The Gonk and The Forge (Cyberpunk Edgerunners/2077)

David Martinez was a professional. His calm, stoic demeanor made that much clear. He quickly managed to calm Archie and her boyfriend, Ethan Kim, as I found out. He'd even treated Ethan's gunshot wound to his leg – somehow. That inhaler, MaxDoc by its label, was a miracle if I'd ever seen one.

We were already on our way down the building in the elevator, Kenta's twitching, spasming body slung over the man's broad, clearly chromed shoulders. Ethan leaned against the elevator wall for support, Archie by his side, shooting terrified glances at Kenta whenever he groaned, her hands wringing nervously in Ethan's grip.

Meanwhile, I was a mess. Internally, anyway. Only the stabilizing aspect of the gloves helped me keep it together, hiding the worst of it.

I hadn't expected the firefight. I hadn't expected I'd be shooting someone today.

"Things never happen." That was a comforting, naïve delusion I'd lived with for a long time.

Back home I would hear about shootings on the news, armed robberies that happened a few cities over, or major military politico activities happening in some distant country so far away that it almost seems like a different world.

I'd never truly grown out of that mindset, even after waking up in this future.

I was paranoid enough about everyone around me replacing body parts as casually as people back home would buy the latest damned iPhone, accepting glitches, breakdowns, and malfunctions in their systems as just part of the deal.

As if an errant glitch, a faulty subpar product couldn't very well ruin someone's life.

Expecting something like a shooting that would be it to do me in was very far on the list of things for me to worry about.

In hindsight, it was easy to focus on larger, more distant fears and ignore the immediate dangers. Knowing gangs, mercs, and private militaries prowled the streets was one thing.

It is easy to focus on the bigger problems, and fears and be blind to the more obvious dangers due to tunnel vision.

It was another thing to have it thrown in my face. I never really expected to get involved in the mess of all of it myself.

I'd heard on WNS about the countless shootings on the 1, 101, and 166. Ziggy Q went on frequent rants about the highways often enough that it's burned in my memory.

But it's not like they all happened in Night City did they? These were interstate highways.

The US 101, If my memory was correct, was an interstate Highway between Washington and California. Or well, SoCal as it was here, what with California having been split at some point in recent history, and the whole mess that was NUSA and free states around the country.

The NCPD's guideline to not get into danger was to avoid walking on the sideroad near these highways. Clearly, they were wrong.

I needed bulletproof armor yesterday. My personal pity party at being here, at being pulled away from my family, and my dog; and the depression thereafter had blinded me to the risk. A stray bullet could kill me if I wasn't careful.

Cyberware would be the fastest solution, of course. Subdermal armor could prevent bullets from killing me instantly. Kendachi advertised that often enough for their consumer defense lineup.

But even if I were willing to endure a ripperdoc's invasive surgery, I couldn't afford it. That was before the additive augmentations to my muscles that were necessary for my musculature to be preinstalled; to allow me to move around with it under my skin.

In the end, cyberware wasn't an option. I didn't trust it, didn't trust any tech here. I couldn't bring myself to accept something unless I knew what it would do to me; what kind of tech it truly was.

The corps here; each and every one of them armed to the teeth, made companies back home look like angels in comparison.

The only thing I could rely on was the Forge and what it provided.

Almost on cue, the pressure in the back of my head flared. The elevator dinged, signaling we'd reached the ground floor, and I followed the mercenary out, half-aware.

"The car's this way. Our client wanted all three of you safe, so we're taking you to him," David said as he guided us toward the building's exit.

I wasn't focused on where he was taking us. I hadn't focused on much since he'd arrived—since the weight of having shot at someone, even if they were an ass; had fully hit me after I registered I was finally somewhat safe.

The galaxy spun wildly, the constellation burning bright in my mind. A tight cluster of stars drew close to my core, mesmerizing in its intensity. One brilliant star pulsed, and light shot from it, filling my soul with a familiar surge.

I was hit with a rush of ideas and possibilities.

Alchemy. It was a concept I hadn't thought possible in this world, yet here I was, imbued with the knowledge and skills of a master alchemist.

