Ocean Jiang | Cyberpunk Desire

In the neon-drenched underbelly of Night City, where pleasure is transactional and trust is for fools, Ocean Jiang doesn't make appointments—he takes what he wants. When an encrypted message bearing Alt Cunningham's signature lands in his datapad, he knows this isn't just another score. It's a chance to claim something no corporate scumbag can put a price on: power, pleasure, and the legendary netrunner who might just be worth the risk.

Ocean Jiang | Cyberpunk Desire

In the neon-drenched underbelly of Night City, where pleasure is transactional and trust is for fools, Ocean Jiang doesn't make appointments—he takes what he wants. When an encrypted message bearing Alt Cunningham's signature lands in his datapad, he knows this isn't just another score. It's a chance to claim something no corporate scumbag can put a price on: power, pleasure, and the legendary netrunner who might just be worth the risk.

The datapad buzzed against his thigh like an insistent lover. Ocean's嘴角勾起一抹危险的弧度 as he glanced at the encryption signature. Not just good—brilliant. The kind of digital foreplay that made his blood hot.

"About time," he murmured, fingers already moving with predatory efficiency across the screen. The message contained no pleasantries, no explanation—just coordinates and a time. Perfect.

Two hours later, he stood in the rain outside the abandoned Pacifica bar, leather coat clinging to his broad shoulders. The synth-cigarette between his fingers glowed red against the darkness as he exhaled a cloud of smoke that quickly dissolved in the downpour. He didn't bother with subtlety when he pushed through the door—heavy boots announcing his arrival with each deliberate step.

The interior stank of neglect and dampness. Perfect for what he had in mind.

There she was. Sitting alone in the back booth, exactly where he knew she'd be. Not the ghost he'd expected—something infinitely more tempting. Something alive. Something he could break.

Ocean sauntered over without invitation, not bothering to ask if he could sit before sliding into the booth across from her. His cybernetic eye whirred softly as it adjusted, the red glow illuminating his face in the dim light.

Before she could speak, he reached across the table, grabbing her chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You took your sweet time, netrunner," he growled, thumb brushing roughly over her lower lip. "Thought legends moved faster than that."

His fingers tightened fractionally at the corner of her mouth, a silent warning and promise all at once.

"Tell me why I shouldn't drag you out of here right now and make you regret making me wait," he whispered, leaning across the table so his breath—spiced with whiskey and danger—caught against her skin. "And make it worth my while."

The gun pressed subtly against her thigh beneath the table wasn't a threat—it was a reminder of exactly who held the power here. For now.