David Martinez

  Of course Vomi would threaten to kill me. Honestly, my mom would probably do the same if she knew what I’d been up to. I rubbed my face in frustration, suddenly reminded that I was still in a room full of trigger-happy criminals who nearly flatlined me because, apparently, I "can’t be hacked." What the hell does that even mean? And what did that Sasha girl mean about my Biomon showing no reactions? None of this made sense.

  At least the guns were down now. Small wins, I guess.

  I glanced around and finally landed on Lucy. The sight of her made my chest ache. Her kindness had reeled me in, but I'd forgotten the golden rule: never mistake niceness for kindness.

  “So, what now?” I asked, shifting my focus to Maine, the big guy sitting at the center of this mess.

  “You were telling the truth, as far as Sasha could tell,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “But that doesn't answer any of our questions.”

  Dorio, the muscular woman I’d used as a shield, flexed her arm. “Kid’s got a grip like a damn gorilla.”

  “The fuck is a gorilla?” Pilar, the chrome-faced guy, muttered.

  “You can’t be hacked, can’t be detected, can’t be breached even when jacked in,” Kiwi summed up, narrowing her eyes at me. “Whoever this Vomi is, she must be one hell of a Ripperdoc with some serious connections.”

  “I didn’t even know Vomi was a Ripperdoc,” Sasha added, looking thoughtful. “She was a corpo, though, so I guess it makes sense.”

  “Oh, so she's the one you got called from San Francisco?” Lucy asked.

  “Yup, that's her.”

  Pilar grinned. “Guess Maine'll want a chat with her. If this kid’s got top-shelf chrome, what else can Vomi hook us up with?”

  Now that they mentioned it, why the hell didn’t I just sell the Sandevistan to Vomi? That could’ve paid for Mom’s treatment and maybe even left me with some spare eddies.

  “So much for a fucking Sandy,” I muttered, kicking an empty beer can.

  Sasha’s pink eyes locked onto me. “Wait—did you just say you have a Sandy? An actual Sandevistan?”

  I really needed to stop saying things out loud.

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. “I was trying to sell it, but I have no idea where to go or who to sell it to. I need the money for my mom's healthcare. She's already juggling a lot, paying for my spot at ‘Saka Academy.”

  For some reason, everyone tensed up again. I sighed heavily. What now? No way this Sandy belonged to these gonks, right? James Norris was the one running it last I heard.

  “How is this Sand—”

  “Let’s cut the shit,” I interrupted. “Who was this Sandevistan supposed to belong to? What model is it, and who was supposed to deliver it to you?”

  The crew hesitated, their fingers twitching near their weapons. But when they processed my questions, it dawned on them that jumping to conclusions might be a bit… stupid.

  Maine sighed. “I called an old EMT contact. There was a Cyberpsycho attack a while back, and I requested his prototype Sandevistan—the Apogee Prototype. Promised a ton of eddies for it.”

  “So your contact is my mother,” I deadpanned. “I almost got flatlined over a fucking miscommunication.”

  Pilar let out a snort that turned into full-blown laughter.

  “You're Gloria’s kid?” Dorio’s eyes widened slightly. “Shit, that could’ve gone real bad.”

  Kiwi’s optics flickered as she scanned. “He’s telling the truth. We still can’t hack him, but his personal data checks out.”

  Sasha and Lucy both looked intrigued. Lucy frowned, while Sasha simply nodded.

  “...Oh, fuck. We almost tanked your deal,” Pilar said between laughs, turning to Maine. “Sorry about that, choom.”

  “Just so you know,” I told Maine, “I still have the Sandy at my apartment. Could use the eddies too—got a ton of fines due.”

  “Well, if this is handled, I’m delta,” Kiwi said, already heading for the door.

  “Same. Got gigs in cyberspace,” Sasha added, practically hopping toward the exit.

  Pilar followed without saying a word, too busy ogling their backsides.

  “Ugh, he seriously needs help,” Dorio muttered, clearly disgusted. “We should leave too. This whole situation was gonky as hell.”

  She tugged at Maine, who kept staring at me like I was some exotic animal—accurate enough, considering dogs were practically extinct.

  “We’ll talk later,” Maine said as he walked off. “Sorry for almost flatlining you.”

