David Martinez

  Today at the Academy was… weird, to say the least. Maybe it was because of what I realized yesterday, or maybe it was because I was seeing the world differently. Either way, something felt… off.

  Everyone was treating me with respect.

  “Good to see you, David!” someone greeted as I stepped onto the Academy grounds.

  “There’s our Santo Domingo choom!” another called out, forcing the word choom like his life depended on it.

  “Never doubted this guy for a second,” said someone who had obviously doubted me his whole life.

  Even the Holo Teacher was being courteous.

  “Welcome, Mr. Martinez!” It sounded almost… excited? That was a first. “Your new uniform fits you quite nicely!”

  Now that I had my new uniform, my physique was more defined than ever. Hard to hide muscle under a suit like this. But I doubted that was why everyone was suddenly treating me like royalty.

  Classes went on as usual—new methods of A and B, reflections on C, ending with D. The same mundane shit, with me getting perfect scores as expected. The real surprise? The other students weren’t bitter about it. Normally, they’d be gritting their teeth every time I outperformed them. Now? They were… supportive.

  It didn’t make sense.

  During lunch, I needed to hear the truth from someone who wouldn't sugarcoat it—someone who didn’t give a fuck about being polite.

  Katsuo.

  “The hell do you want, Martinez?” he grumbled, frowning. For once, I was grateful for his usual attitude.

  I sat down next to him, ignoring his personal space. “I wanna know what the fuck is going on. A week ago, they wanted me dead for stepping on the same ground as them. Now they love me. Feels off.”

  Katsuo gave me a look, expression neutral but voice dripping with irritation. “You can’t actually be serious.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Everyone at the Academy knows about your new affiliations.” He sighed like he was explaining something obvious. “How could they not treat you with respect?”

  “They know about the Government and the Ripperdoc?” I asked, half-understanding. “More like bootlicking than respect.”

  “Of course they’re licking your feet.” He looked away, arms crossed. “Corporate warfare is about negotiations, schemes, profit—but most of all, connections. You have excellent ones. Even if I don’t like it, I’ll admit—you’re the best contact anyone at the Academy could make.”

  “Oh, I know,” I muttered, angrier than I meant to sound. “But how the hell did they find out?”

  Katsuo turned back to me, jabbing a finger in my face. “Because everyone’s got their eyes on you, David. You excel at everything this Academy teaches—while being a street kid.”

  I blinked, then slowly pushed his finger away. “I’m the exception that proves the rule, unfortunately.”

  “What rule?”

  I leaned back, letting out a sigh. “The rule that kids like me don’t make it here. Street kids aren’t supposed to stand out in a place like this—at least, not in a good way.”

  Katsuo narrowed his eyes. “And yet here you are, top of the class and rubbing shoulders with corpos. That’s why they’re acting like this. They want a piece of your success, hoping it rubs off on them.”

  “Great,” I muttered sarcastically. “Suddenly, I’m the Academy’s new poster boy. That explains the fake smiles, but it still feels wrong. It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

  “Of course they are,” Katsuo scoffed. “They’re waiting for you to screw up. As long as you’re perfect, you’re untouchable. But the second you slip up, they’ll be right there, ready to drag you down.”

  “Comforting thought.” I drummed my fingers on the table, trying to shake off the paranoia creeping in. “But why now? Just because of the uniform?”

  “No,” Katsuo said, his tone serious. “Because you’re a wildcard, Martinez. A street kid with government connections? That’s not normal. You’re unpredictable, and that scares them. But if they can’t control you, they’ll try to befriend you. Better to keep an ally close than risk an enemy.”

  I considered his words. It made sense. I’d always stood out, but this sudden shift in attitude wasn’t about respect—it was about fear. The realization left a sour taste in my mouth.

  “Well, they’re wasting their time,” I said. “I don’t plan on playing their game.”

  Katsuo smirked. “Good. They don’t deserve you anyway. Just keep your head down and keep doing what you do best.”

  “Which is?”

  “Pissing everyone off,” he said, his smirk turning into a rare, genuine smile.

  I chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. At least I still had one person who treated me the same—no bullshit, no fake smiles. Just the harsh truth.

  “Thanks, Katsuo.”

  “Whatever,” he grumbled, turning back to his lunch. “Just don’t get soft on me, Martinez. This place will eat you alive if you do.”

  “Noted,” I said, digging into my own meal.

