Chapter 7: Scraps and Shadows

The silence of the apartment was deceptive. Outside, the perpetual noise of Night City roared like an untamed beast—sirens, laughter, arguments, and the occasional burst of gunfire. The boy sat hunched over his workbench, his hands steady as he soldered a loose connection onto the drone's frame.

He had just returned from his meeting with the woman. She hadn't given him her name, but she hadn't needed to. Her offer alone told him everything he needed to know: she was powerful enough to make problems disappear, and dangerous enough to create bigger ones if crossed.

The boy exhaled sharply, setting the soldering iron down.

I need to be smarter about this. If I rely on her, I'm giving her power over me.

His gaze drifted to the drone hovering nearby, its upgraded sensors whirring softly. It was a testament to his skills—a reminder of what he could accomplish when he had the right materials. But it was also a reminder of his limitations.

The parts he'd salvaged were already dwindling, and the deal he'd struck wouldn't cover everything. The woman might offer protection and resources, but he couldn't trust her fully. He wouldn't.

If I'm going to survive, I need to stay ahead of everyone, including her.

The boy leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities. The scavengers were still out there, searching for him. Their leader, especially, wouldn't let this go. The memory of their last encounter was still fresh in his mind—the crude cyberware, the brutality in their movements. He couldn't fight them off, not yet.

His Technopathy hummed faintly, as though urging him to focus.

One step at a time, he thought, turning his attention back to the drone.

The upgrades were nearly complete, but it still lacked a proper defense mechanism. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small capacitor and a stripped-down targeting module he'd scavenged earlier.

As he worked, his mind wandered to the night he'd arrived in this world. Naked, confused, and staring at a system interface that had dropped him into chaos. The "Super Gacha System" had been his only lifeline—a strange, almost whimsical presence that contrasted sharply with the unforgiving reality of Night City.

Technopathy and Juryrigg, he thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The powers had saved his life more than once already. But the system had given him no instructions, no explanation of its mechanics. The beginner gift box had been his only clue, and now even that felt like a distant memory.

His thoughts shifted again, unbidden. Guns. He'd seen them everywhere in this city, from the hands of scavengers to the holsters of NCPD officers patrolling the streets. Guns were power here—power he didn't yet have.

The idea made him uneasy. He'd avoided them in his old life, preferring to solve problems with his mind rather than brute force. But this wasn't his old life. Night City didn't care about cleverness unless it came with firepower.

The boy glanced at his hands. They weren't the hands of a fighter. They were thin, pale, built for precision rather than strength.

If I want to survive here, I'll have to learn.

The thought was uncomfortable, but it was the truth. Guns weren't going anywhere, and neither was the danger that surrounded him.

The drone chirped, snapping him out of his thoughts. Its targeting module had powered on, its tiny sensor scanning the room with precision.

"Good," he murmured, inspecting the drone's systems through his Technopathy. Everything was functioning perfectly, the upgrades integrating seamlessly.

He activated a simple test program, watching as the drone maneuvered through the apartment. It was faster now, more agile. Its sensors tracked every movement, its targeting module ready to lock onto any perceived threat.

But it still wasn't enough.

The boy stood, stretching his arms. The apartment felt stifling, the walls too close. He grabbed his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders.

"Stay here," he said to the drone, though it followed him to the door anyway.

The streets were as chaotic as ever. Neon signs flickered overhead, advertising everything from high-end cyberware to questionable "enhancements" promising to make you "the ultimate being."

The boy moved with purpose, keeping to the shadows. He wasn't heading for the black market this time; he had a different destination in mind.

He'd noticed a small repair shop on his way back from the market—a dingy, run-down place that seemed more interested in salvaging scrap than selling it. But to him, it was an opportunity.

The shop was dimly lit, its interior cluttered with parts and tools. A wiry man sat behind the counter, his cybernetic arms twitching slightly as he tinkered with a disassembled drone.

"Looking for something?" the man asked, not bothering to look up.

The boy approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the shelves. "Just browsing."

The man snorted. "Sure you are. Kids like you don't come in here to browse. You need something."

The boy hesitated before pulling out a small device he'd built—a compact energy converter, simple but functional. He placed it on the counter.

"Trade?" he asked, keeping his voice steady.

The man finally looked up, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the device. "Where'd you get this?"

"I made it."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Not bad for a kid." He leaned back in his chair, his cybernetic arms whirring softly. "What do you want for it?"

"Parts," the boy said, his gaze flicking to the shelves behind the counter. "Anything I can use."

The man considered him for a moment before nodding. "Fine. Take what you need—but don't get greedy."

The boy moved quickly, scanning the shelves with his Technopathy. He could feel the faint hum of power emanating from some of the components, his mind instinctively sorting through them.

He selected a handful of items—a processor, a pair of sensors, and a small plasma coil. They weren't high-end, but they were enough to work with.

As he turned to leave, the man called out.

"Hey, kid."

The boy paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"You've got talent," the man said, his tone serious. "But talent won't keep you alive in this city. You'll need more than that."

The boy didn't respond, slipping out into the night.

Back in his apartment, he laid out the new components on his workbench. The drone hovered nearby, its targeting module glowing faintly.

He didn't trust anyone—not the woman, not the scavengers, not even the man at the repair shop. But his distrust wasn't a weakness. It was what would keep him alive.

For now, he had work to do.