Chapter 8:
– John Welles –
The street shook under my boots every time another pair of cars screamed past the crowd.
I stood near the front of the crowd with Lucy pressed right up beside me, her hand wrapped tight around my arm. Very tight. Her fingers were hooked around my sleeve, her shoulder brushing mine, her body close enough that I could feel the warmth of her through the noise and heat and chemical stink of Watson night air. She had my arm clutched against herself like she had decided it belonged there, and my brain was doing a heroic job of pretending that was not affecting me.
Mostly heroic.
Partially heroic.
Fine, not heroic at all!
But I had other things to focus on, which helped. A little.
Two cars tore down the street in front of us, side by side, low to the ground and glowing underneath with strips of neon blue and violent pink. One of them looked like it had once been a Quadra before somebody with too much money and not enough fear had rebuilt it into a rolling tank. The other was some kind of muscle car with an exposed engine block, reinforced front plates, and a paint job that looked like a tiger had been fed glitter and then vomited onto chrome.
They passed so close and so fast that the air punched me in the chest.
A hot shockwave rolled over the crowd. My jacket snapped against my back. Lucy’s hair whipped across her face. The people around us screamed, laughed, cursed, and threw their hands up like they were at a concert instead of standing six feet from vehicular manslaughter.
I screamed with them.
I could not help it.
The cars hit the far end of the block in a blur, tires shrieking as they crossed the finish line painted crookedly across the asphalt. A wall of holographic numbers flashed over the street, probably projected from somebody’s hacked drone or streetlight. Bets updated. Money changed hands. Somebody near me shouted that the pink car’s driver was a cheating bastard. Somebody else shouted that cheating was only cheating if you were too slow to get away with it.
The crowd loved that.
Lucy laughed beside me wildly, and somehow I heard her through everything. She leaned closer, yelling over the chaos. “You having fun?”
I looked at her. Big mistake.
The streetlights and neon caught in her hair, silver and color streaking around her face like she had stepped out of an ad for bad decisions. She was breathtaking.
I swallowed, then smiled back. “Yeah!” I yelled. “I am!”
The weird part was, I meant it. I really meant it.
That should have scared me more than it did. Because this was insane. Objectively insane. There had already been two crashes since Lucy dragged me here. The first had sent a compact car spinning through a noodle stand hard enough to turn the whole thing into sparks, steam, and screaming metal. The driver had crawled out with one arm hanging wrong while the crowd booed him for losing. The second had been worse. A red sports car clipped a barrier, flipped twice, and slammed roof-first into a concrete divider. Nobody climbed out of that one.
The race had paused for maybe five minutes.
Then someone dragged the wreckage aside with a pickup, the bookies adjusted the odds, and the next race started ten minutes later.
Night City did not cancel the party because someone died. Night City got more excited because the party was now more authentic.
“This city is insane,” I muttered.
Lucy either didn’t hear me or chose not to answer. She was too busy watching the next pair of racers line up.
Cortana’s voice slipped through my thoughts, warm and dry. “As long as you’re having fun, then I’m having fun too.” Then she continued, “I am also fascinated by the civic logistics here. Multiple active streets have been occupied by illegal racing operations, gambling stations, unlicensed alcohol vendors, armed security, gang scouts, drone spotters, and what appears to be a man selling deep-fried protein slurry from a repurposed medical cooler. Yet no police response has occurred.”
I glanced toward the far side of the street, where two very bored-looking NCPD officers were leaning against their patrol car and eating noodles while pretending not to see anything.
Cortana paused. “Is bribing police truly this easy in Night City?”
I chuckled.
Lucy glanced at me, amused. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking.”
Cortana hummed in my head. “We both know the answer is yes.”
Yeah. We really did. Bribing the police is apparently not only easy, but possibly the foundation on which local government rests.
Then the crowd surged. Another pair of cars rolled up to the starting line, engines revving hard enough to make my teeth buzz. A woman climbed onto the hood of a parked van between the lanes, wearing reflective hot pants, a jacket with the sleeves ripped off, and boots that looked heavy enough to qualify as blunt weapons. She raised both arms, milking the crowd as the racers spun their tires and filled the block with smoke.
Lucy’s grip tightened around my arm.
The woman on the van dropped one arm.
The engines screamed higher. They did not accelerate so much as explode forward. One second they were at the line. The next, they were streaks of chrome and light blasting down the street, so fast the sound arrived half a heartbeat late. The crowd screamed after them. I screamed too, carried by the noise, by Lucy, by the wild impossibility of my life.
The left car pulled ahead by a meter.
The right car vented flame from somewhere it absolutely should not have been venting flame.
Someone behind us shouted, “BURN, BABY, BURN!”
The right car surged.
The left car drifted too close.
The cars kissed sides.
Metal screamed.
Sparks sprayed across the lane.
Then the right car tore free, shot ahead, and crossed the finish first by half a length.
The crowd detonated. People jumped, shoved, laughed, cursed, exchanged credchips, threatened each other, kissed each other, and in one case threw an empty bottle at the losing car as it slowed down.
I was laughing before I realized it. I had no idea what was wrong with me. Probably a lot.
