David Martinez

  The deal went smoother than I expected, all things considered. Maine showed up with Sasha, who was dead set on meeting Vomi face-to-face. The whole room was heavy with awkward tension—probably because earlier today, Maine had me at gunpoint. But honestly? I’m over it. Both sides were in the dark, and misunderstandings happen.

  Sasha, of course, came in guns blazing with questions: what went down in San Francisco, what happened to the "original members," what became of the corps after the blast, and whether Vomi still had the "parasite."

  I immediately knew she meant the pathogen.

  After the sale, Vomi transferred my cut, and—

  "Holy shit!" I blurted as the numbers kept climbing. And climbing.

  Were they ever going to stop?!

  "Kid surprised by how valuable the prototype was?" Maine whispered to Vomi, amused.

  "He’s probably never seen how expensive chrome can get," Vomi replied. Then she pivoted without missing a beat. "By the way, if you have any other cyberware that needs chipping, repairs, or recalibration, just let me know. I'm available most of the time anyway."

  Maine, already testing the Sandevistan, zipped across the living room like a hyper kid, repeatedly darting in front of the TV where the console was running Criminal Mastermind 5.

  Honestly? I would’ve done the exact same fucking thing.

  "Thanks for the tip, but I'll pass for now," Maine said, although it sounded more like a temporary refusal. He glanced at my mom. "And sorry about the whole mess with... well, David."

  "H-hey!" I stammered, clearly offended.

  Mom just waved it off, too tired to care. "Don't worry about it, Maine. At least mi hijo is doing a man’s duty and paying the bills. Legally," she added, giving me a pointed look.

  "As legal as it gets in Night City," Vomi quipped dryly, though her face remained serious.

  Sasha poked the Sandy embedded in Maine’s spine. "How many uses a day do you think he can handle?"

  "Four, maybe five if he’s lucky," Vomi replied, handing him a bottle of pills. "Take these at least once a day, or your body will fall apart—literally. That Sandevistan is now your spine."

  "I don’t need meds to deal with my chrome," Maine scoffed.

  "Suit yourself," Vomi said, setting the bottle on the table. "But when it stops being about willpower and becomes about basic motor function, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You won’t even be able to crawl without those meds. But hey, I make money from people’s mistakes, not their self-preservation."

  "Oof," Sasha winced playfully. "How're you gonna spin that one, boss?"

  "Ugh, fine." Maine grabbed the bottle and shoved it in his pocket. "One a day, right?"

  "Yu-huh."

  He headed toward the door but paused. "Rest well, Gloria. Maybe I'll call you for another chrome.

  Mom gave a tired nod.

  "Ready, Sasha?" Maine asked.

  "I'll stay a bit longer," she said, shaking her head. Her bright smile never wavered. "Got something to talk about with Vomi."

  Something about that piqued my curiosity.

  "Is it about your chrome legs?" I asked, pointing at them. "They look like Lynx Paws."

  Sasha's eyes widened slightly. "You noticed that?"

  "I did too," Vomi added, "but I wasn't going to be that direct."

  "In that case, I'mma delta," Maine said before leaving without another word.

  Sasha shook her legs playfully. "And you noticed even the branding?" she asked, clearly impressed.

  "They don't make a single sound," I replied, glancing at the ceiling.

  That was true, but it wasn't the real reason I knew they were cyberware. The moment Sasha got near me, I just... felt it. Like catching something out of the corner of my eye—except it wasn't sight, exactly. I sensed the chrome, the same way I'd felt everyone else's cyberware back at Lucy's place, even Maine's projectile launcher. This pathogen keeps on giving, and honestly? I'm here for it.

  "Oh, that makes sense," Sasha said, nodding as her confusion vanished.

  "So how'd you get them?" I asked, flopping onto the new couch since, y'know, I broke the last one.

  "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to Vomi about," she admitted, turning to the lab-coated woman. "It was thanks to a gig we did at Afterlife."

  "Whoa, you're in Afterlife?" I was genuinely surprised. "Preem. Also dangerous as hell."

  "I guess your legs..." Mom trailed off, clearly catching on.

  Sasha's smile turned wry. "It was a job hitting BioTechnica's servers. But something... unrelated happened, and I wanted it to be known."