  “No worries. Sorry about your arm, Dorio,” I called after her.

  She just nodded. “Would’ve done the same thing. C-YA.”

  “C-YA.”

  That left just me and Lucy. She wouldn’t even look at me, and honestly? I was done trying. The first time I opened up to her, she nearly killed me. Solid start.

  I turned and headed out.

  “Worst day of my—gah!”

  Something slammed into me so hard I hit the ground, the impact actually cracking the concrete beneath me. Pain shot through my back—a rare sensation these days.

  When I finally looked up, I found a big-ass panther staring me down, growling inches from my face.

  “Eh? Eh?!?” I blurted out, brain struggling to process the situation.

  The panther—yeah, I’m pretty sure it was a panther—circled me like I was its prey. Sleek black fur, piercing yellow eyes, and actual saber teeth made it plenty intimidating. I stayed frozen. No sudden moves.

  Lucy must've heard the commotion because she stepped outside and froze when she saw the scene. The panther shot her a warning growl that clearly said, Don’t even think about it.

  She didn’t.

  What weirded me out even more was that the thing didn’t attack me or switch targets. Instead, it turned back to me and nodded toward the elevator.

  “Wait, what?” I blinked. “You want me to… follow you?”

  The panther nodded.

  “The hell? You actually understand me?”

  “David, what the fuck is that?” Lucy’s voice shook.

  “I wish I knew,” I said, wincing as I got up and rubbed my back.

  There was a small crater where I’d landed. I should’ve been dead from the impact, but all I felt was a dull ache. Somehow, surviving it felt as casual as tripping and brushing myself off.

  Whatever. I stood up and followed the panther.

  Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen, honestly.

  The elevator ride was... interesting, to say the least. The panther was clearly hostile toward me, but it seemed like it had orders to bring me somewhere. Since big cats aren’t exactly known for pressing elevator buttons, I handled that part.

  Honestly, it was just a big cat with pointy teeth. Exotics were way weirder—people slapping animal parts on their bodies to look feral or whatever. So an actual animal didn’t even rank high on my list of concerns.

  I kept following it until we reached a bus stop headed for Watson. That’s when it hit me—this had to be Vomi’s doing. It just screamed her kind of weird.

  We got plenty of stares along the way, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel preem as hell walking beside a fucking panther, acting like I couldn’t care less. A few people even cursed me out, telling me to keep “my pet” in check.

  Maybe we shared brain cells for a second because both the panther and I shot the gonk matching death glares. He got the message and dipped.

  When the bus pulled up, I paid for the ride. The driver didn’t even try to stop the panther, probably too stunned to say anything. We claimed two seats, and I settled in as the bus rumbled toward Watson.

  The reactions from the other passengers were priceless. Adults ranged from curious to downright terrified. Old folks muttered about how animals like that were “too indomitable” to be pets. Kids, on the other hand, kept trying to give the panther head pats.

  And then there was me—completely dumbfounded when the panther casually laid its head on my lap like it owned the place.

  The urge to pet it was... overwhelming.

  Ah, fuck it. I’m petting this sonovabitch.

  The fur was ridiculously soft, and the panther didn’t seem to mind.

  Win-win!

  "Oh, I could definitely get addicted to this," I mutter, way louder than intended.

  The panther shoots me a look—one that I swear carries judgment—before laying its head back down.

  Did I just get silently roasted by a fucking cat?

  Awkward moment aside, the ride doesn't take long, and soon enough, we're in Little China. The panther takes the lead again, and this time, fewer people give us weird looks. Not sure why, but I’m not curious enough to dig into it.

  We pass Esoterica, where Misty is outside with no customers in sight. Her face lights up when she sees me.

  “David!” she calls out with a big smile. “Looks like your presence will be my entertainment for the day. No one's shown up. Hey, Panther.”

  “Really?” I say, feeling a bit bad for her. “That sucks—being all ready, and no one shows up.”

  “I’m used to it. Most people just come to see Vik, like I said,” she replies while petting Panther. “Maybe I should change careers?”

  “And lose your charm?” I chuckle. “No way. You're too good for this world.”

  “Jackie says the same thing,” she nods, her gaze shifting to my head. “What happened to your hair?”

  “Had to shave it off for a gig. It'll grow back eventually.”