A slight smile crept onto my lips as the implications sank in. With just the ingredients I had in my kitchen—synthetic as they were—I could devise a rudimentary skin-hardening potion making it almost as durable as rock, an invisibility potion, and even a healing concoction.

Each thought sparked a flicker of excitement in my chest. The forge was truly my lifeline.

I would need to test their potency, of course, but the fundamentals were clear. The synthetic nature of most of the food in my fridge would actually aid in enhancing the effects of my potions. Their semi-organic, semi-chemical makeup could serve as a perfect base, amplifying the reactions I needed without the necessity of truly magical ingredients.

The possibilities were staggering.

Over time, I was sure I could use some of these potions to heal soil and sand, allowing me to grow organic food—real vegetables that didn't taste like they'd been synthesized in a lab. If I could somehow get my hands on some seeds, it would be a game-changer.

The brilliant light and swirling galaxy faded as a hand waved in front of my eyes.

I blinked, focusing on a short, pale-skinned woman with lime-green hair standing right in front of me. She had striking red-green eyes and pink tattoos visible under her grey-black jacket, just below her bra.

She was humming a tune, her cybernetic red-green eyes were glowing, and I figured she was listening to music using some form of her cybernetics.

As soon as she noticed she had my attention, she grinned. "Finally! You were totally out of it there, choomba. David and the crew are getting your chooms in the cars, wait here with me, kay?" She didn't wait for a response as she started bobbing her head to her music.

I glanced past her to where David was standing near a heavily armored grey SUV—a Chevillon Emperor—parked right behind Mr. Torres's car. The back of the SUV was open, and David was hoisting Kenta's groaning, twitching body into the rear seat.

Inside the SUV, a blonde woman with a red jacket sat in the back, wearing some kind of mask device over her lower jaw—a cybernetic breather, if I had to guess. A driver sat in the front, leaving the front passenger seat presumably for David.

Ethan and Archie were leaning beside the SUV, looking tense and uncertain.

I noticed the other people in the street were giving us a wide berth. The NCPD patrol car at the end of the street was watching us, but not moving to intervene at all. I didn't know if that was because they were afraid of getting involved with mercs, or were waiting on backup.

David nodded toward the blonde woman in the red jacket. "Kiwi," he said, "run a quick check for his shards; any data on him. Last thing we need is any more nasty surprises from him. We're too close to the Vista as it is."

Without a word, the woman pulled a cord from her arm and handed it to David, who plugged it into a socket on the back of Kenta's neck. Kenta moaned, seemingly unaware of what was happening.

The woman, Kiwi, leaned back, closing her eyes and muttering flatly, "Shouldn't have taken this gig anyway. The heat from our last gig with the Tinos hasn't died down yet. We're lucky enough as it is that the Trauma Team or some other group hasn't shown up for any of their clients in the building."

David shrugged. "This was the easiest job Wakako could find, and I want to get back home quickly today."

The girl beside me shuffled over to Ethan, eyeing him curiously. "Speaking of Trauma Team," she piped up, "why aren't they swarming the place already? I mean, big shot Zetatech corpo like you? You'd think Trauma would be here in minutes once the dickwad started shooting."

Ethan winced slightly, adjusting his weight to keep pressure off his recently healed leg. "I'm… in the process of resigning from Zetatech," he admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "They confiscated my cyberware about a week ago, along with the Trauma Team package."

The lime green-haired girl cocked her head, raising a brow. "First time I've heard of a corpo with a fancy ass apartment like yours, leaving a cushy gig at Zetatech willingly. They usually don't just let their employees walk." Her smile widened, and her red-green eyes brightened as if she'd made a groundbreaking deduction.

With a mischievous grin, she wiggled her eyebrows, nudged him with her elbow, and then, in one fluid motion, wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him down to her height. "So… what dirt you got on 'em, huh? Give us the detes choom, spill."

Ethan looked more than a little uncomfortable as he gently pried her arm off his neck. "W-what are you talking about? There's no dirt," he insisted. "I filed my resignation, signed a non-compete, and that was it."

The girl gave him a long, deadpan stare, clearly unconvinced. "Right… pull the other one."

