"-Just checking, does it come with any sort of… insect-based protein?" I checked. The voice on the other end gave their assurances, and I nodded, even though I was the only person in the room. "Okay, cool. Yeah. Like I said, my address is room two-oh-two, Motel Kabuki. Yep. Cool." The call cut, and I pulled my agent away from my ear, glancing at the digital clock in the corner of my vision. It took me two minutes to order, which meant I had about fifty-eight minutes left for my lunch break.

[Mortal Engine] unlocked its hold on my body, I stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of my legs being unscrunched, before I slowly got up from where I'd been fiddling with the innards of a looted Nova, using my arms to help move my weighted body. At this point, I knew the construction of the thing back to front, well enough that I was pretty confident I could disassemble and reassemble it through the feeling of touch alone.

But that didn't help me much with making it magical. Or rather, knowing all the ways the weapon's ballistics worked just made it clear that what I wanted to do was going to be complicated as hell.

The way that the Darra Polytechnic DR-5 Nova revolver worked was thus: When you pulled the trigger, the gun's internal mechanisms would simultaneously remove a bolt that locked the cylinder's rotation, rotate the cylinder, draw back an internal hammer and also raise a piece of metal called the transfer bar between the hammer and the firing pin. The hammer would then slip when the trigger was pulled back all the way, and an internal spring would force it forward, and the gun would fire as the hammer struck.

None of this affected the power of a bullet, or at least, not in any appreciable way that I'd noticed. Rather, what influenced the power of a bullet was the powder within a bullet, which would detonate when the hammer struck the transfer bar, which struck the firing pin, which struck the bullet's primer. And fact of the matter was, I had absolutely no idea how to make it better through magic.

As far as I could tell, pouring mana explosive powder didn't make it any more explosive than it otherwise was, and even if it did, I had difficulty moving my mana from my hand, through the handle, into the chamber and then into the powder. Surrounding the bullet with mana was possible, and it would make the bullet itself more durable, but I was pretty sure that would wear out the barrel that much quicker. I'd even tried making mana spin around the bullet, flowing from tip to shell in a spiral motion like a drill would, but that was even more difficult than just pouring mana into the bullet.

Maybe if I used [Sorairo Days] as a channel…? Well, whatever it would take, it could wait until tomorrow. I let out a sigh of defeat as I rested my legs on a nearby chair, crossing them as I stared at the ceiling.

I knew that out there in the wild, wide multiverse were isekai protagonists with magic guns, and honestly I had no fucking clue how the hell they made it look so easy. I understood that the usual Watsonian explanation was that they were "gun otaku", but honestly I just pinned it on system bullshit.

Then again, I was being supported by system bullshit, and it sure wasn't helping me much, though maybe that was the difference between their systems and mine. I had the relevant talents, [Soul], [Science] and [Martial] to help, but as far as I could tell, all they were doing for me right now was uncapping my limited human potential. Without a tutor to guide me or an enemy to measure up against, they wouldn't push me to learn any faster than I normally did.

And let me tell you, I was not a fast learner.

My mana was nearly empty after the hour of experimentation I had mandated for myself, and without the opportunity to actually experiment at a range, I had little progress to show. Unlike things like stat or skill grinding where I could see the meter slowly ticking up over time, I had to judge my progress by myself, and as far as I could tell, magical AP spell bullets were still a while away, even after a week of messing around with it part-time.

It's not that it was a dire necessity to me, though. I had the Burya, and I'd gone ahead and read the manual for EMP grenades a while back, so that was two ways of dealing with any Cyberpsycho I ran into. Still, with [Power Strike], [Iron Skin] and [Concentrate] subsumed into a single skill that didn't actually consume my mana pool, but rather kept it from replenishing, I was trying to find a way to use mana in combat without being obvious about it.

Fact of the matter was, I wanted to be the meanest, deadliest sunnovabitch in Night City, and eventually, on the entire planet. I wanted the strength to be able to take on entire nations, megacorporations, the whole nine yards. I wanted to be able to fight the world and win. I figured that having an entire bar of mana being left unspent wasn't exactly conducive to that. It's just that putting together a new system of magic from scratch wasn't exactly easy.

But fuck it. The me of fifty minutes later can worry about that. It was lunch time, and I had just the idea on how to spend it.

