Cyberpunk 2077 – Cyber Dogs

Wakako Okada's gigs are quick, clean, and dangerously convenient. Her jobs are surgical: grab intel, rescue a corpo's mistress, torch a rival's stash, or—ironically—clean up Tiger Claws. Despite being their fixer of choice, Wakako seems to spend more time fixing them. They're too chaotic, too proud, and too hooked on chrome to follow orders. We're basically Night City's cleanup crew, wiping up the blood they spill like they're kids playing with knives. 

Most Tiger Claw groups run in squads of ten to fifteen. That's cute. With our team, we clear six gigs a day without breaking a sweat. We split up often—sometimes it's me and Jackie tearing through warehouses while V and Lola handle recon. Other times, I'm with V and Jackie tags in with Lola. She might be a dog, but that girl fights like an anime boss and strategizes like she's seen every Metal Gear cutscene. 

After three days of nonstop work, we took a break. Not because we were tired—we don't really get tired anymore—but because we could. 

Night City, though, doesn't exactly roll out the red carpet for R&R. There's trash in the streets, smog in the air, and "food" that's either neon-pink, too crunchy, or suspiciously moist. Entertainment? Don't even get me started. You'd think with all this tech, there'd be something more than recycled shoot-'em-ups and VR porn. Instead, every channel plays either a gun ad or a braindance teaser involving more moaning than plot. Even the kids' games look like Doom mods. 

So we tried sports. You know—real, human things. Basketball and tennis. At first, it was fun. Then someone used cyberware. Then someone else deflected a tennis ball midair. Within five minutes, it looked like a scene from Kuroko no Basket meets Dragon Ball Z. We zipped across the court, slicing the air with volleys that left vapor trails. A crowd of kids gathered, eyes wide, jaws dropped. 

We stopped mid-game, panting more from laughter than effort. I handed the basketball to the nearest kid, who looked like he'd just been handed Thor's hammer. 

"Don't break the hoop," I said, ruffling his hair. 

Their cheers followed us all the way to the car. 

The next day, I holed up in my apartment. I didn't feel like killing or dodging bullets. I wanted to think. To understand this world from the ground up. So I started digging. 

The planet's a mess. Oceans rising, forests gone, animals extinct. Some nations recovered better than others, but the U.S.? It's a sleek, chrome-covered corpse. The streets are scrubbed clean, crime's low, and the air smells like bleach and suppression. Step out of line, and the badge boys bring out the blunt force trauma. Doesn't matter if you stole bread or blinked wrong—they'll crush your skull and file it as "de-escalation." 

"To think people can invent cyberware that lets you run at the speed of sound, but they can't figure out how to save the planet," I muttered. 

Woof. [Idiots.] 

Lola, ever the philosopher. 

I tried to unwind by watching Tom and Jerry. The real one—from my world. But something felt off. It wasn't the humor or the timing. It was the soul. The version I had here looked like a bootleg copy. The colors were slightly wrong. The animation too smooth in places and too jittery in others. 

I deleted the whole thing. 

Woof? [Why?] 

"Because, Lola, it's like watching a deepfake of my childhood. It looks right—but it isn't." 

Even with all this tech, animation was something else. I could build satellites and power armor, but recreating hand-drawn 2D magic? That was beyond me. Every pixel was off. Like trying to rewrite a song you only half-remember. 

"...Come on, Lola. Let's visit Judy." 

Woof! [Happy!] 

We took the elevator down. I passed the landlord and flicked him a tip. "Keep the hallway clean," I said. 

Outside, my ride waited: a sleek, dark green monster of a car—modded by yours truly. Three mods: one, it's indestructible; two, it goes underwater like a submarine (and no, it doesn't leak); three, it's fast. Like, break-the-sound-barrier-fast. Zero to Mach 1 in three seconds. Good thing my reflexes were boosted—or I'd be scraping my own face off the dashboard. 

We zipped to Lizzie's Bar. 

The Mox at the door grinned. "Well, if it isn't the Green Man." 

"Hope the Tiger Claws haven't been sniffing around?" 

"Nah. You scared 'em off good. Still get the occasional wannabe, but we handle it." 

