Vomi stumbled into the clinic—sloppy, sluggish, trembling. The moment she reached the living room, she collapsed onto the couch, melting into a viscous, purple mass, with the only exception being the chrome arm sticking out of it. The symbiote sloshed and oozed, flooding the poor sofa before slowly pulling itself back together. Piece by piece, she reformed, or at least tried to, her body struggling to take shape again.

  Vik entered the room, ready to call it a night for the clinic, only to find something he was getting far too used to—though that didn’t mean he liked it.

  Ever since they met, Vomi had done this. She spent a fortune on sedatives so potent they could knock even the most chromed-up borg into a coma. And yet, all it did to her was… slow her down. Whatever he glimpsed in her memories that night, he knew she was trying to keep something inside—even if it meant wrecking her own body. Then again, did it even harm her? Klyntar biology was both fascinating and terrifying, so Vik chose to stay willfully ignorant.

  As a ripperdoc, he understood why she did it. But as a human being, it was unbearable.

  Vomi’s form finally stabilized, but it wasn’t the pale scientist with red eyes that emerged. No, this was the first version of her Vik had ever seen—the one with deep violet skin, wild white hair, a flicking tail, and those piercing orange-black eyes. She clenched her fists, exhaling sharply before heading to the wardrobe. Her previous clothes had melted away, so she grabbed a fresh set—boots, leggings, a white tank top, a leather jacket. This time, she tied a red ribbon into her bangs.

  “Better,” she murmured, rolling her shoulders. “I’m heading out. Got people to meet.”

  Vik sighed, rubbing his temples. “How do you even… No, never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

  Vomi’s tail flicked lazily. “Panther, watch David while I’m gone.”

  A soft, indifferent “Meow” came from somewhere nearby.

  Then she left, her expression shifting—distant, detached, that slight flicker of psychosis creeping in.

  And that smile.

  That fucking smile.

  A Few Days Later

  David Martinez

  I roll up to the bar, Jacked and Coke, rocking my totally-not-stolen Arasaka suit, with absolutely no intention of using a stolen credchip to place totally legal bets. And, of course, I'm definitely not here to help someone pull off a klep.

  Happy days.

  The place is dead—just a few scattered customers, most of whom I can vaguely place where they live and how much they make in a year. Too bad my hair decided to grow back into its original preem cut overnight. If it weren’t for that, I’d blend right in. I’m not complaining, but seriously, couldn’t the timing have been better?

  Anyway, job’s a job. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making totally legal money.

  Whether inside or outside the law, a win’s a win.

  And I love my current situation.

  …That’s sarcasm, by the way.

  “Sir, are you looking for a game?” The croupier at the poker table calls out to me, way too polite for a place like this. “We have room for more players.”

  The table’s got a massive crowd of two people, leaving two open seats. Perfect. I can run my game without any unnecessary interference. All I need to do is place big bets—enough to lure in Maxim. My role? Act like a gonk with too much money and too much booze in his system. Just tempting enough to be a target, but not an easy one.

  I flash the croupier a confident grin. “Hope you’re ready to lose. I’ve never lost a game of poker.”

  One of the players snorts. “Yeah? We’ll see about that.”

  I turn to the bartender as I take my seat. “Oi! Get me something good!”

  He just nods and starts pouring. Don’t care what it is—I’m not here to drink, just to sell the act.

  Rebecca gives me a subtle nod from across the room. Sasha waves too, but her eyes flicker with a warning.

  Right. No screw-ups, David.

  The croupier waits as we stack our chips, eddies hitting the table. Small and big blinds are in—minimum bet’s fifty eddies. Damn, that’s steep, but hey, it’s poker. Should’ve expected it.

  “Alright, let’s see if daddy’s boy has any actual game,” the other player sneers, laughing. “Pretty sure you won’t miss the eddies.”

  I smirk as the bartender sets a bottle and a glass of bourbon in front of me. Pouring myself a shot, I keep my tone casual. “Who says I’m gonna miss them? As far as I’m concerned, this whole table already has my name on it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he scoffs. “Just deal the damn cards.”

