Chapter 1

    Three Weeks later.....
    It was raining again. It was always raining.
    Perry "Psycho" Dempsey reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He then fished out a cigarette and brought it to his lips. In his other hand was a zippo lighter. After lighting up he took a long haul off of it. Smoking was a dead habit, as cigarettes had been generally replaced by nicotine sticks. Perry liked the old way and he didn't care what anyone thought.
    He stood across the street from his favorite bar, The Afterlife. The Afterlife used to be a city morgue until some corporate bought the place and turned it into a nightclub. It's a favorite hangout of some of the city's most dangerous people.
    People like Perry.
    Perry often hung out there while in between jobs. In fact that's where he got most of his jobs.
    After checking the street, he walked across the road, careful not to be hit. He could hear the loud music from within. He would simply find his seat and he would drink a beer. He walked up to the door and pulled out a ten-euro bill and handed it to the bouncer, a burly guy called Carl. Carl took it and stepped aside. Perry walked inside, into the darkness. Generally, one had to leave all of their firearms at the door, but not Perry. He was a regular. Betsy, his Armalite 44 handgun, was his best friend and did not go anywhere without him.
    Inside, the Afterlife consisted of three rooms. One was The Crypt, two was Purgatory, and three was The Hellfire. Pretty much, the further up you went, the meaner the crowd got. Perry always operated in The Hellfire. The Afterlife was watering hole for solo's and other hired guns. If one needed a bodyguard for a night or someone knocked off, this was the place to go.
    Perry cut his way through a crowd composed of killers, hookers, and other assorted scum. Once again he was heading towards his corner. The music was pounding his head. The room was dusted with smoke and other exotic fragrances. This was what was left of Perry's life.
    He entered the Hellfire room, and he headed to his seat. There were some people dancing, which surprised Perry. Folks usually drank in the Hellfire. The dancers were usually in the other room. Must be a young crowd tonight, Perry thought. Young crowds were dangerous. Too much moxy and not enough sense.
    He raised his hand to call attention to a waitress. Another night in paradise was about to begin…..
    Perry reflected upon his life as he usually did while mulling over a beer. He was an ex-military man. One of the many that had survived the So-Am Wars fought earlier this century. Also one of the many that were forgotten in that god-forsaken conflict. Every one of them had given so much for their country and had lost.
    Perry had given more.
    Perry thought himself to be cursed. He never had a chance, he supposed. A 'normal' kid, that grew up suckling on the great American dream. It was the one thing he looked forward too, joining the service. His dad was a drunk, who disappeared during Martial Law during the Ninties. His Mom, well, she was an addict. She died soon after Perry had shipped off to boot camp. That had devestated Perry, who loved his mother dearly. He hadn't been there for her, or so he thought. Realisticly, she never had a chance. Those were dark times. A lot of people died; she was a statistic. He joined the service to escape. The world had changed to the point where America was no longer a super-power. The powers-that-be sought to avenge America's demise by involving itself in a number of bloody clashes with the Central and South American counties. This is where Perry would find himself and lose himself.
    The Army was everything to Perry. One of the first things they taught was never grow attachments. Perry broke this rule. He had met a girl in training. Her name was Devin. A latino by decent, she was destined to serve in Central America. She was the first to teach Perry what it was to be a man. She was destined to die in his arms, shattered by machinegun fire. Such was the price for breaking the rules.
    He had then met a pretty Honduran girl. She was a simple farm girl. She was the type of native that the Regional Command had warned against. The said they'd cut your balls off the minute they had the chance. This did happen on quite a few occasions, but Maria and Perry were for real. The plan was to bring her home, after the war, settle down, have kids, try to live a normal life. This wasn't to happen. Maria was never to see the end of the conflict that Perry and his comrades had brought to her country. She had died at the hands of Perry's cohorts after being raped. Perry had gone into a rage after that. He had put several men in the hospital. That got Perry into trouble. He would either see time in Leavenworth or he could subject himself to the latest in 'Military Technology Experiments' as was the norm with troopers who were either in trouble or wounded. He opted for the testing. They injected him with experimental nanites; microscopic machines that would perform various tasks like weave strands of high-tensile crystaline fiber through out his muscles and would begin to repair wounds from the inside when he got them. In effect it made him hard to kill and very strong.
    Perry served throughout the wars. He didn't care after the loss of Marie. He took all the risks, took all the most dangerous assigments. He simply was dead inside. After America had abandoned the troops to try to remove themselves from the conflict, Perry found himself among the six hundred thousand soldiers left to fend for themselves. He, like most of them, chose to walk the two-thousand mile walk home. He was one of the one hundred thousand that made it.
    He had no home life. No family. His love was dead, his life was gone. He had no skills other than what the Army had taught him. He found himself on the West Coast, in what used to be California, now better known as The Independent State of North California or NorCal for short. He resided in a small one room flat in a burned out section of the corporate city of Night City.
    Perry was a solo.
    The only skill he knew was that of the gun and that is how he made his living. Perry was revenge for those who could meet his price. No matter how the job was to be done, either quiet or loud, the job always got done. Perry had a fearsome reputation on the street. It was how he got his nickname. Perry liked his nickname. He had earned it and he wore it like a badge. Coupled with his size, nearly 6'6" and 250lbs of pure brawn, a frightful ability to take horrible amounts of damage and keep going, and an uncanny shot, Perry had the reputation of being one of the best to have on the toughest job.
    Perry always figured he would do this until he came across that one person that was better and would end his misery.
    This night would be like all others.