David Martinez, a week later
"Doc, you got the update?" I ask for what feels like the fifth time, sliding the shards profits onto his counter.
Funnily enough, ever since the 6th Street incident last week, no one had bothered me. It was odd, but I wasn’t about to question it. Clients were coming in, and I was finally pulling in some decent eddies. No complaints there.
What I did have complaints about was Doc’s stalling.
"DOC!"
“Bwuah!” Doc jolted, spinning toward me with wide eyes. “When the hell did you get here, you little shit?”
“About…” I glanced at the time on my agent, the screen glowing blue against my eyes. “..fifteen minutes ago. You’ve been fiddling with my wreath this whole time and ignoring me.”
I tossed the bag at him with a little extra force. “Check the shards and give me my cut already, you prick.”
“You’re way too impatient for your own good,” he muttered, catching the bag and dumping its contents onto the counter. He picked through the shards, his expression shifting to something close to impressed. “Oh, preem. Almost 3 kays this time.”
“Glad you noticed,” I deadpanned. “Now, I’m no math genius, but 15% of 3k is 450 eddies. So, hand it over.”
Doc sighed dramatically, turned to grab the wreath, and his eyes flashed gold as he accessed his system. A second later, my account pinged with the transfer, and he slid the device back to me.
“There. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”
“You haven’t,” I shot back, grabbing the wreath. “You make me pay for everything.”
“Capitalism,” Doc said with a smirk, all faux wisdom. “Besides, I get free entertainment watching you flail around. I think I’ll send you some more mature BDs to test next time.”
“I’m not interested.”
“That’s not what I saw last time.”
“I said I’m not interested.”
“Davey, you’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Have you even popped your cherry?”
“And this conversation is over.”
Doc burst into laughter, full-on cackling as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.
Well, at least I hadn’t admitted anything.
Shit. I hadn’t denied it, either.
“I am not a—”
“Too late, kid!” he wheezed between laughs. “Mistake made, secret exposed!”
I clenched my fists, staring daggers at him. If I ever get my hands on a decent piece of iron, my first bullet’s going straight into his gonk-ass head.
“You done?”
“For now? Y-yeah, I guess…” Doc struggled to hold back his laughter, his face turning red from the effort.
I sighed, deciding it was time to leave. I had that digital class tomorrow, and my update needed to work properly by then. I grabbed my backpack, stuffing the unsold shards back inside, and turned to head out. Just as I reached the door, Doc tossed a cased shard my way.
“Catch!” he called out.
I barely managed to grab it before it hit the floor.
“Check these two out when you get home,” he said with a smug grin. “Fresh material. One’s from yesterday’s Cyberpsycho incident.”
I blinked, stunned. “Wait, what? That just happened! How the hell did you—”
“As I said, Davey, I’ve got favors to pull.” He spun around, slipping on a wreath to dive back into whatever shady biz he did when I wasn’t around. “Now, close the door on your way out.”
“Riiiiight,” I muttered, heading out without bothering to close the door behind me. Let him deal with that for once.
I fished out my eddies to pay for the bus ride home. For some reason, the fares had dropped recently—probably thanks to the new mayor trying to keep his promises. I wasn’t exactly an expert in politics, but even the Academy had drilled into us that new officials always try to look good at first. It wouldn’t last, but hey, I’d enjoy cheaper rides while I could.
The bus ride was uneventful, save for my phone randomly deciding to play some low-key tune I didn’t recognize. "I Need to Stay at Your House," or something. It wasn’t bad, just… decent. Yeah, decent.
The bus dropped me off a few blocks from my place in Arroyo. The usual faces were out, including a kebab vendor I’d known for years.
“Sup, David?” he called as I passed. “How’s the Academy treating ya?”
“Same as always—full of corpotards,” I said with a shrug. “What’re you cooking up today?”
“New shipment of Biotechnica meat,” he said, holding up a skewer. “Cheaper and, believe it or not, tastier than the usual crap.”
“How’s that even possible?”
“No idea, and I don’t give a flying fuck,” he said bluntly, tossing the skewer back on the grill. “But if I can keep my prices the same, people think I’m working some kinda miracle.”
“Hey, you’ve always made the blandest meat taste like gold,” I said honestly. His kebabs were legendary around here.
“Heh, you fishing for a discount?”
“Maybe?”
We both laughed. It was nice—just a regular conversation where I didn’t have to overthink every word. The Academy never gave me that luxury.
“Anyway, I gotta delta,” I said, remembering the mountain of work waiting for me. “Academy calls.”
“Shit, my condolences.”
“Thanks.”
With a small wave, I left the vendor behind, kebab-less but slightly less annoyed at life. Conversations like that reminded me there was still something human about this city. Not everything was corpos, politics, or survival of the fittest. Some things just… were.