Lucy looked at me like she had just discovered something she liked. Then she rose onto her toes and kissed my cheek.
My entire operating system crashed. I froze so completely that, for a second, the street race, the crowd, the engines, the smoke, the danger, all of it dropped away beneath the sudden blazing awareness of where she had touched me.
Lucy pulled back with a cheeky grin. She knew exactly what she had done. Of course she did. “Hehehe. Your face,” she said.
I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out.
Cortana went very, very quiet. That was somehow worse than if she had yelled.
Lucy’s grin widened. “Relax, John. It was just your cheek.”
“Right,” I managed.
“Unless that was too much for you?”
“No,” I said too quickly. “No, it was fine!”
“Fine?”
“Good. It was good!”
Her eyes softened for half a second, just enough that I wondered if some part of her liked me being a disaster. Then the engines quieted down across the street, and the crowd began breaking apart from its tight, frantic wall. The next race was not starting yet. Drivers and mechanics were rolling cars into the open, popping hoods, checking wheels, shouting at each other, showing off weapons, engines, paint jobs, and egos.
Lucy tugged on my arm. “Come on,” she said.
I let her pull me forward because I was not an idiot. Well. Not in that specific way.
She did not let go of my arm as she led me off the curb and into the loose stream of bodies crossing the street. The asphalt still radiated heat from abused tires and overworked engines. Burnt rubber hung in the air thick enough to taste. Music pounded from three different directions, none of it matching. Vendors had appeared along the edges like mushrooms after rain, selling skewers, drinks, synthetic noodles, black-market boosters, and little disposable inhalers that I was absolutely not going to ask about.
A man with gold-plated arms and a glowing jaw implant leaned against a black Mizutani, accepting praise from a group of girls while pretending not to enjoy it. A woman with Tyger Claw tattoos argued with a mechanic under the open hood of a red Shion. Two guys were taking pictures beside a car that had more mounted guns than seemed legal even by Night City’s standards.
“Are those machine guns?” I asked.
Lucy followed my gaze. “Probably. They don’t use those for drag races though. Those are for the death races!”
Of course they are…
Lucy led me toward a line of cars parked beneath a flickering wall of advertisements. The nearest was a Quadra, black and red, with exposed intakes and tires wide enough to make me wonder if the owner had a fear of corners. People had gathered around it, admiring the engine while the driver sat on the hood smoking and pretending not to watch everyone watching him.
Lucy leaned close to my ear. “That one’s compensating.”
I snorted. “The car or the driver?”
“Yes.”
I laughed, and her smile turned pleased.
We moved on.
Lucy had not been joking about wanting to look at the cars. She led me through the loose maze of racers, mechanics, gamblers, gang lookouts, bored girlfriends, excited boyfriends, and people who looked like they had come here specifically to get into a knife fight if the evening got too quiet.
The cars themselves were ridiculous. The kind of ridiculous where somebody looked at a high-performance vehicle and thought, This is nice, but what if it also had armor plating, illegal firmware, and enough horsepower to kill me every time I turn a corner?
Cortana, meanwhile, had decided this was an educational opportunity. “The shark-mouth vehicle has several clever modifications,” she said in my head. “Crude, but clever. Weight reduction, improved airflow, probably a heavily altered transmission. I would not want you inside it during a collision, but it does show creativity.”
You’re enjoying this too, aren’t you?
“I enjoy engineering. I do not enjoy the apparent local belief that safety regulations are a form of personal weakness.”
That’s fair.
Lucy tugged me toward another car, this one matte black with red underglow and doors that opened upward. A small crowd had gathered around it, and the driver was loudly explaining something about custom turbochargers, overboost limits, and a fuel mix that sounded illegal, expensive, and maybe radioactive.
I nodded along like I understood any of it. I did not.
Lucy noticed within ten seconds. “You have no idea what he’s talking about, do you?” she asked.
“Not even slightly.”
She tilted her head curiously. “Really?”
“I know cars have wheels,” I said. “Usually four. Sometimes more, if Night City gets involved. They go forward when the engine works and stop when God, brakes, or a wall intervenes.”
Lucy stared at me for a second. Then she laughed. I liked that laugh way too much. “That is the worst explanation of cars I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“I’m new to this.”
Her smile lingered. “That’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah.” She stepped a little closer, close enough that I could smell something faint and clean beneath the street fumes. “I don’t mind teaching you.”
My brain, which had survived a bullet, Cortana fusion, Arasaka Academy, multiple near-death experiences, and one very aggressive maternal scolding, immediately struggled with basic language. “That would be nice,” I managed.
Lucy’s expression turned pleased in a way that felt dangerous. “In case you didn’t notice, I like exciting things…”
“I noticed.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing back toward the drag strip. “You had a pretty big grin every time a car crashed.”
She pouted. It lasted maybe half a second, but I saw it. Her lips pressed together, eyes narrowing just a little, like she was offended I had accused her of enjoying the exact thing she had very obviously enjoyed. Lucy bumped her shoulder into my arm. “Don’t sound so smug, John. You were cheering too.”
“I was carried away by the crowd.”
“Mhm.”
“And possibly too many fumes.”
