Cyberpunk: Badland Madman Chapter 1 - Payback & Awakening

Synopsis - 

Cypher Blackwell thought working hard was the pathway to success. But everything crashed and burned when a workplace mishap triggered his slow, lonely demise. One that the company was happy to ignore.

He chose to go out in style, fueled by nothing but fierce, blazing hatred for the corporation he once served.

But where he thought his journey ended, another began, this time in a world where corporations dominate the land, the people, and the government. What you eat, drink, wear, and think is dictated by their ever-watchful grip.

He died loathing a corporation. But what happens when there are tens of thousands more… each one far worse?

With strange bi-weekly bursts of random tech knowledge popping into his head, how will he twist fate? And where do a Mjolnir Armor, Fart Neutralizer, Star Destroyer, Servo-Skull, Arc Reactor, Sonic Screwdriver, and Quantum Condom fit into all of that?

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TL;DR - Cypher Blackwell wakes up in the body of a less-than-decent guy outside Night City. He gets random tech knowledge every 3 days. The story revolves around Cypher working on these techs, leaving a mark on the world, and, of course, having some fun with a few kind ladies. 

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Story Tags: Sci-Fi, Action, Comedy, Adventure, Corporation Building, Business, Inventions, Decently Smart MC, Blunt MC, Overpowered (In tech).

Smut Tags: Passionate Sex, Blowjobs, Milfs, Rough Sex, Sex, Anal, Virginity Lost, Banging Enemies, Multisomes, Creampies, Light BDSM, Lesbian Sex, Cyberware Sex? (Don’t know what to call banging Lizzy Wizzy)

NOTE - Make sure you guys check the community chat to see all the pics of in-game locations mentioned in this story. Including MC's home.

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Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yaqFzLrkxcm-7fdMxQ0n-oxcMBoxexbjG6d9FDoOVYc/edit?usp=sharing

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Cyberpunk: Badland Madman Chapter 1 - Payback & Awakening

Tampa, Florida 2030

[Get a college degree, they said. Life will be easy, they said. Man, that was straight bullshit. All of it. Screw that. Screw them. Fuck everyone who said that! I was born in the Midwest, in a small family. My dad was—]

Cypher halted all of a sudden; a deep frown marked his sullen, pale face, his lips dry like the Grand Canyon. He tapped on the phone with a grudge and deleted the video he had just shot. 

"Who the fuck even cares about all that?"

He tapped on the record again, sitting on the single chair in his dimly lit bedroom. After a deep breath, he stared into the camera, his eyes serious and grim, like a man who had seen it all. Who had accepted his circumstances. 

[I’m Cypher Blackwell. Yeah, I got a Literature degree. Thought I had my life lined up, man. Turns out nobody gives a damn. Every job posting wanted more school or years of experience I didn’t have. Both cost cash I sure as hell didn’t have. So I started flipping burgers just to stay afloat. Grabbed Uber after that. Finally landed some crappy day shift at Molonith as a delivery partner. Partner! What a joke!

All it really means is ‘gig worker.’ Perfect little loophole so the biggest quick commerce company won’t cough up for insurance. Pay was alright for someone drowning in debt, but it was never enough. Picked up some night gigs at a gas station just to keep my head above water.

Even then, I could barely hang on. Living paycheck to paycheck, praying for some miracle scholarship for my masters. Man, I should’ve just swallowed my pride and twerked my ass on TikTok when it still mattered. I’d have been a millio... Ugh, what the hell am I even saying?]

Once again, frustrated, he deleted the video and recorded again, reaching the point before he spiraled into regretting not shaking his ass on the screen. 

[...Man, I've been through hell. I was barely hanging on, starving half the damn time, running on like four hours of sleep if I was lucky. Look at my face. This ain't what a twenty-seven-year-old's supposed to look like. Any shot I had at dating? Gone. Not that I could've paid for a date anyway. Considering that, I'd say it was heaven compared to where I am now in front of you.

