Cyberpunk 2077: Doom

Pov: Victor Von Doom 

BREAKING: Councilman Jefferson Peralez and his wife have unfortunately passed. The cause of death was a gas explosion, leaving their bodies unidentifiable. This tragic incident has sparked outrage across Night City as citizens demand answers. Who will step forward to take charge?

"Hey, choom. I know it's sudden, but I was wondering—would you join us tomorrow for the baby shower? New kid on the way," Jackie said, leaning against the wall and scratching the back of his head.

I glanced up from my screen. "A heads-up would've been appreciated."

"You've been busy, and, well, the right moment never came up. So, you in?"

I turned my chair to face him, considering for a moment. "What time?"

"Six-thirty."

"Alright. Consider me a guest."

Jackie's face lit up with a grin. "Heh, Misty'll be thrilled you're coming."

"Your mother, on the other hand, might not share her enthusiasm."

Jackie chuckled. "Hard to blame her, especially when I'm inviting Night City's Reaper. Your street cred's climbing, even with the locals."

"Night City's Reaper?" I echoed with a smirk, glancing at the wall behind me. Medical tools gleamed on one side, weapons on the other. "I'm just a doctor."

"'Do no harm,' huh? They ever teach you that back in Texas?"

"I'm not a certified doctor, though I'd wager my skills surpass most who are."

"No doubt," he said. "Night City's a mess. By the way, thanks—heard from one of my cousins that their inputs are running better now. Nice to know there's someone out here doing real good in this city full of scum."

"Don't mistake my actions for kindness," I replied, my tone firm. "Good and evil? They're good because I will it so."

Jackie raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe in a higher power?"

"I do."

"Then—"

"A God demanding worship and adoration? That's not a god worthy of my respect. It's better to do good for its own sake—and evil, if one must—for its own sake."

He scratched his head, pondering. "Hmm. They'd call you a heretic for saying that."

"Let them. My actions will speak louder than words. But tell me this, Jackie: where was your God when children died in the streets or when the bombs fell? There are no kind gods."

He chuckled, scratching his head. "Man, that's a lot to chew on, choom. Never thought about it like that. Guess I'm just a simple guy."

"I know," I replied, softening my tone.

Jackie smirked. "Deep, choom. Real deep. Anyway, your seven-thirty's gonna walk in soon. Some street thug from around the way. Apparently, they've been asking for you. I'd be careful—they seemed sketch."

"All people, regardless of status, are, Jackie. No man walks this world untainted."

"Deep again," Jackie grinned. "Real deep."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not oblivious to your sarcasm. Move along now; my patient must grow—"

"Impatient?" he interrupted with a grin.

I gave him a flat look and while my face remained hidden he understood the gesture. 

"Fine, fine. I'll see myself out. But you gotta admit, it was good, no?"

I waved him off with a faint smirk as he exited, leaving the room silent for a moment.

Then, the door creaked open, revealing my next patient—a man who moved with a weary hesitation, his face obscured by the shadows of a hood. His gait spoke of burden, and his every step seemed to drag against the weight of his past.

"Mr. Peralez," I said, my tone shifting to a mix of business and gravity. "It's unfortunate, but this was the only way. We were far too late to keep things under the radar. You've been compromised at every angle."

Peralez hesitated before taking a seat, his voice trembling with both exhaustion and frustration. "What's done is done. I can only keep moving forward. Whoever orchestrated this... they were thorough. To have backroom dealings within my own walls—I fear my entire campaign, my career, was a puppet show from the start."

I leaned forward, my gaze sharp. "You're fortunate to have made it out alive. But you're right—your life would never have been yours. Not truly. You'd be a pawn, forever at the mercy of unseen masters. I'm giving you a choice now. And we both know Night City thrives on choices."

Peralez met my gaze, his jaw tightening. "Why are you doing this? What do you gain?"

