1: Significant as an Atom

— Atom —

I lasted all of two days in a Galaxy Far, Far Away before I was forced to kill. It was in self-defense but I could've run. Technically. I wasn't going to. I didn't run easily. Not before, and not after being shoved into an impossible and quite literally outlandish situation. The problem had been directly in front of me. So I took the chance to deal with it directly. That direct action just happened to involve the death of a sentient, thinking being.

So be it. I didn't regret my actions. Not in the least. A life ceased to be, but mine continued onward. The trade was more than fair. I had to imagine that my attacker would've regretted the opposite outcome just as much as I did. That is, they wouldn't regret my death at all. Not in the shithole I now found myself in.

They didn't deserve my pity or regret. My attacker tried to prey upon me when I was at my weakest. My weakest was still enough to strike them down. They'd been a dirty, grimy, ugly alien fucker. Male… I think… His skin was like leather. A shabby mane of spikes framed his face. I later found out he was a 'Nikto'. Whatever the fuck that was…

At the time, all I knew was that the Nikto had seen a man struggling to survive in a harsh urban environment, and thought to profit off that struggle. That was before I'd even somewhat established myself. The night before the attack had been spent sleeping in a gutter. I'd not been in a forgiving mood. So when a fucking slaver tried to press me, I fucking ended him.

He hadn't been bigger than me. But he was better equipped. Not that it said much when I only had the clothes on my back to my name. He thought I'd be easy prey. He should've chosen a better venue to jump me. One with less… improvisable weapons littered around. A discarded glass shard cut his leathery throat from ear to ear. He couldn't even choke on his own blood when I was done with him.

A part of me thanked him. My start would've been rockier without the loot I'd taken off his still-warm corpse. Another pair of clothes — used but functional. A blocky, poorly-maintained pistol of some kind. And most importantly, a personal computer. His death served me better than he could ever serve himself. Not in the least because it allowed me to figure out where the fuck I was.

I'd been taken — stolen — from the height of my life. 19. Whole and hale. Determined. And on the eve of my greatest achievement: a dominating victory that I could no longer remember the meaning of. It'd been ripped away from me. Just like the names and faces of those I had celebrated with. All that remained were thin strands of context. A partner there with me to the end, rivals crushed, a vast network of influence, support, and oh-so-much-money won in a hard-fought campaign, and the power to finally make something of myself.

Then, right as my victory was announced… I was somewhere else. A calm, celebratory drink with my partner vanished like dust in the wind. Good cheer was replaced by grime and urban decay. The lights blinked out and I was cast into shadow by tall walls and seemingly infinite abysses on either side. In an instant, I was snatched from the top of my life and dropped to an unknown bottom.

In the process, the core of my memory was robbed from me. The context of most of my life was lost in transition. Names, faces, places, relationships… Not even my own name was spared. Anything that could've anchored me turned to ash. All that was left was directionless, faceless, almost meaningless memories.

After convincing myself of my new reality… I was furious. Livid. Absolutely apoplectic. And with nothing to direct that fury at. There was no hand of God. No death and rebirth. Just cold-hearted, omnipotent thievery. And the haunting of a life of faceless memories.

The boons I later found out I'd gained during the transition didn't nearly make up for the atrocity committed against me. Not after I had to scavenge to survive like a fucking rat. Not after I'd been forced to bloody my hands. Not after every single connection of my life was stolen from me. But… they were still boons. With no other recourse, I would exploit them fully so that I might survive and thrive.

I took on a new name after my previous one was lost to me. Atom. As significant as an Atom. In my new reality, that seemed to be an unassailable fact. I was at the bottom of everything. No connections, no history, no money, or power. I'd be damned if I let that stop me from seizing all of those things for myself again. My rock bottom start only made me more hell-bent on rising past it.

I recognized where I was from the Nikto's personal computer. A galactic Republic on the verge of crisis and all-out war? Crime, corruption, spaceships, and space wizards? Star Wars. It could be nowhere else. Memories of movies, a game or two, and maybe a few TV shows here and there came to mind. I didn't trust it. There had to be a larger reason I remembered some random media universe but not the faces and names of my parents. I already knew I wouldn't like that reason, especially since I remembered the place I ended up too, and it didn't belong with the rest of this Galaxy Far, Far Away.

The second media universe I recognized from a game and an anime. Night City. Cyberpunk in Star Wars. The two universes seemed merged from the start, with Star Wars being the larger 'base' of the pair. The fact that I was able to recognize that at all spoke of purpose and intent behind my transition. As infuriating as that thought was, I couldn't do anything other than keep it in the back of my mind.

