David Martinez
I woke up way faster than I expected, and honestly? That wasn’t even the best part. I woke up feeling like I’d just had the most amazing sleep of my entire life. For once, I actually felt rested—no aches, no stiffness, no nothing. Just completely chill. My body felt… good, like crazy good. My muscles were relaxed, my mind was clear, and overall, I felt preem as hell.
The blanket on me was soft and warm, like the good kind you’d find in corpo suites, and the mattress? Don’t even get me started. It had that high-end quality feel you only dream about. I didn’t even wanna open my eyes. Why would I? Everything felt so comfortable, so peaceful.
But then, reality hit me like a truck—or, well, like the car crash I was just in. I opened my eyes in a panic because, uh, what the hell? I was in a wreck not that long ago, right? Where’s my mom? What’s with those freaky visions I had? And most importantly—where am I? Because this ceiling? It looked super unfamiliar but, at the same time, kinda familiar?
I threw off the blanket and sat up, and that’s when two big things hit me. First, I was in some kind of clinic… or maybe a Ripperdoc operations room? It had a real old-school hospital vibe, like something from 2017—or even earlier. Second? I was completely butt-naked. Not that I was focused on that, though.
What I was focused on was my body. See, I’ve always been kinda slim, skinny, but still athletic enough for my age. So I knew for a fact that the muscular figure I was looking at wasn’t mine. I wasn’t jacked, exactly—not bodybuilder level—but I had more muscle definition than I’d ever seen on myself. There was even a full-body mirror nearby, and yeah, I spent a few seconds just staring at my reflection, trying to process how I looked so… different.
How the hell did this happen? I didn’t do anything that could’ve bulked me up overnight. Unless… maybe it was chrome? But nah, I didn’t have that weird numb feeling you get from implants, like when I got my neuralink and agent installed. Actually, now that I think about it, I couldn’t even feel those at all.
I reached around to the back of my neck, where my shard sockets were supposed to be, and sure enough, they were still there. But they didn’t feel like cold, plasticky tech—they felt like skin. My skin. I fired up my agent just to make sure it was still working, and yeah, it booted up fine, no glitches or bugs. I even ran a diagnostics program just to double-check.
While it worked its magic, I decided to test out something else: just how strong I actually was.
There was a table nearby with nothing on it, so I figured, why not? I gave it a lift, and to my surprise, it felt ridiculously light—like it was made out of paper or something. That got me curious, so I glanced over at a sofa, but before I went straight to lifting furniture, I wanted to test my reflexes first.
If someone had done surgery on me, they could’ve messed with my nervous system, right? I dropped down for some push-ups, and wow, they were so easy it felt like a joke. One-handed push-ups? Same deal, even though they used to be impossible for me. This was nuts.
I decided to take it up a notch and try doing some handstand push-ups. They were stupidly easy. I didn’t even wobble getting into position, and I kept perfect balance the whole time. So, naturally, I thought, why not try it with one hand? And, surprise—still easy. What the hell?! This was beyond nova.
I started messing around, waggling my legs in every direction to see if I’d tip over, but nope. I was rock solid, like I was glued to the ground. Unless I wanted to fall, it just wasn’t happening. Feeling cocky, I started switching hands with each push-up, and for the grand finale, I did a jump on the last one, flipping mid-air and landing perfectly on my feet without even bending my knees.
Holy shit, this was awesome.
Then my eyes landed on the sofa, and a stupidly brilliant idea popped into my head.
I walked over, grabbed it, and gave it a little extra juice for the lift.
CRASH
…And that’s how I accidentally threw the sofa into the ceiling and broke it clean in two.
Shit. My bad.
“Are you done enjoying yourself?”
“Huah!” I spun around at the voice, immediately covering my… uh, essentials, because of course, I hadn’t bothered to find clothes yet.