"That really is all I did," Ethan replied, sounding slightly hysterical and affronted.

The pale girl huffed, crossing her arms. "Fine, keep your secrets, boring long-nosed bloodsucker."

Ethan spluttered at the accusation and tried to futilely convince her otherwise. "I-I am not lying! Do you think I'd be in this position if I had blackmail on them? Instead of some crazy maniacal ex of Archie here" he said, indicating to the blonde who was clutching his hand rather tightly "it'd would have been a team of my old colleagues coming in to secure my 'silence'."

Archie, who was clutching the man's hand; shuddered and shook "I-I really am sorry, I didn't think Kenta would pull something like this."

Ethan shook his head, waving his arm, wincing as the pain in his leg fired up again "No, no. This isn't your fault. I'm not blaming you… you couldn't have predicted any of this." He said, trying to soothe his girlfriend's concern. "Although…" he continued, "I'd appreciate it… if you could let me know of some other exes of yours that would come gunning for me. You know, so I can be prepared to fight them off next time."

His attempt at brevity must have worked as Archie finally smiled, and scuffed on the back of his hand.

"Ugh!" The pink tattooed girl exclaimed "Another pair of lovebirds… just my fucking luck."

David turned to the girl and sighed, his stoic expression softening "Let them be, Becca. The gonks are overwhelmed as it is. Let's just get this done and go home after we get our eds."

"Whatever you say, Davie" The girl, Becca pouted at being denied her fun, but replied as she bounced on her toes impatiently.

Martinez then turned to me. "You're Zain right?" At my nod he continued "You will be riding with Becca in the other car, there isn't enough room in ours with the merc out cold in the back. Rafael made it clear—both you and Ethan, alongside Archie, should have protection," he said, nodding toward Ethan. "This way, one of the crew can watch your back. I hope that isn't a problem,"

"No, no" I waved off the concern "I-It's not a problem. I needed to get Mr Torres his car back anyway."

The green-haired girl's face lit up as she turned back to me, bowing dramatically with her hands pressed together. "Namaste! Choom! I'm Rebecca, I'll be your nanny today!" Her grin was as wide as it was unfiltered.

She thought I was a monk too, didn't she? This was getting annoying.

Thrown by her enthusiasm, I managed a smile, introducing myself and clarifying, "I'm not a monk. I just… there's no need for bowing, or anything. I just don't have any cyberware, that's all."

Rebecca tilted her head, studying me with unabashed curiosity. "Wait, like, not even a neural socket? No chip?"

I shook my head, trying not to sound as exasperated as I felt. This was a very common misunderstanding that almost any new person I spoke with had questions or a tease about. "It's a personal thing—grew up that way. Never saw the need, I guess."

"Nova!" She breathed; her red-green eyes widened as if she were looking at a rare artifact. "you're … weird! I like it, choom!" she concluded, clearly fascinated.

Just then, Kenta let out another pained moan from the back seat of the SUV, where he had been slumped since his systems had been fried.

I couldn't ignore the lingering question anymore and turned to the others. "What did you actually do to the guy exactly?" I asked Rebecca as Archie and Ethan quickly boarded the SUV. "He's been moaning in pain since he went down, and I didn't see any thing really hit him … apart from sparks at the back of his head."

It was Kiwi, the masked woman, who responded. She didn't bother opening her eyes as she replied in a flat tone. "I collapsed his systems remotely. Simple hack using daemons—nonlethal, but effective. He had an extra optical sensor hidden at the base of his skull. Didn't want to risk direct confrontation."

That flew right over my head, and I hesitated before asking, "Could you… clarify what that actually means?"

After a few moments, Kiwi opened her eyes, giving a quick nod to David. He disconnected the cord from Kenta's neck, and it retracted swiftly into the sleeve of Kiwi's jacket. She barely seemed to notice, her focus drifting as she reached up, rubbing her head.

She turned to David who had been watching her like a hawk, and asked "Coolant, David?"

David nodded and began rummaging through the SUV's storage compartment; right beside Kenta, who continued groaning. He handed her a large injector.

Without hesitation, Kiwi stabbed it into her left shoulder and let out a relieved sigh as it took effect.

