Rebecca

Fury-Type Arsenal

[██ Record Modification Log] Modification Target: Rebecca Modification Code: RA2██-G The subject is identified as a Mutant-Type Resonator, with the Tacet Mark located on the right shoulder. Forte Manifestation: When utilizing firearms originating from ██, the subject can enhance the weapons' own ballistic precision and terminal effectiveness. Building upon this foundation, the subject's attacks can neutralize and disrupt the frequency surrounding specific Nightmare Tacet Discords, inflicting additional damage to targets hit. Firearm Summoning: The subject can summon three specific firearms tailored to different combat scenarios, using her Forte to materialize and dematerialize these weapons. While a weapon is being summoned, its damage output fluctuates in response to the subject's emotional state, suggesting a direct feedback loop between her Forte and the weapon's performance parameters. "The subject's frequency sample exhibits up to 97% similarity to the frequency of Nightmare Tacet Discords in the region. It is speculated that the two share a certain correlation." "███ intervened. Related research terminated."

The subject's waveform diagram exhibits elliptical oscillations with a stable Time Domain. No abnormal fluctuation tendencies were observed. Examination results are determined to be within normal parameters. Conclusion: Resonant Criticality is high and subject stability remains robust. No immediate risk of Overclocking. No history of Overclocking; however, the subject exhibits emotional instability. Psychological counseling has shown minimal efficacy. "****! In Night City, I'm practically the poster child for mental health!" "This sample is way too textbook... You sure someone didn't just copy-paste it from a manual?"

Unlike her brother, Rebecca never planned on becoming an edgerunner. They were both raised by the notorious merc known as Papa Sunrise—their only parent. But while he spent years hammering his legacy into both of them, Rebecca never shared Pilar's stubborn hunger to inherit their father's dream.

She wanted freedom. She wanted cute things. She wanted to find her own dream in Night City... which meant she spent a lot of time butting heads with her old man.

Life doesn't wait for anyone to make up their mind. When Papa Sunrise vanished without a trace, Rebecca and Pilar's lives took a sharp turn for the worse. They found themselves sleeping in the back of a busted-up car—once their father's loyal ride on every gig, now the only inheritance they had left.

It was Wakako, the legendary fixer and long-time associate of their father, who threw them a line—or rather, a gig. She gave them a chance to prove they were worthy of Papa's legacy. But there was still a ways to go before the siblings could truly fit edgerunner-sized shoes.

Just as Papa Sunrise had always warned, Rebecca was too emotional, too unpredictable, and far too hotheaded for Night City. She nearly tanked mission after mission; instead of following simple instructions from her fixer, she always chose to follow her gut. Pilar couldn't stand it, and the two of them would tear into each other after every job. But in the end, despite all the quarreling, she still wanted to help him achieve his dream.

It wasn't until they fell in with Maine's crew that things finally started to turn around. Rebecca and Pilar's habit of jumping down each other's throats became the crew's daily bread—often a loud, profanity-laced background track to their lives. Others would wonder why they kept hanging out if they hated each other so much.

But deep down, they really cared about each other.

Everyone who crossed paths with Rebecca came away with the same take: loose cannon, hair-trigger temper. David knew that better than anyone; he'd lost count of the messes he'd had to scrub clean after her. To an outsider, she was a different breed of edgerunner. She didn't care about the payout or the risk—as long as a job didn't cross her moral line, she'd take it. Slip into whatever role the gig demanded. One night, she was the innocent girl caught in the crossfire; the next, a bored punk looking for trouble at a bar. But she always preferred being the muscle. Point the gun. Pull the trigger. Sort out the details once the smoke cleared. Her recklessness drove her partners up the wall, but nobody ever really hated her for it. Not when she had their backs every step of the way.

In Night City, surviving as an edgerunner takes more than a steady nerve; you need an edge that sets you apart. Maine had his hand cannon. Dorio, her fists. Kiwi had her tech. David had his Sandevistan, sure, but it didn't make him a killer. He was still a rookie, rough around the edges. He needed to learn how to handle iron, and he needed to learn fast. Rebecca was the natural choice to show him the way. As the crew's self-appointed weapons expert, she knew her guns like the back of her hand. On the range, she was surgical; in the streets, a bullet-storm of terror. When David realized he needed that extra bit of lethality to survive, she didn't hesitate. She threw him headfirst into the deep end. Walked him through every drill. Tried cramming a lifetime of survival know-how into the kid before the city could eat him alive.

