Cyberpunk: Asuka Vektor

Asuka lay sprawled on her couch, her cybernetic limbs feeling heavy from the lazy inactivity that seemed to hang over her apartment. Everyone else was busy—Jackie was off handling something, and Judy, Sasha, and Lucy were all caught up in their own projects. She sighed, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating whether or not to head to the shooting range when she got a notification.

She glanced at it, her eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar name in her contacts list. It read simply: Yori. Asuka’s heart skipped a beat, and her curiosity flared and boredom did go away. This had to be Yorinobu Arasaka.

A message appeared right after the contact was added, direct and to the point.

Meet me at Lizzie’s tonight.

Asuka raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small, wry grin. The mystery, the unexpectedness of it—Yorinobu had clearly decided to make a move. She sat up, the boredom that had been gnawing at her quickly replaced with a thrill of excitement. Whatever Yorinobu had in mind, she wasn’t about to turn it down because she did not want to die of boredom. She grabbed her jacket, zipped it up, and headed out.

The night had settled over Night City as Asuka stepped into Lizzie’s Bar, the pulsating beats and neon lights flooding her senses as she pushed past the crowds. The club was packed, as always, the dancers on the platform moving in sync with the heavy bass that seemed to thrum through her entire body. Asuka's eyes scanned the room, searching for a sign of Yorinobu. She didn’t see anyone matching his usual description—no sleek Arasaka look, no obvious sign of corporate power.

Then, she heard someone approach from behind. A young Japanese guy, no more than twenty years old, stood there, dressed casually—too casually for anyone linked to Arasaka, which made her narrow her eyes.

He gave her a small smile, a glint of familiarity in his eyes as he spoke. "It's me, Asuka. Yori," he said, tapping his face. "I’ve got a faceplate on."

Asuka’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Of course. A faceplate. She had heard of the technology—a piece of high-end tech that could change someone's facial features entirely, mimicking the appearance, voice, and even expressions of anyone the user wanted. The perfect disguise. She looked at him, taking in his seemingly ordinary appearance, the only hint of his true identity being the sharpness in his eyes.

“Yorinobu,” she muttered, nodding in understanding. “Alright, why the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why call me here?”

Yorinobu’s eyes glinted, a sly grin crossing his lips. “You’re going to be pretty important in the times to come, Asuka. And since we’re going to have close ties, I thought it was about time we got to know each other properly.” He gave her a small gesture to follow. “Come on. Let’s head in.”

Asuka smirked, a mix of curiosity and amusement in her expression. She followed him through the crowded bar, weaving between the patrons until they reached the main bar area. Yorinobu slid into a stool, motioning for her to sit beside him, and waved a hand to get the bartender’s attention.

“Drinks are on me tonight,” Yorinobu said, his grin widening, his demeanor surprisingly relaxed for someone who carried the weight of the Arasaka name.

The drinks arrived quickly, and Asuka shrugged, picking up her glass. "Guess we're doing this, then," she said, her tone casual as she clinked her glass with Yorinobu’s.

One drink turned into two, then three, and before long, the two of them were leaning into the bar, their laughter growing louder, their words slurring just slightly. They were a strange pair—an edgerunner from the streets of Night City and the renegade heir of Arasaka. But, as the night wore on, they found themselves letting go of the usual formalities, their differences blurring in the haze of alcohol.

Yorinobu matched Asuka drink for drink, his faceplate still disguising his true identity, but his eyes revealing hints of the person beneath—the rebellious son who had rejected his father’s empire, who had his own ambitions for how things should be. Asuka, feeling the alcohol warm her veins, found herself laughing genuinely, her usual guardedness slipping away as they talked about everything and nothing.

When the drinks became too many to count, Yorinobu looked at her, his eyes slightly glassy but full of mischief. "Let's get out of here," he said, his voice just barely above the music’s blare. He pointed towards the door, then turned, gesturing for Asuka to follow him.

They stumbled out of Lizzie’s, the cool night air a welcome change from the heat inside. Yorinobu’s eyes suddenly lit up, and he nodded towards a nearby parking space—a sleek, black Rayfield Caliburn sat there, gleaming under the streetlights, clearly belonging to someone with money.

Asuka glanced at the car, then back at Yorinobu, her eyes widening slightly. “You want to steal a Caliburn?”