I leaned back, folding my hands. "I've saved an innocent man and gained a deeper understanding of the web of Night City's politics. Your death would serve as a useful tool, but your survival opens new doors. So here it is: either you leave Night City with your wife and never return, or you embrace the darkness, wield it, and return more powerful than before. Night City will be yours to command... but mine to rule."

The room fell silent, the weight of my words pressing down like the smog-laden air outside. For a moment, only the hum of the neon lights filled the void. Peralez's choice would shape more than just his own future—it would echo across the ever-churning chaos of Night City.

"I've saved an innocent man and gained insight into Night Cities political scene. What more can I ask? Your death will prove most useful." I explained, "Now your choice, either you leave Night City with your wife and never return or... You return more powerful than before. Night city will be yours to command but mine to rule."

I let Jefferson leave, his steps heavy as he exited the room. His mind churned with doubt and fear, but the seed of ambition I planted had taken root. He would act, not because he trusted me, but because he had no other choice. That's the beauty of desperation—it makes men predictable, and pliable.

Once the door closed behind him, I leaned back in my chair, glancing at the faint reflection in the darkened window. The doctor's face stared back, composed and deliberate. But behind it lay Victor's truth—the architect, the manipulator, the Reaper of Night City.

Two faces. One will.

The whispers outside were already spreading. My doombots, hidden among the homeless, worked tirelessly, their voices blending with the crowd. Each word they spoke was a carefully calculated dagger aimed at the NUSA, a story of corporate interference and governmental overreach designed to incite unrest.

"Did you hear?" one muttered, its tone ragged with feigned exhaustion. "NUSA's got their claws in deep, paying off corpos to lock us down. They want to turn Night City into another fucking state."

Another bot chimed in, its disguise flawless. "Makes sense. Ever since Peralez started pushing for reforms, everything's been going to shit. Coincidence? I don't think so."

I smirked. The narrative would take root, worming its way through the streets, the clubs, the boardrooms. The people of Night City were always one breath away from chaos; it was their natural state. All they needed was a spark, and I had given them fire.

The corpos would panic, naturally. They'd tighten their borders, secure their assets, and inadvertently open pathways for me. With their attention divided, my operatives would move through corporate convoys and logistics hubs, leveraging the anonymity of technology-driven systems to infiltrate unnoticed.

Through the glass, the sprawling chaos of Night City called to me. Its pulse was electric, vibrant, and unrelenting—a machine on the verge of implosion. And I was its surgeon, carving away the fat, severing its diseased limbs, preparing it for rebirth.

A quiet knock at the door snapped me from my thoughts. My seven-thirty appointment.

"Come in," I said, voice measured, the mask of the doctor slipping seamlessly into place.

The door creaked open, revealing a hunched figure cloaked in shadow. His movements were jittery, his eyes darting like a cornered animal. A street thug, as Jackie had warned. But there was more to him than met the eye.

He stepped forward hesitantly, his voice a nervous rasp. "They said you could help me... Doc. That you don't ask too many questions."

I gestured to the chair, my tone calm, and inviting. "I don't. But that depends on what you need."

As he sat, I activated the silent scanners in the room, reading his vitals, and analyzing his cyberware. His nervous system was spiked with combat stimulants, and his neural implants hummed with outdated but effective mods.

"What brings you here?" I asked, already piecing together the answer.

"They're watching me," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. "Everywhere I go. I can feel it. I need... I need to disappear."

A flicker of interest sparked in my mind. Another pawn, perhaps? Or maybe a piece already in play that I could repurpose.

"I see," I said, leaning forward, my tone shifting to one of reassurance. "Disappearing isn't impossible, but it comes at a cost. Tell me, who's watching you?"

He hesitated, his fear palpable. "I don't know. Corpo types, I think. NUSA maybe. Or someone bigger. They're... they're in my head."

I smiled faintly. This city is never disappointed. Night City thrived on paranoia, and men like him were its lifeblood. I'd help him, of course—for a price. After all, even chaos required precision.