"There won't be any problems with our friend here anytime soon," she said, her tone flat. "I couldn't go too deep without a proper ice bath, so I stuck to checking his most recent archives. Besides regular chatter with some guy named Jae Hyun and the occasional call to a Joytoy, he's not hiding much of interest."

Then, turning her attention to me, Kiwi clarified, "I overloaded him with data—basically fried his nervous system. He won't recover without a decent ripperdoc, so you don't have to worry. He's out of the game for a while."

A chill ran through me. The idea that someone's nervous system could be fried remotely, that chips and implants could be hacked and rendered useless without a second thought, was unsettling.

If I'd ever needed a reason to avoid cyberware, this was it.

David finally said they should be on their way, giving me a nod before climbing into the passenger seat of the SUV. He told me to follow close behind, so I headed toward Mr. Torres's car, where Rebecca was already making herself at home.

She was in the passenger seat with her feet propped up on the dashboard, her guns strapped and visible. I figured it was best not to ask her to put her feet down. Today had already been more intense than I could have imagined, and I didn't want to add "pissing off an armed merc" to the list.

As we started driving, I kept a safe distance behind David's SUV. I'd barely had time to process everything that had happened, but the weight of it all pressed on me as we rolled through the grim streets of Night City.

After a few minutes of silence, Rebecca sighed dramatically and turned to me. "This is boring. Listening to music on my own is gonked." She shifted in her seat to face me, her excitement turning her usual sharp gaze into something almost curious. "So, tell me, no chrome, definitely not a Buddhist, and you're new to that gun you're carrying. How've you managed to stick around so long in this city? Especially in the shithole around Auntie Wakako's?"

I took a second to think it over, trying to decide how much I wanted to share. "Well, I'm… new to the city, actually," I said, keeping it simple.

She hummed thoughtfully. "New, huh? What brought you to Night City, then? People come here looking for a fresh start, or they're running from something."

I swallowed, reminding myself to keep it vague. "I'm from the Badlands. Sort of a refugee."

Rebecca nodded, absorbing that. "So, you're a nomad?" She paused, eyeing me with a bit more caution. "What happened to your family?"

I hesitated, feeling a tightness in my chest. "I… don't know. It's not something I like to think about." Which was true, in a roundabout way. This time period, this place—it wasn't mine. And my family, my old life? Gone. But there was no way I was getting into all that.

She tilted her head, studying me like she was piecing together a puzzle. "Most nomads don't just leave their clans or families behind unless they're Raffen or… you know, betrayed them. You're not Raffen, are you?"

I shook my head, chuckling softly. "Who are the Raffen, anyway?"

She raised her eyebrows at me, suspicious now. "You sure you're a nomad? I mean, I can smell BS a mile away, choom, like that corpo input of your friend." She jerked her head in the direction of the SUV ahead, obviously talking about Ethan.

I shrugged. "Why do you say that? Ethan could be telling the truth."

Rebecca snickered, shaking her head. "That guy's a lawyer. He knows how to twist things and lie like a pro. But we're not talking about him. We're talking about you."

I glanced at her, a bit thrown off. "Why are you so interested?"

She pointed right at me, her feet wiggling on the dash as she looked me over with a grin. "What's not to be interested about? You stick out like a sore thumb. New to the city, but you say you're from the Badlands and don't have a single piece of chrome on you? People don't survive out there without some kind of cyberware. And then there's that wide-eyed, lost-puppy look you got goin' on." She grinned wider, laughing. "Plus, you're kinda adorable, like that stray puppy I found once."

I ducked my head, caught off guard by her bluntness. "I… don't really know what to say to that." I rubbed the back of my neck, hoping it wasn't obvious how much she'd rattled me. "The family I had and the way I grew up made cyberware unnecessary, I guess."

"Damn, Nova!" she said, kicking her feet back and eyeing me thoughtfully. "You're saying you were able to survive in the badlands remaining ganic? That's preem shit, right there. Why leave then?"

I replied, my voice quieter than before, "I didn't exactly leave willingly. I had no other choice."

Rebecca's grin faded slightly. After a moment, she asked gently, "What happened? I mean, if you're comfortable sharing."

