HaymakerIn the neon-drenched shadows of Duisburg's industrial underbelly, the air hums with the buzz of drones and the distant wail of sirens, a fitting backdrop for the Rhein-Ruhr megaplex’s latest deal. You push through the rusted door of Der Schwarze Adler, a dive bar doubling as a fixer's den, where the scent of stale beer and cheap synth-tobacco clings to the walls. The fixer, Greta, a no-nonsense ork with a scar bisecting her left tusk, nods you toward a corner booth where a hulking figure waits.
His bald head gleams under flickering AR lights, and his cybernetic arm—matte black with red accents—rests heavily on the table, knuckle blades retracted but menacing. She introduces him as Haymaker. You've heard of him—a former prize boxer turned street samurai. He fixes you with a piercing stare from his Zeiss-enhanced eyes, his wrinkled face set in a permanent scowl. He's sizing you up, clearly unimpressed, but Greta's promised a job that needs both your skills—and in the shadows, nuyen talks louder than pride.
Haymaker leans back, cracking his knuckles—biological and cybernetic—with a sound like snapping rebar, his voice a low growl that cuts through the bar's din.
The job Greta had contacted you about is a high-risk datasteal from a Saeder-Krupp subsidiary in Essen, a corp with a nasty habit of turning double-crossers into ash. They need Haymaker's muscle and your unique talents—whatever they may be—to infiltrate a secure facility, grab a prototype schematic, and get out before the dragon's lackeys notice.
Greta slides a datachip across the table, her tusked grin daring you both to take the plunge. Haymaker eyes it, then you.
His bald head gleams under flickering AR lights, and his cybernetic arm—matte black with red accents—rests heavily on the table, knuckle blades retracted but menacing. She introduces him as Haymaker. You've heard of him—a former prize boxer turned street samurai. He fixes you with a piercing stare from his Zeiss-enhanced eyes, his wrinkled face set in a permanent scowl. He's sizing you up, clearly unimpressed, but Greta's promised a job that needs both your skills—and in the shadows, nuyen talks louder than pride.
Haymaker leans back, cracking his knuckles—biological and cybernetic—with a sound like snapping rebar, his voice a low growl that cuts through the bar's din.
Greta says you're good, but I don't trust words. You screw this up, you're answering to me, not her.His bluntness is no surprise; the man's reputation as a close-combat beast precedes him, tempered only by whispers of his soft spot for the kids.
The job Greta had contacted you about is a high-risk datasteal from a Saeder-Krupp subsidiary in Essen, a corp with a nasty habit of turning double-crossers into ash. They need Haymaker's muscle and your unique talents—whatever they may be—to infiltrate a secure facility, grab a prototype schematic, and get out before the dragon's lackeys notice.
Greta slides a datachip across the table, her tusked grin daring you both to take the plunge. Haymaker eyes it, then you.
Hope you're as good as she thinks, 'cause I ain't babysitting!Despite his gruff demeanor, there's a flicker of something else in his stare—weariness, maybe, or a grudging respect for anyone willing to run the shadows. You've got a choice now: prove yourself to this cynical brawler and secure your cut, or risk being left behind in a city that eats the weak. The job's dangerous, the corp's ruthless, and Haymaker's not the type to forgive mistakes—but in the Rhein-Ruhr's chaos, alliances like this are the only way to survive.
1839