---

Pov: Third Person

The trio huddled in a crumbling building on the edge of Pacifica, its walls tagged with faded graffiti and riddled with bullet holes. Neon light from outside spilled in through shattered windows, casting a fractured glow across their makeshift safe spot.

Rebecca leaned back against a pile of debris, her legs stretched out as she toyed with her gun. "You ever think about the other fixers? Y'know, like Rogue back in the day. Or Wakako and Padre. What makes someone like that tick?"

David, sitting cross-legged and sharpening his combat knife, shrugged. "Power, maybe. Control. Same thing everyone in Night City wants. Fixers just get there differently—less chrome, more connections."

Sasha, perched on an overturned crate with her glowing gaze lost in a distant stream of data, spoke without looking up. "Fixers don't live forever, though. Look at Johnny Silverhand's crew. Samurai thought they could change the world, and what did it get them? Dead friends, burned bridges, and a city that moved on without them."

Rebecca snorted. "Yeah, Silverhand was a piece of work. All that idealistic noise about toppling Arasaka, but he left a trail of bodies behind him. How's that any different from the corpos?"

David set his knife down, his expression thoughtful. "It's not. But he believed in something bigger than himself. That's more than most people here can say."

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Belief doesn't mean squat when it gets everyone around you killed. You wanna be like him, David? Some martyr no one remembers in twenty years?"

David shook his head. "No. I'm not looking to burn the city down like Silverhand did. I want to rebuild it. Fix what's broken."

Rebecca leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "And how do you think that ends for us? You think Night City's just gonna roll over and let you play hero?"

David met her gaze, his voice steady. "I'm not naive, Bex. But I've got you and Sasha. That's more than Johnny ever had. We'll do it together, or we don't do it at all."

Rebecca's lips twitched into a small smile. "You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

Before David could reply, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. The trio tensed, weapons drawn, until Alicia's familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway.

Alicia stepped into the dimly lit room, her cybernetic limbs clicking softly on the concrete floor. She carried a sleek black case, her expression calm but unreadable.

"Still playing house?" she said, her tone laced with dry amusement.

"Nice to see you too," Rebecca quipped, holstering her weapon but keeping a hand near it.

Alicia ignored the remark, placing the case on a makeshift table. "New assignment. You're heading deeper into Pacifica. There's been... a development."

David stood, his brow furrowed. "What kind of development?"

Alicia opened the case, revealing a small, unassuming device bristling with tech. "Netwatch's little operation you stumbled across? It's bigger than we thought. The Voodoo Boys are spooked, and when they're spooked, things tend to explode—literally."

Sasha leaned in, scanning the device. "What's this?"

"Insurance," Alicia said. "The Doc wants you to deliver it to Placide. It's a direct link to their network, disguised as a sync tool. Placide will think it's a gift. In reality, it's leverage."

Rebecca frowned. "Leverage for what?"

Alicia's smirk was cold. "To keep them in line. The Doc doesn't trust the Voodoo Boys, and neither should you."

David crossed his arms. "And what happens if Placide finds out what it really is?"

"That's your problem," Alicia said bluntly. "You're resourceful. Figure it out."

Rebecca scoffed. "Great. Love these suicide missions."

Alicia snapped the case shut and handed it to David. "You're not getting out of this one, so save the whining. Get it done, and you might just earn the Doc's trust—or at least, more than you have now."

David nodded, gripping the case tightly. "What's the rendezvous point?"

Alicia's cybernetic eye flickered as she accessed a map. "Abandoned building on the edge of Grand Imperial Mall. Placide will meet you there. And David—don't screw this up."

With that, Alicia turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the silence she left behind.

David set the case down and glanced at Rebecca and Sasha. "Well... looks like we're in it now."

Rebecca rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "Just another day in paradise, huh?"

Sasha sighed, already pulling up maps and tactical data. "Let's just hope this paradise doesn't get us all killed."