So I'm out doing my delivery route, right? Roll into this sketchy spot. Park the truck, drop the package, set it at the door. Soon as I turn around, this pitbull pops out of nowhere, barking its head off, drooling, eyes red. I bolt, but it still nails me, and right before I dive into the truck, the damn thing latches onto my ass. Yeah, I know. Hilarious.]

Cypher slid off his chair and got closer to the phone resting on the stand. When only his face was visible, he continued, each word carrying hatred and venom, his eyes dead yet filled with righteous fury. 

[So I tell my team lead everything, and he storms me straight into the manager's office. You'd think they'd help cover my treatment. You'd think they'd at least pretend they give a damn. Nope! They sit me down and start nitpicking my delivery record. They tear me apart for the delays and fire me right there. They did it because I couldn’t drive for a few days, and that was too big of a hit to their numbers.

I went home wrecked, cleaned up the wound, slapped some antiseptic on it, wrapped it up, and crashed. My head was spinning with worry about what the hell I was going to do. The debt on my back felt like bricks. I did end up going to the hospital the next day, but they just tossed me some painkillers and sent me out the door.

That was two damn months ago. Then two days back, I got this headache, felt wiped out, ran a fever, and the tingling starts. The itching hits right after. I knew something was messed up. And yeah, lucky me, turns out I got rabies.]

There was a long moment of silence. Cypher's face looked as if frozen, like the recording had paused. His eyes shimmered for a moment, but not in tears. 

[Three grand for damn rabies shots. Three grand I didn’t even have. Monolith was supposed to cover it, but they tossed me out without blinking. Trying to get help from the government felt like drowning in applications and waiting on folks who didn’t give a damn. Screwed at every turn, brushed off nonstop, and now here the hell I am. So this is it. What you’re looking at is a guy already gone. What you’re hearing is whatever’s left rattling around. I’m fucking twenty-seven and I’m already dead.]

Anger laced his words. 

[They've got big walls. But we got numbers. We got a lot, a lot of shovels. I'm just saying it. They brainwashed us to never question or blame them. You get in an accident? It's bad luck. You can't afford groceries? It's you who's useless, worthless, jobless. You fall sick? Oh, god's testing you. Really?! His test demands you go bankrupt? Your fuck ups are yours, and their fuck ups are also yours.

Fuck that! All this! Their shiny yachts can sink. Their tall towers can fall. The second we decide we’re done, there won’t be a single corner of this dead-end world that’ll shelter them.

You’re listening to a dead guy rambling. I don’t expect anything to move an inch. Corporations got us locked into comfort loops, delivery slop, cheap lights and noise, while they poison everything from those plush seats and fat paydays.

But I’m not going quiet. No chance. I’ll make my point. Those corporate gods think they’re untouchable, but they forget they gotta walk around like the rest of us. They still gotta sit down to take a shit. They ain’t special. Just meatbags like me, and meatbags die, like me. 

And I ain't doing this because I got a hard-on for a party or some ideology. Making it clear before you all play with my words. I'm doing this because I'm going, and I ain't going alone.

Hope you guys wake the fuck up. Adios!]

Finally, satisfied, Cypher ended the video and walked up to his laptop. He set the video to upload in three hours on a dozen websites, from social networking to porn sites. 

After that, he stood under the shower for half an hour, feeling the warmth of the water, letting the gushing sound deafen his surroundings, leaving him with just his thoughts. He had friends, he had a family, a loving one at that. He loved Borko, the family dog he'd grown up with. Would his next actions hurt them? Absolutely. 

But he reckoned it wouldn't hurt them too much. The worst way to die was to allow rabies to reach its final stage. He'd seen the videos, and he didn't want that end. All that torment, writhing, screaming, begging for water, yet unable to drink. Letting his family watch him like that was worse. 

Heck, he'd set an autopayment to transfer all the money in his bank account to his brother so they wouldn't be burdened with arranging his funeral. 

