The boy moved swiftly through the city streets, his drone following closely behind. Night City was alive with its usual chaos: the thrum of distant music, the roar of vehicles tearing down uneven roads, and the quiet hum of desperation that clung to every corner. The air was thick with the smell of ozone, oil, and decay.
He had a plan. Well, the beginnings of one. His Technopathy buzzed faintly, probing the scavenger comms he'd tapped into the night before. They were regrouping, likely angrier now that two of their men were down.
Angry people make mistakes, he thought, slipping into the shadow of a crumbling building. He was learning to use this city against his enemies, to become part of its flow instead of fighting it. But the scavengers weren't his only concern anymore. The name Arasaka loomed large in his thoughts, a monolith of corporate power that made him feel small in comparison.
Yet he couldn't ignore it. The encrypted file had been proof enough—whatever the scavengers were involved in, it went far beyond petty thievery and illegal cyberware trades.
He stopped at a public data terminal, its screen flickering with ads for chrome enhancements and cheap thrills. He barely noticed them anymore. His Technopathy flared as he connected, his mind syncing with the terminal's network.
The interface opened before him, a web of fragmented signals and encrypted pathways. He sifted through the chaos with practiced ease, his focus narrowing on a specific node. It was a scavenger data hub, a central point for their operations in this part of the city.
It wasn't heavily guarded, at least not digitally. A few basic firewalls, a smattering of anti-hacker protocols—child's play compared to what he'd faced with the Arasaka file.
Still, he worked carefully. There was no telling what traps might be lurking beneath the surface.
The connection clicked open, and a flood of information poured into his mind. Maps of scavenger territories, lists of stolen goods, and—most importantly—logs of recent transactions.
One name stood out among the others: "Walker."
It wasn't much, but it was a start. Walker was the name of the scavenger leader in this sector, the man calling the shots. If the boy wanted answers, he'd need to find him.
He pulled back from the terminal, his head throbbing faintly from the strain. The connection had been deeper than usual, the sheer volume of data overwhelming for a moment.
The drone buzzed softly, its sensors scanning the area. The boy glanced at it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The machine had become his constant companion, its presence a small comfort in an otherwise hostile world.
We're getting there, he thought, straightening up.
He moved deeper into the city, his footsteps quiet against the cracked pavement. The scavenger hub wasn't far, a warehouse tucked away in the industrial district. It would be heavily guarded, but he didn't plan on walking through the front door.
The warehouse loomed before him, its exterior a patchwork of rusted metal and flickering neon. He crouched in the shadows, his eyes scanning the perimeter.
The drone hovered silently, feeding him a constant stream of data. The guards were sloppy, their patrol patterns predictable. He could see gaps in their coverage, opportunities to slip inside unnoticed.
But he wasn't here for a fight—not yet. He needed information first.
His Technopathy reached out, syncing with the warehouse's systems. The security network was basic, its firewalls weak and hastily constructed. He slipped through them easily, his mind navigating the digital pathways like a seasoned thief.
Inside, he found what he was looking for: a list of recent shipments, each one marked with a coded identifier.
One of them matched the schematics from the Arasaka file.
So they're moving Arasaka tech. But why?
The question gnawed at him as he sifted through the data, piecing together the scavengers' movements. They weren't just stealing chrome for resale; they were smuggling high-end tech, and someone was paying them well to do it.
He disconnected, his head spinning with new information. The scavengers were bigger than he'd realized, their operations extending far beyond the streets of Night City. And Walker was at the center of it all.
The boy's gaze hardened as he stepped back into the shadows. Walker was his next target.
He wouldn't confront him directly—not yet. He needed to gather more intel, to understand the full scope of what he was dealing with.
But one thing was certain: this wasn't just about survival anymore.
The scavengers had made it personal when they came after him, and now they were tied to something much larger. If he wanted to survive in this city, he couldn't just run. He had to take control.
Hours later, he sat in the dim light of his apartment, the pieces of his plan spread out before him.
The shotgun was cleaned and loaded, its modifications fine-tuned for maximum efficiency. The drone was running smoothly, its sensors and chassis upgraded with every scrap of material he could find.
But it still wasn't enough.
He needed more power, more tools to fight back against the scavengers and whoever was backing them. His Technopathy was strong, but it was limited by his own lack of experience.
He glanced at the taser on the workbench, its coils glowing faintly. It was crude but effective, a reminder of how far he'd come—and how far he still had to go.
Six months until my next spin, he thought, the weight of it heavy in his chest.
The system had been his lifeline, but it wasn't a crutch. He couldn't rely on it to save him. If he wanted to survive, he'd have to do it on his own terms.
The boy closed his eyes, his mind racing with possibilities.
Cameras and eye chrome. His Technopathy could manipulate them, even blind them temporarily. But true invisibility—becoming a ghost in the digital world—would take time.
For now, he'd settle for small victories.
He opened his eyes, his resolve hardening.
One step at a time. One move after another.
And when the time came, he'd be ready to face whatever this city threw at him.