  The croupier chuckles, shuffling smoothly, while even the bartender seems more invested now. Meanwhile, Maxim’s still glued to the TV, watching some game or sporting event, probably bleeding eddies on bets he thinks he can win.

  The first two cards land in front of me. I take a quick peek… and have to fight the urge to grimace.

  Seven of spades. Two of hearts.

  Yeah. This is gonna be a long night.

  The game moves forward, and I play it cool, swirling the bourbon in my glass like I don’t have absolute garbage in my hand. The flop comes down—King of diamonds, ten of clubs, four of spades.

  Yeah. Still garbage.

  The other guy smirks, tapping his fingers on the table. “Feelin’ lucky, corpo boy?”

  I grin, taking a slow sip. “Luck’s just probability in disguise.” Then I toss in a stack of eddies, just enough to look cocky but not outright stupid. “Raise.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “Big talk for someone about to get cleaned out.” He calls.

  The turn card flips. Six of hearts.

  Useless. Absolutely useless.

  Rebecca casually leans against the bar, her gaze flicking toward me. No words, but I can feel the message—don’t screw this up.

  Maxim’s still watching the screen, distracted. I just need him to take the bait. The other guy makes his move, pushing in more eddies. I match, keeping my expression unreadable.

  The river flips. Queen of spades.

  Not what I wanted, but I can work with it. I glance at my opponent, who’s trying to suppress a grin.

  Yeah. He thinks he’s won.

  Perfect.

  "All in," I say, shoving all my eddies into the pot with a smug grin.

  To sell the act, I kick my feet up on the table and take another swig of bourbon. Gotta say, for all the hype, this stuff goes down surprisingly easy.

  "The fuck?" One of the guys nearly chokes on his drink. "First round, and you're already pushing everything in? Are you—?"

  He stops himself just short of calling me an idiot.

  The other player leans back, arms crossed, eyeing me like he's trying to read a corrupted data file. "There's no way you've got a strong hand. But then again… would you really bet it all if you didn’t?" He clicks his tongue. "Damn, tough choice."

  For all his big talk, though, he folds, tossing his cards down with a resigned sigh.

  "Yeah, no shot," the other guy agrees, folding as well. Then he squints at me. "Alright, what were you sitting on?"

  I slide my cards over to the croupier with an easy shrug. "Here, take a look."

  Both of them lean in.

  Then back at me.

  "You can't be serious." Their voices are flat, unimpressed.

  "Dead serious." I smirk, raking back my chips. Just like that, I scrape about seven percent of their total bets. A small gain, but enough to build the illusion that I know what I'm doing.

  Round two begins.

  Ace of Spades. Queen of Clubs.

  A real hand this time.

  I keep my expression relaxed, pouring myself another shot of bourbon. The guy across from me chuckles, shaking his head.

  “Can’t believe that worked,” he mutters, still salty from the last round. “Gonk move, man. Bold, but stupid.”

  “Bold and stupid is how I make my money,” I say, swirling my drink before knocking it back. “Sometimes, you gotta go all in on life, ya know?”

  The croupier smirks as he starts the betting. “Sounds like something someone deep in debt would say.”

  I laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  The bartender leans on the counter, clearly more invested in us than his actual job. “I’m just waiting for one of you gonks to lose it all in one go. This table’s got that energy.”

  The first player puts in a cautious bet, while the second guy—still eyeing me like I’m some enigma he can’t crack—raises it.

  I match the raise without hesitation, tapping my fingers against the chips. “So, what’s the buy-in here? Just eddies, or we throwing in pink slips? Because I’ve got a ride I totally didn’t steal parked outside.”

  The second guy snorts. “If you’re talking about that corpo-grade sedan out there, I know you stole it.”

  I grin. “Who’s to say? Maybe some rich gonk just gave it to me.”

  The croupier shakes his head. “That’s not how rich gonks work.”

  “Exactly,” the bartender adds. “If a corpo gave you something, it’s either poisoned, bugged, or meant to screw you later.”

