Cyberpunk: I'm Not a Scavenger - Chapter 17: Bring On the Cheats! (Patreon)

The first contest would be boxing.

Jackie couldn't even be bothered to take off his shirt. He simply rolled up his sleeves and handed his weapons to Pantheon.

"José, we've known each other for years. No need to waste time talking."

Jackie smiled amiably, but the moment he stepped into the ring, his gaze sharpened.

José grimaced. The others might not know how good Jackie was, but he certainly did. Every man he had here would end up taking a beating.

He scanned the crowd and suddenly brightened. There was his volunteer.

“Jackie, you've really made something of yourself. Getting gigs from Padre and everything. But we're still gangsters, and we can't afford to look weak.”

José sounded almost sentimental as he waved one massive hand.

"Juan! Go see what Jackie can do!"

A giant nearly two meters tall pushed through the crowd, his bulging muscles straining against his clothes.

Juan had only recently joined the Valentinos and was desperate for a chance to establish himself. Now his boss had practically handed him one.

The surrounding Valentinos cheered as he stepped forward.

"Come on, Juan! We've been through bullets and blades! Keep your head up and don't embarrass us!"

Juan roared and took his place in the middle of the improvised ring.

He attacked first, throwing a heavy punch with everything he had. His fist whistled through the air. If it connected, even a titanium skull would rattle.

But although Jackie was built like a heavyweight bruiser, his footwork was surprisingly nimble.

After all, he'd learned from Viktor, once a legendary boxer in Night City!

Jackie slipped aside from the incoming punch and used the brief opening before Juan could recover to drive a devastating hook into the right side of his abdomen.

Thud!

The dull impact rang out. Juan's enormous frame swayed, but he didn't fall. Sweat rolled down his forehead as the pain in his gut forced him to gasp for breath.

"Hah... Hah..."

Once he'd recovered a little, Juan attacked again. This time he advanced in short steps, testing Jackie with a succession of hooks.

The two traded blows while the Valentinos cheered for Juan and, on the other side, the 6th Street gangsters shouted encouragement to Jackie.

"Come on, Jackie! Hit him in the eye! That's it!"

"Don't give up, Juan! He's getting tired! Hang in there!"

But even the cheering couldn't hide how badly Juan was doing. In the end, Jackie knocked him unconscious with a straight punch.

Breathing hard, Jackie lowered his fist, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and turned toward José.

"Good fight. Your guy's got some moves."

José and several of his men carried Juan away. At Jackie's compliment, the corner of José's eye twitched.

"All right, Jackie. You haven't been slacking since you left the gang. You're still as sharp as ever." He managed a wry smile. "The Valentinos concede. We're done here."

With the Valentinos handled, dealing with 6th Street naturally fell to Pantheon.

Tommy knew they'd run into trouble today, but leaving with their tails between their legs wasn't how 6th Street operated.

He rested a hand on his holster, stepped forward, and addressed Pantheon.

"The Valentinos might be done, but 6th Street isn't. So, choom, how do you want to settle this? Your call."

Pantheon didn't answer immediately. He surveyed the area and noticed a heap of empty bottles beside the repair shop. Judging by the mess, they were probably leftovers from the gangsters' drinking.

"Don't you 6th Street guys hold shooting competitions all the time? Let's test our marksmanship."

He pointed toward the pile, smiling like someone about to trick a child out of his candy.

"Moving targets. Ten rounds each. Whoever hits more bottles wins. What do you say?"

Tommy's eyes lit up. His confidence returned at once.

Other contests might be a gamble, but shooting was different. He came from a military family, had handled firearms since childhood, and had even won a 6th Street shooting championship. He wasn't about to believe anyone here was a better marksman than him.

"You're on! But who's tossing the targets? We can't exactly let a Valentino do it, can we?"

He gave the other side a disdainful glance.

The Valentinos were about to respond when someone interrupted.

"I'll do it!"

Lisa, who had kept quiet until now, stepped forward. She straightened her rumpled corporate uniform, her clear voice leaving no room for argument.

"My father's mistake started this mess. That means I should be the one throwing the targets. Nobody else is doing it!"

Tommy and Pantheon exchanged a glance. Neither objected.

"All right, Lisa. You do it."

The crowd moved aside, clearing a space for the contest.

Lisa stopped beside the pile of bottles and took a deep breath. "Ready!"

Tommy drew a compact, elegant Omaha from his holster. Its gleaming finish made it obvious how carefully he'd maintained it.

"Go!"

At Lisa's shout, she seized two bottles, one in each hand, and tossed them into the air.

Bang! Bang!

Tommy reacted instantly. He fired twice, shattering both bottles in midair.

Lisa gritted her teeth and kept changing the force and angle of her throws. Some flew high, others low, making them difficult targets.

But her tricks didn't faze Tommy.

He shattered eight bottles in ten attempts, an impressive performance.

The 6th Street members erupted in cheers. Even the red-haired woman, who'd worn a scowl until now, managed a stiff smile.

The Valentinos, meanwhile, frowned and silently took note of his skill.

"Beat that, King. Your turn."

Tommy twirled his gun, blew the smoke from its muzzle, and gave Pantheon a challenging look.

"Give up now, kid! Tommy's our shooting champion!"

The spectators had little faith in Pantheon. Even Jackie was worried, and Lisa seemed to be the only one cheering him on.

Pantheon chuckled with an outward show of calm. Inside, though, he was starting to sweat.

He genuinely hadn't expected Tommy to be that good. Judging by pure marksmanship, he probably couldn't match him.

But so what? Pantheon had put in the effort. He'd sweated and worked hard. Surely heaven wouldn't let down a man who tried so earnestly!

He strode forward, the silver Malorian in his hand looking like a work of art.

"Lisa, throw them however you like. Trust me."

His voice was perfectly composed.

Lisa saw his confident expression and believed him without hesitation.

She grabbed four bottles and hurled them into the air with all her strength.

Fuck! Why do you trust me that much?!

Pantheon was screaming internally, but there was nothing for it now.

Come on, cheats! Don't fail me!

[Dead Eye]!

The four bottles traced separate arcs, but with [Dead Eye] Pantheon could pick out the exact point where those complicated trajectories converged.

Bang! Bang!

Two shots shattered all four bottles.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

"What?! How's that possible?!"

"He's a goddamn superhuman!"

Lisa looked stunned too. Then, encouraged by what she'd seen, she began throwing bottles one after another.

Pantheon's eye twitched slightly. He steadied his arm and squeezed the trigger, each bullet finding its target as though it had eyes.

After emptying all six chambers, he flicked the cylinder, reloaded, and snapped it shut in one smooth movement.

On his final shot, he repeated the trick, breaking two bottles with a single bullet.

Ten shots. Thirteen hits.

An unbelievable accuracy rate of 130 percent.

The competition ended in utter silence.