Waking up felt strange, especially because the last time he had closed his eyes, he was sure he'd never open them again.
He raised his hands to inspect himself, but the mere sight of his limbs left him confused.
They were a white silhouette with black outlines forming his figure.
He still retained the general shape of an adult human, but the features—any of them—were simply not there.
He looked down and sighed in relief.
At least one recognizable trait remained.
His own sigh took him by surprise; he hadn't even realized until now that he wasn't breathing.
A stone door materialized out of nowhere, and a woman walked in calmly, holding an old-looking clipboard.
She looked like someone straight out of a Roman tale. Her black hair was tied up, her green eyes were beautiful, and a small mole marked the area near her right ear. The white robes were wrapped firmly around her body, though the outer layers were loose enough not to emphasize her figure.
Perhaps the most striking part was…
She was short. Very short.
Standing straight in thick-soled sandals (at least two centimeters), she barely reached his waist. Her total height must have been around eighty centimeters—not even a full meter.
He felt his mood sink.
She reminded him of a good friend who had severe dwarfism. He wouldn't be able to attend the wedding next month anymore. The bride was lovely, and he had been entrusted with carrying the rings.
"Do you feel worse about that than about the fact that you're dead?"
The woman's voice was a little husky but pleasant—like the old lady who lived upstairs. She used to make a fantastic pear and cinnamon pie.
"You're not even surprised I can read your mind," the woman flipped through her clipboard with a quick glance. "Given your history, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
He wasn't sure if she was being perceptive or just rude.
"I was just confirming the information," she waved her hand casually as she sat in a stone chair that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Mistakes happen sometimes," she explained without hurry. "Last time, two transmigrators ended up swapping destinations. Though from what I heard, it worked out better for everyone."
Transmigrators? Oh...
"But you don't look like ROB," the white soul spoke for the first time since regaining consciousness. "My information mostly comes from fanfics, so it's not exactly reliable."
"That's because, fortunately for both of us, I'm not," the woman rubbed the bridge of her nose with mild exasperation. "That guy's been doing whatever he wants, barely sticking to the protocols he should. But we're not here to talk about him—we're here about you."
"Why?" the soul asked calmly. "I already went through my 'I want to be a cheat-transmigrator' phase, got over it, and moved on with life. Besides, I'm one hundred percent sure I did nothing to deserve such an offer."
"You're jumping ahead, but you're not entirely wrong," the woman raised her hand to stop him, wanting to finish her explanation first. "I'm SAV. You can think of me as doing the same job as ROB, but I belong to a different specialized division."
There are divisions for transmigration?
"Several, but I won't go into detail. It's unnecessary for this meeting, and knowing won't help you in the slightest," she snapped her fingers, and a large hard-light screen appeared between them, full of complex data. "While ROB basically does whatever he wants for entertainment channels, I recruit souls like you for specific purposes."
The soul didn't rush to respond, reading the screen with curiosity.
He didn't even know how he could read it—he didn't recognize the language at all.
"This makes more sense to me. What I did in life isn't relevant here," the soul commented after reading. "I don't understand the selection criteria, but in short, you'd give me a transmigration in exchange for carrying out a specific task in the world I go to."
"Exactly," SAV was clearly pleased with his grasp of the situation. "Let me make it clear from the start that this is voluntary. There are no consequences if you refuse. I'd simply return you to where I found you, and that's it."
The soul nodded without further questions, which earned a slightly raised eyebrow from SAV. It was almost routine for souls to ask where she had taken them from.
She wasn't going to tell him anyway, but still—good attitude. She liked that.
"Let me give you some context first: have you ever seen a shooting star and made a wish?"
The soul blinked, realization dawning.
"Are you the one in charge of granting those wishes?"
"Only the ones that pass the review," SAV nodded, showing her clipboard. "We ignore the usual garbage—wishing for someone's death, coveting other people's things, etc." She shook her head. "To be honest, most of the wishes that make it to me are from little boys and girls."
"Am I supposed to fulfill a child's wish in exchange for transmigration?" the soul suddenly looked uneasy.
Kids, innocent as they were, could ask for truly outrageous things with total sincerity.
"I said most," SAV raised one finger, and the screen changed to show a ten-year-old girl. "Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to fulfill this little angel's wish."
The soul stared at the screen in silence for a few seconds, heart tightening at what he saw.
