My Audio Books Chapter 1383 Nn

Pain.

That's it. That's the only word I can possibly use to describe the feeling of being hit by a speeding vehicle at a hundred miles an hour. The end result of bruising almost every single organ in my entire body, breaking half my ribs, puncturing one of my lungs, breaking my left arm, my right leg, fracturing my pelvis and inducing a concussion.

Searing, burning, unimaginable pain.

And I could end it all with the press of a button. Specifically, the one on the drip machine next to my bed, which had slowly been feeding morphine into my bloodstream for the past forty-eight hours. That's right, morphine, because in spite of it's supposedly miraculous properties, I didn't trust the new-age drugs of this world one bit. I remembered the story of Thalidomide from my old world, and I wanted to keep all of my limbs, thank you very much, never mind the possibility of a deliberately contaminated dose. If I was going to receive chemical pain relief, I would get it from a good old-fashioned opiate, and I had left instructions to that effect years ago, alongside a hand-picked dosage that I knew hadn't been tampered with.

I had thought it to be a tad paranoid at the time, but after the attempt during my speech, I felt confident in saying it wasn't nearly paranoid enough.

Even with that being the case, I still couldn't take any of the substance, in spite of my shaking hands and burning insides. No, I needed a clear head.

Because I had work to do. A lot of work.

You see, my security team, in a state of panic, had taken a pre-emptive measure to prevent another attempt.

They'd had me declared dead, the fucking morons. And even worse, fearing the presence of a traitor in our ranks, they'd only told the bare-minimum number of people the truth regarding my condition.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the sentiment. And the logic behind the strategy was clearly sound. People don't send assassins after dead people, after all. But for fuck's sake, they didn't seem to realise the sheer extent of the damage they had done to my cause by issuing such a statement. Even when I had been alive, the vultures had been circling almost constantly, waiting for a single moment of weakness to come swooping down and go in for the kill. Thus far, I had been there to keep such attempts at bay, but now that I was squirrelled away in a safe-house at the edge of the city, away from all the action, there was no telling what would happen.

I had no doubt that Biotechnica, at the very least, had been enjoying themselves the past few days.

And there was the problem of the fact that my little power-bloc was built atop a house of cards. Dealing with 6th Street alone was like herding cats, and now, without my immediate leadership, who knows what they would do? Undoubtedly, without me to continue to finance them, at least some of them would have returned to their prior lives of crime. That alone wasn't an insurmountable challenge. If, however, they had fractured in half, torn between my vision of the gang and the desire amongst some to return to their criminal roots, then my powerbase would have suffered a significant blow in size and strength both. Still, Gunner was tough, and I didn't doubt he could keep the gang together for a few more days, making 6th Street the least of my worries.

For one thing, Panam was now officially in the wind, and any chances I may have had of getting the Aldecaldos to join ranks with me went with her. And to think, all the effort it took to cosy up with her, all wasted.

For another, my company was supposedly in the midst of a great deal of turmoil. Without me to head it up, essentially the entire operation had basically ground to a halt; shipping orders weren't being filled, crops were being left to rot on their shelves, and workers neglected to come to work, as apparently some moron had suggested the notion of observing a mourning period for the loss of their esteemed founder.

If I weren't so annoyed at the lost revenue, I'd be touched by the gesture.

There was also the little problem of deciphering who or what had wanted me dead so badly as to be so simultaneously brazen and subtle in their approach. The usage of a Delamain, in retrospect, was a stroke of genius that seemed to suggest that my opponent was far smarter than the nature of the attempt appeared to indicate. That combination of brutality and intelligence was not one I envied the prospect of facing off against at any time in the near future.

In addition, the news was currently stuffed to the brim with footage of my supposed assassination, and I appeared to have become more popular than ever as a result. Unfortunately, in the eyes of the public, I was too dead to enjoy the fruits of my newfound ascent into super-stardom.

Still, every setback presented an opportunity, and this was one I had been hoping for for a while now. You see, now that I was dead, someone needed to perform my last rites in accordance with my faith. And though I wasn't Christian, and never had been, I had somehow managed to convince the world that I was because, under the watchful eye of the members of my security team, a very special priest was making his way to my safehouse.

Once he got here, it would by my duty to convince him to join ranks with me. Now, this may not have been such a difficult thing, had my stunt with 6th Street not soured my relations with the man and his faction: the Valentinos. I may have had the edge with the man before, on account of so many of my employees coming from his territory, and yet, I had not, till now, been able to secure any facetime with him. And now I had to achieve the feat of getting him to abandon his feud with 6th Street and of deferring to me, all whilst wracked with all-consuming pain and unable to move my legs.

No pressure.

Still, if the game was accurate, and so far it had been, Ibarra was one of the most reasonable gang leaders in the entirety of Night City. Theoretically, he should be the easiest of the lot to find common ground with. In addition, as far as I was concerned, the Valentinos were the second-best gang to have on your side after 6th Street, because whilst they weren't nearly as useful as 6th Street in a fight, once earned, their loyalty was far more reliable. However, dealing with the man came with it's own risks.

For one thing, whilst he held a lot of influence with the Valentinos and in Heywood in general, he held no official power. He was a fixer, not a leader, and sure, people feared and respected him in abundance, and there was little doubt in my mind that if he truly wanted to, he could bring the Valentinos around to his way of thinking. Still, the fact that he wasn't officially the leader of the gang seemed to me like a definite liability. If ever Campo Orta got out, then it could lead to internal strife within the gang, especially if they didn't see eye-to-eye with regards to working for me.