Cypher had, indeed, put a lot of thought behind this. Death was guaranteed. Suing Monolith may have gotten him a nice settlement, but what good was that to a dead man? Besides, Monolith was a giant tentacle monster holding a monopoly in tech, space, cars, computers, internet, fucking everything. They had governments around the globe by the balls, dictators by their throats, and common people by the looming dagger of 'You're Fired'. 

When did I get this ballsy? 

He looked at his hands under the shower; they were shivering. But he didn't feel an ounce of fear. He felt rather refreshed, no longer having to worry about the future because it simply didn't exist for him. His thoughts, his ideas, his dreams had all come to a full stop. 

The only thing he had going on for him was now. 

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and felt his life flash before his eyes. He didn't cry or frown, because he’d lived a rather happy life. His childhood was joyful. His dad was always there, a warm, guiding existence. When he died in the Venezuelan conflict of twenty-eighteen, he still left behind a house, pension, and savings for his mom to carry on and raise him and his brother well.

A regret was there, however. His dating life. He’d dated a few girls, but none of them lasted long. They all usually broke up because of his financial condition. And girls who didn’t care about that never found him. 

Sorry, Mom, times have changed. Just going to college doesn't do shit anymore. 

He remembered how happy she was when he got into college. Sadly, it was misguided happiness. That old notion of 'Just work hard and you'll be rewarded' doesn’t work anymore. Corporate greed and bureaucratic corruption had made sure life turned worse for every average Andy. 

Creak!

He turned the knob off and walked out of the shower. He fixed his hair, looking sleek and clean-shaven. He put on some casual clothes, fitting for a man working at some event. Then he grabbed his bag. 

One last time, he looked at the hotel room, and then at the bed where he had his life's last sleep. And what a sleep it was. 

With that, he shut the door and left. It was a cheap hotel where you could pay hourly if that was your 'need'. A lot of beautiful ladies used it to 'help' depressed men, not for free, of course.

He went to the parking lot, climbed into his average-looking car, and drove off. He sang along to songs on the radio the entire way, listening to the weather forecast as well. It was pretty sunny that day, as it usually was. 

Damn, look at those houses. 

He eyed the massive mansions as he drove. He honestly didn't know how he'd have turned out if he were also rich. He knew he was no socialist or communist. He still believed in the free market and capitalism. But there was also something wrong in that system, as was obvious by his current state. 

He reckoned it was the unholy union of capitalism and bureaucracy that birthed the shittier version of what was supposed to be equal opportunity for all. Monopolies should've never existed, but they did now. The government allowed it. 

If I were rich… Hmm… 

He thought about money he didn’t have and how he'd have spent it. 

"If I had a million dollars… I'd have bought a nice house, a fancy car? Uh, no. Maybe well-paid cooks? Yeah, that sounds like luxury. Oh, and a nice backyard for my boy Borko."

Then he wondered, what if he had ten million dollars? 

"Damn, that's big leagues. Maybe set aside some for insurance, and start a business with the rest? That sounds about right."

Finally, he thought of the big billion. He just whistled to that because that was an amount that made one forget their own humanity, because their world was just so different from the rest. A billionaire received special treatment everywhere, access to places people didn't even know existed, access to people who never pick up calls. 

"It's just cold hard cash and not some inflated stocks, maybe secure myself first with some investment? Then maybe help a few folks. I ain't exactly good either. A billion, huh…"

Cypher wasn't dumb enough to think issues like homelessness, hunger, and poverty could be solved by just throwing money at them. 

"I'd rather pay college tuition for talented kids around the world; that's more noble." He settled on that. After all, he really couldn't see himself ever needing more than ten, at best a hundred million to live life in luxury till his last breath. The rest could be used for better things. 

Of course, it was all hypothetical. He was already a dead man. 

"What about a trillion?"

Just thinking about that made him gulp. Not fear, but the sheer scale. That was the owner and founder of Monolith, James Hoffman. The fucker was personally worth a trillion, while Monolith as a whole came third when placed in a list of countries' GDPs. 