  I scanned the cafeteria. A few students waved, a little too eager. Others whispered in hushed tones, their eyes darting toward me with cautious curiosity.

  Yeah, something had shifted. Whether it was for better or worse… that remained to be seen.

  I stood, sliding my untouched tray onto the return belt.

  Whatever game they thought they were playing, they’d better be ready. Because if Santo Domingo taught me anything, it was this:

  Respect isn’t given. It’s earned in blood.

  And I’ve got plenty left to spill.

  A few hours after the Academy, Sasha came to pick me up. She wasn’t the one driving—some guy with a mustache and heavy England vibes had the wheel. Whatever. A choom of Sasha’s was a choom of mine, even if I’d only known her for about a week and a half.

  “David!” Sasha waved eagerly, her bright pink outfit a refreshing contrast to the sea of corporate monotony I’d just left behind. “I need to talk to you about the thing!”

  “The thing?” the driver snorted, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Real subtle.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Fuck you, Falco!” Sasha shot back. “He knows about the gig!”

  “And so will everyone else if you keep yelling,” I said, placing a hand on her head to calm her down.

  She pouted. “I hate you now.”

  “And I love you,” I replied, finally letting go.

  Falco smirked and motioned for me to get in. “Well, hop in. We got a lot to go over.”

  I climbed into the van, getting comfortable. “Where are we headed?”

  “The Afterlife!” Sasha practically bounced in her seat, grinning. “It’s a serious gig, so we gotta keep it hush-hush.”

  “Sure. Secrecy,” Falco chuckled, pulling onto the road.

  “Wait, hold up. The Afterlife? That Afterlife?” I asked, just to be sure.

  “Yep!” Sasha gave me a thumbs-up, her eyes practically sparkling. “We’re in the big leagues now! Besides, you already knew our crew ran gigs there.”

  “Oh. Right.” I scratched the back of my head. “Feels like a lifetime ago with everything that’s happened.”

  “No worries, kid,” Falco said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Long as you’re with us, you’re nova.”

  “Preem.” I nodded, then pulled out my phone.

  Might as well cue up some music for the ride to Kabuki.

  “All right,” I said, glancing around at the crew that had literally held me hostage a few weeks ago. “But why do you need me for this?”

  Pilar poked my bicep. “Damn, this dude is jacked.”

  “Because,” Rebecca—someone I hadn’t met that day—jumped in, “Maine and Pilar aren’t exactly cut out for stealth ops. One shoots at anything that pisses him off, and the other is just a gonk.”

  “Yeah, fuck you too, Becca.” Pilar snorted, then poked my chest this time. “How many abs you got?”

  “Uh… six?” I answered, confused.

  “Looks like a thousand.” He poked again.

  “See? Pilar’s an idiot.” Rebecca crossed her arms.

  Maine grumbled. “Ignoring the insult to my alleged anger issues—”

  “Oh, so now you’re admitting you have them?” She smirked.

  “—Kiwi and Lucy are Netrunners, so they can’t exactly keep Maxim Kuznetsov distracted for long,” he continued, ignoring her.

  “What about Sasha?” I asked, sparing a glance at her. “She’s got Lynx Paws, and I assume she’s an excellent NetGunner.”

  “Oh, why thank you!” Sasha beamed. “But even though that’s true, I don’t fit the corpo agenda. I’m my own thing, ya know?”

  “That’s where you come in,” Dorio said, pointing at me—at my uniform, at the way I carried myself.

  Made sense.

  When I walked into the Afterlife, everyone—bouncers, bartenders, mercs, solos—gave me the look. Like I didn’t belong. Like I was an intruder in their sacred den. And it wasn’t hard to figure out why.

  I was still in my Arasaka uniform.

  It wasn’t exactly a corpo suit, but close enough. Arasaka’s rep wasn’t just bad in the merc world—it was hated. So of course they saw me as a threat. Worse, I realized I was moving, talking, acting like a corpo without even thinking about it.

  Symbiote’s work, probably. No way in hell I’d ever do that naturally.

  Not that I cared anymore.

  “And,” Dorio continued, “as Pilar’s so kindly pointed out, you’ve got some serious muscle. All natural, from what I can tell.”

  “So that’s how he managed to take you hostage that day,” Pilar said, nodding like he’d just solved a great mystery.

  BONK

  “OUCH!”

  Dorio’s fist landed squarely on his head.

