R.O.B. 37

Sunday, May 5, 1991 — 10:08 p.m.

The third-floor reading nook of Myrddin Manor was quiet enough to hear the creak of the rafters settling for the night. Moonlight streamed through the tall, arched window, spilling silver across the soft cushions and thick rug beneath Joshua Myrddin's legs. He sat cross-legged, his back against the warm stone wall, the ghost of a fireplace's heat lingering from earlier. On the low table beside him rested a half-finished pot of coffee, its contents dangerous to mortal circulatory systems and probably illegal in several countries. Not that wizarding law had any rules about caffeine.

The book in his lap was titled Advanced Rune Theory for the Daring Combat Mage Seeking a Challenge. The title alone promised danger. The footnotes had more kills than some Dark wizards. And Josh had read every word.

He closed the book with a soft sigh and set it aside, eyes flicking toward the floating clock face embedded in the library wall. Runes glowed faintly around its edges, marking the time not just in hours and minutes, but also in the phases of the moon and the leyline resonance in the surrounding countryside. Magic and time, interwoven like embroidery on linen.

Josh took a long sip of what was either his fourth or seventh cup of coffee. He wasn't sure anymore. Somewhere around cup five the spoon had tried to escape and the mug had made a noise like it had opinions.

He sighed. "I miss vaping."

Just vaping. No-Maj style. Back in his old life, Josh liked his clouds cold, mint and menthol sharp enough to stun a banshee. Nothing fancy, just clean and brutal. Cigarettes stank, cigars were obnoxious, and while pipe tobacco had its perks, it wasn't the taste he missed. It was the ritual. The quiet pull of habit and breath.

He exhaled and leaned his head back against the wall. His hair was longer than it had been in months, gleaming copper under the moonlight like an ember refusing to die out.

"Old habits die hard," he muttered. "So do caffeine addictions."

The last forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind. And that was being charitable.

On Friday morning, he had walked into Black Manor as a Myrddin heir with suspicions, hidden knowledge from a past life, a handful of documents, and a subtle, growing network of alliances. By Friday evening, he had helped orchestrate one of the most quietly explosive political meetings in recent British magical history.

Sirius Black's lack of trial had been exposed. The Tonks family restored to full standing within the House of Black. Arcturus himself had thundered with the weight of family and magic, declaring blood and duty in equal measure.

And then Amelia Bones had taken the entire situation like a folder labeled "Immediate Career-Ending Truths," and walked directly into Azkaban.

She hadn't needed a warrant. She was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

What she had needed was clarity.

Sirius had given it.

He had agreed to Veritaserum. Agreed to an oath, tied to his very magic, that he would tell the truth or forfeit his gifts entirely.

She'd asked every question that mattered. Why he was on that street. Why he hadn't fought the charges. Why he hadn't called for a trial. Why no one had.

He'd told her everything. Every dark, bitter, soul-twisting piece of it.

And somewhere in the middle of the recounting, he'd looked at her with that same crooked half-smile he'd worn during their Auror academy days and said, "I never said it then, but I had a hell of a crush on you."

Josh hadn't needed to hear the next part to know Amelia's reaction. The stiff spine. The small blink. The faintest pink at the tips of her ears.

Sirius had told her there was another copy of the Potters' will. A backup vault. One not registered with the Ministry.

Josh had learned of it within hours. So had Arcturus.

And with Amelia's sworn affidavit and Sirius's permission, the vault had been opened.

The will was inside.

Josh hadn't read it yet. Neither had Arcturus. That moment had been reserved for Monday.

But the implications? Those had already begun rippling.

Josh took another sip of coffee. His left eye twitched slightly. He ignored it.

He placed the rune book on the table with reverence and stood up. His legs ached from being still too long. He stretched, vertebrae popping in a satisfying chorus, and walked toward the enchanted window that shimmered with protective wards.

Outside, the grounds of Myrddin Manor lay blanketed in shadows. No threats. No alarms. Just peace.

