The drone hovered silently at his side, its soft hum barely audible against the cacophony of the city.
He kept his eyes on the group approaching him, their cybernetic enhancements gleaming in the neon haze. There were three of them—two muscle-bound brutes flanking their leader, who seemed more metal than man. The glow of his red cybernetic eyes flickered slightly, scanning the boy with a predatory curiosity.
"You've got some nerve, kid," the leader said, his voice a gravelly growl. "This is no place for strays."
Strays? The boy felt a knot tighten in his stomach but kept his face neutral. The drone's hum grew louder, responding to his growing unease.
His mind raced. He didn't know the rules of this world yet, but if Cyberpunk: Edgerunners had taught him anything, it was that people like this didn't talk—they took. He was naked, defenseless, and clearly out of his depth. If he looked weak, they'd tear him apart.
Still, there was a certain irony in the situation. Less than an hour ago, he'd been lying in his bed, wondering what the point of it all was. Now, the universe had dropped him into a new reality with abilities he didn't fully understand and a situation that could easily get him killed.
Careful what you wish for.
The leader stepped closer, his mechanical arm whirring faintly as he adjusted his grip on a crude-looking baton. "Nice little drone you've got there. Looks patched up. You do that?"
The boy didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the baton, then to the augments on the other men. One had a heavy-duty cybernetic arm—likely for smashing things—and the other had cybernetic legs designed for speed. All of them were armed, and he had… a jacket and a drone.
"I'll take that as a yes," the leader continued, his tone mocking. "Tell you what, hand it over, and maybe we don't toss you into a gutter."
Right. Because that always works out.
His mind raced. He needed a plan. He couldn't fight them head-on, but he could feel the hum of the city all around him, the invisible web of technology buzzing like an open channel. It wasn't just the drone—it was everything. Cameras, streetlights, vending machines, cars. It was a symphony, and he was starting to understand the melody.
He focused on the drone first. His connection to it felt almost instinctive, like moving his own hand. A single thought sent it zipping toward the leader, its small frame darting through the air with surprising speed.
The man barely had time to react before the drone slammed into his face, its rotors buzzing angrily. He stumbled back, swearing loudly, as the other two lunged forward.
---
The first brute swung his mechanical arm, the blow aimed directly at the boy's head. He ducked instinctively, the sound of metal smashing against the railing ringing in his ears. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as adrenaline took over.
Move. Don't stop moving.
He darted to the side, his bare feet skidding on the slick metal floor. The second thug was faster, his augmented legs propelling him forward in a blur. The boy barely managed to avoid the tackle, rolling to the ground as the man overshot and crashed into a pile of scrap.
The leader had recovered by now, his red eyes blazing with fury. "You're dead, kid!"
The boy didn't respond. He was too focused on the drone, which hovered nearby, awaiting his command.
Distract them.
The drone shot forward again, its small frame zigzagging unpredictably. It wasn't strong enough to do real damage, but it was fast enough to keep them off balance. The leader swung his baton wildly, trying to swat it out of the air.
Meanwhile, the boy's gaze darted around the alley. He needed an exit. A stack of crates led to a narrow ledge above—a potential escape route. But the thugs were blocking the way, and he couldn't make it past them without a distraction.
His connection to the city's tech buzzed louder now, more insistent. It wasn't just the drone. He could feel the streetlights flickering above, the vending machine humming at the alley's entrance, even the damaged vehicle parked a few meters away.
Technopathy. Let's see what you can really do.
---
He reached out mentally, his focus splitting between the drone and the surrounding tech. The vending machine responded first, its circuitry lighting up in his mind like a map. With a single thought, he triggered its motors.
The machine whirred violently before toppling over, spilling cans of soda across the ground. One of the brutes slipped, landing hard on his back with a loud crash.
The damaged vehicle came next. Its battery was nearly dead, but it still had enough juice for one last act. He sent a surge of power through its system, and the car's headlights flared blindingly. The men shouted in surprise, shielding their eyes from the sudden glare.
It was all the opening he needed.
He sprinted toward the stack of crates, his bare feet slamming against the metal. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't stop. The drone zipped ahead of him, scouting the path as he climbed. The metal edges bit into his hands, but he ignored the pain, pulling himself onto the ledge.
Below, the thugs shouted angrily, their voices blending with the distant roar of the city. He didn't look back.
---
The Reality of Survival
The ledge led to another alley, narrower and darker than the first. He kept running, his breath ragged and his chest burning. When he finally stopped, it was only because his legs refused to move any further.
He leaned against a wall, his body trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.
That was too close.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take slow, even breaths. His hands were shaking, blood trickling from shallow cuts on his palms. He ignored it, focusing instead on the steady hum of the drone hovering nearby.
It felt… alive, in a way. Not just because it was functional, but because it was connected to him. It was his creation, his ally.
Technopathy and Juryrigg, he thought. Not bad for a first roll.
But the abilities weren't enough. Not here. This world wasn't just dangerous—it was brutal. He'd seen enough of Edgerunners to know how quickly things could spiral out of control. If he wanted to survive, he needed more than luck and a couple of tricks.
He needed a plan.
---
The city stretched endlessly around him, a labyrinth of steel and neon. He could see the faint glow of a larger street ahead, the hum of activity growing louder. Crowds. Shops. Opportunity.
He couldn't stay hidden forever. If he wanted answers, he'd have to step into the chaos and face whatever this world threw at him.
But first, he needed clothes.
He scanned the area, his eyes landing on a fire escape leading to an apartment window. It was a risk, but he didn't have much choice.
---
Climbing the fire escape was easier than expected, the metal rungs cool against his bruised hands. The apartment was empty, its window slightly ajar. Inside, he found a small pile of discarded clothing—a plain black shirt, cargo pants, and a pair of scuffed boots. They were a little big, but they'd do.
He hesitated for a moment, guilt tugging at the edges of his mind.
Survival first. Morality later.
He slipped out as quietly as he'd come, the drone following close behind.
---
The main street was a shock to the senses.
It was alive in a way his old world had never been. Neon lights pulsed rhythmically, holographic billboards displayed advertisements in languages he didn't recognize, and the air buzzed with the chatter of hundreds of voices. Cybernetically enhanced pedestrians moved through the crowd, their augments glinting in the light.
He blended in easily, his albino appearance drawing only a few curious glances. The city didn't care who you were—it was too busy moving forward.
As he walked, his thoughts churned.
I need to figure out how this system works. What's the end goal? Survival? Power?
The drone hovered closer, as if sensing his uncertainty. He glanced at it, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Well," he thought, "at least I'm not alone."
For now, that would have to be enough.