Cyberpunk: Ultimate Cyborg System-Chapter 466: Red Fist Bar. (Part On)

In a Hollowgrid megacomplax, one of the many filling the district, there existed a bar. The giant building had one of its corners remodeled. The first three floors were isolated from the rest of the structure, one was turned into a lodging, another into gym, and the ground floor into a bar that was now known as the Red Fist Bar.

Months had passed since the grand opening, but one look at the place was enough to tell the business wasn't booming. It certainly wasn't booming in the last week or so, after that stunt the gang running the place had pulled.

In the back of the establishment, a room had been set for a very specific reason. It was a workshop of sorts. There, the gang's Gearhead did his job, tending to the weapons members brought, fixing what's broken, and performing maintenance.

Those services extended to any external bionics the members had. Currently, the gang's only Gearhead was doing exactly that. One of the members came to get his bionic arm checked, saying it wasn't doing well.

"You really should have saved your cash." Said the Gearhead, flashes of light reflecting on his goggles. "The cheap stuff barely lasts a month. Better save and get some something good."

"You say it as if cash is flowing all the time." Looking at his metallic arm, the young man clicked his tongue.

"What happened to the original anyway?"

"Lost it in the war."

"Oh yeah," the Gearhead paused. "You were in Black Cross before."

The name brought a really bad taste to the young man's mouth, but with it came memories of a good time. Black Cross used to rule half of Hollowgrid. People feared and respected them, but the war wiped them out. Dozens died, and hundreds were packed in jail.

Those who remained scattered like dust in the wind, afraid that their ties to the gang could land them in jail. No one bothered to rebuild, no one bothered to reclaim what they have lost.

In the end, he was forced to do it alone, under a different name, and under a different boss. Unfortunately, things haven't been going that well, and after several months, they had yet to get it off the ground. Hollowgrid had no rulers, and even then, taking over it was proving to be impossible.

As he racked his mind for what to do next, the door suddenly slammed open. A guy with a jacket that had a few too many spikes rushed in, and after whipping his head left and right, their eyes finally.

"Jacob!" He run over and grasped his shoulders. "Hurry! You need to get out of here!"

"The fuck's gotten into you, Kenny?" Jacob quickly brushed him off and repositioned his metal arm. "C'mon man. Get it together." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

"No! You don't get it!" Grabbing him by the shoulder again, Kenny looked him in the eyes. His face was so pale it was almost as if he were a corpse. As he struggled to stop hyperventilating, he finally let out the words. "He… he's back…"

"What are you talking about?"

"The demon!" Kenny shook him back and forth. "The Red Demon is back!"

The Red Demon. In the last week, the name had spread on the streets. One guy against a couple dozen, all armed with rifles and more. Somehow, he came out on top. Not only that, but many swore he had done it with just his bare hands.

Many believed the story, and Jacob was one of them. He knew the guy they spoke of—the two had fought before. Because of that, he knew what the red headed bastard was capable of, and so did Riot, which is why he had put up that bounty.

Though he didn't like it, Jacob had to swallow his pride and let the street rats do the job. He got his revenge by burning down that old noodle shop, at least. No need to keep taking risks when it was clear he was outmatched.

"He's back?"

After the incident that gave birth to those rumors, no one had seen the so called Red Demon. Some say he went into hiding now that people were after him, other claim he was dead after collapsing in the streets. From the looks of it, neither were correct.

The red headed bastard was doing so fine that he walked around as if he owned the streets, and going by the footage circling around, he seems to have gotten his hands on some upgrades.

"This is bad, Jacob." Kenny said. "If that guy finds out it was you who burned that shop, he-"

"He won't do shit." With a scoff, Jacob dismissed the screen his friend shared. "Stop acting like a little bitch. He kills a bunch of street rats and you piss your pants?"

"But-"

"If you ask me, I'm glad he didn't kick the bucket yet." Jacob grinned. "That means I still got a chance to make him pay."

The red bastard was once a part of the Blood Hounds, and that was enough of a reason for Jacob to want him dead. Even though he recognized the difference in strength between them, he still welcomed the chance to kill the bastard with his own hands.

"Alright," Sliding the last plate into its place, the Gearhead gave the metal arm a tap with his tool. "I did what I can, but it probably won't hold for long. Try not to… hm?"

Hearing a commotion, all three turned to the door. It was still the middle of the day, so they could only wonder what it was about. As they were about to go check, the air in the bar suddenly changed.

A heavy pressure fell on their shoulders, and before they knew it, they were pressing themselves against the walls, as if hiding from something. Jacob knew that pressure. He knew that feeling. It was fear. The fear born from death pressing its scythe to your neck. The fear of having a gun pressed to your head as you knelt on the cold ground, watching as the red of blood mixed with the dirty water left by a rainy night.

"It's him…" Kenny slid to the ground, clutching his head with both hands. "It's… It's the demon…"

The word broke the spell that kept Jacob petrified, and he somehow found the will to move. Trudging out of the door, he made it to the bar's dance floor. He first saw the crowd, made from what little members they had loitering around. Each last one of them had a weapon in hand, but they didn't dare to lift their heads, let alone take aim.

In their midst, a young man with crimson red hair stood without a care. His hand were in his pockets, an his head was held high. His eyes scanned the room once, searching for something. They stopped when Jacob looked into them. When the strange pressure disappeared, only for it to fall on him again, Jacob knew that was the end for him, and he had no one else to blame.