CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

"Fuck the Sixth Street Gang, you bastards!"

After throwing a string of obscenities into the comms, the Devil ended the call with a sharp motion.

As a mid-level operative in the Uzumaki Gang, the Devil rarely let her emotions get the better of her, but today was different. Rage boiled within her—unrelenting and blinding.

Her younger brother had been killed the day before, in their own territory—Watson District. Shot in broad daylight by someone from the Sixth Street Gang, the attack was as calculated as it was brutal. The gunman hadn't even bothered to cover his tracks. One precise bullet had bypassed the prosthetics on her brother's face, connecting the seams between the hardware at the back of his head and the facial implants. That single shot tore through his skull, splitting his face grotesquely in two.

When the NCPD begrudgingly informed the family, they couldn't even identify her brother's face. Parts of his prosthetics had already been scavenged, leaving a nightmarish shell of what had once been her sibling.

The Devil, notorious for her temper and sharp instincts, couldn't shake the suffocating grief. Revenge was inevitable.

Yet, when she planned to rally her crew and strike back at the Sixth Street Gang, orders came down from above: "Control yourself. Don't stir up trouble."

Control herself?

She scoffed bitterly at the suggestion.

"If it was your brother who died, would you control yourself?" she muttered.

She couldn't let this go. The Sixth Street Gang's days were numbered, and she'd already found her target. Only one member of the gang involved in her brother's murder was still alive—a man named Oliver. The rumor was he'd been kicked out of the gang, but that didn't matter. Today, Oliver would die.

"I told you to stop running around," she murmured bitterly to herself, staring at the remnants of her brother's face. "You wanted to prove yourself, and now look at you. I don't even know where to bury what's left of you."

The Devil and her brother had grown up together, bonded by tragedy. Their father had died when they were young, and their mother passed away shortly after, overworked and underpaid in a factory. The Devil had joined the Uzumaki Gang out of necessity, carving out a path that allowed her to provide for both of them. Over the years, she had earned the trust of her boss, Brick, and secured a position of respect.

She had tried to steer her brother away from the gang, urging him to pursue an honest life. But he was stubborn. He didn't want to be seen as a burden, so he joined the gang and formed his own small crew.

Now he was gone, and all the Devil had left was grief—and rage.

"I don't care if I lose my mind and end up as a cyberpsycho. I'll still make sure that bastard Oliver joins my brother in the ground," she whispered.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door crashing open. One of her subordinates stumbled in, panic written across his face.

"Boss, three people are here! We can't stop them!"

"Three people?" she echoed, incredulous. "We've got more than 20 in this factory, and you can't stop three?"

Grabbing her Crusher kinetic energy shotgun, she growled, "Perfect timing. I'll turn them into paste before I go find the Sixth Street Gang."

Despite her anger, she wasn't reckless. She ordered her subordinate to alert the others while she headed to the surveillance station. The screens showed three figures moving through the factory. One face made her six prosthetic eyes flash red in fury.

It was him.

Blond-haired. Mustached. Oliver.

She recognized him instantly. She'd spent the entire night memorizing his face and files. Now, he was here, walking right into her domain.

She didn't bother looking at the other feeds. With a bloodthirsty grin, she rushed out the door, ready to hunt.

---

Oliver had no idea he was walking into a death trap.

Pinned behind cover, he peeked out occasionally, firing bursts from his Copperhead rifle. The Uzumaki Gang's firepower was overwhelming, far beyond anything he had encountered before. Gunfire roared continuously, leaving him with few chances to return fire.

"KK, think of something!" Oliver shouted at Karl, who was crouched nearby. "If they get close enough to lob grenades, we're screwed!"

"Relax," Karl replied calmly, analyzing the situation.

Karl was methodical and prepared, never rushing into a fight without a plan.

"I've calibrated the Copperhead," he said. "I just need an opening."

Turning to Jack, Karl added, "Create a distraction for me."

"On it."

Jack did the unthinkable. Without hesitation, he broke cover and charged toward Oliver's position, drawing the Uzumaki Gang's fire.

"Are you insane?!" Oliver yelled as bullets zipped past Jack. Two of them struck him—one in the arm, another in the thigh—but Jack didn't falter. He dove into cover beside Oliver.

"Now, Karl!" Jack shouted.

"You're a maniac, Jack," Karl muttered, standing up from cover.

With the Copperhead rifle steady in his hands, he aimed at the distracted Uzumaki Gang members.

"Seven targets. Fourteen rounds. More than enough," he said, pulling the trigger with precision.

The chaos of the battlefield was about to reach a boiling point.