In the end, knowing the 'where' gave me an edge over everyone else in my new reality. I knew things that no one else would. I knew what was coming and where power really resided in the galaxy. But that knowledge was largely for the future. For after I'd seized some power and resources for myself. For my initial situation, it wasn't nearly as helpful as my other boon: Inspired Inventor+…

In the bowels of Night City, Nar Shaddaa I quickly found that power — hard or soft — was all that mattered. Inspired Inventor+ gave me a route to power. It was… an intangible system of some kind. One with all too tangible results. All that mattered to me was that it was real. And that meant very good things for me.

If everything was as normal (my new normal, that is), Inspired Inventor+ gained one 'point' per week. That point could then be put toward helpful knowledge and skills that came from… somewhere. It didn't matter where. What mattered was that it was real. And fucking helpful. The '+' portion of the name, I figured, came from the fact that inventions weren't the only thing within the system's remit. No, it also dealt in more practical skills, and even, fucking superpowers.

I'd found that last fact out firsthand. It had seemed prudent to test. That'd been my first acquisition, using a point that I apparently arrived with. I didn't regret it. Then, the coming weeks' points went into essential skills that I'd need for my new reality. Each point corresponded to a single level in whatever skill or tech I put it toward. I wasn't stupid enough to expect that to last forever. There seemed to be other ways to earn points, but I hadn't discovered them yet. So far, the system's only limitations seemed to be containment to things found in a Galaxy Far, Far Away, or the Cyberpunk Future. As it was after six weeks of surviving Hell, Inspired Inventor+ looked as thus:

Inspired Inventor+

Force Sensitivity I

Scavenging I

Scrapyard Mechanics I

Emergency/Improvised Medical Care II

Cyberware I

Brawling (Weapons Varied) I

Humanity [Maxed]

Force sensitivity was useful beyond reason. It was, quite literally, a magical sixth sense. Tangible, directable, and fucking effective luck, mixed with actual premonitions and more physical powers like telekinesis. The more specialized Force powers seemed to be separate unlocks. Without it, I wouldn't have found the abandoned basement that I was using as my new home. And that was about the least of the Force's aid to me so far. I had no formal training, of course. But that didn't mean it wasn't there, like a constant presence in the back of my mind, letting me know I'd never be completely alone in my new reality. That reassurance… It helped.

The scrapyard mechanics and scavenging just made good sense. There was a shitload of shit around to scavenge. If I could make shit with all of that shit, I'd be that much more unlikely to find myself shit out of luck. It also allowed me to maintain the blocky blaster pistol I'd taken off the Nikto and jury-rig up some creature comforts and essentials for my new home. Without both, I'd likely be lost in the tech of my new reality.

If scrapyard mechanics and scavenging made good sense, emergency/improvised medical care was an absolute necessity. Again, I lasted all of two days before discovering firsthand how dangerous my environment now was. And since, I'd had enough close calls to justify upgrading my medical skills to the next tier. Night City, Nar Shaddaa was brutal. But I wouldn't let it kill me easily.

Cyberware paid homage to the smaller portion of the universe I found myself in. For Night City, it was just as essential as scrapyard mechanics, though. Cyberware was an epidemic in my new home city. A deadly one. Putting a point into the tech allowed me to recognize what I was up against, from mantis blades to fucking Sandies… Without it, I would've eaten chrome at the first opportunity. Unacceptable…

The last field I'd consciously put points toward was my own defense. Brawling seemed like the best option, given my environment. The streets of Night City didn't fight fair. I wouldn't either. Every and any weapon at my disposal would be used. Brawling ensured they were used decently well. If my new reality wanted to be brutal, I'd be even more brutal right back.

Then… there was the elephant. Humanity. I didn't put a point toward it. It was there from the start. 'Maxed' from the start. One last boon, it seemed. Only, I didn't have a clue what it-. actually-. fucking-. did. When I lingered on it, all I got was a sense of security — a protecting shield and bulwark against… something — and a hint of transcendence. I couldn't help but feel that it was the key to quite a few of my transitional woes. But answers were anything but forthcoming.

Too many things made too little sense in my new reality. For the most part, I ignored what I could. I wasn't given many chances to linger in my thoughts. I was busy struggling to survive. Through my vague but growing connection to the Force, I found a safe place to call my own. Then came the scavenging, tinkering, and fighting for every little scrap I could use to see tomorrow.