  “Speaking from experience?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  He shrugs. “Just saying, I used to have a bar in Heywood. Sold it to a guy in a suit. Now it’s a sushi place with terrible drinks.”

  The second player clicks his tongue, nudging his bet higher. “Enough chatter. You raising or what?”

  I glance at the pot, then at my cards.

  Ace-Queen suited. Yeah, I’m raising.

  I slide a hefty stack of chips forward with a confident smirk. “Raise. Hope you’re ready to lose your paycheck.”

  The guy cracks his neck, grinning. “Oh, I love a challenge.”

  The dealer burns a card and flips the flop.

  King of Spades. Ten of Diamonds. Jack of Clubs.

  I almost smile. Now we’re talking.

  Unfortunately, I have to play it cool—way more uninterested than I'd like. So, I do what any gonk does when they don’t wanna risk their eddies too soon.

  I tap my fingers on the table. “Check.”

  “Raise.” The second guy doesn’t even hesitate, pushing his chips forward.

  “Already?” The first guy shoots him a look. “You could’ve waited at least one round.”

  “Yeah, I could have.” The guy shrugs, then turns to me. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  The first guy scoffs. “Well, I’m not folding twice in a row.” He matches the bet, then both of them look at me expectantly.

  I sigh like they’re really twisting my arm here. “Fine.” I slide my chips in. “Let’s dance.”

  The comms crackle to life with the crew's chatter.

  “Gotta say…” Falco muses, sounding almost impressed. “Kid’s holding his own.”

  “Don’t count your eddies yet,” Kiwi cuts in. “Maxim hasn’t even looked away from the damn TV.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t either if my money was on the line,” Pilar scoffs. “But come on, he could at least pretend to care.”

  “I got this,” Rebecca says.

  From the corner of my eye, I see her lean over the bar and shout.

  “HEY! I NEED A DRINK, YOU USELESS PRICK!”

  The whole bar turns—me included. Subtle. Real delicate work there, Becca.

  But… Maxim does finally glance at the table.

  So… nova? I guess?

  “The hell’s goin’ on here?”

  Maxim’s voice rumbles like a damn freight train, his massive frame practically blotting out the light as he looms over me.

  “You a new employee?” he asks, eyeing me like I’m some rookie suit fresh off the Arasaka conveyor belt.

  I take a slow sip of my drink, then fake a cough, wincing. “Shit, this is good, but my throat ain’t vibing with it.”

  The bartender chuckles. “Hey, you asked for something good. Least you can do is drink it, choom.”

  Something in me switches. Maybe it’s the need to sell the act, maybe it’s just Maxim’s presence, but my tone turns razor-sharp before I even think about it.

  “What did you just say to me?”

  I glare at him, voice cold, dripping with that corpo superiority I’ve heard a thousand times before. The bartender’s smirk vanishes.

  “Uh, no, I… I didn’t mean anything by—”

  “You won’t mean anything unless I say so,” I cut him off, my expression flat and unforgiving.

  There’s a heavy silence before I turn back to the table like nothing happened. “Alright. Flip the fucking cards.”

  “Damn.” Pilar’s voice crackles over comms, half-impressed. “That’s some serious corpo energy.”

  The others mumble similar reactions, though Maine cuts through them with a warning.

  “Don’t overdo it, kid. We still need the data. Lucy, how we lookin’?”

  “Still cracking the code. Need a few more mikes,” Lucy replies, focused.

  “I’m keeping the firewall from flagging our breach,” Kiwi adds, her voice calm as ever.

  The cards flip.

  Two of Hearts. Another Ace of Spades.

  I fight the urge to grin.

  That’s a damn good hand.

  I drum my fingers on the table, then say casually, “Check.”

  The first guy nods. “Check.”

  “Yeah, same. Check.”

  The croupier glances around, then gestures. “Alright. Show ‘em.”

  I lay my cards on the table, leaning back with the same cocky smirk I’ve been wearing all night. “There. That’s game.”

  The first guy flips his hand. A Jack and a Ten of Diamonds. Decent, but not great.

  The second guy, though…

  Ace of Clubs. Ace of Hearts.

