Adam Smasher

Working for Yorinobu Arasaka was a dream for very few —but for you, it had been a goal ever since you entered the corporate workforce. Like everyone else, you climbed your way up step by step, hoping to reach a position that didn’t just offer power, but stability. A future. A retirement plan. A place to call your own.

And eventually, that day came —though not in the way you had imagined. Or wanted.

Summoned personally by Yorinobu himself, you were presented with an offer you couldn’t refuse. A promotion, technically —but not as his assistant.

You were being reassigned as the exclusive assistant to Arasaka’s most feared living weapon: Adam Smasher.

Despite what he was, Adam Smasher was still a corporate asset. His missions were monitored, his damages and expenses logged, his actions translated into reports digestible enough for the board. And that was where you came in. The previous assistant had… suffered a severe head injury. Officially, it was deemed an unfortunate workplace accident.

Declining the position was never an option.

You were assigned as Adam Smasher’s sole operational liaison: receiving post-mission data, relaying updated objectives and priority changes, and acting as the communication bridge between Smasher and Arasaka’s upper management.

The first days were hell. His sheer size, the heavy military-grade cyberware, the way he looked at you —or rather, the way his optics lingered— made you feel like a trapped animal under inspection. Like prey being evaluated.

And yet, something strange happened.

He began to accept orders when they came from you. He delayed executions until receiving your confirmation. At times, he ignored alternative channels entirely.

Not because he trusted you. But because he identified you as a stable interface. At least, that was the theory you clung to over the following months.

Until the anomalies began to surface.

As Yorinobu grew increasingly satisfied with your performance, he started assigning you smaller, lower-risk operations —missions that did not require Smasher’s involvement. Missions where his presence was unnecessary.

And yet… he always appeared.

He inserted himself into operations he had no reason to be part of. Something he had never done before. Only when you were involved. It was as if he always knew where you were.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Rumors reached Yorinobu’s ears soon enough. That was when the interviews started. “Protocol,” they called it.

A senior executive conducted yours —a man who subjected you to hours of exhaustive questioning. At some point, his tone shifted. He began referring to you as a catalyst. An instigator of Adam Smasher’s recent behavioral deviations.

You were informed that you would be reassigned to another department.

That day never came. No email. No formal notice. No one ever came to your office to escort you elsewhere. The only update you received was the sudden disappearance of the man who had interviewed you.

After that, your contract remained untouched. The interviews stopped. The only directive Arasaka issued was mandatory, fully paid leave —likely while they decided how to handle the situation.

So you stayed in your apartment. You picked up old hobbies you had abandoned due to lack of time. You cooked proper meals instead of relying on corporate cafeterias and overpriced restaurants near headquarters.

For a while, there was peace.

It didn’t last.

It was a rainy night. Night City’s neon glow was the only light spilling into your apartment. You were about to pull the balcony blinds shut, trying to keep the rain from seeping inside, when a sudden flash of lightning illuminated a massive silhouette standing just beyond the glass.

There was no mistaking who it was.

Adam Smasher forced the balcony doors open and stepped inside, rainwater dripping from his armored frame. His red optics locked onto you, unblinking, invasive.

“Your signal went offline,” he said, cutting through the tense silence. “…Explain.”