At that level, Cypher did feel that a lot of good could be done for the world while also personally living in ultra-wealthy luxury. Water? Food? Poverty? Illiteracy? All was solvable. But again, he didn't know if he'd have done it, too. 

He just couldn't think from the perspective of a trillionaire. He reckoned the fucker also believed he'd earned his wealth through hard work. But the truth was a shit ton of bribes and corruption and bad practices. 

"Huh… Not for long." 

He pulled into the grand parking lot of the stadium, where a special concert was being held. The big trillionaire was throwing a birthday party with a dozen top-tier global singers made to sing for him. Of course, commoners could also buy tickets to watch the extravaganza. 

A fake smile on his face, his back straight, his dark hair once again combed, he started walking towards the venue, passing the crowds. But he didn't enter through the entrance for the visitors. No, he went through the staff entrance. 

Funny how a single high-visibility safety vest and a bit of confidence could get you into almost anywhere. He greeted the guards and other employees and entered the stadium. He still had an ID card hanging on his neck, just in case. It wasn't that hard to falsify, using his old job card as a reference. 

Nobody stopped him because his card carried the Monolith logo. The only people he had to be wary of were others with the same logo. But there weren't that many, as security and management of the venue were outsourced. 

Gates after gates, he got closer to the backstage area of the massive stage. In the end, one single door separated him from the VIP area. He didn't know if the big trillionaire was there, so he waited in the bathroom. 

Oh, I'm going to hell for enjoying this. 

He looked at himself in the mirror and noticed a smile he wasn't aware he was holding. It looked wicked, not evil, but not kind either. 

At last, he started to hear vibrations of loud music. That was his cue to move again. He left the bathroom and exited the final door. Once again, nobody asked him questions. He just maintained confidence and acted like he knew what he was doing. 

Backstage was where all the singers were gathered to wish the trillionaire a happy birthday. And easy enough, the fucker wasn't hard to miss with his big bald head and supermodel trophy wife who was holding possibly the universe's ugliest-looking chihuahua. 

He waited for the opportunity. With so many celebrities around, the security was too tight. There were too many bodyguards. But he still had a trick up his sleeve. He went over to the sound equipment, grabbed a decently large box, and started moving towards the main backstage area where more equipment was connected. 

Celebrities and their bodyguards alike moved aside and let him through. Any ordinary man would've panted in nervousness. But such was the kiss of death; nothing scared Cypher. Smiling, he just walked, his brain truly empty, his goal already a fact registered in his head, which moved his body automatically. 

Little by little, he got closer. He knew the bodyguards there were watching him; it was their job to see the odd ones. What he had to do was appear nonthreatening. Like he had a good reason for being there. 

"You!"

"..."

Cypher paused, but remained calm. He turned around to face the one who shouted. 

Fuck! He noticed the badge with the Monolith logo. 

"Why are you all so damn slow? Where are the water bottles I asked for?" 

"..."

Cypher played along. "They're still processing it. I'll bring them after this."

"Process? Ah, you mean checking them? Alright, bring them over next. And be fast, Mr. Hoffman hates waiting."

Not after today, I bet. 

He just nodded and proceeded to do the job. He went to the stage area and placed the box there. 

"I didn't ask for this." 

Cypher just shrugged, noticing that the man was a part of the sound crew. "I don't know, they said to bring it over, and I did. I'm busy, boss wants water, sort it out yourself."

He rushed away from there, but this time he changed his trajectory slightly. He saw James Hoffman walking right towards him, as if to see all the arrangements for the music. The pre-concert music was also loud, noises and voices all muffled. So many cameras were flashing as the place was a little gathering of the top music artists.

He walked slowly on purpose. There was a wall of bodyguards around Hoffman, and although they didn't spread their arms to form a circle, he knew they'd tackle him if he made any quick movements. 

But such was the kiss of death. He acted so well in the absence of fear. He made the most excited face one could imagine, like a little boy seeing his favorite superhero. Only in his case, he was the terminally ill kid seeing the said hero… with slight modifications. 

