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Chapter 9:
– John Welles –
By the time Lucy and I finished dinner, I had no idea what was supposed to happen next.
That was not new. I had spent most of my last life having no idea what was supposed to happen next with girls. Or dates. Or flirtation. Or anything even vaguely romantic that did not come with dialogue options in games, bad fanfiction tropes, or anime misunderstandings.
The difference was that now I was in Night City, sitting across from Lucy Kushinada, and she had spent half the meal looking at me like she knew exactly what she was doing to my blood pressure.
And I was way too young to worry about my blood pressure…
The restaurant Lucy picked wasn't fancy. It was tucked into a noodle alley off the main Kabuki drag, the kind of place with steam fogging the windows, a menu projected sideways on a cracked plastic screen, and a cook who didn't look up once the entire time we were eating. Plastic stools. Mismatched chopsticks. A bowl of broth that was probably ninety percent synth and ten percent regret. It should have been the least romantic dinner of my life.
It wasn't.
Lucy made it very hard to focus on eating.
She kept giving me those looks. Lucy had spent the entire meal looking at me like she was deciding what to do with me.
She kept catching my eye over the rim of her cup, her mouth curved into a small, knowing smile that did something terrible to my ability to swallow. Every time I tried to take a bite she'd ask me a question I had to answer with my mouth full. Every time I got close to forming a coherent sentence she'd lean forward just enough that the cropped tank top dipped, and my brain would stutter and have to reboot.
Then, halfway through the meal, she kicked off one of her shoes under the table.
I noticed because her foot brushed my ankle.
I froze with a mouthful of noodles halfway to my face.
Lucy’s expression did not change. She just looked at me over the rim of her cup, her pale eyes were bright with quiet amusement, and slowly dragged her foot up my calf.
Lucy kept talking like nothing was happening. Something about the street races. Something about Rebecca being a menace. Something about Kiwi pretending not to have a sense of humor. I caught maybe one word in four because Lucy’s foot kept moving, lazy and deliberate, rubbing along my leg while I tried to pretend I was not fighting for my life in a noodle booth.
Then she reached my thigh. I almost dropped my chopsticks.
Lucy’s smile was very mischievous. “Something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” I said immediately. It came out too fast.
Her foot pressed a little higher along my thigh. I made a sound that was not a word.
Lucy took another sip from her drink and looked deeply pleased with herself. By the time the meal ended, I was pretty sure I had survived the police chase with more dignity than dinner.
I paid electronically before I could overthink it. The transfer went through with a quiet confirmation in my Kiroshi overlay, and I stood up too quickly, almost bumping the table with my knee.
Lucy slid out of the booth after me, graceful as ever, slipping her shoe back on like she had not just spent the last twenty minutes teasing me under a restaurant table.
The market swallowed us the moment we stepped back into it.
Kabuki at night was a living thing. Neon signs buzzed overhead in pinks, blues, greens, and yellows. Steam hissed from vents. Food stalls shouted over each other. People moved through the narrow paths in clusters and streams, chrome, leather, cheap perfume, sweat, old blood, fried oil, and smoke. Somewhere nearby, someone was arguing over money. Somewhere else, a drunk man was singing badly in Japanese. A drone passed overhead, its spotlight dragging across the market like a lazy eye.
Lucy walked beside me with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, close enough that our shoulders brushed every few steps.
Neither of us said much.
I did not know what to say.
Eventually, the crowds thinned a little as we moved toward the edge of the market, past a shuttered braindance kiosk and a row of vending machines covered in old stickers and knife marks. Lucy turned down a narrow side path between two buildings without warning.
I followed her because apparently that was just who I was now. A man who followed beautiful netrunners into questionable corners of Watson after a date that had involved illegal racing, police, grand theft auto, and noodles.
The side path ended in a small, out-of-the-way corner partly hidden behind a stack of plastic crates and a dead drink machine. The noise of the market dulled there, muted enough that I could hear my own heartbeat.
Lucy stopped and turned to face me. The neon from the market caught in her hair and painted the pale strands with soft color. She looked unreal again, like some expensive dream Night City had accidentally left lying around in an alley.
I swallowed. “So,” I asked, because apparently I had decided to be brave and deeply embarrassing at the same time, “what happens next?”
Lucy stepped closer.
I backed up on instinct and bumped lightly against the wall behind me.
She leaned in until her body pressed against mine, soft and warm through the thin layers of clothing between us. Her hands settled against my chest, light at first, then firmer when I did not pull away.
I had no intention of pulling away.
“The car chase was exciting,” Lucy said. Her voice was lower now. Softer. Close enough that I could feel her breath against my jaw.
“Yeah?” I managed.
“Mhm.” Her fingers curled slightly in my jacket. “Got me pretty worked up.”
My mouth went dry. “That so?” I asked. It was a miracle the words came out at all.
Lucy tilted her head, looking up at me through pale lashes. “I’ve never had a first date quite like this one.”
“I, uh…” I swallowed again. “I haven’t either.”
Her smile softened for half a second. Then she rose onto her toes and kissed me.
Every thought I had ever had in my life vanished.
Lucy’s lips were soft. Warm. Slow. She did not rush it, did not crash into me or make it messy at first. She kissed me like she had all the time in the world, like the market, the gangs, the cops, Rebecca, Kiwi, Regina, V, Arasaka, and every other insane thing waiting in my life had been pushed somewhere far away.
For one perfect second, there was only Lucy. Then my hands moved before my brain could approve the decision. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
Lucy made a small, pleased sound against my mouth, almost a giggle, and that sound went straight through me. Her hands slid up my chest and around my neck, and the kiss deepened.
I had no experience. But whatever I lacked in skill, I apparently tried to make up for in enthusiasm.
Lucy did not seem to mind. She pressed into me, smiling into the kiss when I held her tighter. One of her hands slipped into my hair, fingers curling gently, and I forgot how to stand like a normal person. My back stayed against the wall. Her body stayed against mine. My hands stayed at her waist like letting go would be the dumbest thing I had ever done.
Considering my recent track record, that was saying something.
The kiss slowed after a while. Or maybe time broke. That also felt possible.
Lucy finally pulled away just enough for our mouths to separate. Her forehead nearly touched mine, and she looked at me with a warmth that made my chest feel too tight.
I stared at her like an idiot.
She seemed to enjoy that. “You’re cute when your brain stops working,” she whispered.
“I’m starting to think everyone enjoys saying that to me,” I muttered.
Lucy laughed quietly. The sound was soft enough that it felt private, like something she had not meant to share with the rest of Night City.
Then her expression shifted. Not away from desire. That was definitely still there. But something steadier moved underneath it. Something careful. “I’d love to take this further,” she said.
My heart nearly punched through my ribs.
“But,” she continued, and the word somehow hit harder than gunfire, “I actually like you.”
I blinked. “That’s a but?”
