Cyberpunk 2077 – Cyber Dogs

Inside a Maelstrom Hideout 

"We went overboard… again," V said, glancing around at the carnage. 

The place looked like it had been through a warzone—shattered windows, busted doors, and half the furniture either flipped or embedded in walls. Maelstrom gangers lay sprawled across the floor, groaning, bleeding, or just straight-up unconscious. 

"Yeah, but come on, it was fun," Jackie said with a grin. "We know martial arts now." 

It had taken Judy three full weeks to compile martial arts data—karate, taekwondo, krav maga, capoeira, everything—and edit it into a BD. V was the first to use it. Before the BD, her fighting style was mostly brute force—wild punches and kicks. Now? She was precise. Tactical. When she popped her Sandevistan mid-fight, she looked like an anime character in a fight scene—bouncing off walls, flipping mid-air, delivering combos like a Street Fighter pro. 

Jackie was next. His punches hit way harder now, and with his optical upgrades, he could track high-speed movement. In the game, optics slow down time automatically, and that's without even using cyberhacks. It's like the Sharingan from Naruto. Combine that with his Gorilla Arms—enhanced for both strength and speed—and he could punch through steel and still have time to scratch his head. 

I was the last to try it out. Not because I didn't want to, but because my body's defensive capabilities were too absurd. I had to custom-build a neural dampener rig just to absorb the sudden muscle memory load without snapping my own spine. It looked like something a mad scientist would strap onto Frankenstein. 

But once it worked… damn. I moved like Jackie Chan. I could run across tables, leap between scaffolding, flip off walls, and weaponize literally anything—chairs, mop handles, broken signs, even someone's prosthetic leg. (Side note: If you're reading this and haven't watched Jackie Chan movies, you're missing out. That man did all his own stunts, no wires, no CGI. And the Jackie Chan Adventures cartoon? Classic.) 

"All right, we had our fun," I said. "Let's finish the gig." 

We were hired to recover some stolen corporate goods. After raiding the hideout, disabling a bunch of traps, and dealing with the meatheads inside, we found the crate stashed in the back room. Mission success. 

We stepped outside—and immediately spotted another problem. 

More gang members were waiting. 

Only these weren't Maelstrom. They were Tiger Claws. A dozen or so of them. Some already lying on the ground—injured, unconscious, or dead. The rest looked nervous, glancing around. 

Standing proud among the bodies was Lola. 

"Good girl," I said, smiling. "You handled the Tiger Claws while we were busy, huh?" 

Woof. [Happy] 

Ever since that mess at Lizzie's Bar, the Moxies had gone soft on the Tiger Claws—no kills, just warnings. They didn't want full-on war. But they made sure those gangoons walked away with bruises, not pride. Since then, Tiger Claws had started whispering rumors about a green-skinned merc and his terrifying dog. Sometimes, they'd try to jump us. 

None of them ever made it back. 

"You guys really hold a grudge," I muttered, cracking my neck. "It's been almost a month since I thrashed those clowns who tried to hurt the Moxies." 

One of the remaining Tiger Claws, face bloodied, glared at me. "F**k you! You shouldn't mess with the Tiger Claws!" 

Bang. 

I shot him in the head. Clean. No hesitation. 

"I'm so damn tired of hearing that line: 'Don't mess with the Tiger Claws,' 'We are the Tiger Claws,' 'Tiger Claws this, Tiger Claws that.' Even when you idiots try to sneak up on me, you yell it out loud. Do you hear yourselves?" 

A female ganger lunged at me, screeching, "How dare you! We are the Tig—" 

Bang. 

My next shot grazed her cheek. 

"I'll put a bullet between your eyes if you finish that sentence," I warned. 

She froze, lips sealed, terrified. 

Woof. [Car.] 

Lola alerted me with a short bark. I turned toward the road and spotted a sleek black car pulling up slowly. It stopped about twenty meters away. Two people stepped out—a man and a woman, both in sleek, traditional-style business suits with modern flair. Wakako's people. 

V and Jackie immediately tensed. But I waved them down. 

These two didn't look armed. 

"Are you Mr. 8, leader of the Cyber Dogs?" the woman asked politely. 

"I'm 8, yeah. But we don't have a leader. No chain of command in the Cyber Dogs." 

"We're members of the Tiger Claws, sent by Wakako Okada." 

Ah. So, it's finally happening. 

"She sent you? You have her contact number?" 

