"This isn't the amount I asked for!"
Deep within the sewer system—repurposed from the old tunnels built before the 2023 nuclear blast that hit Night City—Jas Reddington, the creator of Shimr, glared furiously at the Tyger Claws mber in front of him.
"With this amount of nitrous oxide, there's no way I can produce the volu you want. If you don't want those junkie freaks clawing at us for more, you'd better bring more raw material!"
The Tyger Claw facing him barely flinched. Jas's outrage might've sounded forceful, but it lacked any real weight.
"Relax, Jas," the man said casually. "It's coming. Nitrous oxide isn't hard to find—just hit any corporate chemical depot. There's no need to get worked up over sothing that's guaranteed."
This was Arakawa Jin, the Tyger Claw assigned to oversee Jas. He knew exactly what kind of guy Jas used to be: a twitchy little addict who couldn't look anyone in the eye. The only reason he dared raise his voice now was because of his new title as "creator of Shimr." But Jin also knew that if he showed even a hint of pressure, Jas would fold right back into the sniveling ss he always was.
Jin narrowed his eyes and stared him down. "Or maybe you're just looking for trouble?"
Jas froze. The mont Jin's cold, snake-like gaze t his, his body locked up like a hunted rabbit. After a few seconds, he finally exhaled and relaxed, adjusting his tone.
"I'm just thinking about our profits, that's all," he said, voice still tight. "Shimr is selling like crazy. Demand's already outpacing supply. If we don't act fast, we'll miss our window."
Jin wasn't fooled. According to surveillance, Jas had blown his first payout on a flashy new ride—a €$170,000 Chevalier Thrax 388 Jefferson, no less—bought on an installnt plan. He'd been throwing money around at places like Clouds, partying like a rockstar, and racking up debt. Now, desperate to pay it off, he wanted to ramp up production and pocket another big payday.
Jin smirked but didn't bother calling him out. Instead, he gave a gentle nudge.
"You've got enough for a batch, right? Get started with what you've got. My crew will bring the rest of the nitrous soon."
"…Fine."
Jas hesitated for a beat, then nodded and turned to head deeper into the lab.
Once he was out of earshot, a scarred Tyger Claw stepped up to Jin's side—one of the n in charge of guarding the underground facility.
"Boss, this guy's attitude keeps getting worse," the enforcer muttered. "Acting like we'd be screwed without him. But we already grabbed the full formula—ripped it straight from his BD logs and the lab cams. Why are we still humoring him?"
"He's still useful."
Jin waved a hand dismissively. "Guy lucked into Shimr—maybe lightning strikes twice. Sotis fortune favors the idiot. Let him think he's so genius. Worst case, the payout we gave him is just the price of a long shot."
He let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"He couldn't even buy that Jefferson outright—had to do it in installnts. Goes to Clouds and only books basic joytoys. He's flat broke. Let him feel like a king for a mont—like he's throwing eddies around. Compared to what we're making, his cut is pocket change."
If a few crumbs kept him motivated, why not? Even corps made speculative investnts.
Jin was about to speak again when a sound cut through the room—tal scraping against stone.
A harsh, grating screech.
Jin scowled. "What the hell is that?"
The scarred enforcer heard it too. He barked at one of the guards by the door.
"Tell those new recruits to keep it down! Just 'cause they passed initiation doesn't an they're full Tyger Claws yet. If they keep ssing around, we'll send them packing. This sewer post is a sweet gig—easy pay, no stress. Plenty of people would kill for it."
"Yes, sir!"
One of the guards, closest to the door, casually slung his rifle over his shoulder and moved to open it—fully intending to chew out whatever rookie was making noise.
He didn't get the chance.
The mont he cracked the door open, a splash of warm blood hit his face.
Blood?!
He blinked, disoriented. His vision adjusted. Standing in the doorway… was soone. A silhouette.
From behind, it looked like one of the recruits. What the hell…?
Then the upper half of the body started to lean—and separate.
The torso slid clean off the legs, revealing a smooth, cauterized cross-section. Blood poured down the clean cut as the top half hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Thump.
The guard's heart skipped a beat.
And then—he saw him.
A young man. Cropped hair. Piercing blue eyes. Calm, steely expression. In his hand: a glowing orange-yellow katana, still humming faintly.
Who the hell…?
That was the last thought he had.
The blade moved—too fast to follow. The last thing he saw was a streak of searing light.
And then, pain.
And then, nothing.
.
.
.
🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless
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