CYBERPUNK: The Technomancer’s Gamble

The room was still. The only sound was the faint hum of his drone as it hovered nearby, its small rotors occasionally clicking in protest. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, staring at the System Window floating before him.

Super Gacha System Active.

The words hung there like a taunt, their faint glow casting soft shadows on the dingy apartment walls.

"No new spins," he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. "Not for a while, anyway."

A quick attempt to call up a second roll had only confirmed what he already suspected: the system wasn't some endless well of power. Beneath the primary display, a line of smaller text read:

Next spin available in: 6 months.

Six months. Might as well have been a lifetime.

"Figures," he said, rubbing his temples. He leaned back against the wall, exhaling sharply. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or frustrated. On the one hand, no spins meant no reliance on RNG, no risking his life for the possibility of something useless. On the other hand, no spins meant he was stuck with what he had.

Technopathy and Juryrigg.

Two powers. No upgrades. No lifelines.

Better make them count.

---

He glanced at the drone hovering nearby. It was a simple thing—compact, nimble, no weapons to speak of. But it had saved his life earlier, and now it was all he had.

The connection between them felt natural, almost like an extension of his own body. He didn't need to speak to command it; his thoughts were enough. A simple push of intent sent the drone weaving through the air, its movements smooth and precise.

He focused harder, trying to map out its internal systems in his mind. The image came slowly at first—a tangled web of circuits, wires, and processors. It was messy, haphazardly thrown together, but functional.

"Could use an upgrade," he said aloud. The drone chirped in response, its sensors blinking briefly.

He stood and began pacing, his thoughts racing. Juryrigg's influence was already kicking in, ideas forming faster than he could process them. He didn't just see the drone anymore—he saw what it could be.

More armor. Improved rotors. A compact weapon system.

His hands twitched as though itching for tools that weren't there.

---

Scavenging the Sprawl

If he wanted to improve the drone—or build anything else—he needed materials.

Night City wasn't exactly short on junk, but scavenging wasn't as simple as wandering into the nearest alley. Every piece of scrap in this place was either claimed by a gang, guarded by a corporation, or crawling with desperate scavengers.

Still, he didn't have a choice.

The boy tightened the oversized jacket he'd stolen around himself and stepped out into the neon-lit chaos of the street below. His drone hovered close behind, drawing a few curious glances from passersby.

The city was alive in ways he couldn't have imagined—loud, crowded, and utterly overwhelming. People with cybernetic limbs and glowing tattoos brushed past him, their eyes fixed on their own lives. He could hear the faint buzz of augmented chatter in the air, fragmented snippets of digital conversations bleeding into the real world.

It was fascinating. It was terrifying.

---

He didn't wander far before he found what he was looking for: an old junkyard nestled between two towering apartment blocks. The chain-link fence surrounding it was patched with rust and covered in faded warning signs.

Perfect.

The boy slipped through a gap in the fence, his drone scouting ahead. The place was a treasure trove of scrap—discarded vehicles, broken appliances, and chunks of old cyberware piled high in every corner.

His eyes lit up as he began sifting through the debris, Juryrigg's influence guiding him like a sixth sense. He could already see the potential in every piece: a busted servo motor that could be repaired, a sheet of lightweight alloy perfect for armor, even a few intact wiring harnesses.

"Jackpot," he muttered, tossing a handful of parts into a makeshift bag he'd found.

The thrill of discovery was short-lived.

"You lost, kid?"

The voice came from behind him, low and threatening.

He turned slowly, his heart sinking as he spotted the group of scavengers blocking the exit. There were four of them, each heavily augmented, their cybernetic limbs glinting under the harsh glow of a nearby streetlight.

"Doesn't look like you're from around here," the leader said, a lanky man with a chrome jaw and a glowing red eye. He gestured to the bag slung over the boy's shoulder. "That's our junk you're stealing."

---

The boy's mind raced. His drone hovered at his side, its rotors spinning softly.

"I didn't know this was your territory," he said carefully, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'll leave the stuff and go."

The leader snorted. "That's not how it works, kid. You don't just walk in and take what's ours without paying the price."

The group began to circle him, their movements slow and deliberate. He could feel the tension in the air, his pulse quickening.

Stay calm. Think.

He reached out mentally, the hum of nearby technology filling his senses. The junkyard was full of old machinery, most of it useless—but not all.

A few meters away, a broken industrial drone sat dormant, its systems barely functional. He focused on it, sending a surge of intent through his Technopathy.

The drone's sensors flickered to life, its motors whining faintly as it powered up.

"Last chance," the boy said, his voice low. "Let me go, and nobody gets hurt."

The leader laughed. "You're bluffing."

The industrial drone roared to life, its massive frame lurching toward the scavengers with a deafening grind of metal. The group scrambled back, shouting in surprise as the machine swung its rusted claw in a wide arc.

The boy didn't wait to see what happened next. He bolted for the fence, his drone zipping after him.

---

He didn't stop running until he was several blocks away, his chest heaving as he collapsed against a wall.

The bag of parts was still slung over his shoulder, the sound of clinking metal reassuring.

"Note to self," he muttered, "avoid scavenger turf."

The drone chirped in agreement, its sensors blinking softly.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. The encounter had been a wake-up call. This world didn't care about fairness or second chances. If he wanted to survive, he couldn't afford to make mistakes.

But for now, he had what he needed.

He glanced at the bag, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Juryrigg's influence was already kicking in, ideas forming in his mind faster than he could keep up.

Time to build.