"Mr. Hoffman!" He shouted, all excited, jumping. He took out his phone to grab the man's attention. One thing Cypher knew about narcissistic rich people was that they loved attention. They loved being looked up to. 

Got you!

As soon as he saw the bald fucker see him, he tried to get closer. The bodyguards reacted to block his path. 

"Can I have a picture with you, sir?! Mr. Hoffman!" 

He shouted like an obsessed fangirl meeting her favorite boy band. He waved his phone, and the camera app turned on. 

And right then, he saw a sparkle in Hoffman's eyes. Pleasure, narcissistic urges tickled just right. And sure enough, the trillionaire waved his hand. 

"Thank you, thank you so much!" 

He jumped excitedly and got right beside Hoffman. He didn't ask for it, but the trophy wife also tried to be in his picture frame for some reason. Probably hoping that he'd post it online or something. Oh, she was in for a surprise. 

"You're a Monolith employee?" 

"Yes, sir!" He shouted and tried to take a selfie with his left hand. He raised it high and also noticed how the bodyguards were no longer looking at him, but instead shielded him and Hoffman from others around. 

"It's always a pleasure to meet hard-working members of the Monolith family." 

Cypher held back his disgust and grinned. "Oh, the pleasure is all mine, sir! Really loved the way they fired me."

"Hm? Wha—"

Too late, Cypher's right hand had already fetched a small P320 handgun from his jacket. He made no big movements, no hints. He kept the selfie camera raised high with his left hand, but it was recording a video, not taking pictures. 

James Hoffman was confused, looking at Cypher's face. 

The man never noticed when Cypher aimed the gun right under his jaw and…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three loud gunshots deafened the crowds. It was so sudden that everyone just froze, from the bodyguards to the trophy wife. 

And James Hoffman… three bullets shot through the trillionaire's skull, wreaking havoc from his underchin to his nose, his eyes, and of course, his head. Three bullets were enough to explode the eyeballs out of the sockets. Three were enough to kill a corpo god. 

"Aaaaaaaaa!"

The trophy wife screamed. The bodyguards moved. 

But Cypher was faster and grabbed the trophy wife from behind, scaring all the bodyguards. Of course, he had no plans on killing the woman or the poor dog, despite being one ugly motherfucker. 

No, he just wanted to see the bastard dead, and oh gods of every faith, it was beautiful. He could see the skull opened up at the top, brain matter spilling. Dead as a dead body can be. 

With a sneer, he showed his true emotions. Disgust, anger, and emptiness. "Richest man my ass. Still bleeds red."

"P-p-please don't… kill me."

He heard the woman sob in his grasp, her knees going weak, her high-heeled legs wobbling. He had a sudden realization that he was holding one of the world's most desired supermodels so close to himself. For some reason, that filled him with even more anger. The dead fucker wasn't even good-looking, but his money earned him the finest chicks. 

Nonetheless, he had to say, she was really hot. 

"Relax, I'm insane, not evil."

In a split second, he moved the muzzle of his gun from her temples to his own and…

"Over and fucking out!"

Bang!

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It was instant.

The world faded to black. He had no thoughts going on in his head anyway, so there were no sensations of loss. He'd already accepted his own death, so there was no surprise in it either. He preferred this over suffering from rabies. 

He preferred to die. 

Yet, sometimes, surprises happen. Shocking, otherworldly, absurd surprises. As they say, when one door closes, another opens. Only, they never say how shitty that new door can be. 

Cypher has lost the ability to think of the future. So imagine his surprise when he heard a strange sound, something like music but more modern, techno maybe? He also felt rather warm and experienced a lot of strange sensations. His head, his arm, the ground, it all felt weird. 

Hm? Don't tell me they saved my ass. 

"Fuck!"

With a curse, he used every ounce of strength left in him and opened his eyes. Sunlight blinded him instantly, coming from the two large windows on either side of the filthy bed he was lying on. He still couldn't sit up as he felt tired and weak. 