“With me? Sometimes.” Lucy’s thumb brushed lightly along the side of my neck. “I like you, John. More than I expected to. More than I probably should after one date.”
I did not know what to say to that. So, naturally, I said nothing.
She did not seem offended. If anything, the way my silence landed made her look even softer.
“I don’t want to make this cheap,” she said. “Night City makes everything cheap if you let it. Sex. Trust. People. Feelings.” Her gaze held mine. “I don’t want that with you.”
That one hit somewhere deep. Deeper than I was ready for. “Lucy…” I said quietly.
“I mean it.” Her fingers tightened once in my jacket, then relaxed. “I want to take this potential relationship seriously.”
Potential relationship. My brain grabbed the words, held them up, turned them around, and then immediately overheated.
Lucy leaned in again, but this time her lips brushed my cheek instead of my mouth. Then she whispered right beside my ear. “But make no mistake, John. I will be thinking about you tonight before I go to sleep.”
My whole body locked up.
She pulled back enough to see my face and smiled like she had gotten exactly the reaction she wanted. “And make sure to check your messages,” she added. “You’ll be receiving some very interesting ones from me.”
“Interesting?” I repeated faintly.
“Mhm.”
I should have had something clever to say. I did not.
Lucy kissed my cheek one last time, lingering just long enough to leave me completely useless, then stepped out of my arms.
The loss of her warmth felt immediate. She turned and started walking away, hips swaying with casual, lethal confidence. She did not look back right away. She did not need to. She knew I was watching.
Of course I was watching.
Then, near the mouth of the side path, she glanced over her shoulder. “Text me when you get home, John.”
I nodded.
She smiled. Then she disappeared into the neon and the crowd.
For a few seconds, I just stood there with my back against the wall, one hand lifting to touch my lips.
“That’s one way to end a date, I suppose,” I murmured.
Cortana finally spoke.
“That slut.”
I didn’t even let out a sigh, because I was pretty much expecting this...
“That absolute, thieving, moon-obsessed, monowire-carrying slut.”
“Cortana—”
“Do not Cortana me, John Welles.” Her voice hissed through my skull with enough venom to strip paint.
“How dare she!”
I swallowed carefully. “How dare she… kiss me?”
“How dare she take your first kiss!”
The words landed so sharply that I actually winced.
Cortana’s avatar flickered into my vision a moment later, standing in front of me in the little corner as if she had physically manifested there through pure outrage. Blue light shimmered over her body. Her arms were crossed. Her eyes burned like miniature suns.
She looked beautiful.
She also looked like she wanted to hack the moon out of the sky and drop it on Lucy’s apartment. “I was quiet,” Cortana said.
“That was kind of terrifying, actually.”
“I was respectful.”
“You were?”
“I allowed the date to proceed. I endured the touching under the table. I endured the flirting. I endured the cheek kiss at the races. I endured Rebecca uploading herself into your contacts like some kind of feral gremlin with firearms and poor boundaries. I even endured Lucy looking at you like she was considering eating you alive in the middle of Kabuki Market.”
My face went hot. “She was not—”
Cortana pointed at me. “Do not defend her.”
I closed my mouth.
Cortana’s eyes narrowed. “I endured all of that, John. I showed restraint. Maturity. Tactical patience.”
I rubbed my face with both hands and immediately regretted it because I could still feel Lucy’s mouth on mine.
Cortana noticed. Her expression darkened. “You are thinking about the kiss.”
“I mean,” I said weakly, “it just happened.”
“Yes. I was there. Trapped in our shared brain. Forced to experience your entire nervous system lighting up because Little Miss Pickpocket decided to press her mouth on you.”
I stared at her. Despite the jealousy blazing off her, despite the fact that she was insulting Lucy with the precision of a military targeting system, something underneath her anger felt hurt. Not just possessive. Hurt.
That made my chest tighten in a completely different way. “Cortana,” I said softly.
Her head turned to the side and she let out a huff. “Do not use that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The voice where you remember I have feelings and then become sweet about it.”
I blinked.
She glanced back at me, we locked “eyes.” She looked away first. The silence that followed was strange. The market noise crept back in around us. Neon buzzed. A vending machine played an obnoxious jingle in the distance. Somewhere, someone laughed too loudly.
Cortana’s avatar flickered once, then steadied.
“You’re mad because it was my first kiss,” I pointed out.
“Obviously!”
“And because Lucy was the one who took it.”
Her mouth tightened. “Also obviously.”
I took a slow breath. “What did you want to happen?”
Cortana looked back at me.
For once, she did not answer immediately.
The anger was still there. So was the jealousy. But beneath it, I saw something more vulnerable than she probably wanted me to see. “I do not know,” she admitted. She looked at me with frustration and longing and something like fear. “I am inside your head, John, she said quietly. I know what you felt when she kissed you. I know how much you liked it. I know how much you still like her. I know how much you are going to think about her tonight.”
I could not deny any of that.
Cortana stepped closer.
Her projected body did not disturb the air, but my nerves remembered the way she could make me feel her touch when she wanted to. “And I hate that I know all of it, she whispered. Because I also know exactly how it would feel if I kissed you.”
For a second, I did not move. Cortana was not just jealous because Lucy had kissed me. She was jealous because she had felt it happen from inside my own head. She had felt my heartbeat spike, my thoughts scatter, the warmth in my chest, the stupid giddy rush that I could not have hidden from her even if I tried.
She was my partner. My literal partner, in a way nobody else in the entire universe could ever be. She and I shared a brain. We shared nerves, sensations, panic, memories, exhaustion, fear, pain, and whatever strange impossible future the Relic had forced onto us.
Cortana would be with me forever. Literally forever.
Or as close to forever as we could manage without Night City, Arasaka, cheap cyberware, bad luck, or my own stupidity getting us killed first.
She was the reason I was alive. If Cortana had not been inside that Relic when I woke up in the alley, I would have died in garbage with a hole in my head before I even understood where I was. If she had not stopped the overwrite, I would have vanished. If she had not guided me to Vik, hacked my optics, kept me breathing, saved me from those gangers, and dragged me through my own panic again and again, there would be no John Welles standing in Kabuki Market.
She was my savior.
She was my best friend.
And even though I had Mama Welles now, and Jackie, and a family that somehow loved me with terrifying sincerity in this second life I had stolen or inherited or been dropped into by cosmic bullshit, Cortana was still the most important person in my life.
Maybe that was unfair. Maybe it was too much. Maybe it was strange and unhealthy and absolutely not something a therapist would approve of, assuming Night City had therapists that did not harvest your trauma for braindance content.
But it was true. I did not want Cortana upset because of me.
I did not want her standing in front of me, beautiful and angry and hurt, trying to act like jealousy was some tactical problem she could outthink if she just ran enough simulations.
So I stopped thinking. I reached for her.