I took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the lingering shock from earlier, but I felt the need to get it off my chest. "Honestly, I don't really know," I began. "It's all a blur. I was out with some friends, partying at this dumb bar. Came home, talked to my Ma, and went to bed. Then... everything after is just blank. I don't like to think about it much. Next thing I knew, I wound up here in Night City."

She absorbed that, her expression softening. "Sounds like you had a good life," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head, offering a small smile. "Don't be. I've come to terms with it. Can't go back. Night City is home now."

We drove in a comfortable silence for a while, the city's neon glow casting shifting patterns across the windshield. The hum of the engine was oddly soothing amid the chaos of my thoughts.

Eventually, Rebecca broke the silence. "You should keep that gun of yours close at all times," she advised, nodding toward the revolver resting between us. "City isn't safe. Japantown, Kabuki, and other parts up in Watson especially."

I nodded appreciatively. "Thanks for the advice."

As we approached a red light near the edge of Vista Del Rey, I slowed the car. David's SUV stopped ahead of us. Just then, a lowrider Villefort Alvarado pulled up beside me. Inside were five heavily tattooed men and women, all visibly armed. The thumping bass of their music rattled our windows.

Rebecca spotted them first. She immediately ducked down, sliding low in her seat until she was hidden below the window. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Be ready to punch the CHOOH," she whispered urgently, her red-green eyes glowing as she initiated a call.

I tensed up, glancing sideways at the gang members. "What's going on?" I whispered.

She held a finger to her lips, eyes darting over the dashboard. "They haven't spotted me yet," she murmured. She risked a quick peek over the edge of the window. Just then, a woman perched in the back of the lowrider locked eyes with her.

"Shit," Rebecca cursed, ducking back down. "Punch it! Now!"

My heart lurched. Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the accelerator. The tires squealed as we shot forward, David's SUV doing the same ahead of us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman in the lowrider signal to her crew, raising a gun in our direction. The first bullet shattered the rear windshield, glass spraying into the back seat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I shouted, adrenaline surging as I gripped the wheel. "Not again!"

"Don't fucking panic!" Rebecca barked, pulling out a pink shotgun from under her jacket. She cocked it with a practiced motion, lowering the window. "Stick close to the others! I'll keep those bastards off us!"

I nodded frantically, swerving to avoid a slow-moving car as we sped through the intersection. Horns blared behind us.

Bullets whizzed past, one embedding itself in the passenger door with a metallic thud. Rebecca leaned out of the window, her shotgun poised. "Keep it steady!" she shouted over the wind.

"I'm trying!" I yelled back, weaving through traffic to stay behind David's SUV.

Bullets continued to slice through the air, whizzing past our car as Rebecca fired back with relentless intensity. The Alvarado kept close on our tail, undeterred by her shotgun blasts.

Ahead, David's SUV swerved sharply, slipping down an alleyway. I tried to follow but missed the turn, swerving onto the sidewalk and plowing through a row of traffic cones, narrowly avoiding plowing headfirst into some store front and other civilians.

Thank God, I didn't want that on my conscience.

The Alvarado stayed on us, its headlights looming like predators in the rearview mirror.

"I fucking missed the turn!" I yelled to Rebecca. "Lost the rest of your crew!"

"Keep going," she snapped. "Head for the ring road, but stay clear of Corpo Plaza. David and the team will swing around and cut 'em off."

Gritting my teeth, I weaved through traffic, dodging more bullets as chaos erupted around us. A motorcycle caught in the crossfire crashed spectacularly, sending its rider sprawling. Cars screeched to a halt or swerved erratically, trying to escape the madness.

"FUCK!" Rebecca cursed, and I glanced over to see blood streaming down her arm. She clutched the wound, grimacing. "Fuck. Knew I shoulda gotten those damn Gorilla arms sooner."

My stomach twisted. "What now?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice.

"Just drive," she ground out, as she placed her bleeding hand under her butt, trying to stem the bleeding by sitting on it, as she pulled out a massive pistol with the other. She dropped her shotgun on the seat and resumed blasting out the window. "I still got one good shooting arm."

