Cyberpunk: STRAY

Vincent moved through the casino like a ghost, hands in his pockets, avoiding eyes, avoiding trouble.

He stepped out into the cold neon haze of Dogtown, the air thick with smog and bad decisions.

His wrist chip buzzed, he checked, Less than a thousand eddies. Most of it already allocated—rent for a coffin-size hab, food rations, data access to black-market courses.

Survival money it is, He sighed through his teeth.

This city bled people dry, he just had to last longer than most. His stomach growled, but he ignored it.

The cheap kebab could wait.

Aurore Cassel, meanwhile, barely spared the case another glance. The work was done, payment handled,—now she was on to something else.

A sip of expensive synth wine, a flick of her mind as her cyberdeck hummed to life again.

Tonight, she'd be somewhere else. Play pokers, maybe a dinner at some of the most expensive fine-dining restaurants in the Redwood market or slipping into her netrunner's den for a job worth real money

For her, Night City was a playground.

For Vincent, it was a battlefield.

On the other hand, Aurore toyed with the rim of her glass, watching a corpo suit get shaken down by mercs at the next table. She didn't flinch—just sipped her drink, enjoying the show.

Vincent just wanted to make it to tomorrow.

"Wrong Place, Wrong Time"

Vincent kept his head down as he left Dogtown, slipping through the cracks like a rat that knew the city's rhythm. The Black Sapphire sat behind him, a playground for the rich and reckless, while he walked the thin line between invisible and disposable.

His lenses flickered— low battery. 

"Shit." He tapped the cyberdeck strapped to his wrist, hoping for a miracle. Nothing. Without the deck, he was just another broke immigrant kid in a city that chewed up people like him for sport.

He turned a corner, stepped into an alley to check his earpiece —and barely had time to react before a fist came flying at his face.

Vincent ducked on instinct, the punch whistling past his ear and smashing into the alley wall.

"Fucking hell!!"—He staggered back, hands up, palms open.

-"No sudden moves. No hero shit."

The woman in front of him was breathing hard, cybernetics humming under her skin. A merc. No—more than that.

She had the look. The kind that had seen death up close and kept moving.

Black tank top, worn-out combat pants, a body sculpted for war. Her cyberware was top-tier—titanium-plated knuckles, optic mods that could probably scan his DNA if she wanted.

Vincent looked at her covering his head.

Everyone took a glance, but walked away as if nothing happened, he didn't know who that woman is...

V.

The Merc. The Legend.

The walking death wish of Night City.

And right now? She looked ready to cave his skull in.

"Who the fuck are you?" she snapped, voice raw, full of adrenaline.

Vincent's brain worked overtime.

She thinks I'm someone else. Wrong place, wrong time. "If I fuck this up—" he mutterd to himself, He sure damm know he's gonna stays dead in this alley if he did.

He exhaled slow, steady, hands still up.

"Hey I ain't trouble. " His voice didn't waver. "I'm just tryna get home. You got the wrong gonk, I ain't worth the bullet."

V's jaw ticked. Her optics flickered—probably scanning his face, checking his heat signature, searching for a reason to break him in half.

Vincent didn't blink. Didn't flinch.

She stepped closer. Too close.

"Then Why the fuck were you sneaking around near Hansen's den like that? Who the fuck sent you?"

Vincent kept his breath even. Don't sound scared. Don't sound cocky. Just… neutral.

"I wasn't. Just making a delivery."

Silence. A second too long.

Then— V clicked her tongue, muttered "Shit", and backed off.

Vincent let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

V rubbed a hand down her face, looking more pissed at herself than him now.

"Fucking relic acting up again." she mutterd to herself, looked right back at Vincent, stared deep into his soul. "The fuck you looking at? fuck off kid..!" 

Vincent didn't ask questions, he didn't elaborate. He didn't want to know.

V shot him another look, scanning him like she was still trying to figure out if he was worth the effort as Vincent turned his back on her and tried to walk away.

"You really just a delivery boy?"

Vincent looked back and nodded. "Yeah. And I'd rather stay that way."

V snorted. "Smart kid."

And just like that, she was gone, boots crunching against pavement as she disappeared back into the city. Vincent stayed put for a second, making sure his knees weren't shaking before he moved again. His lenses flickered one last time before dying completely.

He was on his own. Again.

One bad night away from being a corpse, like everyone else in this city.

He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and kept walking, went straight to home, counted his eddies, loaded up an pre-collaspe era datashard containing old lectures of history and philosophy, did some reading and theres go another night..

The day after 

It was 9pm at night, Vincent wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. The club was louder than a riot, bass shaking the floors, corpos and mercs throwing down eddies like it meant nothing.

Another night, another gig.

He kept his head down, mop in one hand, bucket in the other, blending into the background like furniture. Janitor work wasn't glamorous, but it was steady, paid under the table, and—most importantly—kept him off the radar. No questions. No contracts. No bullshit. The club was one of the high-end joints in Night City, exclusive enough that people only got in if their bank account had commas.

Vincent, meanwhile? Got in through the back door, punching in for minimum wage. He kept his movements efficient, scrubbing a spill near the VIP section. A few corpos walked past without looking. He wasn't worth noticing. Then—a familiar voice. Thick French accent, laced with amusement. "Didn't take you for a cleaning boy, mon chou." Vincent froze for half a second before sighing.

Of course, he glanced up. Aurore Cassel, lounging on one of the VIP couches, looking way too entertained.

"Two Different Worlds"

She was dressed sharp—not flashy, just effortlessly expensive. Black satin blouse, gold-threaded sleeves, dripping wealth without trying. Her drink sat on the table, barely touched, while she took in the scene like a tourist in a zoo. Vincent, on the other hand? Wearing a basic gray work uniform that smelled like cheap detergent and stale beer.

Aurore smirked, tilting her head. "You do deliveries, you scrub floors—what else, hmm? Do you also cook? Maybe dance?"

Vincent exhaled through his nose, standing up straight. "I do what pays."

Aurore grinned. "Ah. Un homme pragmatique." She sipped her drink, watching him. "Never figured you for the honest-living type. Thought you'd be doing… I don't know. Something more fun."

Vincent raised a brow. "Fun doesn't pay rent."

Aurore laughed, full and unapologetic. "Ah, mon pauvre. No faith in adventure?"

Vincent wrung out his mop, ignoring the way his back ached from working two shifts. "I don't need adventure. I need eddies."

Aurore's smirk softened, just a little. She was rich by birth, a tourist in the underworld—always playing at danger, always chasing the next thrill. Vincent? He wasn't playing at anything. He was just trying to stay alive.

Aurore twirled her drink, watching him like he was some fascinating street artifact. "Tell me, Vincent," she said, eyes glinting. "What's a kid like you really doing in a city like this?"

Vincent didn't answer right away. Because he wasn't sure himself. "No Rest for the Invisible" Before he could respond, his earpiece crackled. His boss's voice came through—gruff, impatient. "Break's over, Htet. Get back to work."

Vincent rolled his shoulders, already moving. Aurore lifted her drink. "See you around, mon chou."

Vincent didn't look back. Two different worlds. Same city. He just had to last longer than most...after a few minutes Vincent got a glance of a Saka exec in an expensive tailored suit walking up to an vip booth taken by a few mercs, he knew they weren't up to no good but he knew better than to poke his nose at them...

He kept his head down, however he overheard something about a missing datashard kept in a special encrypted black leather box...