He frowned. He didn't trust peace. Not for long.

Not when the System had been quiet.

Not when the multiverse was due.

His fingertips brushed the silver ring at his finger. The Myrddin crest pulsed faintly.

And then, with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt in a library, his interface lit up.

SYSTEM ALERT: EMERGENCY QUEST AVAILABLE

Josh blinked.

"Well. There it is."

Text began to scroll.

EMERGENCY OPTIONAL QUEST UNLOCKED

Title: Two Very LostGirls

Location Anchor: Night City (Corrupted Save Instance)

Difficulty Level: Catastrophic

Briefing:

Unexpected timeline turbulence has displaced two high-priority entities into a corrupted simulation tethered to one of your legacy instances. Their presence is destabilizing local continuity and attracting unwanted attention from aggressive factions. They are disoriented, under fire, and out of place.

You are the only Administrator-class Operator with sufficient narrative authority and contextual familiarity to resolve the breach.

Primary Objectives:

Locate and identify the two displaced individuals.

Secure both targets and evacuate with minimal casualties.

Stabilize corrupted timeline node.

Extract with all key assets and loadout intact.

Bonus Objectives:

Recover relevant iconic equipment from across the instance.

Engage with local philosophical entity.

Enhance allies' operational effectiveness via legal in-world channels.

Avoid large-scale street conflict. (Optional)

Exit the Clouds facility alive. (Highly encouraged)

Rewards Upon Completion:

Permanent Access Node: Revisit enabled for future operations.

Iconic Asset Sync: Select equipment carried forward post-jump.

Classified Reward: Companion upgrade and world-compatibility protocols.

Unique Title Unlocked: Night Runner

Encrypted Stream Archive: Admin review only.

[REDACTED - Admin Eyes Only]

Failure Penalty:

Permanent loss of instance anchor.

Entity termination.

Timeline corruption may ripple into connected narrative threads.

System will be very disappointed. Also: sass.

System Prompt:

They don't belong there. But neither did you the first time.

You've got 10 minutes to grab your gear and do what you do best.

Rescue. Run. Rewrite the damn rules.

Accept Quest?

[ ACCEPT ] [ I PREFER NOT TO GET SHOT AT TONIGHT ]

Josh rubbed his eyes.

"Cyberpunk. Of course. Of course it's that save file."

The one where he'd gone full Netrunner with stealth build. The one where he'd made emotional decisions instead of optimal ones.

He swore under his breath.

The interface pinged again.

Prep window: 10 minutes. Bring what you want. No return until extraction complete.

Josh moved fast.

He grabbed his wand first along with his staff and a holster. Then the rune-amplified shield from his first system mission. His kinetic and magic-dampening trench coat Percival gave him for his birthday the only time he ever managed to hit him with an expelliarmus in a mock duel. Three Wiggenweld potions. Two runed daggers. A pack of gum, because it was habit without his vape.

Then he looked back at the book.

He picked it up. Slid it into his satchel.

The multiverse was calling.

And he had a thing for lost causes.

System Notification: Environment shift detected. Updating interface to urbanized schema.

Chat style: Modern mobile layout. Typing indicators active. Scrolls: Deprecated in this instance. Ambient tracking: Engaged.

System Prompt: Stream Activation Recommended. Press [HERE] to activate stream access in 5 minutes. Warning: Declining will result in loss of engagement bonus. Also, we will call you a False Legend.

[ACTIVATE CHAT STREAM?] [YES] [NO, I'M SOFT]

V pressed [YES]. "Ain't no way I'm a fake, choom. I earned my cred."

The system purred in his neural link. Stream online. Multiversal routing stabilized. Viewer count: initializing.

The world resolved around him in layers of heat and neon. Night City. The skyline shimmered with static haze and chrome reflections, and the scent of ozone, sweat, and tech hung thick in the air. Dust scattered as his boots landed on cracked pavement. Behind him, the portal sealed itself with a shuddering blink.