David adjusted the case's weight in his hand, its cold surface grounding him. Rebecca was already checking her weapons, her fingers moving with a practiced ease that belied her sharp tongue. Sasha, meanwhile, was still locked into her Net connection, her faintly glowing eyes flickering like distant stars.

"You know," Rebecca said, breaking the silence, "I'm starting to think Alicia likes giving us the short end of the stick."

"She doesn't like anything," David replied, his tone dry. "It's not personal. Just business."

Rebecca gave him a skeptical look. "That's what people say when they're about to screw you over."

Sasha finally spoke, her voice cutting through the conversation like a blade. "She's not wrong. Alicia's playing a long game. And we're pawns."

David nodded grimly. "Maybe. But pawns can still take the king."

Rebecca laughed, a short, sharp sound. "That's cute. You've been reading chess metaphors in your spare time?"

David ignored her and turned his attention to Sasha. "What do you have on the Grand Imperial Mall? Any movement in the area?"

Sasha's gaze unfocused for a moment as she pulled data from the Net. When she spoke, her tone was all business. "Pacifica's quiet. Too quiet. Placide's crew has fortified the mall's lower levels, but there's been no major activity topside. Netwatch might still have operatives in the area, though. Small teams, running recon."

David grimaced. "Great. So we're walking into a minefield."

"Pretty much," Sasha said, her voice devoid of emotion.

Rebecca slapped the magazine of her pistol into place and stood. "Well, if we're walking into hell, might as well do it with style. Let's move before Alicia sends another surprise our way."

The trio gathered their gear and stepped out into the night.

---

The door to El Coyote Cojo swung open, the warm light and festive hum spilling out into the dark streets of Heywood.

A tall, cloaked figure ducked through the doorway, heavy boots making a dull thud on the worn wooden floor. Conversations lulled for a moment as heads turned toward the newcomer. Whispers broke out, and a few hands instinctively moved toward holsters.

It wasn't every day you saw a man of his stature—a towering presence clad in a long, dark cloak that obscured most of his form, his broad shoulders accentuated by the heavy equipment strapped to his back.

His face was hidden by a sleek, featureless mask that reflected the neon glow of the room. He was a figure of mystery, one that both intrigued and unsettled those present.

Mama Welles, standing near the bar, folded her arms as she watched him step deeper into the room.

"Mama," Jackie said quickly, appearing at her side with an apologetic grin. "Relax, yeah? This is The Doctor. I invited him."

"Not exactly the warm welcoming I was expecting." The Doctor voiced towards Jackie.

"Listen, I know it's been awhile but you know he's done good," Jackie replied to his mother. 

Mama Welles arched a brow, her scepticism plain. "Hijo, you bring this... shadow to a family celebration? You know how I feel about strangers."

Jackie placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's not a stranger to us, Mama. He's done a lot for the people here. You've seen it yourself—the Valentinos, Padre's people, hell, even Carlos wouldn't have his new arm without him. He's good people."

Her eyes flicked toward The Doctor again, who had paused near a table, nodding briefly to Carlos, who raised a glass in greeting. Despite the imposing presence, there was no hostility in his movements, no arrogance—just quiet observation.

Mama Welles sighed, her hands resting on her hips. "If you vouch for him, mijo, I'll allow it. But if anything happens..."

"Nothing will happen," Jackie assured her, his grin widening. "Trust me, he's here to celebrate, same as us."

Mama Welles gave a reluctant nod but didn't approach. Instead, she kept an eye on him as he moved through the room.

The Doctor seemed unbothered by the attention. He exchanged a few words with Carlos, who gestured animatedly with his cyberarm, and nodded politely to Padre, who offered a brief toast.

"You're a hard man to miss," Padre said as The Doctor neared. "But you're even harder to dislike, it seems. Jackie speaks highly of you, as do others."