For another, the man had an ongoing feud with 6th Street, so much so that had it not been for my timely intervention, I was pretty sure that he would have had Sam Carter, Gunner's main deputy, killed. Needless to say, if I was going to make this work, first and foremost, I would have to smooth things over between the two men. The risk of infighting was already too high, and any more could prove fatal to me. To that effect, I was prepared to cede nominal 6th Street control of Heywood and the Glen back to the Valentinos in order to get them on side. In return, I would direct 6th Street's attention into either Animal, Tyger Claws or Maelstrom territory, and placate the egos that would inevitably flare at such a deferent move with the consolation prize of acquiring Watson.

However, all these doubts were swiftly sidelined when the Padre arrived. He wasn't the scariest person I had ever met, by far, and yet he seemed to possess a sense of dignified authority as he walked through my front door and followed my guards to my room. In some sense, the polite sophistication he demonstrated in spite of his background was more intimidating than the hyper-violent persona employed by many of his counterparts.

Seeing him approach, I swiftly shut off the TV broadcasting the feed from the security cameras into my room, and leaned back in my bed, attempting to present the most pitiful image possible. When he walked in, spotting me very much alive, with bloodshot eyes, and an oxygen mask strapped around my face with a mess of wires surrounding my bed, his face seemed to struggle to decide whether to settle on rage at the deception or understanding of why it was necessary. Oh, make no mistake, I knew that Ibarra was a ruthless man when pushed, and yet once again, my reputation paid dividends, because apparently he had heard of me, and as a result he was at least willing to hear me out.

He sat down on the chair beside my bed, and began to speak, "I was told you had passed."

I directed my gaze at him, taking a purposefully long moment to appraise him, before making a show of struggling to pull my oxygen mask off. In fairness, it was difficult, given that I had broken several of my fingers, but it was nowhere near the struggle I made it out to be. When I finally spoke, my voice came out in hoarse whispers, presenting the image of wounded frailty, "Look at me. The way I am right now, I think I would prefer it that way."

He sized me up with a hard stare, "Why, exactly, am I here? Your men were all too polite when they approached me, and yet, when we got here, they seemed all too eager to hold their guns at my back."

I attempted to extract some sympathy from the man, "You must understand, Padre, that my men have become a little jumpy following the events of my speech a couple of nights ago. Don't worry though, I'll have a chat with them." He nodded and sat in silence, and frankly, I was at a loss at how to proceed. Gunner had been an open book, and Rogue was someone I had a clear advantage on, Ibarra, on the other hand, was not a character who could be so easily manipulated or blackmailed.

Finally, he elected to proceed for me, breaking the silence, "I notice you haven't answered my question."

I smiled as much as I dared, making sure to continue the ruse of my supposed frailty, "Ah, yes. Well, the reason you are here today, Padre, is because I have a proposal for you."

His left eyebrow began a slow ascent, "Oh? And what kind of proposal is this?"

"The mutually beneficial kind."

"And if I'm not feeling cooperative?"

It appears my first instinct was correct after all, this was, in fact, going to be an uphill battle. "Then, Padre, you are free to leave."

His face betrayed no change in his emotional state, and yet he made no move to stand from his seat. If nothing else, he was curious. Knowing this, I opted to expedite the discussion, "So, shall I?"

He nodded, "You shall."

"Very well. You see, Sebastian, if I may call you that?"

He shook his head, "Padre, if you would please."

I nodded, "Ah, Padre it is then. You see, Padre, I believe that we find ourselves in a curious position, as of late. Our interests seem to simultaneously conflict and coincide. I propose to see that problem rectified."

His expression remained impassive, "And how, exactly, would you see that happen?"

In spite of my exhaustion, I attempted to inject some degree of passion into my words, "It would be inaccurate to call us both men of God, because you are, and I'm not. However, I do not believe that it would be inaccurate to state that we are both men of faith. Like you, I have faith, in a world of ideas that appear to have been lost. Ideas of honour, of family, of right and wrong. We have common ground, Padre, and because of it, we needn't be adversaries."

The corners of the Padre's lips twitched upwards, almost as if he found the statement to be humorous. Even still, he remained a closed book, "Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes, that is. The mere fact that we can sit here, and engage in pleasant conversation without attempting to blow each other's heads off is a testament to that."

"And what of our conflicts?"

I dismissed his concerns with a fairly pathetic wave of my arm, "Mere trivialities, I assure you. In fact, that was what I was hoping to see addressed today."

"Oh, really?" He appeared almost charmed at my assertion, "Please, enlighten me as to this miraculous solution to our problems."

Okay, the bastard was definitely mocking me now. In-game he had been polite, but never to this extent. In spite of myself, I felt a touch of irritation creep into my tone, much to the well-hidden amusement of the Padre, "You see, Padre, our conflicts happen to be primarily territorial in nature. I can imagine you might be upset at the burgeoning influence of 6th Street in Heywood, which is traditionally your territory, or so I'm told. I would be willing, should an agreement be reached between the two of us, to completely withdraw the 6th Street presence from your district."

He nodded and hummed, making a show of mulling the offer over, "An enticing prospect, to be sure, but at what price? It is not difficult to notice that the black market seems conspicuously smaller in 6th Street territory that it was just a few months ago, and in spite of your considerable prowess, I doubt you have the eddies to cut us the same kind of deal to replace the lost revenue from such a move, especially given that we are six-thousand members strong, rather than a mere twenty-five-hundred. What, exactly, do you want? And what, exactly, do you have to offer in return?"