  BioTechnica, huh? That corp was always up to something shady. News about them was so chaotic that finding anything specific was almost impossible. The only thing I could remember from recent headlines was their project to bring back extinct animals. Sure, it sounded noble—cattle for agriculture and all—but it was obviously just another way to rake in eddies.

  Never trust corpos, even when they're doing the "right" thing.

  "The Securicine case, right?" Vomi asked, her voice sharp with rage. "Fucking BioTechnica."

  Oh yeah, that whole mess. The painkillers that caused neurodegeneration—basically Brain Failure. It was a huge scandal back in the day, but people quickly forgot once BioTechnica swooped in with a "new and improved" version. Real convenient, and wouldn't you know it, their stock prices shot right back up. Corpos always have a way of twisting bad press into profit. I know because I study among them.

  "Yeah," Sasha confirmed, her usual smile completely gone, replaced by raw anger. "It was supposed to help with the phantom pain chrome gives—supposed to aid people. But it killed everyone who used it. And BioTechnica wasn’t going to stop making it because it was profitable. I had to make it public for everyone who would've suffered from it."

  "But what made you bet your ganic legs on it?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "That's a hell of a price to pay."

  "My mom died because of Securicine," she said, practically spitting the words.

  Ah, now I get it. Totally relatable. Fuck them and their "super profitable" painkiller biz.

  "What you did was noble," Mom said, resting a hand on her forehead. "But it was also costly."

  I grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to her. "C'mon now, you shouldn't even be talking. Just rest, okay?"

  She took the bottle but didn't drink right away. I turned back to Vomi and Sasha, who were both stewing in a tense silence. Eventually, Vomi broke it.

  "You lost your legs there, then," Vomi said. "Do you want me to—?"

  "What?" Sasha interrupted, immediately panicking. "Oh no! Please! You don’t need to do anything! I’m—well, not fine—but I've accepted my new legs! They even help me sneak around!"

  I blinked. Uh… what the actual fuck just happened? Why did she react like that?

  The door slid open, and Lev stepped in. "Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

  "Nah, it's fine, Lev," Vomi said, waving him in. "What'd you bring this time?"

  "An engine," he said casually, setting an entire car engine down on the center table. "Mizutani, 8 valves, top-of-the-market stuff."

  Sasha's jaw dropped. "How the hell did you lift an entire engine?!"

  Vomi, Lev, and I just shrugged in unison. Honestly, this was normal by now.

  “VOMI! I NEED ANSWERS!”

  A few days later

  Not much had happened since I was forced to stay at the clinic. To be honest, I didn't even miss my classes since Vomi set me up with a cooling suit and a way to dive into cyberspace. Thanks to that, I was attending all my classes through distance learning. It reminded me of how things went back in 2020 when a pandemic forced everyone to study online. So yeah, I was still keeping up, even if Katsuo wasn't thrilled about it. Ever since our little incident in the Academy’s back alley, though, he hadn't said a word to me.

  Everyone else at the Academy? Different story.

  “I heard he broke a vending machine with a single punch. What kind of cyberware does he have?”

  “Figures. Punks from Arroyo are always trouble. Not even Katsuo could handle him.”

  “Katsuo’s a joke. He’s only here because of his father.”

  The gossip didn’t bother me. I honestly couldn't care less what these gonks thought.

  Katsuo, on the other hand, was having a rougher time.

  “I’ve already explained!” Katsuo practically yelled during a VR class session. “I didn’t want to break the Academy’s rules! Violence on campus is strictly forbidden!”

  A classmate scoffed. “You saying your daddy can’t protect you from getting expelled? No wonder that David guy took you down. You can’t do shit for yourself.”

  I noticed something then—Katsuo was completely alone. His so-called friends didn’t stand by him anymore and barely spoke to him unless it was absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, those same people had started gravitating toward me, like I was their new leader or something.

  Let me make one thing clear: I’m not aiming to be a gang leader or a bully. I just want my fucking degree.

  "That's not how it went down!" Katsuo insisted, his voice strained.

  The holo teacher was visibly close to intervening, but I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't obligated to do what I was about to do, but damn, I just couldn't stand the situation.