I immediately recognize who it is though. It is Vomi. Well, aside from the fact that she doesn't have a tail or a purple skin, it is her, I am certain of it. Her hair is fluffy instead of spiked, and her eyes are normal, aside from being red, but no black in sight… yeah, no pun intended. She was using a half white jacket, probably faux leather, a plaid sleeveless shirt with red and blue for color, skin tight black pants and high heels in the same color of her shirt. She was funnily enough using glasses, and I also noticed the chrome she has in her right arm, which was missing before. My optics can't say of which brand or age the arm is though, but I know it's an old model from the looks alone.
“You’re staring a little too much,” Vomi said, snapping me out of it. She nodded toward another room. “Your new clothes are in there.”
“Uh, yeah—right,” I stammered, finally moving toward the room.
The clothes waiting for me weren’t mine—made sense, considering I didn’t exactly have the same build anymore. They were a new set, clearly chosen with my new frame in mind. Fair enough, but… wow, these clothes were basic. No flair, no style, just the most boring outfit possible. I wanted to complain, but this was a Ripperdoc clinic, and they did save my life, so I kept my mouth shut.
As I started putting them on, a thought hit me like a freight train. Wait, what about Mom? I scrambled to get dressed, rushing back to the other room to ask.
But as I opened the door, I stopped in my tracks. Vomi was talking to someone—an older guy who looked like he’d seen his fair share of crazy.
“—the effects it could have on him… Are you sure this—?” The man cut himself off the second he noticed me.
“Look, we can talk about this later,” Vomi said sharply, her frown as clear as day. “But it was her decision, alright?”
The old man gave me a quick glance, then sighed heavily, turning to leave without another word.
“The skill he has as a Ripperdoc is only matched by his paranoia,” Vomi muttered, half growling before turning her attention to me. “You’ve probably got a lot of questions. First things first—yes, your mother is alive and well. She just needs time to recover.”
A wave of relief crashed over me. “Oh, thank God. That’s… that’s amazing. I don’t even know how I’m gonna pay for—”
“I’m not charging you anything,” Vomi interrupted, her glowing red eyes locking onto mine. There was something in her gaze—predatory, dangerous.
Why the hell did I suddenly feel like prey?
“Uh… thanks. Really, thanks again,” I said, trying to keep it together.
“Sit here.” She motioned to a recliner chair. “I’ll run some checkups on you. While I do, you can ask whatever’s on your mind.”
I sat down in the chair without a word, my attention drifting to the clinic around me. Honestly, it looked more like a budget Ripperdoc’s setup than an actual hospital. Sure, it had been cleaned up and refurbished, but you could still tell it used to be something like an auto shop. Definitely not the most sanitary-looking place. Still, the tech here was leagues ahead of what Doc used to use. At least I felt better about being treated here. Doc’s methods were garbage—no anesthesia, half-broken equipment, and an attitude like you should be grateful for his "expertise."
The first thing Vomi did? Inject me with anesthesia. My neck went numb almost instantly.
“So, got questions?” she asked, her chrome arm busy at the terminal while her organic hand handled the syringe.
“Uh, yeah. Where am I?”
“Vik’s Clinic, Misty’s Esoterica, Little China, Watson,” she said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, your accident happened at City Center, on the highway leading to the Plaza.”
“What am I doing all the way in Watson?” I muttered, confused. I didn’t know any Ripperdocs around here.
“Being treated,” she replied, her tone as blunt as a hammer. “Any questions that aren’t obvious?”
Wow. Rude? Bitchy even. “Where’s my mom?”
She stopped typing for a moment, plugged a cord into my sockets, then answered. “In the next room. We don’t usually get patients who need more than a few hours of treatment—mostly just quick chip installs these days.”
“Can I see her?”
“After this? Sure,” she said, slipping on gloves over her organic hand and spraying disinfectant on her chrome one. “Hold still.”
I felt her carefully making incisions on my neck. Maybe checking for internal injuries? Doc never explained the process of what Ripperdocs actually did during surgery, so I had no clue what she was working on. I could feel the pressure, but no pain, so I guess she was doing everything right—though I wouldn’t know.
