Cyberpunk: I'm Not a Scavenger - Chapter 3: It's High Noon (Patreon)

Rain and hail poured onto Night City's battered streets.

"Come on, kitty! Stop running! Mommy's right here. Come to me!"

"Eat shit, you fucking Scavengers!"

Two groups stood in the nearly deserted street, pouring gunfire into each other.

They sprayed bullets as if ammunition were free, and their mouths were just as busy, trading enthusiastic insults about one another's families.

Every shop along the street had pulled down its shutters and locked up tight. Now and then, wary eyes peeked through gaps in the metal.

Most drivers took a long detour around the firefight. A few reckless ones floored their accelerators and charged through, their tires grinding over empty casings and throwing off sparks.

Nobody called the police. Nobody came to intervene.

That was Night City.

A wrecked car burned fiercely. Black smoke billowed upward through the rain, and puddles reflected the silhouettes of men who looked like demons.

So used to bullying everyone around them, the gangsters had no idea that someone was coming to send the whole lot of them to hell together.

Pantheon approached beneath a streetlight, whistling softly. The silver finish of his Malorian Overture caught the light as he moved through the darkness.

Raindrops struck his shoulders, bursting into tiny splashes.

He lowered the brim of his hat, kept his revolver low in his right hand, and rested his left hand lightly on the hammer. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"It's... high... noon!"

A Scavenger sheltering behind a car while he reloaded sensed something wrong. He looked up sharply, saw a figure standing in the rain, and instinctively raised his gun.

Click. Click.

The empty weapon answered him with two dry sounds, sending a chill through his body. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he was already too late.

[Dead Eye]!

The ability took hold. The world abruptly changed color, turning into a motionless expanse of amber.

Raindrops hung in the air. Bullets crept forward, dragging pale trails behind them.

The Scavenger's mouth gaped open, his Adam's apple working soundlessly.

Pantheon's eyes swept across the exposed gunmen. A glaring crimson marker appeared over each target's head.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Six shots rang out so quickly they sounded almost like one.

The Malorian Overture's recoil left Pantheon's wrists tingling, but a fresh surge of power swept through him.

[Stronger with Every Battle]!

Effect: Each defeated enemy increases attack speed and critical hit chance by 5%, stacking up to four times. Lasts one minute, with the duration resetting whenever another enemy is defeated.

Before the first Scavenger could react, he watched his comrades' heads burst one after another like watermelons smashed with a sledgehammer.

Red and white gore mixed with brain matter sprayed across his face.

"Ahhh! Cyberpsycho!"

The terrified Scavenger kept squeezing his trigger. Once, twice, again. His weapon answered with nothing but empty clicks.

He scrambled away on his hands and knees, slipping on the wet pavement, getting up only to fall again. His limbs seemed to have a mind of their own as he staggered toward the opposite side of the street.

The Tyger Claws across the road stared in confusion.

Their view was partly blocked, and they couldn't tell what had happened. All they could see was one Scavenger after another dropping to the ground.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three more shots. The first two shattered the fleeing man's legs, and the third destroyed his hand.

Even after that, he refused to die.

He dragged his mangled body over the road, inch by bloody inch.

His fingernails clawed at the pavement, leaving a long red trail behind him, as though some unspeakable demon were pursuing him.

The Tyger Claws shuddered as they watched.

They raised their guns and scanned the street, crowding together as if being close to one another would somehow make them safer.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Measured footsteps cut through the rain. A figure slowly emerged from the darkness.

He wore a camouflage boonie hat and a worn-out bulletproof vest. Underneath it, of all things, were faded overalls.

What the fuck was that outfit?

Didn't this guy own a single normal piece of clothing?

Several thugs nearly forgot their fear in their urge to make fun of him.

Their boss, however, had quietly shifted his position. Without drawing attention to himself, he'd put the other three men between himself and the newcomer.

The two at the front tried to raise their guns. Before their barrels were even halfway up, bullets struck the weapons and knocked them out of their hands.

The pair exchanged a furious glance, drew their knives, and charged, unable to stand the humiliation.

They certainly had thick skulls. Unfortunately for them, those skulls weren't actually bulletproof.

Without subdermal armor or titanium-alloy bones, what chance did they have against .50-caliber rounds?

The final Tyger Claws underling lost his nerve completely.

He turned to run. A bullet entered the back of his head and tore out through his mouth.

Pantheon opened the revolver's cylinder, shook out the spent casings, and calmly loaded fresh rounds one by one. He paid the remaining boss no attention at all.

Gulp.

The Tyger Claws boss swallowed hard. His trousers were soaked.

Was it sweat?

No. It was piss. A man facing an opponent like this couldn't possibly be sweating from mere exertion.

"W-wait! Who sent you?"

Driven to desperation by the certainty of death, the boss suddenly came up with an idea and shouted the question.

Pantheon paused, genuinely puzzled.

Hadn't these bastards been the ones who started trouble with him?

Whatever. It wouldn't hurt to bluff a little.

He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Does it really matter who sent me? Where's the merchandise?"

"I don't care whether you're working for Biotechnica, Kang Tao, or Zetatech. If I die, nobody gets those blueprints!"

Oh? Had he just hit the jackpot?

Pantheon perked up, his thoughts racing.

Until now, he'd assumed the Tyger Claws and Scavengers were simply fighting each other like a pack of rabid dogs.

But someone must have hired the Scavengers to intercept the Tyger Claws, and the prize was apparently a set of blueprints.

"Actually, I'm just a passerby. You scratched my car, so I came over for a little revenge."

Pantheon kept talking while carefully studying the man's movements.

"Bullshit! Do you even believe that yourself?" the boss snapped, eyes red with desperation. "Get me out of Night City and I'll tell you where it is!"

"Oh, really?"

Pantheon had suddenly noticed something.

The man was oddly protective of the pouch at his waist. He'd covered it with his hand several times and even turned sideways to hide it.

"You've got it on you, haven't you?"

The boss instinctively reached toward the pouch, then froze halfway through the motion.

His hand trembled like he had Parkinson's disease. His strained smile looked worse than a grimace.

"Uh... Can we make peace?"

"Seriously? You're asking me that now?"

They exchanged words almost casually, as though nothing had happened.

Then the boss lunged without warning, snatching a grenade from his belt to threaten Pantheon.

[Dead Eye]!

Time slowed once again. Pantheon had never let his guard down. He shifted his aim toward the man's limbs.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The boss screamed and collapsed. The joints of his arms and legs were shattered, and the grenade slipped from his hand.

Pantheon approached, tore the pouch from his waist, and pulled out a surprisingly heavy chip.

The Militech emblem on its surface glowed a faint blue. This was clearly no ordinary piece of hardware.

He pocketed it, then looked down at the boss, who was still twitching on the pavement.

Pantheon had always been a kindhearted soul. He couldn't bear to watch another person suffer.

So he thoughtfully put the man out of his misery. Whether Night City's hell had any succubi waiting for him was another question.