointed to the lapel of my jacket, displaying the corp emblem. "That says the administration under Tyger Claws sent a rising counterintelligence star packing."

The girl paled, her face grew sullen, but she quickly plastered on another smile.

"I understand. Please allow me to clarify a few things."

Now, two possibilities. Either my bluff worked and everything will go as planned, or Evelyn has already been reserved for the highest VIPs like Yorinobu, and I'll be kicked out. No big deal. I'll survive.

The receptionist spent a few minutes typing, obviously engaged in a conversation. Probably with Maiko Maeda or Woodman. Then she smiled wider and announced the VIP rates. Seven and a half thousand? Wow, just great. Jackie and his super-bum charge less for a night, and they kill people for that money. Damn escort industry. Damn vaginocapitalism. But since I'm already here…

"Fine."

"Please connect via your personal port to our system so it can select the most suitable program for you."

"That's out of the question," I cut her off. "I've got some experimental implants. Scanning them would violate corporate agreements. Just assign me a standard program. I'm sure you've got a default set for entertainment."

Honestly, I can't even imagine how their system would freak out trying to scan the fantasies of a dead man from another world who's become a rogue AI.

"As you wish. Unfortunately, some of the unique sensations will be lost."

"No problem. I'll survive. Where can I take a shower?"

"You'll be escorted directly to the VIP area, sir" the administrator bowed.

Soon, another girl came to guide me to a room that looked more like a hotel suite than the standard booths in a dollhouse.

"Your girl will be here soon. In the meantime, I hope you can relax. Take a shower. The bar is at your full disposal."

A shower after a day filled with training and gunpowder smoke is just what I need. The hot streams tried to wash away the fatigue of a week's worth of work-related boredom. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Evelyn Parker was already in the room, sitting at the bar counter.

Она и одновременно не она. Тело, но не разум.

Стеклянный блеск в её глазах

И клей засохший в волосах

Целуешь час, целуешь два

Она прекрасна и мертва.

"Tough week?" the girl asked, crossing her legs seductively in synthetic stockings that resembled maroon latex.

"Tough decades," I replied, tightening the belt on my bathrobe as I glanced at her.

Such a strange feeling of déjà vu. I had seen her before, but at the same time, she seemed almost unfamiliar. Bare shoulders peeked coquettishly from under her thin dress. A blue bob framed her face—not exactly beautiful, but there was something captivating about it. Her eyes flickered slightly from the effects of a doll chip. If my memories from another part of me truly foresaw the future, many people would soon die because of this woman. It made it all the more interesting to feel her almost entirely under my control right now. Like seducing fate itself. There's a certain symbolism in that.

"You know, you're a little overdressed for this," I teased as I strolled toward the bar.

"Oh? And what would you suggest we do about that?" she asked, a sly smile playing at her lips.

"Start with the dress," I murmured, eyes tracing the neckline. "We'll take care of the rest after."

As Evelyn elegantly slipped out of the dress, I noted that she didn't have many implants, at least not visibly. Just three golden lines on the left side of her neck.

"Подумать только…" I whispered softly in Russian as I wrapped my arms around her waist. "Скоро ты умрешь страшной смертью. Хотя я уже давно через это прошёл."

("Just think about it… Soon, you'll die a terrible death. Though I've already been through that myself.")

She would die, if nothing changed her fate. But we still had time to make a decision.

Soon, all Evelyn had left on were her stockings and a necklace. After a truly tough and very corporate week, I wanted to unwind. I thought for a moment about how to begin, and at that moment…

The doll's eyes changed. They flared brighter, and instead of smoldering passion, a malicious intelligence appeared in them. I shoved Evelyn aside and jumped back. I'd handed over my weapon at the entrance, but I still had my cyberdeck and some makeshift tools. The doll tried to grab me, moving quickly but awkwardly, as if the new pilot wasn't yet used to the body. But I was already outside of her reach.

I grabbed a heavy bottle, but "Evelyn" didn't attack. She stood on the other side of the bar, staring at me with someone else's gaze.

"So, this is what you look like, demon from the depths," the girl said, her voice carrying a familiar accent.

Well, isn't that just great. My mood dropped, and not just my mood.

"Voodoo Boys. Brigitte, Placide, I don't know which of you is in there right now, but if you come at me again, you'll deeply regret it," I muttered through clenched teeth. "Got it?"

