CYBERPUNK: The Technomancer’s Gamble

The cold metallic hum of Night City's perpetual glow seeped into every crack and crevice of his small apartment. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, the boy—still without a name, though his old one had begun to feel like an echo—stared at the hovering drone before him. Its upgraded frame gleamed faintly, casting shifting patterns of light on the walls.

The events of the previous night lingered in his mind, fragments of adrenaline-fueled survival clashing with the pressing reality of his situation. He'd escaped the scavengers, but barely. The thought gnawed at him, an unwelcome reminder of his fragility.

I need to be better prepared.

His Technopathy hummed in the back of his mind, a constant, subtle presence. It wasn't intrusive, but it was always there, waiting for him to reach out, to connect. With it and Juryrigg's mental enhancements, he was starting to see the city differently—not as a chaotic sprawl, but as an endless playground of potential.

Resources were the next hurdle. The drone's upgrades had consumed nearly all of the usable components he'd scavenged, and while he could technically break down more mundane objects, it wasn't sustainable. What he needed was a steady supply of parts—something reliable.

There was only one place in Night City where someone like him could find what he needed: the black market.

He hesitated at the thought. He'd avoided interacting with anyone since arriving, his presence in this world still raw and uncertain. But the scavengers' attack had left him no choice.

The boy wrapped himself in the oversized jacket he'd claimed from the scavengers. It smelled faintly of oil and smoke, a clinging reminder of its previous owner, but it served its purpose.

"Stay close," he muttered to the drone, which chirped in acknowledgment.

The streets of Night City were a swirling storm of neon lights and restless energy. Hawkers shouted over each other, selling everything from cyberware to street food. Augmented figures moved with a mechanical grace, their enhancements gleaming under the harsh glow of signs advertising impossible luxuries.

The boy kept his head down, avoiding prolonged eye contact with anyone. His slight frame and unusual appearance drew glances, but most people were too consumed by their own struggles to care.

The black market wasn't hidden—it was simply ignored by those unwilling to acknowledge its existence. Nestled in the shadows of a crumbling overpass, it thrived in the margins of the city's chaos.

Vendors had set up makeshift stalls, their wares displayed on tables or hanging from hooks. Components of all kinds were scattered across the area—everything from outdated chips to cutting-edge cyberware.

This is it, he thought, his gaze darting from stall to stall.

His first stop was a table piled high with wires and circuit boards. The vendor, a grizzled man with a cybernetic eye, eyed him suspiciously.

"What're you lookin' for, kid?" the man asked, his voice rough and impatient.

"Just browsing," the boy replied, keeping his tone neutral.

His Technopathy whispered to him, picking up faint signals from the components. He could tell which ones were functional, which ones were junk, and which ones held hidden potential.

He selected a handful of parts—an outdated processor, a bundle of wires, and a small capacitor.

"Fifty eddies," the vendor said.

The boy hesitated. He had no money—at least, none that was valid in this world.

Time to improvise.

"I'll give you ten," he said, feigning confidence.

The vendor barked a laugh. "You got guts, kid. But this ain't charity."

He stared at the man, weighing his options. The drone hovered at his side, its presence a silent reminder of his capabilities.

"What about a trade?" he asked, his mind racing.

The boy reached into his bag and pulled out a small device he'd cobbled together from scavenged parts. It was crude but functional—a portable energy generator, useful for charging small devices or powering low-demand systems.

The vendor's cybernetic eye zoomed in on the device, its lens whirring softly.

"Where'd you get that?" the man asked, his tone shifting from dismissive to interested.

"Made it," the boy replied simply.

The vendor studied him for a moment before nodding. "Deal."

The boy handed over the generator and collected his components, relief washing over him.

As he made his way through the market, the boy's attention was drawn to a commotion near the far end. A group of men, heavily augmented and radiating menace, had gathered around one of the stalls.

He recognized their leader immediately—it was the scavenger who'd led the attack on him.

What are they doing here?

The boy ducked into the shadows, his heart pounding. He couldn't risk being spotted, not after their last encounter.

The drone hovered low, its camera feeding him a live view of the group. They were arguing with a vendor, their voices rising over the market's ambient noise.

"I'm telling you," the scavenger growled, "someone stole it from us. A kid."

The vendor raised his hands defensively. "I don't know anything about that. I just sell parts."

The boy's stomach dropped. They were looking for him.

He needed to leave—now.

Clutching his bag tightly, he slipped through the crowd, keeping to the shadows. The market's chaos worked in his favor, providing plenty of cover as he moved.

The scavengers didn't seem to notice him, but he couldn't afford to be careless. He directed the drone to scout ahead, its upgraded sensors scanning for threats.

Almost there, he thought as he neared the edge of the market.

But just as he stepped into the open, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Hey, kid," a voice said.

He spun around, his heart racing. It wasn't a scavenger—it was another vendor, a wiry woman with a cybernetic arm.

"You dropped this," she said, holding out a small, folded piece of paper.

He took it hesitantly, nodding in thanks.

"Careful out there," she added, her tone oddly warm.

He didn't respond, slipping away into the night.

Once he was far from the market, the boy finally allowed himself to breathe. He leaned against the wall of a narrow alley, his mind racing.

They're still after me.

He unfolded the piece of paper the vendor had given him. Inside was a single line of text:

"Need parts? Contact me."

Below it was a comm code.

Back in his apartment, he spread the new components across his makeshift workbench. The drone hovered nearby, its presence a comforting reminder that he wasn't entirely alone.

He studied the parts, his mind already working on his next project.

If they're going to hunt me down, I'll need more than just a drone.

His gaze shifted to the comm code. The vendor's offer was tempting, but it came with risks. Trust was a rare commodity in Night City, and he couldn't afford to misplace it.

Still, it was a lead—one he couldn't ignore.

For now, though, he focused on the task at hand. His fingers moved deftly, guided by Juryrigg's instincts as he began to assemble something new.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

And in Night City, a start was all he needed.