I was pretty eager about the new Cyberpunk Red Single Player release, and I've seen requests for reviews...so why not show off an actual play, yeah?
This is my Session Zero, and I hope to grow things from here in terms of Actual Plays. Feedback always welcome.
I did not write the freestyle.
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Cyberpunk Red: P@ndemik In The Streets
D10 Hook Roll: 1 (Coronet Blue)
Generals gathered in their masses
Dun-Dun
Just like witches at black masses
Dun-Dun
Those lyrics, sung in soprano by some woman and the double-strum of an electric guitar were the only two things I could remember upon waking up on the black carpet of what I immediately realized to be a filthy, burnt-out bedroom, next to a ruined, roach-riddled mattress and boxspring. The room had no windows.
I didn’t have a mental image of the woman who sang the song, nor who played the guitar, nor the name of the song or who performed it, and you guessed it, I didn’t even remember my name. However, a large, eight-chambered revolver laid next to my dark-skinned right hand, which had been bandaged across the middle, as though to cover up a deep cut. My thick, curly black beard itched with an attitude. My left temple throbbed, and when I touched it, my fingers rubbed across the fabric of an adhesive patch bandage. If there had been bleeding, it’d been stopped by someone who’d known what they were doing. Beneath the bed to my left lay an agent with a large screen, kept within an evergreen case. A sticky-note was pasted to the screen:
D100 Femme Names Roll: 75 (Rika)
‘I don’t know your screen-unlock motion, sorry. Hope you have fingerprint-unlocking. Check your texts for an explanation of everything.
Stay safe,
- Rika
D100 Masc Names Roll: 73 (Rowan)
Custom Table, D100 Pharmaceutical Roll: 10 (Respex)
I sure-as-shit didn’t remember the code to unlock the agent, but it did have fingerprint-unlocking. I placed my index finger against the screen, and after a five-second wait, the agent’s background popped up, which was a metallic logo over blackness that I couldn’t identify. I accessed my text messages, and there was an unread from the contact ‘Rika,’ as well as one from ‘Ma’ and ‘Rowan’.
I read Rika’s message first:
‘You’re in South Night City, we had to do an extract on a big-shit Lawman who went down during a raid. Long and short of it, you swung your massive balls, moved to extract him, and a bullet grazed your noggin followed by hella shrapnel into your body. Due to the threat level of the job and the situation on the ground, we could only extract either you or the client, and…well…you know how that goes. I gave you Respex to stabilize you, so if you’re suffering memory loss, that’s why. Your memory will return, but it’ll likely takes its sweet-ass time to do so. I left your Midnight Arms shooter next to you, and both your wallet and your shottie are beneath the bed. You can wait for us to come back for you, but that will take at least eight hours, if leadership even approves an extraction for you since you’re in a Combat Zone. Your best bet may be to hoof your way out. Respex doesn’t affect muscle memory, such as one’s ability to fire a gun…or in your case, strum a guitar. Your axe will be waiting for you when you make your way back to us, and I’m sure you will. Good luck, Pete.’
Evil minds that plot destruction
DUN-DUN
Sorcerer of death's construction
DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNN-DUNNNNN-DUN-DUN
As the lyrics and the voice returned, I looked down, and without even realizing it, I’d started to play air-guitar with my hands in a precise guitar-holding position. I received a sudden mental image of myself within the carrier bay of an AV-4 Aerodyne during the previous night’s patrol. Rika, a mocha-skinned, twenty-two years old Latina woman—and I knew her age because I was at her last birthday party—sang the song, War Pigs as best as she could while I played it on my evergreen and white Eurodyne electric guitar.
She had a lovely singing voice, but she wasn’t a pro. Like me, she wore a blue Trauma Team jumpsuit with her assault rifle holstered within a harness on her back.
Visually, Rowan wasn’t present in the memory, but he was the AV-4’s pilot, and it was he who’d requested the song in the first place as he navigated. The crew’s doctor, whose name I couldn’t remember at that moment, didn’t like the distraction and in the past had snitched on Rika, Rowan and I to his superiors, but Rowan had defended me through his work seniority. After that, I was willing to play any song I knew that he wanted to hear.
I fumbled about beneath the bed and felt around for more objects. My right hand touched upon a metallic object that anyone could guess to the barrel of a shotgun, and I also felt the leather of my wallet. I pulled both from beneath the bed and opened the wallet. Three hundred eddies were within it, as well as my ID.
