"Good morning! Night City's…"

A familiar voice blared from the radio. Peter, who had been sleeping soundly in the back seat of a car, frowned, half-opening his eyes to glare at the noisy device.

"Damn it, I can't even sleep properly," he muttered, clearly annoyed.

But something felt off. As the fog of sleep cleared from his mind, Peter sat up abruptly, blinking at his surroundings.

What the hell is this? Where am I?

Peter struggled to piece things together. The last thing he remembered was going to bed after spending countless hours in Cyberpunk 2077, ruthlessly hunting down Adam Smasher. Yet here he was, waking up in a car he didn't recognize, in a place that seemed eerily familiar but out of reach for reality.

Peter opened the car door, stepped outside, and immediately froze. He recognized this place—it wasn't possible, but he knew it.

This was the Badlands, on the outskirts of Night City, the grimy dystopian future brought to life in the game. His heart sank as he scanned the barren, sun-bleached terrain and the makeshift garage nearby.

"No way," he whispered. "I'm not dreaming… right?"

But every detail confirmed it. The two people nearby, locked in conversation, were unmistakable. One was a repairman fiddling with the hood of a car. The other was a tall, silver-haired woman in tattered clothes, V, the protagonist of Cyberpunk 2077.

"Oh, come on," Peter groaned. "Just because I spend too much time playing the game doesn't mean I deserve to wake up inside it!"

The repairman spoke up, his voice tinged with mockery. "Looks like your car's electrical coupling module is fried. You'll need a replacement."

V crossed her arms, her silver hair catching the harsh sunlight as she responded coldly, "Just fix it. I don't have time for your games."

The repairman's gaze lingered on her longer than it should have, his expression sleazy. "Not many pretty faces like yours around here," he said with a smirk. "Most beauties are in Night City. Guess you're the exception."

Peter clenched his fists at the man's tone. He didn't need to hear more to know the repairman was going to drag this out for as much money as he could squeeze out of them.

"Look, just fix the damn car," Peter interjected, stepping in front of V. "We don't have all day."

The repairman snorted. "Oh, tough guy, huh? Fine. Try fixing it yourself, if you think you're so smart."

Peter didn't hesitate. He shoved the man aside and peered under the hood, his hands moving almost on instinct. Having played this mission countless times in the game, he knew exactly what to do.

"Bypass the coupling," he muttered to himself, pulling out a wire. "Then rewire this… and connect the ignition…"

The repairman watched in stunned silence, and even V raised an eyebrow as Peter worked. Within moments, the car roared to life.

"Well, I'll be damned," the repairman said grudgingly. "Didn't think a drifter like you had it in you. But don't expect it to last long—your compressor will be running on fumes soon enough."

Peter shot him a glare. "It just needs to last until we get to Night City."

V smirked. "Nice work, Peter."

Peter shrugged, brushing off the compliment, but his satisfaction was short-lived. A loud screech interrupted the moment as the garage's metal shutter door rolled open.

In walked a man with a badge pinned to his chest—a sheriff, judging by his self-important swagger. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated arrogance. Peter recognized him immediately.

Andrew Jones, he thought with a grimace. The narcissistic sheriff from the prologue mission.

"Mike," the sheriff said, addressing the repairman, "you didn't tell me we had visitors."

Mike shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "They just got here, Sheriff. Figured it wasn't worth bothering you."

Andrew Jones sauntered over to the car, placing a boot on the front bumper as he eyed V with thinly veiled interest. "Well, well. What do we have here? A couple of drifters wandering into my town without saying hello to the sheriff? That's not how we do things around here."

V's expression darkened, but she kept her tone measured. "Our car broke down. We're just passing through."

The sheriff ignored her words, puffing up his chest. "Name's Andrew Jones. You might've heard of me. 'Silver Shotgun.' I fought in the last Corporate War, special forces. Ring any bells?"

V was about to dismiss him, but Peter cut her off, forcing a polite smile. "Of course. Who hasn't heard of Andrew Jones? A real legend."

Jones' expression softened slightly at the praise. "Glad someone around here has some respect."

"But," Peter continued, "we're not part of any family or clan. It's just the two of us. We don't want trouble—we just need to get to Night City."

Jones narrowed his eyes, clearly weighing their words. After a tense moment, he stepped back from the car. "Fine. But don't let me catch you stirring up trouble in my town. And don't overstay your welcome."

With that, he turned and walked away, but not before shooting one last lingering glance at V.

V exhaled sharply as soon as he was out of earshot. "That guy's a walking ego trip. Let's get out of here before he changes his mind."

Peter nodded, climbing into the passenger seat as V started the car. The engine rumbled to life, and they pulled away from the garage, leaving the sheriff and the repairman in a cloud of dust.

As the open road stretched out before them, Peter couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into. Somehow, he had ended up in the world of Cyberpunk 2077, and he had no idea how—or if—he would ever get back.

For now, though, one thing was certain: if they were going to survive in Night City, they'd need to stick together.

Peter glanced at V, who was focused on the road ahead. "Hey," he said, breaking the silence. "Thanks for not freaking out back there."

V smirked. "Don't mention it. You handled yourself pretty well for someone who just woke up in the middle of nowhere."

Peter leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep breath. "Yeah, well, something tells me this is just the beginning."

And he was right. In Night City, the line between survival and destruction was razor-thin. And Peter was about to find out just how sharp it could be.

---

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