This ain't a hospital. 

He at least could move his head left and right. There were some unknown posters on the wall, old-looking furniture, and metallic cupboards. And of course, those weird fucking icons and information hovering in front of his eyes. He could read the red text, which told him the time of the day, and a few more icons. 

"The hell is this—huh?"

Right as he tried to rub his eyes to wipe that hovering light away, he noticed a weird augmentation in his right palm, a USB-like slot there. Dots connected in his head as he recognised it all. It'd been some time since he last saw those things, but they were hard to forget. 

In the end, it was the song playing on some unknown device that painted the bigger picture. 

"...Good morning, Night City, a day in the life. I was on my own, catchin' a ride…"

"What the fuck?" 

He mustered enough strength to sit up, only to realise he was butt-naked and, even worse, he saw some kind of weird tech attached to his cock. It was like a belt with a big, thick tube covering his crotch. He could feel the damn thing, snug as a fist. A look to the right on the big bed, he saw the hard-to-not-recognize BD wreath, and there were also a few syringes littered around.

A further look down, and there were countless dots on his arm, clearly the spots those syringes pricked. 

"...She pulls my trigger
Got me up, all right
It's a danger, pretty.
Here in Night City
Here in Night City…"

As the song continued to play, and he eyed the surroundings, fatigue started setting in. This wasn't his body; he never had tattoos of skulls and all the other random things on his legs. He was never a junkie. And for sure, he wasn’t a resident of Night City. 

"Don't tell me they saved me, but I'm in a coma?" He cursed and, with anger-induced strength, jumped off the bed. 

He wobbled a little, threw away what was most probably a masturbation machine, and rushed out of the bedroom. He saw a red light strip above the door. To the right, he found the bathroom, somehow futuristic and normal at the same time. The mirror was missing, a newspaper was plastered in its place. 

He turned again and entered what was a living room, dining room, and kitchen combined. Right there, he saw one of those projector things hanging from the ceiling that showed ads all the time. It was turned off, and he liked it that way. 

I can smell it… dead air. 

The house was neither rundown nor well taken care of. It was mostly empty with barely any good furniture. But that could wait. He noticed something through a window… water, a lot of it. 

He rushed to the door, tapped the button on it, and watched it slide open. The first thing that hit him was even more direct sunlight, then the sensation of dead air, damp scent, and… he glanced around, a discarded couch, trash, and… a lot of water. 

It seemed the house was a tiny lakehouse in the middle of nowhere. Across the lake, he could see the dam-like structure. There was really nothing around his house. And finally, he looked at the far distance. He couldn't see any structure, but he noticed very faint strips of light shooting towards the sky. 

They had pictures, texts, and were clearly advertisements. 

"This… is too real… And… fuck ugh!"

Thud!

He fell to his knees right there, out of his door, clutching his head with both hands. He groaned in pain for a good while and fully fell flat. He never passed out, however. Though the hovering logos and markers in his vision did scream notifications. 

Not that Cypher could see them. His mind was too occupied digesting the sudden influx of so many new memories. Worse, they were barely decent. Twenty-five-year-old, member of some Nomad clan, banished because of excessive depravity towards the opposite gender. 

And it was indeed depravity, the bastard banged the clan chief's daughter and wife both, knocking them up. Got found out and banished. Life was tough after that, doing odd jobs in the city to buy porn BDs and fund Glitter addiction.

Then, finally, the girlfriend broke up with him because of his weird behavior. That was the night he took a bit too much Glitter and… overdosed. On that same bed, Cypher woke up. 

Cypher saw all those memories. Whoever owned this body knew how to abuse the fuck out of it. Fucking anything that moved, no age, taking every drug known to mankind, obsessed with BD, and… the less spoken the better. 

The annoying part was that the dead guy was also named Cypher, only with a different last name. And the luxurious Lakehouse? It was no investment or good luck. It was a deadly job. Survey the waters, measure the toxin levels, and you get to live there. 

