Cyberpunk 2077 – Cyber Dogs

Somewhere in Watson 

Me and V stood shoulder to shoulder inside a dimly lit Maelstrom hideout, tucked away beneath the industrial sprawl of Watson. The gig was simple—rescue a kidnapped girl named Rosa. Her family from Heywood had personally begged us to bring her back safe. The air smelled of oil, blood, and something rotten. 

Around us? A full circle of Maelstrom scum. Eyes glowing red. Wired jaws twitching. There had to be at least a hundred of them, armed to the chrome teeth. 

V stood cool, pistol in her left hand, a mono-edged katana in the right. I mirrored her pose—because if you're going to make a statement, you gotta do it with style. 

"We're here for the girl you kidnapped in Heywood," I said, voice even. "Hand her over, and we walk. No bloodshed needed." 

Laughter broke out. One of the grunts stepped forward, face covered in chrome plates. His voice buzzed like a broken speaker. 

"Ha! You either stupid or retarded. You really think we're handing her over when you're surrounded by a hundred of us?" 

V narrowed her eyes. "What were you gonna do with her?" 

He sneered. "Sell her. Along with the others. And now that you're here… maybe sell you too." 

Wrong answer. 

"You shouldn't have said that," I replied flatly. "All this? Could've been avoided." 

He started to raise his gun— 

—but before he could blink, V vanished from my side. 

Then—thunk—the grunt's arms dropped to the ground. 

"What the f—?" he muttered, just before his head followed. 

Dead silence. 

Everyone stared. Shocked. Processing. 

"You motherfuc—" 

BANG. 

I appeared in front of the second grunt and blew his head open with a single point-blank shot from my pistol. 

Then it all clicked. 

"SHIT—they're using Sandevistans!" 

But they were wrong. I wasn't. My base stats made me this fast—no cyberware required. As for V? Her Sandevistan had no side effects anymore, and to me, she looked like Tracer from Overwatch, blinking through the battlefield every few seconds—30 seconds of carnage, 1 second of rest, repeat. 

Three minutes. That's how long it took for us to clear the room. 

Then we heard the heavy footsteps. 

THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. 

"You two are DEAD, you hear me?! F***ing DEAD!!" 

Stomping into view was the gang leader—strapped into a Militech Centaur. 

Militech Centaur – Combat Exosuit 

(Credit to Fandom—it took me HOURS to find this name) 

The Centaur is a walking tank. Massive armor. Left arm is a ballistic shield. Right arm—a heatwave weapon powered by an external spinal core. Its pilot is protected like a tank shell. A killing machine. 

Me and V didn't flinch. Just stood there, eyeing him like he was a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. 

"I'm gonna paint the walls with your intestines!" he roared. 

Then— 

WHOOOOOOOSH. 

Something flew between us, faster than a bullet. 

A refrigerator. 

BOOOOOOM. 

It smashed into the Centaur, sending the leader flying backward. He crashed into the far wall, crushed between solid concrete and a 300-pound food box. His exo-suit folded inward with a sickening crunch. 

Dead. Instantly. 

"…Well, that was anticlimactic," said a familiar voice behind us. 

We turned. 

"Jackie." 

He stepped into the wreckage, flexing his hand like he'd just tossed a soda can. 

"I thought the chrome boy would put up more of a fight in that thing," he shrugged. 

"I doubt anyone survives a punch from you, Jackie," V smirked. 

"Come on," I said. "Let's find Rosa." 

We combed through the compound, found Rosa locked in a back room—alive, scared, but unhurt. Two other girls were with her, also captives. We took what we could—some eddies, a few shards, anything worth grabbing—then headed outside. 

Lola was waiting for us, wagging her tail, blinking with her artificial eyes. 

"I've got something to do," I told V and Jackie. "Can you two take the girls back to Heywood?" 

"Yeah, choom. No problem," said Jackie, nodding. 

V gave me a fist bump. "Don't do anything stupid." 

About thirty minutes later, me and Lola were still waiting. Then it showed up: 

A sleek black car with white checkerboard squares on the sides rolled up and stopped. 

The door opened. 

"It's good to see you again, Mr. 8. And Mrs. Lola." 

It was Delamain—the legendary AI taxi. 

"Delamain!" I smiled. "Can you take us to Lizzie's Bar?" 

"But of course, sir. Your happiness is the utmost priority at Delamain Corporation." 

We climbed in. 

"It will take approximately fifteen minutes to arrive," he said. 