"Good to hear. Judy inside?" 

"Yeah. Thought you were coming for our premium BD this time—free trial, thanks for the help." 

I laughed. "I prefer the real thing—with someone I care about." 

"Suit yourself. Judy's in the back." 

I moved to enter and barely dodged a sneak attack from another Mox. 

"You'll have to be quicker than that if you wanna spank me!" I called over my shoulder. 

We've got a… complicated relationship, the Mox and me. At first, we were chill. Then came the hugs. Then the butt-grabs. I don't know when it started, but I live in constant fear now. One slip, and I'm someone's pet project. 

"You can't dodge us forever, Green Man!" someone shouted from across the room. 

We reached Judy's station. She was hunched over her screen, typing. Lola ran ahead. 

Woof. [Hello.] 

Judy grinned and scratched behind Lola's ears. "If it isn't my favorite girl. I assume 8's here too?" 

"Hey. Been a minute." 

We weren't best friends, but we understood each other. She'd been hurt—betrayed, abandoned—and trust came slow. We hugged, though I kept one hand on her back and the other on guard duty. 

"The Mox got you that paranoid, huh?" 

"Girl, I'm in full DEFCON mode." 

She snorted. "What brings you here?" 

I sat down. "I need a BD session. Want to access my own memories. Risks?" 

She leaned back, thoughtful. "Not dangerous unless you try to delete stuff. That can mess with your personality—maybe cause neural shutdown if you go overboard. But just watching? You're good. You'll only remember clearly back to when you were around five. Before that's foggy." 

"And sensory feedback? Smell, touch, taste?" 

"Safe, but don't push it past 24 hours or your brain might start mixing reality with BD. You could lose your sense of balance or forget how textures feel." 

"Can you show me the ropes?" 

"Sure. But... why all this?" 

"I want to recreate a cartoon I loved as a kid." 

Judy blinked. "That's it?" 

"To you, it's nothing. To me? It's everything." 

She stared a second longer, then nodded. "Alright. Let's do it." 

We left Lizzie's with me walking backwards—both hands guarding my cheeks. 

Back at our hideout, things had leveled up. Fully-stocked kitchen, vending machines from my world ($1 a drink), a living room big enough to park a tank, bathrooms that didn't look like prison stalls, and a hot spring—because why the hell not? 

Downstairs, we had two basements. One was for weapons, armor, and target practice. The other was our tech lab—lined with computers, scanners, and a mini-clinic. You could do surgery or build a drone with the same tools. 

I sat in my custom chair and powered up the BD gear. Lola stood by. 

"If anything looks wrong on the monitor, pull me out. This button here. Got it?" 

Woof. [Got it.] 

Helmet on. Deep breath. 

Darkness. Then—BANG. Loud music. Neon lights. 

Lizzie's Bar. 

"Okay, recent memory. Man, this is trippy." 

The BD hub let me switch to third-person, mute myself, even rewind. Hearing myself speak backward was weirdly hilarious. 

"Let's go further back." 

I adjusted the date. Everything faded. 

Suddenly, I was home. My home. My room. Same posters, same monitor glow. I saw myself hunched over the PC, modding Cyberpunk. The moment everything began. 

In third-person, I watched myself crawl into bed. 

Then it happened. 

My body blurred like static on a screen. The room shifted. Light bent around me. A soft flash—and suddenly, desert. Same pose. Same body—but modded. Green hair. Upgraded muscles. Game clothes. 

"...So I didn't die. I just migrated." 

I rewound. Played it again. Nothing else. 

"Guess I'll never know the how or why." 

Hours passed. I left the BD, head full of fragments and feelings. 

At the apartment, I pulled out a small metal box. Inside were printed photos—something almost no one uses anymore—and a shard loaded with digitized cartoons and movies from my world. 

I placed a photo of my parents on the shelf beside one of me and Lola. 

"Mom, Dad... I hope you're safe. I know this life isn't what you wanted for me, but I'm doing what I must. I'll always love you." 

I sat down, shoulders heavy. The city roared beyond the windows, but in here—just for tonight—there was peace. 

"Goodnight, Lola." 

Woof. [Night.] 

End of Chapter.