“Sure.” Lucy, because she was apparently a professional menace, only smiled and pulled me along before I could embarrass myself further.
We checked out a few more cars after that. Lucy explained things as we went, and I tried to keep up. She talked about engines, grip, weight, street layouts, drivers, gangs, betting odds, and which racers were actually good versus which ones were just rich enough to survive being stupid. She had a way of pointing things out that made the chaos start to organize itself.
The drivers who bragged the most were usually compensating for bad reaction times, weak nerves, or both. A car with dents could mean the driver was reckless. Or it could mean the driver was experienced enough to still be alive after mistakes.
Lucy taught me all of that casually, like she was showing me how to read weather.
And I realized she was not just bringing me here because it was fun. She was showing me a piece of her city. Dangerous. Fast. Moving. Always looking for the next exit.
Eventually, the noise started to press against my skull. Cortana dimmed some of the louder audio spikes and reduced the glare from a few signs flickering in my optics.
“You are overstimulated,” she pointed out, sounding worried.
I’m fine.
“You are having fun and becoming overstimulated. These are not mutually exclusive.”
That sounds like Night City’s whole personality.
“Yes. I am learning to despise this city in increasingly specific ways.”
Lucy must have noticed something in my face, because she tilted her head toward the sidewalk. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get some space.”
She guided me away from the densest part of the crowd, back toward the sidewalk where the noise was still loud, but not physically trying to climb inside my eardrums. The wall behind us was covered in old posters, new graffiti, and AR tags flickering in my Kiroshis. Someone had spray-painted a cartoon skull driving a car into a corporate logo. Someone else had added angel wings to the skull. Then someone else had drawn a crude dick over the whole thing, because Night City culture had layers to it.
Lucy leaned back against the wall, one boot braced behind her. She still had not fully let go of my arm, though her grip had loosened.
I did not mention that.
The races behind us slowed again while another round of drivers lined up, argued, and showed off. The crowd shifted like a living thing. Music thumped through the pavement. Smoke drifted over everything, catching the neon and turning the air purple-blue.
Lucy watched the scene for a moment, then looked at me. “We don’t have to stay much longer,” she said. “I’m getting hungry.”
“I mean, there’s no rush.” I glanced toward the cars, then back at her. “I want you to have as much fun as you want.”
Lucy studied me. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?”
I scratched the back of my neck, carefully avoiding the tender seal around my new port. “I don’t know about that.”
She smirked. “I do…”
Cortana sighed. “Damn that was a good line.”
You’re giving Lucy credit now?
“I am capable of recognizing enemy competence.”
Enemy?
“Romantic rival, operational complication, emotional disruptor, picksocket. Choose whichever designation makes you blush least.”
I fought very hard not to react. Especially because that first one was ‘romantic rival.’
Lucy’s eyes narrowed suddenly.
Not at me.
Her gaze cut past my shoulder, toward the flow of people moving along the sidewalk. The warmth in her expression vanished so fast it was like someone had flipped a switch. One second she was teasing me. The next she was alert and deeply annoyed. “You have got to be kidding me,” she murmured.
I turned.
Two women were sauntering toward us through the crowd with the exact energy of people who knew they had been caught and had decided shame was for other, weaker lifeforms.
One of them was short. Very short. Also very recognizable.
Rebecca moved like a tiny violent parade, all swagger, bright colors, wild twin-tails, and a grin so shameless it should have been classified as a weapon. She had the kind of presence that made people instinctively give her space despite the fact that several of them were twice her size.
Beside her walked a taller woman in a lower face mask, posture relaxed, eyes unreadable. Kiwi. The name hit my brain before I could stop it. Another canon character. Another member of Maine’s crew. Another person from a tragic story I knew too much and not enough about.
Rebecca lifted one hand in a big, exaggerated wave. “Whoa, Lucy!” she called, loud enough that several people turned to look. “What an absolute coincidence finding you here!” Her voice was loud, innocent, and so fake it looped around into being impressive.
Lucy’s fingers tightened around my arm.
Kiwi stopped beside Rebecca and said nothing at first. Her masked face angled toward Lucy, then toward me. I had the immediate, uncomfortable feeling of being scanned, judged, and filed away under something unflattering.
Rebecca’s grin got wider when she saw Lucy’s expression. “Crazy, right?” Rebecca continued. “Big city. Lots of streets. Lots of illegal races. And boom. Here we are. Accidentally.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Rebecca,” she said flatly. “Kiwi.”
Kiwi gave a small nod. “Lucy.”
Rebecca leaned sideways, looking around Lucy at me with intense curiosity. “And this must be the date.”
Cortana’s voice in my head became dangerously calm. “I am beginning to appreciate why Lucy wanted to avoid surveillance.”
Rebecca beamed at me. “Hi, date!”
I had faced down Katsuo Tanaka, survived a Watson alley shootout, killed three gangers in self-defense, endured Mama Welles being furious at me, and allowed Viktor Vektor to install hardware into my skull.
Somehow, Rebecca saying Hi, date felt like a different category of threat.
“Hi,” I said, because apparently my entire conversational skill tree consisted of that one word.
