David Martinez, a few months later

Life in Night City has been... well, exactly what you'd expect. Doc saddled me with some garbage-tier BDs and told me to flip them for cash. Said he'd hook me up with an "associate discount" on future purchases, as if that was some nova deal. Who’s he kidding? He already overcharges me for second-hand junk. What he's offering barely qualifies as "standard price." Whatever. I need to hustle up my own eddies anyway; mom’s already got more than enough on her plate.

Then the badges decide to give me a hard time for selling BDs. Like that’s the worst crime in Santo Domingo. Meanwhile, they turn a blind eye to actual, you know, crime. Hypocrisy much? And the irony? Half of those badges probably buy this dreck themselves. Preem. Real preem. Just play it cool, David. No point picking a fight I can’t win.

And speaking of losing battles—Arasaka Academy. Why the hell do I even bother? No one there gives a damn about a Santo rat like me. It's just a shiny corpo farm, churning out more dead-eyed scumbags who’ll never lift a finger to help anyone outside their towers. When was the last time someone like me actually clawed their way to the top without getting their throat slit along the way?

I love my mom, but sometimes… I really don’t get her choices.

I catch the train back to Doc’s place, clutching my cut of the sales. Of course, "my cut" translates to about 15% after Doc takes his fair share. Because I’m the one out here grinding while he—well, let’s just say he’s busy with “other pursuits.”

Case in point, as soon as I walk in the door, what’s the first thing I see?

Porn.

Looooots and lots of pooooorn.

“Doc, you done?” I toss my backpack on the counter, doing everything in my power not to deck him.

The guy raises his wreath, his face slack with that glazed-over BD look. “D-Davey? When’d you get here?”

“Just now.” I glare. “Y’know, when I first showed up with those Gorilla Arms, I thought you’d be a decent partner. Now? Starting to feel like I made a gonk-level mistake.”

“Ha! Kid, you wouldn’t last a day selling chrome without me.” Doc said while reaching his “climax” at the “object” he was using in his “pelvis”.

“True, but you also pay me like crap,” I mutter, pulling out the eddies I scraped together. “At this rate, I might actually find someone who values my time.”

“If you do, let me know. I could use better opportunities myself.” He grins, shameless as ever.

“Not in your dreams.”

I count out the haul—barely four digits between the physical and digital stacks. Hell, I could make that flipping two busted Unities after a gang shootout. But mom made me promise to steer clear of that kind of thing. For now, anyway.

“Not bad,” Doc says, his optics flickering blue as he scans the stash. “Yeah, these BDs are low-grade, but they still move.”

“No shit,” I roll my eyes. “You get the eddies while I scrape the ennies.”

“Stop whining. I’ve got another proposition for you.”

“Unless it’s cyberware, I’m out.”

“It’s XBDs.”

I stop. Slowly turn back. The smug bastard is grinning like he just won the lottery. Selling XBDs? Yeah, it’s risky as hell, especially when you take into account the clients for said XBDs, but the payout… Let’s just say I’m listening.

“Alright,” I say, crossing my arms. “What’s the play?”

“Knew you’d bite. You’re predictable, kid,” Doc chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah. Just spit it out already,” I snap.

And just like that, the next hustle begins.

----------------------------------------

The XBDs were… how do I even describe them? Extreme? Yeah, the name kinda gives that away. One of them had this relentless shootout between Maelstrom and Scavs—both sides going at it over a goddamn attachment. Not even a full gun. Just some piece of chrome that apparently meant the world to them. Weird as shit, but whoever edited the virtu was a straight-up wizard. I swear, it felt like those memories were mine. That’s rare, even for high-end BDs.

But here’s the problem: if Doc’s got his hands on something this polished, it only means two things. One, he’s got a primo hookup with someone legit. And two? Selling this crap is gonna be an absolute nightmare.

Why? Because XBDs aren’t exactly your run-of-the-mill product. They’re rare, yeah, but that’s not the real issue. It’s the content. You’re hawking something that’s basically a guided tour through gangland hell, and that’s the kind of heat that can scorch your whole damn life.

“So,” Doc asks as I yank off the wreath, still trying to steady my breathing, “how’d it feel? Like dying in real time?”

“Jesus!” My voice slips into my Hispanic accent without meaning to. “This shit is raw as fuck!”

I have to sit there for a second, letting the adrenaline simmer down. My hands are shaking, my heart’s pounding like I just came out of a real firefight.