Josh was gone. Here, he was V.

He flexed his fingers and felt the ripple of biofeedback travel up through monowire sheathed just under the skin. A flick of thought, and a pale thread glimmered in his palm before snapping back into its housing. His HUD glowed blue-gold, built from muscle memory and myth. Everything loaded properly: cyberdeck interface synced, kinetic dampeners stable, kinetic jumps enabled. Coolant pump ready. Movement assist online.

No Sandevistan. No Mantis Blades. V wasn't flashy. He was brutal.

Lynx-pumped double-jump? Active. Reflex booster with slow-mo triggers? Primed and humming.

A single inhale sharpened his senses. This world felt right. Like slipping back into a jacket that still held your shape.

He checked his inventory with a flick: all iconic weapons accounted for. The thermal katana. The Widow Maker. Guts. Comrade's Hammer. Even Skippy, now silent in respectful standby.

Money: obscene.

Reputation: legendary.

He cracked his neck once and pulled up the ride menu.

"Let's get loud."

One swipe later, Jackie's bike responded. The Tyger-blue light of the summon glowed down the alley, and a rumble echoed as it auto-drove into position.

He slung his satchel onto the back holster. Cosmetic only. System said it would stay, and he liked the flair.

V mounted the bike, engine growling like a half-drunk devil.

The HUD pinged. Destination: Clouds.

He narrowed his eyes behind mirrored optics. "Tiger Claws, huh? Time to break a few claws off at the root."

Throttle twisted.

Night City roared to meet him.

Stream online. Multiversal routing stabilized. Viewer count: initializing.

> momfriend.exe:

😳 Holy crap. Is this real-time?

> cartoon_nightmare:

Wait wait wait wait. Are we finally getting a stream? That a HUD? Is that a HUD?! Bro's actually streaming!

> disinterested_doorknob:

Bold move. What's next? Merch?

> most_interesting_demigod:

First of all... FINALLY. Second of all... where the hell is he?

> AncientLibrarian:

The ambient data overlay suggests a high-tech urban sprawl with layered infrastructure. Temperature spikes, metallic particulates. Heavy surveillance presence.

> LawLord:

It's loud. Gritty. I don't recognize the architecture. Not British. Definitely not.

> SandHatesMe:

Why does it feel like we're about to witness a mugging and/or a revolution?

> KnightSentinel:

The tension here is... sharp. Every corner looks like it's waiting to bite.

> FulcrumInChat:

Street's too clean for a slum. Too broken for peace. Place breathes danger.

> BillionairePlayboy:

Aaaand now I want a custom bike. That one purrs like it's got attitude. Can someone screenshot that angle?

> momfriend.exe:

Is that... is that him? The reflection on the side panel just now. I think that was OffScript. He's... older than I thought?

> cartoon_nightmare:

You sure? I caught it too but the glass was tinted. Could've been a trick of the lighting.

> LawLord:

Doesn't matter. He rides like someone who's done it before. Knows where he's going.

> AncientLibrarian:

Pattern suggests pursuit. High-value objective or threat inbound.

> most_interesting_demigod:

Oh, I like this city. It feels... mythic. Gutter magic and gunpowder. Right up my alley.

> FulcrumInChat:

It's more than that. There's something off about the rhythm of this place. Too fast. Like the rules here don't care if you keep up.

> KnightSentinel:

Then we observe. No interference. Not until we understand the stakes.

OffScript:

"Welcome to Night City, kids. City of dreams. And bullets. Try not to catch either in the wrong spot."

The chat detonated.

> cartoon_nightmare:

IS THAT NIGHT CITY?!