Lucy’s eyes slid toward me. Not angry at me, exactly. More like she had expected better and had been emotionally betrayed by the English language.
Rebecca’s grin turned delighted. “Oh, he’s shy.”
“I’m not shy,” My voice did not help my case.
Rebecca laughed and stepped closer. Then she rose up on her toes right in front of me, peering at my face with absolutely no respect for personal space, social norms, or Lucy’s increasingly murderous glare.
I leaned back a fraction.
She looked me over from inches away. Then her gaze traveled down my body without even pretending subtlety existed. It was an inspection. A very shameless inspection. Rebecca licked her lips. “Oh yeah,” she said. “You’re pretty cute. I can see why Lucy was all secretive and shit.”
Lucy went very still beside me.
Cortana made a sound effect in my head that sounded like a knife being politely sharpened. “I dislike this one too.”
You dislike everyone who flirts with me.
“An increasingly justified position.”
Rebecca’s eyes flashed golden. A notification bloomed in the corner of my Kiroshi overlay.
INCOMING CONTACT TRANSFER: REBECCA
Before I could react, the information slid into my interface. Name. Number. A contact note that simply read: CALL ME IF YOU GET BORED ;)
Rebecca winked at me. “If things don’t work out with her, you can call me anytime.”
I did not say anything. This was not because I had no thoughts. I had many thoughts. Most of them were variations of oh no.
Lucy stood right beside me, staring at Rebecca like she was mentally calculating the angle required to punt her across the street, through a windshield, and possibly into low orbit.
So I made the only wise tactical choice available. I shut my mouth.
Rebecca looked disappointed and entertained at the same time. “Quiet, huh?”
“He’s polite,” Lucy said quickly in my defense.
Rebecca turned her grin toward Lucy. “That what you’re calling it?”
“That is what I’m calling it.”
“Cute.”
“Rebecca.” The way Lucy said her name made the nearby air feel briefly flammable. Lucy’s fingers tightened around my arm again. The grip had changed. Earlier it had been affectionate. Then annoyed. Now it was territorial in a way that made my heart do something extremely unhelpful.
Rebecca noticed that too. Her grin widened. “Aw,” Rebecca said. “Look at you. Being all clingy with him!”
“I’m not clinging,” Lucy said coldly.
Rebecca smiled smug and proud. “You are literally holding his arm tighter than a koala with a tree. I’ve never actually seen one of those because I think the corps wiped them out decades ago, but I watch old documentaries and shit when I’m bored!”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I am preventing him from getting lost. He is new to street races. This is a big crowd!”
“Sure it is.”
“And apparently we are surrounded by bad influences. One of them right in front of us!”
Rebecca put one hand dramatically over her chest. “Me? A bad influence? Lucy, I am hurt.”
Kiwi, probably sensing that the odds of Rebecca being physically launched into traffic had climbed above fifty percent, finally stepped in. “Enough,” she said.
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
Lucy turned her narrowed gaze from Rebecca to Kiwi. “What are you two doing here?”
Rebecca opened her mouth.
Lucy pointed at her without looking. “Not you.”
Rebecca closed her mouth with a pout that looked more practiced than sincere.
Kiwi’s masked face tilted slightly. “I wanted to make sure my new netrunning apprentice was safe.”
Lucy stared at her. For a second, the words seemed to hang there between them.
I looked at Lucy.
Lucy did not look surprised by the phrase, exactly. More annoyed that Kiwi had said it in front of me. So that was apparently a thing. Kiwi was teaching her, or testing her, or maybe slowly claiming her in whatever emotionally constipated way netrunners collected people.
Kiwi’s gaze shifted toward me. Her eyes moved over my face, my jacket, the way I stood, the way Lucy still had my arm. “But seeing your date,” she continued, “I now know you are.”
Cortana chuckled. “Wow. She completely dismissed you as a threat just then, didn’t she?”
I kept my face still. Should I be offended or relieved?
“Strategically? Relieved. Personally? I am enjoying it too much to advise you.”
Thanks.
“You are welcome, John!”
Rebecca snickered.
I scratched the side of my jaw. “I mean, I’m not trying to be a threat.”
Rebecca looked at me like I had said something adorable and stupid. “Aww.”
Lucy’s head turned toward me very slowly.
I raised both hands slightly. “To you. I mean I’m not trying to be a threat to you.”
“Better,” Lucy said.
“Still kind of sad,” Rebecca added.
Kiwi’s eyes remained on me. “Not every threat looks like one.” That was the first thing she had said that made the back of my neck prickle.
Cortana’s tone cooled. “Careful.”
I did not respond, mentally or physically.
Lucy must have felt the tiny shift in me, because her grip softened just a little. She did not look at me, but her thumb brushed once over my sleeve. It helped more than I wanted to admit.
Rebecca, being Rebecca, looked around us like she had suddenly remembered the world contained things besides making Lucy angry. “So,” she said brightly. “I heard something about food.”
Lucy’s expression went dead flat.
Rebecca continued, entirely shameless. “Where are we all going?”
“There is no we,” Lucy said.
Rebecca gasped. “Rude. I’m hungry.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “You’re always hungry.”
“That’s because I’m a growing girl!”