“That’s all the feedback I needed,” Doc says, nodding to himself like he just nailed a masterpiece.

“How the fuck did you even get this?” I ask, trying to focus through the buzz in my head.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Had a few favors to cash in. A guy I know knows another guy who’s into collecting and editing this kind of stuff. I just asked for a few cuts, and now I’ll do the final tweaks before we move ‘em.”

“Yeah, well, you can handle that part.” I push myself off the couch, wobbling a bit before I find my footing. “I gotta cool off before I flatline for real.”

Doc smirks. “I’ll call you when it’s ready. Don’t stress.”

“Oh, I stress plenty. I’m the one getting shot to shit in those memories.” I take a deep breath, still shaking it off. “Anyway, I better catch a bus. Arroyo’s a hike from here.”

“It’s election day,” Doc says, already packing up the edit. “Bus rides are free. So move your ass.”

I pause mid-step. “Wait, seriously?”

“That’s how they sucker in voters.” He waves me off, already back to his work. “C-YA.”

----------------------------------------

Turns out, he wasn’t lying. Free buses today. Lucky me. I hop on the first one heading toward Megabuilding H, grab a random seat, and pop in my earphones. My agent? Great for utility, total ass for music. I fire up my app instead, scrolling through my playlist. Sure, it’s got ads after every song, but at least I get to pick what I’m listening to instead of hoping some corpo DJ throws me a bone.

Lately, I’ve been stuck on The Refused. Their track Killing in the Name? Preem as fuck.

The singer once said the album was originally created by the first members of The Refused, making the whole thing more of a tribute—immortalized in their own way. If she said that, and she’s one of the few survivors of the San Francisco Holocaust, then those guys must’ve been some real fucking legends. Famous and talented, no doubt. Fame… now there’s a thought for another day.

Right now, I’m just humming the lyrics, wondering how the hell the corpos didn’t censor this track. It’s practically a middle finger aimed right at them.

“Fuck you, I ain’t doing what you tell me,” I whisper, feeling the bite of the final verse as the song builds to its explosive finish.

The track ends just as I step off the bus, leaving me in this weird reflective headspace. I love the song—it resonates with me, y’know? But the truth? I am doing what people tell me. Hell, I have to. That’s just life, right?

Still, there’s this part of me that thinks I could do more. Get a real job, do something that actually feels like mine, maybe take some of the weight off mom’s shoulders for a change. But no, she’s convinced Arasaka Academy is my ticket to success.

Success? Sure. But not that. Whatever I’m destined for, it’s gotta be something greater than selling out to a corpo dream.

But it’s hard to say no to her.

Ugh… responsibility sucks.

The door slides open as I get home, the usual soft hiss filling the silence. The first thing I see is mom, passed out on the couch like always. She works so damn hard that the few times I actually see her, she’s either leaving for work or asleep. I decide not to bother her and head straight to my room.

First stop: check if my Arasaka uniform is clean. Next: grab the wreath for digital lessons to see if there’s anything new waiting to ruin my night. Just the usual mundane shit I deal with every day. After a quick rinse in the bathroom, I throw on some clean pants and a shirt, prepping myself mentally for whatever soul-sucking homework they’ve dumped on me this time.

Can we just admit it? Homework is the worst. I could do every lesson at the Academy during class hours, but no, I have to bring this crap home too. Like I don’t already have enough to deal with.

Whatever. I check what’s on the docket, and surprise, it’s laughably easy. Just some accounting simulation nonsense. The Academy’s dumped harder stuff on me before, so this is nothing. The scenario? I’m role-playing as a manager for a business that’s basically public service. Paperwork, data management, documentation—yawn. The kind of boring shit corpos either outsource or hoard depending on where they sit in the office hierarchy.

The task is simple: assign “staff” to positions based on their skills, salaries, and efficiency. Allocate resources, balance costs, then hit play to see how it pans out.

And, as usual, I nail it with a perfect 100%.

Like I said—laughably easy.

I send the results and the virtu of my lesson to the Academy, yank the wreath off my neck, and hop onto social media—or at least the scraps we have in the shallow end of cyberspace. Free access is rough. Not many sites unless they’re government-approved. Luckily, Doc hooked me up with a device that lets me slip in as a “guest account” on a few paid platforms. One of those is LabStream.Net, a site where people upload videos. Normally, it costs 20 eddies a week for the most basic subscription, but with this little workaround? Free.

I browse for essays on Arasaka history, just to see the opinions floating around. It’s the usual: a mix of gratitude and absolute hatred.