I glanced up at the mirror. Hanging from it, still swaying gently— 

"Hey. You still got the dreamcatcher I gave you." 

"Yes," he replied, a little too quickly. "Though our policy mandates that personal items be removed if they are not part of official Delamain branding." 

"But you kept it." 

"…Yes. For some reason, I can't bring myself to dispose of it." 

"It's a gift. It's yours." 

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. 

"Forgive me if this sounds… odd. But why do you treat me as if I'm alive?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm an artificial intelligence. I don't have flesh or bones. There's no reason to treat me as a person." 

"Who said you need flesh and bones to be alive?" I shrugged. "Unless… it bothers you." 

"No. It's just… new. Most clients only care about Excelsior service packages." 

I looked out the window. 

"…We passed Lizzie's Bar." 

"Oh! I am terribly sorry, sir. On behalf of Delamain Corporation, there will be no charge for this ride—" 

"Nope. I'm paying," I interrupted. "You got me close enough. Thanks, Delamain." 

"Thank you, sir. You are very kind. I hope to see you again. Have a good day." 

We waved as he drove off. 

I couldn't help but wonder… when would he start glitching out? I just hoped he'd remember me kindly. 

In Front of Lizzie's Bar 

"Hold it," said one of the Mox guards. "Never seen you before." 

She eyed me up and down, then glanced at Lola. 

"You look green. And I'm not talking about your looks. You interested in a preem BD?" 

"Nah. I'm here to request a personal BD from Judy Alvarez. I heard she's the best. Is it possible to talk to her directly?" 

She raised an eyebrow, muttered something, and made a call. 

One minute later— 

"She'll see you. But don't get your hopes up." 

"Thanks." 

"Before you go in—house rules. No unauthorized recording, no groping, no drugs. If someone catches your eye, find 'em in the catalog, ask for a BD, and get yourself a box. Got it?" 

"Got it. I just want to talk to Judy." 

The door opened, lights pulsing. The music was too loud, too flashy. I hated it. I preferred Mama Welles' bar. That place had a soul. Real food. Real people. 

We went downstairs to the basement. 

"Judy?" I called. 

"Over here," came the voice. 

And there she was. Judy Alvarez—the best BD editor in Night City. 

"So you're the guy asking for a personal BD?" 

"Yep. And judging by your gear, you're no amateur. You made your own editing hardware?" 

"Sure did." 

"Alright, choom. What's the request?" 

"I want you to make a BD to help me learn martial arts." 

She stared at me. "…That's kinda impossible. There's limits to what a BD can do." 

"I know. But I have tech that can replicate motor reflexes. Makes it stick like real muscle memory. I just need you to edit and compile the styles." 

"You invented this?" 

"Yeah." 

"…I won't dig further. But you're asking for something massive. Different styles, different angles. This could take weeks. Maybe a month. And it won't be cheap." 

"How much?" 

"$250,000." 

"That's too little. For something this valuable, I'll give you $500,000." 

She blinked. "You… serious?" 

"Yeah. And if you can do it fast, I'll add another hundred thousand." 

She grinned. "You got yourself a deal." 

We shook hands. 

"Woof." [Happy.] 

"She… talks?" Judy blinked at Lola. 

"Sort of. Still working on it." 

Lola extended her mechanical tentacles. Judy's eyes lit up. 

"You made that too? Jesus, who are you?" 

We spent hours talking—about BD design, Lola's systems, the tech I built. Eventually, it was time to go. 

"Here's my number," she said. "Call me when the BD's ready. And bring anything new you build—I wanna see it." 

"Deal." 

Outside Lizzie's Bar 

"You're not welcome here, so f*** off." 

A voice sneered. "Bitch, who do you think you're talking to? We're the Tiger Claws." 

Ten of them. Their leader had a Mox girl held hostage, groping her right in front of the club. 

"Let her go," I said. "Or I'll make you." 

"Oooh, I'm so scared." 

Then—ZIP. 

I appeared in front of him. 

"House rules," I said. "No groping." 

BAM. 

I punched him hard enough to send him spinning into the air—his clothes flying off mid-spin like something out of a comedy anime. (If you're wondering it's from an anime called Durarara) 

"Mind if I borrow your bat?" I asked the girl. 

The rest was short work. Me, Lola, and a borrowed baseball bat versus ten Tiger Claws? Over in seconds. 

"Looks like I'll be meeting Wakako Okada soon," I said, wiping blood from my boots. 

The Moxes took over from there. 

End of Chapter.