At his question, I feigned indecision, freezing up for a moment and staring at the Padre's face in what I hoped to appear to be an almost pleading manner. After a brief moment, I began my speech, the heat building in my voice as I went on, "What I want, Padre, is a better world. A world free of needless violence, of pointless suffering. A world in which people like the poor Mrs Welles needn't suffer the tragic loss of her son before his time. A world in which her son wouldn't have felt the need to put himself in such a position, in the first place. In that, I don't believe, we are much different, you and I. And believe me, I am trying. And yet, in spite of all my efforts, I can't do it alone."

After a moment of silence in which the Padre closed his eyes, sighed and scratched his brow with his thumb, the humour draining from his expression at the mention of Jackie, he finally spoke, "You want my help."

I nodded as earnestly as I could manage, "I do."

He looked sceptical, "And your plan to make the world a better place begins with putting Heywood back in the hand of criminals?"

"I may be an optimist, Padre, but I'm no fool. In the cesspit that is Night City, crime will always be a reality. No, instead, I wish to supplant the more violent, dangerous parts of your criminal enterprise, with something far better."

"How?"

I smiled. Like Gunner, the Padre seemed almost desperate to believe that someone was willing to share his worldview, though he hid his desperation far better than Gunner ever had. "I am aware that in spite of it's more nefarious activities, the Valentinos operate a number of more legitimate businesses as well?"

"That they do."

"Well, that's an obvious avenue of expansion. There are a number of local businesses in 6th Street territory seeking investment, and I don't see why that can't be you. There is also no reason that you can't partake in the benefits of the 6th Street franchise model of security. All of the pre-existing subscription revenue from Heywood and the Glen could be redirected towards you alongside control of those districts, so long as you provide the same level of service to our customers that we currently do. Working under the same banner, 6th Street and the Valentinos could do a lot more good and make a lot more money than they ever made on their own. And naturally, I would be willing to bankroll the purchase of any new equipment needed to ensure an adequate delivery of such services. In return, the more violent sides of your business ought to be abandoned. All things considered, I believe that to be a very good offer."

He tilted his head to the side in a show of consideration, "It is, and yet in spite of the merits of such an offer, there still remains one hurdle to our cooperation: 6th Street. Neither I, nor any member of the Valentinos has any lost love for those pendejos."

I nodded, "And they don't have any lost love for you lot, either. Nevertheless, they understand that there is something bigger than all of us at stake. I can't imagine that such a historic move won't create some friction, but the problems that come may from peace will be far lesser than the problems that will come from continuing your feud with each other. We have a chance, Padre, to stop the bloodshed now, to make sure that another Moto Cielo never happens again. I say we take it."

The scepticism in his tone returned in full force at my attempt at playing off his emotions, "And you can convince 6th Street of this?"

I nodded, "I can. In the same manner in which the Valentinos admire you, they admire me, and whilst I may not officially be a leader among them, I do hold a certain degree of authority. Provided they saw a similar attitude amongst the opposing side, it ought not to be overly difficult to get them to buy in."

After a moment of legitimate consideration, the Padre sighed and nodded, "Okay. I can't believe it'll last, but it's worth trying."

I smiled and extended my hand as much as I could for him to shake, "To peace and new friendships, Padre."

He shook it, albeit with a doubtful look on his face, "To peace."

With our agreement struck, the Padre stood from his seat, and taking one last look at me, swiftly departed from the room. Once he was gone, I took a moment to ponder the implications that my move would have on the climate in Night City. As of right now, when it came to making a move, I had the upper hand, on account of nobody else knowing that I was still playing. Once, however, news of my new agreement with the Padre got out, which it inevitably would, it would change the power dynamic of the city considerably.

Firstly, with the combined might of 6th Street and the Valentinos, my faction would become by far the most powerful gang in the city. As enticing as that prospect was, I knew that it may also cause me problems down the line. The possibility of the other gangs finding common cause in seeing me removed was a distinct possibility, and one that would increase with each additional piece of territory I controlled.

Though Brigitte and the Voodoo Boys would leave me alone so long as I didn't touch Pacifica, and the Mox remained largely irrelevant in power terms, I was keenly aware of the fact that Maelstrom, the Tyger Claws and the Animals could yet still find common ground. Watson was disputed territory between the three, and my upcoming seizure of it would not play well with any of them. That could cause problems, especially given that collectively, they were more than ninety-five-hundred members strong, far more than me, even with the Valentinos on side. Of course, numbers weren't everything, and my side would have the better men and weapons, but it still put me at a something of a disadvantage should a full-scale gang war break out.

Furthermore, there were also the problems caused by 6th Street in the first place. Gunner, I didn't doubt, could be convinced of the utility of making common cause with the Valentinos, but getting the rest of the gang to even work with me had been a tough sell. Now, I was making common cause with one of their fiercest enemies. That was only going to exacerbate the tension further within 6th Street, and stretch the patience of some of the members of the gang even further than it already was.

And then there was the current turmoil that my company was undergoing. First and foremost, upon having achieved a partial recovery, I would have to restore order within the corporate ranks, and resume full-scale operation. Doubtlessly, I would also have to fend off any attempts at acquisition or espionage from corporate raiders, specifically Biotechnica.

And finally, there was the pesky problem of further attempts on my life. A full recovery, even with the advanced medicine of this world, would still take months. If I was to preserve my interests, I would have to emerge far sooner than that. That meant that my mobility, and consequently, my survivability, would be significantly impaired. I had yet to discern the identity or motives of my assailant, and the possibility of a repeat performance lingered at the back of my mind as I formulated my plans.