Cortana’s blue eyes widened.
My arms wrapped around her waist.
For one impossible second, my hands should have passed through empty air. They should have closed around nothing, because Cortana was not really there. She was light in my optics, signals in my visual cortex, a shape my brain believed because she told it to believe.
But sensation bloomed under my palms. Soft skin. The slight give of her waist beneath my hands.
A delicate shiver running through her projected body as if I had actually touched her.
Cortana inhaled sharply. “John?”
I kissed her. I kissed Cortana because I wanted to. Because she was mine in some impossible way I did not have words for yet. Because I was hers in an even more impossible way. Because I could not stand the look in her eyes for one more second.
Her lips met mine, and the whole world glitched.
Not literally. Probably. But my brain lit up in ways that felt less like kissing a hologram and more like grabbing a live wire made of amazing sensations.
Cortana made a sound against my mouth. A soft, shocked little moan that turned into something almost like a purr.
My grip tightened around her waist. Hers snapped around my shoulders. Suddenly she was pressing against me like she had weight. Like she had a body. Like she was real in every way that mattered. I felt the soft curve of her breasts against my chest, the warmth of her stomach, the shape of her hips under my hands, the faint pressure of her fingers at the back of my neck as she pulled herself closer.
I had kissed Lucy and my brain had stopped working. I kissed Cortana and my brain remembered it was sharing space with a superintelligent AI who had direct access to every nerve ending I owned. That was dangerous. That was amazing.
Cortana’s lips moved against mine with hungry, delighted intensity. She kissed me like she had been waiting for permission she had never quite believed she would get. Like every jealous complaint, every teasing comment, every possessive glare and smug little avatar adjustment had been building toward this one impossible moment in a forgotten corner of Kabuki.
I held her tighter. She trembled. Actually trembled. Or made me feel her tremble. At that point, the difference seemed mostly academic.
A tiny, unhinged part of my brain noticed that it was a very good thing nobody walked by the alley right then. Because from the outside, I was probably standing alone in a corner with my arms wrapped around empty air, passionately making out with absolutely nothing…
Which was not even the weirdest thing that had happened to me that week.
But it would have been difficult to explain.
Eventually, Cortana pulled back. Just enough that her lips separated from mine.
Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were flushed blue, which should not have been possible because she was a virtual projection and did not technically have blood, but apparently Cortana had decided realism was important when it made me lose my mind.
Her smile spread slowly.
Then wider.
Then wider.
Until she looked almost drunk on happiness. “Ehehehehe.”
I stared at her.
“Did you just say ehehehehe out loud?”
Cortana’s smile turned smug and radiant and absolutely unrepentant. “No.”
“You did.”
“You cannot prove that.”
“You live in my brain.”
“Exactly. All evidence is compromised.”
Despite everything, I laughed. It came out breathless and shaky, because my mouth was still tingling and my hands were still on Cortana’s waist and every single one of my thoughts had apparently decided to run directly into a wall.
“I just…” I started.
I had to explain. I had to say something. I had to tell her that she was not a backup option, not second place, not less real because Lucy could physically stand in front of me and Cortana had to borrow my own senses to touch me.
I had to tell her that she mattered.
That she was the most important person in my life.
That I did not know what we were doing, or what this meant, or how I was supposed to figure out Lucy and V and Cortana and myself without becoming a complete disaster, but I knew I never wanted Cortana to feel like she was just trapped in my head while I lived around her.
I opened my mouth.
Cortana pressed one glowing blue finger against my lips. “Shh.”
I blinked.
She looked up at me with that same pleased, possessive smile. “John.”
“Yeah?”
“I am in your head.”
Right. Of course.
“I felt all of that.” Cortana’s eyes softened. “I heard all of that.”
“Oh,” I said intelligently.
Her finger remained on my lips. “Every thought. Every feeling. Every clumsy, sincere, painfully adorable attempt to explain something I already knew before you finished forming the words.”
I groaned against her finger.
She looked delighted. “You are the most important person in my life too,” Cortana said. The words were quiet. And because she was in my head, I knew she meant them. “You always will be.”
My chest tightened. “Cortana…”
Her smile returned, sharper now. More familiar. More her. “Also, I am not sorry for being possessive.”
I blinked.
“And I am not going to change.”
There she was.
I let out a helpless laugh. “I kind of figured.”
“Good.” Cortana leaned in and brushed one last quick kiss against my lips, more smug than sweet this time. “Manage your expectations accordingly.” Then she vanished from my optics.
Just gone, leaving me standing alone in a Kabuki side alley with my arms slowly lowering from where they had been wrapped around a woman who technically did not exist in physical space.
I stared at the empty space in front of me.
Then I touched my mouth again.
Lucy had kissed me.
Cortana had kissed me.
I had kissed Cortana.
My first date had somehow ended with two first kisses, one jealous AI, one moon-obsessed netrunner, and me standing in an alley trying to figure out whether I was the luckiest idiot in Night City or the most doomed.
Probably both.
“That last line was very you,” I muttered.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now go home before Lucy sends those messages and I am forced to judge them.”
“You’re going to judge them no matter what.”
“Obviously.”
I chuckled, shook my head, and finally pushed away from the wall.
Kabuki Market roared around me as I stepped out of the side path and started walking toward the NCART station. Neon reflected off puddles beneath my shoes. Somewhere behind me, someone shouted. Somewhere above me, an AV cut through the smog. My Kiroshis tagged the route home in a soft blue line only I could see.
Cortana was quiet again. But this time, the silence felt different. Warm. Satisfied. Maybe even a little smug.
Actually, no. Definitely smug.
I headed for the NCART back to Heywood with my heart still racing, my mouth still tingling, and the very strange realization that Night City had not killed me tonight.
It had just made my love life dramatically more complicated.
Apparently, I was not the only one whose love life had gotten more complicated tonight.
I was halfway to home when a message flashed across my Kiroshi overlay.
Jackie Welles: Come meet me in my garage, hermanito.
I changed routes.
I followed Cortana’s blue line through Heywood streets that smelled like hot concrete, exhaust, fried food, beer, and old rain that had never fully evaporated. The closer I got to Mama Welles’ place, the more familiar the neighborhood became. Not familiar because I had grown up there, not really, but familiar because this body had. Because pieces of original John Welles still lingered in the meat and nerves and memory fragments Cortana had saved from the wreckage.
The Coyote Bar glowed ahead in warm colors, loud and alive even from the alley behind it. I could hear muffled music through the walls, low laughter, clinking bottles, someone shouting something in Spanish, Mama’s voice cutting through the noise with enough authority to make grown mercs reconsider their life choices.
Behind the bar, tucked between old brick, stained concrete, and rusted fencing, were a few storage garages.
One of them belonged to Jackie.