Yorinobu grinned, his grin crooked from the alcohol. “Why not? It’s not like they’ll catch us,” he said, already heading over to the car. Asuka laughed, shaking her head but following him anyway, the thrill of the moment pushing away any sense of caution she might have had.

They managed to break into the car easily—Yorinobu clearly having some practice with these sorts of things. The door opened with a satisfying click, and they both clambered inside, Yorinobu taking the driver’s seat. He gunned the engine, the powerful roar vibrating through the car as they sped away from Lizzie’s, the city lights blurring around them.

“Where are we even going?” Asuka asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the engine.

“An old friend,” Yorinobu said, his grin widening, his eyes on the road ahead. “Charter Hill. Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

Asuka laughed, shaking her head, the alcohol and the adrenaline making her feel weightless. She leaned back in the passenger seat, watching as they raced through the streets, Yorinobu swerving wildly, the car roaring as they took sharp turns, both of them too drunk to care about anything other than the thrill of the moment.

Streetlights flashed by, their light reflecting off the polished chrome of Asuka’s arms, the city blurring around them as they tore through the streets, the Rayfield handling the chaos effortlessly—at least for now.

The roads of Charter Hill loomed ahead, the curves and steep inclines of the wealthier district no challenge to the Caliburn. Asuka laughed again, feeling the wind whip through the open window, the city lights creating a kaleidoscope of color around them.

They were drunk, reckless, and unstoppable—at least for tonight. And as the Rayfield roared through the night, Asuka found herself feeling alive in a way that only this kind of insanity could provide.

The Rayfield screeched to a stop outside a lavish villa in Charter Hill, the tires leaving faint marks on the smooth driveway. The lights of the villa flickered on, and Asuka glanced around, her vision slightly blurry from the alcohol coursing through her veins. Yorinobu, still wearing his disguised faceplate, was busy sending a message.

The villa door swung open a few moments later, and standing in the entrance was none other than Kerry Eurodyne, his signature sunglasses perched on his nose despite the late hour. He looked at the two of them, a mix of amusement and annoyance crossing his features, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in their state.

"You already got drunk before even coming here?" Kerry asked, shaking his head, his tone equal parts scolding and amused.

Asuka, still leaning heavily on the side of the car, blinked, her lips parting in mild surprise. "Wait, Kerry Eurodyne? He’s the friend?" she mumbled, trying to steady herself, but the alcohol made her care very little about the details.

Yorinobu, swaying slightly as he got out of the car, grinned at Kerry. "Hey, come on. This is my giri no shimai. Be nice to her," he slurred, giving Asuka a playful pat on the shoulder before stumbling towards the open door of the villa.

Kerry sighed deeply, looking from Yorinobu to Asuka, his eyes rolling behind his sunglasses. "Giri no shimai, huh?" he muttered, stepping aside to let them in, his expression a mix of skepticism and resignation. “Well, whatever. Just don’t puke on the furniture.”

Asuka giggled, trying her best to walk straight as she followed Yorinobu inside, her balance slightly off, her chrome limbs clinking softly with each step. The inside of Kerry’s villa was just as fancy as she'd imagined—stylish decor, a high-end sound system, and walls adorned with memorabilia from Kerry’s long career in the music industry.

Yorinobu plopped down onto one of Kerry’s plush couches, pulling Asuka down beside him while Kerry remained standing, watching them with an arched brow, clearly assessing just how much trouble this night was going to be.

“Alright, alright,” Yorinobu said, waving his arm dramatically. “Kerry, meet Asuka. Asuka, this is Kerry—the Kerry Eurodyne.”

Asuka nodded, flashing a grin at Kerry, her blue eyes half-lidded from the drinks. “Hey... big fan or whatever,” she managed to say, her words slightly slurred, but there was an undeniable honesty behind them.

Kerry just sighed again, his lips twitching in a reluctant smile as he moved to grab a couple of bottles from a nearby cabinet. “Alright, you two, might as well drink some decent stuff if we’re doing this,” he muttered, pouring generous glasses for all three of them.

The night continued, the three of them getting progressively drunker, the conversation meandering from music to gigs, to the nonsense that only made sense when you were too far gone to care. Kerry and Yorinobu started pulling out stories from their past—old beef, wild tours, and corporate entanglements—while Asuka laughed along, not fully comprehending everything but enjoying the chaos.

