Chapter Text
He was always told that "When he grew up, he would be good at something". There was no telling what that 'something' would be. Raking trash and slinging scop dogs in Arroyo a mile from where he was born and grew up probably wasn't what he had in mind as a kid. As hardworking and determined as his father was after finishing his service in the military, his efforts to get ahead in life never really got him anywhere. Any attempts whether trying to start a business, or build a portfolio always felt like nothing more than tires spinning in the mud. As time went on... those attempts became less and less frequent with the death of his wife playing a major part in this. His father... drained by his depression over the years... stopped leaving the house... barely even left his chair... a tattered and worn lazyboy that looked more like it belonged on the street.
If he wasn't working or taking care of his father, he'd often find himself just throwing a Broseph back with a choom or 2; Every now and then tucking in for the night to dabble in some black market BDs. The traumatic, often violent experiences that go on to define a person... mind crippling memories that wither away at the psyche while never letting go. The brutal, personal death throes of an innocent victim... the adrenaline rush of a cold hearted murderer in their element fulfilling their darkest desires... sold into a desensitized society by card carrying sociopaths for an eddie. A thriving, well adjusted market created on the backs of trauma and dismay.
With so much going on around him, there wasn't much left to do except... exist. Born into a life where all the cards are already dealt, none of which being good and forced to play a game where the winners are already decided. He held spite for Night City in so many justified ways and yet, there was nothing he could do about it... and the city made sure he knew that. Whether it was luxury AVs flying by in the sky, or the occasional Rayfield parked in the neighborhood and conducting shady business surrounded by huscle; The opulence and power on display sent a clear message to him and everyone else around: Not For You.
He looked on at these occurrences as they happened with less spite and more curiosity over the years as he grew up. As a child, he'd often think to himself "Who are these people anyway..? Why do they come here...? Why do they have... and I don't..?" Night City... a living, breathing entity in it's own right. A town where order and chaos live under the same roof... dancing hand in hand in a whirlwind of violence, passion and hyper-stylistic allure. Where an endless cat and mouse game relentlessly permeates throughout all echelons of the culture and society. A place where the experiences you have and the relationships you make can be just as intense as they are fleeting.
It was a cold and foggy morning... the air was brittle... dorph heads skezzed out of their minds wandered the streets like zombies. After taking the time to get his father situated, he was out front getting his cart ready for the day while contemplating his route through the district. He abruptly hears the sound of screeching tires and gunshots off in the distance. "6th Street" He immediately thought. Not thinking much of it, he continued to get ready. The distant sounds began to grow louder as the invisible conflict grew closer. People all over the block started to stop doing what they were doing to look around at where this was coming from and more importantly, where it was headed.
The gunshots and screeching tires suddenly come flying around the corner at full speed... burned rubber from skidding tires sends thick smoke and tire shrapnel flying. High and small caliber rounds blended together with the whirring and whizzing zaps of tech guns creating a symphony of violence. Everyone on the block, kids included, either scattered for cover in the back alleys, behind stoops, or reached for iron. It was so quick, he could barely react, diving and taking cover behind his small metal cart and barely dodging a volley of high velocity lead. As the 2 fighting cars pass by the front of his house, the exchange of gunfire lit up the pavement and his cart. Bullet holes, some the size of his hand riddled the cart as he curled into a ball, covering his ears and head while gritting his teeth and bracing. The cars continue flying up the road until one of them rammed the other through a street pole and into someone's stoop toward the end of it. A Chevillon Emporer turned a Quadra T 66 Avenger into a crushed soda can..
As the commotion up the street fades, and several of the occupants of the vehicles flee, he let out a sigh of relief before slowly standing back up and glancing down the street. Looking at his cart, the size of the bullet holes perplexed him as well as made him grateful to still be alive. He turned back to see his home riddled with bullet holes and blown out windows... shrapnel, scattered debris and blackened singed spots covered the front porch and front face of the entire house. A look of shock and disbelief overwhelms him as he frantically rushed back into his home... stumbling over his own feet. "DAD!!!" He screams as he struggles to yank open the shredded front door. He enters and sees his father sat, as he did for quite some time now... in his chair... as he walked toward him in the darkened house, he sees his lifeless father, leaking blood streaming out of several gunshots wounds, one of which being in the head. The man stared... frozen in disbelief... hyperventilating as fear overwhelms him... a high pitched ringing in his ears silences the commotion of the aftermath outside as he stares at his father. The room begins to slowly spin as his light headedness sends him to his knees before collapsing into his father's lap as he began to cry. The distant sounds of the aftermath and commotion outside amongst the neighbors fade out of focus.
Just another soul... claimed by Night City. The staunch callousness of an environment that's already moved on.
He sat with his dead father in an emotionless trance all day never leaving his side. Various scattered memories of time spent with each other blur together in a haze of broken emotions now numbed by the day's events. Finally... as evening approached, he heard the growing sounds of sirens off in the distance getting closer. He raises his head to glance in their direction as he hears a quick but subtle crash behind him in his backyard. Instinctually, he quickly gets up and darts to the backdoor kicking it open.
He startles a woman kneeled down near his garbage cans... he sees her and makes some very quick observations: Shes injured... blood running down the side of her head and face... holding her arm while masking pain with her eyes wide open in shock. Shes fairly tall and lanky... wearing a modified Kuomori black leather trench coat; but the most important observation he makes: Shes Not From Here.
As he opens his mouth to yell at her, she pulls her iron while clicking the safety off of her jet black, modified Nue with an extended barrel. The look of fear and desperation on her face was clearly visible in her eyes even with a black leather facemask on. The two of them exchange an extremely tense and quick stare at each other as the sounds of the approaching sirens arrive and the tires screech to a halt.
With his hands in the air in surrender he glances back in the direction of the siren sounds... The woman takes the opportunity to turn and run, jumping fences and fading into the light starved neighborhood. As he looks back towards her, he glances in the direction she ran in before being startled by what's left of his front door being kicked completely off of it's hinges.
"NCPD!! HANDS IN THE AIR!! NOW!!!" 2 Badges storm the house clearing it. With his hands still up, he stands in silence and disbelief... unable to find any words to say after the accumulation of the day's events.
"WHERE IS SHE!? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?" One of the badges yells at him with iron drawn and pointed directly at him as he slowly moves closer.
"SEARCH THE BACK!!" He yells to his partner before he grabs the man by his shirt and pushes him up against a wall... pinning him to it with force.
"I said.. where is she and the WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?"
In this moment... something indescribable was triggered in the man's mind. The daily risks of Night City have found their way past his front door and into the very living room of his life. Whether it was his traumatic upbringing... the traumatic day... the pig having his hands on him... or the very nature of Night City itself feeling more determined than ever to drive him to his knees. It made something click in his head and gave him a numbed feeling he had never felt before. Numbed.. but with fire... and an undeniable energy behind it.
Snapping out of it, the man looks up at the cop as his partner re-enters the house from the back.
"Name's Brian... Brian Varga... and I don't have shit to say to A FUCKIN PI-" before he can finish, Brian is pistol whipped in the face with full force and sent to the ground. As the two badges proceeded to beat Brian down, the woman who fled is now seen with her back leaned up against the side of his house. With an emotionless stare on her face... she walks away into the night.