“Uh, sorry about the sofa,” I said eventually, genuinely feeling bad about it. Wrecking the clinic wasn’t exactly part of the plan.
“Don’t worry,” Vomi replied, her voice carrying… was that sorrow? “The sofa’s replaceable. But you could use some restraint. And a bit of shame.”
“Shame?”
“You stood naked in front of a woman, flexing your muscles, your strength, and your junk for way too long—”
“Thanks, I get it,” I cut her off, my face heating up as I felt my cheeks go red.
"Heh."
Was… was that a laugh? A giggle?
I still had one burning question, though. “Are you Vomi?”
Her hands froze mid-procedure, and then she walked right up to me, her red eyes locking onto mine. And oh, shit. I’ve pissed off people before—Katsuo comes to mind—but this? This was something else entirely. She wasn’t just glaring at me; it felt like she was staring into my damn soul. I swear I could feel the sweat rolling down my face and dripping to the floor.
“Who told you that?”
That was her question. And the way she said it made it clear she expected an answer. Jesus fuck, who even is this woman?! If I tell her the truth, is she going to zero me for some misunderstanding? But… it is the truth. She’ll get that, right?
Right?!
“I-I-I saw your—I mean, I think I—uh, you see…” God, I can’t even form a sentence.
My brain was going haywire, panicking between spilling the truth or saying nothing. And her glare wasn’t helping at all. What the hell do I do here?!
“Ah, Kapitan. I see you’re handling a patient today—wait, what’s going on here?”
I didn’t dare break eye contact with Vomi, and she didn’t stop staring me down either. But she did acknowledge the newcomer.
“Welcome back, Lev. How’d the gig go?”
“Smooth as a boat’s maiden voyage,” Lev said casually. His Russian accent was unmistakable.
“That means nothing to me. I don’t know a damn thing about boats.”
“It went bad, but not bad enough to ruin us,” Lev clarified, dropping a bag onto the table next to me. “We got paid, earned a little cred. Still, steady cash flow’s only going to happen if your setup in town works out.”
“I know,” Vomi said, her eyes still drilling into mine. “Now, answer me. Who told you that?”
Alright. Here goes nothing.
Please, for the love of all things holy, don’t flatline me.
“I saw memories… of a woman. Purple skin, white hair, black-orange eyes… middle of the desert?” My words tumbled out, more a jumbled mess than anything. “I’m not really sure what happened, but a monster left the—”
Before I could finish, Vomi slapped a hand over my mouth. “Shush. Are you sure you saw what you’re saying?”
I nodded, because... what else could I do?
“Fuck,” she muttered, dropping into her chair, finally letting me speak again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. It never happened before.”
“Kapitan,” Lev chimed in, his tone almost soothing. “You’re overthinking this. Even if the boy’s telling the truth, there’s no way he can prove it. He just survived a car crash. Could easily be trauma messing with his head.”
“Corporations will dig into anything if they think it’s useful. I can’t afford to act recklessly after last time,” Vomi shot back, her words sharp with frustration.
I couldn’t see much from where I was strapped into the recliner, so I had to guess their expressions from their voices. But the fact that I wasn’t dead yet? Honestly, that felt like a win. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d just used up every ounce of luck I had left. Something bad was bound to come next.
"That might be true, Kapitan, but remember—you didn’t have to give him the pathogen," Lev said, his tone steady and genuine, free of any condescension or patronizing edge. "But you respected his mother’s decision. The least you can do now is teach him how to handle these… gifts."
“Gifts…” Vomi muttered, the word rolling off her tongue like it left a bad taste. “That’s… certainly one way to call them.”
“Alright then,” Lev said, placing a bag of tools on the table. “I’ll leave these here and head back to the club. Let me know tomorrow if we’ve got any gigs lined up.” He gave a short nod before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.
Vomi sighed heavily and went back to work, her focus shifting to me. Then came the questions—and it definitely felt more like a lecture.
“What you saw... how much of it do you remember?” she asked, breaking the silence after a few minutes.