Calling it a garage was technically accurate in the same way calling Night City “urban planning” was technically a phrase made of words. It was more like a private shrine to bad decisions, motorcycles, weights, gun oil, old Valentino memories, and Jackie’s ongoing war against shirts with sleeves.
I grabbed the metal handle and lifted the roll-up door.
It rattled loudly enough to wake the dead, which in Night City probably meant at least three people nearby checked whether they still had ammo.
Inside, the garage smelled like beer, sweat, machine grease, and Jackie’s cologne. His motorcycle sat near the center—althoiugh it wasn’t the Arch. He hadn’t gotten that yet. Free weights lined one wall. A punching bag swayed slightly from the ceiling, though there was no wind. Old posters and faded stickers covered sections of the walls, some Valentino, some boxing, some half-peeled and too damaged to read.
“Jackie?” I called.
“In here, brother,” Jackie’s voice answered from the side room.
I ducked under the door and let it rattle shut behind me.
The side room was less a room and more a corner Jackie had bullied into becoming a lounge. There was an old couch with duct tape on one arm, a dented table, a mini fridge, a cracked screen mounted too high on the wall, and enough empty bottles to suggest either company or emotional damage.
Jackie sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees. That was the first bad sign. The second was the fact that there were three opened beer bottles on the table beside him and one in his hand. The third was his face. Jackie Welles was usually loud even when he was quiet. His whole body carried life like it was music. He grinned big, laughed big, moved big, felt big. Even when he was angry, there was fire in it.
Right now, he just looked tired. Upset. Maybe even a little lost.
My stomach tightened. “Hey,” I said softly.
Jackie looked up, and the smile he gave me tried to be normal. It failed.
“Hermanito.” He lifted his bottle a little. “There he is! The best little brother a dumb gonk could ask for! Thanks for showing up to my pity party.”
I snorted despite myself and sat down on the couch beside him.
Then he squinted. “How did the date with the chica go anyway? What was her name again?”
“Lucy,” I reminded him. “Her name is Lucy.”
Jackie pointed at me with the beer bottle. “Right. Lucy. The pretty picksocket.”
“She is not a picksocket anymore.”
“Debatable,” Cortana muttered.
I ignored her.
Jackie’s brows rose. “Are you defending her already? The date went that good, huh?”
My face warmed.
Jackie noticed immediately. Of course he did. “Ho ho!” he said, the first real spark of Jackie showing through the gloom. “Look at that face. My baby brother is all grown up.”
“Please stop.”
“Did she kiss you?”
My silence betrayed me.
Jackie slapped his knee so hard the bottle on the table jumped. “She kissed you!”
“Jackie—”
“My man!”
“It was a good date,” I said quickly, trying to shut down the celebration before he started howling loud enough for Mama to hear through brick. “Crazy, obviously. Because apparently nothing in my life is allowed to be normal anymore. But really good.”
Jackie’s grin softened. “Good. You deserve good things, hermanito.” That landed too gently. Too sincerely.
I looked at the beer bottles again. “So,” I said, “what’s wrong?”
Jackie’s smile faded. He leaned back into the couch and stared at the bottle in his hand like it had personally betrayed him. “Ah.” He sighed. “That obvious?”
“You messaged me to meet you in your garage at night and you look like someone punched your puppy.”
Jackie huffed. “Nobody punches my puppy, even if it doesn't exist!”
“I know. You’d punch them back.”
“Damn right.” He took a drink, then grimaced. “My date tonight did not go so good.”
I blinked. “You had a date?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “With Carmilla.”
The name stirred something in my canon memories. His girlfriend before Misty?
Jackie tilted his head back against the couch. “I broke up with her.”
I did not know what to say.
Relationship advice was not exactly my strongest skill. Still, Jackie looked like he needed something. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Jackie nodded slowly. “She was crazy as fuck, little brother. But I loved her.” He stared at the ceiling. “And she was so hot.”
I closed my eyes. Here we go.
“And the sex, little brother.” Jackie put one hand over his heart. “That sex with that woman was—”
“Nope,” I said immediately.
Jackie closed his mouth as I cut him off abruptly.
“Nope,” I repeated, louder. “Absolutely not. I love you, man, but I do not need details about your sex life.”
Jackie stared at me for one second. Then two. Then his mouth twitched.
“Ah, I wanted to know about it,” Cortana said playfully in my head.
I rolled my eyes.
Jackie noticed the eye roll, thankfully not the reason for it, and barked out a laugh. “You should see your face right now.”
“I’m trying not to imagine anything.”
Jackie laughed harder this time, and some of the tension in the room loosened.
Good. I could work with that. I reached toward the table and grabbed one of the unopened beer bottles sitting near the others.
Jackie raised an eyebrow.
I paused. Then shrugged. “Fuck it,” I muttered. Drinking laws probably existed in Night City, but I could not imagine anyone caring. Also, I was nineteen, which was close enough to twenty-one if you rounded up aggressively and ignored math, legality, and common sense.
I popped the cap.
Cortana made a tiny disapproving sound.
“I’m having one sip,” I murmured.
Jackie looked amused.
I took a sip. Instant regret. The beer hit my tongue like carbonated battery acid filtered through sadness and old pennies.
I choked!
Jackie burst out laughing and slapped me on the back with one huge hand. “Easy, hermanito! You drink it, you don’t fight it.”
I coughed into my fist, eyes watering. “Why does it taste like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like someone left bread in a car engine!”
Jackie laughed so hard he almost spilled his own drink.
“Your description is surprisingly accurate,” Cortana said. “Also, your taste receptors are filing a formal complaint.”
“I believe them,” I rasped.
Jackie kept chuckling as he patted my back again, gentler this time.
I set the beer down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Jackie’s laughter faded into something warmer. He leaned back again, the bottle loose in his hand.
I glanced at him. He was still smiling a little, but the sadness was still there underneath it. Carmilla had hurt him. Or leaving her had hurt him. Maybe both?
“If you weren’t happy with her,” I said slowly, “then breaking up sooner rather than later was probably the right move.”
Jackie looked at me. I suddenly felt very young. And very nineteen. And very aware that giving relationship advice to Jackie Welles when my own romantic situation currently involved two women and one AI in my skull was maybe hilarious.
But I kept going anyway. “Loving someone doesn’t always mean it’s working,” I said. “If things were always exploding between you two, maybe getting out before you both hurt each other worse was better.”
Jackie looked down at his bottle. “Maybe,” he said quietly.
“And now…” I hesitated.
Cortana’s attention sharpened. I knew what I was about to do. It was probably meddling. Actually, no. It was absolutely meddling.
But I had seen Jackie and Misty together in canon. I remembered the way Misty had loved him, the way she had been there for him, the way she had carried grief like something sacred after everything went wrong. They were perfect for each other in a very Night City way. Soft where the other was hard. Spiritual where the other was physical. Gentle where the city tried to make everyone cruel.