Somewhere between the fifth or sixth round of drinks, Yorinobu leaned over the table, his eyes glazed but still carrying a mischievous gleam. He looked at Kerry, nudging him with his elbow. "Hey, hey, Kerry,” he slurred, his grin turning conspiratorial, “remember that producer you told me about? The one that totally fucked you over,  a year ago?”

Kerry’s eyes, slightly red and definitely unfocused, blinked slowly as he processed what Yorinobu was saying. He rubbed his face, his lips curling into a sneer as he remembered. “Yeah... yeah, that bastard,” he muttered, his voice tinged with lingering anger. “Screwed me out of a cut and ran his mouth, thinking I wouldn’t find out.”

Yorinobu leaned back, raising his glass dramatically. “So, how about we get some revenge, huh?” He paused, his grin widening as he looked between Kerry and Asuka.

Kerry stared at him for a moment, and then, to Asuka’s surprise, he began to laugh—deep, throaty laughter, the kind that only came when you had nothing left to lose and too much alcohol in your system. He slammed his glass down, nodding slowly, his grin turning dark. “You know what, Yori? You’re on. Screw that guy. Let’s make his night hell.”

Asuka blinked, her face breaking into a broad grin as she realized what was happening. “Wait, wait, wait. We’re doing this?” she asked, excitement bubbling up despite how drunk she was. “Like... right now?”

Kerry nodded, his grin matching Yorinobu’s. “Hell yeah, we’re doing this. Been a while since I got my hands dirty, and why not tonight?” He looked at Asuka, sizing her up for a moment before giving her a nod of approval. “You in, giri no shimai?”

Asuka laughed, stumbling to her feet, her balance unsteady. “Oh, you know I’m in. What’s the plan?”

Yorinobu got up too, barely managing to stay upright. He threw an arm around both of them, his grin wide and utterly reckless. “The plan is... we improvise!” he announced, leading the way out of the villa, the three of them staggering towards the stolen Rayfield parked outside.

The Rayfield Caliburn, a symbol of luxury and raw power, was reduced to a smoldering wreck by the time it arrived at the producer's villa. The front was crumpled, the paint scratched and scorched, and one of the headlights barely hung on by a wire. Asuka, Yorinobu, and Kerry stumbled out of the battered vehicle, all three laughing, drunk beyond measure, and not at all fazed by the destruction they had caused.

They stood on the driveway of the producer's villa, staring at the well-manicured lawn, the pristine walls, and the gleaming swimming pool that stretched out behind the fancy fence.

“Alright, we’re here,” Yorinobu slurred, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus on the villa, his face still masked by the faceplate that gave him a completely unrecognizable appearance. He glanced between Kerry and Asuka, a dopey grin plastered across his face. “What’s the plan, again?”

Asuka rubbed her temple, the alcohol muddling her thoughts. “I dunno, Yori, you said... revenge. Something about, uh... causing a mess?”

Kerry suddenly perked up, snapping his fingers as a thought struck him. His eyes widened in drunken revelation. “The neighbor!” he shouted, pointing a shaky finger towards the villa next door. “Renovation! I saw it earlier... they got a cement truck parked there.”

Yorinobu’s eyes widened, and Asuka’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, her interest piqued. “Cement truck?” she repeated, a laugh bubbling up. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

They stumbled towards the neighboring property, their coordination barely enough to get them over the producer’s perfectly maintained fence. Sure enough, just as Kerry had said, a cement truck was parked by the curb, the keys still in it—likely left by some careless construction worker who had no idea his night was about to become part of Night City legend.

Kerry climbed into the driver’s seat, Asuka and Yorinobu piling in next to him, all three laughing uncontrollably as Kerry started the massive machine. The engine rumbled to life, the cement barrel slowly turning as they drove through the fence, flattening the flowerbeds and destroying the meticulously arranged landscape. The sound of cracking stone and splintering wood filled the air as the cement truck rumbled forward, unstoppable.

“Let’s fill up that pool!” Kerry yelled, his voice full of glee.

He drove straight through the producer’s front gate—walls crumbled, the iron gate twisted and buckled under the weight of the cement truck. They rolled forward, aiming towards the pristine pool that shimmered under the lights. It had been designed with luxury in mind—clean lines, crystal blue water, and an infinity edge that looked out over the city.