  Three-of-a-kind.

  “The fuck?!” I blurt out, unable to hide my shock. “How?!?”

  “Three of a kind beats two pairs,” the croupier explains, hesitantly, like he’s afraid I’ll start flipping tables. “Even though you had higher cards, Aces can act as any rank. Basically, he turned his Aces into—”

  “That’s why they’re called Aces,” Maxim interrupts with a chuckle. “An ace up my sleeve, just like the saying.”

  “Oh, since you seem to know everything,” I smirk, pointing at the empty seat, “why don’t you join in? Maybe you can teach me a thing or two. Or maybe I’ll take all your eddies instead.”

  His brow arches. “Is that a challenge?”

  “You bet. Let’s see who walks out with empty pockets.”

  Maxim eyes the table as the guy who won rakes in his chips.

  “Fine. I’m on a day off—could use the distraction.”

  Jackpot.

  The comms light up with reactions.

  Even Maine this time: “Gotta say, that’s some solid acting. You even threw the round to bait him in. Nova.”

  …Yeah, Maine, about that…

  Just then, Sasha moves in behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. If this were a few years ago, and I had zero experience with women, I’d be reacting like some gonk from an anime—flustered, wide-eyed, useless. But I keep my composure, even as I realize she’s not wearing a bra.

  Probably best to leave that detail unmentioned.

  “Look at this! A brave young man challenging a big, scary gonk?” Sasha purrs, playing it up. “Now that’s what I like to see.”

  “For once, you got taste,” Rebecca adds, nudging Maxim as he sits. “This frowny little corpo brat doesn’t stand a chance against a real man.”

  “Ladies, please,” the croupier cuts in, balancing respect with barely concealed fear. Probably worried a corporate brawl will trash the place.

  Not that I’d start one—I’m not actually a corpo. But Maxim?

  I glance at him. He’s too busy eyeing Rebecca’s… assets… to be a threat.

  Yeah, we’re good.

  The small and big blinds hit the table. The dealer slides out the cards.

  Showtime.

  The cards land on the table, crisp and clean. I keep my face neutral as I take a peek.

  Jack of Diamonds.

  Ten of Hearts.

  Not bad. Good potential for a straight if the right cards hit the board.

  Maxim, on the other hand, leans back with that self-assured grin. Either he’s got a solid hand, or he just likes messing with people.

  The croupier flips the first three community cards.

  Queen of Clubs.

  Nine of Spades.

  Five of Hearts.

  Alright. I’m one card away from a straight. Maxim glances at the board, then at me, tapping his fingers on the table in thought.

  The first guy checks. The second guy, still riding his win high, tosses in a bet of 300 eddies.

  I match it without hesitation.

  Maxim lets out a deep chuckle. “Confident, huh?” He throws in 300 as well.

  The first guy folds.

  Three players remain.

  The croupier burns a card, then flips the fourth community card.

  King of Diamonds.

  I exhale through my nose. That’s it. I have a straight.

  The guy next to me, who raised earlier, hesitates. He probably doesn’t have anything solid yet—maybe a pair, maybe hoping for a flush. He bets low this time, 200 eddies.

  I could raise, but I don’t want to spook anyone yet. I call.

  Maxim, though? He leans forward, eyes scanning the board, then glances at me with a smirk. “Let’s see how much that confidence costs you.”

  He raises. 700 eddies.

  The other guy groans, shaking his head. “Shit… nah, I’m out.” He folds.

  Now it’s just me and Maxim.

  I glance at the pot. There’s already a hefty sum sitting there, and something tells me this is exactly what he wants.

  I could raise again—really test him. But if he’s got an Ace and a Ten, I’m screwed.

  So I just call.

  The croupier burns one last card.

  Final flip.

  Seven of Hearts.

  Damn. Doesn't change anything for me.

  Maxim watches me, his fingers tapping against his stack of chips. Then he gives a slow grin. “All in.”

  The comms go silent.

  Maine mutters, “Shit just got serious.”