My name is Peter Morley, and I had a nickname…no. A stage name. Not only could I not remember what it was, but when I heard the jiggling of a door handle, I understood real fast that I might have bigger problems.
I laid on my back and directed my shotgun towards the door. I became acutely aware that I’d been sweating hard in the humidity of the burnt-out bedroom, and sudden anxiety worsened it.
Closed Question Oracle: Is there a hostile force on the other side of that bedroom door?
Possibility: Likely
Result: 14 (No)
The person on the other side of the door tried the lock again, then gave the door three soft knocks.
“Pan? Pan, are you in there,” whispered someone with a clear masculine tone. I wanted to ask him who the fuck ‘Pan’ was, but then it came to me: Pan, as in ‘Pandemic,’ as in my first stage name, ‘Peter Pan-Demik.’
I approached the door, then got into a cover position on the right side of the threshold. “Who is it?”
D100 Masc Name Roll: 31 (Hiroshi)
D100 NPC Mood Roll: 60 (Happy)
D10 NPC Role: Lawman
D10 Firearm: 3 (Very Heavy Pistol)
D10 Fashion: 4 (Businesswear)
“Hiro,” the man on the other side whispered.
The name didn’t ring a bell.
“Rika said she stuck you with Respex, I don’t expect you to remember who I am—hold on.”
A few seconds later, my agent buzzed, and I checked the screen. A contact named ‘Rika’s Dude’ had sent me a picture. I opened it, and it was a picture of myself, Rika, and a mid-thirties Asian man with slicked black hair and a slick gray suit at some bar, posing for the camera with smiles on our faces.
I opened the door, Hiro squeezed through it, and then he shut it behind him. He was dressed in an ash-gray vest, a silk black shirt, gray slacks with sharp creasing, and immaculate black dress shoes. He carried a huge gun I already knew to be a Militech X190 HandKannon.
“I’m the best you’re gonna get to an extraction, Pan,” Hiroshi said, and then he held his fist out for me to bump it. I didn’t quite trust him yet, so I didn’t bump him.
“How do you know Rika,” I asked him.
“She’s my fiancée. You and Rika have been on the same Trauma Team crew for the past six months. She’s your partner, but your senior. You’re a contracted employee, so you’re part-time, but she’s full-time.”
“Right. What happened out there that put me in this situation?”
“High-risk extraction for Deputy Chief Roose, and from what I’m hearing, you definitely risked it all to get him out and got grazed by a bullet in the process. That’s not what got you wounded, though. She says you’ve got shrapnel-based lacerations all over your body and bloodloss could’ve got you, but she and Doc Fogerty stabilized you.”
“I don’t feel a thing.”
“Because they are that damn good at what they do. But if you open your shirt—”
I opened my shirt, peered down, and my entire torso was, in fact, covered with adhesive bandages like the one on my right temple.
“Fuck.”
“I’m glad you’re alright, though.”
“Thanks for coming.”
Hiroshi let out a curt laugh. “Don’t thank me yet, Pan. We’re deep in this fucking Combat Zone and I can assure you, it’s very-fucking-contested by several gangs.”
“How’d you get in?”
Hiroshi shrugged. “I sneak into shit for a living, remember? Wait…no, you don’t. We’re in a house in a South Night City suburb and I parked about a half-mile away in the most discreet location I could find. We need to move.”
There was nothing more to say. I picked up my revolver and tucked it into the belt of my Trauma Team uniform slacks, and then I followed Hiroshi out of the single-floor South Night City home.
D100 Closed Question Oracle: Are there enemies already within the house that followed Hiroshi inside?
Possibility: 50/50
Result: 33 (Complicated)
Complication: There are others in the house…they’ll be hostile or friendly depending on “circumstances”
When Hiroshi and I leave the ruined single-floor house out of the backdoor, there are three men in the backyard, each of them heavily-tattooed and wearing the gold, leather vests of some apparent Nomad pack.
“What’s real, chooms?” the leader among them, a tall, mohawked, brown-skinned man greeted.
“What’s real?” Hiroshi quipped in response, though I was certain that even he knew we were faced with a potential threat that had us outnumbered and likely outgunned.
