Cyberpunk: My Shop in Night City - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Synopsis:

In Night City, legends are made by mercenaries, netrunners, and people crazy enough to take on the megacorporations.

John Lee has a different plan.

He's opening a convenience store.

After finding himself in the world of Cyberpunk, John has no intention of risking his life chasing fame. Why become another dead mercenary when he can make a fortune selling things nobody else can get?

Real meat, fresh vegetables, actual fruit, genuine chocolate... In a city where almost everything is synthetic, even the simplest products can be worth a fortune.

And thanks to a mysterious system, John has access to a supply that Night City's corporations can only dream of.

Of course, running a business in Night City is never that simple. Gangs, fixers, mercenaries, and corporate interests all have a way of showing up at his doorstep.

But John isn't worried.

Arasaka? Militech? They can fight over the city all they want.

He's got a business empire to build.

…

Chapter 1: A Welcome from the Badlands

Only when the gleaming barrel of a revolver came to rest against his forehead did John Lee finally accept that he really had landed in another world.

The gun belonged to a man of about forty. A straight ribbon of blacktop ran away behind him, cutting through the desert like a blade until it vanished at the horizon. Dust-laden wind swept over his weather-beaten, stubbled face, and the fierce sunlight cast a deep shadow beneath his pale brown cowboy hat. An iron sheriff's badge was pinned to the left breast of his gray jacket.

“Didn't anyone tell you the first thing you do when you reach this town is check in with the sheriff?”

“Sorry, Sheriff.”

John raised his hands without argument to show he wasn't armed. He spoke slowly, trying to make his English clear despite his faint Chinese accent.

“I've never been here before. I didn't know the rules.”

Apparently satisfied with that display of cooperation, the sheriff withdrew the revolver, gave it a few deft spins, and slipped it back into the holster at his hip.

“First time, huh? Hmph. You're a Nomad, aren't you? Which family?”

“Nomad?”

For an instant, John didn't recognize the word. Then it clicked. Wasn't that what they called the wanderers in Cyberpunk 2077, the game he'd played not long ago?

“No, I'm not a Nomad.”

He shook his head at once. Hardly anyone in the Cyberpunk world had a good opinion of Nomads. Among corporations and government organizations, finding someone sympathetic to them would be harder still.

“Not a Nomad?”

The sheriff arched his right eyebrow, plainly unconvinced.

“Then what's a guy doing alone, driving a wreck like that out of the Badlands toward the city?”

John glanced at the steering wheel, polished smooth and shiny from decades of use, and found himself at a loss.

His BMW 733i had rolled off the production line in 1977. His father had taken out an enormous loan to buy it in the late nineties. Here in 2074, it truly was an ancient heap. He hadn't imagined that such an unremarkable old car would make him look like a Nomad.

The seconds dragged by. The sheriff's gaze sharpened, and his right hand began moving toward his revolver again.

“I'm a traveler!”

With no time to spare, John seized on the first explanation that came to mind.

“A traveler?”

The sheriff looked him over with piercing eyes. At least he didn't draw his weapon again.

“Heading into Night City from the east? What state are you from?”

“I'm not from any state.”

John made himself stay calm and kept his voice steady.

“I came from across the ocean. I traveled west through the Middle East and Europe, crossed the Atlantic to the Americas, then drove here to Night City on my own.”

The sheriff stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You're having me on, kid.”

“Of course not...”

John smiled and went on.

“I've loved adventure since I was little. I always wanted to be a great explorer, someone like Magellan. Night City is the final stop on this trip. Once I cross the Pacific, I'll have circled the whole planet. That's been my dream.”

The middle-aged man's expression turned decidedly strange.

“Well, either I've had too much to drink today, or you're even crazier than a cyberpsycho.”

John couldn't tell whether that was supposed to be praise or an insult. He merely shrugged and smiled.

“A man's got to have a dream, right?”

“Dreams? How much are those worth?”

The sheriff roared with laughter, as though he'd heard the funniest joke in years. Then he seemed to remember he was supposed to be working.

“Fine. So you're a traveler from across the ocean. Got any identification?”