“Until you got into a car with some Raffen gonks,” I replied honestly, my voice tinged with bitterness. Just remembering what those bastards had been trying to do to her made my blood boil.
“Anything else? Anything before that?” she pressed further, her red eyes sharp and probing.
“No, just that. Why?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Good. That’ll make things easier to explain,” she said, her tone softening just a fraction.
She finished up the procedure and patched my neck. Whatever she did, she did it well—there wasn’t even a scar left behind. Then she started running me through the full spectrum of tests: heartbeat, blood pressure, bloodwork, eyesight… basically the whole nine yards.
When she was done, Vomi concluded, “You’re fully recovered. No residual damage, no obvious side effects.”
Side effects? The hell does that mean? Whatever. All I heard was that I was fine and didn’t need to worry, so I wasn’t about to press for details.
“Alright,” Vomi said, pacing back and forth as she grabbed a chart and pulled up some visuals on the nearby monitor. “Let me explain what happened while you were unconscious.”
She showed me pictures, video feeds, and all sorts of data that made zero sense to me—until the footage switched to me and my mother being carried into the clinic.
“Sorry about the sedative,” Vomi said abruptly. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
Sedative?
“Oh.” I blinked, piecing together fragments of memory from the crash. “Yeah, uh… no worries.”
“So, here’s what happened,” Vomi began, her voice measured but serious. “Your mother wasn’t going to survive the crash—not with standard Ripperdoc care. I could go into the specifics, but that’d take too long. The short version is,” she pulled up an image of my mother’s injuries, and I immediately regretted looking. The sheer brutality of the damage made my stomach churn, but I knew I had to push through it to understand. “She had severe head trauma, at least seventeen broken bones, massive blood loss, and she even lost one of her kidneys. Some of those injuries are replaceable, sure. Others… not so much.”
“That’s…” I faltered, my throat tight. I didn’t even know what to say. My mom was that close to death? And she’s still alive? Damn. My mom’s stronger than I ever gave her credit for.
Actually, now that I think about it… she was always strong.
“As for you,” Vomi continued, swapping the display to an image of me, “this was the situation.”
I stared at the screen, where an X-ray or scan showed a jagged piece of metal lodged in my torso. “You had that, along with several fractures, bruises, and deep cuts. None were immediately fatal, but they were severe enough to be life-threatening if left untreated.”
Then she pulled up a video feed, showing my mother just before surgery. “Your mom was the first to regain consciousness. That’s when we presented her with a choice. We had the resources to save one of you, but the other… the other would have to rely on luck and timing for a second procedure later in the day.”
“Wait, we?” I asked, caught on the word.
“Viktor Vector—the guy you saw earlier—and myself,” she clarified, adjusting her glasses. “We offered your mother a solution. It was simple, but costly. Who would receive the ‘pathogen’? Her or you?”
“Pathogen?” I repeated, my brow furrowed, “What, some kind of virus? Biological structure and that kind of shit? Isn't that BiotTechnica’s area?”
“It is,” Vomi said, frowning—not sure if it was at me or what I said. “And yes, biologically speaking, your body would be altered, but there was a significant risk of it… failing.”
“Failing how?”
“You could have died,” she said bluntly, turning her gaze away from the display. “I warned Gloria about that, but she still chose you to receive it. She said she’d do anything if it meant seeing you alive and well.”
Fuck… That hit hard. Mom’s always been protective—I know that—but I didn’t realize just how much she was willing to sacrifice for me. She couldn’t always be there, but she tried her best to give me a safe, stable life—or at least as close as you can get in Night City.
“I agreed to try after finishing her procedures,” Vomi continued. “She was conscious during surgery. Told me about the day she had you. Apparently, she was mid-shift, patching up a merc with a busted mantis blade when her water broke. They had to switch places—she coached him through stitching her up while she went into labor.”
Wait, she had me while working? Does Mom ever take a break?
“Wait, that actually happened?”