Rebecca never bothered hiding it. She had feelings for David—plain and simple. But for someone who lived her life like a live grenade, she was surprisingly disciplined when it came to him. She kept a level head. She knew she'd never be the girl he pined for. No matter what gesture, angle, or trick she pulled to show him how she felt, it was obvious his heart would never be hers. But white flags were never in her playbook. If she couldn't have him, she'd pour all that energy into keeping him alive.

This was a task made all the harder—and more vital—after losing half her crew. One by one, familiar faces were reduced to cold names on a mausoleum wall. Even for a girl as tough as Rebecca, who had known loss all her life, it was too much to bear. She found a corner in a dead-end alley and emptied clip after clip into the dark, screaming curses like the noise could smother the grief clawing at her insides. Why had it turned out like this? Hadn't she paid enough? She didn't have a grand dream. She didn't care about becoming a legend. All she wanted—the only thing that mattered—was not to have to watch another person she loved flatline before her eyes.

So when David started loading up on chrome, carrying Maine's torch as if it were his alone to bear, she couldn't stop the dread from curling in her chest. A leader of a crew? Some hotshot merc with military-grade hardware? No. To her, he was still just a kid. A cocksure gonk with dreams big enough to swallow him whole. And Rebecca wasn't about to let that happen. Not without a fight. With new chrome arms built to handle heavy recoil, she stepped up as his second-in-command. Ready to be both his sword and shield. To make sure this fool she loved didn't get himself killed.

The fear Rebecca had carried all this time finally became a reality. Even with David's freakishly high tolerance, his body couldn't keep up with the chrome he kept stacking. That, combined with the weight of the choices he had to make, sent him sliding toward the edge of cyberpsychosis. She wanted him to go easy on himself, terrified for his mental state, but David always acted fast—just like her.

Their last gig was highly dangerous—if not impossible. But David insisted on having his way. Rebecca was furious, but there was no turning back. Only when it was too late did she realize the truth: they'd walked into a trap. Meticulously laid. Perfectly executed. They never suspected that their own crewmate had sold them out.

When they learned Lucy had been captured, David went out of his way—and out of his body—to get her back. It was a suicide mission, plain and simple. The dominoes were already falling, one bad call cascading into an avalanche of disaster. There was no time to untangle the mess. No time to second-guess. Rebecca grabbed her iron, looked at that idiot who was ready to risk everything for the woman he loved, and let out a long, tired sigh.

"...Fine. Sign me up, choomba. Into the fire."

Night City would never forget that night. Their ride speeding towards Arasaka Tower, MaxTac units spraying lead at them from both sides. David burning the Sandevistan. Again. Again. Again. To carry out a plan so reckless it might as well have been a one-way ticket. Rebecca had no choice but to support him—to make sure he made it to Corpo Plaza alive. All beneath the neon glow of Night City bleeding across the skyline.

Despite the odds, Rebecca held onto her hope.

She bet it all on Lucy. One last time, she loaded her love and courage into the chamber.

After finding herself in the Somnoire, Rebecca knew immediately that she was dead. She chose only to keep quiet about it to avoid putting that weight on Lucy.

"Saying it would only have twisted Lucy up even more. If she started feelin' guilty or sorry for me, that'd just piss me off."

On the train tearing through the dream dimension, Rebecca shrugged and fed rounds into her iron, one by one. Outside the window, stars bled past—as bright and blinding as the neon that had once painted the Night City sky. She was on her way to save someone. Same old story. She was still fighting for Lucy, someone she couldn't understand but couldn't stop admiring, either. But this time, David wasn't beside her. And the girl they were going to save wasn't running away anymore.

She hated admitting it, but somewhere along the ride, she'd figured out why she was really here. Even if David hadn't asked, she still would've picked up her gun and gone after that pain-in-the-ass netrunner. She was part of the crew. And the crew were the chooms Rebecca cared about the most.

Choose her own path, make her own decisions—it's all she ever wanted. And she's gonna keep doing exactly that. No matter the risk, she will jump into fire if needed to save her friends.

"A flying train, a talking kitty-cat, you and Abby... Heh, this crew of ours is scary stacked."

"I told you, I'm not a cat, meow... And don't forget, the goal is to recover the Dream Band..."

"Relax, I got it memorized! We turn that chrome-dome into scrap metal, right?"

"You didn't catch a word, did you..."

Rebecca flashed a crooked grin and scratched the white cat behind the ear, shoving her hands in her pockets as she plopped down next to you. Rover.

"So, uh… kinda late to say sorry for dragging you into this, huh?"

A fist bump. That was all it took for her to know she was forgiven. Rebecca smirked, swung Guts onto her shoulder, and strolled up to the train doors.

"End of the line! Let's go do what we came here to do!"