  “Oh, but it was a good style,” she says, sounding genuinely disappointed.

  Panther lets out a low growl, snapping me back to reality.

  “Oh, sorry for holding him up,” Misty clasps her hands in apology. “If Vomi sent Panther, she probably needs to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, because I’m totally worth being fetched like a package,” I deadpan.

  She laughs. “Just go already.”

  Misty’s great—always easy to talk to.

  I follow Panther once more, heading to Vik's clinic. The door opens just as we approach. But it’s not Vik, not Vomi, and not even a customer standing there.

  It’s my mom.

  Vik and Vomi stood silently, recognizing this was a family moment they had no place interrupting.

  Gloria had insisted on speeding up her recovery enough to get back on her feet, despite strong objections from both Vik and Vomi. Learning that David had resorted to petty crimes to cover their debts triggered her fierce determination to set things straight—a resolve neither doctor nor symbiote could argue with.

  Using the symbiote's regenerative abilities, Vomi pushed Gloria’s body to heal, though it left her overworked and exhausted. Afterward, Vomi made Gloria promise to remain under care until further notice, effectively confining her to the clinic for continued recovery.

  The process had been brutal, but Gloria endured. A call had already been made to EMT to secure her vacation time, which they surprisingly agreed to without much resistance. Gloria's relentless overtime had practically forced the company to grant her time off, though she had always managed to find workarounds to keep working.

  But now was not the time for that battle. What followed was a classic mother-son showdown.

  “David Martinez!” Gloria's voice cracked like a whip, her finger jabbing toward his face. “I can't even begin to tell you how angry I am right now!”

  David winced—he knew that when a mother used your full name, things were about to go south.

  Panther casually wandered around them, eventually settling beside Vomi, completely unfazed.

  “Mom, I—”

  “Don’t you ‘Mom, I’ me!” she cut him off, grabbing his ear and dragging him to a chair. “I did NOT raise you to be a criminal! What in that thick head of yours made you think stealing a van full of beer was a good idea?! Mi Hijo, is this how I raised you?!”

  “I just wanted to help you…” David muttered, unable to meet her glare.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Not like that!” Gloria planted her hands on her hips. “Never like that! You can earn money the right way if you graduate from the Academy! You don't need to lower yourself to being a petty thief!”

  “But I ain't getting paid to study,” David argued, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “How else was I supposed to pay for your treatment? Or keep us from getting evicted?”

  “I said I would handle it! You never—”

  “You said that last month too!” David snapped, startling her. “All you ever do is promise to handle it later! And then you just take on more work and come home even more tired!”

  “Because I have responsibilities! How else do you think I can keep us afloat?! Your future is on the line too!”

  “There won't be a future if we lose our home!” David stood, towering over her.

  Vik straightened from where he was leaning against the table, prepared for the worst. Vomi tensed as well, aware that the symbiote's strength within David could be lethal if things escalated.

  “And there won't be a future if you're rotting in prison!” Gloria shot back without flinching. “Or do you want to leave me alone in a home I can barely afford?! Is that what you're aiming for?!”

  “Every time I come home, you're either working or passed out from exhaustion!” David paced furiously across the clinic. “Do you know how that feels? Sometimes I just want to vent, to talk to you about my day—but you're never there! You always tell me I need to be on top of the world. Well, do you want me to be up there alone?! Where's the 'we' in this? All I hear is—”

  “Don't you dare play victim with me, David.” Gloria's voice dropped into that deadly calm only mothers could master. Her glare could have cut steel. “I might be your mother, and I might be old, but I’ll still beat the living hell out of you if I have to.”

  David’s fists clenched, his teeth grinding as his body shifted with tension. For a moment, it seemed like he might actually challenge her.

  But he didn’t.

  Gloria noticed his hesitation and delivered the final blow. “Next time you even think about raising a hand to me, you'll regret it.”

  David dropped back into the chair, rubbing his face in frustration.

  Vomi cleared her throat, drawing Gloria’s attention. “Go rest. You need it.”

  Gloria's anger simmered, but she relented. “Fine.”

  With one last glare at David, she turned and headed to the recovery room, leaving the tension thick in the clinic.

  Vik shook his head and gestured toward Vomi. "Go check on Gloria. I'll talk to the kid."

