Cyberpunk: 2075

After discovering his "golden finger" ability in 2075—a skill that seemingly acted as a built-in translator—Carl couldn't help but feel a bit excited. He had fully prepared himself to face this chaotic world completely naked, figuratively speaking. But now, realizing he wasn't entirely without tools, it was as if he found out he was at least wearing a pair of underwear. That was enough to bring some comfort.

After all, he wasn't some lunatic overdosing on "Water of Life." Naturally, having even a metaphorical pair of underwear brought a sense of security.

Alright, now that his emotions were in check, what should he do next?

After a bit of thought, Carl came up with an answer.

First, he needed to secure a place to stay, along with enough food to keep him from starving. Oh, and some kind of mobile communication device—he wondered if this world still sold regular phones or if everything was now integrated with cybernetic implants.

Carl didn't have any naive notions about using his flesh and blood to compete with machines. If he had the chance to get cyberware, he'd definitely go for it. However, just thinking about it made him realize how absurdly expensive such high-tech upgrades must be. Maybe old-fashioned alternatives would be cheaper?

Of course, it was also possible that outdated tech was so rare that it was even more expensive.

Lost in thought, Carl wandered back to where the green-mohawked man—who had drunkenly urinated earlier—was now lying limp on the ground.

Carl noticed that the man, who looked about 25 or 26 years old with metal plates on both sides of his face, had dropped a handgun near his hand.

"Militech Lexington."

Huh?

Carl felt like he saw something on the gun, but when he blinked, it disappeared.

This strange occurrence piqued his curiosity, and he focused on the handgun. To his surprise, as he stared at it, a string of words appeared in his field of vision in a language he could understand:

[Militech M-10AF Lexington]:

A product of Militech, this is a compact, easy-to-use kinetic handgun with low recoil, suitable for subduing targets.

Oh, so this golden finger of his didn't just translate written words; it could also analyze weapons.

Could it work on people too?

With this thought, Carl turned his gaze to the green-mohawked man. Sure enough, words appeared in his vision:

[Insufficient Information]

"Insufficient information?"

Why was it different for people? What was the distinction between humans and weapons?

As Carl pondered this, a sudden idea flashed in his mind, and he turned to look at another passerby. Each person he focused on displayed the same message: [Insufficient Information]. However, when it came to their weapons, some of them had detailed descriptions, while others also showed [Insufficient Information].

"So that's how it works."

Carl figured it out. His golden finger wasn't just a simple translator. Instead, it was a tool that compiled and analyzed his memories, digging into the knowledge buried deep within his mind. Essentially, it extracted information he had already seen or heard before and presented it to him as translations or descriptions.

The reason Carl realized this was because he remembered seeing information about the Lexington handgun in a pre-release leak about the game. The description he'd read back then matched exactly with what he saw now.

In a way, this ability was like a passive, memory-enhancing tool—an automatic system that let him recall and summarize information perfectly.

Not bad at all. This ability had already far surpassed the functionality of a simple translator.

Carl stared at the Lexington, then glanced at the green-haired mohawk lying nearby. After a moment of thought, he decided not to pick up the weapon.

It wasn't because he had some noble moral code—it was simply because Carl noticed the guy's body was still twitching.

What if this guy suddenly woke up, instinctively grabbed the gun, and fired off a round at him?

"I better think of another way."

Just as Carl was thinking this, he suddenly realized that the green-haired mohawk's body had stopped twitching. At the same time, the words in his vision changed.

[Deceased. Cause of death: Overdose.]

Carl scanned his surroundings. He was near the trash heap in the apartment building, and there were hardly any people around. In other words…

"Generally speaking, the dead deserve respect, but for someone like me, the living take priority. Sorry, buddy—gotta disturb you."

Carl picked up the handgun from the ground. As the green-haired mohawk's body went still, a few colorful pieces of paper slipped out of his pocket.

[Eurodollars.]

"Well, aren't you generous."

After pocketing a total of 230 eurodollars, Carl gave the green-haired mohawk a moment of silent respect as a farewell, then turned to leave.

Carl memorized the man's face. He would remember this chaotic debt of gratitude.

"If you have any family, once I gain the means to track them down, I'll repay your kindness."

Carl wasn't some paragon of morality. He simply believed in paying back kindness and seeking revenge for wrongs. Although, in this particular case, he was technically stealing from the guy.

Hiding the Lexington beneath his coat, Carl—dressed in a black jacket—headed toward the elevator. For now, he decided to take things one step at a time and try to find a place where he could get a phone or something similar. Even in this futuristic world, even a monk would need a device to collect offerings.

Entering the noisy elevator that blared advertisements nonstop, Carl pressed the button to go down. As the elevator descended, faint beams of light filtered through its broken, rusty doors, casting fragmented patterns across his face, making his expression look vague and surreal.

"Clunk."

The elevator doors screeched open with the distorted sound of old machinery. Carl stepped out of the mega skyscraper.

What greeted him was light.

A dazzling array of colors illuminated the towering buildings and bustling crowds.

Night City, situated in the Free State of Northern California along the western coast of the Del Coronado Bay, was often described as the "City of Dreams" or the "City of Crime." However, as Carl gazed upon the real Night City for the first time, his first impression was something entirely different—something almost laughable compared to those grand descriptions.

The City of Light.

A city overflowing with brilliance.

It was so bright that it was almost blinding.

Carl looked at the cityscape and suddenly smiled.

But whether it was the City of Dreams, the City of Crime, the City of Light, or Night City—it didn't matter anymore.

Because now, he was undeniably a part of this city.

"I'm here."

Carl closed his eyes, tilted his head toward the sky, then lowered it again, opening his eyes to look at the street ahead.

"I, Carl, have arrived!"