Kiwi glanced down at Rebecca as if she was about to point out that Rebecca was obviously not growing anymore.
Rebecca pointed at her. “Say one fucking word! I dare you!”
I pressed my lips together hard.
Cortana sounded entertained despite herself. “I understand now why Maine’s crew has operational difficulties.”
Lucy pulled my arm closer to her side, making it extremely clear where I was supposed to stand in this unfolding territorial dispute. “He and I,” Lucy said, stressing every word, “are going to eat. You two are not interrupting my first date with John.”
Rebecca’s grin actually faltered.
Kiwi’s eyes flicked to Lucy with renewed interest.
The crowd roared behind us as another race started, but I barely heard it.
Rebecca recovered first. “Wow,” she said, sounding genuinely surprised. “You must really like this guy.”
Lucy’s face changed. Just a little. But I was close enough to see it. Color touched her cheeks. Barely there under the neon and racing lights. But it was there. Lucy blushed.
My grin happened before I could stop it.
Lucy’s eyes snapped to me. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said immediately. My grin did not go away.
Her blush deepened by a fraction.
Rebecca saw it. Kiwi saw it. Lucy’s grip tightened again, but this time I was pretty sure it was because she was embarrassed, not because she was planning murder.
Rebecca looked between us, slowly, like she was watching the funniest show in Night City. “Oh, this is precious,” she said.
Lucy’s voice went ice-calm. “Rebecca.”
“No, no, I get it now. You didn’t just get a date. You got a cute date. A polite date. A blushy date. A tall, soft, weirdly wholesome date.”
“I have a gun,” I said before I could think better of it.
Rebecca’s eyes lit up.
Lucy closed her eyes and sighed.
Kiwi’s gaze narrowed.
Cortana gave a long, exhausted sigh. “Why would you say that?”
I panicked!
Rebecca leaned closer, delighted. “Do you?”
“…yes?”
“What kind?”
“I have a Nova revolver. And a Unity.”
Rebecca looked personally offended. “You brought a Nova and a Unity to a first date?” There was a pause. “Pfft—LAME! It’s a good thing I gave you my number because someone clearly needs to help you shop for some REAL iron!”
– Lucy Kushinada –
Lucy should have been more angry.
Rebecca was actively ruining her first date. Kiwi was standing beside her pretending she had not participated in this disaster. John was stuck between them looking adorable, overwhelmed, and one wrong sentence away from being eaten alive by Rebecca’s complete lack of shame.
Then John said he had brought a Nova revolver and a Unity to a first date, and Rebecca looked personally offended.
“You brought a Nova and a Unity to a first date?” Rebecca demanded. “Pfft—Lame! It’s a good thing I gave you my number because someone clearly needs to help you shop for some real iron!”
John’s expression did something complicated. It started as panic. Then embarrassment. Then the tiniest flash of offense, like some part of him wanted to defend his terrible little starter-guns but knew, on some deep survival level, that arguing weapons with Rebecca was a mistake.
Lucy laughed. She couldn’t help it. It slipped out of her before she could stop it, surprised and horribly inconvenient. For a few seconds, despite herself, she laughed right there on the sidewalk with the race crowd roaring behind them and John looking caught between mortification and relief.
His face made it worse. He looked at her like making her laugh had fixed something in the world. That was unfair. That was dangerous.
Lucy remembered, unfortunately, that Rebecca and Kiwi were still there. Her laughter died into a smile. Then the smile thinned. Right. They were spoiling her date.
Lucy turned back toward Rebecca, already preparing to tell both of them to get lost, disappear, fall into traffic, or find some other activity that did not involve standing within a hundred meters of John Welles.
Then she heard the tires skidding.
The sound came from three directions at once, hard rubber shrieking over old asphalt as vehicles cut through the outer blocks and slammed into the surrounding streets. Red-and-blue strobes burst across the walls, flashing over graffiti, chrome, car hoods, faces, guns, bottles, and suddenly nervous smiles.
The crowd’s energy changed instantly. The excited noise cracked down the middle.
Engines revved. People cursed. Someone shouted, “NCPD!”
Lucy’s head snapped toward the nearest intersection just as three squad cars came screaming around the corner, sirens wailing. Their floodlights swept over the street, harsh and white, turning the illegal carnival of racers and gamblers into a panicked mess of exposed bodies.
A loudspeaker boomed over the chaos.
“NCPD! EVERYONE HERE IS UNDER ARREST FOR ILLEGAL STREET RACING, UNLAWFUL ASSEMBLY, AND DISORDERLY CONDUCT! REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE!”
For half a second, Lucy stared. What the fuck?
Police did not raid street races. Not if the proper bribes had been paid, and the proper bribes were always paid. That was the entire point. Street races were illegal, dangerous, bloody, and extremely profitable, which meant everyone involved understood how much money had to flow upward to keep the badges conveniently blind.
This was not how Night City worked.
Some new asshole had to be in charge. Maybe someone transferred in from another city. Maybe someone still believed law enforcement meant enforcing laws instead of maintaining paid relationships with criminals in slightly nicer jackets.
Either way, that idiot had just turned a contained street race into a stampede.