[Sorairo Days] crawled over my Agent as I left the disassembled gun behind, deciding after the fact that I'd clean it up later. I slowly stumbled over to my motel bed, flopping down and kicking my feet up. The screen flickered, glitched, and I grinned as my programming came on, frizzing at the edges. On the screen, a man dressed in traditional Japanese garb brandished a katana as he surveyed his opponent, while beside him a scarred wolf growled menacingly.

[Hermit Purple], the Stand from which [Sorairo Days] had sprung, had the power of divination, but it had a limitation where it only worked through devices and mediums. Sand, televisions, cameras, that sort of thing. [Sorairo Days] had less restrictions, but it still retained the ability to display its divinations through electronic devices. I'd even managed to get it to affect my cyberware, before.

Some might say that using superpowers to pirate anime was a waste. Those people hadn't been stuck in a motel room for a week and a half with nothing to do but grind. And besides, as far as I was concerned, it was an obligation. If you were stuck in an alternate timeline with media theft superpowers, wouldn't you want to see how the Japanese animation industry had developed differently?

Well… I did. As far as I was concerned, what I found wasn't exactly mindblowing. Japan and the rest of the world had taken a very different path compared to the world I'd known, and the unfortunate reality was, anime had simply never caught on big overseas.

Oh, there were English dubs and subs for movies and shows coming from across the ocean, but people just weren't as excited for them. I could sorta see why. The animations I could find were all very quintessentially Japanese. The most popular and well marketed were either based heavily on Japanese mythology, historical fiction or were urban fantasy inspired by the previous two. There wasn't much for overseas audiences to latch on to. Japanese media was produced for Japanese consumption.

It was sorta funny. You'd think that with nature abhorring a vacuum, somebody would have had the idea of isekai at some point. Especially considering that they'd had fifty extra years to have that fad. I knew for a fact that America was a massive market for fantastical escapism, considering how everybody seemed to agree on how shit everything was. As far as I could find, that wave had simply never materialized.

Some things remained the same, however. It was insane to me that 'Akira' actually came out in this timeline, only to be completely ignored in the west. Maybe that was where humanity had failed, doomed to become fodder for the massive engines of greed they had built.

…Or maybe it had something to do with the way America had fucking disintegrated from the inside due to political corruption at the highest levels of office.

Who knew?

As the man charged forward, blade held at the ready with the wolf by his side, the scene faded to black and white, and that was the cue for me to change the channel while commercials rolled.

With an exertion of will, the scene on the screen flickered. I watched with a smile as Slim loafed around on the rooftop of an abandoned factory somewhere in the middle of Northend, basking in the sun. I sat there, watching for a few minutes, turning an idea over in my mind.

I wanted a companion. Someone to keep me company. Laying low had meant essentially confining myself, first in the abandoned factory, now in this motel room. Whenever I thought of leaving, [Covert Talent] would point out that laying low meant letting the heat die down, to let the chaos of the city draw away attention to you. That meant avoiding the usual haunts and not being seen.

In my case, it meant staying so far away from the public eye that I never went outside. Metal shutters blocked the outside from looking in, and once I'd chewed through the food in my inventory, everything now came by delivery.

I internally debated on the idea of having a pet. On one hand, a pet would help keep me happy. At this point, I was pretty sure I couldn't go insane. I had the defenses for it, not to mention [Gamer's Mind]. Those didn't prevent me from feeling lonely, though, and if it was a choice between living alone constantly or living with a pet, I'd take the latter.

On the other hand, I also didn't want to be responsible for one. Playing with them, cleaning up after them, feeding them and so on was a hassle that I felt entirely too drained for. I had enough on my plate practicing with my powers, grinding my stats and making time for friends and hobbies, I barely ever felt there were enough hours in the day. I just didn't want to jam taking care of a pet into my schedule.

And besides, a pet wasn't exactly what I wanted, was it? A pet couldn't talk to me about what I was doing, a pet couldn't understand the context of what I was, the reasons for my worldview, or how insane it sounded. I couldn't confide in a pet.

…I needed to talk to Misty again. Not that I would tell her anything vital, but… it'd help having another brain to bounce off of. I considered the idea of sneaking out in the middle of the night as the screen flickered again.

I blinked in slight surprise as I saw a team of two unfamiliar Edgerunners, looking out of place in a small glass cubicle illuminated by red light. I watched impassively as they edited the files on a computer, the display on my agent zooming in so that I could see the changes they were making in real time.

The main branch of Arasaka had a file on the death of Tanaka. As far as most people were concerned, he was an executive of their Academy in Night City, and that was important enough that they had people investigating the incident. That being said, their personnel did not act like the police did. I'd only caught hints of corp culture as I'd watched the case develop, but what I'd seen of it was fascinating.