  I stare at him. Is he bluffing? His playstyle so far has been aggressive but calculated. But I’ve got a straight. The only way he beats me is if he has an Ace and a Ten, or if he pulled a miracle and has a flush.

  The pot is too tempting.

  I push my stack forward. “Call.”

  The croupier nods. “Show ‘em.”

  Maxim flips his cards.

  King of Hearts.

  Queen of Spades.

  Two pairs.

  My straight wins.

  The table lets out a mix of whistles and groans. Maxim just chuckles, shaking his head. “Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”

  I smirk, raking in my winnings. “Guess I’m not walking out empty-handed after all.”

  Rebecca cackles. “Damn, you really made big boy sweat.”

  “Don’t get cocky,” Maxim says, but there’s no venom in his words. Just amusement. “One good hand doesn’t make you a legend.”

  I mull over Maxim’s words for a second.

  A legend, huh?

  Smooch.

  Sasha plants a kiss on my cheek, snapping me out of my thoughts. “C’mon, darling. We don’t have all day.”

  Oh. That was… a hidden message? It had to be.

  I wave her off with a smirk. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ve got it under control.”

  Then, a phone rings. Not mine. Judging by how everyone checks their pockets—even some guy who mutters that he doesn’t even own a phone—it takes a second to pinpoint the source.

  Maxim pulls his out, barely glances at the screen, then stands up from the table.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He’s already answering as he steps away. “Yes? I know, but today is my day off—. Yes, sir.”

  Falco chimes in over comms. “What, he’s leaving?”

  Dorio scoffs. “A guy can’t catch a break even on his day off?”

  “He must live inside the job. Not by choice, though,” Pilar adds. Surprisingly insightful, considering his usual brand of commentary.

  I lean back in my chair, trying to buy some time. “Oh, really? Now that I win a round, you’re just gonna walk?” I keep my tone cocky.

  Maxim barely looks over his shoulder. “You want a medal? A fucking cookie?”

  But whoever’s on the other end must’ve heard him.

  “No! No, sir, I wasn’t talking to you,” he quickly corrects, his posture stiffening.

  The table’s mood shifts. The easygoing atmosphere? Gone. A tension settles in its place. Even the croupier looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

  One of the other guys at the table leans toward me, voice low. “I think it’s best you leave too.”

  I meet his gaze for a second, then glance at Sasha. “I think the same.”

  She just nods, her expression still a perfect mask of high-class indifference. It’s honestly impressive how she can be both serious and completely uncaring at the same time.

  “I still don’t have the data,” Lucy says in my ear, calm but focused.

  Pilar clicks his tongue. “Rebecca, do your thing.”

  Rebecca moves in without hesitation. She plays it off like she’s just another tipsy barfly, shifting toward Maxim as if drawn by the presence of a ‘frowny corpo’ who somehow landed himself a girl. Then, with expert precision, she “trips.”

  The drink in her hand goes flying, splashing all over Maxim’s expensive suit.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she gasps, already grabbing a napkin and reaching for his chest like she’s actually about to clean it off.

  Maxim mutters a curse, too distracted by the mess to notice her fingers moving quickly along the fabric.

  I’m not gonna elaborate on what happened next.

  You do you, Becca.

  By the time we step outside, I spot Maxim’s car down the street.

  Lucy’s already inside, fingers dancing across a cracked-open terminal. Kiwi, standing nearby, plays the part of a casual civilian, but I can tell she’s busy—splitting her focus between watching for trouble and keeping the corporate Daemons from detecting their breach attempt.

  This gig isn’t over yet.

  “We don’t have time. Move it!” Falco’s voice crackles through the comms, urgent.

  “Their security has too many layers. Unless you want me to risk tripping a Black ICE,” Lucy replies, her tone as flat as if she were talking about the weather.

  I tighten my grip on my Lexington. There’s no way we’re pulling this off quietly.

  Kiwi must have seen me reaching for it because she places a firm hand over my iron. “We can’t kill him. Not even knock him out.”

  “Why?”

  Sasha drops the act completely. No more flirty, eager bar girl—now she’s all biz. “Because if we so much as touch him—knock him out, fry his chrome, anything—every corpo suit in the city will be on our ass.”