“Of course...”

John nodded and leaned over to search the glove compartment on the passenger side. He certainly wasn't hunting for his national ID or passport. Papers issued in another world weren't likely to be accepted here.

“Oh, by the way, Officer. Do you smoke?”

He threw the question out as though it had only just occurred to him.

“I picked up some cigarettes before setting out. Really good ones. Famous brand.”

He brought out a red pack of cigarettes and casually turned the label toward the sheriff.

“Premium imported cigarettes?”

The sheriff's interest was immediate. He accepted one, held it beneath his nose, and sniffed.

“Wait. Is that real tobacco?”

“Sure. That's what makes them premium.”

John produced a lighter and lit it for him.

“I can barely bring myself to smoke them, they're so good.”

That was a lie. John didn't smoke at all. He'd brought individual packs along for a family visit back home, where cigarettes were handy for social obligations.

The sheriff took a cautious puff. Bliss spread across his face.

“Real tobacco... Haven't had any since the war.”

“You fought in a war, sir?”

John obligingly followed the opening while searching his memories of the game.

“The Unification War?”

“Name's Andrew Jones. You can call me Andrew.”

The fine smoke had put Sheriff Jones in a far more agreeable mood, and he was already drifting into reminiscence.

“That's right. That glorious war. I was with Militech special forces back then. Once, just once, our commanding officer got hold of a box of genuine tobacco from God knows where. Cuban stuff, the good kind. We rolled the cigarettes ourselves. Best damn smoke I've ever had.”

Andrew took another hungry drag and let out a broad ring of smoke.

“This one's pretty good, though. I'd put it second.”

Suddenly John knew exactly who this white sheriff was. He was the man the Nomad V encountered at the very start of the game. John pretended to search his memory, then asked casually,

“Andrew Jones... I think I've heard that name before. The Silver Shoguns?”

“Huh? You've heard about me?”

For the first time since they'd met, Andrew's eyes brightened.

John neither confirmed nor denied it.

“Like I said, I landed in New York and traveled through the states of the New United States on my way here. I've met all sorts of people. Traders, mercenaries, corporate employees, Nomads. Quite a few served in the military during the war. Some of them mentioned Andrew Jones, a man who served with the Silver Shoguns special forces unit...”

He let the thought hang, then added,

“...right alongside the names of the war heroes.”

It was impossible to miss the change. Color rushed into the sheriff's weathered face. The corners of his mouth curved into a broad, involuntary smile, and even his shoulders trembled.

Jones said nothing. He gripped his half-smoked cigarette and dragged on it so fiercely he nearly choked himself.

After a brief silence, he stubbed it out and clapped John hard on the shoulder.

“You're a good kid. One hell of a fine young man!”

John gave a silent sigh of relief. He had made it through his first obstacle in this world. But he was nowhere near safe. Here, he was a complete stranger, with no identification and no record of ever having existed. Anyone who bothered to investigate would discover a ghost who had appeared out of nowhere.

Worse, apart from Cyberpunk 2077's plot and scraps of background lore, he knew almost nothing about this place.

With that in mind, he quietly pressed the mostly full pack of cigarettes into the sheriff's hand.

“Hm? What's this supposed to mean?”

Andrew looked surprised, though his fingers instinctively closed around the hand offering the cigarettes.

“You've earned them, Sheriff.”

John blinked and spoke with perfect sincerity.

“If men like you hadn't brought peace and order to this land, how could I ever have fulfilled my dream of traveling around the world?”

For a moment, John could almost see tears in the man's eyes.

“Actually, there is one other favor I'd like to ask.”

He pressed his advantage before the moment passed.

“It's my first time around Night City, and I don't know how things work. Could you introduce me to some decent locals? Maybe some Nomads, for example?”

“Pah! Those stray dogs? They aren't worth your time!”

Jones spat in disgust and carefully tucked the cigarettes into his pocket.

“You want to meet someone from Night City? You're in luck. There's a Militech employee staying in town for a couple of days. Come on, I'll introduce you.”

The moment John climbed out of the car, the sheriff threw a friendly arm around his shoulders.

