"So Mi... are you really free now? Me, V—I'm just another nobody in Night City. Damn it... I lost Johnny, Panam, Judy...
Yeah. I lost everything..."
"Cole! Wake the fuck up and keep drinking!"
What the hell's wrong with my head?
The hangover hit Ethan like a freight train, his stomach churning with that special blend of sleep deprivation and last night's bad decisions.
Wasn't I just working on a game guide? Is this... did I actually transmigrate?
He spat out the sour taste of stale beer and blinked until his vision cleared. Across from him, perched on an overturned paint bucket, sat his apparent drinking buddy.
Fluorescent paint splattered across military fatigues. Cyberware covered in glowing tattoos of snarling dogs—
Barghest?!
At the same moment, lines of information flickered into view through Ethan's optics:
[SUBJECT: Cyrus Vance]
[AFFILIATION: Dogtown]
[AFFINITY: 40 — "Total bullshitter. Yesterday he swore you two were tight as brothers."]
[DEVELOPMENT VALUE: If you're into that sort of thing, knock yourself out.]
[MILESTONE REWARD: Reach Affinity 50 → Body +1, Military-Grade Tactical Gloves (pre-owned, authentic sweat included)]
This system has a sick sense of humor, Ethan thought, his expression souring.
The rough-looking man across from him had optics that formed a single concave visor across his face, two dim red lights glowing from within. The whole setup looked like something scraped off a Scavenger's workbench.
Too real. Way too fucking real.
The floor beneath him swayed gently, and Ethan finally registered that he was in a moving cargo truck. The sealed compartment was packed with weapons and military hardware—all legit corpo merchandise.
And he and his "buddy" were the security detail escorting this shipment back to Dogtown.
Ethan let out a long breath, sorting through the chaos in his head. He stared at his own arm—a mechanical limb controlled by neural interface.
The chrome fingers flexed with a soft whir of servos. The precision of the engineering, the authentic sensation of touch—it was incredible.
Holy shit. People actually built something that feels just like a real arm?
Wait—more important things first!
His cyber-eyes flickered, pulling up his own stats:
[NAME]: Ethan Cole
[BODY]: 5
[REFLEXES]: 3
[TECHNICAL ABILITY]: 1
[INTELLIGENCE]: 3
[COOL]: 4
Yeah. Definitely not legendary material.
"You sleep-glitching or what? Fuck!" Cyrus eyed him suspiciously, taking a long pull from his beer. "Don't tell me your chrome's rejecting again."
"Nah, just can't drink anymore. I'm tapping out."
Ethan was still reeling from the shock. He raised both hands in surrender—he needed a minute to process this.
"Knew you were a pussy—"
Cyrus's words cut off as a grinding noise echoed through the dim cargo hold.
"The hell?"
Ethan's hand shot to the rifle beside him instinctively. His body moved on muscle memory—the original owner's training kicking in—and he racked the charging handle with a satisfying click.
[Arasaka Nowaki — Power Assault Rifle]
Good enough.
Cyrus raised his own weapon, crouching low as he crept toward the source of the noise.
Something clicked in Ethan's mind. "Get down!"
SCREECH!
Steel shrieked as something tore through the side of the truck, hot wind blasting into the compartment. Ethan grabbed an emergency handle just as the driver hit the brakes hard.
Everything not bolted down went sliding—crates, weapons, gear—all crashing to one side.
"Shit shit SHIT!"
Ethan clutched his rifle for dear life. Cyrus didn't react fast enough and got buried under an avalanche of supply crates. Then the whole world started spinning.
We're flipping!
Ethan's arm cyberware hummed with a surge of electricity. He slammed his elbow into the smart-lock behind him.
The next instant, he was thrown clear of the truck. Instinct took over—he curled his arms around his head mid-flight.
CRACK!
He hit the scorching asphalt hard, the stench of burning synthetic skin filling his nostrils as he skidded across the road.
His optics flooded with biometric data—multiple fractures, damage warnings screaming through his skull along with waves of agony.
Fuck. I might actually flatline here—
Stay conscious!
A strange clarity washed through him like ice water.
His Pain Editor kicked in, flooding his system with fresh hormones.
Can't stay down. People die like it's nothing in this world—
Ethan dragged his numbed body behind a roadside boulder, gasping for breath. He checked his rifle, then peeked out at the scattered wreckage of the convoy.
CRACK!
A bullet nearly parted his hair. His optics instantly tagged the shooter's position.
Ethan blind-fired toward the source and scrambled to the next piece of cover, half-running, half-crawling.
"Waste every last one of 'em! Especially those guys—don't let any escape. Barghest love coming back to bite you in the ass."