  "Leave him alone, will ya?" I said, hands stuffed in my pockets. "Katsuo, it's nova that you decided to keep things down, but honestly? You shouldn't have done it. Things are just getting worse for you."

  The student who had been taunting Katsuo glanced at me, confused. Katsuo looked completely baffled, unsure how to respond.

  I kept going, calm and collected. "Yeah, I get it. You tried to downplay our disagreement because we don't share the same values, but what we agreed on isn't anyone else's business." I nodded toward the holo teacher. "Our responsibilities are bigger than gossip or petty squabbles. We both understand that, so there's no need to keep dragging this out." I held out my hand to Katsuo. "Thanks, though. Not many people would’ve done what you did."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Katsuo's expression shifted. His initial shock gave way to an obviously forced smile as he shook my hand. "I'm... glad... we can leave this behind."

  It was painfully clear he didn’t mean it, but I let it slide.

  Most of the class witnessed the exchange, already whispering among themselves. The holo teacher wisely chose to ignore the whole thing. All in all, it was a decent way to kill off the rumors—mostly for Katsuo’s sake, not mine.

  As I turned to return to my spot in the virtual class, Katsuo grabbed my arm. "What the fuck was that? Just because you... helped me... doesn't mean we're friends or anything."

  I almost laughed. "You? One of my chooms? Nah, I don't want that."

  "Then... why?" he asked, clearly confused.

  I shrugged, thinking for a moment. "Maybe for a future favor. Maybe I just don't want my name circulating around the Academy. Who knows?"

  "But… I thought you..." Katsuo hesitated.

  "I what? Hated you?" I raised an eyebrow. His dumbfounded look said it all. "Nah. I don't have the energy to hate you. I've got an entire Academy bill to worry about, and your sorry ass doesn't make the list."

  Pulling my arm free from Katsuo’s grip, I returned to my spot and tried to focus on class, though it was utterly boring. The lesson was about contract clauses and avoiding fees when dealing with new recruits, improvements, or legal disputes. Nothing groundbreaking. The only mildly interesting point was how to shield yourself from aggressive tactics by setting enough mutual terms upfront, creating more stable partnerships.

  It reminded me of Vomi and Maine.

  But honestly, I was more aware of myself than the class. How long had it been since I felt tired? Hungry? Thirsty? Even sickness seemed irrelevant now. My hair was growing back way too fast, and I hadn’t sweated once—despite Night City's sweltering summers in the middle of the desert. If Vomi gave me this pathogen, does she live like this too? It made me unsettled. Wasn't life supposed to be difficult to some degree?

  Without those normal struggles—without aging even—why should I care about...

  Dying?

  “Is there something wrong, Mr. Martinez?” The holo teacher's sudden question snapped me back to reality.

  Thankfully, I no longer flinched at the mention of my name. Despite my wandering thoughts, I was aware enough of the topic to respond. “I was just thinking that if contracts were approached as mutual business improvements, it would make associates more interested—even if it included, say, exorbitant interest rates.” I counted examples on my fingers. “For instance, legal repossession of goods, merchandise, or even properties if demands aren't met. And that's just a surface-level idea.”

  “Impressive observation...” The holo teacher actually showed emotion for the first time in—well—ever.

  Gossip spread like wildfire.

  “Must be in a gang if he knows that much about repossession,” one student whispered.

  “Yeah, bet he's talking about stealing cars,” another muttered.

  These people seriously needed to major in law. This was basic stuff.

  To my surprise, Katsuo chimed in. “Not only that, but it would benefit the contractor for security. The one being offered wouldn’t fully understand the implications but would believe they're getting more than they're paying for.”

  He turned to the class. “After all, who would refuse extra security—even at the risk of losing your possessions?”

  “My point exactly,” I agreed genuinely. For once, Katsuo actually made a coherent argument.

  A for effort, A for execution, and A for competence.

  Preem.

  “Both are excellent points,” the holo teacher continued. “But how would you address possible backlash from such contracts?”

  “Oh, now I want to see them squirm,” one girl snickered.

  “Yeah, let's see the smartasses sweat,” another student added.