The first concern Arasaka had with regard to the death of an executive wasn't finding their killer. It wasn't even their third, as far as I could tell. Rather, a dozen people at different levels of the company had their own angle, whether they were in the main branch or Arasaka Academy. In the academy there were so many people aiming for Tanaka's vacant seat that I couldn't count them all, and the infighting was vicious, sometimes deadly.

In Arasaka Academy, middle managers were framing each other for incompetence or sabotage with the help of hired Netrunners so that they'd be the ones picked to rise through the ranks. Higher level executives were covering their asses while the main branch investigated their files for evidence of assassination. Meanwhile, main branch corpos looking for pawns were giving secret orders to their corporate Netrunners to gather material blackmail while they looked for evidence.

It was a complete clusterfuck, and even with divination, I could barely keep track of who was screwing who. Alliances were formed and dissolved between players at the drop of a hat. I'd watched one man in the academy make a deal with a higher-up in the main branch for the seat in exchange for one little favor, only to tune in twenty hours later to see him rotting at the bottom of the ocean.

To put it simply, there was some 'Game of Thrones Shit' going down. Then again, there was probably always some 'Game of Thrones Shit' going down in high-level corporate politics.

I watched as the two Edgerunners finished with the files before bolting, and after a long moment, a man decloaked himself in the corner where he'd been folded up. He was bald, which let me see the grooves all over his otherwise natural-looking head.

I raised an eyebrow as he robotically strode over to the computer without a hint of emotion and analyzed it. He pulled a wire from his palm and plugged it into the computer, causing the screen to glitch and the file to flicker on the screen, the original disappearing to be replaced with something similar, before vanishing from sight once more, his mission apparently done.

According to the various iterations of the file that I'd looked at, there was a long, long list of people who'd been fingered as the one ultimately responsible for Tanaka's death. A list that'd been getting shorter and shorter by the day. The list didn't seem to focus on the guy who pulled the trigger, but rather who'd benefit the most from seeing him gone.

And as long as that list was, I wasn't on it. I hadn't seen my name, self-made or otherwise, appear on the file during the long hours I'd spend looking over some desk jockey's shoulder, though I'd have to wait until later to see if that had changed. If it hadn't, I think I'd be fine with risking a nighttime trip to Misty's.

I couldn't help but get the strange feeling that justice didn't seem to factor even slightly into the equation, only whether or not this would lead to further damage to the company, which maybe I should have expected, given that this was a time termed by its creators as 'The Dark Future'.

Still, even with their internal disputes working in my favor, I still had other concerns. I felt a familiar urge to swap the display to Becca or David, but as always, I squashed it. The agent flickered once more, and I settled in, a knot in my chest loosening as I watched blade clash against fang.

Going to ground hadn't been easy on me in more ways than one. Lack of regular contact with the people I knew was one, though I was hoping to fix that soon. Another was more monetary in nature. I'd been saving nearly all of the money I'd earned, so I had plenty of buffer to work with until my next Company paycheck came in, but paying for delivery for meals and groceries while renting a motel room every night was still carving a furrow into my finances.

I skimped where I could, whether it meant skipping meals or ordering from places like Buck-a-Slice. Their pizza may have had the texture of fried styrofoam, but I hadn't found a better deal yet. The price was in the name, a buck for a slice of pizza, and it went down alright if I drowned it in Cola.

Though it probably didn't say good things that eating from there had been the first time I'd seen the effect [Major Food Poisoning] get blocked by [Body Defense], though.

…Honestly, I was fed up with my cuisine. I'd saved, I'd skimped, and before I'd been making slow progress to buying the cyberware of my dreams. Now that Regina was radio silent though, progress had completely stalled. I had no idea when she'd contact me again, and whereas before progress had given me a light at the end of the tunnel, now there was no end in sight.

So screw it. I was going to see if there were some higher quality prepak meals I could pick up. Something to look forward to as the day progressed, rather than just filling my stomach so that it didn't rumble. I'd probably be able to afford it, though my progress towards my goal would most likely entirely stall. I'd have to do some math later.

There was some knocking at the door, and I blinked as I looked up from the show. I took a breath, and felt [Mortal Engine] lock its hold on my body before I got up, my body once more feeling like metal cables and steel bones. I walked over to the door, calling out. "Coming!"

I opened the door to find a hot pink barrel pointed at my chest.