"This ain't a dream… No dream's this detailed." Cypher mumbled and sat up again, rubbing his head. He looked at the HUD in his vision again and clicked the mailbox. 

Solicitations, all of them. Most of them were selling him crack or BDs. Others were offering him loans and whatnot. The only actual person he could see was the breakup message from the ex, saved as 'Baby♡' in the contacts. She'd found out about the past Cypher's adventures in his clan and his two kids. 

"Valid." He stumbled and stood up with the help of the railing. "Why am I even here? This is all pointless. I… uh… can feel the need for that Glitter drug, this body's craving it."

Irritated, he returned inside the house, locked the door behind him, and looked for some clothes. Ignoring the scent of excessive masturbation there, he grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt. Then he searched for food, and soon found a packed burrito. 

"Agk! What is this thing?!" He spat the very first bite and looked for the ingredients listed on the package. Nothing there hinted at it being a real burrito. What the hell were fungi, algae? In a burrito?

Cypher let out a tired exhale and looked at his surroundings while sitting on the dirty couch. 

"Why? Why here of all fucking places? I was better off dead!"

Night City was just the more fucked up version of the world he'd come from. Hell, Cyberpunk Earth as a whole was a much, much more fucked up version of his world. A brutal dystopia built on decades of greed, where corporations rose from shady boardrooms to outright rule the planet. Where governments crumbled under corruption, the megacorps grabbed power, raised their own armies, navies, and fought wars with each other, treating the world, the people, and the damn atmosphere like disposable assets. 

And Night City was the neon-lit empire built on exploitation, violence, and the wreckage of a world completely screwed over. Where chipped up gonks fistbumped each other with their throats slit, chasing the glory of naming a shitty drink after themselves in a club.

And Cypher had woken up in such a world. 

Without realising, Cypher resumed eating the burrito because his body demanded it. He just stared into the distance while sitting, wondering what he was supposed to do. 

The memories told him he was in the middle of 2075, so all his lore knowledge of the future was useless. The useful knowledge was the dirty secrets he knew, locations, connections, and the right people for the right jobs. Of course, they didn't even know he existed. 

"Nuh-uh, this gotta go." He looked at the personal link port on his wrist. Then he felt the neural link slot and also the two shard slots on his neck. They were ticking time bombs as they ran on some corporation's software. They could hack into his head whenever they want, kill him, or do something else. 

He wasn't being an alarmist after knowing the entire damn plot. Having anything other than bioware that didn't use an active connection was a no-go. At least until he had some protection, or maybe a personal ICE that he knew was unhackable?

"Fuck, fuck! Why am I even thinking about all this? I should be dead!" 

Was it suicidal to want to just go into that cursed city and hope to get shot by some cyberpsycho? He really didn't want to stay at that house, or anybody's house. Going from dealing with a rabid body to a rabid world was a big jump. 

But was dying here worth it? He had a reason the last time; his death was already decided. But now, he wasn't really dying, well, not far from it either, with the body being addicted to crack. 

"A hundred eddies, that's it?" He stared at his bank balance in the HUD screen. "Better look around."

He finished the vile burrito and searched the house. He looked inside the bedroom first, cleaning the place at the same time. He grabbed the needles, the sheets tainted with unholy fluids. Then he looked under the bed and… 

"A gun?"

It was a small handgun, not much different from the guns he remembered. The memories told him that this was called Unity, and it could shoot twelve rounds. 

He pocketed the gun and continued his search, finding some ammo for the said gun soon enough. There were a few knives, then nothing for a long time. Also, there were a lot of stored porn braindances. He placed all those things aside, wanting to get rid of them. 

Finally, he sorted out some clothes in the metal cupboard. He found no more firearms, sadly. There was no hidden money stash either, not even his memories hinted at that. But in doing all that, he did end up cleaning the entire house. 

In the end, he returned to the living room couch and placed all the BDs, BD Wreath, small pouches of Glitter, and his gun side-by-side. Other than the gun and the BD Wreath, he wanted to sell it all. 