"She wishes to meet with you face-to-face," said the man. 

I glanced at my team. "You two wanna tag along?" 

"Hell yeah," Jackie grinned. "Always wanted to meet Wakako. Heard she's a legend in Westbrook." 

"I'll come. Just in case," V added. 

"She only wants to speak with you," the woman insisted. "Alone." 

"Then I'll have to decline," I said, folding my arms. "Whatever she has to say to me, she can say in front of my crew. Like I said, we're equals." 

The woman glanced at her partner. "Give us a moment to contact Miss Wakako." 

"Take your time." 

A few minutes passed. 

"She agrees. Your companions may come." 

"Appreciate it," I said with a slight bow. 

"What about them?" V asked, pointing at the Tiger Claws still breathing. 

"Today's their lucky day," I said. "Leave them." 

We hopped into our car and followed Wakako's people through the city. 

"What do you think she wants?" V asked. 

"Business, probably," I replied. 

"You think it's a trap?" Jackie muttered. 

"Nah. Wakako doesn't play that low. She's a big-name fixer in Japantown. Pulling something shady would stain her reputation." 

Woof. [Hungry.] 

"We'll eat in Japantown," I promised. "And I swear, if it's artificial slop again, I'm throwing a grenade in the kitchen." 

Japantown 

The streets buzzed with neon, steam, and the smell of street food. The architecture blended Japanese and Chinese styles—pagodas wrapped in LED signage, old wooden facades under massive chrome billboards. We passed people with full-body tattoos, swords on their backs, and katanas hanging at their hips. Real yakuza vibes. 

"Please follow us. Miss Wakako is waiting." 

We entered an old arcade, pachinko machines blaring as old men and punks alike pulled levers with robotic precision. Past a hidden door in the back, we found ourselves in a traditional tea room—clean, elegant, with bonsai trees and tatami mats. 

Wakako Okada sat at the center, sipping tea. Calm, sharp-eyed, radiating experience and menace. 

"Miss Wakako, the Cyber Dogs are here." 

"Leave us," she said. "I want to speak with them privately." 

The escorts bowed and exited. 

We each gave her a respectful bow. 

"Do you know why I asked for this meeting?" Wakako asked. 

"I see two reasons. Either you want to hire us… or you want to talk about all the Tiger Claws we've buried." 

"You're sharp, child. Don't worry about those fools. They were stupid and disposable." 

Woof. [Idiots.] 

Wakako glanced at Lola with mild surprise. "A dog that talks. Impressive." 

"She can only say one word at a time. It's still a work-in-progress." 

"Well. Onto business. Word on the street is, you've handled Maelstrom like it was nothing. Cleared out scavengers from Heywood. I even contacted El Padre about you." 

I raised an eyebrow. 

"He told me it was best to meet you face-to-face. He also sent me a document about your first gig. To think—you tore apart a scavenger den in the most grotesque ways imaginable. And your payment was… a child's toy." 

"It was an action figure. Or a doll. Still not sure. Her parents wanted to pay, but I couldn't take it. The kid handed me her toy, and… it meant something. Way more than eddies." 

"You're a strange one," Wakako said. "Tell me—if a child killer were protected by Arasaka itself… would you still go after him?" 

I looked her straight in the eyes. "Without hesitation. I don't care who they are. President, corpo, fixer—if they cross that line, they're done." 

A long silence followed. 

Then Wakako nodded. "Foolish… but honest. I'll contact you when I have gigs. You may go." 

We bowed once more and left. 

Later That Evening — El Coyote Cojo, Heywood 

After the meeting, we decided to celebrate at El Coyote. I pulled up my system and conjured some real, non-artificial food. Once Mama Welles saw it, she went full abuela commando. 

"Jackie, keep stirring! V, not too thin on those slices! 8, stop playing with the damn chicken and season it!" 

Lola was already on the table, tongue out, tail wagging. 

"Why the hell am I cooking? I brought the food!" I complained. 

"Oh?" Mama Welles raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to eat?" 

"Wait—no, no, I didn't say that—" 

"Then hush and cook." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

After an hour of chaos, the meal was ready. We all gathered at the table to say grace. Jackie tried to sneak a bite. 

"Jackie," Mama Welles said without opening her eyes, "if you touch that plate before we're done praying, I'll make sure you regret it." 

The air got heavy, like she activated Conqueror's Haki from One Piece. 

Jackie froze. 

I was both impressed and terrified. 

End of Chapter