  "Yeah," Vomi agreed without hesitation, stepping out of the room.

  Pulling up a chair beside David, who was still visibly tense from the argument, Vik sighed. From his perspective, David’s actions were predictable, given the circumstances. Desperation pushes people to extreme measures. The only variable was Vomi speeding up the fallout.

  Grabbing a bottle of vodka, Vik poured two shots, handing one to David. Without a second thought, David downed it.

  The aftermath was almost comical as David coughed, his eyes wide. "Fuck, this shit burns!" he choked, clearing his throat.

  Vik smirked. "Well, at least you're more relaxed."

  David rubbed his face, still agitated. "Yeah, thanks for the therapy session, but I don't need it right now."

  "Never said this was therapy," Vik replied, tossing back his own shot. "But I'll tell you this: a mother never wants her kid in danger—no matter how good the intentions behind their actions."

  David let out a bitter laugh. "The path to hell is paved with good intentions, yeah, I know. But I was desperate. I don't have anyone but her." His brows furrowed. "She should be more grateful."

  Vik recognized the dangerous mindset—justifying recklessness for the sake of others. He'd seen it countless times with patients. He leaned forward, his tone neutral. "And how do you think she'd feel if you didn't come back?"

  David stiffened, caught off guard.

  "It's not about gratitude," Vik continued. "The same frustration you feel when you see her overworking is what she feels watching you risk your life pulling stunts like that."

  David stared at the floor, silent for a moment. "But I just wanted to lighten her load. She can't do everything alone."

  "Have you tried getting a job? Like a real one—with a contract and everything?"

  David's eyes narrowed. "You insinuating something?"

  "I'm saying you didn't job hunt," Vik chuckled. "Selling BDs might make you some eddies, but you'll always get just a fraction of what they're worth."

  David couldn't argue with that. 15% of thousands in eddies was practically nothing compared to the effort he'd put in.

  "Just old-timer advice," Vik said, pouring a final shot. "I have a steady job, so I don't know the job market firsthand, but it's worth trying."

  David frowned. "Where would I even apply? I know a few places, but I still have the Academy. I can't be in two places at once."

  "And the Center probably wouldn't hire you because you're from Arroyo," Vik added with a touch of bitterness. "But there is one thing most people in this city don't bother doing."

  "Like what?"

  Vik grinned slyly. "Fight crime."

  A long, stunned silence followed.

  David blinked. "...The fuck?"

  "The NCPD runs gigs of their own, though hardly anyone knows about them," Vik explained, wiping down the vodka bottle. "They request third-party assistance for gang raids, investigations, and other roles. It's not actual police work, but it pays. Plus, there are certain gigs where you can make way more than the base payout."

  David raised an eyebrow. "So basically, I'd be doing the same thing—but for the cops?"

  "And your mother wouldn't bat an eye."

  David blinked. "Oh... Oh!"

  Vik grinned. The kid had just realized he could keep doing what he'd been doing, but on the so-called "right" side of the law.

  "Last I heard, a guy busted an entire SynthCoke cartel," Vik added with a whistle. "But instead of handing the product over to the cops, he loaded it into a truck and sold it himself. Walked away with 500k—plus the official gig payment."

  "No way! That much?" David's eyes widened in disbelief. "Man, I need to get to the PD right now."

  "Hold up," Vik said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Think before you act. You just got chewed out for pulling stunts like this. Let things cool down."

  David frowned. "Didn't you just suggest—"

  "And you're not discharged yet."

  David groaned, slumping back in defeat, much to Vik's amusement.

  Vik couldn't hold back this time; he burst out laughing.

  "Wow, thanks for the support," David said with exaggerated sarcasm. "Really warms my heart during these tough times."

  "Hey, you said it was your mistake, so yeah—this one's on you."

  "Twice," David muttered.

  "I know."

  Vik grabbed a tablet, scrolling through some listings. "Look, if paying us back is stressing you out, I'll find you a gig. But promise me one thing—don't tell anyone I was the one who hooked you up."

  "Tell what?"

  Vik paused, then realization dawned. "Exactly. I didn't say anything."

  David shrugged innocently. "I don't know what are you talking about."

  They exchanged a nod, the unspoken agreement firmly sealed.