All in all, I had my work cut out for me.

Turns out, there was no rest for the dead.

_____

And so, having survived, the protagonist plots his grand revival.....

Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.

Hope you guys are enjoying the story thus far!

Last edited: Sep 22, 2022

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General A Man With a Heart - What a Damn Gonk.... A Cyberpunk 2077 OC

Thread starterMorph

Start dateSep 16, 2022

Tagscyberpunk cyberpunk 2077 own-character self-insert world building

Who should Arthur wind up with?

Panam Palmer

Valerie (V)

Gloria Martinez

Claire Russell

Lucyna Kushinada

Hanako Arasaka

Meredith Stout

Rogue Amendiares

Lizzie Wizzie

Us Cracks (whole band)

Harem (select this and anyone you want involved)

Other / OC (reply with suggestions)

Nobody

Gonzo

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Sep 22, 2022

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#61

Lone Wolf 666

I wonder how many try to kill you using cyber attacks and specialized in it. Before someone is clue in that you are just base human.

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Sep 22, 2022

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#62

Lanse

Lone Wolf 666 said:

I wonder how many try to kill you using cyber attacks and specialized in it. Before someone is clue in that you are just base human.

Ah, so that woman frowning at me at the cafe was just trying to kill me, good to know. And here I thought my purple shorts with a green shirt was offensive.

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Sep 22, 2022

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#63

Arnumart

Ok so here is something you need to higher corpos. While yes you are a good employer you need to higher someone or many someone's to oversee the business while you are plotting. There are corpos who are not complete assholes.

Biotechinia is strange because while they are ruthless in there business side they are also supposedly trying to fix the environment and build a better humanity. They also hold proprietary patent on biofuel. While food is a part of their profits oil is the big money maker.

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Sep 22, 2022

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#64

stads

fun idea to use open source to screw with the corpo's will be interesting to see how long it will take them to figure out he got no gear in his head and not a top line stealth tech that the spy's keep searching for to explain there failure's

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Sep 24, 2022

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#65

Threadmarks Gonzo 3

Index

BlackStar

WORLD OF GONZO

Cockroach

Well, my dear and near readers, this is Gonzo. Vegas was everything I expected: full of BD houses, flophouses with little Singaporean businessmen deep in the bottle and with only a suit on their back for their fortune. Of course, there were the Vegas standards: Gambling, whores, alcohol, and enough alleyways with men in suspicious trenchcoats for it to feel like home. Yet as I blew down the highway to Barstow, my mind on a cocktail of acid with a supreme addition of all-natural marijuana to relax me after Vegas, couldn't shake a feeling. Vegas stresses me out, and I'd forgotten that after five years. Spinning the wheel, counting the cards at blackjack, reminds me of the chances you take in life. You can just touch it. Horrible decision, but it's enthralling, to believe you have a chance. Now, I can't function on a cocktail of lowers on the way to Night City. Needed to get back into the mindset. Paranoia, energy, violence barely contained by resentment. Gambling gets me trembling, nervous. So, a dash of synth coke and amphetamines balanced out the downers. Now remember: Don't touch the combat drugs, kids, just touch the stuff that makes you go crazy. Better for your bodily health.

Now...as I could feel the wind course through my hair as easily as the booze in my liver, the coke in my veins, and the amphetamines through my heart, my thoughts turned to the humble cockroach. Lousy little insects. Managed to survive just about everything, little mutants. Middle East probably has some radioactive mutant roaches. In the road, a giant, ten-foot roach popped up.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

I swerved off the road, right onto a little patch of bones. Could hear them crunch as I sped through them to get away from the roach. Could hear that thing skitter after me, its antennae rustle against each other. It wanted to eat me, damn it! I had appointments to make in Night City! My fixer needed to hook me up with premium Golden Triangle authentics! Opium, morphine, prime organic marijuana. Stuff the DEA would burn, the philistines they are! Couldn't let that bug catch me, I needed to have the good stuff! Punched the peddle, and launched myself further to the sun, to get as far away from that goddamn thing. It screeched after me, but I left it in the dust, checking every few seconds to see it slowly turn into a blip.

So as I flew across the desert in that beautiful, pure-bred red creation of the 20th century of mine, with convertible top made of replica plastics, I could close my eyes and imagine it in the good old days. Just to clear my head of cockroaches. Back when the seas shined with the sun instead of sludge, and a man could have a car as big as his house. But my nose knew the answer. The car knew it as well. It was the 21st century of chrome and corps, not the 20th that caused all that. It was powered by wheat fit for kibble, instead of the kingly and aristocratic petroleum. so my mind sped as quick as my car. At roughly 90 miles per hour, I wondered what the hell it must've been like for the original to fly across the desert. He saw bats, I saw that huge roach. Must've been the acid. Or was it the mary jane? It occupied my mind for about five minutes, before I turned the radio on to dull my thoughts. Set it to an agreeable station, one mindless enough to let the brainwashing almost get to me, but not quite.

"This Neo-Sov Rock Hour brought to you by Sov-Oil, and..."

"Only with Millitech can you-"

"Arasaka-"

"Rocklin Augs-"

"Netwo-"

Turned the radio off. The silence of the desert seemed more agreeable than the blasting of those advertisements.

That cockroach was ten foot tall, all of those that spat onto the radio were fifty and up. I could almost see them on the horizon, rearing up to receive me. To eat me. I closed my eyes. Tried to believe they were imaginary, things made up in my mind due to the drugs. I saw them, their rusted brown carapaces, and I pushed the peddle down as far as it would go.