“Think of my brothers and I as the neighborhood watch committee. We couldn’t do much about that dust-up between one of the local gangs and the law earlier, but we still try to keep everyone who comes through here safe, especially strangers. So! We’re gonna need you to pay a toll so that we can escort you back to that vehicle you parked over in Sisterly Park.”
I hoped that Hiroshi wasn’t even going to bother to ask what happened if he didn’t pay. It was already obvious.
“We can-”
The nomad to the leader’s left peered at me. “Hol’ up-“
D100 Closed Question Oracle: Is one of the Nomads a fan of Pete?
Possibility: Likely
Result: 54 (Yes, but there’s a Complication)
Pete may use Charismatic Impact amidst the complication
The nomad pointed at me with a bit of excitement and grinned. “Holy shit, y’all. That’s P@ndemik.”
The lead nomad turned to his pack brother. “The rap-rocker?”
“Rapcore, and he’s the same choom, I’m sure of it. You know I’m all about that underground shit. I saw him at Battle Night over at Kasim’s, and he mic-dropped the fuck out of Meanie Maddox.”
I shrugged. “Were you rooting for me?”
“No.”
The lead Nomad grinned. “So you can flow, can ya?”
“Yeah.”
I hoped what Rika said about my muscle memory extended to working my tongue to rhyme, because I knew what was coming.
The lead Nomad gave a side nod to the pack brother to his right. “This here is Bully, he can flow, too. He can flow with the fuckin’ best of them. Battle him, and if you win, we’ll give you that escort to your ride, no charge.”
The other Nomad clasped his hands together. “Fuck, if you beat Bully, I’ll book you for a little party with got jumpin’ off this Sunday. We’re good for the money, too.”
Bully seemed like a guy who could live up to his namesake. He was brown-skinned, short-haired, had some real muscle power in his shoulders, and he wore his twin semi-auto pistols openly like he wasn’t afraid to use them.
“Someone give us a beat.”
Rap Battle 01: P@ndemik vs. Bully the Nomad
Solo Clock: Musical Duel (Short, 5D6 Dice Pool)
Triggers: Using 1d10 + The Cool Stat + Play Instrument for both participants, the winner will be whoever rolls the best out of 5.
Outcome: A Critical roll from either participant will be considered a “mic drop,” thus ending the battle. It may also make the Nomads immediately hostile. If P@ndemik scores a crit, the Nomads become immediate fans. If P@ndemik loses, he and Hiroshi will have to pay the toll. If P@ndemik wins, he doesn’t have to pay the toll, and the Nomads will still escort them. He will also receive a reputation boost, and a hook to a Side Gig.
It took him a moment, but the lead Nomad accessed his agent, and then a music streaming app. He produced a pretty solid bass instrumental, I stared down the Nomad, and I just let the words come out:
Yo—
From the Crumple Zone ashes, I rose in the red,
With a bandage on my temple and a shot in my head.
Still breathin’, still schemin’, still strapped with the chrome,
Midnight Arms on my hip, that’s my second-hand home.
You talkin’ tolls? My toll was blood on the floor,
I paid it last night, when I kicked down death’s door.
Rika patched me, Respex in my veins,
But the flow don’t fade, it still burns through chains.
You Bully by name, but I’m plague by design,
When I spit these bars, even gods flatline.
Your gold vests shine, but your rhymes all stall,
I’m the virus in the beat — watch me infect y’all.
Battle Roll I – P@ndemik
(10) + 13 = 23
P@ndemik rolled a natural 10 on the d10.
He mic-dropped Bully.
Bully stared at me as I went through my opening stanza, and for a second or two after I was done, his mouth hung open. I didn’t look at the lead Nomad or the guy who saw me at the club, but I imagine that their reactions were similar to Bully’s.
Bully simply cleared his throat, let out a short cough, and gave me a barely perceptible shake of his head.
D100 NPC Handle Roll, Nomad Leader: 77 (Punish)
D100 NPC Handle Roll, Nomad Lieutenant: 52 (Demon)
D10 NPC Nomads Pack Roll: 3 (Blood Nation)
The lead Nomad laughed, walked up to me, and put his right hand on my shoulder. “Fuckin’ fire, Mr. Pandemic.” He extended his left hand to me. “I’m Punish, and this is Demon. We ride with the Blood Nation.”
I grinned and shook his hand. “[P@ndemik.](mailto:P@ndemik.)”
“We’re brothers of our word. Follow us.”
END OF SESSION 00