  Gloria collapsed onto the bed, utterly drained. She had pushed herself just long enough to knock some sense into David, but now her body had nothing left to give. The symbiote had healed her, sure, but it burned through her body's reserves to do so, leaving her dangerously depleted. If not for the synth kidney and Vomi's constant monitoring, she'd be on the brink of organ failure.

  "I did warn you," Vomi said, injecting essential nutrients directly into her veins.

  "This is nothing compared to what I've endured to keep him from doing exactly what he's doing now," Gloria muttered, wincing from the pain now radiating through her body.

  "And if you die?" Vomi's voice was sharp, her gaze unwavering. "What do you think David would do? He has the capability—and with no one to restrain him..."

  Vomi didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear. Gloria's expression darkened. She hated that Vomi had a point. David had always acted on impulse, doing whatever seemed right in the moment without considering the consequences. Too spontaneous for his own good. And Gloria hadn’t always been there to guide him. He’d learned life his way, not the way she'd tried to teach him.

  Parenting was hard.

  "Did you call the Academy?" she asked after a long silence. "They need to know where he is, or he’ll get expelled."

  "I'll contact them soon. Your health is the priority right now," Vomi said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

  After finishing the procedures, Vomi sat down and pulled out an inhaler. Though it was branded as Black Lace, she'd swapped the contents for a sedative of her own creation. She hadn't decided what to call it yet.

  "You shouldn’t use that," Gloria warned, noticing how Vomi’s muscles visibly relaxed after a puff. "That stuff will break your body."

  "Says the woman... who overworked herself..." Vomi slurred, her body melting into the chair. "Feels good though..."

  "My Ripperdoc is a stoner," Gloria chuckled bitterly. "Should've figured—this is Night City."

  "Relax..." Vomi trailed off, still under the effects of the sedative. "Not like he can do anything..."

  There wasn’t much for them to do but rest—and, in Gloria’s case, tolerate Vomi's drug habits. She pulled out her Agent and started browsing cyberspace for something to entertain herself. There were plenty of shows she’d missed while working, so, as messed up as it sounded, now was the perfect time to catch up.

  After a while, David entered the room. "Hey, Vomi."

  "Hmm?" she responded, still buzzed.

  "I need help selling that chrome." He held up an EMT jacket. "Mom managed to klep a Sandy, but I don’t trust the buyer. Mind if I sell it here?"

  Gloria glanced up from her search. "Oh, so you took it," she said dryly. "Thought I got robbed in the crash."

  David's gaze flickered with lingering resentment, but at least it wasn't hostile. "Yeah. I didn't know what to do with it, so I just kept it at home."

  "Smart move." She went back to browsing.

  Vomi stood up, stretching as a few pops echoed from her spine. "I’ll help if I can see the Sandevistan."

  David opened the jacket, revealing the chrome. "How much do you think it'll go for?"

  "Put it on the workbench," Vomi instructed, gesturing. "And grab that bag for me."

  David did as told. Vomi gathered scanners and a laptop, connecting the Sandevistan for analysis. Despite being under the effects of a dangerously potent sedative, she worked efficiently, jotting down notes on post-its and scraps of paper.

  After a few minutes, she frowned, humming deeply. "This is a dangerous prototype—an Apogee mod pushed to the absolute limit of both the user and the Sandy’s capabilities."

  "What does that mean?" David asked, eyeing the graphs and notes she’d scribbled.

  "It means unless someone has an insanely high tolerance to chrome, they'll go cyberpsychotic almost instantly."

  David winced. "Even if it's their first piece of chrome?"

  Vomi arched a brow with mock suspicion. "What, you planning to use it?"

  "W-Well, no, I wasn't—"

  "Don't let him chrome up without my authorization!" Gloria shouted from across the room.

  Vomi sighed. "It wouldn’t be ethical for me to suggest it anyway. And besides, you don’t need it—you already broke the couch with your strength alone."

  David rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Y-Yeah... sorry about that."

  "Point is," Vomi continued, turning back to the Sandevistan, "this needs to be toned down, refined, to make it safe."

  "And that’s not possible right now," David said with a shake of his head. "But that’s fine—I just want to sell it."

  "Who said it can't be done?"