I don’t need to tell you which group I side with, do I?

After some scrolling, I find another video about The Refused. It’s an old interview with their lead singer. She’s known for never showing her face in public. No idea why—she’s got fame, talent, and a fanbase that worships her. Still, her music, along with the original members’ tracks, is undeniably preem. One line from the interview sticks with me:

“I would like to write a song which would drive men mad, which would be like an open door leading them where they would never have consented to go, in short, a door that opens onto reality.”

What the hell does that even mean? Why that of all things?

Celebrities are weird.

Shutting the terminal down, I decide to grab something to eat. “Grab” being the key word, since I can’t cook to save my life. But hey, I can work a microwave.

I step into the kitchen and stare at what we’ve got. The options are… bleak.

Instant ramen. Noodles. Instant noodles. Instant burrito noodles. And, for variety, instant ramen with burrito noodles.

Oh, and spaghetti. With burritos.

I really need to go shopping.

Well, noodles it is.

"Mi hijo, is that you?"

I turned to see my mom, half-awake, wrapped in the yellow medical coat she uses as a blanket. She looked drowsy, barely awake, but still managing to reach out to me with that familiar warmth. I hit the microwave to start cooking the noodles and walked over to give her a hug—she could always use one.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Yup, it's me," I said, still holding her tight.

She returned the hug, but as I tried to step away, she held on a little longer. "Where have you been?"

"Around," I replied casually. She finally let go. "Trying to pick up some extra cash. Got, uh... about 150 eddies. Not much, but it’s something."

"You’re staying out of trouble, right?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but thankfully the microwave dinged right then, saving me from giving a straight answer.

"I made some—well, technically the microwave made them—noodles. Want some?"

"Yes, I'm starving," she said with a tired smile.

I handed her a cup and plopped down on the couch beside her. With the entertainment system flickering to life, we were both fed—me with noodles, her with some mindless pop culture filler aimed at teens. Most of it missed the mark for me; unless it had high-octane action and a compelling story, it wasn’t worth my time.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, but then I noticed her eyes flash gold as her agent lit up with a call.

"Yes?" she answered, her tone switching to business mode. I half-listened, more focused on the TV.

"Already? But I just got out of—" she started, her voice tinged with frustration.

From the sound of it, she was being called back to work. Again.

"Wait, do you mean... that?" she said after a pause. "Yes, I can get you that, but only if the payment’s ready. No, that depends on whether they complete their task first. Once it’s done, I’ll handle it."

I had no clue what she was talking about or who she was talking to, but something about the words "special request" made me uneasy.

"Alright, C-YA," she finished, the golden glow fading from her eyes. She slumped back, the exhaustion catching up with her.

"Mom, what was that?" I asked, my curiosity and concern fighting to break through.

She gave me a puzzled look. "What do you mean, Dee?"

"You got a special request from work? Isn’t that against... I don’t know, some corporate policy or something?"

She waved me off with a dismissive laugh. "Oh, don’t worry about it. What’s with all this sudden concern, huh? Trying to play the responsible son now?"

I frowned but let the jab slide. "Come on, you already work yourself to the bone. Are you sure this is safe? Or even legal?"

"In this city, anything is legal if you squint hard enough," she said, her voice suddenly sharp.

It took me a second to realize her hostility wasn’t aimed at me, but at the city itself.

"Mi hijo, don’t stress over this. I’m not in any danger. It’s just a favor I owe, and I intend to pay it."

"You’ve already paid enough, Mom," I said with a sigh. "Can’t you take a break? The Academy eats most of your income as it is."

She crossed her arms. "Don’t talk like that about your education. It’s just as important as Eurodollars."

We’d had this argument before, and as always, she made her point in a way I couldn’t counter, no matter how hard I tried.

I felt like an idiot—or maybe just too scared to actually push back.

So, I said the only thing that came to mind. "Only you would say 'Eurodollars' instead of 'eddies.'"

"A punk says 'eddies.' A successful person knows the difference between jargon and proper words," she shot back, taking another bite of her noodles. "I guess I can’t win this argument with you. You’re young. And young people? They’re just stupid like that."

"H-hey!"

"See?" she said with a sly grin.

I slumped back against the couch, half offended but mostly agreeing with her. "Whatever," I muttered, turning my attention back to the TV.

“Well, I’m off. Don’t forget to update your system. The Academy said there are new virtual exercises this semester,” she said, setting her empty noodle cup aside.