95, 100, 105, 110, 115, 140. The numbers jumped up as I looked forward to the cockroaches, their carapaces covered in corporate logos. I let out a howling yell, and plowed right through in a gap between them. They screeched like tires on pavement, but I had shot long past. I was sweating like crazy, but I had blasted past them. I was free of the corporate cockroaches. I flew through the desert at speed. I'd outrun the SoCal Highway Patrol, I could outrun the cockroaches.

It was about sunset when my radio picked up Night City, 'bout a hundred, hundred fifty miles away. Was at a fueling station, looking out towards the crimson glow of the sunset, as bright and red as a puddle of blood. Had the radio on, and had suffered through some good old europap from veritable antiques propped up by cosmetic surgery and more uppers than I was on. Then the news.

"...the mayoral candidate was seriously wounded, and been declared dead at the hospital." Hmm, politics. Never really enjoyed it. Especially Night City politics. The politicians were all well-heeled cockroaches, nice suits. Big talk, little realization of ideas. Voting rate's barely at double digits sometimes, and I understand full well. They're bought up by the corporate cockroaches. I'd thought of ginning up a "New Freaks" movement, to see how many denizens of that corporate park would be interested in something different. But there's 300 parties in the country, and what'll the 301st do different? Hell, maybe we'll just declare a revolution in the streets, pull up the street, form barricades. Shoot down an AV, rah-rah go America of old. Romantic images, but two centuries out of date slowly daubed my mindset, before I felt something on my arm.

I shook off the cockroach as violently as I could. At least it was a tiny one now, not covered in corporate logos.

"Christ almighty, how many damn cockroaches do I have to deal with!" A man with a flannel vest, six o'clock stubble, and a baseball hat looked at me confused, but shrugged. Like a stupid pig. God damn people don't understand how many cockroaches there are in the world. I glared at them, tried to make my indignation felt from behind a pair of sunglasses. He just ignored me. Lousy bastard probably shot nomads in the desert and called it "patriotic". So, with the cool wind of the West Coast to look forward to, scented with the smell of death and sludge, I pulled back into my cherry red convertible and rode out to Night City again. Wish there were less cockroaches in this world, but that's like asking for a cyberpsycho not to rip your body limb from limb and use it as a club. Just gotta squash them where you can.

Cockroach Exterminator

Gonzo

Last edited: Sep 24, 2022

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Sep 24, 2022

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#66

Morph

BlackStar said:

"...the mayoral candidate was shot, and been declared dead at the hospital."

He was run down, not shot. Apart from this though, really enjoyable addition to Gonzo's story. Though I wonder why I'm getting some Fallout NV vibes....

Anyway, my next chapter is coming out next week, so you'll have some more material to work with then. Looking forward to see what you'll come up with.

Hope you're enjoying the story so far!

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Sep 24, 2022

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#67

Devilking1994

If the Self Insert remembers this Gig from the game it might be something he can use to get the Nomads more on side and also hurt Biotechnica's reputation

Joanne Koch

Dr. Joanne Koch was the regional director for tech and development and a genetics engineer at Biotechnica in Cyberpunk 2077. To say that Biotechnica's scientists are "unscrupulous" would be like saying Yorinobu Arasaka is "somewhat famous." But few are as unscrupulous as Joanne Koch, even within...

cyberpunk.fandom.com

"If you might suspend your panic for a moment, gentlemen, here's a complete and comprehensive solution to our problem I thought up on the ride over." -- "Mad" Harris

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Sep 25, 2022

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#68

mickaela191

I'm currently watching the anime, I love it. The rampant corruption also rubbed me the wrong way. I kept thinking about how "upgrading" your body is the way to live and I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I'd honestly pull a Tony Stark with better color pattern for my suit lol. I'm good with flesh and bones in a cyber world, I'll just wear armor.

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Sep 25, 2022

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#69

e34w

mickaela191 said:

Click to expand...

POWER ARMOR and biological enhancements, spartan level of strength and reaction time. is something that could be extremely useful in cyberpunk

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Sep 25, 2022

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#70

Devilking1994

e34w said:

POWER ARMOR and biological enhancements, spartan level of strength and reaction time. is something that could be extremely useful in cyberpunk

That's something for way into the future his Company has no way to do such at this point though they might be able to one day Saburo lived to 150 so as long as the SI doesn't get himself killed we might get to see that happen eventually

"If you might suspend your panic for a moment, gentlemen, here's a complete and comprehensive solution to our problem I thought up on the ride over." -- "Mad" Harris

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Sep 25, 2022

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#71

Helezhelm

e34w said:

POWER ARMOR and biological enhancements, spartan level of strength and reaction time. is something that could be extremely useful in cyberpunk

It will require extensive research on genetic modifications and power armor design to make it viable, Nanomachine might cut it but that's risky method because nanobots can be hacked too.

mickaela191 said:

Click to expand...

Honestly, it makes sense considering that not all people can "accept" cybernetics so readily, as body/mind has certain limitations on cybernetic augmentation unless there's drugs availability to counter that issue or cybernetic aug tech level is so high that it has no effect on body/mind. C2077 does not have that, so it runs to same problems as Deus Ex games do with cybernetic augs.

