Night City breathed violence.
It pulsed with neon and rot, choked on chrome and ambition. There was no mercy in its streets—only power and survival.
And on this day, power had a name.
M.
1st Target: The "Clinic" – North Watson
It looked like a half-abandoned Ripperdoc's clinc, but the stench gave it away. Scavs didn't just harvest chrome—they harvested people. The clinic, buried between forgotten megablocks, was their front. The inside stank of blood, oil, and something that hadn't been human in weeks.
M stood on the rooftop of the neighboring structure, wind tugging at the tails of his black tactical coat, his gold-accented glasses glinting as his vision flicked between heat and structural scan modes.
26 scavs inside. 10 more inbound—reinforcements on rotation.
He drew his twin Overture revolvers, both custom-built, sleek black frames with gold filigree. Silencers attached. High-velocity rounds. Deadly quiet.
His other tools: a knife tied to the back of his belt, another in each boot, and at his hip, the katana—its sleek, obsidian blade housed in a sheath rigged with electromagnetic ejection.
He descended silently through a broken skylight.
The first scav never knew death was upon him.
A whisper of steel, a twitch of M's wrist—and the man's throat opened like a red zipper. His body crumpled next to a crate of bloodied cybernetic implants.
M moved like smoke. His revolvers barked only in whispers.
Two down. Five. Nine.
He gutted one near a makeshift operating table. Slit another's throat as she leaned over a stim-injected corpse.
He painted the walls with blood—one scav at a time.
And when the last of the 26 dropped, twitching on the dirty tile floor, M activated the alarm using a terminal in the base.
He took position.
Outside, a rumble of engines. The reinforcements came fast.
They didn't expect the Type-66 Avenger, its gold-trimmed armor hidden behind a derelict garage wall. M lay in wait inside, turrets already synched to him using his glasses.
The moment the first scav crossed into his line of fire—
WHRRRRRRR-THUM THUM THUM THUM—
High-caliber gunfire shredded them like meat in a blender. M switched to burst mode, eyes cold and precise.
The last scav tried to run.
M put a bullet through the back of his skull before he took his third step.
2nd Target: Abandoned Factory Field – badland edges
A half-crumbled complex surrounded by sand and silence. Rusted towers reached into the sky like broken fingers. Here, scavs held territory—42 of them, according to Rogue's file. Loitering in the open. Drinking. Yelling. Careless.
Perfect.
M was a black dot on a ridge 800 meters away. Cloaked. Breath calm. Vision zoomed.
The SPT32 Grad sniper rifle rested across a makeshift bipod. Suppressed barrel. Stabilized grip.
He adjusted wind compensation with a flick of his thumb. Glared into the scope.
Crack. One dropped, bottle still in hand.
Crack. Another, head opening like a rotten melon.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Panic spread. They scattered. Ran for cover. Some tried to shoot into the ridge.
M didn't flinch.
He changed elevation. Moved five meters left. Set up again.
Crack. Crack.* Crack.
By the time their reinforcements arrived—just four more idiots—their friends were already corpses baking in the sun.
No words. No messages. No warnings.
Just bodies.
3rd Target: The Garage complex – Heywood Industrial Sector
This time, there was no stealth.
No sniper.
No traps.
Just M.
Fury. Steel. Lead.
The garage was a fortress of scrap and armor plating. Inside were fifty-three scavs, fortified with heavy weapons and no discipline.
M drove straight through the front barricade with the Type-66 Avenger. The scav guarding the gate barely had time to scream before the front bumper turned him into a smear.
He dove out of the car mid-roll.
BOOM! BOOM!
His Overtures roared. One scav dropped. Then two. M spun, bullets slamming into ribcages and skulls with explosive force.
One got close.
Mistake.
The katana screamed from its sheath—ejected with such force the handle crushed the scav's jaw before M even gripped the blade.
Then it was a dance.
Steel flashed. Arteries opened. Cybernetic limbs fell twitching to the floor.
M was a blur of violence. A god of precision.
Even the scavs—high on stims and bloodlust—began to panic.
They screamed. Begged. Tried to flee.
M followed.
Twenty minutes later, the garage was a slaughterhouse.
The last scav died with a machete in his gut and a look of utter disbelief frozen on his face.
Later That Night – The Mansion ....
The sun dipped behind the skyline. The city screamed in color.
M pulled the Avenger into the garage, body and clothes soaked in blood. Scav blood. Bits of gore stuck to the tires. The katana, now dull with grime, lay in the back seat.
He stepped out, coat over his shoulder.
Ava was waiting.
She opened the door, saw the blood—and froze.
"M… are you hurt?"
He looked at her, expression unreadable behind tired eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "Not mine."
She paused, gaze scanning the vehicle, then him.
"…Scavs?"
He nodded.
She closed her eyes. Exhaled.
Then without another word, she went to the garage wall, grabbed a washcloth and water, and began wiping the blood off the hood.
"I'll get your clothes too," she said, voice softer than usual. "Shower's hot. You hungry?"
M gave a single nod. "Starving."
She nodded back, still cleaning.
"Good. I made stew. Real beef this time."
He walked past her, boots still wet, eyes calm but flickering with something distant.
She glanced at his back, then whispered something he couldn't hear.
He Just disappeared down the hallway toward the master bath.
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Kill count : 177 .
Available attribute points : 1.77
Available skill points : 1.77
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Hey everyone, author is here .
Tell me your opinion about the chapter, do you like the writing style or do you want me to change it.
Do you want me speed up the pace of the story or slow it down or maybe keep going at my current pace.
If you have any ideas let me hear them .
Thx again.