Chapter 2: Chapter 2 – Welcome to Night City

"Ughhh... Fuck"

Waking up, I felt a symphony of pain throughout my entire body. My arms ached, my neck felt strained, and my feet felt like I'd been walking barefoot for hours. I rolled over onto my back so that I could be in a more comfortable position. I need at least another hour or two before I can get out of bed.

Not only did my body hurt, but I also had an absolute killer of a headache. A dull discomfort at the base of my skull kept me from nodding back to sleep. Worst of all was this background ringing that was constantly in my head. Similar to what happens in a video game when you survive an explosion or get wasted.

Wait... Video games. Explosion. I'm missing something here.

"Holy shit, that's right. My computer exploding!"

Remembering what happened before my little "nap", I shot up to take in the situation around me. I first noticed that I wasn't in my bed. I wasn't even in my room. I was in some dark alley filled with full garbage bags and dumpsters. The hard concrete floor I seemed to be sleeping on was sticky with some kind of nasty grime. Off in the distance, I could vaguely hear the sound of cars and footsteps.

The sudden movement of getting up exacerbated my headache and caused a wave of nausea to wash over me. Feeling the familiar discomfort of puke making its way up, I started dry heaving. I managed to double over just in time to avoid vomiting all over myself. After a minute of voiding my stomach content, I got up to distance myself from the minor biological disaster I had caused.

Then I noticed the stench all around me. What I can only describe as a mixture of spoilt milk and rotten eggs assaulted my nose, and I reflexively pinched my nostrils shut with my right hand. Only to then be surprised by the unnatural temperature of my fingers.

The cold, metal-like sensation of my fingertips against my nose caused me to look down at my hand. What I saw was my fingers covered in dull silver paint. Upon closer inspection, my fingers weren't painted but actually made of some kind of metal. Flexing it open and shut allowed me to see the metal joints that replaced my knuckles.

The surface had minor scratches and looked well-worn, like silverware, after years of use and repeated cleaning. Considering I didn't wake up in a sterile lab or hospital room, this isn't one of those million-dollar-man situations. It's not like some shady government organization would give me advanced prosthetics and dump my body in the middle of nowhere. The dull condition of the metal also pointed at the metal fingers being something used and not new.

I quickly looked at my other arm and sighed at what seemed to be a regular hand, only to notice a strange graft from the wrist to the middle of my forearm. It was a black upside-down triangle with a small cylinder near the base of my palm. Grabbing onto the cylinder with my new metal fingers, I pulled on the small cylinder, and a wire followed. I kept pulling until there was no more wire to pull out.

This small wire was roughly two feet long and made of some kind of black composite material. At this point, my mind was racing a million miles an hour. I had a sneaking suspicion of what happened to me but was still holding out that this was some kind of cruel joke with incredible practical effects. 

I looked everywhere around me, hoping I would find a camera crew hidden if I just looked long enough. That soon, some minor celebrity would pop up around the corner and say some dumb catchphrase like 'punked ya' or 'you've been pranked'—no such luck.

I could feel myself spiraling out of control. My hands were shaking, and I started feeling queasy again. Attempting to get my mind off of just how fucked I might be, I started checking my body to see if I could find anything useful. Something that maybe indicated where I was or how I could get back home.

I wore a cheap dark navy suit, a white collared shirt, and basic black dress shoes. Fumbling around in my pockets, I found a strange all-glass phone, a pack of cigarettes, a set of keys, and a simple lighter.

"No cash. Which would make sense if I was somehow transmigrated into a technologically advanced world where everything was integrated into your freaking mind!"

Ok. Less talking to myself, especially if it could be more reassuring. Freaking out won't help. Probably. Upon further inspection of my body, I noticed that I had lost some weight and seemed to have gotten taller as well. 

"Silver fucking lining. Let's take stock. New body. Weird robotic body parts. A strange wire that in the middle of my wrist. This is starting to seem like a certain video game."

Fuck, dude! I thought we just agreed not to talk to ourselves!

Deciding that I needed to be sure of my situation before balling up into a fetal position and crying myself to sleep, I turned and started walking toward the sound of traffic. Along the way, I saw pizza boxes that said Buck-A-Slice, cans of soda with a girl showing her ass, and Nicola branding.

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After a left turn, a busy road popped up in front of me. Strange vehicles zoomed by, and even stranger people walked the streets. Some looked like ordinary people, but most had varying levels of metal that replaced regular human body parts. Some even looked to be completely covered in gold or chrome. A select few also had glowing eyes or neon hair. 

Walking to the middle of the sidewalk, I just stood there, absorbing all the new things around me. Large neon signs advertising companies I had never heard of. A small food stall was set up next to a pedestrian overpass, selling what seemed to be slices of pizza with grasshoppers on them.

While I was still gawking at the strange world around me, a large siren blared in the distance. Turning towards the sound, I saw a flying vehicle hover above all the other cars. Watching what I now recognize as an Aerodyne AV customized for Trauma Team International, I finally gave up and accepted reality. Somehow I was transmigrated to the dystopian future of Cyberpunk.

The aerial vehicle quickly flew past the gridlock and slowed down once it got near me. I put my arms up to block the wind generated by the engines and watched as the flying brick stopped 15 feet above me. The doors soon opened to reveal a small team of four medical professionals. 

Once they did a quick sweep of the surroundings, the squad jumped out and landed around me. All of them wore green jumpsuits, white vests, and white helmets. Two members holding assault rifles pushed past me while two more team members carrying medical supplies and a monitor came up to my position.

"Mr. Rogers? Dakota Rogers?"

One of the members carrying medical supplies walked up to me and started to manhandle me, checking me for injuries. I just stood there in shock, not understanding what was happening. Who the hell is Dakota Rogers? I'm Basil.

"Subject is conscious but non-responsive. Conducting a connection to the subject neural interface."

The medical professional then pulled a wire out of their tablet and jammed it into the back of my neck. I immediately saw a progress bar at the bottom of my screen that told me a medical scan was in progress. Once the bar filled up, the TTI member swiped a few times on the screen and removed the cable from my neck.

"Everything seems fine. The subject lost consciousness from a drug overdose. Heart failure was temporary. The subject is in good health. We are cleared to leave!"

After hearing the synopsis, the other three team members turned around and boarded back into the now-parked flying ambulance. The person who diagnosed me then looked back up at me.

"You're heart temporarily flatlined between 7:01 and 7:03. Your trauma team Full Body Life Coverage automatically updated and sent our team to you. As you are no longer in physical danger, we will vacate the area. The drive took 12 minutes and 13 seconds, which will be rounded to 13 minutes. The total cost of the call is 1300 Eurodollars."

I just stood there, staring at the person in front of me, dressed in green and white. I barely understood anything that was said, other than that I seemed to owe a lot of money.

"What?"

The Trauma Team member seemed to have gotten impatient and grabbed my face, bringing it down to their level. Two blue lights on their helmet flashed, and the TTI member let go of my face. Muttering something about 'addicts wasting my time'. The guy turned around, jumped into the ambulance, and flew away.

Only after the vehicle flew out of view did I notice some numbers on the left of my sight. Three rows of numbers, the top being E$1400 followed by E$1300 and E$100.

"Welp... Now I'm poor."

 

Author's Note

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