  I shake my head, frustrated. “So we can’t harm him, but he can harm us? Fucking preem.”

  Sasha tugs on my arm. “Get in the driver’s seat. We need to get out of here. Fast.”

  I don’t waste time arguing. I slip into the car, grab the keys from Lucy’s hand, and slot them into the ignition.

  And then—just like that—I know how to drive this thing. The Villefort Alvarado V4F 570 Delegate. Every detail of its handling, its weight, its acceleration—it’s all in my head now.

  How? Probably the symbiote. But it’s damn good to know.

  Why? Because Maxim is staring straight at us.

  “What?! Who the hell—You!” His glare locks onto me.

  I do the only reasonable thing: slam the gas pedal hard. Not all the way—because if I did, I’d probably break the damn thing. Maybe punch a hole through the floor while I’m at it.

  Anyway—

  The car jerks forward, tires struggling for grip before catching the asphalt. Kiwi and Sasha barely make it into the back seat before we rocket down the street. Not clean, though. Maxim is already barking into his phone, calling every suit he’s got to flatline us before we get too far.

  I take a few sharp turns, drifting just enough to keep control while throwing off any tail we might have. The city blurs past in streaks of neon and concrete.

  “Where to?” I glance at the rearview mirror.

  “Here.” Lucy pings a location. A yard—close, but the problem is the route.

  The highway. The main artery of Night City, linking every district—including the corpo one. And parked right there, waiting for us like the grim reaper itself, is an AV.

  Yeah, time to delta.

  The AV opens fire the second we hit the ramp. I swerve, weaving between other cars, using them as impromptu shields. Screams and honking erupt behind us. Sorry, folks, better me than you.

  Lucy’s busy cracking Maxim’s car system. Kiwi and Sasha shift their focus to making sure the incoming bullets hit someone else. My job? Keep us moving and not get ventilated.

  And then some gonk in the AV gets a bright idea—grenade launcher.

  I barely dodge an explosion right in front of us, swerving so hard the car nearly goes sideways.

  “Watch where you’re driving!” Kiwi snaps at me, probably for the first time ever.

  “I’m trying!” My voice is more amused than anything.

  Sasha leans out the window, SMG barking. One of the AV shooters goes down, his body going flat on the street in a pool of red. The other one? Still a problem, since he can still shoot us, not to mention the driver of the AV.

  “Go through the tunnel,” Maine orders over comms. “Dorio, Pilar, and I will set up an ambush while you pass.”

  “Got it!” I yank the wheel, sending us onto the tunnel entrance.

  Kiwi does something—I don’t ask questions—because the AV suddenly coughs smoke and stops firing.

  “There! Bought us some time. Get ready, Maine!”

  The tunnel swallows us in darkness, the only light coming from the entrance and the dim glow of overhead lamps. I weave through traffic, slipping past slower cars without issue. So far, so good.

  Then comes the kicker—the exit.

  The AV is waiting for us, hovering like a hungry predator, ready to light us up the second we break cover. I grip the wheel, about to gear down and push the engine to its absolute limit—

  BOOM

  Maine, Dorio, and Pilar beat me to it.

  A rocket screams through the air and slams right into the AV. Fire and debris rain down, the explosion roaring over us as we cut through the smoke like something out of a preem action flick. I yank the wheel, throwing the car into a sharp drift before coming to a stop.

  The AV keeps coughing out smaller explosions in the distance. It’s done for.

  Falco’s van is parked right beside the tunnel, and the rest of the crew piles in without hesitation. Maine gives me a wave-off, signaling that my job’s done. I take the cue and steer toward the yard.

  “Well, that could’ve gone smoother,” I say, half-laughing.

  The deadpan stares I get in response tell me I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

  “David,” Lucy speaks up.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re never driving.”

  “But I—”

  “Never,” Kiwi cuts in.

  “Nope.” Sasha shakes her head, barely hiding a smirk.

  The rest of the ride is very very quiet.