The walk home was uneventful, which was exactly how I didn't like it. The streets of Arroyo weren’t the safest, but I knew my way around. I kept my head down, hands shoved in my pockets, and avoided eye contact with anyone who looked like they had nothing to lose.
Finally, I made it to my building. It wasn’t much—chipped paint, rusting metal, and elevators that only worked half the time—but it was home. Climbing the stairs to my floor, I could hear the usual mix of sounds: someone arguing loudly in Spanish, kids laughing a few doors down, and some poor soul trying to get their artificial dog to stop barking.
Unlocking the door, I stepped into my one-room slice of heaven. The air was stale, the lights flickered, and the couch I used as both a bed and a workstation looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the 2020s. Still, it was mine.
Tossing my bag on the floor, I kicked off my shoes and flopped onto the couch. For a moment, I just stared at the ceiling, letting the silence sink in. The day had been long—hell, the week had been long. But I couldn’t afford to stop.
I pulled out the cased shard Doc had given me and held it up to the light.
“Cyberpsycho incident, huh?” I muttered. Doc wasn’t kidding about favors—this was fresh.
Probably too fresh. I couldn’t shake the feeling that watching it would pull me into something I wasn’t ready for, but curiosity had a way of overriding caution. Slotting the shard into my wreath, I took a deep breath and braced myself.
“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
----------------------------------------
The moment the BD ended, I found myself pacing around the sofa, my body buzzing with restless energy. My muscles tensed up so much I almost gave myself a cramp. James Norris… man, that guy was a force of nature. Yeah, sure, cyberpsychosis and all that, but combining raw skill, calculated rage, and near-perfect precision? That wasn’t just chaos—it was artistry, the kind that made your skin crawl and your adrenaline spike.
I yanked the wreath off my neck and hit up Doc on the call. He was waiting, probably grinning on the other end like the smug bastard he always was.
“So, what’s the verdict? Preem, right? Fresh off the feed, just a couple of hours old. Lifted it off some Edgerunner who scrolled it live.”
“That was so whacked!” I blurted, unable to hold back my excitement. My brain was still buzzing from the BD’s intensity, the thrill of living through a cyberpsycho rampage near Corporate Plaza just hours ago. “Doc, you gotta tell me who gets you this preem stuff!”
“Who else but Kurosaki?” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ain’t nobody in Night City cutting BDs like that legend. You won’t find anything half as choom on the shelves, I’ll tell you that.”
“No shit, my brain’s still in overdrive!” I said, staring at the chip in my hand. Kurosaki’s signature branding glinted faintly on its casing. “This is gonna blow up on the streets. Instant nova.”
“Take it easy, kid,” Doc said, suddenly adopting a tone of mock concern. “You just walked outta the head of a skezzed-out chrome junkie. Cyberpsychosis is no joke, choom. Take a few deep breaths before you flatline yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I muttered, already eyeing the second shard he’d given me. “What’s next? Gimme the deets.”
Without waiting for an answer, I slotted the new chip. As the BD booted up, I saw—
You know what? Screw Doc and his obsession with porn BDs.
“Cut the shit, Doc!” I yelled, ripping the chip out and chucking it at the wall. Realizing my mom would kill me if she saw broken shards lying around, I quickly scrambled to pick it up.
“What? Thought you’d like it,” Doc said, feigning innocence. “Since you were such a fan of Voluptuous Lactation, I figured another standard—”
I ended the call before he could finish the sentence.
Seriously, I’m gonna zero that gonk one day. If it’s the last thing I do, it’ll be putting a bullet between his smug eyes.
Anyway, I’ve got bigger problems—like washing my ‘Saka uniform. And my spare. Gonk that I am, I really need to start taking better care of my stuff.
I grabbed the washing powder—or whatever it’s called—and set up the washer. Timer on, settings adjusted, everything ready to clean my laundry. I stared blankly at the machine for a moment, zoning out as it whirred to life. Then, it stopped. Not because it was broken, but because life loves kicking me when I’m down.
“Huh?” I muttered, startled by the sudden ding.
“Cycle suspended due to insufficient funds,” the machine announced cheerfully, like it wasn’t ruining my night.
“Oh, not this again…”
Lucky for me, Mom had come home after I finished with Doc’s BDs. She hates those things, so I dodged that bullet. But as I walked into the living room, the TV was showing the aftermath of the same BD I’d just watched—the carnage near Corporate Plaza.
Mom was passed out on the couch, her usual spot after work. I walked over and gave her a few pokes.
“God, Mom… we have beds, you know,” I said, earning a tired mumble of “good morning,” even though it was the middle of the night.
“I know, mi hijo,” she muttered, barely awake. “Just dead from work, is all.”
“You and the washing machine both. You forgot to re-up it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t wash my uniforms without it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it tomorrow, okay?” she said, stretching. The cracks and pops from her joints made me wince. “Oh, right, money. Did you get that update for the academy?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I waved dismissively, hoping she’d drop it. “Doc took care of it for me.”