  Katsuo's confident expression immediately crumbled as he shot me a panicked look, clearly seeking salvation. I sighed.

  Lucky for him, I already had a way to turn this in our favor.

  I leaned back casually, arms crossed. “Simple,” I said, addressing both the class and the holo teacher. “Transparency is key—but not too much. You reveal just enough terms to keep clients confident without exposing every loophole. Make them feel like they're winning the deal.”

  Katsuo caught on quickly, regaining some composure. “And by focusing on benefits instead of risks, you steer the conversation toward growth and security. Frame potential repossessions as safeguards rather than penalties.”

  The teacher’s digital form flickered thoughtfully. “Interesting approach. However, wouldn’t such selective transparency create trust issues down the line?”

  “Not necessarily,” I replied. “Trust is built on perception, not facts. As long as they believe you're acting in their best interest, the finer details won’t matter. And if they read the contract thoroughly, well... that’s on them.”

  The class went silent. Even the usual gossip-mongers were processing our points.

  One guy finally broke the silence. “Damn, I didn’t think about it like that.”

  Katsuo, emboldened by the positive reactions, added, “Of course, this is all theoretical. In the real world, ethical considerations come into play.” He smirked, as if he hadn’t just fumbled minutes ago.

  “Ethical considerations?” I raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. “You sound like you’re aiming for sainthood, Katsuo.”

  A few students chuckled, but Katsuo shrugged. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep the moral compass around here.”

  “Sure, let me know how that works out for you in corporate Night City,” I quipped.

  The teacher intervened before we could escalate the banter. “Enough discussion for today. Well done, both of you. Let’s move on.”

  As the class wrapped up, Katsuo approached me before we logged out of the virtual. His expression was twisted into what looked like an angry glare—but wait… was he blushing?

  The fuck?

  “Thanks,” he muttered awkwardly.

  I blinked. “........What?”

  “I said thanks, you moron,” he grumbled, practically turning crimson.

  Still not computing. “Uh… for what?”

  “For not letting me sink back there.”

  Oh.

  OH.

  Katsuo was actually being thankful.

  And to me?!

  I almost wheezed but managed to hold it in. “Don’t get used to it,” I said with a faint grin. “Next time, I might just watch.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, sure you will.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “That doesn’t mean we’re even or anything… but at least we’re not at each other’s throats anymore.”

  “...Sure?” I said, more confused than anything.

  Without another word, he logged off. I stared at the empty space for a second before logging out too, completely dumbfounded.

  I didn’t like Katsuo, and he sure as hell didn’t like me. But somehow, we’d landed in this weird, reluctant truce.

  Welcome to the Academy, fucking I guess?

  “What’s with that look on your face?”

  I glanced to my side and found a woman I hadn’t met until now. Ashen-gray hair tied in a ponytail, green, maybe emerald eyes, and a scar across her left eye going down on her cherk. Her skin was so pale it looked like she’d never seen the sun—a privilege reserved for high-level corpos who didn't have to lift a finger to swim in eddies.

  Oh, and she had the thickest accent I’d ever heard. European, maybe? Hard to tell.

  “I think I just made a… choom?” I half-answered, still trying to process whatever the hell Katsuo had just done.

  “Made a what?” she asked, confused, before realization dawned on her face. “Oh, you mean a friend. Your language is fucking weird.”

  I blinked, getting up from the recliner and heading to the fridge more out of habit than hunger. “Wait, you’re not from N.U.S.A.? Where are you from, then?”

  “I’m from—eh, never mind,” she said, waving it off and awkwardly messing with the terminal on the table.

  We were in the living room of Vik’s clinic since I still hadn’t been discharged—same as Mom. This place was starting to feel like a prison of boredom. Even periodic visits to Misty, where I bumped into Jackie inviting me to gigs I had to refuse, weren’t shaking things up.

  Grabbing a pack of ant chips, I tore it open and popped a few in my mouth. I held the bag out to her without a word. She stared for half a second, then grabbed a handful.

  “You know how to use that thing?” I asked, watching her struggle with the terminal. She’d been trying to search for “Sword—” something for way too long without finishing the query, “I can help if you want.”

  She sighed in frustration. “No… actually, yes,” she added, raising her hands in defeat.

