Cyberpunk:Gained a body of steel

"He went to the Voodoo Gang? That can't be the whole story," V said, her face full of disbelief. "Peter wouldn't just go to the Voodoo Gang without a reason."

"Evelyn Parker—the client we helped steal chips from at the Cyanbi Building..." Peter began, and after a detailed explanation, V and Lucy finally understood the whole picture.

"Nice job. Those Voodoo bastards deserve whatever's coming to them," V said with a bitter edge in her voice after hearing how the gang treated regular mercs and civilians.

"But seriously, Peter," Lucy added, "you were way too generous. That guy Jefferson got off easy for something that huge."

Peter shrugged. "Honestly, it's nothing. I don't care about fame. I can get it anytime if I really want it. Giving Jefferson the credit is just a way to make a little extra cash after wiping out the Voodoo Gang."

He smiled, brushing it off. His reputation as "463" in Night City was already well-known among mid to high-level circles. No matter how carefully he covered his tracks, his movements couldn't escape the eyes of the elite.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Sasha walked in with a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Sasha! How'd your mission go?" V asked curiously.

"Don't even get me started," Sasha groaned, dropping his bag on the floor. "I was stealing data in a car when the driver's company handler called him. I nearly failed the job."

"Well, don't worry about it now. You're home," Peter said with a chuckle. "You all must be starving. I'll make something good."

He walked into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as the others began to unwind.

---

Night City – Military Tech Headquarters

Inside the towering Military Technology Building, tension ran high.

"What the hell is going on, Brandon?!" Gail Gibbs, the company president, slammed his fists onto his desk, glaring at the head of security. "Why have all our projects been robbed over the past month?!"

Brandon flinched. "President Gibbs, I can explain. Some of the—"

"I don't give a damn about your excuses!" Gibbs snapped. "Find out who's behind this, and fast!"

"Who the hell dares to steal from Military Tech?!"

Gibbs looked over the files on his desk, each one outlining a recent failure that pushed him closer to snapping. The company's operations had taken serious hits.

First, a convoy transporting advanced weapons and military-grade robots was hijacked by the Maelstrom Gang. Thankfully, Stott had salvaged the situation, even recovering a data chip with details on fixing the "Small Flathead" drone's known defects.

At least that was a silver lining—they lost the hardware but gained critical information.

Then, just days later, a monstrous lizard they planned to export to a small third-world nation was intercepted by a gang of nomads outside the city. That incident barely made waves internally; if they wanted, they could wipe those nomads out by throwing a bit more muscle at the problem.

But the worst came when one of their top-secret projects—a mission to retrieve Herman, a cutting-edge bone-grafting technician from Jingban Corporation—was ambushed. Their entire convoy was decimated, and Herman vanished.

And the culprit? Just one man.

"What is this? Another Adam Smasher from Arasaka?" Gibbs muttered.

The data retrieved from the Chaomeng tech embedded in the destroyed convoy painted an unbelievable picture.

"No... even Smasher had a fully enhanced prosthetic body. This guy? Nothing but a basic neural interface," he growled.

Total nonsense.

The thought of the board—especially Donald Lundy and Melissa Cruz—hearing about this debacle made his blood boil. He already hated being restrained by the board, and if those two vultures got wind of this, he'd never hear the end of it.

"President," Brandon began cautiously, "from what we've managed to gather, the person who attacked our convoy is likely in his twenties."

"His strength surpasses any current prosthetic system. We estimate that capturing him could open a new frontier in body enhancement—something even beyond what Herman offered."

A man in a lab coat—one of the lead researchers—spoke with thinly veiled excitement. His gentle appearance belied the wild gleam in his eyes.

"If we can capture him, we'll have a chance to revolutionize prosthetic science. Forget just improving Herman's methods—we'll leapfrog our current limits entirely!"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at Brandon. "You've got one last chance to fix this. Bring me the man who took Herman, and do it within three days. I don't care how."

Brandon's breath caught.

"If you fail," Gibbs added coldly, "I'll send you to be a test subject for Hall and his freak squad. And you know I don't bluff."

Brandon's face turned pale. He had once witnessed Hall's "experiments"—people turned into grotesque cybernetic husks with experimental tech forcibly grafted onto them. It wasn't just pain; it was mutilation.

"Understood, sir! I'll complete the task!" he barked, standing at attention.

"Get moving. You have full clearance to consult with the Intelligence Division. Time starts tomorrow."

Gibbs waved him off.

Brandon left quickly, every step fueled by survival instinct. He was a dead man if he failed.

---

Back in the lab, Gibbs turned toward the scientist.

"Hall, what have you learned from the Chaomeng data? Give me everything."

Hall, a brilliant but dangerously eccentric scientist, grinned like a child about to unwrap a birthday present.

"Oh, President, what we've discovered is beyond anything I ever imagined!" Hall declared, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"This individual doesn't just run—he flies! Fast! He smashed our floating convoy with a single punch. That's over 30 tons of force, at least! And that's probably not even his full strength!"

Gibbs stared, struggling to process what he was hearing.

"He's not using any advanced prosthetics, not even a powered exoskeleton," Hall continued. "Just a basic neural socket. It's insane!"

"What about his speed?"

"Way past the speed of sound. Chaomeng couldn't even lock onto him. When we slowed down the footage to its lowest playback rate, we only caught blurs and shadows."

"Jesus…" Gibbs muttered.

"And here's the kicker—he can fire laser beams from his eyes! And I'm not talking about low-energy stuff. These beams rival our top-of-the-line experimental weapons."

Hall was practically dancing with excitement. "I mean, if I hadn't seen it myself, I would've called it a fairy tale. But he's real. This 'Monster 3.7,' as I've dubbed him, is real!"

Compared to lifeless prosthetics and cold steel, Hall was far more fascinated by the human body's dormant potential. He believed mankind was only scratching the surface.

Gibbs, however, didn't care about philosophy—he wanted results.

And now, they had a new target.

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