I blinked in confusion, [Reflex] firing on instinct to draw out the moment as I stared at the pizza delivery guy. He was shorter than I was, and he had the usual cheap beige uniform on, cap and all. EMP threading framed his acne filled face, and his aiming posture was like no other I'd ever seen. [Analyze] flickered twice, and I scanned through the popup windows quickly.

William Douglas

Lvl 4

Str: 14

Vit: 21

Dex: 12

Int: 8

Tech: 26

Cha: 15

Green as a leaf, and with all the smarts of one, too.

Notable Abilities: N/A

Budget Arms Slaught-o-Matic

It kills! It thrills! It breaks unprepared wrists and melts if left out in the sun for too long! It's the Slaught-o-Matic! Because everyone, no matter their age, socioeconomic background, or criminal history, ought to have a gun!

Just so long as you're okay buying another once this one runs dry. The design of it just outright doesn't support reloading. Who cares, though? Each one only costs as much as a can of Nicola.

Fun Note: This one was bought at the vending machine downstairs. Isn't Night City just grand?

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

…You know, all of a sudden I can totally understand why Rebecca greets people at her door with a gun to the face.

I was worried at first, but the shock was quickly bleeding away, being replaced with… exhaustion? Bafflement? Hatred? I wasn't entirely sure what I was feeling, though I knew that at least some of it was confidence in the fact that the man could unload every bullet in that piece of shit gun and still not deplete my health bar, with [Mortal Engine] up and running. And more of it was anger at this man thinking that pointing a gun at me was in any way a good idea.

I allowed [Reflex] to relax, and the man's quiet, intense whisper became intelligible halfway through. "-you have and nobody gets hurt." He hissed.

I stared at him, utterly deadpan. Maybe I should be acting more scared. Or maybe I should shoot him. Honestly, though… I just don't have it in me to care about whatever this was supposed to be. I leaned on the doorway as I folded my arms, quirking an eyebrow at him as I folded my arms. "You know, this is certainly a unique way of getting a five-star review." I tilted my head as he stared at me. "But I can't help but notice that you haven't actually brought my pizza."

He stared at me for a long moment, seemingly put off by my lack of response, and I used that time to think. So what did I do now? Kill him, right? He was threatening me with deadly force, even if it wasn't deadly to me. Then again, if I killed someone outside my door, it'd probably attract attention of some kind. I assumed that the police wouldn't care much, given that I was pretty sure the local area was Tyger Claw territory, but…

I drummed my fingers on my arm as my eyes turned up to the ceiling. The thing was, I felt like it. I really felt like it. It wasn't just the anger, though that was the majority of it. I hadn't been out hunting since that Maelstrom patrol back in the abandoned warehouse and no matter how much I practiced or grinded, my progress to the next level remained utterly still. It probably wouldn't contribute much to my next level, but it'd be something.

However, that urge was being countermanded by my own… morality? Decency? Something along those lines, which suggested that maybe, just maybe, I could hold off. At least, unless he took his shot. Not to mention that the tingle on my spine that sparked whenever enemies approached or crimes occurred nearby hadn't happened yet, and I was somewhat confused as to why.

"Look, man. Just… give me your cash." His voice was somewhere between a plea and a mutter. He shook the gun in his hand. "This isn't a fake or anything. It's loaded."

"Yeah, I know." I glanced at the gun, my expression flat. "Bought it downstairs, huh?"

"I-" His eyes darted to the sides, looking somewhat nervous, as if I was the one holding him at gunpoint. He hesitated. "...No." His denial trailed off, ringing hollow.

The guy looked genuinely pathetic. He clearly had absolutely no idea what he was doing, and I was pretty sure he hadn't tried this on anyone else. I'd have to check with [Sorairo Days] somehow. If he'd killed anyone before… well, I'd cross that bridge when it came to it. I let out a sigh as I got up off the door frame as static buzzed in my mind, drowning out the anger. "Get in." I muttered, before I turned around and walked towards the fridge.

As I pulled out a NiCola, the delivery guy stepped into the motel room. As I shut the door to the fridge, I noticed him staring at the arsenal laid out on the kitchen counter. I was probably going to keep one of each type of gun I had, and sell the rest once I found a buyer. First though, I had to figure out which ones I could use and which I couldn't. His gaze then roamed to the disassembled Nova on the table. "Oh." He muttered. "...You're a merc?"