“Almost forgot. What's your name, anyway?”

“Just call me John Lee.”

John took his phone from his pocket. Through the glare of the sunlight, he made out the date on its calendar: June 30, 2074.

“John Lee, huh?”

Andrew clicked his tongue, staring with surprise at the old-fashioned smartphone.

“Didn't take you for a traditionalist. Barely anyone uses a phone like that anymore.”

“Yeah... I guess you could say that.”

John looked down at the empty screen. All the miscellaneous apps that used to fill it were gone. A single app store sat there, all by itself.

“I guess I'm just the nostalgic type.”

...

“So, Lee, how did you get a bad-tempered bastard like Andrew Jones to be so accommodating?”

Sheriff Jones had barely left when the Militech employee he'd introduced, Muamar Reyes, asked the question.

“Maybe I'm just good with people.”

John kept his answer vague. Privately, he was trying to remember where he'd seen the name Muamar Reyes.

“You don't really act like a corporate employee, though.”

“Spend long enough as a corpo dog and you start turning into one. After this field assignment, I'm going back to Night City and quitting.”

Muamar waved a hand as if it were nothing.

“I'm thinking of making my way on the street. Used cars, that kind of thing. I've got a few connections in Santo Domingo. People around those parts call me El Capitan. Ring a bell?”

“Nope.”

John had finally placed the man with the rocker haircut. This was El Capitan, the future famous Fixer of Santo Domingo. Of course, someone who'd only just arrived in Night City couldn't admit to recognizing him.

“If you've already got connections, why not become a Fixer?”

“Corporate employees lick the asses of their bosses. Fixers have to lick the asses of corporate employees.”

At the mention of Fixers, El Capitan's face twisted in distaste.

“That Santo Domingo Fixer, Faraday? He's had to settle for kissing my ass more than once.”

“That's a pretty disgusting way to put it.”

El Capitan laughed it off before turning the question around.

“So, are you really a traveler? And why come looking for me?”

“More or less.”

John remained deliberately noncommittal.

“I'm planning to stay in Night City for a while. I need a local who can help me sort a few things out.”

“A while? One year? Two? Longer?”

El Capitan folded his arms and studied him.

“And I thought you were going around the world. Why stop when you're almost finished?”

“Well... let's put it this way. I had a bit of an... unfortunate run-in with Kang Tao during my travels.”

It was the excuse John had chosen. He couldn't simply buy a plane ticket and head across the Pacific without thinking. He had no idea what awaited him across the Pacific in this world. Staying somewhere he knew a little about, even if it was Night City, was far more sensible.

“Oh, Kang Tao. Say no more.”

El Capitan gave him a knowing look.

“So what can I do for you?”

“I need a new legal identity and an account. Somewhere to live, a little cash, and a steady job. Preferably nothing tied to a corporation.”

“That's quite a shopping list.”

El Capitan didn't actually refuse.

“But look, in a place like Night City, friendship doesn't work if one guy's always asking for favors. You've got to give the other guy a reason to be happy too. Right?”

John rose from the battered couch and walked to a window covered in graffiti left by the previous tenants. He beckoned El Capitan over.

“See that black sedan down there?”

Before meeting Muamar Reyes, John had intended to pay for his new existence with the gifts and provisions he'd been carrying in his trunk. Real meat, fresh fruit and vegetables, and expensive bottles of liquor were priceless in a world whose natural environment had been ravaged beyond recognition.

But once he realized he was dealing with El Capitan, the man who loved cars, he changed his plan.

“A 1977 BMW 733i, completely original, never modified. An antique that's nearly a century old. Vintage onboard diagnostic equipment, genuine leather seats, real wood trim, a 3.2-liter straight-six with Bosch L-Jetronic fuel injection. Top speed, 205 kilometers an hour. A true classic.”

As he listed the car's virtues, John watched his guest. El Capitan practically had his eyes pressed against the vehicle below.

“What do you say? Friends? Help me with these things, and that old beauty is yours.”

“Friends? No, no, no...”

Muamar swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice rang with complete sincerity.

“We're best friends!”