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Sep 26, 2022

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#72

Devilking1994

A thought

If you leave the city you can find a massive ocean of trash

Surely by 2077 they would have efficient recycling by this point

The SI when he becomes the Mayor should work on turning that ocean of trash into some profit for Night City which he can use for some infrastructure projects since a lot of Night City is falling apart

"If you might suspend your panic for a moment, gentlemen, here's a complete and comprehensive solution to our problem I thought up on the ride over." -- "Mad" Harris

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Sep 26, 2022

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#73

Lone Wolf 666

Well the thing is, cybernetics are more cost effective. Just swap your body parts to do it. Unfortunately that would severely bring you to cyberpsychosis. Power armor by contrast is bulky and clunky in comparison. My best bet would probably be some sort of emp type weapon that can shutdown any cybernetic technology.

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Sep 27, 2022

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#74

Threadmarks Chapter 6: Recovery

Index

Morph

Well, I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised.

In spite of everything that had happened, and all the losses I've incurred over the past few days, the recovery from it has been surprisingly less painful than I had envisaged. Though I had had to act through proxies, once upper management discovered that I remained very much alive, they had restored order within the ranks remarkably efficiently. Granted, I had to offer them the business end of an assault rifle if they didn't get everything running, and hefty bonuses if they did, but it was easier than anticipated. This had the added benefit of framing the rapid recovery of my business interests following my 'demise' as a power struggle between rival executives seeking to gain control of the company, helping prevent anyone from figuring out I was alive before I wanted them to.

On the security side of things, contacting Gunner revealed that the man had done a stellar job of retaining order within 6th Street, such that very little adjustment was required to reposition for my grand return to the scene. Of course, the deal I had cut with the Valentinos complicated matters, and massively so, but that news had not yet been broken to the rank and file of the gang. On the other hand, the withdrawal plans had been revealed, under the pretence of 'preserving operational integrity by reducing the patrol burden and freeing up manpower for further operations'. This was, in spite of being a pretty shallow excuse, surprisingly effective. Turns out, having the members of your gang be comprised of veterans doesn't simply improve combat effectiveness, it also has a noticeable impact on discipline.

Consequently, the Valentino takeover of those districts was relatively painless, and the Padre, under my guidance, had almost seamlessly resumed service for my former customers in those regions. Violent crime was given little to no room to make any sort of sustained resurgence. Unfortunately for me, it seems as if Weldon Holt has seized upon the opportunity, and taken credit for my work as if it were a product of his efforts at the NCPD. Needless to say, I was beyond pissed, but lacking any appreciable means to retaliate, on account of being officially deceased, I had settled for inaction for now, with the resolve taken to somehow fuck the man over in the future.

This inaction, however, did grant me time to oversee a number of other developments. For one thing, a number of quick trades taken by an unofficial representative of mine had had the effect of more than doubling my liquid wealth. Turns out, my death was great news for the Biotechnica stock price, and it soared by almost fifteen percent following my supposed assassination. Same news for the prices of Con-Ag and Akaromi Biocorp. Anticipating this sort of eventuality long in advance, I had standing orders with my broker to go all in on short-term call options on margin for the stock immediately following the breaking of any such news. This was, of course, a handy injection of eddies into my business at the precise moment where it was most necessary.

Now, this sort of business would technically fall under the definition of 'insider trading', however, one of the main advantages of the sheer extent of deregulation in this world would be the lack of power on behalf of any regulatory body such as the SEC. Essentially, for a few days, I was basically printing money, and nobody could stop me.

You know, I think I'm finally starting to warm up to this world....

All jokes aside, it did make for a good amount of start-up capital for a couple of new ventures I had planned. You see, in my quest to fix this world, I had noticed a number of inefficiencies built into the marketplace. Food may have been my big success, but as far as I was concerned, it was just the start. For one thing, the market for small business loans seemed far smaller than I would have anticipated it to be. Getting a loan was tricky enough, but getting one with an interest rate below twenty percent was near impossible.

From a certain perspective, such high rates made sense. The business failure rate in Night City was incredibly high, especially for small businesses, and there came a number of risks built-in with any investments made here. For one thing, if you invested in any business that seemed to seriously threaten the market share of an incumbent, the probability of corporate espionage rendering your investment or loan worthless was insanely high. More importantly, however, was the fact that in the remaining industries, crime and fraud remained common. Even if the person you lent money to was an honest person, the likelihood was that they would be robbed by someone who wasn't. Once all these factors were considered, the available loan terms seemed reasonable, generous, even.

That, however, changed with my deal with the gangs. You see, with 6th Street and the Valentinos both clamping down on all manners of violent crime within their districts, the business environment had suddenly become far more inviting. Business failure was down, and these kinds of investments became far less risky than they had previously been. Already, a gulf in living standards between the territories in the hands of my allies and those of my enemies began to materialise. Naturally, seeing this, and with some Valentino money behind me, I launched another venture to take advantage of it.

Say hello to the brand-new Urban Development Bank!

With the might of the gangs at my back, the local loan market was quickly dominated by low-interest business loans issued by my company. Of course, recipients of these loans had to be small-business owners living and operating in the right districts, but there still seemed to be a huge appetite for them once the interest rate dropped below ten percent. What's more, with the tangible threat of violence behind it, loan repayments had been staggeringly reliable, topping out at a seriously impressive ninety-two percent on-time repayment every month. Though it had been a costly investment to make up-front, it had already begin to yield financial returns within a month of the Bank being established. If the Valentinos had any doubts about my intentions, their portion of the revenues of our joint venture in creating the Urban Development Bank seemed to silence them quickly enough. Sure, the revenues at the moment were a fraction of a fraction of the cost of setting the damn thing up, but the Valentinos weren't morons, they saw the potential, and the real change this was having on the local economies of their districts. As far as they were concerned, things were just fucking nova.