"Yep." I cracked it open and took a sip. "Now," I began. "I know that from where you're standing, this must look like a 24-carat run of bad luck." The reference easily slipped through me as I laid my elbow on the table and leaned my head on it. "Truth is… yeah," I chortled. "You probably couldn't have picked a worse guy to rob. At least, in this motel."

The man blinked at me, still pointing the Slaught-o-matic in my direction. "You're bluffing. You aren't wearing anything bulletproof. And… your skin ain't got any marks. You aren't chipped." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, more than anything.

I couldn't help but snort. "You should know better than to believe appearances in this city. One of the deadliest guys I know looks like a punk kid, and yet if he put his mind to it-" and got over his gun problem, "-he's the deadliest guy on his crew. 'Nother one's this painted shorty who can chain headshots like it's nothing." I took a breath to continue, and then stopped.

For a moment there, I was going to tell him to take his shot if he thought he was hard enough, but that's entrapment or something, isn't it? I sigh to myself. Okay, don't goad him into shooting. Deescalate instead, that's what professionals do in diplomacy. Or at least, according to what little I knew of diplomacy.

[Alluring Whisper] was a power that nowadays I kept on the lowest setting I could, but it was still something I had access to, and if I leaned into it… "Anyways. My point is, there are two options here." I spread my hands. "You can take a shot at me, and I can kill you. Or, if you're not feeling suicidal, you can hand me that gun, and I'll add it to the arsenal." I shrugged. "No harm, no foul. Then, we can talk about why in the seventh circle you thought that this was a good idea."

My voice didn't seem much different to me. A little crisper, clearer, and it came more from my chest, and not my head. The effect it had was still visible in the way that he straightened up. His eyes darted to the gun, and then to me. They went back and forth as the man considered my offer, a wary look on his face.

Then, he slowly lowered the gun, before walking over and handing it over by the handle, I took it by the barrel, turning it over in my hands and raising an eyebrow. It really didn't look like any other gun that I knew. It's appearance was more like a water pistol than a deadly weapon. In any case, I jerked my head over to the chair across me. "Have a seat."

The man walked around the table, and took a breath. I kicked the ground, spinning the chair on one leg to face him directly as I laid my arms on the table, the motion beginning and ending with minimal wind-up or follow-through. "So!" I grinned, a strange animated feeling bubbling up in my chest as I took in the disquieted look on his face. "Let's talk about your life choices."

"I… do we have to?" He feebly asked.

I smacked my lips. "Well, we could talk about that. Or we could cut to the chase and we can jump into the main topic of today." I chopped my arms down on the table. "Why the fuck are you in my house?"

He looked confused, his eyes narrowing as he grimaced. "You invited me in."

I twirl my hand dismissively. "I mean before that. Why the whole… you know, armed robbery thing?" I give him a grin that probably comes off as a little sleazy, with an eyebrow raised and my gaze narrowed.

There was a moment as he seemed to parse my question, along with my change in demeanor. "Well… I needed money." He said, as if that explained anything.

"Now, see, I get that. I really do." I waved a hand. "I swear, I've been killing people for dosh for a month now and I still can't afford the lifestyle I want. I mean," I chuckle. "What's life coming to, nowadays? Two hundred per? What on earth is wrong with the economy?" I shake my head. "So what, you felt like living it up a little, so you decided to screw around on your day job?" I queried.

His grimace deepened. "It's not like that. I've been having problems scraping together the eds to…" He turned away, a miserable look on his face. "To pay off a loan."

"See? Now we're getting somewhere!" I snapped my fingers, pointing at him while still grinning. "A loan. Now, what kind of loan are we talking about, here? Student? You look around that age."

His brows knitted as he stared at me. "Uh… a big one?" He tried.

"How big we talkin'?" I raised an eyebrow.

He curled up as he looked away, sheepishly. "Five… thousand." He muttered, finally.

It was my turn to stare at him, shocked. That was an amount that I'd be hurting paying off, and I was living on a merc's salary. I put my palms together, opened my mouth, and then closed it, along with my eyes as I pressed my thumbs into my forehead, which was suddenly aching. "What the fuck?" I asked with no slight amount of awe, raising my head.

"I know it sounds bad." He said, raising his hands. "Just hear me out."

"Oh, I'm hearing you out, alright. I just gotta know how the actual fuck you spent five thousand. What, did you decide to stay a night at Konpeki Plaza or something? Buy a whole goddamn lobster for dinner? Maybe you figured you might as well wine and dine the mayor while you were at it." I was gesticulating a good deal, my arms and hands moving in ways that felt natural to me as I shook my head in disbelief.