“Fast labors aren’t unheard of, nor are intense contractions. But yeah, it’s rare.” Vomi nodded as she sorted through some papers—actual papers, not a tablet. “Medical records confirm cases like that, though. Sometimes, the staff didn’t even make it in time, leading to complications. Blood loss, fatalities for mothers… even for the babies, though those were less common.”
“Thanks for the horrifying mental image,” I muttered, shuddering. “But… I mean, my mom. She’s been giving it all for me this whole time? And I never realized it?”
“David.” Vomi took off her glasses and locked eyes with me. That faint glint I’d seen earlier was gone now, replaced by something far colder. “Your mother loves you more than anything. And I can’t stress enough how hard it was for me to think I might be responsible for your death if the pathogen didn’t work.”
… Damn.
Was I the reason she’s always exhausted? The reason she’s working herself into the ground every day? That overprotective attitude of hers, how she pushed me to aim higher, scolded me for cutting corners, even the talk we had in the car before the accident…
Was all of it my fault?
“Look,” Vomi said, slipping her glasses back on. “Your mother loves you. If nothing else, the least you can do is show her that you love her back.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, staring at the floor.
“If you need more answers, I’ll be here,” she added, gesturing toward the door. “She’s in the next room. Opposite the one where you got dressed. And for the record, you’re not discharged yet, so don’t leave the clinic.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t think I even can right now,” I muttered as I left the room, heading toward my mom.
----------------------------------------
Viktor was conducting a quick check on Gloria’s condition. Despite the surgery’s success, her state was still precarious. When someone’s vitality was hanging by a thread, no amount of care ever felt sufficient. Yet, even as he focused on his work, Vik’s mind kept circling back to the moment Gloria asked about her son. Her concern was genuine—expected, given the circumstances—but it was Vomi’s response that stuck with him.
She offered what they called the “pathogen,” though Vik knew the truth: it was the symbiote—or at least the fragments of it still lingering in Vomi’s immune system.
He understood the gravity of what had happened in San Francisco, not just because Vomi had told him, but because he’d seen it himself. Once, during a moment of vulnerability, Vomi had lost control, and some part of the symbiote had manifested. It showed him flashes of that event—horrifying, visceral. Vik never shared those details with anyone; he knew Vomi would spiral if she realized her powers were acting independently of her will. Especially when she was barely hanging on to control as it was.
Thankfully, the last time Vomi used the symbiote to help someone, those side effects—the unwanted sharing of memories—hadn’t occurred.
Professionally, Viktor couldn’t condone her methods. They were reckless at best, catastrophic at worst. Personally, though, he couldn’t bring himself to deny a desperate mother’s wish to save her child. He agreed, albeit reluctantly, and made his disapproval clear. This choice carried heavy risks, and while Vomi claimed it was a matter of “safety,” Viktor wasn’t so sure.
He knew Vomi well enough to understand the truth she wouldn’t admit: the symbiote had the potential to heal others, but it came at a cost. It left her vulnerable, drained, and unsteady. Still, she had chosen to use it—not just to heal, but to create another version of “herself.”
When she first explained her plan, Viktor thought she might have encountered someone else with similar powers, someone who could pose a threat or draw attention from the wrong people. He assumed the situation called for action, even if innocent civilians got caught in the crossfire.
But this? This was different. Vomi had never intervened in this way before. While she had a history of treating injuries for those caught in the chaos of their gigs, the idea of transferring a piece of herself to someone else—to make them like her—was unprecedented.
It all left Vik skeptical, questioning her true intentions. Was this really about saving a life? Or was it about something deeper, something Vomi herself might not even fully understand?
The door slid open, revealing the kid Vomi had just “gifted” the symbiote. He looked remarkably different now—more alive, more intact—but Viktor knew that wasn’t what really mattered. What mattered was that he appeared stable, and if Vomi hadn’t intervened further, it meant the volatile symbiote was at least under control for now.
David hesitated in the doorway, his eyes darting from Viktor to Gloria lying on the bed. His expression carried something Viktor didn’t expect: regret.
“Is she… going to wake up soon?” he asked, his voice shaky and uncertain.