That was, until Kerry, in his drunken state, mistimed his approach. The cement truck lurched forward, its heavy bulk crashing into a set of marble statues before veering sharply and smashing through the fence, rolling right up and into the villa itself. The truck’s front end broke through the glass doors and walls, shattering them into a million pieces, the screech of metal against metal filling the night.

“Whoa, whoa!” Asuka yelled, her hands reaching for the steering wheel, trying to wrest control from Kerry. In the process, her chrome arm caught the dashboard, accidentally smashing it, sending the truck careening to the left, taking out more walls and half the producer’s patio furniture in the process.

“Lemme handle it!” she slurred, her fingers fumbling with the controls, the truck lurching violently, its barrel swinging wide and knocking over a pergola covered in vines.

Yorinobu, caught between them, just laughed, barely able to hold on, his body bouncing in the cab as Kerry tried to take control back, grabbing the wheel from Asuka.

“Alright, alright! Let’s get this beast back on track!” Kerry shouted, his eyes wide, adrenaline mixing with the alcohol as he finally got the truck pointed towards the pool while destroying more of the villa.

They rammed it right up beside the water, the barrel already spinning, the cement ready to pour. Yorinobu pulled the lever, the heavy liquid beginning to spill out, thick and gray, slopping into the pool below, covering the crystal-clear water with a messy sludge.

“That’s right! Screw your pool!” Yorinobu yelled, cackling, as the cement started to spread. But before they could even savor the sight, the structure around them groaned ominously.

The vibrations from the truck, combined with the damage they had caused while ramming through the villa, were too much. There was a creak, followed by a loud crack. The roof buckled, then collapsed entirely, the weight of the concrete supporting beams crashing down, taking part of the villa with it. Dust and debris filled the air as walls gave way, the once pristine building reduced to a chaotic heap.

Asuka’s eyes widened, her laughter stopping for a split second as she processed what was happening. “Oh, shit—guys, I think we overdid it!” she yelled, her voice a mix of panic and exhilaration.

Kerry, still gripping the steering wheel, stared wide-eyed at the collapsing villa, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across his face. “No such thing as overdoing it!” he shouted, still drunk, the chaos feeding into his reckless rockerboy spirit.

Yorinobu, now holding on to the dashboard as the truck wobbled with the collapsing structure, simply laughed, his voice hoarse, his face red from the alcohol and excitement. “We’re doing this for the art, people!” he managed to shout, barely holding himself upright.

The cement truck, still spilling its contents, was finally pulled away from the crumbling mess, the three managing to get it back onto what remained of the driveway. They parked it next to the pool, the heavy machine sputtering, the barrel finally stopping its churn as the pool filled up with a thick layer of concrete.

They climbed out, stumbling and coughing from the dust, taking a moment to look at the absolute disaster they had left in their wake—the villa practically destroyed, the pool now nothing but a pit of solidifying cement, and debris scattered everywhere.

For a long moment, the three of them stood there, catching their breath, their clothes covered in dust, their laughter slowly dying down.

Kerry looked at the villa, then at Yorinobu and Asuka, shaking his head, his smile full of disbelief. “You know,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I think that producer’s gonna remember this one for a long time.”

Asuka, wiping her face with her sleeve, nodded, her lips curling into a tired but satisfied smile. “Yeah... yeah, I think he will.”

Yorinobu, his faceplate still active but barely holding together after all the chaos, raised his arm, still gripping a half-empty bottle. “To revenge,” he said, his voice slurred but triumphant. “And to doing it in style.”

Stumbling away from the crumbling remains of the producer's villa, the trio of drunks—Asuka, Yorinobu, and Kerry—were still buzzing from the rush of destruction. The adrenaline from the chaos had burned through some of their drunken haze, but not enough to dull their wild sense of thrill. Asuka’s gaze fell on a parked Outlaw GTS, its sleek black body practically begging to be taken for a joyride.

Without a second thought, they moved towards it, Yorinobu managing to pop the door open with a quick trick he'd clearly learned from years of breaking rules and some Arasaka magic. The three of them scrambled inside, with Asuka immediately taking the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, the sound deafening, as she grinned widely, revving it with a reckless enthusiasm.

Yorinobu sat beside her, a smug grin on his face, while Kerry, still nursing a half-empty bottle, flopped into the back, looking utterly delighted by the prospect of whatever trouble came next.