His face is wretched as he turns to me, waving his hands wildly. "It's not like I spent that much! I only spent a couple hundred throwing a party, this big night out in Japantown. But the interest kept on getting jacked up, and at some point I just… couldn't afford to pay. And the hole keeps getting deeper."

Okay, now I'm having trouble believing him. "And why, pray tell, did you feel the need to blow loaned cash on a fucking fiesta?" I demand, leaning in.

"My brother managed to swing a job at 'Saka! I wanted to celebrate!" He exclaims, putting his hands up.

[Sorairo Days], show me this guy's brother. Orange wires crisscrossed over my cybereye, and the view flickered to show a scene in orange. In it, I could see two men standing guard next to a door, guns at the ready. I watched as a man in the future's equivalent of a business suit approached, showing them a pin on his lapel with a three-limbed tree logo on it, Arasaka's logo. The man is waved in without any further hassle, and I turn my attention away from the scene.

"Fine, whatever. Your brother works for the archetypical corporate boot on the human face now. Fan-fucking-tastic. Back to where we were though…" I pause, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry, I just can't get over it. Five thousand. Jesus tapdancing Christ." I muttered.

"It wasn't me, it was Rick! I got the money from him, sure, but he just didn't stop jacking up the interest! It's all his fault!" He says in a heated tone.

"Entirely his fault?" I suddenly still, feeling a flash of anger.

His wariness returns, as he detects the odd note that's entered my voice. "A- Yeah? I could have paid it off in a few months if he didn't keep adding bullshit surcharges."

[Sorairo Days], give me this 'Rick' fellow's full name. Words slowly flow together in the vision of my cybereye, pulling together into…

"So it's Rick Austin's fault that you wound up at my door, pointing a gun at me?" [Alluring Whisper] is entirely gone. There's nothing pleasant in my voice, only a blunt sledgehammer of a question, delivered alongside an unblinking stare that causes him to briefly freeze up.

I notice his pupils dilating suddenly as he meets my gaze. "I…" He clams up, clearly unsure as to what he should say.

Whoops, lost my temper there. "Well, not like I can judge. Mostly." I say with a chuckle, pushing [Alluring Whisper] back into my voice. "I mean. I kill for a living. Course, most of the time, I try to pick my targets while keeping certain moral scruples in mind, you know? Gangsters. Major criminals. Murderers." I stop for a moment, my smile vanishing as an idea flickers through my mind.

Maybe I can have [Sorairo Days] scan for corpses that this guy left behind? I consider the idea, but when I try it, I feel vaguely like I'm stretching my mind over a vast canyon, which I can't see the other end of. I hold back a grimace as I take a sip of my NiCola. Too broad of a question, or too far back to know with complete certainty. What better question can I ask? Maybe I can check his bank account for sudden, unexplained cash injections…

Oh right, I was talking. I hang a smile back on my face and tilt my head. "But in any case, I can totally understand certain… pressures provoking one to kill. I mean, not like you can just go and shoot Rick instead, right? Waaay more dangerous than taking a shot at some rando, after all."

If it were me, I'd probably go for Rick instead, but the thing is, I'm a lot more bulletproof than William here is. If I weren't… Well, I'd probably take the easy way out too. Still, the fact that I am a lot more bulletproof means that I can afford to have more moral scruples.

Not to mention that, bulletproof or not, debt or not, a guy who shoots his fellow man for his belongings is still a killer. If our positions were swapped, if superhuman William decided that I needed to go because I did what he did, I'd feel like shit over it, but I'd understand to some degree. Then again... I pause, analyzing his face. He didn't seem to feel guilty, but he was stuck in a room with me. "Actually, why did you think that this place would be good to hit, anyways?"

His mouth opens, but no sounds are issued from it as he quietly sits there, looking at me with an expression of concern.

"Don't worry, I'm just wondering how I can avoid this sort of scenario in the future. Maybe a 'Beware of Solo' sign, or something." I glibly remark, swirling the NiCola can in my hand.

"W-Well… The previous deliveries were mostly to regulars, who I knew lived with family." He explains, haltingly. "And the other people I delivered to were all… poor, you see. You seemed like you had money, because you were in a motel, and you probably weren't with a lot of people, because… motel. And you probably wouldn't have anybody looking for you or anything, so…" He looks away, awkwardly.