Of course, she didn’t drop it. She never does.
“What do you mean ‘handled it’?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“It’s all set. All good,” I said, trying again to dodge the conversation.
“Don’t go cutting corners, Dee,” she said, shaking her head. “I already cashed my paycheck. You’ll get the update properly. Hear me?”
“Mom, seriously!” I said defensively, my patience wearing thin. “J-just feed the washer, will ya?”
“I told you, I forgot to pay this time,” she said, crossing her arms. “Promise me you’ll get the update.”
“...Fine, alright,” I lied through my teeth.
“And what are you wearing to school tomorrow?” she asked suddenly, catching me off guard.
“Well, the Arasaka Academy jacket is still clean—”
“Because you never wear it,” she interrupted, frowning.
“—which means I can just wear whatever passes for formal under the jacket,” I finished, pretending her comment didn’t sting.
“Alright, show me.”
Sighing, I went to my room, rummaged through my closet, and threw together an outfit. I settled on a plain black shirt, some preem pants I got on sale, and a pair of white-blue neon shoes. To top it off, I grabbed my Arasaka jacket—grey and red, dull as ever—and slipped on a cross necklace.
I strutted back to Mom, feeling mildly proud of my workaround.
“You are not going out dressed like that,” she said flatly.
“But the washer’s toast, and my uniform’s soaked,” I said, trying to sound apologetic. Then I paused. “Oh hey, that rhymes.”
Mom sighed deeply. “...You are insufferable sometimes.”
"The military-grade implant was missing from the body..."
The announcer's voice on the TV caught my attention, and I turned toward the screen.
Wait. My mom’s on TV?
“Mom, look! It’s you!” I blurted out, pointing at the screen with way too much excitement. “That’s nova!”
“Not nova, David—that’s a bloodbath,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to make me flinch, “Now, to bed. You have school tomorrow.”
“Uh, y-yeah. Got it. Good night.” I scrambled to retreat, trying not to push my luck.
“Love you, mi hijo,” she called after me.
I didn’t dare respond. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was terrified of saying something gonk and getting another lecture.
Back in my room, my bed felt like a fortress, and the blanket? The best shield I’d ever had.
----------------------------------------
Morning arrived in a flash, and I went through my usual Academy-day routine: scarfing down some of the noodles we always had stashed, grabbing a quick shower, staring at my reflection long enough to convince myself I looked decent, and giving my hair a quick gel for that preem touch. Once I was set, I headed out.
I passed the usual mix of bums and homeless folks sheltering in the Megabuilding, exchanged nods with a few familiar faces, and eventually made my way to the trash chute area.
And then, like always, I took the express route.
I dropped down into the trash pile below, landing on my feet like a pro, straightened up, and hit play on my phone. The first track? "Who’s Ready for Tomorrow" by Rat Boy. Fitting. The guy might’ve retired as a solo after a gig gone wrong, but damn, he could still crank out some killer beats.
As the song pumped through my ears, I stepped into the blinding sunlight of Night City, trying not to get blinded outright. The usual chaos unfolded around me: a dude getting robbed across the street, some gonks watching sex BDs in public (pretty standard for Arroyo), someone vomiting their guts out at the NCart InstaFood, and an AV speeding past toward a burning building, Trauma Team in tow.
Just another day in paradise.
I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the train. My mind wandered back to the broadcast from last night—the scene where my mom was working. I couldn't help but grin. One day, I’d be out there, but walking away alive. I couldn’t stop myself from fantasizing about how I’d handle things differently if I were James Norris. Hell, if I had his chrome, MaxTac wouldn’t stand a chance.
Then something caught my eye. A flash of pastel-colored hair. Weird enough to grab my attention, but by the time I tried to get a better look, they were already gone.
Oh well. Time to keep moving.
I jogged the rest of the way to the Academy, hands stuffed in my pockets, and made my way into the towering Arasaka building. Inside, it was the usual sterile scene: guys in suits, girls in long-skirted uniforms, everyone walking around like their lives were pre-programmed. I headed to my class, took my spot, and hopped onto the reclining device we used for wreaths.
“Good day, class,” the holo-attendant droned, its voice painfully formal. “Today’s attendance is full. No absences.”
I tuned it out until it said my name.
“Martinez, you are not in compliance with the Academy’s dress code.”
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I lied smoothly. “Uniform’s still in the washer.”
“And your spare uniform?”
“Same deal. Washer.”
“Very well. After class, please file a uniform exception. Now, we will proceed...”
I stopped listening as I adjusted my wreath, bracing for another day of mind-numbing lessons.
That is, until Katsuo decided to call me in the middle of class through his agent.
Seriously, what does this guy have against me? If he put even a fraction of the energy he spends bothering me into his studies, he’d probably be top of the class. Then again… wait, isn’t he already below me?
