Nova had convinced Regina. He’d proven his skills were elite—no bluff, no smoke. Real deal. So she started feeding him more jobs, higher risk, higher pay. The kind of work that came with strings. Burned fingers. Sleepless nights.
It paid the bills, but it drained him. He spent entire days huddled over tech—rebuilding, coding, welding, rewiring. When he wasn’t tearing machines apart, he was tearing his body down. Training. Pushing himself past collapse.
He knew the clock was ticking.
So every night, once the last job was done and the city was bathed in neon and rain, Nova ran. Like ritual. Bolted out of his highrise in Rancho Coronado, hood up, boots pounding the pavement. He sprinted through the glowing ruins of Santo Domingo, where the only witnesses were flickering holo-ads and stray cats picking at trash. He weaved through dark alleys, leapt from wet rooftops, vaulted rusted railings, scraped his skin on exposed steel beams. Parkour wasn’t just training—it was survival. A test of control. Of endurance. Even as his own body began to betray him.
Sometimes, it failed. His muscles locked mid-jump. Legs crumpled. Fingers slipped on slick metal. He plummeted. Crashed. Slammed into pavement or fire escapes or dumpsters. And still—he got up.
“Really glad I’ve got this thing,” he muttered through gritted teeth, limping, pressing his hand against a cracked rib. “Swear it heals more now than when they first installed it…”
But that night… something was off.
He tried to stand—and his body refused. Cold. Heavy. Numb. The streetlights overhead spun into stars. Then darkness.
He woke to static buzzing in his ears. Dim light. The scent of oil, sweat, blood. Nova’s hands were cuffed to a rusted medical bed, stripped down to his undershirt. He was underground—some basement garage or black clinic.
Two voices argued nearby.
“You serious? This guy’s useless. Barely got an implant in him. Not worth.”
“Hey, you said find someone, I found someone. Don’t blame me.”
“Whatever. Sedate him. We’ll haul him to the chop-shop, can’t let him out now.”
Nova heard the hiss of an injector. Pain spiked in his arm. His limbs went colder. Deader. The restraints came off, but not out of mercy—two men gripped him by the shoulders, hauling him toward the basement stairs.
Nova’s head lolled. Muscles twitched, barely responding. But he knew one thing:
This was the only chance.
At the third step down, he jerked. The jolt sent an electric scream through his spine. He slammed an elbow into one thug’s ribs and twisted, just enough to make the other loosen his grip. With what little force he had, Nova spun and cracked his fist—stiff and slow, but heavy—into the other man’s face. Cartilage snapped. Blood sprayed.
Then—he ran.
Adrenaline carried him down the hallway. Doors—locked. Windows—barred. No way out. His heart jackhammered in his chest. He could feel the sedation burning through his veins, slowing him down, dragging him under. he searched in the desk something that might help him and found a Bounce Back Mk1, as soon as he saw it he used it, realesing him from the pain and numbness.
Behind him, boots thundered.
“He’s got a Sandevistan! He’s worth a fortune now! Get that bastard!”
Another door slammed open. Two more men emerged—heavily armed, eyes hungry.
“Blow his fucking head off if you have to—but don’t touch his spine! That implant’s mine!”
“Could fetch us a corp-grade bounty! HAHAHA!”
Nova’s breath caught. He could hear the systems in his implant humming, flickering—on the edge of activation.
One shot at this.
No backup.
No guarantee.
But hell... that was Night City.
Once Nova had regained enough strength to move, he crouched behind a rusted door, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Footsteps echoed down the corridor—one man passed.
Then the second.
Nova lunged.
He grabbed the guy’s pistol mid-step and drove his knee straight into the nuts. The thug let out a strangled cry, dropping the weapon. Nova caught it and fired twice—one round in each leg. The man collapsed, screaming. Nova didn’t hesitate—he slammed a boot into his head, knocking him out cold.
The first one had spun, already shooting—but Nova’s reflexes flared.
He activated the Sandevistan.
Time stretched.
He sidestepped the bullet by inches, the muzzle flash still blooming in slow-motion. As the world caught up, he struck—knee to the jaw. The man folded backward, eyes rolling, unconscious before he hit the ground.
But there wasn’t time to breathe.
More footsteps pounded up the stairs. A hail of gunfire erupted.
“These fuckers are insane! Holy shit!” Nova growled, ducking behind a stack of metal crates as bullets shredded the wall beside him.
“You’re not getting out of here, puppy,” one of them called out in a manic voice, full of sick delight.
Nova returned fire—two, three, four shots—but the aim was wild, shaky. He clenched his jaw, cursed, and slammed the Sandevistan again.
The world slowed.
He launched forward like a missile, closing the distance. Knee—straight to the jaw. Bone cracked, teeth flew.
But then—
Something was wrong. The other guy was nowhere to be seen.
He turned—too late.
A fourth guy tackled him from behind. The brute wrapped a corded arm around Nova’s neck and slammed him to the ground. One foot pinned Nova’s wrist, grinding bone. Nova struggled, body screaming, but he only had one arm free—and his pistol lay just out of reach.
His vision blurred. Pressure on his neck. Panic.
He activated the Sandevistan again—burning precious time—for just a few more seconds.
His hand stretched. Reached. Fingers brushed the grip.
Got it.
He turned his head, met the bastard’s eyes as time slowed around them—distorted, vibrating like broken glass.
And Nova thought:
I’ve never killed anyone before. But… I’m not dying here.
He pulled the trigger.
Point-blank.
The man’s head snapped back, blood spraying in slow arcs. The body dropped onto Nova like a slab of meat.
Nova shoved it off, breathing ragged. He lay there for a moment, staring at the flickering ceiling light. His whole body trembled—adrenaline still flooding his veins.
Then it faded.
Suddenly, his muscles seized. Pressure locked across his frame like coiled steel. His body arched with pain.
“AAGH—FUCK—!” Nova screamed, forcing himself upright, trembling, drenched in sweat.
“Using the Sandevistan… this many times… while sedated… injured… and exhausted—”
He clenched his teeth. “Of course it’s got side effects.”
He staggered against the wall, breathing sharp and shallow.
“So… cooldown time varies with use duration, huh?” he muttered, trying to analyze between gasps. “Every second I push it, I pay for it triple.”
He looked toward the exit—dark, metal, flickering lights overhead.
No more time to think.
I need to get the hell out of here.