My new home was an abandoned basement between the endless levels of urban decay. It was tucked away and forgotten about, only connected to the outside world by a hidden entrance that'd been half-bricked up when I found it. It was the perfect spot to avoid any undue attention. An acceptable start to a sanctuary.

The only real issue was that it was on the border where two gang territories met. My new home had Tyger Claws on one side and Maelstrom on the other. I made sure they had better things to worry about than me. Namely, each other. Both sides were prominent Night City gangs. Both claimed dominance over sections of the city sector, from the lowest levels to the highest. The whole of Nar Shaddaa was much more vertical than I was used to. I adjusted quickly and learned my new neighborhood like the back of my hand. With that knowledge, I began setting scrapyard traps to pit the Tyger Claws and Maelstrom gangers against each other. Having them preoccupied with each other made things easier for me.

I tried to limit my scavenging trips as much as I could. Living on the border of two gangs at constant war was still dangerous. Force premonitions were effective in avoiding most of the worst fighting. When that was impossible, I struck hard, fast, and brutally. Like that, I gathered essential resources for myself. Food, water, scrap, weapons where I could, and even certain cyberware components off the corpses of gangbanging fucks. I hoarded everything within my sanctuary and kept myself ever-busy to keep useless thoughts and moralities from lingering in my mind.

For six weeks, I survived at any cost. I killed again in those weeks. Many times over. I didn't count the corpses I made. That would be one of those 'useless moralities'. All that mattered was that I was still here. Still kicking. Still fighting. So long as I was alive, everything else could come later.

That philosophy kept me going during those six weeks. It likely would've kept me going beyond them. Not healthy and sane. But alive. Those weeks were anything but peaceful, anything but comfortable. I settled into a sort of routine, though. A violent, dangerous, single-minded routine of survival. My new reality had other plans for me. Six weeks after everything was taken from me, my whole world shook.

It was the strongest Force premonition I'd had. By a large margin. I was out on a scavenging trip when it hit. I initially mistook it for an earthquake. A cityquake. But the Tyger Claws I was sneaking past on a catwalk overhead didn't even flinch. Whatever the Force had to say, it was for me alone. And it had terrible fucking timing.

"Oi!" One of the Tyger Claws below shouted up at me, having noticed my stumble. "What's yo kriffin' deal, gaijin?! You think you're slick?!"

"Bring your ass down here, choomba. Let's have a little chat."

"Hehe~! You're frakking frakked! We gonna skiv 'im good, senpai~?"

"… Shut the fuck up, Ettie. I swear, every time you open your mouth…"

Not ideal. But I was prepared for such an outcome. I didn't curse my luck or otherwise reply. Not verbally, at least. My right hand came up in a vague gesture of peace. My left slipped behind my back to the device I'd rigged up for situations just like this. It was two fully-charged blaster powerpacks slapped together and surrounded by what was essentially duct tape, a ring of loose shrapnel, and even more duct tape. The powerpacks were wired together so I could drain one into the other at the push of a button and overload it. Grenades weren't particularly hard to come by in the bowels of Night City, but my version was much more effective than the usual offerings.

"Yeah, yeah, you come in peace. So get your ass down here so we can educate you on where exactly you are," The calmest Tyger Claw said, almost rolling his eyes.

There was no way I was going to do that. They had to know it too. The talking was just an excuse, a front. The gangs of Night City were violent, not stupid. Stupidity didn't last long in Night City or Nar Shaddaa as a whole. Not in large quantities. The calm one seemed smart enough to compensate for his more eager underlings. He was giving them time to draw down and ready themselves since they had no quick way of reaching me on the catwalk.

Fortunately, I didn't have to work around anyone else. I depressed the button on my makeshift grenade, set the detonation in motion, and pitched it down at the three of them. The moment I moved, they drew fully, spraying up at me with blaster bolts and lead slugs. Both were inconvenient. I prioritized avoiding the physical projectiles. Digging metal out of my flesh would be even more troublesome than slapping one of my few treasured bacta patches over a blaster burn. For the unarmored, slugthrowers might just be worse than blasters. At the very least, they were more annoying.

The point was ultimately moot. Getting hit by anything that could wound me was worth avoiding. I dove to the side, out of the initial volley from the gangers below. Landing prone, I stayed that way and began to army crawl. The catwalk was just enough to cover me if I stayed low. I didn't see my improvised explosive go off. But I certainly heard it, along with ungodly screams and death knells.