  Lucy downed the last of her whiskey before speaking. “According to our fixer, Maxim has the day off. He usually spends it betting at some bar he hits up now and then.”

  Kiwi picked up from there. “There’s a poker table there. If you play and make the right bets—ones that’ll catch Maxim’s attention—we’ll have enough time to pull the data we need.”

  “And that’s where I come in!” Rebecca grinned, hands on her hips. “Sasha and I will be inside the bar, playing our parts.”

  I blinked. “...Riiight. Does that mean you’ll…”

  “For me? No.” Sasha immediately crossed her arms in an X shape. “I’m not about to play JoyToy in some bar. I’ve got a rep, and I’m not throwing that away.”

  “Coward,” Rebecca muttered.

  Maine and Dorio just exchanged looks, grimacing at Rebecca’s antics. Pilar, meanwhile, had decided he was better off flirting with the bartender.

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  Kiwi sighed, clearly already over this conversation. “And if things go south—which they probably will—just fight him. It’s not like getting into a brawl with an Academy kid on his day off will get him in trouble. He’s a protected class. Privileged beyond belief.”

  “Oh, I can only imagine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So, because I’m affiliated with Arasaka, you want me to lure him into wasting time?”

  Maine pointed at me. “You act like a corpo anyway. Even for a Santo kid.”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t exactly flipped the switch to bring OG David back. And I probably won’t.” I scratched the back of my neck.

  “Why?” Sasha tilted her head, curious.

  “Vomi hired me as a half-intern,” I said. “Y’know, now that we’ve had that discussion about the ‘parasite’ thing.”

  Sasha’s confusion quickly turned to realization. “Oh! That thing? Uh… good for you?”

  “Partially, yeah.”

  Pilar finally pulled himself away from the bartender. “Wait, so David got hired by that hot Ripperdoc?”

  “Yup.” I shot him a thumbs-up.

  “Preem,” he muttered, sounding almost defeated.

  “Just make sure to clear your schedule for the gig,” Maine said, standing up.

  I stayed seated, making him pause. “Didn’t say I agreed yet.” Hands in my pockets, I leaned back slightly. “There’s something I need first before I give you my answer.”

  The whole table—hell, even some other tables—turned to stare at me. The music after a while stopped, making those who weren't paying attention now turn to us all.

  Is this what it feels like to be a corpo? Because it’s already getting annoying.

  Mom, you have some weird wishes.

  “And what exactly do you need?” Maine asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Eddies,” I said plainly. “Can’t accept a gig without knowing what I’ll be cashing in.”

  Rebecca groaned, pointing a pale white finger at me. “Did you really make a whole scene just to talk about payment? Choom, you are seriously turning into a corpo.”

  “That depends on Faraday,” Falco finally spoke up after quietly smoking beside us. “If we pull this off perfectly, it’s more than any of us could make on our own. And let’s be real—a corpo’s paying us. It’s gonna be six digits or more. Of course, we’re splitting it evenly.”

  “You split evenly?” I raised an eyebrow, caught somewhere between shock and pleasant surprise.

  Maine nodded. “No matter how much or how little someone did for the gig.”

  I thought for a second, then shook my head. “No complaints from me.”

  “Good. Then let’s move. We’ve got another gig to handle.”

  The bar quickly settled back into its usual rhythm—drinks flowing, gig talk buzzing, the bartender making rounds with offers, and the occasional song request filling the air. Most of the crew had left, except for two—Rebecca and Lucy.

  “You’re not heading out with them?” I asked Rebecca, who immediately pouted.

  “Oh, I wish I could,” she grumbled, flipping Maine off behind his back. “Fucking chrometard won’t let me join because I’m ‘too young’—or so he says.”

  “That’s not the real reason, but you refuse to accept it,” Lucy said flatly, turning her bored gaze toward the tiny menace.

  Rebecca practically jumped onto the table. “How the hell am I supposed to prove I can handle myself if Maine keeps sticking me with the most boring-ass tasks?! That is, if he even lets me join. How long until I get some real action? I wanna dump a hundred rounds into some gonkwit who totally deserves castration!”

  Jesus Christ. Is this what she normally says?

  I coughed awkwardly. “Uh… maybe just give it time?”

  Rebecca slumped back into her seat, sliding down like she was melting. “I’ve been waiting. Months. And all I got was a fucking JoyToy cosplay.”