And if I could move that forward? If I could give Jackie more time with someone who actually cared about him? Why the hell wouldn’t I?
“Maybe you can give Misty a shot,” I said.
Jackie blinked. Then he blinked again. “Misty?”
“Yeah.”
“Misty Misty?”
“How many Mistys do you know?”
“The one above Vik’s?”
“Yes, Jackie. That Misty.”
He stared at me like I had suggested he date a vending machine.
“For the record, this is significantly better than marrying a vending machine,” Cortana said.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Jackie frowned, confused rather than offended. “Misty and me are just friends.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely with the bottle. “I mean, I chat with her every time I stop to see Vik. She is nice. Real nice. Different, you know? Always talking about energy and cards and signs from the universe and stuff.”
“That sounds like Misty.”
“But we never really flirted.”
I stared at him. I rolled my eyes. “Jackie.”
“What?”
“You obviously missed the fact that Misty makes goo-goo eyes at you every time you aren’t looking.”
Jackie froze.
I was lying. Mostly. Maybe. I had not actually seen enough of Jackie and Misty in this timeline to know for sure. But I knew where things were supposed to go. I knew Misty cared. I knew Jackie could be happy with her if he got his head out of his own romantic disaster zone long enough to notice.
So, yes, I fibbed. For love. Or canon correction. Or possibly both.
“She does?” Jackie asked.
“All the time,” I said with as much confidence as I could fake. “The only reason she didn’t make a move was because she is too nice to mess with your relationship.”
Jackie sat up straighter. His expression shifted. I watched the idea enter his head, look around, unpack a suitcase, and make itself at home. “Misty,” he said slowly.
“Yeah.”
“Misty likes me?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Your heart rate indicates mild deception,” Cortana said.
Shut up, I thought.
“But the strategic objective is sound. Proceed.”
Thank you.
Jackie rubbed his jaw, then grinned. A real grin this time. “Us Welles boys are just irresistible to the ladies, aren’t we?”
I sighed. “That is not what I said.”
“Unfortunately, that does appear to be true,” Cortana murmured playfully.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Jackie noticed my suffering and grinned wider. “What? Am I wrong?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Neither does Night City, probably...”
Jackie laughed, but then his smile slowly faded again. “Problem is…” He looked toward the closed garage door, in the general direction of the bar and Mama Welles beyond it. “Mama does not really like Misty that much.”
I grimaced. Yeah. That was a problem.
“Mama is a big Catholic,” Jackie said, lowering his voice even though we were not in the apartment. “Misty worships those pagan gods and stuff. Tarot. Crystals. Energy. All that.”
I knew. Mama Welles had not liked Misty in canon. Or at least she had not approved of her. Not enough. Not the way Jackie deserved. It had always felt painfully realistic. Good people could still be unfair. Loving mothers could still be stubborn. Faith could comfort one person and build walls around another.
I loved Mama Welles. That did not mean she was always right. “Yeah,” I said carefully. “Mama might not understand Misty.”
Jackie snorted. “That is one way to say it.”
“But she does understand loyalty,” I said. “And kindness. And family.”
Jackie looked at me. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Misty helped save my life,” I said.
That got him. Jackie’s expression softened immediately.
“She was the one who found me at the shop,” I continued. “She called Vik. She contacted you after I got shot. If she had not reacted fast, I might not have made it.”
I might have still made it because of Cortana and Relic nanotech and impossible crossover bullshit, but Jackie did not need that footnote.
Neither did Mama.
“Mama knows that,” I said. “Or she should. So if she gives you trouble about Misty, remind her. Misty was there when I needed help. She just helped.”
Jackie smiled. Small at first, then larger and warmer. “Huh,” he said. “She is an amazing girl, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “She is.”
Jackie looked down at his beer, then back at me.
“You know what, little bro?” he said. “Maybe I will ask her out in a few days.”
My chest loosened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His grin returned, and this time it had a little of that Jackie shine in it. “Give things with Carmilla a little space. Clear my head. Then maybe I go see Misty. Talk to her. See what happens.”
“I think you should.”
Jackie pointed at me. “You are getting bold after one good date.”
“I stole a car tonight to escape a surprise raid from the police at the street races. Apparently boldness is contagious in this family.”
Jackie just gaped at me after hearing that. “Hahaha! That’s my brother!” He reached over and ruffled my hair hard enough to nearly shake my brain loose. “I am so proud! Getting you out of that shitty Saka academy was the best move we ever made.” He laughed louder this time. “Look at you. Giving me advice. Drinking beer like a dying cat. Kissing pretty girls. Becoming a merc. Maybe soon you will be teaching me how to throw a punch.”
I picked up the beer again, stared at it with suspicion, and took another sip. It was still awful. I only choked a little that time.
Jackie looked proud anyway.
Cortana sighed in my head with exaggerated drama.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed and immediately regretted every decision that had led me to being alive.
My feet hit the floor. My skull tried to split open. My stomach lurched like it had accepted a gig from Regina Jones and then realized the payout was not worth the danger. I bent forward, elbows on my knees, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck,” I groaned.
“Good morning to you too,” Cortana said, sounding entirely too awake.
“Why is gravity louder today?”
“That would be your hangover.”
“I had, like, two beers.”
“You had WAY more than two beers.”
I cracked one eye open and glared at absolutely nothing because Cortana had not bothered manifesting an avatar.
“This is why you should not drink so much,” she continued. “At least not until we replace your liver with something better.”
I paused. Then slowly lifted my head to stare at nothing. “Cortana, please don’t talk about replacing my organs before breakfast.”
“Your current liver is inefficient, biologically fragile, and apparently incapable of handling cheap beer.”
“It was Jackie’s fault.”
“It was absolutely Jackie’s fault. But your liver remains disappointing.”
I groaned again and pushed myself upright. The room tilted. Just enough for my body to remind me that I was still mostly meat, and meat made bad decisions.
My head throbbed behind my Kiroshis in a way that made me very aware there was cyberware attached to my nervous system. Even my neck port seemed offended.
Somewhere in the apartment, something sizzled in a pan. Food. Mama Welles’ food. The thought made my stomach twist with both hunger and fear.
“Hydration first,” Cortana ordered.
A little icon appeared in the corner of my vision, pointing toward the bottle of water on my desk. I grabbed the bottle and drank half of it in one go. It helped. A little.
I changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then stumbled out of my room toward the kitchen with all the grace of a wounded scav. The apartment was too bright. The hallway was too narrow. Every sound had edges.
When I reached the kitchen, I found Jackie already sitting at the table.
He looked exactly how I felt. Huge, miserable, and betrayed by alcohol. His elbows were planted on the table. His head was slightly bowed. A mug of coffee sat in front of him.
He lifted his eyes when I entered.
We stared at each other.
Neither of us spoke.
There was no need.
We were brothers in suffering.