"Ohhh… Yeah, that makes sense." I admit, nodding my head. "Yep, pretty sure that if I kick the bucket, fuckin' nobody will really look for me." I chop my hand to the side as I say 'nobody'. "Well, they would, but they'd get over it, eventually. We're close, sure, but not super close. And even then, they'd move on. That's just human nature." Why was I unloading my feelings about my interpersonal relationships to the guy who tried to mug me again? Well, whatever the reason, I should probably stop.

"Honestly, you probably should have spoken to your family about this. Tried to get it paid off all at once as quickly as possible. You have family, right?" I raised an eyebrow. At his slow nod, I smacked my forehead. "I mean, besides your brother." He nodded again. "Yeah. You definitely should have gone to them all and pooled your resources to pay this off. Unless you have. Have you?" I tilted my head in his direction, and relaxed slightly as he shook his head. Phew, didn't want to give bad advice.

"In any case, what's done is done. So." I began, straightening up in my seat and clapping my hands once. "It sounds to me like you need a hit job!"

"I… don't have the eds for that kind of thing." He stated, uncomfortably shifting in his seat.

"Probably not, what with your finances being drained by this 'Rick' guy." I said, "But I'm willing to wait for some time. And before you ask!" I raise my finger in his direction. "There's no interest! Though there will be a deadline. I'm thinking a year." I spread my hands. "Now, my normal rates are a thousand eds or so…" A white lie. Regina has been giving me a thousand and five hundred, and the jobs have been going up to two thousand before we went to ground, still, I don't want to squeeze this guy dry. "But depending on how low-end this 'Rick' guy is, I'll see if I can slash the cost down a little."

"Low-end?" He echoed, sounding confused.

I grinned, I loved explaining stuff to people, I used to spend hours talking about lore to… friends I'd never meet again. In any case! Short and sweet. "Well, normally I'm paid to hit gangoons. Scavs, Maelstrom, that kind of thing. If I encounter anything higher-up the food chain, or anyone chipped in, then I'll charge you the full cost, right? If it's just a bunch of thugs however, well." I chuckle, shaking my head. "I'd feel a bit ridiculous charging you the same amount, you see."

"I see." The faint hesitation in his tone suggested that, no, he didn't exactly see, but was going along with me anyway. Good on him.

"So tell you what." I leaned in, my grin widening. "I'll look into this… 'Rick' guy. See what he's about. Maybe I kill him. Maybe I don't. But either way, you don't have to worry about that debt anymore. In exchange, though, you'll owe me somewhere between five hundred to a thousand, to be paid in a year." I turn up my palms. "Seeing any issues?"

His eyes flickered to the side momentarily, as if a lawyer would magically appear to help with negotiations. They then widened briefly as he realized that I was waiting for a reply. "No. Nothing at all."

I breathed in, and exhaled. "Eeexcellent." I held out my palm, and slowly, the man opposite me reached out to shake it. His grip felt flimsy, and I took care to not crush it with my new strength. "The pact is sealed." I said with amusement.

"Excuse me?" He muttered. A ringtone suddenly sounded out, startling him, and he quickly reached for his pocket. He pulled out an agent, and looked at the screen. His face paled even further, and he answered the call in a rush. "Hello sir! I'm on my way back right now, sir! Just…" His eyes flickered to me, worriedly.

I mouthed. 'Tell him you got held up by a shootout.'

Somehow understanding me perfectly, he looked away. "Just some traffic problems. Ran into a shootout. I just finished delivering the pizza, it was under fifteen minutes and everything." He nods, rapidly. "Right, be right back." His face scrunches up as he shoves the phone in his pocket. "I… I need to go."

"Sounds like it." I felt the brief urge to call him by name, but I'd rather not freak the guy out any further. "Toodles." I muttered, waggling my fingers.

The door slid shut, and I listened as the man beat feet further and further away, rapidly descending the staircase. Then, I quietly realized that the man still hadn't given me my pizza. "Motherfucker." I muttered lowly.

Well, at least I can add the gun from my first mugging to the collection.

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

My teeth grit as I forced my arms down, pushing my body upwards. Slowly, painstakingly, my arms straightened out further and further for the last time, before I hit the ground, gasping. Even with [Mortal Engine] strengthening me, I constantly felt the pressure of my overloaded inventory weighing on me.

Without it? Before, it was like a devastating combo of being crushed, having an asthma attack and feeling every single muscle aching like I was overworking them. Now, I still felt the muscle aching, but it was lessened, and the pressure felt more like I was lifting a backpack filled to the brim with rocks.

