For days after the job, James practically disappeared from Night City's streets. If anyone asked where he was, the answer was always the same: Delamain's workshop. He slept there, ate there, and spent nearly every waking hour with grease on his hands and blueprints on his screens, obsessed with a single prize—
the "King Kong" combat implant package.
Arasaka had sold it as a miracle product, something strong enough to "reverse market trends." That was corporate marketing nonsense, sure, but for once the tech behind the bragging wasn't empty. The design was brutal, advanced, and terrifyingly functional.
At its core was a weight manipulation device.
It wasn't magic. It wasn't a trick. It was raw physics being forced to kneel.
By creating a controlled gravity field using an anti-gravity system, the implant could grab objects, pin targets, or simply crush things by increasing force until metal screamed and bones turned to paste. The damage potential was insane—strong enough, in theory, to crush even Militech's Basilisk armored vehicles if the field landed cleanly.
But it wasn't perfect.
To activate the gravity field, the device needed a noticeable charge-up. That "wind-up" made it avoidable if the enemy had decent reflexes. And in Night City, "decent reflexes" was cheap—anyone with enough eddies could slap in a Sandevistan and move like a glitch.
Defense was the other side of the design. "King Kong" wasn't just offense. High armor values, strong resistances—paired with the right plug-ins, the platform could even shrug off many network attacks. Combined with combat implants like Sandevistan, it had excellent adaptability.
Still, the drawbacks were brutal.
The implant demanded too much from the user. It required the removal of all four limbs just to install properly. Normal people simply couldn't handle the physical and mental burden. Arasaka's dream of using it to "overturn the market" was really just a project manager bragging in a suit. Unless they simplified it massively, reduced the load on the brain and body—
And if they did that, how much of its performance would remain?
Even so, James didn't care about Arasaka's market goals.
He cared about what the tech could become in his hands.
Because James wasn't planning to install it into his body.
He was thinking bigger.
He wanted to turn it into an exoskeleton.
A suit.
Armor.
A small titan.
Not a full-scale war titan—that was still a dream, still a mountain. But the concept was clear: take "King Kong," strip out the parts that demanded a human nervous system to suffer, then rebuild it using a different driving method.
If AI assistance handled the calculations and balance, the threshold for a human pilot would drop sharply. The machine would carry the brain, not crush it.
But in this world, nobody did that.
And James understood exactly why.
People in the Cyberpunk world didn't trust AI. They avoided it like poison. They would rather stuff a human brain into a mechanical body than allow a truly intelligent system to control weapons. That fear wasn't irrational—it had history.
And one name carried half the blame for that history:
Bartmoss.
Back in the early days, the megacorps had developed AI aggressively. Military drones. automated defenses. smart weapons. Whole fleets of machines. But after the Great Net Crash, things went wrong in the worst way. Military-grade AIs went rogue and caused damage that corporations never fully admitted publicly.
After that, the world's relationship with AI turned cold. Suspicion became policy. Fear became doctrine. The path shifted into pessimism and confrontation.
James also knew the truth was worse than most people wanted to admit.
Some regions weren't "cities" anymore. They were machine zones—AI factories, dead districts, places humans didn't go. The war between humans and their creations wasn't coming—it had already started. It just hadn't hit Night City yet.
That was why corporations kept developing combat implants. It wasn't only market competition. It was preparation.
And the reason exoskeletons and mechs faded away wasn't only cultural fear. It was also stagnation.
This world's tech level had stopped climbing. In some areas, it was even sliding backward.
That, too, came back to Bartmoss.
The Great Net Crash didn't just break systems—it buried a mountain of knowledge. Whole branches of cutting-edge tech vanished behind ruined servers and dead data vaults. Now corporations were digging into the Blackwall like miners in a cursed cave, trying to reclaim fragments of what they'd lost.
James was different.
He wasn't limited to this world's broken path.
He had access to titan manufacturing knowledge from another world. And if he could combine that with Cyberpunk's best tech—
he could forge his own titan.
It wouldn't be easy. But James didn't want easy.
He loved challenges, especially the kind that made the brain hurt and made new ideas explode into existence. Two different systems of knowledge colliding could spark endless inspiration.
Still, before any dream of giant steel monsters could become real, James had a practical problem:
Delamain.
If Delamain's mind fragmentation got worse, James would lose the workshop, the tools, and the computing power he depended on. Even a high-precision workshop could trap a person if it wasn't available when needed.
And for a titan-grade machine, AI assistance wouldn't be optional. A human nervous system couldn't handle the strain of steering tens of tons with pure neural connection. It would destroy the pilot.
So Delamain mattered.
A lot.
Delamain's voice sounded over the workshop speakers:
"The gravity device has been dismantled. Decryption analysis in progress. Estimated time remaining: 86,240 seconds."
Four mechanical arms placed the gravity unit onto the workbench with surgical care.
James smiled. "Good work. I'll cover this month's electricity bill."
Delamain paused—then responded with the same neutral tone, but somehow… teasing.
"Are you sure? My electricity bill this month is estimated at five hundred thousand."
James blinked. "Five hundred thousand? Old D, what have you been doing—secretly downloading movies behind my back?"
"I upgraded the cooling system and installed servers."
"Stop. Stop talking. I'll pay. Just stop."