That, however, was an enterprise that would truly begin to yield returns in the long run. I needed eddies now. To that effect, I had another ace in the hole: recycling.

Now, to an onlooker from my world, recycling is a good idea, if a terrible business. The competitive and efficient raw-material markets of that world had kept costs for pretty much everything low. Sure, there was the occasional period of volatility, but ultimately, prices tended to stabilise over the long-run at relatively reasonable levels. However, the markets of this world are anything but efficient. Turns out, the notion of market power enabling price-fixing was not one just prevalent in the market for food. Plastics, metals, lumber, glass, you name it. If it was a raw material, chances were, the price for it on the open market would be insanely high.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, sounds like an opportunity.

Of course, one of the main reasons behind that is the fact that the world's reserves of pretty much everything was beginning to run low. Oil wells were drying up, more and more mineral deposits were becoming exhausted, the worlds forests had all but disappeared, and so on. However, this ignored the fact that there was a great big steaming pile of resources just waiting to be exploited at the edges of the city. Sure, it may not a be a viable source for timber, but metals, plastics and glass was all too easy to come across, and in abundance, too.

Now, if you're wondering why nobody ever thought of this before, they did. Recycling, much like indoor farming, is not a completely new phenomenon in the cyberpunk future. However, given its relative unprofitability in the past when competition remained prevalent and the massive profits the current situation garnered the incumbents, it was never a concept that had taken off. The reality was that not much had been invested into developing the process at its infancy, and corporations hadn't seen much point to developing it later on, not when the current shortage allowed them to rake it in. The closest thing currently available to it would be scavengers repurposing old chipsets, and that didn't come close to what I had in mind.

More importantly, however, was the fact that the current situation of high prices and massive demand meant that the simpler and more memorable recycling processes that hadn't been profitable in my world were profitable in this one, and massively so. Purchasing and retrofitting another warehouse had taken longer than it typically did, especially given that I was too dead to personally oversee the process, however, within the span of just a month and a half, Night City had its first recycling centre. From then, it was simply a matter of employing a few dozen homeless to go diving in the numerous dumps around the city, and soon enough, a steady flow of material was making its way out of my facility and onto the open market.

Honestly, from the figures that I was reading, there was a very serious possibility that this new wing of my business would prove to be even more profitable than my produce had initially been. And, to add a cherry on top, this was no joint venture, this was all mine.

Every zero, every single eddy, was all mine for the taking, and it afforded me more opportunity and power than I could have ever dreamed of before. Sure, the output for the moment was small, especially when compared to the revenues of my competitors in those areas, but the profits began materialising almost the moment operations began and the growth had already started, and like last time, it seemed as if it would be exponential in nature. Already, two more warehouses had been purchased, and were currently in the process of being retrofitted. All over the city, a fleet of garbage trucks were making runs from place to place, carrying what was to me a priceless commodity, whilst simultaneously making the suburbs around Night City a cleaner, nicer place to live.

Furthermore, it seemed as if I had underestimated the sheer depth of demand for these materials, because no matter how much I sold, the price didn't seem to fall, not by a single eddy. Of course, I knew that it would be a couple of years until my company could grow large enough to trigger any significant drop in price, but it was surprising nonetheless. Sure, it had begun to stabilise, but it appeared that I had far more room to manoeuvre in this market than I did with food, as this venture was seen as far less of a threat to the incumbents in this industry than my efforts with produce had been for the incumbents in that industry. The result was a far less intense campaign of espionage than I had originally anticipated, though it was still prevalent. Of course, I anticipated that my relatively low-tech solution to the problem of shortages would be stolen sooner rather than later. However, for the moment, I retained a competitive advantage, and I intended to milk it for all it was worth.

With my economic prospects secure for the foreseeable future, I could finally return my attention to the mayoral race, and my position in it.

For one thing, I now felt ready, in spite of the objections of my security team, to return to the spotlight. Though I wasn't completely healed, more than a month and a half of bedrest had done wonders for my injuries. Though I had to walk with a cane for the next few months, I could at least walk, and even run, though not for very long.

However, health issues aside, there had been developments in the race. Following my death, I had ascended to the status of legend in the eyes of many, but that newfound popularity didn't last very long. The populist vote very quickly shifted to Peralez, who suspiciously appeared to be a adopting a watered down variant of many of my policy platforms. Holt, fearing he would be left behind by the new rising star, chose to pillage my achievements instead, claiming the citywide reductions in crime to be his work instead of mine.

The result was that the race remained very much a contest between the two, and though Peralez, through his natural charm and rhetoric, seemed to have the edge in polls, there was no real way to be sure what the outcome of the actual election would be. Now, a tight race was not necessarily a bad thing for me, but it certainly made things much harder than I had imagined they would be.

If one had a decisive edge on the other, then my strategy would have been clear: attack the leading candidate, and exploit the flaws in their arguments and policies. Given that the race was actually in something of a heat at the moment, if I emerged swinging at any one of my opponents, it could inadvertently lead to the other gaining some indirect benefit. As the two men had shown, they had no problem co-opting my achievements as their own when they stood to benefit from doing so.

To further complicate matters, both of my opponents had had in excess of an additional month to campaign, and likely had more entrenched bases of support than I did as a result. Holt was widely regarded as the law and order candidate, someone who stood to maintain the status quo for fear that changing it could lead to the emergence of something worse. Peralez was broadly populist, but it seemed difficult to pin him down in any given category. Many of his statements appeared outright contradictory, and his behaviour appeared to become increasingly erratic with the passage of time.