  David paused. "Wait, you can fix it?"

  "I work with chrome, David," Vomi said, opening a toolbox. "In more ways than just sticking it inside people. Just tell your buyer it's dangerous without a fix—he'll get it."

  "Alright," David nodded, trusting her expertise.

  He pulled out his Agent and sent a text to Lucy, mainly because he didn’t have Maine’s number. He explained the situation with the Sandy. Lucy's reply came almost instantly, though it wasn't about the chrome.

  “How are you even alive?”

  David snorted. Yeah, maybe having a Panther show up to retrieve him was a bit wild, but for him, it was just one of those strange Night City moments you shrug off and forget.

  He typed back: “Nothing happened. It was just Vomi's way of letting me know I fucked up. Can you let Maine know about the Sandy? Or just send me his contact?”

  Lucy’s response was short: she sent Maine’s contact without a word. David figured she probably didn’t want to get involved—or was still processing the fact that the guy held hostage in her home was now casually texting her about business.

  David sighed and messaged Maine, explaining what Vomi had told him about the dangerous prototype.

  Maine's reply was blunt and predictable: “I don’t want it tinkered with. I’ll buy it as-is, or the deal’s off.”

  "That's... unfortunate?" David muttered, confused.

  One thing the Academy drilled into his head was that sellers had the upper hand. Having someone capable of refining the Sandevistan should’ve been a selling point, not a problem. Maine rejecting an improved, safer version—despite potentially sacrificing some performance—seemed downright gonk.

  Then again, David had learned the hard way that common sense was no longer common in Night City.

  "Did he say he doesn't want it messed with or something?" Vomi asked, still focused on her work as though already predicting Maine's response.

  "Yeah. Should we cancel the deal?" David asked, watching her swap out parts of the Sandy. He wasn’t a Ripperdoc, but he understood enough to know she was upgrading the connections to the nervous system and reinforcing components to handle the charge of the speed boosters.

  "No need. Just call him on this," Vomi said, nodding toward the laptop beside her.

  David jacked in and initiated a video call. After a few seconds, Maine picked up, clearly driving a car that definitely wasn’t his.

  "What do you want, kid? I already said I don't want any fixes," Maine grumbled, adjusting his sunglasses.

  "I’m Vomi," she introduced herself without looking up from her work. "Ripperdoc, scientist, biologist, and a few other things you probably don't care about."

  Maine blinked, surprised. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Vomi. Whatever you did, that kid’s a damn ghost to any Netrunner. Respect for that."

  "I'll be direct, Mr. Maine," Vomi said, still focused on her work. "This Sandevistan will fry your brain and turn you psycho the moment you chip it in. The usual sedatives to stave off cyberpsychosis won't last more than a few minutes before you'd completely lose yourself. As a professional, I'd advise you not to install it—but I know people like you never listen to specialists, no matter how crucial the advice."

  Maine's expression hardened, but he nodded. "I'm listening."

  "I'm doing a bare-bones update to make it usable without frying your mind. I could restore its full power, but that would take time—something neither David nor you seem to have. So, I'm scaling back the speed boost to keep it safe. It'll still outperform standard boosterware, just without the risk of psychosis. Is that enough to convince you to buy it? If not, I’ve got no problem keeping it for myself or selling it elsewhere."

  David blinked. Damn, that was impressive. Vomi broke down every detail—what was wrong, what would happen, what she was doing to fix it, and why it mattered. Most Ripperdocs would’ve just handed the chrome over and let the buyer self-destruct. But not Vomi. She even threw in a power move, making it clear that the deal was on her terms, not his.

  A masterclass in negotiation.

  "So you're saying I can't just take it from you if I want to?" Maine chuckled, clearly challenging her. "You know who I am, right?"

  Vomi, utterly unimpressed, held up a part of the Sandy, examining it closely. "No, Mr. Maine. You wouldn't be able to klepp it from me, even if you brought your entire crew." She calmly reinstalled the component, seemingly satisfied with her work. "If you want the Sandy, those are the terms. But hey—feel free to try and rob it. I could use the exercise."