“Dammit!” Rebecca shouted, already reaching under her jacket. “We gotta scram!”
The crowd surged.
People ran in every direction at once. Racers dove for their cars. Bookies tried to vanish with cases of credchips. Gang lookouts shouted to “OPEN FIRE ON THE PIGS.”
The police answered with warning shots that immediately became something less warning-shaped when the crowd failed to obey.
Rebecca cursed. “There’s too many bodies blocking the alleys!” She was right. The obvious exits were jammed. The back alleys that had been clear five minutes ago were now clogged with racers, spectators, vendors, and people shoving hard enough to knock each other down. One alley entrance had already turned into a fight as three men tried to push through at the same time and none of them backed off.
Kiwi’s eyes flashed gold beneath the lights. “Traffic cams are active. Police drones coming in. Their newer drones carry machine guns…”
“Great!” Rebecca barked. “Love that for us!”
Lucy scanned fast. Rooftops? Possible, but not with John, not from here, and not with half the crowd looking for vertical exits. Subway access? Too far and probably already flagged. Blend with the crowd? Bad idea. NCPD would grab whoever looked easiest, and John still looked just innocent enough to be someone some cop would want to break for practice.
Then John’s voice cut through the noise. “This way!”
Lucy turned.
John had moved first. His face had changed. The blushy boy from seconds ago was gone. The nervous boy who looked overwhelmed by Rebecca, by Lucy, by flirting, by everything, had vanished behind something focused and immediate.
He grabbed Lucy’s hand. Then he pulled.
Lucy let him. That surprised her too.
John dragged her off the sidewalk and into the open street, cutting through a gap between panicked spectators just before it closed. Rebecca swore behind them, and Kiwi followed, lighter on her feet than Lucy expected for someone who usually moved like she had already decided most physical activity was beneath her.
“John! Where are we going!?” Lucy snapped, because she needed to know whether he had a plan or had simply gone insane.
“There!” he shouted.
Lucy followed his line of sight. A Quadra sat crooked near the curb, engine still running, doors open like some kind of miracle left by a very stupid god.
Its driver was down. Not dead, maybe. Maybe not. Lucy caught only a glimpse of him half-buried near the front wheel, knocked flat and trampled by the fleeing crowd.
The dashboard was active. The security was either off, spoofed, or trusting its owner to still be in the seat.
Lucy’s eyes lit up at their luck.
John reached the driver’s side first and slid behind the wheel.
Lucy did not hesitate. She dove into the front passenger seat, yanking the door down as Rebecca and Kiwi piled into the back. Rebecca laughed as she landed half-sideways across the seat. “Okay!” Rebecca shouted. “Didn’t know tall boy had moves like this!”
Kiwi slammed her door shut. “Drive.”
John gripped the wheel. For one heartbeat, Lucy saw the nerves come back. He knew what he was doing was insane. He knew the car was stolen. He knew police were coming. He knew Lucy, Rebecca, and Kiwi were all watching him.
Then his grip on the wheel tightened.
Lucy’s breath caught. There it was again. That shift. Cute nervous boys were fun. Lucy liked them more than she usually admitted. She liked the blushes, the awkward honesty, the way John looked at her like she was something impossible and perfect. She liked teasing him. Liked the way he reacted to her voice, her smile, her touch.
But a cute nervous boy who suddenly took charge?
A cute, nervous boy who grabbed her hand, found the exit faster than three professional criminals, stole a running Quadra in the middle of a police raid, and put himself behind the wheel like he had decided survival was non-negotiable?
That did something to her. Her thighs pressed together before she could stop them, and her pulse kicked hard for reasons that had nothing to do with the sirens.
John stepped on the gas.
The Quadra lunged.
Lucy was thrown back against the seat as the car shot away from the curb, tires screaming. The door seals hissed. The engine roared alive under them, deep and violent and much too powerful for the narrow gap John aimed toward.
Rebecca whooped in the backseat. “Fuck yeah!” she shouted. “Now it’s a date!”
Lucy grabbed the side handle as John swerved around a fleeing vendor cart, clipped a plastic barricade, and blasted through a gap between two parked cars that Lucy would not have trusted unless she had been driving herself.
The barricade shattered across the hood. Something bounced off the windshield hard enough to spiderweb one corner of the glass.
John did not stop. Behind them, an NCPD cruiser spun around, lights flaring across the rearview displays.
“They’re following!” Kiwi said.
“I noticed!” John snapped. Actually snapped. Not panicked. Not apologizing. Not stumbling over himself.
The thrill that ran through her was almost embarrassing.
Rebecca leaned between the front seats, grinning like this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. “Hey, Lucy!”
“What?” Lucy shouted.
Rebecca’s eyes were huge with delight. “Your boy’s fun!”
Lucy should have told her to shut up. She should have focused completely on the police cruiser gaining behind them, on the drones dropping from above, on the risk of John taking a corner too fast and putting all four of them through a wall.
Instead, Lucy looked at John’s profile. Police lights flashed across his face in red and blue. His eyes were locked forward, hands tight on the wheel. He looked terrified and determined and alive all at once.