  I squinted mockingly. “Does your hair match your age or something? It’s not that complicated.”

  “Well, pardon me for not knowing your world that well, niegrzeczne dziecko,” she huffed, slumping into the chair and sliding down a bit.

  “What are you trying to search for, anyway?”

  “Silver Swords,” she said.

  Alright, kinda nova.

  I typed it in the search bar, and images and videos immediately popped up. What caught my attention was her mesmerized expression—not at the swords themselves, but the whole process. Like she was marveling at how the terminal worked and displayed exactly what I searched for.

  “Uh…” I muttered, puzzled. “You good?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that I’m… what’s the word for it...” She furrowed her brows, clearly digging through her mind for the right expression.

  “Impressed?” I offered.

  “Yes, that.” She huffed in frustration, like admitting it was a personal defeat.

  I turned toward the couch, not bothering to move my neck, baffled by the fact that someone was actually impressed by something so basic. I wondered how she'd react to seeing quick hacks in action.

  “Who are you, anyway?” I asked while scrolling through images of different swords. Some looked pretty well-crafted—not that I had any real expertise to judge.

  “All my friends call me Ciri for short. My real name’s way too long,” she said, sitting up straighter. “Honestly, I prefer it. Feels more personal.”

  “Ciri, huh?” I gave her a puzzled look. “Yeah, you’re definitely European.”

  Her eyes widened for a second before her face twisted into a grimace. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “Probably because it’s true. You’re definitely not American.” I crumpled the empty bag of rat chips and tossed it toward the trash bin. “So, Ciri—who are you?”

  She hesitated, looking off at the wall with a sigh. “Just someone who’s been… unlucky.”

  Judging by her expression, she was probably thinking about some heavy stuff. I didn’t know much about dealing with people who had that kind of baggage, but I figured I’d give it a shot. No harm in trying, right?

  “If you could please be more vague, I’d gladly not understand a single thing you’re saying,” I said, laying on the faux drama thick.

  She actually chuckled. “Oh, then please stay in the void of unawareness and lack of clarity.” She even added a mock bow.

  I laughed. “Alright, fair enough. But seriously, let me start so you feel more comfortable.” I pointed toward the recovery room, where Mom stood in the doorway waving. “I’m David Martinez. Current student at Arasaka Academy. That lovely lady over there is my mom. And right now, I’m a future third-party assistant for law enforcement—assuming I don’t screw it up.”

  “Honorable titles. You must be proud of them,” Ciri said with a nod.

  “Not really,” I admitted, scratching the back of my head. My hair was growing way too fast again. “Arasaka Academy’s like one of those old noble houses that think they’re untouchable. But I promised Mom I’d get a decent job. She’s been through a lot and still isn’t back to full health.”

  Ciri nodded thoughtfully. “At least your intentions are noble, even if… unorthodox. Is that the right word?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you do something in a non-traditional way, but it still works.”

  “Yeah, that’s the word.”

  “Good. Sorry, I’m still getting used to the language.” She glanced back at the terminal. “And as you’ve seen… I’m not doing well with tech either.”

  “I’ve seen worse. Grandmas struggling with basic UI are top-tier entertainment.” I waved it off. “But why silver swords, though?”

  “They remind me… of home, I guess?” She seemed to be talking more to herself. “Nevermind. It’s just…”

  “Complicated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nova. Don’t sweat it.” I turned toward the door. “Just don’t break the terminal. Vomi won’t take kindly to that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  As I stepped out, my agent buzzed with a call from someone I didn’t expect to hear from anytime soon.

  “Hey, Davey, been a while,” Doc's voice crackled through the line, laced with that usual false charm. “What gives? My best BD seller gone quiet?”

  “I’m your only BD seller,” I deadpanned. “And yeah, a lot of shit went down since my last visit.”

  I spent the next ten minutes filling him in on everything that happened recently. By the end, Doc actually seemed concerned—not that I was about to trust that. This was Doc, after all. Skepticism was mandatory.

  “Fuck, Davey. Didn’t know you were neck-deep in that kind of trouble,” he said, voice almost wary. Maybe even sad? “I know how much your old lady means to you, so—”

  “Yeah, thanks for the concern,” I cut in, getting straight to the point. “What do you want?”