Ha. That’s hilarious.
“What are you laughing at, street rat?” His voice came through the neural comms, sharp and condescending. He must’ve caught the smirk on my face.
One good thing about agent calls? You don’t have to speak out loud if you’ve got internal comms installed, which I do. Perfect for private conversations—or insults no one else can hear.
“Nothing,” I replied casually, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t even show my face here. You’re a disgrace to this class. To this Academy.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered. “But you’re here because your dad forced you, while I’m here because I actually want to learn.” Technically not true—my mom wanted me here—but close enough.
“With that ancient tech you’re lugging around? Is it even compatible with the latest updates?” Katsuo ignored the jab at his nepotism. Not that he’d understand it anyway.
Which is fine by me. Katsuo might be the most protected kid in the Academy, but he’s not the sharpest shard in the stack.
“I made it compatible,” I muttered, already regretting engaging him.
“How?”
“You’ll see,” I said, adjusting the wreath around my neck.
“Must suck to live a life where a secondhand wreath costs your life savings,” he sneered, putting on his own wreath.
I… kind of agree with him. But also, not really? Does that even make sense?
Anyway, the class started, and we all dove into the virtual space. Everything was fine for about two seconds until my wreath flashed an error screen.
Wait… Doc, don’t tell me you—
The last thing I saw was a bunch of angry teenagers glaring at me and the teacher’s holo glitching out mid-air, corrupted beyond recognition.
Ah, shit.
----------------------------------------
“Kapitan, I have eyes on our target, but he’s being tailed by another car,” a man reported over comms, his heavy Russian accent cutting through the static. “Looks like the Animals—if their car’s livery is anything to go by.”
“They’re not actual animals, but they sure try to act like it,” a female voice replied, her thick Polish accent underscored by the sound of a drag on a cigarette and a raspy cough. “Hold position until the captain arrives. Let’s see how she wants to handle it.”
“Understood.” The Russian acknowledged with a curt, militaristic tone. “I’ll keep them in my sights.”
“I’m merging onto the highway now. Do you have a visual of me riding my bike?” another voice came through, calm and commanding. It was the captain, her tone unmistakably composed.
“Kapitan in sight,” the Russian confirmed promptly.
“Good. Here’s the mission: protect the corpo suit, secure the crowns—” she paused briefly, correcting herself, “I mean, the eddies—and escort him to safety. Once it’s done, we’re out.”
“Still hard to speak English.” the Polish handler chimed in, stifling a small laugh.
“You get used to it,” the Captain and the Russian said in unison.
“Oh, some civilian vehicles near the target,” the Russian noted as he scanned the area again.
“We’ll worry about civilian casualties later,” a mature American voice cut in, calm but with a trace of sharpness. “Not like anyone’s getting hurt—at least not if our Kapitan here takes things seriously.”
“Shut it, Vicky,” the Captain said with a chuckle.
“See? My point exactly.”
“Alright, Kapitan, from here on out, it’s just you and me,” the Russian said as the comms cleared of chatter. “Let’s secure the target and bring him home.”
The Captain twisted the throttle, and the alien-like motorcycle roared to life. The bike surged forward with the power of a race car, slicing through traffic as if it weren’t even there. She quickly closed the distance to the Animals, keeping them in sight but refraining from engagement. Per the contract, they couldn’t act until the Animals displayed hostile intent toward the suit—an infuriating limitation, but orders were orders.
The highway scene nagged at her, a persistent sense of déjà vu making her hesitate just enough to decelerate slightly. Something about the cars, the highway layout, the exact positioning of the vehicles…
Then it hit her. She remembered.
But only after the Animals pulled out an LMG and opened fire on the suit’s car, tearing through a civilian vehicle caught in the middle like it was made of paper.
A sniper shot rang out, precise and sudden. The Russian’s calm voice came through the comms, “One down.”
The Captain, still on her roaring motorcycle, pulled an SMG with one hand and let loose a burst, expertly taking out two of the Animals in a single magazine. “That should deal with these clowns,” she muttered, satisfied.
“Vehicle’s clear,” the Russian confirmed. “No other hostiles inside. I’ll take my car and escort the target from here. How about you let me handle the office work for once, eh?”
“Fine,” she said, glancing back toward the wreckage of a civilian car that had crashed into the guardrail during the crossfire. “I know you’ve got it covered.”
“I’ll be off, then,” he replied, ending the call.
The Captain guided her bike toward the crash site, slowing as she approached. A red-haired woman lay crumpled on the pavement beside the wrecked car, and inside the passenger seat was a teenager, pale and wide-eyed. Remarkably, they’d used seat belts—an unusual sight in Night City.
Kneeling beside the woman, the Captain quickly assessed her injuries. Years of experience told her the woman wouldn’t survive this without Trauma Team’s platinum-tier care, and that wasn’t happening. Her injuries were too severe for a standard Ripperdoc.