Clearly, whatever was fucking with his head was getting worse by the day.

With that being the case, attacking Peralez seemed like the easier option, on account of the inconsistencies in his policies and the fact that he had far less corpo backing then Holt did. However, just going after him left me seriously exposed to the possibility of Holt siphoning up some of the more right-wing vote that had currently sided with Peralez. In such a race, every vote counted, and I couldn't afford to be the beneficiary of someone as slimy as Holt.

Honestly, with how much of a headache this whole business was turning out to be, the concept of dropping out of the race altogether was appearing increasingly attractive to me.

Still, the circumstances may not have been ideal, but they were far from hopeless. For one thing, news of my resurrection would undoubtedly spread like wildfire upon its release, granting me a brief edge in coverage and exposure for the following days, making for a good platform to resume my bid. Furthermore, I could actually begin to take credit for my actions again, meaning that Holt would lose at least some of his standing as an effective law and order candidate. In spite of this, I would still have to fight a two front battle against the two, but it wasn't an insurmountable challenge, merely a difficult one.

To that effect, I had devised a strategy to deal with them both.

You see, upon my revival, I wasn't going to attack Peralez, oh no, I was going to help him. By making the man aware of what was happening to his mind, it would not at all be difficult to get him in my corner. Even if that didn't work, simply telling him about it would have the effect of torpedoing his bid for the office of Mayor. I didn't doubt for a second that the man wouldn't seek to get his own back at those messing with his mind and violating his privacy, and if played correctly, the fallout from such a revelation could be used to render Peralez politically dead.

Of course, I could simply go public with my knowledge about his mental state and kill off his campaign that way, but that seemed a touch too nasty, even for this world. Airing the man's dirty laundry like that only invited him to return the favour, and it made me feel unbelievably guilty even to think about, much less carry out, such a move. I had always been a big fan of privacy rights in my old world, and I had no desire to further the dystopian nightmare by insisting that his most intimate thoughts and moments be compromised in such a fashion.

Peralez may not necessarily have been a good guy, but he was far from being a villain, he didn't deserve such a fate.

Regardless of all that, the fact remained that Peralez would not be all that difficult to side-line. The real conundrum lay with Holt. The man had the backing of the NCPD, and from what I could remember, he was in the pockets of Arasaka. Thankfully, in what I could remember of the game, Peralez did in fact beat the man, allaying some of the concerns that any attacks on the man would be met with swift and violent retribution on behalf of some of the most powerful corpos in the world, though he remained a dirty operator, who was not above some seriously underhanded tactics. Regardless, I was relatively sure that so long as I quashed any attempts at a smear campaign and prevented any retaliatory action on my behalf from escalating too far, I would be safe.

With my strategy sorted, there only remained the problem of my prospective killer. In spite of all my resources and efforts expended in that area, I was no closer to uncovering the identity of he person who had sent a Delamain charging in my direction. If a second attempt were to occur, then any hopes I had of political office would be killed then and there. That kind of firepower aimed at my head was not something I was willing to tolerate, no matter the good that I could do with the authority that the office of mayor would grant me.

To that effect, my security team had insisted upon me wearing body-armour for every single public appearance from now on, a request I was only too happy to concede to. The cane that I was to use doubled as a blade and it also broke apart to reveal a handgun concealed in the handle. My shoe-heels had been fitted with tracking devices and my watch now sported an additional bio-monitor to help prevent any attempts via poison or biological agent.

They had also taken the courtesy of taking my car to a workshop and having it kitted out with armour plating, bullet-proof glass, the works. So much so that they'd even had a remote-controlled sentry gun installed in the boot, in the event that I ever found myself in a car chase and needed a quick way to dispatch any pursuers. At my request, they'd also taken the liberty of having all electrical components related to the actual driving of the vehicle stripped out and replaced with mechanical alternatives.

Sure, the car now drove like it was more than a century old, and had the fuel-efficiency of a tank from that time-period, but it was no longer hackable.

As far as I could tell, every measure that could possibly be taken had been. I was now as safe as I was ever going to be. In spite of my frayed nerves and paranoid mind, I was determined to continue my crusade.

It was now or never.

------

So, the protagonist is finally ready to emerge from the shadows once again!

Next few chapters are going to be a couple of interludes, detailing the various movements of other players in the period in which the MC was 'dead'.

Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.

Hope you guys are enjoying the story thus far!

Last edited: Sep 27, 2022

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Sep 27, 2022

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#75

Lone Wolf 666

"The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger"

- SI

Those in the know - " OH CRAP!"

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Sep 27, 2022

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#76

jimjamson

First Night City then on to reunification of the United States and the destruction of the mega corps hopefully

Last edited: Sep 27, 2022

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Sep 27, 2022

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#77

jimjamson

Thanks for the chapter I really like the premise of this story and the direction you are taking it, there are surprisingly few stories on this site set in a cyberpunk timeline

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Sep 27, 2022

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#78

Helezhelm

Umm... you know that car having similar MPG as tank in last century period, is not good. Abrams, from 1980s, had .6 mpg. That car is going to eat through biogas like crazy and he'll be paying lot of eddies to cover gas cost daily.

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Sep 27, 2022

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#79

Arnumart

Ok it will be interesting to see the reactions of his many enemies and Allie's when he reveals himself. Also there is not shortage of oil , well natural oil is short but Biotechnica has rights to a synthetic field that they sale to the large chemical companies of the world.

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Sep 27, 2022

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#80

mane

very good work i enjoyed reading it

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