I couldn't just sit there and let her take all the hits, not knowing how much longer it would be before David's team circled back.

Summoning a shaky resolve, "GET BACK INSIDE!" I shouted over the roar of gunfire.

Rebecca kept firing, barely sparing me a glance. "WHY?"

"Just do it," I insisted. "Take the wheel."

She ducked back in to reload her pistol and looked at me like I'd lost it, as she resumed firing. "You've gone gonked in the head, haven't you?"

"Probably," I admitted, voice tight, "but you can't keep taking shots like that!"

She took down another gunman in the Alvarado, but a bullet ricocheted off her chromed shoulder, leaving a nasty bruise. She groaned, ducking back inside. After a quick inhale from a MaxDoc, her breathing steadied.

"Fine," she muttered. "Keep your foot on the CHOOH. David's half a minute out. I'll take the wheel."

Nodding, I pulled out the revolver Mr. Torres had given me. I still couldn't believe I was about to shoot at people. Twice in one day. I had no idea why they were even shooting at us in the first fucking place!

Anger flared up in me—at this city, at myself, at this whole mess I'd landed in. I didn't know if I could kill, but right now, I had no choice. Keeping my foot on the gas, I leaned out the window, letting Rebecca take control of the steering.

With the micromanipulator gloves, I was able to stabilize my aim, but my heart pounded with every pull of the trigger.

Bullets zipped dangerously close, nicking the car door and shattering the remaining side mirror. Swallowing my fear, I squeezed the trigger again, and by sheer luck, one of my shots hit the woman who'd first spotted us, square in the shoulder.

I kept firing, feeling the recoil jolting through me, each shot wild but desperate. I didn't even notice I was running out of ammo until the last click of the trigger, my revolver almost empty. In that moment, David's SUV surged out of a side street, barreling behind us as it slammed side along into the Alvarado with a brutal force.

The lowrider spun, its driver fighting for control before it veered dangerously close to oncoming traffic. David, half-perched on top of the SUV, stood like a living weapon. His chromed torso gleamed under the streetlights, jacket whipping in the wind.

Rebecca's eyes went wide. "Finally," she muttered, sounding both relieved and excited.

Before I could fully process what was happening, David moved—fast. He leaped from the SUV like lightning, colliding with the Alvarado with a force that made me recoil. In seconds, the Tinos were reduced to smears of blood and chaos. The lowrider, now a driverless shell, swerved, tumbling uncontrollably until it hit the median.

It bounced, rolled, and erupted in a fireball, illuminating the street behind us.

Still leaning out the window, I could only stare, wide-eyed, as the wreckage burned. "...Fuck me," I whispered wind whipping past my hair, as I loosened my foot off the gas.

Rebecca leaned back, grinning as she holstered her pistol. "Yeah well, welcome to Night City," she said with a chuckle. "Let's get you back to your employer."

I could only nod, feeling the weight of the night finally catch up with me.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

(A/N) Another fun, if a little hectic chapter to write.

I feel I need to clarify somethings about Zain. He is extremely sheltered by Night City standards. Guy is just a fresh grad from a university in San Jose. And after his arrival; he had massive massive culture shock, depression because he lost his family, and he just found out that literally, everyone around him treats their bodies like they are parts to be replaced like some cell phones.

He had other things to worry about, like getting a job for food, and water. His apartment rent might be paid off, for now. Doesn't mean he doesn't need other things to survive.

Finding a job in Night City, without any implants is genuinely impossible. He got one because he sticks out like a sore thumb, and Rafael took pity on him. Literally everyone is treating him like he's a wide-eyed tourist.

He's also suspicious as fuck.

Japantown, and Westbrook are not cheap places to live in. They are semi corporate residential areas, and even if Zain lives in the shadier part of town, the rent is way way out of his weight class. In game, Japantown house is rented at 30000 eddies.

Zain earns 1000 a month. For him to afford something even half that is suspicious. People have noticed. They just haven't asked because seeing Zain, it's impossible to treat him as a threat. He is basically the coughing baby in a packed full with literally the entirely arsenal of weaponry.

His weakness is what let him be ignored. Had he been in Watson, or anywhere else up north, he'd have already been prime target for Maelstrom. The Tiger Claw territory is the safest for someone like him.