As she moved closer, the teenager in the car locked eyes with her. He yelled protectively of what was likely his mother.
“Hey! What are you doing to my mom?!” he shouted, voice cracking with fear and anger.
The Captain didn’t bother responding to the teenager’s outburst. Instead, she calmly picked up the injured woman and activated her comms. “Vicky,” she called out, her tone steady and efficient.
The kid wouldn’t understand what was happening, and even if he did, there was little he could do. Before he could react further, the Captain raised her smart pistol and fired a sedative round. The boy’s head slumped forward as unconsciousness took him instantly.
With a sigh, she yanked the car door off with her chrome arm, revealing the teen slumped in his seat. He was clearly injured, though not as badly as his mother. Still, there was no guarantee either would make it. Carefully, she lifted him out and glanced at the wreckage. This detour was going to cost her time—and possibly more than that.
“Vicky? We’ve got two new patients,” she said briskly, not even waiting for the usual greeting.
“Civilians caught in the crossfire?” Vicky’s voice crackled back, a hint of exasperation mingled with worry.
“Unfortunately,” the Captain confirmed. “And it’s bad. Even with our skills, I don’t think we can save both. We’re going to have to choose… one of them could be a new me.”
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken tension. “...Are you sure?” Vicky finally asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of her words sinking in.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“...Shit. Fine. Bring them to Misty’s. I’ll get everything prepped.”
“Preem,” she replied, ending the call. “See you there.”
----------------------------------------
David Martinez, Unknown Location
I woke up staring at the bright, blinding sky. The heat was oppressive, pinning me down until my eyes adjusted to the sunlight. My whole body felt like a furnace, drenched in sweat, every nerve screaming in discomfort—then, suddenly, nothing. The pain vanished. The heat subsided. Just like that, I felt… fine.
How is that even possible? One second, I’m on the brink of collapse, and the next, I’m totally nova. That doesn’t make a lick of sense.
Finally, I managed to sit up, shaking my head to clear the lingering grogginess. But as my surroundings came into focus, one thought crashed into me like a freight train.
“Where the fuck am I?”
The endless expanse of desert stretched in every direction—sand, scrubby bushes, cacti. No roads. No landmarks. No Night City.
How did I end up here? I’ve never left the city in my life, so why am I out in this godforsaken wasteland—
MOM!
Panic shot through me like an electric surge. Where was she? I frantically scanned the horizon, hoping for anything—any sign of civilization, any clue about her. But there was nothing. Just heat waves rippling over the barren landscape.
I tried to stay calm. She took a bad hit in the crash. But someone must’ve found us, right? Mom’s EMT. TraumaTeam must’ve picked her up. I clung to the thought like a lifeline. She had to be okay. She had to.
But what if she wasn’t?
My stomach twisted. No. I couldn’t think like that. I had to find her. Fast.
Taking a shaky step forward, I felt something squish under my shoe. I looked down and recoiled.
It was… goo. Purple, gelatinous, and disgusting. What the hell was this stuff? Jelly? Plasma? I didn’t know, but whatever it was, it was revolting. My first thought? Please, let this not be some kind of animal crap. But honestly, even that would’ve been less gross.
I scraped the muck off my shoe, muttering curses under my breath. Then I noticed something strange—a bird, one of the few animals I’ve ever seen outside of pictures, hopped over to the blob. It pecked at the goo, trying to eat it.
“Whatever floats your boat,” I muttered, shaking my head. Animals were rare, and when you did see them, they were weird as hell.
I turned to leave.
CRUNCH.
The sound froze me in my tracks. Slowly, I turned back.
What I saw made my blood run cold.
The goo… was eating the bird.
It sounded like someone smashing glue together with crunchy bits thrown in—a weird, wet, guttural munching, like chips being chewed in the most unnatural way possible. I stared at the scene, a strange mix of confusion and… curiosity? It didn’t feel gruesome, not exactly. It felt like I was watching something essential, like some twisted form of survival in action.
What threw me off more was why my mind jumped to that conclusion over a pool of purple goo devouring a bird.
As the blob finished its grotesque "meal," something even stranger happened—like, crank-it-to-eleven strange. It started to take shape. Not just any shape, though. It was forming… a person’s head.
At first, it was crude and incomplete—just a blob with the vague outline of eyes. But then, painstakingly slow, it kept going. Eyes took form, followed by a nose, ears, a mouth, eyebrows, and even the faint beginnings of a neck.
It was fascinating in the most disturbing way possible. I couldn’t look away, like watching this entire process might reveal some hidden truth.
What truth? No clue.
Time warped around me. The sky turned dark in what felt like an instant, a glittering starscape stretching endlessly overhead. When did it become night? I didn’t even notice the transition, but now the blob had completed a recognizable head. No hair, no movement—just a blank, lifeless face.