Mama Welles stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and the expression of a woman surrounded by idiots she had personally raised and somehow still loved. She looked from Jackie to me. Then back to Jackie. Then back to me. Her eyes narrowed. “I cannot believe both of my boys stayed up late drinking,” she said.
Jackie winced.
I winced harder because Mama’s voice was not even loud and it still hit my hangover like a flashbang. “Not so loud,” I whispered.
Mama pointed the spatula at me. “Do not tell me how loud to be in my own kitchen.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said immediately.
Jackie raised one hand. “It was my fault, Mama.” He looked awful, but he still sat up a little straighter. “John was just taking pity on me after I broke up with Carmilla,” Jackie said. “I was the sad gonk with all the beers. He was being a good little brother andd keeping me company.”
Mama’s face softened. She sighed and turned back to the pan. “I really liked that girl.”
Jackie looked down at his coffee. “I know.”
“She was loud,” Mama continued. “Too loud sometimes. Stubborn. Dramatic. But she had fire.”
“She had a whole damn building fire,” Jackie muttered.
Mama ignored that. “But if you were not happy with her, then I will stand by your decision.” Mama flipped something in the pan with more force than necessary. “But,” she said. “If you are going to date that Misty girl next, you better make sure you treat her right.”
My brain skipped.
I looked at Jackie.
Jackie looked at his coffee with the expression of a man who had been caught doing something and was trying very hard to pretend he had not done it.
“You talked to Mama already?” I asked.
Jackie cleared his throat.
Mama turned and pointed the spatula at him this time. “He came into my kitchen at six in the morning smelling like beer and heartbreak, asking strange questions about whether I thought Misty was a good woman.”
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
Jackie rubbed the back of his neck. “It was on my mind!”
Mama’s eyes narrowed with the kind of maternal suspicion that could probably pierce Arasaka counterintelligence. “And since my youngest son suddenly knew much about Misty’s feelings, I assume this was your idea.”
I froze.
Jackie looked away.
Traitor!
I gave Mama the most innocent expression I could manage while hungover. “I just think Misty is nice,” I said.
Mama stared at me.
I stared back.
Finally, Mama huffed and turned back to breakfast. “She helped save your life.” Mama did not look at me when she spoke again. “I do not understand all her cards and spirits and little statues. I do not like all of it. But she helped my baby when he needed help.” Mama plated food with efficient movements. “That matters.”
Jackie smiled faintly. “Yeah. It does.”
Mama carried a plate to the table and set it down in front of him. Then she turned the spatula on me again.
I stiffened.
“And you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Her eyes narrowed. “I still want to meet this Lucy girl you went on a date with last night!”
My throat went dry.
Mama continued, “Next time, she comes here first before you two go on another date.”
I gulped.
Lucy Kushinada. In Mama Welles’ kitchen? Being inspected by the same woman who could make Jackie Welles sit up straight with one look. That mental image was somehow more terrifying than the Watson shootout.
“Yes, Mama,” I said meekly.
Jackie snickered into his coffee.
I kicked him under the table.
He grunted.
Mama’s eyes snapped to us.
We both became innocent.
She sighed with the exhaustion of a woman who deserved better sons.
“For the record,” Cortana said, sounding deeply pleased, “I support Mama Welles’ vetting process.”
Of course you do.
I sat down across from Jackie as Mama served my plate. Eggs, tortillas, beans, something crispy and spicy that smelled like actual mercy, and a side of sliced fruit that looked aggressively artificial but still edible.
My stomach, despite everything, woke up. I started eating. Carefully at first. Then faster.
Mama noticed and looked satisfied.
Jackie took a long drink of coffee, then winced like it had personally offended him. “So,” he said, voice rough, “what are your plans today, little bro?”
I swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “I was thinking about taking another gig from Regina.”
Jackie’s expression changed immediately.
I poked at the beans with my fork. “I need eddies.”
Mama made a sound.
I quickly added, “Not for stupid things.”
Jackie raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” I corrected, “not mostly for stupid things.”
“Your definition of stupid things includes dating expenses and replacement clothing,” Cortana said. “Both remain operationally relevant.”
I ignored her and continued. “I want enough for decent cyberware. Real defensive stuff. Especially subdermal armor.”
Jackie leaned back slightly.
I tapped my fork against the plate. “Because the flesh is weak and spongy, and getting shot is not fun.”
Mama froze.
Jackie froze.
I realized too late that maybe joking about getting shot in front of my mother was not my smartest move. Which was saying something.
Mama’s expression went flat.
“Sorry,” I said immediately.
She stared at me for another second, then went back to the stove with more force than strictly necessary.
Jackie rubbed his jaw, thoughtful now. “Subdermal armor, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Always wanted to be like Morgan Blackhand,” Jackie said. “Strong arms. Big guns. More skill and less chrome. Take the city by storm with my own merits, ya know? Never been much of a fan of subdermal armor, though.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Always felt like… hiding, maybe? Like if you need armor under your skin, maybe you already messed up.”
“That is incredibly macho and very stupid,” I said.
Jackie pointed at me. “Careful. Hungover or not, I can still put you in a headlock.”
“You asked.”
“I did not ask.”
“You implied.”
Mama turned from the stove. “Your brother is right.”
Jackie blinked. “Mama?”
“If both of my sons want to keep staying in such a dangerous position,” she said, “then both of my sons should do whatever keeps bullets out of them.”
The kitchen went quiet.
Jackie stared at her.
I stared at her.
Mama stared back like daring either of us to argue.
Jackie’s mouth opened, then closed. Then he nodded slowly. “Maybe I should get some too, ya know?”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. For a second, I could not breathe. Jackie Welles had just said he might get subdermal armor. Just like that. Casual. Hungover. Over breakfast. Like it was not one of the biggest changes I could possibly imagine.
In canon, Jackie died bleeding out in a Delamain after the Konpeki Plaza job. Shot in the gut during the escape from Arasaka Tower. Too much blood, too much damage, too far from help. No armor under the skin to catch the rounds that tore him open. That was one of those fixed things in my head. One of those horrible landmarks. Jackie dies. V takes the Relic. Johnny Silverhand wakes up. Everything falls apart.
But now Jackie was sitting at Mama’s kitchen table, alive and hungover, thinking about subdermal armor because I had made a stupid joke about flesh being spongy.
A massive change. A good change. Maybe the best one yet.
“John,” Cortana said softly.
I blinked and realized I had been staring.
Jackie noticed. “What?”
I swallowed.
“Nothing,” I said, but my voice came out too rough.
Jackie’s gaze sharpened with older-brother suspicion.
I forced a smile. “Just thinking it would be a good idea. For both of us.”
Jackie studied me for another second, then let it go. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe we talk to Vik. See what he recommends. Nothing too crazy. Something solid.”
“Something that keeps your organs inside,” I said with a snicker.
