Two scavengers work in an apartment "operating room," carving the body on the table while they talk.
"Have you heard about that thing making noise lately? You think it will find us?"
"You mean the mechanical werewolf? I heard it targets people in our line." He snorts.
"Come on. More likely, some crew poked the wrong hornet's nest and a killer came calling."
The rumor started with the 6th Street massacre. Since then, scavenger teams have been hit, one after another. Several days have passed, and every night the mechanical werewolf goes out hunting. The targets are always scavs. One of the men does not buy the legend. In Night City, who wastes time on scavs? Even the NCPD cannot be bothered most nights. Righteous vigilantes do not exist here. The other man has seen a scene first-hand and cannot shrug it off: a different scav den reduced to chunks, prosthetics cut off in clean lines and piled by the door. "If it comes for us," he mutters, "I do not know how we fight it."
They keep working until a thin, electronic-laced sound brushes the room. The jumpier one freezes. "Did you hear that? Is it here?"
"Quit spooking yourself…" he starts to say.
A set of claws answers for him. The boastful scav splits apart before he can lift a tool. Blood sprays the tray, then runs off the edge and dots the floor. Warwick, the scavenger-killer, is not a rumor. He is in the room. The second scav is so shocked he forgets to resist. He dies the same way, fast and final. Another den becomes a meat grinder.
Warwick does not stop. More scavs die in more rooms across Night City. Everyone wearing those colors starts living like prey. Rocky does not let Warwick clear them all at once. He throttles the pace, allowing the fear to do its work. Warwick hunts in measured passes, so the city has to sit with it. Hiding, scrubbing connections, and going quiet for a week does nothing. Once marked, a target cannot shake the trail. For scavs, Warwick is a nightmare that lingers until the day it swallows them.
The city notices. Every day, NCPD responds to another scene. They call it a headache, but they note the pattern: the bodies are scavs, not bystanders. Public safety metrics show a slight improvement. Citizens argue. Some call Warwick an extreme threat and want NCPD to crack down immediately. Most clap anyway. There is no visible scav activity in half the blocks where there used to be plenty. In a place where new crime always sprouts the moment you cut the old, that counts as rare good news. The only loud opposition comes from black-market ripperdocs who just lost their cheapest prosthetics supply.