Air warmed by an explosion of superheated plasma wafted up to me as I peeked over the edge of the catwalk. The devastation I saw was… satisfying. The concrete was scorched black and smoking. The bottom three-quarters of the calm Tyger Claw — the one I'd been aiming for — was outright gone. Evaporated in short-lived plasma. What remained was so charred that there wasn't even blood. The other two didn't fair much better, both missing limbs. It was the red-hot shrapnel that did them in, though, seen in shredded skin, flesh, and bone.

I debated going down to loot them for a moment. The explosion would've drawn attention, but not all that much in the grand scheme of things. Explosions weren't rare in this neighborhood. Grenades made for poor looting, though… It was the Force's insistent prodding that made up my mind.

I scowled at nothing and everything, "Alright, what the fuck do you want?"

I wasn't expecting an actual answer, but the Force complied. By… showing me a music video. I was as ticked off as I was intrigued. The Force stood firm in its insistence. As frustrating as it could be to be led around by premonitions and feelings, I'd quickly learned to trust the Force. Ignoring it led to… non-ideal outcomes. Shitshows. I wasn't in the mood for another shitshow at the moment.

"It's very touching. Now, why the fuck should I care?" I growled at the Force, already half-convinced. I was just looking for that other half to push me over the edge.

The Force laughed and twinkled and simply prodded me again. Like a light, encouraging kick in the pants. In the end, I trusted it and prepared myself for an interesting situation. That, at least, would be slightly better than a shitshow. I recognized the man the Force showed me at the end of its music video vision. He was from the Cyberpunk anime. The Force wanted me to get involved. It was lucky Force sensitivity was essentially fucking plot armor and it might actually serve me well to be closer to the plot. I couldn't be too frustrated at the Force for giving me an opening.

I ignored the likely melted loot below me and followed the trail the Force laid out for me. It took me up a level. And then another. It took me into uncharted territory, away from the neighborhood I'd been calling home. My head was on a constant swivel and my hand never left the blaster at my side. No one pressed me. I didn't press anyone in return. I was just there to do my Force-granted task and get the fuck out of dodge. Never thought I'd miss my new neighborhood…

Soon enough, I heard blaster fire from the penthouse of a nearby highrise. That was what I was looking for. The exit I'd seen wasn't clean in the slightest. Things were going according to the vision, though. So I prepared to do… something.

The highrise overlooked a causeway. Only the lowest level of it could be called a road. The rest was vague airways with the occasional speeder and repulsorcraft flying past. I stood on a terrace half a level above the actual road. Assessing the area was all the planning I had time for. Bare seconds after I arrived at the scene, a body came flying through the penthouse window of the highrise. The woman's sudden skydive was immediately followed by an explosion that shook the building.

The top floor of the building was obliterated and my target was falling. Seeing as terminal velocity tended to be terminal, it was on me to act. The Force ensured I was at the right place at the right time for a reason. What I ultimately did was up to me but I could feel the power's support in the back of my mind.

I'd already decided I would have to catch her. It was a stupid, suicidal plan. There weren't any better options. She fell like a beautiful brick. Burning shrapnel followed her down like a sudden shower. Against the dark of night, she looked like a falling angel amidst a flaming halo. The scene was poetry in motion. I interrupted the verse.

I took a leap of faith off my terraced perch, forcing myself to trust the Force's promise of support. I caught the falling angel from the side, already beginning my own descent. It still fucking hurt to catch her like that, nearly tearing my arms from their sockets. But the Force turned a fall into a flip. I landed on the road below with barely more than a stumble. My ankles should have snapped. My knees should've crumpled. My tendons should've turned into silly putty. They didn't. I stuck the landing with the same grace of a simple missed step.

The young woman was out like a light before she even entered my arms. The questions of 'why?' and 'how?' crossed my mind. 'The Force' answered both. I already knew it wouldn't let me rest without nursing her back to health. Having caught her, she shouldn't have been particularly injured. But… I could feel her fading away in my arms. The reason couldn't have been physical. There wasn't a scratch on her. So now, I had to figure out how to heal a fucking soul.

At least the endeavor wouldn't be pointless. As soon as I landed with her in my arms, I felt another point slot itself into Inspired Inventor+. Ahead of schedule… But far from unwelcome. Investing the point would have to wait. The vultures of this urban Hell were already beginning to swarm.