Lucy smiled. “Yeah, he really is…” she said, too quietly for anyone but herself to hear.
Then John jerked the wheel hard left, and the stolen Quadra screamed into the next street with the NCPD falling further and further behind.
– John Welles –
The next few minutes were a blur of sirens, neon, screaming tires, Cortana’s voice in my head, and Rebecca laughing like she had just been handed the best birthday present in human history.
I was busy following the glowing blue path Cortana painted through my Kiroshis.
The route made no sense to me. It cut through side streets, across a half-empty loading yard, behind a row of shuttered shops, and down a ramp I was pretty sure cars were not supposed to use. But the police lights fell back. The sirens dulled. The street race vanished behind us, swallowed by the city’s noise.
By the time I pulled into Kabuki Market, my hands hurt from gripping the wheel.
I eased the Quadra into a narrow spot between a noodle stall and a shuttered braindance kiosk, killed the lights, and sat there for half a second while the engine ticked hot under the hood.
Steam curled from a vent near the windshield. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my teeth. The smell of hot metal, burned rubber, and someone’s spilled alcohol filled the car.
Then Rebecca burst out laughing. Full-body, delighted, slightly unhinged laughter. She kicked her door open and practically fell out onto the sidewalk. “Holy shit!” she shouted. “That was nova! THAT WAS FUCKING NOVA!”
Kiwi got out after her with significantly more dignity, brushing invisible dust off her coat as if we had taken a slightly inconvenient taxi instead of committing grand theft auto during a police raid.
Lucy climbed out on my side and I followed, still half-expecting NCPD cruisers to come screaming around the corner after us. They didn’t.
Kabuki Market swallowed us instead. The market was alive around us, dense and loud in a different way from the race. Signs blinked in Japanese, English, Spanish, and languages I did not recognize. Steam poured from food stalls. People crowded beneath awnings. Vendors shouted over music. Somewhere nearby, somebody was arguing with a vending machine like it had personally betrayed him.
Honestly, I understood the impulse.
Rebecca was already pacing in a circle, vibrating with excitement. “Did you see that turn? Did you see that fucking turn? Tall boy just threaded us between a delivery van and that garbage truck like he was trying to shave paint off both sides!”
“I noticed,” Kiwi said.
“And when the cop tried to box us in?” Rebecca jabbed both hands toward me. “Bam! Right through the side lane! Fucking beautiful!” Rebecca then turned and slapped both hands on the roof of the stolen Quadra and bounced on her heels. “Did you see that turn? The one through the service lane? Tall boy almost painted us across both walls!”
“I was aiming for the road,” I said weakly.
“THERE WAS NO ROAD!” Rebecca cackled.
Kiwi looked at me over the top of her mask. Her eyes were calmer than Rebecca’s, but there was something different in them now. Less dismissive. More interested. “I’m glad we got away,” Kiwi said. “And I did not even need to hack the police cars.” She gave me a small nod. “Well done.”
I blinked. Coming from Kiwi, it felt like someone had handed me a medal, then immediately reminded me not to get sentimental about it.
Rebecca threw an arm around Kiwi’s side and grinned at me. “That means she likes you. Kiwi doesn’t compliment people unless they’re useful, scary, or both.”
“I did not say I liked him,” Kiwi said.
“You nodded in his direction.”
“I acknowledged his competence behind the wheel during a stressful situation.”
Rebecca pointed at me. “See? Basically a marriage proposal.”
Kiwi stared at her.
Rebecca grinned. “A masked, emotionally constipated marriage proposal…”
“I can leave you here.”
“You won’t. I’m adorable.”
“You are loud.”
“And adorable!”
I should have laughed. I almost did. Then I saw Lucy looking at me. And my brain forgot Rebecca existed.
Lucy stood a few feet away, half-lit by red market signs and the blue glow of a nearby vending machine. Her cheeks were flushed. Lucy looked like she wanted to drag me to the nearest motel and take every bit of innocence I still had.
Cortana hissed. “She better not!”
I coughed.
Rebecca noticed too, because of course she did. “Oh my God,” she said. “Lucy, are you eye-fucking him right now?”
Lucy did not even look away from me. “Shut up, Rebecca!”
“That was not a no!”
“Rebecca!”
“That was super not a no!”
Kiwi sighed. “Rebecca…”
“What? I’m being supportive!”
Lucy finally looked at Rebecca, and the promise of violence in her eyes was almost enough to make me feel safe from whatever her previous look had been doing to my nervous system.
Rebecca, unbothered by the possibility of death, turned back to me and jabbed a thumb against her own chest. “Anyway, tall boy, you handled yourself real good back there. Like, better than some actual gonks we’ve worked with.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I mean, you still carry embarrassing iron, but you’ve got instincts.” She pointed at me with both fingers like she was framing me for a shot. “I could totally talk Maine into letting you run with us if you need work.”
Maine’s crew? Rebecca had just offered to talk Maine into letting me on Maine’s crew. The same crew that, in another version of events, pulled David Martinez into the edgerunner life and then tore itself apart one tragedy at a time. The same crew Lucy was orbiting.
Cortana answered before I could. “Do not join the armed chaos gremlin’s gang as a social reflex.”
