After discovering his unique "golden finger" ability in 2075—a skill akin to an automatic translator—Karl was cautiously excited. He had braced himself to face this chaotic world completely unprepared, but realizing he had even a minor advantage was comforting, like finding himself at least wearing underwear in an otherwise vulnerable state.
He wasn't someone who indulged too much in the "water of life" to numb himself, so keeping a clear mind was a relief.
"Alright," Karl muttered, adjusting his mood. "What now?"
After a moment of thought, his priorities became clear.
"First, find a place to live. Then, get enough food to survive a few days. And, if possible, figure out how people communicate here. Are there still regular phones, or has everything become some kind of external prosthetic?"
While he was willing to embrace the cyberpunk life, installing prosthetics wasn't his immediate priority. He figured that high-tech cyberware would be expensive—perhaps old or second-hand pieces might be affordable. Or, ironically, more valuable because of their rarity.
As he thought, Karl walked back to the man who had collapsed earlier, the one who had urinated on himself.
The young man was about 25 or 26, with a bright green mohawk and metallic plating on both sides of his cheeks. Near his hand lay a pistol.
Karl noticed something odd about the weapon. He thought he saw faint words flicker on it—Jun... Ke... Dun. The words vanished almost instantly.
Curious, he stared at the pistol intently, and to his surprise, text appeared in his field of vision:
> [Militech M-10AF Lexington]
A Militech product. A compact, lightweight kinetic pistol with low recoil, ideal for subduing targets.
"Huh, so my ability works on weapons too," Karl mused. "What about people?"
He shifted his gaze to the unconscious green-haired man. Again, text appeared, but it read:
> [Insufficient Intelligence]
"Insufficient intelligence?" Karl blinked. "What's that supposed to mean? Are people harder to analyze than objects?"
As he considered this, a theory began to form in his mind. To test it, he looked at other passersby in the corridor. The results were consistent: most people displayed "insufficient intelligence," though the weapons they carried occasionally offered detailed information.
"So that's it," Karl concluded.
His "golden finger" wasn't some magical ability; it was more like an enhanced memory recall. It allowed him to translate or recognize things based on information he had already encountered in his original world. For example, he remembered reading about the Lexington pistol in pre-release material for Cyberpunk 2077. His mind simply pieced together and displayed that information.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Better than a basic translator, for sure."
Karl stared at the Lexington on the ground, then at the green-haired man. After a moment of hesitation, he decided not to take the gun.
It wasn't out of morality or honor—Karl simply didn't want to risk the guy waking up and shooting him out of reflex.
Just as he reached this conclusion, the man's body stopped shaking. A new message popped into Karl's vision:
> [Dead: Cause of Death – Drug Overdose]
Karl scanned the area. The garbage dump near the apartment building was deserted. He sighed and muttered under his breath, "No offense to the dead, but right now, the living matter more."
He reached down and picked up the pistol. As the man's body stilled, colorful pieces of paper slipped from his pocket.
> [Eurodollars: 230]
"Well, aren't you generous," Karl said, pocketing the cash.
He saluted the green-haired man as a gesture of respect. "I'll remember this. If you have family, I'll repay them someday when I can."
Karl wasn't a saint, but he believed in balancing debts. Even if this was technically theft, he saw it as a necessary evil.
Hiding the Lexington under his coat, Karl made his way toward the elevator. The first step was to find a shop that sold communication devices or something similar. In this world, even monks probably needed tech to receive "offerings."
The elevator was a cacophony of ads and jingles from holographic GG cards. Karl pressed the button to descend, watching as the flickering light from the door reflected on his face, giving him an almost spectral appearance.
With a groan of old machinery, the elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened, and Karl stepped out into the overwhelming spectacle of Night City.
Blinding lights bathed the towering buildings and the teeming streets. Neon advertisements, colorful holograms, and endless crowds filled the chaotic scene.
"Night City," Karl murmured, recalling its reputation as a "City of Dreams" and the "Capital of Crime." But his first impression was simpler:
"A City of Lights."
It was dazzling. Overwhelming. Almost too much.
Karl took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he gazed at the streets with renewed determination.
"No matter what they call this place—City of Dreams, City of Crime, City of Lights, or City of Night—it doesn't matter."
He smirked.
"Because now I'm here."
Lifting his chin, Karl squared his shoulders and strode into the chaos.
"I, Karl, am here."