The storefront flickered with neon signage promising "nutritional optimization", but I knew better. I stepped inside anyway. The smell of synthetic spices and processed vegetables clung to the air, thick and metallic. It was the kind of place that sold food to survive on—not to enjoy.
I dropped 800 eddies on two weeks' worth of groceries: protein-rich meat paste, processed bean packs, a veggie blend paste mixed with rice, all laced with heavy seasoning to mask the taste. Nutrient-dense, low on synthetic junk—just how I liked it.
Bag secured, I ducked into a nearby alley, glanced around, and slid the groceries into my inventory with a mental command. Then I made my way to the Metro station, eyes scanning for pickpockets like usual.
As I boarded the train heading toward my sector, my mind drifted to training. I needed to work on my routine. More muscle, faster reflexes—something to help me gain an edge.
System notification:
[Any action relating to a core attribute will give progression to leveling up.]
Duly noted.
The train screeched to a halt. I stepped out, heading toward my apartment when a voice called out behind me.
"Hey, choom."
I ignored it.
"You in the black hoodie."
I turned. Three Tyger Claws. The one who'd called out stepped forward.
"Where's your protection payment? You live around here, right?"
I smiled. "Come take it from me, goon."
The three approached. My hand hovered near the holster under my jacket, charging the Satara. It hummed quietly.
"He's charging his gun! Duck!"
The shout came too late. I drew and fired, the double blast flattening two of them. The Satara vanished back into my inventory in the same motion.
The last one—the leader—rose with a snarl and rushed me, katana flashing. I sidestepped, pulled out my bat, and cracked his blade aside. One clean hit to the jaw sent his mask flying. He hit the ground hard. I finished it with two more strikes to the head.
System notification:
[250 + 250 + 500 EXP Earned]
[Level Up: Level 1 → Level 2]
[0 / 1584 EXP to next level]
[1 Attribute Point | 2 Perk Points Available]
I looted the katana, two automatics, and a credchip. Back in an alley behind my building, I checked it—500 eddies. I transferred it to my account and cracked the chip in half. Up to 3200.
Inside my apartment, I stored the food, then sat down on the worn couch. My body tingled as I assigned the attribute point to Body. A slow, subtle shift rippled through my muscles. Not like the initial surge from my first upgrade—this was gradual, more refined.
I used my perk points: two levels in Wrecking Ball. It fit my style. The stat screen updated: [Body: 11].
No blood on my clothes, but I changed anyway. The water hit my skin like cold metal. As it ran down, I processed what had just happened. Three men—dead or worse—and I hadn't blinked. Hadn't hesitated.
I told myself it was survival. If I didn't stay hard, I'd end up another name on a wall somewhere. No mercy, not in this city. Forgive someone and you look weak—unless they're a bigger player. Then you wait.
I needed contacts. Fixers. Regina came to mind. She had reach, operations, access. Getting on her radar wouldn't be hard—just take down a cyberpsycho or two. I chuckled. Easier said than done.
I'd need a crew. Rebecca for muscle, Lucy for netrunning. No way in hell was I jacking in—I'd need someone for that. They'd make a solid team.
The water turned cold. I shut it off. My path was clear. Survival wasn't enough anymore.
It was time to make moves.
But first—sleep. Real sleep. The first since I woke up in this world.
As I lay down, a sleek interface materialized before my eyes, pulsing softly.
[How long would you like to sleep?]
I selected 8 hours.
Out like a light.
I woke to an alarm buzzing in my HUD. I blinked it away and quickly disabled it—no more annoying wake-up calls. The time showed exactly eight hours had passed. Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds.
I got up and made myself breakfast. One patty each from the protein paste, bean paste, and veggie paste tubes. A triple-stack of survival food, clocking in at 500 calories, 50 grams of protein, and most of my daily nutrient needs. Thanks to the heavy seasoning, it actually tasted decent.
After eating, I headed down the street to the gym. Inside, I paid 1000 eddies for a premium net-based boxing tutorial—stance, form, and basic strikes. Expensive, but hopefully worth it. I followed the video as closely as I could, practicing jabs, crosses, and switching stances until I found one that felt right.
A trainer approached as I worked.
"This your first time?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I usually lift, not box. Bought the premium video for basics. Dumb move?"
He shook his head. "Not dumb. Premium vids aren't the worst, just real bare-bones. Would've been cheaper with a few coaching sessions, but it's done now. I'll give you a free trial session—comes with the membership. Half an hour."
"Thanks," I said, grateful.
For the next thirty minutes, he critiqued everything—my stance, strikes, hip movement. He corrected how I rotated through punches and kept my guard up. The improvement was instant.
"Time's up," he said, stepping back. "But good job, kid. You were soaking that up like a sponge."
I grinned, panting. "Thanks. That helped a ton. When I get more eddies, I'll book you."
"No problem, kid."
As he walked off, my system pinged.
> [500 EXP Earned – Coaching Session]
I lit up inside. This was working.
I hit the bag again, refining everything he taught me. Repetition. Movement. Form. Burned it all into muscle memory.
Another ping.
> [250 EXP Earned – Training Session]
Soaked in sweat and breathing hard, I hit a vending machine in the corner. Grabbed a protein bar and an electrolyte drink, then headed back home. Shower. Fuel. Rest.
Then? More grinding.