  “How can you prove yourself if you don’t get the chance?” I asked, wondering if Maine had ever actually considered that.

  “RIGHT?!” Rebecca practically exploded, throwing her hands up. For once, I didn’t even flinch at the sudden outburst. “That’s what I’ve been telling him, but does he listen? No!”

  “And as we’ve already discussed, that’s not the real reason he doesn’t let you join,” Lucy sighed, lighting up a cigarette.

  “Yeah, fuck y’all. I’m gonna drink until I pass out,” Rebecca huffed, hopping out of the booth and stomping over to angrily order an entire bottle of something.

  And just like that, it was just me and Lucy.

  “Lucy.”

  “David.”

  “...”

  “...”

  “...”

  “How’s your mom doing?” she asked.

  “She recovered. Back to work, but no extra hours anymore.” I answered, still thinking about how she had set me up earlier.

  “And how are you doing?” she asked, offering a sincere smile.

  One I didn’t trust anymore.

  “What’s it to you?” I said, my tone cold.

  “Still pissed about what I did?” she asked, blowing a stream of smoke to the side.

  “Of course I am,” I said, crossing my arms. “You sold me out because of a hunch. And now we’re supposed to work together? I can’t promise I’ll go out of my way to save your ass if things go south.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Lucy admitted with a smirk. “I’d feel the same way if someone did that to me.”

  “You’re acting way too damn optimistic for the situation,” I muttered, standing up. “I’ll try not to hold a grudge, but for now? I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

  Lucy exhaled another puff of smoke, watching me with that same unreadable expression. “Fair enough,” she said, her voice calm, almost amused. “I’ll see you at the job, then.”

  I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I turned and walked away, slipping my hands into my pockets. The Afterlife was still alive with chatter, drinks being poured, and mercs discussing their next big payday. I felt eyes on me, though whether they were from people curious about the Arasaka kid or just sizing me up for other reasons, I didn’t know—or care.

  As I stepped outside, Night City’s neon glare hit me immediately. The air was thick with smog, the distant hum of traffic mixing with the occasional gunshot or siren. Business as usual.

  I checked my agent. A few unread messages. Nothing urgent.

  Then a new one popped up.

  Vomi: "So, you're working with them now?"

  I frowned, hesitating before replying. Even more when I didn't even know how she knew about the meeting.

  Then I realized that maybe Sasha told her.

  Yeah, sounds about right.

  Me: "Something like that."

  Three dots flickered, showing she was typing. Then,

  Vomi: "Be careful."

  I scoffed. Careful? In this city? Yeah, right.

  Still, I closed my agent and made my way home. A storm was brewing, both in the sky and in whatever the hell I had just gotten myself into.

  The Following Week

  The next few days were fairly routine for David. The only real change in his life was getting a crash course on what exactly a Ripperdoc does. Procedures, medical receipts, patient data analysis, how different meds interact with various conditions—he absorbed it all. Even making incisions under Vomi’s intense scrutiny, with the occasional correction from Vik, became part of his daily grind. Whenever he made a mistake, Vik was there to suggest a better, faster way to handle things.

  David handled civilian patients, while Vik and Vomi focused on Edgerunners, cyberware installations, and even drug synthesis. Thanks to the symbiote, he wasn’t flawless, but he learned fast. His hands were steady, and he grasped concepts on the first explanation, making repeated instructions unnecessary. Vomi expected this level of efficiency, but Vik found it… odd. Impressive, sure, but odd—though knowing about the symbiote explained at least part of it.

  As for Gloria, her return to work at the Emergency Medic Team was met with open arms. Everyone was glad to see her back to her usual self—energetic and present, instead of exhausted to the brink of collapse. Work had been relatively calm lately, with only the occasional car crash or gang-related shootout near conflict zones. Nothing unusual for Night City. With her premature vacation still leaving her with plenty of days off, she had little to complain about.

  At least public service workers were still treated with some respect in 2076.

  “What about your son, Gloria?” one of her coworkers asked. She had a chromed-out face with a highly analytical optic—perfect for field procedures. “I heard he’s working with a Ripperdoc now.”

  Gloria couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, he is. Already making a career for himself outside of Arasaka Academy.”

  “You must be proud, huh?” her supervisor added, nodding in a way that only someone with an inflated ego would allow themselves.

  “I am… but he still thinks more with his youth than he does with his head.” Gloria crossed her arms, uncertainty flickering across her face.