A pair of particularly courageous scavengers didn't even wait for me to get my bearings. Damned opportunists. I couldn't blame them. I'd have done the same. But that didn't mean I'd give them a damn thing. Knowing this city, they'd quite literally strip the fallen angel in my arms for parts. I tucked her against me to free a hand and draw my blaster. A single warning shot split the air between them. They froze.

I bared my teeth in a snarl, "Back. Off. She's mine."

Backing away slowly, they didn't try me any further. Seeing that, I was willing to throw them a bone, "Loot the building. Explosion like that means no security. For now. Be quick. You might get something good."

"Many thanks, choombatta…"

I gave them a curt nod, continuing to back away while keeping them in sight. My blaster wasn't quick to return to its holster. Once I vacated the immediate area, I began making haste. The explosion before was bigger than my improvised grenade. It'd draw more attention. I wanted to be back on familiar ground when that attention arrived.

The Force seemed… happy… that I'd trusted it. It showed me a shortcut on my way back. I didn't hesitate to take it. I made good time, steadfastly avoiding everyone — ganger, scavenger, or 'civilian'. No need to take chances when I had an attractive, unconscious woman in my arms. The depths this city's scum would descend to were infinite in my limited but poignant experience.

I set a series of traps first and foremost when I got back to base. The kind that obliterated kneecaps and willingness to live as a matter of principle. During my six weeks in Night City, I'd found that nonlethal but suitably vicious traps worked best to prevent repeat offenses. Once we were secure, I turned my attention to healing the girl without a wound on her.

Immediately, my face set itself in a thunderous frown. Wonderful. Just-. Fucking-. Wonderful. I'd amassed a decent quantity and quality of medical supplies. Bacta patches were worth their weight in gold. Clean bandages were even more essential than ammunition. Pills — so long as they were labeled — might as well have been magic. And for treating my new charge, all of them were worthless.

Putting my fingers on her pulse point, I felt her heartbeat weakening, barely more than a flutter. She didn't flinch or twitch, not even shifting in her sleep. It was as if she'd just given up the will to live and was quite literally fading away because of it. With the Force, I wouldn't put that down as impossible.

If I wanted her to live, I'd have to resort to the otherwise impossible. I refocused on the point I'd earned from catching her. Points could be earned by… doing things…? Listening to the Force? Interacting with the narratives I knew from this reality? Likely 25-25-50 if I were a gambling man. Regardless, the fruits of my labor hung in the back of my mind like a raindrop about to fall. I chose where it fell in the end, deciding that her only chance lay in the Force. Was… healing through the Force even possible-…?

Inspired Inventor+

[+] Force Healing I

… Good. That answered that. I nodded to myself, mentally perusing the new knowledge as it came to me as a damn-near divine revelation. Laying my new charge on my bed, I coaxed power forth from within me. Every skill from the system felt like muscle memory I was recovering for the first time. Shaky at first like a wobbling bike but once it was rolling, the feat came to me as easily as breathing. In — drawing the Force from my surroundings and filtering it through myself. Out — energy pouring through my hands like an opened dam. A portion of myself accompanied the whole process, pressing her soul back together into its natural shape. With gentle hands, I dragged her out of the past and back into the present.

"W-W-Warm… Mom…" A breathless whisper escaped her lips but she didn't wake.

At the end of that first session, I was left exhausted in a way I'd never been before. But the girl's pulse was steadier. Her breathing was deeper. And she seemed to be sleeping more restfully. So I took a breath, leaning heavily on the Force to revitalize me. My work wasn't yet done. She'd need more of those sessions. And I needed ways to take care of someone in a (healing) coma.

Unfortunately, that meant leaving her alone for a time. It was unavoidable but I vowed to be quick about my scavenging. A hospital would be the best target. It would also be much more complicated than I could afford. Without any actual wounds to treat, all I really needed was a way to sustain her.

Fortunately, things like an IV, saline pouches, and nutrient broth were easy to acquire on the open market, especially after I went straight to the source. Thus, I did end up visiting a hospital. Just to buy instead of loot and steal. I pawned some old loot for the credits I needed. In all, the trip took an hour tops. But when I returned, my charge was already tossing, turning, and moaning in her sleep.

"S-So cold-…! Hands… hands-! T-Touch me…!"

That was how the next few days of my new life went. I never strayed far from my charge's side. She was… needy. I couldn't say I hated the company, though… After six weeks of surviving alone in an urban Hell, she was a breath of fresh air. A wake-up call. She needed me wholeheartedly. Nothing else in my new reality did. And I realized I might've been going a bit feral on my own.