“For now, she’s just asleep,” Viktor replied, keeping his tone calm and measured. “Her condition is stable, but healing takes time—even with stims and nanobots to speed up the process. For the time being, she needs rest. I’ll check on her regularly to monitor her progress.”
“Thanks,” David muttered, pulling up a chair next to her bed. He slumped into it, his head hanging low. “If I hadn’t been such a fucking idiot… we wouldn’t even be here.”
Viktor recognized that tone immediately—self-loathing, the kind that always seemed to bubble up when someone blamed themselves for the unpredictable.
“Kid,” Vik said, stepping closer. “There’s no way you could’ve seen this coming. You were unlucky, sure, but you’re alive. Take this time to rest and stay close to your mom, alright?”
David shook his head. “Still… if I’d just listened to her before—”
“Hey,” Viktor interrupted firmly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He gently turned David so they were eye level. “Don’t get caught up in the ‘why is this happening to me’ or the ‘what ifs.’ That’ll only drag you down further. Instead, ask yourself, ‘What can I learn from this?’ and ‘What can I do to make things better?’”
David’s eyes widened slightly at the advice, a flicker of something—hope, maybe—crossing his face before he turned back to Gloria. She lay there, surrounded by tubes and wires, the machines monitoring every possible metric: oxygen levels, blood flow, cyberware diagnostics. The sight was overwhelming, yet David stayed by her side, silent but present.
Satisfied that his words had landed, Viktor stepped back and left the boy to his thoughts. Returning to the main room where Vomi waited, he sat down at his terminal and resumed his routine, scanning for incoming patients and trying to settle back into the rhythm of the day.
“How did it go?” Vomi finally asked, breaking the silence.
“As well as I could’ve hoped,” Viktor replied with a sigh. “He’s tougher than he lets on. Young, impulsive maybe, but tough.”
“I can see that,” Vomi said as she opened a drawer and pulled out a syringe. “He’s tougher than you think.”
Viktor glanced at her and frowned. He didn’t need to ask what she was doing; he already knew. Vomi was brilliant—a talented scientist, skilled Netrunner, an effective merc, and even an incredible musician. She had the potential to excel at anything if she set her mind to it. But when she first got her hands on certain chemicals, she’d created something akin to “heroin,” and instead of studying it, she’d tested it on herself.
That one choice had turned into a habit, one Viktor could never reconcile. She claimed it helped her stay “sane,” but all he saw was someone trying to escape. It was a cruel irony that the physically strongest person he’d ever known relied on a drug to cope with reality.
Viktor shook his head silently and turned back to his terminal, forcing himself to focus on his work. Behind him, he could hear Vomi sinking into her trance, the telltale signs of her pupils shrinking to pinpoints and her posture slackening as the drug took hold. Whatever scenario her mind was conjuring to ease her soul, Vik didn’t want to know. He just hoped she’d come back from it—eventually.
----------------------------------------
David Martinez
She’s just asleep. Yeah, what the Ripperdoc said makes sense, but it still doesn’t feel right. What can I do to make it better? I guess I could start by actually taking care of her for once. I’m always so caught up in my own problems that I forget she’s the only family I have. And now she’s lying there, unconscious, full of hope that I’m okay. I am, but she doesn’t know it.
Ain’t that a bitch.
I need to get back to Arasaka Academy and kill it—get the best results possible. If I can make her proud, maybe she can finally catch a break. Too much has happened, and I can’t even begin to imagine how much she’s endured for me. I glance around the room and spot her yellow EMT jacket hanging on a chair. I pick it up and slip it on. If she hadn’t made it… at least this could’ve been a memory of her, something to remind me of how she put me first, even when she didn’t have to.
Honestly, though, I thought these jackets would be more comfortable. EMTs need to be able to move, right?
Wait a sec…
I take the jacket off and flip it inside out, staring at the back lining.
No way.
Mom, you’re a genius!
She smuggled military chrome? Prototype grade? That’s… nova! Was she planning to sell it to cover everything? One of these has to be worth thousands of eddies! I could—Hold on, David. Who would you even sell this to?