  “Well, good thing I called you when I did,” Doc said, slipping right back into his insufferable devilish chuckle. “I got a new scheme—this one’s legit. Big eddies, and some gonk’s willing to pay good.”

  I glanced at my bank account. Technically, I could refuse. Play it safe. Maybe even follow Vik's advice and stick close to Vomi or the cops. The Sandevistan profit was already solid, but sitting around doing nothing sounded like torture.

  “What kind of gig?” I asked, stepping out of the recovery room and heading to the office.

  “See? Predictable as ever, Davey-boy.”

  “Shut up. Now talk.”

  “Shut up or talk?”

  “Just tell me what the gig is already!” I clapped a hand over my mouth, realizing I’d definitely shouted louder than I meant to.

  “Geez, fine. No need to yell,” Doc grumbled, clearing his throat as he switched to biz mode. “So, one of my clients linked up with a fixer who set up a gig for him. Low-stakes stuff, but the pay's solid. Thing is, he needs a support team to pull it off—which is where you and another guy come in.”

  “Support? What kind?” I asked, intrigued despite the fact that the fixer sounded like a total gonk who just started. Still, a gig was a gig.

  “The guy already has someone lined up, but I figured I'd call you since you're always hungry for a bigger cut,” Doc explained. “It's simple: just hit a few spots around town and take out some antennas and retransmitters. Do that, and you get paid on the spot—no risk, no mess.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, bemused. “So, judging by how you're pitching this... you have no idea what the gig actually is, do you?”

  Silence. A few awkward beats passed.

  “Okay, first and foremost—fuck you.”

  I nearly lost it. The way he said it was so unexpectedly funny it caught me completely off guard.

  “Second, do you want the gig or not?” Doc pressed.

  “Of course I do, but I need to take care of something first.” No way was I risking Panther showing up to fetch me like some lost kid at a market.

  Speak of the devil...

  “Hey, Panther.” I waved to the giant feline as it stretched lazily and looked my way. “Can you call Vomi for me?”

  Panther let out a low grunt, hopped off its napping spot, and bounded across a few tables before disappearing into the hallway. I was pretty used to the idea that a supposedly extinct predator not only lived with us but also understood basic commands. Having a big cat that didn't mind head pats was oddly comforting.

  “Wait—who the hell is Panther? And why are you asking for that?” Doc’s voice pulled me back.

  “I'm at a Ripperdoc's clinic in Watson, in case you forgot the last ten minutes of this conversation,” I said flatly. “Need to ask my new doc to discharge me.”

  “You haven't already?” Doc sounded genuinely offended. “If it were me, I'd have kicked you out the second the operation was done.”

  “And that's exactly why you're a back-alley ripper instead of an accredited one.”

  “Why would I want to pay taxes?”

  “Pfft, whatever.” I smirked. “I’m just gonna see if I can leave.”

  “What—can't go without mommy's permission?”

  “You know what? Fuck you,” I snapped, ready to hang up.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Doc backpedaled fast.

  All part of the plan.

  “Listen, my bad. But seriously, this gig could benefit both of us. If you help me out, I'll be able to source better cyberware. Can’t you do that for me?”

  Before I could respond, Panther returned, growling low as Vomi followed behind. Her appearance was... rough. Let's just say she looked more like a strung-out junkie than someone who'd slept properly in weeks. Probably the drugs she relied on, though, not just pure exhaustion.

  “What happened, David?” she asked, voice hoarse.

  “I got a gig—well, an offer,” I explained. Her brow immediately arched.

  “I didn’t discharge you.”

  “And I’m not asking for your permission,” I shot back without missing a beat. “I said I’m going. You wanna fight me on that or not?”

  Vomi exhaled sharply, then shrugged. “Y’know, you’re lucky I just finished your final checkup. Fine—just go.” She took a long hit from her inhaler and stalked out of the room.

  “Good move, Davey,” Doc chimed in through the line.

  “Now...” I leaned back, confidence dripping from my voice. “What's my cut?”

  “First, David, welcome to Task Force Neuron.”, A voice said over the comms. It wasn't Doc's.

  “.....What?”