  “Well, I’m sure he thinks more of you than anything else,” one of them reassured Gloria before quickly turning back to their screen. “Oh, hold on—looks like we’ve got a 720.”

  “Someone lost a leg? Again?” another groaned, already heading for the ambulance.

  “Trauma Team’s responding, but only for their clients, as usual,” the supervisor added. “Let’s move—people need saving.”

  “All for the paycheck,” everyone echoed in unison, including Gloria.

  Sasha was doing her usual makeup shopping at the megabuilding. Well, calling it a mall would be a stretch, but in Night City, this was as close as you’d get to something cheap yet accessible to everyone. There was an actual mall, sure, but from what Sasha knew, everything there was so expensive she doubted even corpo suits shopped there—why pay extra when they could get the same thing cheaper, and probably better, if they lowered their standards just a little?

  She strolled through the aisles with her cart, enjoying the rare bit of free time—until she spotted a familiar face.

  Vomi.

  She was in the same megabuilding, though definitely not for makeup shopping. Not that she needed it—Sasha always thought Vomi was naturally beautiful, but a tiny touch-up could turn her into a flawless masterpiece. Not that it mattered. If Vomi didn’t care, Sasha wasn’t about to push her.

  What did matter was what the hell Vomi was doing here. As far as Sasha knew, the scientist never left the clinic in Watson. Even after asking David and Vik, she got the same answer—Vomi kept to herself. Always. So why the seclusion? Why the unsociable behavior? Back in San Francisco, she was direct, professional, and even worked for a corp.

  What changed?

  Sasha didn't have the answers, but she was going to find them. Stashing her cart in a spot no one would bother robbing, she started tailing Vomi.

  A few turns through the back alleys of the megabuilding, and Sasha suddenly realized she had stepped into Maelstrom turf. That would be a death sentence for most people—but Vomi was far from average.

  Sure enough, after a few moments of quiet observation, Sasha spotted her meeting with a group of Maelstrom gangers. She could make out some of Vomi’s words, but not a single one from the gangers, meaning she’d have to get closer if she wanted to hear the full conversation. Fortunately, her Lynx Paws made that easy. With a light jump, she landed on the rooftops of a few shops, darting silently toward them.

  Finally, she could make out what they were saying.

  “The pay is the usual,” Vomi said with a tired sigh. “We got a deal?”

  “Sure, choom. You’re an excellent customer,” one of the Maelstrom gangers chuckled, opening the box he was holding.

  Inside was a bag packed with chems—so full it was almost absurd. Sasha recognized some of them, but others she didn’t even know existed. Propofol, Ketamine, Flunitrazepam, Midazolam—every single one a powerful sedative, some legal, most definitely not.

  Vomi paid, if the brief flash of her optics was any indication, then immediately pulled out a syringe, filled it with Ketamine, and injected it straight into her vein.

  A full bottle.

  Sasha felt her concern spike.

  “Heh, I’ll never understand how the fuck you’re still alive after a full dose of that,” one of the Maelstrom gangers commented with a laugh. “But hey, you’re paying.”

  “Pleasure doing business with y’all…” Vomi murmured, already sounding drowsy as her expression softened.

  She picked up the box and started heading out.

  Look, Sasha might not be an expert on sedatives, but Jesus Christ—an entire bottle of Ketamine?

  Sasha hesitated for a moment, debating whether to follow Vomi or just get the hell out of there. The scientist was clearly in her own world, stumbling slightly but still moving with a strange sense of purpose, as if she had done this a thousand times before. The Maelstrom gangers paid her no mind after the deal was done, already walking off to do whatever gruesome business they had next.

  That left Sasha with a choice—confront Vomi now or keep watching?

  Her gut told her to keep watching.

  She trailed Vomi as she weaved through the building’s alleys, avoiding the more populated areas like she was actively trying not to be seen. Every few minutes, she’d twitch slightly, adjust her pace, or flex her fingers in a way that made Sasha uneasy. Like she was testing if her body still worked.

  Eventually, Vomi reached a maintenance stairwell and disappeared inside.

  Sasha moved fast, scaling a nearby railing to peek inside from the upper floors.

  What she saw made her heart sink.

  Vomi had set the box of sedatives down on a rusted-out metal table and was methodically sorting them. But it wasn’t just for organization—she was prepping more doses.

  Another syringe. Another vial. Another slow, careful injection straight into her arm.