Doc? Nah, he wouldn’t pay me even a fraction of what it’s worth. Selling military gear on the black market by myself? Forget it. I don’t even want to step foot in Pacifica, much less Dogtown.
But then again… do I have to sell this?
Sure, eddies are important. But what about the Academy? If I graduate, I could land a job at any corp. That’s instant cred—real security. Not everyone’s bold or gonk enough to go after a ’Saka grad, much less a senior. That could buy me time. Time for rent, expenses, and a plan to really move forward.
So, do I think short-term or long-term here?
Actually… When did I even start thinking like this? Breaking things down step by step, instead of just rushing in headfirst? Usually, I just follow whatever pushes me forward. But now I’m stopping to consider my options.
That’s… preem. Kinda disturbing, in a way, but also pleasant.
Does that make any sense?
I need to get discharged, head home, and prep for the exams. They’re right around the corner, and even if I’m broke, the first step is paying off my debt with the Academy, graduating, and then coming back for Mom. Sounds like a solid plan, right? But the real question is: how do I get the eddies?
This new body might open up some opportunities. Maybe I could work as a bouncer? But no, that’d take weeks to scrape together anything meaningful. Damn, I don’t know any safe way to make quick cash. Becoming a merc might be my best shot. I could stick to easier gigs—deliveries, retrievals, maybe some driving jobs. Something that doesn’t involve getting into a firefight.
Wait… Lev mentioned earlier that they had gigs. That means Vomi probably knows a Fixer. Would she turn me down if I asked for a connection?
Fuck it. I have to ask.
I shrug on Mom’s jacket again, this time making sure it covers the cyberware without digging into my skin. I step into the other room, but… well, let’s just say Vomi was off in her own little world. The Ripperdoc was nowhere in sight—maybe busy in another room—but I don’t have time to wait. I need answers now.
She mentioned something about Esoterica earlier. If anyone’s got intel, it’d be someone there. I head up the stairs toward the back of the clinic. The stairwell leads to a shopfront spilling into some quiet alleyways. After a short walk, I spot a sign for the Esoterica and see someone standing inside—Misty, I think.
“Hey?” I call out, my voice echoing as I cup my hands around my mouth. “Anyone here?”
“In a minute!” a voice called out, followed by a murmur. “Wait… is that an actual customer?”
The girl—or maybe a young woman? Hard to tell—came rushing out. She didn’t look much older than me. When she saw I was the only one at the door, a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but she quickly waved me in with a smile.
I felt a little guilty; she probably doesn’t get many customers. Still, the first thing I noticed was her style. It was unique, like she belonged to a completely different world. I’d never seen anyone quite like her.
“Welcome to my Esoterica! Where I can help your soul find the answers your body and mind seek,” she said warmly, her voice practiced but genuine.
Did she just make me feel… welcomeness? Is that even a real word?
“Hey, you’re Misty, right?” I asked, trying to match her tone and not sound like a total gonk.
“That’s me,” she nodded. “And you must be David.”
“Uh, yeah.", I nod, a bit surprised, "How do you know my name?”
“Vik and I are associates,” she explained while shuffling some strange-looking cards. “The clinic he runs? My property, paid for with my own eddies. I get a cut of whatever he earns, and Lev said new patients were coming. Want your fortune read?”
I raised my hands, palms out, in apology. “I was actually hoping you could help me with something else. Maybe another time?”
She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was hard to miss. “Well, at least you didn’t turn around and leave,” she said with a faint frown. Then her expression softened into a small smile. “Most people bolt as soon as I mention tarot.”
“Seriously? People just leave mid-conversation?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“You’d be amazed,” she said with a wry grin. “Last week, two people came in. One just wanted directions to the nearest BD bar, and the other thought this was a drug depot. Most don’t even step in—they head straight to Vik’s clinic. Which, honestly, I get it. Ripperdocs are essential these days. Still, it stings a little.”
