Dirty clothes and More

The freezing water hit me like a ton of bricks as I broke through the surface. I thrashed around, trying to stay afloat, and slightly cursing the god that had dropped me in the ocean without any warning was a good idea. My muscles were weak and protesting every move. It was a rough start, to say the least.

Night City's lights glimmered in the distance, a distorted, shifting horizon that felt both familiar and alien. The towering spires and sprawling neon lights were the only landmarks in the dark, guiding me, though the irony wasn't lost on me. The city was no sanctuary, if what my brother and that God had told me.

I kicked with my legs, the motion was sluggish, but I started to swing towards the city. The ocean was colder than I'd imagined, a deep chill that seeped into my bones and made my teeth chatter uncontrollably as I struggled not to drink. Each breath I took was a bit painful, the air tearing into my lungs, mixing with the sharp, salty tang of the ocean. 

It felt like hours passed, though I knew it couldn't have been more than minutes. But slowly, agonizingly, I felt the waves begin to weaken. My foot brushed something solid beneath me sand, coarse and gritty. Pushing against the current, I let the ocean carry me forward until I could finally stand, the water now lapping at my knees, then my ankles.

I collapsed onto the shore, my body giving out as I crawled the last few feet out of the surf. The sand clung to my wet skin, sticking to every inch of me. I lay there for a moment, chest heaving, each breath coming out in ragged gasps as I tried to gather the strength to move.

Eventually, I forced myself up onto my hands and knees, the cold night air biting into my exposed skin. I glanced around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The lights of the city were further up ahead, casting eerie reflections on the water. But what drew my eye were the faint, flickering lights further up the beach. Small, makeshift shacks, barely more than heaps of scrap and old tarps. It was clear that this part of the city was a dumping ground for those who had nowhere else to go.

Normally, being naked wouldn't bother me. Back home, it was just a part of life, of course, I made sure I was home alone where I was lounging around or wearing something skimpy, it never felt like a big deal. But this… this was different. I was out in the open where any fucking creep could find me. The realization sent a shiver through me, one that had nothing to do with the cold. thankfully the neon lights didn't light this part of the beach up.

I needed clothes. I needed a place to rest and I needed to get the hell off this beach.

My legs trembled as I pushed myself to my feet, every movement slow and painful. The world spun for a moment, and I had to steady myself, digging my toes into the sand to keep from collapsing again. I felt like throwing up but took a few moments to calm my stomach down.

I began to move, each step heavy and awkward, but with each one, I felt a little bit more in control. The shacks were my only option, Not like I had much of an option. Let's hope whoever called them home wasn't there.

The night wasn't silent I could hear music from passing cars up above, the hum of the city, and the gentle lapping of the waves behind me. The wind tugged at my hair and body making me feel far more colder than I already was. I wrapped my arms around myself as I moved forward, trying to conserve what little body heat I had left. But as I got closer it became more silent.

The lights of the shacks grew brighter, I was a bit surprised, as I didn't think they would have working electricity here, given that these were probably homeless people.

As I approached the shacks, I noticed the flicker of small fires, barely illuminating the huddled forms of those who called this place home. The closer I got, the more details I could make out, shadows cast by makeshift shelters, the dull glint of empty bottles strewn about, and the unmistakable scent of stale alcohol and unwashed bodies.

Several figures lay sprawled across the sand, passed out, I couldn't help but sigh as this would make things easier for me. I hesitated for a moment, scanning the area for any signs of movement just to make sure. The last thing I needed was to wake someone up and have to explain why I was skulking around naked in the middle of the night. But as I inched closer, it became clear that these people were out cold.

Keeping my footsteps as light as possible, I moved toward the first of the shacks. The structure was little more than a few planks of wood and sheets of rusted metal leaned together, with a torn tarp hanging over the entrance. It looked like it might collapse if I so much as touched it. 

I scanned the ground near the entrance, where a couple of the drunks had discarded their belongings. Among the trash and empty bottles, something caught my eye, a large, filthy sweater, crumpled in a heap. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. I reached down, carefully lifting the sweater, cringing at the sticky feel of the fabric. It smelled like a mix of sweat and piss, but I didn't have the luxury of being picky.

Slipping it over my head, I found that it hung loosely on my frame, the sleeves far too long and the hem brushing against my thighs. At least it covered most of me. My next goal was to find something for my lower half, and I didn't have to look far. A pair of dirty shorts crumpled up near a makeshift bed of old blankets, looked like they might fit, even if just barely. The shorts were worn and stained, I grimaced as I held them up looking them over. I hoped there was something else I could use but everything else was far too big and far more dirty. Sighing and grossed out I quickly pulled them on, adjusting the waistband to keep them from slipping down as I tighed the strings making sure it wouldn't fall off.

As I stepped back, my bare feet brushed against something solid. I glanced down and spotted a pair of old, beaten-up mismatched sandals lying haphazardly in the sand. these would have to do, I wasn't going to walk barefoot once I made my way up and into the city. I was lucky so far that I hadn't stepped on broken glass or some type of metal. I slipped them on.

Dressed in the oversized, grimy sweater and shorts, with the sandals barely holding together, At least I wasn't naked anymore and that's what mattered. But I couldn't shake the feeling of disgust clinging to my skin.

I scanned the area one last time, ensuring I hadn't woken anyone. The drunks were still out cold, their snores mingling with the sound of the ocean. It was time to move on, staying here wasn't safe. And so I made my way up the rusty steps and into the night city.

I pulled the hood up over my head, trying to hide from the neon lights and flashy billboards as much as possible. Everything inside me said to stay where it's bright and avoid those dark alleys that split from the main streets. This place was full of sketchy characters who would hurt, kill or rape solo travelers, just like Gotham. I kept my head down, heading toward the areas with the brightest lights and the distant sound of people. whether they were partygoers, night workers, or just people who couldn't sleep.