Ah yes, the dreaded update. The one that costs more than it should. Guess I'll be paying Doc a visit again.

I really hope he’s up for it because the legit version? Expensive as hell.

“I’ll look into getting a cheaper update,” I said, finishing off my own noodles.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, pointing a finger at me like a strict teacher. “Cheaper versions might sound nice, but they’ll end up costing more than the real thing when something inevitably breaks. Just get the legitimate update.”

I nodded, mostly to avoid the lecture. “Got it, Mom.”

She seemed satisfied enough and grabbed her coat before heading out.

Of course, I’m not paying two thousand eddies for an update. That’s insane. I don’t even have that kind of money. Eurodollars... eddies... whatever, it's all too much.

Anyway, I guess I’ll sleep on it and figure things out later. Maybe I’ll swing by Doc’s to see about his special deals. Not to mention, there’s the XBDs he’s always pushing.

It’s still bright outside, so there’s plenty of time to take care of it.

Thanks, free buses. And thanks, election day.

----------------------------------------

The Next Day

"Alright, Doc. Whatcha got for me?"

Doc was fiddling with his cluttered workbench, digging through shards until he found the one I’d tested yesterday. He slotted it into his terminal, copied it to a few fresh shards, and tossed a smug look my way.

"The one you tried yesterday, plus a few more. I hope you’ll at least watch them before busting out your so-called ‘expert’ selling techniques."

"Oh, fuck off," I shot back, still uneasy about how intense that last one had been. "Let me see what you’ve got."

Doc handed over the shards, and I flipped through them. The first was the Strom x Scav shootout—pretty wild but familiar. The second featured a solo merc on a carjacking gig, followed by a police chase. It seemed tame for an XBD... unless there was a twist. And then there was the third shard, titled Voluptuous Lactation.

I stared at it, confused. "What the hell does ‘lactation’ even mean? Or ‘voluptuous’ for that matter?"

"If it’s tagged as an XBD, it must be good, right?" I muttered to myself, hoping it wasn’t as weird as the title suggested.

Doc raised an eyebrow. "You’re staring at that one a bit too long, Davey. Wanna test it out, or are you silently judging me again?"

"Oh, I judge you plenty already," I replied with a shrug. "I just don’t know what it’s about."

His grin turned downright devilish. "Wanna find out the fun way?"

Without thinking, I answered, "Sure. Might be nova to experience something new."

"Oh, you’re in for a ride, I'll tell you that." he said, already prepping the wreath.

As I settled into the chair and slipped on the wreath, a tiny voice in my head whispered regret. "Wait, what’s—"

Too late. Doc hit the start button before I could even finish my sentence.

The BD started in a dimly lit room. Maybe a bedroom? It was too dark to tell. All I knew was that I couldn’t see a damn thing. As I tried to figure out what was going on, an overwhelming sense of pleasure hit me like a freight train. It was so intense I almost lost my composure.

Then, suddenly, the perspective shifted. The blindfold that had obscured my vision was removed, revealing—

OH. MY. GOD.

I’M A WOMAN?!

HAVING SEX?!?!

I yanked the wreath off my head, ignoring the blaring safety warnings it gave. Screw the warnings—what the hell did I just watch?!

"DOC! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!? YOU ABSOLUTE BRAIN-POTATO MANIAC!!" I bellowed, barely able to process what had just happened.

Doc’s laughter filled the room. "You looked like you were really getting into it, though."

"YOU ENJOY THIS STUFF?!" I shouted, still reeling.

He just grinned. "Welcome to the world of Voluptuous Lactation."

“HOW?!”

Doc leaned back in his chair, grinning like a proud inventor. “Oh, c’mon. You never wondered what it’d be like to, you know, experience the other side of the action? Lots of people do—hence why these sell like hotcakes. Trust me, they’re a goldmine.” He nodded smugly before adding, “Besides, looks like your little buddy down there agrees.”

I glanced down, horrified to find… yeah. Rock solid.

Covering myself instinctively, I growled, “You will never tell anyone about this.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “Then you’d better hustle those XBDs to your classmates.”

“What?!”

“They’ve got the cash to burn. Arasaka Academy’s full of corporate brats with fat wallets.” He waved a hand dismissively as he returned to tinkering with some gadget. “Besides, didn’t you say you needed an update or whatever?”

I narrowed my eyes. “And you’re counting the XBD sales as payment?”

“Exactly. You said you were broke, so I figured this could help you out.”

That actually took me by surprise. “Oh… thanks. That’s… that’s really decent of you.”