Her head, partially bald from chemo cycles, looked far too big for the fragile body holding it up. Beneath nearly translucent skin, blue veins were visible, and her right hand trembled constantly. One eye looked straight ahead; the other, slightly off, blinked with effort. Fine scars crossed her scalp like furrows on a dead field. When she spoke, words came slowly, sometimes broken, as if every syllable was a battle.
"Glioblastoma," SAV explained, anticipating the question she knew was coming, while keeping her eyes on the screen. "In her current condition, sometimes she doesn't even recognize her mother. She only has weeks left."
The soul kept his gaze on her for a moment longer, then turned to face the woman.
"What's her wish?" he asked.
SAV also looked away from the screen and consulted her clipboard.
"Ever since she was admitted to the hospital, her older brother visits her every single day to talk. She's a huge fan of video games, and one caught her attention in particular: Cyberpunk 2077."
"I remember it, but it wasn't age-appropriate," the soul frowned—despite lacking eyebrows—upon hearing the name.
"People get very permissive in her situation," SAV shook their head. "But her brother managed to shift her interest toward learning the lore and background rather than focusing on the violent gameplay itself. Probably an idea to keep her from getting bored," they added. "She read a lot about it for days to stay distracted, and on a clear night, she saw a shooting star. That's where we stepped in."
The soul felt something was off and interrupted.
"Wait, didn't she wish to be healed?" they asked, puzzled.
When a child is in pain, the first thing they want is to go back to normal.
For the pain to go away.
SAV exhaled slowly.
"No, she didn't," they pointed to the screen. "We believe she may have 'understood' her situation by observing how others treated her, so she decided not to waste her wish and asked for something else instead." SAV raised their fingers. "Three things, actually."
"Three wishes from a shooting star?" the soul glanced back at the screen. "Greedy little girl, huh?"
"Only what's normal for her age," SAV replied, moving their fingers as they spoke. "These are your objectives..."
[First: Save Galina from her tragic fate.]
[Second: Make Kiwi smile in the middle of a flower field.]
[Third: Prevent Rebecca from ending up like a pancake covered in strawberry jam.]
The soul looked at the wishes, feeling an eye twitch, then turned to look at SAV.
"I hope transmigration comes with tricks or cheats," the soul remarked, pointing at the screen displaying the wishes. "Just look at the second one! I have to make someone smile who, for starters, not only trusts no one, but is also missing her entire lower jaw!"
And the flowers?
Where the hell was he supposed to find an entire field of them in a place like Night City?!
"I'll take that as you accepting the mission," SAV allowed themselves a soft smile. "And to answer your question, yes, I've got a benefits package to make things easier. Since the job's tougher, I made sure the 'salary' was fair. Any more questions?"
The soul looked at the other two wishes.
"I remember Rebecca," the soul said. "And that childish-yet-disturbing description… it jogs my memory about how her story ended. Adam Smasher."
SAV nodded.
"I only need to prevent that particular outcome?" the soul asked. "Because I'm not planning to spend my life keeping some gremlin with a gun obsession from becoming, and I quote, 'a pancake covered in strawberry jam.'"
"Yes, you only need to prevent that ending."
"Got it. Lastly, Galina is…?"
There were so many characters barely mentioned once, and it had been a while since it all came out—expecting him to remember them all was unrealistic.
"Sasha Yakovleva's mother."
"Sasha, Sasha, Sasha..." the soul tilted their head, trying to recall. "Oh! The little netrunner catgirl who died smiling on top of a car?" they asked for confirmation.
A character not from the game, not even from the short series—just from a music video he had found by pure accident. Kiwi's predecessor, if he was right—until she died.
"The very same."
"Wait, what timeline will I be in?"
He remembered Galina's situation had to be dealt with very early on, when the netrunner was still a child. Otherwise, there was no way he could change anything as expected.
Just between that and Rebecca's mission, it was going to take years to fulfill those objectives.
At least a decade or two!
"I took that into account," SAV reassured. "After checking the timeline, I'll send you into the same generation as Kiwi so you'll have enough time to prepare. Going further back is beyond my reach."
The soul did a quick calculation.
Kiwi was twenty-nine in the series, and from what he remembered of the music video, Sasha looked around eight to ten years old when her mother died. Cross-referencing timelines and allowing for cautious error margins...