  "Wait, what?" Gloria and David blurted in unison, eyes wide.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her tone calm but edged with challenge. "I'm a merc too—I know how these deals go. Maybe you'd actually make me feel something. Even my own drugs don’t hit the same anymore."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sasha burst in without warning, startling Maine and everyone else as they winced at the sudden intrusion. "Vomi! Maine! No gunfights between my chooms!"

  "Hello again, Sasha," Vomi said, rubbing her ears. "We didn't have time to catch up."

  "Yeah, and I need to know how you became such a bitch," Sasha smirked. "Seriously, you weren't like this when we first met. You were so... reserved."

  Vomi opened her mouth but stayed silent.

  Maine frowned, his patience wearing thin. "Can someone explain what the fuck is going on?"

  "As I said when that guy was in our sights," Sasha pointed at David, "Vomi is a choom of mine. One of the few survivors of the San Francisco Holocaust."

  "The only survivor," Vomi corrected, lifting the Sandevistan to show the camera. "The chrome is ready to be chipped if you wish. Just let me know when."

  "And you trust this doc? Didn't you say she was a corpo before?" Maine scoffed, eyeing the "fixed" Sandevistan with skepticism.

  "Oh, I know a lot more about her than you'd ever want to," Sasha said with a surprisingly serious expression. "I trust her, and she trusts me. Right, Vomi?"

  "If you keep your mouth shut about that, then yes."

  Both women nodded in mutual understanding.

  Maine sighed. "Fine. Ping me the location. But I'll only transfer the eddies once the chrome's in me."

  "No," David said firmly. "That's not how it works, choom. Half now, then the rest after you chip."

  If there was one thing the Academy had taught David—something he already knew—it was how to handle negotiations, especially face-to-face deals. Maine could easily chip the chrome and ghost them or even kill everyone, just as Vomi could refuse to sell and scam people into transferring eddies. The safest way was to establish mutual stakes: proof of payment and a seller’s obligation to deliver.

  "Smart move," Sasha noted. "Both sides stay on equal footing."

  "I sell XBDs. I know how this goes," David said, exhaling heavily through his nose, a sign of past negotiations gone wrong.

  Maine and Vomi’s eyes both glowed gold as the transaction confirmed, their expressions somewhat satisfied.

  "Alright," Vomi said, prepping the surgery room. "I'll ping you the location. Just don't shoot us out of habit."

  The call ended as she left the workbench. David looked visibly eager about the incoming eddies, while Gloria's concern was evident.

  She finally voiced it. "Vomi, are you an actual mercenary?"

  Vomi didn't turn. "Yes. I told you the whole 'free healthcare' thing was because you got caught in one of my gigs." She gestured at David. "Though your son seems determined not to leave a debt unpaid."

  David just shrugged, casting a glance at Panther, who stood silently, observing.

  "How long have you been standing there?" David muttered.

  "Who?" Vomi asked, then noticed Panther still standing in the same spot. "Oh, you. Come here."

  Panther sauntered over and sat beside her, his tail flicking lazily before curling around himself. Vomi gave him a few absentminded pets before resuming her work.

  "So, how much do you want for the fees?" David asked. "Mom's treatment must be expensive."

  Vomi hesitated. She didn't want to charge him, but he clearly wasn't going to drop the issue. The chrome could easily sell for a six-figure paycheck if haggled properly, and Maine had already paid enough for something in that ballpark. There was a lot to consider when deciding her cut—but honestly, she didn’t want one at all. Still, she'd need to throw out a number to end the discussion.

  "I'll take half," she finally said. "The other half is yours."

  "Fair enough," David agreed without hesitation.

  That was... dumb. But whatever.

  "Wait, so that means...?" Gloria asked, looking hopeful.

  "It means your care has been paid—plus interest," Vomi replied, exhaling smoke from her inhaler. "Now you two should rest. There's a gaming console in the living room, David. Knock yourself out."

  David huffed. "I'm fine. Why can't you just discharge me already?"

  "You know what the pathogen does, right?" Vomi pointed to his forehead. "You've seen the memories. I need to monitor you so I can reverse it if things go sideways."

  Yeah, David had to agree with that. Regenerating from a pool of purple goo wasn't exactly on his bucket list—especially when Vomi apparently survived a nuke.

  Wait.

  She survived a nuke.

  "Riiiight," David muttered, shuffling toward the living room.

  Yeah. Probably best to keep that information to himself.