The streets were far from inviting, but they offered something the beach didn't, distraction. Here, I was just another face among the crowd. I needed food, something to keep me going until I figured out my next move.

Dumpster diving wasn't glamorous, but it wasn't new to me either. I'd done worse in Gotham, scrounging for whatever scraps I could find when money was tight or when the shelves at home were empty. The key was to find a place where the trash hadn't been picked over yet, where I might actually get something edible instead of just garbage.

I slipped into an alley just off the main street, making sure the light from the nearby streetlamp still reached me. The dumpster sat at the end, rusted and dented, but it was closed, maybe that meant no one had been through it yet. I approached cautiously, listening for any signs of life, but the alley was silent, well as Silent as I was okay with.

Grimacing, I pushed the lid open, the stench of rotting food hitting me like a wall. Making me gag and Dry heave. I hesitated for only a second before I started digging through the layers of trash, my hands brushing against soggy cardboard and old, spoiled food. It was disgusting, but I pushed through, determined to find something, anything that could pass as food.

Eventually, I hit the jackpot, if you could call it that, a half-eaten sandwich, the bread a little stale but still intact, and a couple of unopened snack bars buried underneath a pile of greasy wrappers. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get by. I grabbed the items quickly, stuffing them into the pocket of my shorts before closing the dumpster as quietly as I could. And thankfully I found a pipe in there that I could use.

I took a step back, my stomach growling at the thought of food, but I knew better than to eat there. Not in the open. I had to keep moving and find a better spot where I could eat without being disturbed, without drawing attention.

I kept the hood low over my face, my pace quickening as I moved back toward the busier streets. I just needed to find a place where I could sit down, so I walked, following the crowd.

The streets seemed quieter now, the bustle of the city dimming as I moved away from the beach and deeper into where the fuck I was. The rusted pipe I'd found felt reassuring in my hands, even if it was a far cry from a real weapon. But in this place, even a piece of scrap metal was better than my hands.

My eyes scanned the area for anything that could offer a hiding place, somewhere I could catch my breath. Then, up ahead, I spotted a cluster of large, industrial pipes piled haphazardly in a corner of a building. The place was fenced off, but the gate was held close by chains and thankfully as I tested it, there was enough space for me to squeeze through. 

I approached cautiously, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. The pipes were old and rusted, They were stacked in a way that created small gaps and spaces between them, spaces just big enough for someone to crawl into. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Clutching the pipe in one hand, I squeezed through the narrow gap between two of the larger pipes. The metal was cold and rough against my legs, but I pushed forward, I crawled further into the pipes until I found a small, hidden crawl space that seemed to be part of the building. It was cramped, barely big enough to sit in, but it was safe. 

Once inside, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I was hidden here, tucked away. It wasn't comfortable, but comfort was a luxury I couldn't afford right now. I sat back against the cold stone, pulling the hoodie off my head.

The sandwich and snack bars I'd scavenged earlier were still in the pocket of my shorts, slightly squished but edible. I unwrapped the sandwich, the stale bread crumbling in my hands, and took a bite. It was dry and tasteless, but it filled the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. I ate quickly, as I rested my tired body.

As I finished the last of the sandwich, I knew it was time to focus on the one thing that would help me, the system the God of Vengeance had granted me. I hadn't had the chance to explore it properly, and now, in this moment of relative safety, it was time to see what I was working with.

Closing my eyes, I focused inward, willing the system to activate. At first, nothing happened, and I wondered if something had gone wrong, but then a flicker of light appeared in the darkness of my mind. The familiar HUD from Cyberpunk 2077 materialized in front of me, its sleek lines and neon highlights glowing faintly against the shadows of the pipe.

 My stats were displayed in the top left corner.

Body: 1 

Reflexes: 3

Technical Ability: 1

Cool: 2

Intelligence: 1

The numbers were painfully low, damn was I that weak, or was this normal for a kid my age? 

I navigated through the interface, swiping left to access the next menu. A list of skills appeared, each one tied to a different attribute. Each skill was marked with a small bar indicating my proficiency—or lack thereof. Most were barely touched.

But it was the Store that intrigued me the most. I selected it, and the menu shifted, revealing a catalog of available data chips. I only had access to level one's. As I read the names on the list, some were familiar. Manny Pardo, Ellie, Faith Connors. Characters I knew from games my brother played.

But as I scrolled through the options, my heart sank. Every chip was locked, its icon grayed out, and a small, taunting message flashed at the bottom of the screen.

: Insufficient Funds.

I tapped on one of the chips out of curiosity, and a more detailed description popped up. It was a chip containing the basic survival skills of Ellie from The Last of Us, stealth, scavenging, knife combat. Exactly the kind of skills I needed right now. And even if I could afford it, there was another problem.

Neural Interface Socket Needed

I needed a Neural Interface Socket installed before I could even think about using these chips. Without it, the data was useless to me. Damn, could they have just given me that before teleporting me here? I couldn't access the full potential of the system. It was like being handed a key to a locked door, only to find out that the key itself needed a key. This was fucking lame...

I sighed, For now, I needed to focus on the basics: survival, gathering resources, and finding a way to get Neural Interface Socket installed. It wouldn't be easy.

I finished the last of the food, tucking the wrappers back into my pocket to avoid leaving any trace. The crawl space was quiet, the world outside reduced to a distant hum. 

I pulled the hood over my head, gripping the pipe tightly in my hand. I let the system fade from view and closed my eyes, I yawned and tried to get comfy as I slowly fell asleep.

[Put the power stone in da bag]