Chapter 1: Rewired
Byte's vision flickered like broken code as she blinked awake, the world a kaleidoscope of cold, sterile light. Her fingers twitched, feeling unfamiliar weight and tension in her limbs, sensations that shouldn’t have been there. The metallic tang of the air stung her nostrils as she tried to sit up, only for a rush of vertigo to overwhelm her. Memories of the attack came flooding back: the Moxes storming the base, gunfire ricocheting, screams mixed with static, then darkness. She remembered the burning in her chest, the taste of blood, and the sensation of her body breaking. Yet here she was—alive. No cyberware failure warnings. But something was wrong. Very wrong. Her body felt… alien.

The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor pulsed to her left, while to her right, a pneumatic pump cycled white synthetic blood. Byte was in the Glitch Dolls’ ripperdoc facility, a room she had been in many times before, watching the girls get fitted with the latest chrome. Though not a purist, she had only ever opted for upgrades that enhanced her netrunning abilities, the constant paranoia of cyberpsychosis always looming over her—especially with her mind already overwhelmed by constant streams of data. It was safer to keep more flesh than metal. Yet here she lay, on the same medbed she had seen others on, dread creeping in as she looked down at her body under the medical sheets. The shape was all wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and pulled the sheet away. The heart monitor quickened as she looked at the hulking biceps and broad chest that had replaced her once-lithe, delicate frame. She sat up, disbelief sinking in as she stared at the muscular body of a man that wasn’t hers—yet somehow was. Gold-laced EMP threading adorned her new forearms, but the flesh felt unsettlingly real, warm like a human's. This can’t be real, she thought, panic tightening in her throat as she scrambled off the medbed, her legs—no, tree trunks—stumbling beneath her. Her reflection in a cracked shard of glass confirmed her worst fears: from the neck down, she was no longer the petite netrunner who could slip through Night City’s grid like a ghost but a walking tank.

Her horror deepened as she felt something unfamiliar press against her thigh. It was large—not quite pornstar-sized, but bigger than anything she'd seen in person. A thick, throbbing phallus stood erect above two heavy testicles. Byte held it in her hand, overwhelmed by alien sensations flooding her brain. Her mind reeled, struggling to process the grotesque upgrade just as the door slid open. “Hey, take it easy, Byte. You're alive, aren’t you? Could’ve been worse,” a low, sultry voice cooed from the entrance. The Glitch Dolls’ leader—Reese—strolled in, her latex bodysuit clinging to her like a second skin, eyes glowing with a neon hue. Byte locked eyes with her, fury and confusion battling for dominance. “What the fuck did you do to me?!” Byte spat, her voice hoarse from disuse. Reese raised an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between amusement and sympathy. “You should be thanking me,” she said, stepping closer. “You saved us, Byte. But the Moxes nearly flatlined you. You were on the edge, girl. I had to make a call.” Reese gestured to Byte’s new form. “Latest Mr. Studd upgrade kit. State-of-the-art. Figured you'd appreciate not being six feet under. Plus, we needed muscle. We owe you. I owe you.”

Byte’s anger faltered, giving way to shock. The Mr. Studd kit was infamous, a black market upgrade designed to overhaul bodies, favored by mercs who wanted the power of a male frame. But this? This wasn’t just an upgrade—it was a violation. Reese placed a hand on Byte’s massive, rock-solid shoulder and leaned in. “Look, we need more than just a netrunner. The Glitch Dolls have been bleeding for too long, and I can’t afford to lose good people. You’re one of us now, Byte. Stronger than before. I’m offering you a place, a real place, where you can make a difference. Muscle. Protection. And hell, maybe some revenge against the Moxes.” Byte’s pulse slowed as the haze of panic began to clear, the proposition sinking in. She was alive, and in Night City, that meant more than the flesh you were born with. But this? This was something else entirely.