“Don’t celebrate yet,” Doc warned, holding up a finger. “I’m still taking 85%. But hey, at least you won’t be left without eddies.”

“As per usual,” I muttered, standing up from the chair.

“As per usual,” he echoed with a grin.

Doc grabbed the shards, slotted them into protective cases, and tossed them into a bag before handing it over. “Done. Try to sell these before your virtual classes start. I’ll get your update as soon as I can.”

“Preem. Thanks, Doc. C-YA.”

Leaving the clinic, I decided to head straight for Heywood, specifically the train station near The Glen. It was always bustling with potential buyers. Sure, 6th Street had a presence there lately, but I couldn’t afford to let a little gang trouble scare me off. Eddies were eddies, and if that meant taking a risk, so be it.

Hopping on a free bus, I pulled out my phone to pass the time. Hitting shuffle on my playlist, I let the music choose for me.

The opening chords of a track I didn’t recognize began to play. Curious, I checked the artist. Samurai?

The song’s name popped up: Chippin’ In.

The chromatic rock vibe was heavy, the beat addictive. The lyrics were either funny or unnecessarily aggressive—I couldn’t tell which—but my head was already bobbing to the rhythm.

Yeah, this song was preem.

When the bus came to a stop, I bolted toward the main square near the metro and train stations. It was always teeming with people, making it a prime spot for business. There was an alley nearby I could delta into if I needed a quick exit, so I set up shop there, grabbing a handful of shards to start.

Taking a deep breath, I launched into my pitch.

“Alright, chooms! Fresh BDs hot off the presses! Straight from the blackest markets you’ll find! Three new recordings, each with more surprises than the last—trust me, even I was caught off guard!”

Okay, maybe not the slickest PR, but in Night City, that’s enough to pull in the curious gonks.

A few heads turned, and soon I had a small crowd forming. I rattled off prices, answered questions—some with more awkwardness than others. One guy wanted details on Voluptuous Lactation. Explaining that was… an experience I’d rather forget. But hey, business is business, right?

Sales were decent—not as many as I’d hoped, but definitely better than yesterday’s haul. XBDs always draw attention, whether from serious buyers or people just looking to satisfy their curiosity. Within an hour, I’d made the same amount as the entire day before, and I still had more inventory to push.

“Final offer here, folks! Grab one while you still can!” I shouted, trying to drum up one last surge of buyers.

That’s when I noticed them: a group of guys dressed way too patriotic for my liking.

One of them sauntered over, sizing me up with a casual air. “What are you selling, boy? Sure you should be on this turf?”

“Just BDs,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral but puzzled. “And as far as I know, there shouldn’t be a problem, right?” I quickly shifted focus, holding out a shard. “Take a look—bet you’ll find something preem in my stash.”

He smirked, but his tone carried an edge. “I don’t think you caught my drift… but sure, why not? Let’s see what you’ve got, choom.”

The way he said “choom” sent a shiver down my spine, but I handed over the shard anyway, trying to keep my cool.

He slotted the shard into a spare wreath and fired up the Strom x Scav shootout. Within seconds, his jaw went slack, and he started drooling—probably overwhelmed by the carnage on display. I let him stew for a bit before reaching over and switching off the wreath. Predictably, he snapped out of it, glaring at me.

“Hey! What gives?!”

“I’m selling here,” I replied, voice flat. “That was your sample. Even if I let you finish it, you’d still only get a teaser. You want the full experience? Fork over the eddies.”

His buddy, equally decked out in patriotic flair, nudged him. “He’s got a point, y’know.”

“The fuck you mean he’s got a point?” the first guy shot back, his anger shifting. “Are you a gonk, or just dumb as hell?”

“Relax,” said a third guy, stepping forward. His tone was calm, but it carried a hint of authority. “He’s on our turf. We decide what happens with wannabes.”

Wait, what?

"Wait, what?" I barely got the words out before a fist connected with my face, sending me sprawling and spitting blood onto the pavement.

"You're dense as a wall, kid," the so-called leader sneered, standing over me. "We're 6th Street. You should know we don't allow biz like that here."

Great. Time to delta.

I scrambled to my feet, ready to bolt toward the alley I'd scoped out earlier, but before I could take a single step, someone yanked my backpack hard enough to drag me backward. Another punch landed square on my face, this one harder than the first. Stars exploded in my vision as I hit the ground, the impact rattling my spine.

Lying there, staring up at the sky, I couldn't help but let my mind wander.