  Despite the car being taken and the data secured, Faraday, the fixer who had hired Maine’s crew, wasn’t pleased with the outcome. He’d wanted the job done clean, quiet, and flawless—exactly as he’d planned. But his employees had decided to do things their way, mucking up most of his careful calculations.

  Well, not muck up—more like postpone things.

  But Faraday was patient. He knew when to strike and when to wait. It was better to keep an entire crew of eight Edgerunners happy than waste resources trying to wipe them out.

  “But we gave you the car,” Maine grumbled, clearly irritated by the news of his reduced pay, "And it would be nice to have more information on the Gig before doing it."

  “The car is useless to me,” Faraday responded firmly, like a parent scolding a child, “All I needed was the data. You had all the information you ever needed and the car just brings too much heat for my operations. I could very well withhold payment, but, as a man of principle, I’ll still pay you.”

  His optics flickered gold as the payment went through.

  “I’ll be in touch for future opportunities. But I won’t tolerate any more failures.”

  “What about the car?” Maine pressed, “It’s worth a lot. Should make this investment more profitable.”

  “Are you deaf?” Faraday snapped, his four optics locking onto Maine’s, their glare piercing deep. “The car is useless to me. I’ve got a better way of getting around already.”

  Without another word, Faraday left, leaving the crew standing there in stunned silence. It wasn’t every day a corpo actually kept their end of the bargain.

  “Did he…?” Pilar began.

  “…give the car to us?” David finished.

  “Can we keep it?” Sasha asked.

  “No.” Maine shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Ow…” the three of them groaned in unison.

  “So, what now?” Rebecca asked as she finally made her way to the yard. “This car’s too expensive, too flashy for us. I say we scrap it for eddies.”

  “I’m with you on that,” Dorio agreed, “Best to keep the heat off of us.”

  “It’s Maine’s call, chooms,” Falco chimed in, “For all we know, he might decide to keep it.”

  “Very funny,” Maine smirked, “But yeah, scrap it. Kiwi, you handle that for us?”

  “On it,” Kiwi replied with her usual tired tone.

  The crew scattered, each heading to their assigned tasks, the weight of the day still hanging over them. Faraday’s words lingered in the air, but the immediate problem was the car. Kiwi climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a resigned sigh. The rest of the crew gathered around as the once-prized vehicle was stripped down piece by piece.

  Maine leaned against a nearby wall, watching the scene unfold, arms crossed. “It’s funny how everything’s always about the job, but we still end up cleaning up the mess afterward.” He chuckled to himself, but it was a bitter sound.

  “Better this way,” Pilar muttered, taking a last look at the car. “Faraday might be paying us, but I wouldn’t want to walk around with that kind of heat on us.”

  “True,” David nodded, wiping some grease off his hands. “Can I take some parts for me?”

  “All profits are shared equally, so yeah.”

  “Preem.”

  The car slowly became a shell, its shiny exterior now reduced to raw parts and components, everything valuable stripped away. The entire process took a couple of hours, but when Kiwi finally gave the signal that it was done, the yard was filled with the hum of machinery and quiet chatter.

  “Alright,” Kiwi said, standing up and dusting her hands off. “It’s ready to go. Some of it’s salvageable; the rest can be sold for parts.”

  “Good work,” Maine said, his eyes scanning the yard. The crew had done their job, and Faraday’s money was now in their hands, but it didn’t feel like a win.

  “Now what?” Dorio asked, looking at Maine. “We head back to base, or do we have something else in mind?”

  Maine paused, considering. “We lay low for a while. Faraday’s not the kind to forget a failure, even if he says he’ll ‘keep in touch.’ We’ve got a few things to sell, and I think it’s time we take a step back, let the heat die down.”

  Everyone nodded, the plan set. The crew started gathering their things, ready to move on to the next job, even if the taste of this one left them all wanting.

  With the car now a distant memory, the crew filed into the van, the road ahead uncertain but at least free from immediate danger. Faraday may have kept his word, but they knew the world didn’t operate on principles. Not for long, anyway.

  For now, though, they had the edge—and it was time to play it.