Then more creatures showed up. Snakes slithered closer. Rats scurried in. Crows landed, pecking at the gooey head. Each one tried to take a bite, and each one was promptly consumed by the blob in turn.
The pattern repeated. Over and over. Snakes, rats, crows—they came, they attacked, and they were absorbed. It got old fast, so I turned my gaze to the horizon.
That’s when I saw it. The desert warped, cycling through sunrises, mid-days, sunsets, and starry nights in rapid succession, as if time itself was stuck on fast-forward.
“Is this a BD?” I wondered. It didn’t feel like one, but what else could explain this insanity? Whatever it was, it didn’t make sense. Nothing about this did.
As I scanned the horizon, something finally clicked—a massive crater a few miles away and, far beyond that, the faint outline of a city. I recognized both immediately. The crater was where San Francisco used to be, obliterated earlier this year by a nuke. The city farther out? That had to be Santa Cruz.
The realization hit me like a punch. If I’m this close to ground zero, doesn’t that mean the area is still flooded with radiation? Should I even be here?
Panic clawed at me, and I turned to leave—only to catch sight of the blob again. It had shifted, now resembling the upper half of a woman. Well, mostly—she was still missing an arm and her entire lower body. Her skin was a deep, unnatural purple, and for whatever reason, the animals that had tried to feed on her earlier were nowhere to be seen.
I hesitated before shrugging off my jacket and draping it over her. It wasn’t like the blob was forming clothes for itself, and something about leaving her exposed like that just didn’t sit right with me.
The cycles of day and night kept spinning like some sped-up simulation. Over and over, the light shifted, but the woman didn’t finish forming. She just stayed like that, incomplete. Then, without warning, the cycle stopped, freezing in the pale glow of twilight.
That’s when I heard it—the faint hum of engines growing louder. Vehicles were heading in our direction.
I shot to my feet, waving my arms. “Hey! Over here! There are two people here! Hello!”
I couldn’t tell if they’d seen me at first. The sound grew closer, but the vehicles remained out of sight. Eventually, though, I spotted them—headed straight for us.
Maybe it was luck. Maybe they were just passing through. Either way, it didn’t matter. Help was coming.
Wishful thinking, right?
I had no clue who these people were. Customized cars, gang vibes—they screamed trouble. But at that moment, I didn’t care. Help was help. I jogged toward where they parked, waving my arm like a maniac.
“Finally! Someone showed up! I thought I’d be stuck here forever! Well, technically I was, but—”
“Why’d you stop?” one of the guys said, cutting me off mid-rant.
“Needed to take a piss. What about you?” another replied casually.
“I stopped because you stopped.”
“Then shut up, you gonk. I’ll be done in a minute.”
“Alright.”
Their exchange left me standing there, dumbfounded. Shouldn’t they be surprised I was even alive, stranded out here in the middle of nowhere? And why were they ignoring me?
Something clicked—or rather, didn’t. The past few minutes, I hadn’t felt a thing. No hunger, no thirst, no heat, no cold. Nothing. Like my body wasn’t even there. What the hell was happening?
Desperate for answers, I marched right up to the guy about to take a piss. “Hey, can you help me? I was—”
He walked straight through me. Not past me. Through me.
I froze.
Was I a ghost? Was this some kind of Braindance? No, that didn’t add up. BDs lock you into someone’s perspective; you can’t move freely unless you’re editing one, and I sure as hell wasn’t in an editor.
The eerie feeling I’d been brushing off suddenly made sense—sort of. I wasn’t physically here. That much was clear. But why wasn’t I freaking out about it? Why did it all feel... normal?
The guy walked off to do his business while I stayed rooted in place, still trying to process what the hell just happened. Shaking it off, I headed back to where the purple woman was. Except now, instead of sitting upright, she was lying on the ground. I braced myself for another strange time-lapse, but instead, something else happened.
The guy, now done, wandered back toward the cars and spotted her. Of course, as any man would upon seeing a naked woman in the middle of nowhere, he rushed over. Typical. I almost muttered “men” under my breath because, naturally, that’s the first thing he’d do.
As he got closer, I noticed something odd. The purple woman’s hair was starting to form—a cascade of stark white. Strange, considering how long it had taken for her to form everything else.
The guy crouched near her, inspecting her with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. He called for his chooms, who came over just as quickly. All of them stood around, gawking like they’d discovered some rare artifact. Meanwhile, I grabbed my Arasaka jacket from the ground because, honestly, what was the point in leaving it there?
Their reactions made my stomach churn. They were curious, sure. But there was something else—something too close to excitement for comfort.
“She can have chrome as far as the clients are concerned, right?” one of them asked.
“As long as we slap on some RealSkinn, they won’t care if her limbs are Cyberware,” another replied, casually punching numbers into a phone. “Still, this one’s gonna bring in major eddies.”