A massive man with a jarhead buzzcut was barking orders, shotgun pressed against a Barghest soldier's skull. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.
He'd spotted the slippery kid too. Gotta say—Barghest combat training ain't half bad.
"Maine! MAINE!"
A guy with a bright red mohawk scrambled over, his arm and hand cyberware grotesquely oversized. He lobbed a grenade that sent several Barghest soldiers flying while shouting at the big man.
"That little shit's bullets are bouncing off my baby! You know how much I hate scratches on this thing!"
Behind his new cover, Ethan froze.
Maine?
That name...
The enemy fire was getting more accurate. Ethan couldn't be sure they didn't have Tech weapons—the kind that punched through solid rock. If they did, he was dead.
VROOM!
Gravel sprayed everywhere as a vehicle covered in Barghest tags skidded to a stop beside him. The roof-mounted turret was laying down suppressing fire, shell casings raining down.
"Fucking mercs! Get in!"
Cyrus's face was half-covered in blood, one arm hanging limp. He kicked the door open and screamed at Ethan.
Ethan dove into the passenger seat. Harsh rock music blasted from the speakers. He rolled down the window immediately.
Leaning out, he opened up with his rifle on the hijackers using the wrecked trucks as cover. The ricocheting rounds sent them all ducking.
"The cargo!"
"What? Oh, the cargo?" Cyrus couldn't hear over the music. "Fuck the cargo! We're gone, bro!"
If Colonel Hansen found out they'd lost a whole shipment of military hardware, he'd have them both executed like dogs.
Ethan felt a knot of anxiety.
But Cyrus had a point—dead men don't worry about cargo.
The vehicle fishtailed hard, then tore off across the sand in the opposite direction.
"They're running!"
Maine hit his comm implant. "Rebecca—those two idiots are yours."
"Yeah, yeah."
A girl sitting on the weathered rocks flicked her ponytail and stood up with a look of pure disdain. She hefted a gun nearly as tall as she was, taking aim.
"These assholes want us dead, bro." Cyrus spotted the figure in the distance. He cranked the wheel while reaching for the missile controls built into the Barghest vehicle.
"Eat this, bitch!" His hand slammed the launch button.
Ethan's optics auto-adjusted for distance.
On a rocky outcrop ahead, a short girl stood waiting. Twin tails whipped in the desert wind.
Information flooded his vision:
[SUBJECT: Rebecca]
[AFFILIATION: Night City]
[AFFINITY: -10 — "This chick would love nothing more than to blow your head off right now."]
[DEVELOPMENT VALUE: Variable potential. May become a legendary figure. (Want to get stronger? Want to make this fucked-up world a little less fucked? Get close to her.)]
[MILESTONE REWARD: ???]
His temple throbbed. The crimson data blazing across his optics triggered a flood of memories from his past life—
Rebecca was supposed to die beneath Arasaka Tower. Crushed by Adam Smasher like she was nothing...
No!
Now's not the time to go soft!
Ethan gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger without hesitation—
But searing pain ripped through his shoulder.
Fuck!
The Pain Editor had been suppressing the bone displacement from the crash. The high-intensity shooting had made it worse.
And now the effect was wearing off.
"AGHH! Shit!"
Fighting through the agony, Ethan sprayed bullets toward the Badlands dunes as furious guitar riffs screamed from the speakers.
But after the first shot, his arm gave out completely. He couldn't control his aim anymore—rounds flew everywhere.
"Goddammit!"
Cyrus wrestled with the wheel, dodging return fire. The car swerved wildly across the gravel. "Does that crazy bitch have an RPG or what?!"
Ethan's other hand white-knuckled the interior handle. Through clenched teeth: "How the fuck should I know?!"
Meanwhile—
Rebecca scrambled to avoid the hail of bullets.
They're launching missiles?!
Heart pounding, she nearly put a burst into the passenger—
She dove and rolled through the dust, her gun barrel glowing red-hot. A slug meant for the driver's seat ricocheted off something and blew out a tire instead.
"Whoa—FUCK!"
Cyrus floored it. Both of them were pressed back into their seats like they were on a roller coaster. The crippled vehicle barely held together, screaming across the horizon...
A round nearly took Ethan's face off. Furious and terrified, he screamed out the window:
"FUCK YOU, REBECCA—"
The two Barghest soldiers got away.
Wait.
The guy leaning out the window... had he been yelling at her?
Was that asshole taunting her?!
The dust settled. Rebecca sat in the dirt, filthy and fuming, frustration and confusion warring in her chest.
"Hang on..."
"How the hell did that guy know my name?"
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.