I kept her fed, trickling broth into her throat while I massaged it down. A saline drip kept her hydrated and balanced. I bathed her with the cleanest rags and water I could wrangle up in my shithole. My gentle but firm hands tended to her, never more than a second away when she needed me.

Thankfully, her state was more of a healing trance than a true coma. Force healing turned out to be just as BS as everything else the Force offered. As far as I could tell, it boosted her body to its most efficient state. Everything was put toward her body and soul's recovery. Nothing went to waste. She didn't even pee or poop. I would've taken care of the unsavory elements of care if necessary but that was a welcome surprise.

Having to care for her left me with a sudden windfall of free time. I tried to keep myself busy. Tinkering, mostly. Throwing together gadgets and gizmos. Sorting through the piles of loot I'd obtained. Taking apart the broken or stolen cyberware I'd collected and trying to put it back together. Familiarizing myself with new computing systems. But I was often left with nothing to do but think. That… was a much less welcome development.

Faceless memories haunted me. Blank ghosts from a partially remembered past. One of them had been a partner, I was sure. A brother. Or a sister. A lover, perhaps. I… couldn't remember for the life of me. They lingered at my side, mourning for something lost to me. Another had been a rival once. Maybe even an enemy. They mourned for me too. Most of all… the loss of power — of control over my life — haunted me.

The only thing that kept the faceless ghosts at bay was my charge. Her presence chased away a half-forgotten past. The Force healing sessions became just as much for me as they were for her. At times, she talked to me. Flashes of recovery shined through — sometimes with single words, other times with eerily coherent sentences.

"Thank-…"

"Conserve your strength," I would instruct curtly.

"Hold… hand-. Hold… me…"

I did. If only to help her heal.

"I got them good, ya know~…? Mom can… rest easy. I can rest easy…"

The first time she spoke a full sentence in her sleep, I'd been tinkering with a charged powerpack. I nearly blew us both up in surprise. She still didn't wake. But she'd apparently recovered enough that full, coherent sentences became the norm.

"There… Touch me there. Lay… hands upon me. The night is… cold…"

"Maine, Dorio, Becks… I'm sorry… Pour one out… for ya girl…"

I couldn't help but grumble at that last line, "Waste of good fucking liquor."

She heard me. I don't know how, but she heard me. Why else would she have genuinely giggled? But still, she didn't wake. Not then, at least. It was only a matter of one last Force healing session before I felt her truly stir and try to rise.

"Wat'r-…?" She croaked.

I complied, holding a glass of clean water to her lips. She tried to drink deeply. I didn't let her, chiding, "Slowly."

Her next attempt was more reasonable and I helped her drink. My other hand supported her back into a sitting position. She relaxed at my touch. In my dimly lit hideout, she stared. An expression of awe and reverence came over her face as she did. I held her gaze patiently. Slowly, she found her voice again.

"W-What's-… your name…?"

The faceless ghosts were nowhere in sight thanks to her but remembering still weighed heavily on me, "… I had another name once. It's lost to me now. These days… These days, I'm going by Atom."

"Thank… you, Atom. Y-You saved me… You were my only… hope…"

She couldn't have known what she said, but the nostalgic phrasing brought a twitch to my lips. A chuckle to my eyes. I had to imagine the Force was amused with itself. Staring at me, I could see my charge's eyes light up. She took in every tiny change in my expression and clung to them with unhealthy devotion. I could see it in the glint of her eyes. The young woman I'd personally soul-healed was — perhaps — slightly obsessed.

"Tell me your name," My tone came out sharp and choppy. I was… out of practice with socializing. A shame. I think I was… rather good at it. Once…

"S-Sash~Aa~!" She answered quickly and eagerly. So much so that her weak voice cracked. "Sasha Yakovleva…"

I nodded, "Good to meet you more formally, Sasha. As you've already deduced, I saved you. Your situation when I found you wasn't ideal."

Sasha giggled, the sound bubbling up from her throat, "Do you-… have a tendency for understatement, Atom~? I thought I was going to die. I'd accepted it, even."

"You did," I confirmed curtly, with a slight allowance. "… I think. I'm decently sure. I had to pull your soul back into your body initially."

She stared at me for a moment before even more laughter bubbled up from her throat, "A tendency for understatement might be understating things~! Are you a witch, Atom~?"

"Just-." I corrected. "A man of many skills."

"Is magic one of those skills~?"

"Something like it just might be."