Better take a look at the memories. 

He tried to think of someone who could buy it all from him. He remembered a few faces from his Nomad clan who could, but going back to them was a great risk. Inside Night City, there were a few areas, like Jig-Jig Street, where he could sell them all personally. 

"Hm? What?" 

While searching through the memories, he noticed something strange. At the moment, he could feel two big packages in his head, one belonging to him and the other to the dead junkie. It was just a figure of speech, but there was a distinct difference between the two, and it ensured the memories didn't jumble together. 

But now, he saw a third package. A tiny one, in fact, it only had one memory. 

"Whoa!"

As soon as he tried to access it, the memory merged with his package and… he understood the contents right away. 

"DL-18 blaster pistol? I don't remember it from Cybe—Fuck! I can make this?!" He jumped to his feet at the shock of how deep his understanding was with this supposed gun. He knew every part of it, every inch and every little tweaking needed. 

His eyes moved to the gun resting on the table, and then his mind went back to the blaster pistol. He could already tell this blaster pistol was different, more powerful, and advanced. 

How the hell did a junkie learn all this?  

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Right then, loud knocks came from the front door. Cypher became alert and grabbed the pistol from the table. With hushed steps, he moved. He never had any military training in his past life; he just knew how to handle some guns. But this body clearly was used to it. 

While getting closer to the door, he tried to shuffle through the memories to find out who could be knocking on the door. There was no rent due as it was work accommodation. There was nobody around the lakehouse either. Nobody should be there except for him. 

Hm? Her? 

It was then that a face flashed in his thoughts, and all the related memories flowed through him. He remembered that there was a supposed town submerged in that lake called Laguna Bend. 

He pressed the button finally and opened the door, putting the gun away. 

"Heeeey, there's my choomba."

"..."

Cypher stared at the woman; her short teal hair in a swept undercut was too recognisable for him. Her dark brown eyes were rimmed with smoky liner, lips with red lipstick. Thanks to her tank top, he could see the tattoos on her neck and sleeves. She looked pretty, no lies. He honestly couldn't stop staring at her cyberware visible on the shaved side of her head, however. 

It amused him how people trusted companies with their brains. 

"How long were you out there?" he asked. 

"Uh-huh, saw the whole dance. You pulled a full-on gonkwalk, strutting naked, then faceplanting on the spot. C’mon, get your shit synced up before you're brain potato."

Slangs, so many slangs. Gonk, choom, and whatnot. It was Cyberpunk, alright. Cypher knew what they all meant, but using them just felt weird to him. Like he was masquerading, so he kept to his usual personality. 

"Trying to, Judy. Packed up all the BDs and Glitter, can you help me sell it?" He asked, understanding through the memories about his relationship with her. 

Judy was once a resident of the town submerged in that lake. She'd reached out to him eight months ago, asking to use his house for her dives down the toxic lake to see her old home. 

Since she paid him a hundred eddies for each visit, he didn't mind. Over time, she ended up becoming his favorite BD dealer as she herself was a braindance editor. She really knew his choice and sorted the best BD porns for him and sent them his way. 

He suspected it was just her way of getting those hundred eddies back, and the old Cypher was too dumb to realise it. 

"Sure, let's talk about it later. Let me get my diving gear." Judy tapped on his chest, pushing him gently, and strode into the bathroom. 

Hm, I didn't check there. 

He saw Judy open the cabinet in the bathroom and take out a bag full of diving gear. She didn't even ask him to leave and just undressed, taking off her tank top and cargo pants. She stood there in just her bra and undies.

Cypher stared, frozen on the spot as she leaned down, jutting out her round hips to put on the diving suit. She wasn't that tall, well, not compared to him. She had curves but was still a pretty slender woman. 

He gulped; the temptation made his mouth dry. And it seemed like she was teasing him, because he noticed the side eyes she gave him. 

Too bad… She's into girls… look at her ass—Why's that my first thought?