Wait. Profit? Chrome? Clients?
Who are these guys?
“She’s hot, but if she were fully ganic, we’d make a killing,” the third one grumbled, clearly annoyed at the “loss.”
“We’ll get better prices if we showcase her right,” the man with the phone said, his tone all business as he started a call. “We just hit the jackpot today.”
The woman opened her eyes—black with glowing orange pupils—and the first thing she did—
No. Not her.
The monster.
Appendages erupted from her body, tearing through the first guy with horrifying speed. They enveloped him, a liquid mass that ate him alive, dissolving him from the inside out. His screams pierced the air, yet I stood there, coldly watching as if it were just another dull video on LabStream.Net. The fact that I wasn’t horrified felt… wrong. It didn’t even feel real. My lack of reaction unsettled me more than the gruesome sight itself. Does that even make sense?
The other two froze, their faces contorted with sheer terror, as the woman—or whatever she was now—stood in the spot where the gonk had been moments before. She was tall and muscular, but not in the grotesque, overblown way of the Animals gang. Her purple skin shimmered faintly, and her eyes were empty pools of black, rimmed with a sinister orange glow. Long, spiky white hair cascaded past her waist, and believe it or not, a tail as thick as another of her legs flickered around. One detail stuck out: her right arm was still missing, refusing to form no matter how much of her body had taken shape.
She blinked once, slow and deliberate, before collapsing to the ground, sitting as if her strength had suddenly drained away. She radiated emptiness, like every shred of vitality had been stripped from her. Her hollow stare was unsettling—less like someone who had just killed and more like someone who had nothing left to lose.
As for the other two—
They snapped out of their shock and drew their guns, aiming squarely at her face.
“Where the fuck is Ramirez?!” one of them screamed, his voice shaking with panic. “What the hell did you do to him?!”
She didn’t reply, her hollow gaze locked on them as if they didn’t exist—or didn’t matter. Her complete indifference was unnerving, more terrifying than any threat or hostile move she could’ve made. She just stared, unblinking, like she was waiting for something, or maybe just… existing.
The guy’s hands shook, his finger twitching against the trigger, but he didn’t pull it. He couldn’t. His mind screamed at him to act, but his body was paralyzed by the thought of what might happen if he did. His instincts, warped by fear, whispered that shooting her would only make things worse.
“D-do something, man!” the other one stammered, backing away slowly. “Don’t just stand there!”
“What if—what if she’s waiting for it?” the first guy whispered, his voice barely audible. “What if she’s one of those things—you know, the kind that gets stronger if you attack it?”
The second guy hesitated, glancing nervously between his trembling partner and the creature-woman before them. “Ramirez… he’s gone, man. We—we need to get out of here!”
The first guy swallowed hard, lowering his weapon an inch but not daring to look away from her. “And just leave her here? What if she comes after us? What if she—”
Suddenly, the woman moved.
It wasn’t much—just a tilt of her head, slow and deliberate—but it was enough to send them both stumbling backward in pure panic.
“Fuck this!” the second guy shouted, turning on his heel and sprinting toward the car. “We’re out of here!”
The first guy lingered for a moment, torn between fight and flight, but the woman’s unflinching stare broke what was left of his resolve. He turned and bolted, tripping over himself as he scrambled to catch up with his choom.
Their engines roared to life seconds later, tires kicking up dust as they sped away, leaving her—and me—alone in the wasteland once more.
She didn’t even watch them leave. Instead, she slowly turned her gaze toward the horizon, her expression unreadable.
“I became something less than human, and at the same time, something more,” she muttered, her voice distant, almost as if she were speaking to herself rather than anyone else.
I stared at her, completely confused. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She didn’t elaborate, just stayed there, her tail curling protectively around her form. The cycle of day and night began again, the endless loop continuing as if time had no meaning here.
What was this? Her memories? A BrainDance? No, it couldn’t be—BDs don’t work like this. They don’t start until the person is fully formed, and they sure as hell don’t loop endlessly. This was something else entirely.
I tried to make sense of it, counting the days as they passed. At first, it was manageable—one, two, three—but eventually, I ran out of fingers to count on. Weeks must have passed as she sat there, unmoving, her gaze empty and hollow.
It was… heartbreaking.
She didn’t speak, didn’t react, didn’t even seem aware of her surroundings. She was just there, trapped in her own mind, stuck in some kind of limbo. I didn’t know her, didn’t know how she got here or why she had this monstrous thing inside her, but watching her like this felt wrong. She was a shell of something—someone—who might’ve once been alive.
The endless cycle of day and night stopped again when another group of vehicles arrived. Different cars this time, different people. Another gang, judging by their looks, but these guys seemed less scummy than the first.
They approached cautiously, repeating the same steps the last group had. One of them even tossed a blanket over her shoulders, a small gesture of decency.