I cleared my throat. “Thanks,” I said carefully. “Really. But I’ve got a pretty full schedule at the moment.”
Rebecca blinked. “Doing what?”
“Gigs,” I said quickly.
Rebecca’s grin widened. “Oh? Baby merc really is a baby merc?”
“I am not a baby merc.”
“You super are.”
“I’m working with Regina Jones,” I said before I could think better of it. “So I’m probably going to focus on that for now.”
The effect was immediate. Rebecca froze. Kiwi’s head turned toward me so quickly that I almost heard the mechanical precision of it.
“WHAT!” Rebecca shouted.
Kiwi’s voice was quieter. “Regina Jones contacted you?”
I shifted my weight. “Yeah...”
“Personally…?” Kiwi asked, trailing off after that single word.
“…yeah.”
Rebecca stared at me. Then she looked at Lucy. Kiwi looked at Lucy too. Both of them turned on her with almost identical expressions of disbelief, which was impressive considering half of Kiwi’s face was covered.
It was very clear what they were thinking.
Lucy’s date was not just some cute, innocent-looking boy she had picked up on the NCART. He was a merc. Or at least merc-adjacent. He had escaped a police chase, carried two guns, and somehow had a more reliable fixer connection than Maine’s entire crew did.
I really wished I had phrased that differently.
Rebecca pointed at me, then at Lucy, then back at me. “Your date is getting gigs from Regina fucking Jones?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “That’s none of your business.”
“That is extremely my business!”
“No. It isn’t.”
Kiwi’s gaze stayed on me. “How?”
I had no idea how much to say. Not much, probably. Definitely not Regina saw me kill three gangers on camera after the AI fused into my brain overloaded their optics to save my life.
So I went with the safer version.
“She saw me handle something in Watson,” I said. “Offered me beginner work for now...”
Rebecca made a sound like she was choking on jealousy, delight, and outrage all at once. “Maine is gonna lose his shit.”
Lucy stepped closer to me. “Maine doesn’t need to know.”
Rebecca stared hard at her. Lucy stared back. The message was clear.
Rebecca could be a menace, but Lucy was not playing around with this. After a second, Rebecca threw both hands up. “Fine! Whatever. Keep your hot little Regina-connected baby merc secret. See if I care...”
“It’s not really a secret, I don’t mind other people knowing…” I cut in.
Rebecca didn’t stay upset for long after hearing that, giving me a more cheeky grin. Kiwi gave me another calm nod.
Lucy took my hand. My thoughts scattered immediately. She laced her fingers through mine like it was natural, like the police chase, stolen car, and Rebecca’s very loud existence had not derailed the entire night. “We’re going to get food now,” Lucy said. “You and Kiwi are not invited.”
Rebecca gasped. “After we bonded through crime?”
Lucy gave her a flat look.
Rebecca held it for about three seconds before breaking into a grin. “Fine. But you better spill all the juicy gossip later, you lucky bitch.”
Lucy’s ears went slightly pink. I pretended not to notice. Mostly because I wanted to live.
Rebecca was already moving toward the driver’s side of the Quadra, excitement returning at an alarming speed. “Kiwi and I will get rid of the car for you.”
Kiwi turned her head. “We will?”
Rebecca yanked the driver’s door open. “Yup. We’re disposing of evidence.” Rebecca slid behind the wheel with a manic grin.
Kiwi did not move for a moment.
Then she looked at Lucy. “You owe me.”
Lucy smiled faintly. “For what?”
“For this.”
“You followed me.”
Kiwi paused.
Then she sighed and got into the passenger seat. “Fair.”
Rebecca ran her hands over the wheel like she had just been given a religious experience. “Oh, this is nice. I’ve never driven something modded for street racing before.”
“That does not inspire confidence,” Kiwi said dryly.
“Even better,” Rebecca said, laughing as the engine roared back to life. “Doesn’t matter if I scratch it. We stole it already!” The Quadra’s engine snarled.
I stepped back quickly, pulling Lucy with me by reflex.
Rebecca leaned out the open window and pointed at me. “Later, tall boy! Call me if you want help[ picking out some real guns!”
Lucy’s grip on my hand tightened.
Rebecca’s grin turned wicked. “Or if Lucy gets boring!” The Quadra peeled away from the curb with a shriek of tires, shooting into Kabuki traffic far too fast. Kiwi’s masked face remained pointed forward with the resigned stillness of a woman reconsidering every decision that had led her to this moment.
Then the car vanished around a corner, engine echoing between market stalls and apartment blocks.
For a few seconds, Lucy and I stood there in the sudden absence they left behind.
Kabuki Market kept moving around us. Vendors shouted. Neon buzzed. People laughed, argued, ate, sold, bought, lied, and survived. Somewhere overhead, an AV crawled through the gap between buildings like a black insect.
Lucy still held my hand. I looked down at our fingers, then back at her. “So,” I said carefully. “Food?”
Lucy looked at me. That smile returned. The dangerous one. “Yeah,” she said. “Food…”
Cortana made a displeased noise in my head. “I do not trust her tone.”
Neither did I. Unfortunately, that did not make me want to run.
XXX