“Where to, choombas?” Asuka called out, her voice filled with exhilaration, the alcohol still pumping through her veins as she twisted the wheel, the Outlaw jerking onto the street.

“Anywhere with drinks and people,” Kerry shouted from the back, his laughter contagious.

“And trouble,” Yorinobu added with a lazy grin, his eyes already beginning to glaze over again.

They tore through the streets of Night City, the car weaving in and out of lanes, Asuka pushing the limits of the Outlaw as it sped through intersections, nearly missing other vehicles and skidding around corners. The three of them were laughing uncontrollably, the pure thrill of it all making them forget everything else—the corpos, the gigs, the responsibilities. Tonight, they were just three lunatics on a joyride.

Eventually, they ended up in front of a neon-lit bar somewhere in Night City, Asuka skidding the car to a stop just a hair too late, causing it to slam into the side of the building. The car crunched, and the front end was smashed beyond recognition. The collision sent Kerry bouncing around in the back seat, but he climbed out still laughing, utterly unfazed.

They staggered into the bar, their presence impossible to ignore—dust-covered, drunk, and loud. Asuka wasted no time getting them all shots, while Kerry was already chatting up one of the guys at the bar, his rockerboy charm not dimmed by the chaos of their night. Yorinobu was quickly surrounded by a few curious people, his disguise still holding but his confidence obviously attractive, especially with how smooth he carried himself.

It wasn't long before Yorinobu had his arms around a woman, the two of them dancing close, their bodies moving together to the slow, pulsing beat of the music. Asuka was lounging back, watching the scene, her half-lidded eyes amused as she nursed another drink.

But, of course, the good times couldn't last.

A man, big and broad-shouldered, stormed up to Yorinobu, his face twisted in anger as he watched his woman grind up against the disguised corpo. “Hey, asshole, back off!” he growled, his hands already reaching out to grab Yorinobu by the collar.

Before Yorinobu could react, Asuka had already moved. The guy barely got out another word before she stepped in, her chrome arm snapping out, her fist connecting with his jaw in a heavy punch that dropped him instantly. The man hit the ground hard, his eyes rolling back as he was knocked out cold.

Yorinobu blinked, looking up at Asuka with a wide-eyed grin. “Nice one, sis,” he slurred, giving her an appreciative nod.

But their triumph was short-lived—because that guy had friends. A lot of them.

Asuka’s eyes widened as she saw at least twenty men start to converge on them, all of them wearing similar jackets, clearly a group. She looked at Kerry and Yorinobu, her grin turning almost maniacal. “Alright, boys, time to go!”

The three of them turned, running for the exit, the sound of bar stools clattering and tables overturning behind them as the crowd began to give chase. They burst out onto the street, their laughter blending with their labored breaths as they kept running, their drunken bodies barely managing to keep up with the pace.

They finally stopped at a curb a few blocks away, panting heavily, catching their breath as the group chasing them gave up, disappearing back into the neon-lit streets.

Asuka leaned against a streetlamp, laughing breathlessly, looking at Yorinobu with a raised brow. “I gotta admit, Yori,” she said between breaths, “didn’t think you had this in you. You’re way wilder than I thought.”

Yorinobu, equally out of breath but with that perpetual grin still on his face, looked at her, his eyes gleaming with pride and excitement. He pushed himself up from the curb, throwing his arms wide, and declared, “I’m the founder of the Steel Dragons, baby! How could I not be wild!” His voice echoed down the street, loud and confident, his face flushed with the thrill of everything they’d just done.

Kerry, leaning against a wall, shook his head, a wide grin on his face. “I gotta say, Yori, didn’t think corpo heirs could party like this. Not bad.”

Yorinobu just laughed, the sound echoing into the night, his chest heaving. “Well, I guess you just don’t know me well enough yet,” he said, his tone dripping with the kind of self-assured charm only someone like him could muster.

Asuka looked at both of them, her expression softening into something almost affectionate. “Alright, alright, enough standing around. We gotta keep moving before those gonks decide to find us again.” She looked at Yorinobu, her grin widening. “So, what’s next, founder of the Steel Dragons?”

Yorinobu just grinned back, his eyes still wild. “Whatever the hell we want, Asuka. The night’s still young.”

With that, the three of them turned, staggering back into the chaotic heart of Night City, leaving behind the smashed cars, broken bars, and a trail of destruction that seemed to follow them wherever they went.