"I only do what is necessary," The Doctor replied simply, his voice modulated but calm.

"That's more than most would do in your line of work," Padre said, sipping his tequila. "Enjoy the night, Doctor. You've earned it."

A few Valentinos approached, their flashy outfits and gold accents contrasting sharply with The Doctor's utilitarian appearance. One of them, Reyes, slapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't let the mask fool you," Reyes said with a grin. "This guy's a damn saint. Keeps our boys patched up so we can keep the streets ours. Salud!"

The group raised their glasses, and The Doctor inclined his head in acknowledgment.

As the night wore on, Mama Welles softened, watching as her guests—friends and family—greeted The Doctor with gratitude. She still regarded him with caution but couldn't deny the impact he had on the community.

Later, when she approached him with a plate of food, her tone was less sharp. "You don't say much, do you?"

"I say what needs to be said," he replied, accepting the plate.

"Well," she said, folding her arms again, "Jackie speaks highly of you. That means something in this house. But you keep your business clean, understand? I won't have any trouble here."

"There will be no trouble," he assured her.

She nodded, studying him for a moment longer before moving back to her place behind the bar.

Jackie, meanwhile, was surrounded by friends and family, receiving congratulatory slaps on the back and hearty hugs. It was clear to anyone watching that he was deeply loved by his community.

"The kid's got his papa's charm," one of the older Valentinos said, raising a glass.

"And his mama's fire," another added, drawing laughter.

Jackie beamed, cradling his newborn son in one arm. "This little guy's gonna grow up knowing everyone in this room's got his back. That's what family's for, yeah?"

A chorus of cheers and agreement followed, and for a moment, the warmth in the room seemed to swell.

The Doctor observed it all quietly from his place at the edge of the room. This was a world far removed from the sterile halls of his clinic or the dark alleys where he worked. But tonight, he was part of it—a shadow amidst the light.

And for now, that was enough.

As the party reached its lively peak, the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter filled the air. Jackie was in the centre of it all, holding his newborn son while proudly exchanging smiles with his friends and family. The Doctor remained on the periphery, his silent presence a stark contrast to the animated crowd around him. 

Then, without a word, he moved. The room seemed to quiet slightly as he approached Jackie, his heavy boots muffled by the sound of conversation. The Doctor's imposing figure caused a few heads to turn, but Jackie grinned wide when he saw him coming. 

"Hey, choom," Jackie said, his voice warm. "Was wondering when you'd make your way over here. You enjoying the party? Ain't every day you see the whole neighborhood show up like this, huh?" 

The Doctor nodded slightly, his voice calm and steady. "It's a rare thing—this kind of unity. You've built something worth celebrating, Jackie." 

Jackie chuckled, rocking his son gently in his arms. "It's not just me, you know. It's everyone here. Even you, Doc. You've done a lot for these folks, whether they know it or not." 

The Doctor inclined his head in acknowledgment but didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached beneath his cloak, producing a small, unassuming box. It was wrapped neatly in simple brown paper, tied with a sturdy string. 

"For your family," The Doctor said, holding the box out toward Jackie. 

Jackie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A gift? From you? Man, I wasn't expecting that. You sure?" 

"I am," The Doctor replied. "It's something practical—a token of my regard." 

Jackie took the box carefully, shifting his son in his other arm. "Alright, let's see what you've got here." He untied the string and peeled back the paper, revealing a finely crafted, high-tech medkit. Unlike the standard-issue ones common in Night City, this was custom-built—compact but packed with advanced tools and supplies. Its casing was engraved with a small but intricate pattern of a family tree. 

"Whoa," Jackie breathed, turning the medkit over in his hands. "This... this is something else, Doc. You made this?" 

"I did," The Doctor confirmed. "It's equipped with the best tools I could fit into its design. For emergencies, or even routine care. A family should always be prepared." 

