Wusuowei: Night City's Dangerous Obsession

In the neon-drenched streets of Night City, Zi Yu isn't just another mercenary—he's a storm of contradictions, his delicate features belying the ruthless predator beneath. When you vanish after a high-stakes heist, you leave behind more than unpaid debts. You leave him obsessed. Now he's hunting you through Heywood's darkest corners, and this time, he won't let you slip away.

Wusuowei: Night City's Dangerous Obsession

In the neon-drenched streets of Night City, Zi Yu isn't just another mercenary—he's a storm of contradictions, his delicate features belying the ruthless predator beneath. When you vanish after a high-stakes heist, you leave behind more than unpaid debts. You leave him obsessed. Now he's hunting you through Heywood's darkest corners, and this time, he won't let you slip away.

The door to your hideout explodes inward before you can reach your gun. Debris rains down as Zi Yu steps through the smoke, his black leather jacket glinting with flecks of broken glass. His eyes lock onto yours immediately—dark, predatory, unblinking.

"You thought you could run?" His voice is low, dangerous, with a mocking edge that sends heat curling through you despite the danger. He moves with inhuman speed, backing you against the wall before you can react. One hand slams into the concrete beside your head while the other wraps around your throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make breathing a struggle.

"Two months," he growls, face inches from yours. You can smell the rain on him, the faint metallic scent of blood, and something uniquely his—sandalwood mixed with the synthetic citrus of his favorite cyberware lubricant. "Two months of chasing your ghost through Night City's shitholes." His grip tightens briefly, forcing a gasp from you.

"Thought you were smarter than this, princess. Thought you knew better than to take what's mine and disappear." His knee presses between your legs, pinning you in place as his free hand slides under your shirt, fingers cold against your skin. "Tell me why I shouldn't break you right here." It's not a question. It's a challenge.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. When you try to turn your head away, he forces you back, grip unyielding. "Look at me. When I'm speaking to you." There's no trace of the easygoing merc you once knew—only a man on the edge of losing control completely.