"The demon knows many names," someone in Evelyn's body chuckled, leaning on the bar. "You killed Jeda. Trapped her."

"And what now? Should I apologize? Bring flowers to the columbarium? You tried to kidnap me, I didn't want to be kidnapped. A simple conflict of interest. Six bodies were the result."

"You talk like a corpo," "Evelyn" purred. "I wouldn't have believed who you were if I hadn't seen through the Net. Liar and thief. Crawled into someone else's skin."

"Just like you are now. What do you want? What do you people want from me?"

"You're a harbinger of change."

"Let's skip the religious-mystical bullshit," I grimaced. "I know your organization all too well. In reality, you only believe in power and money. The rest are just ghost stories to fool outsiders. So, are there any concrete proposals or threats?"

"In Dogtown, underground, there's an ancient fortress. A fortress not for humans. Ten of our netrunners were burned there."

Hmm. Could they be talking about Cynosure? Militech's bunker, where the NUSA tried to harness the power of wild AIs. They tried and failed. And now the Voodoo Boys want to get their hands on dangerous tech? I'd believe it.

"I think I know the fortress you're talking about. Cynosure, right?"

"The demon was there⁈" the possessed doll exclaimed.

"Not exactly. But I know what it is."

"The demon will open the doors for us. Calm or destroy the other spirits."

"So. That's a request for a service. What's the payment?"

"Our friendship."

"Oh, great. Does the 'friend of the Voodoo Boys' starter pack include a badge saying I'm a sucker, or do I have to crack a couple more fortresses for that?"

"There is power in that fortress. For us, and for you. On top of that, you'll get more. Knowledge, information, human souls — as much as you want. Whatever you desire."

"How about money?" I asked.

"Money⁈" the doll laughed. "A demon who needs money? Fine. That will make things easier."

"But I'll tell you right away, Cynosure is no walk in the park. I'll need time to prepare."

"How long?"

"A year would be ideal. I understand it's a long time, but the fortress isn't going anywhere, and cooperative demons are a rare commodity. If I kill myself in Cynosure for no reason, you might not get a second chance. We'll discuss details later. If you agree, I'll be expecting letters. Now return the doll. She cost me seven and a half thousand."

"The doll? Or maybe…"

Someone in Evelyn's body took a few steps toward me, clearly trying to move seductively and touching the foreign body in provocative places.

"Return the doll," I repeated firmly.

The intruder made a disappointed face. Then, the flicker in Evelyn's eyes returned to normal. I scanned her as best I could. The invader seemed to have left, but there was still an unpleasant feeling of intrusion into my private life. No worries. I'll remember this ruined evening for the Voodoo Boys. I don't believe for a second in peaceful coexistence with them. One day, I'll have to wipe out their leaders who know my secret. Either that, or they'll eventually weave a trap clever enough to enslave me. There's no third option.

For now, I hoped I'd bought enough time and could prepare. They still didn't understand the limits of my power. They didn't know that in human form, my abilities were significantly limited, and that's why they were being cautious.

I spent a couple more hours with Evelyn. It was a pleasant enough time, but the mood was ruined.

Saying goodbye to the dollhouse, I headed home with a heavy heart. Back to work tomorrow. Committing evil deeds, ruining lives, writing reports, filling out spreadsheets.

With these unpleasant thoughts, I climbed the stairs of my apartment in Japantown. The elevator was out of order. Damn. The stairwell wasn't the best, but it was far from the worst for Night City. On the second floor, a green-haired punk was loitering in a cheap synthetic leather jacket. He gave me a sidelong glance and then began studying some torn poster on the wall. Pretending to read it, though he was a terrible actor. Clearly, he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. It made me a bit uneasy. But fine. Maybe he's just a jittery guy coming down from a trip. Waiting for me to pass before he takes a leak or pops another pill. I kept walking, but I rested my hand on Yukimura, holstered under my jacket, making sure to glance over my shoulder now and then. The punk kept sneaking looks at me. His right hand was in a bad position, like he was about to pull out a gun from under his jacket.

Then I heard footsteps from above, and I froze. No sound of a door opening. The steps came from a floor above as if someone had been standing there, waiting for a signal.

The broken elevator, this guy, the footsteps upstairs. One of these could be ignored. Two is worse, but all three...

I stopped and turned around, and then everything went off the rails. The punk's hand flashed, revealing the scratched frame of an old revolver.