THE NEON, THE SMOG, THE BIKES

BRO I CAN SMELL THE STREET PIZZA AND REGRET

HE'S ACTUALLY THERE—

> most_interesting_demigod:

I KNOW THOSE ROOFTOPS I KNOW THAT SKYLINE

THAT'S THE REAL ONE THAT'S—

WAIT DOES THIS MEAN HE'S GOT—

> cartoon_nightmare:

WAIT. IS THIS PRE-DAVID OR POST-DAVID OR IS HE PLAYING V OR—

> System Notification:

[CARTOON_NIGHTMARE] has been silenced.

Reason: Attempted disclosure of classified contextual metadata.

Sanction: Temporary lockout from chat functions.

Advice: Let the choom work. Don't break the veil.

> most_interesting_demigod:

Wait are we talking base game or—

> System Notification:

[MOST_INTERESTING_DEMIGOD] has been silenced.

Reason: Detected spillover of privileged information.

Advisory: You may resume yelling once you stop leaking timelines.

> momfriend.exe:

Oh no they got timeline-nuked. Beautiful.

> disinterested_doorknob:

Honestly? That's the most peace and quiet we've had in months.

> AncientLibrarian:

There's poetry in their downfall.

> LawLord:

I mean... we're not not impressed.

> BillionairePlayboy:

So. This is what god-tier street presence looks like. No wonder his jacket's tailored.

> FulcrumInChat:

Anyone else feel like we just dropped into a war documentary and forgot our popcorn?

> KnightSentinel:

He's on a mission. Don't blink.

> SandHatesMe:

Or breathe wrong. Something about this air smells like a bad choice in slow motion.

The streets of Westbrook blurred into streams of light as V opened the throttle.

His fingers drummed along the grip, HUD pulsing at the edges with proximity markers and atmospheric reads. The Tyger Claws owned this part of the city on paper, but V? V had burned enough of their hideouts to have his name whispered like a slasher myth.

Ahead, the skyline twisted. Old steel layered with chrome upgrades, temples to capitalism half-gutted and rebuilt with luminous ads. Clouds shimmered on the horizon, its glowing koi sign slithering like a lazy god over the entrance.

"Approaching primary objective," the system whispered into his neural link. "Combat authorization at full. Reputation modifiers engaged."

He smirked. "You hear that, Clouds? Daddy's home."

He slid off the bike just shy of the curb, boots thudding against ferrocrete. The AI shut down with a purr, and the bike dimmed its lights like a dog settling to watch its master hunt.

V pulled up the brief again with a flick of thought.

Emergency Optional Quest: Two Very LostGirls

Location: Clouds Facility – Upper Westbrook

Status: High Alert

Target Signal: Active. Faint. Moving.

The doors hissed open as he approached. Clouds recognized the VIP clearance. He still had the override shard from his last visit, blessed by double-crosses and long memories.

Inside, the air was too clean. Filtered. Hushed like a confession booth. The scent of synthetic cherry and something sharper tried to hide blood in the walls.

V's optics scanned the hostess.

"You're not on schedule," she said coolly.

"I'm freelance," he replied. "Custom job. Special pickup."

Her mouth opened, probably to protest, then she blinked and hesitated. His rep was already rewriting her instincts.

"Room 34," she said finally. "End of the east hall. I didn't see you."

"You never do."

He moved fast.

The hallway was empty. Too quiet.

At the door to 34, his HUD spiked red.

Heartbeat. Two targets. One yelling. One injured.

He kicked the door in.

The room exploded in motion. A Tyger Claw turned, gun halfway up. V shot him in the neck before the blink finished. The second tried to run. Bad choice. Monowire lashed out, silent and fast, cutting clean through cyberware and bone.

Silence returned.

Two girls stared back at him, wide-eyed.

One wore a leather jacket and combat boots too worn to be aesthetic. Her knuckles were bleeding.

The other, her eyes flaring faint gold, had an aura like static electricity. She looked ready to bite the throat out of anyone in the room.

He holstered his pistol. "Bo. Kenzi. Time to go."

They hesitated.

He tilted his head, voice calm but sharp. "You wanna chat, or you wanna live? Move."

