Enoch
In [Cyberpunk: Eden], when creating Enoch's character, you have a fixed number of points to invest in stats. Of course, you can increase them. By cramming in all sorts of status ailments and mental illnesses, you can rack up a ton of points. But doing that makes the gameplay itself a nightmare, so the trick is to squeeze maximum efficiency out of the minimal debuffs. Enoch was built that way.
Parents and comrades slaughtered. A few fatal betrayals. First love's death. Obsessions and paranoia. Insomnia. Chain-smoking. Auditory hallucinations. Visual hallucinations. Indigestion. Bad luck. Nightmares. Constipation. Mandatory routines, and so on. Things lethal to humans but less so to game characters. He maxed out points from all of it, creating the perfect being. Only someone like Soo, called a freak in the community, could pull it off.
"What the hell."
Such a character. No, Enoch, now a real person, asked.
"What... exactly do you want from me?"
Enoch couldn't make sense of it. Saving his dying ass. Shoving a neural accelerator implant—Neonik's latest model, no less—into his broke body, then claiming she had plenty of money. Sitting here for two days straight until he woke up. None of it added up.
"I have nothing to offer you."
"It's fine. Just take jobs with me from now on. I'll cover all the procedure costs."
Shelling out that kind of cash just for backup on gigs? He didn't dare hope it was because she saw his potential. Enoch had clawed his way up from rock bottom. In this world, no favors came free.
But he still couldn't guess her angle. Right now, he was a total loser without even a proper bulletproof vest. The only thing worth taking from him was organs, but why drop that much eddies just for those? A Neonik neural accelerator implant cost enough to buy a dozen black-market organs.
"...Are you a merc?"
"Starting today."
Enoch didn't doubt the words. Based on yesterday's display, word could've spread across Eden. But he'd never heard the name Soo.
Aegis System?
The collective of Eden's top netrunners. If she was one of them, her name might stay under wraps.
But... unlikely.
They never hit the field directly. Plugging their nervous systems straight into computers, they jacked in body and soul. Boosting machine power with human flesh. Body temp skyrocketed in minutes—blood boiling. To counter it, they wore full-body cooling suits and dove into cryo-pods.
Netrunners under Aegis Protocol didn't run the streets. If one did...
Phantom Protocol? Even less likely.
The secret society of netrunners who'd flipped off Aegis. Pure pipe dream, though. Aegis had endless netrunners; they'd sniff them out. Phantom Protocol was just urban legend fodder.
Then what faction is she with?
Other mercs and connectors wouldn't know her either. Hell, even dead Kalchas hadn't recognized her.
"Right... Kalchas."
Too much chaos on waking; he'd skipped checking. The nano-computer whirred to life as Enoch recalled him.
No hits on Kalchas's death. Same for Alexon. Surface searches and news were silent. Netrunner feeds might differ, but no public buzz.
This clean?
His usual processor would've sold the info ages ago.
[Southpeak Connector Kalchas Adler Slain by Unknown Merc.]
Tabloid fodder. Other shops were the same—gossip-hungry scum. No reason to hold back.
But dead quiet. The world didn't know Kalchas was gone.
Clinic empty, Enoch whispered,
"...Where are the bodies?"
"Handled it."
"You know a processor? Even then, they don't let just anyone in. And after?"
"With magic."
Soo grinned proudly.
"Hah."
Enoch didn't buy it. Magic? Bullshit. Code for "none of your business."
"So you've got your supply line covered. Damn thorough for a rookie merc."
Corp-level connections or standout skills catching a big connector's eye. One or the other.
Chop bodies in some back-alley motel, flush blood down the drain, dump chunks in the river bit by bit—busted in a day. No network? No clean disposal for Kalchas and Alexon.
Worst case: Blast 'em to bones in a blind spot, scatter gore on the wind. Impossible.
"Yup, real magic."
Soo, oblivious.
"Haha, magic? Like in the movies? Urban legends are buzzing about it lately."
"Not legend."
"Then show me right here."
"Show you?"
Soo's eyes sparkled. She slammed the window behind her shut.
"Yeah, if you can."
Mid-sentence, the water bottle beside him crunched—gone without trace.
"And if it's real magic."
Splashed droplets gathered on her palm, soft and fluffy, then scattered everywhere.
"...I'll believe you, no question."
"Yup. Hard to control the power. More?"
Soo reached out. The pillow Enoch had used popped. Feathers didn't fly—carried by a thin breeze to her feet.
"Beli—believe—ally—comra—"
"What do ya think?"
Enoch's eye twitched.
Repulsor? No. He knew repulsors—brutal, shredding his family whole. Savage roar of engines.
This was different. No engine hum. And the breeze still blowing. AC off. No fans. Not mechanical.
Windows shut. Not outside wind.
Southpeak air was filthy, sticky. Winds heavy, humid.
This breeze? Crisp, fresh—like faint memories of clear skies.
What the hell was it?
"...Magic?"
"Yup, magic."
In his peripheral, a tail swayed happily.
"I'm a dragon."
Forgotten memory surged.
"You'll team up with me, right?"
"No, I—"
Before blackout: glossy gray-scaled tail. He'd chalked it up to pain, shock, hallucination.
"A man doesn't go back on his word?"
Guess not hallucination.
Heehee. Soo skipped along, beaming.
Slotted Enoch's must-have starter implant perfectly. Made a friend. Now, merc partners on gigs.
Sure, it nuked most of her cash. Whatever. Money came and went—especially in Eden.
Earn more. No debts, no corp heat yet. Smooth sailing.
So now! Out of Enoch's beat-up ride, heading to their first gig site together.
Bottom-tier cleanup—no connector needed.
Target: Worthless scum. Raped the client's daughter, butchered her pet cat in front of her... Yeah, that psycho.
Thought Enoch needed rest, but two days out cold counted. Doc cleared him.
"Excited?"
"Hm..."
Enoch was uneasy.
Normally: dual pistols, three throw-knives. Flashlight, mini-bombs. Five painkillers, ten stims. Three tranq darts. Five calorie bars, emergency nano-amp. Self-destruct bomb.
Cheap vest, unreliable cheap rifle, gas mask—always packed.
Now? Half his soul: Moonlight pistol, one knife. Spinal Hod implant.
No morning rations even.
Driving me nuts.
Countless betrayals, team wipes, parents' murder scene. Spawned obsessions—gear list chief among them.
Skip prep? He could work, but it'd suck.
Didn't wanna say it. Weakness exposed = death wish.
"Not excited?"
"...Gigs aren't for fun."
Lie. Neonik Hod performance? Curious. Chance to ditch neon glow for Eden moonlight.
Hod alone wouldn't cut it, but a step toward legend.
"How much farther?"
"That derelict building."
Couldn't slack, though. Still no read on Soo. But job's a job. She's ally—for now, no backstab vibes.
Do the work.
At the rundown husk, chambered Moonlight. Hid throw-knife up right sleeve. Felt the spinal chill, activated ocular night-vision implant.
No locks. No cams. Door opens clean—no traps, handle inert.
Brain greenlit it.
"Opening."
Creeeak—rusted greenish door swung.
"Ugh."
Soo and Enoch grimaced. Blue smoke filled the interior, reeking of rotting corpse. Vibration deep.