[Sorairo Days] crawled over my vision, and I wondered if William had decided to change his course of action. A distant scene flickered into focus, and I sagged a bit as I saw the man sitting in a bus. At my unconscious command, a minimap appeared in the corner, showing an icon making its way further and further away from Night City.

I'd checked his background while in between training sessions. I'd divined his bank records for ill-gotten gains, I'd looked into the last few days and the routes that he'd taken for deliveries. As far as I could tell, I was the first guy he'd tried to rob. Lucky me.

It had also given me front row seats to the guy going to his family, metaphorical hat in hand. His parents, upon hearing about the pile of shit their son had stepped into, had come together beautifully, or at least, beautifully for Night City. There was drunk swearing involved and a good deal of shouting. A bottle had been tossed out a window.

As a result of their coming together, though. The parents had suggested a different idea to paying me off. Getting as far away from me as possible. Which was… not fair, but understandable. They'd pooled their resources together. Even the brother now working as a security guard at Arasaka had pitched in, and together they'd paid for a ticket to Atlanta.

Me being terrible at geography, I had to look up the distances involved. The lengths he was going to in order to escape me was honestly a little impressive. The only thing he could have done to get further away was to cross country borders and with America being known as the backwater of the globe, that was easier said than done.

I could have stopped him, of course. Honestly, though… I didn't feel the need. What was I going to chase after the guy for? A thousand dollars? I wasn't so obsessed with getting everything I was owed that I'd hunt the guy down while he was still in Night City.

…Though I was considering tracking the guy down once the year was up to have him pay that thousand bucks. The idea seemed funny enough to me.

In any case, I had one more choice to make as the clock struck seven at night, and [Mortal Engine] locked in, allowing me to haul myself to my feet easily.

What to do about Rick?

The display provided by [Sorairo Days] vanished, replaced by a display on my map. I looked at the icon hovering over Megablock H10, scratching my chin.

…That was that, and this was this. I was going to go after him, no matter what. Fact was, I wanted at least a little closure to my encounter with the pizza guy. And besides, now that 'Rick' had been brought to my attention, it just didn't sit right with me to let the guy do whatever he wanted without at least making sure he wasn't filling alleys with bodies to keep his business model functional.

Then again, context informed everything. I figured I'd have to investigate once I made my way over. Do my due diligence before involving myself.

Yeah, that seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

Quest Created!

Substory: The Slickest Rick

Details: You're not getting paid for this. You're not getting fame for this. Hell, whatever bust-up you're walking into probably won't even rate. Still, it's good to get back into the swing of things, isn't it? Handle things however you want. It's your quest, after all.

Reward: 1000 EXP

As always, the faint urge I felt to swap the display once more to my friends bubbled up, but I dismissed it, along with the display with a flick of a wrist. Then I flicked out a wire, snatching my cargo bag from where it was lying against the television stand and pulling it over. Another loop of wire latched onto my arsenal, and with a smooth tug, every single one of my guns dropped into the inventory window hidden in the bag. I slung the bag over my shoulder with a whistle that still wasn't quite perfect, but closer to what I was aiming for.

Other than my guns, I had only a few belongings laid out by design. I never knew when I'd have to bug out, after all. Still, there were a few more things laid out, to make things feel more homey. I merrily jaunted over to my scythe, dropping it into the open cargo bag, along with a small stack of screamsheets.

Tugging out the last NiCola I had from the fridge, I considered it contemplatively, before shaking my head, closing my eyes and tossing it behind me without even looking, where it landed in my bag. I'd had enough of those today, thank you very much. I picked up the empty bottle of Maelstrom Mix with vastly more care, gently placing it into my cargo bag and zipping it up.

I pulling my coat over my arms with a grin and aired it out, and then flicked out my arms as well for good measure, for no reason other than the fact that it felt right. Then, last of all, I turned my gaze towards the cowboy hat that hung where my coat used to, my grin slowly fading as I considered it.

I had no idea if I could pull it off. Still, it was part of my mental image of what I wanted to be one day. In the depths of my mind, the sight of a certain tarot card Misty had pulled out emerged as I held the hat in my hand. A robotic figure on a motorcycle, face cast in shade by their wide brimmed hat as 'The Sun' slowly set behind them.

I twirled the hat with a finger, before flicking it up, where it landed on my head exactly how I knew it would. I grinned to myself, turning and giving my empty motel room the finger guns. Then, I shook my head at my own antics with a slight degree of exasperation and hit the door controls.

It felt good to be back.