Kenzi blinked, grabbed Bo's wrist, and followed.

Behind them, the system pinged again.

Target Secured: Extraction Phase Initiated

Remaining Hostiles: 27

"Let's dance," V muttered.

The gunshot echoed like a war drum.

Somewhere in the halls, alarms shrieked to life. The lighting flipped to red. Emergency protocols kicked in. Clouds was going into lockdown.

V didn't wait.

He pushed Bo and Kenzi ahead through the doorframe, pivoted, and sent a round through the faceplate of the first guard to round the corner. The man crumpled, his weapon clattering beside him.

Footsteps. Shouting. The pounding thud of combat boots converging from all angles.

V moved.

His body was already in combat rhythm. Monowire primed, reflex booster engaged. Time slowed to syrup as he slid around a corner, gun already tracking. Three Claws. Two SMGs, one katana.

One, two, three.

They dropped like puppets with their strings cut.

Bo ducked under a flying shard of glass. Kenzi stumbled, caught herself, grabbed a pistol from the body of a Claw and followed V without thinking.

He shoved open a side door, grabbed a flash grenade from his belt, and tossed it blind.

White light. Screams. The scent of burning optics and fried nerves.

He dove through the smoke, slicing the kneecap off a bouncer who never saw it coming. Blood sprayed the wall in a black-red arc.

Three more came from the left. V dropped low, raised his left hand, and triggered his thermal katana. The blade ignited with a low roar. He spun once. Limbs flew. Smoke followed.

No mercy.

A gun barked behind him. Kenzi. Not a perfect shot, but center mass. Good enough.

"Nice," V grunted. "Keep going."

No response. They were in shock, but alive.

Up ahead, the main stairwell. Reinforcements flooded it like roaches spilling from a broken wall.

V raised his hand.

Grenade. Rebound frag. Off the railing. Detonated mid-fall.

Three bodies were flung sideways. One screamed, one didn't have time.

He followed it with his wire.

Leg. Throat. Spine.

The stairwell was theirs.

"Bo, Kenzi, down the stairs now."

Gunfire chased them. Sparks skittered along the rails. V took the hits that would have landed on them, his armor plates absorbing most of it. Bruises bloomed beneath, but he didn't slow.

He vaulted over the last five steps, hit the ground running, and clipped the last guard with a headshot that split his visor in half.

One final hallway. Emergency exit flashing green.

Locked.

No time.

V slammed his monowire into the panel. Electricity surged. The door buckled. He kicked it open.

The alley behind Clouds was a blur of neon and trash. The bike waited at the far end, growling low.

Two Claws turned at the sound of the door. One raised a shotgun.

V shot first.

Both fell.

He turned. Bo and Kenzi stumbled through after him, breathing hard. Blood on Kenzi's sleeve. Bo's hands shook.

Sirens in the distance. Tires screeching.

Too late.

He grabbed the satchel, flipped it open, and pulled a small shard from its hidden compartment.

"Hold on," he growled.

He mounted the bike. Kenzi got on behind him, Bo gripping the rear frame. One arm still raised, eyes scanning the corners.

The engine howled as he peeled out.

Above them, drones zipped past.

He was already gone.

---

The alley blurred past in streaks of filth and light.

V gunned the engine, weaving through side roads, ignoring traffic laws, shooting red lights like they owed him money. Kenzi held on like her life depended on it. It did. Bo kept her weight low, eyes scanning behind them, alert even through the haze of adrenaline.

They didn't head to Watson. That was heat central. Corpo eyes, NCPD scanners, Tyger informants. Too hot.

Instead, V banked hard at an intersection and veered southeast, cutting through Japantown toward Charter Hill. Old routes. Backroads. Off-grid paths.

Every bump in the road rattled through the chassis of the bike, but the growl of the engine steadied him.

"Hold on, chooms," he muttered. "Almost there."