Sasha stretched with noticeable effort, a silly smile playing across her lips, "My savior is a secret Jedi~… Should've known from those hands."

"I'm not."

"Heheh~. Protest all you want, Mr. Angel~. I've already got your number~."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Maybe~," Sasha shrugged, that same silly smile still occupying her face. "Help me stand? I'm afraid I'll have to lean on you even more, neh~? My visit to your bed seems to have left me a bit weak in the knees~."

"… Don't make me regret saving you," I grumbled, steadying her as she stood regardless.

"Never," Sasha asserted.

The firmness of her declaration left me slightly speechless for a moment. She was resolute. I believed that she would sooner die than make me regret saving her. I didn't say anything but that thought struck a rather deep cord within me. Instead of saying anything to ruin the severity of her declaration, I nodded and supported her as she took her first steps in five days.

"Ya know~?" Sasha's tone was light and bubbly but the words that came out of her mouth were morbid and grim. "Dying wouldn't have been so bad. Blowing myself to bits with a smile on my face. I'm glad I didn't 'cause it means I met you, Atom. But what's a little death to a netrunning gal like me~? I welcomed it, neh~? That sweet embrace… Corellian Hells, going out with a stunt like that — drawing an ace against a corpo cause n' all — probably would've got me into an afterlife party with Legends~!"

"Don't," I damn near growled. "… I need a return on my investment before you try and get yourself killed again."

Sasha's smile bloomed wide and eager, "Oh, you'll get it, you big, beautiful, broody tsundere~… You can be sure of that. This party kitty will pay her debts. However~. You~. Want me to~…"

"Credits would be nice," I sniped, ignoring the obvious innuendo. "A place to stay that isn't an abandoned shithole. A consistent and clean source of running water. Food that I don't have to scavenge or steal myself."

Running… water…? Atom?" Sasha asked, her tone what I was already coming to recognize as uncharacteristically sober for the spunky young woman. "Where are we?"

"About half a dozen blocks east and two and a half levels down from where I picked you up," I answered.

"… Tyger Claw or Maelstrom?"

"Best and worst of both," I scowled.

She really stopped and looked around my base then. The dim lighting wasn't due to a lack of trying on my part. The abandoned inter-level basement simply didn't have the infrastructure to support constantly running lights. Or anything overly powered, at that. My base ran almost entirely off of jury-rigged powerpacks. Because in my new neighborhood, ammunition was more plentiful than outlets. And I'd yet to find a generator. My collection of scrap and loot — impressive and useful as I thought it was — likely didn't help the scene either in her eyes. The only possession of note that I had was my bed — a comfortable and clean futon that I'd quite literally killed for.

"No way! No frakking shot!" Sasha swore and spat her visceral disgust. "I won't have my Mr. Angel living in gomi squalor! Frag ALL of that! You're coming to live with me, Atom. Shit… How long was I out?"

"Five days," I said, pointedly suppressing my relief. The way out of my shithole that she offered was… very welcome.

"Not so bad, then," Sasha chuckled half-heartedly to herself. "My landlord won't have kicked me out, at least. She's chilled. Hard enough for a bloodsucking renter, neh~? Well? What're ya waitin' for~? We're getting you outta this gomi, Atom~!"

I nodded slowly, "If… you're sure…"

She rolled her eyes at me, "Atom, dude, choom, sexy tsundere Mr. Angel. You brought me back from the brink of death. You jacked me from eternal darkness and damnation. I'm sure."

"Nnn," I gave a nonverbal grunt to hide the fire that sparked inside me.

Sasha didn't leave my side as I began to move around my humble hideout. Gathering up everything I wanted to take, I could practically feel the smirk she was staring up at me with. She was less leaning on me than she was clinging to me. Her body was all but molded to my side. I didn't let her soft, pleasant curves distract me.

"You do realize I was the one bathing you while you were out, don't you?" I deadpanned.

I didn't glance but I knew her smirk only grew at that, "Are you saying you're already familiar with every~. Intimate~. Inch~. Of my body~?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. That means you know what's waiting for you in your near future."

The matter-of-fact way she said it was likely meant to make me stumble. It didn't. I was quickly adjusting to Sasha's… everything. And I wasn't nearly as opposed to it as I might've seemed. After six weeks with only myself for company, she was exactly what I needed to pull myself back out of my increasingly feral mindset. Doubly so now that she was awake. She wasn't a hard anchor to replace everything I'd lost. But it was a start.