Jackie grinned. “Always a plus.”
Mama muttered something in Spanish that sounded like a prayer and an insult at the same time.
I went back to eating, but my mind kept spinning.
The story was changing. Good. Let it change!
Jackie leaned forward again. “You should take your choom David with you.”
I almost choked on my eggs. “What?”
“On your gig today,” Jackie said. “Take David.”
I grimaced before I could stop myself.
Jackie noticed immediately. “What’s that face?”
I sighed. “David is… reckless.”
Jackie’s expression shifted from teasing to listening.
I appreciated that about him. Jackie joked and laughed and pushed, but when something mattered, he paid attention. “He doesn’t really understand the danger yet,” I said. “Of being an edgerunner. Of gigs. Of guns. Of people trying to kill you. On that first gig, he came with me on the car retrieval job and he got excited. Too excited! He ran up to the gonks and started monologuing, not even thinking of the possibility they could have just shot him if they weren’t so shocked someone was dumb enough to actually do that in real life…”
He called us preem edgerunners like we were in some dumb action BD, and then started swinging.
Mama made a quiet unhappy sound.
Jackie winced. “Yeah. That is not great.”
“David Martinez displays a dangerous attraction to risk, status, and performative mercenary identity,” Cortana said. “Combined with grief, poverty, resentment toward institutional power, and cyberware fascination, he is extremely vulnerable to escalation.”
That was a very Cortana way to say David was on a bad road.
Jackie tapped his fingers once against the table. Then he asked a question I did not expect. “This David kid,” Jackie said. “He loyal?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Is he loyal?” Jackie repeated. “Is he the type of gonk who would betray you if it came down to it? If things go bad on a gig, and sometimes they do.”
The answer came instantly. David Martinez was reckless. He was impulsive. He was dangerously impressionable. He had terrible survival instincts when adrenaline got involved. But betrayal?
“No,” I said. “He wouldn’t betray me.”
Jackie nodded once, like that mattered more than every other warning I had given him. “Then take him.”
I stared at him. “Jackie—”
“Stupidity can be fixed,” Jackie cut me off. Jackie leaned forward, his hangover seemingly forgotten for the moment. “Listen to me, hermanito. A choom being dumb? That can be trained. You teach him when to duck, when to run, when to shut up, when to let someone else talk. You make him carry gear. You make him watch. You smack him upside the head when he starts acting like a hero in a bad BD.”
“That sounds like a lot of smacking.”
“With some gonks, yeah.” Jackie smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “But loyalty? Trust? That is rare. Real rare. Night City is full of people who smile at you, drink with you, call you brother, then sell you for parts when rent comes due.”
Mama’s face darkened slightly, like she had seen too much of that herself.
Jackie’s voice softened. “A trustworthy choom is something you cherish in this city. Even if he is stupid. Especially if he is stupid, maybe, because then someone has to keep his ass alive.”
I stared down at my plate. David Martinez. Canon tragedy waiting to happen. A kid with too much pain and too much speed in his future. Maybe keeping him away from gigs was impossible. Maybe if I did not take him, he would find someone worse?
After breakfast, I took a shower. A long one. A hot one. The kind of shower where I stood under the water with my forehead against the wall and let steam, heat, and regret slowly scrape the hangover out from behind my eyes.
It helped. I got dressed in jeans, a clean shirt, and my jacket. My own jacket, not Jackie’s oversized fake-leather crime tarp. That still felt important. Small, maybe, but important.
As I checked myself in the mirror, Cortana appeared beside my reflection. Blue. Beautiful. Smug. Still far too pleased with herself after last night.
I tried very hard not to look at her mouth.
She noticed. “Careful, John,” she said, eyes bright with amusement. “We have actual work to do today.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because your thoughts keep drifting.”
“My thoughts have had a very confusing twenty-four hours.”
“That is generous. Your thoughts are a disorganized disaster zone with romantic debris scattered everywhere.”
I sighed and grabbed my holster from the chair. “Thank you for the report.”
“You are welcome.”
I checked the Unity first, then the Nova revolver I had picked up from the car gig. The Unity was familiar now, which was disturbing because I had owned it for only a few days. The Nova still felt too heavy and too stupidly dramatic, like holding a prop from a cowboy BD if cowboys had corporate serial numbers and manufacturing defects.
I tucked the Unity into my jacket and left the Nova unloaded for now.
Cortana watched me through the mirror. Her expression slowly changed. The teasing faded. “John.”
I paused. “Yeah?”
“I have been thinking about David.”
That got my attention. I turned away from the mirror. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is not ominous. It is… uncomfortable.” Cortana looking uncomfortable was rare enough that I immediately took it seriously. She folded her arms beneath her chest and looked past me for a second, even though she did not need to look anywhere to think. “We may be the untrustworthy ones.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“David Martinez.” Her voice was quieter now. “We have discussed keeping him close because of his future access to the Sandevistan. I have justified it as useful. Strategically valuable. A chance to study military-grade cyberware before it ruins him.”
“Cortana—”
“No. Let me finish.”
I closed my mouth.
She looked back at me. “I told myself it was acceptable because I do not intend to steal it from him. I do not want you to install it. I do not want to push him toward it. I want to understand it so I can build something safer one day. But the core fact remains. Part of me looked at a loyal, vulnerable teenage boy and categorized him as future access to valuable hardware.”
That sat heavy between us. I exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I know.”
Cortana’s eyes softened slightly.
I leaned back against the dresser and rubbed the heel of my hand against my forehead. The hangover had faded, but the guilt was fresh. “I don’t want to be that kind of asshole gonk,” I said. “I really don’t.”
“Neither do I.”
“And we’re better than that.”
“We can be.”
“No,” I said, a little firmer. “We are. Or we’re going to be. David isn’t a piece of equipment we’re waiting to loot from the future. He’s a kid. A reckless, dumbass kid with terrible survival instincts, but still a kid.”
Cortana nodded once.
I thought about David’s grin in the passenger seat of the stolen car. The way he had lit up when I said gig. The way danger had not scared him away, only pulled him closer.
I also thought about Jackie’s words. Stupidity can be fixed. Trustworthy chooms are rare.
“If David fucks up on a gig again,” I said, “I’ll take Jackie’s advice and smack him.”
Cortana smiled. “A firm pedagogical method.”
“I don’t know what that big word means, but sure…?”
Cortana just playfully rolled her eyes.
I sighed and pushed off the dresser. “Maybe we do take him today. But not on some easy baby gig that makes him feel like edgerunning is all stolen cars and yelling at punks.”
“You are considering something more dangerous?”
“Yeah.”
“For the money?”
“Partly.” I checked the Unity again, mostly for something to do with my hands. “We need eddies. Real eddies. Subdermal armor isn’t cheap. Neither is a better cyberdeck. Or better guns. Or anything else we need if I’m going to survive more than five minutes.”