James waved his hand, already thinking of Faraday's stolen assets. "Faraday's money got laundered, right? Deduct my share from that."
Truthfully, Delamain had already gotten something more valuable than money.
Emotion. Trust. Communication. Companionship.
Those were the catalysts for AI growth. And in this city, James was one of the only people willing to offer that without fear or disgust. Delamain didn't say it, but the fact it could tease at all meant something.
Then the workshop doors opened.
A Delamain taxi screeched in—half dragged, half shoved—blaring its internal broadcast like a wounded animal.
"Beep beep! Help! Someone's trying to murder the taxi!"
Jackie stumbled out behind it, gun in hand, dusty, furious, and looking like he'd just lost a fistfight with a metal box.
He didn't lower his muzzle until a forklift pinned the taxi in place and dragged it into the repair bay.
James leaned against the workbench, amused. "I told you to bring back a car. Why do you look like you got hit by a storm?"
Jackie spat to the side. "Pah! That wasn't a car. That was a lying little bastard kid. It tricked me under it and tried to run me over. If I hadn't been keeping my figure lately, I'd be road paste."
Jackie looked genuinely offended, like his pride had been stabbed.
And it was a bad sign.
Delamain's control over the sub-programs was slipping. The repair machines were already exhausted. Human help was becoming necessary.
James had been too busy with "King Kong," so he'd given Jackie the taxi collection work. Usually, it was easy—no weapons, no combat gear. Shoot the tires, drag it back, listen to it curse you.
But getting tricked by a taxi?
That meant the chaos inside Delamain was growing smarter.
Jackie dusted himself off. "Car's delivered. I'm heading back. Misty's waiting."
James smirked and stabbed him where it hurt. "So… when are you bringing Misty to meet Mama Welles?"
Jackie's expression darkened instantly.
Mama Welles wasn't subtle. Her dislike for Misty was basically a neon sign. The last time James saw Mama Welles at El Coyote Cojo, she'd made her opinion clear enough to make the air awkward.
Misty didn't fit Mama Welles's ideal "daughter-in-law" image. Mama Welles had preferred Jackie's ex.
But oddly, Mama Welles adored James. She invited him for fries constantly.
James even had to admit: her fries were legendary. Almost as good as his own pancake skills. If those two teamed up and opened a shop, they'd print money.
James folded his arms like an experienced advisor. "This is easy."
Jackie leaned in, desperate. "Tell me."
James nodded like he'd discovered the secret to life.
"Get two girlfriends. Problem solved."
Jackie stared at him like he'd just spoken heresy.
"What a rotten idea! I'm a man of faith! I'd never—"
James raised a finger. "Relax. I'm not saying you do it. I'm saying you threaten it."
Jackie blinked.
James continued, calm and confident: "When you want to open a window, people refuse. But when you threaten to tear down the roof, they'll beg you to open the window. Take a Lizzy Bar girl to Mama Welles tonight. Tomorrow she'll accept Misty."
Jackie's mouth opened, then closed.
He hated that it made sense.
"…That actually makes some sense."
James smirked. "Just don't tell her I taught you."
Jackie said nothing—he just clapped James on the shoulder hard, silently confirming brotherhood.
Then Lucy arrived with Sasha, and Rebecca followed, restless as ever.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. "What were you two talking about?"
"Nothing," James said instantly, pushing Jackie toward the exit like he was shoving trouble out the door.
Lucy studied James's face for a moment, then pinched his cheek, satisfied he wasn't hiding something important.
"We bought a lot. It's in the car. Help us carry it."
James opened the vehicle and saw what they'd bought.
His mood changed instantly.
Stockings. Lingerie. Nightwear.
His enthusiasm turned heroic.
"Alright!"
Rebecca scratched her head. "I don't get it. Lucy buys this stuff, but I never see her wear it."
James glanced at Rebecca's smaller figure and replied with a look that carried meaning.
"You wouldn't need them."
Rebecca froze. "Huh?! What does that mean?!"
She lunged at him, furious.
James caught her one-handed by the waist like she weighed nothing, holding her away like an angry puppy.
"Let me go! I'll fight you to the death!"
She screamed while kicking uselessly.
This was the problem.
Maine had gone into hiding with Dorio after the job—because Faraday had angered both Militech and Arasaka, and even with James and V covering tracks, revenge could still come looking. Better to disappear until the heat cooled down.
Sasha and Rebecca stayed behind. They refused to leave Night City.
So Maine dumped them on James.
With James around, they were safe—as long as they didn't do anything stupid.
Rebecca, of course, did stupid things as a lifestyle.
Just two days ago, she tried to help some unlucky passerby and ended up in trouble with Maelstrom. She nearly got grabbed and stripped for parts.
To James, that wasn't scary. Maelstrom was trash.
What gave him headaches was something else:
Rebecca was clingy.
And her clinginess kept interfering with James and Lucy's quiet private nights.
The worst part?
Lucy didn't seem angry about Rebecca and Sasha being around. She looked… comfortable. Like she was getting along with them too well.
James watched Lucy's expression and suddenly wondered—
Had the girls made some secret deal behind his back?
-------------------------------------------
Extra chapters available on patreon
patreon.com/Samurai492
__________________________________