They weren’t exactly saints, though. Their whispers carried faint innuendos, the kind that made my skin crawl, but at least they didn’t talk about her like a commodity to be sold.
A less terrible kind of scum. Not much of an upgrade, but it was something.
One of them, a woman who couldn’t have been older than her early twenties, gave off a strong Nomad vibe. She placed a hand on the purple woman’s shoulder, her tone soft but measured.
“Care to come with us?”
For the first time, the purple woman reacted, turning her head slightly toward the speaker. Her voice, when it came, was faint and distant. “...What?”
“You need a place to stay, right?” the Nomad woman replied, her voice laced with what sounded like genuine warmth. I had to admit, if I hadn’t already overheard their plans, I might’ve believed her. “You can’t stay out here in the desert.”
The purple woman tilted her head, her white hair slipping forward to partially obscure her face. “I… Yeah, why not.”
Her voice was the emptiest thing I’d ever heard, hollow in a way that made it seem like she wasn’t even sure why she’d agreed.
I followed them, accepting now that I was witnessing someone else’s memories. Climbing into the back of the vehicle along with them, I noted its spacious interior. It was a rugged four-wheel drive with a powerful engine, humming confidently even at idle.
The Nomads had a brief, hushed exchange outside, muffled by the car doors. Once they climbed in, the driver turned the vehicle onto a worn, sand-packed path that vaguely resembled a road. I hadn’t even noticed it earlier, despite actively searching for something man-made.
The path wasn’t a proper road, just an area of desert sand compacted from frequent use. Inside the car, the atmosphere was casual. The driver and the Nomad woman made small talk about music, past gigs, and even the fallout from the San Francisco nuke. They only occasionally glanced back at the purple woman, who sat silent and still, her head leaning against the window.
Eventually, the conversation circled back to her.
“It’s kinda weird, though,” the driver—Zachery—said, stealing a glance at the purple woman through the rearview mirror. “Someone like her, alone, no supplies, no gear, and not far from a nuke blast. Doesn’t add up.”
“Yeah, and weeks after the explosion, too,” the woman replied.
Wait, weeks?
That confirmed it—I was watching memories. The explosion happened over half a year ago.
“Maybe that’s why she’s, you know… purple? And the tail?” Zachery mused, eyes flicking back to the road.
The woman let out a sharp sigh. “Zachery, we both know radiation doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t turn people purple or give them tails.” Her tone was deadpan, unimpressed.
“Who’s to say she didn’t chrome some Animal parts, though? We’ve seen weirder,” Zachery shot back, refusing to let it go.
“You might have a point, but it's not something that concerns me,” Jaena said with a shrug, shaking her head. “And it shouldn’t concern you, either.” She paused before continuing, her tone shifting. “Anyway, speaking of her—do you have a name?”
The purple woman, Vomi, slowly turned her eyes toward Jaena, though her gaze remained fixed out the window, never fully meeting her. “I… have many names.”
“Can you share one of them?” Jaena asked gently.
“...Vomi,” Vomi murmured, the name seeming to hang in the air, as if she regretted speaking it but had no choice.
“Vomi?” Jaena repeated, and for just a brief moment, Vomi flinched, though no one could tell if it was because the name wasn’t hers or because she simply didn’t like it.
I couldn’t place it, but something about that name felt significant. I’d never heard it before, even after hours of lurking through the depths of the cyberspace.
“Well, nice to meet you, Vomi,” Jaena said, her voice softening. “We’ll find someone to take care of you.” She sat back down in her seat, looking ahead.
“Jaena,” Zachery spoke up, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t into this kind of gig.”
“I’m not,” Jaena answered, her voice distant, her eyes locked on the road ahead. “But my father asked me to do it. He said to think of the Raffen as my new home.”
Zachery didn’t seem convinced. “Still, joining the Shivs… I don’t wanna be a Wraith. Isn’t it true the leader wears human skin as clothes?”
Both Vomi and I froze at the comment, though I was surprised by the rumor while Vomi’s reaction was a complete mystery. She didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all. She was unreadable.
And mind you, I wasn’t even in danger. I wasn’t in the car with them, wasn’t physically involved, yet I felt that strange tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. Vomi’s silence didn’t help, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off—like I was more a part of this than I should be.
The car kept moving, the low hum of the engine filling the space, but the weight of the conversation kept pressing down. Jaena and Zachery didn’t seem to notice the shift, but I did. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but I felt like something was about to snap, like the quiet before a storm.
Vomi didn’t respond to Zachery’s comment, but I could tell she was listening. There was something in the way her gaze stayed fixed ahead, distant and focused. Maybe she was trying to forget, trying to tune everything out. Maybe she was still trying to figure out what she even was.
It didn’t matter, though. None of it mattered. I wasn’t here to fix anything. I wasn’t even here at all. I was just a bystander, stuck in the ether, watching it all unfold, completely powerless.
And then my vision faded to Black.