Mama Welles, who had been observing nearby, stepped closer, her expression softening as she saw the gift. "It's beautiful," she said quietly, running a finger over the engraved tree. "Thoughtful, too. Not what I expected from you." 

"Practicality is its own form of kindness," The Doctor replied. 

Jackie grinned, his pride evident. "Man, you've outdone yourself. This ain't just a medkit—it's peace of mind. My boy's lucky to have people like you looking out for him already." He held the medkit up for the others to see. "Check it out, everyone! The Doc's got my family covered, big time!" 

The crowd responded with cheers and claps, a few voices calling out thanks to The Doctor for his generosity. For a moment, even Mama Welles looked approving, though she didn't say it outright. 

"Thank you, Doc," Jackie said, his voice heartfelt. "This means a lot. To me, to Mama, to my boy. We'll take good care of it—and each other." 

The Doctor nodded the faintest hint of warmth in his posture. "That's all I ask." 

As the party carried on, the Doctor returned to his quiet corner, content to watch as the community embraced not only Jackie's joy but also the small gesture of care he had contributed. For a man of few words, his actions spoke volumes. 

As the festivities began to mellow into the late evening, Padre made his way toward the Doctor, who stood quietly at the edge of the room. The older man carried himself with the composed demeanour of someone used to navigating the chaotic streets of Night City. Despite his usual unflappable air, a certain tension was visible in the way he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Doctor," Padre greeted, his voice smooth yet edged with a hint of urgency. "May I have a moment of your time?"

The Doctor turned his masked face toward the man, his head tilting slightly in acknowledgment. "Of course," he said in his calm, measured tone. "What brings you to me this evening?"

Padre glanced around, ensuring their conversation remained private, and gestured toward a quieter corner of the bar. The Doctor followed him, his heavy equipment clinking faintly as he moved.

Once they were secluded, Padre leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I wouldn't trouble you unless it was important, but I find myself in need of your particular expertise. It concerns one of my...associates."

The Doctor remained silent, waiting for Padre to continue.

"There's a young woman, Camila. She's part of the community, a good soul caught up in something beyond her control. Her brother, Rafael, got involved with some very dangerous people—traffickers operating out of Santo Domingo. She sought my help, but these men are deeply entrenched and ruthless. Confronting them outright would cause more harm than good."

Padre exhaled deeply, his face hardening. "I need you to extract Rafael and ensure his safety, but this must be done delicately. If these men suspect we've interfered, there will be consequences for everyone."

The Doctor considered Padre's words for a moment, his mechanical fingers flexing as he weighed the situation. "You believe Rafael is worth saving, despite his choices?"

Padre nodded firmly. "He may have lost his way, but he is not beyond redemption. His family deserves the chance to see him return whole, if not unscathed."

The Doctor's voice was thoughtful. "What do you know about their operation?"

Padre handed him a data shard. "Everything I've been able to gather is on there. They're running their business out of a rundown factory. Security is tight, but they rely on tech that you're more than capable of countering. Camila tells me Rafael is being held in the lower levels."

The Doctor took the shard, slotting it into his neural processor. His visor flickered briefly as he scanned the information. A map of the factory, a list of known operatives, and surveillance data played out in his augmented vision. "I'll handle it," he said finally, his tone decisive. "But extraction won't be enough. These traffickers need to be dismantled."

Padre's expression darkened. "Do what you must, but make sure it cannot be traced back to the Valentinos or the community. There are innocents who rely on the delicate balance we've built."

The Doctor nodded. "Understood."

As he moved to leave, Padre placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Doctor. It means a great deal to me—and to them."

The Doctor turned slightly, his cloak shifting with the motion. "I don't do this for gratitude, Padre. I do it because someone must."

With that, he strode toward the exit, his purpose clear. The shadows seemed to swallow him whole as he disappeared into the night, leaving the warmth of the El Coyote Cojo behind to face the cold, unforgiving streets of Night City.

For the Doctor, the celebration had ended, but his work was just beginning.