In a few scavenged packs, I stuffed just about everything I could carry from my collection. Blasters, slugthrowers, and scatterguns. Ammunition for everything and then some. All of the gadgets, grenades, and traps I'd scrapped together. The cyberware I'd stolen and scavenged. And most importantly, every cred chip, data chip, and personal computer I'd hoarded away. Cold hard credits may have been king but data could be even more valuable to the right people.

Sasha's smile and her eyes widened as I packed two giant duffle bags to their brims. The loot was evenly distributed between both so losing one wouldn't be crippling. I kept the chips and computers directly on my person, though. With the bags secured across my back, both of my hands were left free: an important consideration for walking the streets.

"Ready."

Sasha's eyes were a kaleidoscope of emotion as she grinned up at me, "Oh, you're just delicious, aren't you, Atom~?"

IIIII

Finally moving out of my shithole was blissfully uneventful. Sasha even sprung for a cab so we didn't have to walk through the dangerous streets and levels of Night City. The moment we left the territory I knew, I paradoxically relaxed. If I never returned to that neighborhood, it'd still be too soon. There was just one complication to deal with before I could settle into my new home…

"They'll love you, promise," Sasha assured. "I'll make it clear I've adopted you. Or maybe~… you've adopted me~… Daddy~?"

"Don't push your luck," I said, discontent and nerves rumbling in my chest. "I'm trusting you."

"I won't let you down," She nodded seriously. "You're already part of the crew in my eyes. If they refuse — somehow — your collection could straight-up buy you a spot. Once Maine accepts you, you're set. We look out for each other. I… I left them hanging in a bad way. I just need to check in before I can rest easy."

"Mn. I get it."

We spent the rest of the cab ride in silence. Sasha was leaning on me for support even more now. I tried my best to release my nerves to the wind. To the Force. The stoicism seemed to help bolster her spirits. By the time we reached our destination, she was smiling eagerly again, anticipating the reunion to come.

Five minutes later, we found ourselves staring down an unassuming apartment door. Sasha buzzed the comm unit beside the door. We only had to wait a moment for a reply. A slightly manic, feminine voice came shouting from the other side of the door.

"Say who! Be quick about it, gonk, before I blast you full of scattershot through the door!"

It took all of my composure to not step out of the way but Sasha just giggled and called back, "Becks~! It's me, Sasha! Let me in, you koochu~!"

"Sasha…? What the fuck, choom?! Hold on… If you're really Sash', what'd I just send to your comm?!"

Sasha's eyes lit with her cyberdeck and she just about doubled over laughing, "Yeah, I got that, Becks. Your pussy's looking as preem as ever, babes~!"

I barely had a chance to raise an eyebrow before the door shot open and we were greeted by a pale, wild-eyed midget grinning ear to ear, "Sasha! It's really you! Frak, girl, where the frak have you frakking been?! We thought you were taking a dirtnap after that job went bad!"

'Becks' seized her in a hug that cut off Sasha's laughter but not her response, "It's a long story. But I'm not flatlined for good just yet. I was picked up and nursed back to health by my Mr. Angel here~."

The shorter girl took a step back to stare me down. And then up. And then back down again. Appreciation shined in her eyes. It doubled as she took in the suped-up heavy blaster pistol — an ammo-expanded RSKF-44 that looked delightfully like a double-barreled 44 Magnum revolver — on my hip and the makeshift grenades on my belt. Finally, her gaze lingered on my crotch and a conspiratorial grin bloomed across her lips that she shared with Sasha.

"Fucking. Preem."

"I know, neh~?" Sasha smirked. "Becca, meet Atom, my Mr. Angel. Atom, meet Becca, Night City's rimbo loli gremlin."

"And proud!" Becca declared. "Hard handle, by the way. And good lookin' out for Sash', choom. If you ever need anything, just hit me up!"

I curtly acknowledged her offer, "Noted."

"Actually, I could use your help already, Becks," Sasha interjected. "I'm planning on bringing him onto the crew. It'd be great if you could back me and him up to Maine, neh?"

"Fuck yeah~!" Becca agreed without hesitation, either out of loyalty or-… "The crew needs some good dick representation~! Maine's too loyal and I wouldn't fuck my bro if he was the last gonk in the galaxy!"

… Or that. Staring at the completely serious, manic-grinning cyber loli — an expression that the cyber-party-goth Sasha matched crazy for crazy beside her — I had to ask myself: what exactly was I getting myself into? And why was I surprisingly on board with it…?