  Sasha clenched her jaw. This wasn’t just casual drug use—this was something else.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  What the fuck is going on with you, Vomi?

  Sasha couldn't watch anymore. She stepped in front of the access door, staring directly at Vomi.

  Instant regret.

  Vomi’s gaze was emptier than Sasha had ever seen—no recognition, no reaction, just a hollow stare that barely registered her presence.

  Actually… was anyone even there? It didn’t feel like she was looking at a person. Just a body, going through the motions, reacting on instinct.

  Then, after a beat of silence, Vomi let out a tired chuckle. No emotion. No acknowledgment. Just a passing amusement at something Sasha couldn’t understand.

  And then she went right back to injecting herself, as if Sasha was nothing more than a fleeting thought.

  Sasha stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She had always seen Vomi as someone sharp, someone fully aware of her surroundings, but now... this? This wasn't her.

  Vomi continued with her injections, the syringe sliding in with practiced precision, each dose entering her body without hesitation. The emptiness in her eyes grew, and Sasha’s heart clenched with a mix of concern and confusion. Was this really just a method to survive, or was there something deeper at play?

  Sasha felt like an intruder now, watching the woman she once knew slip further into something unrecognizable. She wanted to say something, to snap her out of it, but the words stuck in her throat. How could she help when even Vomi didn’t seem to be fully there?

  "Hey, Sasha.” Vomi's voice was weak, her words stumbling out as though she didn't have the strength to speak, “How you doing?”

  “Me...?” Sasha muttered, caught off guard, unsure of what to say. “Vomi, what is all this for?”

  “Oh, this?” Vomi waved the syringe lazily in front of her, “It’s to... relax. Only works in big doses, though.”

  “Big doses?” Sasha's voice cracked in disbelief, “Those are beyond lethal, Vomi.”

  “Ah.” Vomi nodded nonchalantly, then injected another syringe into her arm. “I wish it could. But this thing can't. Not even a nuke could.”

  Sasha opened her mouth to argue, but the weight of Vomi's words hit her hard. Wait... Could Vomi really survive something like that? The thought lingered in her mind, and the strange, unsettling truth dawned on her—Vomi had survived a nuclear explosion.

  Sasha stood there, staring at Vomi in stunned silence. Her mind struggled to process the sheer weight of the statement. It wasn’t just the casual way Vomi said it—it was the quiet certainty behind her words, as if she truly believed what she was saying.

  “Vomi... what are you?” Sasha finally whispered, the question more out of concern than curiosity.

  Vomi’s eyes flickered with something that could have been amusement or simply exhaustion. She didn’t answer right away, her gaze lost in some distant thought. After a long pause, she sighed, leaning back against the wall as if the weight of her own body was too much to bear.

  “I’m something that’s not meant to exist,” Vomi murmured, almost to herself. “I don’t belong here, but I’m stuck. Stuck between who I used to be and what I’ve become.”

  Sasha felt a chill crawl up her spine. The words hung in the air like a thick fog, each syllable sinking deeper into her chest. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the full truth, but a part of her needed to.

  “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Sasha asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the worry unmistakable.

  Vomi looked at her then, her expression empty, almost hollow, but there was a flicker of something—maybe sadness, maybe regret.

  “Because sometimes it’s easier to numb the pain than face it,” she replied softly. “I don’t have to feel anything. And I don’t have to care. Not for anyone, not even for myself.”

  Sasha’s heart twisted in her chest. She wanted to help, wanted to reach out, but the distance between them was like an impenetrable wall. Vomi had shut herself off completely, and no matter how much Sasha tried to break through, she couldn’t help but feel that Vomi was already too far gone.

  “Vomi…” Sasha’s voice cracked slightly, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

  Vomi’s lips curled into a small, tired smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Everyone always says that,” she said, her voice heavy with something unspoken. “But I’ve realized nothing changes here. The world’s drowning in contempt, and in the end, everything’s the same. Glory, fame—then they all fall away, just like everyone else.”

  Vomi shot Sasha one last, piercing look. “This world is nothing but futility, and I’m stuck in it. So just… leave me alone, alright?”

  Sasha didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t ready to accept that, but the words stuck with her like a shard of glass.

  As Vomi injected another dose of sedative, Sasha turned and walked away, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. The person she had once known, the one who had seemed so in control, so untouchable, was breaking down right before her eyes. And all Sasha could do was watch, helpless.