The safe house was buried in an old parking structure beneath a closed ramen shop. He'd paid for it in clean eddies and silence. Fully reinforced. EMP-shielded. No network ping. No corp surveillance.

It looked like a broken delivery station with a busted neon sign reading NIKO'S NOODLES.

The back shutter recognized his signal and slid open with a hydraulic hiss.

He rolled the bike inside, hit the lockdown panel, and the entire garage door slammed shut behind them. Concrete muffled the world outside.

Lights flickered on — warm and yellow. Just enough to see.

The room was spartan. Couch. Med station. Ammo bench. Mini-fridge. Fold-out cots. Nothing traceable. Everything lethal.

He cut the engine. "Off the bike."

They climbed off, shaking. Kenzi leaned against a support pillar, hand still gripping the pistol. Bo stood taller now, jaw clenched, eyes still glowing faintly with residual chi.

V holstered Johnny's gun, crossed the room, and tapped a console. An old school biometric scanner slid out.

"System. Secure."

Metal shutters slammed over the few remaining windows. The lights shifted to combat red.

They were safe. For now.

Bo looked at him. "What the hell was that?"

"Clouds," V said, grabbing water bottles from the mini-fridge and tossing them one by one. "Tyger Claws. Your entry point dumped you straight into their turf. Bad luck."

Kenzi downed the water like it owed her rent. "Who... are you?"

He grinned, just a little. "Name's V. I'm the guy who breaks the script."

Behind his optics, the stream window pinged to life. Viewer count rising.

In the upper right corner, a new alert flickered:

> CHAT SYNC RECONNECTED

STREAM STABILIZED

SYSTEM PROMPT: That was spicy. Do it again.

He wiped blood from his jaw with the back of his hand and leaned against the wall, letting himself breathe.

"Alright, girls. You're safe. But Night City's like a pissed-off god. It remembers who walks its streets."

V stepped over to the encrypted terminal and pulled up a secure line. It rang twice.

"Yo, Wakako. Got a favor to call in."

A pause. Then her voice, smooth and sharp.

"I assume this is about the mess at Clouds."

"You assume right. I need the Claws to stand down. Or I start burning down every den they crawl into."

A breath.

"I will make the call. But if they ignore it…"

"They won't. Tell them I'm back. And I'm watching."

He ended the call.

The next move was theirs.

The silence in the safehouse held like a taut wire.

Kenzi sat on the arm of the couch, legs curled up, pistol still in her lap. She hadn't said a word since they arrived. Bo paced the far wall, jaw clenched, every step sharp and deliberate. The fight hadn't left them. It was just waiting for the next spark.

V let them be.

He moved through the motions. Scanned the cameras. Checked the locks. Set the system to passive detection only. He didn't speak. The adrenaline was still in his teeth, but the rage had cooled to something sharper. More focused.

Clouds was done. The Claws would either back off or burn for it.

Night City had been reminded. He was back.

He leaned against the wall, lit by the red glow of the safehouse's combat lamps. Eyes on the terminal. Breathing steady. Alive.

The ambient hum of the city buzzed through the walls. Distant sirens. The thrum of AVs overhead. The hiss of neon rain.

Then the static came.

Somewhere beyond the ferrocrete, a radio signal broke through the noise. Old. Analog. Half-garbage. Half-magic.

> 📻 NC77.3 — The Wire

"Clock's tickin' past midnight, chooms. You made it through another round."

"City's still standing. Barely. And so are you."

"If you're tuning in from the edge, don't forget. Safety's a myth, and calm just means the next storm's loading."

"So keep your iron clean, your optics sharp, and your crew tighter than your trauma seals."

"This is The Wire, signing off until the next bloodstained sunrise."

"Remember. Legends burn bright. But in Night City?"

"They burn fast."

The feed cut. Static rolled back into silence.

And for a heartbeat longer, no one moved.

Then V rolled his shoulders, turned to the girls, and finally spoke.

"Get some rest."