“Damn. That sounds rough.” I could feel a pang of empathy. “You know what? Read my fortune. If it helps, I’m game. How much?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Sure. Why not? I’ve got time to kill before I get to biz.”
The grin that spread across her face was absolutely worth it.
“Oh, finally! I have to tell Jackie about this—he’s going to love it!” she exclaimed, sounding more like an excited girl than the calm mystic she tried to be earlier. “Just 10 eddies. It’s not as expensive as people think.”
“Deal,” I said as my optics flashed gold, transferring the fee instantly.
Misty clapped her hands together and gestured for me to sit at a small round table tucked away in the corner of the shop. It was cluttered with candles, crystals, and a small deck of cards laid neatly in the center. The atmosphere felt cozy, like stepping into a world that didn’t belong to the hustle and chaos outside.
She took her seat across from me, her movements smooth and practiced, and shuffled the deck. “Alright, David. Let’s see what the cards have to say about your path.”
I raised an eyebrow. “My path? You make it sound like I’m on some kind of spiritual journey.”
She smirked, glancing up at me as her hands worked the deck. “Aren’t you, though? Everyone is, in their own way. You just don’t know it yet.”
I didn’t respond, but I couldn’t help wondering if she was onto something. She spread the cards face down in a fan and looked at me expectantly. “Pick three.”
I hesitated for a second before reaching out, choosing three at random. She flipped the first one over—a figure standing on the edge of a cliff, staring up at the sky.
“The Fool,” Misty said, her voice soft but certain. “It represents new beginnings, taking a leap of faith, and embracing the unknown.”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “So, it’s saying I’m clueless?”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, you gonk, it’s saying you’re starting something big. A new chapter. But it also means you have to be careful—don’t rush in without thinking.”
“Huh...”
She flipped the second card. This one showed a figure holding two pentacles, balancing them in an infinite loop.
“The Two of Pentacles. This is about juggling responsibilities, finding balance. You’re trying to manage a lot right now, aren’t you?”
I gave her a sideways glance. “Is it that obvious?”
“It’s in the cards,” she said with a knowing smile.
Finally, she turned over the third card. A tower engulfed in flames, people falling from it.
I frowned. “That doesn’t look good.”
“The Tower,” she said solemnly. “It represents upheaval, sudden change, or destruction. But it’s not all bad—it’s also about clearing out the old to make way for something new. Breaking free of what’s holding you back.”
I stared at the card for a long moment, the image burning into my mind. It felt… uncomfortably accurate.
“Great,” I muttered, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the table. “So, what’s the takeaway? Jump into something new, juggle my shit, and wait for everything to fall apart?”
Misty smiled gently. “Or… take the leap, stay grounded, and prepare for change. It’s all about how you approach it, David.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Sounds easy enough.”
Misty gathered the cards, carefully stacking them into a neat deck. “Life rarely is. But you’re tougher than you think.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell that?”
She hesitated, glancing to the side before answering. “Well… I’m not really supposed to say this. Or at least, it’s not something I’m encouraged to talk about. But I see something in you—something powerful. It’s like you’re holding back, not for yourself, but for the sake of others.”
“Like what that pentacle thing said?”
She nodded, her expression serious. “Exactly. Conflict reveals character, and if the cards are anything to go by—and they usually are—it seems like you’ve been showing a lot of restraint and maturity. At least, for now.”
Maturity, huh? That was one way to put it. All I wanted was to make Mom proud, to make the most out of what little I had. I wasn’t even sure where this mindset had come from. Maybe it was because of the crash. Maybe because deep down, I feel responsible. I just wanted her to smile again, to breathe, to live without the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“Thanks, Misty. This might be the best 10 eddies I’ve ever spent.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s just a surface-level read of your soul. If you want a deeper analysis, we’d need more time.” She paused, tilting her head. “But what was it you wanted to ask me earlier?”
Oh yeah, that.
“I need a gig. Any kind of work.”
Her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing with a mix of concern and curiosity. After a moment, she motioned for me to follow her. “Come with me.”