The sunlight crept lazily through floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows, filtered by the self-adjusting smartglass of the mansion in North Oak. It bathed the expansive room in a warm amber glow that caught on marble floors and blackwood furnishings, giving the place the serene glow of a luxury ad. The only thing out of place in the scene was the man standing bare-chested on the balcony—his hulking frame carved from flesh like it had been forged in a war god's image.
#%^#&#^(put your name in here).
Or as most of Night City would come to know him soon: M.
Only a few people would ever know his true name. And in this world, trust was as rare as decency.
He exhaled slowly, knuckles resting on the railing, eyes sweeping the skyline of Night City. North Oak was quiet. Rich. Peaceful. That made it dangerous. No one caused trouble here—because the people who lived here didn't let trouble happen. Corpo princes, old-money sharks, and retired killers.
He fit right in.
His mind was still settling into this new life, but his memories had integrated well. According to his documentation, M had officially arrived in Night City three days ago. All records clean, all alibis solid. The 100 million eurodollars in various hidden accounts told their own story.
Still. He needed wheels.
"What kind of ex-special forces soldier shows up in Night City with no ride?" he muttered, grabbing his black shirt from the arm of a leather chair. It clung to his muscled torso like a second skin. One mirror glance confirmed it—Henry Cavill's face stared back, modified only with sharper cheekbones, brutal muscle definition, and storm-grey eyes that looked like they'd seen a thousand deaths and remembered each one.
No car. No ride. No excuse.
M picked up a small neural link headset from the glass desk and slipped it over his ear. The system pinged as it synced.
"Delamain Excelsior Package confirmed."
"Good morning, Mister M. Your premium transport is en route."
He poured himself a black coffee from the auto-brew unit and took a sip just as the front gate AI confirmed the cab's arrival.
Excelsior package
A sleek, black AV-4 descended onto the driveway like a predatory insect. Polished to mirror sheen, armored and discreet, it was less a vehicle and more a statement: I am rich, and I know it.
M stepped in.
The doors sealed with a soft hydraulic hiss. Inside, the cabin was velvet silence—smooth leather, subtle lighting, a faint scent of cedarwood and something synthetic but expensive.
"Destination, sir?" came Delamain's courteous, crisp voice.
"Car dealership," M said. "High-end only. I want options."
"Understood. I will route you to 'Steel Stallions Automotives'—a highly-rated, discreet establishment favored by both corpos and mercenaries."
Steel Stallions Automotives – city center ...
It was a building of chrome and glass, surrounded by electrified gates and cameras that tracked every blink. The showroom gleamed like a temple to machinery. Inside, rows of cars were displayed like predators in cages—sleek, dangerous, expensive.
A chrome-faced sales rep with a perfect synthetic smile approached.
"Mr. M," he greeted smoothly. "Delamain called ahead. We've been expecting you."
"I want four," M said without preamble. "Each for a different purpose."
The rep didn't flinch. "Then allow me to begin."
1. Type-66 Avenger
Military grade black and golden in colors. Bristling with concealed weapon compartments, reinforced with plasteel-laminate armor and bullet-resistant tires. Internally modified for shock resistance, anti-hack shielding, and an integrated tactical AI linked directly to the driver's neural link.
"It's illegal in most parts of the city," the rep said.
M ran a hand over the hood. "So am I."
2. Caliburn
Midnight black with golden neon trim. Purrs like a cat, drives like a dream. Tuned for stealth and efficiency. Soundless mode. Adaptive suspension. Zero cyber-spy vulnerabilities.
"I'll use it when I don't want to leave a mess," M thought.
3. Rayfield Aerondight S9 Guinevere
Black and Golden colors. Chrome mirrored finish. Gull-wing doors. 0 to 100 in 1.7 seconds. Every millimeter screams luxury.
Encrypted GPS. Champagne cooler in the back.
M circled it like a tiger. "For when I want to show off ".
4. Arch Nazare
Midnight black chassis, matte gold details, tuned to purr like a devil. Torque-enhanced. High-grip tires. Plasma-stabilized drive shaft.
"Why this one?" the clerk asked.
M smirked. "Because I fucking can."
"Total comes to 2.57 million eurodollars," the clerk said.
M thumbed his neural implant. "Transfer complete. Send them to my mansion. I want each one spotless, full tank, weapons synced, and keys personalized."
"Of course. Enjoy them in excellent health."
M turned back to the waiting cab.
Back in the Delamain AV .....
"Take me on a tour," M ordered. "Start with the filthy places."
"Would you prefer a thematic route? Gang territories? Corporate zones? Tourist facades?"
"All of it. I want to know this city."
"Very well. I'll begin with Watson, move to Pacifica, then onto Heywood, Santo Domingo, Westbrook, and wrap with City Center."
The cab lifted silently into the air.
From Above .....
Below, Night City sprawled like a living organism—neon arteries, chrome bones, and flesh made of millions of people chasing dreams or trying to outrun them.
Scavs roamed the east in trash armor and hunger. Tyger Claws owned the neon-lit streets of Japantown. Voodoo Boys whispered through netspace. Maelstrom danced with madness in gutted warehouses. NCPD patrolled not to protect—but to assert ownership.
Corpo towers stabbed the clouds, their lights blinking like the eyes of sleeping giants.
And in all of it, one truth pulsed steady:
Power rules.
M sat back in his leather seat, grey eyes drinking it in.
"Soon," he whispered.
........
Author here , if you want images of the mansion the cars and night city factions and map tell me so I make an auxiliary chapter.