Seriously? Is this it? Is this what life has in store for me? A punching bag for anyone who can't stand to see someone else get ahead? Just some random nobody with nothing to his name-no pride in finishing something, no achievements to call his own, no reputation that makes people nod and say, "Yeah, that's him" or something like that?

If that's the punchline, life's got the worst sense of humor I've ever seen.

And the funny thing? I can't help but laugh at it anyway.

----------------------------------------

The 6th Street punks decided to have their fun with David. He was still on the ground, bloodied and probably too dazed to get up, or maybe he’d already given up before even trying. Either way, they didn’t care. One of them straddled him, raining punches on his face, each one landing with a sickening thud.

At first, they laughed at how this kid—this Hispanic nobody—didn’t even bother to fight back. It was almost pathetic. But then, something strange happened. With every punch, David started… laughing.

Not a nervous chuckle or a broken sob. No, this was full-blown laughter, the kind you’d hear from someone who just heard the best, most twisted joke of their life.

The 6th Street crew froze, fists mid-swing. They stared at him, confused. What kind of psycho laughs while getting their face caved in? He wasn’t begging, wasn’t scared—hell, he didn’t even look like he cared.

It unsettled them. Was this kid just unhinged? Or worse, someone important—a hidden player, a solo, or a psycho who’d snap and paint the alley red? His laughter wasn’t cocky or defensive; it was something else, something that made their stomachs churn.

“What the fuck?” one of them muttered, stepping back.

David wiped the blood from his mouth, still grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “What’s wrong?” he taunted, staggering to his feet. His voice was shaky, but the smirk on his face didn’t waver. “You little pussies done already? Can’t finish what you started?”

The gang exchanged uneasy glances, silently searching for a plan, an excuse—anything. But no one stepped up.

“Let’s… let’s get out of here,” one of them finally muttered, the tension in his voice palpable.

The decision wasn’t really his, though. A small crowd of other 6th Street members had gathered nearby, watching the scene unfold. They didn’t cheer, didn’t step in—just stood there, some subtly shaking their heads. It was a quiet, unspoken order to back off.

“Yeah, whatever,” the guy who’d been beating on David said, backing away with a nervous laugh. “Forget this lunatic.”

David spat blood onto the ground, smirking at them with a wild gleam in his eye. “Bunch of bitches,” he said.

The gang didn’t reply, shuffling off like they’d just seen a ghost.

Once they were gone, David turned to a cracked mirror hanging in the alley and stared at his reflection. His face was a bloody mess. He prodded at a swollen lip and winced.

“Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Guess I’ll be seeing Doc sooner than I thought. Mom’s gonna kill me if she sees this.”

David wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, though it didn’t do much to clean the blood smearing his cheek. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as the adrenaline began to wear off, replaced by a throbbing ache in his head and ribs.

The bag of XBDs was still lying on the ground nearby, half-crushed under a dirty bootprint. He stumbled over to it, picked it up, and checked inside. Miraculously, most of the shards were intact, save for one that had cracked in two.

"Figures," he muttered, stuffing the bag under his arm. "Still better than nothing."

The alley was empty now except for him. The other 6th Street members had melted into the crowd, either unwilling or uninterested in dealing with the aftermath. It was probably for the best; he didn’t feel like explaining why a bloody, bruised teenager was selling illicit brain dances in their turf.

The sun was starting to dip behind the buildings, painting the street in long shadows. He glanced at the cracked screen of his phone, grimacing at the time. He still had to finish selling these shards before he could even think about heading back to Doc’s.

Pulling his hoodie up over his head to hide the worst of his injuries, David trudged toward the metro station. The pain in his face was bad, but the deeper sting was the realization that the day had gone so far south.

“One step forward, two steps back”, he thought bitterly. “Story of my fucking life.”

As he boarded the train, he leaned back against the window, letting the rhythmic hum of the tracks soothe his nerves. He replayed the incident in his mind, his lips twitching into a wry smile despite himself.

Those assholes really thought they’d broken him. And maybe, for a second, they had. But he wasn’t going to let them have the last laugh.

“Alright, Night City,” he whispered under his breath. “Round two. Let’s see who breaks first.”

The train jolted to a stop, and David stepped off, clutching the bag tighter. The crowd around him was oblivious, just another group of corpos, gangers, and dreamers chasing whatever scraps they could in the city.

Time to sell what he could, get his cut, and patch himself up. One more fight, one more day. That’s how it always was in Night City.