"It's going to be tight," the soul concluded with mild anxiety. "It means that by the time Kiwi and I turn ten, I'll have one to three years before Galina dies."
The medicine that woman took was called Securicine, the kind that caused gradual neurodegeneration, so he'd have to find her and intervene before the point of no return.
"In a place like Night City, you can see six-year-olds working in the streets or factories doing all kinds of jobs, so you won't stand out at all," SAV noted, not particularly happy about the fact. "That said, aside from your perks, I can only give you a standard orphan identity. I can't even credit you with any money—at most, tweak your background a little."
The soul thought it over and listed a few details he'd like in his backstory.
"...And done," SAV took notes. "Your father's name was Adam Jensen Verdant, and your mother is… Motoko Kusanagi? Your father was killed by a cyberpsycho before you were born, and your mother died due to complications during childbirth. A friend of hers took custody of you, but only to withdraw your family's savings, sell you to a factory, and make easy money."
The soul nodded. That sounded like just another night in Night City.
Naturally, he'd kill that bastard once he found him.
"That's everything. You'll have to handle the rest on your own," SAV gave a small wave. "Good luck."
"Wait! What happens if I can't—"
Before he could finish his last question, a wave of drowsiness hit him hard and everything went black.
…
..
.
The stone door opened again, and ROB entered the chamber, looking around as if searching for something. Upon seeing the small figure, he walked over.
"SAV, have you seen my work clipboard?" he asked while scanning the surroundings. "I've got several souls on hold for world assignments based on global wills, but I can't find it."
"I don't know, brother," SAV put on the perfect innocent puppy look—something she had practiced countless times in front of the mirror—while carefully hiding the clipboard between her back and the stone seat. "Did you check the kitchen? Sometimes you work even while eating breakfast."
"Oh!" ROB slapped his forehead lightly. "Right, it might be there, thanks." He looked around once more with curiosity. "What were you doing in the basement?"
"I was just thinking about what to watch on TV, I'm bored," SAV replied while pausing the tragic doctor movie on the floating screen of hard light using the remote hidden in her robe.
"Mmm." ROB looked at her suspiciously. "You remember you're not allowed to watch transmigrator channels for another three hundred years, right?"
"Brother!" SAV pouted, placing her hands on her hips. "Do you really think I'm that kind of person?"
ROB stayed silent, not breaking eye contact.
"Ugh!" SAV clutched her chest. "So cruel!"
"SAV..."
"Fine!" the girl crossed her arms in protest. "I promise I won't watch any of your work channels for three hundred years, happy?"
ROB nodded, satisfied, and gave her a loving pat on the head before heading off to check the kitchen for his work clipboard.
"Kukuku~ Foolish and trusting big brother of mine, now I have my own personal entertainment channel!" SAV laughed inwardly in secret as she tuned in to the frequency of the soul she'd tricked with her masterful performance. "Ah! I need to leave the clipboard in the kitchen before he notices."
SAV ran out through the stone door and decided that while she was there, she'd grab some cookies and juice to fully enjoy her new exclusive channel.
…
ROB reappeared in the basement, as if he'd never left, and looked at the hard-light screen.
He let out a tired sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Tricking an innocent soul?
This time she'd gone too far. She needed an unforgettable lesson. Perhaps...
"Hello, is this 'Essential Kiss' bakery, the best in the multiverse?" he said into his phone. "Yes, yes, my sister has decided to go on a diet to see if she'll grow and has chosen to cancel her order of the super ultra mega limited edition of custom sweets that can only be ordered every million years. No, of course she'll still pay, but instead of delivering them to our home, please send them to some of the orphanages most in need of food. Uh-huh, yes, no, no names needed. Yes, that's just how generous my sister is, I'm very proud of her. Great, thanks, bye."
ROB hung up the phone and walked off at a relaxed pace, whistling. His little sister should have had enough time to leave the clipboard in the kitchen.
--------------------
Back with another idea! Too many Cyberpunk FFs where the MC assimilates into the world, so... Why not be disruptive and add a druid to Night City? Well, technically it is...
A footnote, this will be a weekly FF unlike previous FFs.
And yes, you have advance chapters on my Pa-treon if you want to support, all voluntary, since I will upload everything over time.
PLEASE read the brief information in the auxiliary reminder.
Seriously, I don't want to read whiny reader comments later, like I do every time I finish a fanfic.