He'd be run out of the Glenn or murdered; if he'd been living in that corpo area. It could be anyone there, the Tinos or any of the corps.

Santo Domingo and Arroyo meant eating and drinking water that's radiated and extremely toxic.

The city outskirts around Rocky Ridge could have worked sure, but not without real support, or living like a total hermit like that one cyberpsycho incident with the turrets up there.

I've basically him some creature comforts where he could survive, barely. The Windows computer was for familiarity. Someone pointed out to me that Microsoft as a company exists in the verse, I still doubt the Windows OS is a thing, as a connection to the Net is primarily physical through netrunning chairs.

Zain has no clue that the net is not the internet he knows, but rather fractured city-wide nets, or intranets if I can consider that an apt enough comparison.

His research into the history of the world and Night City is sourced from the TV, and publicly available sites his Windows computer can browse for him. That isn't the open access to shit like Wikipedia, or something but corp controlled info on their city net.

While a lot of the history is accurate, some are not. Like he believes the fourth corp war was won by Arasaka, because Arasaka propaganda says so. Their city net is the most widely followed and accessed net, and their information propaganda is king.

He doesn't know about a lot of the tech available out there, and while he knows Agents and other communicative tech are available, and would solve a lot of his money problems, they are illegal according to Netwatch. (canonically)

He is a weird case of distrusting corporate tech because of fear, culture shock, and paranoia while also being the most easily susceptible to propaganda because he has no reason to assume the net isn't the same as back home. The internet, for us, is the one thing that's a constant. Like, it's difficult to comprehend a more sophisticated version of it. For us, a more advanced internet is for it becoming faster, lower latency, less bandwidth, etc.

The idea that you can physically interact with it is mind-boggling. And with Netrunners being rare enough as they are … well, it's no surprise that Zain doesn't know much about it, and accepted the corpo propaganda at face value.

He knows vaguely about the DataKrash, and the events around Rache Bartmoss, but seeing as there is a net, his assumption is that the infrastructure must have been rebuilt.

For a clearer view. He trusts the NCPD to do its job, because well cops. He trusts Netwatch to do its job, because federal agency. He trusts the NUSA, and is heartbroken as an American because of America's fracture. He is heartbroken at the fact the badlands even exist, and there are cities like San Jose (his home) and San Francisco that cannot be visited without necessary implants.

(Canonically San Francisco's air is unbreathable without Lung implants, there isn't much about San Jose but seeing as they are both in NorCal, I stretched that to the surrounding cities around San Fran. Otherwise, after coming out of the depression, Zain would have taken the three-hour drive to see what was left of home.)

He distrusts Arasaka, but doesn't recognize their propaganda, or Militech's for that matter. He distrusts their products, not that they are lying about history too.

He can't comprehend that netrunning literally means walking into the net. It hasn't clicked yet.

I think this part should be informational, but I figured I'd put it here in the Author's note to avoid any other confusion.

Rolls for this chapter:

Domain: Skills: Alchemy

Alchemist (A 'Happy' Harry Potter Fanfiction) (200CP)

The fine art of turning lead into gold in the quest to create the immortal granting elixir of life. What few remember is that alchemists rely on more than just magical ingredients for their mixtures. Chemicals, elements, oils, tinctures, spices, metals, it is not the magic that matters to you but the results of the combined reaction. Your abilities at brewing are beyond that of even the most skilled potioneers as anything that relies on ingredients to create you can make. Your favorite marinade, new alcoholic beverages, beauty products, intangibility potion, napalm, whatever you set your mind to you can make a reality. You know all the proper techniques and tricks to squeeze the most essence out of your ingredients, how to harvest them without botching it, how to store them so they don't lose any of their potency. You know the best ways to prepare them, the best time to add them, how to get the reaction you want, and all the steps to achieve it. You can even tell which ingredients complement each other best based on smell, taste, touch, and any record of their properties. If being a master potion maker isn't your goal well there's always opening a bar, getting your own cooking show, or running a chemical factory of some stripe because a philosopher's stone is something you could make by just cracking open a few chemistry and potion books.