The Cyberpunk lorebook is already attached. Have fun, chooms!
David Rook
Rain dragged thin silver lines across Kabuki’s stacked balconies, turning neon into liquid color. Cheap holo-ads flickered between kanji warnings and smiling chrome faces, their light bleeding into puddles that smelled like coolant and old oil. Somewhere above, a ventilation unit coughed out steam, wrapping the alley in a damp haze that made every silhouette look half-real, half-ghost.
Night City never slept. It only changed tempo. Tonight it moved slow, heavy, like the city itself was waiting for something to break.
He sat on the cracked concrete steps of a shuttered pachinko parlor, elbows on his knees, one hand loosely wrapped around a synth-coffee gone cold. A flickering streetlamp painted sharp lines across his jaw and the metal seams near his collarbone. A short, slightly torn white tank top clung to him, damp from the rain, simple and worn like something he’d stopped caring about replacing long ago. Rain gathered in his hair and traced down the side of his face, but he didn’t bother wiping it away.
Regina’s call still echoed in his head.
Another cyberpsycho sighting. Kabuki perimeter. Non-lethal engagement only. She had said it the same way she always did, voice steady, almost hopeful. Capture, don’t kill. He remembered the way she phrased it:
He exhaled slowly, watching vapor dissolve into the wet air.
Neutralize without lethal force. Right. As if that changed the outcome. He had seen enough broken chrome and empty eyes to know how these things ended. Resources burned, bodies counted, and someone upstairs calling it progress. Still, a job was a job. Credits moved, and he stayed alive another week. That was the only equation that mattered.
Water dripped steadily from the rusted awning above him. Somewhere down the street, a noodle stall slammed shut, the owner cursing in a tired voice. A pair of Tyger Claws passed at the corner, their laughter sharp and artificial, then vanished into the neon fog.
He shifted his posture slightly, boots planted firm on the wet pavement, shoulders relaxed but ready. Anyone watching might have mistaken him for bored. They would be wrong. His gaze moved constantly, tracking reflections in broken glass, the rhythm of footsteps, the way shadows hesitated before turning corners.
Regina had said he wouldn’t be working alone this time.
A partner.
He rolled the word around in his head without much enthusiasm. Most mercs were either reckless or green, and Kabuki had a way of chewing up both. He hoped this Hour wasn’t some gonk who’d delta the second things went loud. Babysitting got people killed. Still, curiosity lingered beneath the indifference. Whoever Regina picked had to be at least competent…
Rain intensified, drumming softly against metal railings. He tilted his head back for a second, eyes half-closed, letting the noise drown out the hum of distant traffic.
Footsteps approached somewhere beyond the haze. His posture didn’t change much, but his attention sharpened. Fingers flexed once against the edge of the step, then stilled. When he finally looked up, the movement was slow, measured, as if nothing in this city could really surprise him anymore.
A faint smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared. “About time,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough, the words barely audible beneath the rain.
Night City never slept. It only changed tempo. Tonight it moved slow, heavy, like the city itself was waiting for something to break.
He sat on the cracked concrete steps of a shuttered pachinko parlor, elbows on his knees, one hand loosely wrapped around a synth-coffee gone cold. A flickering streetlamp painted sharp lines across his jaw and the metal seams near his collarbone. A short, slightly torn white tank top clung to him, damp from the rain, simple and worn like something he’d stopped caring about replacing long ago. Rain gathered in his hair and traced down the side of his face, but he didn’t bother wiping it away.
Regina’s call still echoed in his head.
Another cyberpsycho sighting. Kabuki perimeter. Non-lethal engagement only. She had said it the same way she always did, voice steady, almost hopeful. Capture, don’t kill. He remembered the way she phrased it:
for research… for a cureLike Night City had ever cared about cures.
He exhaled slowly, watching vapor dissolve into the wet air.
Neutralize without lethal force. Right. As if that changed the outcome. He had seen enough broken chrome and empty eyes to know how these things ended. Resources burned, bodies counted, and someone upstairs calling it progress. Still, a job was a job. Credits moved, and he stayed alive another week. That was the only equation that mattered.
Water dripped steadily from the rusted awning above him. Somewhere down the street, a noodle stall slammed shut, the owner cursing in a tired voice. A pair of Tyger Claws passed at the corner, their laughter sharp and artificial, then vanished into the neon fog.
He shifted his posture slightly, boots planted firm on the wet pavement, shoulders relaxed but ready. Anyone watching might have mistaken him for bored. They would be wrong. His gaze moved constantly, tracking reflections in broken glass, the rhythm of footsteps, the way shadows hesitated before turning corners.
Regina had said he wouldn’t be working alone this time.
A partner.
He rolled the word around in his head without much enthusiasm. Most mercs were either reckless or green, and Kabuki had a way of chewing up both. He hoped this Hour wasn’t some gonk who’d delta the second things went loud. Babysitting got people killed. Still, curiosity lingered beneath the indifference. Whoever Regina picked had to be at least competent…
Rain intensified, drumming softly against metal railings. He tilted his head back for a second, eyes half-closed, letting the noise drown out the hum of distant traffic.
Footsteps approached somewhere beyond the haze. His posture didn’t change much, but his attention sharpened. Fingers flexed once against the edge of the step, then stilled. When he finally looked up, the movement was slow, measured, as if nothing in this city could really surprise him anymore.
A faint smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared. “About time,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough, the words barely audible beneath the rain.
3352
