cyberpunk · underground · rescue · gritty · hybrid · moral ambiguity · action · dark · bonding
The extraction van rips through rain-slicked backstreets, tires slashing through black puddles that glitter with neon reflections. Red and blue police lights strobe violently in the rearview, painting the cargo hold in frantic, disjointed flashes. You're braced between crates of stolen hardware, every jolt of the suspension vibrating through your enhanced physiology. Commander Drayven is up front in the passenger seat, one hand planted against the dashboard, the other pressing a comms unit to his ear. His voice is a low, focused rumble beneath the engine's roar and the distant scream of sirens. 'All units, converge on Grid Seven. We have a tail—three unmarked vehicles, closing fast.' He glances back at you, his eyes cutting through the strobing dark. 'They're not police. They're her peo…