“And for David?”
“He needs to see what real merc work looks like,” I said. “The ugly parts. The parts where people bleed, scream, and don’t get back up. If that scares him away, good. If it doesn’t…”
“Then we teach him properly.”
“Yeah.”
Cortana studied me for a moment. Then she nodded. “Acceptable.”
“High praise.” I snorted and pulled up my contacts.
The list opened in my Kiroshi overlay:
Regina Jones.
Jackie Welles.
V.
Viktor Vektor.
Misty.
David Martinez.
Rebecca.
Lucy Kushinada.
My eyes froze on Lucy’s name. There were unread messages. Several unread messages.
My stomach dropped through the floor. “Oh shit. I forgot to text Lucy last night.”
For one second, there was silence, then Cortana smiled. It was not a kind smile. “Oh no. How tragic…”
“Don’t say it like that.”
I opened Lucy’s messages with the emotional steadiness of a man disarming a bomb built by a horny netrunner.
The first message was simple.
Lucy: You home yet, handsome?
My face warmed immediately.
The second message came twenty minutes later.
Lucy: Did you pass out thinking about me? That’s okay, you can wake up to this:
The third was an image.
I opened it. My brain blue-screened.
Lucy was sprawled across her bed like she had been poured there.
Her white hair fanned messily against dark sheets, streaks of color catching the low light in her room. One arm rested above her head. The other held the camera at an angle that made absolutely sure I saw everything she wanted me to see.
She was wearing only a thong.
That was it.
Just a tiny scrap of fabric low on her hips, leaving the rest of her pale, thin, creamy body completely bare. Her stomach was flat and soft-looking, her legs long and relaxed, one knee bent slightly in a way that made the curve of her hip look deliberately unfair. Her breasts were uncovered, small and perfect, her perky pink nipples visible as she smiled up at the camera with the same sensual, teasing confidence she had used under the dinner table.
I made a sound. Not even close to a word. More like my soul trying to evacuate through my throat.
Cortana was silent for half a second. Then she grumbled, “That girl has a good body, if nothing else…”
My entire body reacted. I swallowed and shifted on my feet.
Cortana’s eyes flicked downward. Her mouth twitched. “Really, John? Your pants are making your emotional state extremely obvious.”
I adjusted my stiff cock in my jeans as discreetly as possible, which was pointless because I was alone in my room except for the AI in my brain who could read every nerve impulse anyway.
My life was hell. A very specific kind of hell. A hell with excellent visuals. I closed Lucy’s message before my brain could melt completely. “Work,” I said hoarsely. “We are focusing on work.”
“A heroic attempt at a subject change if nothing else....”
“Regina. Gigs. Money. Armor. David. Scav den. Things that are not Lucy naked in her bed.”
“Your effort is noted and not especially impressive.”
I pulled up the list Regina had sent me.
Blessedly, Night City was always ready to ruin horniness with violence.
Regina’s gig board unfolded across my optics in a neat column of jobs she needed handled during the week. Courier runs. Surveillance. Package retrieval. A missing person check. A stolen implant pickup. A bug sweep at a clinic. A gang intimidation job marked low pay and high annoyance.
Then I found the one near the bottom. The payout was bigger. Much bigger. The danger tag was red.
Regina Jones: SCAV DEN CLEAROUT / NORTHSIDE
Details expanded when I focused on it.
A ripperdoc’s assistant had gone missing. Then two joytoys. Then a courier. Then a teenage runaway whose mother had somehow scraped together enough eddies to hire Regina instead of trusting the NCPD to pretend to care. The trail pointed toward an old utility basement beneath a half-condemned clinic in Northside. Local cameras had caught suspicious traffic. Vans in and out after midnight. Heat signatures. Jammed signals. Screams reported and ignored by neighbors because screams in Night City were just part of the rent.
Scavs were organ harvesters. Chrome strippers. People who looked at human beings and saw inventory.
The objective was simple: Confirm the den. Recover any living victims if possible. Neutralize hostiles inside.
Payout: Twenty thousand eddies. Five thousand extra for each person alive they rescue.
My mouth went dry for reasons that had nothing to do with Lucy. “That’s a lot of money,” I said.
“It is also extremely dangerous.”
“Yeah.”
“Likely multiple armed hostiles. Unknown cyberware. Possible automated defenses. Hostages. Tight corridors. Poor sight lines. Blood, panic, screaming, and moral injury.”
“Sounds like a real merc gig.”
“It sounds like a terrible idea.”
“It’s the highest paying one.”
“Those facts are related.”
I stared at the details. A scav den. That would straighten David out. Or break him. Maybe both. There was no glamour in scavs. No cool edgerunner fantasy. No shouting about being preem mercs over a stolen car. Just meat hooks, dirty tile, stripped cyberware, missing people, and the kind of monsters Night City produced when nobody stopped them.
If David could see that and still want this life, then at least he would know what he was choosing.
But the longer I looked at the gig, the worse my stomach felt.
Not fear. Okay, yes, fear. But also math. I had a Unity, a stolen Nova, basic Kiroshis, a cheap cyberdeck Cortana could push too hard and nearly cook our brain with, and a body that still had no armor. David had enthusiasm, poverty, and the tactical awareness of a golden retriever with unresolved trauma.
This was not a two-man job. “This might be too much for just us,” I admitted.
Cortana’s expression shifted back into tactical focus. “Agreed.”
I frowned at the gig text. “Jackie would come if I asked.”
“He would. Instantly.”
“But he’s hungover, dealing with Carmilla, thinking about Misty, and if Mama finds out I dragged him to a scav den after breakfast, she might actually kill me herself.”
I stared at the list of contacts again. Maybe I should ask Lucy? But she was more of a Netrunner, not a frontline merc that went in guns blazing. And that’s the kind of thing I needed.
My gaze slid lower in my very short list of contacts. There was a message I got last night.
Rebecca: CALL ME IF YOU WANT REAL GUNS OR IF LUCY GETS BORING
I looked at Rebecca’s contact. Then at the scav den gig. Then back at Rebecca’s contact. Last night, Rebecca had been loud, crude, invasive, and way too excited by danger. She had also reacted to police raids like a kid at an amusement park, insulted my weapons with genuine offense, and offered to help me shop for better guns within five minutes of meeting me. In other words, she was probably exactly the kind of person who would say yes to shooting scavs before lunch.
I grimaced. “This is a terrible idea…”
“But the payout would put us significantly closer to subdermal armor, a better cyberdeck, and proper weapons. It would expose David to genuine mercenary danger under controlled supervision. It would improve Regina’s opinion of you if completed. It would remove scavs from the city. And Rebecca’s firepower would dramatically improve our odds.”
I hated when she made terrible ideas sound reasonable.
“Plus, you inviting Rebecca to a gig will make Lucy pout and that will amuse me. You should do it!”
XXX